Diary & Letters of Rutherford B. Hayes

Volume I [1834 – 1860]

[Page 54]

Kenyon College, June 11, 1841.--In commencing this diary
I have several objects in view, among the principal of which are
improvement in composition and amusement. From having al-
ways neglected composition, and from the trouble which the
mere mechanical execution of a piece of writing occasions me,
I find great difficulty in putting my thoughts upon paper in a
clear and satisfactory manner. Even when I sit down to write
a letter the ideas which I had previously collected suddenly
vanish, leaving me to twirl my pen and thump my head in a vain
attempt to recover them. In writing and conversing, I am often
much vexed at the awkward expressions I am compelled to use
for want of words with which to clothe my ideas. This, too, is
one of my greatest difficulties in extempore speaking. I have,
I think, several of the qualities requisite to become a ready
speaker, but for want of fluency, I never succeed in my extem-
pore efforts as I would wish.
By keeping a diary in which to record my thoughts, desires,
and resolves, I expect to promote stability of character. This
is a quality of [in] which I am by no means willing to acknowl-
edge myself deficient; but if I commit to writing all of my re-
solves, I shall be more careful not to make them hastily, and
when they are made I shall be more anxious to keep them. In
addition to these positive benefits, I hope to derive amusement in
after days from the perusal of my youthful anticipations, broken
resolves, and strange desires.
I shall not yet determine how much or how often I will write
lest the next page will contain the confession of a broken vow.

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June 17.--How true is the old proverb that "delay is the thief
of time." Almost a week has passed since I commenced this
diary and the first page still remains to be written. Neither
want of time nor inclination has occasioned this neglect, but
simply the habit of putting off till tomorrow what should be done
today. I have, it is true, had nothing of importance to relate,
but if I make it a rule not to write till something of moment
occurs, I fear my diary would end where it commenced.
I will devote the remainder of this page to mentioning some
of the traits of character for which the hero of these etchings
is most particularly remarkable. He has, in the first place, a
very good opinion of himself, which can by no means be con-
sidered a failing, for if a man does not esteem himself, he
would certainly be very silly to expect the esteem of others.
And although he is also well convinced of the importance of self-
esteem, there is, perhaps, no one more anxious to conceal it than
he is. Again, there is no one who more heartily detests open
flattery than he does, and yet, strange to say, it sometimes sounds
very pleasant to his ears; it puts him in such good humor with
himself, and of course, with all about him, that he seems like
quite another being while under its agreeable influence. He is
so inconsistent as to wish to conceal this feature of his character,
too, though he declares most positively that all men can be flat-
tered, the only difference being that some are more accessible to
its approaches than others. At first sight, or I should rather say
thought, it seems surprising that he should wish to conceal what
he considers no disgrace, but it is only one of the thousand
errings of poor human nature. He has his share also of that
"great Caucasus," ambition, and as he loves to excel, it cannot
be denied that he loves to have it known. It is no part of his
creed that deception may be practiced to give others a high
opinion of his attainments, for common sense teaches him that
an undeserved reputation is of more injury than benefit.
I spoke above of his self-esteem. Now, I do not mean that he
entertains an exalted opinion of his talents or acquirements, but
merely that he thinks himself possessed of a good share of
common sense, by which is meant a sound practical judgment of
what is correct in the common affairs of life. He often betrays
this peculiar kind of self-esteem by reflections like the follow-
ing: "If I only had C's talents, what a figure I would make in
the world." The reason of his entertaining so favorable an
opinion of his common sense is that his family and relatives
are somewhat remarkable for the possession of it, and he thinks
it runs in the blood. Moreover, he has often been told (good
authority) that he has a family share of this good quality. Here
I am compelled, very reluctantly, to leave this interesting and
improving subject to attend to my recitations. It shall be re-
sumed, however, the first opportunity.

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June 19.--There is perhaps no feature of character of more
importance in life than decision. Without it a human being,
with powers at best but feeble, and surrounded by numerous
things tending to perplex, to divert, or to oppress their opera-
tions, is indeed [a] pitiable atom, the sport of diverse and casual
impulses. It is a question then of no little moment to every
one whether he has a character such that when his decision is
formed and purpose fixed, that he may feel an entire assurance
that something will be done. This question is much more easily
asked than answered. I have been for a long time convinced
of the necessity of obeying the injunction, "Know thyself." But
after studying my own disposition with a good degree of dili-
gence, I am satisfied that the motives and desires which rule
in my breast are, indeed, "past all finding out." There have
been times when I exercised considerable firmness and decision,
apparently without exertion. At other times, after making the
best of resolutions, I find the strenuous will to carry them into
effect almost entirely wanting. Considering my age and cir-
cumstances, I do not think myself more deficient in this quality
than other persons; but, be this as it may, I am determined from
henceforth to use what means I have to acquire a character
distinguished for energy, firmness, and perseverance.
As I am now in the humor of writing, I will put down a few
of my present hopes and designs for the sake of keeping them
safe. I do not intend to leave here until about a year after I
graduate, when I expect to commence the study of law. Be-
fore then I wish to become a master of logic and rhetoric and to
obtain a good knowledge of history. To accomplish these ob-
jects I am willing to study hard, in which case I believe I can
make, at least, a tolerable debater. It is another intention of
mine, that after I have commenced in life, whatever may be my
ability or station, to preserve a reputation for honesty and benev-
olence; and if ever I am a public man I will never do anything
inconsistent with the character of a true friend and good citizen.
To become such a man I shall necessarily have to live in accord-
ance with the precepts of the Bible, which I firmly believe,
although I have never made them strictly the "rule of my con-
duct."--Thus ends this long dry chapter on self.

