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Title: The Chautauquan, Vol. 04, January 1884

Subtitle: A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Promotion of True Culture. Organ of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

Author: Chautauqua Institution et al.

Release Date: December 3, 2016 [EBook #53652]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Emmy, MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

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Transcriber's Note: This cover has been created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF

THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE.

VOL. IV.             JANUARY, 1884.              No. 4.

Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

President—Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.

Superintendent of Instruction—Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven, Conn.

Counselors—Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D.; Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D.

Office Secretary—Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.

General Secretary—Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.

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

Contents

REQUIRED READING

GERMAN HISTORY

189

EXTRACTS FROM GERMAN LITERATURE

193

READINGS IN PHYSICAL SCIENCE

IV.—The Sea

196

SUNDAY READINGS

[January 6]—On Spiritual Christianity

198

[January 13]

199

[January 20]

200

[January 27]

200

POLITICAL ECONOMY

IV. Distribution

202

READINGS IN ART

I.—Architecture.—Introduction

204

SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE

Fitz Greene Halleck

207

Richard Henry Dana

208

William Cullen Bryant

208

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

210

NIGHT

211

ECCENTRIC AMERICANS

211

THE STORK

214

GARDENING AMONG THE CHINESE

215

EIGHT CENTURIES WITH WALTER SCOTT

216

ASTRONOMY OF THE HEAVENS FOR JANUARY

218

WORK FOR WOMEN

219

OSTRICH HUNTING

220

CHRISTIAN MISSIONS

221

CALIFORNIA

222

TABLE-TALK OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

224

EARLY FLOWERS

225

BOTANICAL NOTES

227

C. L. S. C. WORK

228

OUTLINE OF C. L. S. C. READINGS

228

SUNBEAMS FROM THE CIRCLE

229

LOCAL CIRCLES

230

C. L. S. C. ROUND-TABLE

233

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

234

CHAUTAUQUA NORMAL CLASS

236

EDITOR’S OUTLOOK

The Headquarters of the C. L. S. C.

238

Evangelists

239

The New Time Standards

240

Père Hyacinthe

241

EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK

241

C. L. S. C. NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS FOR JANUARY

243

NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS IN “THE CHATAUQUAN”

245

TALK ABOUT BOOKS

248

REQUIRED READING

FOR THE

Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1883-4.

JANUARY.

GERMAN HISTORY.

By REV. W. G. WILLIAMS, A.M.

IV.

The C. L. S. C. student is already aware that it is not pretended here to write the history of Germany, but properly these are entitled “Readings in German History.” To write with any degree of fulness or detail the history of a people which has played so large and important a part in the modern world, would require more volumes than are the pages allotted to us. It has been, and still remains the design to select those events and characters of greatest interest, and which have had the largest influence upon the current of subsequent history. The purpose, also constantly in view, has been to stimulate the reader to further study of the subject, by perusal of the best works accessible to the reader of English.

In this number no choice is left us but to pass, with only a glance or two, over the long period from the death of Charlemagne to that day-dawn of modern history, the Reformation. It is the period in which the historian traces, successively the beginning, vicissitudes, decay and extinction of the Carlovingian, Saxon, Franconian and Hohenstauffen houses. Following these is the great interregnum which precedes the Reformation. Included in this long stretch of time are what is known as the “dark ages.” Yet in Germany it was not all darkness, for now and then a ray of light was visible, prophetic of the rising sun, which heralded by Huss, appeared in the person and achievements of Martin Luther. It is about the work and character of the latter personage that we purpose to make the chief part of this chapter. Especially are we disposed so to do, now that protestant christendom is celebrating the four hundredth anniversary of the birth of the great reformer, and all civilized mankind has its attention called to his bold doctrines and brave career.

But, before we are prepared for Luther, we must note the change which has come in the claims and pretensions of the church. The different attitude which made possible a few centuries later, such a mission as Luther’s can not better be exhibited than during the reign of the Franconian Emperor, Henry the Fourth.

HENRY THE FOURTH—HIS SUPPLIANT VISIT TO CANOSSA.

The student of the history of the Romish church is aware that during the first five centuries after Christ the pope was vested with little, if any, other powers or dignities than those which pertained to him as Bishop of Rome. His subsequent claim to unlimited spiritual and political sway was then unthought of, much less anywhere advanced. Even for another five centuries he is only the nominal head of the church, who is subordinate to the political potentates and dependent upon them for protection and support in his office. But in the year 1073 succeeded one Gregory VII., to the tiara, who proposed to erect a spiritual empire which should be wholly absolved from dependency on kings and princes. His pontificate was one continuous struggle for the success of his undertaking. Of powerful will, great energy and shrewdness and with set purpose his administration wrought great change in the papal office and the relations of the church to European society. His chief measures by which he sought to compass his design were the celibacy of the priesthood and the suppression of the then prevalent custom of simony. The latter bore especially hard on the German Emperor, much of whose strength lay in the power to appoint the bishops and to levy assessments upon them when the royal exchequer was in need. In the year 1075 Gregory proclaimed his law against the custom, forbidding the sale of all offices of the church, and declaring that none but the pope might appoint bishops or confer the symbols of their authority. With an audacity unheard of, and a determination little anticipated, he sent word to Henry IV., of Germany, demanding the enforcement of the rule throughout his dominion under penalty of excommunication. The issue was a joint one, and a crisis inevitable. No pope had ever assumed such an attitude or used such language to a German Emperor. Henry was not disposed and resolved not to submit. So far as a formal disposition of the difficulty was concerned the case was an easy one. He called the bishops together in a synod which met at Worms. They proceeded with unanimity to declare Gregory deposed from his papal office and sent word of their action to Rome. The pope, who had used every artifice to gain popularity with the people, was prepared for the contest and answered back with the ban of excommunication. The emperor might have been able to carry on the struggle with some hope of success had he been in favor with his own subjects. But he had alienated the Saxons by his harsh treatment of them and the indignities heaped upon them; and others of his states looked upon him with suspicion. Pitted against the ablest foe in Europe, he found himself without the sympathy and aid of those to whom alone he could look for help. Meanwhile Gregory was sending his agents to all the courts of Europe and employing every intrigue to effect the emperor’s dethronement. In 1076 a convention of princes was called to meet near Mayence, Henry not being permitted to be present. So heavy had the papal excommunication fallen by this time that the emperor sent messengers to this convention offering to submit to their demands if they would only spare his crown. Gregory was inexorable, and they adjourned without any reconciliations being effected, to meet in a few months at Augsburg. Henry now realized the might of the hand that for centuries had been silently gathering the reins of spiritual power, only to grasp at last the political supremacy as well. With the burden of excommunication ready to crush out his imperial scepter he sued for pardon at any price. The pope had retired for a time to the castle of Canossa, not far from Parma. Thither went the Franconian Emperor of Germany to implore the papal forgiveness. He presented himself before the gate barefoot, clad in a shirt of sack-cloth, and prayed that he might be received and forgiven as a penitent sinner. But Gregory chose to prolong the satisfaction he had in witnessing his penitence. So throughout the whole day, without food, in snow and rain, he stood begging the pope to receive him. In the same condition and without avail, he stood the second and the third day. Not until the morning of the fourth day did the pope admit him, and then his pardon was granted on conditions which made his crown, for the time, a dependency of the Bishop of Rome.

But the struggle of the German rulers with popedom was not ended at Canossa. Henry himself renewed it a few years later with far better results to his side. The spirit of protestantism was ever alive in some form in Germany, and, as we have said, was prophetic of him who should rise in the fifteenth century and dare to protest against the claim of spiritual supremacy by the autocrat of Rome. From that time till now it has been a by-phrase with German princes in their conflicts with the church that they “will not go to Canossa.”

BEFORE THE REFORMATION.

At this time superstition and dense ignorance were widespread. Stories of magic were constantly told and believed, and the miracles with which the church offset them were hardly less absurd. Other terrors were added. Public justice was administered so imperfectly that private and arbitrary violence took its place; while the tribunals which formerly sat in the open sunlight before the people now covered themselves with night and secrecy. “The Holy Feme” sprang up in Westphalia. Originally a public tribunal of the city, such as is found in Brunswick, and in other places, it afterward spread far and wide, but in a changed form. Its members held their sessions in secret and by night. Unknown messengers of the tribunal summoned the accused. Disguised judges, volunteer officers, from among “the knowing ones,” gave judgment, often in wild, desolate places, and often in some ancient seat of justice, as at the Linden-tree at Dortmund. The sentence was executed, even if the criminal had not appeared or had made his escape. The dagger, with the mark of the Feme, found in the dead body, told how surely the avenging arm had struck in the darkness. It was a fearful time, when justice, like crime, must walk in disguise.

The habits of thought which made possible such beliefs and actions as these were part of the same movement to which the corruption of church doctrine and government must also be referred. The perverted Roman Christianity from which the Reformation was a revolt was not the Christianity of Charlemagne, nor even that of Hildebrand. Hasty readers sometimes imagine that the church, for many centuries before the Reformation, had firmly held the doctrines which Luther rejected. But, in fact, most of them were recent innovations. Peter the Lombard, Bishop of Paris in the twelfth century, was the first theologian to enumerate “the Seven Sacraments,” and Eugene IV., in 1431, was the first of the popes to proclaim them. The doctrine of transubstantiation was first embodied in the church confession by the Lateran Council of November, 1215, the same which first required auricular confession of all the laity. It was more than a century later before the celibacy of the clergy and the denial of the sacramental cup to all but priests became established law, and the idea that the pope is the vicar of Christ upon earth, and the bearer of divine honors, was accepted. All these corruptions of the earlier faith were the results of ambition in the hierarchy, and of gross and sensual modes of thought in the people; and the same causes led to the rapid development, in the fifteenth century especially, of the worship of the Virgin Mary, who was honored with ceremonies and prayers from which Christians of earlier ages would have shrunk as blasphemous. Nor can the church of the beginning of the sixteenth century be understood by studying the confession adopted by the Council of Trent a generation or more afterward. The teachings and practices which called forth Luther’s protest were far too gross, when once explained, to bear the examination of sincere friends of Romanism; who, without knowing it themselves, were greatly influenced, even in their formal statements of belief, by the controversies of the Reformation. The value of that great event to the world can not be comprehended without a knowledge of what it has done for the Catholic church within its own boundaries.[A]

PREPARING FOR THE REFORMATION.

Prior to the fourteenth century all learning was monopolized by the church. Its power was exercised to make every branch of knowledge harmonize itself with the teachings of Catholic Christianity. In revolt against these shackles arose a few independent spirits who sought to rest religious doctrine on the foundations of reason to some degree, at least. Nevertheless, superstitions still clung to and mingled with all these new studies, and the age did not witness their separation. The higher intelligence traveled gradually, but very slowly. The art of printing came to its assistance and proved to be its strongest auxiliary. To Germany belongs the glory of this invention, and she can boast no higher service rendered to mankind. The art of wood-engraving was the preliminary step which led to it. It was soon employed for pictures of sacred scenes and persons; so that the many who could neither read nor write had a sort of Bible in their picture collections. But the grand conception of making movable types, each bearing a single letter, and composing the words of them, was first formed by John Gutenberg, of the patrician family of Gänsefleisch, of Mayence. He was driven from his native city by a disturbance among the guilds, and went to Strasburg, where he invented the art of printing about the year 1450. Great trouble was experienced in discovering the proper material in which to cut the separate letters; neither wood nor lead answered well. Being short of resources, Gutenberg formed a partnership with John Faust, also of Mayence. Faust’s assistant, Peter Schöffer, afterward his son-in-law, a skillful copyist and draughtsman, discovered the proper alloy for type-metal, and invented printing-ink. In 1461 appeared the first large book printed in Germany, a handsome Bible, exhibiting the perfection that the art possessed at its very origin.

When Adolphus of Nassau captured Mayence in 1462, the workmen skilled in the art, which had been kept a secret, were scattered through the world; and by the end of the fifteenth century the principal nations of Europe, and especially Italy, France, and England, had become rivals of Germany in prosecuting it. Books had previously been transcribed, chiefly by monks, upon expensive parchment, and often beautifully ornamented with elaborate drawings and paintings. They had therefore been an article of luxury, and confined to the rich. But a book printed on paper was easily made accessible to all classes, for copies were so numerous that each could be sold at a low price. Beside books of devotion, the writings of the Greek and Latin poets, historians and philosophers, most of which had fallen into oblivion during the Middle Ages, now gradually obtained wide circulation. After the fall of Constantinople, and the subjugation of Greece by the Turks, fugitive Greeks brought the works of their forefathers’ genius to Italy, where enlightened men had already begun to study them. This branch of learning, called “the Humanities,” spread from Italy through Germany, France, England, and other countries, and contributed powerfully to produce a finer taste and more intelligent habits of thought, such as put to shame the rude ignorance of the monks. It was the art of printing that broke down the slavery in which the blind faith of the church held the human mind; and even the censorship which Rome set up to oppose it was not able to undo its work.

Just as the convents fell before the art of printing, so did the castles of the robber knights before the invention of gunpowder. Thus, at the coming of the Reformation, these degenerate remnants of the once noble institutions of knighthood were swept away. It is supposed by many that the knowledge of gunpowder was brought into Europe from China during the great Mongolian emigration of the thirteenth century, the Chinese having long possessed it. The Arabs, too, understood how to make explosive powder, by mixing saltpeter, charcoal, and sulphur. But all the Eastern makers produced only the fine powder, and the art of making it in grains seems to have been the device of Berthold Schwarz, a German monk of the Franciscan order, of Freiburg or Mayence, in 1354; and he is commonly called the inventor of gunpowder. He had a laboratory, in which he devoted himself to alchemy; and is said to have made his discovery by accident. But as early as 1346, a chronicle reports that there was at Aix “an iron barrel to shoot thunder;” and in 1356 the armory at Nuremberg contained guns of iron and copper, which threw missiles of stone and lead. One of the earliest instances in which cannon are known to have been effectively used in a great battle was at Agincourt in 1415. But gunpowder was long regarded with abhorrence by the people, and made its way into general use but slowly.[B]

MARTIN LUTHER.

Martin Luther was born at Eisleben on the 10th of November, 1483, on the eve of St. Martin’s day, in the same year as Raphael, nine years after Michael Angelo, and ten after Copernicus. His father was a miner and possessed forges in Mansfield, the profits of which enabled him to send his son to the Latin school of the place. There Martin distinguished himself so much that his father intended him for the study of law. In the meantime Martin had often to go about as one of the poor choristers singing and begging at the doors of charitable people at Magdeburg and at Eisenach, to the colleges of which towns he was successively sent. His remarkable appearance and serious demeanor, his fine tenor voice and musical talent procured him the attention and afterward the support and maternal care of a pious matron, into whose house he was taken. Already, in his eighteenth year, he surpassed all his fellow-students in knowledge of the Latin classics, and in power of composition and of eloquence. His mind took more and more a deeply religious turn; but it was not till he had been two years studying at Eisenach that he discovered an entire Bible, having until then only known the ecclesiastical extracts from the sacred volume and the history of Hannah and Samuel. A dangerous illness brought him within the near prospect of death; but he recovered and tried hard to obtain inward peace by a pious life and the greatest strictness in all external observances.[C] He then determined to renounce the world, and in spite of the strong opposition of his father, became a monk of the Augustine order of Erfurt. But in vain; he was tormented by doubt, and even by despair, until he turned again to the Bible. A zealous study of the exact language of the gospels gave him not only a firm faith, but a peace and cheerfulness which was never afterward disturbed by trials or dangers.[D]

In the year 1508 the elector of Saxony nominated him professor of philosophy in the university of Wittenberg; and in 1509 he began to give biblical lectures. These lectures were the awakening cause of new life in the university, and soon a great number of students from all parts of Germany gathered round Luther. Even professors came to attend his lectures and hear his preaching. The year 1511 brought an apparent interruption, but in fact only a new development of Luther’s character and knowledge of the world. He was sent by his order to Rome on account of some discrepancies of opinion as to its government. The tone of flippant impiety at the court and among the higher clergy of Rome shocked the devout German monk. He then discovered the real state of the world in the center of the Western church. He returned to the university and took the degree of Doctor of Divinity at the end of 1512. The solemn oath he had to pronounce on that occasion, “to devote his whole life to study, and faithfully expound and defend the Holy Scripture,” was to him the seal of his mission. He began his biblical teaching by attacking scholasticism, at that time called Aristotelianism. He showed that the Bible was a deeper philosophy. His contemporaries praised the clearness of his doctrine. Christ’s self-devoted life and death was its center; God’s eternal love to mankind, and the sure triumph of Faith, were his texts.[E]

SALE OF PAPAL INDULGENCES—LUTHER’S RESISTANCE.

In the year 1517, the pope, Leo X., famous both for his luxurious habits and his love of art, found that his income was not sufficient for his expenses, and determined to increase it by issuing a series of absolutions for all forms of crime, even perjury, bigamy and murder. The cost of pardon was graduated according to the nature of the sin. Albert, Archbishop of Mayence, bought the right of selling absolutions in Germany, and appointed as his agent a Dominican monk of the name of Tetzel. The latter began traveling through the country like a peddler, publicly offering for sale the pardon of the Roman church for all varieties of crime. In some places he did an excellent business, since many evil men also purchased pardons in advance for the crimes they intended to commit; in other districts Tetzel only stirred up the abhorrence of the people, and increased their burning desire to have such enormities suppressed.

Only one man, however, dared to come out openly and condemn the papal trade in sin and crime. This was Dr. Martin Luther, who, on the 31st of October, 1517, nailed upon the door of the church at Wittenberg a series of ninety-five theses, or theological declarations, the truth of which he offered to prove, against all adversaries. The substance of them was that the pardon of sins came only from God, and could only be purchased by true repentance; that to offer absolutions for sale, as Tetzel was doing, was an unchristian act, contrary to the genuine doctrines of the church; and that it could not, therefore, have been sanctioned by the pope. Luther’s object, at this time, was not to separate from the church of Rome, but to reform and purify it.

The ninety-five theses, which were written in Latin, were immediately translated, printed, and circulated throughout Germany. They were followed by replies, in which the action of the pope was defended; Luther was styled a heretic, and threatened with the fate of Huss. He defended himself in pamphlets, which were eagerly read by the people; and his followers increased so rapidly that Leo X., who had summoned him to Rome for trial, finally agreed that he should present himself before the Papal Legate, Cardinal Cajetanus, at Augsburg. The latter simply demanded that Luther should retract what he had preached and written, as being contrary to the papal bulls; whereupon Luther, for the first time, was compelled to declare that “the command of the pope can only be respected as the voice of God, when it is not in conflict with the Holy Scriptures.” The Cardinal afterward said: “I will have nothing more to do with that German beast, with the deep eyes and the whimsical speculations in his head!” and Luther said of him: “He knew no more about the Word than a donkey knows of harp-playing.”

The Vicar-General of the Augustines was still Luther’s friend, and, fearing that he was not safe in Augsburg, he had him let out of the city at daybreak, through a small door in the wall, and then supplied with a horse. Having reached Wittenberg, where he was surrounded with devoted followers, Frederick the Wise was next ordered to give him up. About the same time Leo X. declared that the practices assailed by Luther were doctrines of the church, and must be accepted as such. Frederick began to waver; but the young Philip Melanchthon, Justus Jonas, and other distinguished men connected with the university exerted their influence, and the elector finally refused the demand. The Emperor Maximilian, now near his end, sent a letter to the pope, begging him to arrange the difficulty, and Leo X. commissioned his Nuncio, a Saxon nobleman named Karl von Miltitz, to meet Luther. The meeting took place at Altenburg in 1519; the Nuncio, who afterward reported that he “would not undertake to remove Luther from Germany with the help of 10,000 soldiers, for he had found ten men for him where one was for the pope”—was a mild and conciliatory man. He prayed Luther to pause, for he was destroying the peace of the church, and succeeded, by his persuasions, in inducing him to promise to keep silence, provided his antagonists remained silent also.

This was merely a truce, and it was soon broken. Dr. Eck, one of the partisans of the church, challenged Luther’s friend and follower, Carlstadt, to a public discussion in Leipzig, and it was not long before Luther himself was compelled to take part in it. He declared his views with more clearness than ever, disregarding the outcry raised against him that he was in fellowship with the Bohemian heretics. The struggle, by this time, had affected all Germany, the middle class and smaller nobles being mostly on Luther’s side, while the priests and reigning princes, with a few exceptions, were against him. In order to defend himself from misrepresentation and justify his course, he published two pamphlets, one called “An Appeal to the Emperor and Christian Nobles of Germany,” and the other “Concerning the Babylonian Captivity of the Church.” These were read by tens of thousands, all over the country.

Pope Leo X. immediately issued a bull, ordering all Luther’s writings to be burned, excommunicating those who should believe in them, and summoning Luther to Rome. This only increased the popular excitement in Luther’s favor, and on the 10th of December, 1520, he took the step which made impossible any reconciliation between himself and the papal power. Accompanied by the professors and students of the university, he had a fire kindled outside of one of the gates of Wittenberg, placed therein the books of canonical law and various writings in defence of the pope, and then cast the papal bull into the flames, with the words: “As thou hast tormented the Lord and His saints, so may eternal flame torment and consume thee.” This was the boldest declaration of war ever hurled at such an overwhelming majority; but the courage of this one man soon communicated itself to the people. Frederick the Wise was now his steadfast friend, and, although the dangers which beset him increased every day, his own faith in the righteousness of his cause only became firmer and purer.[F]

LUTHER AT WORMS.

Meanwhile Charles of Spain had succeeded Maximilian and became Karl V. in the list of German emperors. Luther wrote to the new emperor asking that he might be heard before being condemned. The elector Frederick also interceded, and the diet of Worms was convened January 6, 1521. Luther was summoned to appear. “I must go; if I am too weak to go in good health, I shall have myself carried thither sick. They will not have my blood after which they thirst unless it is God’s will. Two things I can not do—shrink from the call, nor retract my opinions.” The emperor tardily granted him the safe conduct on which his friends insisted. In spite of all warnings he set out with the imperial herald on the 2nd of April. On the 16th he entered the city. On his approach to Worms the elector’s chancellor entreated him in the name of his master not to enter a town where his death was already decided. Luther returned the simple reply, “Tell your master that if there were as many devils at Worms as tiles on its roofs, I would enter.” When surrounded by his friends on the morning of the 17th, on which day he was to appear before the august assembly, he said, “Christ is to me what the head of the gorgon was to Perseus; I must hold it up against the devil’s attack.” When the hour approached he fell on his knees and uttered in great agony a prayer such as can only be pronounced by a man filled with the spirit of him who prayed at Gethsemane. He rose from prayer, and followed the herald. Before the throne he was asked two questions, whether he acknowledged the works before him to have been written by himself, and whether he would retract what he had said in them. Luther’s address to the emperor has been preserved, and is a masterpiece of eloquence as well as of courage. The following is a part of his words: “I have laid open the almost incredible corruptions of popery, and given utterance to complaints almost universal. By retracting what I have said on this score, should I not fortify rank tyranny, and open a still wider door to enormous impieties? I can only say with Jesus Christ, ‘If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil.’” Addressing himself directly to the emperor, he said: “May this new reign not begin, and still less continue, under pernicious auspices. The Pharaohs of Egypt, the kings of Babylon and of Israel never worked more effectually for their own ruin than when they thought to strengthen their power. I speak thus boldly, not because I think such great princes want my advice, but because I will fulfill my duty toward Germany as she has a right to expect from her children.” The contemptible emperor, seeing his physical exhaustion, and thinking to confound him, ordered him to repeat what he had said in Latin. Luther did so. It was, however, when again urged to retract that we witness what seems the highest point of moral sublimity in Luther’s career. “I can not submit my faith either to the pope or to councils, for it is clear that they have often erred and contradicted themselves. I will retract nothing unless convicted by the very passages of the word of God which I have just quoted.” And he concluded by saying: “Here I take my stand. I can not do otherwise: so help me God. Amen.”[G]

From that day Luther’s life was in greatest and constant danger. The papal dogs had scented the blood of a heretic, and were on his track. Leaving Worms, he was seized by friends under the guise of enemies, as he was passing through the Thuringian forest, and carried away and hid in the castle of Wartburg. Here, secreted from his enemies for many months, he busied himself with translating the New Testament into German. His version proved to be among the most valuable of the services he rendered. In many respects it is superior to any other translations yet made. With all his scholarship, he ignored the theological style of writing, and sought to express the thoughts of the inspired writers in words comprehensible by the commonest people. To this end he frequented the marketplace, the house of sorrow, and of rejoicing, in order to note how the people expressed themselves in all the circumstances of life. “I can not use the words heard in castles and courts,” he said; “I have endeavored in translating to give clear, pure German.”

Luther lived twenty-five years after the diet of Worms—years of heroic battle, sometimes against foes inside of his movement of reform as well as against the church, which never gave up the struggle. He wrote many works, some controversial, others expository of the Bible. His “Battle Hymn” also revealed him the possessor of rare poetic genius.

He died at Eisleben, February 17, 1546. For some time, under the weight of his labors and anxieties, his constitution had been breaking down. The giant of the Reformation halted in his earthly course, but the gigantic spirit and work moved on. As the solemn procession which bore his body from Eisleben to Wittenberg passed, the bells of every village and town were tolled, and the people flocked together, crowding the highways. At Halle men and women came out with cries and lamentations, and so great was the throng that it was two hours before the coffin could be laid in the church. An eye-witness says: “Here we endeavored to raise the funeral psalm, ‘Out of the depths have I called unto thee,’ but so heavy was our grief that the words were wept rather than sung.” Mr. Carlyle closes his “Spiritual Portrait of Luther” with the following words of noble and beautiful tribute: “I call this Luther a true great man; great in intellect, in courage, affection and integrity; one of our most lovable and precious men. Great, not as a hewn obelisk, but as an Alpine mountain—so simple, honest, spontaneous, not setting up to be great at all; there for quite another purpose than being great! Ah yes, unsubduable granite, piercing far and wide into the heavens; yet in the clefts of it fountains, green, beautiful valleys with flowers! A right spiritual hero and prophet; once more, a true son of nature and fact, for whom these centuries, and many that are to come yet, will be thankful to heaven.”

[To be continued.]

EXTRACTS FROM GERMAN LITERATURE.

JOHANN JOACHIM WINCKELMANN.

No critic has displayed a keener feeling for the beauty and significance of such works as came within his knowledge, or a truer imagination in bridging over the gulfs at which direct knowledge failed him. And his style, warm with the glow of sustained enthusiasm, yet calm, dignified, and harmonious, was worthy of his splendid theme.—Sime.

More artistic and æsthetic views have prevailed in every direction since Winckelmann became a recognized authority.—Schlegel.

The Apollo of the Vatican.

Among all the works of antiquity which have escaped destruction the Apollo of the Vatican reaches the highest ideal of art. It surpasses all other statues as Homer’s Apollo does that of all succeeding poets. Its size lifts it above common humanity, and its altitude bespeaks its greatness. The proud form charming in the manliness of the prime of life seems clothed with endless youth.

Go with thy soul into the kingdom of celestial beauty and seek to create within thyself a divine nature, and to fill thy heart with forms which are above the material. For here there is nothing perishable, nothing that mortal imperfection demands. No veins heat, no sinews control this body; but a heavenly spirit spreading like a gentle stream fills the whole figure.

He has foiled the Python against which he has just drawn his bow, and the powerful dart has overtaken and killed it. Satisfied, he looks far beyond his victory into space; contempt is on his lip and the rage which possesses him expands his nostrils and mounts to his forehead. Still the peace which hovers in holy calm upon his forehead is undisturbed; his eye like the eyes of the muses is full of gentleness.

In all the statues of the father of gods which remain to us in none does he come so near to that grandeur in which he has revealed himself to the poets as he does here in the face of his son. The peculiar beauties of the remaining gods are united here in one: the forehead of Jupiter, pregnant with the goddess of wisdom, eyebrows which reveal his will in their arch, the full commanding eyes of the queen of the gods, and a mouth of the greatest loveliness. About this divine head the soft hair, as if moved by a gentle breeze, plays like the graceful tendrils of a vine. He seems like one anointed with the oil of the gods, and crowned with glory by the Graces.

Before this wonderful work of art I forget all else. My bosom throbs with adoration as his with the spirit of prophecy. I feel myself carried back to Delos and to the lyric halls, the places which Apollo honored with his presence; then the statue before me seems to receive life and motion like Pygmalion’s beauty; how is it possible to paint, to describe it? Art itself must direct me, must lead my hand, to carry out the first outlines which I attempt. I lay my effort at its feet as those who would crown the god-head, but can not attain the height, do their wreaths.

FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER.

He was a seer—a prophet. A century has passed since his birth, and we revere him as one of the first among the spiritual heroes of humanity.—Vischer. Speech at the Centenary Festival of Schiller’s birthday (1859).

That Schiller went away early is for us a gain. From his tomb there comes to us an impulse, strengthening us, as with the breath of his own might, and awakening a most earnest longing to fulfill, lovingly, and more and more, the work that he began. So, in all that he willed to do, and in all that he fulfilled, he shall live on, forever, for his own nation, and for mankind.—Goethe.

Goethe and Schiller greatly excelled in their department of literary labor, becoming oracles in all such matters. And since their names have gone into history, they share, perhaps not quite equally, the highest niche in the pantheon of German literature. Schiller was, at once, a fine thinker, and poet, able to weave his own subtle thoughts, and the philosophies of other transcendentalists into verse, as exquisite as their speculations were, at times, dreamy and incomprehensible. Carlyle, in a glowing tribute to Schiller, concedes to Goethe the honor of being the poet of Germany; and so perhaps he was, though it is difficult to compare men so widely different. They differed in this: Goethe, with his rich endowment of intellect, was born a poet—an inspired man; the everspringing fountain within him poured forth copiously; Schiller, with genius hardly surpassed, seems a more laborious thinker, ever seeking truth, while his finely wrought stanzas are a little more artificially melodious. He is the most beloved because his countrymen think he had more heart, and breathed out more ardent aspirations for political freedom. We commend what is excellent in his works; the facts and truths expressed with refreshing clearness, and usually of good moral tendency, but we can not ignore his philosophical skepticism, and warn the admiring reader against its pernicious influence. In the supreme matter of religious faith our captivating author was evidently much of his life adrift on stormy seas, “driven of the winds and tossed.” If the fatuity of the venture was not followed by dismal and utter shipwreck, he was near the fatal rocks, and suffered great loss. The beginning was in this respect most full of promise, and his environment favorable. The home training in a devout religious family, and the teachings of the sanctuary had made a deep impression on the mind of the thoughtful youth, and as solemn vows were made as ever passed from human lips. His was for a season really a life of prayer and consecration to Christian service. But all that passed away. And how the change was brought about it is not hard to discover. Though blameless in character, and full of noble aspirations while yet in his adolescence, quite too early, he became acquainted with infidel writings of Voltaire—a perilous adventure for any youth. The foundations on which he rested were shaken, and he fled to the positive philosophy of Kant and others, who interpreted away all that was distinctively true and life-giving in the Scriptures. Faith, whose mild radiance brightened the morning, suffered a fearful eclipse before it was noon: and thence, like a wanderer, he groped for the way; “daylight all gone.” The great man needed God, but turned from him—sought truth with worshipful anxiety, but, in his sad bewilderment, found it not. The difference between his states of faith and unfaith is strongly stated in his own words that we here give. The first extract was written on a Sabbath in 1777. The other tells, about as forcibly as words can, of the unrest and disappointment that were afterward felt.

Sabbath Morning.

God of truth, Father of light, I look to thee with the first rays of the morning sun, and I bow before thee. Thou seest me, O God! Thou seest from afar every pulsation of my praying heart. Thou knowest well my earnest desire for truth. Heavy doubt often veils my soul in night; but thou knowest how anxious my heart is within me, and how it goes out for heavenly light. Oh yes! A friendly ray has often fallen from thee upon my shadowed soul. I saw the awful abyss on whose brink I was trembling, and I have thanked the kind hand that drew me back in safety. Still be with me, my God and Father, for there are days when fools stalk about and say, “there is no God.” Thou hast given me my birth, O my Creator, in these days when superstition rages at my right hand, and skepticism scoffs at my left. So I often stand and quake in the storm; and oh, how often would the bending reed break if thou didst not prevent it; thou, the mighty Preserver of all thy creatures and Father of all who seek thee. What am I without truth, without her leadership through life’s labyrinth? A wanderer through the wilderness overtaken by the night, with no friendly hand to lead me, and no guiding star to show me the path. Doubt, uncertainty, skepticism! You begin with anguish, and you end with despair. But Truth, thou leadest us safely through life, bearest the torch before us in the dark vale of death, and bringest us home to heaven, where thou wast born. O my God, keep my heart in peace, in that holy rest during which Truth loves best to visit us. If I have truth then I have Christ; If I have Christ then have I God; and if I have God, then I have everything. And could I ever permit myself to be robbed of this precious gem, this heaven-reaching blessing by the wisdom of this world, which is foolishness in thy sight? No. He who hates truth will I call my enemy, but he who seeks it with simple heart I will embrace as my brother and my friend.

Later in life his anguish is openly expressed in his philosophical letters. “I felt, and I was happy. Raphael has taught me to think, and I am now ready to lament my own creation. You have stolen my faith that gave me peace. You have taught me to despise what I once reverenced. A thousand things were very venerable to me before your sorry wisdom stripped me of them. I saw a multitude of people going to church; I heard their earnest worship as they united in fraternal prayer; I cried aloud, ‘That truth must be divine which the best of men profess, which conquers so triumphantly and consoles so sweetly.’ Your cold reason has quenched my enthusiasm. ‘Believe no one,’ you said, ‘but your reason; there is nothing more holy than truth.’ I listened, and offered up all my opinions. My reason is now become everything to me; it is my only guarantee for divinity, virtue, and immortality. Woe unto me henceforth, if I come in conflict with this sole security!”

The following lines are given as a specimen of his verse. They are taken from Carlyle’s translation of the “Song of the Alps:”

By the edge of the chasm is a slippery track,

The torrent beneath, and the mist hanging o’er thee;

The cliffs of the mountains, huge, rugged, and black,

Are frowning like giants before thee;

And, would’st thou not waken the sleeping Lawine,

Walk silent and soft through the deadly ravine.

That bridge with its dizzying, perilous span,

Aloft o’er the gulf and its flood suspended,

Think’st thou it was built by the art of man,

By his hand that grim old arch was bended?

Far down in the jaws of the gloomy abyss

The water is boiling and hissing—forever will hiss.

Duty—Fame of.

What shall I do to be forever known?

Thy duty ever.

This did full many who yet slept unknown—

Oh! never, never!

Thinkest thou, perchance, that they remain unknown

Whom thou knowest not?

By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown,

Divine their lot.

What shall I do to gain eternal life?

Discharge aright

The simple dues with which each day is rife?

Yea, with thy might.

Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise,

Life will be fled,

While he who ever acts as conscience cries

Shall live, though dead.

The following verse is from the oft-recited “Song of the Bell,” and is exquisite:

Ah! seeds how dearer far than they

We bury in the dismal tomb,

When hope and sorrow bend to pray,

That suns beyond the realm of day

May warm them into bloom.

JOHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE.

Goethe differs from all other great writers, except perhaps Milton, in this respect, that his works can not be understood without a knowledge of his life, and that his life is in itself a work of art, greater than any work which it created.... He is not only the greatest poet of Germany; he is one of the greatest poets of any age.... He was the apostle of self-culture.—Sime.

A Criticism on the Poems of J. H. Voss.

Every author, in some degree, portrays himself in his works even be it against his will. In this case he is present to us, and designedly; nay, with a friendly alacrity, sets before us his inward and outward modes of thinking and feeling; and disdains not to give us confidential explanations of circumstances, thoughts, views, and expressions, by means of appended notes.

And now, encouraged by so friendly an invitation, we draw nearer to him; we seek him by himself; we attach ourselves to him, and promise ourselves rich enjoyment, and manifold instruction and improvement.

In a level northern landscape we find him, rejoicing in his existence, in a latitude in which the ancients hardly expected to find a living thing.

And truly, winter there manifests his whole might and sovereignty. Storm-borne from the pole, he covers the woods with hoar frost, the streams with ice—a drifting whirlwind eddies around the high gables, while the poet rejoices in the shelter and comfort of his home, and cheerily bids defiance to the raging elements. Furred and frost-covered friends arrive, and are heartily welcomed under the protecting roof; and soon they form a cordial confiding circle, enliven the household meal by the clang of glasses, the joyous song, and thus create for themselves a moral summer.

And when spring herself advances, no more is heard of roof and hearth; the poet is always abroad, wandering on the soft pathways around his peaceful lake. Every bush unfolds itself with an individual character, every blossom bursts with an individual life, in his presence. As in a fully worked-out picture, we see, in the sun-light around him, grass and herb, as distinctly as oak and beech-tree; and on the margin of the still waters there is wanting neither the reed nor any succulent plant.

Around him, like a dweller in Eden, sport, harmless, fearless creatures—the lamb on the meadows, the roe in the forest. Around him assemble the whole choir of birds, and drown the busy hum of day with their varied accents.

The summer has come again; a genial warmth breathes through the poet’s song. Thunders roll; clouds drop showers; rainbows appear; lightnings gleam, and a blessed coolness overspreads the plain. Everything ripens; the poet overlooks none of the varied harvests; he hallows all by his presence.

And here is the place to remark what an influence our poets might exercise on the civilization of our German people—in some places, perhaps, have exercised.

His poems on the various incidents of rural life, indeed, do represent rather the reflections of a refined intellect than the feelings of the common people: but if we could picture to ourselves that a harper were present at the hay, corn, and potato harvests—if we recollected how he might make the men whom he gathered around him observant of that which recurs to them as ordinary and familiar; if, by his manner of regarding it, by his poetical expression, he elevated the common, and heightened the enjoyment of every gift of God and nature by his dignified representation of it, we may truly say he would be a real benefactor to his country. For the first stage of a true enlightenment is, that man should reflect upon his condition and circumstances, and be brought to regard them in the most agreeable light.

But scarcely are all these bounties brought under man’s notice, when autumn glides in, and our poet takes an affecting leave of nature, decaying, at least in outward appearance. Yet he abandons not his beloved vegetation wholly to the unkind winter. The elegant vase receives many a plant, many a bulb, wherewith to create a mimic summer in the home seclusion of winter, and, even at that season, to leave no festival without its flowers and wreaths. Care is taken that even the household birds belonging to the family should not want a green fresh roof to their bowery cage.

Now is the loveliest time for short rambles—for friendly converse in the chilly evening. Every domestic feeling becomes active; longings for social pleasures increase; the want of music is more sensibly felt; and now, even the sick man willingly joins the friendly circle, and a departing friend seems to clothe himself in the colors of the departing year.

For as certainly as spring will return after the lapse of winter, so certainly will friends, lovers, kindred meet again; they will meet again in the presence of the all-loving Father; and then first will they form a whole with each other, and with everything good, after which they sought and strove in vain in this piece-meal world. And thus does the felicity of the poet, even here, rest on the persuasion that all have to rejoice in the care of a wise God, whose power extends unto all, and whose light lightens upon all. Thus does the adoration of such a being create in the poet the highest clearness and reasonableness; and, at the same time, an assurance that the thoughts, the words, with which he comprehends and describes infinite qualities, are not empty dreams and sounds, and thence arises a rapturous feeling of his own and others’ happiness, in which everything conflicting, peculiar, discordant, is resolved and dissipated.

Faustus.

Faustus. Oh, he, indeed, is happy, who still feels,

And cherishes within himself, the hope

To lift himself above this sea of errors!

Of things we know not, each day do we find

The want of knowledge—all we know is useless:

But ’tis not wise to sadden with such thoughts

This hour of beauty and benignity:

Look yonder, with delighted heart and eye,

On those low cottages that shine so bright

(Each with its garden plot of smiling green),

Robed in the glory of the setting sun!

But he is parting—fading—day is over—

Yonder he hastens to diffuse new life.

Oh, for a wing to raise me up from earth,

Nearer, and yet more near, to the bright orb,

That unrestrained I still might follow him!

Then should I see, in one unvarying glow

Of deathless evening, the reposing world

Beneath me—the hills kindling—the sweet vales,

Beyond the hills, asleep in the soft beams

The silver streamlet, at the silent touch

Of heavenly light, transfigured into gold,

Flowing in brightness inexpressible!

Nothing to stop or stay my godlike motion!

The rugged hill, with its wild cliffs, in vain

Would rise to hide the sun; in vain would strive

To check my glorious course; the sea already,

With its illumined bays, that burn beneath

The lord of day, before the astonished eyes

Opens its bosom—and he seems at last

Just sinking—no—a power unfelt before—

An impulse indescribable succeeds!

Onward, entranced, I haste to drink the beams

Of the unfading light—before me day—

And night left still behind—and overhead

Wide heaven—and under me the spreading sea!—

A glorious vision, while the setting sun

Is lingering! Oh, to the spirit’s flight,

How faint and feeble are material wings!

Yet such our nature is, that when the lark,

High over us, unseen in the blue sky

Thrills his heart-piercing song, we feel ourselves

Press up from earth, as ’twere in rivalry;—

And when above the savage hill of pines,

The eagle sweeps with outspread wings—and when

The crane pursues, high off, his homeward path,

Flying o’er watery moors and wide lakes lonely!

Flying o’er watery moors and wide lakes lonely!

Wagner. I, too, have had my hours of reverie;

But impulse such as this I never felt.

Of wood and fields the eye will soon grow weary;

I’d never envy the wild birds their wings.

How different are the pleasures of the mind;

Leading from book to book, from leaf to leaf,

They make the nights of winter bright and cheerful;

They spread a sense of pleasure through the frame,

And when you see some old and treasured parchments,

All heaven descends to your delighted senses!

FRIEDRICH SCHLEGEL.

His most important work is his “History of Ancient and Modern Literature.” Throughout his exposition he is a propagandist of his special ideas; but the book is of lasting importance as the earliest attempt to present a systematic view of literary development as a whole.—Sime.

Extracts from History of Literature.

LITERARY INFLUENCE OF THE BIBLE.—On attentively considering the influence exercised by the Bible over mediæval as well as more modern literature and poetry, and the effects of the Scriptures, viewed as a mere literary composition on language, art, and representation, two important elements engage our observation. The first of these is complete simplicity of expression or the absence of all artifice. Almost exclusively treating of God and the moral nature of man, the language of the Scriptures is throughout living and forcible, devoid of metaphysical subtleties and of those dead ideas and empty abstractions which mark the philosophy of all nations—from the Indians and Greeks down to modern Europeans—whenever they undertake to represent those exalted objects of contemplation, God and man, by the light of unassisted reason.... Corresponding simplicity or absence of affectation also mark the poetical portions of Holy Writ, notwithstanding the copiousness of noble and sublime passages with which they abound.... The second distinctive quality of the Bible, in reference to external form and mode of representation, exerting an immense influence over modern diction and poesy, is the all pervading typical and symbolic element—not only of its poetical but of the didactic and historical books. In the case of the Hebrews this peculiarity may be partially regarded as a national peculiarity, in which the Arabs, their nearest of kin, participated. It is not impossible that the prohibition concerning graven images of the Divinity contributed to cherish this propensity; the imagination restricted on one side sought an outlet in another. The same results flowed from similar causes among the followers of Mahomet. In those portions of Holy Writ in which oriental imagery is less dominant, as for instance in the books of the New Testament, symbolism nevertheless prevails. This spirit has, to a great extent, influenced the intellectual development of all Christian races.

MEDIÆVAL GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE.—The real mediæval is nowhere so thoroughly expressed as in the memorials of the architectural style erroneously called gothic, the origin of which, as also its progressive features, may, to this day, be said to be lost in obscurity and doubt. The misnomer is now generally admitted, and it is commonly understood that this mediæval style did not originate with the Goths, but sprung up at a later date, and speedily attained its full maturity without exhibiting various gradations of formation. I allude to that style of Christian art which is distinguished by its lofty vaults and arches, its pillars which resemble bundles of reeds, and general profusion of ornament modeled after leaf and flower.... Whoever the originators, it is evident that their intention was not merely to pile up huge stone edifices, but to embody certain ideas. How excellent soever the style of a building may be, if it convey no meaning, express no sentiment, it can not strictly be considered a creation of art; for it must be remembered that this, at once the most ancient and sublime of creative arts, can not directly stimulate the feelings by means of actual appeal or faculty of representation. Hence architecture generally bears a symbolical hidden meaning, whilst the Christian architecture of mediæval Germany does so in an eminent and especial degree. First and foremost there is the expression of devotional thought towering boldly aloft from this lowly earth toward the azure skies and an omnipotent God.... The whole plan is replete with symbols of deep significance, traced and illustrated in a remarkable manner in the records of the period. The altar pointed eastward; the three principal entrances expressed the conflux of worshipers gathered together from all quarters of the globe. The three steeples corresponded to the Christian Trinity. The quire arose like a temple within a temple on an increased scale of elevation. The form of the cross had been of early establishment in the Christian church, not accidentally, as has been conjectured by some, but with a view to completeness, a constituent part of the whole. The rose will be found to constitute the radical element of all decoration in this architectural style; from it the peculiar shape of window, door and steeple is mainly derived in their manifold variety of foliated tracery. The cross and the rose are, then, the chief symbols of this mystic art. On the whole, what is sought to be conveyed is the stupendous idea of eternity, the earnest thought of death, the death of this world, wreathed in the lovely fullness of an endless blooming life in the world that is to come.

READINGS IN PHYSICAL SCIENCE.[H]

IV.—THE SEA.

It has been ascertained that water covers about three times more of the earth’s surface than the land does. We could not tell that merely by what we can see from any part of this country, or indeed of any country. It is because men have sailed round the world, and have crossed it in many directions, that the proportion of land and water has come to be known.

Take a school-globe and turn it slowly round on its axis. You see at a glance how much larger the surface of water is than the surface of land. But you may notice several other interesting things about the distribution of land and water.

In the first place you will find that the water is all connected together into one great mass, which we call the sea. The land, on the other hand, is much broken up by the way the sea runs into it; and some parts are cut off from the main mass of land, so as to form islands in the sea. Britain is one of the pieces of land so cut off.

In the second place, you cannot fail to notice how much more land lies on the north than on the south of the equator. If you turn the globe so that your eye shall look straight down on the site of London, you will find that most of the land on the globe comes into sight; whereas, if you turn the globe exactly round, and look straight down on the area of New Zealand, you will see most of the sea. London thus stands about the centre of the land-hemisphere, midway among the countries of the earth. And no doubt this central position has not been without its influence in fostering the progress of British commerce.

In the third place, you will notice that by the way in which the masses of land are placed, parts of the sea are to some extent separated from each other. These masses of land are called continents, and the wide sheets of water between are termed oceans. Picture to yourselves that the surface of the solid part of the earth is uneven, some portions rising into broad swellings and ridges, others sinking into wide hollows and basins. Now, into these hollows the sea has been gathered, and only those upstanding parts which rise above the level of the sea form the land.

When you come to examine the water of the sea, you find that it differs from the water with which you are familiar on the land, inasmuch as it is salt. It contains something which you do not notice in ordinary spring or river water. If you take a drop of clear spring water, and allow it to evaporate from a piece of glass, you will find no trace left behind. Take, however, a drop of sea water and allow it to evaporate. You find a little white point or film left behind, and on placing that film under a microscope you see it to consist of delicate crystals of common or sea salt. It would not matter from what ocean you took the drop of water, it would still show the crystals of salt on being evaporated.

