Another ex-president of the American Historical Association, Dr. James B. Angell, president of the University of Michigan, said of Mr. Tuttle:

Though his achievements as professor and historian perhaps exceed in value even the brilliant promise of his college days, yet the mental characteristics of the professor and historian were easily traced in the work of the young student. By correspondence with him concerning his plans and ambitions, I have been able to keep in close touch with him almost to the time of his death. His aspirations were high and noble. He would not sacrifice his ideals of historical work for any rewards of temporary popularity. The strenuousness with which in his college work he sought for the exact truth clung to him to the end. The death of such a scholar in the very prime of his strength is indeed a serious loss for the nation and for the cause of letters.

At the funeral of Professor Tuttle, held June 23 in Sage Chapel, at Cornell University, Prof. Charles M. Tyler said:

Professor Tuttle was a brilliant scholar, a scrupulous historian, and what luster he had gained in the realm of letters you all know well. He possessed an absolute truthfulness of soul. He was impatient of exaggeration of statement, for he thought exaggeration was proof of either lack of conviction or weakness of judgment. His mind glanced with swift penetration over materials of knowledge, and with great facility he reduced order to system, possessing an intuitive power to divine the philosophy of events. Forest and mountain scenery appealed to his fine apprehensions, and his afflicted consort assures me that his love of nature, of the woods, the streams, the flowers and birds, constituted almost a religion. It was through nature that his spirit rose to exaltation of belief. He would say, “The Almighty gives the seeds of my flowers-God gives us sunshine to-day,” and would frequently repeat the words of Goethe, "The sun shines after its old manner, and all God's works are as splendid as on the first day." (New York Tribune, July 15, 1894.)

Bishop Huntington, who knew Mr. Tuttle well, said of him in the Gospel Messenger, published at Syracuse, N. Y.:

He seemed to be always afraid of overdoing or oversaying. With uncommon abilities and accomplishments, as a student and writer, in tastes and sympathies, he may be said to have been fastidious. Such men win more respect than popularity, and are most valued after they die.

V.-TURNING-POINTS IN THE CIVIL WAR.

By ROSSITER JOHNSON.

Broadly stated, the civil war in the United States was an attempt by 10,000,000 people against the will of 20,000,000 to divide a great country into two sovereignties along a line where there was no natural barrier-no inland sea like the Mediterranean, which separates Europe from Africa; no chain of lakes like that between the United States and Canada; no range of mountains like the Pyrenees between France and Spain; not even an unbridgable river like that between China proper and the Mongolian Empire.

Broadly stated, too, it was an attempt to reverse a universal and oft-repeated verdict of a thousand years of civilized experience—the verdict that, with the spread of learning and science, with the growth of organized industry, and especially with the multiplication of lines of traffic and travel, the tendency must be, not toward separation, but toward union of communities that are included within the same natural boundaries. Where once was the Heptarchy we now find the Kingdom of Great Britain, and France and Spain have each resulted from the consolidation of several petty kingdoms. Early in the present century Sweden and Norway were united in one seabound country. In 1848 the Swiss cantons formed themselves into one Republic, and the union between Austria and Hungary was perfected. When we were boys, our maps of Italy showed it divided into Lombardy, Tuscany, Sardinia, the two Sicilies, and the States of the Church; but just before our civil war broke out all these were united in one Kingdom. The Canadian provinces were gravitating toward a federal dominion, perfected soon afterward; the States of Central America were forming a league; Japan was on the eve of setting up a centralized government, and Germany was in the first stages of the movement that in ten years merged her separate States

into a powerful Empire. On our own soil, a group of colonies had found it necessary, after trying the experiment of a loose Confederation, to adopt a Constitution which declared that its purpose was to form "a more perfect union," and eighty years of rapid growth had strengthened every reason for such a union, and had developed apparently but one reason against it. At the beginning of the present century Louisiana, Texas, and Florida belonged to foreign powers; but there was no natural barrier on their frontiers, and within forty years they all gravitated into the United States. Cuba, off the southern shore, and Canada, behind the northern lakes, have not come into the Union yet, and perhaps they never will.

The Kingdom of Poland passed out of existence because it had no natural boundaries, while the smaller and weaker Commonwealth of Switzerland, buttressed about by its great mountains, has maintained its integrity. The Roman Empire, extended by conquests over the known world of that day, went to pieces. The British Empire is similarly constituted, and may yet meet a similar fate. Our grandfathers, separated from the mother country by 3,000 miles of ocean, succeeded in alienating its best colonies a century ago; and now there is some prospect that the Canadian provinces and the Australian colonies, also separated by ocean distance, may secede. Ireland, on the other side of a broad sea channel, would like to secede; but there is no thought of separating Scotland or Wales from England, for they are parts of the same island. The Napoleonic conquests, brilliant as they were, quickly lapsed because they were extended beyond natural barriers. Nobody apprehends that France and Spain will ever fight across the Pyrenees; but twenty-five years ago France and Germany had a bloody war across their artificial boundary, and that boundary was changed, but still remained artificial, and there has been threat of a repetition of the struggle ever since.

In the aspect of its purpose the attempted secession was no more logical than in its means. The avowed reason for separation was that a certain domestic and economic institution existing in one part of the country was doomed to repression and ultimate extinction by the dominant political power in the other part. Yet the nature of that institution and the surrounding circumstances were such that, if separation could have been accomplished, however peaceably, the institution must have passed out of existence sooner than if the Union had remained

as it was.

Every tub that is to hold anything requires a bot tom, and the Northern States were the bottom of the tub that held slavery. The border States-Maryland, Virginia, Kentucky, Missouri-were the slave-breeding States, and the blacks knew very well what it meant to be sold for service in the cotton States. But between them and Canada lay some hundreds of miles of territory in which they were subject to recapture if they escaped. Divide the country as proposed, and the liberty line, instead of being beyond the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence, would have been brought down to their very doors. If it were attempted to supply the Gulf States by reopening the African slave trade, this would only have hastened the ruin of the great breeding business of the border States, and they could not long have remained as a barrier, but would have been compelled to seek self-preservation by rejoining the North and thus removing the liberty line still farther to the south, where it would run along the edge of the cotton-growing region.

When, therefore, the Southern people entered upon the attempt at secession, they committed themselves to four capital absurdities: First, they went out with ten millions to meet those who could come against them with twenty millions. Second, they proposed to divide a great country along a line where there was no natural barrier-a line, moreover, that was crossed by great arteries of commerce. Third, they attempted to reverse the economical and political tendencies of a thousand years and divide instead of uniting. Fourth, to save an institution from gradual destruction they undertook a task that, if accomplished, would only have accelerated its decay.

With these facts and principles in mind, it seems natural and reasonable to say that such a war as the insurrection of 1861 could not have any turning points, for it would be a foredoomed failure. In the long view this is probably correct; and one of the ablest of the Southern military leaders, perhaps the very ablest, has since expressed the opinion that if separation had been effected the sections ultimately would have come together again. Yet there were other circumstances which gave the bloody enterprise a chance of immediate if not permanent success, and the apparent turning-points-the events that shaped and prolonged the contest-are quite discoverable.

Of the four absurdities or insoluble problems that I have pointed out, the Southern people appeared to take cognizance