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Title: The Chautauquan, Vol. III, March 1883
       A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Promotion of True Culture.
       Organ of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

Author: The Chautauquan Literary and Scientific Circle

Editor: Theodore L. Flood

Release Date: February 21, 2015 [EBook #48327]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHAUTAUQUAN, MARCH 1883 ***


Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland, Music transcribed by
June Troyer. and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net Music transcribed by Linda Cantoni.




  THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

  _A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF
  THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._

  VOL. III.      MARCH, 1883.      No. 6.


Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.


_President_, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.

_Superintendent of Instruction_, J. H. Vincent, D. D., Plainfield, N. J.

_General Secretary_, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.

_Office Secretary_, Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.

_Counselors_, Lyman Abbott, D. D.; J. M. Gibson, D. D.; Bishop H. W.
Warren, D. D.; W. C. Wilkinson, D. D.


    Transcriber's Note: This table of contents of this
    periodical was created to aid the reader.




Contents


                           REQUIRED READING
  History of Russia
  Chapter VIII.—The Lithuanian and Livonian Orders                303
  A Glance at the History and Literature of Scandinavia
    Chapter V.—The Romance of Axel                                305
  Pictures from English History
    VI.—A Picturesque Half-Century                                309

                             SUNDAY READINGS
  [March 4.]
  The False Balance Detected by the True                          311
  [March 11.]
  Three Dispensations in History and in the Soul                  313
  [March 18.]
  Three Dispensations                                             314
  [March 25.]
  Three Dispensations                                             316

  Practice and Habit                                              317
  Thoughts and Aphorisms                                          318
  The Comet That Came But Once                                    319
  My Winter Garden                                                320
  Science and Common Sense                                        321
  The Sorrow of the Sea                                           322
  Anecdotes of Fashion                                            323
  Language in Animals                                             323
  The Electric Light                                              325
  Among the Mountains                                             326
  New Mexico                                                      327
  Speculation in Theology                                         329
  Advantage of Warm Clothing                                      332
  In Him Confiding                                                335
  The History of Education
    V.—Egypt, Phœnicia, Judea                                     336
  Song                                                            338
  Tales from Shakspere—Macbeth                                    338
  Before Daybreak, With the Great Comet of 1882                   341
  Social Duties in the Family                                     342
  C. L. S. C. Work                                                345
  C. L. S. C. Songs                                               346
  A Sweet Surprise                                                346
  Local Circles                                                   347
  Questions and Answers
    One Hundred Questions and Answers on “Recreations
      in Astronomy”                                               353
  Answers to Questions For Further Study in the January Number    355
  Outline of C. L. S. C. Studies                                  356
  C. L. S. C. Round-Table—How to Read Together Profitably         356
  The Study of French                                             358
  Editor’s Outlook                                                359
  Editor’s Note-Book                                              361
  Editor’s Table                                                  363
  Our Daily Bread                                                 363
  New Books                                                       364


REQUIRED READING

FOR THE

_Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1882-83_.

MARCH.




HISTORY OF RUSSIA.

By MRS. MARY S. ROBINSON.


_CHAPTER VIII._

THE LITHUANIAN AND LIVONIAN ORDERS.

In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, three new races entered
Slavonia whose character essentially modified its subsequent history.
From the northwest came the Germans, from the east the Tartar Mongols,
from the west the Lithuanians. The modern Russian divisions of Livonia
and Esthonia, with the outlying regions, were peopled in the ninth
century with the Tchud or Lett tribes, of the Finnish race,—the most
ancient, it is believed, of living European peoples. The Russian Finns
of the present time number one and a half million souls; but though
they long retained their distinctive nationality, they have yielded
to the process of “Russification,” and to-day, among the majority
of them, their ancient character is noticeable merely by certain
peculiarities of physiognomy and dialect. They are short and thick
of stature, tough as oak, and of a hickory hue. The countenance is
blurred and unfinished, so to speak. The face is broad and flat, the
cheek bones high, the nose depressed and bridgeless. Their dialects are
primitive and meager. Their manners and superstitions are traceable
to the earliest of known races; their religious observances antedate
those of any known form of paganism. They remain, in fact, pagan at
heart, loyal to their ancient gods, though with these they are willing
to give Saint Nicholas some qualified homage. They recognize a good
and an evil principle, both to be equally revered. An offspring and
mingling of the two is Keremet, who, with his progeny of Keremets, is
more mischievous than malevolent, and to whom, far in the depths of
the forests, offerings and sacrifices are made. The evil principle is
Shaïtan, philologically allied with the Arabic Shatana, and the still
older Hebrew Sâtân. The Finn buys his bride, by paying to her father a
_kalm_ or fee. With his fellows he practices an agricultural communism.
Through a thousand years he has remained without education, incapable,
apparently, of progress, unchangeable. At present, however, the Russian
Finn, along with the other races of the country, is being merged into
the ubiquitous, self-asserting Russian.

The Baltic Letts, occupying Esthonia, had been subjugated by the Dane,
Knut the Great, the conqueror of England. But Livonia had submitted to
the arms of Iaroslaf the Great, who founded there Iurief, later called
Dorpat; and Mstislaf, son of Vladimir Monomakh, had taken one of the
chief cities of the Tchudi. The princes of Polotsk and the republic
of Novgorod claimed the country and virtually bore rule over it. To
Livonia early in the twelfth century came the German merchant in search
of trade, and the Latin priest, seeking souls for his hire and subjects
for his Pope. The monk Meinhard, commissioned by the Archbishop of
Bremen, compulsorily brought the Livonians under his sway, and was
constituted bishop of their country. But this invasion of a stranger
race bearing the wares of commerce, and the authority of Rome behind
the symbol of the cross, implied the overthrow of the untutored but
brave descendants of the Tchud hero Kalevy, the extinction of their
liberties and their independence. In 1187 Meinhard completed a church
at Uexhüll, and surrounded it with a fortification. Eleven years later
the tribes revolted against their episcopal master, and killed him in
open warfare. They then plunged into the Dwina to wash off and send
back to Germany their baptism, and restored to their shrines their
ancient gods. Innocent III preached a crusade against them, and another
bishop, commander of a large fleet, built for his capital the town of
Riga (1200). In the following year was established the Order of the
Brothers of the Army of Christ, or the Sword Bearers, later known as
the Livonian Knights, “men of iron,” who broke the strength of the
tribes, and against whom the Russian princes, occupied with their
own dissensions, made no united resistance. The knights intrenched
themselves firmly in the regions whither they hewed with the sword a
pathway for the cross, and built fortifications of cemented stone,
that were a wonder and a terror to the simple natives, who were driven
in herds to the waters of baptism, or massacred if they offered
resistance. A song of the Tchudi of Pskof, entitled “The Days of
Slavery,” commemorates this period of misery: “Destroying fiends were
unchained against us. The priests strangled us with their rosaries, the
greedy knights plundered us, murderers with their weapons cut us in
pieces. The father of the cross stole our wealth; he stole the treasure
from the hiding place. He hewed down the sacred tree, he polluted the
fountain, the waters of salvation. The axe smote the oak of Tara, the
cruel hatchet the tree of Kero.”

About 1225, a second military order established itself in Livonia, and
built four considerable towns, among them Thorn and Koenigsberg, in
the depopulated country. Their black cross was borne, along with the
red cross of the sword-bearers, and in course of time the two orders
became associated, and together imposed a crushing servitude upon the
remnants of the Tchudi, who were reduced to a form of serfdom; and
though in later times their liberty has been yielded them again, the
German nobility retained their lands. The aboriginal Livonian remained
ever separate from his conqueror, the Papal German. The Kalevy-Poeg,
the epic of the Tchud Esthonians, recites the career of the son of
Kalev, the personification of the race, the hero of Titanic force. He
swam the Gulf of Finland. His club was the trunk of an oak; with his
horse and his immense harrow he plowed all Esthonia; he exterminated
the beasts of prey, conquered the magicians of Finland, and the genii
of the caves. He descended into hell and had single combat with Sarvig,
the horned. He sailed to the ends of the earth, and when the fiery
breath of the northern spirits burned his vessel, he built another of
silver. When the heavens were lurid with the flames of these spirits,
he laughed and said to his pilot: “With their darts of fire they light
us on our way, since the sun has gone to rest, and we are passed beyond
the daylight.” No fury of the elements could destroy him. He went to
the isle of flame, of smoke, and of boiling water, where the mountains
throw forth fire (Iceland). There he encountered a giant woman, who,
plucking grass for her kine, crushed with it several of his sailors, as
if they had been insects. He fought with men whose bodies were those
of dogs, possibly the Greenland Esquimaux; and pauses in his onward
strides only when told by a magician that the wall of the world’s end
is still far away. When he is told of the landing of the sword-bearers,
the men whose armor can neither be pierced with the spear nor cleft
with the axe, his unconquerable heart is troubled. He seeks the tomb
of his father for counsel, but the place is silent; the leaves murmur
plaintively, the winds sigh, the dew itself is moved, the eye of the
clouds is wet, all Esthonian nature shares in the forebodings of the
national hero. He gathers his warriors by the Embach, and raises the
battle cry. Bloody is the field, mournful the victory! All the brave
are slain, the brothers of Kalevy-Poeg among them. His charger is cut
down by the hand of the stranger. He who had overcome the demon Sarvig,
who had laughed at the spirits of the north, could not subdue the men
of iron, whose strength surpassed that of the gods. Captive to Mana,
god of death, his wrist held fast in a cleft of the rock hard by the
gate of hell, he comes no more to vindicate the liberties of his sons,
his people. Long looked they for his return; but like his kinsman,
perhaps his sire, Kolyvan, who lies under the rock whereon is built the
city of Revel, he is holden captive of Mana. Thus sorrowfully closes
the career of the Arthur of this primitive people.

The German planted region was destined to be a thorn in the side of
Russia. Protracted wars were maintained between the foreigners of the
west and the Slavs of the realm. Four hundred years passed ere an
appearance of tranquillity and of union was attained; and even now the
governments of Esthonia and Livonia are not among the more trusted
provinces of the empire. The people of that region, restive under
absolutism, dimly conscious of rights withheld, and of oppressive
restrictions, encourage the spirit of revolution, and invite to their
sea-bordered home many of the malcontents of the empire.

Up to the opening of the thirteenth century, Russian civilization had
kept a relative pace with that of the east. Receiving industries, arts
and religion from Byzantium, and civic form from Scandinavia, it had
been united under Iaroslaf the Great, and had maintained with some
degree of order feudal divisions corresponding to those of the other
European nations in the same centuries. This relative development the
empire bade fair to maintain without serious lapses, when a calamity
utterly without precedent, immeasurably disastrous, suddenly fell upon
the realm, and shattered her incipient civilization beyond the power
of repairing. Nature has been a step-mother to Russia, says one of her
native historians. Fate was a second, a harsher step-mother.

“In those times, (1224) there came upon us, on account of our sins,
unknown nations,” write the chroniclers. No one could tell their
origin, whence they came, what religion they professed. “God alone knew
who they were: God, and perhaps a few wise men learned in books.” All
Europe was affrighted at the apparition of these Asiatic hordes. The
Pope and the sovereigns prepared to meet them with combined forces.
But upon Russia alone fell the shock, the subjugation, the humiliating
servitude, imposed by these numberless and mysterious armies, whom
it was whispered among the people were Gog and Magog, prophesied to
come at the end of the world, when all things would be destroyed by
anti-Christ.

The Ta-ta, Das, or Tatars were Mongol, pastoral tribes, settled at the
base of the Altai Mountains. Occupied exclusively with their flocks,
they wandered from pasture to pasture, from river to river. The Land
of Grass is the name given to-day, by the inhabitants, to modern
Tartary. They built no walls nor towns, knew nothing of writing or
of arts beyond the simplest. Their treaties were made orally. They
were equally destitute of laws and of religion, save perhaps a vague
adoration of the sun. They respected nothing but strength and bravery:
age and weakness they despised, and like other barbarians, they left
the pining, the feeble and the aged among them to perish. Their food
was milk and the flesh of their herds: their clothing was made of the
skins of their animals. They practiced polygamy, and had a community
of wives; when the father died the son married his younger wives.
Trained to ride from their infancy, they were taught also to let fly
their arrows at birds and other small creatures, and thus acquired the
courage and skill essential to their predatory existence. They had no
infantry, and laid no sieges. When they would capture a town, they fell
upon the suburban villages. Each leader seized ten men and compelled
them to carry wood, stones, and whatever material was accessible
for the filling up of fosses. The prisoners were also forced to dig
trenches. But save for purposes of utility, they took no prisoners,
choosing rather the extermination of the entire population.

This barbarous and appalling people, in their earlier advances, invaded
China, whither they passed with incomprehensible suddenness: nor of
the direction of their movements, nor of their departure could aught
be presaged. The present dynasty of that country is of the Mantchoo
Tatars, who, in respect of political influence, are dominant in the
empire.

As they increased and formed a rude nationality, a mighty chief arose
among them, Temutchin, or Genghis Khan. In a general congress of their
princes, assembled early in the thirteenth century, he proclaimed
himself emperor, averring that as but one sun shone in the heavens, in
like manner the whole earth should be subject to one sole sovereign.
Placing himself at the head of this nation, composed of half a
million armed cavalry, he initiated a widely devastating conquest, by
destroying the teeming populations of Mantchuria, Tangut, Northern
China, Turkestan, Great Bokhara, and the remainder of Western Asia to
the plains of the Crimea.

The ruin inflicted by these wild hordes has never been repaired. During
the captainship of Genghis Khan, an approximately correct estimate
shows that eighteen million five hundred thousand human beings were
slaughtered by his horsemen in China and Tangut alone. Turkestan, once
called the Garden of the East, and Great Bokhara, after the lapse of
six centuries, bear the evidences of the Tatar invasion on their many
depopulated wastes. Upon the occupation of Nessa, a town in Kiva, the
people were bound together in couples, and above seventy thousand were
despatched thus by the Tatar arrows. At Merv, seven hundred thousand,
or, according to another authority, one million three hundred thousand
corpses were left to corrupt the atmosphere once teeming with life,
and rich in its bountiful fruitfulness. At Nishapoor, in Persia, seven
hundred and forty-seven thousand lives were extinguished. To prevent
the living from hiding under the piles of the dead, the bodies were
decapitated. At Herat, in Afghanistan, one million six hundred thousand
were mowed down by the Tatar cimetars. After the enemy had vanished,
forty persons, the mournful remnant from the massacre, came together
in the principal mosque of the ruined city. These regions have never
recovered a tithe of their former prosperity.

    [To be continued.]


PRONOUNCING LIST OF RUSSIAN PROPER NAMES.

_Explanation of signs used_: _a_, _e_, _i_, _o_, _u_, long, as in
_fate_, _mete_, _mite_, _mote_, _mute_.

_a_, _e_, _i_, _o_, short, as in _add_, _met_, _if_, _off_.

_ö_ like the prolonged sound of _e_ in _her_.

_ä_, the Italian _a_, as in _arm_.

_ï_, the Italian _i_, like _e_.

_o_, in the syllables of most Russian words, has a sound between _o_
and _o_. For typographical reasons, however, we give simply the _o_,
advising that the vowel sound be not made too long.

_u_, in most Russian syllables, has a liquid sound like _yu_.

Consonants, when succeeding one another, unite their sounds rapidly.
Thus, in _Svi-at´o-slaf_, the sounds of _s_ and _v_ follow one another
much as _s_ and _t_ unite in the English word _step_.

  Altai´; altäï.
  Apemas; ä´pe-mas.
  Askold; as´kold.
  Baikal; ba´kal.
  Blachernae; blä-cher´nae.
  Buslaivitch; bus-la-é-vitch.
  Dir; dïr.
  Dnieper; dnee´per.
  Dniester; dnee´ster.
  Dwina; dwi´na, or dwï´na.
  Esthonia; es-tho´nia.
  Ezeroum; ez-er-oom´.
  Finningia; fin-ning´ia.
  Galitsch; gäl´-itsch.
  Gallicia; gallic´ia.
  Iaroslaf; yar´o-slaf.
  Iaropolk; yar´o-polk.
  Idano; ï-dä´-no.
  Ienikale; yen-i-kä´le.
  Igor; i´gor.
  Ilmen; il´men.
  Izborsk; iz´borsk.
  Kalmuck; käl´mook.
  Kama; kä´ma.
  Karaites; kar-a´tes.
  Karamsin; kar-äm-sin´.
  Kazan; kä-zän´.
  Kazarui; kä-zar-uï´.
  Kherson; ker´son.
  Kiakta; kï-a´kta.
  Kief; keef.
  Kirghiz; keer´jeez.
  Kliasma; klï-as´ma.
  Koenigsberg; kö´-nigs-berg.
  Kroats; kro´äts.
  Kroatia; kro-a´tia.
  Kuria; qu´ria.
  Kyrie Eleison; ky´rie el-ei´-son. (Lord, have mercy upon us.
      Opening of the Greek Liturgy.)
  Lithuania; lith-u-a´nia.
  Livonia; liv-o´nia.
  Meria; me´ria.
  Mikula Selianinovitch; mik´-u-la
  sel-ian-in´ovitch.
  Mir; mïr.
  Morea; mo-re´a.
  Moscow; mos´ko.
  Moskova; mos-ko´va.
  Mstislaf; ms-ti´slaf.
  Murom; mu´rom.
  Muromians; mu-ro´mians.
  Mursk; mursk.
  Neva; ne´va.
  Niemen; nee´men.
  Nijni-Novgorod (Lower Novgorod); nijnï-novgorod.
  Novgorod-severski; nov´gorod-sever´ski.
  Novgorod (Veliki, or the Great); nov´gorod.
  Oka; o´ka.
  Okof; o´kof.
  Oleg; o´leg.
  Olga; ol´ga.
  Olgovitchi; ol-go-vitch´ï.
  Osmomuisl; os-mom´u-isl.
  Peïpus; pay´ee-pus.
  Perum; pa´rum.
  Periaslaf; pe-ri´a-slaf.
  Petchenegs; petch´en-egs.
  Polotsk; pol´otsk.
  Polovtsui; pol-ov-tsuï´.
  Poliane; po-li-ä-né´.
  Pskof; pskof.
  Riazan; rï-a-zan´.
  Rogneda; rog-ne´-da.
  Rurik; ru´rik.
  Russkia pravda; russ-ki´ya präv´da.
  Rostof; rost´of.
  Samoyedes; sam´oi-ëdes.
  Scythia; cith´ia.
  Sineus; sin´-e-us.
  Slav; släv.
  Slavic; släv´ic.
  Slavonic; släv-on´ic.
  Slavonia; släv-on´ia.
  Staraïa Rusa; star-a´-ya ru´-sa.
  Stanovoi; stän-o-voï´.
  Sud; sood.
  Suzdal; suz´däl.
  Sviatoslaf; svï-ä-´to-slaf.
  Tatar; tä´tar.
  Taurid; tau´rid.
  Tcheki; tchek´ï.
  Tcherkess; cher´kess.
  Tchernigof; cher´ni-gof.
  Tcheremisa; tcher-e-mïs´a.
  Tchudi; tchu´di.
  Tchud; tchud.
  Tobolsk; to´bolsk.
  Toropets; to´ro-pets.
  Truvor; tru´vor.
  Tsargrad; tsar´grad.
  Ukase; yu-kase.
  Valdai; väl-däï´.
  Varangian: vä-räng´ian.
  Variag; vä´ri-ag.
  Variag-Slav; vid. Variag and Slav.
  Vasili; vas´-i-li.
  Veliki; vel-ï´-ki.
  Ves; ves.
  Vetché; vetch´é.
  Vladimir; vläd´i-mïr.
  Voivodui; voï-vo-dui´.
  Volhynia; vol-hyn´ia.
  Volkhof; volk´hof.
  Volos; vo´los.
  Zagorodni; zä-go-rod´-ni.
  Zimisces; zim-is´ces.




A GLANCE AT THE HISTORY AND LITERATURE OF SCANDINAVIA.


V.—THE ROMANCE OF AXEL.

Translated by L. A. SHERMAN, PH.D.

We promised ourselves at the beginning of these papers a little
entertainment betweenwhiles, and we have had rather dry reading lately.
The political history of Scandinavia is not very fascinating, except
here and there a period or a reign. Let us then declare a breathing
space, and spend half an hour with Tegnér [Teng-nar´], the most
brilliant and popular poet of the Swedes; besides, it will not be out
of order, for it is of the glorious _Carolinska Tid_, or age of Charles
XII., that we shall hear. Of Tegnér we shall learn hereafter, and I
hope when we have read his poem we shall want to know a great deal
about him. The story is called “Axel” [Ahk-sel], from the name of the
hero, and explains itself. We make no pretentions to reproducing the
poetry, but only something of the directness and force, of the original.

      The ancient days are dear to me,
    The days of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden,
    For they were blithe as peace of Eden,
    And they were bold as victory.
    Nor yet their after-glow hath faded
    From northern skies which time hath shaded,
    But tall and stalwart forms we view,
    With belts of gold and coats of blue,
    Move up and down when evening blushes.
    With reverence my spirit hushes
    To see you, men of nobler day,
    With jerkins buff and steel array.

      I knew in childhood’s days long flown
    One whom King Charles had held of worth.
    He still remained upon the earth
    A trophy, ruinous and lone.
    From locks a century old there shone
    The only silver he possessed,
    And scars told on his brow and breast
    What runes tell on a bauta-stone.[A]
    Though he was poor, he understood
    Want was no foe, but friend concealed;
    He lived as if still in the field,
    His home a hut within the wood.
    Yet had he treasures twain in hoard,
    And deemed them of all wealth the best,—
    His Bible and his ancient sword,
    Which bore Carl Twelfth’s name deep impressed.
    The mighty king’s illustrious deeds,
    Which now no farthest zone but reads
    (For wide that eagle flew around),
    All lay within the old man’s mind
    As urns of warriors lie enshrined
    Within the green-clad burial mound.
    Oh! when he told of risks gone through
    For Charles, and for his lads in blue,
    How swelled his frame, how proud and high,
    How brightly gleamed his kindled eye!
    And mighty as a sabre stroke
    Rang every word the old man spoke.
    Thus oft till late at night he sat,
    And told again the tales we claimed,
    And every time King Charles was named
    Failed not to lift his tattered hat.
    I stood in wonder at his knee
    (No higher reached my wistful face),
    And pictures of his hero-race
    Hath memory kept till now for me;
    And many a saga then enshrined
    Hath since remained within my mind,
    As iris-germs beneath the snow
    In slumber wait their time to grow.

      The old man sleeps in death forgot:
    Peace to his dust! A tale which stirred
    My youth receive. When thou hast heard,
    Weep, North, with me for Axel’s lot.
    Beside the old man’s words sublime
    My song is weak, in humble rhyme.

           *       *       *       *       *

    In Bender Sweden’s sovereign lay.
    His foes had torn his lands away,
    His glory sinking out of sight.
    His people, like a wounded knight,
    Who even feels death’s creeping chill,
    Rose on its knees, resisting still,
    And hope of rescue there was none,
    Except in Charles, the absent one.
    Although the leaves in Fate’s dark book
    Turned in the storm, though nature shook,
    He stood calm like the bomb-proof wall,
    When sacked and burning cities fall,
    Like rocks lashed wildly by the wave,
    Like Resignation on a grave.

      The king had called, one afternoon,
    Young Axel in, the brave dragoon.
    “Here, take this letter, and—away!
    Ride for your life both night and day,
    And straightway when you reach our land,
    Deliver to the council’s hand.
    Go with God’s help, set forth to-night,
    And greet our hills and northern light!”

      Young Axel dearly loved to ride,
    And glad he sewed the letter in
    His hollow belt. At Holofzin
    His father fell the king beside,
    And orphaned thus this son of arms
    Grew up amid the camp’s alarms.
    His frame was strong, such as of old,
    Whose like have not yet vanished all,
    Fresh as a rose, but slight and tall,
    Like pines upon the Swedish mould.

           *       *       *       *       *

    The keen-eyed king had placed him in
    His body-guard, souls near of kin.
    They numbered seven, a slender troop
    As are the stars of Charles’s Wain,
    At most nine, like the muses’ group,
    And hard the honor was to gain.
    By sword and fire their claims were tried,
    They were a Christian viking-stock,
    Not unlike that which once defied
    All dangers of the wave and rock.
    They never slept upon a bed,
    But on their cloaks spread on the ground,
    In storms and northwest snows as sound
    As if on daisied meads instead.
    A horse-shoe they could press together,
    And never in the wildest weather
    Approached the hearthstone’s crackling light,
    But warmed themselves with shot,[B] each one,
    As red as when the rayless sun
    Goes down in blood some winter’s night.
    The rule was when in strife exposed
    That one might yield if seven opposed,
    His breast still turned to their attack,
    For none must ever see his back.
    And last there was this law beside,
    The most austere, perhaps, of all,
    To let no maid bring them in thrall,
    Till Charles himself should take a bride.
    However blue two eyes might smile,
    However red two lips beguile,—
    They all must shut their eyes—or flee:
    Their swords were pledged, they must be free.

      Young Axel saddled glad his steed,
    And rode both night and day with speed.
    When Ukrane’s boundaries drew near
    The sudden gleam of lance and spear
    Flashed round him, spurring through a wood.
    At once the ambush rose and stood:
    “Thou art the bearer of commands;
    Give up the letter to our hands,
    Dismount and give it up, or die.”
    Then rang his sword its swift reply,
    And he who spoke, grown wondrous meek,
    Bowed to the earth with piercing shriek.
    His back now screened against an oak
    Now Axel meets each stroke with stroke.
    Wherever fell that ponderous sword,
    There knees were bent and blood was poured;
    And thus he gave his oath support.
    Not one to seven, that were but sport,
    But one to twenty rang his blade:
    Resistance such as Krakë made.
    To life by hope no longer bound,
    He sought but fellowship in death.
    The purple mouth of many a wound,
    Now whispers with enfeebled breath
    That strength and life are taking flight.
    His hand no longer knows the steel,
    And swooning darkness sets its seal
    Upon his eyes, he sinks in night.

      “Halloo!” With shouts the wood resounds,
    And falcons bold and faithful hounds
    Press hard upon their frightened prey,
    And now the hunters dash this way.
    And first upon a roan-flecked steed,
    And vying with the wind for speed,
    An Amazon rides like a queen,
    With cheek of rose and robe of green.
    The robber gang affrighted fled,
    But she whose steed chafed at the dead
    Dismounted with a single bound
    Where lay he, as within some dale
    An oak thrown prostrate by the gale
    Lies on the copse which clothes the ground.
    How fair he lay, though bathed in gore!
    And over him Maria[C] bent,
    As fair Diana long before
    On Latmos, also well content
    That dogs and din of chase were gone,
    Bent over her Endymion.
    The slumberer who caused her bliss
    Was surely not more fair than this.
    A spark of life had still endured
    Within his breast, and, soon procured,
    They raise the fallen to a bier
    Of interwoven twigs, and bear
    It slowly forth with reverent care,
    And seek her dwelling, which was near.

      She sat beside his couch, oppressed
    With anxious cares that leave their trace,
    And fastened on his pallid face
    A look well worth a realm’s acquest.
    She sat as in the groves of Greece
    (That land of beauty overthrown),
    The wild rose blooms in noiseless peace
    By prostrate Hercules in stone.
    At last he wakes to consciousness,
    And looks around him in distress.
    Alas! his eye before so mild
    Now glares deliriously wild.
    “Where am I? Girl, why art thou here?
    To King Carl’s service I am bound,
    And must not look on thee; thy tear
    I will not have within my wound.—
    My sire beyond the milky way
    Is wroth: he heard the oath I took.
    How fair, though, is the tempter’s look!
    How winning! Satan, hence, away!—
    Where is my belt and my commands?
    I took them from my king’s own hands.
    My father’s sword is good, it smites
    With special hate on Muscovites.—
    Oh! what delight it was to slay!
    I would the king had seen the fray:
    Like prostrate harvests lay the dead.
    It almost seemed I also bled.—
    I bore dispatches from the war,
    My honor stands in pledge therefor.
    Waste not a moment more,—away!”
    She heard his ravings with dismay,
    While swooning sank her hero then
    Exhausted on his couch again.

      Thus grappled life with death anew
    Till life had won the youth at last,
    And slowly was the danger passed,
    When Axel now could calmly view
    With glance restored, though weak and dim,
    The angel bending over him.
    She was not like the idyl’s queen,
    Who roves and sighs in groves of green,
    The counterfeit of languishing,
    With locks bright gold like suns of spring,
    And cheeks deep-dyed as Julian flowers,
    And eyes like blue-bells after showers.
    She was an Oriental maid.
    Her dark, rich locks which fell unstayed,
    Seemed midnight round a bed of roses;
    And on her brow was throned the grace
    Of cheerfulness, as in the face
    An Amazonian shield exposes,—
    The face and mien of victory.
    Its hue was like Aurora’s haze,
    Which artists paint with clouds of rays.
    Of form so shapely, gait so free,
    She seemed a Dryad from the grove;
    And high and deep her bosom’s sea
    Of youth and health swelled ceaselessly.
    A body all divinely wove
    Of roses red and lilies white,
    A soul of only fire and light,—
    A summer and a southern sky
    With fragrance filled and golden beams.
    She cast on all a glance as proud
    As looks Jove’s eagle from the cloud,
    Yet mild as are the doves that bear
    The car of Venus through the air.

      O Axel! Wounds soon lose their smart,
    And nothing but the scars remain.
    Thy breast is healed, thy thoughts are sane,
    But ah! how is it with thy heart?
    Look not so fondly at the hand
    Which bound thy wounds with gentle band;
    That hand as white as sculptor’s stone,—
    It must not linger in thine own.
    It is more dangerous by far
    Than angry Turkish hands last year,
    In Bender, callous with the spear
    And cimeter, and many a scar.
    Those lips so fresh in changeless red,
    Which only whisper when they ope
    In spirit-lays of trust and hope,—
    Far better didst thou hear instead
    Czar Peter’s hundred cannon roar
    In line at Pultava once more.
    When pale thou walkest in the heat,
    With drooping limbs and stumbling feet,
    Lean, Axel, on thy sword alone,
    Not on that arm beside thine own,
    Which Love hath formed so round and fair
    That he might make his pillow there.

      O Love! all miracles in one!
    Thou breath of universal bliss!
    Thou breeze of heaven which comes to kiss
    Life’s groves beneath their sweltering sun!
    Thou open heart in Nature’s breast,
    The solace both of gods and men!
    Each ocean-drop clings to the rest,
    And all the stars that smile above
    Wind on from pole to pole again
    Their bride-dance round the suns they love.
    Yet love is in the human mind
    But twilight of remembered rays
    From fairer and from better days,[D]
    When once a little maid she twined
    The dance in heaven’s azure hall
    With silver crowns on arch and wall,
    And when in weariness would rest,
    Slept nestled on her father’s breast.
    Then was she rich as reason’s powers
    Of growth, her speech was only prayer,
    And each her brother of the fair
    And winged sons in heaven’s bowers.
    But ah! she fell; and here her love
    Is no more pure like that above.
    Yet in the lover oft she traces
    Lines from her heavenly kindred’s faces,
    And hears their voice in notes of spring,
    And in the songs the poets sing.
    How glad, how sweet that moment is!
    As when upon some desert track
    The Swiss hears sounds which straight bring back
    His Alpine childhood’s memories.

      The sun was sinking. Evening lay
    Still couched and dreaming in the west,
    And mute as priests of Egypt pressed
    The stars along their opening way:
    And earth stood in the evening’s hush
    As blessed as a bride stands fair
    With diamonds in her raven hair,
    And veil which hides not smile or blush.
    From all day sports now seeking rest
    The Naiad smiled in glad repose,
    While twilight’s blush with hue of rose
    Glowed tremblingly upon her breast.
    The Cupids, bound while day-beams crown
    The gazing sky, are loosed and rove
    With bow and arrows up and down
    Upon the moon-beams in the grove,—
    The darksome green triumphal gate
    Which spring had entered through of late.
    From dripping oaks the nightingale
    Struck notes which echoed through the dale
    As tender, innocent and chaste
    As lays which Franzen’s[E] muse has graced.
    It was as if, her cares dismissed,
    Now nature kept her hour of tryst,
    All stir, and yet such hush complete
    Thou might’st have heard her bosom beat.
    Then did the twain in winsome bliss
    Together rove the hours away.
    As groom and bride change rings, so they
    Exchanged their childhood’s memories.
    He told her of the days he spent
    Still in his mother’s house content,
    Which, built of fir and painted red,
    Stood lone, with pines on every hand,
    And of his cherished fatherland,
    And of dear sisters, all now dead.
    Then told he how his soul was stirred
    By all the battle-songs he heard,
    And sagas which, whoever reads,
    Will wake desire for valiant deeds,
    And how he dreamed full many a night
    He sat in armor burnished white
    Upon the giant charger Grane,
    And rode like Sigurd Fafnisbane
    Through Vafur’s flames, to where the maid
    Of memory dwells in castle walls
    Which gleam afar when evening falls
    Throughout the mountain laurel glade.
    Thick grew his breath, close grew his room,
    He rushed out in the forest’s gloom,
    Climbed up and joined with boyish glee
    The eagle on the highest tree,
    And rocked before the northern blast.
    It cooled his cheek, it cooled his heart.
    How happy could he but depart
    Upon the cloud-wain hurrying past,
    And wend him yonder through the air
    To that far world, so bright and fair,
    Where victory beckons, and renown
    Stands holding out her laurel crown,
    And where King Charles (though he has known
    But seven more years of youth than thou),
    Is plucking crowns from Europe’s brow,
    And keeping none except his own.
    “At length I won at fifteen years
    My mother’s blessing, and with tears
    Embraced her, and to camp I went;
    And there my life has since been spent,
    And has shone true as beacon rays
    Amid the rage and rush of men.
    Yet saw I birds come back again,
    And feed their young on summer days,
    Or saw I boys who lay and played
    Beside some brook in flowers and shade;
    Then did the roar of guns grow faint,
    For peaceful visions rose between
    Of golden harvests, groves of green,
    And children glad in unrestraint;
    And by a quiet cottage door
    A maiden stood, and evening’s flame
    Lit up her face, which was the same
    I oft in dreams had seen before.
    And now these pictures seek me here,
    And in my mind throng ceaselessly;
    I shut my eyes, and yet I see
    Them not less animate and clear,—
    And find the maid of my idea
    An image of thyself, Maria!”

      Embarrassed then replied Marie:
    “How blest of fortune is your sex!
    No chains of destiny can vex
    Your strength, born only to be free;
    And danger’s spell, and honor’s throne,—
    Yea, earth and heaven, are yours alone.
    But woman’s destiny is sealed
    As man’s appendage to his life,
    A bandage on his wounds in strife,
    Forgotten when they once are healed.
    She is the sacrifice, but he
    The flame that soars, and shines afar.—
    My sire fell battling for the Czar;
    My mother’s face can memory
    But dimly trace, and here her child
    In solitude grew strong and wild
    Within these halls, without caress,
    Where worship serfs, if in each whim
    Their master find they humor him,
    The idol of their wretchedness.
    The noble soul must grow ashamed
    Of life so willing to be tamed.
    Hast thou seen roam the steppe’s vast space
    Our beautiful, wild charger race?
    Bold as the chief, fleet like the doe,
    It serves and knows no master’s will,
    But pricks its ear, and, standing still,
    Scents danger in the winds that blow,
    Then sudden in a cloud of dust
    It darts away from its mistrust,—
    Fights all the foes it ever had
    With hoof unshod, chafes, or is glad.
    ‘How blest ye children of the plains,
    How sweet and free your green domains?’
    So have I cried and bid them stay,
    Whenever on my Tartar steed
    I have approached with careful speed
    Their throng, and myriad-answering neigh.
    Obeying not with scornful eye
    They looked at us, and passed us by.
    Intolerable then became
    These halls, so endlessly the same.
    Then zealously I won the skill
    To brave the wolves upon the hill,
    The vultures in their native air,
    And rescued often from the bear
    A life before of little worth.
    Alas! although we strive from birth,
    We can not, Nature, thwart thy will.
    Be it a throne she sits upon,
    As peasant maid or Amazon,
    Thy woman is a woman still,
    A withering vine if not upheld,
    A being with its half withheld:
    No unshared joy can she possess,
    For twin-born is her happiness.
    Within my heart there ever beats
    A pain, yet sweeter borne than not,
    A yearning for I know not what,
    So grievous, yet so full of sweets.
    It has no limits, has no aim:
    It is as if with wings it came
    And bore me upward from the base
    And groveling earth to yonder space,
    Where stars and suns with gathering light
    Surround God’s throne in farthest night;
    Again as if, I fell apace,
    Down from the dizzy heights above,
    Ye dear existences, to you,
    Ye trees with which through life I grew,
    Thou brook, with all thy songs of love,
    Thou cliff with flowers upon thy brow!
    A thousand times have I seen you,
    But as a statue’s face might view,—
    I love you now—first love you now!
    I do not love myself so much,—
    A sentiment of nobler touch
    I find within, since I....” Then sped
    Across her cheek the deepest red,
    And what her words left unexpressed
    Was in a half-sigh uttered best.

      And all was hushed except the lone
    Far nightingale renewed its song,
    And in a kiss that lingered long,
    Their souls communing blissfully
    Dissolved in perfect harmony.
    They kissed as kiss in sacrifice
    Two altar-flames, which thus unite,
    And shine with an intenser light
    As nearer heaven’s door they rise.
    To them the world had fled from sight,
    And time desisted from its flight.
    Each hour of time’s mortality
    Is measured by the strictest line,
    But death’s cold kiss, and love’s divine
    Are children of eternity.


[To be continued.]


FOOTNOTES:

[A] A monument with runic inscription, raised over a fallen warrior.

[B] That is by a red-hot cannon ball, placed at the middle of the tent.

[C] Pronounced as in Swedish, Marea. Marie, which occurs below, is
pronounced Mare´.

[D] The author does not here personify love, but reversing the process,
considers it once a person and inhabitant of heaven, now degraded to be
a mere quality on earth.

[E] A poet-bishop of Sweden, much admired by Tegnér.


       *       *       *       *       *

    “There is in human nature a general inclination to make
    people stare; and every wise man has himself to cure of
    it, and does cure himself. If you wish to make people
    stare by doing better than others, why make them stare
    till they stare their eyes out! But consider how easy it
    is to make people stare by being absurd. I may do it by
    going into a drawing-room without my shoes. You remember
    the gentleman in ‘The Spectator,’ who had a commission of
    lunacy taken out against him for his extreme singularity,
    such as never wearing a wig, but a night-cap. Now, sir,
    abstractedly, the night-cap was best: but, relatively, the
    advantage was overbalanced by his making the boys run after
    him.”—_Boswell, reporting Samuel Johnson._




PICTURES FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.

By C. E. BISHOP.


VI.—A PICTURESQUE HALF-CENTURY.

A picture of the times of Edward III should be one of strong lights and
shades. His fifty years were crowded with events remarkable in their
nature and of powerful influence on England, then and thereafter. His
wars by land and sea revolutionized the military ideas of Europe; the
invincible English infantry rose, and the thunder of the first cannon
proclaimed the end of chivalry; the organization of the House of
Commons and the enlistment of soldiers for stipend introduced in its
full effect the safe policy of “control of the sovereign by the control
of his purse.” The foundation of Flemish manufactures in England, and
the opening of the New Castle coal trade on the one hand, with the
labors of Wickliffe and Chaucer on the other, were alone sufficient to
make any reign memorable.

It is a matter of wonder that “philosophers of history” have not made
more study of the pregnant events of this reign. It is a matter of
greater wonder that writers of romance and the drama have not more
utilized its highly-colored scenes; the reigns of John and Richard
II, which Shakspere seized as food for his pen, seem tame in the
comparison—the more so because Froissart’s minute and picturesque
“Chronicles” have preserved a wealth of material of these events ready
to the modern adapter’s hand. This variety of strong situations should
have half a dozen “pictures” instead of one. Perhaps we can “photograph
them down” into a group of seven vignettes for our one “Picture.”

First shows us Edward, the boy of ten years, taken by his mother to
her brother’s court at Paris and there made the unwitting tool to work
the dethronement and death of his father (Edward II). His mother has
sold his hand in marriage to the Count of Hainault’s infant daughter
for troops to invade England withal. He becomes nominal king at the age
of fifteen, but his mother and her brilliantly bad paramour, Mortimer,
are the real rulers of England. His luckless Scotch campaign should be
seen, in which his army was wasted and used up without a blow being
struck, because the Scotch on their Highland ponies, with a bag of
oatmeal dough and a pan-cake griddle at their saddles, needed no base
of supplies, and just starved out and tired out the richly equipped
English army—Isabella and Mortimer plotting the whole thing to ruin the
young king’s popularity and avert the catastrophe which their black
prophetic souls but too surely anticipated. For there is Nottingham
Castle, the home of the two conspirators. The guards are changed every
night and the keys kept under the queen’s pillow; and no nobleman is
allowed to bring his retinue nearer than five miles from the walls.
Good reason have they to be thus careful and suspicious after their
five years of riot and usurpation; but their care avails not. The king
is twenty years old and the only man in England capable of delivering
her. We can see to this day the underground passage beneath the castle
walls, where Edward and his few trusted knights went in and burst open
Mortimer’s bed-room, where he was himself plotting the death of Edward.
Comes the queen rushing in, _en déshabillé_, screaming, “Do not hurt my
darling Mortimer!” Mortimer goes to the block, nevertheless; and the
scene closes with the guilty queen’s agony for the loss of the only
love of her unhappy life, her succeeding years of alternate brooding
and raving, while all Europe is ringing with the feats of her son and
grandson, (the Black Prince), not one ray of which glory penetrated the
gloom of her solitary mourning over a lost and guilty passion. Is not
this opening picture of the reign sufficiently tragic?

Next we should have the first exhibitions of the equally unholy passion
of Edward for foreign conquest. His intrigues in the Netherlands for
the invasion of France are a study in early diplomacy. A foremost
figure in the scene is the remarkable “Brewer of Ghent,” de Artevelde,
whose romantic career and tragic death at the hands of the people he
most loved and benefited, because they resented his devotion to Edward,
“read like a novel.” Here appear, too, the sturdy burghers of the
Netherlands, painted by Motley’s matchless pen:

    “Commerce plucks up half drowned Holland by the locks and
    pours gold into her lap. Fishermen and river raftsmen
    become ocean adventurers and merchant princes. Flemish
    weavers become mighty manufacturers. Armies of workmen,
    fifty thousand strong, tramp through the swarming streets.
    Silk-makers, clothiers, brewers, become the gossips of
    kings, lend their royal gossips vast sums and burn the royal
    notes of hand in fires of cinnamon wood. Wealth brings
    strength, strength confidence. Learning to handle cross-bow
    and dagger, the burghers fear less the baronial sword,
    finding that their own will cut as well, seeing that great
    armies—flowers of chivalry—can ride away before them fast
    enough at battles of spears and other encounters.... And so,
    struggling along their appointed path, making cloth, making
    money, making treaties with great kingdoms, making war by
    land and sea, ringing great bells, waving great banners,
    these insolent, boisterous burghers accomplish their work.”

These burghers took all Edward’s money for fighting and did not fight.
From three invasions of France their armies came back with whole skins
and full pockets, until Edward was beggared, his crown jewels pawned,
his estates mortgaged, and he at last obliged to give hostages to the
thrifty Dutchmen for payment of their claims.

But, three things resulted: (1) “The Brewer of Ghent” advising it,
Edward laid claim to the throne of France as next in succession by his
mother’s prior right, and thus began the Hundred Years’ War, of great
portent to both countries. (2) Edward and his queen, Phillippa of
Hainault, transplanted colonies of Flemish manufacturers to England,
and laid the foundation of her wealth and independence. (3) Edward’s
necessity proved England’s opportunity, and every appropriation for his
wars was the occasion of new demands for parliamentary privilege and
popular rights.

This vignette closes with the great naval battle off Sluys (June 24,
1340), so quaintly described by Froissart; in which we have the strange
spectacle of iron-clad French knights fighting on shipboard, sturdy
English sailors boarding and incontinently pitching them into the sea,
where, like Falstaff, they “have a kind of alacrity in sinking,”—the
result being a victory so striking that it “made the Channel an English
lake for two hundred years,” and a calamity so complete that no one
dared to break the news to the French king, and so they set the court
fools to berating in his presence “the cowardly English who dared
not jump into the sea as your majesty’s soldiers did.” This victory
redeemed Edward’s military renown, and began to stir the slow blood
of England at last. The idea of annexing France, which had so long
regarded England as only a Norman-French colony, began to take a hold
on all classes.

The third scene should open with the little wars in Little Britain, the
“wars of the two Janes,” wives of the dead dukes of Brittany, England
and France aiding respective sides. Jane de Montfort’s heroic defense
of Hennebon; her promise to her despairing garrison to surrender within
three days should not the English succor arrive; her discovery of the
English fleet in the offing at day-break of the third day; and how
she came down from the walls after her allies had beaten and driven
off the French and “kissed Sir Walter Manny and all his knights like
a noble and valiant dame;” and then her subsequent naval victory in
the channel, when she stood on the deck of her flag-ship, in complete
armor, and vanquished her assailants—all this was just the thing to
“fire the hearts” of English chivalry. It only needed in addition the
promise of unlimited booty to raise an army of English yeomen—not of
Dutch burghers—for the invasion of France (1346). The Norman spoliation
is requited with interest after two hundred and eighty years; booty and
prisoners are sent home by the ship load; the very hostlers of Edward’s
army wear velvets and fine furs every day. Now we come to the wonderful
battle of Cressy—more full of romantic incident than any other of
modern times, save possibly that of Poictiers, its companion-piece, in
the same reign. On the English side 7,000 jaded, retreating men—on the
French, 60,000 of the best and freshest recruits. But this handful of
men, untitled and unarmored, shall overthrow that host of steel-clad
warriors, with genealogies as long as their lances, and an ancient
culture of arms as useless as their metal overcoats before the English
yeomen, in their buff and green jerkins. Here the peal of the new
bombards—“the thunder of God,” the French called it—also told of a new
order of war. The world had moved and the French had not discovered
it; while the English had, for they moved it! The picture is full of
incident. There stands Edward, on the hill by the windmill, refusing
to send reinforcements to the beset Black Prince. “Let the boy win
his spurs. This shall be his victory.” Over here is the brave, blind,
old king of Bohemia, who has heard the battle is going badly, and he
insists on being led into the fray where he may strike one blow for
France and honor, and is struck down. _Ich dien_[F] is blazoned on his
crest—a motto which an admiring and commiserating foe is to take up and
fulfill in proud humility, a young warrior of sixteen years—

                  Edward, the Black Prince,
    Who on the French ground played a tragedy,
    Making defeat on the full power of France,
    Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
    Stood smiling to behold his lion’s whelp
    Forage in blood of French nobility.

The slaughter of thirty thousand French—Edward had them carefully
counted—by this handful of English made French prowess forever after
despised in the homes and market-places of England.