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Kenyon College, June 21.--The mail of today brings me sad
news from home. My sister has lost her first and only child,
a charming little girl almost eight months old. "Nature and
fortune joined to make her beautiful."
"She might of nature's gifts with lilies boast
And with the half-blown rose."
My sister's letter betrays all those feelings of mingled love and
sorrow which so well become a mother. She takes a melancholy
pleasure in recounting the numberless charms of her darling
little Sophia. She has now learned by her own experience the
dread reality that "death is indeed a terrible thing." Alas,
"She must never, never
Behold her pretty Sarah more,
Till she meets her in the court of Heaven."
Great as my sorrow is, I almost forget it when I think of the
anguish of the fond and doting parents. If ever child was
idolized by father and mother, it was the one just lost. In one
short day she passed from time [to] eternity. In the morning
she was taken from her pillow full of mirth and glee, her sweet
smiles diffusing joy around her, and before the setting of the
sun she was gone, gone forever!
So little does Fanny realize the absence of the loved one, that
in her letter she says, "Soon she would have learned to stretch
out her little arms to you as she does to her father." She can-
not speak of her as passed. What would the bereaved mother
give to know that word need not be changed! Though I know
she has bid a long farewell to the "child of her soul," she still
has firmness to say, "Time will heal the wound." I sincerely
hope it will.
How similar my feelings now are to those I had when John
Wasson died more than two years ago. The shock was equally
sudden, equally unexpected. But the words of grief are few.

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June 25.--I have not taken up my pen this evening because
I have something to write, but only because I feel like doing
nothing else. The Society kept me up so late last night, that
I have been too sleepy to do anything today. It's lucky I thought
of this for it has furnished me with a good subject to write
about: The performances in the Philomathesian Society.
The first which I shall notice is a composition which was read
by a very sleek-faced, well-disposed sophomore whose chief mis-
fortune is that he imagines himself a favorite of the "Sacred
Nine." Dame Nature having gifted Mr. Lewis with considerable
more vanity than common sense, he was easily persuaded by a
waggish lecturer on phrenology that he had a head very similar
in some respects to Lord Byron's. From this resemblance in
craniums, he at once conceived the idea that he must be a poetic
genius. Nor is there anything singular in this fancy of his,
for he had probably heard that every one had a genius for some-
thing, and knowing that he had a genius for nothing else, he
very logically deduced the conclusion that he was a "born poet."
Never was a silly moonstruck lover more mistaken. His verses
have neither wit, sense, nor rhyme. As for metre, it is a "trifle"
which he utterly abhors; his intellect is not to be measured by the
square and compass. When severely criticized on this point,
he talks very learnedly of dactyls, spondees, hexameters, tri-
meter and dimeter verse; but it requires a great stretch of the
imagination to perceive anything in his "lines" worthy [even of]
the appellation "doggerel." The composition in question was a
poetical effusion on the decline of the Indian race, a topic so
novel that it was fully equal to the gentleman's mind and poetry.
Before he had half finished his pathetic farewell, I involuntarily
exclaimed, "Lo the poor Indian!" and when he reached the
last feeling stanzas,
"Ah! poor Indian, to you
I bid a long and last adieu,"
my eyes unconsciously suffused with tears, and no longer able
to restrain the powerful emotions that swelled my bosom, I burst
into a--horse-laugh. Seriously, however, if Mr. Lewis would
stick to sober prose and abandon "lines with ragged ends," he
might make a tolerable writer. But, "Poesy thou wast undone
and from thy native country driven."
"How hard it is to hide the sparks of genius."
--Shakespeare.*




*The ascription of this line to Shakespeare is, of course, made in pure
irony.