There are some other things beside common salt in sea water. But the salt is the most abundant, and we need not trouble about the rest at present. Now, where did all this mineral matter in the sea come from? The salt of the sea is all derived from the waste of the rocks.

It has already been pointed out how, both underground and on the surface of the land, water is always dissolving out of the rocks various mineral substances, of which salt is one. Hence the water of springs and rivers contains salt, and this is borne away into the sea. So that all over the world there must be a vast quantity of salt carried into the ocean every year.

The sea gives off again by evaporation as much water as it receives from rain and from the rivers of the land. But the salt carried into it remains behind. If you take some salt water and evaporate it the pure water disappears, and the salt is left. So it is with the sea. Streams are every day carrying fresh supplies of salt into the sea. Every day, too, millions of tons of water are passing from the ocean into vapor in the atmosphere. The waters of the sea must consequently be getting salter by degrees. The process, however, is an extremely slow one.

Although sea water has probably been gradually growing in saltness ever since rivers first flowed into the great sea, it is even now by no means as salt as it might be. In the Atlantic Ocean, for example, the total quantity of the different salts amounts only to about three and a half parts in every hundred parts of water. But in the Dead Sea, which is extremely salt, the proportion is as much as twenty-four parts in the hundred of water.

Standing by the shore and watching for a little the surface of the sea, you notice how restless it is. Even on the calmest summer day, a slight ripple or a gentle heaving motion will be seen.

Again, if you watch a little longer, you will find that whether the sea is calm or rough, it does not remain always at the same limit upon the beach. At one part of the day the edge of the water reaches to the upper part of the sloping beach; some six hours afterward it has retired to the lower part. You may watch it falling and rising day by day, and year by year, with so much regularity that its motion can be predicted long beforehand. This ebb and flow of the sea forms what are called tides.

If you cork up an empty bottle and throw it into the sea, it will of course float. But it will not remain long where it fell. It will begin to move away, and may travel for a long distance until thrown upon some shore again. Bottles cast upon mid-ocean have been known to be carried in this way for many hundreds of miles. This surface-drift of the sea water corresponds generally with the direction in which the prevalent winds blow.

But it is not merely the surface water which moves. You have learnt a little about icebergs; and one fact about them which you must remember is that, large as they may seem, there is about seven times more of their mass below water than above it. Now, it sometimes happens that an iceberg is seen sailing on, even right in the face of a strong wind. This shows that it is moving, not with the wind, but with a strong under-current in the sea. In short, the sea is found to be traversed by many currents, some flowing from cold to warm regions, and others from warm to cold.

Here, then, are four facts about the sea:—1st, it has a restless surface, disturbed by ripples and waves; 2ndly, it is constantly heaving with the ebb and flow of the tides; 3dly, its surface waters drift with the wind; and 4thly, it possesses currents like the atmosphere.

For the present it will be enough if we learn something regarding the first of these facts—the waves of the sea.

Here again you may profitably illustrate by familiar objects what goes on upon so vast a scale in nature. Take a basin, or a long trough of water, and blow upon the water at one edge. You throw its surface into ripples, which, as you will observe, start from the place where your breath first hits the water, and roll onward until they break in little wavelets upon the opposite margin of the basin.

What you do in a small way is the same action by which the waves of the sea are formed. All these disturbances of the smoothness of the sea are due to disturbances of the air. Wind acts upon the water of the sea as your breath does on that of the basin. Striking the surface it throws the water into ripples or undulations, and in continuing to blow along the surface it gives these additional force, until driven on by a furious gale they grow into huge billows.

When waves roll in on the land, they break one after another upon the shore, as your ripples break upon the side of the basin. And they continue to roll in after the wind has fallen, in the same way that the ripples in the basin will go on curling for a little after you have ceased to blow. The surface of the sea, like that of water generally, is very sensitive. If it is thrown into undulations, it does not become motionless the moment the cause of disturbance has passed away, but continues moving in the same way, but in a gradually lessening degree, until it comes to rest.

The restlessness of the surface of the sea becomes in this way a reflection of the restlessness of the air. It is the constant moving to and fro of currents of air, either gentle or violent, which roughens the sea with waves. When the air for a time is calm above, the sea sleeps peacefully below; when the sky darkens, and a tempest bursts forth, the sea is lashed into waves, which roll in and break with enormous force upon the land.

You have heard, perhaps you have even seen, something of the destruction which is worked by the waves of the sea. Every year piers and sea walls are broken down, pieces of the coast are washed away, and the shores are strewn with the wreck of ships. So that, beside all the waste which the surface of the land undergoes from rain, and frost, and streams, there is another form of destruction going on along the coast-line.

On some parts of the coast-line of the east of England, where the rock is easily worn away, the sea advances on the land at a rate of two or three feet every year. Towns and villages which existed a few centuries ago, have one by one disappeared, and their sites are now a long way out under the restless waters of the North Sea. On the west coast of Ireland and Scotland, however, where the rocks are usually hard and resisting, the rate of waste has been comparatively small.

It would be worth your while the first time you happen to be at the coast, to ascertain what means the sea takes to waste the land. This you can easily do by watching what happens on a rocky beach. Get to some sandy or gravelly part of the beach, over which the waves are breaking, and keep your eye on the water when it runs back after a wave has burst. You see all the grains of gravel and sand hurrying down the slope with the water; and if the gravel happens to be coarse, it makes a harsh grating noise as its stones rub against each other—a noise sometimes loud enough to be heard miles away. As the next wave comes curling along, you will mark that the sand and gravel, after slackening their downward pace, are caught up by the bottom of the advancing wave and dragged up the beach again, only to be hurried down once more as the water retires to allow another wave to do the same work.

By this continual up and down movement of the water, the sand and stones on the beach are kept grinding against each other, as in a mill. Consequently they are worn away. The stones become smaller, until they pass into mere sand, and the sand, growing finer, is swept away out to sea and laid down at the bottom.

But not only the loose materials on the shore suffer in this way an incessant wear and tear, the solid rocks underneath, wherever they come to the surface, are ground down in the same process. When the waves dash against a cliff they hurl the loose stones forward, and batter the rocks with them. Here and there in some softer part, as in some crevice of the cliff, these stones gather together, and when the sea runs high they are kept whirling and grinding at the base of the cliff till, in the end, a cave is actually bored by the sea in the solid rock, very much in the same way as holes are bored by a river in the bed of its channel. The stones of course are ground to sand in the process, but their place is supplied by others swept up by the waves. If you enter one of these sea-caves when the water is low, you will see how smoothed and polished its sides and roof are, and how well rounded and worn are the stones lying on its floor.

So far as we know, the bottom of the sea is very much like the surface of the land. It has heights and hollows, lines of valleys and ranges of hills. We can not see down to the bottom where the water is very deep, but we can let down a long line with a weight tied to the end of it, and find out both how deep the water is, and what is the nature of the bottom, whether rock or gravel, sand, mud, or shells. This measuring of the depths of the water is called sounding, and the weight at the end of the line goes by the name of the sounding-lead.

Soundings have been made over many parts of the sea, and something is now known about its bottom, though much still remains to be discovered. The Atlantic Ocean is the best known. In sounding it, before laying down the telegraphic cable which stretches across under the sea from this country to America, a depth of 14,500 feet, or two miles and three-quarters, was reached. But between the Azores and the Bermudas a sounding has been obtained of seven miles and a half. If you could lift up the Himalaya mountains, which are the highest on the globe, reaching a height of 29,000 feet above the sea, and set them down in the deepest part of the Atlantic, they would not only sink out of sight, but their tops would actually be about two miles below the surface.

A great part of the wide sea must be one or two miles deep. But it is not all so deep as that, for even in mid-ocean some parts of its bottom rise up to the surface and form islands. As a rule it deepens in tracts furthest from land, and shallows toward the land. Hence those parts of the sea which run in among islands and promontories are, for the most part, comparatively shallow.

You may readily enough understand how it is that soundings are made, though you can see how difficult it must be to work a sounding line several miles long. Yet men are able not only to measure the depth of the water, but by means of the instrument called a dredge, to bring up bucketfuls of whatever may be lying on the sea floor, from even the deepest parts of the ocean. In this way during the last few years a great deal of additional knowledge has been gathered as to the nature of the sea floor, and the kind of plants and animals which live there. We now know that even in some of the deepest places which have yet been dredged there is plenty of animal life, such as shells, corals, star-fishes, and still more humble creatures.

We can not, indeed, examine the sea bottom with anything like the same minuteness as the surface of the land. Yet a great deal may be learnt regarding it.

If you put together some of the facts with which we have been dealing in the foregoing lessons, you may for yourselves make out some of the most important changes which are in progress on the floor of the sea. For example, try to think what must become of all the wasted rock which is every year removed from the surface of the land. It is carried into the sea by streams, as you have now learnt. But what happens to it when it gets there? From the time when it was loosened from the sides of the mountains, hills, or valleys, this decomposed material has been seeking, like water, to reach a lower level. On reaching the hollows of the sea bottom it can not descend any further, but must necessarily accumulate there.

It is evident, then, that between the floor of the sea and the surface of the land, there must be this great difference: that whereas the land is undergoing a continual destruction of its surface, from mountain crest to sea shore, the sea bottom, on the other hand, is constantly receiving fresh materials on its surface. The one is increased in proportion as the other is diminished. So that even without knowing anything regarding what men have found out by means of deep soundings, you could confidently assert that every year there must be vast quantities of gravel, sand and mud laid down upon the floor of the sea, because you know that these materials are worn away from the land.

Again, you have learnt that the restless agitation of the sea is due to movements of the air, and that the destruction which the sea can effect on the land is due chiefly to the action of the waves caused by wind. But this action must be merely a surface one. The influence of the waves can not reach to the bottom of the deep sea. Consequently that bottom lies beyond the reach of the various kinds of destruction which so alter the face of the land. The materials which are derived from the waste of the land can lie on the sea floor without further disturbance than they may suffer from the quiet flow of such ocean currents as touch the bottom.

In what way, then, are the gravel, sand and mud disposed of when they reach the sea?

As these materials are all brought from the land, they accumulate on those parts of the sea floor which border the land, rather than at a distance. We may expect to find banks of sand and gravel in shallow seas and near land, but not in the middle of the ocean.

You may form some notion, on a small scale, as to how the materials are arranged on the sea bottom by examining the channel of a river in a season of drought. At one place, where the current has been strong, there may be a bank of gravel; at another place, where the currents of the river have met, you will find, perhaps, a ridge of sand which they have heaped up; while in those places where the flow of the stream has been more gentle, the channel may be covered with a layer of fine silt or mud. You remember that a muddy river may be made to deposit its mud if it overflows its banks so far as to spread over flat land which checks its flow.

The more powerful a current of water, the larger will be the stones it can move along. Hence coarse gravel is not likely to be found over the bottom of the sea, except near the land, where the waves can sweep it out into the path of strong sea currents. Sand will be carried further out, and laid down in great sheets, or in banks. The finer mud and silt may be borne by currents for hundreds of miles before at last settling down upon the sea bottom.

In this way, according to the nearness of the land, and the strength of the ocean currents, the sand, mud, and gravel worn from the land are spread out in vast sheets and banks over the bottom of the sea.

SUNDAY READINGS.

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

[January 6.]

ON SPIRITUAL CHRISTIANITY.

By ISAAC TAYLOR.

Read the Gospels, simply as historical memoirs; and by such aids as they alone supply, make yourself acquainted with him who is the subject of these narrations. Bring the individual conception as distinctly as possible before the mind; allow the moral sense to confer, in its own manner, and at leisure, with this unusual form of humanity. “Behold the man”—even the Savior of the world, and say whether it be not historic truth that is before the eye. The more peculiar is this form, yet withal symmetrical, the more infallible is the impression of reality we thence receive. What we have to do with in this instance, is not an undefined ideal of wisdom and goodness, conveyed in round affirmations, or in eulogies; but with a self-developed individuality, in conveying which the writers of the narrative do not appear. In this instance, if in any, the medium is transparent: nothing intervenes between the reader and the personage of the history, in whose presence we stand, as if not separated by time and space.

It may be questioned whether the entire range of ancient history presents any one character in colors of reality so fresh as those which distinguish the personage of the evangelic memoirs. The sages and heroes of antiquity—less and less nearly related, as they must be, to any living interests, are fading amid the mists of an obsolete world; but he who “is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever,” is offered to the view of mankind, in the eyes of immortality, fitting a history, which, instead of losing the intensity of its import, is gathering weight by the lapse of time.

The Evangelists, by the translucency of their style, have given a lesson in biographical composition, showing how perfectly individual character may be expressed in a method which disdains every rule but that of fidelity. It is personal humanity, in the presence of which we stand, while perusing the Gospels, and to each reader apart, if serious and ingenuous, and yet incredulous, the Savior of the world addresses a mild reproof—“It is I. Behold my hands and my feet; reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side, and be not faithless but believing.” And can we do otherwise than grant all that is now demanded, namely, that the Evangelists record the actions and discourses of a real person?

It is well to consider the extraordinary contrasts that are yet perfectly harmonized in the personal character of Christ. At a first glance, he always appears in his own garb of humility—lowliness of demeanor is his very characteristic. But we must not forget that this lowliness was combined with nothing less than a solemnly proclaimed and peremptory challenge of rightful headship over the human race! Nevertheless, the oneness of the character, the fair perfection of the surface, suffers no rent by this blending of elements so strangely diverse. Let us then bring before the mind, with all the distinctness we can, the conception of the Teacher, more meek than any who has ever assumed to rule the opinions of mankind, and who yet, in the tones proper to tranquil modesty, and as conscious at once of power and right, anticipates that day of wonder, when “the king shall sit on the throne of his glory,” with his angels attendant; and when “all nations shall be gathered before him,” from his lips to receive their doom! The more these elements of personal character are disproportionate, the more convincing is the proof of reality which arises from their harmony.

We may read the Evangelists listlessly, and not perceive this evidence; but we can never read them intelligently without yielding to it our convictions.

If the character of Christ be, as indeed it is, altogether unmatched in the circle of history, it is even less so by the singularity of the intellectual and moral elements which it combines, than by the sweetness and perfection which result from their union. This will appear the more, if we consider those instances in which the combination was altogether of an unprecedented kind.

Nothing has been more constant in the history of the human mind, whenever the religious emotions have gained a supremacy over the sensual and sordid passions, than the breaking out of the ascetic temper in some of its forms; and most often in that which disguises virtue, now as a specter, now as a maniac, now as a mendicant, now as a slave, but never as the bright daughter of heaven. Of the three Jewish sects extant in our Lord’s time, two of them—that is to say, the two that made pretensions to any sort of piety, had assumed the ascetic garb, in its two customary species—the philosophic (the Essenes) and the fanatical (the Pharisees); and so strong and uniform is this crabbed inclination, that Christianity itself, in violent contrariety to its spirit and its precepts, went off into the ascetic temper, within a century after the close of the apostolic age, or even earlier.

Under this aspect, then, let us for a moment consider the absolutely novel phenomenon of the Teacher of a far purer morality than the world had heretofore ever listened to; yet himself affecting no singularities in his modes of living. The superiority of the soul to the body was the very purport of his doctrine; and yet he did not waste the body by any austerities! The duty of self-denial he perpetually enforced; and yet he practiced no factitious mortifications! This Teacher, not of abstinence, but of virtue; this Reprover, not of enjoyment, but of vice, himself went in and out among the social amenities of ordinary life with so unsolicitous a freedom as to give color to the malice of hypocrisy, in pointing the finger at him, saying, “Behold a gluttonous man, and a winebibber; a friend (companion) of publicans and sinners!” Should we not then note this singular apposition and harmony of qualities, that he who was familiar with the festivities of heaven did not any more disdain the poor solaces of mortality, than disregard its transient pains and woes? Follow this same Jesus from the banquets of the opulent, where he showed no scruples in diet, to the highways and wildernesses of Judea, where, never indifferent to human sufferings, he healed—“as many as came unto him.”

These remarkable features in the personal character of Christ have often, and very properly, been adduced as instances of the unrivaled wisdom and elevation which mark him as preëminent among the wise and good.

It is not, however, for this purpose that we now refer to them, but rather as harmonies, altogether inimitable, and which put beyond doubt the historic reality of the person. Thus considered, they must be admitted by calm minds as carrying the truth of Christianity itself.

[January 13.]

There are, however, those who will readily grant us what, indeed, they can not with any appearance of candor deny—the historic reality of the person of Christ, and the more than human excellence which his behavior and discourses embody; but at this point they declare that they must stop. Let such persons see to it—they can not stop at this point; for just at this point there is no ground on which foot may stand.

What are the facts?

The inimitable characteristics of nature attach to what we may call the common incidents of the evangelic history, and in which Jesus of Nazareth is seen mingling himself with the ordinary course of social life.

But is it true that these characteristics suddenly, and in each instance, disappear when this same person is presented to us walking on another, and a high path, namely, that of supernatural power? It is not so, and, on the contrary, very many of the most peculiar and infallible of those touches of tenderness and pathos which so generally mark the evangelic narrative, belong precisely to the supernatural portions of it, and are inseparably connected with acts of miraculous beneficence. We ask that the Gospels be read with the utmost severity of criticism, and with this especial object in view, namely, to inquire whether those indications of reality which have already been yielded to as irresistible evidences of truth, do not belong as fully to the supernatural, as they do to the ordinary incidents of the Gospel? or in other words, whether, unless we resolve to overrule the question by a previous determination, any ground of simply historic distinction presents itself, marking off the supernatural from the ordinary events of the evangelic narratives?

If we feel ourselves to be conversing with historic truth, as well as with heavenly wisdom, when Jesus is before us, seated on the mountain-brow, and delivering the Beatitudes to his disciples; is it so that the colors become confused, and the contour of the figures unreal, when the same personage, in the midst of thousands, seated by fifties on the grassy slope, supplies the hunger of the multitude by the word of his power? Is it historic truth that is presented when the fearless Teacher of a just morality convicts the rabbis of folly and perversity; and less so when, turning from his envious opponents, he says to the paralytic, “Take up thy bed and walk?” Nature herself is before us when the repentant woman, after washing the Lord’s feet with her tears, and wiping them with her hair, sits contrasted with the obdurate and uncourteous Pharisee; but the very same bright forms of reality mark the scene when Jesus, filled with compassion at the sight of a mother’s woe, stays the bier and renders her son alive to her bosom.

Or, if we turn to those portions of the Gospels in which the incidents are narrated more in detail, and where a greater variety of persons is introduced, and where, therefore, the supposition of fabrication is the more peremptorily excluded, it is found that the supernatural and the ordinary elements are in no way to be distinguished in respect of the simple vivacity with which both present themselves to the eye. The evangelic narrative offers the same bright translucency, the same serenity, and the same precision, in reporting the most astounding as the most familiar occurrences. It is like a smooth-surfaced river, which, in holding its course through a varied country reflects from its bosom at one moment the amenities of a homely border, and at the next the summits of the Alps, and both with the same unruffled fidelity.

As the subject of a rigorous historic criticism, and all hypothetical opinions being excluded, no pretext whatever presents itself for drawing a line around the supernatural portions of the Gospels, as if they were of suspicious aspect, and differed from the context in historic verisimilitude. Without violence done to the rules of criticism, we can not detach the miraculous portions of the history, and then put together the mutilated portions, so as to consist with the undoubted reality or the part which is retained.

Or take the narrative of the raising of Lazarus of Bethany. A brilliant vividness, as when a sunbeam breaks from between clouds, illumines this unmatched history; and it rests with equal intensity upon the stupendous miracle, and upon the beauty and grace of the scene of domestic sorrow. If we follow Martha and Mary from the house to the spot where they meet their friend, and give a half-utterance to their confidence in his power, at what step—let us distinctly determine—at what step, as the group proceeds toward the sepulchre, shall we halt and refuse to accompany it? Where is the break in the story, or the point of transition, and where does history finish, and the spurious portion commence? Is it when we approach the cave’s mouth that the gestures of the persons become unreal, and the language untrue to nature? Where is it that the indications of tenderness and majesty disappear—at the moment when Jesus weeps, or when he invokes his Father, or when, with a voice which echoes in hades, he challenges the dead to come forth; or is it when “he who was dead” obeys this bidding?

We affirm that, on no principles which a sound mind can approve, is it possible either to deny the reality of the natural portions of this narrative, or to sever these from the supernatural. But this is not enough; for it might be in fact more easy to offer some intelligible solution of the difficulty attaching to the supposition that the gospels are not true, in respect of the ordinary, than of the extraordinary portion of their materials. If we were to allow it to be possible (which it is not) that writers showing so little inventive or plastic powers as do Matthew the Publican, and John of Galilee, should, with the harmony of truth, have carried their imaginary Master through the common acts and incidents of his course; never could they, no, nor writers the most accomplished, have brought him, in modest simplicity, through the miraculous acts of that course. Desperate must be the endeavor to show that, while the ordinary events of the gospel must be admitted as true, the extraordinary are incredible. On the contrary, it would be to the former, if to any, that a suspicion might attach; for, as to the latter, they can not but be true: if not true, whence are they?

The skepticism, equally condemned as it is by historical logic and by the moral sense, which allows the natural and disallows the supernatural portion of the history of Christ, is absolutely excluded when we compare, in the four Gospels separately, the narrative of what precedes the resurrection, with the closing portions, which bring the crucified Jesus again among his disciples.

[January 20.]

If those portions of the evangelic history which reach to the moment of the death of Christ are, in a critical sense, of the same historic quality as those which run on to the moment of his ascension, and if the former absolutely command our assent—if they carry it as by force, then, by a most direct inference, “is Christ risen indeed,” and become the first fruits of immortality to the human race. Then it is true that, “as in Adam all die, so in Christ shall all be made alive.” No narrative is anywhere extant comparable to that of the days and hours immediately preceding the crucifixion; and the several accounts of the hurried events of those days present the minute discrepancies which are always found to belong to genuine memoirs, compiled by eye-witnesses.

The last supper and its sublime discourses; the agony in the garden, the behavior of the traitor, the scenes in the hall of the chief priest, and before the judgment-seat of the Roman procurator, and in the palace of Herod, and in the place called the Pavement, and on the way from the city, and in the scene on Calvary, are true—if anything in the compass of history be true.

But now, if our moral perceptions are in this way to be listened to, not less incontestably real are the closing chapters of the four Gospels, in which we find the same sobriety and the same vivacity; the same distinctness and the same freshness; the same pathos and the same wisdom, and the same majesty; and yet all chastened by the recollected sorrows of a terrible conflict just passed, and mellowed with the glow of a triumph at hand.

Let it be imagined that writers such as the Evangelists might have led their Master as far as to Calvary; but could they, unless truth had been before them, have reproduced him from the sepulchre? What abruptness, harshness, extravagance, what want of harmony, would have been presented in the closing chapters of the Gospels, if the same Jesus had not supplied the writers with their materials by going in and out among them after his resurrection.

On the supposition that Christ did not rise from the dead, let any one whose moral tastes are not entirely blunted, read the narrative of his encounter with Mary in the garden, and with his disciples in the inner chamber, and again on the shore of the lake; let him study the perfect simplicity and yet the warmth of the interview with the two disciples on their way to Emmaus. The better taste of modern times, and the just sense of what is true in sentiment and pure in composition, give us an advantage in an analysis of this sort. Guided, then, by the instincts of the most severe taste, let us spread before us the final portion of the Gospel of Luke, namely, the twenty-fourth chapter, which reports a selection of the events occurring between the early morning of the first day of the week, and that moment of wonder when, starting from the world he had ransomed, the Savior returned whence he had come. Will any one acquainted with antiquity affirm that any writer, Greek, Roman, or barbarian, has come down to us, whom we can believe capable of conceiving at all of such a style of incident or discourse; or who, had he conceived it, could have conveyed his conception in a style so chaste, natural, calm, lucid, pure? Nothing like this narrative is contained in all the circle of fiction, and nothing equal to it in all the circle of history; and yet nothing is more perfectly consonant with the harmonies of nature. We may listlessly peruse this page, each line of which wakens a sympathy in every bosom which itself responds to truth. But if we ponder it, if we allow the mind to grasp the several objects, we are vanquished by the conviction that all is real. But if real, and if Christ be risen indeed, then is Christianity indeed a religion of facts; and then we are fully entitled to a bold affirmation and urgent use of whatever inferences may thence be fairly deduced.

Acute minds will not be slow to discern, as in perspective before them, the train of those inferences which we shall feel ourselves at liberty to deduce from the admission that Christianity is historically true. This admission can not, we are sure, be withheld; and yet let it not be made with a reserved intention to evade the consequences. What are they? They are such as embrace the personal well-being of every one; for, if Christianity be a history, it is a history still in full progress; it is a history running on, far beyond the dim horizon of human hopes and fears.

[January 27.]

But it is said, all this, at the best, is moral evidence only; and those who are conversant with mathematical demonstrations, and with the rigorous methods of physical science, must not be required to yield their convictions easily to mere moral evidence.

We ask, have those who are accustomed thus to speak, actually considered the import of their objection; or inquired what are the consequences it involves, if valid? We believe not; and we think so, because the very terms are destitute of logical meaning; or imply, if a meaning be assigned to them, a palpable absurdity.

If, for a moment, we grant an intelligible meaning to the objection as stated, and consent to understand the terms in which it is conveyed, as they are often used, then we affirm that some portion of even the abstract sciences is less certain than are very many things established by what is called moral evidence—that a large amount of what is accredited as probably true within the circle of the physical and mixed sciences is immeasurably inferior in certainty to much which rests upon moral evidence; and further, that so far from its being reasonable to reject this species of evidence, the mere circumstance of a man’s being known to distrust it in the conduct of his daily affairs, would be held to justify, in his case, a commission of lunacy.

No supposition can be more inaccurate than that which assumes the three kinds of proof, mathematical, physical, and moral, to range, one beneath the other, in a regular gradation of certainty; as if the mathematical were in all cases absolute; the physical a degree lower, or, as to its results, in some degree, and always, less certain than those of the first; and, by consequence, the third being inferior to the second, necessarily far inferior to the first; and therefore, always much less certain than that which alone deserves to be spoken of as certain, and in fact barely trustworthy in any case.

Any such distribution of the kinds of proof is mere confusion, illogical abstractedly, and involving consequences, which, if acted upon, would appear ridiculously absurd.

It is indeed true that the three great classes of facts—the universal, or absolute (mathematical and metaphysical)—the general, or physical, and the individual (forensic and historical) are pursued and ascertained by three corresponding methods, or, as they might be called, three logics. But it is far from being true that the three species of reasoning hold an exclusive authority or sole jurisdiction over the three classes of facts above mentioned. Throughout the physical sciences the mathematical logic is perpetually resorted to, while even within the range of the mathematical the physical is, once and again, brought in as an aid. But if we turn to the historical and forensic department of facts, the three methods are so blended in the establishment of them, that to separate them altogether is impracticable; and as to moral evidence, if we use the phrase in any intelligible sense, it does but give its aid, at times, on this ground; and even then the conclusions to which it leads rest upon inductions which are physical, rather than moral.

The conduct of a complicated historical or forensic argument concerning individual facts, resembles the manipulations of an adroit workman, who, having some nice operation in progress, lays down one tool and snatches up another, and then another, according to the momentary exigencies of his task.

That sort of evidence may properly be called moral, which appeals to the moral sense, and in assenting to which, as we often do with an irresistible conviction, we are unable, with any precision, to convey to another mind the grounds of our firm belief. It is thus often that we estimate the veracity of a witness or judge of the reality or spuriousness of a written narrative. But then even this sort of evidence, when nicely analyzed, resolves itself into physical principles.

What are these convictions which we find it impossible to clothe in words, but the results in our minds, of slow, involuntary inductions concerning moral qualities, and which, inasmuch as they are peculiarly exact, are not to be transfused into a medium so vague and faulty as is language, at the best?

As to the mass of history, by far the larger portion of it rests, in no proper sense, upon moral evidence. To a portion the mathematical doctrine of probabilities applies—for it may be as a million to one—that an alleged fact, under all the circumstances, is true. But the proof of the larger portion resolves itself into our knowledge of the laws of the material world, and of those of the world of mind. A portion also is conclusively established by a minute scrutiny of its agreement with that intricate combination of small events which makes up the course of human affairs.

Every real transaction, especially those which flow on through a course of time, touches this web-work of small events at many points, and is woven into its very substance. Fiction may indeed paint its personages so as for a moment to deceive the eye, but it has never succeeded in the attempt to foist its factitious embroideries upon the tapestry of truth.

We might take as an instance that irresistible book in which Paley has established the truth of the personal history of St. Paul (“The Horæ Paulinæ”). It is throughout a tracing of the thousand fibres by which a long series of events connects itself with the warp and woof of human affairs. To apply to evidence of this sort, the besom of skepticism, and sweepingly to remove it as consisting only in moral evidence, is an amazing instance of confusion of mind.

It is often loosely affirmed that history rests mainly upon moral evidence. Is then a Roman camp moral evidence? Or is a Roman road moral evidence? Or are these and many other facts, when appealed to as proof of the assertion that, in a remote age, the Romans held military occupation of Britain, moral evidence? If they be, then we affirm that, when complete in its kind, it falls not a whit behind mathematical demonstration, as to its certainty.

Although it is not true that Christianity rests mainly upon moral evidence, yet it is true that it might rest on that ground with perfect security.

It is to this species of evidence that we have now appealed; not as establishing the heavenly origin of Christianity, which it does establish, but simply as it attests the historic reality of the person of Christ, and here we must ask an ingenuous confession from whoever may be bound in foro conscientiæ to give it, that the notion of Christianity, and the habitual feelings toward it of many in this Christian country, are such as if brought to the test of severe reasoning could by no ingenuity be made to consist either with the supposition that Christianity is historically false, or that it is historically true! This ambiguous faith of the cultured, less reasonable than the superstitions of the vulgar (for they are consistent, which this is not,) could never hold a place in a disciplined mind but by an act, repeated from day to day, and similar to that of a man who should refuse to have the shutters removed from the windows on that side of his house whence he might descry the residence of his enemy.

If Christianity be historically true it must be granted to demand more than a respectful acknowledgment that its system of ethics is pure; or were it historically false, we ought to think ourselves to be outraging at once virtue and reason in allowing its name to pass our lips. While bowing to Christianity as good and useful, and yet not invested with authority toward ourselves, we are entangled in a web of inconsistencies, of which we are not conscious, only because we choose to make no effort to break through it. If Christianity be true, then it is true that “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ,” and must, “every one of us, give an account of himself to God.” What meaning do such words convey to the minds of those who, with an equal alarm, would see Christianity overthrown as a controlling power in the social system; or find it brought home to themselves, as an authority, they must personally bow to? Christians! How many amongst us are Christians, as men might be called philosophers, who, while naming Newton always with admiration, should yet reserve their interior assent for the very paganism of astronomy.

A religion of facts, we need hardly observe, is the only sort of religion adapted powerfully to affect the hearts of the mass of mankind; for ordinary or uncultured minds can neither grasp, nor will care for, abstractions of any kind. But then that which makes Christianity proper for the many, and indeed proper for all, if motives are to be effectively swayed, renders it a rock of offense to the few who will admit nothing that may not be reduced within the circle of their favored generalizations. Such minds, therefore, reject Christianity, or hold it in abeyance, not because they can disprove it, but because it will not be generalized, because it will not be sublimated, because it will not be touched by the tool of reason; because it must remain what it is—an insoluble mass of facts. In attempting to urge consistency upon such persons, the advocate of Christianity makes no progress, and has to return, ever and again, to his document, and to ask: Is this true, or false? If true, your metaphysics may be true also; but yet must not give law to your opinions; much less, govern your conduct.

Resolute as may be the determination of some to yield to no such control, nevertheless if the evangelic history be true, “one is our Master, even Christ.” He is our Master in abstract speculation—our Master in religious belief, our Master in morals, and in the ordering of every day’s affairs.

It will be readily admitted that this our first position, if it be firm, sweeps away, at a stroke, a hundred systems of religion, ancient and modern, which either have not professed to rest upon historic truth, or which have notoriously failed in making good any such pretension. These various schemes need not be named; they barely merit an enumeration; they are susceptible of no distinct refutation, for they are baseless, powerless, obsolete.

Say you that Christianity is intolerant in thus excluding all other systems? A religion which excludes that which is false is not therefore intolerant. If it be true, it must exclude all that is untrue. Let us have a religion willing to walk abreast with other religions—religions affirming what it denies, and denying what it affirms—but indulgent toward all. An intolerant religion is the religion of a sect, and of a sect in fear.

POLITICAL ECONOMY.

By G. M. STEELE, D.D.

IV.

DISTRIBUTION.

I. Distribution in economics embraces those principles on which the proceeds of industry are divided among the parties employed in their production.

If each man owned all the capital concerned in his business, and performed all the labor involved in each product, this question would be a very simple one. But when, as in the manufacture of chairs, of hardware and watches, and in the building of houses, there are many laborers of widely diverse capabilities, and especially when we remember that there are innumerable subsidiary occupations, as in the preparing of materials, the making of tools and machines, the protection of the workmen, the superintendence of the business, and in many other ways, the problem becomes a most complicated one.

The subject may be divided as follows:

1. Wages, or the compensation of labor.

2. Profits, or the compensation of the proprietor or employer.

3. Interest, or compensation for capital reckoned as money.

4. Rent, or compensation for the use of land.

5. Taxes, or compensation for protection by the government.

II. On the subject of wages diverse and contradictory opinions prevail. A large proportion of the British economists hold the theory that a low rate of wages is all that can be maintained, or is, on the whole, desirable among ordinary unskilled laborers. That a man should have compensation sufficient to furnish him with such food, raiment and shelter as are essential to keep him in good working condition; also, in addition, enough to enable him to support a wife (with what she can herself earn), and to rear at least two children, themselves prepared to become laborers; and to make some additional allowances for probable periods of sickness and inability to labor. So much is deemed absolutely essential even to the capitalist and employer, in order that their interests may not suffer. The school of writers referred to profess to find in the human constitution a law which prevents wages from going much beyond this limit. It is said that if they do go much beyond this, the population will multiply so rapidly, and the number of laborers will so greatly increase, that wages will not only fall back to their limit, but that great suffering will ensue.

Most American writers reject this view, though some of them appear to hold opinions logically implying it. Henry C. Carey takes the ground that there is not only no such law, but that there is one of a diametrically opposite character, which as thoroughly coincides with, as this antagonizes, the general provisions of an all-wise and beneficent creator. This law, as developed by Mr. Carey, is substantially that in any community where violence is not done to natural principles in the relations between capitalists and laborers, the share of the latter in the joint product to which both are contributors, is constantly increasing. While at first the capitalist receives much more than half, as time and the development of society go on his proportion is steadily diminishing till it becomes a small fraction of the whole, while that of the laborer is steadily increasing. At the same time, though the proportion of the capitalist is always smaller, the amount is always larger, owing to the always increasing productiveness; and for the same reason both the proportion and the amount received by the labor is enhanced. Evidence of this might be made obvious by comparing the compensation received by laborers in the earlier ages of almost any civilized race as compared with that received in its most advanced stage; and this, too, notwithstanding the vast imperfections under which society has labored and the unnatural conditions to which the laboring classes in all the earlier periods of history have been subjected. In the opinion of some writers this law is one of the grandest and most important of the recent discoveries in political economy.

III. Wages depend upon various considerations. Some of the chief of these are physical ability, greater or less degree of skill, agreeableness or disagreeableness of the work, greater or less difficulty and cost of preparation, constancy or inconstancy of employment, amount of trust involved, intellectual and moral qualities required, social conditions, the character of the government, etc.

There is a distinction to be made between nominal and real wages. The former is the amount of money received for a certain amount of labor. The latter is the amount of useful commodities which that money will purchase. Sometimes a dollar a day is better compensation than a dollar and a half at other times, since in the latter case the dollar and a half may purchase fewer of the necessaries of life than the dollar in the former case.

Men fail sometimes to get a clear understanding of the terms dear labor and cheap labor. A Russian serf at fifty cents a day is dearer than an ordinary American laborer at a dollar and a half, simply because the labor of the latter would be about four or five times as efficient as that of the former. In other words, that labor is the cheapest which will produce the most at the least expense.

The interested and wise laborer will seek information wherever he can find it on the effect of even moderate education on individual wages, (and this he will find to be very considerable); on the sanitary conditions which are best for laborers, the real and ultimate effects of strikes and trades unions, and the advantages and disadvantages of coöperative industry and trade, and the great benefit to be derived from making the laborer a sharer in the profits of any business in which he may be engaged. The employer also would receive great benefit from a careful study of these same questions, as well as from a consideration of the results of paying in all cases not the lowest wages for which labor can be procured, but the highest which he can really afford, since in many cases the quality and quantity of work secured from this cause, more than compensates the extra outlay.

IV. Profits are the share of the product which go to the proprietor or employer. Very often the latter are confounded with the capitalist, and hence arises a like confusion concerning the nature of profits. Among more recent writers a distinct place is assigned to the employer, whereas formerly he was practically lost sight of. But in our modern system of industry he is one of the most important, if not actually the most important factor in the system. The capitalist is not necessarily an employer—more frequently than otherwise he is incompetent for this office. Nor is the employer always a capitalist. He is a man who must have the somewhat rare ability to organize and superintend labor so as to get the most possible out of it, and at the same time have such financial talent as will enable him to make the best possible disposition of his means in buying material, etc., and the best possible disposition of his goods in selling. Frequently the capital which he uses is borrowed. Profits, then, are what remains after paying all stipulated wages and salaries, including a fair compensation to the employer himself, together with the material, rent, interest on capital owned or borrowed, taxes, insurance, etc. Obviously no one would assume all the care and responsibility, and incur the risk implied in any considerable business unless something more was likely to come from it to him than what his talent and ability would bring in the way of salary. Sometimes the profit is very small; sometimes, also, it is very great. Free competition will furnish the requisite conditions usually, so that the profits will not be so large as to be disadvantageous to the community generally.

V. Interest depends upon various considerations. That the compensation implied is proper is obvious from the fact that though ostensibly money is that which is loaned, in most cases it is really capital in some other form; and no one denies that when a man lends his horse, or his mill, or his farm, he should receive something for the use of it.

The rate of interest depends upon several conditions: 1. The amount of money in circulation. 2. The amount of other capital. 3. The rate of profit, which again depends upon the industrial system and the state of society; as society develops the rate diminishes. 4. The security or insecurity of property. 5. The facilities with which the securities can be reconverted into money. 6. The promptness and regularity of the payment of the interest. On these last two conditions rests in part the low rate of interest on government bonds.

VI. Rent is intimately connected with the value of land, and land is the most important instrument and condition of wealth. In most countries, other than ours, the land is principally in the possession of a few owners who let it to other parties for agricultural and other purposes, and receive compensation therefor. The amount of compensation depends upon the value of the land. For this latter reason we may treat the whole question of the value of land under the head of rent, though on some accounts it should be considered in another place.

The theory respecting rent which has prevailed in England, and largely in this country for the most of the present century, is that of Ricardo; and closely connected with it is his theory of value. He held that rent arises in this way: On the first settling of a new country, where there is an abundance of more or less fertile land, none of the land has any value. Every man takes as much as he wants, selecting, of course, the most productive. As population increases the best land will be all taken up. Then those who want land must have a poorer quality, or a second grade. Now, one who gets this second quality would rather pay something for the first quality than to have the former for nothing. So when all the land of the second grade is all taken up, and the third quality begins to be occupied, it is deemed more profitable to pay something for the second quality, and still more for the first quality than to have the third for nothing. Closely connected with this theory of rent is that of Malthus concerning population, which is, that there is a law of the uniform increase of population, so that unless artificial checks are applied over-population must, at no distant day, become the condition and bane of humanity. Another theory closely related to both these is that of “diminishing returns,” as stated by J. S. Mill. Substantially this is, that after a certain, not very advanced period in the development of agriculture, a given amount of land will produce less and less in proportion to the labor expended upon it. That is, after a certain degree of culture, a given quantity of land which yields a given quantity of product, while it will produce more if the labor upon it is doubled, will not produce double the former quantity. It follows from these theories, taken in combination, that as men multiply and their wants increase, the provision for those wants proportionately diminishes—a most unnatural and dismal theory, and up to the present time quite contrary to human experience.

A more reasonable, more natural, and far more hopeful doctrine is that developed by Mr. Carey. He declares it altogether untrue that the most productive lands are those first occupied. On the contrary, in the infancy of society men are wholly unable to subdue the richer soils. These must wait till society becomes more numerous and capable of combination. At first only the thinner soils can be cultivated, on account of the feebleness of the inhabitants. Then, as the latter increase in numbers and in the power and art of combination, the deeper and heavier soils can be subdued, and finally, those which are covered with gigantic forests or rich swamps and vast deposits of vegetable mold. These are many times more productive than the soils first cultivated, and thus for a long period proportionately increasing instead of diminishing returns are found to go with the increase of population. There is scarcely any nation, the inhabitants of which have even now cultivated its most productive soil, and it is likely to be some time yet before the theoretical limit of diminishing returns is reached.

The Malthusian doctrine of population is also widely, though not universally rejected, and it is evident that various counteracting principles prevail to affect the law of the uniform increase of population, even if that were demonstrably or approximately true. It is tolerably obvious that the fecundity of the human race diminishes as its development and civilization increase. This, taken in connection with the preceding statements, gives us great grounds, at least, for dispensing with the more forbidding features of what has been called “the dismal science.”

Mr. Carey’s theory of the occupancy of land, as he abundantly shows, is consistent, and the only one consistent, not only with the great fundamental principles of association, but with the facts reached in the history of every civilized nation. He also holds that the value of land depends upon the same principle as that of any other value, namely, the labor that has been expended upon it. For, as he shows, there is in general no land that has a value which exceeds that of the labor which has been requisite to bring it and the property related to it into its present condition.

VII. Taxation furnishes the compensation paid to the government for its protection. Government is simply the agent of society, and those who are the individual constituents of this agency are entitled to a share of the aggregate product proportionate to the amount and quality of the labor bestowed.

The great economical question concerning taxation is how to secure the greatest degree of protection to persons and property at the least possible expense to the persons protected. Its decision depends partly upon the expensiveness of the government agencies, and partly upon the methods of levying and collecting the taxes. As to the former, there is a great variety of usage in different nations, or in the same nation at different periods. Not only is this difference seen in the amount of compensation paid to personal agents directly concerned in the administration of public affairs, but in the costliness of the public buildings and other means for carrying out the purposes of the government. It is evident a true economy does not demand either parsimony or niggardliness in these respects. The best agents can only be secured by making the compensation to correspond to that paid for the same grade of services in other employments. The edifices and other structures and furniture should both correspond with the purposes for which they are to be used, and with the general style of expenditure prevailing in the community. But all expense for the mere sake of show, all extravagance and prodigality, and all compensation bestowed as a reason for partisan service or out of personal favoritism, is not only uneconomical, but for the most part fraudulent.

In the levying and collecting of taxes for revenue two general methods are pursued, namely, direct and indirect. In the former the tax is paid by the party upon whom it is levied. Such are taxes upon real estate, tools, machinery, domestic animals, etc. In indirect taxation the tax, though levied upon one person, is usually paid by another. Thus, during our civil war, there was a stamp-tax of one cent on each bunch of matches. The manufacturer paid the tax to the government, but the consumer of matches paid a cent more for each bunch of matches than it would have otherwise cost him. Duties on foreign imports are of this character.

Direct taxes, though by far more just and equable than indirect, are far less popular. The reason of this is doubtless to be found in the fact that when the tax-payer meets his obligation in the former case he does it consciously and with a clear sense that he is parting with so much actual wealth. In the latter case it is often done unconsciously, and almost always without realization of the fact. Yet, for this very reason, it is better that the tax be direct than indirect.

READINGS IN ART.

I. ARCHITECTURE.[I] INTRODUCTION.

Architecture may be described as building at its best, and when we talk of the architecture of any city or country we mean its best, noblest, or most beautiful buildings; and we imply by the use of the word that these buildings possess merits which entitle them to rank as works of art.

The architecture of the civilized world can be best understood by considering the great buildings of each important nation separately. The features, ornaments, and even forms of ancient buildings differed just as the speech, or at any rate the literature, differed. Each nation wrote in a different language, though the books may have been devoted to the same aims; and precisely in the same way each nation built in a style of its own, even if the buildings may have been similar in the purposes they had to serve. The division of the subject into the architecture of Egypt, Greece, Rome, etc., is therefore the most natural one to follow.

But certain broad groups, rising out of peculiarities of a physical nature, either in the buildings themselves or in the conditions under which they were erected, can hardly fail to be suggested by a general view of the subject. Such, for example, is the fourfold division to which the reader’s attention will now be directed.

All buildings, it will be found, can be classed under one or other of four great divisions, each distinguished by a distinct mode of building, and each also occupying a distinct place in history. The first series embraces the buildings of the Egyptians, the Persians, and the Greeks, and was brought to a pitch of the highest perfection in Greece during the age of Pericles. All the buildings erected in these countries during the many centuries which elapsed from the earliest Egyptian to the latest Greek works, however they may have differed in other respects, agree in this—that the openings, be they doors, or be they spaces between columns, were spanned by beams of wood or lintels of stone. Hence this architecture is called architecture of the beam, or, in more formal language, trabeated architecture. This mode of covering spaces required that in buildings of solid masonry, where stone or marble lintels were employed, the supports should not be very far apart, and this circumstance led to the frequent use of rows of columns. The architecture of this period is accordingly sometimes called columnar, but it has no exclusive claim to the epithet; the column survived long after the exclusive use of the beam had been superseded, and the term columnar must accordingly be shared with buildings forming part of the succeeding series.

The second great group of buildings is that in which the semicircular arch is introduced into construction, and used either together with the beam, or, as mostly happened, instead of the beam, to span the openings. This use of the arch began with the Assyrians, and it reappeared in the works of the early Etruscans. The round-arched series of styles embraces the buildings of the Romans from their earliest beginnings to their decay; it also includes the two great schools of Christian architecture which were founded by the Western and the Eastern Church respectively—namely, the Romanesque, which, originating in Rome, extended itself through Western Europe, and lasted till the time of the Crusades, and the Byzantine, which spread from Constantinople over all the countries in which the Eastern (or Greek) Church flourished, and which continues to our own day.

The third group of buildings is that in which the pointed arch is employed instead of the semicircular arch to span the openings. It began with the rise of Mohammedan architecture in the East, and embraces all the buildings of Western Europe, from the time of the First Crusade to the revival of art in the fifteenth century. This great series of buildings constitutes what is known as pointed, or, more commonly, as gothic architecture.

The fourth group consists of the buildings erected during or since the Renaissance (i. e., revival) period, and is marked by a return to the styles of past ages or distant countries for the architectural features and ornaments of buildings; and by that luxury, complexity, and ostentation which, with other qualities, are well comprehended under the epithet modern. This group of buildings forms what is known as Renaissance architecture, and extends from the epoch of the revival of letters in the fifteenth century to the present day.