The next condensed picture is of the siege of Calais. An English city
springs up around the doomed fortress, and for a year the English
trade, feast, game and tourney before the starving garrison. Scotland
thinks this a good time to strike England. Queen Phillippa is anon
in the field with an English army, and at Nevill’s Cross (October,
1346) there is another exhibition of Amazonian chivalry. King David
of Scotland is taken prisoner and by a common soldier, plain John
Copeland, as if everything must be extraordinary and strange. John
hurries his royal prize away to the castle of Ogle, and sturdily
refuses to give him up to the queen or to any man but King Edward
himself. Just the same John was knighted and rewarded; he would have
lost his head in any other country. Phillippa goes happy enough over
to Calais to spend Christmas and receive the plaudits of Europe and
of her lord, which she thought more of. We must take in Froissart’s
fancy sketch of the surrender of Calais. The six wealthy burghers
voluntarily march out, barefooted, in their shirts, halters about
their necks, to die vicariously for the rest of the Calaisians; at the
pitiful sight all the English generals intercede with Edward for mercy,
but he will not; the queen goes on her knees and pleads so eloquently
that the stoutest warriors drop surreptitious tears; the king, with
recollections of Nevill’s Cross and the anticipation of another royal
child soon to come, can not withstand this, and he says, rather
ungraciously, he wishes the queen had been farther away that day, but
he supposes she will have it so; and she gives the six citizens each
his life, his liberty, a good suit of clothes and a banquet—the last
being esteemed not the least of the gifts after their long diet on dogs
and horses. All this dear old Froissart tells, and it does not impair
its acceptation in history that he evolved the whole incident from
his inner consciousness—any more than does the fact that good parson
Weems invented the incident of George Washington and the cherry tree
injure that story’s currency. In fact, sober history of those times
is more marvelous than anything that even the imaginative Froissart
could invent. Calais remained an English stronghold and base of English
operations in France for two hundred years.

It is now 1347, and all England gives itself up to months of festivity,
and patting its own back for its French feats. There are brilliant
tournaments and balls, in which the captive king of Scotland and
captive French nobles take part as heartily as if they were victors.
The Noble Order of the Garter is established with imposing ritual and
brilliant festivities, and St. George becomes England’s titular saint.
Now occurs Edward’s attempted intrigue with the Countess of Salisbury,
who is as wise, brave and pure as she is beautiful. The noble part she
played makes her, in our eyes, a greater heroine than Phillippa and
“the two Janes.” She taught Edward such a lesson of propriety that
he was able to turn her own confusion at a court ball into a lesson
in modesty to the tittering lords and ladies, as he clasped the lost
garter on his own knee and said, “_Evil be to him who evil thinks_.”
And so it comes that the highest order of English nobility and the
noble motto on her coat of arms commemorates a pure woman’s holding
fast to her integrity. Is not this the best of all the vignettes?

But there is an awfully dark background to it. A rude stop was put
to all these rejoicings by the Black Death (1348-50). This Chinese
epidemic swept desolation over all Europe. One-third of the population
of England was carried off; half the people of London died, and it was
difficult to find places of burial. The king’s daughter was one of its
victims, and her death took place while she was _en route_ to Spain to
be married; she was buried in the church she was to have been married
in. The loss of laborers and beasts was so great that famine was added
to pestilence. But these dreadful dispensations contributed to the
overthrow of slavery and hastened the downfall of the Plantagenets. To
counteract the effects of the scarcity of help the Statute of Laborers
was passed, a law which attempted to fix the price of labor and to
prevent villeins leaving their masters. This act was at the bottom of
Wat Tyler’s rebellion in the next reign, and that was the beginning
of the end of slavery. The revolt of the laboring classes proved a
powerful aid to the spread of Lollardism, and that was the beginning
of the Reformation. Thus do remote blessings flow from dark and
inscrutable causes.

A more resplendent scene follows, by way of contrast again: The
wonderful battle of Poictiers (September 19, 1356), in the heart of
France, whither the Black Prince has recklessly pushed his maraudings.
Here ten thousand English defeated sixty thousand French, and took the
French king, John, prisoner. This completed the humiliation of France,
and “she found in her desolation a miserable defence against invasion.”
King John was borne to London in honor—for the chivalrous prince would
not triumph over his captive, and humbly waited on him at table as his
superior in rank. Then did his motto, _Ich dien_, shine brightly.

Another contrast: “Last scene of all that ends this strange, eventful
history is second childishness and mere oblivion” to honor and fame
on the part of Edward III. Phillippa was dead. The Black Prince had
died, his last battle being disgraced by an inhuman slaughter of all
his prisoners. The great warrior king in his dotage is the degraded
creature of wicked Alice Perrers. Faction and contention rule at court,
and discontent is in the land. The old king is on his death-bed. Alice
Perrers hastily gathers her wealth, seizes the king’s jewels, even
strips the rings from his fingers, and flees. The servants rifle the
palace, and the mighty conqueror is left to meet a mightier—alone. Thus
a wandering friar finds the apartments deserted, the doors standing
open, and a wasted, gray old man dying alone.

    “Mighty Cæsar, dost thou lie so low?
     Are all thy conquests, triumphs, glories, spoils,
     Shrunk to this little measure?”

The true glory of the reign remains to be told. Wickliffe’s brave
revolt against Rome called to life the love of religious liberty there
was in English character, and it never went out again even before the
fires of persecution; while Chaucer called to life the hidden riches of
the old-new English tongue, and the revelation drove the Norman speech,
the last relic of England’s subjugation, out of court, school, and
Parliament, in a statute formally recognizing the King’s English. The
complete organization of the House of Commons adds another land-mark of
the world’s progress.

Thus the chief glories of Edward Third’s time were not of his securing
or voluntary promoting, and the resulting advantages to the world can
hardly be in their fullness ascribed to any direct human agency. To
whose, then?

    [To be continued.]

FOOTNOTE:

[F] “I serve.”




SUNDAY READINGS.

SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D.


[_March 4._]

THE FALSE BALANCE DETECTED BY THE TRUE.

By REV. WM. ARNOT, D.D.

    “All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but the
    Lord weigheth the spirits. Commit thy works unto the Lord,
    and thy thoughts shall be established.”

The first of these two verses tells how a man goes wrong, and the
second how he may be set right again. He is led into error by doing
what pleases himself; the rule for recovery is to commit the works to
the Lord, and see that they are such as will please him. If we weigh
our thoughts and actions in the balances of our own desires, we shall
inevitably go astray; if we lay them before God, and submit to his
pleasure, we shall be guided into truth and righteousness.

Such is the purport of the two verses in general; attend now to the
particulars in detail: “All the ways of a man are clean in his own
eyes.” To a superficial observer this declaration may seem inconsistent
with experience; but he who wrote these words has fathomed fully the
deep things of a human spirit. As a general rule, men do the things
which they think right, and think the things right which themselves do.
Not many men do what they think evil, and while they think it evil.
The acts may be obviously evil, but the actor persuades himself of the
contrary, at least until they are done. There is an amazing power of
self-deception in a human heart. It is deceitful above all things. It
is beyond conception cunning in making that appear right which is felt
pleasant. Some, we confess, are so hardened, that they sin in the face
of conscience, and over its neck; but for one bold, bad man, who treads
on an awakened conscience in order to reach the gratification of his
lust, there are ten cowards who drug the watcher into slumber, that
they may sin in peace. As a general rule, it may be safely said, if you
did not think the act innocent, you would not do it; but when you have
a strong inclination to do it, you soon find means to persuade yourself
that it is innocent. After all, the real motive power that keeps the
wheels of human life going round is this:—Men like the things that
they do, and do the things that they like. In his own eyes a man’s ways
are clean: if he saw them filthy, he would not walk in them. But when
he desires to walk in a particular way, he soon begins to count it
clean, in order that he may peacefully walk in it.

In his _own eyes_: Mark the meaning of these words. Be not deceived;
God is not mocked. Eyes other than his own are witnessing all the
life-course of a man. The eyes of the Lord are in every place. He does
not adopt our inclination as the standard of right and wrong, and he
will not borrow our balances to determine his own judgment in that day.
“The Lord weigheth the spirits.” Not a thought, not a motive, trembles
in the breast which he does not weigh; more evidently, though not more
surely, are the gross and palpable deeds of our life open before him!
He has a balance nice enough to weigh motives—the animating soul of our
actions; our actions themselves will not escape his scrutiny.

Before we proceed to any “work” we should weigh it, while yet it is a
“spirit” unembodied, in the balances which will be used in the judgment
of the great day. Letters are charged in the postoffice according to
their weight. I have written and sealed a letter consisting of several
sheets; I desire that it should pass; I think that it will; but I
know well that it will not be allowed to pass because I desire that
it should, or think that it will; I know well it will be tested by
imperial weights and imperial laws. Before I plunge it beyond my reach,
under the control of the public authorities, I place it on a balance
which stands on the desk before me—a balance not constructed to please
my desires, but honestly adjusted to the legal standard. I weigh it
there, and check it myself by the very rules which the government will
apply. The children of this world are wise for their own interests. We
do not shut our eyes, and cheat ourselves as to temporal things and
human governments; why should we attempt to deceive where detection
is certain and retribution complete? On the table before you lies the
very balance in which the Ruler of heaven and earth will weigh both the
body of the act and the motive, the soul that inspires it. Weigh your
purposes in this balance before you launch them forth in action. The
man’s ways are unclean, although, through a deceitful heart, they are
clean in his own eyes; by what means, therefore, “shall a young man
cleanse his way? By taking heed thereto according to thy word” (Ps.
cxix:9).

A most interesting practical rule is laid down as applicable to the
case—“Commit thy works unto the Lord;” and a promise follows it—“Thy
thoughts shall be established.” It is a common and a sound advice,
to ask counsel of the Lord before undertaking any work. Here we have
the counterpart lesson equally precious—commit the work to the Lord,
after it is done. The Hebrew idiom gives peculiar emphasis to the
precept—Roll it over on Jehovah. Mark the beautiful reciprocity of the
two, and how they constitute a circle between them. While the act is
yet in embryo as a purpose in your mind, ask counsel of the Lord, that
it may either be crushed in the birth or embodied in righteousness.
When it is embodied, bring the work back to the Lord, and give it
over into his hands as the fruit of the thought which you besought
him to inspire; give it over into his hands as an offering which he
may accept, an instrument which he may employ. Bring the work, when
it is done, to the Lord; and what will follow?—“Thy thoughts shall be
established.” Bring back the actions of your life to God, one by one,
after they are done, and thereby the purposes of your heart will be
made pure and steadfast; the evil will be chased away like smoke before
the wind, and the good will be executed in spite of all opposition; for
“when a man’s ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at
peace with him.”

A boy, while his stock of experience is yet small, is employed by his
father to lend assistance in certain mechanical operations. Pleased to
think himself useful, he bounds into the work with heart and hand; but
during the process, he has many errands to his father. At the first he
runs to ask his father how he ought to begin; and when he has done a
little, he carries the work to his father, fondly expecting approval,
and asking further instructions. Oh, when will the children of God in
the regeneration experience and manifest the same spirit of adoption
which animates dear children as an instinct of nature toward fathers of
their flesh! These two rules, following each other in a circle, would
make the outspread field of a Christian’s life sunny, and green, and
fruitful, as the arching of the solid system brightens and fertilizes
the earth.

Perhaps this latter hemisphere of duty’s revolving circle is the more
difficult of the two. Perhaps most professing Christians find it
easier to go to God beforehand, asking what they should do, than to
return to him afterward to place their work in his hands. This may in
part account for the want of answer to prayer,—at least the want of a
knowledge that prayer has been answered. If you do not complete the
circle, your message by telegraph will never reach its destination,
and no answer will return. We send in earnest prayer for direction,
and thereafter go into the world of action; but if we do not bring the
action back to God, the circle of the supplication is not completed.
The prayer does not reach the throne; the message acknowledging it
comes not back to the suppliant’s heart. To bring all the works to the
Lord would be in the character of a dear child: it would please the
Father. A young man came to his father, and received instructions as to
his employment for the day. “Go work in my vineyard,” was the parent’s
command. “I go, sir,” was the ready answer of the son. Thus far, all
was well; but the deed that followed was disobedience. The son went not
to work in the father’s vineyard; but we do not learn that he came back
in the evening to tell his father what he had done. To have done so
would either have kept him right, or corrected him for doing wrong.

But some of the works are evil, and how could you dare to roll these
over on the Lord? Ah! there lies the power of this practical rule. If
it were our fixed and unvarying practice to bring all our works and lay
them into God’s hands, we would not dare to do any except those that
he would smile upon. But others, though not positively evil, may be
of trifling importance, and the doer may decline to bring them to the
King, not because they are impure, but because they are insignificant.
The spirit of bondage betrays itself here, and not the spirit of
adoption. They are small; they are affairs of children; trouble not
the Master. Ah! this adviser is of the earth, earthy: he knows not the
Master’s mind. The Master himself has spoken to the point: “Suffer the
little children to come unto me, and forbid them not.” Be assured,
little children, whether in the natural family of man or the spiritual
family of God, act in character. There is no hypocrisy about them. The
things they bring are little things. Children speak as children, yet he
does not beckon them away: he rebukes those who would. He welcomes and
blesses the little ones. Nay, more; he tells us plainly that we must
be like them ere we enter his kingdom. Like little children without
hypocrisy bring all your affairs to him, and abandon those that he
would grieve to look upon. Bring to him all the works that you do, and
you will not do any that you could not bring to him.

“When a man’s ways please the Lord, he maketh even his enemies to be at
peace with him” (ver. 7). There is, it seems, such a thing as pleasing
God. If it could not exist on earth, it would not be named from heaven.
Even to try this is a most valuable exercise. There would be more
sunlight in a believer’s life if he could leave the dull negative fear
of judgment far behind as a motive of action, and bound forward into
the glad positive, a hopeful effort to please God. “Without faith it
is impossible to please him” (Heb. xi: 6); therefore with faith it is
possible. “They that are in the flesh cannot please God;” therefore
they that are in the Spirit can. In this aspect of a believer’s course,
as in all others, Jesus has left us an example that we should follow
his steps: “I do always those things that please him” (John viii: 29).
The glad obedience of the saved should not be thought inconsistent with
the simple trust of the sinful. A true disciple is zealous of good
works; it is a spurious faith that is jealous of them. Those who, being
justified by faith, are most deeply conscious that their works are
worthless, strive most earnestly to do worthy works.

This, like that which enjoins obedience to parents, is a commandment
“with promise.” When your ways please God, he will make even your
enemies to be at peace with you. This is one of two principles
that stand together in the word, and act together in the divine
administration; its counterpart and complement is, “If any man will
live godly in Christ Jesus, he must suffer persecution.” They seem
opposite, yet, like night and day, summer and winter, they both proceed
from the same God, and work together for good to his people. It is true
that the mighty of the earth are overawed by goodness; and it is also
true that likeness to the Lord exposes the disciple to the persecution
which his Master endured. Both are best: neither could be wanted. If
the principle that goodness exposes to persecution prevailed everywhere
and always, the spirit would fail before him and the souls which he has
made. Again, if the principle that goodness conciliates the favor of
the world prevailed every where and always, discipline would be done,
and the service of God would degenerate into mercenary self-interest.
If the good received only and always persecution for their goodness,
their life could not endure, and the generation of the righteous would
become extinct: if the good received only and always favor from men,
their spiritual life would be overlaid, and choked in the thick folds
of worldly prosperity. A beautiful balance of opposites is employed
to produce one grand result. It is like the balance of antagonist
forces, which keeps the planets in their places, and maintains the
harmony of the universe. Temporal prosperity and temporal distress, the
world’s friendship and its enmity, are both formidable to the children
of God. Our Father in heaven, guarding against the danger on either
side, employs the two reciprocally to hold each other in check. Human
applause on this side is a dangerous enemy, and it is made harmless by
the measure of persecution which the godly must endure: on the other
side, the enmity of a whole world is a weight under which the strongest
would at last succumb; but it is made harmless by the opposite law,—the
law by which true goodness conciliates favor even in an evil world.
A Christian in the world is like a human body in the sea,—there is a
tendency to sink and a tendency to swim. A very small force in either
direction will turn the scale. Our Father in heaven holds the elements
of nature and the passions of men at his own disposal: his children
need not fear, for he keeps the balance in his own hands.


[_March 11._]

THREE DISPENSATIONS IN HISTORY AND IN THE SOUL.[G]

By BISHOP F. D. HUNTINGTON, D.D.

The spiritual growth of mankind has proceeded through three great
stages. Each of these has been marked by the evolution of one
predominating element, or salient principle of religious action. On
examination, we shall be able to discover an impressive correspondence
between these successive epochs in the history of humanity at
large, and the process of life in a well-disciplined, Christianized
individual. This analogy is so thickly set with points of interest, as
well as so fruitful of practical suggestions touching right religious
ideas, and right living, that I shall let it fix the form, and be the
subject of the discourse. That subject is: _The threefold discipline of
our spiritual experience, as compared with the threefold order in the
expanding nurture of the human family_.

The three Biblical dispensations are types of three great principles of
conduct, or rather three schools of religious culture, under which we
must pass as persons, just as the race has passed in history, before we
can be built up into the symmetrical stature of a Christian maturity.

I. First, was the dispensation of natural religious feeling. The race
was in childhood. It acted from impulse. It obeyed no written code
of moral regulations, but, so far as its life was right, it either
followed some free religious instincts, or else depended on direct
intimations from the Deity, directing or forbidding each specific deed.
The man chosen as the representative of this period was Abraham. The
record of it is the book of Genesis. That writing is the first grand
chapter in the biography of man; and its very literary structure—so
dramatic in contents, and so lyrical in expression, so careless of the
rules of art, so abounding in personal details, and graphic groupings
of incident; so like a child’s story in its sublime simplicity—answers
to the spontaneous period it pictures. “The patriarchal age” we call
it. The term itself intimates rude, unorganized politics; the head of
each family being the legislator for his tribe. But, in the absence
of systematic statutes, every man, by a liberty so large as to burst
often into license, was likely to do very much what was right in his
own eyes. If he had strong passions, he would be a sensualist, like
Shechem, or a petty tyrant, like Laban. If he were constitutionally
gentle, he would be an inoffensive shepherd, like Lot. Such were the
first two brothers. Cain’s jealousy made him a murderer; Abel was
peaceable, kept sheep, and the only voice he lifted up against outrage,
was when his blood cried from the ground. Some of these nomadic people,
having devout temperaments, “called upon the name of the Lord,” we
are told, like Enoch and Noah. Others were bloated giants, mighty men
in animal propensities, gross and licentious, given to promiscuous
marriages; so that presently God saw that the wickedness was so great,
and the imaginations of men’s hearts were so evil, that he must wash
the unclean earth with a deluge. But there was no permanent restraining
power; no fixed standard of judicial command; and so, when the flood
dried, the tide of sin set in again, streaked only with some veins of
nobleness. On the plains of Shinar pride fancied that it could build a
tower that should overtop the All-seeing Providence; and it had to be
humbled by a confusion of tongues, scattering the builders. Even Noah,
a just man for his times, so pure in _that_ comparison, that he was
carried over on the waves from a drowned generation, to install a new
one, had scarcely seen the many-colored splendors of the promise in
the rainbow, before he was drunken of overmuch wine. Abraham himself,
so full of trust that his trust finally saved him; strong enough in
the power of it to lay his son on an altar; at an earlier age stained
his tongue with a cowardly falsehood, calling his wife his sister for
safety’s sake—first pattern of politicians of mere expediency—and was
rebuked for it by a Pharaoh, who had seen less of the heavenly visions
than he. Sodom, with its indescribable pollutions, was not far from
Beth-el—house of God. Jacob received a revelation from opened heavens;
yet he over-reached his brother to appropriate the family blessing,
and defraud his father-in-law.

Throughout the whole of this patriarchal era, reaching from Adam to
Joseph, and covering, by the common computation, twenty-three hundred
years, there were beautiful virtues, flowering into the light by the
spontaneous energy of nature, but poisoned in many spots by the slime
of sensuality. The human stock threw out its forms of life with a
certain negligence, as the prodigal force of nature does her forests—as
a boy swings his limbs in the open air. There were heroic acts; but
they were dispersed over intervals, with dismal contrasts of meanness
and cowardice between. There were ardent prayers; but foul passions
often met and put to flight the descending hosts of the angels of God.
Character needed a staunch vertebral column to secure its uprightness.
No permanent sanction lent impregnability to good impulses. Even the
saint, whose spirit rose nearest to heaven, walked on the verge of
some abyss of shame. For though Abraham believed, Moses had not yet
legislated, nor Christ died.

Corresponding, now, to this impulsive religious age of the race, is
the natural state of the individual. It is the condition we are born
into, and the multitudes never pass beyond it, because they are never
renewed, or made Christian. Morally they are children all their lives.
Bad dispositions mix with good; one moment holy aspirations; the next
a flagrant immorality. What is wanting is a second birth of spiritual
conviction. Conduct is not brought to the bar of a governmental
examination, and judged by an unbending principle. Temptation is too
much for this feeble, capricious piety. Nature, true enough, is always
interesting; and spontaneous products may be beautiful. But man, with
his free agency, beset before and behind by evil, is not like a lily
growing under God’s sun and dew, with no sin to deform its grace or
stain its coloring; he is not like the innocent architecture of a
cloud, shaped by the fantastic caprices of the summer wind; nor yet
like the aimless statuary of the sea-shore, sculptured by the pliant
chisel of the wave. He has to contend, struggle, resist. He is tried,
enticed, besieged. Satan creeps anew with every new-born child into
the Eden of the heart, and flaming swords are presently planted on
its gates, proclaiming—no return _that way_ to innocence. The natural
religion, of which modern mystics are so fond, and modern peripatetics
prattle, is not enough for him. It might possibly answer in the woods,
unless this feeble pantheism would substitute artistic ecstacy for
worship, and moonlight for the sun, that flashes down the glories of
revelations; or in some solitary cell, though even there monk and
hermit have often found the snare of impure imaginations spread too
cunningly for it. But let the boy go to the shop, and the girl to
school; let the young man travel to the city, and the young woman
lend her ears to the flatteries of that silver-tongued sorceress,
Society; and all this natural piety is like a silken thread held over
a blazing furnace. We may put ourselves at ease, fancy we shall fare
well enough under so kind a Father; come out comfortably at last; there
is such tender pity in the skies. But the dispelling of that delusion
will be the sharp word out of the throne of judgment—“Depart from me,
I never knew you.” No Babel of refuge will be built to the top. No
friendly intervention will avert the perdition of the Sodom in the
heart. No Tamar of custom will cajole with her coquetry the ancient and
everlasting justice. No thrifty leagues of a low commercial instinct,
postponing conscience to the arithmetic of traffic—no corrupt political
majorities, subscribing patriotic manifestoes as stock for party or
private dividends, though they be as eleven against one, and though
they piously profess to be sons of Israel by church subscriptions,
shall buy national prosperity by their brother Joseph’s blood.

There is often a vague assumption that certain principles of natural
right, evolved and compacted by ethical science, might save our social
state. But, remember that society, without Christ, in its philosophy,
its literature, its art, its morals, obeyed a law of deterioration and
decay. Without him, it would have been sinking still. Instead of the
Christian justice that hangs its balances over our seats of lawful
trade to-day, we should have not even Punic faith; but something more
treacherous than that—not even the hesitating Roman honesty, but a
zone of restraint more dissolute than the Corinthian, and principles
looser than the Spartan’s. Instead of a respected merchant, or a
steady mechanic, going out to his business to-morrow, amid a public
order that Christ has organized, might have been seen a barbarian,
with the concentrated falsity of a hundred Arabs, waking into a world
convulsed with perpetual anarchy, or skulking away to transact his base
affairs in a worse than Circassian mart. We may baptize the interesting
displays of our intermittent virtue with a Christian name; but they may
yet contain no quality of Christ’s peculiar sanctity. They may leave
human life quite untouched by that unrivaled glory, however bright
their transient beam. They are not redolent of the New Testament. Their
uprightness does not bear the sanction of the Sermon on the Mount.
Their slender rectitude is not the principle that treats men justly
because they are God’s children, which was the law of Christ’s great
honesty. Their kindness is not the sweet charity of the beatitudes.
Their moderation is not guarded by those majestic warders, reverence
for God, and a Savior’s love. Nor is their worship, if they adore at
all, fervent with the prayers of Olivet and Gethsemane.

And as the first dispensation ended in a slavery in Egypt, or broods
darkly over pagan nations waiting to be brought nigh by the blood of
Christ to this hour, so the lawless motions of every self-guided will
end in a servitude to some Pharaoh in the members that cries aloud for
emancipation—a settled alienation from the household of the good.


[_March 18._]

THREE DISPENSATIONS.

Next after this impulsive or spontaneous period, which is the period
of childhood, comes the legal or judicial—a second stage in the
history of the religious consciousness. Moses, the law-giver, is its
representative. From this crisis, the chief significance of the world’s
religious experience is concentrated, for some sixteen hundred years,
in Judea, and human progress runs on through the channel of Hebrew
nationality. Other families have wandered off into hopeless idolatries.
The religion of instinct has found its appropriate termination in
a degraded Egyptian priesthood, mixing civil despotism with the
incantations of an impure mythology.

And now, God calls up Moses _out_ of his miserable oppression into
the summit of Sinai, and appoints him the head of the second august
human epoch. A period of laws, after instinct, begins. Instinct must
be curbed, for it has done mischief enough. Impulse must be subjected
to principle, for it has proved itself insufficient alone. There must
be positive command, controlling wayward inclinations. “Thou shalt,”
and “Thou shalt not,” are the watchwords. It is an age of obedience.
Ceremonies and ordinances are set up to bring the wild will under
discipline. And the better to secure exact obedience, a visible system
of formal observances is announced—so many sacrifices every day, and
so many meat-offerings, drink-offerings, cattle, doves, fruits, cakes,
for every sacrifice. To withstand the surrounding seductions of nations
still steeped in the vices of their natural propensities, a scheme
of coercive restraints comes in. The people must have multiplied
festivals, jubilees, national gatherings, regularly kept, and by divine
appointment. To draw them, there is a gorgeous temple with an imposing
altar, a tabernacle, a covenant, a shekinah lighted from heaven, a
priesthood clad in the splendid garments, and all the superb apparatus
of a magnificent ritual. Even the daily habits, materials of common
dress, qualities of food and kinds of flesh, are all to be regulated
in detail by specific statutes. Law reaches down to determine the most
minute particulars—the cleansing of houses, the shape of the beard,
the sowing of the field—all having reference to neighboring idolatrous
usages, of which these twelve tribes must, by all means, be kept clear.
And for the breach of every law, from greatest to least, there must be
penalty. That part of human nature, that terror and dread appeal to, is
addressed. On the transgressor woe is denounced. There is a Mount Ebal,
full of menacing curses, as well as a Gerizim pledged to blessings.
Smoke, earthquakes, thunders and lightnings, marshaling their awful
pageant about Sinai when the law was given, only prefigured punishments
that should always torment the disobedient. And, accordingly, down
through all the Hebrew fortunes, while prophets were set to admonish
and call back the rebellious, the great staple of Israelitish history
was, the divine chastisement that followed violations of law, and
the prosperity that rewarded its observance. Sieges and campaigns,
conquests and captivities, judges and kings, Joshua, Gideon, and Ezra,
David, Saul, and Rehoboam—all were of less consequence, as events, or
as individuals, than as instruments of that mighty, organized power
_lying behind them—Moses and the law_.

So with all of us; there comes a time when we feel that we cannot act
by inclination, but must follow law. The principle of duty is that law.
Babyhood is past, and its instincts suffice us no longer. To do as we
like, would still be pleasant; but it is dangerous and false. We become
stewards and _must_ give account of our stewardship. Life has put its
harness upon us, and we must work in it. Passions have sprung up, and
conflicts have commenced within us, that make impulse an unsafe guide.
We find a meaning in that hard word _must_. We are free to do as we
will, and yet we feel somehow bound under God’s necessity. It begins to
be evident that as sure as a stone falls or fire burns, sin will bring
trouble; indulgence, pain; impiety, remorse; dissipation, disease;
dishonesty, infamy. The spendthrift _must_ be pinched, the fraudulent
bargainer lose his soul though he gain the world, and the false
professor be spiritually damned. Here are laws—laws of the Almighty’s
ordaining—laws that bring retribution. If we would live peaceably, we
must come under them and obey.

Very often it happens that by obeying a law, we acquire superiority to
it. Voluntarily submitting to certain rules for a time, our virtue is
strengthened and finally becomes independent of them, so that it can go
alone. The inebriate binds himself by a pledge, and thus regains his
freedom. The disciple appoints specific hours for praying, and by that
means gains the devout spirit which breathes a perpetual aspiration,
at last inaugurating a silent converse of the soul with heaven, as
natural as the pulse in the veins. The methodical division of time for
business is only a form of law, coercing industry and efficiency. Many
a man has to spur his sluggishness, by definite tasks; and many more
would bring nothing to pass, but for fixed methods and seasons. Without
a morning and evening sacrifice, forgetful worldliness would render
poor service to God; and memories, like Martha, so careful and troubled
about many things, would fail of Mary’s one thing needful. The laying
apart of exact sums for charity has been all that stood between some
men and the doom of avarice; benevolence had to be put out to school,
and philanthropy be drilled into promptitude like a cadet. Let us not
despise law, for every day practical proofs are scattered before us,
that it is a school-master to lead us to Christ.

Even fear, though fastidious nerves are apt to discredit it as a lower
sentiment, has its office in disciplining thoughtless and stubborn
wills, breaking down pride and prompting insensibility, till it is
ready to hand us over to motives of a nobler order. There is a meaning
in a tradition of an ancient German prince, who, in early life, was
bidden by an oracle to search out an inscription on a ruined wall which
should prefigure his mortal fate. He found the Latin words, signifying
_after six_. Supposing they revealed the number of days he was to live,
he gave himself for the six days following to his hitherto neglected
soul, preparing himself to die. But finding death did not come, he was
still held to his sober resolutions by supposing six weeks were the
interpretation; and then he prolonged his holy life to six months,
and six years. On the first day of the seventh year, by reason of the
excellent manhood into which he had thus formed his character, he had
gained the confidence of the people, and he found the fulfillment
of the ambiguous prophecy, by being chosen Emperor of Germany. Here
is a figure of common experience. We may conceive it to have been
a mere “spiritual” process, that the prince should have been drawn
to piety, by loving goodness for its own sake. But it was the timid
dread of dying that drew him, and the royal benefactions of a truly
Christian monarch justified the agent. Have you never known a fever,
or an accident, or the incipient symptoms of a consumption to be the
determining cause that bent the whole current of a life from earthward
to heavenward? Have you never known that a mere dread of punishment
or pain, of hell or disgrace, has stopped the erring feet of lust,
silenced profanity, driven back the Sabbath-breaker? God is not ashamed
to take into the sublime economy of his purposes these stimulants to
virtue; and let not us, in our puerile conceit, venture to pronounce
them unworthy. Outgrow them if you will, and can; but take care that
you are not found, after all, _below_, instead of _above_ the plane of
their influence.

For be assured, though we have read the New Testament, named the name
of Jesus, and quite looked down on the Jews, some of us have not yet
climbed up so far as to Moses and his Jewish law. In the Bible’s older
Testament there are needed examples for us yet. Not all of us have
learned that majestic, unchangeable fact, that God is Sovereign; nor
those related facts that, if we _will_ perpetrate _the wrong_, we must
suffer the penalty; that we can not dodge the consequences of what we
do; that indolence must sap our strength; that selfishness must end in
wretchedness; that falsehood is a mint, coining counterfeits that must
return upon our hands; that hypocrisy to-day is disgrace to-morrow.
This is law, everlasting, unrepealable law; and our poor attempts to
resist, or nullify it, avail not so much as a puff of mortal breath
against the gulf stream in the Atlantic. Blessed will it be for our
peace, when we accept it, and bow to it, turning it into a law of
liberty.

Remember that the grandest examples of sainthood, or spiritual life,
that the ages have seen, have been souls that recognized this truth—the
firm, Puritanical element, in all valiant piety; and without it mere
amiable religious feeling will be quite sure to degenerate into
sentimentality. We need to stand compassed about with the terrible
splendors of the mount, and with something of the somber apparatus of
Hebrew commandments, to keep us from falling off into some impious,
Gentile idolatries of the senses. Holy places, and holy days, and
solemn assemblies, still dispense sanctity. Our appetites have to be
hedged about with almost as many scruples of regimen for Christian
moderation’s sake, as the Jew’s for his monotheism. “We wish,” says
some one, “that it was not so difficult to be good. We wish that we
could be self-indulgent, and yet be good for all that; that we could
idle off our time, and yet be wise for all that.” The worldling wishes
that he could combine his worldliness now with a heaven hereafter; the
voluptuary, that he could have “the clear eye and the steady hand of
the temperate;” the vain, ambitious, capricious woman, that she could
exhibit the serenity that comes of prayer. But Sinai stands unmoved,
at the outset of every life-journey through the wilderness; and at the
further end, beyond the river, Ebal with his curses, and Gerizim with
its blessings. “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”


[_March 25._]

THREE DISPENSATIONS.

But there is a third dispensation, profounder and richer than that of
statutes; and, at the head of it, one greater than Moses. The period
of literal commandments was insufficient; humanity outgrew it. It
became a dead profession, a school of foolish questions, a shelter
of hideous hypocrisies. Lo! the enlarging soul of the race asks a
freer, more sincere, more vital nurture, and it comes. If the simple
religious instincts of Abraham had been accepted for righteousness;
if the law had been given by Moses; grace and truth enter in by Jesus
Christ; grace for the heart, truth for the understanding; favor for
man’s stumbling feet, and light for his eyes. Christ does not abrogate
law, but by his own life and sacrifice first satisfies its conditions.
He says expressly, “Think not that I came to destroy Moses, but to
fulfill.” The cross does not unbind the cords of accountability, but
tightens and strengthens them rather. The gospel affords no solvent to
disentegrate the commandments; it only lets “the violated law speak out
its thunders” in the tones of pity. Divine laws never looked so sacred
as when they took sanctity from the redemption of the crucified.

Witness now a new light, “lighting every man that cometh into the
world.” It is the deliverance of the heart. It is the purifying of the
life. It is the sanctification of the spirit. The law, by which no man
living can be justified, because no man ever yet kept it inviolate;
which makes no allowance for imperfect obedience, and yet never was
perfectly obeyed—which, therefore, is a rule of universal condemnation
when standing alone—this stern, unrelenting law gives place to a
gospel—gladder tidings—a voice that comes not to condemn but to save,
a ministry of mercy, asking only a penitent spirit that it may offer
forgiveness, and only inward faith changing the motives that it may
confer eternal life.

Law and prophets, then, are not annulled; what they lacked is
supplied. They are absorbed by evangelists. The gospel takes up all
their contents, recasts them, and quickens them with the vitality of
a fresh inspiration. Moses remains, but only as a servant to Christ.
The decalogue still stands; but the cross stands on a higher pedestal,
invested with a purer glory. Humble Calvary is the seat of a loftier
power than towering Horeb. We must still be under discipline; but the
Lawgiver is lost in the Redeemer. What _was_ a task is transfigured
into a choice. The drudgery of obedience is beautified into the
privilege of reconciliation. Love has cast out fear. Man no longer
cowers before his sovereign with terror, but pours out his praises
to a Father. The soul is released from the bondage of a thrall into
the liberty of a child. Out of the plodding routine of mechanical
sacrifice, it ascends into spiritual Joy, where the handwriting of
ordinances is done away; the Great High Priest has ascended once for
all into the heavens, and suffering is willingly borne because it makes
the disciple like the Lord.

Thus the word spoken by the third epoch of religious culture is not,
“Act thy nature out and follow thy lawless impulses”—nor yet, “Do this
circle of outward works, and then come and claim salvation for thy
merits”—but, believe, first, and then out of thy faith do the righteous
works which thou then canst not but do. Repent of thy short comings,
and be forgiven. Lean on Christ, thy Savior. Love God, thy Father. Help
men, thy brethren. And come, inherit thy immortal kingdom!

Now, at last, if it only keeps on in the path divinely marked for
it, the soul emerges into that wide fellowship of Christ—that open
hospitality of spiritual freedom, where the impulse of nature is
only guided, not stifled, by law; where law is ripened and fulfilled
into faith. The highest victory of goodness is union with God. The
union comes only by a Mediator. For reconciliation between finite and
infinite, there must be a Reconciler combining both. The way to peace
lies by Calvary. Humanity realizes its complete proportions, only by
inward membership with him who fills all the veins of his living body
with his blood, and the chambers of his church with the glory of his
presence to-day. “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be
saved.”

For, observe, by all means, this striking condition pertaining to the
doctrine; that neither of these three stages, whether of the general
or the personal progress, denies, or cuts off, its predecessor.
Nature prepares the way for law—making the heart _restless_, by an
unsatisfying experiment, without it. Abraham saw more glorious ages
coming than his own, and the promise given to him and his seed,
Emmanuel accomplished. The law disciplined wayward, uncultured man,
making him ready for the Church that was to descend “like a bride out
of heaven.” Every ordinance in its ritual was a type; every statute was
a prophecy.

All Judaism was prospective. Moses looked forward to the Messiah.
So, in the heart of childhood, there are expectations, vague and
yet brilliant, of the responsible second stage of manhood; it is
too thoughtless yet to look beyond, to the age of mature Christian
holiness. But see, again, when that second age of stern command and
strict obedience comes, it grows sober and reflective. It feels heavily
that it is not sufficient to itself. It must look longingly forward
for the consolations of the cross. Nature does not comprehend law,
nor law gospel; Abraham Moses, nor Moses Messiah; but the Son of God
understands all, and the gospel, in its majestic orbit, while embracing
law and nature, transcends them both.

Remember, also, for its practical fruit’s sake, this fact, that each
stage requires fidelity in the preceding. You must have been true to
the better impulses of youth, that you may be, to the best advantage,
a servant of the law of maturity. You must be faithfully obedient to
duty, before you are fit to be a subject of grace. Do not imagine
you can glide over into the favor of heaven, without first keeping
the commandment. It is a strait gate, and a narrow way that leads
to life. I must be a cheerful servant, before I can know the joy of
adoption, and cry, “Abba, Father.” Willing to be constrained by the
positive precept, I may hope, by-and-by, for the freedom of a child and
heir. Many things that I would rather not do—irksome to the sluggish
will, hard to the love of ease, offensive to pride, bitter to selfish
pleasure—I must do, before I can ascend to that sublime self-mastery
with Christ, where I shall _desire_ to do only what I ought. You have
seen a seabird, which in rising from the waves has to run some way
with difficulty upon the water, striking the surface laboriously with
its pinions; but when it has once lifted itself into the upper air,
it balances its flight with a calm motion, and enfranchised into the
freedom of the sky, the slow beat of its wings are imperceptible. It
is by pain and toil _under_ the commandments, that the soul gets the
liberty of its faculties; but when it has been taken up out of itself
by love and trust, it moves in harmony with God. The law was our
schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might “be justified
by faith.” But “after that faith is come, we are no longer under a
schoolmaster.” “All things are yours, and ye are Christ’s, and Christ
is God’s.” No longer at Gerizim, nor yet at Jerusalem, but everywhere,
we may worship the Father!

You have seen the religionist of mere passion. That impulsive
temperament is doubtless capable of good services to the master. But,
to that end, the master must have the reforming of it. That unsteady
purpose must be made steadfast through a thoughtful imitation of the
constancy that said, “Behold, I go up to Jerusalem to be crucified.”
That fluctuating wing of worship must be poised by some influence from
those hills, where whole nights were not too long for a Redeemer’s
prayers. That inexpert swimmer in the sea of life, now rising, now
sinking, and now noisily splashing the waters, must be schooled by
sober experience to glide onward with a firmer and stiller stroke.
Ardor must be matched with consistency. You are not to be carried to
heaven by a fitful religion, periodically raised from the dead at
seasons of social exhilaration; not by a religion alive at church, but
stagnant in the streets and in the market-places; not by a religion
kindling at some favored hour of sentimental meditation, only to sink
and flicker in the drudgery of common work. It is to little purpose
that we read, and circulate, and preach the Bible, except all our
reading and all our living gain thereby a more biblical tone. And it is
quite futile that our breasts glow with some fugitive feeling in the
house of God, unless that feeling dedicates our common dwellings to be
all houses of God.

So have you seen the religious legalist. In business, in the street, in
sanctuaries, at home, you have seen him. In business, measuring off his
righteousness by some sealed measure of public usage, as mechanically
as his merchandise, and making a label or a dye-stuff his cunning proxy
to tell the lie that some judicial penalty had frightened from his
tongue; disowning no patent obligation, but cheating the customer, or
oppressing the weak, in secret. In the street, wearing an outside of
genial manners, with a frosty temper under it, or a cloak of propriety
with a heart of sin; in the sanctuary, purchasing, with formal
professions, one day, the privilege of an untroubled self-seeking the
other six, or possibly opening the pew door and the prayer-book here
to-day, with the same hand that will wrong a neighbor to-morrow; and at
home, practicing that reluctant virtue that would hardly give conjugal
affection but for the marriage-bond, and that, by being exported to
another continent, would find a Parisian atmosphere a solvent of all
its scruples. Not descending, at present, to the depth of depravity,
he certainly never rises to a pure piety. Whatever respectable or
admirable traits you see in him, you miss that distinctive mark which
every eye takes knowledge of as a spiritual consecration.

Engraft, now, on that “wild olive” stock, the sweet juices of Christian
love, drawn from their original stock in Bethlehem, “of the seed of
David and the root of Jesse;” soften that hard integrity by Christian
charity; in place of duty done from sheer compulsion, put duty done
from a willing, eager, and believing heart. Do this, and thou shalt
live.

Abraham, Moses, Christ; impulse, discipline, faith; nature, law,
gospel; instinct, obedience, grace; Mamre, Sinai, Calvary; this is that
divine order—not bound by rigid rules of chronological succession, but
having the free play and various intershadings of a moral growth—to
which we are to conform our lives. When the “_Thus saith the Lord_”
shall have controlled our impatient will, our hearts will be ready
to say, “Our Father, who art in heaven!” Seek, first, after that
indwelling goodness that has its fountain in the center of the soul,
and good works will be the constant stream. Be children of light. Live
by the spirit, not the letter; by faith, not by fear. For you are
called to be disciples of Jesus. Henceforth the Christian is to be
known, and to be saved, not by the hand so much as by the heart; not
by a righteousness that is legal, but spiritual. Let not your piety be
the occasional piety of Rabbinical Sabbaths, with ghastly intervals of
worldliness between, like isolated springs in a desert of sand; but a
piety, whose perennial influence, like the river that keeps the meadows
always green, shall penetrate and fertilize the whole soil and open
field of your being, and thus make glad the city of your God. No rich,
or beautiful, or excepted life can be had by us, except Christ be its
inspiration. Hope will not reach up to immortality, except it climb by
the cross. Let not your lives be dead shapes of outward decency—the
carved and gilded wood of an ark and a tabernacle deserted by the
Spirit—but vital branches, filled with leaping and vigorous currents of
holy feeling, on the living vine! “For if any man have not the spirit
of Christ, he is none of his.”

FOOTNOTE:

[G] “Abraham believed God, and it was accounted to him for
righteousness. The law was given by Moses; but grace and truth came by
Jesus Christ.”—Gal., iii:6; John, i:17.




PRACTICE AND HABIT.

By JOHN LOCKE.


John Locke, the author from whose writings we quote the article
below, made his reputation chiefly by his famous essay on the “Human
Understanding.” The article on “Practice and Habit,” together with
“Thoughts and Aphorisms,” by Jonathan Swift, constitute the “Required
Readings” from English History for the month of March. Swift was famous
alike for his wit, his genius, his love affairs, his political warfare,
“Tale of a Tub,” and other works.


PRACTICE AND HABIT.

We are born with faculties and powers capable almost of anything, such
at least as would carry us farther than can be easily imagined: but it
is only the exercise of those powers which gives us ability and skill
in anything, and leads us toward perfection.

A middle-aged ploughman will scarce ever be brought to the carriage and
language of a gentleman, though his body be as well proportioned, and
his joints as supple, and his natural parts not any way inferior. The
legs of a dancing-master, and the fingers of a musician, fall, as it
were, naturally without thought or pains, into regular and admirable
motions. Bid them change their parts, and they will in vain endeavor
to produce like motions in the members not used to them, and it will
require length of time and long practice to attain but some degrees
of a like ability. What incredible and astonishing actions do we find
rope-dancers and tumblers bring their bodies to! not but that sundry
in almost all manual arts are as wonderful; but I name those which the
world takes notice of for such, because, on that very account, they
give money to see them. All these admired motions, beyond the reach
and almost the conception of unpractised spectators, are nothing but
the mere effects of use and industry in men whose bodies have nothing
peculiar in them from those of the amazed lookers-on.

As it is in the body, so it is in the mind; practice makes it what it
is; and most even of those excellencies which are looked on as natural
endowments, will be found, when examined into more narrowly, to be the
product of exercise, and to be raised to that pitch only by repeated
actions. Some men are remarked for pleasantness in raillery, others for
apologues and apposite diverting stories. This is apt to be taken for
the effect of pure nature, and that the rather, because it is not got
by rules, and those who excel in either of them never purposely set
themselves to the study of it as an art to be learnt. But yet it is
true, that at first some lucky hit which took with somebody, and gained
him commendation, encouraged him to try again, inclined his thoughts
and endeavors that way, till at last he insensibly got a facility in
it without perceiving how; and this is attributed solely to nature,
which was much more the effect of use and practice. I do not deny that
natural disposition may often give the first rise to it; but that never
carries a man far without use and exercise, and it is practice alone
that brings the powers of the mind as well as those of the body to
their perfection. Many a good poetic vein is buried under a trade, and
never produces anything for want of improvement. We see the ways of
discourse and reasoning are very different, even concerning the same
matter, at court and in the university. And he that will go but from
Westminster Hall to the Exchange will find a different genius and turn
in their ways of talking; and one can not think that all whose lot fell
in the city were born with different parts from those who were bred at
the university or inns of court.

To what purpose all this, but to show that the difference so observable
in men’s understandings and parts does not arise so much from the
natural faculties as acquired habits? He would be laughed at that
should go about to make a fine dancer out of a country hedger at past
fifty. And he will not have much better success who shall endeavor at
that age to make a man reason well, or speak handsomely, who has never
been used to it, though you should lay before him a collection of all
the best precepts of logic or oratory. Nobody is made anything by
hearing of rules, or laying them up in his memory; practice must settle
the habit of doing without reflecting on the rule; and you may as well
hope to make a good painter, or musician, extempore, by a lecture and
instruction in the arts of music and painting, as a coherent thinker,
or strict reasoner, by a set of rules, showing him wherein right
reasoning consists.

This being so, that defects and weakness in men’s understandings, as
well as other faculties, come from want of a right use of their own
minds, I am apt to think the fault is generally mislaid upon nature,
and there is often a complaint of want of parts, when the fault lies
in want of a due improvement of them. We see men frequently dexterous
and sharp enough in making a bargain, who if you reason with them about
matters of religion appear perfectly stupid.




THOUGHTS AND APHORISMS.

By JONATHAN SWIFT.


If the men of wit and genius would resolve never to complain in their
works of critics and detractors, the next age would not know that they
ever had any.

Imaginary evils soon become real ones by indulging our reflections on
them, as he who in a melancholy fancy sees something like a face on the
wall or the wainscot can, by two or three touches with a lead pencil,
make it look visible and agreeing with what he fancied.