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June 29--Since writing the above description of Mr. Lewis'
poetical effusions, I have been somewhat fearful that I violated
sundry good resolutions, which I once made concerning the gov-
ernment of my tongue. I make it a rule never to seek an op-
portunity to speak ill of any individual, and if it is my duty to
blame, to do it in as mild terms as the subject admits of. I did
not make this determination because I thought I was disposed
to question the motives of others, or to censure without suffi-
cient reason; but lest by frequently indulging in remarks more
severe than the occasion warrants, I may contract a habit of
slandering my acquaintances which will grow stronger [and]
stronger till the odious practice becomes a confirmed habit which
cannot be shaken off. I saw a remark of Bacon on this subject
which struck me as well worthy of remembrance. "There is,"
said he, "with the young and old a prevalent habit of talking of
persons rather than things. This is seldom innocent and often
pregnant with many evils. Such conversation insensibly slides
into detraction, and by dwelling on offenses we expose our own
souls to contagion, and are betrayed into feelings of pride, envy,
jealousy; and even when we speak in terms of commendation we
are sure to come in with a but at the last, and drive a nail in
our neighbor's reputation." My own experience furnishes me
with abundant proofs of the truth of this sentiment; but by
regarding my resolution with care I hope to deserve a name far
better than the slanderer's.
Another of the good resolutions referred to is, that while in
the Society, I will do nothing calculated to produce disorder, or
anything likely to have an evil tendency. My love of fun is so
great, and my perception of the ludicrous so quick, that I laugh at
everything witty, and say all I can to add to the general mirth.
Now, this [is] agreeable enough at times, but the tendency to
carry it to extremes is so great that I shall stop it entirely in
future, if I can.
My last resolution is to act from no motives which I should
be ashamed to avow.--There goes the bell.

Volume I [1834 – 1860]

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July 6.--The last time I wrote in my diary I was telling the
ways in which I spent some of the Fourths in former years.
In 1838 I was at the school of Mr. Webb in Middletown,
Connecticut. On the Fourth of July there was a union celebra-
tion over in the college grounds, but in company with most of my
school-fellows I passed the day firing a little two-pounder, swim-
ming, and eating. My companions were H. C. Chauncey, Wm. G.
Lane, and E. B. Colt, of Paterson, New Jersey. We made a
great noise and, of course, were in fine spirits.
[In] 1837 I was in Delaware, [Ohio]. After some consulta-
tion with J. Turney and M. D. Covell, we thought best to employ
ourselves in diminishing the number of the fowl of the air and
[the] beasts of the field which have multiplied so amazingly since
old Noah's time. After making the necessary arrangements,
such as filling our pockets with biscuits, butter, salt, and pepper,
we sallied forth with one shotgun and a lead cannon to spread
terror and dismay among the natives of the forest. We first
bent our steps towards the Olentangy, where after wandering
about in mud and mire for a couple of hours without encoun-
tering anything more formidable than an occasional bullfrog,
we sat ourselves down upon a huge brown log to consult upon
our future course. We debated for some time without approach-
ing any conclusion, when a new character appeared on the stage
who at once decided our counsels. This was no less a personage
than one Bob White, whose shrill calls from the other side of
the river at once induced us to roll up our pants and wade over
to cultivate more closely his acquaintance. Arrived safely on the
opposite shore, we despatched Covell with the old fusee to put a
stop to the clamor of the innocent quail. After waiting several
minutes we were surprised that Covell did not shoot, and our
astonishment was no way diminished at hearing Bob White ring-
ing away at pretty regular intervals. Turney and myself soon
began to make various amusing conjectures as to where Covell
could have betaken himself. After waiting a few minutes longer
in breathless suspense, our minds were filled with fearful fore-
bodings as to his life. We looked at one another in silence,
but the workings of our countenances betrayed the terror of our
breasts more vividly than words could tell.
We simultaneously started for the point where Covell had
disappeared in the thicket. Carefully putting aside the bushes,
we advanced with extreme caution towards the place where our
old friend the quail was exercising his lungs with undiminished
vigor. When we had approached very close to the spot whence
the sound proceeded, we stopped and stooping low peered
anxiously around among the bushes. At last my eyes met the
form of my lost friend kneeling as if in prayer. Good Heavens!
my worst fears were realized. He had been bitten by a rattlesnake
concealed in the underbrush, and was now with his last breath
offering up a prayer for his final safety! My head spun round
with giddiness; a mist clouded my sight; I reeled and would
have swooned. But at this instant I heard Covell, in tones more
of vexation than entreaty, exclaim: "I wish the man that made
this lock had it down his throat." I revived as if from the in-
fluence of some potent spell. I spoke in accents which betrayed
the trepidation I had felt: "Why, Covell what are you about?" "I
snapped at this quail till I got tired and then used a box of
matches up trying to touch off this rotten powder, and now if Mr.
Quail don't get off that log 'quicker than Hell can scorch a
feather,' I'll knock his brains out with the ramrod." He sprang
forward, the quail flew, and I roared with laughter. We hunted
no more that day, but ate up our biscuits and went home content.

Volume I [1834 – 1860]

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July 11.--July 4, 1836, I was at Norwalk Seminary, which
was then under the direction of Mr. Chaplin, a Methodist clergy-
man, formerly a lawyer of some note in Champaign County. He
spent the early part of his life in every kind of licentiousness, but
finally becoming religious, he commenced preaching and is now a
man of much usefulness and exemplary piety. I fired cannon
through the day and ate figs, raisins, and sugarplums between
times. My companions were Picket, Webb, and Lewis Mc-
Ardle. Upon the whole we had a jolly time of it.
July 4, 1835, I was in Delaware, but who were my com-
panions or what I did has long since slipped my memory. I
presume, however, I burned powder, ate candy, and followed
the trainers [militiamen], as that was usually the order of exer-
cise for such occasions.