The first two of these styles occupy those remote times of pagan civilization which may be conveniently included under the broad term ancient; and the better known work of the Greeks and Romans—the classic nations—and they extend over the time of the establishment of Christianity down to the close of that dreary period not incorrectly termed the dark ages.

It may excite surprise that what appears to be so small a difference as that which exists between a beam, a round arch, or a pointed arch, should be employed in order to distinguish three of the four great divisions. But in reality this is no pedantic or arbitrary grouping. The mode in which spaces or openings are covered lies at the root of most of the essential differences between styles of architecture, and the distinction thus drawn is one of a real, not of a fanciful nature.

Every building when reduced to its elements, as will be done in these papers, may be considered as made up of its (1) floor or plan, (2) walls, (3) roof, (4) openings, (5) columns, and (6) ornaments, and as marked by its distinctive (7) character, and the student must be prepared to find that the openings are by no means the least important of these elements. In fact, the moment the method of covering openings was changed, it would be easy to show, did space permit, that all the other elements, except the ornaments, were directly affected by the change, and the ornaments indirectly; and we thus find such a correspondence between this index feature and the entire structure as renders this primary division a scientific though a very broad one.

A division of buildings into such great series as these can not, however, supersede the more obvious historical and geographical divisions. The architecture of every ancient country was partly the growth of the soil, i. e., adapted to the climate of the country, and the materials found there, and partly the outcome of the national character of its inhabitants, and of such influences as race, colonization, commerce, or conquest brought to bear upon them. These influences produced strong distinctions between the work of different peoples, especially before the era of the Roman Empire. Since that period of universal dominion all buildings and styles have been influenced more or less by Roman art. We accordingly find the buildings of the most ancient nations separated from each other by strongly marked lines of demarcation, but those since the era of the empire showing a considerable resemblance to one another. The circumstance that the remains of those buildings only which received the greatest possible attention from their builders have come down to us from any remote antiquity, has perhaps served to accentuate the differences between different styles, for these foremost buildings were not intended to serve the same purpose in all countries. Nothing but tombs and temples have survived in Egypt. Palaces only have been rescued from the decay of Assyrian and Persian cities; and temples, theaters, and places of public assembly are the chief, almost the only remains of architecture in Greece.

A strong contrast between the buildings of different ancient nations rises also from the differing point of view for which they were designed. Thus, in the tombs, and, to a large extent, the temples of the Egyptians, we find structures chiefly planned for internal effect; that is to say, intended to be seen by those admitted to the sacred precincts, but only to a limited extent appealing to the admiration of those outside. The buildings of the Greeks, on the other hand, were chiefly designed to please those who examined them from without; and though no doubt some of them, the theaters especially, were from their very nature planned for interior effect, by far the greatest works which Greek art produced were the exteriors of the temples.

The works of the Romans, and, following them, those of almost all western Christian nations, were designed to unite external and internal effect; but in many cases external was evidently most sought after, and, in the north of Europe, many expedients—such, for example, as towers, high-pitched roofs, and steeples—were introduced into architecture with the express intention of increasing external effect. On the other hand, the eastern styles, both Mohammedan and Christian, especially when practiced in sunny climates, show in many cases a comparative disregard of external effect, and that their architects lavished most of their resources on the interiors of their buildings.

Passing allusions have been made to the influence of climate on architecture; and the student whose attention has been once called to this subject will find many interesting traces of this influence in the designs of buildings erected in various countries. Where the power of the sun is great, flat terraced roofs, which help to keep buildings cool, and thick walls are desirable. Sufficient light is admitted by small windows far apart. Overhanging eaves, or horizontal cornices, are in such a climate the most effective mode of obtaining architectural effect, and accordingly in the styles of all southern peoples these peculiarities appear. The architecture of Egypt, for example, exhibited them markedly. Where the sun is still powerful, but not so extreme, the terraced roof is generally replaced by a sloping roof, steep enough to throw off water, and larger openings are made for light and air; but the horizontal cornice still remains the most appropriate means of gaining effects of light and shade. This description will apply to the architecture of Italy and Greece. When, however, we pass to northern countries, where snow has to be encountered, where light is precious, and where the sun is low in the heavens for the greater part of the day, a complete change takes place. Roofs become much steeper, so as to throw off snow. The horizontal cornice is to a large extent disused, but the buttress, the turret, and other vertical features, from which a level sun will cast shadows, begin to appear; and windows are made numerous and spacious. This description applies to gothic architecture generally—in other words, to the styles which rose in northern Europe.

The influence of materials on architecture is also worth notice. Where granite, which is worked with difficulty, is the material obtainable, architecture has invariably been severe and simple; where soft stone is obtainable, exuberance of ornament makes its appearance, in consequence of the material lending itself readily to the carver’s chisel. Where, on the other hand, marble is abundant and good, refinement is to be met with, for no other building material exists in which very delicate mouldings or very slight or slender projections maybe employed with the certainty that they will be effective. Where stone is scarce, brick buildings, with many arches, roughly constructed cornices and pilasters, and other peculiarities both of structure and ornamentation, make their appearance, as, for example, in Lombardy and North Germany. Where materials of many colors abound, as is the case, for example, in the volcanic districts of France, polychromy is sought as a means of ornamentation. Lastly, where timber is available, and stone and brick are both scarce, the result is an architecture of which both the forms and the ornamentation are entirely dissimilar to those proper to buildings of stone, marble, or brick.

EGYPTIAN ARCHITECTURE.

The remains of Egyptian architecture with which we are acquainted indicate four distinct periods of great architectural activity: (1) the period of the fourth dynasty, when the great pyramids were erected (probably 3500 to 3000 B. C.); (2) the period of the twelfth dynasty, to which belong the remains at Beni-Hassan; (3) the period of the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties, when Thebes was in its glory, which is attested by the ruins of Luxor and Karnak; and (4) the Ptolemaic period, of which there are the remains at Denderah, Edfou, and Philæ. The monuments that remain are almost exclusively tombs and temples. The tombs are, generally speaking, all met with on the east or right bank of the Nile: among them must be classed those grandest and oldest monuments of Egyptian skill, the pyramids, which appear to have been all designed as royal burying-places. A large number of pyramids have been discovered, but those of Gizeh, near Cairo, are the largest and the best known, and also probably the oldest which can be authenticated. The three largest pyramids are those of Cheops, Cephren, and Mycerinus at Gizeh. These monarchs all belonged to the fourth dynasty, and the most probable date to be assigned to them is about 3000 B. C. The pyramid of Cheops is the largest, and is the one familiarly known as the Great Pyramid; it has a square base, the side of which is 760 feet long,[J] a height of 484 feet, and an area of 577,600 square feet. In this pyramid the angle of inclination of the sloping sides to the base is 51° 51′, but in no two pyramids is this angle the same. There can be no doubt that these huge monuments were erected each as the tomb of an individual king, whose efforts were directed toward making it everlasting, and the greatest pains were taken to render the access to the burial chamber extremely hard to discover. This accounts for the vast disproportion between the lavish amount of material used for the pyramid and the smallness of the cavity enclosed in it.

The material employed was limestone cased with syenite (granite from Syene), and the internal passages were lined with granite. The granite of the casing has entirely disappeared, but that employed as linings is still in its place, and so skilfully worked that it would not be possible to introduce even a sheet of paper between the joints.

In the neighborhood of the pyramids are found a large number of tombs which are supposed to be those of private persons. Their form is generally that of a mastaba or truncated pyramid with sloping walls, and their construction is evidently copied from a fashion of wooden architecture previously existing. The same idea of making an everlasting habitation for the body prevailed as in the case of the pyramids, and stone was therefore the material employed; but the builders seem to have desired to indulge in a decorative style, and as they were totally unable to originate a legitimate stone architecture, we find carved in stone, rounded beams as lintels, grooved posts, and—most curious of all—roofs that are an almost exact copy of the early timber huts when unsquared baulks of timber were laid across side by side to form a covering.

When we come to the series of remains of the twelfth dynasty at Beni-Hassan, in middle Egypt, we meet with the earliest known examples of that most interesting feature of all subsequent styles—the column. Whether the idea of columnar architecture originated with the necessities of quarrying—square piers being left at intervals to support the superincumbent mass of rock as the quarry was gradually driven in—or whether the earliest stone piers were imitations of brickwork or of timber posts, we shall probably never be able to determine accurately, though the former supposition seems the more likely. We have here monuments of a date fourteen hundred years anterior to the earliest known Greek examples, with splendid columns, both exterior and interior, which no reasonable person can doubt are the prototypes of the Greek doric order.

Egyptian temples can be generally classed under two heads: (1) the large principal temples, and (2) the small subsidiary ones called Typhonia or Mammisi. Both kinds of temple vary little, if at all, in plan from the time of the twelfth dynasty down to the Roman dominion.

The large temples consist almost invariably of an entrance gate flanked on either side by a large mass of masonry, called a pylon, in the shape of a truncated pyramid. The axis of the ground-plan of these pylons is frequently obliquely inclined to the axis of the plan of the temple itself; and indeed one of the most striking features of Egyptian temples is the lack of regularity and symmetry in their construction. The entrance gives access to a large courtyard, generally ornamented with columns: beyond this, and occasionally approached by steps, is another court, smaller than the first, but much more splendidly adorned with columns and colossi; beyond this again, in the finest examples, occurs what is called the hypostyle hall, i. e., a hall with two rows of lofty columns down the center, and at the sides other rows, more or less in number, of lower columns; the object of this arrangement being that the central portion might be lighted by a kind of clerestory above the roof of the side portions. This hypostyle hall stood with its greatest length transverse to the general axis of the temple, so that it was entered from the side. Beyond it were other chambers, all of small size, the innermost being generally the sanctuary, while the others were probably used as residences by the priests. Homer’s hundred-gated Thebes, which was for so long the capital of Egypt, offers at Karnak and Luxor the finest remains of temples; what is left of the former evidently showing that it must have been one of the most magnificent buildings ever erected in any country.

It must not be imagined that this temple of Karnak, together with the series of connected temples is the result of one clearly conceived plan; on the contrary, just as has been frequently the case with our own cathedrals and baronial halls, alterations were made here and additions there by successive kings one after another without much regard to connection or congruity, the only feeling that probably influenced them being that of emulation to excel in size and grandeur the erections of their predecessors, as the largest buildings were almost always of latest date. The original sanctuary, or nucleus of the temple, was built by Usertesen I., the second or third king of the twelfth dynasty.

Extensive remains of temples exist at Luxor, Edfou, and Philæ. It should be noticed that all these large temples have the mastaba form, i. e., the outer walls are not perpendicular on the outside, but slope inward as they rise, thus giving the buildings an air of great solidity.

The Mammisi exhibit quite a different form of temple from those previously described, and are generally found in close proximity to the large temples. They are generally erected on a raised terrace, rectangular in plan and nearly twice as long as it was wide, approached by a flight of steps opposite the entrance; they consist of oblong buildings, usually divided by a wall into two chambers, and surrounded on all sides by a colonnade composed of circular columns or square piers placed at intervals, and the whole is roofed in. A dwarf wall is frequently found between the piers and columns, about half the height of the shaft. These temples differ from the larger ones in having the outer walls perpendicular.

The constructional system pursued by the Egyptians, which consisted in roofing over spaces with large horizontal blocks of stone, led of necessity to a columnar arrangement in the interiors, as it was impossible to cover large areas without frequent upright supports. Hence the column became the chief means of obtaining effect, and the varieties of form which it exhibits are very numerous. The sculptors appear to have imitated as closely as possible the forms of the plant-world around them. In one they represent a bundle of reeds or lotus stalks. The stalks are bound round with several belts, and the capital is formed by the slightly bulging unopened bud of the flower, above which is a small abacus with the architrave resting upon it: the base is nothing but a low circular plinth. The square piers also have frequently a lotus bud carved on them. At the bottom of the shaft is frequently found a decoration imitated from the sheath of leaves from which the plant springs. As a further development of this capital we have the opened lotus flower of a very graceful bell-like shape, ornamented with a similar sheath-like decoration to that at the base of the shaft. This decoration was originally painted only, not sculptured, but at a later period we find these sheaths and buds worked in stone. Even more graceful is the palm capital, which also had its leading lines of decoration painted on it at first, and afterward sculptured. At a later period of the style we find the plant forms abandoned, and capitals were formed of a fantastic combination of the head of Isis with a pylon resting upon it. In one part of the temple at Karnak is found a very curious capital resembling the open lotus flower inverted. The proportion which the height of Egyptian columns bears to their diameter differs so much in various cases that there was evidently no regular standard adhered to, but as a general rule they have a heavy and massive character. The wall-paintings of the Egyptian buildings show many curious forms of columns, but we have no reason for thinking that these fantastic shapes were really executed in stone.

Almost the only sculptured ornaments worked on the exteriors of buildings were the curious astragal or bead at all the angles, and the cornice, which consisted of a very large cavetto, or hollow moulding, surmounted by a fillet. These features are almost invariable from the earliest to the latest period of the style. This cavetto was generally enriched, over the doorways, with an ornament representing a circular boss with a wing at each side of it.

One other feature of Egyptian architecture which was peculiar to it must be mentioned, namely, the obelisk. Obelisks were nearly always erected in pairs in front of the pylons of the temples, and added to the dignity of the entrance. They were invariably monoliths, slightly tapering in outline, carved with the most perfect accuracy; they must have existed originally in very large numbers. Not a few of these have been transported to Europe, and at least twelve are standing in Rome, one is in Paris and one in London.

ANALYSIS OF BUILDINGS.

The early rock-cut tombs were, of course, only capable of producing internal effects; their floor presents a series of halls and galleries, varying in size and shape, leading one out of the other, and intended by their contrast or combination to produce architectural effect. To this was added in the latter rock-cut tombs a façade to be seen directly in front. Much the same account can be given of the disposition of the built temples. They possess one front, which the spectator approaches, and they are disposed so as to produce varied and impressive interiors, but not to give rise to external display. The supports, such as walls, columns, piers, are all very massive and very close together, so that the only wide open spaces are courtyards.

The circle, or octagon, or other polygonal forms do not appear in the plans of Egyptian buildings; but though all the lines are straight, there is a good deal of irregularity in spacing, walls which face one another are not always parallel, and angles which appear to be right angles very often are not so.

The later buildings extend over much space. The adjuncts to these buildings, especially the avenues of sphinxes, are planned so as to produce an air of stately grandeur, and in them some degree of external effect is aimed at.

The walls are uniformly thick, and often of granite or of stone, though brick is also met with; e. g., some of the smaller pyramids are built entirely of brick. In all probability the walls of domestic buildings were to a great extent of brick, and less thick than those of the temples; hence they have all disappeared.

The surface of walls, even when of granite, was usually plastered with a thin fine plaster, which was covered by the profuse decoration in color already alluded to.

The walls of the propylons tapered from the base toward the top, and the same thing sometimes occurred in other walls. In almost all cases the stone walls are built of very large blocks, and they show an unrivaled skill in masonry.

The roofing which remains is executed entirely in stone, but not arched or vaulted. The rock-cut tombs, however, contain ceilings of an arched shape, and in some cases forms which seem to be an imitation of timber roofing. The roofing of the hypostyle hall at Karnak provides an arrangement for admitting light very similar to the clerestory of gothic cathedrals.

The openings were all covered by a stone lintel, and consequently were uniformly square-headed. The interspaces between columns were similarly covered, and hence Egyptian architecture has been, and correctly, classed as the first among the styles of trabeated architecture. Window openings seldom occur.

The columns have been already described to some extent. They are almost always circular in plan, but the shaft is sometimes channeled. They are for the most part of sturdy proportions, but great grace and elegance are shown in the profile given to shafts and capitals. The design of the capitals especially is full of variety, and admirably adapts forms obtained from the vegetable kingdom. The general effect of the Egyptian column, wherever it is used, is that it appears to have, as it really has, a great deal more strength than is required. The fact that the abacus (the square block of stone introduced between the moulded part of the capital and what it carries) is often smaller in width than the diameter of the column aids very much to produce this effect.

Mouldings are very rarely employed; in fact, the large bead running up the angles of the pylons, etc., and a heavy hollow moulding doing duty as a cornice, are all that are usually met with. Sculpture and carving occur occasionally, and are freely introduced in later works, where we sometimes find statues incorporated into the design of the fronts of temples. Decoration in color, in the shape of hieroglyphic inscriptions and paintings of all sorts, was profusely employed, and is executed with a truth of drawing and a beauty of coloring that have never been surpassed. Almost every object drawn is partly conventionalized, in the most skillful manner, so as to make it fit its place as a piece of a decorative system.

The character is gloomy, and to a certain extent forbidding, owing to the heavy walls and piers and columns, and the great masses supported by them; but when in its freshness and quite uninjured by decay or violence, the exquisite coloring of the walls and ceilings and columns must have added a great deal of beauty: this must have very much diminished the oppressive effect inseparable from such massive construction and from the gloomy darkness of many portions of the buildings. It is also noteworthy that the expenditure of materials and labor is greater in proportion to the effect attained than in any other style. The pyramids are the most conspicuous example of this prodigality. Before condemning this as a defect in the style, it must be remembered that a stability which should defy enemies, earthquakes, and the tooth of time, was far more aimed at than architectural character; and that, had any mode of construction less lavish of material, and less perfect in workmanship, been adopted, the buildings of Egypt might have all disappeared ere this.

SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE.

FITZ GREENE HALLECK.

If one is not too critical there is a good deal of pleasure to be got out of Halleck’s volume.—National Magazine (1852).

Dana, Halleck and Bryant rose together on steady wings and gave voices to the solitude; Dana with a broad, grave undertone like that of the sea; Bryant with a sound as of the wind in summer woods, and the fall of waters in mountain dells; and Halleck with strains blown from a silver trumpet, breathing manly fire and courage.—Bayard Taylor.

To * * * *

The world is bright before thee,

Its summer flowers are thine,

Its calm, blue sky is o’er thee,

Thy bosom pleasure’s shrine;

And thine the sunbeam given,

To nature’s morning hour,

Pure, warm, as when from heaven

It burst on Eden’s bower.

There is a song of sorrow,

The death-dirge of the gay,

That tells, ere dawn of morrow,

These charms may melt away,

That sun’s bright beam be shaded,

That sky be blue no more,

The summer flowers be faded,

And youth’s warm promise o’er.

Believe it not, though lonely

Thy evening home may be;

Though beauty’s bark can only

Float on a summer sea;

Though time thy bloom is stealing,

There’s still beyond his art

The wild-flower wreath of feeling,

The sunbeam of the heart.

In Memory of Joseph Rodman Drake.

Green be the turf above thee,

Friend of my better days!

None knew thee but to love thee,

Nor named thee but to praise.

Tears fell when thou wert dying,

From eyes unused to weep,

And long, where thou art lying,

Will tears the cold turf steep.

When hearts whose truth was proven,

Like thine, are laid in earth,

There should a wreath be woven

To tell the world their worth;

And I, who woke each morrow

To clasp thy hand in mine,

Who shared thy joy and sorrow,

Whose weal and woe were thine,—

It should be mine to braid it

Around thy faded brow,

But I’ve in vain essayed it,

And feel I cannot now.

While memory bids me weep thee,

Nor thoughts nor words are free,

The grief is fixed too deeply

That mourns a man like thee.

There are some happy moments in this lone

And desolate world of ours, that well repay

The toil of struggling through it, and atone

For many a long, sad night and weary day.

They come upon the mind like some wild air

Of distant music, when we know not where,

Or whence, the sounds are brought from, and their power,

Though brief, is boundless.

RICHARD HENRY DANA.

Among the first to make a creditable appearance in the field of American literature was Richard Henry Dana, the last of the writers of his generation who achieved success both in prose and verse, and won the right to be ranked among the most vigorous authors of the first half of the present century.—James Grant Wilson.

From “THOUGHTS ON THE SOUL.”

Turn with me from pining thought

And all the inward ills that sin has wrought;

Come, send abroad a love for all who live,

And feel the deep content in turn they give.

Kind wishes and good deeds—they make not poor;

They’ll home again, full laden, to thy door.

The streams of love flow back where they begin;

For springs of outward joys lie deep within.

E’en let them flow, and make the places glad

Where dwell thy fellow-men, shouldst thou be sad,

And earth seems bare, and hours, once happy, press

Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness

More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear

The music of those waters running near;

And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream,

And thine eye gladden with the playing beam,

That now upon the water dances. Now,

Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.

Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell

The power that wrought so beautiful a spell?

In thine own bosom, brother? Then, as thine,

Guard with a reverent fear this power divine,

And if, indeed, ’tis not the outward state,

But temper of the soul, by which we rate

Sadness or joy, e’en let thy bosom move

With noble thoughts, and wake thee into love;

And let each feeling in thy breast be given

An honest aim, which, sanctified by heaven,

And springing into act, new life imparts,

Till beats thy frame as with a thousand hearts.

The earth is full of life; the living hand

Touched it with life; and all its forms expand

With principles of being made to suit

Man’s varied powers, and raise from the brute.

And shall the earth of higher ends be full,—

Earth which thou tread’st,—and thy poor mind be dull,

Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep!

Thou “living dead man,” let thy spirits leap

Forth to the day, and let the fresh air blow

Thro’ thy soul’s shut-up mansion. Wouldst thou know

Something of what is life, shake off this death;

Have thy soul feel the universal breath

With which all nature’s quick, and learn to be

Sharer in all thou dost touch or see;

Break from thy body’s grasp, thy spirit’s trance;

Give to thy soul air, thy faculties expanse;

Love, joy, e’en sorrow—yield thyself to all!

They make thy freedom, groveller, not thy thrall,

Knock off the shackles which thy spirit bind

To dust and sense, and set at large the mind;

Then move in sympathy with God’s great whole;

And be, like man at first, A Living Soul!

A Clump of Daisies.

Ye daisies gay,

This fresh spring day

Closed gathered here together,

To play in the light,

To sleep all the night,

To abide through the sullen weather;

Ye creatures bland,

A simple band,

Ye free ones, linked in pleasure,

And linked when your forms

Stoop low in the storms,

And the rain comes down without measure;

When the wild clouds fly

Athwart the sky,

And ghostly shadows, glancing,

Are darkening the gleam

Of the hurrying stream,

And your close, bright heads gayly dancing;

Though dull awhile,

Again ye smile;

For, see, the warm sun breaking;

The stream’s going glad,

There’s nothing now sad,

And the small bird his song is waking.

The dew-drop sip

With dainty lip!

The sun is low descended,

And moon, softly fall

On troops true and small;

Sky and earth in one kindly blended.

And, morning! spread

Their jewelled bed

With lights in the east sky springing;

And, brook! breathe around

Thy low murmured sound!

May they move, ye birds, to your singing;

For in their play

I hear them say,

Here, man, thy wisdom borrow;

In heart be a child,

In words, true and mild;

Hold thy faith, come joy, or come sorrow.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

Bryant’s writings transport us into the depths of the solemn, primeval forest, to the shores of the lonely lakes, the banks of the wild, nameless stream, or the brow of the rocky upland, rising like a promontory from amidst a wild ocean of foliage; while they shed around us the glory of a climate fierce in its extremes, but splendid in its vicissitudes.—Washington Irving.

His soul is charity itself—in all respects generous and noble.—Edgar A. Poe.

We may have had elsewhere as faithful citizens; as industrious journalists; as ripe scholars, and poets, it may be, equally gifted and inspired, but where have we had another who has combined in his own person all these? In him a rare combination of extraordinary qualities was united; strength and gentleness, elevation of thought and childlike simplicity, genius, common-sense, and practical wisdom. Where there were controverted questions, whether men agreed with him or not, they never for an instant doubted his nobleness of purpose.—Rev. R. C. Waterston.

To the Fringed Gentian.

Thou blossom bright with autumn dew,

And colored with the heaven’s own blue,

That openest when the quiet light

Succeeds the keen and frosty night,—

Thou comest not when violets lean

O’er wandering brooks and springs unseen,

Or columbines, in purple drest,

Nod o’er the ground-bird’s hidden nest.

Thou waitest late, and com’st alone,

When woods are bare, and birds are flown,

And frosts and shortening days portend

The aged year is near its end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye

Look through its fringes to the sky,

Blue, blue, as if that sky let fall

A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see

The hour of death draw near to me,

Hope, blossoming within my heart,

May look to heaven as I depart.

Extract from Bryant’s Translation of the Iliad. Book I.

(620-774.)

*    *    *    But when now, at length,

The twelfth day came, the ever-living gods

Returned together to the Olympian mount

With Jove, their leader. Thetis kept in mind

Her son’s desire, and, with the early morn,

Emerging from the depths of ocean, climbed

To the great heaven and the high mount, and found

All-seeing Jove, who, from the rest apart,

Was seated on the loftiest pinnacle

Of many-peaked Olympus. She sat down

Before the son of Saturn, clasped his knees

With her left arm, and lifted up her right

In supplication to the Sovereign One:

“O Jupiter, my father, if among

The immortals I have ever given thee aid

By word or act, deny not my request.

Honor my son, whose life is doomed to end

So soon; for Agamemnon, king of men,

Hath done him shameful wrong: he takes from him

And keeps the prize he won in war. But thou,

Olympian Jupiter, supremely wise,

Honor him now, and give the Trojan host

The victory, until the humbled Greeks

Heap large increase of honors on my son.”

She spake, but cloud-compelling Jupiter

Answered her not; in silence long he sat.

But Thetis, who had clasped his knees at first,

Clung to them still, and prayed him yet again:—

“O promise me, and grant my suit; or else

Deny it,—for thou need’st not fear,—and I

Shall know how far below the other gods

Thou holdest me in honor.” As she spake,

The cloud-compeller, sighing heavily,

Answered her thus: “Hard things dost thou require,

And thou wilt force me into new disputes

With Juno, who will anger me again

With contumelious words; for ever thus,

In presence of the immortals, doth she seek

Cause of contention, charging that I aid

The Trojans in their battles. Now depart,

And let her not perceive thee. Leave the rest

To be by me accomplished; and that thou

Mayst be assured, behold, I give the nod;

For this, with me, the immortals know, portends

The highest certainty: no word of mine

Which once my nod confirms can be revoked,

Or prove untrue, or fail to be fulfilled.”

As thus he spake, the son of Saturn gave

The nod with his dark brows. The ambrosial curls

Upon the Sovereign One’s immortal head

Were shaken, and with them the mighty mount

Olympus trembled. Then they parted, she

Plunging from bright Olympus to the deep,

And Jove returning to his palace home;

Where all the gods, uprising from their thrones,

At sight of the Great Father, waited not

For his approach, but met him as he came.

And now upon his throne the Godhead took

His seat, but Juno knew—for she had seen—

That Thetis of the silver feet, and child

Of the gray Ancient of the Deep, had held

Close counsel with her consort. Therefore she

Bespake the son of Saturn harshly, thus:—

“O crafty one, with whom, among the gods,

Plottest thou now? Thus hath it ever been

Thy pleasure to devise, apart from me,

Thy plans in secret; never willingly

Dost thou reveal to me thy purposes.”

Then thus replied the Father of the gods

And mortals: “Juno, do not think to know

All my designs, for thou wilt find the task

Too hard for thee, although thou be my spouse.

What fitting is to be revealed, no one

Of all the immortals or of men shall know

Sooner than thou; but when I form designs

Apart from all the gods, presume thou not

To question me or pry into my plans.”

Juno, the large-eyed and august, rejoined:—

“What words, stern son of Saturn, hast thou said!

It never was my wont to question thee

Or pry into thy plans, and thou art left

To form them as thou wilt; yet now I fear

The silver-footed Thetis has contrived—

That daughter of the Ancient of the Deep—

To o’erpersuade thee, for, at early prime,

She sat before thee and embraced thy knees;

And thou hast promised her, I can not doubt,

To give Achilles honor and to cause

Myriads of Greeks to perish by their fleet.”

Then Jove, the cloud-compeller, spake again:—

“Harsh-tongued! thou ever dost suspect me thus,

Nor can I act unwatched; and yet all this

Profits thee nothing, for it only serves

To breed dislike, and is the worse for thee.

But were it as thou deemest, ’tis enough

That such has been my pleasure. Sit thou down

In silence, and obey, lest all the gods

Upon Olympus, when I come and lay

These potent hands on thee, protect thee not.”

He spake, and Juno, large-eyed and august,

O’erawed, and curbing her high spirit, sat

In silence; meanwhile all the gods of heaven

Within the halls of Jove were inly grieved.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

A man of true genius.—Edgar A. Poe.

A man’s heart beats in his every line.—George Gilfillan.

Of all our poets Longfellow best deserves the title of artist.—Griswold.

They (Longfellow’s poems) appear to me more beautiful than on former readings, much as I then admired them. The exquisite music of your verses dwells more agreeably than ever on my ear, and more than ever am I affected by their depth of feeling and their spirituality, and the creative power with which they set before us passages from the great drama of life.—William Cullen Bryant in letter to Longfellow.

Santa Filomena.

Whene’er a noble deed is wrought,

Whene’er is spoken a noble thought,

Our hearts, in glad surprise,

To higher levels rise.

The tidal wave of deeper souls

Into our inmost being rolls,

And lifts us unawares

Out of all meaner cares.

Honor to those whose words or deeds

Thus help us in our daily needs,

And by their overflow

Raise us from what is low!

Thus thought I, as by night I read

Of the great army of the dead,

The trenches cold and damp,

The starved and frozen camp,—

The wounded from the battle-plain,

In dreary hospitals of pain,

The cheerless corridors,

The cold and stony floors.

Lo! in that house of misery

A lady with a lamp I see

Pass through the glimmering gloom,

And flit from room to room.

And slow, as in a dream of bliss,

The speechless sufferer turns to kiss

Her shadow, as it falls

Upon the darkening walls.

As if a door in heaven should be

Opened and then closed suddenly,

The vision came and went,

The light shone and was spent.

On England’s annals, through the long

Hereafter of her speech and song,

That light its rays shall cast

From portals of the past.

A Lady with a Lamp shall stand

In the great history of the land,

A noble type of good,

Heroic womanhood.

Nor even shall be wanting here

The palm, the lily, and the spear,

The symbols that of yore

Saint Filomena bore.

Rural Life in Sweden.

There is something patriarchal still lingering about rural life in Sweden, which renders it a fit theme for song. Almost primeval simplicity reigns over that Northern land—almost primeval solitude and stillness. You pass out from the gate of the city, and, as if by magic, the scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. Around you are forests of fir. Overhead hang the long, fan-like branches, trailing with moss, and heavy with red and blue cones. Under foot is a carpet of yellow leaves; and the air is warm and balmy. On a wooden bridge you cross a little silver stream; and anon come forth into a pleasant and sunny land of farms. Wooden fences divide the adjoining fields. Across the road are gates, which are opened by troops of children. The peasants take off their hats as you pass; you sneeze, and they cry, “God bless you!” The houses in the villages and smaller towns are all built of hewn timber, and for the most part painted red. The floors of the taverns are strewn with the flagrant tips of fir boughs. In many villages there are no taverns, and the peasants take turns in receiving travelers. The thrifty housewife shows you into the best chamber, the walls of which are hung round with rude pictures from the Bible; and brings you her heavy silver spoons—an heirloom—to dip the curdled milk from the pan. You have oaten cakes baked some months before, or bread with anise-seed and coriander in it, or perhaps a little pine bark.

Meanwhile the sturdy husband has brought his horses from the plough, and harnessed them to your carriage. Solitary travelers come and go in uncouth one-horse chaises. Most of them have pipes in their mouths, and, hanging around their necks in front, a leather wallet, in which they carry tobacco, and the great bank-notes of the country, as large as your two hands. You meet, also, groups of Dalekarlian peasant-women, traveling homeward or townward in pursuit of work. They walk barefoot, carrying in their hands their shoes, which have high heels under the hollow of their foot, and soles of birch bark.

Near the churchyard gate stands a poor-box, fastened to a post by iron bands, and secured by a padlock, with a sloping wooden roof to keep off the rain. If it be Sunday, the peasants sit on the church steps and con their psalm-books. Others are coming down the road with their beloved pastor, who talks to them of holy things from beneath his broad-brimmed hat. He speaks of fields and harvests, and of the parable of the sower, that went forth to sow. He leads them to the Good Shepherd, and to the pleasant pastures of the spirit-land. He is their patriarch, and, like Melchizedek, both priest and king, though he has no other throne than the church pulpit. The women carry psalm-books in their hands, wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, and listen devoutly to the good man’s words. But the young men, like Gallio, care for none of these things. They are busy counting the plaits in the kirtles of the peasant girls, their number being an indication of the wearer’s wealth. It may end in a wedding.

Nor must I forget the suddenly changing seasons of the Northern clime. There is no long and lingering spring, unfolding leaf and blossom one by one; no long and lingering autumn, pompous with many-colored leaves and the glow of Indian summers. But winter and summer are wonderful, and pass into each other. The quail has hardly ceased piping in the corn, when winter from the folds of trailing clouds sows broadcast over the land snow, icicles, and rattling hail. The days wane apace. Erelong the sun hardly rises above the horizon, or does not rise at all. The moon and the stars shine through the day; only, at noon, they are pale and wan, and in the southern sky a red, fiery glow, as of sunset, burns along the horizon, and then goes out. And pleasantly under the silver moon, and under the silent, solemn stars, ring the steel-shoes of the skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the sound of bells.

Passages from Longfellow.

If you borrow my books do not mark them, for I shall not be able to distinguish your marks from my own, and the pages will become like the doors in Bagdad, marked by Morgiana’s chalk.

A torn jacket is soon mended; but hard words bruise the heart of a child.

THE CATHEDRAL OF ROUEN.—I unexpectedly came out in front of the magnificent cathedral. If it had suddenly risen from the earth the effect would not have been more powerful and instantaneous. It completely overpowered my imagination; and I stood for a long time motionless, gazing entranced upon the stupendous edifice. I had before seen no specimen of Gothic architecture, save the remains of a little church at Havre, and the massive towers before me, the lofty windows of stained glass, the low portal, with its receding arches and rude statues, all produced upon my untrained mind an impression of awful sublimity. When I entered the church the impression was still more deep and solemn. It was the hour of vespers. The religious twilight of the place, the lamps that burned on the distant altar, the kneeling crowd, the tinkling bell, and the chant of the evening service that rolled along the vaulted roof in broken and repeated echoes, filled me with new and intense emotions. When I gazed on the stupendous architecture of the church, the huge columns that the eye followed up till they were lost in the gathering dusk of the arches above, the long and shadowy aisles, the statues of saints and martyrs that stood in every recess, the figures of armed knights upon the tombs, the uncertain light that stole through the painted windows of each little chapel, and the form of the cowled and solitary monk, kneeling at the shrine of his favorite saint, or passing between the lofty columns of the church—all I had read of, but had not seen—I was transported back to the Dark Ages, and felt as I can never feel again.—Outre-Mer.

Bear through sorrow, wrong and ruth,

In thy heart the dew of youth,

On thy lips the smile of truth.

—Maidenhood.

As turning the logs will make a dull fire burn, so change of studies a dull brain.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

We often excuse our want of philanthropy by giving the name of fanaticism to the more ardent zeal of others.

[End of Required Reading for January.]

NIGHT.

By A. ST. J. A.

I saw the sun sink slowly in the west,

Painting the cloudless skies with liquid gold;

I saw the angel of the night unfold

His dewy wings, and lowly o’er his breast

Bow down his head in meek humility,

As one who works his Master’s wise behest.

I saw the moon in radiant garb uprise

And sail majestic o’er the tranquil skies,

Like some bright vessel on a waveless sea.

And as I gazed, a sense of perfect rest

Stole o’er me, and the sorrows that infest

The life of all no longer burdened me,

But, with the light, fled peacefully away.

Ceased had the plaintive carol of the thrush,

And stillness brooded over everything,

As if the dark-robed angel had unfurled

His ebon pinions and, from off his wing,

Shook silence down upon a sleeping world;

Or the last sigh of the departing day,

Borne through the trees in one long-whispered “Hush!”

Had breathed o’er all a spirit of repose.

So may life’s sun, which at the dawn uprose

Resplendent in its ever-growing light,

In peaceful glory sink at evening’s close

Beyond the margin of death’s silent sea,

And the grey shadows of that wondrous night,

Which ends in day eternal, fall on me.

ECCENTRIC AMERICANS.

By COLEMAN E. BISHOP.

III.—THE MORBID STATESMAN.

A study in morbid anatomy! John Randolph, of Roanoke, might have said, with Mrs. Gummidge, “everything goes contrary with me;” for not only every quality of his nature, but all the circumstances of his life conspired to create in him a sum of unhappiness not often concentrated upon one individual; and this, notwithstanding his opportunities for usefulness were exceptionally good, his career brilliant, his abilities of the highest order, and his motives in the main praiseworthy. To understand such untoward results flowing from such conditions we must as well know his surroundings as study his character.

John Randolph was born, near Petersburg, Va., June 2, 1773,—a subject of George III. He was descended on his father’s side from an old English family; on the other side from an older American family—a royal line, too, viz: that of Pocahontas, the Indian princess, by Captain Rolfe. In this fusion and confusion of blood can probably be found the cause of much disease in him, and of that decay of his family which brought such disappointment and disaster to his most cherished hopes. Indian blood showed itself in his swarthy complexion and straight black hair, in his placing one foot straight before the other in walking, and in his vengeful temper. The Randolphs led in the effort of Virginia planters to transplant the manners and institutions of the English aristocracy to the new country, with the very important difference that the American aristocracy was to be rooted in African slavery. This solecism was adhered to by the Randolphs after most of the other first families of Virginia had learned theories of government more American and more democratic. Such dreamers desired to have the English laws of entail and primogeniture reënacted by the Virginia legislature; defended slavery after it had become a burden and a loss to them, and had sunk Virginia from the first to the eighth rank among the states; and they advocated state-sovereignty to the last. Their conservatism became obstruction against all changes. Randolph condensed their theory of government into the famous aphorism, “a wise and masterly inactivity,” which his sympathetic biographer, as late as 1850, declared “embraces the whole duty of American statesmen.” So they were forced along with the progress of the country, backward—as the cattle went into the cave of Cacus—and with despairing gaze turned toward the receding past. “The country is ruined past redemption; it is ruined in the spirit and character of the people,” cried Randolph, when he found that the United States would not turn back, and he said he would leave the country if he could sell out and knew where to go. Hence, we find Randolph going through his varied political career, protesting like Hamlet:

“The times are out of joint. O, cursed spite,

That ever I was born to set them right.”

He was the last man to set anything right, having been born wrong himself. A more delicate, high-strung, untuned human instrument was never set up; it was, moreover, set in a frame out of order in every part. A skin as thin and delicate as a girl’s; nerves all on the surface; a remarkably precocious intellect of poetic cast; proud and affectionate in disposition, and “a spice of the devil in his temper,” as he said. “A spice!” This was a mild term (a thing Randolph was not often chargeable with using) to apply to a person who at the age of four years would fly into such a passion as to swoon away and remain for some time unconscious. Every function of his organism seemed to be influenced by his mood; his mood responded like a thermometer to his environment; disappointment or mental disturbance would upset the whole machine. Thus natural poetry, sweetness and affection were “like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;” and body and mind became in harmony morbid—almost the only harmony in his organization.

Life, at its best, jars harshly on such natures; but it dealt with the unfortunate Randolph with a severity that might have appalled and broken down a strong and healthy nature. Nothing but physical and moral courage as extraordinary as the rest of his qualities could have carried him through sixty years of pent-up purgatory. While an infant he lost his father; and his mother (“the only human being who ever knew me”) was taken away when he was fifteen. The sensitive, irritable, delicate child was left to “rough it” alone.

A succession of blows destroyed the dearest object of his life—the transmission of the family name and estates. One brother, Theodorick, died three years after his mother (1791), and three years later the eldest brother, Richard, the pride and hope of the family. The perpetuation of the line rested then on John and Richard’s two infant sons. John Randolph nursed these carefully to manhood, only to see one of them become a hopeless madman from disappointment in love, and the other sicken and die with consumption.

Meanwhile Randolph had himself received a wound which at once blasted his own happiness, and cut off the last hope of succession through himself. He loved; something, we know not what, came between him and his affianced and she married another. Undoubtedly a man of his intense and self-repressed nature threw into this passion extraordinary abandon. At least he never recovered from the disappointment and never married—though, be it said to his credit, cynical as he was, he retained through life the most profound respect for women, and found in their society the only alleviation of his lot. Late in life he wrote: “There was a volcano under my ice, but it is burnt out. The necessity of loving and being beloved was never felt by the imaginary beings of Rousseau’s and Byron’s creation more imperiously than by myself.” Randolph erected a cabin for himself among those of his slaves and there, when not in Congress or traveling abroad he spent his life in solitude, brooding over his misery and ruin, as wretched a recluse and misanthrope as ever breathed out a painful, hopeless existence.

To complete the sad picture, give the hapless victim of himself and circumstances a deeply religious nature and take away the consolations of hope and faith. This last drop was added to the cup and he sipped its dregs all his life. He brought his wonderful intellectual powers to bear on this subject; read, studied, thought, brooded, agonized over it in pursuit of spiritual peace; went through all the variations of skepticism, contrition, hope, despair, conversion, and relapse. Such an analytical mind coupled with a quick and self-depreciating conscience, a high ideal of religious experience, and a downright honesty of purpose could not compromise with its own extreme demands, could accept of no doubtful convictions or half-conversion. The very desire for salvation might seem selfish and unworthy to an unhealthy nature; the failure to feel, to live all that others profess (often without feeling) becomes to it conclusive evidence of the hopeless, forever-lost condition of self. Doubt brought self-condemnation for doubting; self-condemnation in turn brought new doubts. So, in a fog, he traveled perpetually in a circle.

But, through all these years of struggle and misery John Randolph was a just, a pure, a benevolent man, and he discharged his private and public duties with a fidelity and devotedness that they of sound mind and body might well emulate. The contrasts of mood and act of such a man were many and strong; they got him the credit of being crazy, and of being most so when he was most himself—such is the world’s usual perception of eccentricity.

The personal appearance of the man, however, encouraged this idea: Tawny complexion, tall thin form, spindle shanks, long hair in a queue, large, black, glowing eyes, pointed chin, beardless face, small effeminate hands, long tapering fingers, and, above all, a voice shrill, piercing, sonorous and magnetic as a woman’s. He dressed in drab or buck-skin breeches, with blue coat and white top-boots, or large buckled shoes. His manner was courteous and attractive to the few whom he regarded as his equals; to the rest of mankind he was dignified and reserved; to no one did he permit familiarity. A man introduced himself to Randolph as Mr. Blunt. “Blunt?” said he with a piercing and repellant glance; “Blunt! Ah, I should say so!”

Another stranger addressed him in Washington: “Mr. Randolph, I am just from Virginia; I passed your house a few days ago?” “Thank you, I hope you always will,” was the only encouragement the advance received.

Yet, in England, Randolph was thought very approachable and genial. An introduction was not necessary to an acquaintance at all. Perhaps the difference was largely in his health, which was better abroad.

John Randolph first came into prominence in politics in 1798, by the daring act of opposing on the stump the idol of Virginia, the venerable Patrick Henry. Henry took grounds against the State upon its nullification of the laws of the United States, although he had always been an extreme States-rights man. Young Randolph—then aged twenty-five—astounded everybody by daring to meet such a champion; but he had Henry’s former record in his favor, and he made a speech of such power that it carried him into the House of Representatives. Referring to these two men, the happy expression was used, “The Rising and the Setting Sun.” Henry died soon after.

Randolph took his seat in December, 1799. When he advanced to the Speaker’s desk to take the oath, the clerk, moved by his youthful and singular appearance, asked, “Are you old enough to be eligible?” “Ask my constituents,” was the only reply his State pride allowed him to make. In one month Randolph had become one of the best marked men of the nation. He broke with the administration of his party under Jefferson on “the Yazoo business”—a bit of early official corruption that rivals anything disclosed in later times. His opposition to the anti-English measures of Madison’s administration, and to the war of 1812, cost him his re-election, and he was retired. Henry Clay’s star was rising, and a new era was dawning. “The American system” of internal improvements, protection, manufactures, and Federal supremacy was taking shape. The irrepressible conflict of State versus Federal powers, had begun under Clay and Randolph—a conflict destined to lead to the duel between these two leaders, and ultimately to be appealed to the arbitrament of civil war.

Defeat cut John Randolph more deeply than it did David Crockett under similar circumstances. Randolph retired to his cabin and brooded; misanthropy gnawed like the vulture at the vitals of Prometheus bound. He longed for human sympathy, and was too proud to accept of it when proffered. It was during this season of disappointment and isolation that his severest religious discipline and the hope of conversion came; then also came the last sundering of his hopes of a lineal successor. “This business of living,” he said, “is dull work. I possess so little of pagan philosophy or of Christian patience as to be frequently driven to despair. * * I look forward without hope. * * I have been living in a world [in Washington] without souls, until my heart is dry as a chip, and cold as a dog’s nose.”

In 1815 Randolph rode into Congress again on the wave of reaction against the war and its burdens, and remained in the House until 1826, when he was elected to the Senate to fill a vacancy. His antagonism against Henry Clay reached a dangerous point in the struggle over the Missouri Compromise of 1820.

Randolph went to England in 1822. He took with him large quantities of books and magazines to be bound, as he would not “patronize our Yankee task-masters, who have caused such a heavy duty to be imposed on foreign books. I shall employ John Bull to bind my books until the time arrives when they can be properly done south of Mason and Dixon’s line.” He was received with much honor by all classes in England, where his stout championship of English ideas was well known. His singular appearance was heightened by his very great emaciation, and by a big fur cap with a long fore-piece which he wore. But the splendid intellect, fine manners, and brilliant conversational powers which shone out of this grotesqueness, made him even more noted.

The issue of the Presidential election of 1825 was the occasion of the Randolph-Clay duel. There had been no choice by the people, and the election went to the House of Representatives. Adams, Crawford, Clay and Jackson were the candidates. Clay’s friends threw the election to John Quincy Adams. When the latter made up his cabinet, Clay’s name appeared at the head, as Secretary of State. The disappointed friends of Jackson and Crawford immediately made charges of a bargain between Adams and Clay, but no one dwelt on it with such persistence and bitterness of invective as Randolph. In a speech in the Senate in 1826, he referred to Adams and Clay as “the coalition of Blifil and Black George—the combination, unheard of till then, of the Puritan with the blackleg.” He also charged Clay with forging or falsifying certain state documents which had been furnished the Senate. A challenge from Clay promptly followed, and was as promptly accepted, Randolph refusing to disclaim any personal meaning as to Clay.

“The night before the duel,” says General James Hamilton, of South Carolina, “Mr. Randolph sent for me. I found him calm, but in a singularly kind and confiding mood. He told me he had something on his mind to tell me. He then remarked, ‘Hamilton, I have determined to receive, without returning, Clay’s fire; nothing shall induce me to harm a hair of his head; I will not make his wife a widow, or his children orphans. Their tears would be shed over his grave; but when the sod of Virginia rests on my bosom, there is not in this wide world one individual to pay tribute upon mine.’ His eyes filled, and resting his head upon his hand, we remained some moments silent.”