Men of great parts are often unfortunate in the management of
public business, because they are apt to go out of the common road
by the quickness of their imagination. This I once said to my Lord
Bolingbroke, and desired he would observe that the clerks in his office
used a sort of ivory knife with a blunt edge to divide a sheet of
paper, which never failed to cut it even, only requiring a steady hand;
whereas if they should make use of a sharp penknife, the sharpness
would make it often go out of the crease and disfigure the paper.

“He who does not provide for his own house,” St. Paul says, “is worse
than an infidel;” and I think he who provides only for his own house is
just equal with an infidel.

I never yet knew a wag (as the term is) who was not a dunce.

When we desire or solicit anything, our minds run wholly on the good
side or circumstances of it; when it is obtained, our minds run wholly
on the bad ones.

The latter part of a wise man’s life is taken up in curing the
follies, prejudices, and false opinions he had contracted in the former.

Would a writer know how to behave himself with relation to posterity,
let him consider in old books what he finds that he is glad to know,
and what omissions he most laments.

One argument to prove that the common relations of ghosts and spectres
are generally false, may be drawn from the opinion held that spirits
are never seen by more than one person at a time; that is to say, it
seldom happens to above one person in a company to be possessed with
any high degree of spleen or melancholy.

It is pleasant to observe how free the present age is in laying taxes
on the next: “Future ages shall talk of this;” “This shall be famous to
all posterity:” whereas their time and thoughts will be taken up about
present things, as ours are now.

I never heard a finer piece of satire against lawyers than that of
astrologers, when they pretend by rules of art to tell when a suit will
end, and whether to the advantage of the plaintiff or defendant; thus
making the matter depend entirely upon the influence of the stars,
without the least regard to the merits of the cause.

I have known some men possessed of good qualities, which were very
serviceable to others but useless to themselves: like a sun-dial on the
front of a house, to inform the neighbors and passengers, but not the
owner within.

If a man would register all his opinions upon love, politics, religion,
learning, etc., beginning from his youth, and so go on to old age, what
a bundle of inconsistencies and contradictions would appear at last!

The stoical scheme of supplying our wants by lopping off our desires,
is like cutting off our feet when we want shoes.

The reason why so few marriages are happy is, because young ladies
spend their time in making nets, not in making cages.

The power of fortune is confessed only by the miserable, for the happy
impute all their success to prudence or merit. Complaint is the largest
tribute heaven receives, and the sincerest part of our devotion.

The common fluency of speech in many men, and most women, is owing to
a scarcity of matter, and a scarcity of words: for whoever is a master
of language, and hath a mind full of ideas, will be apt in speaking to
hesitate upon the choice of both; whereas common speakers have only one
set of ideas, and one set of words to clothe them in; and these are
always ready at the mouth: so people come faster out of church when it
is almost empty than when a crowd is at the door.

       *       *       *       *       *

JOHNSON’S OPINION OF HIS ROUGHNESS.—While we were upon the road, I had
the resolution to ask Johnson whether he thought that the roughness
of his manner had been an advantage or not, and if he would not have
done more good if he had been more gentle. I proceeded to answer
myself thus: “Perhaps it has been of advantage, as it has given
weight to what you said: you could not, perhaps, have talked with
such authority without it.” _Johnson_: “No, sir; I have done more
good as I am. Obscenity and impiety have always been repressed in my
company.” _Boswell_: “True, sir; and that is more than can be said of
every bishop. Greater liberties have been taken in the presence of a
bishop, though a very good man, from his being milder, and therefore
not commanding such awe. Yet, sir, many people who might have been
benefited by your conversation have been frightened away. A worthy
friend of ours has told me that he has often been afraid to talk
to you.” _Johnson_: “Sir, he need not have been afraid, if he had
anything rational to say. If he had not, it was better he did not
talk.”—_Boswell._




THE COMET THAT CAME BUT ONCE.

By E. W. MAUNDER, F.R.A.S.


Not quite a year ago the “Threatening Comet,” which some
too-imaginative writers foretold would return in fifteen years, and
occasion the entire destruction of our earth, by rushing into the sun,
and exciting it to a terrible degree of heat was foretold. How little
reason there was to fear such a catastrophe! We never expected that,
so far from having fifteen years to wait before the truth or error of
the prediction was demonstrated, in less than six months a glorious
stranger would present himself to our gaze, and reveal that, in one way
or another, the dismal prophecy had been wrong. The message which the
wonderful comet, that was so impressive an object in the morning sky
of last October, had to convey has been interpreted in various senses.
Perhaps the most probable is, that he and his bright predecessors of
1880 and 1843, which had been supposed to be one and the same object,
were not really so, but only members of the same family. If so,
then the very groundwork of the theory, on which the return in 1897
was foretold, would be cut away, and in its place a whole vista of
marvellous possibilities would be opened out to us.

But our present purpose is not to dwell on these, nor to enlarge on
the history, past or future, of any comet which from time to time has
returned, or may return, to our skies, but to read the lesson conveyed
in the marvellous fact that there are comets which visit us _but once_.

The devout Kepler, after his last great discovery, sat down content
“to wait a century for a reader.” He had not long passed away ere
the reader was sent, one who read his book to good purpose indeed.
Kepler had been able to discover three laws to which the planets were
obedient, but as to whether there was any connection between those
laws, why the planets followed them rather than any others which might
have been framed, and what laws the satellites and comets of the system
were subject to, Kepler could not tell. Newton, on the contrary,
discovered the great underlying principle, of which the laws of Kepler
were only some of the necessary consequences, and showed not merely how
the planets moved, but also to a great extent why they did so.

Newton had not long established his law of gravitation before he
arrived at a strange discovery. Assuming his theory to be correct, he
worked out by rigid mathematical processes the shape of the orbits
which the planets must follow. Since we know that they travel in
ellipses, we should naturally have expected that an ellipse would be
the resulting orbit, but instead Newton found he had arrived at an
expression which embraced not one curve but four.

Of these four, one was the oval or ellipse, another the circle, but the
other two were curves of a very different shape indeed, curves which
did not enclose a space, but which had each two ends, which, however
far they were prolonged, could never meet. And directly this fact was
recognized, an unlooked-for truth was made plain. Comets, which had
hitherto been regarded as perfectly lawless bodies, as irregular and
uncontrolled as the thoughts of an opium-dreamer seem to be, were now
seen to be integral parts of our solar system. For though so many of
them enter our system but once, never having visited it before, never
to visit it again, yet since these all travel, in obedience to the
sun’s attraction, in one or other of these strange unending curves,
curves which are a necessary consequence of the law of gravitation,
they are manifestly members of the solar family; without them it would
be imperfect, without them the law of gravitation were but partially
illustrated.

Let us follow in imagination the travels of one such comet through the
untold ages of its life. It may have started on its tremendous voyage
whilst the earth was yet a star, or rather a miniature sun, instinct
with fire and light, and all through the long ages during which the
earth was cooling down and becoming fitted to be the habitation of
living things, the comet slowly but steadily pursued its way. On the
earth one form of life succeeded another, the sea overcame the land
time after time, and time after time the continents flung off the
yoke, and emerged with ampler borders and fairer scenes. At length the
predestined prince came to his heritage, and Man was made ruler over
the perfected earth—too soon, alas! to forfeit his vice-regal crown
by an act of flagrant rebellion. And still through all these ages,
compared with which the whole lifetime of our race is but a moment,
that distant comet held on its course, never swerving by a hair’s
breadth from the appointed path, obedient to the law, the self-same
law that decrees the fall of the ripened fruit. But it was still far
away, and still it pressed slowly but steadily forward, whilst kingdoms
rose and fell, and nations multiplied and decayed. But gradually
a quicker energy began to throb within it, and a stronger impulse
drew it forward. The old slow pace could not suffice for its growing
impatience, and it pressed forward with ever-increasing speed. At
length it dashes across the orbit of Neptune; it has entered the solar
system at last. No lingering now, no slow and halting pace; quicker and
quicker it presses on, and Uranus is past. A shorter interval still,
and glorious Saturn, with his noble rings and numerous satellites, is
left behind, and a few years more and it shoots across the path of the
giant planet Jupiter. The asteroids and Mars are passed by next, and
now, filled with a passionate desire, it whirls along, brightening as
it speeds, and flaming streamers flying behind it. Moving more quickly
still, it crosses the orbit of the Earth. Venus is reached next;
traversing now in a moment of time space it once took a year to travel
over, it rushes past Mercury. And now the bright goal is at hand, and
quivering through all its mighty length with the fierce excitement, it
speeds forward at a swifter pace still. And now, glorious with jets
streaming ten thousand miles before it, and tail ten million leagues
behind, it hurls itself into the corona, the region of that strange
pearly glow which in total eclipses is seen to surround the Sun. And
still it hurries forward, but not into the Sun, its headlong speed is
now far too great for even that mighty attraction to be able to check
it in its course, and draw it in to itself. It ploughs its way perhaps
even at the rate of a million miles an hour, round nearly half of the
circumference of the sun, through the regions where the prominences
play—those rosy flames that rise and rush with such terrific heat and
force from the Sun’s glowing bulk; and its brief period of splendor is
over. Away from the Sun, it falls back through the corona, across the
orbits of Mercury, Venus, and the Earth, with ever-slackening speed,
and fading as it goes, it recedes toward outer unknown space. Never
again in all eternity will it approach our Sun, never again will it
know the fierce throbbings of that four hours’ sojourn in the home of
the prominences; never, too, will it revisit those places where it
was wandering in the outer darkness when it first heard the imperious
summons which it had thus obeyed. Slower, ever slower will it travel,
out in the fathomless night, the solar system left far behind. Once and
once only has it entered it, once and once only could it enter. The
Earth, with its attendant Moon, has revolved for millions of years,
enjoying without cease spring, summer, autumn, and winter. But this
strange body, whose winter was from creation, whose summer lasted but
a few short hours, and whose second winter, so far at all events as it
derives heat and light from our Sun, shall last till heaven and earth
depart like a vesture that is rolled together, whose movements are so
unlike our evenly moving earth, is no mere lawless wanderer—is no
intruder on the happy family of the solar system; it is ruled in its
every movement by the self-same law that guides our earth. Without it,
or bodies like it, gravitation would be but imperfectly illustrated,
and but part of the homage due would be paid to our Sun.

How great a change has taken place in our views since the time when
men looked upon comets as miracles and portents, as special acts of
creation, obedient to none of the ordinary laws of nature! And since
Newton’s day, changes as great as that which he effected in astronomy
have been effected in other sciences; and the unity of law, and the
universality of its reign, are acknowledged on every side. The idea
of special acts of creation, or that God interferes with the regular
working of his laws, is discredited, and creation itself is pushed far
back into the unfathomed past.

But this view opens out a most serious question. If God’s only work was
to make the world at the beginning, and give it wholesome laws, leaving
it then to itself, what room is there for religion and prayer—for faith
and hope? And indeed, arguing in this very manner, there are men of
science who tell us expressly that the only good which prayer can do
is to make the petitioner feel more at ease in his mind; that Elijah
praying for rain was no whit wiser than a Kaffir or Ashanti conjuror.

But God has _not_ left his world to itself, and every law of nature is
nothing but the expression of his all-pervading, ever-acting will. How
else can the sun, which can not, according to Newton’s first law, of
itself move a single inch, make the earth spin round it, at the rate of
many miles a second? It explains nothing, it is only to put the fact
into other words, if, when an apple falls, we say “the earth attracted
it.” But “it is the will of God” _is_ an explanation and a sufficient
one, and we may be well assured that unless he expressly ordered it,
not even a toy, released from a baby’s feeble grasp, could ever move
downwards toward the ground. Were he to cease to will, the universe
would cease to be, for in the beginning it came into existence by his
simple word, and from that time “he upholdeth all things by the word of
his power.” And in these words revelation teaches us what science never
could—behind dead nature to see an ever-living, ever-acting God.

The mistake men made was this: Some things seemed to them to be orderly
and regular, others disorderly and irregular; and they foolishly
fancied the latter to be therefore more immediately God’s work than
the former, thinking him “altogether such an one as themselves.” And
so, when further knowledge showed that those things which had seemed
irregular were as fully ordered by law as any of the others, it
appeared as if God’s authority and power were diminished, since, in
their ignorance, men had thought disorder a proof of his more immediate
acting. But “God is not the author of confusion,” nor is he touched
with caprice or change, for he hath declared “I am the Lord, I change
not.” Perfect law and perfect harmony, are what the Scriptures teach us
to expect in all God’s works, and that every advance of science shows
such perfection far to transcend all our previous conceptions, should
surely not shake our faith in him and in his word, but strengthen and
confirm it.

But yet another difficulty remains. If everything in the universe is
ordered according to law, how is it possible for miracles, and in a
more general sense, answers to prayer, to take place? Perhaps the
comet may help us here. Could anything seem more miraculous, more to
contradict the general experience of the solar system, with its planets
ever revolving in closed orbits round the sun, than the appearance of a
body which rushed straight toward the sun, took one half-turn round it,
and then receded from it by a different path, never, never to return?
Could anything seem more like an interference by the Maker with the
laws which he had made? It _did_ seem so until the underlying law was
discovered, and then the seeming discord was perceived to be really
the note needed to complete the perfect harmony. We at best only stand
where Kepler stood, we know only little fragmentary laws, and we can
not affirm that occurrences which seem as much outside their scope as
comets are outside Kepler’s laws, are not really necessary members of
the greater system of which we have no knowledge as yet. That miracles
are ruled by law may be gathered from many a passage in the Holy Word.
Miracles are “set” in the Church, as much as apostles and teachers.
“This kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting;” “he could do no
mighty works there because of their unbelief,” are not obscure hints of
such a law—a spiritual law, it is true, but none the less a law.

We can watch the progress of science, then, without anxiety or
fear; “rooted and grounded in faith,” believing that the Lord is
King.—_London Sunday Magazine._

    [_End of Required Reading for March._]




MY WINTER GARDEN.

By HARRIET MABEL SPALDING.


    The frost lies thick upon the pane,
      The fields are white with falling snows,
    O’er frost-bank, in meadow-lane,
      The drifted ice of winter glows.
    The buds that crowned the mountain-side,
      The moss that fringed the lakelet’s shore,
    Passed with the fleeting summer-tide,
      And spring’s fair graces are no more.

    I trace the pictures on the pane,
      Then turn, where in my quiet room
    The summer lives for me again,
      And June’s sweet gifts in freshness bloom.
    ’Mid emerald moss and growing vines,
      The fair lobelia’s lifted face,
    Nestled among the lilies shines,
      That blossom in their snowy grace.

    With tender hands I lift them up,
      Sweet flowers, no breath of winter dimmed!
    How pure each radiant jeweled cup,
      Each vase with sparkling nectar brimmed.
    The aloe’s flood of molten flame,
      The vervain with its crimson hue.
    The rose that with the spring-time came,
      And in the mountain’s fastness grew.

    The white alyssum, small and fair,
      The red camelia’s blushing dyes,
    The jasmine’s golden blossoms rare,
      The larkspur, blue as summer skies,
    The sweet narcissus’s yellow blooms,
      The zinnia, with its violet rays,
    The pink, with all its rich perfumes,
      The crowning charm of August days.

    Without the snowflakes softly fall,
      An airy mist from cloud and sky,
    Within, their perfume over all,
      The buds in rosy fragrance lie.
    The pale acacia’s tinted gleams,
      The white carnation’s heart of gold,
    The phlox that grows beside the streams
      That gem the forests dim and old.

    I wonder when life’s spring is past,
      And snows are falling soft as now,
    When autumn glories fade at last,
      And frosts lie thick upon the bough,
    If some true deed that I have wrought,
      May, like the flowers, its blooms unclose,
    Some fair and unforgotten thought
      Grow grand beneath life’s winter snows.




SCIENCE AND COMMON SENSE.

By CHARLES KINGSLEY.


The scientific method needs no definition; for it is simply the
exercise of common sense. It is not a peculiar, unique, professional,
or mysterious process of the understanding; but the same which all men
employ, from the cradle to the grave, in forming correct conclusions.

Every one who knows the philosophic writings of Mr. John Stuart Mill,
will be familiar with this opinion. But to those who have no leisure to
study him, I should recommend the reading of Professor Huxley’s third
lecture on the origin of species.

In that he shows, with great logical skill, as well as with some humor,
how the man who, on rising in the morning finds the parlor-window
open, the spoons and teapot gone, the mark of a dirty hand on the
window-sill, and that of a hob-nailed boot outside, and comes to the
conclusion that someone has broken open the window, and stolen the
plate, arrives at that hypothesis—for it is nothing more—by a long and
complex train of inductions and deductions of just the same kind as
those which, according to the Baconian philosophy, are to be used for
investigating the deepest secrets of Nature.

This is true, even of those sciences which involve long mathematical
calculations. In fact, the stating of the problem to be solved is the
most important element in the calculation; and that is so thoroughly
a labor of common sense that an utterly uneducated man may, and often
does, state an abstruse problem clearly and correctly; seeing what
ought to be proved, and perhaps how to prove it, though he may be
unable to work the problem out for want of mathematical knowledge.

But that mathematical knowledge is not—as all Cambridge men are surely
aware—the result of any special gift. It is merely the development
of those conceptions of form and number which every human being
possesses; and any person of average intellect can make himself a
fair mathematician if he will only pay continuous attention; in plain
English, think enough about the subject.

There are sciences, again, which do not involve mathematical
calculation; for instance, botany, zoölogy, geology, which are just now
passing from their old stage of classificatory sciences into the rank
of organic ones. These are, without doubt, altogether within the scope
of the merest common sense. Any man or woman of average intellect,
if they will but observe and think for themselves, freely, boldly,
patiently, accurately, may judge for themselves of the conclusions of
these sciences, and may add to these conclusions fresh and important
discoveries.

Let me illustrate my meaning by an example. A man—I do not say a
geologist, but simply a man, ’squire or ploughman—sees a small valley,
say one of the side-glens which open into the larger valleys in any
country. He wishes to ascertain its age.

He has, at first sight, a very simple measure—that of denudation.
He sees that the glen is now being eaten out by a little stream,
the product of innumerable springs which arise along its sides, and
which are fed entirely by the rain on the moors above. He finds, on
observation, that this stream brings down some ten cubic yards of sand
and gravel, on an average, every year. The actual quantity of earth
which has been removed to make the glen may be several million cubic
yards. Here is an easy sum in arithmetic. At the rate of ten cubic
yards a year, the stream has taken several hundred thousand years to
make the glen.

You will observe that this result is obtained by mere common sense.
He has a right to assume that the stream originally began the glen,
because he finds it in the act of enlarging it; just as much right as
he has to assume, if he find a hole in his pocket, and his last coin in
the act of falling through it, that the rest of his money has fallen
through the same hole. It is a sufficient cause, and the simplest. A
number of observations as to the present rate of denudation, and a
sum which any railroad contractor can do in his head, to determine
the solid contents of the valley, are all that are needed. The method
is that of science: but it is also that of simple common sense. You
will remember, therefore, that this is no mere theory or hypothesis,
but a pretty fair and simple conclusion from palpable facts; that the
probability lies with the belief that the glen is some hundreds of
thousands of years old; that it is not the observer’s business to prove
it further, but other persons’ to disprove it, if they can.

But does the matter end here? No. And, for certain reasons, it is good
that it should not end here.

The observer, if he be a cautious man, begins to see if he can disprove
his own conclusions; moreover, being human, he is probably somewhat
awed, if not appalled, by his own conclusions. Hundreds of thousands
of years spent in making that little glen! Common sense would say that
the longer it took to make, the less wonder there was in its being
made at last: but the instinctive human feeling is the opposite. There
is in men, and there remains in them, even after they are civilized,
and all other forms of the dread of Nature have died out in them, a
dread of size, of vast space, of vast time; that latter, mind, being
always imagined as space, as we confess when we speak instinctively
of a space of time. They will not understand that size is merely a
relative, not an absolute term; that if we were a thousand times larger
than we are, the universe would be a thousand times smaller than it is;
that if we could think a thousand times faster than we do, time would
be a thousand times longer than it is; that there is One in whom we
live, and move, and have our being, to whom one day is as a thousand
years, and a thousand years as one day. I believe this dread of size
to be merely, like all other superstitions, a result of bodily fear;
a development of the instinct which makes a little dog run away from
a big dog. Be that as it may, every observer has it; and so the man’s
conclusion seems to him strange, doubtful: he will reconsider it.

Moreover, if he be an experienced man, he is well aware that first
guesses, first hypotheses, are not always the right ones: and if he
be a modest man, he will consider the fact that many thousands of
thoughtful men in all ages, and many thousands still, would say, that
the glen can only be a few thousand, possibly a few hundred, years old.
And he will feel bound to consider their opinion; as far as it is, like
his own, drawn from facts, but no further.

So he casts about for all other methods by which the glen may have been
produced, to see if any one of them will account for it in a shorter
time.

1. Was it made by an earthquake? No; for the strata on both sides are
identical, at the same level, and in the same plane.

2. Or by a mighty current? If so, the flood must have run in at the
upper end before it ran out at the lower. But nothing has run in at
the upper end. All round above are the undisturbed gravel-beds of the
horizontal moor, without channel or depression.

3. Or by water draining off a vast flat as it was upheaved out of the
sea? That is a likely guess. The valley at its upper end spreads out
like the fingers of a hand, as the gullies in tide-muds do.

But that hypothesis will not stand. There is no vast unbroken flat
behind the glen. Right and left of it are other similar glens, parted
from it by long narrow ridges: these also must be explained on the
same hypothesis; but they can not. For there could not have been
surface-drainage to make them all, or a tenth of them. There are no
other possible hypotheses; and so he must fall back on the original
theory—the rain, the springs, the brook; they have done it all, even as
they are doing it this day.

But is not that still a hasty assumption? May not their denuding power
have been far greater in old times than now?

Why should it? Because there was more rain then than now? That he must
put out of court; there is no evidence of it whatsoever.

Because the land was more friable originally? Well, there is a great
deal to be said for that. The experience of every countryman tells him
that bare or fallow land is more easily washed away than land under
vegetation. And no doubt, when these gravels and sands rose from the
sea, they were barren for hundreds of years. He has some measure of the
time required, but he can tell roughly how long it takes for sands and
shingles left by the sea to become covered by vegetation. But he must
allow that the friability of the land must have been originally much
greater than now, for hundreds of years.

But again, does that fact really cut off any great space of time from
his hundreds of thousands of years? For when the land first rose from
the sea, that glen was not there. Some slight bay or bend in the shore
determined its site. That stream was not there. It was split up into a
million little springs, oozing side by side from the shore, and having
each a very minute denuding power, which kept continually increasing by
combination as the glen ate its way inwards, and the rainfall drained
by all these little springs was collected into the one central stream.
So that when the ground being bare was most liable to be denuded, the
water was least able to do it; and as the denuding power of the water
increased, the land, being covered with vegetation, became more and
more able to resist it.

So the two disturbing elements in the calculation may be fairly set
off against each other, as making a difference of only a few thousands
or tens of thousands of years either way; and the age of the glen
may fairly be, if not a million years, yet such a length of years as
mankind still speak of with bated breath, as if forsooth it would do
them some harm.

I trust that every scientific man will agree with me, that the
imaginary ’squire or ploughman would have been conducting his
investigation strictly according to the laws of the Baconian
philosophy. You will remark, meanwhile, that he has not used a single
scientific term, or referred to a single scientific investigation; and
has observed nothing and thought nothing, which might not have been
observed and thought by any one who chose to use his common sense, and
not to be afraid.

But because he has come round, after all this further investigation,
to something very like his first conclusion, was all that further
investigation useless? No—a thousand times, no. It is this very
verification of hypotheses which makes the sound ones safe, and
destroys the unsound. It is this struggle with all sorts of
superstitions which makes science strong and sure, and her march
irresistible, winning ground slowly, but never receding from it. It is
this buffeting of adversity which compels her not to rest dangerously
upon the shallow sand of first guesses, and single observations; but
to strike her roots down, deep, wide, and interlaced, into the solid
ground of actual facts.

It is very necessary to insist on this point. For there have been men
in all past ages—I do not say whether there are any such now, but
I am inclined to think there will be hereafter,—men who have tried
to represent scientific method as something difficult, mysterious,
peculiar, unique, not to be attained by the unscientific mass;
and this not for the purpose of exalting science, but rather of
discrediting her. For as long as the masses, educated or uneducated,
are ignorant of what scientific method is, they will look on scientific
men, as the middle age looked on necromancers, as a privileged, but
awful and uncanny caste, possessed of mighty secrets; who may do them
great good, but also may do them great harm. Which belief on the part
of the masses will enable these persons to install themselves as the
critics of science, though not scientific men themselves: and—as
Shakspere has it—to talk of Robin Hood, though they never shot in his
bow. Thus they become mediators to the masses between the scientific
and the unscientific worlds. They tell them, You are not to trust the
conclusions of men of science at first hand. You are not fit judges
of their facts or of their methods. It is we who will, by a cautious
electicism, choose out for you such of their conclusions as are safe
for you; and them we will advise you to believe. To the scientific
man, on the other hand, as often as anything is discovered unpleasing
to them, they will say, imperiously and _ex cathedrâ_, Your new theory
contradicts the established facts of science. For they will know well
that whatever the men of science think of their assertion, the masses
will believe it; totally unaware that the speakers are by their very
terms showing their ignorance of science; and that what they call
established facts scientific men call merely provisional conclusions,
which they would throw away to-morrow without a pang were the known
facts explained better by a fresh theory, or did fresh facts require
one.

This has happened too often. It is in the interest of superstition that
it should happen again; and the best way to prevent it surely is to
tell the masses, Scientific method is no peculiar mystery, requiring a
peculiar initiation. It is simply common sense, combined with uncommon
courage, which includes uncommon honesty and uncommon patience; and
if you will be brave, honest, patient, rational, you will need no
mystagogues to tell you what in science to believe and what not to
believe; for you will be just as good judges of scientific facts and
theories as those who assume the right of guiding your convictions. You
are men and women: and more than that you need not be.




THE SORROW OF THE SEA.

By ALEXANDER ANDERSON.


    A day of fading light upon the sea;
      Of sea-birds winging to their rocky caves;
    And ever with its monotone to me,
      The sorrow of the waves.

    They leap and lash among the rocks and sands,
      White lipp’d, as with a guilty secret toss’d,
    For ever feeling with their foamy hands
      For something they have lost.

    Far out, and swaying in a sweet unrest,
      A boat or two against the light is seen,
    Dipping their sides within the liquid breast
      Of waters dark and green.

    And farther still, where sea and sky have kiss’d,
      There falls, as if from heaven’s own threshold, light
    Upon faint hills that, half enswathed in mist,
      Wait for the coming night.

    But still, though all this life and motion meet,
      My thoughts are wingless and lie dead in me,
    Or dimly stir to answer at my feet
      The sorrow of the sea.




ANECDOTES OF FASHION.

By I. D’ISRAELI.


The origin of many fashions was in the endeavor to conceal some
deformity of the inventor; hence the cushions, ruffs, hoops, and other
monstrous devices. If a reigning beauty chanced to have an unequal
hip, those who had very handsome hips would load them with that false
rump which the other was compelled by the unkindness of nature to
substitute. Patches were invented in England in the reign of Edward
VI by a foreign lady, who in this manner ingeniously covered a wen on
her neck. Full-bottomed wigs were invented by a French barber, one
Duviller, whose name they perpetuated, for the purpose of concealing
an elevation in the shoulder of the Dauphin. Charles VII of France
introduced long coats to hide his ill-made legs. Shoes with very long
points, full two feet in length, were invented by Henry Plantagenet,
Duke of Anjou, to conceal a large excrescence on one of his feet. When
Francis I was obliged to wear his hair short, owing to a wound he
received in the head, it became a prevailing fashion at court. Others,
on the contrary, adapted fashions to set off their peculiar beauties;
as Isabella of Bavaria, remarkable for her gallantry, and the fairness
of her complexion, introduced the fashion of leaving the shoulders and
part of the neck uncovered.

Fashions have frequently originated from circumstances as silly as
the following one. Isabella, daughter of Philip II, and wife of
the Archduke Albert, vowed not to change her linen till Ostend was
taken; this siege, unluckily for her comfort, lasted three years;
and the supposed color of the archduchess’s linen gave rise to a
fashionable color, hence called _l’Isabeau_, or the Isabella; a kind of
whitish-yellow-dingy. Sometimes they originate in some temporary event:
as after the battle of Steenkirk, where the allies wore large cravats,
by which the French frequently seized hold of them, a circumstance
perpetuated on the medals of Louis XIV, cravats were called Steenkirks;
and after the battle of Ramillies, wigs received that denomination.

The hair has in all ages been an endless topic for the declamation of
the moralist, and the favorite object of fashion. If the _beau monde_
wore their hair luxuriant, or their wig enormous, the preachers, as
in Charles the Second’s reign, instantly were seen in the pulpit with
their hair cut shorter, and their sermon longer, in consequence;
respect was, however, paid by the world to the size of the _wig_, in
spite of the _hair-cutter_ in the pulpit. Our judges, and until lately
our physicians, well knew its magical effect. In the reign of Charles
II the hair-dress of the ladies was very elaborate; it was not only
curled and frizzled with the nicest art, but set off with certain
artificial curls, then too emphatically known by the pathetic terms of
_heart-breakers_ and _love-locks_. So late as William and Mary, lads,
and even children, wore wigs; and if they had not wigs, they curled
their hair to resemble this fashionable ornament. Women then were the
hair-dressers.

The courts in all ages and in every country are the modelers of
fashions, so that all the ridicule, of which these are so susceptible,
must fall on them, and not upon their servile imitators the citizens.
This complaint is made even so far back as in 1586, by Jean des Caures,
an old French moralist, who, in declaiming against the fashions of
his day, notices one, of the ladies carrying mirrors fixed to their
waists, which seemed to employ their eyes in perpetual activity. From
this mode will result, according to honest Des Caures, their eternal
damnation. “Alas!” he exclaims, “in what age do we live: to see such
depravity which we see, that induces them even to bring into church
these scandalous mirrors hanging about their waists! Let all histories
divine, human, and profane be consulted; never will it be found that
these objects of vanity were ever thus brought into public by the most
meretricious of the sex. It is true, at present none but the ladies
of the court venture to wear them; but long it will not be before
every citizen’s daughter, and every female servant, will wear them!”
Such in all times has been the rise and decline of fashion; and the
absurd mimicry of the citizens, even of the lowest classes, to their
very ruin, in straining to rival the newest fashion, has mortified and
galled the courtier.




LANGUAGE IN ANIMALS.

By RICHARD BUDD PAINTER.


No one who has clearly observed animals, birds, bees, and other
creatures, can possibly deny their possession of a faculty of
communicating ideas to one another.

Admitting this fully, my object therefore will be, while elicitating
some of the facts concerning animal language, to maintain the
consistency of my argument in regard to man, as contrasted with
animals, by showing that such animal language is not of an intellectual
kind, but only such as is necessary for the conduct, and use, of the
highest phases of the animal “instinctive mind,” according to its
ordained capacity in each species.

In my opinion, every kind of animal possesses a different sort
of language; and which is peculiar to its genus; just as in the
case of different races of man, a language which though capable of
interpretation by a member of the group which speaks it, can not be
generally understood by other races in minute detail; although among
both men and animals there are a few cries, etc., that can be generally
understood; as those of alarm communicated by screams, stamping of the
ground, etc. But we must note that whatever may be the kind and extent
of language in animals, it is in them always _expressive only of animal
sensations and sense impressions and reasonings_.

Particular animals, birds, insects, etc., bark, gibber, bray, sing,
crow, grunt, rub their wing-cases (crickets), etc., showing that each
has a different language, and different modes of expressing emotion:
showing, too, by these differences that their sorts of minds must vary
much more from one another, than do the minds of men in their different
human varieties; for men do not employ such immensely different modes
of conveying their ideas and feelings by sounds as is the case in
animals with their lowing, snorting, barking, etc.

The making of these very different sounds by different animals is
therefore to me the clearest possible proof that different animals
possess different sorts of mind; yet of course there is some general
resemblance, as is the case in so many of God’s works made diversely
in specific instances, yet on the same general plan in the main. I
said just now that, while fully admitting the possession of a kind
of language by animals, I should maintain strictly that it is not of
an intellectual character, and I may be asked what I mean by this
assertion.

My answer is that I believe the language of the animal is limited
chiefly to the expression of animal needs; and animal sensations;
and the conveyance of such requirements, and feelings to their kind;
although it can doubtless be used also for communicating in some
slight degree such ideas concerning animal experiences and feelings as
their feeble reasoning powers enable them to arrive at; such as the
devices for protection, and escape from danger; and the manifestation
and interpretation of the sort of questionings, and answerings which
occur when two dogs meet, as shown by the wagging of tails, and pleased
looks, or the reverse; and which seem to indicate as if the dogs could
by gesture, etc., ask, and reply to one another, whether it is to be
peace, or war.

My belief is that the mind of the mere animal is in no ease able to
reach beyond the limit of simple ministration to the animal needs, and
animal feelings, and instincts of the creature according to its kind;
and that it can never form pure intellectual ideas, such as those of
intellectual love; intellectual hatred; intellectual ideas as to time;
space; God, etc. Nor can it form the mental abstractions—words—and by
the use of these arrive at the intellectual operation of mind which
their employment renders possible.


MODES OF EXPRESSING LANGUAGE IN ANIMALS.

These may take place—

First—By _vocal intonations_ (as in man) in brutes and birds: and I may
remark that all brutes possess a tongue, larynx, and vocal cords; and
that birds have these also, with the exception that the bird’s larynx
(syrinx) is rather modified from that of man and the mammalia; still we
know its perfection; and we know how the parrot can use it.

Secondly—_By gesture_ and visual regard, as seen in dogs, and in birds.

Thirdly—_By means of sounds other than vocal_, as is witnessed in the
stamping on the ground by various animals to intimate danger. Also the
noises of insects made by rubbing their wing-cases (elytra) together,
as in the cricket, etc.

Fourthly—_By means of touch_, as in the cases of ants, bees, and other
insects, which can convey meanings by crossing their antennæ.

Fifthly—Other signs, etc., perhaps, with which we have no acquaintance,
and can form no conjecture.

Sixthly—Information can also probably be ascertained by smell.

By any one of these means separately, or together, it doubtless is
possible for very numerous species of creatures to communicate with
their kind by means of a language,—little articulate it may be—but
still more or less articulate, according to endowment.

Let us now consider animal language by whatever mode effected; and to
do so I propose to divide the subject into two sections.

First—_The language of the sensations._

Second—_The language of the instinctive mind._

First—_The language expressive of the bodily sensations._

This, I have no doubt, is in great measure, if not entirely, automatic,
for like as when you tread on a man’s toe, or give him a thump on the
back, he involuntarily cries out—Oh! So when you tread on a cat’s tail,
she gives utterance to her characteristic scream.

But it is not only bodily pain that can be proclaimed aloud, but
hosts of other sensations can also be expressed in various ways. The
lamb, or the kitten, feels the sensation of hunger, and it doubtless
involuntarily bleats, or mews, for its mother; although it does not in
the least know the meaning of “Ba,” or “Mew,” or why it gives utterance
to such sounds.

And so of the notes of the crowing cock, the “gobbling” turkey, and the
sibilant cricket, etc.

And then as to numbers of other cries, etc., too numerous to mention;
such as the chirping of sparrows on the approach of rain, the moaning
and whining of animals in pain, the cackling of the hen after laying an
egg, etc.,—all these arise doubtless from bodily sensations, and may be
termed the language of the involuntary or automatic part of the organic
mind.

Second—_The language of the instinctive mind._

I have above briefly spoken of the language expressive of the bodily
sensations, and have termed it really the automatic language of what
I call the “organic mind,” or “vital force.” Now we must speak of the
language capable of being used by the “instinctive mind”—a language, I
believe, that is sometimes involuntary or automatic, but which at other
times is under the voluntary control of such kind of will, judgment,
and choice as is capable of being exercised by the creature according
to its mental endowment as decreed and specialized.

Thus, by sounds or gestures, or other modes, animals, birds, insects,
etc., can express fear of danger, friendliness, hatred, anger, triumph,
etc.; and in some instances, as in the bee, can communicate such
special information as that the “queen is dead,” etc.

See two dogs meet: they evidently quite understand each other, and by
wagging of tails and bright glances, or the reverse; and a cheerful
bark or a savage snarl, can quickly intimate whether a gambol or a
fight is to result. No doubt, as in man, this result will be greatly
guided by the state of the bodily sensations (digestion, etc.), and as
to age and natural character; but yet the dogs’ communications, we may
be sure are only concerning pure animal sensations or concerns, and
never assume an intellectual character, such as, “How is your beloved
mistress?” etc.

Then look at the watchful bird on the tree-top, or the sentinel bull
on the hillock; each can sound the alarm, because its intuition or its
experience tells of danger. And then look at a party of rooks holding
a palaver; who can doubt but that in some way they communicate certain
feelings and perhaps ideas? And so as to hosts of other birds and
beasts; but then their mental processes cannot possibly—for reasons
which I have repeatedly given—be considered as of an intellectual sort
like that of man, indeed it very probably may be of so different a kind
to ours that we can not even guess at the nature of it.

I have not space to illustrate all the visible manifestations of the
different phases of mind in animals, but to mention only one other, who
can doubt but that in regard to triumph after a victory, the cock when
he gets on an elevation and crows must experience some of the pride of
conquest, and must have a sort of conception of the abstract idea of
exultation in regard to his courage and prowess?

And yet although, as in my opinion, we must not delude ourselves by
thinking that the foregoing are simply produced by reflex actions
arising only from bodily sensations; so we must not equally be misled
by supposing that such results arise from intellectual reasoning.
No! in my opinion, although all these acts and sounds are performed,
and produced, in some measure—_and in some measure only_—according
to the dictates of a _sort of conscious will; and a sort of abstract
reasoning_ (in some cases), yet they can only occur, or be done,
strictly according to the caliber, and quality, and specific endowment
of the kind of _non_-intellectual mind with which the creature has been
gifted by God—a caliber, and quality, and specific sort of mind which I
will not pretend to be able, in any way, to explain the nature of, or
essential mode of working.

       *       *       *       *       *

Those who employ their time ill are the first to complain of its
shortness. As they spend it in dressing, eating, sleeping, foolish
conversation, in determining what they ought to do, and often in doing
nothing, time is wanting to them for their real business and pleasures:
those, on the contrary, who make the best use of it have plenty and to
spare.—_La Bruyère._

       *       *       *       *       *

Even though it were true what many say, that education gives not to
man another heart, nor another temperament, that it changes nothing in
reality, and touches only the outside crust, I would not hesitate to
say that it is not useless.—_La Bruyère._




THE ELECTRIC LIGHT.

By A. A. CAMPBELL SWINTON.


It seems at present that electricity is to be the illuminating agent
of the future, and that, as gas has now all but superseded candles and
oil, so in turn gas will soon be superseded by electricity. The reasons
for this change are several and various, and follow that most immutable
of natural laws, the law of the survival of the fittest.

About the commencement of the present century, Sir Humphry Davy, the
eminent chemist, succeeded in producing at the Royal Institution the
most brilliant light then known. By passing the electricity derived
from an enormous battery of four thousand plates through two charcoal
points separated from one another, he obtained in air a continuous
electric discharge four inches in length, which was increased to seven
inches when the experiment was repeated _in vacuo_.

This discharge, or arc, as it is called, consisted of very minute
particles of charcoal, which being raised to white heat by the
resistance offered by the points to the electric current, were also by
its means conveyed with great rapidity from one charcoal point to the
other, emitting during their passage a light of dazzling brilliancy.
The discharge of heated particles being continuous, the arc could be
maintained for a considerable length of time.

This light, however, was entirely impracticable for any but purely
experimental purposes. A battery of four thousand plates is not
easily maintained in working order, and besides, the expense of such
an arrangement puts it entirely out of the question. Of late years,
however, a new method of producing electricity on a large scale has
been discovered in the dynamo-electric machine, by means of which
currents of great volume and intensity can be obtained from the power
generated by a steam engine, water wheel, or other prime motor.

This great discovery instigated scientific men to try and bring the
electric light within the range of practical utility, in which end they
have already been eminently successful.

It was found that as the charcoal points in Davy’s lamp in process of
time became oxidized and burnt away, it was necessary to have some
arrangement by which they should be maintained at a constant distance
from one another. This problem was first solved by Duboscq, a French
_savant_, who by the combined action of the electric current and a
system of clockwork, succeeded in obtaining a constant and steady
light. Gas carbon, as found incrusted on the inside of gas retorts, was
at the same time substituted for the charcoal employed by Davy, as it
was found to burn more equally and to last much longer.

In July, 1877, a new form of electric light apparatus was introduced
into France and elsewhere, which, from its practical simplicity,
attracted a large amount of attention. This invention is due to Mr.
Jablochkoff, a Russian engineer, and is known as the Jablochkoff
candle. In this form of regulator all clockwork and mechanism are
avoided; the two carbons are placed side by side, in parallel lines,
and are separated by some substance which, though readily fusible,
at the same time offers so enormous a resistance to the passage of
the electric current as practically to prevent its passage through it
at all. Kaolin clay and plaster of Paris have both been employed for
this purpose with success. The current not being able to pass through
the insulating material, can only pass between the two carbons at the
extremity of the candle, where the arc is therefore formed. As the
carbons burn away, the insulating material melts, and an uninterrupted
light is obtained. As it is found that one carbon burns away more
quickly than the other, in this form of lamp the electric current is
supplied alternately in different directions, which makes the carbons
burn equally, the reversions of the electricity being so rapid that
the arc is to all appearances continuous. This lamp has been largely
employed in Paris, and is at present in actual operation on the Thames
embankment. Its chief defects are its great expense and the unsteady
character of the light, which, owing to the oxidation of the insulating
material, flickers and changes color. Another lamp, and one which has
been largely used in Europe and in America, is the Brush regulator,
called after its inventor. In this form the carbons are vertically
one above the other, the upper one being controlled by an electro
magnet, which supports it, allowing it to descend of its own weight
when, through the distance between the carbons becoming too great, the
current is weakened, and the magnet unable to support its load, thus
keeping the arc of a constant length. There are a large number of other
arc regulators, some of which work very well, and are largely employed;
but they are most of them based on a very similar principle to that of
the Brush lamp, and therefore they need no special description.

It has been found, however, that, adapted as some of the arc regulators
are for the illumination of streets and large areas, none of them are
at all able to compete with gas in the lighting of private houses. Not
only do they require the constant attention of skilled workmen to renew
the carbons and to clean the mechanism, but they give far too strong
and dazzling a light for any but very large apartments.

For domestic lighting we therefore come to quite a new departure in
electric lamps; instead of the arc we have the incandescent regulator.

If an intense electric current be transmitted through a fine platinum
wire, the latter will, in a very few seconds, become white hot, and
give a considerable amount of light. If such a platinum wire be
enclosed in a glass globe, from which the air has been extracted, we
have one kind of incandescent lamp, so called because the light is
produced through the incandescence or intense heating of a platinum
or other conductor. It was a lamp such as this that, when brought out
by Mr. Edison two years ago, produced such a scare among holders of
gas shares. It was not, however, a practical invention; it was found
that the electric current constantly melted the platinum, or broke the
glass envelope, after which the lamp was of course entirely useless. In
vain Mr. Edison tried various alloys of platinum and iridium; nothing
of that nature was found that could resist the intense heat produced
by the electricity. While, however, the incandescent lamp was not
progressing very rapidly in America, in England Mr. Swan, of Newcastle,
who had been experimenting with the electric light for some time,
brought out another kind of regulator, which has given rise to great
expectations. The Swan lamp consists of a pear-shaped globe, blown out
of glass, and from which all the air, or at least as much as can be,
has been exhausted. In this globe there is a tiny carbon filament,
manufactured of carbonized thread, in the form of a loop, which is
attached to two platinum wires which project through the glass bulb. On
an electric current being passed through the carbon, by means of wires
attached to the platinum projections, a soft yet brilliant light is
obtained. These lamps, which give a light corresponding in power and
color to an ordinary gas flame, can now be obtained for five shillings
each, and it is probable that this price may yet be still further
reduced.

Mr. Edison also, having abandoned his earlier platino-iridium
regulator, has brought out another lamp very similar to Mr. Swan’s. In
his case the carbon filament is formed of carbonized bamboo, and the
glass bulb is of an elongated form. Incandescent lamps have also been
invented by Maxim, Crooks, Fox Lane, and others; but they only differ
in details of manufacture from those of Swan and Edison.

Among edifices now entirely illuminated by the Swan system may be
mentioned twenty-one steam vessels, including several war ships—the
_City of Rome_, an Anchor Liner, which is second only to the _Great
Eastern_ in point of size, and several passenger boats in the Cunard
and White Star Lines.

One of the greatest objections to gas as an indoor illuminant is the
fact that not only does it burn a large amount of the oxygen of the
air, but it also gives off during combustion carbonic acid gas and
other poisonous vapors, besides a great amount of heat, thus vitiating
the atmosphere. In public buildings where there is much gas burnt
and little ventilation, this is seen to advantage, the air becoming
in a short space of time hot and unwholesome. Now in the case of
the incandescent electric light, this is altogether altered, the
incandescent filament which produces the light, although in itself
enormously hot, is too small in point of size to radiate much heat,
and the fact of its being hermetically enclosed in a glass globe,
which is impervious to the atmosphere, entirely prevents the escape
of any noxious gases. The same circumstance prevents there being any
consumption of oxygen.

These facts make the electric light far more wholesome than gas for the
illumination of music-halls, churches, or other places of concourse. In
a recent trial in the Town Hall at Birmingham, the employment of gas
raised the temperature of the atmosphere thirty-eight degrees in three
hours, while the building was equally well lighted with electricity for
seven hours with a rise in temperature of only two degrees. Thus, after
a period of lighting by electricity 2.33 times as long as by gas, the
temperature at the ceiling was increased by only 1-19th of the amount
due to gas.

Another great advantage consequent to the employment of incandescent
lighting, is the greater immunity from accidental fire; for as the
carbon filament is instantly entirely consumed, the moment the glass
envelope is broken it is impossible for the lamp to ignite anything
in its vicinity however inflammable. The experiment has been tried of
breaking a lighted incandescent lamp in a vessel containing gunpowder,
with perfect safety. As these lamps may be placed in any position, they
lend themselves very readily to ornamental and decorative purposes. At
the recent electrical exhibition at the Crystal Palace a very beautiful
chandelier of Edison lamps was shown, in which the lamps, which were
of very small size, formed the petals of finely worked glass and brass
flowers. This chandelier had a really magnificent effect when lighted.

These and other facts too numerous to mention, demonstrate that
electricity, when properly applied, will be a far more elegant, safe,
and wholesome agent for illuminating purposes, than coal-gas as now
employed. But in order to have the full benefits of its use, a system
is required by which the electric current shall be produced and
conveyed to the lamps.

