The New York Herald (New York [N.Y.]), January 30, 1872. Page 8.
THOMAS PAINE.
The Anniversary of His Birthday.—Interview with an Old Lady Who Knew Him in Her Youth.—Life and Habits of the Man.—The Monument in New Rochelle.
For many years after the death of the celebrated Thomas Paine the lank and long-haired fraternity who styled themselves his followers celebrated the anniversary of his natal day, after their own fashion. Brother Thisick prevailed upon the mild nature of Brother Lament-al to give the long-robed proselytes the use of the granary over his coach house, and there in the highest fervor of their great admiration for the illustrious dead the meagre community would descant in long-toned nasal oratory upon the wonderful gifts and powers of the man whom they had elected to follow. Every sentence in his writings that at all bore a suspicious meaning or was
CAPABLE OF CONSTRUCTION,
they would twist and pervert to suit the calibre of their own mental organizations. With no knowledge of the man and but little of his doctrines, they set him up as the embodiment of a curious set of ideas, which, when really sifted and reduced to “common sense,” meant nothing at all. Still they were ardent, and pursued the phantom with a zeal worthy of a better cause. When the granary or coach-house was not procurable these mild and humble men congregated in any convenient spot where frantic zealots might indulge in their fantastic doctrines without fear of interruption. When driven from the villages and smaller communities by the loud voice of public opinion they sought the crowded cities, where that rush of
THIS TIDE OF LIFE
is too rapid for any one to notice the abater barriers they were endeavoring to manoeuvre. Then at night, concealed in holes and corners, they preached to one another those doctrines that would not bear the light of day. These men flourished most vigorously during the first quarter of a century after the death of Paine. By degrees their number grew less, and they continued to decrease until within the last few years, when they seem to have dropped almost completely out of history. Yesterday was the anniversary of Paine’s birthday, and but one gathering in honor of the memory of a man who in his time stirred the souls of men as deeply, if not at times even more, than any of his compeers. Of course there may have been other exhibitions of a more private nature to commemorate the entrance upon the stage of life of a man whom so many have admired, but they were so strictly of
A SECRET NATURE
that nothing has been heard of them. In one household, however, in the village of New Rochelle the name of Paine was pronounced with that respect and feeling people attach to persons and things they were familiar with in youth, but that have long since passed away. That dwelling is the home of Mrs. Charity Badeau, an old lady now in her eighty-fifth year, who knew Thomas Paine well in her youth, and who still retains for him the strong impressions of her early days. When a HERALD reporter yesterday called at the house the old lady was seated at dinner, with her daughter, herself an old lady, and her granddaughter, an intellectual and prepossessing young one. She is a straight and stately dame of the old aristocratic type, so rarely seen to-day. Though in her eighty-fifth year, Mrs. Charity Badeau is in full possession of all her faculties. Her eye, for a lady of her age, is singularly bright and piercing, and she possesses to an eminent degree the ease and grace of manner that so distinguish ladies of her class. When questioned about Thomas Paine the old lady said:—
“I knew him, sir. He boarded in that little house you saw as you came in, for several weeks, with my mother. I was then about eighteen or nineteen years of age, and I remember him distinctly. He was a very quiet, thoughtful man, but little given to discussion, and extremely simple in his tastes. His usual evening meal was a bowl of milk and bread, after which he retired early. He came to our house when he had broken up housekeeping on his farm, which was just across the road from us, and from our house he went to New York. I remember Mrs. Bonneville too. She used to come from New York sometimes, both to our house and to the farm. She was a sensible woman, and I think little deserving the scandal the world has flung upon her name. As for Thomas Paine, you could not find a more upright, conscientious man in this part of the country. He paid every one what he owed him, and, as far as I could ever learn, he did no one an injury. Of course he had many enemies and he has some to-day; and there are also many people who secretly love him, but they are afraid to own it. You see, sir, I am not of that class. When he left this village he went to New York, where he died. I was in the city myself at the time, and shortly after
THEY BROUGHT HIM OUT HERE
and buried him on the farm on the opposite side of the road from my house. Nine years after that three men came out here at daybreak one morning, dug up the remains and drove away with them. I and my husband asked them what they intended doing with him, and they answered, ‘Mrs. Bonneville intends to have him interred in Trinity.’ Whether she did or not I never could find out. I have heard, however, that he was taken to England, where some people refused to allow his body to land, and that finally he was thrown into the sea. Some five and twenty years ago a number of gentlemen in New York and a few from here subscribed together and raised that monument to his memory you saw on the opposite side of the road.”
The monument is a handsome one, standing near the road and surrounded by a high iron railing. There is but a few feet from the original grave, which looks now as if it had only been recently deprived of its tenant. On the front of the monument, facing the road, is the inscription:—
“The world is my country; to do good is my religion.” Thomas Paine.
THOMAS PAINE,
AUTHOR OF
“COMMON SENSE.”
BORN JANUARY THE 29TH, 1737.
DIED JUNE THE 8TH, 1809.
“The palaces of kings are built upon the ruins of the bowers of Paradise.”
“I am sorry to say some people are malicious enough to try and destroy that. A few years ago Mr. Badeau was cutting some flower trees, and I asked him to give me a few to plant around the monument of Thomas Paine. He did so, sir, and they have not all faded away yet. I had a piece of the old headstone that stood over the first grave, but it was stolen from the wall in which I had it embedded, so you see I have taken a little interest in all that concerned Thomas Paine.”
Fearing to tax the old lady’s energies too much the reporter withdrew, thanking the ladies for their kindness and attention.