All efforts to dissuade him from sacrificing himself were unavailing; but he appeared on the “field of honor” in a huge dressing-gown, in which the locale of his attenuated form was as well hidden as it would have been in a hogshead. Clay fired, and the ball passed through the gown where it was reasonable to suppose its wearer to be, but in fact was not. Randolph fired his shot in air, and then approaching Clay he vehemently called out in his shrill voice, “Mr. Clay, you owe me a cloak, sir, you owe me a cloak!” at the same time pointing to the hole in that wrap. Clay replied with much feeling, pointing to Randolph’s breast, “I am glad I am under no deeper obligation. I would not have harmed you for a thousand worlds.” This ended the encounter, but not the enmity, at least on Randolph’s part, as it was a matter of patriotic principle with him.

In 1827 he was again elected to the House, and immediately became the leader of the opposition, then called the Republican party. His speeches were numerous, and furnish some of the finest specimens of American eloquence. Many of his startling phrases became permanent additions to the list of Americanisms, as “bear-garden” (applied to the House of Representatives), and “dough-faces” (truckling Northern politicians). He was remarkable for eclecticism of words and careful accuracy of pronunciation.

When Jackson issued his famous proclamation against the South Carolina nullifiers, Randolph arose from his sick bed and actively canvassed the district, making inflammatory speeches from his carriage to arouse a public sentiment against the proclamation and its author—as if a skeleton, uttering a voice from the grave, had come back to awaken the living. Then we hear of him at the Petersburg races, making a speech and betting on the horses. It was probably on this occasion that he made the retort to a sporting man. Randolph excitedly offered a certain wager on one of the horses. A stranger proposed to take the bet, saying, “My friend Thompson here will hold the stakes.” “Yes,” squealed the skeleton statesman, suspiciously, “and who will hold Thompson?”

But the end was drawing on. Ill as he was, he made preparations to go abroad again, and in May, 1833, started for Philadelphia to take passage.

On the boat thence to Philadelphia the dying man—for such now he was—ate heartily of fried clams, asked an acquaintance to read for him and criticised every incorrect accent or pronunciation, and talked freely about men, measures, and especially about his horses, which were very fast. The closing scene took place in Philadelphia, in a hotel, among strangers,—fit finale of his desolate, homeless life.

He lingered several days, during which time he took, with great care, the necessary legal steps to confirm his will for the manumission of his slaves. This finally done, he seemed to feel easier in mind and body. The account of the strange end of the eventful history proceeds:

He now made his preparations to die. He directed John to bring him his father’s breast button; he then directed him to place it in the bosom of his shirt. It was an old-fashioned, large-sized gold stud. John placed it in the button hole of the shirt bosom—but to fix it completely required another hole on the other side. “Get a knife,” said he, “and cut one.” A napkin was called for, and placed by John, over his breast. For a short time he lay perfectly quiet, with his eyes closed. He suddenly roused up and exclaimed:

“Remorse! REMORSE!”

It was thrice repeated—the last time, at the top of his voice, with great agitation. He cried out, “Let me see the word. Get a dictionary! Let me see the word!”

“There is none in the room, sir.”

“Write it down then—let me see the word.”

The Doctor picked up one of his cards, “Randolph, of Roanoke.” “Shall I write on this?”

“Yes; nothing more proper.”

The word remorse was then written in pencil. He took the card in a hurried manner, and fastened his eyes on it with great intensity. “Write it on the back,” he exclaimed. It was so done and handed him again. He was extremely agitated.

“Remorse! you have no idea what it is; you can form no idea of it whatever; it has contributed to bring me to my present situation. But I have looked to the Lord Jesus Christ, and hope I have obtained pardon. Now let John take your pencil and draw a line under the word,” which was accordingly done.

“What am I to do with the card,” inquired the Doctor.

“Put it in your pocket, take care of it, and when I am dead, look at it.”

The dying man was propped up in the bed with pillows, nearly erect. Being extremely sensitive to cold, he had a blanket over his head and shoulders; and he directed John to place his hat on over the blanket, which aided in keeping it close to his head.

The scene was soon changed. Having disposed of that subject most deeply impressed on his heart, his keen, penetrating eye lost its expression, his powerful mind gave way, and his fading imagination began to wander amid scenes and with friends that he had left behind. In two hours the spirit took its flight, and all that was mortal of John Randolph of Roanoke was hushed in death. At a quarter before twelve o’clock, on the twenty-fourth day of June, 1833, aged sixty years, he breathed his last, in a chamber of the City Hotel, Philadelphia.

From the very necessities of the nature of an Eccentric, John Randolph could not be in harmony with the time in which he lived. But this difference was intensified into enmity by the irritable nature of his mind and the diseased condition of his body; nay, by his very virtues and genius. To increase the enmity and his own misfortune, he threw himself with ardor upon the losing side of an irrepressible conflict in government. I think posterity is better prepared to do him justice than were his contemporaries, for we have passed a settlement of the political conflict, and from pitying hearts can make full allowance for Randolph’s unhappy nature and unfortunate lot, while recognizing the purity, honesty and heroism of his character. Which of us would have been a better man in his situation?

THE STORK.

Translated from the Swedish, for THE CHAUTAUQUAN.[K]

An isle there is in airy distance

Where rise green forests, grim and tall,

Its name eludes one with persistence,

But occupied with genie small;

The dewy air is dawn’s fresh greeting,

And drowsy waves the reeds are beating,

There poppies grow, and lilies rare,

These only really thriving there,

But crimson-booted stork there feedeth,

To earthly mothers children leadeth.

In poppy scent with lilies vieing,

He gently flaps at water’s brink,

To capture chubby genie trying,

And begs them not to fear or shrink.

The bantlings, in whose souls are blended

Fragrance from both flowers expended,

Which makes the tender sense appear

In these both slumbering and clear,

Around the snowy stork would rally,

And ventured not, but wished to dally.

“Come here, come here,” a voice then crying,

The stork soon ruffles up his frill,

He sees two tiny urchins flying

So near as to be touched at will.

But oh, what wings, now waving lightly!

And feathers too, these shifting brightly

In green, as light as young birch leaves

When spring its bath of dew receives,

In red, as pale a hue revealing,

As streak at dawn, the mist concealing!

At night they breast to breast had slumbered,

In moonbeams’ silver veil did lie

On poppy-bed by waves unnumbered,

To angels’ sweetest lullaby.

Now stand they fresh as early morning,

In sprightly mood, all dullness scorning.

One cries, “Come, long-legs, come to me!”

The stork looks round quite loftily,

And straightway to the youngsters striding,

He asks them, “Do ye feel like riding?”

The boy then answers, “I would try it,

So on thy back pray let me sit!

On earth ’tis lovely, none deny it,

But be not ugly—gently flit!”

And up on snowy plumage springing,

A shower of down around him flinging,

Sat firm. The stork asked, “Lassie, thou,

Wilt thou not also travel now

And be a child to some good mother?”

But no—too timid, shy, this other.

They started off. The pleasure craving,

So free and wild on stork he flew,

And to his sister farewell waving,

Until at last was lost to view.

And she whose fear her trip prevented,

Now wished to be along, repented.

She felt so lonely, was not glad,

And when next year the stork she had,

Who late and early came and started,

Her wish to ride next time imparted.

He answered, “Come then, naught detaining!

’Twas stupid to refuse last year;

Not now the same good mother gaining

As he, the boy thou held so dear,

For she beneath the turf is sleeping;

But come, my little dove, now keeping

Most careful hold around my neck,

And scream not till our course we check!”

And round his neck her arms she twineth,

And heaven’s winds his flight assigneth.

On earth they grew up well protected,

The boy to manhood had attained,

A beauteous maiden, she, perfected,

When first they met, as seemed ordained.

Were early memories, reviving,

To draw them soul to soul now striving?

Was it the roguish stork, oh say,

That thus together brought their way?

I think that fate great fondness bore them,

When choosing different mothers for them.

But thou shouldst see the cot so sightly,

The woodland home in which they dwell!

The cause of it I know not rightly

Why storks just there should thrive so well,

And one especially, who hovers

On roof which inner chamber covers,

And goes and flaps with all his might

So crimson-booted, silver-white,

And best she worked, the mother hinted,

When he had sticks and straws unstinted.

Each fall he goes, the habit keeping,

But seen each spring again on roof,

From there o’er house and garden peeping;

And can I judge, or take as proof

The children I have seen there playing,

Full often has the stork been straying

To that fair poppy-covered isle,

And now brings lass with winsome smile,

And now a lovely boy, a treasure;

This must afford him constant pleasure.

As pedagogue he struts hereafter,

And trousers of the boys he pecks

With bill, rewarded then with laughter,

If naughtiness or prank detects;

But yet for their protection striving,

And serpents from the garden driving,

And patiently will he comply

When “Long-legs, come!” the children cry.

Each eve from thatch so closely heeding,

If they the psalms are nicely reading.

The art of reading is to skip judiciously. Whole libraries may be skipped in these days, when we have the results of them in our modern culture without going over the ground again. And even of the books we decide to read, there are almost always large portions which do not concern us, and which we are sure to forget the day after we have read them. The art is to skip all that does not concern us, whilst missing nothing that we really need. No external guidance can teach us this, for nobody but ourselves can guess what the needs of our intellect may be. But let us select with decisive firmness, independently of other people’s advice, independently of the authority of custom. In every newspaper that comes to hand there is a little bit that we ought to read; the art is to find that little bit, and waste no time over the rest.—Philip G. Hamerton.

GARDENING AMONG THE CHINESE.

Translated for THE CHAUTAUQUAN, from “Revue des Deux Mondes.”

A French physician, M. Martin, who has for several years been an attaché of the French ambassador at Pekin, calls the Chinese the authors of the art of gardening. Since the earliest times their leaders have had the wisdom to have cultivated not only ornamental plants, but as well those which would increase the resources of the inhabitants. Their vast enclosures have often been the nurseries of the provinces, and to excite the ambition of their subjects, the rulers award prizes on many public occasions to those who present to them new flowers or fruits. Our societies of horticulture do no better. The annals of the Tsing dynasty mention mandarins whose business it was to care for the gardens of the emperor, and especially to look after the bamboos. The taste for flowers increased by the encouragement of the authorities gives an astonishing commercial value to certain plants. The sambac, whose flowers have at once the odor of the rose and of the orange, as blended in the common jasmine, is used to perfume tea, liquors, syrups and preserves; at Pekin a very small branch is worth from ten dollars to twelve dollars and upwards. An asclepias, which gives its perfume only at night, has been sold for twenty and thirty ounces of silver, and each year the viceroy of the province of Tche-kiang sends several cuttings of it to Pekin for the apartments of the emperor. In order to profit by so lucrative a taste, Chinese horticulture has been for the most part spent in trying to make the most of the treasures of their flora. To this flora we owe the chief of our ornamental flowers—the Chinese pink, sent in 1702 to the Abbé Bignon, and first described in 1705; the aster, sent out in 1728, and which received from a committee of amateurs the name of Queen Marguerite; our autumn chrysanthemum, which for a long time figured on the coat of arms of the emperors; the dicentra (or “bleeding heart”), whose rosy spurred cups look like a double shield; the Chinese rose; the Chinese honeysuckle, whose original name signifies “the gold and silver flower,” in reference to its various colors; the begonia, green above and provided with purple veins below; our camellia, which the Chinese call the tea-flower; finally, a flower which we call the isle of Guernsey, because the vessel which brought the bulbs of this elegant amaryllis into England having been shipwrecked in sight of its country, the bulbs, carried by the waves on to the sandy shores of the isle, took root there and were kept alive in the pleasant temperature.

The taste of these Orientals is very different from ours. We are disagreeably affected by the care which they take to diminish the height of all vegetation. The missionaries assure us that they have seen cypresses and pines which were not more than two feet in height, although forty years old, and well proportioned in all their parts. It is one way of obtaining a great number of types in a narrow space, which is precious in a country where the gardens are so elegant and the ownership so divided. It is one of the results of the culture of the family life, and if a stranger is but little pleased by these stunted forms he is, at least, able to extract a moral upon the infinite patience which has produced them. By energy and will they direct as they wish the most obstinate plants, and in their flower-beds imitate lakes, rocks, rivers, and even mountains.

But they have as well their landscape gardens: they are around tombs, and especially the pagodas, those centers of civilization which are at once places of prayer, store-houses for the harvests of the simple, and grazing grounds for the preservation of quadrupeds. It is in these gardens of the extreme East that one sees those avenues of bamboos, whose knots hollowed out leave niches for idols; then there are magnificent specimens of the great thuja of the East, whose sweet-scented imperishable wood is used for making coffins, and reduced to powder is made into aromatic chopsticks, which are burnt before the statues of their divinities; the fir-tree, with long cones, a native of the northeast; the oak, with leaves like the chestnut tree, and which bears the mistletoe in China; the weeping willow and the funeral cypress, whose bright leaves stand out against the black background of the pines; the Pinus bungeana, which grows to an enormous size, and whose trunk becomes so white with age that it might easily pass for limestone. We can not describe the effect of this grand, severe vegetation, intermingled with marble statues and columns, surrounding the lofty conical roofs of the pagodas.

In no country of Europe are the gardeners so skillful in multiplying and cultivating. They have processes of their own. Our gardeners do not know how to use half-rotten planks, which they pierce with holes, fill with earth, and use in the germination of the cutting; when the plant begins to grow they break away the plank. We are far from practicing grafting in their bold style; this horticultural operation is performed among the Chinese in very different ways. They graft successfully the chrysanthemum on the wormwood, the oak on the chestnut, the grape on the jujube tree. These feats, which shock the customs of our horticulturists and even the convictions of our botanists, recall those which the good Pliny relates, and for which he has been charged with ignorance and hyperbole.

Their cleverness in gardening has one outlet of which we are ignorant. We cut our boxwood, and do not save it for the Palm-Sunday festival. The Chinese cultivate plants for holy purposes. The ponds and other bodies of water so numerous in a country where rice is the chief food, gives them opportunity to cultivate in abundance a magnificent water plant, the lotus of the Indus, the sacred plant of the Hindoos. The god Buddha is always represented reposing on the lotus flower, whose root signifies vigor, its great leaves growth, its odor the sovereign spirit, its brilliancy love. Thus it is customary to offer to the idols the beautiful flowers of the lotus; besides, its culture offers a double advantage, its fruitful root and its sweet grains (the beans of Egypt) being used in Chinese cookery. The fruit of one variety of the lemon tree is produced from the separated carpels, which are disjoined at the base of the lemon and developed separately, like the fingers of a hand. This hand is among the Chinese that of their god; Fo-chou-kan, as it is called, signifies the sweet smelling hand of Buddha. A writer assures us that the gardeners aid, by bands which are early fastened on the fruit, in bringing about this paying division; they are capable of it.

This union of two very different feelings, the greed for gain and piety, ought not to astonish us much. The simple affection which they have for plants seems to be a kind of religious sentiment. Each plant inspires them with a kind of mystic love which affects certain of their poems. Their literature represents to us a delight in flowers which we do not easily understand. They are enraptured at the sight of a plant, and seek by continued observation to understand its development. One is not surprised at the degree of skill to which such an exalted taste leads their gardeners.

The emperors have always especially encouraged the production of vegetables and orchards, as well as general agriculture. “I prefer,” said the emperor Kang-hi, “to procure a new kind of fruit or of grain for my subjects rather than to build an hundred porcelain towers.” Two centuries before him one prince published an herbarium containing the plants suitable to cultivate in time of famine, after having consulted with the peasants and farmers.

The Chinese have always displayed the greatest activity in order to assure themselves of their food at the expense of the vegetable world, sometimes from plants which are not cultivated, as from seaweeds, from which they obtain gelatine or a salty condiment, and particularly from those which they can perfect in their gardens. There are to be found in their kitchen gardens not only the most of our common vegetables, as turnips, carrots, radishes, onions, and our salad herbs, but some peculiar vegetables like the Chinese cabbage whose seeds furnish oil; the rapeseed, the young shoots of which are used in pickles, like those of mustard; fruits similar to our melons and cucumbers; enormous egg-plants, etc. If the garden contains a stream of water, as is frequent, they cultivate according to the depth of the water either aquatic grasses, of which they eat the terminal buds, or water plants like the lotus, or the Chinese cock’s-comb, of which all the parts furnish a nourishing fecula, or plants of the melon family, like the watermelon or the peculiar water chestnut, which is at times a scarlet red, and which they gather in the autumn. The picturesque way in which they gather these nuts is well described by M. Fauvel. Men, women and children embark on the canal in tubs, which they push with long bamboos about the floating islets of the chestnut, and which often capsize, to everyone’s great amusement.

In some places one observes a singular culture of mushrooms. These cryptograms are greatly valued in China, and not alone on account of their nutritive properties. One species which takes root upon coming into the open air, and which is edible, has so dry a tissue that it keeps almost as fresh as when one gathers it ripe. Ancient writers took it for a symbol of immortality.

It is particularly interesting to examine the Chinese orchards, distinguishing the productions of the north and south. The fruits of the south are less interesting: dates, cocoanut trees, mangoes, bananas, bread trees, pineapples, all tropical fruits which are not exclusively Chinese. The principal fruits of the north are first the five fruits, that is, the peach, apricot, plum, the chestnut and the jujube. The most important of Chinese fruit trees is the peach, which most probably is a native of the country. Its winter florescence has been taken by Chinese romance writers as the symbol of love and fidelity. Chinese orchards also furnish many other fruits: several kinds of plums, a fine white pear as round as our bergamot, the berries of the myrica, which pass very well for our strawberries, and which are easily mistaken for the arbute berry; but for general use nothing equals the Chinese figs and oranges.

EIGHT CENTURIES WITH WALTER SCOTT.

By WALLACE BRUCE.

“The Fair Maid of Perth” is at once a photograph and a drama. The beautiful county of Perthshire, with its wild mountains and picturesque lakes, seems transferred bodily as by a camera to the novelist’s pages, and the historic incidents are so real and rapid in dramatic interest that they seem lifted from the realm of history into a sort of Shaksperean play.

The story opens with a description of Perth from a spot called the Wicks of Baigle, “where the traveler beholds stretching beneath him the valley of the Tay, traversed by its ample and lordly stream; the town of Perth with its two large meadows, its steeples, and its towers; the hills of Moncreiff and Kinnoul faintly rising into picturesque rocks, partly clothed with woods; the rich margin of the river, studded with elegant mansions, and the distant view of the huge Grampian mountains, the northern screen of this exquisite landscape.”

The time of the story is 1402. Almost a century has elapsed since the battle of Bannockburn—a century of turmoil and strife. Its history seems like a great tempest-tossed sea swept by constantly recurring whirlwinds. Three kings and as many regents reign in turn; and at the opening of our story Scotland is under the government of Robert the Third.

David the Second, only son of Robert Bruce, died childless; his sister, Marjory, married Walter, the Lord High Steward of the realm; their son was crowned Robert the Third, King of Scotland. The family took the name of Stewart, which gave by direct descent the Stuart line to the throne of Britain, and their descendants are to-day upon the thrones of England, Italy and Greece. The little skiff, tossed ashore upon the rugged cliffs and cold hospitality of Lorne Castle, as described in our last article, carried therefore the ancestor of a long historic line—a line not always fortunate, not always honest, but presenting for the most part during its record of five hundred years a fair average of manhood and womanhood as kings and queens generally run.

Robert the Third found his country torn by civil feuds, and his temper was too mild for those stormy times. His brother, the Duke of Albany, a crafty counselor of the Iago type, provoked strife between father and son. The good king’s heart was broken. “Vengeance followed,” says Scott, “though with a slow pace, the treachery and cruelty of his brother. Robert of Albany’s own grey hairs went, indeed, in peace to the grave, and he transferred the regency, which he had so foully acquired, to his son Murdoch. But nineteen years after the death of the old king, James the First returned to Scotland, and Duke Murdoch of Albany, with his sons, was brought to the scaffold, in expiation of his father’s guilt and his own.”

Such are the main historic features of the story. The inwoven incidents make us acquainted with many of the customs of humble life which pertain to the close of the fourteenth and the beginning of the fifteenth century. It portrays the ancient observances of St. Valentine’s Day; the fierce conflict of two Highland clans; the bitter jealousy between the Black Douglas and the Earl of March; the trial by Bier-Right in the Church of St. John; the government of Scottish towns and burroughs; the hardihood of the brave burghers who knew their rights, and had the courage to maintain them. It reveals the dissipation of the Court, led on by the much-loved but dissipated son of the king, the Duke of Rothsay, over whom the father mourned, even as David over his son Absalom.

Through this black serge-cloth of history runs a silver thread—the life of Catharine Glover. Her bold and resolute lover, Henry Gow, a smith and armorer by trade, who had the good fortune of being her Valentine, seems too warlike for her gentle and amiable character, or as Harry sums it up briefly in a blunt sentence: “She thinks the whole world is one great minster church, and that all who live in it should behave as if they were at an eternal mass.”

The romance abounds with many eloquent passages and poetic touches; even the bold armorer, with his love for hard blows, reveals here and there a touch of sentiment, as where he returns to Perth from a long journey and says: “When I crossed the Wicks and saw the bonny city lie fairly before me, like a fairy queen in romance, whom the knight finds asleep among a wilderness of flowers, I felt even as a bird, when it folds its weary wings to stoop down on its own nest.”

The description of the burial of the Highland Chief is the sketch of a master. We are transported to the rugged hills of the northern Highlands. Around us rise lofty mountain peaks; below us stretches the silver expanse of Loch Tay; the black-bannered flotilla carrying the dead leader, Mac Ian, with oars moving to wild music, holds its course to the ruined cathedral of the Holy Isle, where still slumbers the daughter of Henry the First of England, wife of Alexander the First of Scotland. “The monks issue from their lowly portal; the bells peal their death-toll over the long lake; a yell bursts from the assembled multitude, in which the deep shout of warriors, and the shrill wail of females join their notes with the tremulous voice of age, and the babbling cry of childhood; the deer start from their glens for miles around and seek the distant recesses of the mountains, even the domestic animals, accustomed to the voice of man, flee from their pastures into morasses and dingles.”

Scott’s power as a poet is seen in passages like this, and his power as a dramatist in words like the following placed in the mouth of the heart-broken king, revealing in one condensed sentence of agony the unfortunate state of his country: “Oh, Scotland, Scotland; if the best blood of thy bravest children could enrich the barren soil, what land on earth would excel thee in fertility? When is it that a white hair is seen on the beard of a Scottish man, unless he be some wretch like thy sovereign, protected from murder by impotence, to witness the scenes of slaughter to which he can not put a period? The demon of strife and slaughter hath possessed the whole land.”

But the clouds and mists upon the mountain-heights of royalty do not always envelop the valley, or affect the happiness of those who live in humble spheres; and we are glad to know that Harry Gow is at last made happy by the hand of Catharine. He promises to hand up his broadsword, never more to draw it unless against the enemies of Scotland. “And should Scotland call for it,” said Catharine, “I will buckle it round you.”

Our next novel, in historic sequence, takes us to the Court of Louis the Eleventh in the year 1468. The reader is introduced to a young Scotchman by the name of Quentin Durward. He is in France seeking employment for his sword; he joins the Scottish archers which form the body-guard of the King; he soon wins the notice and favor of Louis the Eleventh by his courage, address and honesty; he goes as escort for two noble ladies who had fled for refuge from the court of Burgundy to France, and becomes at last as the title of the book would indicate the important personage in the romance, and his honesty is rewarded by the hand of the heroine.

But the great value of this work is the character sketch of Louis the Eleventh, a king who possessed a soul as hardened as that of Mephistopheles, and a brain like that of Machiavelli, whose birth at Florence in 1469 appropriately commemorates the early years of Louis’ reign; he found the throne in a tottering condition; in fact all Europe was unsettled. It was the dark hour preceding the dawn of the Reformation. There was some excuse for caution, and perhaps for craftiness in order to preserve his government, but no excuse and no necessity for the cruelty and treachery that marked every day of his life. He seemed malevolent for the sake of malevolence; or as Scott more briefly puts it, “he seemed an incarnation of the devil himself, permitted to do his utmost to corrupt our ideas of honor to its very source.” He surrounded himself with menials, invited low and obscure men to secret councils, employed his barber as prime minister, not for any special ability displayed, but from his readiness to pander to his lowest wishes. In every way he brought disrespect upon the court of his father, “who tore from the fangs of the English lion the more than half-conquered kingdom of France.”

Scott places the character of Louis the Eleventh in contrast with that of the Duke of Burgundy; “a man who rushed on danger because he loved it, and on difficulties because he despised them.” His rude, chivalrous nature despised his wily cousin, who had his mouth at every man’s ear, and his hand in every man’s palm. As we read the history of Louis XI. he seems like a great spider slowly but surely spinning his web about his enemies until at last there is no escape. By tortuous policy he “rose among the rude sovereigns of the period to the rank of a keeper among wild beasts, who, by superior wisdom, by distribution of food, and some discipline of blows, comes finally to predominate over those, who, if unsubjected by his arts, would by main strength have torn him to pieces.”

Apart from the main thread of history Scott gives us a picture of the Gypsies, or Bohemians, who had just made their appearance in Europe. They claimed an Egyptian descent, and their features attested that they were of eastern origin. Their complexion was positively eastern, approaching to that of the Hindoos. Their manners were as depraved as their appearance was poor and beggarly. The few arts which they studied with success, were of a slight and idle, though ingenious description. Their pretensions to read fortunes, by palmistry and astrology, acquired them sometimes respect, but oftener drew them under the suspicion of sorcerers; and lastly, the universal accusation that they augmented their horde by stealing children, subjected them to doubt and execration. They incurred almost everywhere sentence of banishment, and, where suffered to remain, were rather objects of persecution than of protection from the law. The arrival of the Egyptians as these singular people were called, in various parts of Europe, corresponds with the period in which Tamerlane invaded Hindostan, affording its natives the choice between the Koran and death. There can be little doubt that these wanderers consisted originally of the Hindostanee tribes, who, displaced and flying from the sabers of the Mohammedans, undertook this species of wandering life, without well knowing whither they were going. Scott gives us in the character of Hayraddin a type of this great family, a brief sketch of which taken as above from his notes we thought would be of interest to the general reader.

The interview of Louis the Eleventh with the astrologer not only reveals the superstition of the king but also places in sharp contrast the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries which were cut asunder, as it were, with a sword of light. The old astrologer’s apostrophe to the art of printing, which was then invented, is worthy of a place in these historic references: “Believe me that, in considering the consequences of this invention, I read with as certain augury as by any combination of the heavenly bodies, the most awful and portentous changes. When I reflect with what slow and limited supplies the stream of science hath hitherto descended to us; how difficult to be obtained by those most ardent in its search; how certain to be neglected by all who regard their ease; how liable to be diverted, or altogether dried up, by the invasion of barbarism; can I look forward without wonder and astonishment to the lot of a succeeding generation, on which knowledge will descend like the first and second rain, uninterrupted, unabated, unbounded; fertilizing some grounds, and overflowing others; changing the whole form of social life; establishing and overthrowing religions; erecting and destroying kingdoms.” “Hold,” said Louis, “shall these changes come in our time?” “No, my royal brother,” replied the astrologer, “this invention may be likened to a young tree, which is now newly planted, but shall, in succeeding generations, bear fruit as fatal, yet as precious, as that of the Garden of Eden; the knowledge, namely, of good and evil.”

Anne of Geierstein is to a certain extent a sequel to Quentin Durward. The time of the story is four years later; the scene is laid in the mountains of Switzerland. The romance reveals the power of the Vehmic tribunal of Westphalia, a secret organization, whose bloody executions gave to the east of Germany the name of the Red Land. It portrays faithfully the heroic character of the Swiss people who preferred peace to war, but accepted war when the issue meant liberty or servitude.

Two travelers, apparently English merchants, are benighted near the ruined castle of Geierstein. They are hospitably entertained, and after a few days’ delay, they join a Swiss embassy on its way to the Court of Charles, Duke of Burgundy, the mission of which embassy was to ask redress for injuries done to the Helvetian Cantons. On their journey they meet with a warlike adventure in which the English travelers have opportunity to display their courage and judgment. They are imprisoned and released; the elder has the misfortune of falling into the hands of the Vehmic court, and the rare good fortune of being released; and so the story moves on as it were from one ambuscade to another, until they reach the court and army of the proud Duke of Burgundy.

They meet en route at a Cathedral in Strasburg, Queen Margaret of Anjou, who in the bloody struggle between the House of York and Lancaster had been driven from the English throne. This meeting reveals the fact that the English travelers are no less personages than the Earl of Oxford and his son, who are on their way to persuade, if possible, the Duke of Burgundy to give his support to the House of Lancaster. The duke promises relief; but circumstances combine with his rashness to prevent the proffered aid. He proposes at first to subdue the haughty Swiss. He dismisses their embassy with scorn, and prepares for a fruitless war in spite of the noble plea of the white haired Landamman: “And what can the noble Duke of Burgundy gain by such a strife? Is it wealth and plunder? Alas, my lord, there is more gold and silver on the very bridle-bits of your Highness’ household troops than can be found in the public treasures or private hoards of our whole confederacy. Is it fame and glory you aspire to? There is little honor to be won by a numerous army over a few scattered bands, by men clad in mail over half-armed husbandmen and shepherds—of such conquest small was the glory. But if, as all Christian men believe, and as it is the constant trust of my countrymen, from memory of the times of our fathers—if the Lord of Hosts should cast the balance in behalf of the fewer numbers and worse-armed party, I leave it with your Highness to judge, what in that event would be the diminution of worship and fame. Is it extent of vassalage and dominion your Highness desires, by warring with your mountain neighbors? Know that you may, if it be God’s will, gain our barren and rugged mountains; but, like our ancestors of old, we will seek refuge in wilder and more distant solitudes, and when we have resisted to the last, we will starve in the icy wastes of the glaciers. Ay, men, women and children, we will be frozen into annihilation together, ere one free Switzer will acknowledge a foreign master.”

Well would it have been if the stubborn duke had listened to these words; for Louis the Eleventh was already making peace with the English king, and the balance of power which the duke had held for so many years was slipping from his grasp forever. He attacks the Swiss in their mountain fastnesses, and pays for his rashness with his life. The haughty Queen Margaret dies, and for the time the hope of the House of Lancaster perishes.

But does some fair reader ask: Who is Anne of Geierstein? Is the book all history? Ask the son of the Earl of Oxford, and he will tell you that Anne was the fair maiden who rescued him from a perilous rock the night they were lost near the castle of Geierstein; that she was with the embassy on her way to visit her father; that she again rescued him from imprisonment and death; and after the fall of the House of Lancaster the Swiss maiden becomes his bride.

“And on her lover’s arm she leant,

And round her waist she felt it fold,

And so across the hills they went,

In that new world, which is the old.”

“But the star of Lancaster,” in the language of Scott, “began again to culminate, and called the banished lord and his son from their retirement, to mix once more in politics, and soon thereafter was fought the celebrated battle of Bosworth, in which the arms of Oxford and his son contributed so much to the success of Henry the Seventh. This changed the destinies of young Oxford and his bride; but it is said that the manners and beauty of Anne of Geierstein attracted as much admiration at the English Court as formerly in the Swiss chalet.”

ASTRONOMY OF THE HEAVENS FOR JANUARY.

By PROF. M. B. GOFF.

THE SUN,

The source of all our light and heat, although about three millions of miles nearer to us on the 2d of January than it was on the 3d of July last, affords neither the same quantity of light nor heat; and for two reasons: 1. His rays fall on us more obliquely. 2. He does not remain so long above our horizon. On the 1st he rises at 7:24 a. m. and sets at 4:44 p. m., making our day only nine hours and twenty minutes long; and on the 31st rises at 7:11 a. m. and sets at 5:16 p. m., giving us ten hours and five minutes for a day’s length, an increase of forty-five minutes.

THE MOON

Presents the usual phases in order, as follows: First quarter on the 5th, at 4:27 p. m.; full moon on the 12th, at 10:19 a. m.; last quarter on the 20th, at 12:15 a. m.; and new moon on the 27th, at 11:53 p. m., Washington mean time, which is 8 minutes 12.09 seconds slower than “Eastern time,” or the time of the 75th meridian west of Greenwich. The moon is nearest the earth at 11:36 a. m. on the 9th; and most distant from the earth at 6:12 a. m. on the 21st. On the 10th she reaches her greatest elevation, which is 67° 42′ above the horizon in latitude 41° 30′ north.

MERCURY

Will be distinctly visible every evening from the first to the thirteenth of the month, setting at 6:06 p. m. on the evening of the former date, and at very nearly the same hour on the latter date. From the 1st to the 11th its motion is from west to east; on the 11th it is said to be stationary; however, it is actually moving in its orbit about thirty thousand miles per hour; but is approaching us in an almost direct line, and thus seems to be at a stand still. On the same day, it arrives at its greatest distance east of the sun, 19° 16′, and then starts on its journey west, approaching the earth, and coming directly between it and the sun, that is, reaching its inferior conjunction about 3:00 on the afternoon of the 20th. On the 31st it will be so far west as to rise one hour and fourteen minutes earlier than the sun.

VENUS

Will be evening star during the month, setting at 6:38 on the evening of the 1st, and at 7:50 p. m. on the 31st. Her motion is direct, amounting, during the month, to 2 hours, 24 minutes, 38 seconds, equal to 36° 9½′ of arc, her diameter increasing from 11.6′ to 12.8′. This planet will delight the vision of star-gazers, not only during January, but several succeeding months.

MARS

Will continue his retrograde motion during the month, moving a little more than one minute per day, making in all 35 minutes 37 seconds. He will be quite a prominent object during the entire night, on the evening of the 1st, rising at 7:50, and on the following morning setting at 9:58; and on the 31st rising at 5:08 p. m., and setting at 7:44 the next morning. His diameter at the latter date will be 15″. Can be readily found in the constellation Leo, northwest of the bright star Regulus. At 1:29 p. m. on the 14th he will be 9° 18′ north of the moon.

JUPITER

Will commence the month as a morning star, rising on the 1st at 6:19 in the evening, and setting next morning at 8:45; but on the 13th will change to an evening star, being on this date in opposition to the sun, and rising as the latter sets at about 5:00 p. m. On the 13th, at 2:53 a. m., he will be 5° 41′ north of the moon. On the 31st he will rise at 4:00 p. m., and next morning will set at 6:34. His diameter at same date will be 43.8″. Motion during the month, 16 minutes 12.54 seconds retrograde. The eclipses of this planet’s moons, by the body itself, are sometimes used for the purpose of determining longitude. He will be found in the constellation Cancer.

SATURN,

“The father of gods and men,” rises on the 1st at 2:18 p.m.; sets on the 2d at 4:34 a. m., being over 14 hours above the horizon. On the 31st it rises at 12:12 p. m. and sets next morning at 2:32. Has a retrograde motion of 4 minutes 3.61 seconds. On the 9th at 2:14 a. m. it is only 59′ north of the moon. Its diameter is about 18 seconds. Can be found in the constellation Taurus, a little northwest of Aldebaran, the brightest star of the cluster Hyades.

URANUS

Is morning star for the month. On the 1st it rises at 11:08 in the evening; on the 2d at about 10:00 a. m. Although traveling at the rate of over one and one-fourth million miles per hour, it is said to be stationary. As in the case of Mercury, it moves toward us for the time in an almost straight line, and “is not what it seems.” It has from the 2d to the end of the month a retrograde motion of 21 minutes 15 seconds of arc. Its diameter is 3.8 seconds. On the 31st it rises at 9:07 in the evening.

NEPTUNE

Will be evening star during the month, rising at 1:35 p. m. on the 1st and at 11:36 a. m. on the 31st, and setting at 3:09 a. m. on the 2d, and at 1:10 a. m. on the 1st of February. On the 8th, at 1:02 a. m., it is 6′ south of the moon. On the 28th, at 3:00 p. m., it is stationary. From the 1st to the 28th its motion will be 12½ seconds of arc retrograde, and from the latter date to the end of the month 8.7 seconds of arc direct. Its diameter equals 1.6 seconds. Will be found in the constellation Aries. Neptune is so far away that really little is known in regard to it. Its peculiar interest to us centers in the fact developed in its discovery, namely, that notwithstanding comparatively little is definitely settled in astronomical science, a wonderful degree of exactness has been attained in the computation of the places of the heavenly bodies. In 1820, astronomer Bouvard, of Paris, made a new and improved set of tables which formed the basis of the calculations made on the motions of Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus. In a few years it was found by observations that Uranus failed to occupy the place assigned him by the tables. In twenty-four years the disagreement amounted to two minutes of arc (a slight error, one would think, but not to be overlooked, and easily measured). The discrepancy led Mr. John C. Adams, an English student, in 1843, and M. Leverrier, a Frenchman, in 1845, each without the knowledge of the other, to attempt to reckon the elements of an unknown planet that would cause the disturbance. Adams, in October, 1845, communicated the results of his efforts to Prof. Airy, Astronomer Royal, who, however, for some reason not very clear, failed to make any search in the quarter directed. In 1846, the result of Leverrier’s calculations were published, and bore such a striking similarity to those of Mr. Adams, that Prof. Challis, of Cambridge Observatory, immediately began a very thorough search, and had made considerable progress, when Leverrier in September, 1846, wrote to Dr. Galle, of Berlin Observatory, giving him the elements, and asking him to direct his telescope to a certain portion of the heavens. This the Doctor did, and the result was that on the 23d of September, 1846, the planet afterward called Neptune, was found within a very short distance from the point indicated by both M. Leverrier and Mr. Adams.

WORK FOR WOMEN.

It is a well established fact that the women of the nineteenth century are workers. They work not only from necessity, but very many from choice. An Eastern journal recently remarked in regard to the general feeling among women that they ought and desired to do something, “It is getting to be good form to support yourself.” Girls are supporting themselves very generally, but as yet the majority are in the old and over-filled fields of teaching, sewing, and clerking. There is a constant demand among young women for something new. What work is there for them to learn which will be steady, lucrative, and womanly? And what steps must they take to learn it, and to obtain situations? These questions are daily asked. Many plod in ill-paid, uncongenial places, because they see no other avenues open. To show what work there is, and how learned and secured, Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons have recently published, in their “Handy-Volume Series,” a little volume on “Work for Women.” The book is decidedly practical. As the author in his preface claims, it answers accurately the questions: “Is there a good chance to get work? How long will it take me to make myself competent? Are there many in the business? How much do they earn? Are there any objections against entering this employment; if so, what are they?” Exactly the questions which should be asked and satisfactorily answered before entering any work. Among the employments of which the author, Mr. G. P. Manson, speaks, industrial drawing properly holds the foremost place. For women of real taste and originality it is peculiarly suitable; but they must have both qualities. Without either a woman should never run the risk of entering the field; unless, indeed, she can afford to make the experiment. To one familiar with dry goods and house-furnishing, who knows the almost infinite varieties in the patterns of carpets, wall-papers, oil-cloths, calicoes, and the like, there can be no question about the chances for employment for skilled laborers. The work pays, too, and is pleasant. Still more important, there is little danger of one being lowered by it to a mere machine. It is work in which one grows.

Some wise words, worth remembering, are said in regard to phonography. A valuable idea to the learner is that the practical teacher, that is, the bona fide reporter, is worth more than many lessons from one who has learned the art simply to teach it, but has never practiced; and that the constant practice of what one may learn from any one of the books on the subject will be of more service than an extended course in a short-hand school. Most excellent is the advice given to ladies studying phonography that they should add book-keeping and type-writing. With these acquirements a woman can not fail in finding employment.

The art of telegraphy is to be learned in about the same way as phonography—by practice and patience. There are about forty schools in the United States where it is taught. Of these the New York Cooper Union School of Telegraphy is undoubtedly foremost; but before selecting a school it is wise to get the experience of a skilled operator—a most excellent plan to follow, by the way, in any field. Women rarely advance in this business beyond a certain rank, and unless luck favors them with a situation in the private office of a generous employer, they rarely reach positions which pay more than sixty dollars per month.

It is astonishing that work which at first thought seems to require so little skill as feather-curling, should average to expert laborers fifteen to twenty dollars per week, through the entire year, and sometimes reach as high as forty dollars per week. But this is the fact, and the work, too, is less confining than sewing. There is a serious drawback, however—the girls and women are not always moral, and the association is thus dangerous. None of the professions of which Mr. Manson speaks are more suitable for women than that of nursing. The feeling that it is a menial service is entirely wrong. There is no position which a woman can hold which requires more character, skill, self-control and wisdom. Mr. Manson, in his chapter on nursing, gives exactly the information which is needed for a woman about to enter the profession. Indeed, this is true of all that he says on the different branches of work which he takes up, among which are photography, proof-reading, type-setting, book-binding, lecturing, public reading, book selling, dress-making and millinery.

There are several varieties of work on which he has made but brief notes, to which we wish he would give further attention. These are employments at which women may earn their living, and yet be at home. There are many women left with families and little homes who struggle to live by sewing, washing, and the like, because they do not know what else to do. There are several employments suitable to them, and in which women almost invariably succeed; such are bee keeping, poultry raising, market gardening and cultivating flowers. A little capital is necessary, but a very little will start a business which, if well managed, can hardly fail to become prosperous. There are two great considerations in favor of such work: it is healthy, and allows one to remain at home. The considerations which should govern a woman in selecting any one of the employments mentioned in this little volume are satisfactorily discussed, and any one desiring information upon the vexed question, “What shall I do?” will receive valuable suggestions.

OSTRICH HUNTING.

By LADY FLORENCE DIXIE.

The following animated description of ostrich hunting in Patagonia is taken from a book by Lady Florence Dixie, published by R. Worthington, New York:

As we rode silently along, with our eyes well about us, in the hopes of sighting an ostrich, my horse suddenly shied at something white lying on the ground at a few paces distant. Throwing the reins over his head, I dismounted and walked toward the spot. Amongst some long grass I discovered a deserted nest of an ostrich containing ten or eleven eggs, and calling François to examine them, was greatly chagrined to find that none of them were fresh. With the superstition of an ostrich-hunter François picked up a feather lying close at hand, and sticking it in his cap, assured us that this was a good sign, and that it would not be long before we came across one of these birds.

His prediction was speedily verified, for on reaching the summit of a little hill, up which we had slowly and stealthily proceeded, two small gray objects suddenly struck my eye. I signed to François and my brother, who were riding some twenty yards behind me, and putting spurs to my horse, galloped down the hill toward the two gray objects I had perceived in the distance. “Choo! choo!” shouted François, a cry by which the ostrich-hunters cheer their dogs on, and intimate to them the proximity of game. Past me like lightning the four eager animals rushed, bent on securing the prey which their quick sight had already detected.

The ostriches turned one look on their pursuers, and the next moment they wheeled round, and making for the plain, scudded over the ground at a tremendous pace.

And now, for the first time, I began to experience all the glorious excitement of an ostrich-hunt. My little horse, keen as his rider, took the bit between his teeth, and away we went up and down the hills at a terrific pace. On and on flew the ostriches, closer and closer crept up “Leona,” a small, red, half-bred Scotch deerhound, with “Loca,” a wiry black lurcher at her heels, who in turn was closely followed by “Apiscuña” and “Sultan.” In another moment the little red dog would be alongside the ostriches. Suddenly, however, they twisted right and left respectively, scudding away in opposite directions over the plain, a feint which of course gave them a great advantage, as the dogs in their eagerness shot forward a long way before they were able to stop themselves. By the time they had done so the ostriches had got such a start that, seeing pursuit was useless, we called the dogs back. We were very much disappointed at our failure, and in no very pleasant frame of mind turned our horses’ heads in the direction of our camp.

We were a good deal chaffed when we got home on the score of our non-success, and over pipes and coffee that night a serious council of war was held by the whole of our party, as regards ostrich-hunting for the morrow.

Forming a circle was suggested. This being the method by which the Indians nearly always obtain game. It is formed by lighting fires round a large area of ground into which the different hunters ride from all sides. A complete circle of blazing fires is thus obtained, and any game found therein is pretty sure to become the prey of the dogs, as no ostrich or guanaco will face a fire. Wherever they turn they see before them a column of smoke, or are met by dogs and horsemen. Escape becomes almost impossible, and it is not long before they grow bewildered and are captured.

Next morning, the horses being all ready, we lost no time in springing into the saddle. For about half an hour we followed along a line of broken hillocks, after which, calling a halt, we sent forward Guillaume and I’Aria to commence the first and most distant proceedings of the circle. They departed at a brisk canter, and it was not long before several rising columns of smoke testified that they were already busily engaged.

For some time Gregorio and I rode slowly and silently on our way, when a sudden unexpected bound which my horse gave all but unseated me. “Avestruz! Avestruz!” shouted Gregorio, and turned his horse with a quick movement. “Choo! choo! Plata!” I cry to the dog who followed at my horse’s heels, as a fine male ostrich scudded away toward the hills we had just left with the speed of lightning. Plata has sighted him, and is straining every limb to reach the terrified bird. He is a plucky dog and a fleet one, but it will take him all his time to come alongside that great raking ostrich as he strides away in all the conscious pride of his strength and speed. “We shall lose him!” I cry, half mad with excitement, spurring my horse, who is beginning to gasp and falter as the hill up which we are struggling grows steeper and steeper. But the ostrich suddenly doubles to the left, and commences a hurried descent. The cause is soon explained, for in the direction toward which he has been making a great cloud of smoke rises menacingly in his path, and, balked of the refuge he had hoped to find amidst the hills, the great bird is forced to alter his course, and make swiftly for the plains below. But swiftly as he flies along, so does Plata, who finds a down-hill race much more suited to his splendid shoulders and rare stride. Foot by foot he lessens the distance that separates him from his prey, and gets nearer and nearer to the fast sinking, fast tiring bird. Away we go, helter-skelter down the hill, unchecked and undefeated by the numerous obstacles that obstruct the way. Plata is alongside the ostrich, and gathers himself for a spring at the bird’s throat. “He has him, he has him!” I shout to Gregorio, who does not reply, but urges his horse on with whip and spur. “Has he got him, though?” Yes—no—the ostrich with a rapid twist has shot some thirty yards ahead of his enemy, and whirling round, makes for the hills once more. And now begins the struggle for victory. The ostrich has decidedly the best of it, for Plata, though he struggles gamely, does not like the uphill work, and at every stride loses ground. There is another fire on the hill above, but it lies too much to the left to attract the bird’s attention, who has evidently a safe line of escape in view in that direction. On, on we press; on, on flies the ostrich; bravely and gamely struggles in its wake poor Plata. “Can he stay?” I cry to Gregorio, who smiles and nods his head. He is right, the dog can stay, for hardly have the words left my lips when, with a tremendous effort, he puts on a spurt, and races up alongside the ostrich. Once more the bird points for the plain; he is beginning to falter, but he is great and strong, and is not beaten yet. It will take all Plata’s time and cunning to pull that magnificent bird to the ground, and it will be a long fierce struggle ere the gallant creature yields up his life. Unconscious of anything but the exciting chase before me, I am suddenly disagreeably reminded that there is such a thing as caution, and necessity to look where you are going to, for, putting his foot in an unusually deep tuca-tuca hole, my little horse comes with a crash upon his head, and turns completely over on his back, burying me beneath him in a hopeless muddle. Fortunately, beyond a shaking, I am unhurt, and remounting, endeavor to rejoin the now somewhat distant chase. The ostrich, Gregorio, and the dog have reached the plain, and as I gallop quickly down the hill I can see that the bird has begun doubling. This is a sure sign of fatigue, and shows that the ostrich’s strength is beginning to fail him. Nevertheless it is a matter of no small difficulty for one dog to secure his prey, even at this juncture, as he can not turn and twist about as rapidly as the ostrich. At each double the bird shoots far ahead of his pursuer, and gains a considerable advantage. Away across the plain the two animals fly, whilst I and Gregorio press eagerly in their wake. The excitement grows every moment more intense, and I watch the close struggle going on with the keenest interest. Suddenly the stride of the bird grows slower, his doubles become more frequent, showers of feathers fly in every direction as Plata seizes him by the tail, which comes away in his mouth. In another moment the dog has him by the throat, and for a few minutes nothing can be distinguished but a gray struggling heap. Then Gregorio dashes forward and throws himself off his horse, breaks the bird’s neck, and when I arrive upon the scene the struggle is over. The run had lasted for twenty-five minutes.