Not only has Mr. Edison invented an incandescent lamp, but he has also
identified his name with a very complete system for producing the light
on a large scale to suit both domestic and commercial requirements.
In the first place he has invented a peculiar form of dynamo-machine,
which when driven at great speed by powerful steam or water engines,
produces the electricity in great quantity at some central station.
From this centre the current is conveyed by copper wires laid under the
streets or over the roofs of the houses, these conductors being tapped
of their electric fluid by smaller wires which convey the electricity
into the houses, in a way similar to that in which gas is conveyed by
small pipes from the larger street mains. In each house is an electric
meter, a special invention of Mr. Edison’s, which measures the quantity
of electricity which passes through it. This meter is very ingenious,
and therefore the principle on which it is based may be described. If
a current of electricity be passed through a solution of sulphate of
copper, contained in a copper jar, the sulphate solution is decomposed
and metallic copper is deposited on the inside of the jar. Now it
has been proved by experiment, that the amount of copper deposited
is always directly proportional to the strength and duration of the
electric current. Mr. Edison’s meter consists of such an arrangement,
and he finds that by weighing the copper jar, so as to determine
exactly what it has gained in weight through the metallic deposition
of the solution it contains, he can accurately calculate in units the
amount of electricity that has passed through the meter. By means of
this beautiful discovery electricity can be supplied and paid for in a
manner very similar to that employed in the case of gas at the present
time.

Within the building to be illuminated, the electric fluid reaches the
lamps along small copper wires, about the thickness of ordinary bell
wire, which are covered with a coating of gutta percha to prevent the
escape of the electricity, which might cause sparks or even fire, or in
any case seriously injure any one who might come in contact with the
bare metal, by giving him a very violent if not fatal electric shock.
The lamps themselves may be fixed to ordinary gas brackets. Mr. Edison
has designed some special ones, and the light can be turned on and
off, by means of a tap or button, with as great or even still greater
facility than gas.

Mr. Edison has recently established a central station in New York,
from which he proposes to light the houses included in an area of a
wide radius from the center. In part of this area the installation of
the lamps and wires is now complete, and the light is giving every
satisfaction, the cost being considerably below that of gas, which
in the United States is very expensive. It must be remembered that
electric lighting is comparatively a new science, and not yet fully
understood. There is very little doubt that, by practice, it will
before long approach more nearly to perfection, and sooner or later
entirely supersede gas, the arc form of lamp being employed for the
illumination of streets and large areas, while the incandescent pattern
meets domestic requirements.—_Good Words._




AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.

[A REMONSTRANCE.]

By THE AUTHOR OF “JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN.”


    Gray heavens, gray earth, gray sea, gray sky,
      Yet rifted with strange gleams of gold,
    Downward, all’s dark; but up on high
      Walk our white angels,—dear of old.

    Strong faith in God and trust in man,
      In patience we possess our souls;
    Eastward, grey ghosts may linger wan,
      But westward, back the shadow rolls.

    Life’s broken urns with moss are clad,
      And grass springs greenest over graves;
    The shipwrecked sailor reckons glad,
      Not what he lost, but what he saves.

    Our sun has set, but in his ray
      The hill-tops shine like saints new-born:
    His after-glow of night makes day,
      And when we wake it will be morn.




NEW MEXICO.

By REV. SHELDON JACKSON, D.D.


New Mexico is Spain in the United States—a region where the Spanish
language, customs, and habits prevail, where the debates of the
legislature and the pleadings of the courts are in a foreign tongue; a
territory where an American feels as one in a foreign country, and is a
stranger in his own land.

While the latest section to receive American civilization, it was
the first to be occupied by Europeans. When our pilgrim fathers were
shivering through their first New England winter, New Mexico had been
settled half a century. When they were making

    “The sounding aisles of the dim woods ring
     To the anthem of the free,”

the Spanish cavalier was chanting the “Te Deum” in churches even
then beginning to be venerable with age. And there to-day are
the descendants of those brave old Castilians whose prowess made
illustrious the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella.

In 1677 a book was published in London giving an account “of America
and all the principal kingdoms, provinces, seas, and islands of it.”
Mr. Heylin, the author, thus speaks of New Mexico in volume IV:
“Nova Mexicana is bounded on the south with New Biscay; on the west
with Quivara; the countreyes, on the north and east, not discovered
hitherto, though some extend eastward as far as Florida, extended two
hundred and fifty leagues from the town and mines of Santa Barbara, and
how much beyond that none can tell; the relations of this country being
so uncertain and incredulous that I dare say nothing positively of the
soil or people, but much less of the towns and cities which are said to
be in it.”

New Mexico, as at present constituted, has an area of 121,201 square
miles, and in a general way may be said to consist of tablelands,
mountains, and valleys. The tablelands rise one above another in
well-defined terraces, with an altitude above sea level of from 5,000
feet in the southeast, to 7,500 feet in the northwest. These tablelands
cover about two-thirds of the Territory, and constitute the valuable
grazing lands. The mountainous region consists of the Rocky Mountains,
which enter the Territory from the north in two chains—like the prongs
of a fork. The eastern chain terminates a few miles south of Sante Fe,
while the western one ends in the broken and detached ranges of the
southern section of the Territory. These mountains are rich in gold,
silver, iron, copper, lead, and coal. Sections of them are covered
with valuable timber, and among them are many medicinal springs. The
valleys lie between these mountain ranges, and contain the agricultural
lands, and are farmed by artificial irrigation. These valleys produce
good crops of corn, wheat, beans, etc., and in the southern half of
the Territory raise fine apples, pears, plums, apricots, peaches, and
grapes, the grapes up to the present time being more abundant than
other fruits. In addition to the above, the Messilla (Ma-see´-ya)
valley produces quinces, figs, and pomegranates. Artificial irrigation
is supplied from the melting snows of the mountains. The principal
streams are the Rio Grande (Ree´-o Gran-da), the Canadian, the Pecos
(Pa-cos), the San Juan (San Whan), and the Gila (Hee-la).

The Rio Grande River is the Nile of America. It is 1,800 miles long and
of almost equal volume from its source to its mouth, flowing hundreds
of miles without receiving a tributary of any size, being fed almost
entirely from the snows of the mountains. Along on either side of the
river are canals conveying the water to the adjacent farms. The water
is exceedingly roily and its annual deposit of sediment upon the land
increases its fertility.

The climate is unexcelled by any portion of the United States—being a
succession of bright sunshiny days almost the year through. The country
is free from malarial, billious and lung troubles, general debility and
asthma.

New Mexico has much of antiquarian interest. The mysteries connected
with its earlier history and the evidences of former greatness throw
a halo of romance around it. The country when first visited in 1536,
or ’37, by Spaniards was filled with the ruins of great cities, which
ruins are still in existence. In some places, acres of ground are still
covered with pieces of broken pottery. The mountains, in sections, are
honeycombed with abandoned dwellings, like Petra of old, or with the
remains of ancient mining operations, from which were drawn those vast
supplies of gold and silver found at Montezuma’s court.

In the Cañon de Chilly (de-shay) high up in the face of perpendicular
walls of rock are hundreds of ruins now tenantless and desolate. Among
some of these ruins which we have visited are sepulchres, about four
feet square, of mortar-laid stone, in which we found human skeletons.

In the Cañon de Chaco are great buildings with three and four stories
of walls still standing, built in the most substantial manner of cut
stone and neatly plastered on the inside. The country in the immediate
vicinity of these ruins is wild and desolate, and no clew to the
builders has yet been found. We only know that years, possibly ages
ago, great cities grew, flourished and passed away, leaving extensive
ruins as the evidence of their existence.

At the close of the sixteenth century the Spaniards took possession of
the country, subjugated the native races and made them slaves to work
the newly-opened mines. The Spanish rule was so cruel that in 1680 the
Pueblos rebelled and drove them from the country. Then commenced a war,
lasting many years, making the valley of the Rio Grande classic ground,
as the Spanish forces again and again advanced up the valley, only to
be driven back by the Pueblos, until, through treachery and dissensions
among the native forces, the Spanish were again in full control.

New Mexico became known to Americans first through the explorations of
Captains Long, Nicollet, and Fremont. La Londe, a Frenchman, was sent
by Morrison, of Kaskaskia, Illinois, on a trading trip in 1804. He was
followed by James Pursley in 1805. Pike visited there in 1807, and a
train of goods was sent in 1812 by Knight, Beard, Chambers, and eight
others. This party were seized by the authorities and held as prisoners
for nine years. Caravans of traders were furnished with a government
escort in 1829, 1834, and 1843.

In 1848 New Mexico was annexed to the United States.

The majority of the people reside in villages. These are largely of
the same pattern, and consist of a large public square, around which
are grouped without much attention to regular streets, a number of
one-story adobe (sun-dried) brick houses. The individual houses are
built around the four sides of smaller squares called _placitas_.
The rooms of the house open on this _placita_; also the stable. The
buildings are usually one story high, with dirt floors and flat dirt
roofs. During the rainy season the roofs leak badly. Among the older
houses there are but few that have glass windows. A few others have
mica windows. The larger number have an open lattice work, protected
in stormy weather by a tight board shutter. The roof is made of
poles, covered first with grass, then two feet of dirt, and is used
for various family purposes. (2 Kings 19: 26; Acts 10: 9.) The floor
is the native earth, beaten hard, then covered with a layer of adobe
clay. The fire-place is in a corner, and on three sides of the room a
raised bench of clay forms a seat, and also a shelf for piling away
the bed blankets during the day. Many of the houses, especially of
the poorer classes, are without chair, bedstead, or table. Many of the
rooms are neatly whitewashed with a white clay found in that region,
and the walls hung with crucifixes, mirrors, and lithograph pictures
of saints. There is one large opening, or gate, into the _placita_,
admitting alike the family, donkeys, goats and sheep. The streets are
narrow, irregular, and without sidewalks. The roads, worn by the travel
of centuries, are lower than the adjacent country, and during a rainy
season filled with muddy water. Wagons are scarce, as also are the
native carts, some of them with a primitive wheel, constructed from a
solid section of a tree.

The Mexican’s chief friend is the donkey, and in the streets of the
villages are to be seen droves of them loaded with hay, fire-wood,
vegetables, crates of fruit, melons, merchandise, casks of whisky,
trunks, lumber, etc. It is no uncommon thing to see a drove, each with
a heavy stick of timber projecting into the air beyond his head, and
the other end dragging on the ground behind him.

In the fields are occasional lodges (Isaiah 1: 8) as a shelter while
watching the vineyard, melon or grain fields.

Roads for foot-passengers and pack-animals run through the grain and
corn fields (Mark 2: 23; Matthew 13: 4) and along the unfenced wayside
were the graves of the former inhabitants, or the points where the
pall-bearers rested in bearing the body to the grave, marked with a
rude board cross and pile of stones (Joshua 7: 26; 2 Samuel 18: 17).
The women carry water in great jars on their heads or shoulders (Gen.
24: 46).

They plow like the ancients with a crooked stick fastened to the horns
of the oxen—several yoke of oxen following one another (1 Kings 19: 19).

As in the days of Ruth and Boaz, men and women still reap with a sickle
and the poor get the gleanings (Ruth 2: 15-23). The grain when reaped
is spread out on threshing floors made smooth by packing the earth
(Gen. 50: 10; 1 Sam. 23: 1) where it is threshed out by driving around
in a circle sheep, horses or oxen (Deut. 25: 4). After cleaning out
the bulk of the straw with forks, the wheat and chaff are shoveled
into blankets, which by a series of jerks, similar to shaking carpets,
toss their contents into the air, the chaff blowing one side and the
wheat falling back in the blanket. This process can only be carried on
when the wind is favorable; consequently to improve a favorable wind
they work all night (Ruth 3: 2). Another process is to lift the wheat
and chaff in a bucket as high as the head and empty it slowly upon a
blanket spread on the ground. Separated from the chaff, the wheat is
taken to a neighboring stream and washed in large earthen jars, after
which it is spread upon woolen blankets to dry in the sun.

The principal diet of the people is _chile colorado_ (col-o-row). There
are several varieties of this fiery dish; one made of beef is called
_carne_. A more common dish is made of mutton and called _carnero_.
The flesh is boiled to a pulp, to which is added _chile_. _Chile_ is
prepared by rolling red pepper on a stone until pods and seeds are a
soft mass. It tastes as red-hot iron is supposed to taste. It is said
that a new beginner on this diet ought to have a copper-lined throat.

Many old churches are still in use. They are built of adobe brick, with
dirt roof and dirt floor. Some of them possess paintings evidently
imported from Spain. There are also many ruder home-made paintings on
the walls. They are without seats or pews, the worshippers kneeling
or sitting on the floor. They are also generally much out of repair.
They contain many images, and in some of the churches a bier with a
life-size image of the Savior. At certain festivals this is carried in
a procession, and on Good Friday is used to dramatize the crucifixion
of Christ. In some of the churches are exhibitions of Scriptural
scenes covering the life of the Savior, apostles and early martyrs.
Occasionally an image of Christ is rigged with a movable arm, which is
turned by a crank. As with the movement of the crank the hand comes up,
it is supposed to throw blessings upon the waiting congregation below.
Upon one occasion during a long dry spell, they carried an image of
the Virgin Mary in stately processions through the fields to secure
rain. But the drouth continuing, the people in anger took the image out
into the street, took off its costly clothing, and gave it a public
whipping. Just then a severe thunder and hail storm came up; vivid
flashes of lightning played around them, and the hail destroyed their
crops and gardens. Greatly frightened, the ignorant people hastened to
re-clothe the image, and prostrate themselves before it in most abject
submission. The enclosure in front of these churches, and especially
the floor of the church itself, is the favorite burial-place of the
people, the holiest place of all being near the altar. Nearness to the
altar is graded by the amount of money paid.

The Roman Catholic Church, removed from competition with Protestantism,
is a wisely constructed machine for extorting money out of the
fears and superstitions of an ignorant people. Baptism, confession,
blessings, anointing, burials, and mass must all be paid for at a round
price. The weeping friends bring the corpse of the loved one and set
down the bier before the closed gates of the church. Then money is laid
upon the corpse. Again and again has a priest been known to look out,
and if he judged that the money was not as much as the friends could
afford to pay, refuse to open the gate, and nothing is left for the
friends but to continue adding money to the sum previously collected
until the rapacity of the priest is satisfied. An ordinary funeral in a
churchyard will cost one hundred dollars, if the family has that much.
To be buried in some of the churches costs from five hundred dollars
to five thousand dollars, according to position. The corpse is carried
on a board or bier (they do not generally use coffins), to the place
of burial. If the priest goes to the house, he walks in front of the
funeral procession. He has on a scarlet dress with a white over-skirt.
At his side is a small boy similarly dressed, tinkling a bell. A few
yards in the rear is a second priest, dressed in scarlet and white,
swinging a burning censer. Around him is grouped a motley crowd of men,
women, and children, carrying lighted candles, the men and boys with
uncovered heads, and behind all are men firing muskets into the air to
frighten away the devil, who is supposed to be hovering around, waiting
a chance to seize the spirit of the departed one. If the corpse is that
of a child, it is covered with flowers (the corpse of such is called an
angel). From two to four children walk with the bearers. Behind these
are other children, who are considered more holy than the rabble that
follow. These are followed by four children carrying a richly dressed
saint under a canopy. If the family are able to pay for it, the priest
comes out to meet the procession, and sprinkles holy water over the
corpse, then into the grave. After this the corpse is slid off the
board into the grave with but little ceremony, and some dirt thrown
upon it. Men then get into the grave with a heavy maul and pack the
dirt down solid; then more dirt is thrown in and packed down. This is
continued until the grave is filled up level with the rest of the floor
of the church. The corpses are placed three or four deep in the same
spot, and oftentimes the bones of previous burials are thrown up to
make room for the new comer. In one instance that came to light, the
spade clave in two the head of a child and threw it out. Nearly all the
old churches I have visited smell like a charnel house. A few years ago
the legislature of New Mexico forbid further burials in the churches.

With the advent of railways, miners and Americans, the peculiar and
old-time customs of the country will speedily disappear, and a new era
dawn upon the people. Great changes are rapidly taking place, and New
Mexico is waking up from the sleep of centuries.

January 1, 1881, there were 658 miles of railway in operation, which
has been greatly increased since. During 1880 the yield of the mines
was $711,300. At the same time there were 400,000 head of cattle
and 5,000,000 sheep on its pasture lands. Population, 118,430. The
census of 1880 gives 38 Roman Catholic, 7 Presbyterian, and 1 Baptist
churches; and not mentioned in the census report, the writer knows of
several Methodist and Episcopalian churches.

In 1849, Rev. Henry W. Reed, a Baptist minister, opened a school at
Santa Fe.

In 1850 Rev. E. G. Nicholson commenced a Methodist mission at Santa Fe,
which was abandoned two years after.

In 1857 Rev. W. J. Kephart, a Presbyterian minister, was sent to New
Mexico in the anti-slavery interests, and became editor of the Santa Fe
_Gazette_. In 1852 Rev. Samuel Gorman, a Baptist minister, entered the
Territory and commenced a mission at Laguna Pueblo.

These missions were all abandoned at the beginning of the rebellion.

In 1866 Protestant missions were resumed by Rev. D. F. McFarland, a
Presbyterian minister sent to Santa Fe.

In 1869 the writer of this article was appointed Superintendent of
Presbyterian Missions for New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Wyoming and
Montana. The present Presbyterian strength is eighteen ministers, of
whom six are Mexicans.




SPECULATION IN THEOLOGY.[H]

By the REV. R. S. STORRS, D. D.


There are two schemes of religious thought generically in the world, as
there has been—and are now to some extent—two systems of astronomical
speculation, one obtaining in uncivilized countries, and the other
in civilized. One system of astronomical speculation takes the earth
as the center around which the heavens revolve. That seems according
to our senses; that is the architecture of the heavens according
to the natural man. When the Rev. Mr. Jasper, at Richmond, insists
that “the sun do move,” he seems to have the judgment and the sense
of every seeing man with him. [Laughter.] And we know what comes of
it,—uninterpreted and unintelligible and contradictory motions in all
the sky; a baffled heaven scribbled o’er with cycle and epicycle.
The other system of astronomical speculation takes its start from
the sun as the center and the governor of the planetary system, and
finds that sun himself, with all his dependent orbs, marching onward
through the heavens. And we know what comes of that. (There came a book
from Dr. Hill, years ago, which I read with the intensest interest,
concerning the relation of the stars.) [Applause.] There comes order
and harmony in all the system of the heavens. We measure and weigh
the planet in its course. The astronomer catches the comet in its far
flight, measures its motion and predicts its course and its return. The
butterfly floating in the air is balanced against the sun. Every shell
on the beach, every bud on the tree, is brought into relation with the
farthest nebula whose lace-work stains the distant azure. It is the
astronomy of science; it is the astronomy of advanced and cultivated
thought.

There are two systems of religious speculation. The one takes man
as its center and starting-point, regarding him as a finished fact,
practically. In its grosser forms it does not profess to know, as we
have been told by the brother who preceded me, whence he came; but it
suspects that his nature is evolved out of the brutal. It does not
know whither he is going; but it treats the future as the scoffing
French sceptic treated it, as at best “a grand Perhaps.” It does
not know about God, or whether there be any God other than the sum
of universal forces. It has no moral law except a general average
of probable experiences. And so it comes to men and tells them to
go on and live as they list. It tells them that there is no fear of
retribution, no need of atonement, and it has no place in all its
compass for any doctrine of regeneration and of the Holy Spirit of God.
I do not mean, of course, that everybody who holds this system will
accept fully my statement of it. In fact it is sometimes hard to find
out exactly how they state it, or what they mean by their statements
themselves. I am reminded occasionally of the man who had a clock
which somebody criticised, saying, “Your clock, Mr. Jones, does not
keep good time.” “Why,” said he, “it does keep perfectly good time,
only you do not understand it. The fact is that when the hands on that
clock point to twelve, then it strikes three, and what that means is
that it wants twenty minutes to seven. [Laughter and applause.] Now
if you will keep that in mind, you will hit the right time in every
instance.” [Laughter.] Well, I intend to speak very seriously, and yet
I cannot help being reminded by some of the language which is made use
of in some of these what-we-call agnostic publications, into which the
richest Christian words are sometimes brought as if to give a kind of
artificial and fictitious consecration to the doctrine which I think a
detestable doctrine underneath,—I can not help being reminded of a very
careful paraphrase which was made by a very bright and faithful Indian
girl at the school at Hampton. Her teacher told her—she did all of
this innocently, of course—to take a certain passage of Roman history
and write a paraphrase of it in her own words. So she went at it; and
when the teacher read the paraphrase she was astounded at finding
this statement in it: That “on a certain time the city was made sick
by cooking the entrails of animals.” Well, what on earth that meant
she could not imagine, nor how it got into this paraphrase, until she
turned to the original passage and then she found the statement that
“at a certain time the city was disturbed by intestine broils.” [Great
laughter and applause.]

Now, over against that system stands the theology which starts with
God as the center, as the Lord and Sovereign and Judge, as well as
the Creator of the earth and men upon it; and it takes what God
declares, in that which the history of the world declares to be his
Word, and what the devout spirit reverently accepts as the Word of
God, concerning himself and man, and man’s need, and the hereafter.
Here inspiration and redemption, regeneration by the Holy Spirit,
retribution in the future, time as the proof of eternity, come vividly
before us as the thoughts of God. He shows them to us in characters as
broad as if he had written them in a great theodicy of star-fires and
enduring orbs in the heavens. This system of theology does not cast any
discredit on human nature; it exalts it by showing it the object of
divine solicitude. It casts the splendor and the solemnity of eternity
upon the present experience and life of man; and it gives to the Bible
an immeasurable and an almost inconceivable importance and value.

Now I understand perfectly that the natural tendency of men is to
accept the preceding system, as the natural tendency of man is to
believe that the earth is the center, and the heavens go around it.
Man finds self-consciousness the first element of thought. The impulse
of self-assertion appears to be the primary impulse of human nature.
It is simply the egotistic man, of whom it might be said, as was said
by a friend of mine, speaking rather roughly and not very elegantly
about a man who was very egotistic, and who had offended him by his
egotism: “I believe that that man thinks that his house is placed
where the leg of the compasses was put down when the earth was made
round.” [Laughter.] There is a certain tendency in every human heart
to feel that it is central, and that it has rights and privileges
and possibilities belonging to itself inherently, and with which no
being can properly interfere. And civilization works with its multiple
forces and instruments and wealth in the same direction, taking a man
feeling his lordship of the earth and reminding him more and more,
and encouraging him to feel that he is lord of his destiny, and lord
of the hereafter as well. There are certain philanthropic sentiments
which work in the same direction, no doubt, tending to make men
believe that all will be right hereafter somehow or other, and that
after some possible brief unpleasantness in the future there will be a
universal deliverance and restoration into holiness and its peace. And
the secular spirit of the time, intense, widening, ever increasing,
moves in the same direction. It enters into literature; it enters into
life on every side; it finds no reality in religion; it believes it a
matter of poetic aspiration, or of cultivated literary leisure, or of
fine speculation, or of social observance, or possibly of ethics, or
more likely of æsthetic art; but the grand reality of religion, as a
bond uniting the human soul with the divine, it does not recognize or
feel. It is this which gives significance and importance to infidel
harangues; it is this spirit which spreads beneath and behind them. The
harangues are merely the surface pustules, while the disease is within.
They are the red and sulphurous flames, while the fires are underneath.
And yet they multiply! The business of this city of Portland could not
be carried on on the principles of these harangues. There is not a bank
or an insurance company here that would not have to shut its doors
if it posted within its walls, “This is an agnostic establishment.
[Applause.] It is carried on upon these principles: that there is no
God about whom we know anything; there is no hereafter probable; man
came out of the monkey; and there is no moral law.” Let such sentiments
prevail in this city, and it would have been better if the fire of a
few years ago had swept away every house within it, and left nothing
but the bay and the beach on which to plant a new town. And yet men
love to crowd halls and pay money in order to hear these infidel
speculations which are in substance as old as the ages.

And thus it comes to pass that religious thought loses its power
among those who are not directly touched by such harangues,—that the
influence widens continually to make the Bible a neglected book, and to
make the Sabbath a secular day, to make the Church a mere convocation
of people coming together at leisure to hear a lecture.

It is at such times that the spirit of liberalism, as it is called,
in religious speculations tending all the time to loosen the bonds
and unstring the strength of the Gospel of Christ, finds opportunity
and incitement and comes more widely to prevail. Liberalism! I
repudiate the term. [Applause.] I do not understand what function
liberality has either in the record or in the interpretation of facts.
I do not understand how he is a liberal mathematician who makes his
calculations bend to the preferences of himself and of his pupils. I
do not understand how he is a liberal chemist who feels at liberty to
play fast and loose with the principles of his science, and will not
quite affirm whether gunpowder will explode or not when fire touches
it. How is he a liberal chart-maker who rubs out all the reefs and
rocks and bars and warning headlands from his maps, and shows a smooth
coast-line with nothing but smiling shores and welcoming bays? How is
he a liberal interpreter of the globe who denies the granite above
and the fire beneath, and affirms that the whole is built, if we only
knew it, of excellently selected wood-pulp? What possible province has
liberality in the record of facts or in the interpretation of them?
I understand perfectly what liberality means as toward the opinions
of others who differ from us. I understand what liberality means as
toward the character of others who are entirely opposed in opinion and
in action to us. Coleridge’s canon has always seemed to me perfectly
to cover the ground. “Tolerate no belief,” he says, “which you deem
false and of injurious tendency, but arraign no belief. The man is more
and other than his belief, and God only knows how large or how small a
part of him the belief in man may be.” But liberality in the statement
of facts—there we want exactness, we want earnestness, we want precise
fidelity to the truth of things; and there is no opportunity for what
calls itself liberality there. How is it less liberal to tell a man
that strychnine will kill him than to tell him that it will certainly
give him a pain in his stomach? [Laughter.] How is it less liberal to
tell a man that if he goes over Niagara he goes to a sure death, than
it is to tell him that if he takes that awful plunge he will almost
certainly wet his feet. [Laughter.] No! When a man comes to me and
says, “These are the liberal doctrines; there is not probably any God;
we do not know where men come from; there is no law above him; there is
no retribution—or if there be any, it is a small one—waiting for him,”
I say, I perfectly understand your doctrines. There is no reason why
I should not. There is nothing immense or complex or mysterious about
them,—in fact, they are rather thin. [Laughter.] They remind one of
the pillows which one of the waiters stole at a White Mountain hotel
where they didn’t have very solid pillows. They knew he stole them,
because they found them on him, both of them, in his waistcoat pocket.
[Laughter.] We carry these doctrines very easily in our thought and
hand. There is nothing massive or majestic about them; there is nothing
liberal in them. If a man is true to his convictions, he is true to
them; and he has no right to be liberal in the way of giving away a
part of what he believes, or hiding it under any mystery of words and
imposing upon men with a thought which is not really his. And when I
look at the drift and working of such doctrines, I find at once that
they tend to build no grand characters; they give no motive to men for
repentance and faith; they do not seek, they do not tend, to lift man
nearer to the level of the holiness and happiness of God on high; they
work only in degradation of character; they authorize and encourage men
to imitate their grandfathers, which, on that system of doctrine, is to
make beasts of themselves. [Laughter.]

So I turn to the system of truth, which takes God for its center, his
law as our rule, his gospel as our light, his Son as our Redeemer, and
his immortality as the possible and glorious home of every created
being redeemed by the Son of God and renewed by his Spirit; and I say
here is the gospel of the ancient time and of the present time. You
need not call it antiquated. Everything which is best in the world
is old. Sunshine is as old as the earth itself and the sun when the
fire-mist was rounded into an orb,—the same to-day, playing on the
streets of Portland, as when it played on the bowers of Paradise. The
air is old, pouring its refreshing currents into our lungs and renewing
our life to-day as in all time past. The great arch of the heavens is
old; it has not been taken down and built up again on modern brick-work
since the creation. These doctrines are old but full of motion, full of
energy as the river is full of movements,—full of life-giving power,
as the sunlight and the vital air. They are the doctrines out of which
the missionary work sprang,—doctrines in which is all its life and the
spring of its power. They are the doctrines of Paul, that first great
missionary, of whom we heard in the sermon the other evening. He had
strong convictions. He did not doubt. He knew whom he had believed,
and was persuaded that he was able to keep him and to save the world.
And who is the successor of Paul? Who holds the same faith with him
and teaches it with the same earnest fidelity? I do not care to know
especially what he believed unless I believe it myself. I do not want
any uncertain or broken ice-bridge of outward ordinations between me
and the Apostle; I want to have his faith in my heart and to preach it
with the emphasis with which he preached it, and then I feel myself a
successor of the great missionary to the Roman Empire. [Applause.]

Our fathers had these convictions and because of them they gave of
their wealth; they prayed, they sacrificed, they gave themselves to
the work. I remember as a lad in a distant school seeing that man to
whom our president refers—Champion—who went out from a great fortune
to lay his bones in Western Africa in the service of his Master; and
though I was a careless boy, unmindful of these things, I remember that
his face shone almost as the face of Stephen when he looked up and
saw the Lord on high, and the vision of it has never failed to come
back to me whenever I have heard his name. They gave themselves. The
motive of their missionary work was found in this Gospel of Christ.
This was the instrument by which they accomplished their work in other
lands. This was the instrument by which Paul wrought his mighty work
in his day, and those who followed him in the Empire and in barbarous
tribes, wherever they could get access to men. It is this gospel which
has built New England. It is this gospel which, under the power of the
Spirit of God, is to change the earth—this gospel and nothing else.

Do not let us mask its doctrines in any mystery of words. Do not let
us evaporate its doctrines into any thin mist of speculation. Do not
let us emasculate it of its energy by taking away any of its vital
forces. It seems to me that to state this gospel in novel forms and
doubtful forms, in order to conciliate unbelief, is very much like the
woman’s wisdom who kept the burglars out of the house by leaving all
the valuables on the doorstep. [Laughter.] It seems to me that we shall
have no inspiration in us, no great powerful impulse to the work, and
no instrument to work with in that work, except as the old gospel of
man, not a cultivated monkey but a fallen prince, of God’s law binding
on him, of the light of the near eternity flashing on his spirit, of
the cross of Christ and its redemptive efficacy, of the Spirit of God
with his renewing power—except as this old gospel is not merely in our
hands or on our lips, but is in our brains and in our hearts; and then
we shall conquer. [Applause.]

Men may object to it, of course—men object to everything. I remember
a gentleman on the Hudson who took a querulous Englishman—not a
Canadian, [laughter]—who had been finding fault with everything from
the constitution of our government down to the shape of the toes of
our shoes, out to see from his place the magnificent autumnal forests
on the other side of the river, and the forests on the Hudson at this
season of the year are as if thousands of rainbows had fallen to the
earth and lodged. Said he, “Isn’t that magnificent?” “Well, yes, that
is—yes, that is very fine; but don’t you think now that it is just
a little tawdry, perhaps?” [Laughter.] There is nothing men may not
object to in the works or in the word of God, if their hearts set them
in that direction. No matter for the objection! The Gospel of Christ,
instinct with power, coming from the heart, coming on the earnest word
of him who believes it, goes through objections as the cannon ball goes
through mists. Do not let us doubt or fear concerning its success, if
we hold it as the fathers held it. Men object to the atonement; why,
it has been the life of so many millions of human hearts that the
multitudes on high are now uncounted and incomputable. They object to
the doctrine of regeneration; that is the doctrine which more than any
other exalts man’s nature, showing the royalty of it, the greatness of
it, its possibilities, and the glory of its future.

Of course men may object. Do not let us be disturbed; but always
remember that, with the word of God within us and the power and
providence of God behind us, and the spirit of God going before us to
open ways for our progress, victory is sure. Christ seemed insane in
his aim at the beginning. Speaking a few words orally to his disciples;
writing no line unless he wrote one on the sand; only uttering his
thought in syllables that seemed dissipated in the air, and aiming
by that to conquer the world to his truth,—it seemed like expecting
the whistle of a boy in these mountain valleys to go reverberating
as thunder over all the earth in all the centuries. But he did it.
It seemed insane to undertake to build a kingdom by gathering a few
scattered followers here and there, and especially a small nucleus of
obscure and uneducated men bound together by nothing but the simple
sacrament of eating bread and drinking wine in memory of him,—without
saint or standard or army or treasure or navy or counselors or
forum,—it seemed like building another Lebanon with shovelfuls of sand,
or building another Jerusalem with charred sticks and straws. But he
did it. His kingdom already is in all the earth. The proudest empire
which sets itself against it, shivers in the contact. Napoleon saw
this on the Island of St. Helena. Comparing himself as a man ruling in
the world with Christ as a Godlike person, said he, “He is God and not
man.” He has done the work thus far; he is to do it in the future, if
you and I adhere to the gospel, if from all our pulpits reverberate the
echoes of this great meeting, if the force which is here assembled goes
forth to testify of that system of religion of which God is the centre
and head, which has its grandest trophy and symbol in the cross of
Christ, and which opens the vast and near eternity to the apprehension
of every soul conscious of unconfessed sins, and to the desiring and
exulting hope of every soul that has found rest in Christ—the gospel
that is to fill the world at last.

I remember when a lad, forty years ago last spring, coming for the
first time into this beautiful Portland harbor from Boston by the
boat. The night was windy and rough. The cabin was confined, the boat
was small; and very early in the morning I went up on deck. There
was nothing but the blue waste around, dark and threatening, and the
clouded heavens above. At last suddenly on the horizon flashed a light,
and then after a little while another, and then a little later another
still, from the light-houses along the coast; and at last the light
at the entrance of this harbor became visible just as “the fingers of
the dawn” were rushing up into the sky. As we swept around into the
harbor the sunrise gun was fired from the cutter or corvette lying
in the harbor, the band struck up a martial and inspiring air, the
great splendor of the rising sun flooded the whole view, and every
window-pane on these hills, as seen from the boat, seemed to be a plate
of burnished gold let down from the celestial realms.

Ah! my friends, we are drawing nearer to the glory of the latter day.
I have thought of that vision often. I thought of it then in my early
carelessness, as representing what might be conceived of the entrance
into heaven. I have thought of it as I have stood by the bed of the
dying and seen their faces flush and flash in a radiance that I could
not apprehend. I have thought of it this week as I have been in these
meetings. The lights are brightening along the coast; the darkness is
disappearing; the harbor is not far off; the Sun of Righteousness is to
arise in all the earth, and the golden glory of the new Jerusalem is to
be established here. Let it be ours in that great day to remember that
we held the faith, we triumphed by the Cross, we stood with Paul and
with the Son of God, taking God’s revelation for our inspiration and
doing our work under that mighty impulse.

And unto God be all the praise. [Great applause.]

FOOTNOTE:

[H] An address recently delivered in Portland, Me.




ADVANTAGE OF WARM CLOTHING.

    [Concluded.]


Now the clear, transparent air permits heat to be shot off, or rayed
through it with great freedom. But it does not readily receive heat “by
conveyance,” so long as it is still. If you put your hand into still
air which is as cold as a cold metal knob, you do not know that the
air is so chill as the metal, because it does not make your hand so
cold. The heat is not conveyed away from your hand as quickly. When air
is _moving_, instead of being still, the case is, however, altogether
altered. A current of air, or wind, carries away heat from warm bodies
very quickly as it blows over them. It does so because each fresh
little particle of air which is pressed against them, receives its own
share of the heat, and conveys it away, leaving fresh particles to come
up in their turn, and do the same thing. A pint of boiling water in a
metal pot placed in a strong wind having fifty degrees of heat, would
lose all its excess of heat as soon again as it would if standing in
still air having the same warmth. The old plan of cooling hot tea or
broth by blowing it, is correct in principle, though not in accordance
with good taste.

The laboratory of the living animal body has the supply of its fuel,
and the capacity of its air-blasts, so arranged that just about as
much heat is supplied through its internal furnace, as is lost from
its surface by “raying off” and “conveyance,” when the surrounding air
has a warmth of sixty degrees of the heat scale, and when its surface
is somewhat protected by a light covering of clothing, to lessen the
rapidity with which the heat is shot off and conveyed away. The heat is
then produced as rapidly in the internal furnace, as it is thrown off
from the outer surface, and the consequence is that the animal _feels
comfortably warm_. It only feels uncomfortably _hot_, when more heat is
produced in the furnace of the living laboratory than can be scattered
through its surface. And it only feels uncomfortably _cold_ when more
heat is scattered from the surface than can be kept up through the
burning of the inner furnace.

But in winter time the cold external air carries away heat much more
quickly from the surface of living animals, than the warmer external
air does in summer time. Here, then, is a little difficulty to be met,
if the warmth of the body is to be kept precisely the same in both
seasons. It is requisite that it should be always maintained at the
same point, because that point is the one which is most suitable for
the operations which are being carried on in the vessels and chambers
of its laboratory. Nature has two distinct ways in which she insures
this end.

In the first place, are you not aware that you get more hungry in
winter than you do in summer time? All living animals have pretty much
the same experience as yourself in this particular, and the reason
is that nature intends, during the cold season, to have more fuel
introduced into the supply-pipes of the body for the warming of its
structures. The furnace of the laboratory gets quickened in a small
degree; its slow fires are fanned into slightly increased activity,
more fuel is burned, and so more heat is generated to meet the greater
demand for it, dependent on the influence of the external cold.

But nature also thickens the clothing of animals during the cold
season, and so affords increased obstruction, through which the
escaping heat has to force its way. Have you not observed the sleek
silky coat which the horse wears through the summer, and then noticed
at the beginning of winter how this sleek coat is exchanged for a
thick, fuzzy shag, that looks more like wool than hair? The warm
winter coat economizes the heat produced in the furnace of the living
body, and keeps it from being scattered to waste as quickly as it is
through the sleek summer coat. This is nature’s other plan of meeting
the difficulty brought about by the changing temperature of the air.
Nearly all animals belonging to temperate and cold climates have this
change of apparel provided for them in spring and autumn, but in some
cases the change is rendered very striking in consequence of a summer
garment of bright gay colors being replaced by a winter one of pure and
spotless white. The fierce tyrant of the ice land himself, the polar
bear, has a dingy yellow coat during the summer, but puts on furs as
snowy as his own realms when once the summer sun has disappeared. These
white winter furs are always warmer than dark ones. Birds which do not
migrate to warmer regions of the earth in the cold season, have winter
and summer suits of apparel, just in the same way as quadrupeds. In
the winter a lining of the thick, soft white down is added beneath the
outer feathers. There is one little bird which comes to England in the
late autumn, driven there by the still greater cold further north, and
which is familiarly known as having two remarkably different costumes
for his English and his foreign residence. In England the snow-bunting
appears with a white body and tail, but abroad and in summer time he is
distinguished by a brilliant black tail and back, and a body and head
of pure white.

Man follows the example which nature has set before him, in the matter
of clothing. He prepares himself stout warm garments for winter time,
and thin cool ones for the summer; and not only this; in the hottest
regions of the earth, where there is most sunshine, he commonly goes
nearly naked, while in the coldest regions, near the poles, he puts on
the heaviest and warmest woolens and furs that he can procure. Now this
is one reason why man has been _apparently_ so uncared for by nature in
the particular of clothing. The seeming indifference and carelessness
is really consideration of the highest kind. All the different races
of the lower animals have their own narrow tracts assigned them for
their residence. In these tracts there is no very extreme diversity
of temperature, and provision is therefore easily made to adapt their
clothing to it just so far as is required. The human race, on the other
hand, is intended to cover the entire earth, and to subdue it; to
spread itself from the burning tropics to the frigid poles. The heat
which has to be borne in the tropics, is as much greater than that
which is experienced near the poles in winter time, as boiling water
is hotter than ice. At the poles, one hundred degrees of frost often
occur. In India, there are occasionally one hundred and thirty degrees
of heat under the canvas of tents. It therefore becomes an affair
of almost absolute necessity, that the skin of the widely scattered
lords of creation should be as unencumbered as possible, and that warm
clothing should have to be prepared and added as a covering whenever
circumstances call for its use. The head only, of the human being, has
a natural fur garment. This part of the body is covered with hair,
because the most delicate portion of the entire frame, the brain, is
contained within it. The skull is protected by hair, that the brain may
not be hurt by too sudden a change from cold to heat, or from heat to
cold.

There is another advantage attending upon the arrangement which has
left human beings dependent upon an artificial supply of clothing,
and which has ordained that they shall come into the world with naked
skins. In consequence of this arrangement it is very easy to secure
that amount of cleanliness which is necessary for the preservation of
the health of such delicately framed creatures. The artificial clothes
can be altogether changed at will, and they can be washed and aired,
as they never could be if they were inseparably attached to the skin.
Then, too, they can be removed from the skin in the early morning, or
at convenient intervals, and its surface can be thoroughly cleansed
and purified by bathing with water. Just think of the difference of
going into a bath of refreshing water unencumbered by clothes, and
of doing the same with thick, dabby garments clinging about you, and
having to shake yourselves like great Newfoundland dogs when you come
out; and also recall to mind the pleasure you experience every time
you change soiled linen for clean, and you will become sensible of how
much you owe to beneficent nature for having left you destitute of the
feathers of the bird, or the fur of the bear. The extreme importance of
making a fair use of this privilege has been already alluded to in its
proper place.

But nature has effected yet another very bountiful provision for the
comfort and safety of her tender charge, the living human animal. Even
when only covered by very light clothing, it is possible human beings
may be placed in air which is so warm, that heat is not carried off
from their bodies so fast as it is produced in the interior furnace.
In India, it sometimes happens that the air gets to be even hotter
than the living body. All movement of the air, then, heats, rather
than cools. Under such circumstances, nature adopts a very effectual
course to prevent warmth from collecting more and more in the frame,
until a disagreeable and injurious amount has been reached. Having
first reduced the supply of fuel to the smallest limits consistent
with keeping the fire going, by lessening the appetite, and by taking
away the craving for heating food, and having given a hint to adopt
such outer coverings for the body as are as little obstructive of the
passage of heat as possible, the heat drenches the surface of the
frame abundantly with moisture, which has the power to cool by its
ready evaporation. Take a small piece of wet linen and lay it upon
your forehead, or upon your arm, leaving it freely exposed to the air,
and you will find, that as the moisture evaporates from the linen,
your skin underneath will feel colder and colder. The heat of the
skin is used up in converting the moisture of the linen into steam,
exactly as the heat of a fire is used up in converting the water of
a kettle into steam when this is made to boil. The steam flies away
with the warmth of the skin very rapidly, and consequently the skin
soon comes to feel cold. Now, when the body gets to be very warm, and
the over-heated blood is rapidly pouring through the channels of its
supply pipes, then the three millions of little holes or pores, which
lie upon its surface, are opened, and floods of vapor and water are
poured through them, producing just the same kind of effect as wet
linen would do. This action is termed “perspiration,” or a “steaming
through” the pores of the skin. The breathing blows up, or fans the
slow furnace contained within the living animal frame, and so heats it
above the surrounding air. The perspiration carries away portions of
this heat when it has been raised too high, and so cools the heated
body down. Some moisture also escapes as steam from the lungs and
through the mouth in breathing, thus assisting the perspiring skin in
its office of diminishing the excessive warmth of the body. You have
often seen dogs, which have been heated by running, pant with opened
mouths and outstretched tongues, the vapor steaming forth from their
gaping throats. Dogs cool themselves in this way because they have very
little perspiration passing through their skins. Their perspiration is
really from their throats, rather than from their skins. Human beings
sometimes lose, in hot weather, as much as five pints of water in
twenty-four hours, by exhalation through the lungs and skin.

Give me now, good reader, your close attention for just a few minutes
while I return to the notion with which we started on beginning the
consideration of this subject, so that I may fit it into its right
place, and leave it well packed away with the other notions that we
have gained, while studying the value and uses of air, water, and
food. Your body is a living laboratory, formed of an enormous quantity
of little chambers and vessels. From a strong central force-pump,
placed in the middle of that laboratory, liquefied food, or blood, is
streamed out through branching supply-pipes to the several chambers,
to carry to them the materials that have to be operated upon in their
cavities for the production of animal power and warmth. The force-pump
acts by repeated short strokes, but the liquefied food flows through
chambers of the laboratory in continuous, even currents, because
the supply-pipes are made of yielding and elastic substance, like
India-rubber, and not of hard, stiff substance, like metal or wood. As
the liquefied food gushes out from the force-pump, the elastic walls
of the supply-pipes are stretched by the gush, but directly afterwards
they shrink back again, as India-rubber would do, shut close a valve
that prevents all return of the liquid into the force-pump, and so
compel the liquid to run onwards in the other direction, through the
pipes. Before the shrinking in of the pipes has altogether ended, the
force-pump renews its stroke, and so the onward flow of the liquid
never stays, although the pump has to make beat after beat. The
liquefied food gushes out from the force-pump with a speed of about
a foot in each second; but it has to supply such an enormous host of
small chambers in the remote parts of the laboratory, that it does not
flow through them with a speed greater than an inch in a minute. This,
however, is no disadvantage, as it affords plenty of time for the full
carrying out of all the intended changes in those chambers, whereby
animal power and warmth are to be produced.

Remember, then, that as your heart beats in your chest, second after
second, the red blood flushes through every crevice and every fibre
of your living frame, just as it does through your cheek when it is
crimsoned with a blush. Seventy or eighty times every minute, your
beating heart pumps, and constantly, so long as you are alive, the
flushing blood streams on everywhere. The blood, however, streams
on in this continuous way, because its flow is not stopped, even
when it has reached the remotest chambers and fibers. The trunks of
the supply-pipes divide into branching twigs, which get very fine
indeed where they are in connection with the working chambers of the
laboratory, and which then lead on into return-pipes, that are gathered
together into enlarging trunks, These, in their turn, are collected
into main tubes which end in the cavity of the heart. At the extremity
of these main trunks of the return-pipes, valves are so placed as to
prevent the pumping action of the heart from forcing the blood back
into them. Thus, as your heart pumps, swelling out and drawing in its
walls, the blood flows into its cavity by the return-pipes, and is
squeezed out therefrom through the supply-pipes. It always streams in
one direction. It circulates through the living frame which it flushes;
that is, it goes in an endless circle, now through the heart, now
through the supply-pipes, now through the return-pipes, and now starts
once again through the heart.

But as your blood thus circulates, through your living frame, fresh
nourishment, newly dissolved food, is added in some places to its
streams; in other places nourishment and fuel are taken from it to
furnish the active chambers of the laboratory with warmth and power; in
other places worn-out substance is added to it to be carried away in
its current; and at other places this worn-out substance is poured away
from it through the outlets provided for its removal. The principal
outlets through which the waste of your living laboratory is poured
away, have been already spoken of in detail—they are the pores of the
skin, the drains of the laboratory; and the pores of the lungs, that
with the mouth form the chimney of the laboratory through which the
smoke and the vapors from the burned fuel fly away. In addition to
these outlets, there is, however, another series by which some denser
matters, which can not be got through either the skin-pores or the
lungs, are streamed away. This series is continually in operation,
but the details of its arrangements are so ingeniously planned, that
it accommodates its work to the demand of each passing instant. When,
for instance, the perspiring pores of the skin are widely open for the
cooling of the frame, and an increased amount of liquid is consequently
steamed away through them, then these outlets are narrowed; but when,
on the other hand, the skin-pores are closed, or when any extra flood
of liquid is thrown into the interior of the frame during cold weather,
then the additional outlets at once are brought into very active play.

Now, just imagine the case of a large town, in which there is a certain
quantity of waste liquid needing to be carried away through drain-pipes
every day, but in which also there occur occasional excessive floods
of rain, which must have a way of escape provided for them whenever
they happen. How clever you would think it if some skillful engineer
fixed valves in the drain-pipes of that town, which kept themselves
fast closed under ordinary circumstances, but which opened of their own
accord whenever the pressure of an extra flood came, and so allowed
the excess of liquid to flow safely and freely away. Such has really
been the proceeding of the skillful Engineer of your living frame.
Your body is exposed to the risk of occasional excessive floods. When
the weather is very cold, for instance, the pores of your skin are
closed, and not more than a single pint of liquid can force its way out
through them, in the place of the four pints which would pass in warm
weather. Much of the water which would otherwise have escaped from the
channels of the supply-pipes, then remains in them, coursing round in
the progress of the circulation. Sometimes, too, in all probability
you will be tempted to swallow an unreasonable quantity of liquid,
beyond any demand the mere process of cooling an over-heated frame can
require. But whenever you have thus set up an unusual internal flood,
sluice-gates are opened, and through these the excess is rapidly poured
until the flood is got rid of. In those parts of your body which have
been named the kidneys, there are pores through which waste liquid is
always draining, without being turned into vapor or steam; but in the
kidneys there are also chambers composed of very fine walls, which
are strong enough to prevent fluid from passing through them when it
is only pressed by a gentle force, but which are not strong enough
to do so when the pressure becomes greater in consequence of the
over-flooding of the supply-pipes. The kidneys are the sluice-gates of
your body, provided with outlets for common use, and with self-acting
valves which come into operation upon occasions of excessive flood.

Thus astonishing, then, is the care which has been taken in perfecting
the arrangements of the heating service of that complicated laboratory,
your living body. Fuel is thrown into an internal furnace, more or
less plentifully, according to need. The fuel is there burned, and
fanned by air-blasts, which are strengthened or weakened as the
occasion may require. The heat produced by the burning is economized by
external packings and wrappings, or it is scattered by the opening of
evaporating pores on the external surface, and by the drenching of that
surface with steaming moisture; and self-acting valves are provided to
regulate the quantity of liquid contained in the supply-pipes, so that
the cooling pores may never be forced into mischievous activity by the
mere pressure of excess in their channels, at a time when the body is
already sufficiently chill.

When cold is suddenly applied to the previously warm skin of the
living body, it shuts up all the perspiring pores at once, and then
empties its supply-pipes of their streaming blood inwards. You know how
pale and numb your skin becomes on a cold frosty day, when you stand
quietly in the chilling air. That is because the cold squeezes all the
blood out of the small vessels of your skin. But where do you suppose
the squeezed-out blood goes to? It flows directly into the several
internal parts, choking up and overloading their channels. If the skin
be soon made warm again, the overloaded parts of the inside once more
get emptied, and recover their usual freedom; but if it be kept cold,
then their overloading and choking continues, and great discomfort is
experienced. All kinds of inflammations and disorders are produced in
this way. What are commonly known as colds are internal obstructions
of this nature. Cold in the head is an affection in which the lining
of the nostrils is overcharged with stagnating blood. Sore throat is
caused by a similar condition in the lining of the throat. And cough by
the same state in the lining of the vessels and cavities of the chest.

The mere application of a chill temperature to the skin is not alone,
however, enough to give a cold. This result chiefly comes when the
application has been made while the body is in a weakened or exhausted
state, and therefore has not the power to resist and overcome the
internal disturbance of the even blood-flow. Colds are nearly always
caught in consequence of a sudden exposure of the body to a chill,
either when it is in a state of exhaustion and fatigue from sustained
exertion, or when it has been for some time previously over-heated.
Excess of heat itself soon produces exhaustion, and depression of the
strength and the powers of life. When a chill is applied to the skin
while the body is fresh and strong, as, for instance, when a man pours
cold water over himself the instant he gets out of a warm bed in the
morning, after a sound and refreshing sleep, it does no harm, for this
reason: First, the blood is driven away from the supply-pipes of the
skin by the cold, and flows inwards; but the refreshed heart, then
becoming sensible of its arrival, rouses itself to increased effort,
and prevents obstruction by pumping on the liquid more vigorously.
By this means blood is soon sent back again to the skin in great
abundance, and makes it glow with renewed warmth. It is only when the
cold is very severe, or very long continued, that this re-action, as it
is called, would be hindered, and internal disorder be likely to be set
up.

Here, then, is one of the advantages of employing warm clothing. It
prevents the catching of cold by protecting the skin from sudden chills
at a time when the internal parts of the frame are depressed and unable
to meet, without injury, the effects which follow upon it. If at any
time you are very weary, and very warm, remember, then, that you must
keep yourself warm by drawing more clothes round you, or by some other
plan. Want of attention to this very simple proceeding, or absolute
ignorance that it ought to be adopted, is among the common means
whereby men lay up for themselves disease and suffering, and cause
sickness to take the place of health.

How constantly it happens, at the very first appearance of fine
weather in spring, that sore throats and coughs and colds are met with
everywhere. This is nearly always because people are then tempted to
throw aside the warm clothing which they have used through the winter,
and so to leave their skins very much more exposed to the influences
of the sudden chills, which are quite sure to occur at this time. Just
observe what nature herself does in this matter. She does not take off
the horse’s warm coat the moment the spring sunshine bursts out in
the sky. She compels him to keep it upon his back, at the risk of his
being a good deal encumbered by it now and then, because it is better
he should submit to this small inconvenience for a time, rather than
be exposed to the danger of a grave disease. As you may advantageously
take a lesson from the bee as to the management of fresh air in your
dwellings, so you may advantageously go to the quadruped to learn how
to manage the alteration of your clothing at the change of the seasons.
When you see the horse putting on his fine silken garment for summer,
follow his example; but until you do see this, be wise, and still keep
within the protection of your winter wools and furs.

There is another plan by which people every day expose themselves to
the danger of catching cold, and of so falling into disease. They
commonly sit in very draughty rooms; apartments which are warmed by
bright fires, but which are at the same time chilled by cold wind
rushing in at large crannies and crevices, far beyond the quantity
which is needed for the mere supply of pure air. Such rooms are warm
and cold climates brought together in a nutshell. There is a scorching
summer near the fire, and a freezing winter near the window at the same
instant. Merely walking about the room therefore takes the body in a
moment from one climate to another, and this must happen sometimes
when the body is not prepared to meet, and accommodate itself to, the
change. A chilled surface, and internal obstructions result, and colds
and diseases follow very soon. The inside of rooms should be in winter
time very much what they are in the summer season; that is, not too
hot, but equally warm in all parts, and with a sufficient current of
air passing through them to keep them pure, although not with enough to
set up dangerous draughts. If there are draughts, then the protection
of warm clothing must be constantly employed, to prevent the chilling
influence from attacking the skin. Warm and undraughty dwelling-rooms
are the natural allies of warm clothes in health-preserving power.

There is another very excellent companion and helper of warm clothes in
this good work. This helper is “exercise.” If, when you are weary and
warm, and have no additional clothes to draw round you on the instant
to prevent a chill, you sit down or stand still in the cold wind,
you will be nearly sure to catch cold, and to be made ill. But if,
on the other hand, you keep moving about until you can either clothe
yourself more warmly, or go into a warm room, then you will be almost
as certain to escape without harm. Exercise aids the heart in keeping
the blood moving briskly, and if at any time there is an inclination
for the blood-flow to stagnate and get obstructed internally, then
exercise overcomes the obstruction, and sends the lagging blood
cheerily on toward all parts of the frame, and back toward the skin.
Brisk exercise thus possesses the power to overcome mischief, as well
as to prevent it. Its influence in quickening and sustaining the flow
of the blood-streams through the supply-pipes of the body, necessarily
leads in the end to the strengthening of every structure in the frame,
and to the rousing of every operation that is carried on in the living
laboratory. Every one who values the blessing of health and strength
will do well, if his daily task is not one of exertion in the open
air, to make such a task for himself. One hour at least out of the
twenty-four should be spent in quickening the blood-streams, and in
deepening the breathing by walking briskly in some open space where the
fresh winds of heaven have free play.

But we will now imagine that in ignorance of all these particulars, or
in consequence of some long-continued exertion and exposure which the
demands of duty made it altogether impossible for you to avoid, you
have caught a cold, and are beginning to suffer from a sore throat, or
a cough, or some other sign that matters within are not as they should
be. What, under such circumstances, ought you to do to stop the cold,
and get rid of it, before serious disorder is brought about? Here,
again, warm clothing is of the highest value. If the chilled surface
be at once closely covered up, and be kept covered, the blood is soon
drawn back to the skin, and the internal obstructions are in this way
overcome. The best possible way to get rid of a cold quickly, for those
who can follow it, is to go to bed as soon as it begins, and to keep
there until the cold is cured. If you can not follow this plan, then
_drink as little of any fluid as you can_ for four or five days, and
there will soon be not enough blood, as regards quantity, in your body,
to keep internal parts overcharged, and they will be relieved, and you
will get well. There is this evil in the first plan of curing a cold:
people who have lain in bed for some time, come out of it with the
pores of their skins more than usually opened, and more than usually
disposed to suffer from any fresh chill. People who pursue the second
plan may be exposed in any way without meeting this risk.

There are thus, then, golden rules for the management of the clothing,
as well as for the management of the feeding, which all people should
have stamped on their understandings, and engraved upon their memories.
These are:

Follow the example which nature sets, and wear thicker clothing in cold
weather than in warm.

Do not lay aside the warm clothing of winter, as soon as fine, mild
weather seems to have begun, but wait until you see that nature is
taking their winter garments away from the birds and the beasts.

Never expose yourself to a chill without extra clothing, when you are
weary, as well as warm.

Never sit in draughts of cold air without putting on extra clothing.

Keep in brisk exercise when you are unable to avoid currents of chill
air, and are at the same time fatigued by exertion, and thinly clad.

Never remain in damp clothes longer than you can help. Damp clothes
chill the surface of the body very rapidly by carrying away its heat as
the moisture is turned into steam. Wet stockings, and boots, or shoes,
are injurious, for the same reason as other kinds of wet clothing. They
are not more dangerous than other kinds of damp garments, but they
have to be encountered much more frequently on account of the ground
often remaining wet for long periods, when there is no great excess of
moisture in the air. Wet feet produce harm more frequently than wet
clothes, because they are much more common.

By a careful and constant attendance to the principles laid down in
these golden rules, the attacks of many grave diseases may be avoided,
and the advantage which is intended to result from the influence of
warm clothes may be most certainly secured.




IN HIM CONFIDING.


    The clouds hang heavy round my way,
              I can not see;
    But through the darkness I believe
              God leadeth me.
    ’Tis sweet to keep my hand in his,
              While all is dim;
    To close my weary, aching eyes,
              And follow him.

    Through many a thorny path he leads
              My tired feet;
    Through many a path of tears I go,
              But it is sweet
    To know that he is close to me,
              My God, my guide.
    He leadeth me, and so I walk
              Quite satisfied.




THE HISTORY OF EDUCATION.

By PROF. W. T. HARRIS.


V.—EGYPT, PHŒNICIA, JUDEA.

_Egypt._—According to Bunsen, Egypt is the middle place in the world’s
history. It is connected directly with the West or Europe, and as
directly with the East or Asia.

It is the only country in the great continent of Africa that forms a
link in the history of the world. What education is to be found in the
other parts of Africa, we have seen in our first chapter on education
in the savage tribe. Of course we reckon the Abyssinian Christians,
loosely, in this designation of Egypt, and consider Carthage as a part
of Phœnician civilization.

Egypt is properly a link in the chain of Asiatic civilization, although
geographically located in Africa. Its history is full of interaction
with the Semitic peoples of Western Asia, and we find it often in
relation with the Hebrews, the Arabians, and the Phœnicians, and even
with the far-off nations of the Euphrates and Tigris. Finally the
Persians conquer the country under Cambyses, and Egypt is henceforth
Persian, then Macedonian, then Roman, then Saracen, and finally a
Turkish dependency.

The river Nile is the essential feature of Egypt, more particularly the
circumstance of its annual overflow and subsidence. There is little or
no rain in Egypt in all the region from the mouth of the Nile up to
the last tributary it receives on its way down from the highlands of
Abyssinia. Northward from that branch (the Atbara) the Nile valley is
eight hundred miles long, and the Nile itself with all its windings
flows 1,300 miles, to its mouth.

The copious rains and snows in the mountainous countries at the south
supply fertility by the annual inundation, which begins in June,
attains its greatest height in September, and then subsides so that the
farmers of Egypt can sow their grain on the waters in October, and by
November, when the waters have subsided, the green blades of wheat are
seen everywhere sprouting through the slimy deposit left by the river.
In March there is an abundant harvest. Living was so cheap in Egypt
that the cost of bringing up a human being to his twentieth year was
not more than four dollars.

The Egyptian finds it possible to conquer nature and make it serve him.
He builds canals and dykes and regulates the overflow of the Nile so as
to get the utmost service from the fertilizing power of the rich soil
that the Nile brings down to him. Observation of nature necessary for
the purpose of utilizing the rise of the Nile, leads him to a knowledge
of astronomy, the construction of calendars, and hydraulic engineering.
He understands irrigation, the construction of canals, dams and
reservoirs. He invents the science of geometry because he has to use
the art of surveying in order to recover his farm after the inundation,
and fix its boundaries. Difficulties that occur in locating farms that
are liable to be washed away by new channels cut through by freshets,
as well as by the covering up and destruction of old landmarks, lead
to a more careful system of laws on the subject of landed property, as
well as rights and privileges appertaining to its use, than we can find
elsewhere in ancient times.

The greatest contrast exists between the day, which is very hot and
bright with light both direct and reflected, and the night, which is
very dark and cool.

In contrast to the natural changes which annually prevail, making Egypt
first a vast sea of water and then a blooming garden, the people of
Egypt strive for permanency.

Their struggle to control nature is their perpetual education. They
build enormous architectural structures—temples and pyramids. They love
the past and will preserve it if possible. The pyramid is a gigantic
tomb, for the high priest who is the king.

Not only the king but all good Egyptians shall have their bodies
embalmed and preserved. Their mummies shall be saved from decay in the
gigantic tombs of the hillside, above the reach of the Nile floods.

Egypt invented the writing by hieroglyphics, and developed out of that
system of picture-writing two other systems of writing, the Syllabic
and Alphabetic. Doubtless the Phœnicians borrowed their alphabet from
the Egyptians, and diffused a knowledge of it among the peoples living
around the Mediterranean Sea.

The priestly caste hold the directive power of Egypt, They administer
the education, and rule in the counsels of the state, and give
character to whatever is Egyptian.

The idea of death is ever present with the Egyptian. There seems to be
some faint idea of its spiritual meaning in their religion.

The god Osiris dies, slain by Typhon, and yet proves himself triumphant
over death, and attains perfect individuality after it. In East India
there is transmigration of souls as a punishment for the exercise
of appetites and desires in the life here. The properly prepared
soul reaches extinction in Brahm or in Nirwana. In Egypt, too,
transmigration punishes the individual by delaying his ascent into the
heaven of Osiris, wherein he may become a companion to that god. While
his body does not decay he need not be born again in another body, and
if embalmed properly, he can avoid transmigration until he lives again
with Osiris.

Egyptian religious ideas are in advance of Persian in the doctrine of
evil. The evil is not a principle of such power that it is invincible
by the Lord of the good.

The thought of death and the death-court which would decide whether
the individual had lived worthily or not, was the greatest educational
influence in Egypt.

If the death-court decided that the deceased was worthy, his body
should be embalmed, and this saved him from transmigration and secured
him ultimate residence with Osiris.

Hieroglyphics can not express clear abstract ideas, but only symbols
of ideas. Symbolic thought is not sufficient for science. The Egyptian
expresses his ideas in the form of enigmas or riddles. The Sphinx is
the most adequate expression of his mind. It has the form of a human
bust placed on the body of a lion, rising out of a rock. It expresses
the question of its soul: “What is man? Is he only a natural being
who, like the rock or the animal, belongs to nature only, and does
not escape from it—or does he rise out of it and attain to individual
immortality, outlasting all the forms of nature?”

Egypt contributed to the spiritual development of all other lands.
It is the great stimulator to the unfolding of mind in Greece and
Rome, and all other nations about the Mediterranean. It is the great
schoolmaster, not in morals and religion, but in scientific thinking.
And yet it did not itself furnish the completed sciences, but only the
limits and beginnings of science.

Greek literature abounds in exaggerated accounts of the learning and
wisdom of Egypt, and of its appliances for education. We should believe
that the Egyptian priesthood constituted a sort of university of
philosophy, history, and science.

Arithmetic, geometry, surveying, and mensuration, civil engineering,
language, and writing, and, according to some accounts, music formed
the chief branches of their education, which varied with the caste.
There were scientific schools for the priests and warriors, at Thebes,
Memphis, and Heliopolis. The education of the common people was at
a low standard. Plato tells us that the children of the Egyptians
learned to read in classes. Diodorus says that the artisans in
particular were taught reading and writing; and this we may readily
believe, when we see that so many inscriptions had to be made on the
walls of buildings, and on papyrus rolls. It seems that the trades and
arts were learned by children from their parents.

The women looked after the out-of-door affairs, while the men did the
housework, and especially cared for the training of the children and
the work at the loom.

Arithmetic was taught by games and plays, such as trading apples or
pieces of money, guessing at the number of grains of wheat concealed in
the hand, or by arranging pupils in military lines.

Children went barefoot and almost naked, the climate being very mild.
Psammeticus (B. C. 650) sought to introduce foreign ideas, especially
Greek and Phœnecian, apparently thinking that something could be gained
from those peoples. Foreign languages were taught under his reign, but
not in other ages.

The sight of what is strange stimulates us to wonder and reflection.
Herodotus, Thales, Pythagoras, Plato, and others of the wisest of the
Greeks speak with reverence of that part of their education received in
Egypt.

After Alexandria was founded by the Macedonian Greeks, as the
commercial emporium of the world, Egypt became more than ever a center
for the collection and distribution of learning and wisdom for the West
and for the East.

The Ptolemies cultivated mathematics, astronomy, medicine, grammar and
history. The great museum founded by them in 322 B. C., furnished for
two hundred years a sort of dwelling-place and university for the Greek
investigators who resorted to Egypt. Even after Christianity had become
the established religion under the Romans, Alexandria remained a chief
seat of theological controversy.

In this museum there were several large courts surrounded by colonnades
opening inward, and seats under the shady trees and by cool fountains,
were placed for the scholars. The dwellings of the learned teachers
were near by. The famous library was in the court most retired from the
street, and free from interruption. There the busy scribes copied out
the treasures of the library for the libraries of other lands.

The astronomical observations carried on here surprise us.

The length of a degree on the surface of the earth was measured as
accurately as the perfection of their instruments permitted, and the
circumference of the earth was calculated by this means. The fact
that the earth is round seems to have been well known long before.
Eratosthenes, the superintendent of the Alexandrian Library, about
two hundred years B. C., computed the obliquity of the ecliptic to
be 23° 51' and 20?, and also measured the distance between Syene and
Alexandria, and the difference in latitude, by observations on the sun
and stars. This gave him data for the calculation of the size of the
earth, which he made to be about thirty thousand miles.

_Phœnicia._—Along the eastern shore of the Mediterranean on the narrow
sea-coast at the foot of the Mountains of Lebanon, were a series of
commercial and manufacturing cities, the seat of the Phœnecians.
Tyre, Sidon, Byblus, Berytus, Tripolis, Aradis were places of great
security on the land side, and afforded great security on the seaward
side to the shipping of their merchants. The manufacture of metallic
goods, glass, linen textures, dyed with the wonderful Tyrian purple,
furnished the home productions wherewith to obtain the coveted articles
of foreign peoples. Phœnicia was the land of industry and adventurous
sailors. The tin from Cornwall, and the amber even from the Baltic were
brought home through stormy seas and used in manufactures. The trains
of camels loaded with Phœnician wares pierced the deserts and arrived
at the great cities on the Euphrates. Cyprus, Crete, Carthage, Gades
(Cadiz) were settled by Phœnician colonies. In commerce writing is
indispensable, and the Phœnician borrowed the art of writing from Egypt
and spread it widely over the world.

For a commercial people the education was of a utilitarian character,
especially arithmetic and writing, the commercial arts. The moral
training was peculiar, inasmuch as the Phœnician wished to train the
youth into roving habits, and to root out early that affection for home
and parents that would injure the quality of the sailor. The child
was not trained to reverence parents and home. His religious worship,
too, was peculiar. He celebrated the pain of his gods. Melkarth was
worshiped as a hero who had gone through great and useful labors like
Hercules and become a god. Indeed Hercules is just the Greek copy
of Melkarth, and was doubtless borrowed from the Phœnicians. The
worship of Adonis by a sort of funeral commemoration of his death—loud
lamentations and sad ceremonies—prevailed here also. We must note again
that this worship of pain in Phœnicia, as well as the reverence for
death in Egypt betokens a deeper insight into the mysteries of the
relation of the human nature to the divine nature than we could find
existing among the Persians or the Hindoos.

The Phœnicians obtained and held a “quarter” set apart for their
trading colony in cities wherever they could gain a footing. They
introduced luxuries among rude peoples, and found their profit in
catering for them. They united producer and consumer, and used deceit
and cunning, and (whenever necessary or useful) violence, but always
for the promotion of trade.

They carried their forms of religious worship with their wares, and
must have met with considerable success in introducing it among the
Celtic peoples in Western Europe, if the Druid religion was a Phœnician
importation among them, as seems likely.

The Phœnician concealed his discoveries under mythical narrations
calculated to frighten away the sailors of other peoples from the
places he had discovered. The fearful worship of the fire-god Moloch,
to whom they sacrificed especially children, laying them in his red-hot
arms while the mothers standing by were not allowed to express their
pain at the spectacle by cries, seems to have been a powerful means of
educating by religious ceremonial the parental and filial indifference
necessary for the training of this people of commercial adventurers.

The Oriental and African education thus far considered does not seem to
have had much respect for the individual man as such.

Of all Asiatics the Hebrews are the most interesting to the modern
world. These as Jehovah’s chosen people will hold the place of honor
throughout all time. They are preëminently the educated people, because
educated by Jehovah; and preëminently the educators, because it is
through them that the world has been taught the personality of God.

_Judea._—Out from among a Chaldean people, of Sabæan religion,
worshipers of the heavenly bodies, went Abraham, and founded a people
that should reveal the true God to all nations.

At first there was a nomadic or herdsman’s life of his people; then the
Egyptian bondage, a training in the highest civilization of that time.
The chosen people were to learn agriculture and the arts, and leave off
the herdsman’s life. Then in the promised land comes the development
of the city life under the kings. The patriarchal, the agricultural,
and the urban phases of life make up the national forms. Then there
is the captivity to Babylon in which takes place another phase of the
education of this people. Finally, under the Roman dominion, there is
born the Desire of all Nations in Bethlehem, and the career of the
Hebrews as a chosen people is at an end.

The Jew educated his children with the utmost tenderness and care, for
they were the gift of Jehovah, and should be consecrated to him by
education in his law and in the teachings of the prophets.

It is impossible to conceive of any other education of so powerful a
character or of so spiritual and ennobling a tendency as the education
of the Jewish child in the history of the dealings of Jehovah with his
forefathers. His national history revealed the direct relation of man
to God.

God is a teacher. He reveals his will to men. The consciousness
of being God’s people educated those colossal individualities the
patriarchs, the great national leaders, and the prophets. Their
biographies furnish types of character that have a pedagogical value
for all time.

With his idea of God as a father, the Jew becomes the most humane of
all peoples. His respect for bodily life, his humanity toward widows
and orphans, his institution of the Jubilee year, the scape-goat, the
laws against cruelty to animals, have been a great lesson to modern
civilization.

The Psalms of David that celebrate God’s greatness, goodness,
providence, patient kindness and forgiveness, present for all time the
expression of what is most comforting and most purifying to the human
soul.

The Egyptian and Phœnician spirit is limited by nature. The Jewish is
elevated above it. He conceives God as pure causality;—the creator of
the world;—the sun and stars are not his special revelation and in no
respect to be reverenced by man.

Man is greater than nature because he is chosen by the Almighty as
his friend, and unconscious nature is not worthy such a destiny.
Righteousness is honor of God, and mere ceremony is not. Mere nature is
not adequate to the revelation of the divine. It is not the hurricane
nor the earthquake that reveals God, but the small voice that speaks to
man’s spirit and reason. The human heart is the place for God, but the
sun and moon are not his incarnations.

Finally the Jew conceives of the unity of humanity in one people, who
shall all worship the One Personal God. Nationality, talent, caste,
work, accidents of any sort are all indifferent compared with knowledge
of the true God and subjection to his will. The God of the Jewish
people is not a special, national God over against the gods of other
nations. He is the One only God and all others are false gods, mere
wood and stone, mere things. Thus for the Jew there is the doctrine
that all people descend from Adam created by Jehovah. The Prince of
Peace shall come to heal the nations, and his character shall be
holiness—not physical strength, or beauty, or great size, or dignity
of bearing, but holiness and humility and patience. He shall take upon
himself infirmities and disgrace in order to redeem the world. He will
be the Messiah.

Here is the greatest educational idea ever conceived in this world!




SONG.

By SIR JOHN DENHAM.


    Morpheus, the humble god that dwells
    In cottages and smoky cells,
    Hates gilded roofs, and beds of down,
    And though he fears no prince’s frown,
    Flies from the circle of a crown.

    Come, I say, thou powerful god,
    And thy leaden charming-rod,
    Dipt in the Lethean lake,
    O’er his wakeful temples shake,
    Lest he should sleep and never wake.

    Nature, alas! why art thou so
    Obligèd to thy greatest foe?
    Sleep that is thy great repast,
    Yet of death it bears a taste,
    And both are the same thing at last.




TALES FROM SHAKSPERE.

By CHARLES LAMB.


MACBETH.

When Duncan the Meek reigned King of Scotland, there lived a great
thane, or lord, called Macbeth. This Macbeth was a near kinsman to the
king, and in great esteem at court for his valor and conduct in the
wars; an example of which he had lately given, in defeating a rebel
army, assisted by the troops of Norway, in terrible numbers.

The two Scottish generals, Macbeth and Banquo, returning victorious
from this great battle, their way lay over a blasted heath, where
they were stopped by the strange appearance of three figures, like
women, except that they had beards, and their withered skins and wild
attire made them look not like any earthly creatures. Macbeth first
addressed them, when they, seemingly offended, laid each one her choppy
finger upon her skinny lips, in token of silence: and the first of
them saluted Macbeth with the title of “Thane of Glamis.” The general
was not a little startled to find himself known by such creatures,
but how much more, when the second of them followed up that salute by
giving him the title of “Thane of Cawdor,” to which honor he had no
pretensions! and again the third bid him, “All hail! _king that shalt
be hereafter!_” Such prophetic greeting might well amaze him, who
knew that while the king’s sons lived he could not hope to succeed to
the throne. Then turning to Banquo, they pronounced him, in a sort of
riddling terms, to be _lesser than Macbeth and greater! not so happy,
but much happier!_ and prophesied that though he should never reign,
yet his sons after him should be kings in Scotland. They then turned
into air, and vanished: by which the generals knew them to be the weird
sisters, or witches.

While they stood pondering upon the strangeness of this adventure,
there arrived certain messengers from the king, who were empowered by
him to confer upon Macbeth the dignity of Thane of Cawdor. An event
so miraculously corresponding with the prediction of the witches
astonished Macbeth, and he stood rapt in amazement, unable to make
reply to the messengers; and in that point of time swelling hopes
arose in his mind, that the prediction of the third witch might in
like manner have its accomplishment, and that he should one day reign
in Scotland. Turning to Banquo, he said, “Do you not hope that your
children shall be kings, when what the witches promised to me has so
wonderfully come to pass?” “That hope,” answered the general, “might
enkindle you to aim at the throne: but oftentimes these ministers of
darkness tell us truths in little things, to betray us into deeds of
greatest consequence.” But the wicked suggestions of the witches had
sunk too deep into the mind of Macbeth, to allow him to attend to the
warnings of the good Banquo. From that time he bent all his thoughts
how to compass the crown of Scotland.

Macbeth had a wife, to whom he communicated the strange prediction
of the weird sisters, and its partial accomplishment. She was a bad,
ambitious woman, and so as her husband and herself could arrive at
greatness, she cared not much by what means. She spurred on the
reluctant purposes of Macbeth, who felt compunction at the thoughts of
blood, and did not cease to represent the murder of the king as a step
absolutely necessary to the fulfilment of the flattering prophecy.

It happened at this time that the king, who, out of his royal
condescension, would oftentimes visit his principal nobility on
gracious terms, came to Macbeth’s house, attended by his two sons,
Malcolm and Donalbain, and a numerous train of thanes and attendants,
the more to honor Macbeth for the triumphal success of his wars. The
castle of Macbeth was pleasantly situated, and the air about it was
sweet and wholesome, which appeared by the nests which the martlet,
or swallow, had built under all the jutting friezes and buttresses of
the building, wherever it found a place of advantage: for where those
birds most breed and haunt, the air is observed to be delicate. The
king entered, well pleased with the place, and not less so with the
attentions and respect of his honored hostess, lady Macbeth, who had
the art of covering treacherous purposes with smiles; and could look
like the innocent flower, while she was indeed the serpent under it.
The king, being tired with his journey, went early to bed, and in his
state-room two grooms of his chamber (as was the custom) slept beside
him. He had been unusually pleased with his reception, and had made
presents, before he retired, to his principal officers; and among the
rest, had sent a rich diamond to Lady Macbeth, greeting her by the name
of his most kind hostess.

Now was the middle of the night, when over half the world nature seems
dead, and wicked dreams abuse men’s minds asleep, and none but the wolf
and the murderer is abroad. This was the time when Lady Macbeth waked
to plot the murder of the king. She would not have undertaken a deed so
abhorrent to her sex, but that she feared her husband’s nature, that it
was too full of the milk of human kindness, to do a contrived murder.
She knew him to be ambitious, but withal to be scrupulous, and not yet
prepared for that height of crime which commonly in the end accompanies
inordinate ambition. She had won him to consent to the murder, but she
doubted his resolution: and she feared that the natural tenderness
of his disposition (more humane than her own) would come between and
defeat the purpose. So with her own hands armed with a dagger, she
approached the king’s bed; having taken care to ply the grooms of his
chamber so with wine, that they slept intoxicated, and careless of
their charge. There lay Duncan, in a sound sleep after the fatigues of
his journey, and as she viewed him earnestly, there was something in
his face, as he slept, which resembled her own father; and she had not
the courage to proceed.

She returned to confer with her husband. His resolution had begun to
stagger. He considered that there were strong reasons against the deed.
In the first place, he was not only a subject, but a near kinsman to
the king; and he had been his host and entertainer that day, whose
duty by the laws of hospitality it was to shut the door against his
murderers, not bear the knife himself. Then he considered how just
and merciful a king this Duncan had been, how clear of offense to his
subjects, how loving to his nobility, and in particular to him; that
such kings are the peculiar care of Heaven, and their subjects doubly
bound to revenge their deaths. Besides, by the favors of the king,
Macbeth stood high in the opinion of all sorts of men, and how would
those honors be stained by the reputation of so foul a murder!

In these conflicts of the mind Lady Macbeth found her husband,
inclining to the better part, and resolving to proceed no further. But
she being a woman not easily shaken from her evil purpose, began to
pour in at his ears words which infused a portion of her own spirit
into his mind, assigning reason upon reason why he should not shrink
from what he had undertaken; how easy the deed was; how soon it would
be over; and how the action of one short night would give to all their
nights and days to come sovereign sway and royalty! Then she threw
contempt on his change of purpose, and accused him of fickleness and
cowardice; and declared that she had given suck, and knew how tender
it was to love the babe that milked her, but she would while it was
smiling in her face, have plucked it from her breast, and dashed its
brains out, if she had so sworn to do it, as he had sworn to perform
that murder. Then she added, how practicable it was to lay the guilt
of the deed upon the drunken, sleepy grooms. And with the valor of her
tongue she so chastised his sluggish resolutions, that he once more
summoned up courage to the bloody business.

So, taking the dagger in his hand, he softly stole in the dark to
the room where Duncan lay; and as he went, he thought he saw another
dagger in the air, with the handle toward him, and on the blade and at
the point of it drops of blood. But when he tried to grasp at it, it
was nothing but air, a mere phantasm proceeding from his own hot and
oppressed brain and the business he had in hand. Getting rid of this
fear, he entered the king’s room, whom he despatched with one stroke of
his dagger. Just as he had done the murder, one of the grooms who slept
in the chamber, laughed in his sleep, and the other cried, “Murder,”
which woke them both: but they said a short prayer; one of them
said, “God bless us!” and the other answered, “Amen,” and addressed
themselves to sleep again. Macbeth, who stood listening to them, tried
to say “Amen” when the fellow said “God bless us!” but, though he had
most need of a blessing, the word stuck in his throat, and he could not
pronounce it. Again he thought he heard a voice which cried, “Sleep no
more: Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep, that nourishes
life.” Still it cried, “Sleep no more,” to all the house. “Glamis hath
murdered sleep, and therefore Cawdor shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall
sleep no more.”

With such horrible imaginations, Macbeth returned to his listening
wife, who began to think he had failed of his purpose, and that the
deed was somehow frustrated. He came in so distracted a state, that
she reproached him with his want of firmness, and sent him to wash his
hands of the blood which stained them, while she took his dagger, with
purpose to stain the cheeks of the grooms with blood, to make it seem
their guilt.

Morning came, and with it the discovery of the murder, which could
not be concealed; and though Macbeth and his lady made great show of
grief, and the proofs against the grooms (the dagger being produced
against them and their faces smeared with blood) were sufficiently
strong, yet the entire suspicion fell upon Macbeth, whose inducements
to such a deed were so much more forcible than poor silly grooms could
be supposed to have, and Duncan’s two sons fled. Malcolm, the eldest,
sought for refuge in the English court; and the youngest, Donalbain,
made his escape to Ireland.

The king’s sons, who should have succeeded him, having thus vacated the
throne, Macbeth as next heir was crowned king, and thus the prediction
of the weird sisters was literally accomplished.

Though placed so high, Macbeth and his queen could not forget the
prophecy of the weird sisters, that, though Macbeth should be king,
yet not his children, but the children of Banquo, should be kings
after him. The thought of this, and that they had defiled their hands
with blood, and done so great crimes, only to place the posterity of
Banquo upon the throne, so rankled within them, that they determined
to put to death both Banquo and his son, to make void the predictions
of the weird sisters, which in their own case had been so remarkably
brought to pass. For this purpose they made a great supper, to which
they invited all the chief thanes; and among the rest, with marks of
particular respect, Banquo and his son Fleance were invited. The way by
which Banquo was to pass to the palace at night, was beset by murderers
appointed by Macbeth, who stabbed Banquo; but in the scuffle Fleance
escaped. From that Fleance descended a race of monarchs who afterwards
filled the Scottish throne, ending with James the Sixth of Scotland and
the First of England, under whom the two crowns of England and Scotland
were united.

At supper the queen, whose manners were in the highest degree affable
and royal, played the hostess with a gracefulness and attention which
conciliated every one present, and Macbeth discoursed freely with his
thanes and nobles, saying, that all that was honorable in the country
was under his roof, if he had but his good friend Banquo present, whom
yet he hoped he should rather have to chide for neglect, than to lament
for any mischance. Just at these words the ghost of Banquo, whom he
had caused to be murdered, entered the room, and placed himself on the
chair which Macbeth was about to occupy. Though Macbeth was a bold
man, at this horrible sight his cheeks turned white with fear and he
stood quite unmanned with his eyes fixed upon the ghost. His queen and
all the nobles, who saw nothing, but perceived him gazing (as they
thought) upon an empty chair, took it for a fit of distraction; and
she reproached him, whispering that it was but the same fancy which
had made him see the dagger in the air when he was about to kill
Duncan. But Macbeth continued to see the ghost, and gave no heed to
all they could say, while he addressed it with distracted words, yet
so significant, that his queen fearing the dreadful secret would be
disclosed, in great haste dismissed the guests, excusing the infirmity
of Macbeth as a disorder he was often troubled with.

To such dreadful fancies Macbeth was subject. His queen and he had
their sleeps afflicted with terrible dreams, and the blood of Banquo
troubled them not more than the escape of Fleance, whom they now looked
upon as father to a line of kings, who should keep their posterity out
of the throne. With these miserable thoughts they found no peace, and
Macbeth determined once more to seek out the weird sisters, and know
from them the worst.

He sought them in a cave upon the heath, where they, who knew by
foresight of his coming, were engaged in preparing their dreadful
charms, by which they conjured up infernal spirits to reveal to them
futurity. Their horrid ingredients were toads, bats, and serpents, the
eye of a newt, and tongue of a dog, the leg of a lizard, and the wing
of the night-owl, the scale of a dragon, the tooth of a wolf, the maw
of the ravenous salt-sea shark, the mummy of a witch, the root of the
poisonous hemlock (this to have effect must be digged in the dark),
the gall of a goat, and the liver of a Jew, with slips of the yew tree
that roots itself in graves, and the finger of a dead child: all these
were set on to boil in a great kettle, or cauldron, which, as fast as
it grew too hot, was cooled with a baboon’s blood: to these they poured
in the blood of a sow that had eaten her young, and they threw into the
flame the grease that had sweaten from a murderer’s gibbet. By these
charms they bound the infernal spirits to answer their questions.

It was demanded of Macbeth, whether he would have his doubts resolved
by them, or by their masters, the spirits. He, nothing daunted by
their dreadful ceremonies which he saw, boldly answered, “Where are
they? let me see them.” And they called the spirits, which were three.
And the first arose in the likeness of an armed head, and he called
Macbeth by name, and bid him beware of the thane of Fife; for which
caution Macbeth thanked him: for Macbeth had entertained a jealousy of
Macduff, the thane of Fife. And the second spirit arose in the likeness
of a bloody child, and he called Macbeth by name, and bid him have
no fear, but laugh to scorn the power of man, for none of woman born
should have power to hurt him: and he advised him to be bloody, bold,
and resolute. “Then live, Macduff!” cried the king; “what need I fear
of thee? but yet I will make assurance doubly sure. Thou shalt not
live; that I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, and sleep in spite of
thunder.” That spirit being dismissed, a third arose in the form of
a child crowned, with a tree in his hand. He called Macbeth by name,
and comforted him against conspiracies, saying, that he should never
be vanquished, until the wood of Birnam to Dunsinane-Hill should come
against him. “Sweet bodements! good?” cried Macbeth; “who can unfix
the forest, and move it from its earth-bound roots? I see I shall live
the usual period of man’s life, and not be cut off by a violent death.
But my heart throbs to know one thing. Tell me, if your art can tell
so much, if Banquo’s issue shall ever reign in this kingdom?” Here the
cauldron sunk into the ground, and a noise of music was heard, and
eight shadows, like kings, passed by Macbeth, and Banquo last, who
bore a glass which showed the figures of many more, and Banquo, all
bloody, smiled upon Macbeth, and pointed to them; by which Macbeth
knew that these were the posterity of Banquo, who should reign after
him in Scotland; and the witches, with a sound of soft music, and with
dancing, making a show of duty and welcome to Macbeth, vanished. And
from this time the thoughts of Macbeth were all bloody, and dreadful.

The first thing he heard when he got out of the witches’ cave, was,
that Macduff, thane of Fife, had fled to England, to join the army
which was forming against him under Malcolm, the eldest son of the
late king, with intent to displace Macbeth, and set Malcolm, the right
heir, upon the throne. Macbeth, stung with rage, set upon the castle of
Macduff, and put his wife and children, whom the thane had left behind,
to the sword, and extended the slaughter to all who claimed the least
relationship to Macduff.

These and such-like deeds alienated the minds of all his chief nobility
from him. Such as could, fled to join with Malcolm and Macduff, who
were now approaching with a powerful army which they had raised in
England; and the rest secretly wished success to their arms, though for
fear of Macbeth they could take no active part. His recruits went on
slowly. Everybody hated the tyrant, nobody loved or honored him, but
all suspected him, and he began to envy the condition of Duncan, whom
he had murdered, who slept soundly in his grave, against whom treason
had done its worst: neither steel nor poison, domestic malice nor
foreign levies, could hurt him any longer.

While these things were acting, the queen who had been the sole partner
in his wickedness, in whose bosom he could sometimes seek a momentary
repose from those terrible dreams which afflicted them both nightly,
died, it is supposed by her own hands, unable to bear the remorse of
guilt and public hate; by which event he was left alone, without a
soul to love or care for him, or a friend to whom he could confide his
wicked purposes.

He grew careless of life, and wished for death; but the near approach
of Malcolm’s army roused in him what remained of his ancient courage,
and he determined to die (as he expressed it) “with armor on his
back.” Besides this, the hollow promises of the witches had filled him
with false confidence, and he remembered the sayings of the spirits,
that none of woman born was to hurt him, and that he was never to be
vanquished till Birnam wood should come to Dunsinane, which he thought
could never be. So he shut himself up in his castle, whose impregnable
strength was such as defied a siege: here he sullenly awaited the
approach of Malcolm. When, upon a day, there came a messenger to
him, pale and shaking with fear, almost unable to report that which
he had seen: for he averred, that as he stood upon his watch on the
hill, he looked towards Birnam, and to his thinking the wood began
to move! “Liar and slave,” cried Macbeth; “if thou speakest false,
thou shalt hang alive upon the next tree, till famine end thee. If
thy tale be true, I care not if thou dost as much by me;” for Macbeth
now began to faint in resolution, and to doubt the equivocal speeches
of the spirits. He was not to fear till Birnam wood should come to
Dunsinane: and now a wood did move! “However,” said he, “if this which
he avouches be true, let us arm and out. There is no flying hence,
nor staying here. I begin to be weary of the sun, and wish my life
at an end.” With these desperate speeches he sallied forth upon the
besiegers, who had now come up to the castle.

The strange appearance, which had given the messenger an idea of a
wood moving, is easily solved. When the besieging army marched through
the wood of Birnam, Malcolm, like a skillful general, instructed
his soldiers to hew down every one a bough and bear it before him,
by way of concealing the true numbers of his host. This marching of
the soldiers with boughs had at a distance the appearance which had
frightened the messenger. Thus were the words of the spirit brought to
pass, in a sense different from that in which Macbeth had understood
them, and one great hold of his confidence was gone.

And now a severe skirmishing took place, in which Macbeth, though
feebly supported by those who called themselves his friends, but in
reality hated the tyrant and inclined to the party of Malcolm and
Macduff, yet fought with the extreme of rage and valor, cutting to
pieces all who were opposed to him, till he came to where Macduff was
fighting. Seeing Macduff, and remembering the caution of the spirit who
had counseled him to avoid Macduff above all men, he would have turned,
but Macduff, who had been seeking him through the whole fight, opposed
his turning, and a fierce contest ensued; Macduff giving him many foul
reproaches for the murder of his wife and children. Macbeth, whose soul
was charged enough with blood of that family already, would still have
declined the combat; but Macduff still urged him to it, calling him
tyrant, murderer, hell-hound, and villain.

Then Macbeth remembered the words of the spirit, how none of woman born
should hurt him; and smiling confidently he said to Macduff: “Thou
losest thy labor, Macduff. As easily thou mayest impress the air with
thy sword as make me vulnerable. I bear a charmed life, which must not
yield to one of woman born.” “Despair thy charm,” said Macduff, “and
let that lying spirit whom thou hast served, tell thee, that Macduff
was never born of woman, never as the ordinary manner of men is to be
born, but was untimely taken from his mother.” “Accursed be the tongue
which tells me so,” said the trembling Macbeth, who felt his last hold
of confidence give way; “and let never man in future believe the lying
equivocations of witches and juggling spirits, who deceive us in words
which have double senses, and while they keep their promise literally,
disappoint our hopes with a different meaning. I will not fight with
thee.”

“Then live!” said the scornful Macduff; “we will have a show of thee,
as men show monsters, and a painted board, on which shall be written,
‘Here men may see the tyrant!’” “Never,” said Macbeth, whose courage
returned with despair; “I will not live to kiss the ground before young
Malcolm’s feet, and to be baited with the curses of the rabble. Though
Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane, and thou opposed to me who wast never
born of woman, yet I will try the last.” With these frantic words he
threw himself upon Macduff, who after a severe struggle in the end
overcame him, and cutting off his head, made a present of it to the
young and lawful king, Malcolm; who took upon him the government which
by the machinations of the usurper he had so long been deprived of, and
ascended the throne of Duncan the Meek, amid the acclamation of the
nobles and the people.

       *       *       *       *       *

The imagination magnifies small objects, so as to fill the mind
with a fantastic estimate; and with haughty insolence contracts the
great to its own dwarfish measure, as for instance, in speaking of
God.—_Pascal._




BEFORE DAYBREAK, WITH THE GREAT COMET OF 1882.

By CHARLOTTE E. LEAVITT.


            The clock strikes four;
    Glitter the stars, the waning moon hangs low,
    The breath of night is chill, as soft I go
            From out the door.

            In all the air
    The living silence of the morning broods,
    So deep, so still, that every sound intrudes
            Discordant there.

            A nameless change
    Makes unfamiliar all the well-known street,
    And mocking echoes ’neath my stealthy feet,
            Wake weird and strange.

            On either hand,
    Mysterious, with Argus eyes shut fast,
    Dumb and unchanging as a hopeless past,
            The houses stand.

            Athwart the sky
    Blazes the comet with its streaming hair,
    Fleeing through space in passionate despair,
            As doom were nigh;

            While grand and grim,
    Warlike Orion from his gleaming height
    Dares this intruder, in its awful might,
            To cope with him.

            Intent I gaze:
    And, half unheeded, swells through heart and brain
    A solemn wonder that is almost pain—
            A song of praise.

            Lo! far away,
    The first faint flashes of the coming morn
    Herald triumphantly a king new-born,
            A golden day.

       *       *       *       *       *

DR. THOMAS SHERIDAN, who lost all chance of further preferment by
choosing an unlucky text on the anniversary of George I, was an
excellent scholar, but an indolent, good-natured, careless man. He was
slovenly, indigent, and cheerful; ill-starred, improvident, but not
unhappy. He was a fiddler, punster, quibbler, and wit; not a day passed
without a rebus, a madrigal, or an anagram, and his pen and fiddlestick
were in continual motion. Of the state of his house, at Quilca, his
intimate friend and choice companion has left us the following lively
picture:

QUILCA.

    “Let me thy properties explain:
     A rotten cabin dropping rain;
     Chimneys with scorn rejecting smoke;
     Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke.
     Here elements have lost their uses;
     Air ripens not, nor earth produces;
     In vain we make poor Shela toil,
     Fire will not roast, nor water boil;
     Through all the valleys, hills, and plains,
     The goddess Want in triumph reigns,
     And her chief officers of state—
     Sloth, Dirt, and Theft—around her wait.”




SOCIAL DUTIES IN THE FAMILY.

By FRANCES POWER COBBE.


This eminent lady is the daughter of the Archbishop of Dublin, and one
of the most distinguished philanthropists in England. In the following
pages will be found some timely thoughts she has uttered in a lecture on


SOCIAL DUTIES IN THE FAMILY.

A mother’s love ought to be attuned to the very note of the love
divine,—to be, in fact, its echo from the deep cave of her heart.

But, with super-earthly love to light her way what does she see before
her? There is, first, the duty of conducing to her child’s moral
welfare, the highest of all her duties; secondly, of securing his
bodily health; thirdly, of giving him that intellectual training which
will enlarge his being and make his moral nature itself more robust and
capable of fulfilling his duties in life; and lastly, of making him as
happy as she may. These are each and all most complicated problems to
many a good mother, working perhaps against wind and tide, with feeble
health or limited means, or possibly with a husband who thwarts and
opposes her endeavors. It would require not half a lecture, but a whole
treatise, to deal with such a subject fitly, even if I possessed the
experience or insight needful for the task. There is only one point on
which I think ethical science may be of some utility. That point is the
problem of _obedience_. How far ought it to be enforced?