Our dogs and horses were in a most pitiable state. Poor Plata lay stretched on the ground with his tongue, hot and fiery, lolling out of his mouth, and his sides going at a hundred miles an hour. The horses, with their heads drooped till they almost touched the ground, and their bodies streaming with perspiration, presented a most pitiable sight, and while Gregorio disemboweled and fastened the ostrich together, I loosened their girths, and led them to a pool hard by to drink. At length they became more comfortable, and as soon as they seemed in a fit state to go on, Gregorio and I lifted the huge bird on to his horse, and tied it across the animal’s withers. Encumbered thus, Gregorio turned to depart in the direction of the camp, followed by Plata, while I went in an opposite direction in search of my companions down in the plain. It was not long before I distinguished in the far distance an ostrich coming straight toward me, closely followed by a dog and two horsemen. Galloping to meet them, I was the means of turning the bird into “Peaché’s” jaws, for such was the name of I’Aria’s dog. The two horsemen turned out to be the old fellow in question and my brother, who arrived, hot and full of excitement, on the scene just as I was throwing myself from my horse to prevent Peaché from tearing the bird to pieces. Leaving I’Aria to complete the hunter’s work, my brother and I rode slowly back toward our camp, discussing the merits of our horses, dogs, and the stamina of the two ostriches we had slain.

One by one the other hunters dropped in. They had all been successful, with the exception of Guillaume; and as we stood grouped round the five large ostriches lying on the ground, we congratulated ourselves on our good fortune, and on the excellent sport we had had. At dinner we passed judgment on ostrich-meat, which we now really tasted for the first time, for what we had obtained from the Indian camp had been dry and unpalatable. We thought it excellent; the breast and wings are particularly good; the latter much resemble pheasant.

CHRISTIAN MISSIONS.

The most recent intelligence at hand from the Missionary Boards of the different denominations is so full of general interest and encouragement that we give the results that have been reached. With the tens of thousands of our thoughtful readers, we rejoice greatly in this work so efficiently carried on by the American churches at home and abroad.

The latter part of the nineteenth century is becoming more and more a missionary era. Practical heed is given to the “Great Commission,” and the heralds are sent forth into all the world, with the tidings of “peace on earth, and good-will to men.”

METHODIST EPISCOPAL BOARD.

This Church, the youngest of the large denominations, and last to enter the foreign field, has done some effective service. A few weeks since some fears were entertained that from a single point where success was not satisfactory, the partially defeated forces might be, for a time, withdrawn. Such fears were groundless, and the orders are for an advance all along the lines. The little company in Bulgaria have struggled under many disadvantages, but will be reinforced, and the work go on.

At the late meeting of the General Committee, in New York, the annual appropriations were advanced to $750,000, in the confidence that the church will meet the demand.

The Home Missions of this church are numerous. There are reported 2,381 missionaries in the home fields, and more could be profitably employed in communities unable of themselves to furnish an adequate support. The aggregate of the border missions shows an increase in membership, and of church property. The missionary aid given to feeble churches and to establish churches where none existed, combined with the efforts of other organizations, is doing a work whose value can hardly be over-estimated.

The Foreign Missions of the Methodist Episcopal Church are in fifteen nations. A larger number of missionaries are in India than in any other country.

The summarized statistics show:

Foreign missionaries and wives

225

Native ordained preachers

246

Native preachers not ordained

187

Native local preachers

317

Native workers in Woman’s For. Mis. Society

291

Foreign teachers

34

Native teachers

521

Members

29,095

Probationers

9,984

The school system, both for secular and theological education is well organized, and doing a good work. Churches and conferences are organized as in this country.

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD.

In the Home Missions the Board employs 1,387 missionaries and 133 missionary teachers. 6,281 were, during the year, added to the mission churches on profession of faith. The total membership of those assisted is 78,669. There was raised for building, repairing and canceling debts on church property $726,517. The above mission churches are sustained wholly, or in part, by the funds of the Board. Thirty-seven of the number became self-sustaining during the year. The receipts of the Board for the year were $504,795.61, being an advance of $81,406.76 over the previous year. We do not wonder that these servants of Christ thank Him, and express their feelings of gratitude to the contributing churches, for their prayers, sympathy and “unprecedented pecuniary aid.” The Presbyterian Board of Foreign Missions has work in the following fields: Among the North American Indians, Mexico—the Southern and Northern fields; South America—Brazil, Chili; Africa, Asia, Persia, India, Siam—among the Laos; China, Japan, Chinese in America, Guatemala, Papal Europe, Geneva, France, Belgium, Bohemia and Waldensea.

The Board has in its employ 159 American missionaries, 225 native helpers, 92 of whom are ordained, and 133 licentiates; 286 lay American missionaries, 585 native lay helpers, 18,656 communicants, 21,253 pupils in day and boarding schools.

In their work among the American Indians they have 10 missionaries and 25 native ministers and licentiates.

The receipts for the past year were $656,237.99; also an advance on the previous year.

These missionary boards, so well sustained by the churches of their denominations, seem to have been both wise in counsels and aggressive in their measures, and their success has been glorious.

THE AMERICAN BOARD.

This is the oldest and among the most efficient and successful of all American missionary societies. Organized in 1812, and for a time aided by persons of all the evangelical churches who had the missionary spirit, and whose benevolence thus found a safe and suitable channel, through which its streams could reach the heathen, the Board, with prudent management and liberal support, has had a most successful career. They are now the organ of the Congregationalist church, and have established their posts or centers for extensive operations in all quarters of the globe. The year past is spoken of with thanksgiving, as one of the most satisfactory, and in some departments of the work, as of remarkable progress. After a full and luminous statement of the work of the year, the annual report closes, saying: “It is quite impossible by such a rapid glance to give any just conception of a work so wide in extent, so varied in character. We may speak of twenty missions and one hundred and forty-six missionaries at eighty different stations, and of 724 other towns, and cities, and islands in which the gospel is preached; we may call attention to 98 high schools and seminaries, in which 3,624 youth of both sexes are enjoying the advantages of higher Christian education; we may mention, one by one, the 278 churches gathered, the 1,737 members added the present year to our roll of membership, till the whole number received on profession of faith from the first till now, including missions closed and transferred, amounts to nearly 90,000; and yet, how can we tell of the moral and spiritual changes wrought in entire communities by the Word and spirit of our God, by the new thought and sentiment vivifying the languages and the literatures, and one day to mould the life and character of tribes and nations constituting one-third of the human race.” The Board, after showing that, with the present need and present opportunity, $2,000,000 could be economically administered in prosecuting their missionary work, reduce the amount to $1,000,000; and, with modest urgency, ask the churches to regard that as the minimum estimate for 1884. The home work of the Congregationalists is also well organized and prosecuted with vigor.

BAPTIST MISSIONARY UNION.

This has been long known as a vigorous and aggressive association, doing most effective work in both the home and foreign fields. The expenditures during the past year were $316,411.94. Of the above amount the Woman’s Baptist Foreign Missionary Society contributed $42,977.51; the Woman’s Missionary Society of the West, $20,706.88; the Woman’s Society of the Pacific Coast, $665.23; the Woman’s Society of the North Pacific Coast, $445.31, making an aggregate of $64,794.93 contributed by the Christian women of the denomination. All departments of their work are reported in a prosperous condition, but we have not the general statistics of the society at hand.

Sir Bartle Frere has observed that he had rarely seen or heard of a missionary institution in South Africa which did not by its measure of success fully justify the means employed to carry it on; and that the worst managed and least efficient missionary institutions he had seen appeared to him far superior as civilizing agencies to anything which could be devised by the unassisted secular power of the government.

CALIFORNIA.

By FRANCES E. WILLARD, President National W. C. T. U.

No. II.—SAN FRANCISCO SILHOUETTES.

This city is the whispering gallery of all nations. In Constantinople the clamor of tongues is bewildering, while here it is more harmonious, more representative. Here you have a polyglot at the Golden Gate, a universal language. In the east there is no fusion; in the west one better understands Tennyson’s vision of all earth’s banners furled

“In the parliament of man, the federation of the world.”

Of all places on the globe, go to the California metropolis if you would feel the strong pulse of internationalism. Few have caught its rhythm, as yet, but we must do so if we would be strong enough to keep step with that matchless, electric twentieth century soon to go swinging past. You can almost hear his resonant step on San Francisco pavements; his voice whispers in the lengthening telephone, saying, “Yesterday was good, to-day is better, but to-morrow shall be the red-letter day of all life’s magic calendar.” I have always been impatient of our planet’s name—“the earth.” What other, among the shining orbs has a designation so insignificant? That we have put up with it so long is a proof of the awful inertia of the aggregate mind, almost as surprising as our endurance of the traffic in alcoholic poison. With Jupiter and Venus, Orion and the Pleiades smiling down upon us in their patronizing fashion, we have been contented to inscribe on our visiting cards: “At Home: The Earth!” Out upon such paucity of language. “The dust o’ the ground” forsooth! That answered well enough perhaps for a dark-minded people who never even dreamed they were living on a star. Even now an army of good folks afraid of the next thing, just because it is the next, and not the last, will doubtless raise holy hands of horror against the proposition I shall proceed to launch forth for the first time, though it is harmless as the Pope’s bull against the comet. They will probably oppose me, too, on theologic grounds, for, as Coleridge hath it,

“Time consecrates, and what is gray with age becomes religion.”

Nevertheless, since we do inhabit a star, I solemnly propose we cease to call it a dirt heap, and being determined to “live up to my light,” I hereby bring forward and clap a patent upon the name

CONCORDIA.

“I move it as a substitute for the original motion,” and call the previous question on “the Parliament of Man”—aforesaid by the English Laureate. By the same token, I met half a dozen selectest growths of people in San Francisco who, in the broadest, international way are doing more to make this name Concordia descriptive, rather than prophetic in its application to our oldest home, than any other people I can name. They work among the Chinese, Japanese, and “wild Arabs of the Barbary Coast,” they go with faces that are an epitomized gospel, and preach to the stranger within the Golden Gate that he is a stranger no more; they bring glad tidings of good which shall be to all people, for to them, as to their Master, “there is neither Jew nor Greek, bond nor free, male nor female in Christ Jesus.”

Look at this unique group photographed upon the sensitive plate of memory by “your special artist.” A tall Kentuckian of the best type; “much every way;” “big heart, big head, fine, clear-cut countenance, blue, scrutinizing eyes, large form, wrapped in an ample overcoat, its pockets full of scientific temperance documents,” this is Dr. R. H. McDonald, President of the Pacific Bank, Prohibition candidate for Governor, and temperance leader “on the coast.” Go with me to his elegant home; see his mother, fair and beaming at eighty-four; and his talented sons, who, though educated largely abroad, have never tarnished their fine physiques with the alcoholic or nicotine poisons. Go to the “Star Band of Hope Hall” on Sunday afternoon and hear his accomplished daughter sing to the little street Arabs of the society, while the Doctor presides over the meeting and introduces the eastern temperance worker, your correspondent and her secretary, Miss Anna Gordon, after whose speeches he presents each dear little child to us, patting them on the head, whispering words of praise for each, and emptying his great pockets of goodies and children’s literature. Remember that he has heart and hand open for every good work; know that he has a fortune of seven millions, and pray heaven to send us more wealthy men with wealthy hearts. Beside him stands a small, plain looking man with a royal gray eye; a man of quiet manners, terse, vigorous style, and cultured English utterances, a former sea-captain, who in the ports of China and Japan, as well as Boston and Liverpool, has succeeded in keeping his crew sober, and in teaching them to lay up their money; a gifted head and loyal heart he has; witness his editorials in The Rescue and his leadership in founding the great Orphan’s Home at Vallejo in the suburbs (both paper and orphanage being conducted by the Good Templars, whose most gifted members are Will D. Gould, the genial lawyer of Los Angeles, Mrs. Emily Pitt Stevens, the best temperance lecturers on the coast, Mrs. M. E. Corigdon, of Mariposa, and Geo. B. Katzenstein, of Sacramento). Very different in method, though one in aim with the two men I have described, is another redoubtable champion of every good cause, Rev. Dr. M. C. Briggs, who is like a tower “that stands four-square to every wind that blows.” Observe that well-knit figure, those herculean shoulders, that dauntless face, and it will go without saying that this man is nature’s model of the Methodist pioneer, to whom all hardships are but play; who has a sledge hammer blow for evil doers, but a brother’s clasp for the repentant; a man whose deep, musical voice in the palmy days of his prime gave wings to such rhetoric and such argument as combined with the speeches of Starr King and Col. Baker, to save California to the Union. Near the gifted Dr. Briggs stand his life-time friends and allies, Captain and Mrs. Charles Goodall, the former our Methodist Mecænus in California, founder of the famous “Oregon Navigation Company,” and the true type of a Christian layman, his heart and home open to all who come in the name of the Master whom he loves with the simplicity and fondness of the child. A tall, dark-eyed, impressive man, in life’s full prime, comes next. “See Otis Gibson, or you have missed the moral hero of Gold-opolis”—this was concurrent testimony coming from every side. Garfield left no truer saying than that the time wants men “who have the courage to look the devil squarely in the face and tell him that he is the devil.” Precisely this fearless sort of character is Rev. Otis Gibson. He has been the uncompromising friend of “the heathen Chinee,” through all that pitiful Celestial’s grievous fortunes on our western shore. When others cursed he blessed; while others pondered he prayed; what was lacking in schools, church, counsel and kindness he supplied. It cost something thus to stand by a hated and traduced race in spite of hoodlum and Pharisee combined. But Otis Gibson could not see why the people to whom we owe the compass and the art of printing, the choicest porcelain, the civil service examination might not christianize as readily on our shores as their own. In this faith he and his noble wife have worked on until they have built up a veritable city of refuge for the defenceless and despairing, in the young and half barbarous metropolis of the Pacific slope. We went to a wedding in this attractive home, where a well-to-do young Chinaman was married to a modest, gentle Chinese girl, rescued from a life of untold misery and sin by this blessed Christian home. Contrary to popular opinion, a chorus of Chinese made very tolerable music, and while a Celestial played one of Sankey’s hymns, stately Mrs. Capt. Goodall, the generous friend and patron saint of the establishment, escorted the bride, and after a simple service (with the word “obey” conspicuously left out), the large circle of invited philanthropists was regaled on the refreshments made and provided for such entertainments.

We afterward visited the “Chinese Quarter,” so often described, under escort of Rev. Dr. Gibson. We saw the theaters where men sit on the back and put their feet on the board part of the seat; where actors don their costumes in full sight of the audience, and frightful pictured dragons compete with worse discord for supremacy. We saw the joss-house, with swinging censer and burning incense, tapers and tawdriness, a travesty of the Catholic ceremonial, taking from the latter its one poor merit of originality. We saw a mother and child kneeling before a hideous idol, burning tapers, tossing dice, and thus “consulting the oracle,” with many a sidelong glance of inattention on the part of the six-year-old boy, but with sighs and groans that proved how tragically earnest was the mother’s faith. Dr. Gibson said the numbers on the dice corresponded to wise sayings and advices on strips of paper sold by a mysterious Chinese whose “pious shop” was in the temple vestibule, whither the poor woman resorted to learn the result of her “throw,” and then returned to try again, until she got some response that quieted her. Could human incredulity and ignorance go farther? We saw the restaurants, markets and bazars, as thoroughly Chinese as Pekin itself can furnish; the haunts of vice, all open to the day; the opium dens, with their comatose victims; and then, to comfort our hearts and take away the painful vividness of woman’s degradation, Dr. Gibson took us to see a Christian Chinese home, made by two of his pupils, for years trained under his eye. How can I make the contrast plain enough? A square or two away, the horrid orgies of opium and other dens, but here a well-kept dry goods store, where the husband was proprietor, and in the rear a quiet, pleasant, sacred home. The cleanly, kind-faced wife busy with household cares, her rooms the picture of neatness, her pretty baby sleeping in his crib, and over all the peace that comes from praise and prayer. Never in my life did I approach so near to that perception, too great for mortal to attain, of what the gospel has achieved for woman, as when this gentle, honored wife and mother said, seeing me point to an engraving of “The Good Shepherd,” on her nursery wall: “O, yes! he gave this home to us.”

Otis Gibson conducts the Methodist Mission of San Francisco. In that of the Presbyterian, Mrs. P. B. Browne, a gifted lady, president of the W. C. T. U. of California, is prominent, as she has long been in the Woman’s Christian Association. Mrs. Taylor, president of the local W. C. T. U., is a lovely Christian worker, also Mrs. Williams of the same society, and Miss Annie Crary, daughter of that rare editorial genius, Rev. Dr. B. F. Crary of The California Christian Advocate, is our most talented and best taught Kindergartner.

But there remains a choice bit of portraiture ere my group of philanthropic leaders is complete. How firm and fine the etching that should accurately show the features of Mrs. Sarah B. Cooper, whose strong, sweet individuality I have not seen excelled—no, not even among women. From the time when our eastern press teemed with notices of the Presbyterian lady who had been tried for heresy and acquitted, who had the largest Bible class in San Francisco and was founder of that city’s Kindergartens for the poor, I made a mental memorandum that, no matter whom I missed, this lady I would see. So at 12:30 on a mild May Sabbath noon, I sought the elegant Plymouth Church, built by Rev. Dr. A. L. Stone, and found a veritable congregation in its noble auditorium. Men and women of high character and rare thoughtfulness were gathered, Bibles in hand, to hear the exposition of the acquitted heretic, whom a Pharisaical deacon had begun to assail contemporaneously with her outstripping him in popularity as an expounder of the gospel of love. She entered quietly by a side door, seated herself at a table level with the pews, laid aside her fur-lined cloak and revealed a fragile but symmetric figure, somewhat above the medium height, simply attired in black, with pose and movement altogether graceful, and while perfectly self-possessed, at the furthest remove from being self-assertive. Then I noted a sweet, untroubled brow, soft brown hair chastened with tinge of silver (frost that fell before its time, doubtless at the doughty deacon’s bidding); blue eyes, large, bright and loving; nose of the noblest Roman, dominant yet sensitive, chiseled by generations of culture, the unmistakable expression of highest force and mettlesomeness in character, held in check by all the gentlest sentiments: a mouth firm, yet delicate, full of the smiles that follow tears. Wordsworth’s lines describe her best:

* * “A creature not too bright or good

For human nature’s daily food,

And yet a spirit, still and bright,

With something of an angel’s light.”

The teacher’s method was not that of pumping in, but drawing out. There were no extended monologues, but the Socratic style of colloquy—brief, comprehensive, passing rapidly from point to point, characterized the most suggestive and helpful hour I ever spent in Bible class. There was not the faintest effort at rhetorical effect; not a suspicion of the hortatory in manner, but all was so fresh, simple and earnest, that in contrast to the pabulum too often served up on similar occasions, this was nutritious essence. A Bible class teacher is like a hen with ample brood and all inclined to “take to the grass.” How to coax them back from their discursive rambles by discovering the toothsome morsel and restfully proclaiming it, the average teacher “finds not,” but it is a portion of “the vision and faculty divine” in this California phenomenon. Let me jot down a few notes:

“What we call the new birth is but the opening of the eyes of the spirit upon its own world.” “There can be no kingdom of love to us, unless we enter it by love. We can not be mathematicians unless we enter the kingdom of mathematics. We can not perceive anything unless we address to it the appropriate organ of perception.” “Have we risen into any experience of the higher life? Are we in the way of completeness of soul? A soul dark toward God is in sad plight. No meaning in worship—none in prayer—that is a soul diseased.” “Baptism makes a child of God as coronation makes a king. But remember, he was a king before he was crowned.” As Lucretia Mott said, “We must have truth for authority, and not authority for truth.” “Dorcas did not bestow alms-gifts but alms-deeds; wrought not by a Dorcas society, but by Dorcas herself.” “Christ’s miracles were subject to the laws of the spiritual world. He could not spiritually bless those who were not susceptible to spiritual blessing.” “If I would prove to any one that God is his father I must first prove to him that I am his brother.”

When the delightful hour was over, among the loving group that gathered around her, attracted by the healing virtue of her spiritual atmosphere, came a temperance sojourner from the east. As my name was mentioned, the face so full of spirituality lighted even more than was its wont, and the soft, strong voice said, “Sometimes an introduction is a recognition—and so I feel it to be now.” Dear reader, I consider that enough of a compliment to last me for a term of years. I feel that it helped mortgage me to a pure life; I shall be better for it “right along.” For if I have ever clasped hands with a truth-seeker, a disciple of Christ and lover of humanity, Sarah B. Cooper held out to me that loving, loyal hand. The only “invitation out” which I gave to myself, and insisted on keeping, was to this woman’s home on Vallejo avenue, where, with her noble husband and true-hearted daughter, she illustrates how near the gates of Paradise a mortal home may be. One’s ideal seldom “materializes,” but in that lovely cottage, with its spotless cleanliness, fair, tasteful rooms, individualized so perfectly that he who ran might read how high the natures mirrored here, in the flower-decked dinner table and the “good talk,” in the study upstairs packed with choice books, and the sunset window looking out over the Golden Gate, I stored up memories that ought to yield electric energy for many a day. We talked of the past—and I found that my new friend, as well as her husband, had been for years the pupil of my beloved father in the gospel, our lamented Dr. Henry Bannister, late Professor of Hebrew in Garrett Biblical Institute at Evanston, Ill. With what reverence and tenderness we talked of that brave, earnest, sympathetic life! We spoke of her experiences as a teacher in the South, and she rejoiced in the good tidings I brought of a “Yankee school-ma’am’s” welcome for temperance’s sake in nearly one hundred cities of Dixie’s land. We talked most of all about God and his unspeakable gift of Christ Jesus our Lord. I found this tireless brain had busied itself with the study of all religions, the testimony of science, philosophy and art; a more hospitable intellect I have not known, nor a glance more wide and tolerant, but “Christ and him crucified” is to that loyal heart “the Chief among thousands and altogether lovely.”

Let me give a few sentences from the inspiring letters that come to me across the distance between that bay window by the Golden Gate, and my “Rest Cottage” by the inland sea:

“If I know myself, I have one regnant wish: To help build up the coming kingdom.” “I desire you to include me in all your invocations for light and guidance.” “We move on in one work, we are co-laborers for a common Master—blessed be His name. We both aim at one thing: character-building in Christ Jesus. I am to speak before the C. L. S. C. at Pacific Grove, Monterey, on the ‘Kindergarten in its Relation to Character-Building.’ I shall speak of temperance. Have tried to help women both north and south who are working in their little towns heroically.” “The Chautauqua of the Coast, energized by desperate, sometimes almost despairing love for their tempted ones.”

The Independent and other leading journals have in Mrs. Cooper a valued correspondent, and her work among the little, ill-born and worse-nurtured children of San Francisco’s moral Sahara has been described by her own pure and radiant pen. It is one of the most potent forces in that city’s uplift toward Christianity. Among the best types of representative women, America may justly count Sarah B. Cooper, the student, the Christian exegete and philosopher, and the tender friend of every untaught little child.

TABLE-TALK OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

When Napoleon was about fourteen, he was conversing with a lady about Marshal Turenne, and extolling him to the skies.

“Yes, my friend,” she answered, “he was a great man; but I should like him better if he had not burnt the Palatinate.”

“What does that matter,” he replied briskly, “if the burning was necessary to the success of his plans?”

Napoleon’s German master, a heavy and phlegmatic man, who thought the study of German the only one necessary to a man’s success in life, finding Napoleon absent from his class one day, asked where he was. He was told he was undergoing his examination for the artillery.

“Does he know anything then?” he asked ironically.

“Why, sir, he is the best mathematician in the school.”

“Well,” was his sage remark, “I have always heard say, and I always thought, that mathematics was a study only suitable to fools.”

“It would be satisfactory to know,” Napoleon said twenty years after, “if my professor lived long enough to enjoy his discernment.”

In 1782, at one of the holiday school fêtes at Brienne, to which all the inhabitants of the place were invited, guards were established to preserve order. The dignities of officer and subaltern were conferred only on the most distinguished. Bonaparte was one of these on a certain occasion, when “The Death of Cæsar” was to be performed.

A janitor’s wife who was perfectly well known presented herself for admission without a ticket. She made a clamor, and insisted upon being let in, and the sergeant reported her to Napoleon, who, in an imperative tone, exclaimed, “Let that woman be removed, who brings into this place the license of a camp.”

Bonaparte was confirmed at the military school at Paris. At the name of Napoleon, the archbishop who confirmed him expressed his astonishment, saying that he did not know this saint, that he was not in the calendar, etc. The child answered unhesitatingly, “That that was no reason, for there were a crowd of saints in Paradise, and only 365 days in the year.”

Dining one day with one of the professors at Brienne, the professor knowing his young pupil’s admiration for Paoli, spoke disrespectfully of the general to tease the boy.

Napoleon was energetic in his defense. “Paoli, sir,” said he, “was a great man! he loved his country; and I shall never forgive my father for consenting to the union of Corsica with France.”

One evening in the midst of the Reign of Terror, on returning from a walk through the streets of Paris, a lady asked him:

“How do you like the new Constitution?”

He replied hesitatingly: “Why, it is good in one sense, certainly; but all that is connected with carnage is bad;” and then he exclaimed in an outburst of undisguised feeling: “No! no! no! down with this constitution; I do not like it.”

1794. During the siege of Toulon, one of the agents of the convention ventured to criticise the position of a gun which Napoleon was superintending. “Do you,” he tartly replied, “attend to your duty as national commissioners, and I will be answerable for mine with my head.”

An officer, entering Napoleon’s room, found, much to his astonishment, Napoleon dressed and studying.

“What!” exclaimed his friend, “are you not in bed yet?”

“In bed!” replied Napoleon, “I have finished my sleep and already risen.”

“What, so early?” the other replied.

“Yes,” continued Napoleon, “so early. Two or three hours of sleep are enough for any man.”

When Barras introduced Napoleon to the convention as a fit man to be entrusted with the command, the President asked, “Are you willing to undertake the defense of the convention?”

“Yes,” was the reply.

After a time the President continued: “Are you aware of the magnitude of the undertaking?”

“Perfectly,” replied Napoleon, fixing his eyes upon the questioner; “and I am in the habit of accomplishing that which I undertake.”

“How could you,” a lady asked about this time, “fire thus mercilessly upon your countrymen?”

“A soldier,” he replied calmly, “is only a machine to obey orders. This is my seal which I have impressed upon Paris.”

Napoleon’s apt replies often excited good humor in a crowd. A large and brawny fishwoman once was haranguing the mob, and telling them not to disperse. She finished by exclaiming, “Never mind those coxcombs with epaulets on their shoulders; they care not if we poor people all starve, if they but feed well and grow fat.”

Napoleon, who was as thin as a shadow, turned to her and said, “Look at me, my good woman, and tell me which of us two is the fatter.”

The fishfag was completely disconcerted, and the crowd dispersed.

1796. “Good God!” Napoleon said in Italy, while residing at Montebello, “how rare men are. There are eighteen millions in Italy, and I have with difficulty found two—Dandolo and Melzi.”

“Europe!” Napoleon exclaimed at Passeriano, “Europe is but a mole-hill; there never have existed mighty empires, there never have occurred great revolutions, save in the east, where lived six hundred millions of men—the cradle of all religions, the birthplace of all metaphysics.”

One day Napoleon, conversing with Las Cases, asked him, “Were you a gamester?”

“Alas, sire,” Las Cases replied, “I must confess that I was, but only occasionally.”

“I am glad,” replied Napoleon, “that I knew nothing of it at the time. You would have been ruined in my esteem. A gamester was sure to lose my confidence. I placed no more trust in him.”

Some one read an account of the battle of Lodi, in which it was stated that Napoleon crossed the bridge first, and that Lannes passed after him.

“Before me! before me!” Napoleon exclaimed. “Lannes passed first, I only followed him. I must correct that error on the spot.”

EARLY FLOWERS.

By FRANCIS GEORGE HEATH.

The fields and woods of January, when not covered by snow, offer much better opportunities for the study of flowers than we ordinarily believe. Mr. Heath has told, in his “Sylvan Spring,” of all the early-comers of the year. If all the flowers which he mentions here are not found this season in a locality, observation extending through several seasons will undoubtedly reveal them. A carefully kept note-book of all the changes in vegetation, the growth, blossoming, etc., will be found most interesting.

January in temperate latitudes is popularly believed to possess no wild flowers in our lanes, fields or hedgebanks; and the reason for the common belief is that no one expects or looks for them, and there is no conspicuous color to attract attention to them at that ordinarily cold and apparently “dead” season of the year. Yet there are not less than twenty-five of our wild flowers that may be found in bloom somewhere in January.

A January has probably never yet been known during which it was impossible to find out of doors a daisy (Bellis perennis) in flower: not in the open meadow, or on the cold slope of the hillside, but at least in some sheltered nook where a streamlet may flow, unhindered by frost. Says Montgomery:

“On waste and woodland, rock and plain,

Its humble buds unheeded rise;

The rose has but a summer reign,

The daisy never dies.”

And this last line explains the true meaning of the specific botanical name of the day’s “eye”—perennis—which does not mean, as it is usually understood in botanical language, “perennial,” simply to indicate that the daisy plant lives beyond a period of two years. It means “lasting throughout the year,” that is to say, lasting in blossom throughout the year, for our daisy is always in bloom somewhere.

Another January flower, and one whose blossoms, though it is an annual plant, may be found throughout the year, is the purple dead nettle (Lamium purpureum).

Though much like its relative, the later-blooming white or common dead nettle, this pretty plant may be known from Lamium album, not only by the purple color of its curious flowers, a color with which its leaves and its leaf-hairs are sometimes suffused, but by its smaller size and by the curious crowding of its alternately-paired heart-shaped leaves on the upper part of the stem, a feature which is not common to its white-flowering congener. The unobservant pedestrian who may linger by the wayside to pluck something which strikes his fancy in the low hedgebank, must often have dreaded the touch of the harmless dead nettles, under the belief that these plants were the widely different, though similarly leaved, “stinging” nettles. If disabused of this impression and induced to handle a flowering stem of the purple dead nettle, with square stem and whorl of stalkless axillary blossoms, he will marvel at the singular-looking corolla, separated from its calyx of five sepals. The generic name Lamium comes from a Greek word which means throat, and that, as referring to the blossom, it is aptly applied, will be seen at once. From the depths of this throat, or the corolla tube, in other words, rise the stamens on their long filaments, covered by the upper and concave lip of the corolla, which hangs hood-like over them, whilst the lower lip (for this species belongs to the large natural order called Labiatæ, labiate or lip-flowered plants) is prettily marked with spots of darker purple than the normal color of the blossom.

Though the most we can do with the winter aconite (Eranthis hyemalis) is to rank it among our doubtful wild flowers, we must at least give it “honorable mention,” noticing its whorl of green leaves at the apex of its solitary stem and its large, yellow, handsome blossom, for it is among the hardy little group of plants which flower the nearest in point of time to the first day of the new year.

We must not fail to allude in our enumeration of early January flowers to that sweet little plant, the wild heartsease, or pansy (Viola tricolor), the progenitor of its host of garden namesakes. Its natural tendency to vary in the color as well as in the size of its blossoms, under varying conditions of growth, will explain the ease with which it can be made subservient to culture. Had it no beauty of its own, its relationship to the violets would claim for it our love and regard; but it is a flower which can not be passed over, for it seems to look at us out of its yellow and darkly-empurpled face with a sort of thoughtful earnestness.

The hellebores come within our enumeration of the January flora, and of these the bearsfoot or fœtid hellebore (Helleborus fœtidus) is the earliest in flower. It grows to a height oftentimes of two feet. Its smooth stem and leaves are dark green; its leaves narrowly lanceolate, serrated along the edges toward their apices. The large flowers are cuplike, are produced in panicles, or branched clusters, and are light yellowish green in color, the cluster of yellow-anthered stamens forming a conspicuous center to each corolla. Every part of the bearsfoot is highly poisonous, but the plant pleases the eye by its striking and handsome form.

It must naturally follow that exceptional hardiness is indicated by capacity to blossom in January. But among all our early flowering plants, there are two which may fairly claim the possession of an especial character for robustness of constitution; for, whilst those we have already mentioned are more or less susceptible to the influence of cold, and some of them will only produce their early blossoms in sheltered nooks, the two we are about to notice can bravely withstand hard frosts in exposed situations.

Of these, the first we shall name is the common groundsel (Senecio vulgaris), and a hardier little plant than this, of its kind, it would be scarcely possible to find. We have seen it in flower in the early part of January, when every stream, pond, and ditch around was frozen almost to the bottom, its soft leaves looking as fresh and glossy as if it had been the height of summer. The groundsel is a member of a little group which includes the ragworts, and they all bear yellow blossoms, and have a strong family likeness. Senecio vulgaris really flowers all the year round, and that is why we have it so conveniently among our early January blossoms. That it is so plentiful and so hardy is a wise provision of nature; for its leaves, the florets of its blossoms, and its seeds are very welcome additions to the food of our small birds, who have at least this provision for their comfort during the rigors of our frosts.

The other little wildling of the two we have especially mentioned as being among the hardiest even of the hardy January flora is the common chickweed (Stellaria media), a pretty little plant, which, because of its marvelous power of reproduction, and its persistency in intruding within the prim domain of the gardener, is by the last named individual regarded with feelings of bitter enmity, and is mercilessly exterminated whenever it comes into the realm of graveled path and nicely-kept border. Very different are the feelings of the small birds toward the chickweed, for it furnishes them with food which is eagerly sought after and keenly appreciated. Its power of branching and spreading is really marvelous, and it seems almost to lead a charmed life, for the most persevering attempts to uproot and banish it from the ground whereon it has once fairly established itself, ordinarily fail. We have said that its flowers are pretty, but perhaps some unobservant and unreflecting people hardly credit it with the production of blossom, for the minute, oblong, white petals are so much hidden by the green five-cleft calyx which is oftentimes larger than the corolla, entirely enveloping them when in bud, that they are inconspicuous among the mass of spreading green.

And now we have reached, in our pleasant task of enumerating our earliest wild flowers, the delicate and beautiful snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis), the botanical name indicating a milk-white blossom; and though it can scarcely claim to take a place as

“The first pale blossom of the ripening year,”

it may be sometimes seen in bloom before the middle of January. Have the incurious and unobservant noticed more about this beautiful flower than that it is white and drooping, and early in appearing, and, of course, pretty? We fancy not. Yet this delicate white blossom will well repay careful and searching examination.

The advent of a buttercup in bloom in January would appear almost impossible to those who associate this plant only with the golden splendor of the May meadows; and it is a rare circumstance, but one, nevertheless, which has been noted, and noted, also, of the very buttercup (Ranunculus repens), to whose extensively creeping habit we owe so much of the profuse magnificence of the later spring. In the pretty lines familiar to almost every child,—

“While the trees are leafless,

While the fields are bare,

Golden, glossy buttercups,

Spring up here and there,”

we find the early-flowering fact recorded. And, again, the question arises, why is it that “here and there,” before the general leafing time, a buttercup may be found to rear its golden head in one spot, while not far off—and, indeed, within sight it may be—there are tens of thousands of plants of the same species which will not blossom until months later? Sometimes the circumstances of position, in the case of the plant in flower, are so obviously more favorable than those of adjoining flowerless congeners, that the necessary explanation is furnished. But oftentimes the early flowering remains a mystery, in spite of all attempts at elucidation. Does not every one of us remember some occasion when a long walk early in the year has revealed the sight of but one daisy or buttercup in bloom in a locality, which, later on, would have been thronged by countless members of the same species? The mere recollection of the solitary flower which gladdened such a walk is delightful. How much more delightful the event itself!

We need, surely, make no apology for giving something more than mere mention of the dandelion (Leontodon taraxacum) in our enumeration of early flowers. It is, doubtless, a very “common” flower: but that we venture to think is the very reason why it should not be contemptuously dismissed as if it were not worthy of description or consideration. Very often it will happen that the familiar yellow blossom of Leontodon taraxacum is the first which we encounter in the early days of the year, and this hardy and persevering plant has this especial claim upon our regard, that it selects ordinarily the most desolate and dismal places as its habitats, covering them oftentimes with a gorgeous sheet of color. Townspeople, and poor townspeople especially, ought to love this plant, for it lights up with its golden glow the surroundings of the most bare and wretched of human habitations.

The dandelion is worthy of attention. The origin of its common name has given rise to some little discussion. That it is a corruption of the French dents de lion is very generally accepted; but in spite of varying opinions as to what part of the plant resembles a lion’s teeth—whether its roots, by their whiteness, or its florets or leaves, by their indentations, we incline to the leaf theory. The circumstance to note in connection with the leaves is that their teeth-like lobes are turned backwards towards the root from which they all directly spring—a habit which is not at all common to plants with indented leaves. If we look, with a glass to assist the eye, at a dandelion leaf against the light, we shall find something to please us, and something to admire in its venation, in the acute points of the serratures, and in its smooth glossiness. Features of interest to note, too, are its brittle, fleshy, tapering, milky root-stock and rootlets; its hollow, brittle, milky and radical flower-stem; and its buds, with the golden tips shining above the conspicuous involucre (a word derived from involucrum, a case, or wrapper), the involucre in the case of the dandelion consisting of two sets of green scales, the one set enclosing the yellow florets in the manner of a calyx; the other, and narrower set, consisting of a whorl of bracts, or leaf-like appendages, reflexed or bent down. When the blossom opens the upper bracts remain erect. And by-and-by the yellow florets disappear, and are succeeded, each, by a feathery pappus, connected by a slender stalk with a seed, and serving as a wing to bear the seed away when the ripening time arrives. The convex receptacle, in form so much like a pincushion, is, indeed, covered with seeds, whose feathery appendages are crowded into semi-globular form, ready, however, to take flight on the least breath of wind which may be strong enough to bear away to fresh fields and pastures new the tiny germs of the hardy life which lends the beauty of its presence to brighten forlorn waysides and neglected wastes.

We must include the crocus (Crocus vernus) among the possible flowers of January, although the flowering calendar of the gardener will ordinarily be found to assign a later date for its period of blossoming.

The crocus blossom offers the advantage of largeness to those who may wish to carefully study the curious organs of plant flowers. The most conspicuous external feature of the common crocus is the long-tubed purple perianth, divided into six segments, or pieces, constituting the vase-like flower head. Within the floral envelope are contained first the ovary, surmounted by a style which traverses the whole length of the long, narrow tube of the perianth, and is crowned just above the point where the tube expands into its petal-like segments, by a curious three-cleft stigma, each lobe of which is club-shaped or wedge-shaped, and jagged at its extremity. Some little distance below the level of the stigma are reared the anthers of the stamens, three in number. When the pollen grains from these organs have fertilized the ovary, by the agency of the stigma and style, the office of the perianth is fulfilled, and it, with the stamens and stigma, begins to wither and disappear. Then the ovary is enlarged, and rising on a slender stalk from the top of the bulbous root on which it was seated when the floral envelope was present, becomes exposed to the air, and ripens the seeds within its three-celled capsule.

In some of our woods in January may occasionally be found, though it is not widely distributed, the green hellebore (Helleborus viridis). The five oval-shaped, green lobes which form the floral envelope are not, as at first might be supposed, petals but sepals, the much smaller petals, eight or ten in number, occupying the inner portion of the blossom, and immediately surrounding the numerous stamens. These petals, or, as they might be called, nectaries, contain a poisonous honey, and the whole plant, indeed—leaves and flowers—is very poisonous.

We may perchance, before the month is out, light upon the pretty blue blossoms of the field speedwell (Veronica agrestis), with its hairy, deeply-indented and somewhat heart-shaped leaves, placed in opposite pairs along its branching stems, or, perhaps, upon its relative, Veronica buxbaumii.

In wood and copse before the close of January, we may note the sylvan precursor of the green splendor of the later spring—the leafing honeysuckle, the earliest harbinger of sylvan verdure in the days to come. The little leaves have not yet revealed their size and form, and without close examination the light-brown, spiry twigs would appear to wear only their normal wintry aspect. But if we look narrowly at them we shall note the tiny spots of green at the stem knots, where the minute leaves are struggling to emerge from the bud cases. Earliest in leaf among the shrubs and trees of the hedgerow and forest, the woodbine is the latest in flower—spreading, even late in autumn, its sweet fragrance through thicket, copse and dell.

Childhood is the sleep of reason.—Rousseau.

BOTANICAL NOTES.

By PROF. J. H. MONTGOMERY.

The numberless uses for india-rubber in this century has made it an indispensable article of commerce and manufacture, consequently its production has become a great industry. Whether the known forests will continue to supply the demand for any considerable time is a practical question. Right here comes the intelligence, that the attention of the government in India has been called to a new source of this useful gum. This new plant which yields large quantities of pure caoutchouc is a native of Cochin China, and is common in Southern India. It belongs to the dog-bane family (the same family that yields strychnine), and is called Prameria Glandalifera. In lower China its liquid juice is used for medicine by the Anamites and Cambodians, and it also appears among the drugs of China.

The Norwegian, Schübeler, mentions some striking peculiarities of plants in high latitudes. He says that seeds produced in these regions are much larger and weigh more than those grown in more temperate climates. The leaves, also, of most plants are larger in the north than those of the same species farther south. Flowers which are white in warmer climates, become colored when they blossom in the north. All these differences he ascribes to the continued light of long days.

It is noted by naturalists that Arctic plants are destitute of odor as a rule; only a few having a faint scent.

It appears from an English paper that the secretary of the Royal Society transplanted sea-weed to earth that was kept constantly moist, and that the plants grew and flourished under what would seem to be very unnatural circumstances. This would be an experiment worth trying with our fresh water plants.

By placing the stems of freshly cut flowers in a liquid dye their petals may often be colored or changed in color. This will not always happen, however, as certain colors are not absorbed by flowers. These dyes do not in any way change or affect the perfume or freshness.

The time honored method of determining the age of trees by counting their concentric rings has received some very hard blows from recent observations made on the growth of trees. An article in the Popular Science Monthly, from the pen of A. L. Childs, M.D., gives some facts which show that these rings do not indicate the age of the tree, and shows what they do indicate. The following passages from the article will give the ground on which his deductions are based: “In June of 1871 I planted a quantity of seed as it ripened and fell from some red maple trees. In 1873 I transplanted some of the trees from these seeds, placing them on my city lots in Plattsmouth, Nebraska. In August, 1882, finding them too much crowded, I cut some out, and, the concentric rings being very distinct, I counted them. From the day of planting the seed to the day of cutting the trees was two months over eleven years. On one, more distinctly marked (although there was but little difference between them), I counted on one side of the heart forty rings. Other sides were not so distinct; but in no part were there fewer than thirty-five. * * * * Hence, from my own record, I knew the tree had but twelve years of growth; and yet, as counted by myself and many others, it had forty clear concentric rings. * * * Hon. R. W. Furness, late Governor of Nebraska, so well known as a practical forester, has kindly furnished me with several sections of trees of known age, from which I select the following: A pig-hickory eleven years old, with sixteen distinct rings; a green ash eight years old, with eleven very plain rings; a Kentucky coffee-tree ten years old, with fourteen very distinct rings, and, in addition to these, twenty-one sub-rings; a burr-oak ten years old, with twenty-four equally distinct rings; a black walnut five years old, with twelve rings. * * * In conclusion, that the more distinct concentric rings of a tree approximate, or in some cases exactly agree, in number with the years of the tree, no one, I presume, will deny; but that in most, and probably nearly all trees, intermediate rings or sub-rings, generally less conspicuous, yet often more distinct than the annual rings, exist is equally certain; and I think the foregoing evidence is sufficient to induce those who prefer truth to error to examine the facts of the case. These sub-rings or additional rings are easily accounted for by sudden and more or less frequent changes of weather, and requisite conditions of growth—each check tending to solidify the newly-deposited cambium, or forming layer; and, as long intervals occur of extreme drought or cold, or other unfavorable causes, the condensation produces a more pronounced and distinct ring than the annual one.”

C. L. S. C. WORK.

By Rev. J. H. VINCENT, D.D., SUPERINTENDENT OF INSTRUCTION.

The readings for January are: “Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation,” fourteen chapters; Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 18, “Christian Evidences;” Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 39, “Sunday-school Normal Work;” Required Readings in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

“Memorial Day” for January: “College Day,” Thursday, January 31.

The map of southern Europe, by Monteith, contains a good map of Greece. Published by A. S. Barnes & Co., of New York. Price, $5.

Persons who are reading for the additional White Seal for graduates of ’82 and ’83 need not read the Brief History of Greece if they read Timayenis, Vols. 1 and 2.

By sending forty cents to Miss Edith E. Guinon, Meadville, Pa., members of the classes of ’82 and ’83 may procure badges.

A student of the C. L. S. C. in Idaho writes: The pupils of the public school will one day be Chautauquans. There is enthusiasm over everything in the course that we enjoy together, and that is a considerable portion of it. We talked over the air when the loveliest blue mist hung for days between us and our most beautiful mountains’ snowy peak. * * * My pupils have treated our very near Chinese neighbors with more consideration since the reading of “China, Corea, and Japan.” * * * This is only the second year of school-life in our place, and we are largely indebted to the C. L. S. C. for help in overcoming some difficulties incident to a first struggle.

One good English sentence committed every day will greatly enrich one’s vocabulary in the course of a year.

“Don’t” is a good little manual of manners, but Miss Josephine Pollard’s Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 43, on “Good Manners,” is better. “Don’t” fail to read and practice “Good Manners.”

Try to pronounce your words accurately and distinctly. Accept with gratitude all hints which drive you to the dictionary. Avoid over-sensitiveness when corrected by fellow-student, friend or foe.

A telegraph operator writes: “Coming from the beautiful village of ——, Wis., where I was a member of a flourishing circle, and finding myself in this little western town on the Minnesota prairies, how could I pass the long tedious hours of the night if it were not for the studies of the C. L. S. C.? I am a night operator for the railroad company, and while the great majority of the great army of the C. L. S. C. are asleep and dreaming, I am studying. Thank God for the C. L. S. C.! How much broader life seems since I commenced these studies, and it is a pleasant thought to me that in ’86, when I graduate, I shall possibly be able to go to Chautauqua, and to shake hands with you.”

The Monteagle Assembly (Tennessee) last summer developed an intense C. L. S. C. enthusiasm. The meetings were lively, largely attended, and increased in interest to the very close of the Assembly. A committee was appointed to erect a C. L. S. C. building at Monteagle. I call upon all members of the C. L. S. C. to do what they can in the way of contributions to this Monteagle building. I am anxious not to turn the C. L. S. C. into an advertising channel for local interests, but the Monteagle movement, covering as it does the whole southern field, deserves our hearty sympathies, and I hope that many members will feel free to send contributions of any sum to the secretary, Rev. J. H. Warren, Murfreesboro, Tenn.