Three things are commonly confounded in speaking of filial obedience—

First—The obedience which must be exacted from a child for its own
physical, intellectual, and moral welfare.

Second—The obedience which the parent may exact for his (the parent’s)
welfare or convenience.

Third—The obedience which parent and child alike owe to the moral law,
and which it is the parent’s duty to teach the child to pay.

If mothers would but keep these three kinds of obedience clear and
distinct in their minds, I think much of the supposed difficulty of
the problem would disappear. And, if children as they grow up would
likewise discriminate between them, many of their troubles would be
relieved.

For the first, the excellent old Dr. Thomas Brown lays down (Lectures
on Ethics, p. 287) a principle which seems to me exactly to fit the
case. He says that parents “should impose no restraint which has
not for its object some good greater than the temporary evil of the
restraint itself.” For an infant, the restraint is no evil; and at
that age everything must be a matter of obedience, the babe possessing
no sense or experience for self-guidance. But, as childhood advances,
so should freedom advance; and, even if the little boy or girl does
now and then learn by sharp experience, the lesson will generally
be well worth the cost: whereas the evils of over-restraint have
no compensation. Each one is bad in itself, checking the proper
development of character, chilling the spirits, and also in a
cumulative way becoming increasingly mischievous, as the miserable
sense of being fettered becomes confirmed.

In all this matter of the child’s own welfare, the mother’s aim ought
to be to become the life-long counselor of her child; and a counselor
is (by the very hypothesis) one who does not persist in claiming
authority. Nobody thinks of _consulting_ another who may conclude their
“advice” by saying, “And now I _order_ you to do as I have advised.” To
drop, as completely and as early as possible, the tone of command, and
assume that of the loving, sympathetic, ever disinterested guide and
friend,—that is, I think, the true wisdom of every mother, as it was
that of my own. Of course, there are cases so grave (especially where
girls who little understand the need of caution are concerned) that it
is absolutely necessary, nay, the mother’s pressing duty, to prohibit
her daughter from running into danger. To apply Brown’s rule, the evil
of the restraint is more than counter-balanced by immunity from deadly
peril. Perhaps it is one of the principal causes of the dissatisfaction
of young girls with parental control that they do not and can not
understand what horrible dangers may overtake them in the still foul
condition of society.

Second—It is too little remembered that a parent has a moral right to
exact obedience as a form of _service_ from his child. The parent has,
in strictest ethical sense, the first of all claims on the child’s
_special benevolence_; _i. e._, on his _will to do good_. The double
ties of gratitude and of closest human relationship make it the duty
of the child to pay that sacred debt from first to last; and it is
entirely fit and greatly for its benefit that the parent should claim
that duty. The parent’s _direction_ in such cases, properly translated,
is not a _command_, to which the response is blind obedience, but
an indication of the way in which the person to whom the debt is
due desires that it should be paid. There ought to be nothing in
the slightest degree harsh or dictatorial in such direction. On the
contrary, I can not but think that the introduction by parents of
much greater courtesy to their children would be an immense advantage
in this and other cases. We all ask our servants politely to do for
us the services which they have contracted to do, and for which we
pay them. How much more kindly and courteously ought we to ask of
our children to perform services due by the blessed and holy debt
of nature and gratitude, and which ought, each one, to be a joy to
the child as well as to the parent! When it is rightly demanded and
cheerfully paid, how excellent and beautiful to both is this kind of
filial duty! When, for example, we see little girls of the working
classes taught to carry their father’s dinner to the field as soon as
they can toddle, and helping their mother to “mind the baby,” even if
it be a “little Moloch” of a baby, we witness both the fulfillment of
a legitimate claim on the part of the parents, and a most beneficent
moral training for the child. I think this sort of service of the
child is sadly lacking among the richer classes, and that it would be
an excellent thing if mothers, however wealthy, found means of making
their children more useful to themselves. Nothing can be worse for a
child than to find everything done for her, and never to be called upon
to do anything for anybody else. Indeed, any fine-natured child, like a
dog, will find much more real pleasure in being of use, or fancying it
is so, than in being perpetually pampered and amused. Of course there
would be moral limits to such claims on the parent’s part, as, _e. g._,
when they would interfere with the child’s health or education. But
there is no natural termination in point of age to the parent’s right
to give such directions for his own service. On the contrary, the time
when the adult son or daughter has come into the full possession of
his or her faculties, while the parent is sinking into the infirmities
of age, is the very time when filial duty is most imperative in its
obligation; and the fact that aged parents rarely attempt to give to
adult sons and daughters the same directions for their comfort as they
gave them when children shows how little the real nature of these
sacred rights and duties is commonly understood.

Third—There is the _obedience_ which both parent and child owe to the
eternal moral law; and this obedience again ought to be kept perfectly
distinct from that which is exacted either for the child’s personal
welfare or the parent’s convenience. The old and most important
distinction between a thing which is _malum in se_ and a thing which is
only _malum prohibitum_ ought never to be lost sight of. Even in a very
little child, I think, a moral fault, such as a lie, or cruelty to an
animal, or vindictiveness toward its companions, ought to be treated
with gravity and sadness; and, as the child grows, an importance ought
to be attached to such faults wholly incommensurate with any other sort
of error, such as indolence about lessons or the like. The one aim of
the parent must be to make profound impression of the awfulness and
solemnity of moral good and moral evil.

But even here the difficulty haunts us, when is this enforcement of
obedience to moral laws to cease? So long as a child is absolutely
compelled to do right by sheer force and terror of punishment, its
moral freedom can have no scope, and its moral life consequently can
not even begin. It can not acquire the _virtue_ which results from
free choice. All that the parent can do (and it is an indispensable
preparation for virtue, though not virtue itself) is first to teach the
child what is right,—to draw out its latent moral sense, and inspire it
with the wish to do right,—and then to help its steps in the path which
has been pointed out. Once a child grasps the idea of duty, and begins
in its little way to try to “be good,” and displays the indescribably
touching phenomena of childlike penitence and restoration, it
becomes surely the most sacred task for the mother to aid such
efforts—silently, indeed, for the most part, and too reverentially to
talk much about it—with tenderest sympathy. It would be no kindness, of
course, but cruelty, to open up hastily ways of liberty before moral
strength has been gained to walk in them. The “hedging up the way with
thorns” is a divine precaution, which a mother may well imitate. But
the principle must be, as in the case of directions in matters not
moral, gradually and systematically to exchange directions and orders
for counsels and exhortations.

And here, in closing these, perhaps, too tedious remarks on the moral
training of children, I shall add a word which may possibly startle
some who hear me,—Beware that, in earnestly seeking your child’s moral
welfare, you do not _force_ the moral nature with hot-house culture.
To be a sturdy plant, it must grow naturally, and not too rapidly. It
seems as if it were not intended by Providence that this supreme part
of our human nature should be developed far in childhood and early
youth, lovely as are the blossoms it sometimes then bears,—too often
to drop into an untimely grave, or wither away in the heat of manhood
without fruit. Dr. Arnold, of Rugby, undoubtedly made a great mistake
in this matter, as one of his very best disciples, Arthur Hugh Clough,
was able in later years to see. Mothers should not be unhappy, if
boys are honorable and kindly and affectionate, if they should, at
fifteen, prefer a game of football to a visit of charity; and I should
not blame at all severely any of my young friends, if such there be
here present, who may be at this moment wishing that she were playing
lawn-tennis, instead of sitting still to hear a dull dissertation on
moral philosophy!

But, when all is done that can be done by human wisdom to help the
moral growth of the young, there is a vast space left for the other and
easier parental duty of _providing for their happiness_. Of course, to
nine parents out of ten, high and low, it is the joy and delight of
their lives to make their children as happy as possible. There is no
virtue in this. Nature (or, let us say frankly, God) has so made us
that in middle life nearly all direct pleasures to be enjoyed on our
own account begin to pall. We are too busy or too indifferent to care
much for a score of things which, when we were younger, we found quite
entrancing.

    “It is the one great grief of life to feel all feelings die.”

But, just as our sun goes down to the horizon, a moonlight reflection
of pleasure, purer, calmer than the first, rises to give a sweet
interest to the lives of all who are happy enough to have young
creatures around them. The pleasures we can no longer taste for
ourselves we taste in our children’s enjoyment. Their glee, their
eagerness, their freshness of delight, stir our pulses with tenderness
and sympathy. I do not know anything in the world which pulls one’s
heartstrings so much as the sight of a little blue-eyed, golden-haired,
white-frocked atom of humanity clapping its hands and crowing with
ecstasy at the sight of a kite soaring up into the summer sky.

Are we to ask parents to deny themselves and their children in the
stern old way, and turn their young lives into dreary rounds of duty
and work, till they hate the very name of either one or the other? God
forbid! Does God, the great Parent, Father and Mother of the World,
lead us up to himself by any such harsh, stern tuition? Nay, but has
he not made earth so beautiful, and planted flowers by every wayside,
and gladdened our hearts by ten thousand delights of the intellect, the
senses, the tastes, and the affections? Fear, my friends, to make your
children _unhappy_, and to love them _too little_. But never fear to
make them too happy or to love them too much! There is a great, deep
saying, that we must all enter the kingdom of God as little children.
Surely, the converse of it is true also; and we should prepare in our
homes a kingdom of God,—of peace and love and tenderness and innocent
pleasure,—whenever a little child is sent to us out of heaven to dwell
in it.

We now come to speak of the duties of daughters. The ethical grounds
of the duty of supreme benevolence toward our parents are clear. They
are nearest to us of human beings. We owe them life and (nearly always
also) endless cares and affection. In the case of a mother, her claims
on her child—founded on the bodily agony she has borne on its behalf,
and the ineffably sweet office of nursing (when she has performed it),
her care in infancy, and love and sympathy in later years—make together
such a cumulative title to gratitude and devotion that it is impossible
to place on it any limitation.

This claim is, of course, happily usually admitted in the case of
daughters _who do not marry_. It is understood that they are bound
to do all they can for their mother’s and father’s comfort. But, may
I ask, who absolved the daughters who marry from the same sacred
obligation? In Catholic countries, young women often quit their aged
parents, no matter how much they need them, to enter “religion,” as it
is said; and we Protestants are very indignant with them for so doing.
But, when it comes to our Protestant religion of matrimony, lo! we are
extremely indulgent to the girl who deposits her filial obligations
on what the _Morning Post_ calls the “Hymeneal Altar!” The daughter
practically says to her blind father or bed-ridden mother: “Corban! I
am going off to India with Captain Algernon, who waltzes beautifully,
and whom I met last night at a ball. It is a gift by whatsoever you
might have been profited by me.”

Is this right or justifiable? Public opinion condones it; and the
parent often consents out of the abundance of unselfish affection,
thereby in a certain formal way releasing the daughter from her natural
debt. But I do not think, if the parent really wants her services, that
she can morally withdraw them, even with such consent, and certainly
not _without_ it.

We all see this remarkably clearly when the question is not of
marriage, but of a girl of the higher class devoting herself to charity
or art, or any kind of public work which requires her to quit her
parents’ roof. Then, indeed, even if her parents be in the full vigor
of life, and have half a dozen other daughters, we are pretty sure to
hear the solemn condemnation of the adventurous damsel, “Angelina ought
to attend to her father and mother, and not go here or there for this
or that purpose.”

Surely there is a very obvious rule to cover all these cases. If
either parent _wants_ the daughter she ought not to leave him or her,
_either_ to marry or to go into a nunnery, or for any other purpose. If
her parents do _not_ want her, then, being of age to judge for herself,
she is free _either_ to undertake the duties of a wife, or _any others_
for which she may feel a vocation.

This may sound very hard. It is undoubtedly the demand for a very high
degree of virtue, where the sacrifice may be that of the happiness
of a lifetime. But every duty may sometimes claim such sacrifices.
Parental duty does so perpetually. How many thousands of mothers and
fathers toil all their days and give up health and every enjoyment for
their children’s interests! Why should not filial duties likewise exact
equal sacrifice? The entire devotion to the parent when the parent
really needs it, and the constant devotion of as much care as the
parent requires,—this, and nothing short of this, seems to me to be the
standard of filial duty.

A very difficult question arises in the case of the abnormal and
scarcely sane development of selfishness which we sometimes sadly
witness in old age. I think, in such deplorable cases, the child
is called on to remember that, even in her filial relation, the
_moral welfare_ of the object of benevolence is before all other
considerations, and that she is bound to pause in a course which
obviously is tending to promote a great moral fault. Gently and with
great care and deference, she ought to remind the parent of the needs
of others.

The great difficulty in the lives of hundreds of daughters of the upper
ranks just now lies in this: that they find themselves torn between
two opposing impulses, and know not which they ought to follow. On one
side are the habits of a child, and the assurance of everybody that the
same habits of quiescence and submission ought to be maintained into
womanhood. On the other hand there is the same instinct which we see
in a baby’s limbs, to stir, to change its position, to climb, to run;
to use, in short, the muscles and faculties it possesses. Every young
bird flutters away from its nest, however soft; every little rabbit
quits the comfortable hole in which it was born; and we take it as fit
and right they should do so, even when there are hawks and weasels all
around. Only when a young girl wants to do anything of the analogous
kind, her instinct is treated as a sort of sin. She is asked, “Can
not she be contented, having so nice a home and luxuries provided in
abundance?” Keble’s fine but much-misused lines, about “room to deny
ourselves” and the “common task” and “daily round” being all we ought
to require, are sure to be quoted against her; and, in short, she feels
herself a culprit, and probably at least once a week has a fit of
penitence for her incorrigible “discontent.” I have known this kind of
thing go on for years, and it is repeated in hundreds, in thousands, of
families. I have known it where there were seven miserable, big, young
women in one little house! It is supposed to be the most impossible
thing in the world for a parent to give his son a stone for bread or a
serpent for a fish. But scores of fathers, in the higher ranks, give
their daughters diamonds when they crave for education, and twist round
their necks the serpents of idle luxury and pleasure when they ask for
wholesome employment.

Pardon me if I speak very warmly on this subject, because I think here
lies one of the great evils of the condition of our sex and class at
this time; and I feel intensely for the young spirits whose natural
and whose _noble_ aspirations are so checked and deadened and quenched
through all their youth and years of energy that, when the time for
emancipation comes at last, it is too late for them to make use of
it. They have been dwarfed and stunted, and can never either be or do
anything greatly good.

In short, the complaint we women make against men, that they persist
in treating us as minors when we have attained our majority, is what
daughters too often can justly make against both their fathers and
mothers. They keep them in the swaddling-clothes of childhood, when
they ought to set free and train every limb to its most athletic and
joyous exercise. Dangers, of course, on the other side there are,—of
over-emancipated and ill-advised girls who sorely need more parental
guidance than they obtain; but, so far as my experience goes, these
cases are few compared to those of the young women (ladies, of course,
I mean, for in the lower classes such evils are unknown) whose lives
are spoiled by _over-restraint in innocent things_. They are left free,
and encouraged to plunge into the maelstrom of a fashionable season’s
senseless whirl of dissipation and luxury. They are restrained from
every effort at self-development or rational self-sacrifice, till, for
the very want of some corrective bitter, they go and beat the hassocks
in a church as a pious exercise, or perhaps finally lock themselves up
in a nunnery. Small blame to them! Ritualist nunneries at present offer
the most easily accessible back-door out of fine drawing-rooms into
anything like a field of usefulness.

Now for sisters. That brothers and sisters should give one another in
an ordinary way the first-fruits of their benevolence follows obviously
from the closeness of their propinquity. Usually there has also been
from childhood the blessed interchange of kindnesses which accumulate
on both sides into a claim of reciprocal gratitude.

Miss Bremer remarks that “it is the general characteristic of
affection to make us blind to the faults of those we love, but from
this weakness _fraternal_ love is wholly exempt.” Brothers are indeed
terrible critics of their sisters, and, so far, irritating creatures.
But otherwise, as we all know, they are the very joy and pride of our
lives; and there is probably not one duty in our list which needs less
to be insisted on to women generally than that of bestowing on their
brothers not only love of benevolence, but also a large amount of love
of complacency. It is usually also a truly sound moral sentiment,
causing the sister to take profound interest in the religious and moral
welfare of her brother, as well as in his health and happiness.

One mistake, I think, is often made by sisters, and still more often
by mothers, to which attention should be called. The unselfishness
of the sisters, and the fondness of the mother for her boy, and the
fact that the boy is but rarely at home, all contribute to a habit of
sacrificing everything to the young lad’s pleasure or profit, which
has the worst effect on his character in after-life. Boys receive
from women themselves in the nursery, and when they come home from
school in the holidays, a regular _education in selfishness_. They
acquire the practice of looking on girls and women as persons whose
interests, education, and pleasures must always, as a matter of course,
be postponed to their own. In later life, we rue—and their wives may
rue—the consequences.

The duties of sisters to sisters are even more close and tender than
those of sisters to brothers. I hardly know if there be any salient
fault in the usual behavior of English sisters to one another which
any moral system could set right. Perhaps the one quality oftenest
deficient in this, and other more distant family relationships, to
which we need not further refer,—uncles, aunts, cousins, and so on—is
_courtesy_. “Too much familiarity,” as the proverb says, “breeds
contempt.” The habit of treating one another without the little forms
in use among other friends, and the horrid trick of speaking rudely of
each other’s defects or mishaps, is the underlying source of half the
alienation of relatives. If we are bound to show _special benevolence_
to those nearest to us, why on earth do we give them pain at every
turn, rub them the wrong way, and _froisser_ their natural _amour
propre_ by unflattering remarks or unkind references? For once we can
do them a real service of any kind, we can (if we live with them) hurt,
or else please, them fifty times a day. The individual who thinks she
performs her duty to sister or niece, or cousin, while she waits to do
the exceptional services, and hourly frets and worries and humiliates
her, is certainly exceedingly mistaken. Genuine benevolence—the “_will
to make happy_”—will take a very different course.

It will not be necessary here to pursue further the subject of the
duties arising from the ties of natural relationship, holy and blessed
things that they are! I am persuaded that even the best and happiest of
us only half-apprehend their beautiful meaning, and that we must look
to the life beyond the grave to interpret for us all their significance.




C. L. S. C. WORK.

By J. H. VINCENT, D. D., SUPERINTENDENT OF INSTRUCTION, C. L. S. C.


The studies for March are Recreations in Astronomy, Readings in
Astronomy, Chautauqua Text-Book on English History, readings in
English, Russian, Scandinavian, and Religious History and Literature.
Also selections from English Literature.

       *       *       *       *       *

No “Memorial Day” for March; but February 27 is the “Longfellow Day.”
The March number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN may reach our members in time to
remind them of this fact.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the varying opinions concerning the existence of man on the earth
see the October (’82) CHAUTAUQUAN. The date in our English Bible, “4004
B. C.,” is not an inspired date. The claims of Prof. Packard in his
little volume on geology, as to the long existence of man on the globe,
is doubted by many men of science.

       *       *       *       *       *

Prof. Timayenis says that the author of the Chautauqua Text-book on
Greek History, and the author of the Preparatory Greek Course in
English, are mistaken in attributing the remark, “Then we will fight
them in the shade,” to Leonidas. Prof. Timayenis says: “My authority is
Herodotus, who, first of all historians, relates the Persian wars, and
all subsequent historians have followed him. In Herodotus, Polymnia,
paragraph 226, you will find the remark attributed to Dienekes.”

       *       *       *       *       *

What general commanded the Persian forces at the battle of Marathon?
Datis and Artaphernes, by order of King Darius. At what place was St.
John the Baptist imprisoned just before he was beheaded? Probably at
the Castle of Machœrus, east of the Dead Sea.

       *       *       *       *       *

“What is the examination to which we are to submit?—C. L. S. C.,
’86.” The examination is scarcely thorough enough to be called an
“examination.” It is rather the filling out of certain “memoranda.” It
would be impossible for us to provide any fair test by which to judge
of the ability of our pupils. We therefore simply require them to fill
out certain memoranda, that we may be assured that they have read the
books.

       *       *       *       *       *

Go to some member who despairs because she can not read a large amount
every day, and show her by actual reading how many minutes by the watch
it takes to read slowly one page. Then put a book mark five pages on
for one day, another day three pages, another six, then five. Run
through at that rate for twenty-five days, and show your friend how
far she would be at the end of a month by reading so much a day. A
practical illustration of that kind will show the power of littles,
prove to a demonstration the power of system, inspire your discouraged
friend with confidence and hope, and thus in a small way you will be a
teacher and a useful member of the C. L. S. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hold “Round-Tables” with conversations at your circle meetings. Allow
no waste of words. Let the president hold everybody to the subject, and
see how many things can be said by the circle of five, ten, or fifteen
persons, on one subject.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Duyckinck” is pronounced Di´kink.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rev. A. B. Cristy, pastor of the Congregational church, Conway, Mass.,
has devised one or two very ingenious Chautauqua games, which I hope he
will see fit to publish.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Cristy has adopted a very ingenious plan for a local circle. He
says: “I have prepared a narrative with breaks to be filled in, in
order, by the answers to the one hundred questions in the October and
November CHAUTAUQUAN. One reads, and, as he comes to a break, suddenly
calls for some one to read the answer from THE CHAUTAUQUAN. If the
other does not find it, and begin before the reader counts ten as the
clock ticks, a forfeit is to be paid to the general fund, thus insuring
attention while the main points are reviewed during the game.” A very
bright way of spending a little time in a local circle.

       *       *       *       *       *

A lady from Vermont writes: “Since I wrote last, my eldest brother,
Dr. ——, of ——, and my own sister, Mrs. ——, have both joined the C. L.
S. C. This makes four of father’s family who belong to the ‘people’s
college.’ With the exception of the doctor we were all in the old home
at Christmas, and as my cousins were there too, we planned to organize
very quietly. We seated ourselves on the stairs in the front hall,
and were proceeding to business, when the dear old mother announced
that there was ‘a college being organized in the house,’ so, of
course, every one had to come and look at us, and as each one said
something wittier than the last had said, we were soon in an uproar of
merriment—a very undignified college class. I think hereafter when they
read of the C. L. S. C., they will think of the company of people on
the stairs, and that is really what we are—going up one step at a time.
There are five in the circle, and we have arranged to meet once in two
weeks.” A good name, _the On-the-Stairs circle_. Our correspondent
in a later letter adds: “Did I tell you that we sat near the foot of
the stairs, as symbolical of the heights we hope to climb? and on the
lowest step was a little girl who had left the company to be near her
mother, and in her we saw a type of the coming generation, and the
promise of an ever-widening circle. Do urge it upon the mothers more
and more to talk over their studies with their little children. It not
only helps mothers, but it gives such zest to the studies of the little
ones, when they think that by-and-by they are going to study these
other wonderful things which now interest their parents. Only this
last week my little nine-year-old girl was having a hard time over her
geography lesson; out West seemed so far away, but when I mentioned to
her that Yellowstone Park was out there it was like another lesson, or
like another girl studying—an interested girl.”

       *       *       *       *       *

A cultivated lady writes: “One of the most agreeable Methodist ladies
in the city of New York recently asked of me some information about
the Chautauqua course. She occupies a high social position in the
church, and is possessed of no little intelligence, but finds her
time absorbed in the cares of her domestic establishment. I gave her
such of the Chautauqua matter as I had at hand, and asked how her
interest in the course had been awaked. She replied that an amiable
young kinswoman, who is in the habit of visiting her yearly, endeared
herself to the household, during her last visit, by the development of
her intelligence, the animation of her conversation, and her greatly
improved intellectual character. ‘I found a Chautauqua text-book on her
dressing table,’ said my friend, ‘and guessing the secret of the marked
change in her, asked her whether she knew of the Chautauqua course?’
‘Yes, indeed!’ It had laid hold of her; she could not do without it;
such a blessing and benefit it had been to her, etc. Mrs. —, my friend,
thereupon came to the conclusion that she herself must have the course.
‘My reading is necessarily limited, but it need not be desultory,’ she
said; ‘I want what we all want—regulated reading.’ Accordingly she
has subscribed for THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and begun the course. As she has
two little girls, and a boy fourteen years old, the C. L. S. C. will
not impart its healthful influence and stimulus to her alone. I am
sure that it will prove a well-spring, refreshing and nourishing her
household.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The item calling for missing numbers of THE ASSEMBLY HERALD
brought satisfactory answers; the first from Mrs. H. M. Graham, of
Garrettsville, Ohio, who sends the missing March and October numbers
for 1879; the May number, and also the October, which has been
returned, from Miss Jessie Brownell, of St. Louis, Mo. My cordial
thanks to these kind helpers.

       *       *       *       *       *

A member writes: “I want to get a good astronomical almanac containing
map or chart of the movements of the planets for the current year.
Can you direct me where to find a good one, which is at the same time
reasonable in price?” After consulting two of the leading astronomers
in the country, I am compelled to say that such map or chart is not
to be easily procured. One professor recommends any nautical almanac,
in connection with any chart of the heavens; another recommends the
“Connecticut Almanac,” with such chart.

       *       *       *       *       *

The hero—the reformer—your Brutus—your Howard—your republican, whom
civic storm—your genius, whom poetic storm impels; in short, every man
with a great purpose, or even with a continuous passion (were it but
that of writing the largest folios); all these men defend themselves
by their internal world against the frosts and heats of the external,
as the madman in a worse sense does; every fixed idea, such as rules
every genius and every enthusiast, at least periodically, separates
and raises a man above the bed and board of this earth—above its dog’s
grottoes, buckthorns, and devils’ walls; like the bird of paradise he
slumbers flying; and on his outspread pinions oversleeps unconsciously
the earthquakes and conflagrations of life in his long fair dream of
his ideal motherland.—_Jean Paul F. Richter._




C. L. S. C. SONGS.

    The songs used by the C. L. S. C. at the Round Table, and
    in all their gatherings at Chautauqua, have been a real
    inspiration to thousands who have heard them. Through the
    kindness of the Rev. Dr. Vincent we shall furnish our
    readers, every month, with one or more of these songs set to
    music. Thus local circles will have them furnished for use,
    in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and every member who sings, though not
    connected with a local circle, may adopt them as songs of
    the home.


THE WINDS ARE WHISPERING.

    MARY A. LATHBURY.      (CHAUTAUQUA SONG, 1875.)      LUCY J. RIDER.

[Illustration: Music]

    1 The winds are whisp’ring to the trees,
        The hill-tops catch the strain,
      The forest lifts her leafy gates
        To greet God’s host again.
      Upon our unseen banner flames
        The mystic two-edged sword,
      We hold its legend in our hearts—
       “The Spirit and the Word.”

    CHORUS.
      God bless the hearts that beat as one,
        Tho’ continents apart!
      We greet you, brothers, face to face,
        We meet you heart to heart.

    2 We wait the touch of holy fire
        Upon our untaught lips;
      The “open vision” of the saints,
        The new apocalypse;
      We wait—the children of a King—
        We wait, in Jesus’ name,
      Beside these altars, till our hearts
        Shall catch the sacred flame.—_Chorus._

    Copyright, 1875, by J. H. Vincent.




A SWEET SURPRISE

By MARY R. DODGE DINGWALL.


    We went to school, my dear old books and I—
    Full twenty years ago, and miles away—
    True, trusted friends from morn till twilight gray:
    I held them dear, and could not put them by
    When other work came in my strength to try;
    Like blocks with which the child first learns to play,
    I wanted them in sight both night and day.
    Oft in my dreams with book in hand would I,
    Unfettered, walk the longed-for upward way—
    The pleasant path that leads up Science Hill;
    But waking, knew for me it might not be;
    God’s way is best, I truly tried to say,
    When lo! a hand, a token of his will,
    And on the outstretched hand I read, C. L. S. C.!




LOCAL CIRCLES.

    [We request the president or secretary of every local circle
    to send us reports of their work, of lectures, concerts,
    entertainments, etc. Editor of THE CHAUTAUQUAN, Meadville,
    Pa.]


We have received a large number of communications from officers and
members of local circles, bearing tidings of organizations effected,
and of work done. There is not one prosy letter among them all.
Continue to write. If your report does not appear promptly you can
afford to be patient, because it will find a place in some column in
the near future. No report of a circle that reaches us is overlooked.
We shall do you all justice, only give us time; write to us one and
all. “Never be discouraged.”—Editor THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

He who labors diligently need never despair. We can accomplish
everything by diligence and labor.—_Menander._

       *       *       *       *       *

=Maine (Parks Island).=—We have a local branch of the C. L. S. C. here
on this little down-east island. We have but fifteen members as yet,
but hope to improve in numbers another year. We did not commence work
until November, and have had quite hard work to catch up with the
regular course, but think we shall be able to accomplish it after a
little more hard work.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Maine (Lewiston).=—We have three local circles in this city. They
were organized this C. L. S. C. year. Most of the members began the
course of reading last October. One of the circles is designated as the
“Universalist,” another the “Methodist,” each of which has a membership
of about twenty-five. The third, which is called the “Alpha” C. L. S.
C., is much smaller, the number being limited to ten. Five of these are
members of the Class of 1885. The Alpha class have been holding monthly
meetings, but owing to the increased interest have decided to meet once
in two weeks. Our gatherings have been very informal and pleasant at
the home of one of the members. The previous month’s work is carefully
reviewed, any topic not well understood is freely discussed, it being
the privilege of each member to ask any question relative to the work.
Essays are prepared and listened to carefully. At our December meeting
two essays on “Geology” were presented—one embracing the October
reading on that subject, the other the November—thus bringing into one
lesson the principal features of Prof. Packard’s “First Lessons” in
that science. The class enjoyed the evening very much and believe it
will be a help to have the main points of a single branch of study all
brought out in one evening’s work—that is as far as possible.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Vermont (Rutland).=—Last year we organized our circle with five
members, but only three finished the reading and answered the
questions. This year we have nine members, and we meet the last Monday
evening in the month. Each member is given a few questions on the
month’s reading to answer. After meeting a few times we hope to be a
little more methodical in doing our work.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Vermont (St. Albans).=—We have not organized a local circle here,
though there are not less than twenty persons reading the course in
this city.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Massachusetts (East Boston).=—In East Boston a local circle was formed
in October, meetings once a fortnight, and the membership has increased
from seven to twenty-two. There is one graduate, one of the Class of
’84; the rest are beginners in the C. L. S. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Massachusetts (Gloucester).=—The first local circle of the C.
L. S. C. in Gloucester was organized October 23, 1882. We have
seventeen regular members. The committee of instruction consists of
the president, vice president and secretary. We meet at different
houses once a month, from 8 to 9:30 p. m. The first subject of the
evening, January 15, was “Geology.” The questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN
on this subject were first asked and answered, after which Miss Helen
Fiske, one of our High School teachers, gave an interesting talk on
the subject. Second in order came questions on “Russian History,”
prepared by a member, which were followed by questions on “Scandinavian
History.” Then came an interesting and enthusiastic talk on the “Greek
Course in English,” the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN being used. We
do feel very thankful for the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN—they are
of great value in the course of study. Our programs vary. We use the
questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN always, interspersed with talks, prepared
questions, etc. We find this year’s course of study very entertaining
and profitable. Though our circle is at the foot of the ladder, we are
ready to step upward.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Massachusetts (Franklin).=—Our circle—known as the Franklin Branch
of the C. L. S. C.—was organized in November, 1882, and numbers
twenty-three members—eight gentlemen and fifteen ladies. Of this number
one is the pastor of the Congregational church, one a deacon of that
church, one the editor of the local newspaper, one a physician, two are
school teachers, one a wife of a Universalist minister, one a dentist,
and _all_ earnest and interested students of the C. L. S. C. We were
favored on Thursday evening, Feb. 1, with the presence of our dearly
beloved Dr. Vincent, who gave a public lecture under our auspices in
the chapel of the First Congregational church. Subject, “That Boy.”
After the lecture all the Chautauquans present had the privilege of
taking him by the hand, and then were briefly addressed by him upon
Chautauqua studies. Many of our members are very busy with their daily
occupations, and find it difficult to keep up their course of study,
but the Doctor’s stirring and encouraging words have inspired them to
persevere, and we hope to be able to sit at the Round-Table at our New
England Chautauqua Grounds, South Framingham, with our year’s course of
study all completed, and to enroll next year a much larger membership
in our circle.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Massachusetts (Holbrook).=—This segment of the C. L. S. C. is located
at Holbrook, Norfolk Co., Massachusetts, a town of some two thousand
five hundred inhabitants, incorporated in 1872. It is located fourteen
miles south of Boston, on the Old Colony Railroad, and is engaged
principally in the manufacture of boots and shoes, some eighty thousand
cases, valued at $2,500,000, being produced annually. The circle,
organized October 1, 1880, with a membership of six, and pursued that
year’s course, holding fortnightly meetings for the discussion of the
topics studied. The next year three joined our number, and the meetings
were conducted after the first year’s method, excepting the occasional
reading of papers upon subjects assigned. The closing meeting of this
year (1882, July 3), anticipated the exercises held nearly two months
later at Chautauqua, “a grove meeting,” a feast and camp-fire being
the accompaniments. 1883 finds us increased in vigor, with a local
membership of fifteen (ten Chautauquans). Our meetings thus far have
been for the study of geology, George M. Smith, principal of the high
school, aiding us by giving illustrated talks upon the subject. We
have the promise of talks on “Greek Life and Writers” by Rev. Ezekiel
Russell, D. D. Our circle fortunately has enlisted the interest and
services of the educated. Its government is simple, a president and
secretary, with a few rules for the conduct of business. All are
encouraged to unite in the prosecution of this system of education.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Massachusetts (Rockbottom).=—The Hudson Circle meets every other
Monday evening. We number sixteen members, and expect a few more. At
every meeting the president asks the questions from THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
One or two special papers on topics connected with the reading are
presented by members who were appointed for that purpose. We have a
critic who corrects any and all mistakes, including the pronunciation
of words. If there is any spare time, it is used for social
intercourse. Our last lecture was given by the Rev. T. S. Bacons, on
“Geological Formations about the Hudson.”

       *       *       *       *       *

=Massachusetts (West Haverhill).=—A local circle was formed at West
Haverhill, Mass., October 10, 1882. We meet one evening each month.
Our meetings are very interesting and profitable. The exercises vary,
with one exception—we usually have the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN,
as we think they help to fix the reading we have been over more firmly
in our minds. We have eighteen members, and we are just commencing our
studies, so we have not as interesting a story to tell as many others,
but we hope in our quiet way to be better men and women because of the
privileges we enjoy in the C. L. S. C.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Connecticut (Niantic).=—Our circle re-organized on October 2, 1882,
beginning its second year. We meet every Monday evening, at the house
of each of the members in turn. The circle is now as large as can
conveniently meet in a private parlor, so we have obtained permission
from the church authorities to meet in the Congregational church
parlor. There are now twenty-seven members, five of whom belong to
the national circle. This is an increase over last year, for then our
number was only twenty. The exercises commence with the reading of
the secretary’s report of the previous meeting, and then a collection
is taken to pay postage and other expenses of the circle. After this
the president asks the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and the answers
are either recited or read. The reading is the last thing before the
motions are made and the voting and other business of the circle
done, and we adjourn. We read books in the course which will interest
the majority of the members. It has generally been those upon which
questions and answers are prepared and published in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. At
the meetings we use a dictionary constantly, for every difference in
pronunciation is noticed, and the word is looked up. We begin promptly
at seven o’clock, and close at nine.

       *       *       *       *       *

=New York (Troy).=—The Rev. H. C. Farrar, president of a local circle
in Troy, an old Chautauquan and successful C. L. S. C. worker, writes:
In our city there are seven circles, all organized this year, numbering
in membership some five hundred. Our circle numbers over two hundred
members and we have had the grace to call it the “Vincent Circle.” Each
circle is doing full and vigorous work, and almost weekly new members
are adding themselves. The C. L. S. C. in very many ways is blessing
our city. The booksellers never sold so many books of real merit as
during the holidays just passed. One firm sold over a dozen Webster’s
dictionaries, and all of them were Christmas presents to C. L. S. C.’s.
In this vicinity about twenty other circles have been formed since
October. So goes the good work bravely on. I can not forbear making an
extract from a letter of Rev. J. M. Appleman, Pownal, Vermont: “Mrs.
A. and myself commenced the course in October. We availed ourselves
of every favorable opportunity to speak in the interest of the C. L.
S. C. Many were favorably impressed, but we could not persuade any to
join us. We then put the “Hall in the Grove” into the itinerant work
and it found favor everywhere, and so great was the demand for it
we put another copy on the circuit. I have not seen either copy for
several weeks. About the first of December it fell into the hands of
a prominent young man and his enthusiasm went to white heat at once
and he said: ‘We must have a circle,’ and a circle we have of eleven
members and the tide is still rising.” Many of our members have had
a new world of thought and life opened to them through geology and
Greek history and they are anticipating great things in astronomy.
While studying geology we made excursions into the country and with
hammer and bag practically geologized. We spent two hours at the State
Geological Rooms in Albany (two hundred of us) and heard Prof. James
Hall. We had one lecture on “Glaciers and the _Mer-de-glace_.” We had
frequent talks by one of our number on geology, and the interest has
been rife and the profit great. We are planning most vigorously for
larger and better things. We are seeking for an astronomer to speak to
us who knows the stars as friends, that from the living heart words may
thrill us beyond what the book can. Many adjoining towns are waking up
to this C. L. S. C. work and are pledging circles for next year. Our
membership in this city will be doubled.

       *       *       *       *       *

=New York (Brooklyn).=—Our pastor, Rev. W. C. Stiles, commenced studies
with his wife, and one after another asked permission to join them,
and were cordially welcomed, until we have a circle of seven members.
Our studies are those laid down in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. We read the entire
lesson at home, and take the most important points for recitation. At
the end of the book we have a written review, and find we have learned
the whole thing in a very compact form. There seems to be a good deal
of interest, and we find the studies very pleasant. We decided to elect
a secretary every month and send a report to THE CHAUTAUQUAN, so you
will probably hear from us again.

       *       *       *       *       *

=New York (Brooklyn).=—In the January number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN you ask
if there are any local circles in Brooklyn. Besides those mentioned
there is one of seventy-four members, which meets in the chapel of
the New York Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church. Rev. N. G. Cheney is
president; Mr. John E. Searles, vice-president, and Mr. J. Wallis
Cook, associate vice-president. The circle is constantly growing,
having recently absorbed part of the circle of which F. S. Holmes was
president. The members of the circle are not confined to the Methodist
denomination, but are representatives of several others.

       *       *       *       *       *

=New York (Greenwich).=—Our local circle is not only fairly launched,
but is under full sail. We number twenty-four enthusiastic members from
all the Christian denominations, who are reading with a determination
to win. We held our second monthly meeting last evening, December 11.
Nearly every member was present and several brought essays on subjects
previously assigned them by the president of the circle, which were
well written and well read. Very much interest was exhibited in the
geological essays, illustrated by the excellent charts. The members
express themselves as being gratified and surprised at the enthusiasm
manifested, and at the splendid success of our first meeting. You shall
hear more further on.

       *       *       *       *       *

=New York (Suspension Bridge).=—We have a local circle in this place
which numbers twenty-five members, and the majority of them have their
names enrolled at Plainfield, N. J. Our order of exercises is singing
(Chautauqua hymns), roll-call, reading of minutes, program, business,
adjournment. The program for each meeting is prepared by a committee
of three, whom the president appoints two weeks before, and who make
their report at the meeting following their appointment. We have
twenty-five questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN every week, and some also in
the Greek text-book, which are asked by the chairman of the committee
that prepared the program. We are still studying the chart, and hardly
_see_ how we could have used the geology without it. We are taking the
diagrams in course, one being explained at each meeting by the member
appointed by the committee at the previous meeting. The program always
includes, also, some article or articles in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, which is
read aloud by the members with frequent consultation of the dictionary.
We observe the “Memorial Days” on the regular evening nearest memorial
date. Exercises for these are also announced by the committee who
prepare the regular program for the evening, and consist of a sketch of
the author’s life by one member, a recitation of one of his works by
another, and a short selection by each member. Our meetings are well
attended, and all seem to enjoy them. We have taken for our name, “The
Athenian Circle.”

       *       *       *       *       *

=New York (Brocton).=—A local circle was reorganized in September with
a good attendance and increased interest. We now have, in this our
fifth year, a membership of twenty and meet every Saturday evening.
In addition to our regular officers, president and secretary, we
usually elect a teacher for each subject. We are using the charts, and
the Baptist clergyman, Rev. J. M. Bates has given us one lecture on
geology and will soon give us another. The Class of ’82 are taking the
White Crystal Seal course, and most of the members are also reading
the regular course for the year. The influence of our circle is not
confined to its members alone, but is felt throughout the village,
winning the respect of the people and increasing their desire for solid
reading.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Pennsylvania (Phillipsburg).=—Our circle has been having some very
pleasant gatherings lately, quite out of our usual order. Some time
before Christmas we first discovered we had a neighbor circle in
Houtzdale, Clearfield County, a town about twelve miles from here,
among the coal mines. It is a much larger place than this, having a
population of between eight and ten thousand, principally miners from
almost every country in Europe. Wishing to show our friendly feeling
to our brethren in the Chautauqua Circle, we invited them down to
visit our circle. They accepted our invitation, promising to come when
the sleighing and weather were favorable. So they telephoned to us on
the 18th of last month to expect them on Monday evening, the 22d. Our
circle generally meets every Tuesday evening, but this time, to have a
fuller attendance and suit all around, we changed the time to Monday.
We met rather early and prepared to give them a warm reception. No one
of us had to our knowledge met any one of them, so we had to introduce
ourselves. We were rather surprised when they came to find that twelve
out of the twenty-five composing their circle had ventured on the long
drive, for though the moonlight made it as bright as day, the weather
was _very_ cold. The evening passed pleasantly and quickly, and it was
not till midnight that we turned our steps homeward. We departed from
our usual custom this evening and had a small entertainment. A cup
of coffee is very refreshing before a cold sleigh ride, and we could
not think of letting the party return without breaking bread with us.
Before separating we partly promised to go up to Houtzdale to hear a
lecture on “Greece, Ancient and Modern,” on the following Wednesday.
All depended on the weather, which seemed to be steadily growing
colder. Wednesday morning the mercury went down to 14°, but as it rose
rapidly, by noon we made what preparations were necessary, and a party
of fifteen beside the drivers started in two large sleds, after an
early supper. We reached our destination with but few mishaps and were
most kindly received. We enjoyed the lecture as well as seeing the
real Greek costumes very much. At the close of the meeting we went to
the house of one of the members of the C. L. S. C., where we partook
of a very nice entertainment before starting for home. We all agreed
that the trip was quite a success and have promised, when warm weather
comes, to go again to visit the circle on one of its regular meetings.
We are now reading in our fifth year and feel that we can not think of
giving up, even though some of us have our diplomas. The reading in
regular course is good for any one, and the influence of good books
and pleasant companionship drawing one out of one’s self, away, for a
short time at least, from the cares and fret of every-day life, brings
interest and brightness to many who might otherwise give up to the
“blues” and ill-temper, which like

    “The little rift within the lute,
    Will soon make all the music mute.”

       *       *       *       *       *

=Pennsylvania (Pittsburgh).=—On the evening of Thursday, January
25, the C. L. S. C. graduates of Pittsburgh and Allegheny had their
first reunion and banquet. In August last, at Chautauqua, a committee
was appointed of Pittsburgh members to take steps for the formation
of an alumni association in that city. An organization was effected
subsequently, and the following officers elected: A. M. Martin,
president; Miss Mary Oglesby, vice-president; Miss Sarah J. Payne,
secretary; and an executive committee composed of the preceding
officers and Dr. J. J. Covert and Miss Frances M. Sawyers. The reunion
and banquet was held at the Seventh Avenue Hotel. The members and
guests began to arrive early, and before the supper hour of nine the
parlors were filled with persons having bright faces and happy manners.
The social feature was not the least attractive one of the evening. The
banquet was served in a private dining-hall, and forty-two persons sat
down to the feast. The table was elegantly set, and was beautiful with
fine linen, glass, and fruit. The menu was made up of all the rich and
rare delicacies usual upon such occasions. After the last course had
been served, the president of the association, Mr. A. M. Martin, who
was also master of ceremonies, welcomed the members of the association
into the new relations of this fraternity. He said, “I bid you a hearty
welcome to the higher plane on which you have now stepped. We are
to-night, so far as I know, the first alumni organization of the C. L.
S. C. that has ever met to pay honor to our _alma mater_. I bid you
doubly welcome to the higher halls, loftier columns, wider arches, and
grander views she now opens to your sight. We here, I believe, boast of
a larger number of the more than seventeen hundred graduates than any
other one place in the world. I bid you thrice welcome to the honorable
distinction of leading the advance in this progressive march. Once more
I welcome you all to the enjoyments of this night, and I rejoice with
you in the happiness of the hour. I am glad to be here, and if the
faces about me are any index of your feelings, we are all glad to be
here. I hope that at every future reunion we can echo that sentiment
with the same genuine heartiness of to-night. As we meet to enjoy the
pleasures of social reunion, we create memories that shall be new
starting-points for fresh achievements. Memories that bring gladness to
the heart are among the richest boons the Father has bestowed upon His
children. The good cheer of which we have partaken, the sounds of the
words spoken, the friendships we have formed, the faces we have met,
will live as happy memories of this night in long years to come.” Then
came the toasts as follows: “Our lady teachers—the hope of the C. L. S.
C.;” response by Professor L. H. Eaton. “The faithful few;” response
by Miss Margaret McLean. “The Class of 1882, the pioneers of the C.
L. S. C.;” response by Miss A. E. Wilcox, with an original poem. “The
Hall in the Grove;” response by George Seebeck. “May we always be able
to look forward with pleasure, and back without regret;” response by
Miss May Wightman. “Dr. J. H. Vincent, the greatest _novel_-ist of the
age.” When this toast was announced calls were made upon the president,
Mr. Martin, to respond. He, in reply, said: “Dr. J. H. Vincent is a
man whom it is a delight to honor. He is the originator, the head,
the inspiring spirit, the rare genius to whom we all look as members
of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle. He is one of the
greatest novelists of the age in the old and better sense of the word,
in that he is an innovator and an asserter of novelty. He attracts
our attention; he surprises us; his methods are unusual; there is a
freshness in his plans and ways of doing and saying things that delight
us. But above all, he touches humanity where it most needs quickening.
With broad human sympathy he comes in contact with lives where the
heart throbs beat the strongest. With deep earnestness he reaches down
to the very foundation of the impulses that govern men and women,
and seeks to direct them in higher and better channels. He possesses
eminently what some one has called ‘sanctified common sense,’ and
brings it to bear on all phases of life. He is the greatest novelist of
the age in that he presents living and enduring truths in a way

       *  *  *  *  which, daily viewed,
    Please daily, and whose novelty survives
    Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.”

Professor Eaton next proposed the toast, “Mr. A. M. Martin, our worthy
General Secretary of the C. L. S. C.—the day star of our Pittsburgh
branch,” and called upon Professor C. B. Wood, who responded. The
other toasts of the evening, and the names of the persons who
responded, were: “The very young men of our Class who have faltered
not, nor fainted by the way;” Miss Frances M. Sawyers. “The hopeful
outlook;” Mr. George M. Irwin. “Our city press;” Miss Mary Oglesby.
“The Chautauqua Idea, the unchained Prometheus;” Dr. J. J. Covert.
The dresses of the ladies were tasty and becoming, and some of them
especially elegant. Flowers were worn in profusion. It was nearly
midnight when the enjoyable occasion came to a close.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Pennsylvania (Philadelphia).=—The Haddonfield local circle has
entered upon the second year of its existence, and in looking back
over the labors of the past year we feel abundantly satisfied with
the results. Our members are without exception composed of those who
have had the advantages of a liberal education, and have been constant
readers since their school days, but have felt the want of a systematic
course to pursue, and have found in the Chautauqua Circle this want
in a certain measure supplied. We have not only endeavored to follow
in this instance the letter of the law, but the spirit also, and in
so doing have taken the subjects up as a study, committing to memory
and reciting to our preceptor, in reply to his questions, every work
that has thus far come before us. In this way “Quackenbos’ Ancient
Classics,” as well as other works, were thoroughly studied the past
winter and reflected much credit upon the members for the close study
they gave to them. From this severe discipline we have not deviated and
propose to continue it to the end. The fruits of such application are
already visible, and the great desire which is expressed to confine our
studies longer to one subject than the plan permits is evidence enough
of the thirst for knowledge it engenders. The only fault we have to
find with the reading is that it is too desultory, and does not dwell
sufficiently long on one subject to satisfy the interest which is
awakened, the time of the members not permitting them to pursue their
reading out of the beaten path. The number of our members is twelve.
It could undoubtedly be largely increased, but we feel satisfied that
numbers in our method of study would not bring corresponding strength
and might prove only a source of weakness. We congratulate Dr. Vincent
and his co-workers in the noble cause in which they have embarked, and
which has long since ceased to be an experiment, upon the awakening of
thousands of minds to a love of acquiring knowledge, and that above
all in the interest of Christianity, and we hail that great army
of co-laborers, who, like ourselves, are brought under its benign
influences, and doubt not that this influence will radiate from every
circle for good.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Pennsylvania (Pottsville).=—There has sprung into existence, in our
midst, recently, a flourishing local circle. It is the outgrowth of an
informal conversation held by the worthy wife of our esteemed pastor,
Rev. B. T. Vincent, with members of the Normal class of Bible students,
in connection with the M. E. Church, during the early part of last
November, in which the aims and purposes of the C. L. S. C. were very
fully explained and set forth. That an increased interest might be
created in such studies as are embraced in THE CHAUTAUQUAN readings,
a strong sentiment was at once manifested by those present, including
members of various denominations, in favor of organizing a local
circle. After several preliminary meetings had been held, our circle
was formally organized on the 19th of last November, by the election
of a president, vice president, secretary and treasurer. As the result
of this effort, we have in our Mountain City to-day a circle numbering
fifty-two earnest, working members, about one half of whom are also
members of the general circle. In addition to our elective officers,
we have a committee on work, consisting of five members, appointed by
the president, whose duty it is to arrange the work of the circle, make
a sub-division of the required readings, and assign topics in advance
to the several members, whose duty it is to present the same at the
next stated meeting of the circle in the form of an essay, lecture,
or recitation as each may deem proper. By this method each member has
his or her share of work to perform, and all become interested and
active working members. Our meetings, which are held semi-monthly, on
Saturday evenings, are opened by a member reading a selection from the
Scriptures, followed by prayer and the singing of the “Gloria.” The
minutes of the previous meeting are then read, and business matters
relating to the circle attended to; after which the essays on the
various topics are read, or lectures delivered. We endeavor as nearly
as possible, to so limit members that the delivery of the essays and
lectures shall not occupy more than one hour. We have then, previous
to dismissal, a half hour devoted entirely to a lecture on the science
of geology, by our president, Mr. P. W. Sheafer. In this respect we
are peculiarly favored. Mr. Sheafer is not only a practical geologist,
but from his prominent official connection with the last geological
survey of the State, is enabled to give us a much larger, more varied
and valuable store of information in a science, which to us, living
as we do in the very centre of the vast beds of anthracite coal, is
peculiarly interesting and important.

       *       *       *       *       *

=District of Columbia (Washington).=—On November 14 last a local
circle was organized at the Foundry M. E. Church, and some twenty-five
persons, mostly ladies, joined. Others have joined since, until now
our membership numbers thirty-five. Great interest is manifested, and
the outlook is encouraging. We are somewhat behind, but we are doing
double work and soon expect to be abreast of the thousands of others
who are pursuing the same course. We have the geological diagrams,
and a special interest is being taken in geology. We are all led to
thank Dr. Vincent and Mr. Miller for introducing this movement, and
their dream must have been realized on August 12, last. In this age of
enlightenment, all who will may drink deeply at the pure fountain of
science. With the C. L. S. C. spreading all over the earth, ignorance
is a voluntary misfortune.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Ohio (Dayton).=—We meet every two weeks, on Tuesday evenings. Our
circle this year has thirty members. Last year we had a course of four
lectures given at a public hall: (1) Prof. Short, of Columbus, Ohio,
“The Antiquity of Man;” (2) Prof. Broome, of Dayton, on “Ceramics;”
(3) Rev. H. L. Colby, on “Architecture;” (4) Prof. Roberts, “Art and
Painting.” These lectures were well attended and much enjoyed. The
programs for the evenings we meet are something like the following:
Prayer by the president; roll call and reading of the minutes of the
last meeting, by the secretary; we learn the questions and answers
in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, taking fifty for a lesson, and these are asked
and answered by the society; then we have readings and essays, on the
subjects we have been reading for the two weeks.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Ohio (Cincinnati).=—The Rev. Dr. Vincent being in Cincinnati last
month, attending the meeting of the Chautauqua Trustees, the various
local circles in the city, and from the regions round about, engaged
him to give a lecture in St. Paul’s Church. At the close of the lecture
Dr. Vincent was presented with a basket of exquisite and rare flowers
by the members of the C. L. S. C., and then, called by classes, the
various circles retired to the lecture-room to welcome Chautauqua’s
chief. The royal salute was given, added to a song of greeting. Dr.
Vincent experienced great pleasure in meeting Chautauquans—whether
singly, in squads, or by thousands—and stated that the enterprise is
enlarging, twelve thousand new members having already been added to
the former score. It is not the design to make great scholars, but to
excite desire for thorough scholarship. It is to increase the list of
students in our colleges, and to instruct the unread and untaught that
Chautauqua makes her boast, and also in the review of former studies. A
social half hour and a hand-shaking ended the auspicious occasion, the
ladies and gentlemen of the C. L. S. C. expressing unfeigned pleasure
derived from it. A number of C. L. S. C.’s from a distance were
present, Indiana and Kentucky being represented. Some of these visited
the members of the Cincinnati circles for the first time, and expressed
themselves much pleased with the method of conducting the C. L. S. C.
work here, and commended especially the sociability of the members.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Tennessee (Knoxville).=—This is the second year of our local circle
at Knoxville. Our membership is small, numbering only ten this year,
but we are very enthusiastic, and all the work assigned is promptly
and thoroughly done. The recitations are principally conversational.
We have just finished the “Preparatory Greek Course,” and read in
connection with it the Earl of Derby’s translation of the “_Iliad_.”
We chose Derby’s translation _not_ because we differed with Mr.
Wilkinson as to its value, but because it was the only one to which
we had access. From Greece to the stars will be quite a change, yet
we are glad to leave war and bloodshed for a time. We meet Monday
night of each week at our president’s home. Visitors are always
welcome. Our circle is so small we have never attempted to give public
entertainments or lectures, but we try in other ways, especially by
means of personal influence, to help on the good work and gain recruits
to the C. L. S. C. army. We send greetings to our sister circles and
wish them success.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Indiana (Aurora).=—Our circle was organized in April, 1882, and we
held our meetings and read during the summer months to make up the
course. We have twelve regular members, all ladies. The president opens
the meeting by reading a chapter from the Bible, then the secretary
reports, after which the program for the evening is taken up. The
reading for the next week is assigned by the president, and our aim
at each meeting is to review the reading of the past week. This is
done by papers relating to the reading, or a synopsis of the readings.
Questions are assigned and answered, and we spend considerable time in
discussion. Our meetings are always informal, and are conducted in the
conversational style.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Illinois (Sycamore).=—Our circle is composed of busy house-keepers and
girl graduates to the number of a full dozen. We meet every Tuesday
afternoon, and spend from one and a half to two hours together. We take
up the lessons and readings by course, just as they are arranged in THE
CHAUTAUQUAN. We use the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and wish there
were more of them. The president supplements them, however, and asks
questions on history of Russia, Scandinavia, or whatever is assigned
for the week. Then we read together the “Sunday Reading,” and the poems
in the “Preparatory Greek Course,” or a selection from THE CHAUTAUQUAN,
not required. Questions, discussions, or expressions of opinion are
always in order, as we are not one bit formal. The “Geology” we much
enjoyed, and parted from it with reluctance. The “History of Greece” we
could hardly part with at all, and the “Preparatory Greek Course” we
wish the author had made twice as long. Indeed we part from each book
regretfully, but welcome each new one joyfully. THE CHAUTAUQUAN is so
full of good, enjoyable articles that we can not particularize. We find
our weekly meeting delightful and if we had the time, would like to
make it a daily meeting.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Illinois (Winchester).=—Our circle has entered upon the second year
of its history, and it is prospering. We started last year with seven
members, out of whom four did thorough work. We had an addition of
seven new members this year, and number at present eleven earnest,
energetic Chautauquans. Five of our circle are married ladies, three
are mothers, five are school teachers, and one a pupil in the high
school. To say we are delighted with the books and other reading, does
not express our appreciation of the good work of Dr. Vincent and his
fellow laborers. The “Ancient Literature,” “Mackenzie’s Nineteenth
Century,” and the two Grecian works of this year are gems to be coveted
by every book collector. It seems that every new book prescribed for
us is better than the last. Some of the most attractive features of
this year’s work, exclusive of the required study, have been a paper on
the Bayeux Tapestry; a paraphrase on a scene in the life of Agamemnon,
and a select reading descriptive of the Yosemite Valley. Two of our
members attended the Chautauqua Assembly last summer, and others
propose attending next August. Letters of inquiry come to us from a
distance asking for directions for organizing circles, thus verifying
the Biblical text: “A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.”

       *       *       *       *       *

=Illinois (Chicago).=—This, the “Garfield Park Local Circle,” was
organized November 25, 1881, and now consists of six members. We hold
our meetings every Thursday evening, at the home of one of the six.
A record is kept of the work done by each member, and after this is
accomplished, our president asks the questions given for study in
THE CHAUTAUQUAN. These being answered, the subjects previously given
out for further study are treated, and we have many interesting and
instructive answers. Talks and discussions follow, after which the
work for the coming week is assigned, the minutes taken, and we adjourn
for music and a social time. We were much helped in geology by the
diagrams, and, indeed, it seems as though almost every written article
is in some way connected with our studies.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Illinois (Jacksonville).=—A local circle was organized October, 1880,
in the house of Mr. Frank Read. It has now entered its third year, and
numbers seven members, almost all of whom are deaf-mute ladies, and
teachers in the institution for deaf-mutes. Miss Naomi S. Hiatt is the
secretary of this circle, and Miss Lavinia Eden the vice-president.
The exercises consist of answers to the questions for the week in THE
CHAUTAUQUAN, of answers to five surprise questions prepared by each
member, of comparing notes, and of the leader’s review on the required
readings for the week. The members by turn conduct meetings each
Tuesday evening, at Mr. Frank Read’s house. Their daily reading and
study seem difficult and tedious, but the interest in such work awakens
and increases with each meeting. The exercises are conducted by means
of spelling on the fingers; but the subjects, especially the tales from
Shakspere, become very interesting through the medium of such uniquely
luminous and intensely vital language as signs. This local circle is
not only a great help to their professional work, but also an excellent
means of contributing to their social, mental, and spiritual welfare.
They all expect to be perennial Chautauquans.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Michigan (Kalamazoo).=—We have recently organized a local circle here
with an enrollment of twelve enthusiastic members, and we are all
enjoying the work very much.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Michigan (Flushing).=—Our class, the “Hope Society,” has a membership
of twenty-two. We meet once a week at the residence of each member in
turn. The meeting is opened by singing and prayer, and at roll-call of
members each one responds with some Scripture text or literary gem. We
have a committee of arrangements, consisting of nine persons, to plan
work for the class and prepare such questions as they think best. Three
of them take the work each alternate week. We have also a committee on
entertainments to procure lecturers and look to the social interest
of the work. We do our reading at home, and meet to review, recite,
suggest, and encourage each other, and our rules require an essay a
week from some one of the class. This is our third year and we are
working with increasing enthusiasm. One young man walks seven miles
nearly every week to attend the meeting. We keep all the memorial days,
and pray always, God bless Chautauqua.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Michigan (Sault St. Marie).=—The Rev. L. T. Eastendy writes: We have
fifteen members in our local circle. We meet once a week. We have
done October’s work, interchanging in the schedule “Preparatory Greek
Course” and “History of Greece.” My wife, daughter and I enjoy our home
circle very much. I have just closed my seventeen years pastorate with
the Presbyterian church here, on account of ill health, and hope now to
enjoy this work and do good in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Michigan (Detroit.)=—Five years ago a circle was formed here, with
Mrs. A. L. Clarke as president. Our officers are elected once a year.
They consist of a president, vice president, critic, treasurer,
recording and corresponding secretaries. Three committees attend to the
business of preparing the program for each evening, and the celebration
of the memorial days, and are appointed by the president every three
months. The instruction committee consists of five members, and
apportions the work among the members. The music committee, consisting
of six members, arranges the musical program for each evening. The
entertainment committee consists of eight persons, who arrange the
program for the socials, and take charge of the refreshments. The
circle meets weekly on Thursday evenings. Meeting called to order at
eight o’clock. Music, either vocal or instrumental opens the meeting
pleasantly. The recording secretary reads the minutes of the preceding
meeting. The critic’s report follows, and the work of the evening is
then begun, on subjects assigned to members. The subject may be treated
in the form of an essay, short lecture, black-board illustration, or
a preparation to answer any questions that may be asked. All members
are expected to take the subjects assigned them by the instruction
committee. During the evening we have a recess of fifteen or twenty
minutes, when new members are welcomed and introduced, and the
committees can assign the work for the next meeting. After recess the
program is finished, and the meeting is closed at 10 p. m., with more
music. We try to have a lecture by some popular speaker at least once
a month. Thus far we have had lectures from Dr. Yemans on “Geology;”
Dr. Taylor, Post Surgeon at Fort Wayne, on “Storms and their Causes;”
Mr. Hawley, on “Rain, Hail and Snow;” Mr. Taylor, on “Geology,” and
Rev. George D. Baker, on “God’s hand in American History.” After the
lecture opportunity is given to members to ask questions on any points
not quite clear to them. Besides the regular meetings we celebrate
the memorial days by giving a reception to the members and friends
of the C. L. S. C. at the house of the president or of some member.
The entertainment consists of music, a sketch of the poet’s life, and
reading of selections from his works; refreshments and conversation
complete the evening. In the summer, picnics are given by the members,
and when the wintry days are come, the Chautauquans sometimes go
sleigh-riding. Drawn thus together we form a most harmonious band.
Our circle at present consists of eighty-one members, thirty-three of
whom are general members. Nearly all of these have joined us since
September, 1881. The first four years the circle met in the rooms of
the Y. M. C. A., and averaged about thirty for each year. In September,
1882, it was decided to rent the “Conservatory of Music Hall,” it being
a larger hall and nearer the central portion of the city. We have
had no cause to regret the action taken, as the meetings are so well
attended, and the members are so thoroughly instructed in the work.
Our circle is composed of persons who range in age from fifteen to
sixty-five years, and of many different lands and callings; physicians,
lawyers, teachers, clerks, and busy housewives clasp hands in one
grand and glorious circle. Eight diplomas were awarded to members last
year. Several of these graduates are now working for seals upon their
diplomas. Death has deprived us of but one member, Miss Ida Ashley,
who was so faithful, earnest and persevering. She finished her studies
while lying upon what proved to be her death bed. Her diploma came just
before she passed to her eternal home, and her memory will ever be
revered in our circle.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Missouri (Carthage).=—Our circle was organized last April with five
members. Officers elected under forms of constitution in C. L. S. C.
Hand Book. Applications and fees for membership sent Miss Kimball for
class of 1886. We appointed weekly meetings at the homes of members and
spent three hours at each meeting reading Knight’s “English History,”
and review papers enlarging upon the main topics and prominent
characters, with a few moments given to criticisms and report of
general news items of interest. June 1, in connection with the literary
societies of this city, we organized a Carthage Literary Association,
membership forty or more, all ladies, and held a “Longfellow Memorial
Meeting,” a highly entertaining and profitable occasion, being entirely
of a literary character. The members of the C. L. S. C. are now
pursuing the year’s course with renewed zeal, and we number seventeen
regular members. A class conductor is appointed for each week. Papers
of an interesting and creditable character are read relating to the
Greek heroes, both real and mythical, one member giving a prose
recitation from memory of the “Iliad” and “Odyssey,” also Sophocles’
“King Œdipus.” We are now preparing for a Miltonian memorial. Our only
regret is that we did not fall into C. L. S. C. line earlier. We would
give a hearty God bless Dr. Vincent and Chautauqua.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Minnesota (Worthington).=—The following is the program for a meeting
of the circle in this town held Monday, December 11, 1882: (1) Music,
“Chautauqua Song;” (2) Essay, Mrs. Cramer, “Early Greek Historians;”
(3) Music; (4) Greek History, Text Book, Secs. 1 and 2; (5) Music; (6)
Greek History, October CHAUTAUQUAN, Q. 51-75; (7) Music; (8) Essay,
Miss Mott, “The Labors of Hercules;” (9) Music, “A Song of To-day.”

       *       *       *       *       *

=Wisconsin (Milwaukee).=—The Milwaukee East Side Local Circle has
enrolled fifty members this winter, and efficient work is resulting
from the steady application given by the class. One of the pleasant
social evenings of the class occurred on January 11, at the residence
of Mr. and Mrs. Walter Wallace. Exercises in commemoration of Bryant’s
and Milton’s days consisted of music, a paper on Milton by Mr.
Bickford; a reading from Milton, by Miss Hall; a paper on Bryant, by
Miss Louise Slocum, and readings from Bryant.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Colorado (Arvada).=—We have organized a local circle here recently and
have thirteen names enrolled. Though late we hope to make up lost time
and finish the year with others. We are well along in our Greek history
and enjoy it very much.

       *       *       *       *       *

=Canada (Toronto).=—The Toronto Central Circle issued the following,
in the form of a circular, in December: “A great deal of interest has
been manifested, during the present season, in the work of the C.
L. S. C., and meetings have been held in a large number of the city
churches, with very gratifying results. We beg now to intimate that a
general meeting will be held in the Metropolitan Church (lecture room)
on Tuesday evening, next, the 19th inst., to which we invite—(1) All
members of the C. L. S. C., and those desiring to become such; and
(2) Any who feel interested, in any way, in the substitution of pure
and healthy literature for that which is questionable and sometimes
baneful in its tendency, and in the cultivation of the habit of reading
in a given course, with the object of mental development. The meeting
will be addressed by the Rev. H. Johnston, M. A., B. D., and others,
and opportunity will be given for questioning, to elicit any needed
information. As this matter of home reading is one, the importance of
which it would be difficult to over-estimate, we earnestly request that
you will use the means which may seem most proper to you to make this
meeting known to the members of your congregation.”

       *       *       *       *       *

There are sorrows mingled with the pleasures of life. Everything does
not go, sir, as we would wish it. Heaven wills that here below each
should have his crosses, and without these men would be too full of
happiness.—_Molière._




    [_Not Required._]

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON “RECREATIONS IN ASTRONOMY,” FROM
CHAPTER VIII TO END OF BOOK.

By ALBERT M. MARTIN, GENERAL SECRETARY C. L. S. C.


1. Q. How many primary planets have been discovered between the sun and
the earth? A. Six; four planetoids, Mercury and Venus.

2. Q. When and by whom were the four planetoids discovered? A. In 1878,
during a total eclipse of the sun, Prof. Watson, of Ann Arbor, Mich.,
and Lewis Swift, the famous comet-finder, each discovered two small
bodies within the orbit of Mercury.

3. Q. What is the distance of these planetoids from the sun? A. About
thirteen million miles.

4. Q. What is the time of their orbital revolution? A. About twenty
days.

5. Q. What is the mean distance of Mercury from the sun? A. Thirty-five
million miles, in round numbers.

6. Q. What is the diameter of Mercury in round numbers? A. Three
thousand miles.

7. Q. How does its axial revolution compare with that of the earth? A.
It is nearly the same.

8. Q. With what kind of a light does Mercury shine? A. With a white
light nearly as bright as Sirius.

9. Q. In what part of the heavens is Mercury to be seen? A. It is
always near the horizon.

10. Q. What is the distance of Venus from the sun, in round numbers? A.
Sixty-six million miles.

11. Q. How does its diameter compare with that of the earth? A. It is
nearly the same.

12. Q. How does its axial revolution compare with that of the earth? A.
It is also nearly the same.

13. Q. What is said of the appearance of Venus in the heavens? A. It is
the most beautiful object in the heavens, and is often visible in the
day time.

14. Q. What is the mean distance of the earth from the sun? A.
Ninety-two million five hundred thousand miles.

15. Q. What is the polar and what the equatorial diameter of the earth?
A. The polar, 7,899 miles; the equatorial, 7,925½ miles.

16. Q. State three facts in regard to the aurora borealis. A. It
prevails mostly near the arctic circle rather than the pole; it is
either the cause or the result of electric disturbance; it is often
from four to six hundred miles above the earth, while our air can not
extend over one hundred miles above the earth.

17. Q. What is the cause of tides? A. The attractive force of the moon
and sun.

18. Q. What shores have the greatest tides? A. All eastern shores have
far greater tides than western.

19. Q. What is the mean distance of the moon from the earth? A. Two
hundred and forty thousand miles.

20. Q. What is the diameter of the moon in round numbers? A. Two
thousand miles.

21. Q. What is the time of its revolution about the earth and of its
axial revolution? A. Twenty-nine and one-half days.

22. Q. How clearly do the best telescopes we are now enabled to make
reveal the moon? A. No more clearly than it would appear to the naked
eye if it were 100 or 150 miles away.

23. Q. What is said about the moon presenting the same side to us? A.
The moon always presents the same side to the earth.

24. Q. What is the difference of heat on the moon in the full blaze of
its noon-day and midnight? A. No less than five hundred degrees.

25. Q. What is said as to the presence of air and water on the moon? A.
There are no indications of air or water on the moon.

26. Q. What is said of the maps of the side of the moon toward us? A.
They are far more perfect than those of the earth.

27. Q. What planets have been discovered that revolve around the sun
outside of the orbit of the earth? A. Mars, asteroids, Jupiter, Saturn,
Uranus, and Neptune.

28. Q. What is the mean distance of Mars from the sun? A. One hundred
and forty-one million miles.

29. Q. How does the axial revolution of Mars compare with that of
Mercury, Venus, and the earth? A. It is nearly the same.

30. Q. What is the diameter of Mars in round numbers? A. Four thousand
miles, or one-half that of the earth.

31. Q. What is the appearance of Mars to the naked eye? A. It is the
reddest star in the heavens. Sometimes it scintillates, and sometimes
it shines with a steady light.

32. Q. How many satellites has Mars? A. Two.

33. Q. When and by whom were they discovered? A. In August, 1877, by
Prof. Hall, of Washington, D. C.

34. Q. How many asteroids have been discovered up to the present year?
A. Two-hundred and twenty-three.

35. Q. What is the distance of the asteroids from the sun? A. From two
hundred million to three hundred and fifteen million miles.

36. Q. What are the diameters of the asteroids? A. From twenty to four
hundred miles.

37. Q. How does the mass of all the asteroids compare with that of the
earth? A. It is less than one-fourth of the earth.

38. Q. Since what time have all the asteroids known been discovered? A.
Since the commencement of the present century.

39. Q. What is the mean distance of Jupiter from the sun? A.
475,692,000 miles.

40. Q. What is the mean diameter of Jupiter? A. Eighty-six thousand
miles.

41. Q. What is the volume of Jupiter compared with that of the earth?
A. It is thirteen hundred times larger.

42. Q. What is the length of a Jovian day? A. About ten hours.

43. Q. How many satellites has Jupiter. A. Four.

44. Q. What is the mean distance of Saturn from the Sun? A. 881,000,000
miles.

45. Q. What is the mean diameter of Saturn? A. Seventy thousand five
hundred miles.

46. Q. How does the time of the axial revolution of Saturn compare with
that of Jupiter? A. It is nearly the same.

47. Q. How many moons has Saturn? A. Eight.

48. Q. By what is Saturn surrounded? A. By three rings.

49. Q. What has been proved in reference to the state of Saturn’s
rings? A. That they are in a state of fluidity and contraction.

50. Q. What is the mean distance of Uranus from the sun? A.
1,771,000,000 miles.

51. Q. What is the mean diameter of Uranus? A. Thirty-one thousand
seven hundred miles.

52. Q. What is the length of the year on Uranus? A. Eighty-four of our
years.

53. Q. How many moons has Uranus? A. Four.

54. Q. When and by whom was Uranus discovered? A. By Sir William
Herschel in 1781.

55. Q. What is the distance of Neptune from the sun? A. 2,775,000,000
miles.

56. Q. What is the diameter of Neptune? A. Thirty-four thousand five
hundred miles.

57. Q. How many moons has Neptune? A. One, and probably two.

58. Q. What is the length of the year on Neptune? A. A little over one
hundred and sixty four of our years.

59. Q. When was Neptune discovered? A. In 1846.

60. Q. By what name is the scientific theory known which attempts to
state the method by which the solar system came into its present form?
A. The nebular hypothesis.

61. Q. How are the stars in a constellation indicated? A. The brightest
stars are indicated in order by the letters of the Greek alphabet.
After these are exhausted the Roman alphabet is used in the same
manner, and then numbers are employed.

62. Q. What have many of the brightest stars also received? A. Proper
names by which they are known.

63. Q. Around what star do the stars of the northern circumpolar region
appear to revolve? A. Polaris, the North Star.

64. Q. Name five northern circumpolar constellations. A. Ursa Major,
or the Great Bear; Ursa Minor; Cepheus; Cassiopeia, or the Lady in the
Chair; and Perseus.

65. Q. When are the circumpolar constellations visible in northern
latitudes? A. They are always visible.

66. Q. How many stars does the constellation of Ursa Major contain that
are visible to the naked eye? A. One hundred and thirty-eight.

67. Q. What does a group of seven stars in this constellation form? A.
The Great Dipper.

68. Q. What are the names of the stars in the Dipper? A. The pointers
are Dubhe and Merak; the stars forming the handle are Benetnasch,
Mizar, and Alioth; the star at the junction of the handle and the bowl
is Megrez, and the remaining star at the bottom of the basin is Phad.

69. Q. How many stars does Ursa Minor contain? A. Twenty-four stars, of
which only three are of the third, and four of the fourth magnitude.

70. Q. What is a cluster of seven of these stars termed? A. The Little
Dipper.

71. Q. What do three stars besides the double pole star form? A. The
curved-up handle of the Little Dipper.

72. Q. How many stars visible to the naked eye are contained in the
constellation Cepheus? A. Thirty-five.

73. Q. Which is the brightest star of this constellation? A. Alderamin.

74. Q. In what portion of the constellation is Alderamin situated? A.
In the right shoulder.

75. Q. What is the position of the head of Cepheus? A. It is in the
milky way, and is indicated by a small triangle of three stars.

76. Q. What figure, easily distinguished, do a number of stars in
Cassiopeia form? A. An inverted chair.

77. Q. Give the names of two prominent stars in the constellation
Perseus. A. Algenib and Algol.

78. Q. Name four of the more brilliant equatorial constellations, only
a portion of whose paths is above our horizon. A. Andromeda, Orion,
Cygnus, and Canis Major.

79. Q. Give the names applied to some of the groups of stars in the
equatorial constellations. A. The Pleiades, the Great Square of
Pegasus, the Belt of Orion, and the Milk Dipper.

80. Q. Name eight stars of the first magnitude in the equatorial
constellations. A. Aldebaran, in Taurus; Capella, the Goat Star, in
Auriga; Castor, in Gemini; Betelgeuse, in Orion; Sirius, the Dog Star,
in Canis Major; Procyon, in Canis Minor; Spica, in Virgo; and Arcturus,
in Boötes.

81. Q. What are some of the more remarkable sights in the southern
circumpolar region of the sky? A. The constellations of the ship Argo
and the Southern Cross, the Dark Hole, and the two Magellanic Clouds.

82. Q. How many stars are visible in the whole heavens to the naked
eye? A. About five thousand.

83. Q. How many are there of each magnitude to the sixth? A. Twenty of
the first, sixty-five of the second, two hundred of the third, four
hundred of the fourth, eleven hundred of the fifth, and thirty-two
hundred of the sixth.

84. Q. How many stars are there in the zone called the Milky Way? A.
Eighty millions.

85. Q. How much of the light on a fine starlight night comes from stars
that cannot be discerned by the naked eye? A. Three-fourths.

86. Q. How does the whole amount of starlight compare with that of the
moon? A. It is about one-eightieth that of the moon.

87. Q. Give the names of five double or multiple stars. A. Polaris,
Sirius, Procyon, Castor, and sixty-one Cygni.

88. Q. What is said of the color of stars? A. They are of various
colors.

89. Q. Name five stars each having a different color. A. Sirius, white;
Capella, yellow; Castor, green; Aldebaran, red; and Lyra, blue.

90. Q. What are clusters of stars? A. In various parts of the heavens
there are small globular well-defined clusters, and clusters very
irregular in form marked with sprays of stars.

91. Q. How do these clusters appear to the eye, or through a small
telescope? A. As little cloudlets of hazy light.

92. Q. What is the new and better substantiated possibility of thought
concerning these clusters? A. That they belong to our system, and hence
that the stars must be small and young.

93. Q. What does the spectroscope show that some of these little
cloudlets of hazy light called nebulæ are? A. That they are not stars
in any sense, but masses of glowing gas.

94. Q. What are some of the shapes of nebulæ? A. Nebulæ are of all
conceivable shapes—circular, annular, oval, lenticular, conical,
spiral, snake-like, looped, and nameless.

95. Q. Of how many stars has a variation in magnitude been well
ascertained? A. One hundred and forty-three.

96. Q. What are temporary stars? A. Those that shine awhile and then
disappear.

97. Q. What are new stars? A. Stars that come to a definite brightness
and so remain.

98. Q. What are lost stars? A. Those whose first appearance was not
observed, but which have utterly disappeared.

99. Q. What movements have these stars? A. There is motion of the stars
in every conceivable direction.

100. Q. What is said of the appearance of the Great Dipper in
thirty-six thousand years? A. The end of the dipper will have fallen
out so that it will hold no water, and the handle will be broken square
off at Mizar.




ANSWERS

TO QUESTIONS FOR FURTHER STUDY IN THE JANUARY NUMBER OF “THE
CHAUTAUQUAN.”

By ALBERT M. MARTIN, GENERAL SECRETARY C. L. S. C.


1. The expression, “Possession is nine points in the law,” probably
had its origin in an old Scottish proverb, “Possession is eleven
points in the law, and they say there are but twelve.” It is found in
a play by Colley Cibber, called “Woman’s Wit,” reading “Possession is
eleven points of the law.” Later, DeQuincey uses the expression in a
criticism of Shakspere’s drama of “King Lear,” in the form employed
by our author. DeQuincey says: “The best of Shakspere’s dramas, ‘King
Lear,’ is the least fitted for representation, and even for the vilest
alteration. It ought, in candor, to be considered that possession is
nine points in the law.” It occurs in the writings of a number of
writers of the present century with a change of the numeral.

2. The preying sadness that Cowper sought to escape from by the work of
translating Homer was occasioned by disappointment in youth; attempted
suicide; dread of everlasting punishment, and fear of insanity. A
romantic attachment for his cousin in his youth met with the disfavor
of his father. Doubts of his ability to fill the requirements of an
office for which he was named so preyed upon his mind that he attempted
suicide. After this he believed that in that act he had committed
a deadly sin, and he could only see between him and heaven a high
wall which he despaired of ever being able to scale. He possessed a
naturally melancholy temperament, and was subject to insanity, of which
he had a great dread. He began the translation of Homer into blank
verse to divert his mind from morbid introspection, and he succeeded so
well that the six years he spent in this labor were among the happiest
of his life.

3. The original of the quotation, “From the center to the utmost pole,”
is to be found in Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” book I, line 74. The
quotation is not, however, literally made. In Milton it reads:

    “As far removed from God and light of heav’n,
     As from the center thrice to th’ utmost pole.”

Pope also uses a similar expression in his lines reading:

    “Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
     And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole.”

4. Macedonia’s madman was Alexander the Great. He was so called because
he was dazzled or crazed with his own success; from his rash and
impetuous disposition, and the many acts of inhumanity he perpetrated;
because his horrible butchery and cruelty at times indicated a species
of madness; because his brilliant successes so turned his head that
he sought to be worshiped as the son of a god. Byron, in his Age of
Bronze, refers to him as the madman in these lines:

    “How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear
     The madman’s wish, the Macedonian tear.
     He wept for worlds to conquer—half the earth
     Knows not his name, or but his death and birth.”

5. Some of the features of the Cathedral of Cologne that render it
famous are as follows: It is considered one of the finest monuments
of Gothic architecture in existence. It contains the shrine of the
three kings, or magi, who visited and worshiped the infant Savior, and
their reputed bones. It is the largest Gothic church in the world.
It was begun in 1248 and finished in 1881—six hundred and thirty-two
years in building. It is the loftiest building in the world, the tower
being about five hundred feet high. Its beauty is in its exquisite
proportions, and it does not invite long study to appreciate its
grandeur. It has beautiful stained-glass windows, a double range of
flying buttresses, a perfect forest of pinnacles. Under a slab in the
pavement the heart of Maria de Medici is buried. The cathedral is
in the form of a cross, 510 feet long and 231 feet broad. The roof
rests on 100 columns, of which the four center ones are 30 feet in
circumference.

6. The expression “Perish the thought” probably had its origin in a
speech of Gloucester, interpolated by Colly Cibber, in Shakspere’s
“Richard the Third.” The reading there is “Perish that thought,” and
is to be found in Bell’s edition of Shakspere’s plays as performed at
Drury Lane Theater. The part of the speech containing the expression is
as follows:

    “Perish that thought! No, never be it said
     That fate itself could awe the soul of Richard,
     Hence, babbling dreams; you threaten here in vain;
     Conscience, avaunt, Richard’s himself again!”

7. The lines of Pope in his paraphrase of the moonlight scene, given
in the closing part of the eighth book of the Iliad, are “false and
contradictory” in the following particulars: The planets do not
revolve around the moon. The stars do not make bright the pole. Those
near the pole are scarcely visible on such a night. It is not a correct
translation of the original. The light on a moonlight scene is mild,
subdued and silvery, and therefore is not glorious, yellow and golden.
It is contradictory, because he says the stars gild the pole, and cast
a yellow verdure o’er the trees, and at the same time tip with silver
the mountain heads. He speaks of a flood of glory bursting from all the
skies which he calls blue. The night filled with the noises of neighing
coursers and ardent warriors, waiting for the morn, could not be like
the one “when not a breath disturbs the deep serene.”

8. Webster’s famous seventh of March speech was delivered in the
United States Senate on the seventh of March, 1850. The occasion was
the discussion of a series of resolutions submitted by Mr. Clay in
reference to the admission of California as a State, and embodying
a basis of a proposed compromise of all differences relating to the
territories and to slavery. In this speech Mr. Webster took ground
against the abolitionists; against further legislation prohibitory of
slavery in the territories; against secession or disunion; against
whatever seemed calculated to produce irritation or alienation between
the North and the South. In consideration of its character, and the
manner in which it was received by the people throughout the country,
it has been entitled, “For the Constitution and the Union.”

9. Athene was called the “Stern-Eyed” because she was considered the
goddess of pure reason, raised above every feminine weakness, and
disdaining love; because of her martial mein; also, that no flattery
or other influence could deter her from executing justice alike on
friend or foe. She watched over Athens to protect it from outward foes;
consequently she was watchful, or “stern-eyed.” She generally appeared
with a countenance full more of masculine firmness and composure than
of softness and grace.

       *       *       *       *       *

Correct replies to all the questions for further study in the January
number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN have been received from Maggie V. Wilcox,
605 North Thirty-fifth Street, West Philadelphia, Pa.; Margaret D.
Mekeel, Trumansburg, N. Y.; A. U. Lombard, 382 Oak Street, Columbus,
Ohio; Eleanor A. Cummins, 243 Tenth Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Addie L.
Crocker, 439 Sixth Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.; Mrs. D. W. Eaton, Allston,
Mass.; Mrs. W. D. Beaman, Winchendon, Mass.; Abbie L. Wheeler, West
Gardner, Mass.; Alice M. Hyde, Gardner, Mass.; the Alpha C. L. S. C.,
of Lewistown, Me.; “Right Angle” of the Trumansburg, N. Y., “Triangle;”
and the Phillipsburg, Pa., local circle.




OUTLINE OF C. L. S. C. STUDIES.


MARCH.

The March required C. L. S. C. reading includes the latter part of
Bishop Warren’s Recreations in Astronomy, from page 135 to the end
of the book; the corresponding parts of Chautauqua Text-book, No. 2,
“Studies of the Stars;” Chautauqua Text-book, No. 4, English History,
by Dr. Vincent; and the required readings in the present number of THE
CHAUTAUQUAN. The following is the division according to weeks:

FIRST WEEK.—1. Warren’s Recreations in Astronomy, chapter viii to the
sub-reading “Mars,” from page 135 to 159—the Planets as Individuals.

2. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 2, Studies of the Stars, the Planets, from
page 16 to page 28, inclusive.

3. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 4, English History, from the commencement
of the book to the third exercise on page 14.

4. History of Russia, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

5. Sunday Readings, selection for March 4 in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

SECOND WEEK.—1. Warren’s Recreations in Astronomy, the remainder of
chapter viii and chapter ix—from page 159 to page 191—the Planets as
Individuals, continued, and the Nebular Hypothesis.

2. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 2, Studies of the Stars, the Planets,
continued, from page 29 to page 36, inclusive.

3. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 4, English History, the third exercise,
from page 14 to page 20, the latter included.

4. History and Literature of Scandinavia, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

5. Sunday Readings, selection for March 11, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

THIRD WEEK.—1. Warren’s Recreations in Astronomy, chapter x, the
Stellar System, from page 193 to page 228, inclusive.

2. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 2, Studies of the Stars—the Fixed Stars;
the Sun’s Motion in Space; Names and Positions of the Stars, from page
42 to the end of the book.

3. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 4, English History, the fourth exercise to
the sub-head, “The House of Lancaster,” from page 21 to page 32.

4. Readings in English History and Literature, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

5. Sunday Readings, selection for March 18, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

FOURTH WEEK.—1. Warren’s Recreations in Astronomy, from page 229 to the
end of the book.

2. Chautauqua Text-book, No. 4, English History, from page 32, “The
House of Lancaster,” to the end of the book.

3. Readings in Astronomy, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

4. Sunday Readings, selection for March 25, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.




C. L. S. C. ROUND-TABLE.[I]


HOW TO READ TOGETHER PROFITABLY.

After singing, by the choir, “Arise and Shine,” and “The Winds are
Whispering,” Dr. Vincent said: “I greet you. We are glad that so many
of us are able to be present this afternoon. We are here to-day for a
practical question or two in connection with our work as local circles,
and then to answer some questions relating to the exercises of the
coming Saturday. It is a question of much importance to all who are
connected with local circles: How may we promote profitable reading? A
local circle is not designed for much reading, but is a place to guide
people in reading at home; to make suggestions; to correct blunders;
to give new ideas that reading may be prosecuted with economy of
time. A large part of almost any book may be omitted by every reader,
and yet he may after a fashion read the parts he “omits.” There is a
rapid way of running over half a dozen pages when they contain but the
expansion or illustration of a thought. You see what the author is
after; you have read the half-dozen pages; you have all that is for you
in those pages, and saved your time for a page that you can not finish
in fifteen minutes or half an hour. It is often the case that when
out of a book of three hundred pages you have read forty pages of it
studiously, you have the essence of that book.

There are very few men who can write a book, every page of which is
worth the concentrated attention of the average reader. Many a book
that costs one dollar and a half contains only a half-dollar’s worth.
Learn to find and make your own that half-dollar’s worth.

It may be well occasionally in a local circle for one member to read
a chapter, or paragraph, or section, of one, two, three, four, or
more pages, and let the rest listen, noting every word, watching his
pronunciation, or trying to take in all that they can while he reads.
The habit of attention while another reads may be more profitable
than reading for oneself. When the page has been read in the hearing
of the other two, if the circle be a triangle, or the other twenty,
if the circle be a very large circle, then let one, two, or three, as
many as you have time to hear, try to repeat the substance of what was
read. We had at Island Park the other day in a round-table conference,
a very interesting exercise of that kind. I took up a book, the
newest and last—it was Hatton’s account of a trip through America. I
read to them a page of that. I read it so rapidly that it was almost
impossible for anybody to follow me. They heard me. I pronounced
every word distinctly, but read as rapidly as I could. And there was
precious little to recall. And then I read another part of the book
very slowly. There were a great many dates in it. It was an account
of the settlement of Kansas, and the growth of Kansas and Missouri,
and the settlement of Nebraska. I read the figures slowly, but did not
repeat. When I finished I closed the book, and then recalled through
the class the substance of what I had read. It was very gratifying to
find how much they could remember, and to me it was very gratifying to
see how many forgot dates, and it was exceedingly gratifying to find
one old Presbyterian minister, whose life certainly was not a failure,
able to remember all the figures, and _he_ felt very much gratified.
Now, an exercise of that kind will do good to everybody in the class,
the reader doing his best to give to all the rest a few facts for
recollection, and the listeners trying to recall. And what one fails to
recall, the others recall, and at last you get out of a class of ten
or twenty the substance of all that was read in the hearing of all the
members.

Sometimes the reading for the next week or month may be anticipated
in a little class. We are, for example, to read a certain chapter
this week from Timayenis’s Greek History. “Now, as I have read that
chapter,” says the leader, or one of the members, “I find general
great ideas, or periods, or points. They are as follows:” Now, no one
but himself has read that chapter. He gives them the general great
thoughts, or centers, of that chapter or book, which they are to read
the coming week. All the members going from that local circle will
take up that chapter and read it that week with greater profit than
if they had not enjoyed the preview. In the same way have a review of
the reading of the last week. Get members to read with thoughtfulness,
and with the intention of presenting again what they read. When I
read up for entertainment, I read rapidly and with fifty per cent. of
my attention. When I read up with a view of reinforcing my position,
or preparing myself for a discussion of a subject, I read with one
hundred per cent. of my attention. When people read because it must be
read, they will read it in one way. When people read for the sake of
telling it again, they read it another way, and that other way is the
way to read. [Laughter.] And the local circle encouraging the habit of
expression, whether in writing or otherwise at the time, will promote
attention in reading.

Once in awhile in a local circle, one may read as an illustration of
the most profitable way of personal and private reading. For example,
let Mr. A. B. take two pages of Timayenis’s Greek, or of the little
book on Geology, and let him read two pages, stopping and talking to
himself aloud, as he would if alone. He finds a word that he does not
understand. He says, “I do not know the meaning of that word. I think
it has some reference to so and so.” He turns to his dictionary and
finds out what it means. He finds a classical allusion and says, “I
do not think I can tell what it means, or how to pronounce that word.
I must look in the dictionary. Here is an obscure thought I can not
fully understand.” And he reads it over. When a thoughtful man or woman
has read through one page of a book in that way, revealing all his
thoughts and processes while he reads, he helps other people to read
intelligently, slowly, thoughtfully, and they learn the art of reading
alone with a mastery of the attention. There might also be five minute
synopses of the book. Divide a book that has been read into periods or
sections. Miss A. gives a five-minute synopsis of a certain period,
Miss B. another, Miss C. another. This review helps everybody to
remember.

I think it would be a very good plan for each member of a local circle
to mark in his book passages which most impress him. I never read a
book which I own, and never a book owned by a friend of mine, whom I
know with a tolerable degree of intimacy, without marking it. I have
marked the passages that impressed me in every book in my library which
I have read. When I mark a book the passages marked are the things in
that book that belong to me. I can re-read it in a very short time.
I believe there is a strange law of mental affinity, by which a soul
takes hold of the thoughts in a book that are for him. I believe if
the members were some evening to bring their books, were to have the
marked passages read, on given pages, the comparison, the variety and
the repetition would all make the exercise extremely interesting and
profitable.

Have you additional hints to give about reading in our local circles to
profit? Let me hear from you now.

MR. MARTIN: How are we to examine the dictionary when the scheme of the
first two months of the next year in the required time allows only two
minutes to the page?

A VOICE: Let them take more time.

DR. VINCENT: Mr. Martin, will you read to me the books that are
required from this list?

MR. MARTIN: The Historical Course of Timayenis, parts 3, 4, and 5.

DR. VINCENT: You have two months for that; 125 to 380. What next?

MR. MARTIN: “Chautauqua Text-book of Greek History,”’ and “Geology”
by Packard. The remaining reading for October and November is to be
published in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. You see that more than half is in THE
CHAUTAUQUAN.

DR. VINCENT: That is an estimate of Dr. Flood for some other year.

MR. MARTIN: It is published in this article.

DR. VINCENT: It may be that during the year there will be as much
in THE CHAUTAUQUAN as in all the books for the year, but I am very
doubtful if you will double the reading for October and November in
THE CHAUTAUQUAN. I say that in a local circle one may examine all the
classical allusions, one may examine all the difficult words, or a
committee may be appointed for that purpose, and you can economize time
by a division of labor. That is one of the benefits of local circles.
How many pages of required reading in THE CHAUTAUQUAN?

A VOICE: About thirty.

DR. VINCENT: About sixty pages, then, in October and November. Now for
December. What are we to read during that month?

MR. MARTIN: The “Preparatory Greek Course in English.” That is to be
read in December and January, with THE CHAUTAUQUAN for these two months.

DR. VINCENT: February?

MR. MARTIN: Warren’s “Astronomy,” and his little text-book on the
stars. That extends over two months, February and March, and for April
we have the Hampton Tracts.

DR. VINCENT: They are very small, and can be read in an hour. Go on.

MR. MARTIN: In May is “Evangeline;” in June you have nothing but the
little Chautauqua Text-book on China.

DR. VINCENT: That is all. My friends, we do not have a very difficult
course for the next year. You will have plenty of time to examine the
difficult points.

MR. MARTIN: I only asked the question for October and November.

DR. VINCENT: It may be a little more difficult in October and November.

REV. J. A. FOSTER: Suppose a person with plenty of time can take the
four years in three years, have you any objection?

DR. VINCENT: There is a little objection. We prefer to occupy the time
with the four years, because there are so many studies possible. Let
the person who has so much time take the special courses and thus make
the diploma at the end of the four years so much more valuable. I do
not like to crowd the four years into three. There have been a few
cases in which that has been done.

A VOICE: Can a graduate of 1882 commence and take the course over again?