I take pleasure in commending to the members of the C. L. S. C. the “Comprehensive Biographical Dictionary,” by Edward A. Thomas, published by Porter & Coates, Philadelphia. It contains several steel-plate engravings and 590 pages. Price, $2.50 to $4.50, according to the binding.

Miss S. A. Scull, of Philadelphia, has prepared, and Porter & Coates have published an admirable abridgement of “Greek Mythology,” helpfully classified. It is amply illustrated and adapted to the school or to private use.

Every Chautauquan will mourn over the death of Mr. Van Lennep. He was a simple hearted, sincere, unselfish worker, a member of the class of ’86, a true friend, a loyal Chautauquan.

Scripture Readings for January, 1884:

First week, Genesis, 1st chapter.

Second week, Genesis, 13th chapter.

Third week, Genesis, 23d chapter.

Fourth week, Genesis, 32d chapter.

OUTLINE OF C. L. S. C. READINGS.

JANUARY, 1884.

The required readings for January, 1884, include “Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation,” by Rev. James B. Walker; Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 18, “Christian Evidences,” and No. 39, “Sunday-school Normal Class Work;” the Required Readings in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

First Week (ending January 8).—1. Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation, from the “Introduction,” page 25, to the end of chapter ii.

2. Readings in German History and German Literature in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Readings for January 6, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

Second Week (ending January 16).—1. Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation, from chapter iii, page 59, to the end of chapter vi.

2. Readings in Political Economy and Physical Science in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Readings for January 13, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

Third Week (ending January 24).—1. Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation, from chapter vii, page 90, to the end of chapter ix.

2. Readings in Art in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Readings for January 20, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

Fourth Week (ending January 31).—1. Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation, from chapter x, page 122, to the end of chapter xiv.

2. Readings in American Literature in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Readings for January 27, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

SUNBEAMS FROM THE CIRCLE.

God speed our cause! God keep it true,

Year after year its work to do,

Until the perfect morn appears,—

Until beyond the line of gray

Climbs up to heaven the perfect day

That ushers in the Thousand Years.

From a C. L. S. C. poem read before the local circle of Franklin, Mass., October 1, 1883.

In an editorial on the C. L. S. C. a Canadian editor makes the following computation: “The classes of the past numbered a total of 34,800. If 20,000 are added this year we shall have a school of 55,000. Last year’s class numbered 14,000, an increase of sixty per cent. The same ratio will give us in another year a membership of 78,000, and in another year of over one hundred thousand. Think of a school of one hundred thousand pupils! Where will it stop?”

We have been asked to furnish the names and addresses of the various class presidents. They are as follows: President of class of 1882, Rev. H. C. Pardoe, Danville, Pa.; class of 1883, Rev. H. C. Farrar, Troy, N. Y.; class of 1884, Hon. John Fairbanks, Chicago, Ill.; class of 1885, Mr. Underwood, Meriden, Conn.; class of 1886, Rev. B. P. Snow, Biddeford, Me.; class of 1887, Rev. Frank Russell, Mansfield, O.

A Pittsburgh paper says: The Allegheny County Alumni Association of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle has become an institution. Composed as it is of the thinking people of Pittsburgh and Allegheny its success is not phenomenal, but is entirely merited. Last night the alumni were “at home” for the third time at the Seventh Avenue Hotel to their friends. They number about seventy people, and are as proud of their badges with their seals attached as a Knight of the Legion of Honor. The members and their friends met and chatted, much as other people do on such occasions, in the ladies’ parlors. The guests were taken care of by the president and secretary in handsome style, and at 8:30 the banquet supper was announced. Supper over the guests were provided with pure cold water, with which to toast the association. Dr. Eaton said it was a most dangerous proceeding at that time of night, nevertheless it prevailed. Dr. Wood announced a song at the conclusion of his toast to the Circle. It was of the Chautauqua series, “We gather here as pilgrim bands.” “The C. L. S. C., an untried experiment in 1878, but a grand success in ’83,” was the topic proposed for Prof. L. H. Eaton. He is one of the oldest and most enthusiastic members of the society, and has only missed one meeting in ten years at Chautauqua. The struggles and triumphs of the order was an easy subject to him and he was generally applauded at the conclusion of his remarks. “The order of the White Seal” by Miss Jennie Adair, followed. Mr. A. M. Martin, Secretary of the Grand Assembly of the Association, spoke upon “The Heroes.” He gave a short history of the Circle. The women are pronounced the heroes. “The class of ’83,” Miss N. G. Boyce; Alumni Song of ’83; “Our public schools the pride of the American people,” Miss M. E. Hare; Select reading, Miss Lizzie K. Pershing; Grecian history, Mr. D. W. Jones; Lawrenceville class of ’82, Thos. J. Ford; The Ladies, Professor Steeth. The toasts were all good, many of them humorous. When the party rose, it was an “all rounder” (cold water) to the prosperity of the Chautauquan culture.

A Pennsylvania member of the C. L. S. C. writes us: “I am a man in middle life (44 years old) with a family of four children to look after. I do a varied business, merchandising, lumbering and farming. I believe they call me the hardest working man in the village, but I have found time to complete the course, and have derived great benefit, as well as enjoyment, while reading. My main object has been to prepare myself as best I could, under the circumstances, to better educate and direct the minds of the children growing up around me, and by encouraging good reading to drive the bad away.”

The editor of the Home and School, Toronto, (Ont.,) has received the following from a young man in Manitoba: “You will probably remember that I wrote you in regard to some systematic sourse of reading just about three years ago, and that you sent me circulars of the C. L. S. C., and also said you would be happy to hear of my success in prosecuting the ‘course,’ etc. Well, owing to a change of circumstances and other unforeseen events, I have been unable to take the ‘course,’ though I procured some of the books, and have been a constant subscriber to THE CHAUTAUQUAN. I must thank you for sending me those circulars. The little I have read in the ‘course’ has been a very great benefit to me, indeed. It has improved my mind, and given me a greater desire for more knowledge; but, perhaps, better still is this: This year myself and a younger brother—I am twenty-two years old—have joined the ‘Circle,’ and we are at present talking about getting up a ‘local circle,’ and, indeed, have things about arranged for it. I was so pleased with all this that I could not refrain from writing and telling you, as you were the one who first sent me the circulars.”

In a pleasant letter to THE CHAUTAUQUAN the secretary of the local circle of Muscatine (Iowa) says: “The graduates of 1882 still remain banded together, and are this year pursuing the special course of Modern History. ‘Fifteen’ is still a favorite number, the number with which the class was organized in 1878, the number that graduated, and the number that are at present pursuing the special course.”

A paper in Muscatine, Iowa, furnishes this word picture: The Bryant memorial, at the residence of P. M. Musser, was one of the most pleasant and successful anniversary meetings in the history of the Muscatine Chautauqua circles. There was a large attendance of both circles and invited guests, and the program proved unusually interesting and entertaining. The music, which was so appropriately interspersed through the program, was of a high order of merit, each number exhibiting much practice and study. The literary program consisted mainly of finely-rendered recitations and readings from Bryant’s poems. There was a charmingly-written sketch of Bryant’s life, which abounded with valuable and interesting facts in regard to the great poet’s life and the development and growth of his poetic genius; also a description of Bryant’s 80th year memorial vase, whose design was so exquisite in beauty and expressive in sentiment. The special interest of the evening centered in the discussion on the question—Resolved, that Bryant, as a poet, is more American than Longfellow. The question was evidently adopted, not for the purpose of drawing odious comparisons or in any way detracting from the renown or genius of either of America’s greatest poets, but for the purpose of presenting the special characteristics of both. After extending thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Musser for the cordial hospitality of the evening, the exercises closed. The Bryant memorial is an occasion to be remembered.

A lady has related to us this interesting experience in the C. L. S. C.: “In the fall of 1879, while going across the Rocky Mountains in a stage, a lady (a perfect stranger) told me about the C. L. S. C. She had the text-book on English History with her and was studying it. I had just completed a college course, but felt so unsatisfied with the little I knew, and was longing for some one to direct me. I knew not what to read, nor how to read. We were in the same town that winter—Bozeman, Mont.—and with a friend formed a circle of three. Next year I returned home (Missouri), but too late to have a circle. Our people had never heard of it. Well, a meeting was held and our numbers ran up to forty-seven. How our hearts were gladdened! They have all joined as regular members, and seem so interested. Quite a number have expressed their regret to me that they did not join before.”

The president of the Knoxville circle, Mrs. Delia Havey, graduated at Monteagle last summer, being the first graduate from the southern Chautauqua. THE CHAUTAUQUAN has neglected to mention that there was a graduate at Monteagle, but is very glad to note the fact.

At Lake View a New England Branch of the class of ’85 was organized, with the following officers: President, Rev. J. E. Fullerton, Hopkinton, Mass.; vice-presidents, Miss Lena A. Chubbeck, New Bedford, Mass., Miss Alice C. Earle, Newport, R. I., Miss Marcia C. Smith, Swanton, Vt., Mr. J. B. Underwood, Meriden, Conn.; secretary and treasurer, Mr. A. B. Comey, South Framingham, Mass. The badge of class ’85 can be obtained of the president. Each member of the class of ’85 residing in New England is requested to send his name and address to the secretary at South Framingham, Mass.

The Augusta, Me., local circle puts a copy of THE CHAUTAUQUAN into the Y. M. C. A. reading-room of that city. Through the efforts of the secretary of the circle, a C. L. S. C. circle has been formed among the young men of the association. The Y. M. C. A. reaches in most places a large number of young men whose opportunities for culture are limited. Wherever a society is formed which offers them a systematic and thorough course of reading, they almost invariably will avail themselves of its advantages. Other circles may profitably follow the example of our Augusta friends.

Under the very efficient management of the president, Rev. B. P. Snow, the interests of the class of ’86 are being subserved. He requests that secretaries of local circles in New England forward to the secretary of the New England organization of class of ’86, Miss Mary R. Hinckley, New Bedford, Mass., name of circle, officers, number of members, and number of class of ’86. Those reading alone are requested to forward name and residence. Let this be promptly attended to, that the organization of this energetic branch of the class of ’86 may be completed.

LOCAL CIRCLES.

Canada (Toronto).—The Metropolitan Circle, C. L. S. C., held the first meeting of the season on Saturday evening, October 27th, and elected officers for the year. The commencement is an encouraging one, and we expect a good season’s work. Nearly a quarter of the members are in the graduating class this year, and most of them will probably go to Chautauqua for their diplomas. I must thank the correspondent from Knoxville, Tenn., for the report from that circle in the November CHAUTAUQUAN. It has the right ring. We most heartily reciprocate the greeting, and trust that they, as we, are only in our infancy of strength.

Ontario (St. Thomas).—The Evening Journal, of St. Thomas, says of the first meeting of local circles in that city: The inaugural meeting of the St. Thomas Arc of “The Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle” was held last night. Thirteen members reported themselves ready for systematic reading. The work of organization was proceeded with and officers were elected for the ensuing term. The meetings are to be held every alternate Tuesday evening. After completing plans for work in detail, the following resolution relative to the death of the late Mr. Robert Armstrong, was moved and carried: Resolved, that we, the St. Thomas circle of C. L. S. C., desire to express our deep and heart-felt sorrow at the demise of our esteemed and estimable brother, Robert Armstrong, who was removed from our midst by the mysterious and yet wise hand of kind Providence, all the more to be regretted from the fact that our late brother was taken away ere we had yet fully organized our local circle, he being among the first who united at the inception of it. And, also, we shall miss his cheerful face and his sterling Christian character in our intercourse. But at the same time we feel that what is our loss is his gain, he being admitted into that great circle and to the Fountain-head of all knowledge. Resolved, that our secretary be instructed to record these resolutions in the minutes of our circle, and that our city papers be furnished with a copy of the same.

Maine (Auburn).—The Auburn C. L. S. C. resumed its work in October, and holds its meetings every second and fourth Friday of each month. We have had large accessions to our membership, and we can no longer be accommodated in private parlors. We have obtained the use of the G. A. R. parlor, where we shall meet for the winter. We have used the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN in our work heretofore, but are now about to try the experiment of the Round-Table method. We think it a good plan to have every member contribute something toward the evening’s work and instruction, and to that end “topics” are given out by the president, which are usually historical characters or subjects connected with our reading, and are given in at the next meeting in the form of short essays, or talks, just as the member chooses. We have music to open and close the sessions, and usually find time for some social converse after the work of the evening is over. On the occasion of our observance of Bryant’s day, able papers on the “Life” and “Works” of the poet were read, and selections were read by various members, which, with music, made up a very enjoyable program. We have obtained of the county authorities the use of a room in the courthouse building (Auburn being a shire town), free of cost, to be used for natural history collections, and have already made a creditable beginning in the way of minerals. We shall solicit, not to say beg, specimens of anybody and everybody whom we think will be likely to heed our call. Last winter, under the auspices of the united circles of Auburn and Lewiston, Rev. George W. Perry gave a series of six lectures on Astronomy, illustrated by the stereopticon. Mr. Perry’s enthusiastic interest in his grand theme, and marked clearness in conveying instruction make him an able lecturer, and his efforts resulted in much profit and quickening of interest among his hearers.

Massachusetts (Lynn).—The Thorndike local circle was formed in this city in October, 1882, with a membership of twenty, which increased during the year to forty, most of whom have kept up the required reading. We are very fortunate in having as our instructor Prof. Edward Johnson, Jr., a well known and successful teacher. Our meetings, which were public, were held in the ladies’ parlor of the Boston Street M. E. Church. During the year our instructor gave us several interesting and instructive lectures on subjects connected with the study of the prescribed course. We also had a lecture by Rev. W. N. Richardson, of Saugus, a thorough Chautauquan, on “Self Culture, and the C. L. S. C.,” and by the Rev. James L. Hill, of this city, on “How to be at home at home.” Our meetings have usually been held monthly, but we have concluded we can do more and better work by having them oftener, and so have decided to meet at the homes of the members semi-monthly. Our meetings are full of interest, and there is an earnest determination among the members to make this year one of great success. We send greeting to our fellow students, and salute them in the words of the song, “All hail! C. L. S. C.”

Massachusetts (Winchendon).—The Alpha Circle was organized in December, 1882, with a membership of eleven, and we now number eighteen. Our meetings are held once in two weeks, and are well attended. Our program consists of essays, readings, questions on topics studied, music, recitations, etc. This year our Committee of Instruction has adopted the plan of choosing for each meeting two members to arrange the program. This gives a greater variety of work and increases the interest among all the members. We find the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN a great help, and frequently use the Chautauquan songs and games.

Connecticut (West Stratford).—A class of twenty-three members has been organized here this fall for C. L. S. C. studies. Much interest is felt, and our meetings are very thoroughly enjoyed. We are proud to add our names to the large army of students looking toward Chautauqua’s noble halls.

Rhode Island (Providence).—Hope Circle began its second year by holding its first regular meeting October 22. About seventy-five persons were present. Miss Leavitt, who has visited Chautauqua, conducted a C. L. S. C. Round-Table, which the circle very much enjoyed. About fifty questions were asked, and a few could not be answered; those unanswered were given to a question committee, to be answered by them at the next meeting. We began with fifteen members, now number fifty-nine, and are constantly increasing. We hope, during the winter, to have the other circles which are forming here, meet with us and enjoy the lectures and talks which we propose to have. We celebrated “Bryant’s Day” by holding appropriate exercises. The entertainment consisted of piano solos, sketches of the poet’s life, reading of his most noted poems, and Chautauqua songs. All memorial days are celebrated in like manner.

New York (Saugerties).—Our little circle began the year’s work with increased membership and interest. We now number fourteen. Our weekly meetings are very pleasant. We review the reading by questions and discussion, and have occasional essays. We have grown into the writing so gradually that the word “essay” has been robbed of its terrors. We began with “five minute sketches,” and “essays” not exceeding six pages, all writing at the same time, though not always on the same topic. We found no difficulty in securing for our Bryant day a very entertaining paper from one of our young ladies, of a half hour in length.

New York (Troy).—Beman Park Circle, of this city, has fourteen members and four officers. A critic is also appointed at each meeting to observe all errors in language and report at the next meeting. A special feature of our meeting is that our president reads the lessons for one meeting ahead, and selects questions, giving two or three to each member for special study. Our meeting opens with the report of the secretary and the critic of the previous meeting; then the questions that have been given us are read and answered. Each one having given especial attention to his two or three questions, we can converse more intelligently than if we gave the same attention to all. Besides, each seeks to obtain all accessible information on his special subjects, which adds greatly to the interest of the meeting. After this exercise we spend a short time in conversation of a literary character, and then close.

South Carolina (Greenville).—On October 16 some of the young people of this place met and organized a local circle; we now have fifteen members. The membership consists mostly of young ladies and young gentlemen who have finished college, but are desirous of reviewing, and keeping up a literary taste. We endeavored, in our organization, to combine the good features of several different systems which we saw described in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. First, we have a question box, into which each member is expected to place at least one question and not more than four; these questions to have a bearing on the lesson for the evening. The questions are read out by the secretary, one at a time, and the president calls upon some member to answer it. After this we have music by some member of the circle. Thirdly, we have a selection read before the body, which is followed in turn by an essay. Lastly, about twenty minutes is devoted to a general exercise, during which time any member may occupy the floor in delivering a short talk appropriate to the lesson, or may call upon some one else to do so. All of our members seem enthusiastic, and we think that much good will be done. We appoint a critic at each meeting to note the performances and pass criticisms thereon. We have a complete organization, with a constitution, by-laws, and a full set of officers.

Ohio (Perrysburg).—The local circle here was reorganized the last week in September. We have a membership of fifteen, an increase of nine over last year. This was accomplished by the earnest work of some of our last year’s members, who were at Chautauqua during the past summer. We meet once a week. We follow the plan of work laid out in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and enjoy it very much. Our meetings are always opened with one of the Chautauqua songs, followed by the reading of a responsive service, then we talk about the week’s reading, or have some one appointed to question the class, and occasionally we have an essay or two. We celebrated Bryant’s day by a little entertainment consisting of selected reading from his works, essays, and music. Each member invited two friends, so we had quite a gathering, and we all felt that the evening had not only passed pleasantly, but to us, at least, it was also profitably spent.

Indiana (New Albany).—Our circle is an ever widening one; indeed, it can scarcely be called a complete circle, as it is constantly being broken in order to allow others to join hands with those already enjoying its pleasures. The grading, however, is complete, there being seniors, juniors, sophomores and freshmen. No particular program is carried out. In our reading we mark anything especially interesting, or about which we wish an explanation; these points are asked for by the president, at the next meeting, and thoroughly discussed or explained. Sometimes when the members are undecided in regard to the answer to any particular question, it is left over for the next meeting, all the members in the meantime examining all the authority they can on the subject.

Illinois (Metropolis).—Our local C. L. S. C. for 1883-4 was organized September 28. Our membership at present is nine, consisting of beginners of the class of 1887. The manner in which the work has been taken up and is being carried on seems to indicate a year of solid work, and necessarily great profit. Our president is energetic and self-sacrificing; and with him as our leader we shall surely succeed.

Kentucky (Hardinsburg).—We are a new society, numbering only ten, organized last September by Miss Anna L. Gardiner, a graduate of the C. L. S. C. class of 1882. What we lack in numbers we make up in zeal. Already we feel that the Chautauqua course of reading and study is necessary to our existence. Our weekly meetings are delightful, and we are studying hard, determined that our circle shall be one of the bright stars in 1887. We celebrated Bryant’s day with the following program: Opening exercises, Rev. R. G. Gardiner; Bryant’s letter on the C. L. S. C., Miss Anna L. Gardiner; music, Myra Heston; “Planting the Apple Tree,” Linnie Haswell; music, Charles Jolly; “The Death of the Flowers,” Annie Bassett; music, Linnie Haswell; “Thanatopsis,” Clare Jolly; music, Myra Heston; reading, Col. Alf. Allen; music, Miss Clara Jolly; “Forest Hymn,” Myra Heston; music, Linnie Haswell; address on Life and Works of W. C. Bryant, Rev. J. G. Haswell; song, “Good-night,” Miss Myra Heston.

Kentucky (Lexington).—The second year’s work of the Lexington Social Circle began the first week in October, with a membership of thirty, adding to our last year’s number several new names. Every month a committee of two is appointed by the leader to prepare questions upon studies we then have. They have the right to appoint certain persons for any special subject that the lesson may suggest. To give a clear idea of how our circle is conducted I give the order of exercises of October 26. The class was called to order by the leader, and exercises were opened by singing one of the C. L. S. C. songs, followed by roll call, and the minutes of last meeting. Questions were then asked by one of the committee on the lesson in Greek History, bringing out all of the main points in the lesson; then followed questions on American Literature by the other member of committee, bringing in as special subjects, School and Life of John Stuart Mill, Swedenborgian Doctrines, and the Philosophy and Life of Coleridge; all of these having been mentioned in our text-book of Literature. Following these we had criticisms, our C. L. S. C. mottoes given in concert by the class, and the business of the circle. Two hours having been spent very pleasantly and profitably we had second roll call, each member giving a quotation in answer to their names, after which we adjourned.

Tennessee (Knoxville).—The Bryant memorial day was observed by our circle with appropriate services. The hall was tastefully decorated with ivy and flowers. A large picture of Bryant, wreathed with ivy, hung over the organ. The exercises were opened with the C. L. S. C. hymn, “A Song of To-day.” At roll call each member responded with a quotation from Bryant. Essays were read on the “Life, Works and Death of Bryant,” his “Influence and Friends,” and “The Bryant Vase.” The following poems were read: “Planting of the Apple Tree,” “A Forest Hymn,” and “The Flood of Years.” The circle then joined in singing the closing hymn, “The Day is Dying.” Many visitors were present, and the evening was pronounced by all exceedingly pleasant.

Tennessee (Memphis).—On October 1, 1883, a small band of Memphians met and resolved to pursue the C. L. S. C. course together, under the name of “The Southern Circle.” Mr. L. H. Estes, a prominent young lawyer, who spent the month of August at Chautauqua, was elected president, and really it is to his earnest efforts that this circle owes its existence. We meet the first and third Monday of each month, and find the meetings both pleasant and profitable. All are highly interested in the studies, and hope by zealous work to make the circle well worthy of the name it bears.

Michigan (Flushing).—There are twenty-one members of the C. L. S. C. here. All are not able to attend our Hope class, which was reorganized and held its first regular meeting October 5. Eight of us belong to the class of ’84, and to each the reading has been a source of much enjoyment and instruction.

Minnesota (Worthington).—The first meeting, held October 29, was very enjoyable. At roll call each member responded with a quotation from Bryant. A paper was then read on the Life and Works of the poet. A short time was given to recitation of the Greek History for the evening, with free conversation on obscure or imperfectly understood points in the studies. The evening was thoroughly enjoyed, and impetus given to a circle already in a flourishing condition.

Iowa (Des Moines).—The Alpha C. L. S. C. sends greeting to sister circles throughout the land. Our class organized last October with thirty members, and though to many of us—who left our school rooms long ago—the work seemed almost appalling, we have realized that we are never too old to learn, and that after a little application our lessons are mastered far more easily than we could have believed. The benefit is not merely what we have acquired during the year, but in the incentive we have to continue.

Missouri (Carthage).—The Carthage Literary Association, composed of the different societies known as C. L. S. C., Alpha, N. N. C., Shakspere, and C. S. C., held a Longfellow memorial service June 1st, 1882. The program was as follows: Piano duet; sketch of Longfellow’s life; reading—Rain in Summer; song—The Bridge; recitation—Famine; song—Rainy Day; essay—Longfellow’s writings; reading (with chorus)—The Blind Girl; Story of Evangeline; The Chamber over the Gate; recitation—Launching of the Ship; Miles Standish’s Courtship; song—Beware. Remarks were made by the president, altogether making a very pleasant and profitable reunion. Our second meeting, a Shakspere memorial, was held at the Carthage Opera House, June 1, 1883. Program: Cornet solo—Old Folks at Home; essay—The Mound Builders; duet (vocal)—When Life is Brightest; reading—The Casket Scene, Merchant of Venice; solo—Waiting; essay—A Sketch of Elizabeth; Literature; tableau—Isabella; cornet solo—Mocking Bird and Variations; recitation—Le Cid; tableau—Charlotte Corday in Prison; essay—The Daughters of King Lear; solo—The Clouds have Passed Away; essay—Women of Ancient Greece; tableaux—Queen Anne. The stage decorations were highly artistic. Not the least attraction was an elaborate monogram, copied from the title page of THE CHAUTAUQUAN. It was composed of scarlet geranium blossoms, the groundwork of the leaves, and rested upon an easel, facing the audience. It elicited many appreciative remarks. Other memorials have been held by the circle, both profitable and pleasant; the last upon Bryant’s day.

Dakota (Chamberlain).—Here on the banks of the Missouri, more than a thousand miles from its birthplace, has the Chautauqua Idea found a home. We have formed a circle of twenty-seven members. Two of these belong to the class of ’84; the rest are freshmen. In our number are a banker, an editor, a physician, a lawyer, two ministers, and a number of ladies who might well occupy any one of these positions. We meet once a week, and usually the week’s readings are reviewed by topics drawn by each of the members from a prepared list. This week we are to have a Longfellow evening, and the first number of our paper is to be read. We intend that you shall hear again from your frontier outpost at Chamberlain.

California (Sacramento).—It may not be too late to mention our reunion of last June; it was held in the Presbyterian Church parlors, which were well filled with an intellectual and deeply interested audience. The place was beautifully decorated with a profusion of flowers; pillars were twined with ivy, and banners of the different nations whose history we had been studying were arranged upon the walls, with the American flag falling in graceful folds above the familiar C. L. S. C., which was formed of flowers, each letter of a different color, arranged in a half circle over 1883 in green. The literary exercises were followed by the report of the year’s work, in which it was stated that twelve hundred and fifty pages had been read during the Chautauqua year of nine months; essays and papers, sixty-two; questions prepared by committees and answered in writing, nine hundred and twenty; total membership, thirty-eight; average weekly attendance, twenty. The circle this year has taken a step forward and has reached the rule of division, since our numbers have increased so rapidly. A second circle has been formed and named, in honor of our leader, “Vincent Circle.” At our regular meeting on November 5, Bryant’s memorial day was observed by an interesting program after our regular work had been done, omitting only our oral exercises. Our circle of twenty-one members has entered enthusiastically into the year’s studies, and our method of work is as follows: Committees select several topics from each study, upon which papers are prepared and read the following week. From eight to ten papers are read at each meeting, and oral exercises, consisting of readings from THE CHAUTAUQUAN, the critic’s report, together with our general business, complete the exercises. It is our intention to observe each memorial day, and arrangements are now in progress for an entertainment in which both circles will unite.

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

WAYS OF ORGANIZING LOCAL CIRCLES AND PROVIDING FOR THE POOR.

There are two points which I would be glad to have discussed a little this evening that are of great practical interest to us in extending the growth of the Circle into new territory. The first, in ways of extending the influence of the Circle, and of organizing new local circles. I do not mean ways of conducting circles, or plans of managing your circles, but ways of introducing the work where it is not now introduced, and of organizing new circles in localities that know little or nothing about the work of the C. L. S. C.

Upon this point I should be glad to have testimony or suggestions from any person who has had experience in that line. We all feel that this work should be done. We understand the embarrassments which prevent this extension. Yet, by comparing notes one with the other, we may be able to overcome the embarrassments. I should be glad this afternoon to hear from a number in answer to this question: “How can we organize new circles in localities that do not have them now?”

A VOICE: It seems to me, sir, if we would invite from the locality in which we want to introduce a circle, one or two persons to visit our own circle and see the work we are doing, we might thus incite and be enabled to form a circle, taking the one or two members whom we have invited as the nucleus.

MR. GILLET: I think this is a very valuable suggestion.

REV. W. D. BRIDGE: Make use of C. L. S. C. stationery.

A VOICE: I suggest this: Write an article for the local paper explaining the objects and operations of the Circle, and appoint a time and a place for all persons who have read the paper to meet and talk it over.

MR. GILLET: It is surprising to find out how many editors there are who know nothing about the C. L. S. C. It is a good plan to post them, especially local editors. Introduce them to the little green book, and get them to read it through, or ask them to listen while you read it to them. Any other suggestions?

I will say in that connection that a plan was organized or developed last year in what is known as the correspondence committee. I had hoped that I should be able to have a report from the correspondence committee of the Society of the Hall in the Grove. A plan was organized before leaving Chautauqua, concerning the way in which these articles for the papers should be written. The members of the committee wrote articles for the local papers, and corresponded with persons in different parts of the territory which they represented. As a result several new local circles were formed, and a good many were induced to become members of the circle.

A VOICE: I live in a little town of about one thousand inhabitants. We had already organized a reading circle composed of judges, clerks, merchants, mechanics, business men, and women. We were thinking of taking the course of the C. L. S. C. We shall have no difficulty in getting persons to come for the purpose of organization. I would like to know how we should proceed after we have gotten our people together. How would you organize and conduct a local circle?

MR. GILLET: The question has been asked several times during the Assembly, and has been answered by numerous testimonies from persons who are managers of local circles. The best way is the simplest, appointing as few officers as possible, having some one who will be responsible as conductor or leader of the circle, and then put as much enthusiasm and life into the organization as possible. The local circle organizations vary almost as widely as the different places in which the circles are organized. The organizations depend on the number, the plans, and the dispositions of the persons who belong to the circle. There are parlor circles, church circles, union circles. Miss Kimball will be able to answer at the office any specific question.

REV. MR. PARDOE: I believe that local circles will organize themselves, if the people understand the nature and the methods of our C. L. S. C. work. There is a gentleman in New York City who has a business engagement with about two thousand of the leading weekly papers of this country, and he proposes to insert an advertisement of any kind in the two thousand weekly papers at a very low rate. I think it would be a very wise thing for the parent organization at Plainfield to make a contract with this gentleman, and throw the whole nature, methods, objects and intentions of the C. L. S. C. work over the United States at one bound.

MR. K. A. BURNELL: In connection with this matter of correspondence, last week a lady told me that she was a member of the correspondence committee, and gave me a very interesting account of the letters she had received, and the joy that she had from the letters that came to her.

A GENTLEMAN: In the part of Pennsylvania from which I come there are literary societies in almost every school house. Could we not in some way bring these societies into our circle?

MR. GILLET: Is there any way of getting the members of such societies into the C. L. S. C.?

A GENTLEMAN: There is.

MR. GILLET: It is not necessary to abandon the organization that already exists to have all the members read the text books of the C. L. S. C. The work can be done under the organization existing, the circle reading the books and reporting to the central office.

MR. GILLET: There is a little bit of tract about an inch and a quarter square, of four pages, that gives the points of the C. L. S. C. At Island Park we sent persons to the back of the audience with a bunch of these tracts, scattered them in the air and everybody was curious to get them and read them. I think a good many became interested who would not but for these little bits of things.

MR. BRIDGE: I will have 20,000 of them here to-morrow night for distribution.

MR. GILLET: Then, of course, you can get the Popular Education Circular by addressing Miss Kimball. It contains the full plans of the C. L. S. C., and you can use them in your correspondence. Any thing else to Suggest?

A LADY: There would be no difficulty in organizing circles, but how shall we get people to understand the work and the methods that are adopted? A great many very intelligent persons have given so little attention to this movement as to be utterly in the dark. It will require a good deal of persistence in this work of organizing circles. I have had five years’ experience. I have been through the class of ’82, and have, unfortunately for the circle, I think, been retained as leader of the circle. We have four circles which coöperate. We found some difficulty in interesting the pastors of the churches in this work. I wish every member of the C. L. S. C. here when she goes home, because I rely on the ladies, to go to her pastor and personally solicit him to take hold of this work and assist her to organize a local circle. We did this in our circle. We secured the services of the pastor as president. We interested him. He took hold of it, and has been quite an assistance to us all the time. I content myself with taking a book and sitting as superintendent, so as to keep the work going on.

It will be necessary to go to young men and women, and older persons, and personally solicit them to join; personally explain to them the nature of the course of reading, and how it is done. You will have to do that by going to them personally until you get them, and then it will require a good deal of grace and a good deal of energy and perseverance to keep them in the Circle after they are there. Young men who work all day at the bench, or in the office at their books, complain that they have not time to read, and you have to overcome that objection. You must show them that they have the time, and that they can do it. Why, almost every young man, and I may say almost every young woman, spends more time reading the daily newspapers than it would require to read the whole course of the C. L. S. C. in any year. By bringing these things to the attention of these persons you may thus induce them to make an extra exertion in this line.

I say to them in this way, that so far as I am personally concerned, I have not an hour in a week, I have not five minutes in a day to devote to this work, yet for the purpose of inducing them to go into the work, to go into the course of reading, I make the sacrifice and do double work. When they see that one person can do that, they feel like making the effort themselves.

Then I have gone to the newspaper offices and have written up reports of the meetings of the circle. I have taken occasion in these little articles, writing up the proceedings of our meetings, to explain what was meant by the C. L. S. C. course of reading. There are a thousand things we might do for the purpose of inciting an interest in this work.

MR. GILLET: It has been suggested that members might arrange for a series of meetings in September in the cities or large towns near to their homes and send out to these cities or villages one or two of the members of their own circle to talk about the C. L. S. C. and answer such questions as might be asked, requesting the pastors of the churches to announce that the meeting would be held on such an evening of the week. Then let them proceed at once to the organization of a local circle, and appoint persons to take charge of it. I think that there are very few towns in which such local circles could not be organized, if such a course should be taken. Any suggestions in this line? I want to call your attention to another thing, and call out a few suggestions upon as interesting a proposition as the other one. It may be delicate, and I hardly know whether we may be helped by stating it, but I think we may, and I will take the risk, at least, of presenting it. We recognize the fact that a great many people who are connected with the C. L. S. C. are poor; that a great many more would be connected with it but for the fact that they are unable to provide the necessary books, or to incur the simple expense even that a membership in the C. L. S. C. involves. I would like to know if there are any here who have any ways in connection with their local circle work to reach such cases. I think it would aid other circles, and help in aiding a deserving class of people that we are not able now to benefit.

A GENTLEMAN: If some person who has graduated would loan his books to persons who were pursuing the course, it would help them.

MR. GILLET: So far as the books would be usable. The books are changed somewhat each year.

A LADY: We have in Cincinnati a fund for that purpose. We get a few lecturers each year, and have a fund for that purpose. Last year we sent to the different libraries sets of our C. L. S. C. books, and we hope to do that every year, so that we can reach our members through the public libraries by tickets, so that some will not have to buy any books, except the little ten cent books.

MR. GILLET: How many sets of the larger books? Just one set?

A LADY: No, sir, we duplicate some of them. We duplicated the astronomy and some of the larger books.

MR. GILLET: I think the point mentioned is a good one, sets of books in the City Library, and the Women’s Christian Temperance Library, or the Y. M. C. A. libraries, or in the church libraries, or Sunday-school libraries. Any other suggestions?

A GENTLEMAN: That would be the best plan—to put them into the Sunday-school libraries.

MR. BRIDGE: We have in New Haven a Women’s Christian Association with a very flourishing C. L. S. C. branch. There is no membership in the Y. M. C. A. as such. I think it would be a good thing for our Women’s Associations in the towns and cities to make circles of the C. L. S. C.

A GENTLEMAN: In the place where I am there was no regular circle. We only read a partial course, but we intend to join this Circle this year. We gave some entertainments, and we have a fund of $200 to buy books for this circle.

A GENTLEMAN: In the local circle to which I belong we had a course of lectures which netted us a little sum of money, and we invested that in two sets of C. L. S. C. books last year, and there were two members who were able to join us who would not otherwise have done so.

WRITTEN QUESTION: What would be suggested as the next step after an interview with the pastor and his refusing to assist?

MR. GILLET: Organize without him. I do not know of any other way.

A GENTLEMAN: In large cities many churches have lyceums and literary societies. The city of New York was my birthplace, and until a few years I never heard of the C. L. S. C., and, therefore, I think the suggestion to advertise it very wise, especially in all the large cities. Where there are church lyceums the C. L. S. C. could be very well introduced without having to go through the introductory stage. In this way these church organizations could be made very efficient, I believe. Then church organizations so organized have gone through the initiatory steps. I speak from experience, because I know that in these organizations they lack very much the literary portion, and they need some such systematic work as mapped out by the C. L. S. C., to make them more practical and beneficial. In these large cities you have the organization ready at your hand, and all you want is to give the impetus and the necessary instructions, and put before them this work. I speak of such cities as Newark, New York and Buffalo. There is not so much knowledge in them as there is in some of our small inland towns.

MR. GILLET: A very admirable suggestion. One of the ways in which this correspondence committee would be of vast service to the C. L. S. C. would be along this line.

MR. BRIDGE: New York City has only one local circle.

MR. GILLET: Of course there are readers there, but no local circles. There is very little being done in Chicago. That ought not to be so. If persons who are members, who have a little leisure, will assist the correspondence committee in the circulation of advertising matter and in personal letter writing each year, it will be a great help. I think the problem in advertising is this—an advertisement is headed with the letters C. L. S. C., perhaps in a magazine, and people think it may be some secret society, or something else, and turn from the page.

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

SIXTY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON “PHILOSOPHY OF THE PLAN OF SALVATION.”—CHAPTERS 1 TO 14, INCLUSIVE.

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

1. Q. What is the first fact developed in the experience of the human family to be considered as a preparation for the investigation which the author makes? A. There is in the nature of man, or in the circumstances in which he is conditioned, something which leads him to recognize and worship a superior being.

2. Q. To what extent is this characteristic true of man? A. It is true of him in whatever part of the world he may be found, and in whatever condition; and it has been true of him in all ages of which we have any record, either fabulous or authentic.

3. Q. What is the second fact connected with the first one stated? A. Man, by worshiping, becomes assimilated to the moral character of the object which he worships.

4. Q. What history bears testimony to this fact? A. The whole history of the idolatrous world.

5. Q. Leaving the God of the Bible out of view, what has been the character of the objects man has worshiped? A. Those objects have always had a defective and unholy character.

6. Q. What third fact is stated in connection with the other two already given? A. There were no means within the reach of human power or wisdom by which man could extricate himself from the evil of idolatry, either by an immediate, or by a progressive series of efforts.

7. Q. How is this fact maintained? A. From the history of idolatry, the testimony of the heathen philosophers, and the nature of man.

8. Q. What is said of the means and instrumentalities by which his redemption would have to be accomplished if man were ever redeemed from idolatrous worship? A. It would have to be accomplished by means and instrumentalities adapted to his nature and the circumstances in which he existed.

9. Q. What was the first thing necessary to be accomplished for man to relieve himself from the corrupting influence of idolatry? A. That a pure object of worship should be placed before the eye of the soul.

10. Q. What was the second necessary thing in order to man’s redemption? A. That when a holy object of worship was revealed the revelation should be accompanied with sufficient power to influence men to forsake their former worship, and to worship the holy object made known to them.

11. Q. What is mentioned as having a tendency to unite the minds of a whole people into one common mind? A. Any cause which creates a common interest and a common feeling, common biases and common hopes in the individual minds which compose a nation.

12. Q. What are some of these causes that are especially strong? A. A common parentage, a common religion, and a common fellowship in suffering and deliverance.

13. Q. Upon what people did these causes operate with peculiar force? A. The Israelites.

14. Q. What follows as the only rational conclusion in regard to the discipline of the descendants of Abraham? A. First, that the overruling intelligence of God was employed in thus preparing material for a purer religious worship than the world then enjoyed; and, second, that a nation could have been so prepared by no other agent, and in no other way.

15. Q. What is essential for man to believe that religion has a divine origin? A. Man can not, in the present constitution of his mind, believe that religion has a divine origin unless it be accompanied with miracles.

16. Q. If, therefore, God ever gave a revelation to man, with what was it necessarily accompanied? A. With miracles, and with miracles of such a nature as would clearly distinguish the divine character and the divine authority of the dispensation.

17. Q. In order to give any divine revelation to the Israelites what two things were necessary? A. First, that God should manifest himself by miracles; and, second, that those miracles should be of such a character as evidently to distinguish them from the jugglery of the magicians, and to convince all observers of the existence and omnipotence of the true God, in contradistinction from the objects of idolatrous worship.

18. Q. In view of the idolatrous state of the world, and especially in view of the character and circumstances of the Israelites, of what is the demonstration conclusive in regard to the miracles of Egypt? A. That the true God could have made a revelation of himself in no other way than by the means and in the manner of the miracles of Egypt; and none but the true God could have revealed himself in this way.

19. Q. In view of the established laws of the mind, how was it necessary that the knowledge of God and human duty should be imparted to the Israelites? A. By successive communications—necessary that there should be a first step, or primary principles, for a starting point, and then a progression onward and upward to perfection.

20. Q. In accordance with these principles God revealed only what in the introduction of the Mosaic dispensation? A. He revealed only his essential existence to the Israelites.

21. Q. In what way does love for another always influence the will to act? A. In such a way as will please the object loved.

22. Q. What are the most favorable circumstances possible to fix an impression deeply upon the heart and memory? A. First, that there should be protracted and earnest attention; and, second, that at the same time that the impression is made the emotions of the soul should be alive with excitement.

23. Q. In view of the nature and circumstances of the Israelites, what may be affirmed without qualification as to the wonderful series of events connected with the exodus from Egypt? A. That no combination of means, not including the self-sacrifice of the benefactor himself, could be so well adapted to elicit and absorb all the affections of the soul.

24. Q. What are the four conclusions reached in regard to the Israelites at this point in the investigation? A. 1. That they were bound to each other by all the ties of which human nature is susceptible. 2. Their minds were shaken off from idols. 3. They had been brought to contemplate God as their Protector and Savior. 4. They were without laws, either civil or moral.

25. Q. What fact, in regard to a rule of human duty, has the whole experience of the world confirmed beyond the possibility of skepticism? A. That man can not discover and establish a perfect rule of human duty.

26. Q. What is that power in the soul which pronounces upon the moral character of human conduct itself dependent upon and regulated by? A. The faith of the individual.

27. Q. What is said of a law adapted to man’s nature? A. It must be addressed to the understanding, sanctioned by suitable authority, and enforced by adequate penalties.

28. Q. In accordance with these legitimate deductions, what did God give the Israelites? A. A rule of life—the moral law—succinctly comprehended in the ten commandments.

29. Q. In order to promote right exercises of heart in religious worship, with what was it necessary that the Israelites should be made acquainted? A. With the holiness of God.

30. Q. In what manner was the idea of God’s moral purity conveyed to the Israelites in accordance with the constitution and condition of the Jewish mind? A. By the machinery of the Levitical dispensation.

31. Q. Of what is the demonstration conclusive, both from philosophy and tact, as to the true and necessary idea of God’s attribute of holiness? A. That it was originated by the patterns of the Levitical economy, and that it could have been, communicated to mankind, at the first, in no other way.

32. Q. What is the only way in which a lawgiver can manifest his views of the demerit of transgression? A. In no other way than by the penalty which he inflicts upon the transgressor.

33. Q. The more holy and just any being is, what follows as to the penalty he would inflict for sin? A. The more he is opposed to sin, the higher penalty will his conscience sanction as the desert of transgressing the Divine law.

34. Q. In what way only would the mind of man receive an idea of the amount of God’s opposition to sin? A. By the amount of penalty which he inflicted upon the sinner.

35. Q. By means of burnt offerings what idea was distinctly and deeply impressed upon the minds of the Israelites? A. That God’s justice was a consuming fire to sinners, and that their souls escaped only through a vicarious atonement.

36. Q. When would the Mosaic machinery, which formed the abstract ideas, conveying the knowledge of God’s true character, be no longer useful? A. After those ideas were originated, defined, and connected with the words which expressed their abstract or spiritual import.

37. Q. In order to the diffusion of the knowledge of God throughout the world by the method adopted by the Almighty, what three things would be necessary as pre-requisites, and which are facts as matters of authentic history? A. 1. That the Jews who possessed those ideas should be scattered throughout the world. 2. That their propensity to idolatry should be entirely subdued. 3. That the new and spiritual system should first be propagated among those who understood both the spiritual import of the Hebrew language, and likewise the language of the other nations to whom the Gospel was to be preached.

38. Q. What followed as soon as the new dispensation had been introduced, and its foundations firmly laid? A. Jerusalem, the center of the old economy, with the temple and all things pertaining to the ritual service, was at once and completely destroyed, and the old system vanished away forever.

39. Q. What is necessary in order to a perfect system of instruction? A. There must be both precept and example.

40. Q. In what way only could human nature be perfected? A. Only by following a perfect model of human nature.

41. Q. Who is that model character? A. Jesus Christ.

42. Q. Of what is the demonstration manifest that man has received through the medium of Jesus Christ? A. A perfect system of instruction; and a final and perfect revelation of duty to God and man could be given in no other way.

43. Q. What are two facts history furnishes that are peculiar proofs of the Messiahship of Christ? A. First, the Jewish prophets lived and wrote centuries before the period in which Jesus appeared in Judea; second, on account of intimations, or supposed intimations in their prophecies, the Jews were expecting the Messiah about the time that Jesus appeared in Judea.

44. Q. If a person had appeared and conformed to the views which the Jews entertained of a temporal Messiah, of what would it have been direct evidence? A. That he was an imposter.

45. Q. Give three reasons for this conclusion? A. 1. Because their views were partial, prejudiced and wicked. 2. He could not have conformed to their views and sustained at the same time the character of a perfect instructor. 3. He would not have fulfilled the predictions of the prophets concerning him.

46. Q. What follows, therefore, legitimately and conclusively? A. That Jesus Christ was the Messiah of God.

47. Q. In what other way was it necessary that Jesus should establish his claim as the Messiah? A. By miraculous agency.

48. Q. What condition in life would it be necessary that the Messiah should assume in order to benefit the human family in the highest degree by the influence of that condition? A. In that condition which would have the most direct influence to destroy selfishness and pride in the human heart, and to foster, in their stead, humility, contentment and benevolence.

49. Q. As it is an acknowledged and experimental fact that the soul finds rest only in meekness, and never in selfishness and pride of mind, of what is the demonstration therefore perfect in regard to the condition Christ assumed? A. That Christ assumed the only condition which it was possible for him to assume and thereby destroy pride and misery, and produce humility and peace in human bosoms.

50. Q. In constituting the human soul, upon what has God, in accordance with his own character, caused its happiness to depend? A. Upon righteousness and goodness.

51. Q. What was the whole force of the Savior’s teaching and example designed and adapted to produce? A. Righteousness and benevolence.

52. Q. What conclusion follows from these two statements? A. That Jesus was the Christ of God; because the Christ of God could found his instructions upon no other principles.

53. Q. What are the only two means by which truth can be brought into contact with the soul? A. By perception and faith.

54. Q. What are their effects upon man’s conduct and feelings? A. They are nearly the same, with the following remarkable exception: Facts, which are the subjects of personal observation, every time they are experienced, the effect upon the soul grows less; while, on the contrary, those facts which are received by faith, produce, every time they are realized, a greater effect upon the soul.

55. Q. This being true, which would be the method the better adapted to bring the sublime truths of the new dispensation to bear upon the souls of men? A. Faith.

56. Q. What moral powers of the soul does faith govern? A. The conscience and the affections.

57. Q. Upon what does man’s interests, temporal and spiritual, depend? A. Upon what he believes.

58. Q. What does the belief of falsehood always destroy, and how does the belief of truth guide man, and what does it secure for him? A. The belief of falsehood always destroys man’s interests, temporal and spiritual, and the belief of truth invariably guides man aright and secures his best and highest good.

59. Q. It having been demonstrated that righteousness and benevolence is the greatest good of the soul, what doctrine is necessarily true? A. That doctrine which rectifies the conscience, purifies the heart, and produces love to God and men.

60. Q. What vital and necessary principle did Christ lay at the foundation of the Christian system? A. “He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned”—saved in accordance with the moral constitution of the universe, and damned from the absolute necessities existing in the nature of things.

CHAUTAUQUA NORMAL CLASS.

Season of 1884.

LESSON III.—BIBLE SECTION.

The Bible an English Book.

By REV. J. L. HURLBUT, D.D., AND R. S. HOLMES, A.M.

The Divine Revelation, whether spoken or written, has ever been made to any people in their own language. But as languages change their form and cease to be spoken, that which is plain to one generation becomes an unknown tongue to another. Hence arises the need of versions or translations. In the stages whereby the Bible became an English book, we notice: 1. The ancient versions; 2. The mediæval versions; 3. The modern versions. The student will observe concerning each version: 1. The Scripture included; 2. Language; 3. Date; 4. Place; 5. Authorship; 6. Historical notes.

I. The Ancient Versions.—Out of many, we select the five most important:

1. The Septuagint.—The Old Testament; from the Hebrew into the Greek, begun at an uncertain date, but completed about 385 B. C., at Alexandria, the metropolis of the Mediterranean, where a third of the population were Jews; by unknown writers, said to have numbered seventy, hence its name Septuagint, “Greek, seventy.” This translation, though strongly opposed by the Jews of Palestine, became the Bible of all the Jews of the Dispersion throughout the eastern lands.

2. The Samaritan.—Containing the Pentateuch only, in a dialect, the mixture of Hebrew and Aramaic, spoken by the Samaritans, who worshiped on Mt. Gerizim; perhaps made as early as 100 B. C., perhaps later; traditionally said to have been translated by the Samaritan high-priest, Nathanael. For many centuries the existence of this version was questioned, until a copy was brought to Europe in 1616.

3. The Peshito.—The whole Bible, in the Aramaic language, the common dialect (Peshito means “simple” or “common”) of the Syrians, perhaps that spoken by Jesus and the Apostles, of unknown authorship and date, perhaps about 175 A. D.; the first translation made under Christian auspices.

4. The Targums.—A Hebrew word meaning “interpretations;” a series of Jewish translations of various parts of the Old Testament; ten in number, several covering the same books; in the Chaldaic dialect of Hebrew, dating from Onkelos, A. D. 250 to 1000; arising from the oral translations handed down in the synagogues, written after the destruction of Jerusalem.

5. The Vulgate.—Word meaning “common;” whole Bible, in Latin language; completed about A. D. 400, at Bethlehem in Judea, by Jerome; made by revising older Latin translations; at first opposed, but finally the standard Bible of the Roman Catholic Church.

II. The Mediæval Versions.—Not many translations were made during the Dark Ages. 1. Cædmon, a monk (died 680), translated the Bible stories into rude Anglo-Saxon verse. 2. Aldhelm (died 709), a bishop, translated the Psalms into verse. 3. Bede (died 735), “the venerable,” translated the gospel of John into Anglo-Saxon, completing the work on the day of his death. 4. King Alfred (died 901), best of the kings of England, translated certain portions, as the laws of his kingdom, called “Alfred’s Dooms.” 5. Wiclif (died 1384), “Morning Star of the Reformation,” a great scholar and enemy of Rome, translated the New Testament into English in 1380, and, aided by friends, the Old Testament in 1384. This great work was in manuscript only, as printing was not yet invented.

III. The Modern Versions.—The Reformation brought forth the Bible from neglect and called out numberless versions, of which we notice only a few of the greatest in English history.

1. William Tyndale.—One of the early reformers made the best translation ever wrought by any one man. This New Testament was issued in 1525; the Old Testament not until after his martyrdom in 1536.

2. Miles Coverdale, a friend of Tyndale, made the first English version by the consent of King Henry VIII., issued in 1535; made not from Greek text, but from Luther’s German Bible and the Vulgate; hence, less literal than Tyndale’s.

3. The Great Bible (1539), made by command of Henry VIII., by the influence of Thomas Cromwell; the first edition a revision of Coverdale and Tyndale; second edition 1540, under direction of Archbishop Cranmer, hence known as “Cranmer’s Bible;” a book of great size, chained to the reading desk in the parish churches.

4. The Geneva Bible (1560), made at Geneva, Switzerland, by a number of Puritan exiles from England. Its principal translators were Whittingham, Gilby, Coverdale (above named), and perhaps John Knox; a convenient quarto; the best translation of the time; very popular with the Puritan element in the English Church.

5. The Bishop’s Bible (1568), under direction of Matthew Parker, Archbishop of Canterbury under Queen Elizabeth; mainly a revision of the Great Bible; prepared as a rival to the Geneva version, but never as popular among the people, though used among the clergy.

6. The Douay Bible, a Roman Catholic version, made not from the original, but from the Vulgate; the New Testament published at Rheims in 1582, the Old Testament at Douay in 1609; the version in use among Romanists, having many notes setting forth their views.

7. The Authorized Version (1611), the translation now in general use, made by forty-seven scholars under direction of King James I.; begun in 1607, published in 1611.

8. The Revised Version (1881), prepared by a company of English and American scholars; in the main, much more exact than the authorized version, and deserving of general adoption.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL SECTION.

LESSON III.—THE TEACHER’S OFFICE AND WORK.

In this brief outline we propose to consider the teacher’s office and work in five aspects:

I. The work of the teacher is for the gospel of Christ, hence, first of all, the teacher should be a Christian.—No person can properly instruct others in the Gospel unless he be devoted to the service of Christ.

1. He should be a Christian in belief.—No one can speak confidently and earnestly in behalf of a cause unless he believes in it. One can teach mythology, but not Christianity, without a firm conviction that the Bible is God’s book, and the Gospel the declaration of the divine plan for saving men.

2. He should be a Christian in experience; having passed from death unto life, enjoying the consciousness of sonship, and a communion with Christ; for only in this state can he enter into sympathy with the Gospel, understand its mysteries, and guide others into the way of salvation.

3. He should be a Christian in Life.—The example will teach more weightily than the words; therefore he must show forth in his conduct the character which he would impart, and live in the realm to which he would lead his class.

II. The teacher’s work is under the auspices of the church, and therefore the teacher should be a church member.

1. He should be a church member in profession, giving to the church the benefit of his influence in the community, in return for all the benefits that the church gives to him.

2. He should be a church member in loyalty, holding an attachment, not to the church in general, but to that particular church whose doctrines, forms, methods and spirit are most nearly in accord with his own views, and best adapted to aid his growth in grace; devoted to it, laboring for it, and self-denying in behalf of it.

3. He should be a church member in work.—There are two classes of people in every church, the idle and the working, those who are carried, and those who carry. The teacher should be one of the working members, bearing the church upon his heart and its work in his hands.

III. The teacher’s work is with the Bible, and therefore the teacher should be a Bible student.

1. A Bible student in teachableness, going to the Word, not in the spirit of criticism, but of reverence; studying it not to inject into it his own opinions, but humbly to obtain truth which shall feed his own soul, and supply the needs of his class.

2. A Bible student in diligence.—The cursory glance at a book may answer for the careless reader, but he who has it as his work to teach the Word, must study it; not only the lesson, but the volume which contains the lesson, for unless he has knowledge of the book at large, he cannot understand the specific lesson for his class; therefore the teacher should be a constant, persevering, laborious student of the Bible.

IV. The teacher’s work has relation to living souls, and therefore he must be a friend.—No mere machine can teach living hearts; to influence souls there must be a soul, not by knowledge only, or by gifts of expression, but by the relation of heart more than by any other power can scholars be led upward to the best in thought and life.

1. He must be a friend in sympathy, that is, in capacity to feel with his scholars, which is very different from feeling for them. He must be able in thought and feeling, to put himself in his scholars’ place, to see the world through their eyes, and to have an appreciation of their nature.

2. He must be a friend in helpfulness.—Not the greatness of our doing for others, but the spirit of it, measures our friendship. By little kindnesses to his class the teacher can win their hearts, and by tying them to himself, tie them to his Master.

V. The teacher’s work is a teaching work, and he must therefore be a teacher.

1. He must be a teacher in knowledge.—He must know his lesson in all its departments and bearings, and with a wealth of information far greater that he expects to impart to his class; for power in teaching proceeds more from the reserve force of the things known and kept back, than from the things taught.

2. He must be a teacher in tact; that is, in wisdom, to know opportunities and skill to use them. Tact is a gift, but it may be cultivated and improved by application. And, “if any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not, and it shall be given him.” James 1:5.

LESSON IV.—THE CANON OF SCRIPTURE.

The English word canon is a literal re-spelling of the Greek word meaning “a straight rod,” hence, “a rule or standard.” As used in reference to the Bible, it means:

1. The rule or fundamental principle of truth.

2. The catalogue of the books which contain that truth. As there are two testaments, the old and new, it is necessary to notice the canon of each separately, answering the question, “How came the Bible in its present form?”

I. The Old Testament Canon.—In the growth of the Old Testament we can trace six stages.

1. The Oral Period, extending from the earliest ages down to the time of the patriarchs, during which the Divine Revelation and the records of the past were transmitted by tradition, or in a few detached documents, like Genesis x.

2. The Mosaic Period (1500-1400 B. C.) When from ancient manuscripts, tradition and revelation were written the book of Job, and the earliest draft of the Pentateuch, and Joshua.

3. The Davidic Period (1100-1000 B. C.), the age of Samuel, David and Solomon, when, after the disorders in the time of the Judges, literature began to flourish anew, and Judges, Ruth, Samuel, the first draft of Psalms and Proverbs, the Song of Solomon, and perhaps (but by no means with certainty) Ecclesiastes were written.

4. The Prophetic Period (800-600 B. C.), in the decline of the monarchy, when the prophets suddenly arose to prominence, and the books of Kings and most of the prophetical books were written.

5. The Period of the Restoration (500-400 B. C.), after the return from captivity, when the writings of all the four greater prophets were arranged, the prophecies of Haggai, Zachariah, and Malachi were delivered, and the historical books of Chronicles, Ezra, Nehemiah and Esther were written.

6. The Period of Arrangement (400-150 B. C.). With the time of Ezra and Nehemiah a new era began. No more books were added, but the literature was systematized. Ezra made the first compilation of the Scriptures; Nehemiah formed a library of the recognized works (according to ancient Jewish history); the work was revised under the early Maccabean princes, and the writings assumed their present form. Josephus, the historian, names as authoritative the same works that are now recognized.

II. The New Testament Canon.—The Old Testament was in process of construction more than ten centuries, the New Testament, less than one; but in it there was also a growth.

1. The Early Period.—Between the death of Stephen, A. D. 37, and the council at Jerusalem, A. D. 50, were written the earliest books, the Gospel of Matthew and the Epistle of James.

2. The Pauline Period.—Between the council at Jerusalem, A. D. 50, and the destruction of Jerusalem, A. D. 70, appeared the Gospels of Mark and Luke, the Epistles of Peter, the Epistles of Paul and Hebrews.

3. The Closing Period, after the destruction of Jerusalem, between 70 and 96 A. D., witnessed the Epistle of Jude, and the Epistles and Gospel of John and the Revelation.

How the systematic canon of New Testament books came to be recognized can not now be ascertained. The matter was probably determined by the inherent fitness of the writings themselves. The worthy books lived, the unworthy dropped out of notice, as may be seen by comparing the New Testament with the New Testament Apocrypha. The councils voiced the sentiment of the church in their decisions; and though there were differences of opinion concerning a few books, extending through the second and third centuries, by A. D. 300 the list of canonical books in the New Testament was generally accepted throughout the church, as it is still held.

III. The genuineness of the Bible; that is, the belief that we have the Bible substantially as it was written, without serious interpolation or erasure, is supported by the following evidences (Chautauqua Text-Book No. 18, pp. 26-27):

1. The numerous ancient manuscripts now in existence, which substantially agree in the text.

2. The quotations from Scripture, and references to it, in the writings of the early fathers and in the rabbinical paraphrases.

3. The ancient translations of the Old and New Testaments.

4. The decisions of early and learned councils.

5. The jealousy and watchfulness of opposing sects, all of which base their faith on the same Scriptures.

6. The early controversies between Christians and their enemies, referring to these books as authoritative upon believers.

7. The reverence and scrupulous care of copyists of the Scriptures in all ages.

8. The unimportant character of the “various readings” in the manuscripts, showing that their differences are of trifling account. From these considerations it is certain that our Bible does not essentially differ from the Bible of the primitive church.

EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

THE HEADQUARTERS OF THE C. L. S. C.

The Chautauqua Circle is unlike all other circles. It possesses three centers. Its intellectual center is the place where the superintendent happens to be at any given moment; for where the king is, there is the court. The center of its enthusiasm, the Mecca of its members, is the Hall of Philosophy, among the beeches of St. Paul’s Grove, where once a year the gates are opened, the Arches are garlanded, and the Watch-Fires are kindled. Its business center, which may properly be called the headquarters of the C. L. S. C., is in Plainfield, New Jersey. Few who pass around the corner of a modest brick building near the railway station in that lovely country city, are aware that they are in the shadow of the walls within which is transacted the business of an organization numbering more than fifty thousand, and extending its arms around the world. Two rooms upon the second floor are all the space at present afforded for the work of the office. There is great need of more enlarged quarters. Its home was assigned when the Circle was about a fourth of its present dimensions, and its business has far outgrown the capacity of its capitol.

One of the two rooms is the place where most of the clerical work of the Circle is carried on by the efficient young secretary and her lady assistants, who number from five to ten at different seasons in the scholastic year. One young lady opens the letters received, which sometimes number twenty-three hundred in a week, and never fall below eleven hundred, and assorts them. Another finds constant employment in answering inquiries, addressing circulars of information, in changing the names and addresses of members who change their residences, or of lady members who get married and change their names. About ten per cent. of these people forget to state to which class they belong, and consequently their names must be hunted up in the different class-registers. [MEM. Whenever you write to the office, always mention the graduating year of your class.] Another young lady keeps account of the fees, and writes receipts to those who pay them, and quite frequently finds it necessary to search the big books for the address of a member who has forgotten to tell in what State he lives, and forgotten also that there are twenty-seven towns of that same name in the United States. [MEM. Always be sure to give your postoffice address fully.] A couple more of the staff are busy at certain seasons in filling and addressing the envelopes which are sent three or four times a year to upward of forty thousand people. It requires most of the time of one person to file the letters, postal cards and outline memoranda received from the members, for every scrap of writing sent by members of the C. L. S. C. is duly arranged in its alphabetical place, so that it can be referred to at any minute. The secretary herself sits at a table whereon stands a formidable pile of letters containing questions upon every subject imaginable (beside others unimaginable); outline memoranda to be examined, inquiries concerning seals on diplomas, a labyrinth so intricate that nobody except the secretary has the clue; requests for permission to substitute for the Required Reading Mac-Somebody’s history of which nobody else has ever heard the name; and occasionally a letter which warms one’s heart, as it tells of the blessing which the C. L. S. C. has brought to a far-away home. No letter remains long unanswered, and no inquiry, however slight, is passed by.

A very careful account is kept with each member of the C. L. S. C., so that quite a history could be written of each student’s relation to the office. To each class of the Circle is assigned a large volume, ruled to supply blanks for all the data. In this the names of the members are enrolled in alphabetical order. Opposite each name are recorded the answers upon the application blank; receipts of fees of membership, with dates; receipts of outline memoranda, and a space for report as to the member’s final destiny in the C. L. S. C., whether diploma or withdrawal.

The second of the two rooms at the headquarters might be, from its general appearance, either a postoffice or a dove-cote. It is cut up into pigeon holes, which fill it in every part, leaving only narrow aisles for passage. In these boxes are kept the envelopes which represent the members of the C. L. S. C. To every member is assigned a large manilla envelope, upon which is written the name and address; and into that envelope goes every letter received from the said member, with his outline memoranda, and answers to the questions on the application blank. The envelopes are constantly called into use, as letters from the members are frequent; and even after the class which they represent has graduated they are still kept, so that every application, letter, or outline memoranda, from the first day of the Circle’s history can be recalled to view. Thus each member can be assured that his name will have a double title to be remembered in the generations to come. In the archives of the C. L. S. C. will be found his enrollment, upon the page of the volume containing the record of his class, and the envelope which bears his name and contains several specimens of his handwriting and signature.

We look forward to a day, it is to be hoped not far distant, when the office work of the C. L. S. C. shall enjoy more ample accommodations. Its growing numbers give increasing work and require larger room, and not long can the headquarters of the C. L. S. C. be kept within their present narrow bounds.

EVANGELISTS.

The term Evangelist literally means “publisher of glad tidings.” It is met in the book of the Acts of the Apostles and in the writings of Paul, and though from the meager accounts we have of the organization and practical workings of the church in Paul’s time it is difficult to determine the precise functions of those to whom it was applied, yet there is general accord in the notion that the Evangelists of the early church were a sort of under-missionaries working under direction of the apostles and preceding the pastors whose business it was to watch over and minister to the local organizations. The position of Evangelist was of great importance and usefulness. The name is bestowed in praise and honor by Paul on one of his most esteemed co-workers.

Although in the literal and best sense every man called to preach the Gospel is an Evangelist in that he is called to proclaim the “glad tidings,” yet even in this nineteenth century as well as in the first, there is room and work for the Evangelist as he is conceived in the mind of Paul when he delivers his exhortation to Timothy. So long as there remain, whether within or without the pale of civilization, districts or localities whither the proclamation of “good news” has not come, there is a glorious sphere and mission for the Evangelist.

But not such is our latter-day, nineteenth century Evangelist, as he is commonly seen and known. He is not sent out by and under direction of the apostles, nor does he, as a rule, go in the name of any branch of the organized church. Not unto the heathen or pagan, not even unto the “waste places” where souls are in ignorance, perishing for lack of opportunity to hear the Gospel. No, the “Evangelist” in this age and country is an individual whose call has come in such a way that the organized church is often ignored. He does not precede civilization, but follows it on the railway train—not to the frontier, but to the goodly town or city. Once there, if his preference is consulted, it is not the “ragged portion,” with its sin and neglect, but the most popular church with all its auxiliaries of organ, choir, comfortable inquiry room, and the pastor as first subordinate. For gathering a crowd he calls to his aid that valuable assistant, the press. He is a “magnetic” man. He usually brings along with him some marked improvements in methods and theology. The latter sometimes consist in a new and improved definition of conversion, and a short-cut path through the old-fashioned wilderness of repentance. A few weeks of “work,” “hundreds of souls,” a goodly number of collections for the Evangelist interlarded, and he moves on to the next engagement.

Now that he is gone let us look around and see what he has left behind him. He has made his impression, men say. Yes, and he has left impressions, also. Here is one of them: It is that the regular pastor, to whose zeal and faithfulness the whole work must be indebted if it is to abide and amount to anything, as a servant and workman of the Lord, is very inferior to the stranger who made such a stir during the few weeks of his sojourn. The impression obtains in the church that they need not expect conversions under the regular ministry, but must await the coming of another Evangelist. The result is the lessening of the pastor’s influence in his church and community, and the education of the people to expect no more than a “tiding over” of the church till the time of another effort under similar leadership.

But not alone the church is educated to so think and expect, but the education reaches the minister also, and when this is so the result is simply deplorable. Bishop R. S. Foster in a recent address to a conference class has so well and truthfully expressed this result that we give his words: “It has become common in these days to say of preachers, ‘this is a revival preacher, and this is not.’ There is great harmfulness in the suggestion, for we tend to arrange ourselves around this point: We will be of the revival class, or not of the revival; as if any ministry dare to be anything but a revival ministry; as if a man could be a minister without this power of the Holy Ghost. We must set out to make ourselves revival preachers, working preachers, that will make sinners feel the power of the truth. And perhaps at this point I may say that it will be well for us to take time and consider the field, for it has become a popular idea for us to supplement our ministry by calling in other people to help us out, by employing evangelists, irresponsibles, running over the land, and burning it to a cinder in many places, asking them to come in and do the work God expects us to do.” If any one offers as an objection or protest against the above views the question, “What of Mr. Moody and others of signal success in this field of work?” we answer that when to the name of Moody is added a few others the list of their kind is exhausted. So we cite the proverb, “The exception proves the rule.”

THE NEW TIME STANDARDS.

One of our humorists has wittily depicted the blank astonishment of ocean voyagers whose watches, “never out of order at home,” utterly failed, as their owners journeyed to eastern lands, to keep pace with the flight of time. Each noon as the vessel’s officers made their observations and set their chronometers with the advanced meridian reached, found the passengers’ “Frodshams” lagging rearward. A matter, however, easily explained. Time is regulated by the sun. Wherever the sun is on a north and south line, or meridian, at that place it is noon, and the time obtained by such an observation (to say nothing of the equation of time) is “local” time. As, then, the vessel moved east, each day it met the sun (or rather the sun reached the meridian) earlier than on the day preceding, and all the watches and clocks had to be put ahead just as many minutes as equaled the number of minutes of longitude made by the vessel. In sailing west, the sun would arrive at the meridian later each day, and time-pieces would be too fast, and would have each day to be correspondingly “turned back.”

Of course, the same thing occurs on land. If we travel east our watches become too slow; if west, too fast; and the traveler is constantly occupied comparing his local time with those of the places he visits and of the trains on which he is carried. If in Pittsburgh, he finds western trains running by Columbus time, twelve minutes slower than Pittsburgh; eastern trains via Pennsylvania Central R. R., nineteen minutes faster; and eastern trains on the Baltimore and Ohio road fourteen minutes faster—just four standards for one city.

After some fourteen years of discussion among scientists and railroad men, an expedient has been finally adopted by which one clock will exhibit the “time” of the whole world. And it is simply this: Since by the earth’s revolution on its axis, any (all) point on the earth’s surface passes through 360° every twenty-four hours, or at the rate of 15° each hour, the surface can be divided into twenty-four sections, each 15° of arc, or one hour of time, in breadth, having for its standard time, the time of its (the section’s) middle meridian. This makes the difference in time between any two adjacent sections exactly one hour. Thus, if at Greenwich it is noon, from 7½° to 22½° west of Greenwich it is only 11:00 a. m., while in the section included by the meridians 7½° to 22½° east, it is 1:00 p. m. Or, when it is 3:25 p. m. at Greenwich, it is 2:25 and 4:25 p. m. respectively in the sections directly west and east of the Greenwich section; and 1:25 and 5:25 p. m. respectively in the next adjoining sections; and so on. Now applying this principle to our own country, we have the following scheme:

Meridian

Standard.

Local time

compared with

Greenwich time.

Boundaries of

Sections.

Name of time.

60° W.

4

hours

slow.

52½° to

67½° W.

Atlantic.

75° W.

5

“

“

67½° to

82½° W.

Eastern.

90° W.

6

“

“

82½° to

97½° W.

Valley or Central.

105° W.

7

“

“

97½° to

112½° W.

Mountain.

120° W.

8

“

“

112½° to

127½° W.

Pacific.

From which it is readily seen we have but five instead of over fifty standards as heretofore; and that the time of any place can not vary more than thirty minutes from its own local time.

It is proposed that places located between the meridians given in the column headed “Boundaries of Sections,” shall adopt the time named in the same line in the next right hand column headed “Name of Time;” for example, places located between the meridians 67½ and 82½ west will adopt “Eastern” time, which is the local time of the 75th meridian, and is five hours slower than Greenwich and eight minutes 12.09 seconds faster than Washington time. It is not supposed, however, that this will be done as exactly as laid down in the table; for a railroad may be located principally in one section and extend a short distance into another; in which case it would not be worth while to change the standard for the short part. Thus, the Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and St. Louis Railway has its eastern terminus in Pittsburgh, something over 100 miles east of the Central section, in which the main body of the road lies; and this road adopts Central time throughout its whole extent. In like manner, San Antonio and Austin, Texas, are both in the “Mountain” section, but will probably prefer to adopt “Central” time and be respectively thirty-three and thirty-one minutes slower, than to adopt “Mountain” time and be respectively twenty-seven and twenty-nine minutes faster than their local time; and this for the obvious reason that their business connections are much more extensive with the Central than the Mountain region. But these cases do not in the least interfere with the integrity of the general scheme. The minute-hands of all properly regulated time-pieces will always indicate the same minute, and all “times” can be estimated by the addition or subtraction of entire hours. And in this lies the beauty and simplicity of the device.

With great unanimity the railroads of the United States, and most of the principal cities of the Union have already and without a “jar” adjusted their business to this new basis; and it is to be presumed that as soon as the advantages are fully understood, some cities that are now hesitating will fall into line. The fact is, that while the adoption of the new plan would produce a wonderful uniformity, there would be a few cases in which the disturbance of local time seems great; but it is not any greater than in hundreds of cases where the old method is used. To exhibit the changes we give a few samples: In New Orleans the time is fourteen seconds slower than local time; in St. Louis, forty-nine seconds slower; in Denver, no difference; in Philadelphia, 38.45 seconds slower; in New York, three minutes 58.38 seconds faster; in Baltimore, six minutes slower; in Washington City, eight minutes twelve seconds slower; while in Kansas City the time is eighteen minutes 21.7 seconds slower; in Pittsburgh, twenty minutes three seconds faster; in Cincinnati, twenty-two minutes 18.58 seconds faster; and in Omaha, twenty-four minutes slower than the respective local times.

RESULTS.

By the new system, railroad towns would have a great advantage in that they could obtain their time with greater precision from the railroad clocks, which are regulated by signals from astronomical observatories. Inland towns having no observatories or telegraphs would of course, as they do now, obtain their time as best they could from adjoining cities.

In some places there would still have to be two standards, as in railroad centers; but there never need be more than two, and as these two will always be exactly one hour apart, the adjustment of working hours, business hours, school hours, etc., is a problem involving nothing more than the addition or subtraction of an hour.

The Geodetic Congress which met in Rome a few weeks since, and in which the United States was officially represented by General Cutts, of the Coast Survey, passed, unanimously, resolutions urging the adoption of this system for the whole world, with the meridian of Greenwich, as it always has been and is now for all nautical calculations, the universal standard. A compliance with this recommendation would reduce, with our present time-pieces, the time of the world to twelve standards (our watches and clocks merely repeating themselves after crossing the 180th meridian), and enable a man to “circumnavigate the globe,” and always have correct time without once changing the minute-hand of his watch.

PÈRE HYACINTHE.

This distinguished orator is again visiting our shores, and very many will avail themselves of the opportunity to listen to his almost peerless eloquence. His mission this time is to raise money, by means of lectures and appeals to the benevolent, for the work in which he is engaged in Paris. A glance just now at this man’s remarkable career will be timely.

Father Hyacinthe’s real name is Charles Loyson. He was born in Orleans, France, March 10, 1827, and is therefore now nearly fifty-seven years of age. He showed in boyhood some precocity, writing verses which were regarded remarkable for his years. For some years he was a student at the academy of Pau, which institution he left at the age of eighteen to become a student of theology in the school of St. Sulpice. After receiving priest’s orders, he taught philosophy for a time at Avignon and theology at Nantes; then for ten years he was in charge of the parish of St. Sulpice. He was past thirty when he entered the convent of the Carmelites at Lyons as a novice. Two years after he became a member of the order, and began preaching in the lyceum at Lyons. He soon acquired great popularity here; and on visiting Bordeaux, Perigneux, and Paris, and giving courses of sermons in these several places, he made a wide and deep impression. It was about 1867 that the liberality of some of Father Hyacinthe’s sentiments attracted notice. His orthodoxy became suspected, but his popularity continued to grow. We see him, in 1869, examined by the pope as to his doctrines, whom he seems to have convinced of his substantial soundness. A little later, however, a great sensation was produced by some of his liberal utterances. The general of the order of Carmelites at Rome warned him that he must change his tone or cease from preaching. His reply to this order was so outspoken against certain practices of the church as to draw from Rome a threat of the major excommunication. He had been preaching in the church of Notre Dame, Paris, and was now prohibited from doing so longer.

It was soon after the opening of the breach between himself and the authorities of his church, in the autumn of 1869, that the great preacher made his first visit to America. His fame had preceded him, and by Protestants he was warmly welcomed. His stay was short, but those permitted to hear him in his few public addresses were ready to admit that his reputation was not amiss as one of the most consummate orators of modern times. The breach with Rome became wider. In 1870 the Pope released him from his monastic vows, and he has since been a secular priest. He earnestly protested against the dogma of papal infallibility proclaimed by the council of that year, and cast his lot for a time with the Old Catholics, headed by Döllinger. He soon chose for himself, however, an independent basis of action. Having, in public address, defended the right of the clergy to marry, he himself married an American lady in 1873, and is now the father of interesting children. His work latterly has been that of an independent preacher in the city of Paris. Like most independent movements, his own has not been a success. In breaking with Rome, he chose not to ally himself with Protestant Christians, and found himself unable to go with Old Catholics. He stands by himself, claiming to be a Catholic, but not a Papist. Of his perfect sincerity those who know him entertain no doubt; but the regret has doubtless been felt by very many that he could not have seen his way clear to devote his brilliant gifts to the cause of Protestant Christianity. The fame of his captivating oratory will long live; but he, perhaps, missed his opportunity to do a great work for the cause of truth in the earth.

EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK.

THE CHAUTAUQUAN has steadily grown in favor with the public from the time it was first issued. Our old subscribers continue with us, and new ones are being added to the list daily. We are now printing thirty-five thousand copies every month. This circulation is evidence in itself of the rapid growth of the C. L. S. C., and of an increasing demand among reading people for substantial literature. The future of THE CHAUTAUQUAN and the whole Chautauqua movement has never been so full of promise to those who are directing the work as it now is, as we enter the year 1884.

Sojourner Truth is dead. For more than half a century she has been a conspicuous figure, a negro woman, firmly advocating abolition and woman suffrage. Her musical bass voice was often used with tremendous effect in assemblies where she spoke for her favorite cause. Redeemed from slavery herself, she saw her children sold into bondage, but she lived to speak on the same platform with Garrison and Wendell Phillips for her cause, and at last to see her race enjoying freedom.

Two great religious celebrations marked the month of November. The anniversary of Martin Luther was observed by church people in all parts of the land, sermons and lectures made the air vocal with the praises of Luther and his deeds in behalf of spiritual Christianity. Our national Thanksgiving day was generally kept by a suspension of business, the holding of religious services, family gatherings and feasting. The observance of these two days indicates how strong a hold Christianity has upon the American people. Though God is not recognized in the Constitution of the United States, he is honored in a more practical way by being worshiped at the altars of his church, and in the hearts of his people.

Miss Frances E. Willard shows a degree of enterprise unequaled, in the naming of objects, when in her article elsewhere in this number she proposes to change the name of the world. She pays a fine compliment to the Pacific coast as a land of many charms, not the least of which are its elegant homes.

Lewis Miller, Esq., president of the Chautauqua Assembly and the C. L. S. C., has rendered an invaluable service to the Assembly by his wise counsel and unceasing labors ever since the death of Mr. A. K. Warren, last summer. It is expected that the trustees will elect a secretary to succeed Mr. Warren at their meeting in January.

In the fall elections the Republicans defeated General Butler in Massachusetts, retrieved themselves in Pennsylvania, and elected part of their ticket in New York State, in the face of nearly 200,000 majority against them one year ago, but in Ohio they lost the control of the State government, and in Virginia the Mahone party received a terrible reverse. The immediate effect of these changes is, new hope springs up in the hearts of the Republican leaders that they shall be able to elect the next President.

The contest for the election of Speaker of the House of Representatives presented this new phase of politics in the Democratic party: There was a Northern faction which supported Mr. Randall, of Pennsylvania, and a Southern faction, which proved to be the stronger of the two, which elected Mr. Carlisle, of Kentucky. In the history of this nation a great party has been hopelessly divided by a cause of less import than is seen in this contest for the Speakership.

The tariff may come into prominence as a great political issue in the Presidential contest of 1884, and it may be kept out of the battle entirely. The Democratic party has the power to choose the battle ground, and to say over what issue the voters shall wage the war.

The divorce laws of the states are so diversified and are working so much mischief to the family and society, that it would be a safe and easy way out of our troubles if our National Congress would give us a wholesome law on divorce. Eminent lawyers say “there is no principle in the Constitution to prevent it.” It would be in the interest of the whole people—and guard the family, which is the very foundation of national life. A copyright law or a bankrupt law are no more national than a divorce law would be.

The lace industry is a most valuable business in France. We know little about it, only as the article is used for decorating the persons and homes of the American people. To Culbert, the protectionist, the rise and growth of this business may be traced. Two hundred and fifty thousand people in France are engaged in its manufacture, and its products are valued at about $20,000,000 annually. Here is an opening for enterprising American capitalists who are seeking places to invest their money, and as a branch of manufacturing in this country, it would be an opportunity for thousands of needy women to find remunerative and agreeable employment.

It is reported in literary circles that “Anthony Trollope was excluded from Good Words (a London religious magazine) because he introduced a dance into a story.” If this be true, it shows the sentiment of religious society in England on the dance; to say the least, it is strong evidence that the editor of Good Words knows what would offend the taste of his readers, and has the courage to exclude it from his columns.

“The Boston School Committee has tried the experiment of industrial training for about two years on a small scale among the boys in the Dwight school building. About five hours per week have been devoted to mechanical work. The boys have been taught the proper use of tools, and many of the lads have shown such proficiency and have made such rapid progress in this new branch of education that it has been decided to make it a permanent feature of the Boston schools for boys. The subject was brought up in November at a meeting of the School Board, and was favorably considered. The Superintendent of Schools, Professor Seaver, said the objection had been raised that too much time might be taken from other studies. His belief was that, if necessary, it would be better to abandon some other studies and give more time to one that was calculated to give the boys some information of practical value—one that would enable them to become useful members of society early in life, rather than ornamental boys. It was finally voted to request the City Council to appropriate $2,500 for the equipment and maintenance of a manual training school in the basement of the Latin school building. It is the intention to devote ten hours per week to the new system.”

The average daily movement of the wind on the top of Mount Washington in October last was 619 miles; highest temperature 54° 5′; lowest, 6°. The highest velocity of the wind was 94 miles an hour, from the west. There were three inches of snow on the summit at the close of October.

With the introduction of the electric light into the streets of our towns and cities, we meet a new danger from broken wires, charged with electricity, hanging in the air. In New York City, last month, an electric light pole was broken and the wires fell to the ground, when a runaway horse had a strange experience. An officer at Mr. Bergh’s office said: “We had no occasion to use the ambulance. The horse seemed to have become entangled in the wires after falling and to have become so charged with electricity that it was unable to get up. The driver received a shock from the horse’s body in attempting to lift it, and was thrown violently to the ground. I understood that several others who attempted to help the horse had the same experience. Word was finally sent to the Brush supply office in Twenty-fifth street, and I understood the electricity was cut off from the circuit while the horse was released. The animal was able to walk, and was taken to the stables. I am told that even the harness was so charged with electricity that it was dangerous to touch it.” The people must be educated to keep hands off these wires, or what would be a better plan, all companies should be obliged to lay their wires underground.

A Law and Order League has been organized in St. Louis for the purpose of securing to the city an honest local government.

“The traveler along the highway a mile or so above the village of North Haverhill, N. H., finds,” says The Boston Journal, “a small graveyard which contains the remains of brave McIntosh, the leader of the Boston Tea Party. For seventy years spring flowers have blossomed and winter winds have blown over a grave unmarked by stone and known to but a few aged people now living who remember his burial. He fills a pauper’s grave, having died in the vicinity of 1810 or 1811, at the house of a Mr. Hurlburt, who resided at what is now known as the Poor Farm, and to whose care he had been bid off as a public pauper by public auction as the lowest bidder, according to ye ancient custom, and as recorded upon the town records. That he was the leader without a doubt there is abundant proof, and that to his memory should be erected a suitable monument commemorative of the man and deed would be simple justice.”

The unusual fact is reported that in Chicago the wife of the bookkeeper in a National Bank, on discovering recently that her husband was dishonest, went to the president and told him of the fact. In noticing this remarkable circumstance the Inter-Ocean says: “Although hundreds of women hold positions of financial trust in Chicago and elsewhere in the country, we have yet to hear of one of them being guilty of embezzlement or defalcation.” The same is true, almost or quite without exception, of the female employes of the government, and their superior skill in counting and handling money has been attested by General Spinner. They are not only more expert in this, but they are sharper eyed than the men. A counterfeit can seldom pass their scrutiny undetected. Indeed, they seem to have a sort of clairvoyance for fraud. Yet some Congressmen, who are chiefly anxious to wield patronage to reward their constituents, favor the exclusion of women from clerkships. They are not merely ungallant, but opposed to faithfulness and economy in the public service.

The great cantilever bridge just completed over Niagara River has been constructed for a double railroad track. It is about three hundred feet above the old railroad suspension bridge, spanning a chasm eight hundred and seventy feet wide between the bluffs, and over two hundred feet deep.

In the Chautauqua School of Theology the reports from departments show a large increase of students for the past month. The total number now enrolled is as follows: Hebrew, 38; Greek, 132; Doctrinal Theology, 85; Practical Theology, 116; Historical Theology, 25.

The Hon. James G. Blaine excited considerable discussion in the political world during the past month by a letter he published in the Philadelphia Press. He objects to distributing the surplus revenue collected by the government among the States, but believes that the income from the tax on distilled spirits might be so divided. This places both Mr. Blaine and the government in an unenviable position. It is blood-money—yes—blood-money. Like the money Judas received for betraying Jesus Christ into the hands of his enemies, so the tax on rum is the price the government has received for betraying innocent wives and children and weak men into the hands of their enemies. Mr. Blaine is a pronounced prohibitionist, and as such he would do well to have as little as possible to do with the tax on rum. It is a dangerous question to handle, in any but one way, and that is for the government to abolish this particular tax by prohibiting the traffic in spirituous liquors.

Any one west of the Mississippi desiring a class badge of ’85 can procure it of the Secretary, Mamie M. Schenck, Osage City, Kansas, by sending the sum of ten (10) cents.

Every one in the northeastern States remembers the brilliant sunsets that occurred in the latter part of November. The persistent, intense, red light that streamed up the sky almost to the zenith, was so unusual a phenomenon that many theories have been given in explanation. Of course the first was that of unusual refraction produced by differences of density in the atmosphere; but as the light was observed so far, so long, and before sunrise as well as after sunset, another explanation seems necessary. Prof. Brooks, of western New York, has advanced a reasonable explanation in the suggestion that it was caused by reflection from clouds of meteoric dust in the upper portion of the atmosphere. In confirmation of this, Prof. Brooks claims to have discovered, on the night of November 28, a shower of telescopic meteors near the place in the sky where the sun had set.

The annual report from the United States Mint shows that the total amount of gold and silver received and worked during the year was $87,758,154, of which $49,145,559 was gold and $38,612,595 was silver. The coinage consisted of 98,666,624 pieces, worth $66,200,705. Of this amount $28,111,119 was in standard silver dollars. The total amount of fractional silver in the country is $235,000,000. The earnings of the mints during the year were $5,215,509, and the expenses $1,726,285. The total value of the gold and silver wasted at the four coining mints was $30,084, while there was a gain from surplus bullion recovered amounting to $62,658. The director estimates the total coin circulation of the United States, on July 1, 1883, at $765,000,000, of which $537,000,000 was gold and $228,000,000 silver. The estimate on October 1, 1883, was $544,512,699 of gold, and $235,291,623 of silver.

The “Children’s Aid Society” of New York City held its annual meeting in the American Exchange Bank, in December. It could appropriately be called a society for “diminishing crime and vice,” because that is just what the Society is doing among neglected and wicked children. The secretary said: “There were during the past year, in our six lodging houses, 13,717 different boys and girls; 297,399 meals and 231,245 lodgings were supplied. In the twenty-one day and fourteen evening schools were 14,132 children, who were taught, and partly fed and clothed; 3,449 were sent to homes, mainly in the West; 1,599 were aided with food, medicine, etc., through the ‘Sick Children’s Mission;’ 4,140 children enjoyed the benefits of the ‘Summer Home’ at Bath, L. I. (averaging about 300 per week); 489 girls have been instructed in the use of the sewing machine in the Girls’ Lodging House and in the industrial schools; $10,136.12 has been deposited in the Penny Savings Banks. Total number under charge of the Society during the year, 37,037. The treasurer, George S. Coe, reports that $251,713.94 was received and $255,865 paid out.”

Any person owning a complete set of THE CHAUTAUQUAN for 1880-1881, with which they are willing to part, may dispose of the same at our office. We will send for the first volume of THE CHAUTAUQUAN the fourth volume, or will pay the original price, $1.50.

The holiday season will bring a brief respite from study, to members of the C. L. S. C. as it does to students in colleges and universities, and indeed we may say, as it does to business and professional men, and everybody. It is a time of good cheer, of merry-making and rejoicing, for Christmas-tide is the most joyful of all our holiday seasons in the suggestions of the day itself, and in the freedom and intensity of feeling with which it is observed. It marks the end of the old year with an exclamation point, and we bow it out with a shout of joy. As the year 1884 comes in, to our scores of thousands of readers we say, A Happy New Year to you all.

C. L. S. C. NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS FOR JANUARY.

PHILOSOPHY OF THE PLAN OF SALVATION.

P. 26.—“Benignus,” be-nig´nus. The benign; generous.

“Contumax,” con-tu´max. The rebellious; stubborn.

P. 29.—“Theomisey,” the-om´is-ey. The author has coined the term from the Greek words for “God” and “Hate,” and it means a hatred of God.

P. 32.—“Factitious,” fak-tish´us. Factitious ideas are those which have been formed by the thinker, and are opposed to those which are simple and natural; conventional, artificial.

P. 37.—“Criterion,” cri-te´ri-on. A rule or test by which actions, facts and judgments are tried.

P. 38.—“Scythians.” The inhabitants of Scythia, a country whose borders were never distinctly defined. As described by Herodotus it included parts of eastern Europe and western Asia, its southern boundary being a portion of the Black Sea. Scythia was afterward the name given to a section of Asia north of the Oxus.

“Northmen.” The Scandinavian tribes, or the Swedes, Danes and Norwegians.

P. 39—“Pope.” (1688-1744.) An English poet. From early boyhood he was a student and writer. At thirteen he began a course of self-education, and at twelve wrote his “Ode to Solitude.” The “Pastorals,” his first published work, placed him at twenty-one among the first poets of his time, and introduced him to literary circles. In 1711 his “Essay on Criticism” appeared, and soon after the “Rape of the Lock.” Pope’s translation of the Iliad was the first of his works which was a financial success. In 1725 he edited an edition of Shakspere, and in 1728 produced “The Dunciad,” an attack on various contemporaneous scribblers. Of his other writings the “Moral Essays” are best known. Pope was never married. He was a little, weakly man, critical, narrow, vain, and often untruthful, but withal generous, clear-minded, and true to his friends.

P. 40.—“Fane.” A place dedicated to some deity; hence a place dedicated for worship.

P. 41.—“Republic.” A work of Plato’s, in which he sets forth his ideas of an ideal commonwealth. It treats of both Church and State, but is impracticable for the existing conditions of society.

P. 42.—“Petronius,” pe-tro´ni-us. The period at which he lived is uncertain, but he probably belonged to the age of the Emperor Nero. (A. D. 37-68.) The work here quoted describes the adventures of several young and dissipated men in southern Italy. Only fragments of it remain.

P. 42.—“Seneca.” See C. L. S. C. Notes in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for November.

P. 43.—“Bengal,” ben-gawl´. One of the ten political provinces of India. It is in the extreme east of the peninsula, and includes the regions lying about the mouth of the Ganges and Bramapootra rivers, and the adjacent hill regions.

“Medhurst.” (1796-1857.) An English missionary who spent most of his life in Java and China. Of the latter country and its people he wrote much. He translated the Bible into Chinese, beside publishing the “Chinese Repository,” a “Chinese and English Dictionary,” etc. “China, its Fate and Prospects,” is still a book of high authority.

“Buddha,” bŏod´da. The name not of a particular teacher, but of a class of deified teachers among the Buddhists. Great numbers of them have appeared at different times as saviors of the race. The Buddha of the present period is called Sākyamuni.

“Kalè,” ka´lee. The name of one of the many forms of Doorgā, a terrible goddess, so popularly and variously worshiped in Hindoostan. The goddess assumed the name Kalè on the occasion of a battle with a thousand-headed giant-demigod whom she slew. Her most common image is that of a black, or very dark colored woman, with four arms, the upper left arm holding a cimeter, the lower left a human head by the hair. Around her waist as a covering she wears a string of bloody human hands, with an immense necklace of human skulls reaching below the knees. Kalè is a female Satan, a most sanguinary goddess, and as terrible as anything the imagination can picture. The ceremonies of her worship require the sacrifice of animals and human beings, and are in keeping with the terrible character they adore.

P. 44.—“Apotheosis,” a-po-the´o-sis. To place among the gods; to deify.

P. 46.—“Numa.” The first king of the Romans. His time is uncertain. He was selected from among the Sabines, after the death of Romulus, and introduced many valuable institutions and laws.

“Augustan Age.” That period in which the Roman mind reached its highest point of culture and activity. Cicero, Ovid, Virgil, Horace, and many others adorned this period. It was called Augustan from Augustus Cæsar, the reigning emperor.

“Jahn,” Otto. (1813-1869.) A German philologist. He studied in the best schools of Europe and held professorships in various universities. He was very liberal in his views, and became famous as an archæologist and philologist. Among his works are editions of Latin classics, a life of Mozart, essays on art, and various miscellaneous papers.

P. 47.—“Allegories.” That is, that the teachings concerning the gods were figurative stories, explaining the facts of human nature and the mysteries of the external world.

“Dionysius.” See Notes in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for October.

“Tholuck,” to´lŏok. Friedrich August Gottreu. (1799-1877.) A German theologian, educated in Berlin, and afterward a professor there. He was transferred to Halle in 1826, where he spent the rest of his life. An eminent Christian, his doctrine at first met with opposition from the rationalism of the university, but changed the views of the majority of the faculty. He left eleven volumes on theology and philosophy.

P. 50.—“Chaotic,” ka-ot´ic. Confused, disordered; like chaos.

P. 53.—“Consanguinity,” kŏn´san-gwīn´i-ty.

P. 56.—“Attrition,” at-trish´un. Wearing away, produced by constant friction.

P. 57.—“Conservator,” con´ser-va´tor. A keeper, preserver.

“Tabularasa.” A blank tablet.

“Concatenation,” con-căt´e-nā´tion. A series of connected events, depending upon one another.