DR. VINCENT: Yes, sir. I hope the most of them will, and get a white
crystal seal on the diploma every year, reading a certain part of the
books, not all of them. The current course is prescribed in the circle.

A VOICE: If the ’82s come on as rapidly for the four years to come as
in the four years past, where will we be then? [Laughter.]

DR. VINCENT: Nearer heaven. [Laughter.] You will have, for example,
this admirable history of Greece in two volumes. You will have this
series of four books in Latin and Greek. And what delights me is that
the college people are charmed with this “Preparatory Greek Course
in English.” It is a marvelous book. I did not write it. A scholarly
man, who examined it the other day, said, “Why, every boy who goes to
college should read that before he goes.” There is the substance of
all that the boy studies in the grammar school and preparatory school
before he enters college; there it is all in English, and in a more
available form than that in which the boy gets it. I do not mean to
say that you have more than the boy. He secures the mental drill and
a foundation of linguistic knowledge. He gets what you can not get,
but you secure an intelligent view of the college world through which
he passes as a student of Greek. The questions for further study,
published in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, were of much value in our local circles.
Can we have something like it next year? Those who request Dr. Flood to
make arrangements for the publication in THE CHAUTAUQUAN of a series of
questions for further study, raise your hands. Down. Best raise them in
a numerous request.

WRITTEN QUESTION: Is a new four years’ course to commence now?

DR. VINCENT: The new four years’ course is the old four years’ course
revised, and with many modifications. We take astronomy, the same
text-book somewhat revised. We take English history with not so much
attention to it. We took a little Greek history before, too; now we
take a good deal of Greek.

WRITTEN QUESTION: If one has read the four years’ course and sent in
only the first year’s papers, but has all the other papers partly made
out, what will that person do?

DR. VINCENT: Send in, as you ought to have done, that little two-page
slip, giving all the books you have read, answer “R” or “E.” Persons
having done that will meet the requirements of the Circle. This paper
we sent to every member of the class of ’82, for testimony concerning
the amount of reading that has been done. I do hope that representative
local circles will supply themselves with these geological charts,
which are so admirable for use in local circles, in Sunday-schools,
in lecture rooms, and at home. Indeed, they are a good thing to have
about the house for a private family. With this book in hand the mother
may be a lecturer in geology, and have the pictures to represent these
matters. I hope we can encourage the publishers of the geological
charts, who went to great expense in the preparation of these, so that
we can have other charts in the other matters.

A VOICE: Can a person who has not taken the regular course take up any
special course and receive a certificate?

DR. VINCENT: Persons who have never taken the regular course may take
any special course and receive a certificate to that fact, but they
will miss the circles, and the Hall in the Grove, and the arches, and
the central office.

FOOTNOTE:

[I] Sixth Round-Table, held in the Hall of Philosophy, August 10, 1882.




THE STUDY OF FRENCH.

By PROF. A. LALANDE, PROFESSOR OF FRENCH IN THE CHAUTAUQUA SCHOOL OF
LANGUAGES.


From the beginning I have followed as scrupulously as possible the most
_natural method_ of teaching, and I propose to continue this method in
the School of Languages at Chautauqua.

At the same time I desire to unite with my system of teaching a new
manner of studying the French language, to which I call the attention
of the curious and intelligent public which meets every year in our
schools.

I will assemble every day in my class-room those who do not know a word
of French and those who have already studied French, but who can not
yet speak it. We will read together either a part of a fable from La
Fontaine, or a few lines from some other well-known French author.

In the beginning I will translate the passage literally, then after
being quite certain that each word is thoroughly understood, we will
read together the text, slowly at first, syllable by syllable, and then
more rapidly, uniting the words and giving to them the musical cadence
peculiar to the French tongue. Afterward I will question the scholars
_in_ French upon the lesson.

Each day the scholars will read the same fable or the same passage,
until the pronunciation is good, and commit a few lines to memory, not,
however, before they are able to give the passage that harmony which
can only come from a page well understood.

These recitations (which are essential) will not only strengthen the
memory, but will teach them the grammar and dictionary of the French
language, at the same time familiarizing them with the best authors.

If after a few weeks they commit to memory several fables and pages
from our great writers, they ought to gradually become able to read and
understand without the aid of the teacher’s translation.

Will I succeed?

Time will show, but failure is hardly possible when one is inspired by
the spirit which reigns at Chautauqua, and encouraged by a public as
intelligent as that which assembles in our schools.

One can scarcely be insensible of the advantages derived from the study
of French. From the early mediæval ages it has been the language of
poetry and refinement, and one can scarcely lay claim to a finished
education unless familiar with this tongue.

Too much can not well be said in its favor, as it is not only a polite
and musical language, but a familiarity with its great authors will
open an avenue of the highest enjoyment to students of good literature;
for it is a well-known fact that the beauties of any language are lost
by translation.




EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.


The C. L. S. C. as a Substitute for the Public Library.

Reading in a desultory manner, without system, plan, or purpose, as is
the habit of many people who patronize public libraries, is productive
of but little benefit. One may go through many volumes, and acquire
much information, but it will be in a crude, unsystematic state, and
can not be utilized in many practical ways. In public libraries the
people are almost wholly devoted to reading works of fiction. This is
the testimony of librarians. Its truthfulness may also be seen by any
one who will casually examine the books of any library open to the
public. Works of fiction bear the marks of almost constant perusal,
while the standard works of history, science, philosophy and literature
show signs of but little use and remain uncalled for upon the shelves
for weeks at a time. The constant reading of fiction is deleterious in
the extreme, as it not only gives the individual addicted to it false
and distorted views of life, but it is also sure to render the mind
unfit for the consideration of all serious and weighty subjects, and
begets a distaste for solid reading of any and every kind.

In many respects the C. L. S. C. is a great improvement on the
reading-room or the public library, and may prove, in a good degree,
a valuable substitute for both. There can be little doubt but that
the time spent in reading the course prescribed for its members will
be productive of much better results than if given up to reading in
a hap-hazard manner. The increased advantages to be obtained may be
briefly summed up as follows:

In the first place, the books prescribed in the C. L. S. C. course
of study have been selected after the most careful consideration by
persons well qualified for the task. A number of the works have been
prepared expressly for the use of the C. L. S. C., and are models of
compactness, brevity and style. The course of study is not confined
to any one department of literature, but comprises works of history,
and science, philosophy and poetry, and a wide range of literature and
topics of general interest. Works of fiction are reduced to a minimum,
and those admitted to the course are unobjectionable both in character
and matter.

Second—The course of reading is pursued in a methodical and orderly
manner. A portion of each day is to be set apart for the required
reading, and though the allotted time is brief, it is sufficient
to secure habits of systematic study. A regular plan is insisted
upon. Each work is to be read in the order assigned to it and
written examinations are conducted on the portions read. Thus the
evils resulting from careless and desultory methods of reading
are counteracted and wholesome and systematic habits of study are
inculcated.

Third—The solitary reader often finds his task monotonous and tiresome,
and at times his perusal of books is unproductive because his faculties
are not aroused to their highest state of action. But in the C. L.
S. C. such a condition of things is largely avoided. A number of
persons in common pursue the same course of reading, with frequent
meetings for conversation concerning the books and topics under
consideration. By this means they are afforded frequent opportunities
for mutual interchange of ideas on the subjects to which their minds
are simultaneously directed and they are thus stimulated to greater
mental activity, and their work is freed from all tedium and weariness.
While the C. L. S. C. has many benefits to offer to people in cities
and large towns, even though they may possess the advantages of
reading-rooms, libraries and lecture courses, it is of especial profit
to those who dwell in small towns and in the rural districts. In but
few of such communities are libraries of any kind to be found, and
means for self-culture are often meagre in the extreme. The C. L. S. C.
offers a course of reading adapted to their wants. It is extensive and
yet not costly, and may be pursued by the busiest men and women if they
are only economical of time.

Let any one who sighs for the advantages to be derived from
reading-rooms, enter upon the studies prescribed for the C. L. S. C.,
and at the end of his four years’ course, compare notes with any one
who has spent his leisure in that kind of reading that is common in
public libraries, and he will find he has made great gain.


“Dr. Grimshawe’s Secret.”

Nathaniel Hawthorne was, without doubt, the most powerful writer in the
field of romance which our country has produced. His fame was of slow
growth, but as the years have passed it has been continually swelling
and widening, and his name is certain to long hold a foremost place
in American literature. He lived long enough to see some recognition
of his genius, but since his death, in 1864, he has been read and
praised as he never was in his life. Various editions of his works
have been published, and whatever products of his pen, not published
in his life-time, from time to time have come to light, have been put
into print and have been eagerly read. Undoubtedly much, if not all,
of the posthumous Hawthorne literature would never have been given
to the public if his own wishes had been carried out. His shy and
sensitive nature is well known. It could not have been grateful to him
to have his personality brought before the world as it has been since
his death. It was his request that his life should not be written, but
already there are no less than four Hawthorne biographies, and two
more are in preparation. And who doubts that if he could have foreseen
the publication of the notes, fragments, and studies for stories which
were written simply as memoranda, suggestions and helps to be used in
the preparation of his works, he would have taken good care that they
should not be left behind him? No writer ever elaborated his works with
greater care. Each story which he himself gave to the world is perfect
in style, and a finished work of art. And to have such crude and hasty
work made into books, as much published with his name since his death
is, is almost enough to cause this exquisite literary artist to turn in
his grave.

Soon after Hawthorne’s death the opening chapters of “The Dolliver
Romance,”—a story which he left unfinished—were published. Later came
the publication of his “American Note Books,” “English Note Books,” and
“French and Italian Note Books.” In 1872 the story “Septimius Felton,
or the Elixir of Life,” which had been found among his manuscripts, was
edited by his daughter and published. It seems quite clear that it was
Hawthorne’s intention to merge this story in “The Dolliver Romance,”
and that, if he had lived to complete the latter work, no “Septimius
Felton” would ever have seen the light. But this was not the last of
the fragmentary work of this author which the world was to see. Not
long since it was announced that another work from Hawthorne’s pen had
been found, and would be published. We now have it—“Dr. Grimshawe’s
Secret.” Recently, also, _The Atlantic Monthly_ and _The Century_ have
given us, under the titles, “The Ancestral Footstep,” and “A Look Into
Hawthorne’s Workshop,” certain Hawthorne fragments in which this story
is sketched. And the question now for the critics to decide is whether
in “Dr. Grimshawe’s Secret” we have the fulfillment of the studies in
these fragments, or whether this published story is itself but a sketch
and study, to be fulfilled with the others in a romance which was
long germinating in the great author’s mind, but which death came too
soon for him to execute. Certainly “Dr. Grimshawe’s Secret” Hawthorne
himself would never have published as it is. It is no finished work
of his own. There has been incredulity on the part of some as to his
having written any part of it. But it is in part his work, clearly
enough; and how much of it is his and how much the editor’s—who is
his son, Julian Hawthorne—readers must conjecture for themselves.
When asked to take this as substantially a complete work of Nathaniel
Hawthorne’s, we decline. Evidently it is not so. His hand of power
is seen in it at times, but it is very unequal, and as a whole it is
unsatisfactory.

We have not the space to give an analysis of the book. It will be
widely read. Of the lovers of Hawthorne the name is legion, and nothing
to which his name is attached is likely to be passed by unnoticed. But
that it can add nothing to his fame goes without saying. Indeed, if it
could be believed that it is really Hawthorne’s work, that he wrote
it as a whole, to publish substantially as it is, it might have the
opposite effect. But it will doubtless be very generally regarded as
one among the many posthumous Hawthorne fragments. A much more powerful
story than “Dr. Grimshawe’s Secret,” as we have it, was struggling in
the brain of this rare literary genius, and in the course of time would
have come forth had not death stepped in with the inevitable summons.
For this unwritten romance, what we have been reading in the magazines,
and what we have in this recent book, were but the studies. These
various Hawthorne fragments are interesting, as showing his methods of
work, but again we say he would not have wished them published.


The Joseph Cook Lectureship.

The seventh annual course of the Boston Monday Lectureship by Rev.
Joseph Cook is once more in progress. The whole number delivered by
the lecturer from this platform has reached, up to this date, the
remarkable count of one hundred and fifty-four. Add to these the
preludes, each of which is a lecture in itself, upon the most vital
and interesting questions of the times, and we have an aggregate of
twice the original number. It is with unabated interest and delight
that the vast audience of readers of these lectures resumes their
perusal. It is, perhaps, not too much to say that no platform or
pulpit has so vast or so intelligent an auditory. Before and during
Mr. Cook’s recent absence he was subjected to the rigid, and sometimes
personal, criticism of the free-thinking and rationalistic critics, but
he returns to find his old audience already in their pews waiting to
receive the riches of thought and criticism which he has gathered and
matured during his sojourn abroad.

These lectures by Mr. Cook are reassuring in many ways, in nothing,
perhaps, more than in the evidence they furnish of the interest which
the masses feel in orthodox Christianity. If the croakers, who moan and
groan at the prospect of an expiring faith in the Gospel of Christ,
will take the trouble to compare the numbers and character of the
readers of these lectures with the same of those who read the scoffing
and infidel publications of the day, they will feel better. And besides
those who read and ponder for themselves, and profit by the thoughts
and facts announced from this platform, there are many pulpits to which
they are a sort of tonic, stimulating to greater faith and reliance, in
public teaching, on the old truths and methods of the Gospel.

Mr. Cook’s lectures give evidence of indefatigable industry aided
by marvelous powers of memory. Though scarcely reached the prime of
life as measured by years, he has traversed the field of thought
and investigation as few men in a whole lifetime have done, and has
brought with him the facts and conclusions which he has found, all
classified and subject to his command. An omnivorous reader, he is the
largest living library in the world, and thoroughly indexed almost to
the page and line. All these conditions of fitness and qualification
for the work are supplemented by the genius and qualities of the
orator. As such, Mr. Cook is entitled to the foremost rank. Magnetism,
rhetoric, voice, physique, strength, striking metaphor, apt and classic
illustration, all in a high degree are possessed by this colossus of
the platform.

Many of our readers have had the pleasure of seeing and hearing him at
Chautauqua. They will be glad to know that he will stand again in the
Amphitheater the coming summer.


Gustave Doré.

This celebrated French artist died at his home in Paris January 23.
His illness was very brief, and his death entirely unexpected. He was
cut down in the midst of his years, having just passed his fiftieth
birthday. His life was one of remarkable industry. No busier pencil
than his was ever stopped by the hand of death.

He was born at Strasburg, January 6, 1833, and came to Paris while very
young, where he received his education. He began his work as an artist
in boyhood, furnishing designs at first for cheap illustrated books and
papers. When he was about fifteen years of age, some of his pen and
ink sketches and paintings were put on exhibition at the Salon. Not
long after he had gained a reputation and did not want for abundance of
remunerative employment.

Doré was designer, painter, etcher, and sculptor, all. It is said that
he made nearly 50,000 different designs during his life; and some one
has estimated that all his works of different kinds, placed in line,
would reach from Paris to Lyons.

It was as a designer that he was most successful and popular. His
illustrations of “The Wandering Jew”—first published in 1856—made
him famous the world over. It is the judgment of critics that these
illustrations he never excelled. He began at his best, it has been
remarked. Some of his first important works were equal to any he ever
executed. Among other books which he illustrated, may be mentioned,
Rabelais, Montaigne’s “Journal,” Taine’s “_Voyage aux Pyrenees_,”
Dante’s works, Chateaubriand’s “Atala,” “Don Quixote,” “Paradise Lost,”
the Bible, Tennyson’s “Idyls of the King,” La Fontaine’s “Fables,”
and Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner.” For some time before his death
he was engaged in illustrating Shakspere, and it is understood that
Harper and Brothers will shortly issue an edition of Poe’s “Raven,”
with illustrations of his designing. Among Doré’s many paintings, his
“Christ leaving the Prætorium”—which measures thirty feet by twenty—and
“Entrance of Christ into Jerusalem”—also a colossal picture—are perhaps
the most celebrated. Of the latter it has been said that over it “the
critics smiled and Christians wept.” Other of his well-known pictures
are “The Triumph of Christianity,” “The Neophyte,” “The Gambling Hall
at Baden-Baden,” and “The Rebel Angels Cast Down.”

Doré was the most popular of modern designers. His illustrations,
original, weird, grotesque, have gone all over the world. They are
found in every library. The people enjoyed his work, and publishers
eagerly sought it. He believed in himself, labored hard for wealth and
fame, and was very successful. Like many artists, he struggled with
poverty at the first, but the time came when all luxury was his to
command and his name was a household word in every land. It mattered
little to him what the work was upon which he employed his powers,
if it only brought returns in money and applause. We see him at one
time illustrating the filthy “_Contes Drolatiques_” and at another
the Holy Bible. But a true estimate of this man of splendid gifts and
wonderful versatility does not put him in the rank of great artists.
Perhaps, if in quantity his work had been less, in quality it would
have been better. He succeeded in the beginning, and that may have been
unfortunate. He was always very well satisfied with his work, and he
failed to improve upon himself. Those who study him in his works see
possibilities in him which were never realized. He produced nothing
great in art which will live as a monument to his genius. A great
painting was what he always intended to execute, but he died with the
purpose unfulfilled. The contrast between Millet and Doré has been
remarked. The former was devoted to art from motives high and noble,
while the other’s devotion was for the sake of what he could make art
pay him in money and fame. He gained his ends, but it was in his power
to do better, and his career after all was not a success.

Personally Doré was frank and simple, and at times—with his intimate
friends—full of geniality. He had no affectation, and was as ready as
a child to speak his mind about himself or others. He was sensitive to
criticism, but the opinion of others never changed his own good opinion
of himself. He was a man of moods. He said of himself that sometimes
he was mastered by a demon. He had fits of melancholy and gloom which
nothing could banish. But at other times no one was more delightful as
a companion. He never married, but lived at his mother’s house in the
Rue St. Dominique, St. Germain. Here he had a small studio, but in the
Rue Bayard he had another larger one which perhaps was the finest in
Paris. Among his many accomplishments was that of music. He sang well,
and played on a number of musical instruments. He was not a society
man, and spent but little time away from home. His passion was for
work, and with this thirty-five years of his life were well filled.
Early and late he labored, and with astonishing rapidity. But his last
picture is painted, his last design made; and the things unseen and
eternal, in picturing which his pencil was sometimes employed, have now
become to him things seen and known.




EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK.


John Bright’s sister, Mrs. Margaret B. Lucas, said at a temperance
meeting that women are the greatest sufferers by drink, and the hardest
to convince as to the necessity of total abstinence.

       *       *       *       *       *

The business interests of the Hotel Athenæum, at Chautauqua, will
receive special attention among Southern people from Mr. A. K. Warren,
who is, with his wife, visiting a number of Southern States during
February and March.

       *       *       *       *       *

The New York _Herald_ speaks of official titles in this way: “Governor
Pattison, of Pennsylvania, is reported as requesting that the title
‘His Excellency’ may be discontinued in his instance, it being a mere
title of courtesy without legal sanction. The governor is correct.
There is but one State in the Union which has established titles by law
for its chief executive officers. That is the State of Massachusetts,
whose constitution was adopted several years prior to the framing of
the Constitution of the United States, and provides that the governor
shall be entitled ‘His Excellency,’ and the lieutenant-governor ‘His
Honor.’”

       *       *       *       *       *

Prof. A. Lalande, teacher of French in the Chautauqua School of
Languages, is ready to furnish any person by correspondence with
any information they desire about the department of French in the
Chautauqua School, how to begin French, how to study at home, what
books to read, etc. His address is 1014 Second Street, Louisville, Ky.

       *       *       *       *       *

A friend in Canada writes: “Tell the readers of your magazine that New
Brunswick and Nova Scotia have formed a part of Canada ever since July
1, 1877, and that they are not separate provinces.”

       *       *       *       *       *

In this number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN we commence to publish a series
of C. L. S. C. songs set to music. They may be used to enliven the
sessions of local circles, and in the home their weird strains will
carry the lovers of music in memory to the shores of our much-loved
Chautauqua Lake.

       *       *       *       *       *

The required readings in “English Literature,” for March, will be found
on pages 317 and 318 of this number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN. “Practice and
Habit,” by John Locke; “Thoughts and Aphorisms,” by Jonathan Swift. In
the introductory note, the types say “English History”—it should be
_English Literature_. The readings on Astronomy, page 319, “The Comet
That Came But Once,” is a very fine article by E. W. Maunder.

       *       *       *       *       *

The widow of General “Stonewall” Jackson and her daughter, a young lady
of nineteen, now reside at Cleveland, O. Mrs. Jackson left the South
because she was there compelled to mingle with society, and could not
find the retirement and rest that her health demanded.

       *       *       *       *       *

The _Guardian_, an English religious journal, publishes the following
lines “On Bishop Benson’s Elevation” to the see of Canterbury. They are
signed Charles Wordsworth, Bishop of St. Andrew’s:

    As Abram’s name to Abraham,
    In earnest of undying fame,
      Was changed by voice from heaven,
    So, raised to the Primatial Throne,
    May Benson turn to _Benison_,
    Proclaim henceforth in richest boon
      _Blessing_ received and given.

       *       *       *       *       *

The latest attempt to organize a Sunday-school Assembly is in the
Southern States. The place is Monteagle, in Grundy county, Tennessee,
on the top of Cumberland Mountain. The association own one hundred
acres of land which is now being laid out by a competent landscape
gardener. The Monteagle Hotel, with accommodations for five hundred
guests, adjoins the grounds. The Assembly has been chartered under
the laws of the State of Tennessee. The board of management, with R.
B. Peppard, Esq., of Georgia, as president, and Rev. J. H. Warren, of
Tennessee, as chairman of the executive committee, propose to hold
their first assembly about the middle of next July.

       *       *       *       *       *

Women are to be employed as clerks in the French post-offices,
beginning their operations in the Money-order Department.

       *       *       *       *       *

“Whether we like the fact or not,” says an English journalist, “a very
large number of women have now to make their own way in life; and
surely it is only fair that if they must compete with men, they shall
receive in youth the kind of instruction which will prepare them for
their future struggles.”

       *       *       *       *       *

A Washington correspondent of a New York paper makes this interesting
comment on two prominent men: “One of the quaintest friendships in
Washington is that between Generals Sherman and Johnston. The two
Generals hob-nob most amicably. ‘And when I was pursuing Joe Johnston,
sir, through Georgia,’ says Sherman, whacking the table, ‘he made me
pursue him on his own tactics, sir!’ General Johnston is a handsome
man, with the old campaigner cropping out all over him. He has a trim
military figure, and a smart military moustache, and a quick military
walk, and a very military comprehension of the necessity of being on
time on all occasions.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The following note explains itself: “Philadelphia, Pa.—I regret to
announce that the positive order of my physician to abandon for the
present all literary work, forces me reluctantly to discontinue my
“Journey Around the World” with my Chautauqua friends. With assurances
that I shall miss my monthly visit to your columns, and best wishes
for all the good work so nobly forwarded by your magazine, I remain,
very cordially yours, Mary Lowe Dickinson.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Prof. W. F. Sherwin, of Cincinnati, tarried with us an hour recently,
when we found him in a very hopeful frame of mind concerning the
future of Chautauqua. We gleaned the following from his conversation
about the musical part of the Chautauqua program for 1883: Chautauqua
College of Music Scheme for 1883: Musical Directors, Prof. W. F.
Sherwin, Cincinnati, O.; Prof. C. C. Case, Akron, O. Departments:
(1) Grand chorus, (2) Special class in English glees and madrigals,
(3) Harmony, (4) Voice culture, (5) Elementary singing-school, (6)
Children’s class. Directors in charge: July 14 to 22, W. F. Sherwin;
July 22 to August 6, C. C. Case; August 7 to 18, W. F. Sherwin; August
19 to close of Assembly, C. C. Case. There will be occasional lectures
and “conversations” upon various topics of practical interest, and
the usual number of concerts, matinees, organ recitals, etc. Prof.
Davis, of Oberlin College, is engaged as organist, and he will be ably
assisted in the instrumental department. There will be a quartette
of eminent soloists whose names will be announced in due time.
Arrangements are in progress for a Reading Circle which shall be to
musical people what the C. L. S. C. is to general literature. The
details of this are being arranged by Prof. E. E. Ayres, of Richmond,
Va., and will be published when complete. On the whole it looks as if
the Musical Directors were determined to make that department superior
to what it has ever been in the past, and we hope that musical people
will sustain their efforts.

       *       *       *       *       *

There will be a total eclipse of the sun on the 6th of May. The
astronomers are making arrangements to observe it on two little islands
in the South Pacific Ocean. An expedition is to be sent from this
country to one of these islands, and French and English astronomers
will also go there. The principal objects are to obtain further
knowledge of the strange surroundings of the sun, which are ordinarily
hidden in the overpowering blaze of his central globe, and to search
for the planets which are supposed to exist between Mercury and the
sun. The total eclipse will last nearly six minutes. Unfortunately, the
total phase can be observed only from two little islands in the South
Pacific Ocean.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is reported that Dr. Benson, the elect-Archbishop of Canterbury,
recently had a long interview with General Booth, the leader of the
Salvation Army, and expressed himself as being in sympathy with that
organization. “Go on,” he said; “do all the good you can; get at the
people. We rejoice, only we would like it to be done somehow or other
in harmony and in unison with the Church of England.”

       *       *       *       *       *

In the list of C. L. S. C. graduates which appeared in THE CHAUTAUQUAN
for February, the name of the Rev. Caleb A. Malmsbury appears among the
names from Ohio. It should have been in the New Jersey column. Mary
Maddock, of Ohio, whose name did not appear in February, graduated with
honor; and the name of Mary E. W. Olmsted was among the honored ones
from Colorado. Her name should be in the Ohio column. What a State Ohio
is, in education, civil government, etc!

       *       *       *       *       *

Maria Louise Henry, in a recent number of _The Atlantic Monthly_,
philosophizes on the works of Thackeray and George Eliot in this way:
“Thackeray had no real desire to make men permanently dissatisfied
with themselves, or the world. He held that the world was not a bad
place to be born into, provided one learned what not to expect from
it, and could find a way to accommodate one’s self to one’s place
in it.” Speaking of George Eliot: “Her creed is a kind of modern
stoicism, or stoicism plus certain modern ideas. It must be admitted
that such a creed has in it much of truth and nobleness. The only
life worth living is the life toward self, of infinite aspiration, and
toward others of infinitely active compassion. She will not allow,
with Thackeray, that we can strike an average of goodness, and make
ourselves content with that.”

       *       *       *       *       *

For seven hundred years Lambeth Palace has been the London residence
of the Archbishop of Canterbury. It is surrounded by ten acres of
beautiful grounds, to which the poor of the neighborhood are admitted
in large numbers by free season tickets, good throughout the year.

       *       *       *       *       *

The four monograms on the C. L. S. C. diploma represent the four grades
of the C. L. S. C. First, the S. H. G., the “Society of the Hall in the
Grove,” made up of all graduates who, having completed the four years’
course of reading, receive a diploma; second, the O. W. S., the “Order
of the White Seal,” to which all belong who have on their diplomas four
white seals, or white crystal seals; third, the L. T. R., the “League
of the Round Table;” all members who have on their diplomas seven
seals, whether white, white crystal, or special, become members of the
“League of the Round Table.” All who add to these seven, seven more
seals, become members of the G. S. S., the “Guild of the Seven Seals,”
which is the highest grade in the C. L. S. C., and which is divided
into degrees according to the number of additional seals.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. W. W. Corcoran, of Washington, D. C., has made arrangements to
bring the remains of John Howard Payne to America. He died in Tunis,
in Northern Africa. How appropriate this kind deed of Mr. Corcoran,
when we remember that Mr. Payne was the author of that beautiful song,
“Home, Sweet Home.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The Rev. Dr. Vincent has engaged a number of eminent educators,
preachers and lecturers for the Chautauqua program in 1883. Among
them are Joseph Cook, A. G. Haygood, D.D., C. N. Sims, D.D., Judge
A. Tourgee, Prof. J. T. Edwards, D.D., Lyman Abbott, D.D., President
Seelye of Amherst, President Angell of Ann Arbor, President Cummings of
Evanston, Ill., President Payne of Delaware, O., President W. F. Warren
of Boston, Hon. Will Cumback, Bishop H. W. Warren, Anthony Comstock,
Rev. Dr. J. M. Buckley, Rev. Dr. W. F. Mallalieu, Prof. Cummock, Prof.
W. C. Richards, Dr. J. S. Jewell, Miss Frances E. Willard. There will
be a school of cookery in July by Mrs. Emma P. Ewing and Miss Susan G.
Blow of St. Louis, Mo.

       *       *       *       *       *

The members of the Class of ’82, living in the vicinity of Cincinnati,
_i. e._, in Southeastern Indiana, Northern Kentucky, and Southwestern
Ohio, who wish to join, or receive information concerning the C. L. S.
C. Alumnal Association, lately organized in Cincinnati, will please
send their names and addresses to the president of the association, Mr.
John G. O’Connell, 503 Eastern Avenue, Cincinnati, or the secretary,
Miss Mary Grafing, 215 West Front Street, Cincinnati. The next meeting
of the graduates will be held in March, and a very pleasant time is
anticipated.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two eminent men died in February: The Hon. Marshall Jewell, of
Connecticut. He had been governor of his State and Postmaster General.
The Hon. William E. Dodge (whose son is married to a daughter of Mr.
Jewell) died on the 11th of February. At his funeral the venerable Dr.
Mark Hopkins paid this tribute to his memory: “I have no statistics at
hand showing what are the gifts of the princes of Europe for charitable
objects. So far as I know the gifts of our late friend were greater
than those of princes, not only in money, but in personal devotion.
Judged by the standard of service to God and his fellow man, William E.
Dodge was more than a prince among men.”

       *       *       *       *       *

“The Revival and After the Revival.” This is a timely book. It is
designed for people who do not believe in revivals, for ministers
and laymen, young and old. The author, Rev. Dr. J. H. Vincent, has
taken the only tenable ground for the Church to hold on revivals.
He discusses revivals on all sides, from all standpoints, in this
little volume of seventy-four pages. The æsthetic, and those who are
indifferent to the demands of good taste in revivals should read it.
Its circulation will tend to make revivals a more permanent blessing
to the Church. Send for a copy to the publishers, Phillips & Hunt, 805
Broadway, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is a local circle of _deaf-mutes_ in Jacksonville, Ill. The
exercises are conducted by spelling on the fingers. Mr. Frank Read,
editor of the _Deaf Mute Advance_, kindly sent us the report of
this circle, which will be found among “Local Circles.” If these
fellow-Chautauquans conduct their circle and make it interesting and
profitable without voice or hearing, should not thousands of others who
are reading the same course with them, find the sense of hearing and
the use of nature’s language invaluable helps in doing the work? In
our sanctum we wave our friends in Jacksonville a _genuine Chautauqua
salute_, and bid them “God speed!”

       *       *       *       *       *

It was a new _role_ for the Rev. Dr. Talmage to be the chief figure
in a theatrical poster on bill-boards last month in Brooklyn, N. Y.
It is gratifying that the hand of _Justice_ removed the caricatures,
and put an injunction on the managers and prevented the performance.
Caricaturing good men and Christian ministers is an old habit of
artists. In 1517 Martin Luther was represented by a German caricaturist
in a miserable picture, entitled “Luther Inspired by Satan;” and John
Calvin was caricatured as being tied with ropes to a pillar and branded
with an iron lily on the shoulder; the name of the picture was “Calvin
Branded.” This picture was scattered all over France. Dr. Talmage is in
good company, even if he is caricatured more than any other clergyman
in America. “Blessed are ye when men shall reproach you, and persecute
you, and say all manner of evil against you falsely for my sake,” said
Jesus Christ.




EDITOR’S TABLE.

    [We solicit questions of interest to the readers of THE
    CHAUTAUQUAN to be answered in this department. Our space
    does not always allow us to answer as rapidly as questions
    reach us. Any relevant question will receive an answer in
    its turn.]


Q. Who was Achilles?

A. Achilles was the hero of Homer’s Iliad, the son of Peleus, King of
Thessaly, and the sea-nymph, Thetis. The poets feigned that his mother
dipped him into the river Styx to render him invulnerable, and that he
was vulnerable only in the heel by which she held him. He was killed by
Paris, or, as some say, by Apollo, who shot him in the heel.

Q. Is the cat considered, by scientific men, as a domestic animal?

A. Cat is the general name for animals of the genus _felis_, which
comprises about fifty different species. The domestic cat is one of
these species, and is generally believed to have sprung from the
Egyptian cat, a native of the north of Africa. This seems to be the
only species that is generally employed in household economy.

Q. Will THE CHAUTAUQUAN please recommend a dictionary that would be a
help in pronouncing words found in the “History of Greece?”

A. Lippincott’s Pronouncing Biographical Dictionary would be of
service. It is published by Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia.

Q. Will THE CHAUTAUQUAN please tell me where I can obtain photographs
of the works of the old masters of art, cabinet size?

A. By sending a six-cent stamp to the Soule Photograph Co., (successors
to John P. Soule), 338 Washington street, Boston, Mass., a catalogue
may be obtained of three thousand seven hundred subjects of unmounted
photographs of ancient and modern works of art, embracing reproductions
of famous paintings, sculpture and architecture.

Q. What is the meaning and origin of “red-letter day?”

A. In almanacs holidays and saints’ days are printed in red ink, other
days in black. Any day to be recalled with pleasure, or a lucky day,
may be styled a “red-letter day.”

Q. In addition to the C. L. S. C. course for this year I have taken the
White Seal course. Where shall I send for my examination papers?

A. To Miss K. F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.

Q. In Wheatland’s History it is stated that Pompeii and and Herculaneum
were Greek cities. Were they not Roman?

A. They were both Roman cities, situated in Southern Italy at the base
of Mt. Vesuvius.

Q. Will THE CHAUTAUQUAN please give a little information concerning
geodes? I can only find a mere definition in the dictionaries at my
command.

A. A geode is a hollow shell of stone, usually quartz, lined with
crystals pointing toward the center. These crystals are generally of
amethystine quartz, agate or chalcedony. Besides quartz crystals,
others of calcareous spar are sometimes found in the cavities of
geodes. Some of the most remarkable specimens of quartz geodes are
found loose in the low stages of water in the rapids of the Upper
Mississippi river. On the outside they are rough and unsightly, of a
light brown color and of all sizes up to fifteen inches in diameter.

Q. In the November _Chautauquan_ Whittier is credited with the
authorship of the lines beginning “Ah, what would the world be to us if
the children were no more?” Is not that a mistake?

A. Yes. The lines were written by Longfellow.

Q. Will the Editor’s Table please tell where is the nearest local
circle to Racine?

A. Ask Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J., for the information.

Q. I have long wished to know the difference between Mahomet and
Mohammed, will the CHAUTAUQUAN please tell me?

A. Two forms of the same name—the former the French, the latter the
German form.




OUR DAILY BREAD.


Heavy and sour bread or biscuit have a vast influence through the
digestive organs upon the measure of health we enjoy. How important
to our present happiness and future usefulness the blessing of good
health and a sound constitution are, we can only realize when we have
lost them, and when it is too late to repair the damage. And yet,
notwithstanding these facts, thousands of persons in our own city daily
jeopardize not only their health, but their lives, and the healths and
lives of others, by using articles in the preparation of their food,
the purity and healthfulness of which they know nothing. Perhaps a
few cents may have been saved, or it may have been more convenient to
obtain the articles used, and the housekeeper takes the responsibility
and possibly will never know the mischief that has been wrought. _Pater
familias_ may have spells of headache, Johnny may lose his appetite,
Susie may look pale; if so, the true cause is rarely suspected. The
weather, the lack of out door air, or some other cause, is given, and
the unwholesome, poisonous system of adulterated food goes on. Next to
the flour, which should be made of good, sound wheat and not ground
too fine, the yeast or baking powder, which furnishes the rising
properties, is of the greatest importance, and of the two we prefer
baking powder, and _always use the Royal_, as we thereby retain the
original properties of the wheat, no fermentation taking place. The
action of the Royal Baking Powder upon the dough is simply to swell it
and form little cells through every part. These cells are filled with
carbonic acid gas, which passes off during the process of baking.

The Royal is made from pure grape acid, and it is the action of this
acid upon highly carbonized bicarbonate of soda that generates the
gas alluded to; and these ingredients are so pure and so perfectly
fitted, tested and adapted to each other, that the action is mild and
permanent, and is continued during the whole time of baking, and no
residue of poisonous ingredients remains to undermine the health, no
heavy biscuits, no sour bread, but if directions are followed every
article prepared with the Royal Baking Powder will be found sweet and
wholesome.




THE CHAUTAUQUAN.


THE THIRD VOLUME BEGINS WITH OCTOBER, 1882.


It is a monthly magazine, ten numbers in the volume, beginning with
October and closing with July of each year.

=THE CHAUTAUQUAN=

is the official organ of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle,
adopted by the Rev. J. H. Vincent, D. D., Lewis Miller. Esq., and Lyman
Abbott, D. D., Bishop H. W. Warren, D. D., Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.
D., and Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D., Counselors of the C. L. S. C.

    =THE CURRENT VOLUME WILL CONTAIN
    MORE THAN HALF THE REQUIRED
    READINGS FOR
    THE C. L. S. C.=

That brilliant writer, Mrs. May Lowe Dickinson, will take the C. L. S.
C. on a “TOUR ROUND THE WORLD,” in nine articles, which will begin in
the November number.

Rev. Dr. J. H. Vincent will prepare Sunday Readings for the C. L. S. C.
and one article for each number on C. L. S. C. work.

Popular articles on Russia, Scandinavian History and Literature,
English History, Music and Literature, Geology, Hygiene, etc., etc.,
will be published for the C. L. S. C. in THE CHAUTAUQUAN only.

Prof. W. T. Harris will write regularly for us on the History and
Philosophy of Education.

Eminent authors, whose names and work we withhold for the present, have
been engaged to write valuable papers, to be in the Required Reading
for the C. L. S. C.

“Tales from Shakspere,” by Charles Lamb, will appear in every number of
the present volume, giving the reader in a racy readable form all the
salient features of Shakspere’s works.

The following writers will contribute articles for the present volume:

The Rev. J. H. Vincent, D. D., Mrs. Mary S. Robinson, Edward Everett
Hale, Prof. L. A. Sherman, Prof. W. T. Harris, Prof. W. G. Williams, A.
M., A. M. Martin, Esq., Mrs. Ella Farnham Pratt, C. E. Bishop, Esq.,
Rev. E. D. McCreary, A. M., Mrs. L. H. Bugbee, Bishop H. W. Warren,
Rev. H. H. Moore, Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D. D., and others.

We shall continue the following departments:

    =Local Circles,=
          =Questions and Answers,=

on every book in the C. L. S. C. course not published in THE
CHAUTAUQUAN.

       =C. L. S. C. Notes and Letters,=
    =Editor’s Outlook,=
        =Editors Note-Book,=
                 =and Editor’s Table.=

       *       *       *       *       *

    =THE CHAUTAUQUAN, one year, $1.50=

       *       *       *       *       *

=CLUB RATES FOR THE CHAUTAUQUAN.=

    Five subscriptions at one time, each   $1.35
      Or,                                   6.75


Send postoffice money order on Meadville, Pa., but not on any other
postoffice. Remittances by draft should be on New York, Philadelphia,
or Pittsburgh, to avoid loss.

    Address,
        THEODORE L. FLOOD,
    =EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR,=
    MEADVILLE, - - PENN’A.

    _Correspondence for the Editorial Department
    should be marked “Personal.”_




CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS’

NEW BOOKS.


I.

=Final Causes.=

  By Paul Janet, Member of the French Academy. Translated from
    the Second Edition of the French, with Preface, by ROBERT
    FLINT, D.D., LL.D. 1 vol., 8vo, $2.50.

    “The work of Janet is regarded as the most comprehensive
    and ably-reasoned work on the philosophy of final causes
    that has been produced. It is not a treatise on natural
    theology, but a philosophical vindication of the principle
    which underlies natural theology. M. Janet, with admirable
    discernment, acute analytic power, and strict regard to the
    requirements of logic, together with a patient mastery of
    the facts out of which the question arises, has placed the
    principle of final causes on a strong foundation.”—_The
    Watchman._


II.

=Short Studies on Great Subjects.=

  By JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE, M.A. Fourth Series. 1 vol., 12mo,
    $1.50.

    CONTENTS: Life and Times of Thomas Becket—The Oxford
    Counter-Reformation—Origen and Celsus—A Cagliostro of the
    Second Century—Cheneys and the House of Russell—A Siding at
    a Railway Station.

    The chief interest of this volume centers in Mr. Froude’s
    brilliant and vivid narrative of the Oxford religious
    movement, of which Cardinal Newman was the leader.

The London _Athenæum_ says:

    “In these personal recollections of a movement in which his
    brother was one of the leaders, and in which he himself for
    a while took part, we have Mr. Froude at his best.... After
    all that has been said of late on the subject of the Oxford
    Catholic revival, there is nothing that can for a moment
    compare with these letters.... Some of Mr. Froude’s most
    perfect illustrations are to be found in this volume, and
    who has given us such exquisite images as he?”

III.

=The Religions of the Ancient World,=

  Including Egypt, Assyria, and Babylonia, Persia, India,
    Phœnicia. Etruria, Greece, Rome. By GEORGE RAWLINSON, M.A.,
    author of “The Origin of Nations,” etc. 1 vol., 12mo, $1.

    Canon Rawlinson’s great learning and his highly esteemed
    contributions to the history of the ancient world qualify
    him to treat the subject of this volume with a breadth
    of view and accuracy of knowledge that few other writers
    can lay claim to. The treatise is not intended to give an
    exhaustive view of the ancient religions, but to enable
    students of history to gain a more accurate knowledge of the
    inner life of the ancient world.


IV.

=Energy, Efficient and Final Cause.=

  (Philosophic Series, No. II.) By JAMES MCCOSH, D.D., LL.D. 1
    vol., 12mo, paper, 50 cents.

    “It is not unlikely to prove true in the end that the most
    useful popular service which Dr. McCosh has rendered to the
    cause of right thinking and to a sound philosophy of life
    is his proposed “Philosophic Series,” the first number of
    which, ‘Criteria of Diverse Kind of Truth as Opposed to
    Agnosticism,’ we have perused with great satisfaction.”—_The
    Independent._


V.

=Socrates.=

  A Translation of the Apology, Crito, and parts of the Phædo
    of Plato. An introduction by Professor W. W. Goodwin, of
    Harvard University. 1 vol., 12mo. A new and cheaper edition,
    paper, 50 cents.

    This volume offers a new translation of the parts of Plato
    which are most essential to an understanding of the personal
    character and the moral position of Socrates, and includes
    a famous specimen of Plato’s own speculations on one of the
    grandest subjects.

    “We do not, at the moment, remember any translation of a
    Greek author which is a better specimen of idiomatic English
    than this, or a more faithful rendering of the real spirit
    of the original into English as good and as simple as the
    Greek.”—_N. Y. Evening Post._

SPECIAL OFFER.

=Lange’s Commentary on the Bible.=

Messrs. CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS have determined to afford an
opportunity to EVERY MINISTER IN THE UNITED STATES to secure copies of
this most Comprehensive and Exhaustive Commentary on the whole Bible
ever published, at a price never before offered. For a limited time
only, they will supply to clergymen any volume at the unprecedentedly
low price of

$3.00 PER VOLUME.

Congregations can find no more useful and acceptable present to their
Pastors than this work. Part of the set will be supplied when, for any
reason, the whole is not required.


Ready in February:


NEWMAN SMYTH’S REPLY TO JOSEPH COOK.


=Dorner on the Future State.=

  Translated and edited with an Introduction. By NEWMAN SMYTH,
    D.D., author of “Old Faiths in a New Light,” “The Orthodox
    Theology of To-day,” etc. 1 vol., 12mo, $1.

    This is a faithful translation of that part of Dr. Dorner’s
    “System of Christian Doctrine” which relates to the future
    state of the soul; with an introduction and Notes by Dr.
    Newman Smyth. The object of the book is to set forth clearly
    and accurately the views of the great German theologian
    on a subject of highest interest and importance, wherein
    he has been strangely misrepresented in this country, and
    particularly by the Rev. Joseph Cook, in his recent lectures
    on Future Probation.


=In the Desert.=

  By REV. HENRY M. FIELD, D.D., author of “From the Lakes of
    Killarney to the Golden Horn,” and “From Egypt to Japan.” 1
    vol. crown 8vo, with a map, $2.

    This volume is the account of a journey in the track of the
    Israelites. All of Dr. Field’s powers of observation and
    description are brought into play in this book, which will
    undoubtedly prove the most delightful popular narrative of
    travels in the desert of Mount Sinai that has ever been
    written.


=Ice-Pack and Tundra.=

  An Account of the Search for the _Jeannette_ and a Sledge
    Journey Through Siberia. By WILLIAM H. GILDER, correspondent
    of the New York _Herald_, with the Rodgers Search
    Expedition; author of “Schwatka’s Search.” 1 vol, 8vo, with
    maps and illustrations, $4.

    Mr. Gilder’s experience as an arctic traveler, and his
    skill in the description of his journeys, have now given
    him a reputation as one of the highest authorities on polar
    expeditions. His new book is an account of the voyage
    of the _Rodgers_, her discoveries and destruction; with
    the thrilling personal narrative of his own solitary and
    perilous journey of more than five thousand miles through
    the Siberian wastes. The whole story of the _Jeannette_ is
    given from its papers and the accounts of survivors. It will
    be seen that the volume possesses an extraordinary interest.


=Life of Lord Lawrence.=

  By R. BOSWORTH SMITH, M.A. With maps and portraits. 2 vols.,
    8vo, $5.

    This book contains the most vivid, full and authentic
    account of the suppression of the Indian Mutiny, from the
    point of view of one of the great actors in Indian affairs,
    and from sources never hitherto open to the public. It
    is also the life of one of the most heroic and genuine
    characters of the times in which we live. Lord Lawrence is
    known to his contemporaries as the savior of the Indian
    Empire to the crown during the mutiny of 1857, and as the
    singularly able and energetic Governor-General of India in
    more recent times. Little, comparatively, has been known
    of his personal character and relations, since he had the
    modesty of a truly great man in all that concerned his own
    achievements. Mr. Bosworth Smith has given in his biography,
    a record worthy of its subject. He has written with a noble
    enthusiasm, and his book, in genuine human interest, in
    historical importance, and in literary workmanship, is not
    second to any biography that has appeared in recent times.

    ? _These Books are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent,
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        =CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 743 and 745 Broadway, New York.=

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 305, italics added to “arm” to match rest of layout in section (as
in _arm_)

Page 305, duplicate entry for “Igor” deleted.

Page 305, variations on pronunciations of “Novgorod” retained as
printed.

Page 348, “ofel even” changed to “of eleven” (of eleven members)

Page 353, repeated word “and” deleted from text. Original read ( the
“Iliad” and and “Odyssey,”)

Page 353, (2) added to text ((2) Essay, Mrs. Cramer)

Page 354, “diamater” changed to “diameter” (diameter of Uranus)

Page 354, “diamater” changed to “diameter” (diameter of Neptune)

Page 356, “HOW TO READ TOGETHER PROFITABLY,” Dr. Vincent opens his
speech with an opening quotation mark and then goes on for many
paragraphs and never closes it. As he quotes within his speech, it was
retained as printed.




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