P. 62.—“Concomitant,” con-com´i-tant. A companion; a person or thing connected with another.

“Swedenborg.” (1688-1772.) A native of Sweden educated at Upsal. For several years after leaving the university he was engaged in literary work. Having been appointed Assessor of the College of Mines he assisted the king, Charles XII., in his military operations, until after the death of the latter. His life was spent in scientific pursuits until 1745, when he claimed to have been called of God to reveal a new system of truth. The remainder of his life was spent in work upon the books which explained this system. Briefly, he claimed: One God, revealed to man through Christ; a trinity of principles, not persons; a redemption produced not by vicarious suffering, but by the conquest of the powers of hell; this victory restored to man his spiritual freedom, and gave him an opportunity to work out his salvation; the necessary features of religion are faith and an avoidance of sin. He claimed to reveal a new church—the New Jerusalem of Rev. xxi:ii—and his followers call themselves members of the “New Jerusalem.” His teachings concerning the future world are to be found in “Heaven and Hell,” and his theology is explained in “True Christian Religion.” Swedenborg claimed his writings to have been revealed in communications with the spirit world, and to the last affirmed his own honesty.

“Irvine,” Edward. (1792-1834.) A Scottish minister educated at Edinburgh, and in 1822 ordained to preach. Having been called to a small church in London he soon attracted, by his eloquence, an immense congregation of the nobility, the learned, and famous. Soon a new church was built for him. In 1825 he began to preach the second advent of Christ as a near event, and also to teach that the nature of Christ was one with ours, even in its infirmities and liabilities to sin, a doctrine which led to much controversy. In 1830 it was reported that supernatural phenomena were taking place in parts of Scotland. Irvine became convinced that the manifestations were divine. Soon after they appeared in his congregation and he published an account of them in Fraser’s Magazine. As a result he lost his popularity, was driven from his church, and set aside by the Scottish presbytery. Irvine’s followers obtained a place of worship and established what is now known as the Catholic Apostolic Church. Irvine claimed to have received ordination from the spirit to preach to this body, and was made bishop, a position he held until his death.

“Elymas,” el´y-mas. See Acts xiii; 6-7-8.

“Smith,” Joseph. (1805-1844.) The founder of the Mormons. He first attracted attention by his “Book of the Mormons,” which he pretended to have discovered and translated under angelic guidance. He founded a church at Manchester, N. Y., which was soon moved to Kirtland, Ohio, thence to Missouri, where the conduct of the leaders so incensed the public that they were driven from the country. Smith next located his band in Illinois, but attempting to introduce polygamy as a revealed doctrine, the outraged inhabitants revolted, and in the raid Smith was killed.

P. 67.—“Beelzebub.” The name of the supreme god among all the Syro-Phœnician peoples was Baal, i. e., lord, or owner; and by adding to it zebub, insect, the proper name Baalzebub was formed; the fly-god, the averter of insects.

P. 68.—“Typhon.” In Egyptian mythology Typhon (or Set) was the manifestation of the abstract principle of evil, and at first equally honored with Osiris, the principle of good. Afterward he became the god of sin, and so was at war with Osiris, and an enemy of men. It is said that in the tenth dynasty the priesthood, fearing that Typhon was going to conquer in the conquest between good and evil, obtained a royal decree, ratified by sacerdotal order, to banish him out of Egypt.

“Serapis,” ser-a´pis. The worship of Serapis prevailed in the time of the Ptolemies. It is fabled that in the contest of Typhon and Osiris the latter was slain. He returned to earth in a second existence as the god Serapis. The name is thought to be a compound of Osiris and Apis, the soul of the former having entered the body of the bull. The worship of Serapis continued in Egypt long after the Christian era, and was even introduced into Italy.

P. 69.—“Isis.” Isis and Osiris were the only gods worshiped by all the Egyptians. Isis was represented as the wife of Osiris, and with him, one of the great benefactors of the people, he having introduced the plow, and she having taught them how to cultivate grain. As the Greeks influenced somewhat the religion of Egypt, she became the goddess of the moon. The worship of Isis was introduced into Italy in the first century, A. D., and a fine temple built to her at Rome. The ruins of a temple of Isis have been unearthed at Pompeii. In works of art she is represented with the face of Juno, wearing a long tunic, a lotus flower on her head, and in her hand the peculiar Egyptian musical instrument called the sistrum.

“Osiris,” o-si´ris. The husband of Isis. He was called “the king of life,” “the king of gods,” and “ruler of eternity.” He introduced civilization among the Egyptians and traveled through many countries, helping the people. He was murdered by Typhon, his brother, and his body thrown into the river Nile. He is represented as having a human form, and always the head of a man. He is colored green, as the god of vivification. His sacred symbols are the evergreen, the tamarisk, and a sort of Ibis with two long plumes at the back of the head.

P. 89.—“Succinctly,” suc-sinct´ly. Briefly, concisely.

P. 99.—“Periphrasis,” pe-riph´ra-sis. A periphrase; several words used to express an idea; a circumlocution.

P. 107.—“Holocaust,” hol´o-caust. A burnt offering, the whole of which was consumed by fire.

P. 138.—“Poarch.” The disciples of the poarch were the stoics, or followers of Zeno. See notes in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for November.

“Academy.” The disciples of Plato, who taught in a garden near the academy.

P. 149.—“Tacitus.” See notes in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for October.

“Pliny.” See notes in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for November.

P. 148.—“Dulia,” dū´li-a. The word comes from the Greek word for slave, and is applied to the worship of an inferior being, as of the saints.

“Juggernaut,” jŭg´ger-naut´. Meaning in Hindoo the lord of the world. One of the most popular of Hindoo idols. His temple is at a town on the Bay of Bengal, and the shrine is considered the most holy in Hindostan. At least one million of people visit there every year. The temple contains several idols. The great festival of Juggernaut occurs in March of each year. The idol is taken from the temple on a ponderous wheeled platform, and is drawn by a crowd of men and women. It is said that votaries in their excitement have cast themselves under the wheels and been crushed, but this has not occurred for several years.

NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS IN “THE CHAUTAUQUAN.”

GERMAN HISTORY.

P. 189, c. 1.—“Charlemagne.” After the death of Charlemagne, 814, the kingdom fell to his son Louis. In 843 it was divided between the three sons of the latter. The kingdom remained with the Carlovingian house until 911, when the dynasty became extinct. The entire country was divided into many territories or states ruled by dukes, and the election of the king was given to them. After the death of the last of the Carlovingians the electors chose Conrad I., a Franconian, after whom the Saxons held the throne until 1024. The Franconians succeeded, ruling until 1125, when the Hohenstauffen dynasty began. This latter ended with the death of Conrad IV., in 1254.

“Interregnum.” The first meaning of the word is the time between the death of one king and the accession of his successor; hence a time in which the execution of the government is suspended. Here it refers to an extended period between the death of Conrad IV., 1254, and the rise of the house of Hapsburg. Rudolph I. was the first of this line, and was chosen in 1273, but the house did not become strong until about the time of the Reformation, after which time until the death of the empire, in 1806, it was almost stationary on the throne.

“Dark Ages.” In the broadest sense the term “dark ages” refers to a period extending from the fifth century to about the middle of the fifteenth, in which the intellectual activity of Europe was at its lowest point, and corresponding almost to the middle ages. As used here, however, “dark ages” refers to a period in the literary life of Germany, particularly in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. After the time of the Minnesänger and the poets of chivalry there followed nearly two hundred years of great decay in literature. Hallam in his “Literary History,” quotes Herren as saying that the thirteenth century was one of the most unfruitful for the study of ancient literature, and Leibnitz as declaring that the tenth century was a golden age of learning compared with the thirteenth; and says himself: “The fourteenth century was not in the slightest degree superior to the preceding age.”

“Huss.” (1273-1415.) Born at Hussintz, near the border of Bavaria, and educated at Prague, where he afterward became a professor. Having been installed as a preacher he began to declare against the vices of the clergy and the extravagant expenditures in ornamenting the churches. Huss had been made rector of the university, and his bold speech brought about a war between the archbishop of the cathedral at Prague, and the university. The archbishop had burned the writings of Wickliffe, and Huss declared against the act, using such strong arguments that the former was condemned. The charge of heresy was soon after raised against Huss; he was condemned and ordered to leave Prague. He did not remain away long, but was brought back by his zealous partisans. His doctrines, however, again brought down the papal wrath, and he was pronounced a heretic. He continued to preach and write until summoned in 1414 to a general council at Constance. After a long delay the council condemned him as a heretic, and he was burned at the stake. D’Aubigne says in his “History of the Reformation:” “He seemed to enter more deeply than all who had gone before him into the essence of Christian truth. But he attacked rather the lives of the clergy than the errors of the church. And yet he was, if we may be allowed the expression, the John the Baptist of the Reformation. The flames of his martyrdom kindled a fire which shed an extensive light in the midst of the general gloom, and was destined not to be speedily extinguished.”

“Henry IV.” His father, Henry III., died when the boy was but five years old. His mother was not strong enough to hold in order the nobles of the kingdom, and when Henry was thirteen years old, the regency was seized by an archbishop. After Henry’s trouble with the pope, here related, he returned to Germany to find that a new king, called the priest’s king, had been elected. Henry immediately appointed a new pope, and began war against Rudolph, the new king. Having defeated him he went to Italy, besieged Rome, and after three years took the city and was crowned emperor. His triumph was short, for his sons soon after rebelled, and Heinrich called his father to sign his own abdication. The old king soon after died in great poverty.

P. 189, c. 2.—“Simony,” sim´o-ny. The term is derived from the proper name Simon, who wished to buy the power of the Holy Ghost, (Acts, vii.,) and is applied to the practice of buying ecclesiastical preferment, and of raising parties to church positions for reward.

“Worms,” wurmz. A city of Hesse on the Rhine. It is one of the oldest of German cities, and was the scene of the Nibelungenlied. Many diets of the empire were held there.

“Mayence,” ma´yangs. The French for Mentz. A city of Germany on the left bank of the Rhine, near its conjunction with the Main. It has been an important city since the time of the Romans. Gutenberg was born and died there.

“Augsburg,” owgs´burg. A city of Bavaria, first established by Augustus in the first century. For several centuries it was free, and a most important commercial center.

P. 190, c. 1.—“Canossa,” ca-nos´sa. A town in the northeastern part of Italy.

“Parma.” See THE CHAUTAUQUAN for December.

“Holy Feme.” These tribunals rose in the twelfth century and disappeared in the sixteenth. Sir Walter Scott, in “Anne of Geierstein,” has given an account of the Westphalian Fehmgericht, as it was called.

“Westphalia,” west-phā´li-a. A western province of Prussia, bordering on Holland.

“Dortmund,” dort´mŏont. A town of Prussia in the province of Westphalia.

“Hildebrand,” hĭl´de-brand. (1018?-1085.) Pope Gregory VII. He was educated in a monastery and became a monk. Having been made prior of the abbey of St. Paul, he reformed many abuses and became prominent in the church. He at first refused the office of pope, but was compelled to accept. He immediately, on taking the position, instituted strong measures against simony and the licentiousness of the clergy. He summoned Henry to Rome to answer for his conduct, when there followed the trouble already related. Just before the capture of Rome the pope fled. Although Robert Guiscard soon after triumphed over his (the pope’s) enemies, his health was broken, and he retired to Salerno, where he died. His last words are said to have been: “I have loved righteousness and hated wickedness, therefore do I die in exile.”

“Peter the Lombard.” (1100?-1160.) An Italian theologian, He was a pupil of Abè, and the tutor to the son of the king of France. He afterward became a professor in the university of Paris, and bishop of the city. His greatest work was a collection of passages from the church fathers on doctrinal points. This is still in repute.

“Seven Sacraments.” The seven sacraments of both the Latin and Greek Churches are: Baptism, confirmation, penance, the eucharist, extreme unction, order or ordination, and matrimony.

“Eugene IV.” (1383-1447.) Pope from 1431 until his death. During this period two important councils were held; that of Basel, in which there were efforts made to heal the Hussite schism, reform the clergy, and bring about a union between the eastern and western churches and the council of Florence. Eugene’s term was embittered by civil wars and the outbreaks of numerous enemies.

“Transubstantiation.” The Roman Catholic Church believes the bread and the wine used in the eucharist to be converted into the body and blood of Christ.

“Lateran,” lat´e-ran. In the Lateran Church at Rome have been held eleven important historical councils. The fourth, at which this doctrine was proclaimed, occurred in November, 1215, and is said to have been “the most important ecclesiastical council ever convened.”

“Auricular,” au-ric´ū-lar. Literally, told in the ear.

P. 190, c. 2.—“Council of Trent.” The nineteenth œcumenical council was caused by Luther’s doctrines. It began in 1545, and after twenty-five public sessions, adjourned in 1563. The chief results of the council were: Tradition was declared to be equally with the Bible a standard of faith; the Catholic doctrines of sin, justification and the sacraments were defined; and the doctrines of extreme unction, ordination, celibacy, marriage, purgatory, relics, indulgences, etc., were promulgated.

“Gutenberg,” goo´ten-bĕrg. (1400-1468.) The partnership between Faust and Gutenberg was closed in five years (1455) because Gutenberg failed to pay the money advanced. After this Gutenberg carried on a printing house alone until, in 1465, he entered the services of Adolphus of Nassau, as a gentleman of court.

“Faust,” fowst. He was a rich goldsmith, and probably had nothing to do with the invention of printing. The books produced by this firm were an indulgence, “An appeal to Christendom against the Turks,” and a celebrated Latin Bible called the Mazarin Bible. After the dissolution of this firm Schöffer and Faust carried on the business.

“Schöffer,” shö´fer.

P. 191, c. 1.—“Schwartz,” shwarts. His true name was Aucklitzen, but his fondness for magic, called the black art, led to his surname of Schwartz, which in German means black. It is considered by many that Schwartz applied the use of gunpowder to war and the chase, as its composition was supposed to have been known before his time.

“Agincourt,” a´zhĭn-koor. A town on the road from Calais to Paris, where, in 1415, Henry V., of England, defeated the French army. See “Pictures from English History,” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for June, 1883.

“Eisleben,” īs´lā-ben. A town of Saxony of some 13,000 inhabitants. It is interesting as the place where Luther was born and died. The house in which he died still stands.

“St. Martin’s Day.” The day appropriated to St. Martin in the saints’ calendar. He was a pope of the Catholic Church in the seventh century. As he opposed the spread of the doctrine of Monothelitism, or the doctrine that Christ had but one will in his two natures, and, as well, opposed the edict of the ruling emperor, which forbade all discussion on this subject, he was stripped of his clerical honors and banished. He is honored as a martyr.

“Raphael,” răf´a-el. (1483-1520.) The most famous of Italian painters.

“Copernicus,” ko-per´nĭ-kŭs. (1473-1543.) He first studied medicine and afterward spent some time in Italy, studying astronomy, where he also taught mathematics. In 1503 he returned to Prussia as a clergyman. He found time from his duties to study astronomy, and began to investigate the Ptolemaic system, for which he substituted the planetary system. The arguments and proofs of this system he published in six volumes, the first copy of which was placed in his hands the day of his death.

“Eisenach,” ī´zen-ak. A city of Germany on the borders of the Thuringian forest. The castle of Wartburg is near the town.

“Erfurt,” ĕr´fŏort. A city of Saxony of about 43,000 inhabitants. The most interesting building there is the old Augustine convent, where Luther lived; it is now used for an asylum for orphans.

“Elector.” This elector was Friedrich the Wise, of Saxony. (1463-1525.) He founded the university at Wittenberg, and, although not thoroughly in favor of the Reformation, he protected Luther through his whole life. D’Aubigne says of him: “Friedrich was precisely the prince that was needed for the cradle of the Reformation. Too much weakness on the part of those friendly to the work might have allowed it to be crushed. Too much haste would have caused too early an explosion of the storm that from its origin gathered against it. Friedrich was moderate, but firm. He possessed that Christian grace which God has in all times required from his worshipers—he waited for God.”

“Wittenberg.” A town of Saxony of about 12,000 inhabitants. The great elector, Luther and Melancthon are buried here. The town is interesting to art students for several pictures of Cranach’s which it contains. Schadow’s statue of Luther is here, and also one of Melancthon by Drake (see Readings in Art in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for December). The university of Wittenberg was united to that of Halle in 1815.

P. 191, c. 2.—“Scholasticism.” Methods of argument and of philosophy, which are very pedantic or subtile, are said to suit the schools or scholars; that is, they are scholastic.

“Aristotelianism,” ar´is-to-te´li-an-ism. The methods of argument and the philosophy of the time was that of Aristotle; hence the name.

“Papal Indulgences.” The Roman Catholic Church claims that when a sin is committed after baptism, the truly penitent must confess and receive sacramental absolution, but that after this there is a temporal penalty which the sinner must undergo in this world or the next. In the early church, when very severe penance was required of notorious sinners, it was sometimes softened by the prayers or intercessions of outside parties to the pope; this was termed indulgence. When the nations of northern Europe joined the Catholic Church, a custom formed among them was adopted as suitable for penitential atonement. Among these peoples, persons guilty of murder or theft could purchase exemption from the injured parties. When this practice was first admitted the church used the money for the poor, in redeeming captives, and in public worship. Abuses soon followed. The people confounded the remission of temporal penalties with the remission of sins, and the church adopted this method of raising money for the Crusades, to build churches, and finally to enable the popes to gratify their personal extravagance. The abuse was at its height with Tetzel. The council of Trent condemned these measures, and since there have been no conspicuous abuses.

“Tetzel,” tĕt´sel. (1460?-1519.) He was educated at Leipsic, and after entering his order, was frequently employed as a vender of indulgences. He is usually represented as a very immoral man, and his abuse of the indulgence system to have been most flagrant. Catholic historians claim that these statements are overdrawn, although they admit his indiscretion. After his trouble with Luther, Tetzel seems to have lost all his influence with the public.

“Theses.” Here are a few examples of these theses:

1. When our Master and Lord Jesus Christ says ‘Repent,’ he means that the whole life of his faithful servants upon earth should be a constant and continual repentance.

32. Those who fancy themselves sure of their salvation by indulgences will go to the devil with those who teach them this doctrine.

43. We must teach Christians that he who gives to the poor, or lends to the needy, does better than he who buys an indulgence.

95. For it is better, through much tribulation, to enter into the kingdom of heaven than to gain a carnal security by the consolations of a false peace.

“Cajetanus,” or Cajetan, kăj´e-ta´nus. (1469-1534.) A Dominican monk of superior education. He had held several high offices when sent to Germany to hear Luther. Afterward he went on several important embassies.

“Vicar General.” This was Johann Staupitz, a man of superior character and learning. He was a friend of Frederic the Wise, and under his directions the latter had founded the university of Wittenberg. It was he who had secured a professorship for Luther there. In 1522 Staupitz became the abbot of a Benedictine convent.

P. 192, c. 1.—“Melancthon,” me-lănk´thon. (1497-1560.) Called the second leader of the Lutheran Reformation. After a most careful education at Heidelberg and Tübingen he was given a professorship at Wittenberg, in 1518. He at once became a warm friend of Luther and the Reformation. His remarkable learning in classic literature and in Bible study, with his clear mind and elegant style, at once made him the most prominent teacher in the university. Although offered professorships at other universities, he would never leave Wittenberg. He devoted himself to theology, but was never ordained. His work was mainly done by writing. He wrote many sermons, defended Luther against Dr. Eck, wrote a system of Protestant theology, several commentaries, and helped Luther in his translation of the Bible. It was Melancthon who drew up the “Augsburg Confession,” which became the principal book of the Lutheran church. Melancthon was mild and peace loving, presenting a great contrast to Luther. They were, however, friends to the last, though not always agreeing on the measures to be adopted. After Luther’s death Melancthon became the leader of the German Reformation, and so remained until his death.

“Jonas.” (1493-1555.) A theologian who became a professor at Wittenberg in 1521. He joined Luther in his great movement, and was with him at the diet at Worms. He also assisted in Luther’s translation of the Bible. Having become a preacher at Halle he was banished, and went to Eisfeld, where he died.

“Nuncio,” nūn´shĭ-ō. A messenger, or literally one who carries something new. The word is generally applied to a messenger from the pope to a king or emperor.

“Altenburg,” al´ten-burg. A town of about 20,000 inhabitants. The capital of a duchy of the German empire, bearing the same name.

“Eck.” (1486-1543.) He had been a profound student of theology, and was a powerful opponent in argument. He first appeared as an adversary of Luther, in notes made on the Thesis. After the discussion mentioned he went to Rome to urge severe measures against the reformers, and through his entire life tried to heal the breach in the church.

P. 192, c. 2.—“Perseus,” per´se-us. A hero of Grecian legendary lore. The son of Jupiter, who with his mother Danaë, had been cast adrift at sea in a chest. The chest floated to the island Seriphus, where the king wished to marry Danaë, but to get rid of Perseus, sent the latter to fetch the head of the gorgon Medusa. The gorgons were three sisters who had but one eye in common, and turned everything into stone that fell under their gaze. Perseus obtained winged sandals from the Nymphs, and a mirror from Minerva, in which he could see the reflection of Medusa. When the gorgons were asleep he accomplished his errand, and returned in time to rescue his mother and turn the king and his companions into stone. This gorgon head he afterward gave to Minerva, who placed it on her shield.

EXTRACTS FROM GERMAN LITERATURE.

P. 193, c. 2.—“Apollo of the Vatican.” See THE CHAUTAUQUAN for November.

“Python.” Grecian legends tell of a deluge in which Jupiter destroyed all men on account of their wickedness, except one man and his wife. From the mud left on the earth from this deluge sprang this serpent, or Python. He lived in the caves of Mount Parnassus, but was slain by Apollo, who commemorated his victory by establishing the Pythian games.

“Forehead of Jupiter.” Minerva, or the goddess of Wisdom, is said to have sprung from the forehead of Jupiter.

“Graces.” The Grecian goddesses which had care of social life and its pleasures. They inspired all the virtues and accomplishments which make human intercourse delightful, and were the “patronesses of whatever is graceful and beautiful in nature and art.”

P. 193, c. 2.—“Pygmalion,” pyg-ma´li-on. A legendary king of Cyprus. He is said to have made an ivory statue of a maiden, of such rare beauty that he fell in love with it and prayed Venus to endow it with life. She granted his request, and Pygmalion married the maiden.

“Pantheon,” pan-the´on. Literally, the word means to all the gods; i. e., a temple or work dedicated to all the divinities of a nation.

“Transcendentalists.” Those persons who in their reasoning go beyond the facts and principles which spring from experience, and claim a knowledge of spiritual and immaterial things. It is also applied to those whose philosophy is vague and indefinite.

P. 194, c. 2.—“Voss.” (1751-1826.) A German scholar. He was early in life a tutor, and afterward an editor at Göttingen. In 1778 he became rector of the gymnasium at Ottendorf. In 1781 he published a translation of the Odyssey, which has been the standard German translation ever since. He followed this by many original poems, an edition of Virgil’s Georgics, a translation of the Iliad, and in 1799 a translation of the Æneid. Besides these he made translations from many other Latin and Greek writers, as well as from the French and English. He engaged in several controversies with Heyne on literary subjects, and in 1819 an essay in which he attacked the Roman Catholic and the Protestant mystics, caused much discussion.

P. 195, c. 1.—“Faustus.” Dr. Johann Faustus, or Faust, is a character belonging to German tradition. “He was a celebrated Franconian, born about 1480. He is said to have studied magic at Cracow. Having mastered all the secret sciences, and being dissatisfied at the shallowness of human knowledge, he made an agreement with the evil one, according to which the devil was to serve Faust for full twenty-four years, after which Faust’s soul was to be delivered to eternal damnation. The contract, signed by Faust with his own blood, contained the following conditions: ‘(1) He shall renounce God and all celestial hosts; (2) he shall be an enemy of all mankind; (3) he shall not obey priests; (4) he shall not go to church or partake of the holy sacraments; (5) he shall hate and shun wedlock.’” Faust now is attended by a spirit, Mephistopheles, who invents all sorts of dissipation to attract him. He wearies of his life, but can not escape. Toward the end of the period he seeks the church, but all flee from him. At last he is carried away by the evil spirit. It is said that a man who was believed to have sold himself to the devil did live during the time of Melancthon and Luther. Goethe, in his poem, attempts to solve the mystery of the legend. He represents his hero as under the influence of evil that his longing for knowledge has caused, but does not permit the evil to gain the mastery in the end. Faust is represented as seeking and finding in a work which is for the benefit of others, the relief which learning, pleasure, art and culture have denied him. The selection here given is from the first part of the poem, where Faust is watching the sunset at the close of Easter Sunday.

P. 195, c. 2.—“Wagner.”—“Is a very dull pedant. All that Faust disdains as the dry bones and mere lumber of erudition, is choice meat and drink for the intellectual constitution of Wagner. No amount of our modern preparations for examinations would have been too great for him. He is charmed with dead formulas, and can not have too many of them impressed upon his memory. * * * The character of this ‘dry-as-dust’ pedant is admirably contrasted with that of Faustus.”—Gostwick and Harrison.

“Propagandist,” prop´a-gan´dist. One who devotes himself to extending any system or principles.

P. 196, c. 1.—“Rose.” In the Gothic system not only the rose was copied, but the oak, oak leaves, thistle, the ivy, the holly, and all leaves and vegetable forms that could be copied.

“Foliated.” Where the mullions or bars which separate the lights in windows are broken into curves, arches and flowing lines, and leaf-like ornaments are added, we have foliated tracery.

SUNDAY READINGS AND POLITICAL ECONOMY.

P. 201, c. 1.—“Forensic,” fo-rĕn´sic. Derived from forum. A place where court was held; hence, used in courts; appropriate to argument or debate.

“Paley.” (1743-1805.) An English theologian. His most important works are “Principles of Moral and Political Economy,” “Horæ Paulinæ,” “Reasons for Contentment,” and his “Natural Theology.”

“In foro conscientiæ.” Before the tribunal of conscience.

P. 202, c. 2.—“Carey.” (1793- ——.) He was educated in Philadelphia, to the book trade, and became a partner in his father’s firm, afterward the largest publishing firm in the country. In 1835 he left the business to devote himself to the study of political economy. The chief principles of his system are given in the present article.

“Diametrically,” di-a-mĕt´ric-al-ly. As remote as possible, as if at the opposite end of a diameter.

P. 203, c. 1.—“Ricardo,” re-kar´do. (1772-1823.) An English political economist. A Jew; he was educated for a business life, and was associated with his father. As he became a Christian the partnership was dissolved. Ricardo, however, became wealthy, studied much, and finally became a member of parliament. His chief work is “On the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation.”

“Malthus.” (1766-1834.) An English political economist. He was educated for the ministry and took a parish. In 1798 he published the work on which his reputation rests mainly: “An essay on the Principle of Population.” He afterward traveled much to obtain data to support his theories, and in 1826 published the sixth and last edition.

READINGS IN ART.

P. 204, c. 1.—“Lintels.” A horizontal piece of wood or stone placed above the opening for a window or door.

“Trabeated,” trā´be-ā´ted.

P. 204, c. 2.—“Etruscans.” A people formerly inhabiting Etruria or Tuscia, a portion of ancient Italy. Very little is known of their origin, though they are supposed to have come from the north. The people were short and heavy, their language completely isolated from any known language. They formed a confederacy of twelve cities, possessed many flourishing colonies, and carried on commerce. Their religion was a polytheism resembling the Greeks. The monuments of these people still remaining are the walls of their cities, sewers, vaults, tombs, and bridges. Their bronze statues were famous, as well as their pottery. The Etruscans were most prosperous the centuries before and after the founding of Rome. In the long wars which Rome carried on in her struggle to become mistress of Italy, the power of Etruria was finally broken.

“Romanesque,” rō´man-ĕsk.

“Byzantine,” by-zān´tïne, or byz´an-tīne.

“First Crusade.” It started out in 1096.

P. 205, c. 1.—“Buttress.” A projecting support applied to the exterior of a wall, most commonly to churches of the gothic style.

“Turret.” A small tower attached to a building and rising above it.

P. 205, c. 2.—“Pilasters,” pi-las´ters. A square column sometimes free, but oftener set into a wall at least a fifth of its diameter. A pilaster has a base, capital and entabulature, as other columns.

“Polychromy,” pŏl´y-chrō´my. The practice of making a building in many colors; also of coloring statues or other works of art to imitate nature.

“Beni-Hassan,” ba´ne-has´san. On the east bank of the Nile, about one hundred and forty miles south of Cairo, and famous for its grottoes. There are about thirty of them. They contain an almost endless number of paintings, representing scenes from the life of the ancient Egyptians. Almost our entire knowledge of ancient Egyptian life is based on them. Charles Dudley Warner says of the grottoes: “They are fine, large apartments, high and well lighted by the portal. Architecturally no tombs are more interesting; some of the ceilings are vaulted in three sections; they are supported by fluted pillars, some like the Doric, and some in the beautiful lotus style; the pillars have architraves; and there are some elaborately wrought false door ways.”

“Luxor,” lux´or. A village on the east bank of the Nile, which, with Karnak contains part of the ruins of Thebes.

“Denderah.” “Edfou.” See THE CHAUTAUQUAN for October.

“Cephren,” ceph´ren; “Mycerinus,” mys´e-ri´nus.

“Syene,” sy´e-ne. A place in Upper Egypt where syenite was quarried by the ancient Egyptians.

P. 206, c. 1.—“Truncated pyramid.” One whose vertex or top is cut off by a plane parallel to the base.

“Typhonia,” ty-pho´ni-a; “Mammisee,” mam-mi´si. “Pylon,” py´lon.

“Hypostyle,” hy´po-stile. A hall with pillars; that which rests on columns.

“Clerestory,” clēre´stō-ry, or clear-story. An upper story or row of windows in a building of any kind, which rises clear above adjoining parts of the building.

“Usertesen,” u-ser´te-sen.

P. 206, c. 2.—“Abacus,” ăb´a-cus. A tablet or plate upon the capital of a column, between it and the architrave.

“Architrave,” ar´chi-trave. The lower division of an entabulature, resting on the column or the abacus.

“Plinth.” The lowest division of the base of a column. A square, projecting piece with vertical face.

“Astragal,” ās´tra-gal. A little round moulding which surrounds the top or bottom of a column in the form of a ring, representing a ring or band of iron, to prevent the splitting of the column. It is often cut into beads or berries, and is used in ornamental entabulatures to separate the several faces of the architrave.—Webster.

“Cavetto,” ca-vēt´to.

“Façade,” fa-sād´. Front; front view of a building.

SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE.

P. 209, c. 1.—“Gentian,” jēn´shan. The Gentianus crinita. A branching plant found in low grounds in autumn. The lobes of the corolla are of a deep sky-blue and beautifully fringed.

“Thetis,” the´tis. The selection here given is taken from the first book of the Homeric story. Agamemnon, the commander-in-chief of the Greeks, has compelled Achilles, the favorite warrior, to give up Briseis, his captive. In revenge Achilles has shut himself up in his tent, refusing to take further part in the war. Thetis, the mother of Achilles, has promised to obtain from Jupiter, the king of the gods, a promise to give the victory to the Trojans until Agamemnon shall repent the wrong. Thetis was one of the daughters of Nereus, called here the “Ancient of the Deep,” the god of the Mediterranean.

“Santa Filomena,” Saint Fil-o-me´na. In the early part of this century a grave was discovered with a Latin inscription which read “Filomena, peace be with you.” She was at once accepted as a saint, and many wonders worked by her. In a picture by Sabatelli, this saint is represented hovering over a group of sick and maimed, healed by her intercession. Longfellow here gives the title to Florence Nightingale.

TALK ABOUT BOOKS.

“Home Worship, and the Use of the Bible in the Home,”[M] is a book of real excellence, and will do good. Home, worship, and the Bible as the basis and inspiration of both, are things of no ordinary importance, and it is a joy to every Christian philanthropist that, severally, and in their relation to each other, they are attracting the attention of the thoughtful. The work, heartily commended, is a book for the times—meets a want that many have felt, and guards against dangers to which all are liable. In the midst of multiform benevolent activities, plans and schemes innumerable, for public service, it is quite possible to be so much occupied with the out-door enterprises of the church, as, unwisely, to neglect the religion of the home. The plan and execution of the work are both admirable. The well arranged scripture readings open up the Bible in the richness of its practical teachings, and the daily lessons are readily found suited to every need. The notes, with but few exceptions, express in a plain, terse, common-sense manner, the truth, as held by most evangelical Christians. Being eminently practical, devout in spirit, and free from any offensive dogmatism, they will be accepted as most valuable, even by those who, in a few instances, might suggest a different exposition. As a help to the spirituality and joyousness of domestic worship, the book will prove to many a treasure of priceless worth.

“Christian Educators in Council,”[N] a well filled volume, containing sixty addresses delivered in the National Educational Assembly, at Ocean Grove, August, 1883. The book, like the Assembly, whose work it reports, must do good, and we wish for it a very wide circulation. For this great Assembly, from whose discussions and methods much is expected, the country is indebted to the indefatigable exertions of Dr. Hartzell. From years of toil among the lowly he knew their needs, and the demand for greater and more concerted efforts in their behalf. The thought of a really national convention, with a broad platform on which all Christian statesmen, educators and philanthropists might be represented, was to him an inspiration. After consultation the Assembly was convened, organized, and furnished with a detailed program of the exercises that proved intensely interesting to the multitudes that were present. It was a grand assembly—grand in its conception, in the objects contemplated, and not less in its personel. There were able ministers of nearly all denominations, and honored laymen, not a few. The Secretaries of the Benevolent Societies, the U. S. Commissioner of Education, Presidents of Colleges, Editors, Teachers, and Elect Ladies were all heard in person or through well written communications. And they evidently speak from their convictions, confronting us, not with theories, but with facts—facts bearing on the most difficult problems with which the nation has to grapple, illiteracy, and the shame of polygamous Mormonism. Ignorance is a foe to freedom that must be expelled, and Mormon lust, that changes the home to a harem, crucifies womanhood, and makes children worse than fatherless must be made as perilous to the guilty, as it is infamous in the eyes of all good citizens. The well considered, manly utterances from Ocean Grove have our hearty indorsement. It is a pleasure to say the speeches that so enthused those vast audiences seem worthy of the men and of the occasion.

The admirable Home College Series has reached the eighty-third number. A decidedly practical and useful idea it was to throw these terse, interesting scraps of knowledge into everybody’s hands. The tracts are all good. One that will please all reading people, as well as be suggestive to those who do not know how to read, is Rev. H. C. Farrar’s talk on “Reading and Readers.”[O] While it contains nothing new, it tells well many true and essential facts that every reader ought to consider.

There are no two characters in the list of English writers who hold so warm a place in our hearts as Charles and Mary Lamb. We mention them together, for who could separate him from her any more than they could separate him from his essays? Mary, Charles, Elia, the tales and sketches are woven together in a way unique in literature. It is strange that with all its interests Mary Lamb’s life should never have been written until now, save in scraps, and as the necessary complement in every sketch of her brother. The cloud that hung over her gentle life, the tender, close friendship of the brother and sister, and the interesting circle of friends that formed their circle, make her an exceptionally entertaining character. Mrs. Gilchrist[P] in her book has given us the best that is known of Mary Lamb. Little of the material is entirely new; with few exceptions it has all appeared before, but never so well arranged. The story is carried from her earliest life, when the unsympathetic mother would say to the child, whose brain was full of morbid phantoms: “Polly, what are those poor, crazy, moythered brains of yours thinking alway?” to the time when at eighty death ended the shadowed life. The Hazlitts, Stoddarts, Coleridge and many others receive much attention, but this is necessary, so intimately was Mary Lamb’s life joined to her friends. In a few instances, however, notes on people are introduced into the text, which seem entirely irrelevant, and would have figured better as foot-notes, if introduced at all; as in the case of the story of Mr. Scott, the Secretary of Lord Nelson.

Of all our elegant holiday books not one is more chaste and beautiful than the Artist’s Edition of Gray’s Elegy.[Q] It is the first really fine edition of the poem ever published. It could hardly have been better done. The illustrations are the work of such eminent artists as R. Swain Gifford, F. S. Church, etc., and are perfectly suited to the calm, dignified and thoughtful beauty of the poem.

A pleasing book for fireside reading is “Bright and Happy Homes.”[R] It is largely a compilation, and, too, on a subject on which much fresh and valuable matter is being constantly written. The book contains, however, the best and wisest articles on all varieties of home affairs, and can not fail to both amuse and instruct.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

“Life of Luther.” By Julius Köstlin. With illustrations from authentic sources. Translated from the German. Charles Scribner’s Sons. New York. 1883.

“A Brief Handbook of English Authors.” By Oscar Fay Adams. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Company. 1884.

“The Odes of Horace.” Complete in English Rhyme and Blank Verse. By Henry Hubbard Pierce, U.S.A. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1884.

“Richard’s Crown; How he Won and Wore It.” By Anna D. Weaver. Published by the author. Jamestown, New York.

“An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.” By Thomas Gray. The artist’s edition. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1883.

“Probationers Catechism and Compendium.” By Rev. S. Olin Garrison, M.A. New York: Phillips & Hunt; Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe. 1883.

“Small Things,” by Reese Rockwell. New York: Phillips & Hunt; Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe. 1883.

“His Keeper.” By Miss M. E. Winslow. New York: Phillips & Hunt; Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe. 1883.

“Sights and Insights; or, Knowledge by Travel.” By Rev. Henry W. Warren. New York: Phillips & Hunt; Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe.

“Worthington’s Annual.” New York: R. Worthington. 1884.

“Appleton’s European Guide-Book for English-Speaking Travelers.” Nineteenth edition. Two volumes. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1883.

“Through Cities and Prairie Lands.” Sketches of an American Tour. By Lady Duffus Hardy. New York: R. Worthington. 1881.

“A Yacht Voyage.” Letters from High Latitudes. By Lord Dufferin. New York: R. Worthington. 1882.

“Across Patagonia.” By Lady Florence Dixie. New York: R. Worthington. 1881.

“The Watering Places and Mineral Springs of Germany, Austria and Switzerland.” By Edward Gutmann, M.D. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1880.

This powder never varies. A marvel of purity, strength and wholesomeness. More economical than the ordinary kinds, and can not be sold in competition with the multitude of low test, short weight, alum or phosphate powders. Sold only in cans. ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., 106 Wall Street, New York.

THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

1883-1884.

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The Fourth Volume Begins with October, 1883.

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A monthly magazine, 76 pages, ten numbers in the volume, beginning with October and closing with July.

THE CHAUTAUQUAN

is the official organ of the C. L. S. C., adopted by the Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., Lewis Miller, Esq., 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.

One-half of the “Required Readings” in the C. L. S. C. course of study for 1883-84 will be published only in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

Our columns will contain articles on Roman, German, French and American History, together with “Sunday Readings,” articles on Political Economy, Civil Law, Physical Science, Sculpture and Sculptors, Painting and Painters, Architecture and Architects.

Dr. J. H. Vincent will continue his department of C. L. S. C. Work.

We shall publish “Questions and Answers” on every book in the course of study for the year. The work of each week and month will be divided for the convenience of our readers. Stenographic reports of the “Round-Tables” held in the Hall of Philosophy during August will be given.

Special features of this volume will be the “C. L. S. C. Testimony” and “Local Circles.”

THE EDITOR’S OUTLOOK, EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK AND EDITOR’S TABLE,

WILL BE IMPROVED.

The new department of Notes on the Required Readings will be continued. The notes have met with universal favor, and will be improved the coming year.

Miscellaneous articles on Travel, Science, Philosophy, Literature, Religion, Art, etc., will be prepared to meet the needs of our readers.

Prof. Wallace Bruce will furnish a series of ten articles, especially for this Magazine, on Sir Walter Scott’s “Waverley Novels,” in which he will give our readers a comprehensive view of the writings of this prince of novelists.

Rev. Dr. J. H. Vincent, Rev. Dr. G. M. Steele, Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D., Prof. W. G. Williams, A.M., Bishop H. W. Warren, A. M. Martin, Esq., Rev. C. E. Hall, A.M., Rev. E. D. McCreary, A.M., and others, will contribute to the current volume.

The character of THE CHAUTAUQUAN in the past is our best promise of what we shall do for our readers in the future.

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History of Greece. Vol. 2, by Timayenis, parts seventh, eighth, tenth, eleventh

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STATIONERY

NOW READY.

PUT UP IN BOXES OF

ONE QUIRE of PAPER and a PACKAGE of ENVELOPES

Handsome design of

CHAUTAUQUA LAKE

With the

HALL IN THE GROVE

in the corner of the paper,

C. L. S. C. MONOGRAM

on the envelopes.

Price, 50 cents per box, mailed, postpaid, on receipt of price, by the manufacturers,

FAIRBANKS, PALMER & CO.

133 Wabash Ave., Chicago, Ill.

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Lewis.

[B] Lewis.

[C] Bunsen.

[D] Taylor.

[E] Bunsen.

[F] Taylor.

[G] Bunsen.

[H] Abridged from Science Primer on Physical Geography, by Prof. Geikie.

[I] Abridged from “Architecture, Classic and Early Christian,” by T. Roger Smith and John Slater.

[J] Strictly speaking, the base is not an exact square, the four sides measuring, according to the Royal Engineers, north, 760 feet 7.5 inches; south, 761 feet 8.5 inches; east, 760 feet 9.5 inches; and west, 764 feet 1 inch.

[K] This translation was made by Miss Marie A. Brown, a lady now in Sweden studying its poetry and preparing a volume of translations for American readers. “The Stork,” from C. D. of Wirsén, is among the most popular Swedish poems.—[ED.]

[L] Seventh Round-Table, held in the Hall of Philosophy, August 22, 1883, at 5 p. m., Rev. A. H. Gillet conducting.

[M] Home Worship and the Use of the Bible in the Home, by J. P. Thompson, D.D., and Rev C. H. Spurgeon. Edited by Rev. James H. Taylor, D.D. New York: A. C. Armstrong & Son.

[N] Christian Educators in Council. Sixty addresses by American Educators. Compiled and edited by Rev. J. C. Hartzell, D.D. New York: Phillips & Hunt. Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe. 1883.

[O] Reading and Readers. By H. C. Farrar, A.B. New York: Phillips & Hunt. 1883.

[P] Mary Lamb. By Anne Gilchrist. Boston: Robert and Brothers. 1883.

[Q] An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. By Thomas Gray. The Artist’s Edition. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1883.

[R] Bright and Happy Homes. A Household Guide and Companion. By Peter Parley, Jr. Chicago and New York: Fairbanks, Palmer & Co. 1882.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 190, “ave” changed to “have” (as we have said)

Page 206, “stiking” changed to “striking” (most striking features)

Page 211, “contrairy” changed to “contrary” (everything goes contrary)

Page 213, “work” changed to “word” (The word remorse was)

Page 217, “dispised” changed to “despised” (because he despised)

Page 223, “som-what” changed to “somewhat” (symmetric figure, somewhat)

Page 240, the names of the zones for Atlantic and Eastern were traded on the table originally. This has been repaired so that Atlantic comes before instead of after Eastern time.

Page 240, “Atlantic” changed to “Eastern” (will adopt “Eastern”)

Page 246, “Indulgencies” changed to “Indulgences” (“Papal Indulgences.” The Roman)

Page 248, “pi-las´ter” changed to “pi-las´ters” (“Pilasters,” pi-las´ters)

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Table of Contents

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Chautauquan, Vol. 04, January 1884, by Chautauqua Institution et al.

The Chautauquan, November 1883

Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

Contents

REQUIRED READING FOR THE Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1883-4. JANUARY.

GERMAN HISTORY.

IV.

HENRY THE FOURTH—HIS SUPPLIANT VISIT TO CANOSSA.

BEFORE THE REFORMATION.

PREPARING FOR THE REFORMATION.

MARTIN LUTHER.

SALE OF PAPAL INDULGENCES—LUTHER’S RESISTANCE.

LUTHER AT WORMS.

EXTRACTS FROM GERMAN LITERATURE.

JOHANN JOACHIM WINCKELMANN.

The Apollo of the Vatican.

FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER.

Sabbath Morning.

JOHANN WOLFGANG GOETHE.

A Criticism on the Poems of J. H. Voss.

Faustus.

FRIEDRICH SCHLEGEL.

Extracts from History of Literature.

READINGS IN PHYSICAL SCIENCE.[H]

IV.—THE SEA.

SUNDAY READINGS.

[January 6.] ON SPIRITUAL CHRISTIANITY.

[January 13.]

[January 20.]

[January 27.]

POLITICAL ECONOMY.

IV. DISTRIBUTION.

READINGS IN ART.

I. ARCHITECTURE.[I] INTRODUCTION.

EGYPTIAN ARCHITECTURE.

ANALYSIS OF BUILDINGS.

SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE.

FITZ GREENE HALLECK.

To * * * *

In Memory of Joseph Rodman Drake.

RICHARD HENRY DANA.

A Clump of Daisies.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

To the Fringed Gentian.

Extract from Bryant’s Translation of the Iliad. Book I. (620-774.)

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

Santa Filomena.

Rural Life in Sweden.

Passages from Longfellow.

NIGHT.

ECCENTRIC AMERICANS.

III.—THE MORBID STATESMAN.

THE STORK.

GARDENING AMONG THE CHINESE.

EIGHT CENTURIES WITH WALTER SCOTT.

ASTRONOMY OF THE HEAVENS FOR JANUARY.

THE SUN,

THE MOON

MERCURY

VENUS

MARS

JUPITER

SATURN,

URANUS

NEPTUNE

WORK FOR WOMEN.

OSTRICH HUNTING.

CHRISTIAN MISSIONS.

METHODIST EPISCOPAL BOARD.

PRESBYTERIAN BOARD.

THE AMERICAN BOARD.

BAPTIST MISSIONARY UNION.

CALIFORNIA.

No. II.—SAN FRANCISCO SILHOUETTES.

TABLE-TALK OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

EARLY FLOWERS.

BOTANICAL NOTES.

C. L. S. C. WORK.

OUTLINE OF C. L. S. C. READINGS.

JANUARY, 1884.

SUNBEAMS FROM THE CIRCLE.

LOCAL CIRCLES.

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

WAYS OF ORGANIZING LOCAL CIRCLES AND PROVIDING FOR THE POOR.

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

SIXTY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON “PHILOSOPHY OF THE PLAN OF SALVATION.”—CHAPTERS 1 TO 14, INCLUSIVE.

CHAUTAUQUA NORMAL CLASS. Season of 1884.

LESSON III.—BIBLE SECTION.

The Bible an English Book.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL SECTION.

LESSON III.—THE TEACHER’S OFFICE AND WORK.

LESSON IV.—THE CANON OF SCRIPTURE.

EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

THE HEADQUARTERS OF THE C. L. S. C.

EVANGELISTS.

THE NEW TIME STANDARDS.

RESULTS.

PÈRE HYACINTHE.

EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK.

C. L. S. C. NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS FOR JANUARY.

PHILOSOPHY OF THE PLAN OF SALVATION.

NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS IN “THE CHAUTAUQUAN.”

GERMAN HISTORY.

EXTRACTS FROM GERMAN LITERATURE.

SUNDAY READINGS AND POLITICAL ECONOMY.

READINGS IN ART.

SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE.

TALK ABOUT BOOKS.

BOOKS RECEIVED.

THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

FOOTNOTES:

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE