The Chautauquan, January 1885

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. V. JANUARY, 1885. No. 4.

Officers of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

President, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio. Chancellor, J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven, Conn. Counselors, The Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D., the Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D.; Edward Everett Hale. Office Secretary, Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J. General Secretary, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.

Contents

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

REQUIRED READING
Temperance Teachings of Science; or, the Poison Problem |
Chapter IV.—The Cost of Intemperance | 183
Sunday Readings |
[January 4] | 186
[January 11] | 186
[January 18] | 186
[January 25] | 187
Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life |
Chapter IV.—Public Life of the Greek Citizen | 187
Greek Mythology |
Chapter IV. | 190
Studies in Kitchen Science and Art |
IV.—Apples, Peaches, Blackberries and Strawberries | 194
Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics |
Air—Physical Properties | 199
The Homelike House |
Chapter I.—The Hall | 203
A Prayer by the Sea | 206
Geography of the Heavens for January | 207
Yale College and Yale Customs | 208
New Zealand | 211
The Laureate Poets | 212
The Bells of Notre Dame | 215
The New York Custom House | 215
The Christian Revolt of the Jews in Southern Russia | 218
The Inner Chautauqua | 220
Outline of Required Readings | 221
Programs for Local Circle Work | 221
Local Circles | 222
The C. L. S. C. Classes | 227
Questions and Answers | 229
The Chautauqua University: The Correspondence Schools | 231
“Invincible”—Class of ’85 | 232
Editor’s Outlook | 233
Editor’s Note-Book | 235
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings for January | 238
Notes on Required Readings in “The Chautauquan” | 239
A Chapter of Blunders | 242
Talk About Books | 244
Special Notes | 245
Sunday-School Normal Graduates, Class of 1884 | 246

REQUIRED READING FOR JANUARY.

TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE;
Or, THE POISON PROBLEM.

BY FELIX L. OSWALD, M.D.

CHAPTER IV.—THE COST OF INTEMPERANCE.

“Shall we sow tares and pray for bread?”—Abd el Wahab.[1]

If we consider the manifold afflictions which in the after years of so many millions of our fellowmen outweigh the happiness of childhood, we can hardly wonder that several great thinkers have expressed a serious doubt if earthly existence is on the whole a blessing. Yet for those who hold that the progress of science and education will ultimately remove that doubt, it is a consoling reflection that the greatest of all earthly evils are avoidable ones. The earthquake of Lisbon[2] killed sixty thousand persons who could not possibly have foreseen their fate. In 1282 an irruption of the Zuyder Sea overwhelmed sixty-five towns whose inhabitants had not five minutes’ time to effect their escape. But what are such calamities compared with the havoc of wanton wars, or the ravages of consumption and other diseases that are the direct consequences of outrageous sins against the physical laws of God? The cruelty of man to man causes more misery than the rage of wild beasts and all the hostile elements of Nature, but the heaviest of all evils in our great burden of self-inflicted woe is undoubtedly the curse of the poison vice. The alcohol habit is a concentration of all scourges. In the poor island of Ireland alone one hundred and forty million bushels of bread-corn and potatoes are yearly sent to the distillery. The shipment of the grain, its conversion into a health-destroying drug, the distribution and sale of the poison, are carried on under the protection of a so-called civilized government. Waste is not an adequate word for that monstrous folly. If the grain farmers of Laputa[3] should organize an expedition to the sea-coast, and under the auspices of the legal authorities equip an apparatus for flinging a hundred million sacks of grain into the ocean, the contents of those sacks would be lost, and there would be an end of it. The sea would swallow the cargo. The distillery swallows the grain, but disgorges it in the form of a liquid fire that spreads its flames over the land and scorches the bodies and souls of men till the smoke of the torment arises from a million homesteads. We might marvel at the extravagance of the Laputans, but what should we say if the priests of a pastoral nation were to slaughter thousands of herds on the altar of a national idol, and in conformity with an established custom let the carcasses rot in the open fields till the progress of putrefaction filled the land with horror and pestilence; if moreover, among the crowd of victims we should recognize the milch cows of thousands of poor families whose children were wan with hunger, and if furthermore the intelligent rulers of that nation should supervise the ceremonies of the sacrifice, distribute the carcasses and calmly collect statistics to ascertain the percentage of the resultant mortality?

The LOSS OF LIFE caused by the ravages of the alcohol plague equals the result of a perennial war. The most belligerent nation of modern times, the Russians, with the perpetual skirmishes on their eastern frontier, and their periodical campaigns against their southern neighbors, lose in battle a yearly average of 7,000 men. The average longevity of the Caucasian nations is nearly 38 years. Of their picked men about 45 years. The average age of a soldier is now-a-days about 25 years. The death of 7,000 soldiers represents therefore a national loss of 7,000 times the difference between 25 and 45 years, i. e., a total waste of 140,000 years. Medical statistics show that in the United States alone the direct consequences of intoxication cost every year the lives of six thousand persons, most of them reckless young drunkards, who thus anticipate the natural term of their lives by about twenty years. But at the very least, two per cent. of our population is addicted to the constant use of some form of alcoholic liquors. Prof. Neison, of the British General Life Insurance Company, estimates that rum-drinkers shorten their lives by seven years, beer-drinkers by five and one-half, and “mixed drinkers” by nine and one-half years. For the city of London, Sir H. Thompson computes that drinkers of all classes shorten their lives by six years. But let us be quite sure to keep within the limits of facts applying to all conditions of life, and assume a minimum of four years. A total of 4,120,000 years for the population of the United States is therefore a moderate estimate of the annual life waste by the consequences of the poison vice! In other words, in a country of by no means exceptionally hard drinkers, alcohol destroys yearly thirty times as much life as the warfare of the most warlike nation on earth. The first year of the war for the preservation of the Union and the suppression of slavery cost us 82,000 lives. When the death list had reached a total of 100,000 the clamors for peace became so importunate that the representatives of our nation were several times on the point of abandoning the cause of the most righteous war ever waged. Yet the far larger life waste on the altar of the Poison-Moloch continues year after year, and for a small bribe not a few of our prominent politicians seem willing to perpetuate that curse to the end of time. Among all the nations of the Christian world, with the only exception of the Syrian Maronites,[4] the poison vice has shortened the average longevity of the working classes by at least five years. Political economists have calculated the consequent loss of productive force, but there is another consideration which is too often overlooked. The progress of degeneration has reduced our life term so far below the normal average that the highest purposes of individual existence are generally defeated. Our lives are mostly half-told tales. Our season ends before the harvest time; before the laborer’s task is half done he is overtaken by the night when no man can work. The secret of longevity would, indeed, solve the chief riddle of existence, for the children of toil could then hope to reach the goal of the visible compensation which, on earth at least, is now reserved for the exceptional favorites of fortune. That hope is diminished by everything that tends still further to reduce our shortened span of life, and beside increasing the burdens of existence, the poison vice therefore directly decreases the possibility of its rewards.

Yet that result is almost insured by the LOSS OF HEALTH which all experienced physiologists admit to be the inevitable consequence of the stimulant habit. Every known disease of the human system is aggravated by intemperance. The morbid diathesis, as physicians call a predisposition to organic disorders, finds an ally in alcohol that enables it to defy the expurgative efforts of Nature. A consumptive toper will fail to derive any benefit from a change of climate. A dram-drinking dyspeptic can not be cured by outdoor exercise. The influence of alcoholic tonics tends to aggravate nervous disorders into mental derangements. But even the soundest constitution is not proof against the bane of that influence. Before the end of the first year habitual drinkers lose that spontaneous gayety which constitutes the happiness of perfect health as well as of childhood. The system becomes dependent upon the treacherous aid of artificial stimulants, and the lack of vital vigor soon begins to tell upon every part of the organism. Alcohol counteracts the benefit of all the hygienic advantages of climate and habit, and it is doubtful if the effect of its continued influence could be equaled by the intentional introduction of contagious diseases. A medical expert might collect the most incurable patients in the leper slums of Shanghai, in the lazarettos[5] of Naples and the fever hospitals of Vera Cruz, and distribute them in the cities of another country; yet a year after the dissemination of such diseases the hygienic condition of a temperate nation would be better than that of a drunkard nation after a year of the strictest quarantine protection. In the sanitary history of the Caucasian nations alcohol has proved a worse plague than the Black Death.

The WASTE OF LAND and the WASTE OF LABOR must be considered together, in order to comprehend the total amount of the loss which the fourteen most civilized nations inflict on themselves by the unspeakable folly of devoting from 20 to 25 per cent. of their fertile area to the production of stimulating poisons. If the land thus abused were simply neglected, if it were abandoned to the weeds and tares, the laborers who now cultivate it in the interest of hell might employ their time in assisting their friends and help them to cultivate better or larger crops on the soil of the adjoining lands. If they should prefer to emigrate, their abandoned fields might be cultivated by their neighbors. Even children in the intervals of their play might plant cherry stones, and help the soil to contribute to the welfare of the community. As it is, it contributes only to the development of diseases, vices and crimes. The productions of the land, the toil of the husbandmen, are not only utterly lost, but become a curse to the population of the country. Starving Ireland devotes a third of her arable lands to the production of distillery crops. Spain begs with one hand and with the other flings two-fifths of her produce to the poison vender. The statistics of the last census show that distilleries devour every year 34,300,000 acres of our total farm produce; breweries, 9,600,000; wine cellars, cider mills (not to mention tobacco factories), about five millions more!

The old settlers of western Arkansas still remember the excitement caused by occasional raids of predatory Indians who used to cross the Texas border and devastate the farms of the frontiersmen. Near Arkadelphia they once burned three hundred acres of ripe corn, and half a dozen counties joined in the pursuit of the marauders. Imagine the blazing indignation, the mass meetings, the general uprising of an outraged people, if the Mormons should take it in their heads to burn three million acres of our grain crop. Yet the distillers not only burn up more than the tenfold amount, but fan the flames to kindle a soul and body consuming conflagration, and shriek about infringements of their privileges if a bold hand here and there succeeds in snatching a brand from the burning.

The WASTE OF REMEDIAL EXPENDITURE must be considered under a separate head, for beside squandering their own resources, the votaries of the poison fiend waste those of their neighbors, who have to devise means for mitigating the resulting mischief. The care of drunkards, i. e., of persons picked up in the streets in a state of life-endangering intoxication, costs our hospitals a yearly sum of $5,000,000. A list of the various diseases which can be traced to the direct or indirect influence of intemperance would require the enumeration of nearly all known disorders of the human organism, but, though drunkards become a burden to their families oftener than to the charitable institutions of the community, it has been ascertained that they constitute 30 per cent. of the inmates of such establishments as county infirmaries, charity hospitals, almshouses, poorhouses and lunatic asylums. Prisons proper, that is, institutions for the cure of moral disorders, are filled with patients where derelictions in forty out of a hundred cases have been committed either under the immediate influence of intoxicating liquors, or as a consequence of such direct results of intemperance as loss of property, loss of credit, loss of moral or mental integrity. In 1870 the prisons of the United States cost the nation a yearly sum of $87,000,000. By this time their cost probably amounts to a full hundred millions. The magistrates of our city courts have to waste half their time on the trial of drunkards. On the blackboards of our metropolitan station houses “D. D. C.” after the name of a prisoner means So-and-So locked up for drunkenness and disorderly conduct; they have to abbreviate the specification of that offense to save a little space for other memoranda. If the indirect consequences of the poison vice could be traced through all their ramifications, it would be found that the suppression of that vice would relieve our cities from a burden equivalent to a full half of all their municipal taxes.

The MORAL LOSS is not confined to the direct influence of the brutalizing poison. The liquor traffic defiles all participants of a transaction which involves a sin against Nature, a crime against society and posterity, and an outrage against the moral instincts of the veriest savage, for more than five thousand years ago the lawgivers of the Bactrian nomads[6] recorded their protest against the vice of intoxication. A drunkard who flees from the prohibitory laws of his native place can not escape the voice of an inner monitor. The liquor dealer who points to his license is not the less conscious that he is an enemy of mankind, and that his servants eat the wages of a soul and body corrupting vice. The lawgiver who can be bribed to connive at that vice not only sins against the laws of political economy, but against Nature and the first principles of natural ethics, and forfeits his claim to the respect of the community. Faith in the sanctity of the law, in the wisdom and integrity of the legislator, is the very corner-stone of public morals, but that faith is incompatible with a system of legalized crime, and the lawgiver who consents to sanction the outrage of the poison traffic undermines the basis of his authority, and thereby the authority of the law itself. It is wholly certain that larceny and perjury combined do not damage the state the hundredth part as much as the curse of the poison vice; yet what should we think of the moral status of a legislative assembly devising a plan to increase the national revenues by granting license to pickpockets and professional false witnesses? Imagine a Titus Oates[7] offering his services on the public streets, and a chief justice compelling the courts to recognize the legality of his business, and protect him in the enjoyment of its emoluments! Imagine Jack Sheppard[8] filching the weekly wages of a half-witted working man, and flaunting a government license if the wife of his victim should demand the restitution of the plunder. The absurdity of such an arrangement might seem too glaring to imagine its possibility. Yet for the same reason posterity may refuse to credit the records of our liquor system; for, translated into plain speech, the contract between the state and the rum vender means even this: “On condition of receiving a share in the yearly profits of your business, I herewith grant you the right to poison your fellow-citizens.”

The LOSS OF WEALTH, which some of the foregoing considerations will enable us to estimate, has increased with the progress of our national development in a way which in many respects has made that progress a curse instead of a blessing. Thirty-five years ago our brethren in Maine had a hard fight against the champions of the liquor traffic, but they had to deal with whiskey alone. Since then our foreign immigrants have introduced ale, lager beer, and French high wines, and threaten to introduce absinthe[9] and opium. The poison vice has assumed the magnitude of a pandemic plague. According to the statistics of the Treasury Department, the alcohol drinkers of the United States spent during the last ten years a yearly average of $370,000,000 for whiskey, $53,000,000 for other distilled liquors, $56,000,000 for wine, and $140,000,000 for ale and beer. Together, $624,000,000 a year. Under the head of liquors evading the revenue tax, Prof. W. Hoyle, of Manchester, adds 20 per cent. for Great Britain, Commissioner Halliday 15 per cent. for the United States, and Dr. Bowditch 18 per cent. for the state of Massachusetts alone. Let us assume the minimum of 15 per cent. The total direct cost of the poison vice (without including tobacco and other narcotic stimulants) is therefore $705,000,000 a year. The indirect cost eludes computation, except under the three following heads: 1. The loss of productive capacity, as revealed in the difference between the yearly earnings of a manufacturing community under the protection of prohibitory laws or under the influence of the license system. 2. The inebriate percentage of patients in our public hospitals, and of convicts in our prisons. 3. The loss sustained by the employers of agents, trustees, clerks, etc., addicted to the use of intoxicating liquors. The aggregate of these indirect losses we will assume to be only $350,000,000 a year, though several political economists compute it as equal to the direct cost. Our estimate does not include the amount of rum-begotten distress relieved by private charity, nor the rum percentage of undetected crime, nor yet the wholly incalculable value of the benefactions, reforms and improvements prevented by the use of intoxicating liquors among the upper classes. We can therefore be quite sure of understating the truth if we estimate the aggregate cost of the poison vice at $1,055,000,000 a year—a yearly sum equivalent to the cost value of all our public libraries, our church property, school property, steamboats, bridges, and telegraphs taken together.

Prohibition would put a stop to one half of that prodigious waste. We will not delude ourselves with the hope that the deep-rooted habit of the stimulant vice could at once be wholly eradicated by any legislative measures whatever. For years to come 20 per cent. of the aggregate would undoubtedly be devoured by liquor venders finding means to elude the vigilance of the law. Fifteen per cent. would be spent on other vices. Fifteen per cent. more would probably be wasted for frivolous purposes—innocent, as compared with the crime of the poison traffic, but still on the whole amounting to a loss of national resources. The waste of the remaining fifty per cent. could be prevented by prohibition. In ten years the saving of that sum and its application to useful purposes would transform the moral and physical condition of our country. With five billion dollars we could construct ten bridges over every one of our hundred largest rivers. We could build an international railroad of a gauge that would enable the denizens of snow-bound New England to reach the tropics in twenty-four hours. We could realize Professor Lexow’s project of providing every large city with a system of free municipal railways connecting the centers of commerce with the suburban homes of the workingmen. We could make those suburbs attractive enough to drain the population of the slums. We could counteract the temptations of the grog-shops by providing the poor with healthier means of recreation; city parks with free baths, competitive gymnastics and zoölogical attractions for the summer season, and reading rooms with picture galleries and musical entertainments for the long winter evenings. We could employ home missionaries enough for a direct appeal to every fallen or tempted soul in the country. We could cover our hillsides with orchards and line our highways with shade trees; we could plant forest trees enough to redeem thousands of square miles in the barren uplands of the West. Each township in the country could have a free school, each village a free public library; we could help the sick by teaching them to avoid the causes of disease; we could prevent rather than punish crime; we could teach our homeless vagrants the lessons of self-support, and found asylum colonies for the lost children of our great cities. And moreover, we could increase the savings of the next decade by the endowment of a National Reform College, with a corps of competent sanitarians and political economists, for the training of temperance teachers, with local lecturers, traveling lecturers, and free lecture halls in every larger city of the country.

Only thus prohibition could be brought to answer its whole purpose, for we should remember that the practical efficiency of all government laws depends on the consensus of the governed. Without the coöperation of the teacher the mandates of the legislator fall short of their aim. But it is equally certain that in the field of social ethics the teacher can not dispense with the aid of the legislator, and that our lawgivers can not much longer afford to ignore that truth, for the penalty of the neglect already amounts to the equivalent of the average yearly income of seven million working people. In the South a million men, women and children of farm laborers earn less than a hundred millions a year, i. e., $500 for every family of five persons. In the manufacturing districts of the North they would earn less than $200,000,000. We can therefore again be wholly certain of not overstating the truth, if we assert that in the United States alone the poison vice devours every year the aggregate earnings of more than fourteen hundred thousand families. In one dollar bank-notes of the United States Treasury, one billion dollars could be pasted together into a paper strip that would reach up to the moon. Stacked up in bundles, they would form a paper pile a hundred feet long, fifty feet wide, and fifty feet high.

If the equivalent of so many creature-comforts could be employed for the benefit of the poor, it would almost realize the dreams of a Golden Age. But even if we could save it from the hands of the poison vender by burning it on the public streets, all friends of mankind would hail the conflagration as the gladdest bonfire that ever cheered the hearts of men. For its flames would save more human lives than the perpetual peace of the millennium; it would prevent more crimes than the civilization of all the savages that infest the prairies of our border states and the slums of our large cities. Nay, it would save us from evils for which mankind has thus far discovered no remedy, for intemperance robs us of blessings which human skill is unable to restore.

SUNDAY READINGS.

SELECTED BY CHANCELLOR J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

[January 4.]

Think of God as your constant benefactor—that he made you, that he sustains you in every moment of your existence—that, to express yourself with the simple energy of inspiration, in him you live, and move, and have your being—that in all the joys which are scattered over the pilgrimage of life, we see nothing but the kindness of God always exerting itself in our favor, and meeting us in every direction—that though we seldom look beyond the creatures which surround us, it is God who reigns in these creatures and makes them subservient to his most wise, his most gracious, his most benevolent purposes; that though in the hey-day of youth we are carried along the tide of gayety without care and without reflection, it is God who gives to the spirit of man all its cheerfulness; that though we stop short in our gratitude at the benefactor who relieved and at the friend who supported us, it is God who reigns over the constitution of the mind, and could by a single word of his power make every companion abandon us, and every friend look upon us with an altered countenance; that though I call the house in which I live my own, and find in the endearments of my family my repose and my happiness, it is God who gave me my home, who spreads security around it, and fills it with all its charities; that though my path in society be dignified by the homage and civility of my acquaintances, it is God who reigns in the human breast and administers all the delight of social intercourse; that though my eye expatiates in rapture on the landscape around us, it is the living God who beautifies the scene, and gives it all its magnificence and all its glory; in short, that everything we enjoy is a gift; that in whatever quarter happiness is met with, a burden of obligation and dependence lies upon us; that we have nothing which we did not receive—that our all is suspended on God, and that to him we owe all the praise, all the gratitude, all the obedience. Now will any man who is acquainted with the movements of his own breast, say that this praise and this obedience are actually given? Are not the pleasures of life often tasted without acknowledgment? Is not the conduct of life often proceeded in without any reference to the will and authority of him who is the author of it? Is not the mind in a state of habitual estrangement from God, his existence absent from our reflections, and his superintendency as a judge and as a lawgiver absent from our principles? Go to whatever quarter you please for happiness, there is no escaping the conclusion that God is the giver of it, in his pervading energy which gives effect and operation to all things. You can not fly out of his presence, nor repair beyond the limits of his sovereignty.—From Dr. Chalmers.

[January 11.]

Of all the impossibles which ever were attempted, there is none so wild and so irrational as to attempt an independence upon God. It is in virtue of him that you are held together. He measures out to you every moment of your existence. He gives you not merely the air you breathe, but he gives you the faculty of breathing. He provides for you not merely the external goods which are scattered around you in such bounteous profusion, but it is he who furnishes you with the capacity of enjoying them. You talk of the pleasures of the world, and fly to them as your refuge and your consolation against the displeasure of an offended Deity, but think that it is only by a continuance of his unmerited favor that you have these pleasures to fly to. He can take them away from you; or, what perhaps is a still more striking demonstration of his sovereignty, he can make them no longer pleasures to you. He reigns within as well as without you. To him you owe not merely what is external, but to him you owe the taste and the faculty which enjoys it. He can pervert these faculties. He can change your pleasures into disgust. He can derange the constitution of the inner man, and make you loathe as tasteless and unsatisfying what you at present indulge in with delight or look forward to with rapture. He is all in all. The whole of our being hangs upon him, and there is no getting away from his universal, from his ceaseless, from his unexcepted agency. Now, do the Almighty the same justice that you would do to an earthly benefactor; measure the extent of his claims upon you by the extent of his benefits; think of the authority over you which, as your Creator and as your constant preserver, he has a right to exercise; think of your perpetual dependence, and that all around you and within you, for every moment and particle of your existence is upheld by God; and tell me, if either in the thoughts of your hearts or in the actions of your life you come up to the demand which his justice and his authority have a title to prefer against you?—From Dr. Chalmers.

[January 18.]

What then, art thou, O, my God; what, I ask, but the Lord God? For who is Lord but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most high, most excellent, most potent, most omnipotent, most piteous and most just; most hidden and most near; most beauteous and most strong; stable, yet contained of none; unchangeable, yet changing all things; never new, never old, making all things new, yet bringing old age upon the proud, and they know it not; always working, yet ever at rest; gathering, yet needing nothing; sustaining, pervading, and protecting; creating, nourishing, and developing; seeking, and yet possessing all things. Thou lovest, and burnest not; art jealous, yet free from care; repentest, and hast no sorrow; art angry, yet serene; changest thy ways, leaving unchanged thy plans; recoverest what thou findest, having yet never lost; art never in want, while thou rejoicest in gain; never covetous, though requiring usury (Matt. xxv:27).… Thou payest debts, while owing nothing; and when thou forgivest debts, losest nothing. Yet, O my God, my life, my holy joy, what is this that I have said? And what saith any man when he speaks of thee? Yet woe to them that keep silence, seeing that even those who say most are as dumb!

Oh! how shall I find rest in thee? Who will send thee into my heart to inebriate it, so that I may forget my woes, and embrace thee, my only good? What art thou to me? Have compassion on me, that I may speak. What am I to thee, that thou demandest my love, and unless I give it thee art angry and threatenest me with great sorrows? Is it, then, a light sorrow not to love thee? Alas! alas! tell me of thy compassion, O Lord my God, what thou art to me: “Say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.” So speak that I may hear. Behold Lord, the ears of my heart are before thee; open thou them, and “say unto my soul, I am thy salvation.” When I hear, may I run and lay hold on thee. Hide not thy face from me. Let me die, lest I die, if only I may see thy face.

Cramped is the dwelling of my soul; do thou expand it, that thou mayest enter in. It is in ruins, restore thou it. There is that about it which must offend thine eyes; I confess and know it, but who will cleanse it? or to whom shall I cry but to thee? Cleanse me from my secret sins, O Lord, and keep thy servant from those of other men. I believe, and therefore do I speak; Lord, thou knowest. Have I not confessed my transgressions unto thee, O my God; and thou hast put away the iniquity of my heart. I do not contend in judgment with thee, who art the truth; and I would not deceive myself, lest my iniquity lie against itself. I do not, therefore, contend in judgment with thee, for “if thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand?”

O Lord God, grant thy peace unto us, for thou hast supplied us with all things; the peace of rest, the peace of the Sabbath, which hath no evening. For all this most beautiful order of things, “very good” (all their courses being finished), is to pass away, for in them there was morning and evening.

But the seventh day is without any evening, nor hath it any setting, because thou hast sanctified it to an everlasting continuance; that which thou didst after thy words, which were very good, resting on the seventh day, although in unbroken rest thou madest them, that the voice of thy Book may speak beforehand unto us, that we also after our works (therefore very good, because thou hast given them unto us) may repose in thee, also in the Sabbath of eternal life.—From St. Augustine.[1]

[January 25.]

Now tell me, Christians, have you hitherto understood it, and do you still understand it, in this manner? Let each candidly examine himself in the presence of God. Where is the ambitious man, who, looking on his ambition as the wound of his soul, desires in good earnest to be thoroughly cured? Where is the voluptuous man, who, truly afflicted at his unhappy situation, wishes efficaciously, and as his sovereign good, to be freed from his passion? Where is the avaricious man, who, ashamed of his injustice, sincerely and from his heart detests his iniquity? Where is the woman, who, listening to religion, hath a horror of vanity, and thinks of extirpating her self-love? From what passion, from what vicious and ruling inclination hath this divine Savior as yet delivered you? By what, then, do you know him to be a Savior? And if he be a Savior, by what mark do you pretend to know that he is yours? What hath he by your own means performed in your regard? Now, as I perceive that you are so ill disposed, should I not prevaricate, did I declare to you his coming as a cause of joy? And to speak as a faithful minister of the Gospel, ought I not to tell you, what in fact I tell you? Undeceive yourselves, and bewail your woeful situation, for, while enamored with the world, you obstinately persist in such criminal dispositions, though the Savior be born, no more advantage accrues to you from his sacred birth, than if he were not born.…

… Hath this spirit of truth been hitherto a spirit of truth for us?… Whatever profession we may make of being, as Christians, the disciples of the spirit of truth, are we really persuaded of the truths of Christianity? Hath he made us relish them? Hath he given us a sincere and efficacious disposition to put them in practice? We adore these divine truths in speculation; but do we conform our conduct to them? We speak of them perhaps with eloquence and enthusiasm; but are our morals correspondent with our words? We give lessons to others upon that head; but are we ourselves fully convinced of them? Do we believe with a steadfast and lively faith that, to be Christians, it is our duty not only to carry our cross, but to place our glory in it? That, to follow Jesus Christ, we must internally renounce not only all things, but even ourselves? That, to belong to him, not only must we not indulge the flesh, but must crucify it? That, to find grace before God, we must not only forget injuries received, but return good for evil? Do we firmly, and without hesitation, believe all these points of the Evangelic doctrine? And can we bear witness to ourselves that we believe them as fully and constantly in heart as we openly confess them in words? The Apostles, the moment they received the Holy Ghost, were ready to lay down their lives for the truth; are we ready, I do not say to lay down our lives but to destroy our irregular passions? According to this rule, is there room to believe that the spirit of truth hath undeceived us with respect to a thousand errors which occasion all the misdeeds in the world? That he hath disabused us of I know not how many maxims which pervert us?… If he hath done nothing of all this, what proof have we that we have received him? And if we have not received him, whom have we to blame for it but ourselves?… Preserve us from so great and fatal an irregularity, O Divine Spirit! and, to that intent, make us know the things thou didst teach the Apostles. Grant that at last we may become truly thy disciples; and be to us not only a Spirit of Truth, but a Spirit of Holiness.—From Bourdaloue.[2]

GLIMPSES OF ANCIENT GREEK LIFE.

Selected from J. P. Mahaffy’s “Old Greek Life.”

CHAPTER IV.—PUBLIC LIFE OF THE GREEK CITIZEN.

The aristocracy of the older Greek society was one based on the exclusive owning of land, and of civic rights, and was not marked by titles, but by the name of the clan. Thus at Athens an Alcmæonid[1] was respected much as the member of an old Scottish clan is now by his fellows. But poverty injured the position of the old Greek more than that of the Scotchman. In the aristocratic days all work in the way of trade or business was despised by the landed gentry, and idleness was called the sister of freedom. The pursuit of a trade often disqualified a man for political rights, and in any case deprived him of all public influence. This feeling did not die out even in the complete democracies of later days, and there was always a prejudice in the Greek mind against trades and handicrafts, because they compelled men to sit at home and neglect the proper training of the body by sports, and the mind by society. Mercantile pursuits were also objected to by Greek gentlemen, but on different grounds. It was considered that the making of profits by retail trading was of the nature of cheating, and the life of a merchant in any Greek city not his own was always one of dependence and fear, for nowhere were aliens treated with real justice and liberality. Thus even the poor citizen of Athens, living by the small pay (nine cents daily) given him for sitting on juries, and performing other public duties, looked down with contempt upon the rich tradesman, who was confined all day to a close dark shop, or still worse, did his work in the hot atmosphere of a furnace. Consequently the greater part of the shops in Athens, and most of the trades were in the hands of licensed aliens who paid certain taxes to the state, and by making large profits recouped[2] themselves for the risk of being persecuted and plundered by the citizens in days of danger and distress. These people may be compared, as to their social and political position, with the Jews in the middle ages, who lived all through the cities of Europe without civic rights, or landed property, merely by trade and usury. They were despised and persecuted, but still tolerated as useful, and even necessary, by the governments of those days. Rich capitalists, on the contrary, who were able to manage a large business through an overseer and a number of slaves, were not at all despised, even though their ways of making profits were sometimes very shameful. But any free man who was compelled by poverty to perform this manual labor was held little better than a slave. There were certain privileged classes in Homer’s day, such as the leech,[3] the seer, the bard, and the cunning worker of brass. So in later days the sculptor and the sophist were in some respects considered good society, but still the gaining of money by giving up their time to others told very seriously against them.

A great part of the ordinary clothing and breadstuffs was prepared by the slave within the Greek house. The principal tradesmen who supplied the other necessaries of life were the architect, who was often a great and important person—indeed, the only tradesman very honorably mentioned; under him masons, carpenters, and cabinet-makers. There were potters, who must have been a very large body, considering the great demand for their wares, as neither glass nor wooden vessels were much used. So there were separate makers of lamps, jewelry, weapons of war, musical instruments. There were a few weavers, and hardly any tailors—as the forms of dress were perfectly simple, and the fashions did not change—but many bleachers and dyers of clothes. The making of shoes was even subdivided among several tradesmen. There were in the market, cooks (hired by the day), ropemakers, tanners, and also many perfumers and druggists. Tanners were generally compelled to have their workshops outside the city. We may also, without doubt, consider military service by sea or land one of the ordinary trades of Greece, practiced from very early times in Asia, and all through Greek history by the Arcadians, who were the Swiss of the old world. The usual pay for a mercenary soldier or sailor was four obols, which was often raised in times of difficulty. When the former outlet which enterprising young men had found in new colonies throughout Asia Minor, Pontus, and Magna Græcia, was closed by the rise of new races and new empires, this trade, disreputable as it was, became very common indeed. The celebrated 10,000 whom Xenophon brought safely from the heart of the Persian empire, were an army made up of these adventurers, who had followed the younger Cyrus merely for the sake of pay and plunder. Thus Agesilaus[4] and Cleomenes, kings of Sparta, were not ashamed to serve in Egypt as mercenaries.

MERCANTILE PURSUITS.

We may first notice the lower sort, the retail merchants, who were employed in buying the husbandman’s and the tradesman’s goods, and selling them in the markets or through the towns at a profit. It was indeed much in fashion among the Greeks, to sell one’s own produce in the market, but of course such people as fishermen or shepherds could not leave their business to journey often a long way to a market town. Thus we find in large places like Athens, many butchers, fishmongers, vegetable and other grocers, and particularly wine sellers, who went about with their wine in carts. All these people were accused of extortion and insolence, the fishmongers of selling stale fish, the vintners of watering their wine (a very harmless adulteration). There were street cries, and often even the buyer going into the market called out what he wanted.

The wholesale merchant was of course a more important person, and the rise of this larger trade was in fact what raised up a wealthy city class in opposition to the landed aristocracy, and was generally the cause of overthrowing oligarchies.[5] Many respectable citizens (except in Sparta) thought it no disgrace to follow this sort of business, and none of them scorned to invest money in it as a speculation. As the land traffic in Greece is unusually difficult and roundabout, almost all commerce was carried on by sea, so that a merchant was often called a skipper. We are fully informed about Athenian commerce only.

We must imagine the Greek waters not as they are now, lonely and desolate, with often not a single boat to give life to a great bay or reach of water, but rather covered in the summer with traffic and with life, so much so that a Greek poet speaks of sailors as the “ants of the sea,” hurrying in all directions with ceaseless industry. There were public wharves and warehouses close to the quays, where the skipper brought samples of his cargo. With the exception of the corn and slave factors, the Greek merchants did not confine themselves to trading in one kind of goods, but conveyed anything according as they saw chances of profit. Pottery from Samos and Athens, fine woolen stuffs and Assyrian carpets from Miletus, paper, unguents, and glass from Egypt, salt fish, skins and corn from the Black Sea, ship timber and slaves from Thrace and Macedonia, ivory and spices from Cyrene[6]—these were among the usual articles imported and exported through the Greek waters. Merchants were in some places treated with peculiar favor, had their taxes and military duty forgiven, and above all, were granted a speedy trial, and in the idle winter months, in case of disputes about contracts, or other lawsuits.

WEIGHTS, MEASURES, AND COINAGE.

All these great helps to trade were originally imported from the Babylonians, through the Phœnicians into Greece, but with so many variations that the computing of values according to the different standards is very intricate.

As to measures of length, it seems that the Olympic stadium or furlong was generally received through Greece. It was the one-fortieth of our geographical mile, and was divided into six plethra of one hundred feet each. Each foot, which was nearly equal to our English foot, was divided into four hands, and each of these into four inches.

Cubic measures started from the half pint, and were used for both fluids and solids.

In these measures the Æginetan,[7] Attic, and Olympic standards varied. The latter, though originally brought from Babylon, was somewhat smaller, the cubic foot being only two-thirds of the Babylonian. To this Olympic cubic foot the Attic was as twenty-seven to twenty, the Æginetan as nine to four. Similarly as to weight, the Babylonians had fixed a cubic foot of rain water as the standard weight of their talent. The Attic talent was much smaller.

All the various talents, however, agreed in having sixty minæ; each mina one hundred drachmæ; each drachme six obols. The terms Æginetan and Eubœic point to the fact that the early Greek trade was chiefly in the hands of these people, where the weights and coinage were first fixed, just as the Attic standard became almost universal afterward. The Attic talent was about $1,180; the mina accordingly about $19.50; the drachme nineteen cents; the obolus three cents. This Attic drachme was of silver, which was the only metal habitually coined for a long time in Greece, as gold was very scarce. The Macedonian mines first produced gold enough for ordinary coinage. So also copper coinage came in from Sicily and Magna Græcia, where the talent was regarded as a weight of copper, and only equal to six (or even less) Attic drachmæ. There were at Athens silver pieces of four and eight drachmæ, and even half and quarter obols. This shows how much scarcer money was then than now, and how the public treasures and private fortunes, which seem to us so small, were really large in proportion to the prices paid even for the luxuries of life.

Debasing the coinage, and using alloy, were common devices among the Greeks, whose local coins seem seldom to have had any general currency. It was specially noted of the Attic money, that it passed everywhere, on account of its excellence.

POLITICS.

The general principle of Greek states was to consider high political office as both a duty and an honor, but not a profession, so that no salaries were attached to such duties. It is certain, however, that the indirect profits were very great, inasmuch as the bribery of that day was applied, not to the electors, but to the holders of even very high office. This form of corruption is said to exist even now in Greece, where bribery of electors is very rare. The lower state officials, such as secretaries and heralds, were paid moderate salaries.

When Athens became an imperial city, the sovereign people were paid sundry emoluments from the taxes of their subjects. For example, those Athenian citizens who were employed as dicasts,[8] or judges in court, received three obols per day—an income on which most of the poorer citizens lived. They were also paid by public distribution a sufficient sum for their entrance to the theater, and to enjoy themselves at the great festivals of the city. These profits were the direct result of political privileges.

As mercenary warfare was common, so that of mercenary general was practiced, even by distinguished Greeks, such as Agesilaus and Cleomenes, in later days. As the pay was only four times that of the common soldier, it is evident that extortion and plunder must have been presupposed as an additional means of gain, and this was the case with many of the older citizen generals of whom we read in history, such as Pausanias, Themistocles, and others. The profession of military engineer was not common, but was practiced with success and fame by a few remarkable men, such as Artemon,[9] whose mechanical genius made them very valuable.

LAW.

As men pleaded their own case among the Greeks, the legal profession, as far as we know, could only give friendly advice, or compose speeches for litigants, and this was an extended and lucrative profession at Athens. In some cases friends or supporters were allowed to speak in addition to the actual litigants, but paid counsel were not directly recognized. When the state retained what we should call a public prosecutor, he was only paid one drachma (nineteen cents) for a speech, which reminds us of a mediæval entry quoted by Hallam, where eight cents and his dinner was a lawyer’s fee. But distinguished orators like Demosthenes obtained large private fees. There was also in almost all democracies special encouragement, in the absence of state lawyers, for any citizen to denounce any violation of the laws which he could detect. This gave rise to a profession called sycophancy, which usually degenerated into that of a spy or informer; and such men constantly extracted money from rich people and from politicians by threats of accusation.

LITERATURE.

In addition to the schoolmasters, who were not in high repute, and were rather considered a trade than a profession, there were the sophists, who were both rhetoricians and philosophers, and who performed exactly the functions now expected from universities, as distinguished from schools. People spoke of a pupil of Isocrates as they now do of “a Harvard man.” These men taught politics, rhetoric, literary criticism, and higher science in a practical way, and made large incomes in spite of their great unpopularity with the old-fashioned side of both political and social Greece. At first they obtained enormous fees, but by competition these were reduced to an average of from five to ten minæ for a course of instruction. Their course lasted about three years.

We do not hear of any authors making a livelihood by their work, except poets, who were largely paid for occasional poems by both states and kings, and whose dramatic works were a source of profit as well as honor. Copies of books were easily multiplied by means of slave labor, so that we hear of Anaxagoras’[10] treatise being sold for one drachma, then very dear. This was at a regular bookstall in Athens, from whence books were actually an article of exportation as far as the Black Sea. Still, collections of books were rare till after the time of Euripides, and we know of no fortunes made by writing books. Anaxagoras himself, though so popular with the rising generation, is said to have died in poverty.

The profession of architects was esteemed far the greatest among artists, and was the most richly paid. They were no doubt men of culture, and were literary men, as, for example, Ictinus,[11] one of the architects of the Parthenon, who wrote a special work about the great temple. The professions of sculptor and painter were not so at first, the sculptor being hardly more than a skillful workman, and this seems to be the case in most great art epochs. Men like Pheidias and Polygnotus,[12] who were of a higher level, often worked without accepting any pay, but the sculptors who adorned the Erectheum at Athens, one of the most beautiful of Greek temples, were either paid by the day from one to two drachmæ, or by the job, receiving two hundred to two hundred and forty drachmæ (under $50) for each figure or small group of figures. This was in Pericles’ time, when art had reached its highest perfection.

Similarly in music, though amateur singing and playing were very common, it was not thought gentlemanly to live by them, and professional musicians were ranked with actors and jugglers, and the other classes who lived by amusing the rich. At later periods, however, both celebrated musicians and celebrated actors became important personages, and were courted by a society which had abandoned higher and more serious pursuits.

The medical profession had always a high position in Greek life, from the days of Machaon Podalirius,[13] in Homer, down to the doctors of Plato’s day, who sometimes brought an orator with them to persuade the patient to take their remedies. This was done because it was the fashion to discuss everything in Greece, and people were not satisfied to submit silently to anybody’s prescriptions.

There was of course a great deal of superstitious quackery, which dealt in amulets and charms, and there were slave assistants, who visited slave patients, but the higher members of the profession were not only well paid, but appointed publicly by the various cities as official physicians.

The most famous schools for medicine were at Croton, Cnidus, Rhodes, and Cos, where the name of Hippocrates is celebrated as the founder. These schools were guilds or trade unions, into which the apprentice entered with a very remarkable and solemn oath. Such accredited physicians were specially exempted by law, in some cities, from prosecution for manslaughter, if their patients died. The descriptions of the symptoms and the treatment of various diseases still preserved in the works attributed to Hippocrates, are so striking for their good sense and acute observation, that the most competent judges consider them the foundation of all rational medicine in Europe.

In all the larger Greek towns the art collections were always the main object of curiosity, which every one went to see. There were the temples either venerable for age, or remarkable for architectural splendor, and in them the statues of the gods, and the portraits of heroes and victors which were the work of famous sculptors. The inner walls of both temples and porticoes were often covered with frescoes, and had even separate pictures hung upon them. In fact, just as we now-a-days go to see in such a town as Antwerp or Rouen the churches, the pictures, the statues and carvings, and the antiquities, so every educated Greek enjoyed the arts, and thought his life incomplete without having seen their highest products. Crowds went to see the Pheidian statue of Zeus at Olympia, the Eros of Praxiteles at Thespiæ, the cow of Myron at Athens. Such great works were constantly copied, and to this practice we owe the inestimable benefit of finding in Roman galleries close imitations of the Greek masterpieces brought from Greece itself.

Each important state was indeed represented in considerable cities by a proxenus, who corresponds to our modern consuls, but of course he could not be expected to offer hospitality to all travelers, though he did so to official visitors. Every distinguished family had accordingly family friends in foreign cities, to whom they were bound by mutual ties of hospitality. These friendships were handed down from generation to generation, and when the traveler had never seen his host he often brought with him a token formerly given to his family by the family he went to visit. On his arrival the host gave him a separate set of apartments, and supplied him with light, fuel and salt; he also sent him his dinner the first day, and invited him to dine afterward, but for the rest the guest was attended by his own servants, and supplied himself. As to the actual traveling, so much of it was done by sea that there seems to have been but indifferent means of journeying on land. To Delphi, Olympia, and such public resorts there were good roads, which could be traveled in carriages, but elsewhere pack mules and riding, or even walking was, as it now is, the only way of crossing the country.

Athletic contests were always held conjointly with festivals, so that we must separate two phases in the greatest and most complex enjoyment of Greek society. In fact, the Greeks always combined religion with sport. The greatest of these meetings was undoubtedly that held at Olympia every five years, and at which the victors were recorded since 776 B. C. It was gradually thrown open to all Peloponnesians, then to all European Greeks, and finally to all the colonies, in 620 B. C. This extension was followed by the founding in rapid succession of the public contests at Delphi (586), the Isthmos of Corinth (582), and Nemea (576 B. C.). They were celebrated in honor of the peculiar god honored at the place—Apollo at Delphi, Poseidon at the Isthmus, Zeus at Nemea and Olympia. There was a solemn truce declared throughout Greece during the Olympic games, and all the world flocked thither to enjoy the sports, meet their friends, transact mercantile or even political business, and publish or advertise new works and new inventions. At Delphi musical and poetical contests predominated, but at the others the athletic elements.

In addition to athletic games, many musical and poetical contests were encouraged at the festivals, as, for example, at the Pythian games, held at Delphi, and at the Dionysia, held at Athens. So much did these competitions come into fashion, that the best advertisement and publication of a new poem, or of a novelty in music, was its production on one of these occasions. The great tragedies handed down to us were all composed in this way, and brought out at Athens in honor of the god Dionysus. For a fee of two obols, granted him by the state, every citizen and his wife, at some contests even resident strangers, could go and sit at the theater, and hear four plays of Æschylus pitted against four plays of Sophocles, and four of Euripides. The endurance of an audience not given to reading, and not fond of staying at home, is of course much greater than that of our modern play-going people.

FESTIVALS.

As the games and dramatic shows were in honor of the gods, or sometimes in honor of deceased heroes, the real celebration consisted in sacrifices, prayers, and solemn processions. These sacrifices were combined with public feasts, as a great many victims were slain. In all processions the military, or citizens in armor, and on horseback, formed, as they now do, an important and imposing part. But we are bound to add that in addition to all the splendor of the festivals and athletic contests, there was the usual collection of mountebanks, jugglers, thimble-riggers, and other bad characters, who now frequent horse races. This was so much the case in later days, that Cicero indignantly denies the report that he had gone to the Olympic games. On the other hand, we must regard the home festivals in each Greek city among the most humane and kindly institutions in their life. They corresponded to our Sundays and holidays, when the hard-worked and inferior classes are permitted to meet and enjoy themselves. This was particularly the case with the slaves, who enjoyed many indulgences on these special days. The women also in such cities as usually insisted upon their seclusion, were allowed to join in processions, and see something of the world; and “the stranger that was within their gates,” or who came to worship at the feast, was received with kindness and hospitality. No executions or punishments were allowed; prisoners were let out on bail, and the sentences of the law for debts or fines were postponed in honor of the gods, who were worshiped not in sadness, but with joy.

GREEK MYTHOLOGY.

CHAPTER IV.

Hestia (Vesta).[1] In the domestic life of the Greeks Hestia, the hearth goddess, occupied an important position. She was one of the twelve great divinities, and her expressive symbol, the fire, they carefully guarded and kept constantly burning. In the more rude, barbaric state of society her worship was, perhaps, not general, as there is no mention of her by Homer in the “Iliad” or “Odyssey.” But as society advanced and the importance of domestic order and purity was more fully recognized, no other deity was held in greater veneration. She gives security to the dwelling, and especially guards the virtue and happiness of the family. “The hearth possessed among the ancients a far higher significance than it does in modern life. It served not only for the preparation of the daily meals, but was esteemed the sacred altar in the house. There the images of the Penates,[2] or household gods, were placed; and then, after the old patriarchal fashion, the father and priest of the family offered sacrifice on all important occasions of their domestic life.” (Seemans.)

The well-ordered home, under the guardianship of the virgin goddess, herself pure as the bright flame that was her symbol, is the secure abode of happiness as complete as mortals know. For the maintenance of its purity and peace the most solemn vows were made and the tutelary[3] goddess invoked to avenge the injured and reward the faithful. For those without, the hearth itself was a sacred shrine before which suppliants, if danger threatened, sought not in vain protection from the inhabitants of the house. And, as the state is an extended family, embracing all the domestic organizations in its domain, Hestia, protectress of the home circle, regards also the interest and safety of every civil community. So, thoughtful men of upright character, their statesmen and wise senators, did not hesitate to carry the religion of their homes into political matters that engaged their best endeavors.

In the Greek states the senate house, or department of the governing body, was solemnly dedicated to Hestia, and in it they built her an altar, on which fire was kept ever burning. That the daily sacrifice might not be wanting, or that sacred fire ever become extinct, it was assiduously guarded by vestal[4] virgins, whose negligence would be severely punished.

The name Hestia is not only very sacred, but has a stem or root meaning that indicates the fixed abiding position of her altar in the room where the family dwelt, or the senators met for business.

Hermes (Mercury). For the accredited pedigree, characteristics, and exploits of this sly deity—things of much interest to students of the old mythology—we are mostly indebted to Homer and his imitators, the Rhapsodists, some of whose productions were accepted as Homeric. He was the reputed son of Zeus and the mountain nymph Maia, and born in a cave, or grotto, on Mount Cyllene,[5] in Arcadia. The so-called “Homeric Hymn,” assuming cunning and dexterity as his principal characteristics, tells in a way to interest the reader, with what amazing capacity his powers developed. Having such a father, and his mother a daughter of Atlas, he grew as none but gods can, almost instantly revealing his divine powers. Only a few hours after his birth he sprung from his mother’s arms, or from the cradle where he lay, already planning an expedition of vast proportions, and escaped from the grotto to at once execute his purpose. On the way he met a beautiful tortoise that he killed, and extracting the carcass from the shell, stretched resonant cords across the cavity, and thus made him a harp on which he played most skilfully. The same day he hurried off to Pieria, where he stole fifty kine from the herd of Apollo, and undertook to drive them to the grotto of his mother. Fearing that the theft, so adroitly accomplished, might be detected by their tracks in the sand, he managed to drive them in such circuitous paths that, where most exposed to observation, the tracks showed them to be going toward the place from which they were stolen. His own footsteps he disguised by wrapping his feet with tamarisk and myrtle leaves. The next morning, at early dawn, he reached the stream of Alpheus,[6] and then rubbed sticks of wood against each other till they were ignited. Thus Hermes is said to have first given fire to mortal men. Another legend attributes the same to Prometheus,[7] who is said to have stolen fire from the altars of the gods. But this was kindled in the forest by the friction of dry branches rubbed against each other by the wind. In that forest Hermes slaughtered two of the herd, but, though pressed with hunger, he ate none of the roasted meat. After quenching the fire, and effacing all signs of it, he proceeded to Cyllene, where he concealed the cattle, and, having entered the place of his birth softly as a summer breeze, resumed his place as a babe, and lay innocently playing with the cradle clothes, while his right hand held the tortoise lyre hidden under them. His absence and the booty with which he returned were not unobserved by his mother, who chided him for the theft, but was assured that, by such exploits, he would secure for her and for himself admission to the assembly of the gods. In the morning Apollo, missing part of his herd, set out in search of them. An old man informed him that a child was seen the day before driving cows along the road. At Pylos he saw confused tracks of his cattle, but was amazed at the strange footprints of the driver. Greatly chagrined at his loss, and meditating chastisement for the thief, he entered the cave of the nymph. Hermes, seeing him, gathered himself under the clothes, feigning fear of the angry god. Apollo searched all the premises for his stolen property to no purpose. But convinced that the child, his own younger brother was certainly guilty of the theft, he threatened to hurl him into Tartarus[8] if he did not tell at once where the cows were. The little fellow in his cradle, winking slyly, and making a low whistling sound, as if amused at Apollo’s excitement, denies any knowledge of the matter, and innocently asks what cows are like. “I know nothing of cows,” he said, “but their name. We must refer the matter to Zeus, who will decide for us.”

When the father of gods and men heard the complaint and the evidence, little Hermes, to the great amusement of the celestials, stoutly denied the charge, and with his cradle clothes about his person, argued the absurdity of supposing a mere child like himself capable of such deeds.

Zeus admonished the contestants to be friends, but with a significant nod, the suit was decided in Apollo’s favor, and the brothers sent in quest of the missing kine. The miscreant led the way, and when the cattle were brought out of the cave, Apollo missed two, and was surprised to find their hides stretched on a rock to dry—more so, that when attempting to drive the others away their feet were found fastened in the earth. Again he seized the offender for punishment, but he in the emergency, thought of his lyre, and touching its chords, called forth music so sweet and soothing that Apollo, forgetting his anger, coveted the instrument and besought the musician to teach him his wondrous art. “Take it,” said he, “since you are wise, and will know how to use it well, but if touched by those unskilled in the divine art, it will utter strange nonsense, making uncertain, discordant moanings.” Delighted with his acquisition, Apollo gave his brother a magic wand, by which he could confer happiness on whom he would; and, henceforth, they dwelt together in great harmony and love, the honored sons of a common father.

Interpreting this myth one says, “while Apollo represents the genial sunshine, Hermes, as a power of nature, is the rain—rain and sunshine being both from the great God of heaven, or, in the language of mythologists, his sons. They are both beneficent and have many things so similar as to indicate a common origin.”

In the process of time their conceptions of the younger brother seem to have undergone some change, or possibly the different shades of opinion may indicate the places rather than the times in which they prevailed. To those who regarded him as sending the fertilizing rain, and thus the dispenser of manifold gifts, he also, and naturally, represented the wind that “bloweth where it listeth,” and carries the clouds about on their mission. This idea of personification may account for some things in their legends that otherwise seem inexplicable. Helpless infancy, in a very few hours leaving the cradle and performing exploits the most astonishing, has its parallel in the wind, which, at first only gentle zephyrs whispering softly, soon may freshen to a gale, and in an hour sweep over the earth with a force that defies resistance; and when people make inquest for the mischief done they hear but the mocking laugh as it hastens on, and the calm after a squall is like the quiet return of the adventurous god to the cave and cradle that were left for the exploits of that eventful day. Then the clouds of various shape and color that are seen grouped above the horizon, or scattered over the vast field of the sky, were, to a vivid imagination, the herd of Phœbus, who watches over them. When the rising wind, represented by Hermes’ leaving the cave, carries them away, a stupendous theft has been committed.

The offices of Hermes were many, and supposed to be useful, nor was his many sided character thought bad when judged by the moral code of a people who made him a god after their own likeness. Crafty, dishonest merchants did not mean to impeach his honesty when they implored him to give them such shrewdness as to outwit and supplant others in the bargains they made. Rogues and thieves prayed to him, just as bandits and robbers in the same country and in parts of Italy ask the patron saints to aid their assaults on defenseless travelers, and give them a rich booty.

Arcadian shepherds invoked Hermes as the guardian of flocks while he inspired their pastoral songs and directed in the manufacture of the rustic instruments on which they played.

Moreover, he was regarded and often spoken of as the fleet messenger and dextrous agent of his father, Zeus. In this character the epic poets most frequently present him. Swifter than the wind he passes over the land and sea to execute whatever commissions are intrusted to him. Once he destroyed the hundred eyed Argus, the guardian of Io, on which account he is called by Homer the Argus slayer.

Seemans suggests that Argus in that myth represents the starry heavens, and the suggestion is plausible—Argus is slain by the rain god; that is, the stars are hid by the thick clouds.

As represented in art, he bears the herald’s staff, or wand, given him by Apollo, by the means of which he can induce sleep or rouse the slumberer; but it was supposed to be used chiefly in guiding souls to their abodes in the under world. The earliest Greeks, as indeed men of all nations, and in every state of society, civilized, semi-civilized or savage, cherished the expectation of a state after death, and though vaguely hoping for happiness hereafter, they also felt the need of an escort, though unseen, to that “land of deepest shade unpierced by human thought.” The belief in Hermes as psychopompus,[9] or conductor of the soul, doubtless gave the dying mythologist when consciously loosing his hold on things visible and tangible, some crumbs of comfort. With no other rod or staff on which to lean, a heathen poet could say:

“Non ego omnis moriar.”[10]

Such was at least the longing for immortality in the darkest ages.

The statues and plastic representations of Hermes, as also of the other divinities, changed with the progress of this ideal development. They represent him as a shepherd, sometimes a herald, or messenger, and always as a powerful, bearded man. Those of later date show him as a beardless youth, but of great strength, with broad chest, lithe but powerful limbs, curly hair, small mouth and eyes, a wonderful combination of grace and vigor. “If we add to this the expression of kindly benevolence which plays around his finely cut lips, and the inquiring look of his face as he bends forward thoughtfully, we have the principal characteristic features artists have given of this god.” Of existing statues, in bronze and marble, we can not speak more particularly—such are found in the Vatican, at Naples, and in the British Museum.

Hades.—This name now, and from the beginning of the Christian era, used only to distinguish a place, was in mythology a personal appellative, and given to one of the Olympic divinities who received, by allotment, control of the lower world. He was son of Cronos and Rhea, and there are but few legends of him that the reader would care to see recorded, on account of the mysterious gloom that enveloped his person and his kingdom. It is enough to say he was at first regarded with dread as the unpitying, unrelenting foe of mankind, and while all were fated in their appointed time to descend to his dismal realms, heedless of their mortal reluctance and agony, he gathered them in, and deaf to their prayers kept his gate so guarded by that hundred headed monster Cerberus[11] that none could ever escape. The conception was so horrible that men shrank from it in dismay. Hades, being inexorable, was not worshiped. Prayer had no encouragement, no utterance. Those who dreaded to become his victims might wail in their agony or curse bitterly, but no door of hope was open for them.

In the course of time—how long none can tell, as no details are given, but in after ages—the Greek conception of Hades as a divinity seemed to undergo considerable change. Not only other but very different characteristics were given to him. He even received a new name, Pluton (riches), possibly indicating for him some agency in sending up, from the bosom of the earth, nourishment for things that grow on its surface, and also as offering unbounded wealth to mankind in the metals whose mines are in the subterranean chambers. But though the original dismal conception of this stern, inexorable deity was partially relieved, mention of him seems always to have conveyed to the mind the idea of something grim and painfully mysterious, and that probably caused them to speak of him but seldom, and with fear.

We are more interested to trace their notions of the underworld itself, and respecting the state of the dead who have entered it. On these subjects there was evidently some diversity of opinion, not between different persons only, but of the same person at different times. Even Homer presents two distinct views respecting the abode and condition of the dead. In the “Iliad” he locates it beneath the flat earth, and not far from the upper surface. Describing the battle of the gods he says:

“Pluto, the infernal monarch, heard alarmed,

And, springing from his throne, cried out in fear,

Lest Neptune breaking through the solid earth

To mortals and immortals should lay bare

The dark and drear abode of gods abhorred.”

But in the “Odyssey,” the realm in which the shades of the departed wander, lies far west of the earth-girdling Oceanus, or is an island in the midst of that fabled stream. Nor is this at all wonderful, since, after the progress of centuries, and the partial unveiling of the future in the divine oracles, the heaven revealed, as to its latitude, longitude and topography, remains, even to Christians, a terra incognita.[12]

In the profoundly interesting problem of a future life the question of locality is of little importance. That which more concerns the mortal, yet immortal man, is what that life shall be; and, in their answers to that question, theology and mythology differ widely. The latter claims for departed spirits only a shadowy, dreamy, dismal existence, devoid of any real happiness. At first they seem to have had no thought of any difference in their allotments, and say nothing of the judgment of the dead. Further on in their history the idea of future reward and punishment had some development. Thenceforward there was a division in Pluto’s realm, and the nethermost part was called Tartarus, a deep, dark, cavernous abode of wretchedness and woe, where those condemned by the judges,[13] Minos, Rhadamanthus and Æacus were tormented by the Furies. The good, being special favorites of the gods, are transferred to elysian fields—isles of the blessed—and find their happiness complete, while those of a middle class, without either positive excellence or damning wrong, are permitted to remain in a dusky region, where, as dim but ghastly shades, they pass a dull, joyless existence, without much positive suffering.

The punishment of great criminals was a fruitful theme for the imaginations and pens of the Greek poets. Tityus, who had offered violence to Leto, is chained to the earth while vultures constantly tear his ever growing liver. Tantalus,[14] who had been admitted to the table of the gods, but impiously thought to test their superior discernment by putting before them the flesh of his son Pelops, is for his crime doomed to suffer the torments of continual hunger and thirst. Just above his head are branches laden with beautiful and luscious fruits, but when he attempts to pluck them a gust of wind bears them quite beyond his reach. He stands on the bank of a beautiful stream clear as crystal, or in the midst of the water, but when he attempts to quench his raging thirst it is impossible even to wet his lips. Sisyphus, once king of Corinth, and a great sinner, was condemned to roll a block of stone up a high mountain, but, soon as the top was reached, the huge stone, by some sudden impulse, rolled back to the plain, and with weary limbs he must continue the fruitless struggle. Ixion, also an insolent offender, is chained, hands and feet, to an ever revolving wheel and tortured without respite or hope of release. And the daughters of Danaus, who at their father’s bidding had slain their husbands the night of their nuptials, are laboriously pouring water into a perforated cask with despair of ever accomplishing the required task of filling it. The punishment was deemed retributory, and in these examplary cases from its nature without end.

Eros and Psyche[15] (Cupid and the soul).—Eros, reputed a son of Aphrodite and Ares, in the earlier legends appears a winged child; then a boy of marvelous beauty on the verge of youth, but small of stature. His characteristic is the golden bow, from whose taut string arrows fly to their mark, with unerring aim, and inflict wounds that represent the consuming pangs of love. As the charming but mischief-making Eros, being solitary, did not grow, his mother, by the advice of Artemis, gave him as a play-fellow a brother whom they named Anteros; his company caused content and happiness. Eros was venerated not only as the god of love, kindly influencing the sexes toward each other, and kindling purest fires on their home altars, but as the author also of loving friendships between youths and men. For this reason probably, his statue was placed between those of Hermes and Hercules in the gymnasia, and the warlike Spartans sacrifice to him before battle, pledging themselves to be faithful, and stand by one another in time of need.

The significant myth showing the love of Eros for Psyche is of more recent origin and shows some higher religious notions. Various interpretations of the legend have been suggested, all of them sufficiently fanciful. We give here an abridgment of a much lengthier account found in “Stories from the Classics.”

In a certain city were three daughters of the king, of whom the youngest, Psyche, being exceedingly beautiful, was thought the loveliest of mortals. Her enraptured admirers built altars for her worship as a goddess, and strewed them with flowery garlands. The charming Psyche was too gentle and good to be elated by the homage, however extravagantly expressed, but the hearts of her less beautiful sisters were soon filled with envy and jealousy. Moreover Venus herself, the goddess of beauty, became like a mortal jealous of poor Psyche. Highly offended that her own altars should be neglected for those of an earth-born maiden, she retired in anger to her favorite isle, and there cherished purposes of revenge. Thither her winged boy, Cupid, came quickly at his mother’s call. With tears and many passionate lamentations she told him the story of her wrongs—how Psyche was honored and Venus neglected. “You alone, my son,” she said, “can punish this presumptuous beauty, and make her feel that it is a serious thing to incur the displeasure of the immortals.” When her plans were made known, soothing his mother with fond caresses, Cupid readily promised to execute all her wishes. Then, in obedience to her commands, he hastened away to a luxuriant island in the midst of the ocean, where were two fountains side by side, one clear as crystal, imparting health and happiness to all who drank of the delicious water; the other turbid and of a most deadly nature. Those who tasted its poisoned water were never happy again. From the one, a living fountain, he took water of joy, from the other of sorrow, and placing each in a little amber urn, flew away to the palace of Psyche, where he found her lying upon a couch, fragrant with roses, asleep, and smiling in her pleasant dreams. Too intent on accomplishing his mission to be deterred, even by the sight of such transcendent beauty, silently and lightly as falls a noxious dew upon a gentle flower he shed on her slightly parted lips the fatal drops of grief, and was preparing to wound her with his arrow, when his victim suddenly awoke. The scene was changed and the mischievous, cruel Cupid was now quite overcome with her strange loveliness, and the gentle expression of her lustrous eyes. Filled with remorse for what was done he hastily shed on her golden ringlets the balmy drops of joy, intended for another, and vanished from her sight.

The father of Psyche fearing the wrath of the celestials on account of the adoration paid to his daughter, inquired, at the oracle of Apollo, what course he should pursue. The response filled him with anguish. He was directed to place the maiden on a barren rock on the top of the mountain, and there abandon her to her unknown fate. The poor king and his queen wept much, but dared not disobey the oracle, cruel as it seemed. Preparations were made in sadness, and on the day appointed Psyche was attended to the destined rock by a mournful procession of friends whose lamentations rent the air. When the broken-hearted parents bade a last adieu to their beloved child, they ordered the gates of their palace to be shut and gave themselves up to despair. As the train of mourners gradually disappeared Psyche stood trembling on the top of the lone mountain, and now overcome with grief and fear, she burst into tears, bemoaning her sad condition. Then the gently blowing zephyr caught and raised her in the air, and bearing her over the valley at the foot of the mountain left her on a flowery turf, in a sweet sleep. When she awoke all fear was gone. Looking around she saw, near a grove of lofty trees, a cool fountain gently flowing, and within the grove a palace so gorgeous that it was evidently the residence of a god. It was of costly materials, exquisite workmanship, and filled with immense treasures, all of which seemed secure without guards or doors. As the astonished but now delighted maiden entered, a voice of angelic sweetness addressed her, saying, “Lovely Psyche, all these treasures are yours, and we whose voices you hear, though invisible, are your servants, who will obey all your commands. Come to the banquet already prepared for our rightful mistress.” She was conducted to a rich repast of ambrosia and nectar, served by invisible hands, and entertained with delightful music from Æolian harps.

Psyche did not know who the lord of the palace was, but, without being suffered to behold him, she became his wife, and lived for a long time contented and happy; treated by him, when present, with the utmost kindness, and, in his absence, cheered by the voices of her unseen attendants.

When her sisters, wicked women, who had heard of her happiness, and were invited to share it, arrived at the palace they were received by Psyche most cordially. She tenderly embraced them, showed them her treasures, and bestowed such gifts as sisterly affection suggested. But their hearts were hard and cruel. More envious than before at the sight of such magnificence, they artfully planned to destroy their unsuspecting victim, who had been warned not to allow any idle curiosity about her husband, lest, by so doing, she might lose him forever. “Dearest sister,” they say, concealing their real feelings under a mask of sisterly kindness, “our love constrains us to make known to you that the being you call your husband is doubtless some malignant spirit who dares not show to you his hideous person, and who will some day destroy you. Take therefore, we entreat, this lamp and dagger; conceal the lamp in the tapestry of your chamber, and in the night satisfy your curiosity. If he prove the monster we suspect, you can kill him in his sleep and return to the home of your distracted parents.”

Poor Psyche was overwhelmed with sorrow, and after much talking they so wrought on both her fear and curiosity that she reluctantly promised to heed their advice. As night approached her courage failed, and all the past kindness of her husband coming in mind made her design appear most ungrateful, yet she must keep her promise, and at any risk, satisfy the doubts that were distracting her. So when all voices were hushed, the lights out, and deep silence reigned in the palace, she took the lamp from the place where she had concealed it, and, with trembling, drew near the couch where she saw her husband lying fast asleep. What was her glad surprise when she found him none other than the beautiful god Cupid himself. His countenance was so radiant that the very light of the revealing lamp seemed to grow dim. On his shoulders were wings of delicate whiteness, covered with a tremulous down. His bow and arrows lay at his feet. As she stood over him, entranced by the sight, the oil in the lamp, as if to punish her crime, bubbled over and the burning liquid fell on the shoulder of the sleeper. Immediately he started up, and looking reproaches stronger than words, at once flew away in silence. Alas! for the imprudent wife’s distress, when the husband she adored left her in anger, and, as she feared, never to return.

The deceitful sisters, themselves deceived by a false tale of Cupid’s regard for them, miserably perished. When the indignant Venus learned that Cupid, instead of punishing, had taken to his palace her detested rival, and then suffered injury at her hand, she threatened vengeance and sent Mercury in search of the object of her hate. Her wounded son was cared for, but not without upbraiding him for his conduct, and proposing such chastisement as anger mingling with maternal love suggested.

As for the deserted Psyche, having attempted in vain to drown herself in a neighboring stream, she wanders through the world in search of her lost love. Relentlessly persecuted by her adversary, who subjected her to numerous and severe trials, the plants and animals, the reed, the swan, the eagle, offer advice and assistance. Pitied, but unaided, unprotected by the higher goddesses, Ceres and Juno, her case becomes desperate, and she determines, at once, to surrender herself into the hands of Venus. “Possibly she may be won by my good and dutiful conduct, and in the house of his mother I may get a sight of him I have so long sought in vain.” That hope, too, was doomed to disappointment. The haughty goddess, forgetting alike the dignity of her rank, and the tenderness of a mother, spoke bitter, revengeful words, and, calling two servants, Sorrow and Solicitude, she ordered them to chastise her in the severest manner. The suffering of her victim did not satisfy the angry Venus, and the most difficult tasks were enjoined. Having tried her ability by requiring many things thought impossible for mortals, but that were all, by the aid of favoring divinities, accomplished, as a last effort she bade her go to the palace of Pluto, in the infernal regions, and, carrying a box given her for the purpose, to request of Proserpine[16] a portion of her divine beauty, and bring back the treasure untouched. It was a perilous undertaking; but again helped and instructed how to proceed, it was accomplished in safety, and with entire success. She escaped the wiles with which Proserpine sought to detain her guest, and obtained the treasure box, filled and carefully closed. In her instructions she was enjoined not, on any account, to open the box or meddle with its precious contents. When returning, the chief difficulties and dangers of the way already past, her woman’s curiosity again prevails, and silencing her fears and her conscience, she decides to appropriate a very small portion of its contents, desiring to become more pleasing to her offended husband, whom she still hopes to meet. The lid was cautiously raised, when lo! instead of the celestial beauty that was expected, there issued from within, a black, dense vapor which enveloped her so closely, that, presently, overcome with a deep stupor, she fell senseless to the ground.

Cupid having escaped from the palace, and, having on his downy wings, witnessed the whole of this proceeding, flew to the spot, and, quickly gathering up the deadly vapor, confined it again within the casket. Then gently arousing the stupefied Psyche, with a touch of his arrow, “See,” said he, “how thou wouldst perish by this foolish curiosity! Arise now and complete the task imposed by my mother, while I supplicate the mighty Jupiter to appease her anger.” Thus saying he soared on high, nor ceased his flight till he reached Olympus, the lofty dwelling of the gods. Then kneeling before the throne he pleaded with such eloquence the cause of his hapless spouse that the king of gods was moved to pity, and promised, by the exercise of his sovereign will, to end forever Psyche’s misfortunes and sufferings. Mercury was ordered to conduct her to his presence, and, eager to fulfill so pleasant a commission, the winged messenger darted through the air with utmost speed and soon returned with his charge.

The joy of Cupid was boundless, when Psyche, more lovely than ever, stood by his side. Jupiter, regarding her for a time with silent admiration, then, presenting a cup of nectar, said: “Take this, and be henceforth immortal. The bitter waters that have occasioned all your sufferings, after this divine draught will be forgotten. Venus shall no longer mourn your union with her son. It has the approval of the gods, and shall endure forever.”

Psyche thus indued with a new and glorious nature, looked imploringly at mother Venus. Friendly influences stealing into her heart, the goddess yielded, and embraced her radiant daughter with maternal affection. The wedding banquet was prepared, and the Hours with roseate fingers decked the bride. Ganymede,[17] as commanded, poured for them the sparkling nectar, and cloud-capped Olympus echoed to the glad sounds of choral voices.

Neptune came from his ocean cave; Apollo and the Muses were attracted by the sweet notes of song; Minerva laid aside her helmet to grace the marriage feast with her presence; Mars, with swordless hand, and merry Bacchus, the grape wreath that bound his golden hair nodding as he stepped, all joined the festive company. The Graces had decorated the spacious hall; there were thrilling strains of music in the orchestra, and Venus herself danced for joy. Psyche, the admired of all, reclining on the bosom of her reconciled husband, in the bliss of so divine a union lost forever the remembrance of all her sorrows.

This beautiful fable, some say, represents the trials and destiny of human beings. The soul—so the mythologists held—though of divine origin, is here subjected to error and evil in its prison, the body. Trials and purifications are necessary, that it may become capable of purer pleasures and nobler aspirations. Two loves meet it, one earthly and degrading, the other heavenly and elevating. This, when victorious leads off the soul, disenthralled and purified, to the abodes of the blessed.

According to these expositors the myth is a moral one, and represents the dangers to which nuptial fidelity was exposed in such a country as degenerate Greece, and also gives an instance of true constancy subjected to many and strong temptations, but victorious over them all.

As allegorical myths are of doubtful interpretation, the reader may escape some perplexity by accepting the story as a tale of fancy, intended for innocent amusement, rather than for instruction in psychology or morals.

STUDIES IN KITCHEN SCIENCE AND ART.

IV. APPLES, PEACHES, BLACKBERRIES AND STRAWBERRIES.

BY BYRON D. HALSTED, SC. D.

In our study of the food products of the earth, we now come to a consideration of some of our leading fruits. All of the four given above are furnished us by a single order of plants, namely: the Rose Family, or Rosaceæ.[1] This order not only contains the “Queen of Flowers,” but the “King of Fruits;” it is, in short, a royal family among plants, without which we should be deprived of much that is very beautiful, and more that is exceedingly useful. We are dependent upon the cereals for our flour, but what would flour be without some fruit to mix with it in the formation of a very long list of our most highly prized viands? Apple pies, peach dumplings, blackberry puddings and strawberry shortcakes all have their ardent admirers, and happy is the housewife who can make them to perfection.

The Apple.—Well might the apple be the fruit to tempt mankind. The schoolboy feels this when before him stands a neighbor’s tree loaded with the golden spheres of ripeness and sweetness. Well might Solomon with all his wisdom acknowledge the beauty and worth of this best of fruits when he writes: “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.” Downing, in his classic work on “The Fruits and Fruit Trees of America” says: “Among the heathen gods of the north there were apples fabled to possess the power of conferring immortality, which were carefully watched over by the goddess Iduna,[2] and kept for the special dessert of the gods who felt themselves growing old.” Apples may not confer immortality, but they lend new charms to life, and we should guard this fruit as did the sleepless dragon the golden apples in the orchards of Hesperus.[3]

If the “tree of knowledge” is not an allegory, and it bore apples, we have the antiquity as well as ancient edibility of the apple at once established. The origin and first home of the apple, like all the fruits, flowers and vegetables in cultivation before the time of human records, is all obscurity, and speculation has free course in seeking for the early history of the apple. This fruit was extensively cultivated by the Romans, and is widely diffused through all parts of the temperate zone.

The apple tree is one of slow growth and medium size, though there are some specimens in this country of great dimensions. The head is low-spreading, and the flowers sweet and beautiful. The blossom, as well as the fruit that follows it, is famous in story and in song. The kinds of apples are very numerous, and the number is increasing every year. The genus Pyrus,[4] to which the common apple belongs, has several species, including the mountain ashes, common chokeberry, and several kinds of crab apples, and last, but far from the least, the pears. The orchard apple is thus seen to be in the midst of good company.

Apples are classified in various ways; that by J. J. Thomas, in his “American Fruit Culturist,” is as follows: Three divisions are made upon the time of ripening—as, summer, autumn, and winter apples. Under each of these are two classes, namely: sweet apples, and those with more or less acidity. Under each of these six classes are two sections, viz.: color striped with red—color unstriped. The three points in this classification are season, taste, and color of skin. For example, the apple before me is a summer fruit, sweet, with skin not striped. It belongs in the second section of class one of the first division. It is the sweet bough. Again, the apple is striped, acid, and winter; by referring to the descriptive list we find it is northern spy, king of Tompkins, or Wagener. The characteristics of the groupings above given are not properly distinct. As Thomas says: “Summer apples gradually pass into autumn, and autumn into winter apples. A few … possess nearly a neutral flavor between a dead sweetness and slight acidity. Again, apples classed with those that are striped, sometimes present a nearly uniform shade of red.” So much interwoven are the colors, periods of ripening, etc., that Downing discards all classification and arranges his descriptive list alphabetically. In describing apples and similar fruit the word base is used for the stem end of the fruit, and apex the blossom end. The primary forms of apples are: oblate, roundish, conical, and oblong. The last report of the American Pomological Society[5] catalogues three hundred and thirty-seven varieties of apples, with the standing of each in the several states and territories. From this tabulation we select the following varieties as among those that proved the best: For summer, early harvest, red astrachan, sweet bough, American summer, Carolina June, and Oldenburg; for autumn, fall pippins, Porter, maiden’s blush, Gravenstein, late strawberry, sops of wine, and primate; for winter, Baldwin, Ben Davis, Hubbardston, Rhode Island greening, northern spy, and farmer’s. These sorts are not equally good everywhere, but taken all in all they are among the leading sorts. There may be some varieties of only local reputation that do better in their native section than any here mentioned. Some apples are adapted to the warmer climate of the southern states, while others are suited to the cold regions farther north. The wealthy apple is a fine illustration of the latter; it is especially suited to New Hampshire, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa and Colorado.

Apple trees are raised from seed sown in autumn, and remain in the seed bed for two or three years, when they are removed in the spring, with their tap-root or main root cut to the nursery rows. The following autumn they are budded with the desired variety. The well ripened bud is inserted in the bark of the twig, near the ground. The growth from the bud afterward forms the tree top. The trees may be set in the orchard the third year after budding. The soil best adapted for an orchard is a strong loam containing abundant limestone or calcareous matter. The soil should be kept mellow by frequent cultivation, until the trees are of considerable size. It must be remembered that the trees are of first importance, and they should not be starved by lack of richness in the soil or by the growth of exhausting grain crops.

There are many insect enemies to the apple tree, the leading among which are the borers, American tent caterpillar, canker worm, bark-lice and codling moth. The methods of treating each one of these pests have been well worked out, but space forbids our giving them in this connection.

It is important that apples be gathered with care, especially if to be sent to market. The reputation of American apples in the English market has suffered greatly from carelessness in picking and packing. Fruit sells more by appearance than anything else, and therefore the packages should be neat and the contents uniformly good. Apples are employed in various ways beside cooking. They are the source of much cider that afterward by fermentation forms the best quality of vinegar.

The Peach.—The peach (Prunus Persica[6]) is a native of Persia, as the botanical name indicates, and was brought from that country to Italy by the Romans. It is frequently mentioned by ancient writers, and was regarded with much veneration by the people of Asia. The peach reached the British Isles in the sixteenth century. There is no country where the peach is more successfully grown than in some portions of the United States. It can not be grown with profit north of 42° north latitude, but south of this line it flourishes as far as the Gulf of Mexico. There are some localities specially adapted for the peach, and here it is grown in its perfection. First among such sections is the Delaware peninsula, a territory of six thousand square miles, within which more peaches per acre are produced than anywhere else on the globe, and of the finest quality. A portion of Michigan, known as the “peach belt,” is likewise famous, and supplies the western markets with vast quantities of this luscious fruit.

The peach is a small tree, with long narrow leaves and beautiful pink blossoms. It grows rapidly to maturity, and after bearing a few crops is through with its best work, and should be replaced by another.

Mr. Fulton, in his small book on “Peach Culture,” writes: “The seed should be of natural fruit. It is more vigorous, more hardy, more certain to germinate, and the tree lives longer. This should never be overlooked by any planter who wishes the full reward of his labors.” This indicates that the seed in the budded fruit loses some of its vitality. It is doubtless a law that as we go farther from the native or wild state the less vigorous becomes the nurtured plant. The artificial life that many plants lead leaves them no time to store up strength for the continuation of the race, and in many cases they have lost all power of producing offspring. The young peach trees are provided by sowing the seeds in beds, carefully kept free from weeds. After the proper size is reached, buds are inserted, as above mentioned under the apple, and in a year or two the budded trees are ready for the orchard.

This process of budding is similar to that of making cuttings or slips, only, a single bud is set in the cleft bark of a living stem, instead of a piece of branch, with two or more buds, set in moist sand. Grafting differs from budding in that the cion is a stem with two or more buds, usually set in a cleft of a living branch; it is budding on a larger scale, and is suited to large trees.

The varieties of peaches are very numerous, more than one hundred and fifty sorts being set down in some lists. It is not an easy task to select the best. There are many things to consider in deciding upon the merit of a peach. It may have the best flavor, but be subject to rot, a poor bearer, or be so small that it will not sell well. The tree should be vigorous and productive, with fruit large, rich flavored, and fine colored. Such fruit is fit food for the gods. From the recent Pomological Society catalogue we find that the following varieties are the most in favor, take the whole country through. Among those known as very early are: Alexander, early York, large early York, Hales and truth; medium, early Crawford, Chinese cling, Columbia, oldmixon free and oldmixon cling; late, smock, stump-the-world, late Crawford, Heath cling, and Ward’s late. By a careful selection of varieties with regard to their time of ripening, a small orchard would furnish fruit from midsummer until the frosts come. In setting out an orchard there is a tendency to purchase new sorts, and for this the nurserymen are largely to blame. A man’s interest in the sale of so simple a thing as a tree may cause it to be overestimated. A half dozen time-tested standard sorts are worth more than a score of new seedlings without any record.

Peaches are classified by their fruit into those with white flesh and yellow flesh, and these are divided again into free-stones and clings. In some of the clings the flesh is very superior, but owing to its close union with the stone it is difficult to eat, and therefore is far less popular than free-stones of an inferior quality.

The leading enemies to the peach are the borer, curculio,[7] the leaf-curl and the “yellows.” The “curl” is caused by a fungus, and the remedy is picking and burning the leaves. The “yellows” is the most fatal of all the enemies, having ruined hundreds of the finest orchards. The cause is not fully understood, but the indications are that it may be a low form of microscopic life known as bacteria. No cure has been found, and when a tree turns the characteristic yellow it should be torn out and burned, root and branch.

We can not close this brief sketch without thinking of that happy boy reclining upon the shady sod, who

—lifted his head to where hung in his reach

All laden with honey, the ruddy-cheeked peach.

Blackberries.—The two fruits already described in this paper are of a comparatively large size, and grow on trees. We now come to the so-called “small fruits,” among which are the blackberry, raspberry, strawberry, currant, and gooseberry. The genus Rubus[8] furnishes both the blackberries and the raspberries, thus showing that these two kinds of small fruits are very closely related. There are about one hundred and fifty species of blackberries scattered throughout the world, but of these only two have furnished our gardens with the best cultivated varieties, namely: the high blackberry (R. villosus[9]), growing everywhere in thickets, with a strong prickly stem, six feet high, and the low blackberry, or dewberry (R. canadensis[10]), a long trailing plant, with slightly prickly stems, and small, early ripening fruit.

The cultivation of the blackberry has been retarded to a considerable extent by the excellence of the wild sorts—the people being satisfied with the fruit of the bramble in the fence row. The varieties that now head the list have all been chance seedlings found growing wild, and afterward improved by garden culture. The Lawton was found growing on a roadside in Westchester county, New York, and is often known by the name of its native town, New Rochelle. The Lawton did much to introduce the blackberry to the fruit gardens. The canes winter kill, and the fruit, unless perfectly ripe, is hard and sour at the core. The Kittatinny stands among the first for the size and richness of its fruit. This berry is a little earlier than the New Rochelle. It was found near the Kittatinny mountains, in New Jersey, and bears the peculiar Indian name of the place of its nativity. Mr. Roe, in his “Success with Small Fruits” says of the discoverer of the Kittatinny blackberry: “He has done more for the world than if he had opened a gold mine.”

The Wilson’s early is a third variety, of New Jersey origin, that grows low, with the canes trailing upon the ground. As the name indicates, this is a remarkably early blackberry, and were it not subject to attacks from insects it would be a very superior variety. The Snyder is of western origin, is wonderfully productive and hardy. The small size of the berry is the greatest defect of the Snyder. There are some recent candidates for popular favor, but the four mentioned have been found worthy of a place in the small fruit garden.

The blackberry prefers a rather dry soil, of medium richness. On a moist and very fertile soil the canes grow rank and large and produce very little fruit. The plants need to be set in rows six to eight feet apart each way. It is best to set the plants in autumn, because they start into growth very early in the spring, before there is opportunity for transplanting. Stakes or cheap wire trellises are usually provided for holding up plants. The canes that grow up one season produce fruit the succeeding year, and then die. It is therefore necessary to treat as weeds all shoots that are not needed for the bearing canes the following season. Judicious pruning of the cane while it is growing will produce much branched tops, which are more productive than those that grow to great length, and they are less liable to be injured by frost. Mr. Roe says: “More can be done with the thumb and finger at the right time than with the most savage pruning shears after a year of neglect.” The blackberry produces many suckers, and if these are left to grow for a year or two the whole ground becomes a wilderness that is not productive, and very difficult to subdue.

Strawberries.—It is not an easy task to find the person who dislikes strawberries. They are acceptable to the vast majority, and in almost any form, from the plain berry just picked off the vine to the juicy, red layer in a shortcake, or the heaping saucer with its fragrant contents half floating in sweet cream. The name strawberry probably came from the old Saxon streawberige, either because of the strawlike stems to the plants, or from the berries being strewn upon the ground. In olden times children strung the berries upon straws and sold them thus, and possibly from this we now have the name for our earliest and finest of small fruits. The name of the strawberry genus is Fragaria,[11] the Latin for “sweet smelling.” The cultivated varieties of strawberries represent five species. The most common one, growing wild almost everywhere being Fragaria vesca. In this species the seeds are superficial on the luscious cone. The Virginian strawberry, F. Virginiana, abundant in all parts of the United States, has roundish fruit, with the seeds embedded in deep pits. At the time of the introduction of this species in English gardens the culture of the strawberry took a fresh start. By sowing the seed of the Virginian species new varieties have been produced in large numbers, so that now it is the parent of nine-tenths of all the sorts grown in our gardens. The Hovey, Wilson, monarch, Seth Boyden, Charles Downy, and Sharpless are some of the improved varieties of this species. A new impetus was given to strawberry culture by the introduction of a South American species, F. grandiflora. The fruit is large and sweet, with a peculiar sprightliness that makes the varieties derived from this species highly prized in England and on this continent. Our cold winters and hot summers are too severe extremes for these offsprings of a more tropical species. The triumphe de gand and jucunda are two superb sorts derived from the F. grandiflora.

Some varieties of strawberries have what are known as pistillate flowers; that is, the stamens or male organs are imperfect or wanting. In such cases it is necessary to grow a perfect-flowered (bi-sexual) variety in close proximity, in order to insure fertilization and the formation of fruit. The famous Hovey seedling is a pistillate variety, and there are many others of this character.

One of the leading features of the strawberry plant is to multiply by means of long, slender branches, called runners. There are, however, three methods of propagating the strawberry, viz.: by the runners, by division of the root, and by seeds. The chief method is by runners. Strawberries need a rich, mellow soil. The plants may be set either in the spring or fall, though the spring is generally preferred by experienced strawberry growers. Plants set in autumn will not come into bearing the next season unless they are pot-grown. These pot-grown plants are obtained by sinking small flower pots in the earth of the strawberry bed, into the contents of which the runners strike root and form plants. The roots of the plants are not disturbed by transplanting, and one whole season is gained. In setting out strawberry plants care needs to be observed that the crown is not buried. The holes should be large, so that the roots may be spread out in all directions. If set in rows two and a half feet apart, and a foot or so distant in the row, a horse and cultivator may be used to advantage in keeping down the weeds. After two or three full crops have been gathered from a bed the rows may be plowed up. Some growers gather only one crop, and reset the land. There are many methods of treatment. In the fall the strawberry bed should be covered with a mulch. The success of many cultivators of the strawberry is due, in great measure, to the protection of their plants in winter.

The insect enemies to the strawberry are numerous, not the least of which is the white grub, the larvæ of the May beetle or “June Bug,” the strawberry worm, the leaf-roller, crown borer, saw fly, and various cut worms. A rust sometimes attacks the plants and almost ruins them.

It is very difficult to indicate what are the best varieties of strawberries. Again referring to the chart in the last issue of the American Pomological Society, we find forty-one varieties there tabulated. Of these the Charles Downing and the Wilson take the lead, being suited to a wide range of climate, soil, and other conditions. The Downing is the type of excellence in flavor and other qualities, while the Wilson is a firm, sour, and very prolific berry well suited for the market garden. Among the other sorts worthy of attention, mentioned alphabetically, are: Crescent, Cumberland, Hovey, Kentucky, Manchester, miner’s prolific, Monarch, Sharpless, and triumphe de gand. A dozen or more new sorts appear each year, some of which may take their places among the time-tested sorts here mentioned. It may be that in a few years all of these old varieties will be superseded by new sorts, and the berries that we now eat with so much relish will seem poor by the contrast. Let the future be as it may, no one should neglect the culture of the kinds we now possess. A person with only a village half acre may grow his own berries of various sorts, and still have room for a few pear, apple, peach, and cherry trees.

Let us close this brief treatment of small fruits at the same place where Mr. Roe began his large, elegant and exhaustive book on the same subject, by quoting the following passage from his “Preliminary Parley:” “Many think of the soil only in connection with the sad words of the burial service, ‘earth to earth, ashes to ashes.’ Let us, while we may, gain more cheerful associations with our kindred dust. For a time it can be earth to strawberry blossoms, ashes to bright red berries, and their color will get into our cheeks, and their rich, sub-acid juices into our insipid lives, constituting a mental, moral and physical alteration that will so change us that we shall believe in evolution, and imagine ourselves fit for a higher state of existence. One may delve in the earth so long as to lose all dread at the thought of sleeping in it at last, and the luscious fruits and bright hued flowers that come out of it, in a way no one can find out, may teach our own resurrection more effectually than do the learned theologians.”

APPLES, PEACHES, BLACKBERRIES AND STRAWBERRIES.

“The liberal use of various fruits as food is conducive to good health. Fruit is not a solid and lasting element like beef and bread, and does not give strength to any great extent. But fruits contain those acids which refresh and give tone to the system during the season when it is most needed. They should never be eaten unless thoroughly ripe, or cooked. Stale fruits, or those that have been plucked some time, are unhealthy in the extreme. The proper time to eat fruit is in the morning and early afternoon. At night it is ‘leaden,’ according to the Spanish, who call fruit ‘golden in the morning and silver at noon.’” These words of general advice fitly introduce our “apples, peaches, strawberries, and blackberries,” for whose use, fresh and uncooked, we would strongly plead.

Ripe Fruit.—Wash and polish apples with a clean towel, and pile in a china fruit basket, with an eye to agreeable variety of color. Of peaches and pears the finest should be selected, handling as little as may be, and pile upon a salver or flat dish, with bits of ice between them, and ornament with peach leaves or fennel sprigs. One of the prettiest dishes of fruit I ever saw upon a dessert table was an open silver basket, wide at the top, heaped with rich red peaches and yellow Bartlett pears, interspersed with feathery bunches of green, which few of those who admired it knew for carrot tops. Wild white clematis wreathed the handle and showed here and there among the fruit, while scarlet and white verbenas nestled amid the green. Send around powdered sugar with the fruit, as many like to dip peaches and pears in it after paring and quartering them.

Never wash strawberries or raspberries that are intended to be eaten as fresh fruit. If they are so gritty as to require this process keep them off the table. You will certainly ruin the flavor beyond repair if you wash them, and as certainly induce instant fermentation and endanger the coats of the eaters’ stomachs, if, after profaning the exquisite delicacy of the fruit to this extent, you complete the evil work by covering them with sugar, and leaving them to leak their lives sourly away for one or two hours. Put them on the table in glass dishes, piling them high and lightly; send around powdered sugar with them and cream, that the guests may help themselves. It is not economical, perhaps, but it is a healthful and pleasant style of serving them—I had almost said the only decent one. “But I don’t know who picked them,” cries Mrs. Fussy.

No, my dear madame! nor do you know who makes the baker’s bread, or confectioner’s cake, creams, jellies, salads, etc. Nor, for that matter, how the flour is manufactured out of which you conjure your dainty biscuits and pies. I know God made strawberries. “Doubtless,” says Bishop Butler, “he could have made a better berry, but he never did.” The picker’s light touch can not mar flavor or beauty, nor, were her fingers filthy as a chimney sweep’s, could the delicate fruit suffer from them as from your barbarous baptism.—Marion Harland in “Common Sense in the Household.”

Puddings and Pies.—Apple Dumplings.—Make a crust as for biscuit, or a potato crust, as follows: Three large potatoes boiled and mashed while hot. Add to them two cups of sifted flour and one teaspoonful of salt, and mix thoroughly. Now chop or cut into it one small cup of butter, and mix into a paste with about a teacupful of cold water. Dredge the board thick with flour, and roll out—thick in the middle and thin at the edges. A thick pudding-cloth—the best being made of Canton flannel, used with the nap-side out—should be dipped in hot water and wrung out, dredged evenly and thickly with flour, and laid over a large bowl. Upon the middle of this place the rolled-out crust, fill with apples pared and quartered, eight or ten good-sized ones being enough for this amount of crust. Gather the edges of the crust evenly over it. Then gather the cloth up, leaving room for the dumpling to swell, and tying very tightly. In turning out, lift to a dish, press all the water from the ends of the cloth; untie and turn away from the pudding, and lay a hot dish upon it, turning over the pudding into it, and serving at once, as it darkens or falls by standing. In using a boiler, butter well, and fill only two-thirds full, that the mixture may have room to swell. Set it in boiling water, and see that it is kept at the same height, about an inch from the top. Cover the outer kettle, that the steam may be kept in. Peaches pared and halved, or canned ones drained from the syrup, may be used instead of the apples. When canned fruit is used the syrup can be used as a sauce, either cold for cold puddings and blancmanges, or heated and thickened for hot, allowing to a pint of juice a heaping teaspoonful of corn starch, dissolved in a little cold water, and boiling it five minutes. Strawberry or raspberry syrup is especially nice.

Bread and Apple Pudding.—Butter a deep pudding dish and put first a layer of crumbs, then one of any good acid apple, sliced rather thin, and so on until the dish is nearly full. Six or eight apples and a quart of fresh crumbs will fill a two-quart dish. Dissolve a cup of sugar and one teaspoonful of cinnamon in one pint of boiling water and pour into the dish. Let the pudding stand half an hour to swell; then bake until brown—about three-quarters of an hour—and eat with liquid sauce. It can be made with slices of bread and butter instead of crumbs.

Short-Cake.—One quart of flour, one teaspoonful of salt and two of baking powder sifted with the flour, one cup of butter, or half lard and half butter, one large cup of hot milk. Rub the butter into the flour; add the milk and roll out the dough, cutting in small square cakes and baking to a light brown. For a strawberry or peach short-cake have three tin pie-plates buttered; roll the dough to fit them, and bake quickly. Fill either, when done, with a cup of sugar, or with peaches cut fine and sugared, and served hot.

Pies—Apple, Peach, and Berry.—In the first place, don’t make them except very semi-occasionally. Pastry, even when good, is so indigestible that children should never have it, and their elders but seldom. A nice short-cake, filled with stewed fruit, or with fresh berries, mashed and sweetened, is quite as agreeable to eat and far more wholesome. But, as people will both make and eat pie-crust, the best rules known are given. Butter, being more wholesome than lard, should always be used if it can be afforded. A mixture of lard and butter is next best. For a plain pie-crust, take: One quart of flour, one even teacup of lard and one of butter, one teacup of ice water or very cold water, and a teaspoonful of salt. Rub the lard and salt into the flour till it is dry and crumbly, add the ice water and work to a smooth dough. Wash the butter and have it cold and firm as possible, divide it in three parts. Roll out the paste and dot it all over with bits from one part of the butter, sprinkle with flour and roll up. Roll out and repeat until the butter is gone. If the crust can now stand on the ice for half an hour it will be nicer and more flaky. This amount will make three good-sized pies. Enough for the bottom crusts can be taken off after one rolling in of butter, thus making the top crust richer. Lard alone will make a tender, but not a flaky, paste.

For puff paste there is required one pound of flour, three quarters of a pound of butter, one teacupful of ice water, one teaspoonful of salt, one of sugar, and yolk of one egg. Wash the butter, divide into three parts, reserving a bit the size of an egg, and put it on the ice for an hour. Rub the bit of butter, the salt, and sugar, into the flour, and stir in the ice water and egg beaten together. Make into a dough and knead on the moulding-board till glossy and firm—at least ten minutes will be required. Roll out into a sheet ten or twelve inches square. Cut a cake of the ice-cold butter in thin slices, or flatten it very thin with the rolling-pin. Lay it on the paste, sprinkle with flour, and fold over the edges. Press it in somewhat with the rolling-pin and roll out again. Always roll from you. Do this again and again until the butter is all used, rolling up the paste after the last cake is in, and then putting it on the ice for an hour or more. Have filling all ready, and let the paste be as nearly ice-cold as possible when it goes into the oven. There are much more elaborate rules, but this insures handsome paste. Make a plainer one for the bottom crusts. Cover puff paste with a damp cloth and it may be kept on the ice a day or two before baking.

Apple Pie.—Line a pie-plate with plain paste. Pare sour apples—greenings are best—quarter and cut in thin slices. Allow one cup of sugar, and quarter of a grated nutmeg mixed with it. Fill the pie-plate heaping full of the sliced apple, sprinkling the sugar between the layers. It will require not less than six good-sized apples. Wet the edges of the pie with cold water, lay on the cover and press down securely, that no juice may escape. Bake three-quarters of an hour, or a little less if the apples are very tender. No pie in which the apples are stewed beforehand can compare with this in flavor. If they are used stew till tender and strain. Sweeten and flavor to taste. Fill the pies and bake half an hour.

Berry Pies.—Have a very deep plate, and either no under crust, save a rim, or a very thin one. Allow a cup of sugar to a quart of fruit, but no spices. Prick the upper crust half a dozen times with a fork, to let out the steam.—Helen Campbell, in “The Easiest Way in Housekeeping and Cooking.”

Apple Méringue Pies.—Stew and sweeten ripe, juicy apples, when you have pared and sliced them. Mash smooth and season with nutmeg. If you like the flavor, stew some lemon peel with the apple, and remove when cold. Fill your crust and bake until just done. Spread over the apple a thick méringue,[1] made by whipping to a stiff froth the whites of three eggs for each pie, sweetening with a tablespoonful of powdered sugar for each egg. Flavor this with rose-water or vanilla; beat until it will stand alone, and cover the pie three-quarters of an inch thick. Set back in the oven until the méringue is well “set.” Should it color too darkly, sift powdered sugar over it when cold. Eat cold. Peach pies are even more delicious made in this manner.

Apple Snow requires six apples, whites of two eggs and three tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar. Peel and grate the apples into the whites, which must have been whipped to a stiff froth. Beat in the sugar with a few light sweeps of the egg; whip and set in a cold place until wanted. Eat with crackers or cake.—Marion Harland.

Apple Fritters.—Pare some fine apples, and with an apple-corer cut out the core from the center of each; now cut them across in slices, about one-third of an inch thick, having the round opening in the center, dip these in a fritter batter and fry in boiling lard; sprinkle over sugar. Fresh or canned peaches may be used in the same way.—Mrs. Henderson, in “Practical Cooking.”

Putting Up Fruit.—One of the most satisfactory operations which is carried on in the household is the annual putting up of fruit. To be sure, it has its disadvantages, like everything else. The fruit generally gets ripe a week or two earlier than you expect it will, and is brought to you on a day for which you have planned other work; but, after all, there is to the well-regulated mind a rare pleasure in being confronted with a basket of luscious fruit which may be preserved for enjoyment in the winter; and I maintain that the pleasure we receive in midwinter from a dish of peaches, cherries, or plums on the table is not wholly of the senses, but the mind itself enjoys the contrasting picture which inevitably comes before it. Something of the brightness of the long summer days in which it grew and ripened is felt again, and just as chopped pickle in June will suggest a November day when the tomatoes no longer ripen, the cucumbers have gone to seed, and the frost has covered the tangled vines in the garden with a fairy-like network, so red raspberries and pears in December and March minister to other wants than those of the palate. Half the trouble of putting up fruit—the broken cans, the scalded fingers and stained dresses—might be done away with if a woman could enter upon the work in the right spirit. If, instead of complaining in May because the trees are full of blossoms, and exhausting ourselves mentally by putting up the fruit and having it spoil long before it is ripe, we were to refrain from asking if we shall live to eat it or to see it eaten, we should accomplish something really great in preserving our peace of mind as well as our fruit. It is a simple matter also, if entered into with calm cheerfulness, to look over and can the fruit. After the fruit has been carefully examined, set it in a cool room or into the refrigerator, while you examine your cans. It is well to have some new rubber rings on hand, as you may need them; have also a cup of flour paste ready; then if the zinc rings or covers are bent a little, you may still make them air-tight with the paste. If you are at all doubtful about the condition of your cans, use the paste. In a long experience of putting up fruit I have never broken but one can, and that was on account of carelessness in rinsing it in too hot water. I rinse the can in warm water, then set it in a two-quart basin with a little water in it, set it on the stove beside my porcelain kettle, fill the can with boiling fruit, and seal up as quickly as may be. One thing which should be carefully avoided is too much boiling of the fruit after the sugar is put with it. The injury which boiling does is not by any means well understood by many good cooks. Last year I gave up all the care of putting up fruit and pickles to a competent and honest girl; but, by her not knowing that sugar, when boiled, actually changes its nature, and loses much of its sweetness, she used more than twice the quantity which I have used this year, and then the fruit was not so sweet as it ought to be. (When making syrup to eat on hot cakes bear this in mind: after the sugar is dissolved let it come to a boil, but do not boil it.)

Peaches.—If possible, pare and cut up your peaches the afternoon before they are to be canned, and scatter sugar over them. In the morning there will be syrup enough to cook them in. Put this syrup into your porcelain kettle—if you have one, if not, into a bright tin pan; cook a few peaches at a time, try them with a broom-splint; just before they are done add the necessary quantity of sugar. Some housekeepers make a practice of putting one whole peach into a can, to give the almond flavor of the stone to the whole can. You can not, of course, guess at just the number of halves or quarters needed to fill the can; if you have too many pieces, and are afraid of their cooking too much, take them out carefully on a plate and, after cooking others for the next canful, add to them. By cooking a few at a time you can preserve the shape and have much finer results than if you cook a great many at a time.

Quinces and Sweet Apples.—Prepare the quinces and apples as for canning. Steam them in the same way, having about one-third as many quinces as apples. Make a very sweet syrup, as they will keep better with plenty of sugar. These may be canned or kept in a large stone jar.—Emma Whitcomb Babcock, in “Household Hints.”

Preserves.—Preserves are scarcely needed if canning is nicely done. They require much more trouble, and are too rich for ordinary use, a pound of sugar to one of fruit being required. If made at all, the fruit must be very fresh, and the syrup perfectly clear. For syrup allow one teacup of cold water to every pound of sugar, and, as it heats, add to every three or four pounds the white of an egg. Skim very carefully, boiling till no more rises, and it is ready for use. Peaches, pears, green gages, cherries, and crab-apples are all preserved alike. Peel, stone, and halve peaches, and boil only a few pieces at a time till clear. Peel, core, and halve pears. Prick plums and gages several times. Core crab-apples, and cut half the stem from cherries. Cook till tender. Put up when cold in small jars, and paste paper over them.

Jams.—Make syrup as directed above. Use raspberries, strawberries, or any small fruit, and boil for half an hour. Put up in small jars or tumblers; lay papers dipped in brandy on the fruit, and paste on covers, or use patent jelly-glasses.

Marmalade.—Quinces make the best; but crab-apples or any sour apple are also good. Poor quinces, unfit for other use, can be washed and cut in small pieces, coring, but not paring them. Allow three-quarters of a pound of sugar and a teacupful of water to a pound of fruit, and boil slowly two hours, stirring, and mashing it fine. Strain through a colander, and put up in glasses or bowls. Peach marmalade is made in the same way.

Fruit Jellies.—Crab-apple, quince, grape, etc., are all made in the same way. Allow a teacup of water to a pound of fruit; boil till very tender; then strain through a cloth, and treat as currant jelly. Cherries will not jelly without gelatine, and grapes are sometimes troublesome. Where gelatine is needed, allow a package to two quarts of juice.

Candied Fruits.—Make a syrup as for preserves, and boil any fruit, prepared as directed, until tender. Let them stand two days in the syrup. Take out; drain carefully; lay them on plates; sift sugar over them, and dry either in the sun or in a moderately warm oven.—Helen Campbell, in “The Easiest Way in Housekeeping and Cooking.”

HOME STUDIES IN CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS.

BY PROF. J. T. EDWARDS, D.D.
Director of the Chautauqua School of Experimental Science.

AIR.—PHYSICAL PROPERTIES.

To make the weight for the winds.—Job xxviii:25.

One day an old Florentine pump-maker came to Galileo[1] to inquire why he could not make a pump work effectively when it was more than thirty-four feet long. The philosopher could not answer, nor did he solve the problem during his lifetime, but bequeathed it to his pupil, Torricelli.[2] This famous Italian succeeded in partially answering the question in 1643. He performed the following experiment: Taking a glass tube thirty-six inches long and one-fourth of an inch in diameter, closed at one end, he filled it with mercury, and holding his finger over the open end, inverted and placed it in a cup of mercury, then removing his finger, discovered that the quicksilver settled in the tube six inches, leaving a column of the shining metal thirty inches high. He thus demonstrated that air has weight, equal to that of a column of mercury thirty inches in height.

On this supposition it was argued that if the whole height of the air should be lessened the column would fall. Such was the opinion of Blaise Pascal,[3] who in 1646 requested M. Périer, his brother-in-law, to ascend the Puy de Dome, a summit near Clermont, and repeat the experiment of Torricelli. To his delight, upon reaching the top of the mountain, the column stood three inches lower. Pascal then used a tube fifty feet long, which he filled with water, and found that this liquid could be supported by the air to the height of thirty-four feet. Water is 13.6 lighter than mercury, and it will be observed from the foregoing statement, that it was supported 13.6 higher than quicksilver. Here was a full answer to the pump-maker’s query! A column of water, thirty-four feet long and one square inch at the base, weighs fifteen pounds. A column of mercury, thirty inches long and one square inch at the base, weighs fifteen pounds. A column of air the whole height of the atmosphere, one square inch at the base, weighs fifteen pounds.

Any influence, therefore, which varies the weight of the air, will vary the height of a column of quicksilver; and the reverse will of course be true, that any fluctuation in the column of mercury indicates a change in the condition of the atmosphere. Thus, a “falling barometer” predicts foul weather, for it shows that the air is becoming lighter, and will therefore rise, while other air will rush in, with varying speed, to take its place, producing breezes, gales, and possibly tornadoes. The warm air rising may come in contact with a cold stratum above and its moisture be condensed into rain or snow. We shall presently refer to this again.

SHOWING DENSITY OF ATMOSPHERE AT DIFFERENT HEIGHTS.

A quart of air, at ordinary temperature, weighs about eight hundred times less than a quart of water, yet the aggregate pressure of the atmosphere is equal to fifteen pounds on every square inch. A person of average size presents a surface of about two thousand square inches. This would receive a pressure of fifteen tons, a weight more crushing than that of all the shields cast upon the traitorous Tarpeia[4] at the Roman gate.

Herschel calculates that the total weight of the atmosphere is one twelve-hundred-thousandth of that of the earth.

Why does not such enormous pressure destroy life? Because it is counterbalanced by the pressure of air, gases and blood within the body. That this is true may readily be seen in the process of dry-cupping. Bare the arm, take a bit of writing paper an inch and a half long, dip it in alcohol, light, and instantly place in a small wine glass, and at once apply the glass to the soft part of the arm. The flesh under the glass will rise like a pin-cushion, and become red from the pressure of the blood within. Persons going down in diving-bells suffer from the condensation of the air in the bell, while on a high mountain they experience a pressure in the opposite direction, on account of the rarefaction of the atmosphere, the blood often gushing from the nose and ears.

We shall better understand the phenomena of the air by first considering some of its distinctive properties.

MAGDEBURG HEMISPHERES.

AIR PRESSES EQUALLY IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

This great principle, which applies to all gases as well as to fluids, has many illustrations in nature. The haliotis[5] is held to the rock with a tenacity which sometimes resists the strength of the collector, who would add its iridescent beauty to his cabinet of shells.

Alas for the fisherman’s line whose bait has been swallowed by a skate![6] Quickly descending to the bottom, this broad, flat fish expels the air from beneath it, and defies all effort at capture.

The most complete demonstration of this law is shown by the Magdeburg hemispheres,[7] invented by Otto von Güricke[8] and used by him before Charles V. and his brilliant court. They are still preserved in the ancient city which gave them their name, are twenty-four inches in diameter, and after the air in them had been removed, required twelve horses to separate them.

The pressure of the air varies greatly at different altitudes. At the height of three and one-half miles the column of mercury in a barometer falls to fifteen inches, showing that below that elevation we have as much air as in all the space above.

SHOWING TORRICELLI’S HISTORICAL EXPERIMENT AND THE PRINCIPLE OF THE BAROMETER.

The boiling point of liquids is materially influenced by the pressure of the atmosphere. On high mountains potatoes and even eggs can not be cooked by boiling, as the water will all evaporate before it is heated sufficiently to cook them.

Partially fill a glass flask with water, heat it until steam begins to escape, then remove the lamp and insert a stopper, the boiling will cease. Now pour cold water upon the flask, and the water within begins again to boil vigorously. The cold water condenses the steam, creating a partial vacuum, thus relieving the heated water from pressure, and it boils at a lower temperature than 212°. This illustrates the famous culinary paradox that “cold water will make hot water boil.”

The buoyancy of substances in air depends upon the same principle that determines their buoyancy in liquids. It will be proportioned to the amount of air which they displace.

It is correct to say that a balloon rises because the air is heavier, and therefore pushes under the balloon and forces it up; or, that it rises because it displaces more than its own weight of air. Thistle-down may be compressed so that it will fall like shot. The resistance offered by the air to the fall of bodies led men long to hold to the fallacy that the rapidity of the descent of falling bodies was proportioned to their weight. This error was at length exploded by Galileo in his interesting experiment on the leaning tower of Pisa.[9] In a vacuum, a cannon ball and a feather fall in the same time.

AIR PUMP.

COMPRESSIBILITY.

The statement that air can be expanded involves the counter-truth that it may be compressed.

Mariotte[10] announces the law as follows: Doubling the pressure upon a given amount of gas will halve the space it occupies, and double its expansive energy. The application of this principle in one form gives us the air-gun.[11] If the air in a gun-barrel forty inches long were compressed into the space of half an inch it would press with eighty times its previous force, or with a power equal to twelve hundred pounds to the square inch. Compressed air is often used as a power in mines and excavations, and its advantages are many; it was so employed in the Hoosac tunnel. Though the engine that compressed the air was three miles away, the loss from friction was very slight, and the air, having performed its work in driving the drill, was then liberated to purify the atmosphere of the tunnel and expel noxious gases which accumulated from continuous blasting. The apparatus for compressing air is called a condenser. It consists essentially of a cylinder and piston, with a valve in the bottom of each, opening downward. A precisely opposite arrangement of valves is found in the air-pump, a machine for exhausting air from a given space, usually a receiver. As the piston is raised in removing the air, the valve closes, and the air is thus forced out of the cylinder; the air in the receiver then expands, opens the valve at the bottom of the cylinder, and rises into it; as the piston descends its valve is opened; rising, it again removes the cylinder full of air; the air in the receiver again expands, opens the lower valve, and so continues, until the air in the vessel becomes too much rarefied to lift the delicate valve and make its escape. The vacuum thus produced is by no means so perfect as the “Torricellian vacuum,”[12] the name given to the unoccupied space above the column of mercury in a barometer.

Various substances may be placed in a receiver to show the expansive tendency of air. A piece of wood immersed in a jar of water will throw off thousands of little bubbles. A shriveled apple will become round and plump. The air in an empty rubber bag will often expand so as to fill the receiver. Air in a thin glass vessel, tightly corked, will expand so as to burst the vessel into fragments.

The following simple but useful piece of apparatus can easily be made: Take a pint bottle with a nicely fitted cork, through the cork insert a small glass tube so as to be perfectly air-tight (melted sealing wax is convenient for making tubes or glass tight;) a perforated rubber stopper is better. Let the end of the tube inserted be drawn out in the flame of an alcohol lamp (this is not essential, but will make the experiments more interesting), suck the air from the bottle, close the end of the tube at once with the finger and place it in a glass of water, and a miniature fountain, in vacuo, will be revealed. After performing this pretty experiment remove the tube and reinsert it with the larger end down, having filled the bottle two-thirds full of water. With the lips force a quantity of air into the bottle, upon removing the mouth the water will rise in the tube and fall in a fine spray from the small aperture at the top. This last experiment is particularly interesting, as it is a perfect illustration of a flowing oil well. Closely allied to the expansibility of air is its

ELASTICITY,

Or tendency to regain its former volume after being compressed. Many a school-boy has observed this property, while manipulating his fascinating popgun. When he places his finger over the open end of the piece of elder, utilized as a gun, and suddenly pushes down the piston upon the wad, he notices that it quickly flies back. An inflated bladder thrown upon the floor bounds like a rubber ball; force pumps in our houses act upon this principle. The air in the chamber of the pump is first compressed by the entrance of the water; it reacts like a spring, and forces the water through the pipes to the rooms above.

EXPANDING RUBBER BAG IN AN EXHAUSTED RECEIVER.

The hydraulic ram is another application of the same principle. Perhaps the reader may know some place where this apparatus can be used. Let us briefly describe the conditions of its operation. Near your house, at a lower elevation, may be a beautiful spring, so situated that, within the distance of about seventy feet, a fall of from five to ten feet can be obtained. Now run a large pipe from the spring to the spot where the ram is to be placed, below the level of the spring. The ram is a pear-shaped, cast iron cylinder, open at the small end, at which point a valve is placed, opening upward. The pipe coming from the spring is screwed into the bottom of the ram below this valve, in such a manner as to conduct the water past the valve, and out through an opening beyond. At this point, however, is placed a metallic valve, against which, as the water escapes, it continues to crowd. Presently the rushing stream obtains sufficient momentum to close this valve, and thus prevent for a moment its further escape. The accumulated force of the water then raises the valve in the bottom of the ram and it rises into the chamber, which is partially filled with air. This air is compressed, but on account of its elasticity at once reacts upon the water and forces it through another pipe to the required height. Only about one-eighth of the water is sent through the last pipe, as seven-eighths of it is required to force the remainder to the desired elevation. I have a great respect for this useful apparatus, the invention of the elder Montgolfier.[13] I know of one hydraulic ram which for fifteen years has raised, through a pipe twenty-two hundred feet long, to an elevation of seventy-five feet, an average of twenty-four barrels of water daily. Its total cost for repairs has not exceeded twenty-five dollars, and yet it has done every day the work of four men. If men had been hired to do this labor at $1.50 per day each, their wages would have amounted to the snug sum of $32,850.

A FOUNTAIN MADE BY COMPRESSING AIR IN A BOTTLE.

Atmospheric pressure is employed in many of our cities to convey packages from one part of a building to another, and to even greater distances. This “Pneumatic Dispatch”[14] system, as it is called, was first tried successfully in Paris, in 1865. A company was then established, which now claims to send eight hundred and thirty packages daily. In our own country this curious appliance may be seen in operation at the United States Express office in New York City, in the mammoth establishment of Mr. Wanamaker, in Philadelphia, and doubtless in many other places. For many years attempts have been made to propel cars by compressed air, but as yet the expense of such a plan greatly exceeds that of steam.

LIGHT.

Among the most gracious and beautiful offices performed by the atmosphere is the reflection and refraction of light. The blue dome of the sky, the magnificent coloring of the clouds, and all the delicate and ever varying tints of the morning and evening twilight are due to its influence. Without the air we should be in complete darkness until the sun rose, a fiery ball, above the horizon. All day long the only light we should receive would come directly from the sun, or be reflected from objects on the earth. At sunset, darkness would instantly be spread over us like a pall. No gentle gradations of light and deepening shade would usher in and close the day.

All must have observed during the past year the remarkable appearance of the western sky after the sun had set. Cities were more than once supposed to be burning, reflecting their lurid blaze upon the clouds. The cause of this is still a matter of dispute, but is generally attributed to the presence of star dust, or some minute mineral matter suspended in the higher atmosphere.

It will be remembered that color is not an inherent property of a substance, but depends upon what portion of the light rays it absorbs. Snow is white, as it absorbs none of the prismatic colors, but reflects them all to the eye. Whatever, then, varies the absorbing or reflecting power of an object varies its tints. Thus, objects seen on the horizon are red, because the dense atmosphere has turned aside the violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow and orange, and only the red color reaches the eye.

Observe that the initial letter of the prismatic colors taken in their order make the word “vibgyor.”

Again, were there no atmosphere, there could be no

CLOUDS NOR RAIN.

The moon is destitute of these, or at least that half of it which is always turned toward us. The most powerful telescopes can detect there the presence of neither atmosphere nor cloud.

A most remarkable proof of divine wisdom can be seen in the nice adjustment by which the pressure of the air prevents undue evaporation from the lakes and seas, and at the same time furnishes the medium by which moisture is conveyed to the remotest parts of the earth. The fact that water, in the form of mist or clouds, should float, and not fall in a substance many times lighter than itself, is one of the most wonderful of nature’s phenomena. When shot are dropped into water, we expect that they will sink; yet lead is but eleven times heavier than water, while water is eight hundred times heavier than air.

The following seems to be the most satisfactory explanation of the matter: It is a well known fact that the air has the power to absorb and hold, in an invisible form, a certain amount of moisture. The quantity which it can contain depends upon its temperature. If the air is cooled, it parts with a portion; thus if the grass radiates its heat, dew is deposited upon it; if it is very cold, the frost covers it with sparkling crystals. It is thought that when cooling from any cause takes place in higher altitudes, the atmospheric moisture changes from the invisible to the visible form, and assumes the physical condition of spheroids or vesicles, minute bubbles of water in point of fact, each bubble filled with air. These bubbles, heated by the sun’s rays, would become lighter than the medium in which they float, for the same reason that soap bubbles float while they are warm. In this condition they are drifted along by currents until they reach a colder stratum of air, when they are condensed and fall as rain. If cooled sufficiently, snow would be formed.

Cloud forms are four in number, cirrus, cumulus, nimbus, and stratus, all of which may sometimes be seen at once, in the sky of a summer’s day. At times they float above the loftiest mountains. Gay-Lussac,[15] rising in his balloon to an elevation of 21,600 feet, perceived clouds drifting far above him.

AIR CURRENTS—SHOWING THE PRINCIPLE ON WHICH MINES ARE OFTEN VENTILATED.

The work performed by the atmosphere in supplying water to the soil is worthy of profound attention. Close observation shows that it varies in amount, year by year, much less than one would suppose. For example, the average yearly rain-fall in western New York, for the last thirteen years, has been thirty-six inches. Contrary to the general impression, the record shows a slight yearly increase in the amount. While this is true, the quantity of water carried down by our rivers is constantly diminishing. All must have observed the lessening size of our streams. Many a mill has ceased to run from lack of its former supply of water. This has resulted from the destruction of forests, and clearing of land, which have greatly increased evaporation of moisture from the soil. So grave a matter has this become, that it is attracting the attention of governments, because of its relation to agriculture and the navigation of rivers.

One can have but little idea, unless he carefully calculates it, of the inestimable blessings conferred by the atmosphere upon man, in furnishing to the soil its supply of water.

MR. THOUGHTFUL THANKFUL,

Being disposed properly to acknowledge the care of a kind Providence, in carrying on the work of his farm, one day sat down to figure out the value of a recent shower, which had refreshed his crops. The leaves of his corn had begun to curl, the oats and wheat were growing prematurely yellow, a few more days of the scorching heat and drouth would have made his harvests a failure, but to his great relief a plenteous shower fell. The rain gauge showed half an inch of water. Mr. Thankful took out his pencil and, after careful mathematical calculations, arrived at this astounding conclusion: An unseen hand had conveyed from a remote distance, and deposited upon every acre of his little farm, more than fifty-six tons of water. He owns a hundred acres. There must therefore have been scattered upon the entire farm over 5,600 tons of rain, an amount so large that if he had been compelled to pay for its transportation it would have required more than all the income of his farm.

MAKING WATER BOIL BY APPLYING COLD WATER.

SOUND.

Our atmosphere is the medium of sound. Upon lofty mountains its vibrations become faint, while in a vacuum all sound ceases. The world of music, with which we are surrounded, were the air removed, would become forever silent. No song of birds, no murmur of the brook, no sighing of the trees, no thunder of the cataract, no grand diapason of the sea, no sweet voice of friendship, no thrilling words of love could ever again fall upon human ear. Gather together in one heap of useless rubbish (for they will never more be needed), harp, lyre, flute, flageolet, violin and guitar, piano and organ. Even that harp of three thousand strings, which the divine hand has placed in the human ear, shall not again vibrate to the delicate touch of nature’s hand.

ELECTRICITY AND METEORS.

We will close our present article by mentioning two other interesting atmospheric phenomena.

Dr. Franklin proved that lightning and electricity are identical. This wonderful agent manifests itself in a variety of ways. The zigzag track of light across the darkened sky, with its accompanying crash, is one of nature’s exhibitions of tremendous power. The irregularity of its path is due to the resistance of the air, compressed by the electric motion. The beautiful illumination called heat or sheet lightning, is caused by the reflection of the electric flash, at a great distance from the observer.

A very curious form of electricity is that known as St. Elmo’s fire, which appears as a glowing ball, often poising itself on the spars of ships, to the great consternation of superstitious sailors.

Judge Dana, in his admirable book, “Two Years Before the Mast,” more than once alludes to the sensation caused by these weird visitors, as they rounded stormy Cape Horn.

The northern lights, or aurora borealis, with their throbbing, shifting, crimson and purple tints, sometimes called “the merry dancers,” are supposed to be produced by the discharge of electricity in high altitudes and in rarefied air. All around us there is slumbering this power, which science may some day awaken to do the common work of the world.

Meteors, or “shooting stars,” as they are often incorrectly called, are small bodies, often not larger than grains of sand, which rush into our atmosphere at a speed equal to the earth’s motion, eleven hundred miles a minute, and by friction are set on fire, and blaze for a moment in the sky. Lockyer[16] says that seven millions of these, visible to the naked eye, traverse our atmosphere in a single day, and that a powerful telescope would reveal in the same time not less than four hundred millions.

Once in thirty-three years an astonishing display of these celestial fireworks takes place. The last was in 1866. At that time these bodies chanced to cross the track of the earth’s orbit, and were thus brought into collision with it. The largest of them, called meteorites, sometimes pass through the atmosphere unconsumed and reach the earth. They have been known to kill both men and cattle.

In 1866 one thousand of these stones, the largest weighing six hundred pounds, fell in Hungary.

It is very incorrect to call these flashing bodies in the air shooting stars, for they are extremely minute in size, while stars are vast suns; again, in point of distance, they are different, being near at hand, while the latter are millions of miles away. It would be difficult to find an instance in which language can convey a greater error than this phrase, which constantly implies that vast worlds, by thousands, are flying hither and thither, like sky-rockets. Often a single glance at the sky on a clear night, would show how unsafe this world would be as the object of such tremendous cannonading.

End of Required Reading for January.

THE HOMELIKE HOUSE.

BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.

CHAPTER I.—THE HALL.

In studying how to make home beautiful, we must not forget that, first of all, there must be a home; and that in a true home, the household, and not the house, is of primary importance. We have all seen careful housekeepers whose first and last thought was to keep their domains with absolute neatness, and whose domestic law was of Median and Persian inflexibility. Overshoes must be left here; slippers must be put on there; the front stair-carpet must only be trodden by the visitor’s foot; the front door-latch must never be lifted by the children’s hand; curtains must be drawn close lest carpets fade; and autumn fires remain unlighted lest ashes fly. These were housekeepers, not home makers. The virtue of carefulness is a housewife’s glory; but when carried to an excess, it becomes a woman’s shame, leading her to imagine that meat is more than life, raiment than body, and house than man. Of the virtuous woman we read first: “She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness;” then that “she looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness;” after which it follows naturally that “her children rise up and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praiseth her;” but when the devil of neatness enters into a woman he defies family comfort, and banishes the angel of peace from the home. And yet comfort, important though its place may be in the home economy, is not to be the first aim. A wise critic says: “Every house should have in it that which tells of strength, and seems to favor self-sacrifice, simplicity, self-control. Nothing is finer in a house than a kind of subtle ubiquitous spirit, which asserts the superiority of the household, and tells you that they fear neither hunger nor cold, neither toil nor danger, and do not bow down, night and morning to the vulgar divinity, Comfort.” Not the house we live in, but the life we live in it is that on which the real beauty of home depends. In the House Beautiful, not Mr. Cook’s, nor Mrs. Allen’s, but in that incomparable House Beautiful which Bunyan has described for us, even there the boy Matthew fell sick from tampering with the fruit of Beelzebub’s garden. Compared with this soundness of inner life in the house, these questions of outer adornment, of taste, or expediency, or expense, are but unimportant matters, since no home can be truly beautiful that is tarnished by an unworthy life within its walls.

So much of preliminary statement must be pardoned me, because in the refined paganism of these days there seems to be a mania for magnifying the house we live in, and the highest religion of many a family is simply to make their home beautiful and attractive. It is better than no religion at all—but a higher religion teaches us to make the homes of the poor comfortable before—we make our own beautiful, shall I say? Not at all; but before we spend freely to gain this end. For the external beauty of home does not depend on the amount of money spent in its adornment. Money buys a great deal of clutter that had far better be left in the shops; money buys a vast amount of superfluous stuck-on ornaments, that were better left off, but money does not and can not buy good taste—an eye for color, thoughtful care for the general comfort, a quick wit, and common sense. Yet these are the safest and surest helps to the woman who aims to make her home attractive to the eye and restful to the body.

Let us enter the door of this woman’s house and see what she allows and what she disallows.

First, we notice that her entry and stairways are planned upon as liberal a scale as possible. That is but common sense, for furniture and trunks must go in and out, up and down, to say nothing of household and visitors, and the broader the entry way, the more hospitable and inviting it can be made with chairs, table and sofa. Modern builders have at last learned this, and they are giving us the old-fashioned hall again, with a corner or side fireplace, and, if possible, an outlook on the back garden. This hall is not kept too dark in winter, nor too light in summer. In cold weather we need cheerfulness, warmth, and light on entering the house. In summer we should step from the glare of a vertical sun and heat of the nineties, into a cool, refreshing shade, kept, of a purpose, darker than sitting-room, dining-room and kitchen, to prevent flies from swarming into the hall and up the stairway and becoming the pest of the morning sleeper. The back stairs also are closed, either above or below, so that premonitory hints of meals to come may not ascend to the bedrooms and go down the front stairs to guests in the parlor, thus proclaiming on the housetop what you whisper to your cook in the kitchen.

“Aim at a gold gown and you’ll get a sleeve,” says our grandmother’s proverb; so our wise woman knows what is best and aims for it, but contents herself with what she can get. For an American house, the best flooring, generally speaking, would be—for a vestibule—tiles of small pattern and modest color, such as yellow and brown, which would take no injury from muddy overshoes or dripping umbrellas; for the rest of the house hard wood floors (Southern pine is admirable), plain or very simply inlaid. Elaborate patterns in inlaid woods should be avoided, except in large rooms, and contrasts of colors, such as stripes of black walnut and hard pine, which make a narrow hallway look yet narrower; but a modest border might be inlaid around any room, hall, parlor, or bedroom with good effect, if desired, with a substantial oriental rug in the midst of it all. There can be nothing better than this.

But a cheap pine floor, if properly laid, can be stained and made to do good service, instead of hard wood, and a strip of cocoanut matting running the length of the hall is not to be despised; or, if cracks yawn too perceptibly to have the floor bare, it can be covered with a plain, self-colored drugget or carpet filling, or “two ply,” while a strip of bright carpet passes from the doorway up the stairs, and enlivens the hall. Or, simpler yet, the floor can be painted a serviceable yellow or gray, and a width of rag carpet can add warmth and color. There are pretty straw mattings in greens and reds and cream colors which, with the aid of rugs, serve admirably for floor coverings, but they are hardly durable enough for entry ways. Our wise woman bears in mind that a well-laid, hard wood floor will outlast many a drugget, or carpet, or coat of paint, or oil cloth, and she does up her hall floor, at first, in as durable a fashion as her purse will allow.

There is a certain fitness of things also to be observed. Good taste forbids her to step from an entry with stained or painted pine floor and rag carpet to a parlor with inlaid floors and Persian rugs. The rag carpet of the hall demands something correspondingly simple in the reception room; a floor stained or painted in the same fashion, or a straw matting, with perhaps a few breadths of “Morris” carpet, of warm color and quiet figure, sewed together to make a rug, and raveled at the ends for fringe.

As for walls, it is convenient to divide them with a chair rail or moulding of the same stuff as that used for mop-boards and door casings, fastened about four feet from the floor and running around the entry and up the side wall of the stairway. The wall below this moulding can be painted in oil a warm olive-brown or green, or a dull red, and, when so painted, can be washed like the woodwork.

A more expensive way would be to panel off this space with big cedar shingles of the sort that cost about $25 a thousand, provided the rest of the woodwork is repainted, or with wood corresponding with the finish of the room. Unpainted woodwork, even though made of soft pine, is far better from the housekeeper’s standpoint than that which is coated with paint. Pine, when oiled and varnished—not too heavily—assumes a rarely beautiful hue and shows the variety of its markings to very good effect. The wall space above could be papered with some figured pattern corresponding in color with that below the chair-rail, or dado, as it is called (if that is painted rather than paneled), but the wall-space should be of lighter tint than the dado, or it could be calcimined, or kalsomined, as they spell and pronounce it in New Jersey.

When paper is used, the pattern should not be so large as to make the room look small, nor so pronounced as to prevent the walls from serving as a fair back-ground for pictures and plants.

But suppose our prudent woman can afford neither chair-rail nor oil-painted dado, and yet would like to divide the wall space. Then let Mr. Kalsominer paint a dado of olive-brown or green, a wall space of much lighter shade, and a ceiling of cream color. He can also paint a band of dull red where the chair-rail should be, and then our wise woman, if she be also a woman of faculty, will take the little red paint pot into her own hand and will cut out of varnished paper some conventional leaf or flower, and using this as a stencil, with a stiff brush she will powder[A] this leaf or flower at regular intervals of about a foot all over the dado. Or, discarding the stencil, some simple arrangement of triple dots might be used that need only be indicated with a pencil point and then painted on, with a small brush, free hand. The kalsominer would double his prices if he did it, but the room will be twice as pretty if she does it herself. Or she may powder her lighter wall space with figures of the same dark shade as the dado, so harmonizing the upper and lower portions, while a yet darker brown line divides them. But the stenciling of a wall space requires too much step-ladder work for the ordinary woman. Last, and probably cheapest of all, she may use wall paper—the darkest shade below—of some stiff diaper or tile pattern, the lighter above, with border between; the ceiling being washed a lighter harmonizing color.

As to the furniture of the hall, it ought to begin outside the door, with a bench, or settle, or chair, at least, upon the piazza, or “stoop,” for any weary body to drop down upon while the door is undoing. A wide piazza gives room not only for a few chairs, and the picturesque and comfortable hammock, but for a table, as well, where the afternoon cup of tea can rest, or the work-basket with the weekly mending. A broad platform with awnings is a comfortable and picturesque addition to a house of plain and unattractive exterior. Happy and healthy are the households whose piazzas are their summer sitting-rooms.

The vestibule should have closets or some very plain and simple receptacle for umbrellas and India rubber shoes. In the hall proper comes up the vexed question of the hat tree. It is an ungainly, aggressive piece of furniture, and very cumbersome. If possible, let it be done away with. If there is a closet under the stairs for the family hats and coats, then the chance visitor can throw off his coat on the hall sofa or table. Hall chairs are useful, with a box seat holding whisk broom, hat brush, driving gloves, and things of that sort, and so is the table drawer; any of these contrivances are better than the hat tree, and so is a simple rail hidden away in some dark corner under the stairs, if there be no closet, with pegs attached for hats and coats. “There can be no reasonable law against making a hall chair both comfortable and suitable to its situation. The common Windsor high-backed arm-chair, made in the same wood as the table, and with a cushion covered with some bright colored material is well suited for this purpose; or a chair … with a high back and broad, low seat looks both severe enough to discourage unbecoming lounging, and yet sufficiently comfortable to secure a proper degree of rest for the weary.”

And where in the hall can hangings and stuffs be used to best advantage? Enter any house and look about for yourself. If the ground glass of the vestibule door be exposed and staring, the hall floor bare and cold, the hall chair hard and stiff, the doors to the reception or sitting-room all closed, rising black and grim before you, and the hall itself so dark that you can not see even where to lay down your companionable umbrella, does there not come over you a chill, as if you were being repelled by the spirit of inhospitality? The entrance hall gives you no hearty cheer of welcome. But warm up the floor with a rug, lay a restful and inviting cushion on the chair; open the door that leads to the room where the household gathers, or where your hostess is to receive you, or take it off the hinges bodily and lay it away, and hang instead a curtain that shall give a glimpse of the warmth and light within, while still shutting out the draught. Let soft silk or Madras muslin hang in full folds over the window in the door, and the stranger who enters no longer feels like a prisoner in Doubting Castle, whom Giant Despair has cast into a dungeon for trespassing on his grounds, but rather shall I not say, as if he had fallen upon the House Beautiful, built on purpose for the entertainment of pilgrims, where only the fair virgins Prudence, Piety and Charity would be his companions?

Just so inviting was the entrance to my wise woman’s house when I last visited her. It was a house with a door in the middle, the hall running through the entire depth. Midway, an arch curtained with Mexican blankets half screened the back hall, which served for the family music room. Facing the piano was a long, old-fashioned sofa, where the weary head of the house could lie and be rested by music from his daughter’s fingers or the voices of his children. This happy man, who had his quiver full of them, had one of those charming houses that grows with the household. Near the side entrance, what used to be a dining-room is now known as the coat room. I saw one side of the room literally lined with coats and wraps, hats and bonnets, depending from some hat rack arrangement of domestic manufacture. Boots, shoes, and galoches of all shapes and sizes stood in a suitable rack beneath. Guns and hunting gear, fishing rods and tackles, bows and arrows, grace hoops, battle-doors and shuttle-cocks, tennis rackets and croquet mallets and balls all found their appointed places here. Water and towels awaited the convenience of those who must make a partial toilet in haste. Even the shoe-blacking had its own corner. A book case on the wall held well thumbed grammars and geographies side by side with dictionaries, college text-books and a cook book or two; while before the fireplace that “filled the room on one side,” you might see a young Nimrod greasing his boots or polishing his gun; and later, the little folks popping corn, making caramels, or boiling taffy. When the wise woman, after looking well to the ways of her household, devises such liberal things as these in their behalf, no wonder her children rise up and call her blessed.

The room on which the average American housekeeper expends the most thought and pains is the parlor, as she calls it. The word parlor means, primarily, a room for conversation. Properly speaking, the room where members of the family gather that they may talk together, is the parlor (from the French parler), but somehow the word has been applied to “the best room of a house, kept for receiving company, as distinguished from the sitting room of the family.” We have an English word for that—drawing room—contracted from withdrawing room—a room appropriated for the reception of guests “to which a company withdraws from the dining room.” Since the household is more important than the house, the best of the house should be at the service of the household; hence whatever is most comfortable and cheerful should be in the parlor where the family congregate. If aside from the dining room and kitchen there is but one other room on the first floor, let that be the parlor for family use, the “living room,” unless there be a family sitting room on the second floor.

For people who entertain many guests the reception or withdrawing room is a necessity, and it is often convenient in city houses to have, in addition, a smaller room near the door, where the lady of the house can receive visitors without disturbing the family party or the friends whom she may be entertaining in the drawing room.

There is never need of saying to an American housewife, let the room where you receive your friends be as handsome as may be. I would rather say let it be as comfortable as you know how to make it. Do not keep it dark and unwholesome, stuffy and shut up. If your economical soul refuses to expose its treasures always to the light of day, at least do your best to make the room look habitable, and as if it were put into daily use. What can be more embarrassing to a guest than to be ushered into a dark room, cold and repellent in winter, close and stifling in summer, there to wait drearily till the mistress of the house has donned her good clothes and is ready to push back the shutter or raise the curtain that she may have light enough to recognize her guest?

Our English sisters set us a good example in this respect. Their drawing rooms are made comfortable, with easy chairs strong enough to hold a man’s weight, with tables conveniently placed, with books here and an embroidery frame there, and a lady’s work basket near at hand, not at all too fine for daily use. I have seen an American lady hustle her work basket out of the room when the door-bell rang, hide her thimble in her pocket, and assume an air of elegant idleness and leisure, as if she were ashamed to be caught needle in hand. Her English sister, better bred, would lay down her work to welcome her guest, and resume it again, as a matter of course, to set her visitor at ease.

A marble-topped center table is not essential to a drawing room; nor are a photograph album and illustrated books essential ornaments of the center table. The morning papers, the last number of The Century, and a readable book are more attractive ornaments than the most costly album, though filled with pictures of all the celebrities you have ever seen. I would have a book case, at least a book-shelf, in every room in the house—I have three in my hall, even—and the reception room surely is no exception to the rule. Let there be books at hand for the entertainment of guests, and let there be every facility possible for rendering the room light enough to read or to sew. In a large room there should be more than one table, and student lamps in abundance where there is no gas. Where gas is burned there should still be lamps or drop-lights on the tables. Parsimony in lamp-light is as bad as parsimony in fuel or in bedding, and results in serious injury to the eyes. As to the matter of heating our houses, there have been so many funny things done in the attempt to affect a compromise between the fire place and the furnace that almost every house has in it something incongruous in this line. The old-fashioned fireplace for burning wood was healthful and artistic, but it often smoked, and in the depth of winter seldom gave out sufficient heat. The grate in which anthracite coal is burned, or soft coal, was good, but the care of the coal fire, though not so continuous as of the wood, was still a heavy burden. There is a price to pay for every comfort, and we can not rightly enjoy the comfort without paying its full price. But that seemed a hard doctrine, and so the inventors went to work. They gave up that abomination, the air-tight stove, which rose in grim blackness an offense to the eye, and parched all the air for us before we had breathed it in. Then the furnace came in and there was an era of real rejoicing. Fireplaces were walled up and holes cut in all the floors, but with hot air furnaces there were new complications. Water pans which should be replenished daily were as often as not left empty, and the air was no better to breathe than that baked dry by an air-tight stove, and the fire, as a rule, required a man’s hand. Beside, holes in the floor were not inviting to have around. But the furnace, whether hot air or steam, did warm the house. Thermometers stood at from seventy to eighty instead of being kept where they belonged, down in the sixties, and throat and lung diseases multiplied. Then some one who had not forgotten the cheer of the fireplace introduced the hot air from a chimney register, giving out heat, with no sign of fire, from the old spot, and then came the make-believe iron logs with an internal gas arrangement which was lighted when guests came, and burned in a pathetic, appealing way, provoking the beholder now to laughter and now to tears.

It was left to the æsthetic craze to bring in the last and worst affront of all to comfort and common sense, a fireplace with highly glazed tiles and elaborate wrought iron back, with choice and costly fenders, tongs, and andirons of brass and steel, with all the appointments of the fireplace of the most luxurious stamp, but all too fine for possible use, with absolutely nothing intended for use. The poor, foolish, iron logs never deceived any one, but they burned; nevertheless, these beautifully tiled fireplaces, with their spick and span hearths are mere husks, and are as loathsome and cluttersome as are the “air castles” and wax fruit, which these æsthetics would banish in contempt from their homes. The height of luxury is to have the sharpness of winter’s cold subdued by a good furnace in the cellar, which modifies the air all over the house, and then to have open fires here and there to give cheer as well as additional warmth and good ventilation, and a fireplace finished with plain brick, without a tile, the brick work, freshened up occasionally by painting it with Indian red mixed with milk, after the fashion of fifty years ago, or a plain iron grate for coal, used as occasion calls, is in better taste for a drawing room than the most elaborate combination of tiles, brass and steel kept for mere show. When any object, not alone a fireplace, but any object designed primarily for use is so excessively ornamented as to fail of its mission of utility, this very excess of decoration becomes an offense and renders the object neither useful nor beautiful.

Wm. Morris’s stringent rule, “Have nothing in your homes that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful,” applies with full force to the drawing room; and when the housekeeper has striven first of all to supply her drawing room with comfortable, useful pieces of furniture, she may look around her with surprise to find that almost without her thought the place has grown beautiful as well.

[A] Powder—a technical term used in heraldry—a figure is powdered on a coat of arms, when it is repeated at uniform intervals over its surface.

A PRAYER BY THE SEA.

BY SARAH DOUDNEY.

I saw the ships on a windy sea

In the light of the morning’s gold;

And the shout of the sailors came to me

Like songs from the days of old.

Wild waves leaped up on the crags and beat

On the edge of the rock-bound shore;

And the thought of a coming time was sweet,

When the sea should be no more.

No more, no more shall mothers and wives

Dream of loves that the blue wastes hide,

No more shall the vigorous hearts and lives

Be flung to the wind and tide!

Oh, Father, follow the gallant ships

Through the light of the morning pale!

Thou hearest the prayer of the loving lips,

Thy mercy never can fail.

And guide us all to some haven blest

Where never a tempest is known;

For life is sad, and the secret of rest

Is hidden with Thee alone.

GEOGRAPHY OF THE HEAVENS FOR JANUARY.

BY PROF. M. B. GOFF,
Western University of Pennsylvania.

THE SUN.

During this month the sun makes rapid strides northward, moving from declination 22° 57′ south on the 1st to declination 17° 11′ south on the 31st. This occasions also quite an increase in the length of the day, from sunrise to sunset on the 1st being 9h. 23m. 36s., and on the 30th, 10h. 4m. 56s. On the 1st, 16th and 30th, 7:22, 7:21 and 7:11 a. m. are the respective hours of rising, and 4:46, 4:59 and 5:16 p. m. the hours of setting. On the 16th, day breaks at 5:40 a. m., and twilight ends at 6:40 p. m., giving just thirteen hours between “early dawn and dewy eve.” The sun is slower than the clock, on the 1st, being on the meridian at three minutes and thirty-eight seconds past twelve, and on the 31st reaching the meridian thirteen minutes and forty-seven seconds after the clock indicates noon.

THE MOON

Will present its ordinary four changes at the following times: last quarter on the 7th, at 10:28 p. m.; new moon, 16th, 3:28 a. m.; first quarter, 23d, 8:18 p. m.; full, 30th, 11:11 a. m. It will be in apogee, or farthest from the earth, on the 13th, at 3:42 a. m., and in perigee, or nearest to the earth, on the 28th, at 8:42 p. m. It will reach its greatest elevation, amounting to 66° 55′, on the 28th, and the least elevation, 30°, on the 14th.

MERCURY,

Well named from its mercurial habits, having the smallest orbit, and being the most rapid traveler, presents in a given time more phases than any other of the planets. Thus we find that on the 3d, at 5:00 p. m., it is in inferior conjunction with the sun, that is, between the earth and the sun; on the 14th, at 8:42 a. m., 2° 1′ south of the moon; on the 14th, at 3:00 p. m., stationary, that is, it is moving in a direct line (or nearly so) away from the earth, and thus seems to stand still; on the 24th, at 5:00 a. m., is 1° 6′ north of Venus, on which occasion the latter will serve as a good “pointer,” enabling one readily to find this peculiar planet. On the 26th, it is at its greatest distance (24° 53′) west of the sun. Its motion for the first fourteen days is 12° 45′ retrograde; and for the remainder of the month, 29° 51′ 40″ direct. On the 1st it rises at 7:39 a. m., and sets 5:11 p. m.; and on the 16th, rises at 5:52 a. m., sets at 3:22 p. m.; and on the 30th rises at 5:52 a. m., and sets at 3:10 p. m.; changing from evening star during the first, to morning star in the latter part of the month.

VENUS

Continues morning star, and will remain so till the 4th of May. On the 1st, rises at 5:11 a. m., sets 2:39 p. m.; on the 16th, rises at 5:40 a. m., sets 2:52 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at 5:59 a. m., sets 3:17 p. m. Motion 41° 32′ 59″ direct. Diameter diminishes from 12.4″ to 11.2″. On the 13th, at 3:34 p. m., 4° 8′ south of the moon. On the 24th, at 5:00 a. m., 1° 6′ south of Mercury.

MARS.

This planet presents nothing peculiar this month. It will be an evening star, though appearing but a short time after sunset each day. On the 1st it rises at 8:10 a. m., and sets at 5:20 p. m.; on the 16th rises at 7:51 a. m., sets at 5:21 p. m.; on the 30th rises at 7:29 a. m., sets at 5:21 p. m. It has a direct motion of 25° 16′ 2″, and its diameter remains about the same during the month, namely: 4.2″. On the 16th, at 6:48 p. m., is 5° 42′ south of the moon.

JUPITER

Makes a retrograde motion of 2° 24′ 47″, and is classed as a morning star, though he shines nearly the entire night, rising on the 1st at 9:02 p. m., and setting next morning at 10:14 a. m.; rising on the 16th at 7:59 p. m., setting on the 17th at 9:13 a. m.; and on the 30th rising at 6:56 p. m. and setting at 8:14 on the morning of the 31st. An indication that he is approaching the earth is that his diameter increased from 39.6″ on the 1st to 42.2″ on the 30th. On the 4th, at 7:24 p. m., he is 4° 2′ north of the moon.

SATURN

Has a retrograde motion of 1° 31′ 53″, and his diameter decreases during the month six-tenths of a second of arc; but this diminution affects but very slightly his brightness. As he is an evening star, the most convenient opportunities are afforded for obtaining a fine view. He rises on the 1st at 3:07 p. m., and sets on the 2nd at 5:43 a. m.; on the 15th rises at 2:04 p. m., and sets the following morning at 4:40; on the 30th, rises at 1:07 p. m., and sets on the 31st at 3:43 a. m. On the 26th, at 9:02 p. m., is 3° 27′ north of the moon.

The use of the telescope in developing the rings of Saturn is one of the interesting items in astronomical history. To one looking at this planet with the naked eye, he appears simply as a bright star; but to a person using a telescope of moderate power, he now presents some such appearance as was hinted at in the December number of The Chautauquan, and resembles a globe with an appendage on either side similar to a new moon (the concave part turned toward the globe). To the early astronomers, whose telescopes were so much inferior to ours, his appearance was a great puzzle and produced a great variety of opinions. To Galileo the planet appeared like three globes, a large one with a smaller detached one on each of two sides. To Scheiner, in 1614, he appeared as one large globe, with a small attached ball on either side. To others he appeared as a globe with crescents (shape of new moon) sometimes detached, and at other times having their cusps (sharp points) meet on the edge of the planet. And it was not until 1655 that the discovery was made that these appendages were neither balls nor crescents, but were, as then supposed, a ring (seen in various positions) around the body of the planet. In the spring of this year, Huyghens discovered that what had appeared as handles extended out on each side and were somewhat like a veritable ball with its projecting axes ready to be laid in their “bearings.” The next spring the “gudgeons” had disappeared and only the plain sphere remained. In the fall of 1656 the axes had reappeared. Thus was suggested to Huyghens that these appearances were produced by the alternate presentation to view of the edge and face of a ring, whose thickness was so small as to be invisible when its plane was directed to the eye. Being anxious to secure to himself the honor of this discovery, and yet not wishing to publish it prematurely, lest his conception should turn out to be incorrect, he printed at the end of a little pamphlet descriptive of the planet the following characters: aaaaaaa ccccc d eeeee g h iiiiiii llll mm nnnnnnnnn oooo pp q rr s ttttt uuuuu. Should his theory prove to be incorrect no one would be likely to solve the riddle; should it be correct, as it proved to be, he readily arranged the letters to read: Annulo cingitur tenui, plano nusquam cohaerente, ad eclipticam inclinato; which being translated means: “Girdled by a thin, plane ring, nowhere touching, inclined to the ecliptic.” It was soon ascertained that the ring had an inclination of 27° to the plane of its orbit, and as it with the planet revolves about the sun, its axis maintains the same absolute position; so that as the revolution is made once in every twenty-nine and a half years, every fourteen and three-fourth years its edge is directly toward the sun, and, practically, toward the earth (since the distance of the earth from the sun is comparatively small), and is invisible except through the most powerful telescopes. In like manner, every fourteen and three-fourth years the greatest possible portion of the ring’s surface is presented to the sun, and if the ring were perpendicular to the plane of the earth’s orbit, and its axis directed toward the earth, we should see the globe entirely girdled, instead of seeing, as we do, a large portion of one side of the ring and the opening only on two sides between it and the planet.

After Huyghens, the discovery was made by an English astronomer named Ball, that instead of only one ring, Saturn had two rings, divided by a narrow, dark line, and that the inner ring was broader than the outer in about the ratio of seventeen to ten; that is, the breadth of the inner was estimated to be 17,000 miles, while that of the outer was only 10,300 miles. In 1850, Prof. Bond, of Cambridge, discovered a third ring lying between the inner ring and the planet. But this was hardly regarded as a discovery, as this ring had been “seen in England by Messrs. Lassell and Dawes, before it was formally announced by the Bonds;” and “something of the same kind had been seen by Dr. Galle, at Berlin, as far back as 1838.”

Another perplexing question is, whether there are changes going on in these rings, and if so, what they are. Struve, in 1851, propounded the theory that the inner edge of the ring (or rings) was gradually contracting, and thus lessening the space between it and the planet, and this at the rate of about 1.3″ per century; at which rate it would close in on the planet about the year 2150—a date at such a distance that the event, should it transpire, will be of little moment to our readers.

Another not yet satisfactorily answered question is, of what are these rings composed? The generally accepted answer at present is, that it is neither a solid nor a fluid ring, but a cloud of satellites, too small and too numerous to be seen singly. “They are like the separate little drops of water out of which are composed fogs and clouds, which, to our eyes, seem like solid masses.”

URANUS

Reaches his stationary point on the 6th, at 5:00 p. m., having made a direct motion of 51.45″; during the rest of the month he retrogrades 17′ 12.6″. On the 6th, at 6:50 p. m., he is 1° 18′ north of the moon. He figures as a morning star, rising on Dec. 31st, ’84, at 11:29 p. m., and setting on New Year’s at 11:25 a. m.; on the 15th, rising at 10:30 p. m., and setting on the 16th at 10:26 a. m.; on the 29th, rising at 9:33 p. m., and setting on the 30th at 9:31 a. m.

NEPTUNE

Also plays the rôle of morning star, rising in the afternoon of the 1st at 1:31, and setting on the morning of the 2d at 3:25; on the 16th, rising at 12:31 p. m., and setting next morning at 2:25; and on the 30th, rising at 11:36 a. m., and setting at 1:30 a. m. on the 31st. On the 24th, at 11:34 p. m., he is 1° 48′ north of the moon; is stationary at 3:00 a. m. on the 30th, up to which date he has retrograded 14′ 51.6″. His diameter being only 2.6″, he can only be seen through a telescope of higher power.

YALE COLLEGE AND YALE CUSTOMS.

BY GEORGE H. VINCENT.

The good people who, in 1638, came over from England and settled New Haven, came with a definite purpose. They aimed to establish a model community in church and state, and, as an important means to this end, they proposed to found a college. At first, events conspired to keep the classic groves from taking root on the bleak Connecticut shore. A capricious government in England was granting and annulling charters with alarming frequency, and the colonies were in a corresponding state of uncertainty and apprehension, while the ravages of the Indian wars did much to occupy and distract the thoughts of the New Haven people. Finally, in 1660, a bequest of Governor Hopkins induced the colonists to found an institution which they called a “Collegiate School,” lest a more pretentious title might make it difficult to obtain a charter. The Governor’s will, however, was contested by the legislature, which finally obtained a part of the bequest. This fact, together with the depression caused by the compulsory union of New Haven with the Connecticut colony, prevented any marked advance in the prosperity of the institution which, under the title of the “Hopkins Grammar School,” still prepares students for the various departments of Yale.

After the peace of Ryswick in 1697, prosperity returned to the colonists, and a second time the subject of a college was agitated. Ten trustees, most of them ministers from New Haven and vicinity, met some time in 1700 at Brandford, a small town near New Haven. Each trustee presented a few volumes with the declaration: “I give these books for the founding of a college.”

The next year a charter was granted to the new college, which was located at Saybrook, with the Rev. Abraham Pierson, a metaphysician of some note, as president. The students, eight in number, and “put into classes according to the proficiency they had antecedently made,” lived in the president’s house, under his supervision and instruction. The first commencement was held at Saybrook, September 13, 1702.

The French war of the same year had its effect upon the college, and when in 1707 Rector Pierson died, it was found impossible to support a resident professor at Saybrook. Consequently the senior class was sent to Milford and placed under the Rev. Samuel Andrew, while the other classes remained at Saybrook with two tutors. At this time Yale College extended from the senior class at Milford to the juniors, sophomores and freshmen at Saybrook, a distance of forty miles.

In 1714, the death of the Rev. James Pierpont, who may be regarded as the founder of the college, struck another blow at its prosperity. At the same time complaints about their accommodations from the Saybrook students made it evident that if the college was to become a permanent institution, some active measures were required. At a meeting of trustees in 1716, after a protracted discussion, and not a little to the dissatisfaction of Hartford, it was decided to locate the college permanently at New Haven. Hartford was appeased by building there a new court house, and the scattered students were gathered at New Haven, which that day became a college town.

Among several donations to the college, the most generous was that of Elihu Yale, a former resident of New Haven, and at the time a wealthy London merchant. In view of his munificence, the trustees called the new building which his donation had enabled them to complete, Yale College.

It would be superfluous for our purpose to trace the history of the college from this permanent foundation in 1718 to the present time. Among its presidents we find such names as Elihu Williams, Ezra Stiles, Timothy Dwight, Jeremiah Day, Theodore D. Woolsey and Noah Porter—grand men of the orthodox school, some of them rigid and severe in administration, but all respected and honored. The character of the presidents is an index to the institution, which has developed under the severe discipline of New England. The students who of late years have come from distant states have modified the general character of the college, but have not destroyed the old influence. The recognition of religion, which in some universities has well-nigh disappeared, still holds its own, and the same bell which, in years gone by, summoned sleepy and half-dressed students to the murky chapel, at five in the morning, now, at a more convenient hour, assembles in the handsome “Battell” those who have come to college from every state in the Union. Thus the old New England régime makes an impression upon the rising generation of the whole country.

It is not within the scope of this article to consider the development of the college curriculum; but, perhaps, in view of the radical changes which the Yale faculty have introduced for the college year 1884-’85, it may not be out of place rapidly to sketch the innovations. In 1786 the requirements for admission were “Virgil, Tully, and the Greek Testament.” This is characteristic of the college, which has always been remarkably conservative in its devotion to the classics. Charles Francis Adams’ oration at the Harvard “Phi Beta Kappa” dinner two years ago, aroused no little antagonism in New Haven. President Porter has written several articles defending the classics, and when Matthew Arnold and Lord Coleridge addressed the Yale students, both congratulated the institution upon its attitude toward the ancient languages. Heretofore Latin and Greek have been compulsory during both freshman and sophomore years. But under the new system German and French may be substituted for a portion of the classics. To the senior and junior classes even greater liberty is given. They are offered between twenty and thirty elective courses; so that now, instead of turning a whole class out of the same mould, the college permits men to select those studies which they find attractive, or which will best prepare them for their pursuits in life. Thus in one year Yale has made very rapid strides, and now stands a “golden mean” between the conservatism of the past and the rashly radical tendencies of the present. So much for the origin and curriculum of Yale.

It is not the instruction alone that makes a college course desirable. The associations, friendships, and experiences in the college community are also important factors. It has been well said that a college is a miniature world, with its successes, failures, and temptations as real as those of the world without.

It is impossible, in an article like the present, to do more than give a few of the peculiarities of Yale. The writer disclaims any attempt to analyze critically the influences and tendencies of the college, but aims merely to present a few facts concerning its students, buildings, class spirit, and every-day life.

The college catalogue shows that in the academic department the classes average one hundred and fifty students. In the Sheffield Scientific School the aggregate number is about two hundred and twenty-five. The other departments swell the total to between ten and eleven hundred. It is probably unnecessary to state that co-education is not “dreamed of” in the Yale philosophy. The warm affection which the faculty feel for the dead languages seems only to increase their coldness toward the gentler sex.

Yale is eminently a cosmopolitan institution. When two years ago state clubs were being formed at Yale, some one remarked that if the same experiment were attempted at Harvard, there would be two clubs, one from Boston, and one from the rest of Massachusetts. While this statement is by no means true, it suggests the sectional character of the other New England colleges. A few figures will sustain this claim. In 1883-’84, out of 824 students in the academic and scientific departments, only twenty-nine per cent. were from Connecticut. There were nineteen men from California, six from Colorado, seven from Georgia, fifty-one from Illinois, thirty-three from Ohio, twenty from Missouri, and sixty-five from Pennsylvania. Almost every state, and many of the territories, were represented, and the very fact that Yale draws its men from so many widely different sources has an important influence upon the character of the students. The swift-coursing, tingling blood of the West is infused into the old, staid, New England institution, which restrains, modifies, and directs it. The enthusiasm of Yale is due in a great measure to this western element. There is a whole-heartedness about Yale students which you will find in no other eastern institution. Nor is money at Yale the basis of social standing. A man may command any position which he has the character or ability to attain.

It is generally supposed that in a large institution the numbers in a class prevent that personal contact with the instructors which smaller classes afford. This objection can be easily answered. Let us suppose that a freshman class numbers one hundred and fifty students, and that the curriculum includes five studies. The class will be divided into five sections of thirty men each, and will recite to five instructors in order. There are fifteen recitations a week, so that every member of the class recites three times a week to each of these instructors, and that, too, in a class of only thirty. This affords all the “contact” that either instructors or instructed need or desire. The divisions are arranged according to excellence in scholarship at the end of every term, so that each division has its own standard of attainment; hence the diligent are not retarded by their more leisurely classmates. Recitations and examinations are marked upon a scale of four. When one’s average standing falls below two, he is given the choice between leaving college or entering the class next below. This unpleasant experience is known as being “dropped.” For irregularities and tardiness in attendance, the penalties are inflicted in the form of “marks,” which have no influence upon scholarship standing. The penalty for “cutting” chapel on a week day is two marks, on Sunday, eight. As these marks accumulate, parents are informed by “letters home” when a certain limit is approached, which varies in the different years—more latitude being granted to seniors and juniors than is enjoyed by the lower classes. For seniors, the first letter comes at thirty marks; the second at about fifty; and the third, if there be one, informs the parent that his son has incurred sixty marks, and has been suspended for six weeks. This is “rustication.” The unfortunate retires to Milford, where he pursues his studies in interesting solitude. This marking system has many “defects,” which are especially patent to the down-trodden student, but it certainly has the merit of securing method and regularity in college duties. Other colleges, notably Amherst, have adopted new methods for which they claim great superiority over the archaic system. But it is safe to say that the Yale faculty must be thoroughly converted before they will discard the old system, which has been for years the bone of contention in every Yale debating club.

We come now to speak of the material world of Yale—its buildings and campus. Architecturally, Yale is inferior to both Harvard and Princeton. There are between thirty and forty buildings connected with Yale University; but on the college campus there are sixteen. Six of these are dormitories, occupied exclusively by members of the academic department, or Yale College proper. Four of these dormitories, together with three other buildings, the “Athenæum,” “Lyceum,” and “Old Chapel,” extend in a line along the east side of the campus, and constitute the “old brick row.” The dormitories are called “south,” “south middle,” “north middle,” and “north,” and are separated by the three recitation buildings mentioned above. “South middle,” erected in 1750, is the oldest building on the campus. Until within a few years, it was reserved for the use of the sophomore class, and many a trembling freshman has had his first experience of hazing within its ancient walls. The faculty concluded, however, that they would best consult the interests of good order and education by razing this sophomore stronghold. “South middle,” thoroughly renovated, is to-day as quiet as the seniors’ retreat—“South.” Durfee Hall, at the north end of the campus, is a handsome dormitory of brown stone, accommodating eighty students. Farnam Hall is a modern building of brick, furnishing rooms for an equal number. Battell Chapel, on the north-eastern corner of the campus, is a large stone building with a seating capacity of eight or ten hundred. Its walls contain many handsome memorial windows, and in one of its towers are the clock and chimes. Graduate’s Hall is a massive brown stone building, presenting the general appearance of a feudal castle. It is, in fact, the stronghold of the college, and must be taken several times during the course—it is the examination hall. Next comes the Library, a gothic building with low wings on either side. It is a repository for some one hundred and seventy-five thousand volumes. The Art School is one of the most expensive buildings on the campus. It is of brown stone, and, like the library, is overgrown with ivy planted by graduating classes. The Art School contains excellent collections of paintings, marbles, and casts, together with several studios and class rooms. The other buildings, known as “Old Lab.,” “Cabinet,” and “Treasury” are, it is to be hoped, as useful as they are unattractive. So much for the campus proper. Near by are the new Sloane Physical Laboratory, the gymnasium, and the Peabody Museum, which even in its present incomplete state is one of the largest buildings in New Haven. The collections are excellent, being especially complete in the departments of mineralogy and palæontology. Within the radius of a few squares are the Sheffield Scientific School, the Divinity School, and the departments of Law and Medicine.

Let us now turn to the composition of the college community. The four classes are separated by very clearly defined lines. While, of course, there are many friendships between men of different classes, as a rule men associate exclusively with their own classmates. When it is remembered that a class averages one hundred and fifty men, one explanation of this clannishness is obvious. It takes four years for a student to know his classmates, and among them he will find all the friends he needs. Until within the last year or two the elective system, which brings members of different classes into the same recitation room, has not been in operation, and men have always recited with their classmates exclusively. Another prominent reason for class feeling, as it is called, is found in athletic rivalry. Let one attend a class boat race, hear the shouting, observe the ecstacy of delight with which the winners carry their crew on their shoulders from the boat, and he will begin to understand the real significance of class spirit. This class spirit is warmest between the two lower classes, where the friction is greatest. Just here we may refer to hazing and rushing, which are objects of so much popular misapprehension. That in early years freshmen were subjected to rough, and often brutal treatment, can not be denied. But that order of things has passed away, together with early chapel and biennial examinations. A “rush” is nothing more than an attempt of freshmen and sophomores, arranged in solid phalanxes, to force each other back. Such a thing as a decision on a rush is unknown, and the whole affair has the advantage of leaving both sides assured of a “most decisive and brilliant victory.” Hazing is confined to the first few weeks of the term, and is harmless, not to say puerile, in its character. Sophomores wander about the streets, admonishing freshmen to “put out” their lights. If these commands are not complied with, the hazers ascend to the room of the audacious freshman, quiz him awhile, and then put him to bed, where he stays until his persecutors have left, when he resumes his interrupted tasks. The whole thing is a farce, and can not last much longer. Although the custom may be childish, it certainly is not the pernicious thing which the press would have the public believe.

Athletics have a very prominent place in the college world. Youthful vitality finds a safety valve in athletic exercises. Inter-collegiate rivalry is a most natural thing. University foot ball teams, crews and ball nines follow as a matter of course. These contests are of absorbing interest, and are eagerly anticipated. Alumni of many years’ standing are carried away with enthusiasm at a college match. The public is led to suppose that athletics monopolize the student’s thought and interest. It is true that students do talk of a ball match more frequently than of Greek particles. The one belongs to the recreative side of college life, the other to the recitation room. When relieved from his regular duties, the normal student seeks recreation. Beside affording exercise, athletics engender a college spirit which helps to bind together the Yale alumni all over the land. Whatever may be the excesses, the advantages are manifold. The faculty declare that athletics have never been more prominent, nor the standard of scholarship higher than at the present time.

One trace, at least, of the good, old, puritanic days is found in “compulsory prayers.” At seven every morning, except Sunday, when there are regular services at 10:30, the old bell in the lyceum tower disturbs the peacefully slumbering student. At eight it gives a second warning, and at about seven minutes after it rings again, until, tolling the last minute, it stops at 8:10 precisely. The students who have been dropping in one by one since eight, come in increasing numbers as the time approaches. As the bell and organ voluntary cease, a few stragglers drop into their seats. If it is the last of the term, there are often a few men who, having only two marks between them and the cold world, appear in conspicuously superficial toilets.

The chapel has two transepts, one occupied by the juniors, the other by the sophomores. The seniors fill the seats on either side of the center aisle; while the freshmen are consigned to the gloomy region under the rear gallery. The deportment of the students during chapel exercises is, without exception, dignified and respectful. President Porter reads a selection from the scriptures and announces four verses of a hymn, which are sung by the choir. Then follows the “long prayer,” during which almost every head is bowed. It can not be denied, however, that many a lesson is rapidly scanned during this part of the devotions. At the close of the prayer all stand until the president and instructors have left the building. The seniors face the center aisle, and as the president passes make a low bow, bringing the body into a horizontal position. The effect from the galleries is ludicrous, and affords visitors no little amusement. Immediately after prayers the classes repair to their recitation rooms. Although compulsory prayers are not universally popular, yet if regarded merely as a means of securing regularity, and, by assembling the classes, of fostering a spirit of college unity, they are undeniably valuable.

It would not do to describe Yale customs and neglect the “fence.” The uninitiated can not read of the “fence” and its traditions without a smile. To one who has not been a member of the Yale world, the customs of the fence seem as ridiculous as the antics and gambols of brokers on ’change. But having once, as a freshman, felt the joy of balancing on that “fence,” after defeating the Harvard freshman at base ball; as sophomore having displayed the wonders of the tailor’s art from the next higher division of the same perch; as junior having sung there the college songs, and watched the people “pass on the other side of the way,” and at last, as senior, having parted from one’s classmates there, the Yale “fence” must be to him more than any other dingy-brown, two-railed old structure can be.

Among several privileges which are withheld from the freshman when he begins his course, is that of sitting on the “fence.” Most readers would not regard this in the light of a serious privation. But such it really seems to the new comer. As soon as the Yale freshmen defeat the Harvard freshmen at base ball, they are rewarded by being permitted to sit on the freshmen fence. A man on taking his seat in the United States Senate can not feel any more real satisfaction than a Yale freshman perched for the first time on the “fence we’ve won.”

One of the most amusing exercises of commencement time is the presentation of the sophomore fence to the freshmen. A sophomore makes the speech of presentation, to which a freshman replies. These speeches are often bright and witty, and are received with great applause.

The “fence” is the forum, the market place of the college. Here appointments are made. It is here you look for a student before you seek him in his room. Here in the twilight, and far into the beautiful evenings of May and June, you may hear the college songs—now a lively air or snatch of opera; now a warble, loud and clear; again, some plaintive plantation melody. This is the time when the magic of the fence is most potent in its influence. There are more romantic things with which to associate the delightful memories of college life, perhaps, but nothing can bring a pleasanter throng of recollections to the Yale alumnus than the mention of the fence.

Fond as they are of being “on the fence,” Yale men are by no means undecided or vacillating. Yale is a positive institution, strong, orthodox, and conservative. Its alumni are prominent not so much in letters as in the affairs of state. Yale College is yearly sending out into the world enthusiastic, practical, sensible young fellows to strive, as the grand old song has it,

“For God, for country, and for Yale.”

New Haven, Conn.

NEW ZEALAND.

BY M. EMILE BLANCHARD.

Translated for The Chautauquan from the Révue des Deux Mondes.

During a long cycle of years, upon the land called New Zealand, there were no inhabitants more powerful than gigantic eagles and moas, enormous birds now extinct. At some indeterminate time men landed upon these desolate shores; being, doubtless, unable to return to their point of departure, and, perhaps, finding the country an asylum, they remained there. They were Melanesians, men of dark color, and of coarse hair, like those who inhabited the archipelago in the western part of the Pacific, put down upon the maps as Melanesia.

Later came people from Polynesia, of whom all tradition is lost. At a time, the date of which can be approximately fixed, some canoes reached this land whose occupants declared that they came from Hawaïki, probably Hawaii. Afterward, in the first relations of the Europeans with these inhabitants, they were quickly satisfied that the leading races were of Polynesian origin, though in some parts all the races were so intermingled that it was hard to distinguish them. These better developed classes were known under the name of the Maoris. These people, full of treachery, robbers without shame, barbarians of a remarkable intelligence, able to construct fishing utensils, fine canoes, implements of warfare, and even to sculpture rude figures and to design ornaments which indicated a certain artistic taste, inclined to observation enough to attach a name to all objects which fell under their notice, appeared to the first European voyagers to their land as a people that could be easily civilized.

They were in general of tall figure, and had regular features; their small, jet black eyes were always in motion. According to an artist who has traveled nearly round the world, the young men would serve well as models for a statue of Hercules. The women were well formed, had beautiful eyes and an abundance of black hair. Their faces looked quite intelligent, and even possessed a certain grace.

Former explorers tried to find out what religious sentiments, what superstitions, reigned among these people; they sought to gather up their traditions. Owing to their idiomatic language the information was derived slowly and only after great effort. In the midst of a people presenting the spectacle of primitive life it is impossible not to take a lively interest in their belief touching the origin and the final destiny of man. Many of their ideas on these subjects present a striking similarity to those prevailing among civilized people.

They have a long mythological history concerning the migrations of several distinguished ancestors. The life of one of these in its beginning is of peculiar interest. At his birth his mother, seeing that he was very feeble, put him in a little skiff which she placed upon the sea. The winds and the waves rocked him. He was finally wafted ashore, and found and cared for by a woman in high authority. His after life was full of wonderful and supernatural deeds. Then comes an age of heroes. These at death were deified and shone as stars in the heavens. Their brilliancy was greater or less according to their deeds of valor.

In the cosmogony of these New Zealanders the earth is a plain, the heavens an opaque body extending around it, separated from it by a transparent substance. They supposed that the sun and moon glided on the outside of this crystal-like appearance. Above is the reservoir of the rain, higher the haunts of the winds, higher still the dwelling of spirits, then that of light, and then the highest region, the abode of the greatest of all the gods.

They recognized a multitude of divinities, and accorded to each one a special function. They occasionally presented offerings to the gods, in order to render them propitious.

They did not anticipate any pain nor any recompense in the future life. After death souls, having remained three days near the bodies which they had abandoned, took themselves to the extreme north of New Zealand, in order to take their last plunge into eternal night, or into glory.

As to their customs, scholars say that among the Maoris the family existed, the tribe, and, in a certain rude sense, the nation. Under ordinary circumstances the people lived independent of one another. Upon great occasions the chief called together the tribes under his sway. He had, however, the power to declare war or peace, or to dispose of any question of interest to the public, only with the consent of his people. There was little distinction in regard to rank among them. The practice of tattooing themselves prevailed largely, especially among the warriors.

They had a custom of flattening the noses of the boys and bandaging their knees and the lower part of the legs, in order to make them smaller. Thus they manifested the æsthetic sentiment. The hands of the girls were bound in such a way as to render them more skillful, in their estimation, in separating and weaving the fibers of the plant which affords the famous linen of New Zealand.

Eight days after the birth of a child it underwent a sort of baptismal ceremony. The marriage relation was observed. At the death of an individual the whole tribe assembled, and from time to time uttered loud cries, expressive of their grief. The relatives cut off their hair.

By their work the Maoris excited the surprise of their first civilized visitors. They displayed remarkably inventive minds, struggling under the most restricted resources. The necessary work was divided between the men and women very much after the manner of our times. The men built the houses, constructed canoes, cultivated the earth, carved their rude ornaments, and went hunting and fishing. The women prepared the food, spun the linen, and wove the cloth. Their language was well adapted to oratorical effects. There were fourteen letters in the alphabet; each syllable ended in a vowel, whence resulted a singularly harmonious speech. They had many proverbs bearing a striking analogy to many used throughout Europe. For instance, they said: “One may avoid the point of a lance, but not a slander;” also, “One may in time learn all the nooks and corners of any house, but never those of the heart.” In their assemblies the most eloquent exercised a great influence, and gave proofs of a remarkable memory in reciting with great effect proverbs, songs and poems, capable of producing a great impression upon their auditors.

The exploits of heroes were only perpetuated by these frequent recitals. Whenever any notable event occurred it became the motive power of some improvisation. They entertained themselves as people in Europe do, by all sorts of amusements, especially dancing. Certain dances were engaged in by the women alone, others by the men; but in most the men and women danced together. The women had for their especial amusement the tangi, or scene of despair. They feigned the deepest grief, wrung their hands, and uttered the most heart-rending cries, while tears flowed in abundance. A stranger moved at the sight always learned with surprise that it was simply a pastime, and reproached himself for having misplaced his sympathy. Whenever a visitor presented himself, the mode of salutation was for the host to rub his nose against the nose of his guest. Small baskets of provisions were brought in, and a cordial invitation given to the visitor to join in partaking of the refreshments.

But these people, hard, cruel, without pity in the execution of vengeance, but of a quick intelligence and unquestioned bravery, industrious and ingenious, cultivating a rude kind of art and of poetry, have been crushed in their struggles with the Europeans. The descendants of the fierce New Zealand warriors, as prisoners in certain districts which the English colonists have promised to respect, live sad and miserable, hating the plunderers of their land. At the present time they are scattered by families over the island, nearly always at a distance from the colonies. Each year this population diminishes; in the near future they will have entirely disappeared. Soon there will live only the memory of an extinct race.

But while this is true of the Maoris, the English colonists, masters of the country, exceedingly prosperous, occupy all the places possessing the greatest advantages.

Important cities have been built upon the most desirable locations, both on the sea coast and river banks. Vast agricultural districts are now tilled. New Zealand has become a European country, where the population lives with no fear of the original inhabitants. It is a dependency of England, a colony which since its formation has made great progress. The mildness of the climate, the fertility of the soil, the extent of its forests, the presence of the best materials for industrial occupations, the independence and safety which an insular position gives have marked this island as a privileged region. New Zealand comprises two islands, separated from each other by Cook’s Straits; they are distinguished as North Island and South Island. The development of the country since the occupation by the English has been remarkable. At the commencement of 1881 there remained only 36,000 Maoris; the colonial population numbered 500,910. Some of its cities have acquired considerable importance. Dunedin, in South Island, has 42,794 inhabitants, and Auckland, in North Island, the ancient capital, 30,952; Wellington, the present capital, 20,536. In 1881 there were about 1,310 miles of railroad built, and about 3,000 miles of telegraph lines. The revenues of the government amounted to nearly $18,036,000, and the expenses to $17,644,000. The exportation was valued at $15,212,000, and the precious metals at $5,602,000. There are on the island 100,000 horses, 500,000 cattle, and 10,000,000 sheep, yielding great profit. Ships cross from Canterbury in the eastern part of the country to London in forty days.

The linen produced on the island affords a fine branch of industry, and the colonies send it to London, receiving for it not less than $6,000 or $8,000 per year. Trees of the coniferous order furnish a quantity of gum or resin, which is an important source of revenue. The commerce carried on in grain, woods and fats is very great. In the whole country the abundance of combustible material constitutes a great source of wealth. Beside its fine forests, it has numerous coal fields. Petroleum is found in several places, and the colonists affirm that it is inferior in no respect to that found in the United States.

Gold districts are so extensive and productive that a great part of the population is engaged in them. Then add that silver, mercury, copper, lead, manganese, antimony, and iron exist in abundance. They are as reserves of public fortune to the colony. This country has had the rare good fortune of having already among its inhabitants distinguished scientific men who have explored the region for the greater profit of the new society, and for the interests of those who are occupied with the general knowledge of the globe. The Institute of New Zealand was founded at Auckland in 1868. Its members proposed to have for their use museums and public libraries, and to disseminate by all means possible, instruction relative to questions of art, of science, and of literature. When the capital was moved to Wellington the Institute was also transferred. Since its opening it has published every year a great volume filled with reports and communications of deep interest in regard to the ancient inhabitants of the country, the fauna and the flora, the geology and mineralogy and economy. It is a valuable work on the natural history of this region of the world.

The decline, the oppression, almost the annihilation of one race of mankind has been seen here. We may see now upon the same soil, rising to prominence, men of another race who talk of liberty for themselves, and are preparing for a long and glorious future for their descendants.

THE LAUREATE POETS.

BY THE REVEREND A. E. WINSHIP.

CHAPTER III.

Royal favors skip from small to great and back again by no law of ethics or æsthetics, and if we flatter ourselves that we can account for the choice of some candidates for the poet’s pension we shall certainly find our wits tested in search of a philosophy to apply to Charles II., who, with equal felicity, placed the crown on the geniusless Davenant and the immortal Dryden.

John Dryden, with all his faults of verse and purpose, was the genius of his age, and remains one of the five names that star the diadem of English song. In circumstances that tended to enervate rhyme, at a time when the rebound from Puritanism paid a premium on license and licentiousness, when no element in national life had the electrical currents to stimulate literary, least of all poetic genius, John Dryden had the skill to attune the age in which he lived to a melodious key that harmonizes with Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspere and Milton.

In character and record he is inexplicable. Born in the erratic days of Cromwell he is the most heartily English of all her “men of letters;” of strictest Puritan training, he died a devout Romanist; of cleanly life and chaste conversation, his verses are morally reckless; educated at Cambridge, where he remained for a seven years’ post-graduate course, he was noted for disloyalty to his Alma Mater; never wrote a line in praise of it, but went out of his way to endorse its rival—Oxford—to whom he owed nothing.

It was his unanticipated loyalty to royalty that led Charles II. to appoint him laureate to succeed Davenant, at the same time creating a post of literary honor and financial profit—historiographer—receiving £100 for each position. His honors cost him dearly in public favor. It was currently believed that he renounced the cause of the people for court favors, and Puritanism for self-advancement, and for a score of years he lost in popularity all that he won of financial ease and royal distinction.

His greatness consisted in the sublime tact with which he used the opportunity that disfavor brought him to immortalize himself in verse.

The Duke of Buckingham, the people’s favorite, ridiculed the laureate in scathing rhyme, which called forth vociferous applause from all the lesser poets whom envy and jealousy led to bitter hatred of the favorite of the court.

Dryden had the grit and genius to hurl the masterpiece of his age at the whole range of critics under the title of “Absalom and Achitophel,” and by sheer superiority of brilliancy and wit dethroned Buckingham and seated himself on the throne of popular favor. A specimen of his characterization may not be amiss.

“Some of their chiefs were princes of the land;

In the first rank of these did Zimri stand.

A man so various that he seemed to be

Not one, but all mankind’s epitome.

Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong,

Was everything by starts and nothing long;

But in the course of one revolving moon

Was chemist, fiddler, statesman and buffoon,

Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking,

Beside ten thousand freaks that died in thinking,

Blest madman, who could every hour employ

With something new to wish or to enjoy.

Railing and praising were his usual themes,

And both to show his judgment in extremes.

So over violent or over civil,

That every man with him was God or devil.

In squandering wealth was his peculiar art,

Nothing went unrewarded but desert.

He laughed himself from court, then sought relief

By forming parties, but could ne’er be chief.

Thus, wicked but in will, of means bereft,

He left not faction, but of that was left.”

Dryden was the first well-paid poet England ever had. For the translation of his fables he received £300, while for translating Virgil he received the fabulous sum of £1,200.

His most distinguished poem is his “Ode to St. Cecilia,” which he wrote at the age of seventy, at a single all-night sitting. In the evening hour the thought occurred to him and he could not drop his pen until at dawn the last word was on paper.

Wordsworth could not love Dryden, because there is not an image in all his poetry suggested by nature. While Chaucer seems to have been always out of doors, Dryden apparently never knew there was any out of doors. He could not create, could not be pathetic, but in power of argument, in satirical skill, in “declamatory magnificence,” he is without a peer in the language.

Thomas Shadwell, “mature in dullness from his tender years,” who only lives through the grace of Dryden’s crucifying satire, by a fortune no art can explain enjoyed the laurel that had decked the brow of Dryden for a generation. Without poetic merit he was skillful as a hater, shrewd as a schemer; he missed no opportunity to make Dryden wince until he made himself acknowledged as his rival, and when William and Mary ascended the throne the only way they could effectively snub the royalty they supplanted was to transfer the laurel from Dryden to Shadwell, who owed all the fame he ever enjoyed to his artful drawing of Dryden’s fire.

It is too bad that William and Mary were fated to divest their reign of all literary glory by bestowing the court honors first upon Shadwell and then upon Nahum Tate, who had some veins of merit, but no popular talent. Dryden praised him in his day, and the “Book of Common Prayer” and our church hymn books retain some choice lines that he wrote. Queen Anne retained him ten years, but he was almost universally regarded as stupid and juiceless in poetry, and at the age of sixty-five, poor, homeless, unable to earn a living, she ejected him from the laureateship, and he retired to the “Mint,” the prison for the better class of poor debtors. Thus, in poverty and humility ended the days of him who wrote our familiar hymn,

“While shepherds watched their flocks by night,

All seated on the ground;

The angel of the Lord came down,

And glory shone around.”

Nicholas Rowe, with no popular fervor of verse, won high favor in classic circles through an independent fortune and rare social gift. Pope’s friendship welcomed him to the circle of rare visits, while the élite of Queen Anne’s reign courted him with royal art. Few men of real genius ever have been so splendidly rewarded as he. Swift and Addison were only second in their admiration to Pope, who wrote this tender epitaph:

“Thy relics, Rowe, to this sad shrine we trust,

And near thy Shakspere place the honored bust;

Oh! next him skilled to draw the tender tear,

For never heart felt passion more sincere;

To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,

For never Briton more disdained a slave.

Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!

Blest is thy genius, is thy love, too, blest!

And blest that timely from our scene removed,

Thy soul enjoys the liberty it loved.”

Unknown as Rowe has proved to be to fame, he was blest with the respect of his contemporaries, which could not be said of his successor, Lawrence Eusden, then as well as now unknown to fame, and yet he wore the laureate wreath twelve years. Pope abused him in his “Dunciad,” Cooke in the “Battle of the Poets” has this couplet:

“Eusden, a laurel’d bard by fortune raised,

By very few was read, by fewer praised.”

The rhetorician, Oldmixon, says he never met a poet with so much of the “ridiculum and fustian jumbled together, a sort of nonsense which so perfectly confounds all ideas that there is no distinct one left in the mind.” And yet the Georges I. and II. placed the laurel on his brow.

George II., with characteristic misfortune, selected Colley Cibber, whom Pope made famous—I had almost said infamous—in these lines:

“In merry Old England it once was a rule,

The king had his poet, and also his fool,

But now we’re so frugal, I’d have you to know it,

That Cibber can serve both for fool and for poet.”

His father, Caius Gabriel Cibber, an artist, sculptured the statues of two lunatics over the gates of Bedlam hospital. Although the artistic work was creditable, Pope made the father’s hand the medium of a savage attack on the son in the first book of the “Dunciad,” which was written for the purpose of making Eusden and Cibber, the laureates of George II., ridiculous. He thus introduces them as dunces:

“Still Dunce the Second reigns like Dunce the First.”

And thus he makes the father’s art serve his wicked purpose:

“Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne,

When o’er the gates, by his famed father’s hand,

Great Cibber’s brazen, brainless brothers stand.”

His only literary work that has endured even in the knowledge of scholars was an admirable autobiography which would have honored his name had he the wit to let poetry alone.

Eusden and Cibber succeeded in one thing, they made the position of laureate thoroughly undesirable, so that when upon the latter’s death it was offered the author of the “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard,” Thomas Gray promptly declined it, but William Whitehead accepted, serving during the excitement preceding and attending the American Revolution. He became at once the target for the shafts of satire aimed by his fellow poets, Churchill endeavoring to persecute him as Pope had his predecessors. But Whitehead had the rare grace to bear all attacks in silence, living as comfortable and happy a life as though there had been no satirical buzzing. He knew he was not brilliant, and did not propose to make himself miserable over it. Churchill might rasp him as caustically as he chose, he would lose neither sleep nor peace of mind in consequence, and this sublime indifference ultimately silenced all critics, permitting him to enjoy thirty years of self-satisfied service.

At his death Thomas Warton, the senior of two poetic brothers, whom Hazlitt says was studious with ease and learned without affectation, reclaimed the position from the contempt in which it had been so long held. He achieved what should satisfy the aspiration of any man successfully challenging the public taste that had been the slave of the didactic school of poetry under Pope, imparting a love for the poetry of nature and the literary style of the Old English masters who lived out of doors. It is hard to think that at his death the laureateship sank lower than ever. It is humiliating to record that for a quarter of a century Henry James Pye bore the honors, ushering out the eighteenth and ushering in the nineteenth century, a man of whom Byron expressed the universal disdain when he wrote:

“What! What!

Pye come again? No more, no more of that.”

Three names grace the laureate record of the past seventy years, names of pioneers, each rapturously praised by admirers, and as violently condemned by critics—Southey, Wordsworth and Tennyson.

Taine, our racy French critic, places Southey in the first rank of his class of poets, a clever man, an indefatigable reader, inexhaustible writer, crammed with erudition, gifted in imagination, gifted like Victor Hugo for the freshness of his annotations and splendor of his picturesque curiosity. De Quincy criticises him as being too intensely objective, with too little exhibit of the mind as introverting upon its own thought and feelings. He is distinguished at once for his unwearying attacks upon the institutions of which the natural Englishman is proud. This is readily accounted for from the fact that at fourteen he was disgraced at Westminster school for writing a sarcastic article on corporal punishment, for which the publisher was prosecuted by the head-master, and that at Oxford University, where he took a partial course, he was annoyed by the exasperations of financial infelicities preventing high rank, and ultimately forcing him away from scholastic privileges.

As a critic, historian and antiquarian Southey held high rank among the scholars of the land, and yet he acquired his scholarly taste and vast learning by out of school studies.

He was preëminently one of those curious creatures of circumstance who are such because they have the tact to make unpromising events serve them. He was too active a democrat to hope for court favors, and too closely allied with the Unitarians to venture within the church, and therefore happily fell into association with Coleridge and his coterie. At the time Coleridge was scheming as a high-toned communist to send a colony to America to found a model, impracticable republic on the banks of the Susquehanna, from which all selfishness was to be banished, and Southey, at eighteen, attempted to raise money for that object, failing in which he was frequently a penniless youth.

To prevent the poverty stricken youth from marrying Mrs. Coleridge’s sister, his uncle shipped him to Lisbon, but it was too late, as the lad had already married her secretly on borrowed money.

He was sixty years of age before he was financially straight, and before he was eighty he died, leaving one of the finest libraries in Europe and an estate of £12,000. His library was the result of his habits of close study and devout love of books. Of himself he wrote:

“My days among the dead are passed;

Around me I behold,

Where’er these casual eyes are cast,

The mighty minds of old;

My never-failing friends are they,

With whom I converse night and day.”

A college chum befriended him in his youthful poverty and settled upon him an annuity of £160, which prevented suffering many times. He prided himself on early rising and was at his desk soon after rising, whether he had special work on hand or not. The morning after he had finished one of his leading poems he wrote the first hundred lines of a more successful one before breakfast. He worked almost literally every hour of every day of every month of every year of his life, until at seventy-six he broke down with softening of the brain.

William Wordsworth, a companion and admirer of Southey, succeeded him as laureate. He was good naturedly ridiculed by the literary world, but instead of being maddened thereby as Byron was, instead of being heart-broken and sent to an untimely grave as Keats was, he smiled serenely on his critics and studiously sought to write as his critics did not wish him to write, and thereby lived to enjoy a generous and widespread appreciation.

While others went to Greece and Rome, to history and mythology for heroes, he went into the streets, highways and byways, huts and hovels, and chose the rude and crude, the loveless and homeless for his poetic purpose. A more uniformly prosperous, serene, moral man never graced English authorship, and in his age he said with pride, “Whatever the world may think of me or of my poetry is now of little consequence; but one thing is a comfort in my old age, that none of my works … contain a line which I should wish to blot out because it panders to the baser passions of our nature.” Who could ask to have more said of him than that he was always correct in life, sweet in spirit, amiable in disposition, unwaveringly conscious that he was doing his utmost to make the world better?

Upon his death an effort was made to abolish the office of laureate, but it failed and Alfred Tennyson was selected, and has for thirty-five years poetized for the glory of England. It is popular in our day to make light of Tennyson’s verse, but it was not always thus, for our own classic Longfellow wrote:

“O sweet historian of heart!

To thee the laurel leaves belong,

To thee our love and our allegiance,

For thy allegiance to the poet’s art.”

The criticisms of no poet are so amusing. Ward (T. H.), who is unrivaled in general judicious criticism, calling from oblivion innumerable forgotten names, seems never to have so much as heard of him, while Taine, our French critic, who unceremoniously “skips” numerous poets of acknowledged rank, gives to scarcely one English poet so extended, clear, close, appreciative criticism as to Tennyson. Shaw in his “Literary Compendium” does not deign to mention him, while Bayard Taylor said “No English poet, with the possible exception of Byron, has so ministered to the natural appetite for poetry.” The average newspaper ridicules him as stupid, but one of our keenest critics says, “He can gather up his strength like a serpent in the gleaming coil of a line, or dart it out straight and free.”

When Tennyson appeared as a poet at the age of thirty-two he evidenced a rare poetic taste, unlike that which had hitherto catered to English readers. For a long time the poetry of England had been prosy in the extreme, metaphysical, monotonous, remorseful, dark and somber, and the appearance of a poet light, graceful and sentimental, was an event calculated to arouse the nation into joyous enthusiasm.

There was about his life, as in his stanzas, a poetic halo, living as he did in the Isle of Wight, away from the rivalries and annoyances of society. Queen Victoria appointed him laureate, out of respect to the public demand that he be thus honored.

It is three centuries since Spenser first wore the laurel. The first century embraced five names, three of whom—Spenser, Johnson and Dryden—were men of recognized superiority. The second had no poet of note. From the reign of the Prince of Orange to the independence of America there was no man of talent who consented to sing the praises of William, Mary, Anne or the Georges. The present century has been honored by scholarly, virtuous men, devoid of marked genius.

It is a delightful thing to be able to say that of the entire sixteen, dull as some of them have been, they have been almost unexceptionally men of recognized purity of character, in ages when poets were renowned for their laxity of morals.

[CONCLUDED.]

THE BELLS OF NOTRE DAME.

BY ADA IDDINGS GALE.

Thy deep tones burden all the air

And hearing, strangest thoughts are mine;

Thou’rt calling all the world to prayer,

To contemplation all divine.

Fled are the pageants of the past

That once turned at thy deep voiced calls,

In glooms doth stand the palace vast,

And silent are its splendid halls.

The galaxy of kings and queens,

Of courtiers—maids of honor fair,

The glittering robe of costly sheen,

The tossing plume, the jewel rare,

The wild retainers in their glee,

That passed unheeded, thy sad tone;

Alas! that life so frail should be

By moulded brass and iron outdone.

Beneath thy chimes passed pomp of pride,

Here many a royal love hath come,

Whose beauties long since faded—died,

Whose dulcet voice is long since dumb.

Thou rang’st the royal infant’s birth,

Thou tolled’st above the royal bier:

Kings, potentates have sunk to earth—

Still art thou speaking calmly here.

Still speak’st above the noise and din

Of the fair city’s glittering sweep—

Thy deep, pathetic tones do win

My very soul—I list and weep.

Thou only art eternal here,

Thy voice the only voice that stays,

Out-ringing, far-toned, deep and clear—

Unmeasured is thy length of days.

Thrones crumble—empires pass away,

And great republics spring to place;

If but men better seem to-day,

Why mourn the faults of age or race?

Why mourn the sad and bitter past,

If but from it the perfect flower

Of justice springeth up at last

To sweeten all the present hour?

Why mourn that gilded thrones should fall,

And jeweled crowns forget to shine,

Since Right will triumph over all,

Moved onward by a power divine?

THE NEW YORK CUSTOM HOUSE.

BY COLEMAN E. BISHOP.

One day I said to the Factotum of the Collector of Customs in New York, “I must do up the Custom House in a magazine article of three thousand five hundred words; how much time shall I need to give to the collection of data here?”

Factotum smiled compassionately on me and said: “About three months!”

In this granite building on Wall Street, with its tall Ionic columns, is transacted a business greater than all the industries of the United States combined half a hundred years ago. The merchandise that was inspected, weighed, counted, measured, valued, catalogued here last year was valued at—count the figures!—$857,430,637. The catalogue includes over three thousand articles, many of which you never heard of and would not even recognize the names thereof. Each of these articles has its particular rate of duty, some having two or three different ones. These have to be calculated specifically on every package by quantity, or if the duty be ad valorem, the value of the article has to be first determined and the duty then calculated on the quantity of goods of that class. These estimates and adjustments form the most intricate and delicate business known to civilization. We sometimes think things are plain and easy to administer upon, but the whole range of metaphysics and abstract thought is not more perplexing and doubtful than this mere business matter of levying and collecting the duties on goods passing the custom house.

I remember of hearing a debate in the Senate of the United States upon a proposed amendment to the tariff laws. The bill had been prepared and revised in a committee of Senators most experienced and acute in such matters, and it had been hammered over in long days of debate. Some one now asked what would be the exact duty collectible under this bill on the class of merchandise to which it related, and not a man in the Senate could tell. Last winter, when it was proposed in the House of Representatives to cut down the duties twenty per cent. all around (“horizontal reduction”), it was demonstrated by experts that the measure would work such confusion that it could not be executed.

To illustrate the nicety and intricacies that have grown around this business, take fabrics. The duty on silk goods and that on cotton goods are different. In the case of mixed, silk and cotton, it is, of course, different still. Then, whether the goods be silk or cotton, or mixed, the duty is calculated by a double standard—so much per square yard, and so much according to its fineness and weight. They count the threads of warp and woof in a square inch, and charge duty accordingly. If there are two hundred threads to the inch the fabric must pay a duty of, say, thirty-five per cent. ad valorem, if it cost over twenty-five cents per yard; while on another piece counting two hundred and one threads to the inch the duty shall be six and a half cents per square yard and fifteen per cent. of its cost. A single thread more or less may change the duty. Then there is all the complication of fixing the value of goods. I don’t suppose there is a farmer in the United States who can ascertain by any amount of figuring what it costs him to raise a pound of wool; yet the customs officers must fix the cost for all wool that is imported. So of all other products on which ad valorem duty is levied. Congress two years ago made a change in the basis of valuation, by decreeing that the value of the package in which goods are imported, the fees of brokers and other middlemen in the country where the goods were bought, and the cost of transporting them from points inland abroad to the seaboard, should not be counted in the value of the goods. All these items had before to be included in the appraisement. The fine distinctions and the contested points in fixing duties are innumerable. If any of them seem absurd and needlessly exact, you must remember that every one of them has been fought over between government and importers, between foreign and American dealers, and between rival importers, and has been established by experience as the best adjustment of all conflicting interests. For the tariff system is the growth of centuries. We inherited its leading features from England’s protective system—what time that, instead of free trade, was her better policy—and have gradually modified and expanded it to suit the exigencies of our own national growth. Each item in it is the record of more than fiscal economy. It measures the government’s efforts, as well to defeat the devices of smugglers and the designs of foreign producers as to raise its own revenues. “As the laws of nations are the crystallizations of its historical experiences, so the customs regulations of a people are the residual crystallization of its commercial relations with foreigners, its efforts at industrial development and self-preservation, and its bitter acquaintance with greed, guile and guilt.”[B]

The country’s acquaintance with greed, guile and guilt does not stop at such manifestations of human nature in those who seek to evade the payment of duties, either. It has to protect itself at the same time against the dishonesty and incapacity of its own servants. The customs system is therefore one of checks and balances to secure (1) the impartial and rigorous collection of all duties; (2) the prevention of mistakes in accounts; (3) the prevention of frauds and peculations, both inside and outside the custom houses. To secure all these the system of book-keeping and business detail is grown wonderfully complex and ingenious. The work is divided into three departments, or bureaus, each under the head of its official, all separate and distinct from one another, all under the jurisdiction of the Collector of Customs, and yet each official having his prerogatives and duties which the Collector can not interfere with. Each department revises the work of the others and tests accuracy and fidelity therein.

The Collector’s duties are to see that all the departments do theirs.

The Surveyor of the Port has charge of all outside matters. He is the eye of the Custom House. He is its right hand, which is laid upon a vessel, its passengers and cargo as soon as they enter the Narrows, and never taken off until all dues and requirements of the government are paid and fulfilled.

The Appraiser is to inspect, value, and catalogue all merchandise, and apportion the duties thereon.

The Naval Officer is to revise the work of all the others, and correct errors and neglects, but he has nothing to do with the machinery of collection.

To insure greater correctness there is a reviser of the revisers, who about a year after the clearance of a cargo takes all the papers connected with it, computes, compares and checks them off, and ascertains what has become of all the goods invoiced.

One would suppose that after a ship and its invoices had run the gauntlet of all these lynx-eyed officials, and the accounts had been cast in half a dozen different ways, and the whole affair probed, and pried open, and pried into, and taken to pieces and put together again in different ways, errors and frauds would be impossible. Importers evidently have not such faith in the perfection and inevitableness of the system, for appeals from the demands of the custom house are frequent, and upward of five hundred suits in a year are brought in court against the collector.

The best way to get a slight comprehension of the way this labyrinthine business is done is to go through it once, in fancy. Say you are a merchant traveling in Europe, and keeping an eye on the main chance by buying a stock of silks, woolens, and fancy goods; also dresses, gloves, and “knick-knacks,” for gifts. When the former are ready to be shipped you have three invoices made and presented to the United States Consul of the port of shipment, for him to revise and approve as correct descriptions of the goods. One of these invoices he keeps, one he mails to the Collector of Customs at New York, and one he gives the owner or consignee of the goods. If on opening the consignment in New York the inspector find this invoice does not correspond with the goods, it must be returned to the consul for correction. Thus early in the transaction do the safeguards begin.

Arrived in port, the vessel is boarded by inspectors who take from the master the ship’s manifest and the other papers, and seal up the hatchways, one remaining in charge of the ship while another takes duplicates of the papers to the collector. The master of the vessel also proceeds to the custom house and submits his papers, which convey a complete history and description of his vessel, its voyage, passengers, crew, cargo, stores, etc., etc. There are in some cases port dues and other charges against the vessel for him to pay. His statement includes a schedule of the number, nature, contents, consignees’ names and residences, and markings and numbers of your packages of goods, and of all others in the cargo. All this he vouches for under oath. Thus, to begin with, the government has three accounts of the cargo. The master is then given a permit to land his cargo, still under surveillance of the inspector.

The cargo while being discharged on the wharf is checked off by the manifest, so as to determine whether the cargo apparently corresponds with the representations of the master and his papers. The cargo being landed, the interests of yourself and other consignees become active. You go to the custom house in person, or by a broker, present the bill of lading and the invoices of your goods, certified by the consul; and you state under oath that you have certain merchandise in the cargo as set forth in the invoices, with the marks of the packages and description of their contents. This is called an entry of the goods. If approved, the papers are stamped, dated and numbered, and the value of the goods and the rate of duty are indorsed on the back of your invoice by the entry clerk. He then issues to you a permit to take away such of the goods as you choose, upon payment of the estimated duties thereon, and after compliance with the further conditions described below. If you choose to leave any of the goods for a season in government warehouses, you need not pay the duties thereon, but may give bonds for payment to be made whenever you do take them. This is a bonded warehouse, and when you take the goods it is called “taking them out of bond.” Often goods intended for re-export are left in bond until sent out of the country, and no duty is ever paid on such.

The correctness of these preliminary steps having been reviewed and vouched for by the naval officer, certain portions of the goods, about ten per cent., are sent to the appraiser’s office, as samples from which the value of the whole consignment may be appraised. Before the appraisal is made, however, you must go to the cashier’s office and pay the estimated duty on the goods wanted immediately, on their apparent value as shown in the invoice; you must also give what is called a “return bond” that you will not open the goods until ten days after the appraiser has passed upon the samples, and that you will return the goods to the custody of the collector if required during that time; this enables the government to keep its hold on the goods until the final adjustment of its claims. You now get your permit indorsed by the deputy collector and the naval officer, and take it to the inspector in charge of the vessel.

All your other papers are sent to the appraiser, with the sample goods. His examiner identifies the one by the other and he makes his estimates—a difficult and delicate task, sometimes. The changes from the invoices, either in the quantity or value of goods are noted, and the papers are returned to the collector’s office, where the work of the appraiser as to classification of goods and proper duties, to be paid is carefully revised. If the appraiser’s work be disapproved it is returned to him for correction. After he has amended it, it goes to the naval office, where the whole work is again revised. Then it goes finally to the Bureau of Liquidation, where if you have already paid the right duty you can get a permit to take your goods; if there is more to pay you pay it; if you have paid too much the amount of the overcharge is returned to you. If you be not satisfied with the valuation or any other feature of the adjustment you can appeal, within a certain time, to the Secretary of the Treasury, and if he sustain the collector you can still further appeal to the United States Court. Or if the valuation do not satisfy you, you can ask for a re-appraisement, or demand to have the goods valued by a disinterested outsider expert in such goods. Before him you can call expert witnesses and make as good a case as possible.

If you find any of your goods have been damaged in the voyage—say by bilge water or breakage—you can demand a reduction of the valuation (and hence of the duty) in consequence.

You have now done with the custom house, but it has not done with your papers. They are all gone over again in another way, so as to verify them; and then all the data are tabulated in such a way as to again prove the accuracy of the processes. There is another review of them before the much-tested documents are finally laid to rest. And as before noted, the whole account of the cargo is re-examined a year later.

With the kid gloves and finery in your trunk you will have less red-tape trouble. Inspectors from a revenue cutter have boarded the ship down the Bay, and taken a sworn statement from every passenger as to the number of pieces of baggage he has, and whether or no he has any dutiable goods therein. You may not know whether your goods are dutiable or not, and what is of more importance to you, you may not know that some things which are strictly dutiable in law and would have to pay if put through the custom house in an invoice, can pass free in your baggage. You shall see how and why this liberality of the government is exercised.

Now you and your baggage are taken off the steamer and transported on barges to the barge office at the Battery. Here the scene is as animated, if not as picturesque, as at Castle Garden, described in the October Chautauquan. A large rotunda is piled with long tiers of trunks, boxes and parcels, each ranged under a placard bearing the letter which is the initial of the owner’s name—so that it is easy for you to find yours, unless you are as uncertain as to the orthography of your name as Tony Weller was. A blue-clad, brass-badged inspector, holding your sworn statement in his hand, demands the keys to your trunks. The manner in which you comply will have much to do with the rigor of his investigation, as will your general appearance and make-up. These officials become as good judges of character by externals as do railroad conductors. One of the latter once said to me: “I can pick out all the fresh passengers in a coach as soon as I open the door, by the way they sit, look, and breathe. If they try to deceive, their faces will betray them; they look too unconcerned and innocent. If they feign sleep they overdo it; their attitudes betray them.” So an inspector here says that people’s words, movements, dress, all tell of them.

I can tell the incoming traveler an open secret. Uncle Sam is extremely liberal in the matter of baggage inspection. You would be surprised, sir or madam, at the things the inspector don’t see, if you simply throw yourself on the government’s generosity and act as if you expected to be liberally dealt with. You have only to remember that your foot is on your native heath, and you are an American citizen, one of the sovereigns. An inspector said: “This property is personal effects, and public sentiment is very sensitive as to domiciliary inspection and invasion of private sanctity. The inspector is given wide latitude of judgment; he must have it. By law, every pair of kid gloves that has not been worn is dutiable, but we began to allow a lady a few extra pairs, and finally the limit was set at a dozen. Although that is liberal, we find that plenty of ladies have more pairs in use; and if her appearance, dress, and the other contents of the trunks justify it, we pass as many as we fancy a lady in her station might possess. So of dresses, laces, fans, fancy articles, et cetera. Even piece goods not cut or sewed are under certain conditions ignored, if the owner declares they are for her own necessary use. So of cigars. Our rule is to pass a hundred duty free; but we don’t always stop to count them, if the passenger looks like a man of means and character. What would the seizure amount to if there were ten or twenty, or even fifty over the arbitrary limit we have fixed? The government does not do such ‘picayune business.’”

“Does not this leave the door open for smuggling?”

“Not much. A person can not get much through openly in a trunk that can affect the revenues or injure honest importers. The chief thing we need to prevent is passing goods intended for selling. This sort of fraud is usually attempted by deception, and we are pretty sure to detect it, either by the nervousness or appearance of the person, by the looks of the baggage, or by having been forewarned by detectives abroad, on shipboard or here. We get a moiety share of the forfeiture and fine, if we detect such attempts, and this is so large a sum that our interests are mostly with the government.”

We will learn more about smuggling. False bottoms and secret pockets in trunks are an old device for hiding things; but the man who first secreted diamonds in his boot heel originated something. Secreting about the person is the ruse oftenest used, and, women’s costumes affording the best resources for this purpose, women are the most frequent smugglers.

Some of them—reputable women, too—take quite superfluous pains and make themselves look needlessly ridiculous by loading their persons with apparel that no one would question if in their trunks, and no one does on their persons, except to smile at the self-exposure. On a hot July day I saw elegant appearing ladies in the barge office, sweating under enormous fur cloaks that made them look like Arctic explorers. This foible is neatly satirized in “Nothing to Wear,” in which is described the enormously stout appearance of Miss Flora McFlimsy upon landing.

One day the inspector witnessed a woman waddling down the gang plank with the body of a two hundred pounder and the face and head of a skinny, ninety-five pounder. Of course she was invited to the examination room by the female inspector, where the peripatetic ladies’ furnishing store was opened up and duty demanded on the whole outfit. The same things in a trunk would probably have gone through, most of them. Here the open and honest course were the wisest.

Laces, silks, and linens are wound around the body and limbs, or made up into extra and superfluous skirts. Coiffeurs are made to serve as bustles; extra gold watches and jewelry are hung to the inside of skirts, and a dozen other devices are the suggestion of lovely and ingenious woman.

Here, as well as on the Canada frontier, women are found most apt at amateur smuggling. The reasons for this are numerous. Women are by education and domestic necessity close buyers and can not usually forego a bargain. The lines of duty, moral or fiscal, are not closely drawn or clearly defined here. Smuggling is a statutory offense, not a moral crime, and from time immemorial injustice and favoritism have been alleged against the whole tariff on imports. You shall hear plenty of good moral men to-day denouncing all tariff as robbery. Besides, what deference for or loyalty to government demands should we expect of women when they are denied all share in government or law-making? Over against these customs peccadilloes we may set the unanimous verdict of business men that in positions of financial trust and responsibility, and as debtors, women are almost universally honest.

The belief is quite common that smuggling through luggage is much practiced by feeing the inspectors. Of course, the inspectors deny this. They point to the superior inducements to fidelity on their part in the share they secure of seizures, forfeitures, and penalties; to the risk they run of detection in accepting bribes, the inspection being done openly with many interested spectators and paid spies about, and to the serious consequences of detection. Moreover, since the courts in the celebrated Astor suit decided that anything may pass which the person would swear is for personal or family use, the necessity for bribery is largely done away. Mr. Astor recovered from government duties upon $40,000 worth of luggage that had been seized.

This story is told: Two years ago a woman landed with as many trunks as a banyan tree; the inspector had been notified that she was a fashionable milliner in New York. She said to the inspector, “I am in great hurry, and if you will put my baggage right through and come up to my store this evening I will give you a five pound note.” The collector scented more than twenty-five dollars for himself in forfeitures, and began the examination. A dozen pairs of new kid gloves, of four different sizes, were the first thing uncovered. The lady protested that they were all for herself, and that she was entitled to a dozen, and they were passed. But when more gloves of different sizes were found, until there were half a gross, she began to raise her bid. Then fifty pairs of new shoes of many different sizes were turned out, and then silks, flowers, ribbons, fans, and finery à la McFlimsy. She at last offered three hundred dollars to have the trunks passed, but as there was about twelve hundred dollars worth of goods on which was a duty to collect of, say, five hundred dollars, all of which (seventeen hundred dollars) was forfeit, it was no use. The business had gone to a point where the owner could not afford to bid against the government for the purchase of the inspector’s honor. The goods were sent to the seizure room, and the woman was sued for the penalty, as it exceeded the value of the property. After two years of obstacles and delay the case was compromised and settled. The inspector told me that his share of the damages would be much more than the three hundred dollars she offered. Honesty is the best policy, virtue is its own reward, and everybody is honest when it pays best, you see. If the woman had not offered the bribe, and thus put it out of the power of the official to show her any leniency, she would have been allowed to take the goods away on payment of simple duty. She at least learned that there is a time and way for all things, including bribery.

[B] Harper’s for June, 1884.

THE CHRISTIAN REVOLT OF THE JEWS IN SOUTHERN RUSSIA.

BY BISHOP JOHN F. HURST, D.D., LL.D.

There is a little country in the south-eastern corner of Europe, bordering on the Black Sea, which goes by the name of Bessarabia. It drops into the angle formed by the Black Sea and one of the three mouths of the Danube. Before the Crimean war it was a part of Russia, but in consequence of Russia’s defeat in that war she was compelled, in the treaty, to give it up to Turkey, and until six years ago it remained a part of the Turkish Empire. But in the late war between Russia and Turkey it was Russia’s time to win, and so she took back Bessarabia, and it again became a part of her dominions. It has always been the scene of a busy and peculiar life. The very river itself seems to have imparted much of its current to the people, and they have been thinking, in their own humble way, of the best means to promote their own interests.

The most recent movement in this small section of Russia is the religious awakening of the Jews who settled in Bessarabia many years ago, being driven there by the pressure of persecution, and leading a quiet life, saying nothing as the lash came down upon them. From one step to another this religious reformation has proceeded, all the while approaching Christianity, until now it is a strong and still growing work, and in all essential respects, save only organic unity, is allied with the Christian church. It has already attracted the attention of inquiring minds in western Europe, and threatens to extend into the hitherto firm body of Judaism, and awaken intense Christian aspirations and sympathies in the Jewish mind throughout the world. Delitzsch, of Leipzig University, has given some account of the general features of the revolution in his Documente der National-jüdischen Christgläubigen Bewegung in Südrussland, but the most that has been written has thus far been in fugitive form, in the Slavic periodicals of the Danubian principalities. The whole affair has taken place in such an obscure country, and so far removed from the busy centers of European thought and life, that it has not had time to get into the permanent field of literature. Its leaders have been so little accustomed to rely on the press, or to take it into view as a means of propagating their opinions, that in this new phase of their work they have depended simply on the justice of their cause and the firm principles which they believe underlie it. From various sources, and especially from the Rev. Dr. Kleinheim, of Bucharest, who has been a resident of this far-off city about twenty years, and is probably better acquainted with the internal working of Judaism in eastern and southern Europe than any other man, I have gathered the most of the data which I herewith present to your readers. This gentleman has spent his life in trying to christianize the Jews of Moldavia and Wallachia, and his labors have been remarkably successful. He has been kind enough to answer all my inquiries, and to open to me some of the interior views of this important and unique movement which could not have been secured at a distance.

The prime mover in this revolt against pure Judaism, and in favor of Christian adaptations, is a layman, Joseph Rabinowitz. He is a lawyer by profession, and for learning, and as a pure and elevated character, he has been long held in the highest repute by his companions in faith throughout Bessarabia. From his very development into manhood he seems to have been interested in the improvement of their condition, and to have conceived the idea that there must be some new and easy solution of their solitude and sorrow. In 1880 he presented a plan, which was more theoretical and fanciful than practical, by which the Jewish priesthood might be thoroughly reorganized, and thereby the whole Jewish system undergo a most salutary rehabilitation. There was, however, no intimation here that any form of Christianity should be superadded to Judaism. But he had his thoughts, and applied himself with redoubled energy to helping his brethren to something better than they had so far possessed, both in faith and material comfort. The Jews have seldom shown any sympathy with agriculture. They are a folk of trade, the world’s shopmen and money changers. But Rabinowitz endeavored to introduce agriculture among the Bessarabian Jews, and to locate them in pleasant and open homes. By and by, in 1882, the violent persecution of the Jews of the whole of southern Russia broke out, and neither life nor property seemed to rest on any approach to a secure base.

Rabinowitz now turned his attention to the Holy Land. He felt that Russia was no place for the Jews to live in, that they should go to a country where their fathers had once been great and strong, that now Palestine had only a sparse population, that the Jews would not be disturbed there in any way, and that they should wander hither, become tillers of the soil, and develop once more into a great people. He went there himself, made a careful study of the country, and especially of its history, and came to the startling conclusion that the land itself, from positive internal evidence, gives the fullest and clearest proof possible, to-day, that such a character as Jesus Christ did live in it, that he, and none other, is the promised Messiah, that all further expectation of a Messiah on the part of the Jews is idle, and that the only proper course for them to adopt is to accept him as their Savior and Redeemer. This is concession which lies at the root of all Judaism; once granted, there is positively nothing essential left.

Rabinowitz had gone to Palestine for the sole purpose of opening the country for a new immigration, not only of Jews from Bessarabia, but from every land. He saw in the occupation of the country, by his fellow-believers, a magnificent future for them. But through some strange providence, which no one seems yet to understand, he saw a larger future—the Jews of all lands coming to the cross of Christ. He went back to Bessarabia, and soon astounded his companions in doctrine by his bold and impassioned declarations of the divine character of Jesus. With the genius of the real leader, he adopted a watchword, which has now become broadly known as the rallying cry of all Jews who share his doctrine: “The key of the Holy Land lies in the hand of our brother Jesus.”

There is no want of clearness in the creed of this new and striking departure in Judaism. It is an adoption of the fundamental doctrines of Christianity; at the same time, however, those who entertain these doctrines do not propose to withdraw from Judaism completely, but to retain some of the minor features of the old system, and to refrain from joining any Christian denomination. They call themselves “The National Jewish Society of the New Testament.” In their articles of faith, as communicated by Pastor Faltin, of Kischinev, to Dr. Delitzsch, they hold the following general views: There is one living and true God, creator of all things. He made a covenant with Israel, his people, that he would raise from their midst a prophet, who should have the spirit of the Lord, and himself be the Lord, who would plant righteousness throughout the earth. This prophet is the promised Messiah, who taught the people the truth, and bore their sins, and died for the whole world. He was born about seventy years before the destruction of the second temple, and died at the hands of his enemies. He will rule the house of David, and exalt the horn of his people for ever more. The Jews of his time were stricken with blindness. The light was before them, but because of their hardness of heart they were punished with helplessness. Hence they killed their Lord. It is now time to open their eyes, and see him whom their fathers slew. He alone is Redeemer. He alone can build up the Jewish people. From all lands they should hasten to Palestine, and accept Christ immediately, and expect nothing less than that he will restore Jerusalem to its former glory, and build there once more the throne of David.

Such is the mere thread of doctrine which pervades this new system, but there is interwoven with it a certain general paraphrase of teaching, which it is also necessary to understand. This is furnished Dr. Delitzsch by Wilhelm Faber (of Kirsanoff), who took notes one afternoon when Rabinowitz himself gave a survey of his creed. “We Jews,” says the leader, “who have come into the full vision of Jesus Christ, and now feel the power of his spirit, have not come to the great light through any general indoctrination from without. No, we have looked deeply into the Old and New Testaments, and have found that God takes no pleasure in the death of the sinner, and that he loves his people Israel, and is willing to save them. Our reflection has become stirred by the miracles of Jesus. We see in them the evidences of his divinity and the proofs of his love toward us. We have come to look to our brother Jesus as the Messiah, and to find in him our only hope of salvation.”

While Rabinowitz has organized his companions in this new doctrine into a separate religious body, which does not alienate itself fully from Judaism, it differs from Christianity widely enough to prevent perfect affiliation with it. It stands upon the border-line, being neither positively Jewish nor altogether Christian. Rabinowitz finds fault with Christians for being divided into many confessions, and congratulates his fellow-believers from among the Jews on the ease with which they can build themselves into a new organization without the embarrassment of subdivisions. In answer to the question as to whether circumcision should be enforced in this new religious society, Rabinowitz says: “It is not sinful to abstain from circumcision, but he who does so abstain cuts himself off from all relation to his people.” He, therefore, makes this rite a part of the creed of his church, but not a necessity. He regards the sentences of the Old and New Testaments as of equal validity, and rejects the Talmud and the writings of the rabbinists as not of authoritative force, but as valuable monuments of an early time. He adopts the communion service of the Lutheran church, and makes baptism an essential part of his system.

Rabinowitz propounded his doctrines to his fellow Jews only two years ago, and in this brief time over two hundred families have formally united with him. Of course the regular Jews do not endorse such a departure. They regard it as a miserable apostasy, and proclaim loudly against it. On the other hand, the Christian church can not hail it with unmixed pleasure, inasmuch as the “National Jews” still adhere to some parts of the Jewish system, and must make some important concessions before they can be regarded as a thorough religious body.

In what light, therefore, must these Jews, who have accepted Christ and his full atonement, be held? Can we see in their doctrines a sign of real hope for the entire Jewish world? We think that only one answer can be given, the one which Delitzsch and other close students of the Hebrew mind, both past and present, have been compelled to give—namely, that we see here an evidence of the breaking up of the old Jewish solidity. Mendelssohn and others have proven that the Jews are subdivided among themselves, that there are numerous tendencies which pervade the entire body, and that these are constantly growing stronger. This, however, is the first instance where an important part of the Jewish church has openly adopted the atonement of Christ, and proposes to rise or fall by that alone. May it not be the great outcome of the Jewish mystery, that large sections will formally adopt Christianity; that not as individuals but as vast territorial sections they will renounce their old faith and take their place among Christian bodies; and that in due time they will drop the Jewish name altogether, and be thoroughly identified with the great Christian church in all its activities and grand purposes?

The middle ground of the National Jews of to-day, as occupied and preached by Rabinowitz, is simply an impossibility for the future. It is neither one thing nor another. Its exact parallel, in our day, can be found in the impossible church of Father Hyacinth. His work is neither all Protestant nor all Roman Catholic. To succeed it must become Protestant, and formally reject all attachments to the old Romanism. There must be no looking back when once the “hand is put to the plow.” Had Martin Luther stood all his life upon the door-sill of Roman Catholicism, looking out and yet not going out, his work would have been a total failure, and have shown a lack of that final courage which makes a successful revolution. We must, however, bear in mind the fact that he was preceded by men who had taken positive ground, but not the last step. To their moderate work he owed much. He saw their failure, and the cause of it, and hence he broke the whole yoke and became a free man. In the same useful line must we rank the doctrines and work of Rabinowitz. He may not take all the advanced course which we would like, and which history reveals as only the true Reformer, but he is the sure forerunner of one or more who will do this work. It is one of the ways in which God distributes his honors, that his great movements are not conducted by one alone. There is always the Baptist, and sometimes many, who must preach in the wilderness, before the full gospel of the mountain side and sea shore can be heard from the lips of the world’s Teacher. In this light, as the prophecy of a new religious awakening among the Jews, who have for all ages rejected all approaches from Christianity, must we regard the doctrines and work of Rabinowitz and his friends. His cause is rapidly growing, and must continue to grow. While it is not a finality, it is in the right direction, and hence a blessing which all Christian people must hail with pleasure.

Bucharest, Roumania, October 7, 1884.

THE INNER CHAUTAUQUA.

BY CHANCELLOR J. H. VINCENT, D.D.

Chautauqua is a place and an idea. The idea was before the place; although it must be confessed that the embodiment of the thought in a physical frame-work of soil and forest had a most wholesome effect on the idea itself, giving it a chance to draw strength from its external conditions; to “ultimate” its conceptions in action; to experiment with raw material; to command the attention and elicit the commendation on which good things thrive, and to adapt its aim and energy to the variety of people and conditions with which it proposed to deal.

The place is beautiful, and grows more beautiful with the passing years. Nature has not suspended her beneficent ministries since Art pitched her pavilion by the side of these waters. Trees still put forth branches and clothe them with foliage. The old trees stand like venerable giants, with as much of hope as of memory in their hearts, and in their annual robe of verdure forget that for so many years they have watched the coming and the going of the seasons. Young trees that have grown a dozen years older since the first Chautauqua song broke the silence are now stately and beautiful, ready to be witnesses for a hundred years, of the strange things to be done here, and of which we who are looking about for graves only dream of now. The lake—who shall tell of its moods, its smiles and frowns, its loud murmurings of unrest when the fierce winds come down in power upon it; its low sobbings after the storm, trying to forgive and forget; its sweet answers to the toying breeze; its splendor when the moon flings a robe of silver over it; and when the sun, making it a mirror, rejoices in it (as Christ in the true saints) because it faithfully reflects his own glorious image?

Art has not altogether been useless, although more than once unwise. Penuriousness has sometimes spoiled lines and angles, and mixed bad colors. Stupidity has blundered into sad combinations and contrasts; but on the whole Art has clasped hands with Nature, and made the place Chautauqua a lovely and fitting tabernacle for the Chautauqua Idea.

There is a Chautauqua within Chautauqua. To see this other Chautauqua, one must have eyes—eyes that look into the innermost things. He must see beyond groves and crowds, beyond lake and sky, beyond buildings and programs. He must be able to see necessities, intellectual and spiritual, in the individual and in society, tendencies of thought, forces of conviction, pressures of desire and ambition, the conflict of new and old civilizations in the personal life, as circumstances bring a man face to face with the new, while yet from habit and feeling he is held half-slave by the old.

He who sees Chautauqua must understand the relations (not generally understood) between gracious culture and the rough, unæsthetic services which people must render each other and their own lives in this world, services of feeding and clothing and cleaning and housing—low, gross and humiliating, as judged from an artist’s studio or a “poet’s frenzied mood.” He must find out that high and low, noble and ignoble are relative terms; that a kitchen may for a time cage an angel whose hands dabble in dough, and whose tired feet in coarse shoes tread rough floors. She may serve her inferiors and treasure the pittance they give her to buy books for her brain life, at least that portion of the pittance she does not need to feed unfortunate people who depend upon her. When crowns are given out, a marvelous readjustment of relations will take place, and certain little neighborhoods will be shaken with surprise.

Chautauquans with eyes see the distinctions in advance, and recognize the crowns that hover in mid-air over the saints, and they pay honors to “Alfreds in neat herd’s huts” before the throne is ready.

Chautauquans who have eyes to see have discovered the strong and delicate cords of religious life which run through and unite all the diverse elements of life into a sacred harmony—a sacrament exceeding holy.

Chautauquans see God in everything and find in everything ways of coming near to him. They believe in nature and in science—true science—and abide by her final decisions, and take delight in her processes. But they believe also in a Father whose thought makes scientific thought possible, and of whose creative and controlling thought science is but an interpretation.

Chautauquans believe in the God of the Book—the Book of Books. They do not trouble themselves about the modus, the quantum and the qualitas of inspiration. They simply take the book in its entirety, as the book given to be studied, trusted, loved, and obeyed, as individual conscience and judgment respond to its contents after calm, devout and diligent study thereof; and not to be quarreled over or quibbled about, or forced to sustain preconceived or preaccepted notions by a string of separated texts on the cord of a curious fancy, or an antiquated dogma. They put BOOK and soul together, and trust both thoroughly for fair treatment.

Chautauquans “study the Word and the Works of God.” And so firm is their faith in the Spirit who wrought the works and inspired the Word, and in the spirit of man for whom the Word was inspired, that they feel it not strange that God the Father should “dwell in the midst of them,” folding his own children to his heart and breathing of his own spirit into their spirits, enlightening, regenerating, comforting, witnessing. And as trust grows and desire increases this access becomes less and less interrupted, and they hope one of these days in all wisdom, reason and sense to trust in God continually, and every day to feel his presence and rejoice in his grace.

Chautauquans, however, discriminate between this divine possession which captures and sways intellect and will week days and Sundays, in business and in church life steadily and effectively, and the mere spasms of resolution under pressure of occasion; the selfish efforts over fancied personal security; the studied outward conformity to religious duties according to the ebb and flow of religious emotion. They believe so firmly in the kingdom and patience of our Lord that obedience is worth more than comfort and faith, a firmer foundation than sight or feeling.

To Chautauquans, therefore, all things hold a measure of God’s infinite wisdom. All things are precious, for in all things one may find traces of his grace. All things are sublime, for all things are connected with a glorious unity, which fills heaven and earth, eternity past and eternity to come. Flowers, fossils, microscopic dust, foul soil, things that crawl and things that soar, ooze from the sea-depths, lofty heights that salute the stars—all are divine in origin and nature. A boot-black may be a king—boot-black and king—both at once. Human eyes see only the black hands, patched knees and crouching form that bespeak servility. There are eyes that can see deeper and further. Seeing so much they extend a hand of greeting. Then kings and saints converse.

Chautauquans believe in Wealth when honesty wins it, prudence protects it, and benevolence uses it. They believe in Position when worth secures it, work honors it, and humility attends it. They believe in Culture, when teachableness goes before it, and all the faculties in true harmony receive it and religion inspires and controls it. They believe in Labor, when true social relations distribute it, when no one family of faculties is abused by it, and when true, reverent and philanthropic motives direct it.

Chautauquans are believers in a common brotherhood—but are not “communists.” They are open to truth, and hold an inheritance in all truth, and are subject only to the truth. But they are not boastful free thinkers in

“Realms remote, mysterious, divine,”

dogmatizing and denouncing. They believe in truth, God, and humanity. They seek the first, rejoice in the second, and serve the third.

These are some of the ideas which belong to the Chautauqua movement—the thoughts within the things—the theories of which phenomenal Chautauqua is a visible expression.

OUTLINE OF REQUIRED READINGS.

JANUARY, 1885.

First Week (ending January 8).—1. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from page 1 to 21.

2. “Character of Jesus,” from page 1 to 45.

3. “Temperance Teachings of Science,” in The Chautauquan.

4. Sunday Readings for January 4, in The Chautauquan.

Second Week (ending January 15).—1. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from page 21 to 43.

2. “Character of Jesus,” from page 40 to 87.

3. “Greek Mythology,” in The Chautauquan.

4. “Kitchen Science and Art,” in The Chautauquan.

5. Sunday Readings for January 11, in The Chautauquan.

Third Week (ending January 23).—1. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from page 43 to 63.

2. “Character of Jesus,” from page 87 to 129.

3. “Old Greek Life,” in The Chautauquan.

4. Sunday Readings for January 18, in The Chautauquan.

Fourth Week (ending January 31).—1. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from page 63 to 83.

2. “Character of Jesus,” from page 129 to 173.

3. “Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics,” in The Chautauquan.

4. Sunday Readings for January 25, in The Chautauquan.

PROGRAMS FOR LOCAL CIRCLE WORK.

FIRST WEEK IN JANUARY.

1. Review of the Persian War.

[Giving cause of the war, date and location of each battle, leaders on both sides, and a brief outline of the life of each leader.]

2. Recitation—“Picture of Modern Greece,” by Lord Byron. From “The Giaour.” Found also in Chambers’s “Cyclopædia of English Literature.”

3. Essay—Torricelli and Pascal.

Music.

4. Select Reading—“Ancient Greece,” by Lord Byron. From “Childe Harold.” Canto II. Stanzas 2 to 9.

5. Essay—The Proposed New Word, “Thon.”

6. Question Box.

7. Talk on the New Orleans Exposition.

SECOND WEEK IN JANUARY.

1. Roll-call—Responses by Mottoes.

2. Essay—Use and Abuse of Food.

3. Fifteen minutes’ talk on “Temperance Teachings of Science.”

4. Recitation—“Pericles and Aspasia,” by the Rev. George Croly, found in Chambers’s “Cyclopædia of English Literature.”

Intermission.

5. Essay—Herodotus.

6. Select Reading—“Cautions to be Observed in the Reading of Ancient Greek and Roman Historians.” By Addison.

7. One-half of the “Questions and Answers” for January.

8. Conversation on the Topics of the Times.

THIRD WEEK IN JANUARY.

1. Talk and Questions on the Month’s Readings.

2. Essay—Thucydides.

3. Recitation—“Psyche and Pan.” By Mrs. Browning.

Music.

4. Select Reading—“On the Athenian Orators.” By Macaulay. [The last third of the article, beginning, “Oratory is to be estimated—”]

5. Essay—Visible Forms of Electricity.

6. Chemical Experiments.

MONTHLY PARLOR MEETING.

Music.

1. Roll-call—Quotations from Readings of the Month.

2. Paper on Plato’s Republic, carefully prepared, followed by discussion of the subject by the members.

[Articles upon it may be found in Mahaffy’s “History of Classical Greek Literature,” and in De Quincy’s writings.]

3. Recitation—“Marriage of Psyche and Cupid.” By Mrs. Browning.

Music.

4. Essay—Apples.

[It need not be entirely practical; allusions may be made to the apples of mythology and history.]

5. Select Reading—“Dissertation on Roast Pig.” By Charles Lamb.

Music.

6. Question Match—Answers relating to Greek History and Literature given to all questions in The Chautauquan of the present volume.

LOCAL CIRCLES.

C. L. S. C. MOTTOES.

“We Study the Word and the Works of God.”—“Let us keep our Heavenly Father in the Midst.”—“Never be Discouraged.”

C. L. S. C. MEMORIAL DAYS.

1. Opening Day—October 1.

2. Bryant Day—November 3.

3. Special Sunday—November, second Sunday.

4. Milton Day—December 9.

5. College Day—January, last Thursday.

6. Special Sunday—February, second Sunday.

7. Founder’s Day—February 23.

8. Longfellow Day—February 27.

9. Shakspere Day—April 23.

10. Addison Day—May 1.

11. Special Sunday—May, second Sunday.

12. Special Sunday—July, second Sunday.

13. Inauguration Day—August, first Saturday after first Tuesday; anniversary of C. L. S. C. at Chautauqua.

14. St. Paul’s Day—August, second Saturday after first Tuesday; anniversary of the dedication of St. Paul’s Grove at Chautauqua.

15. Commencement Day—August, third Tuesday.

16. Garfield Day—September 19.

How shall we arrange a program? It is a constantly recurring query for instruction committees. A skillfully planned program insures an interested society, but it is no easy undertaking for even a very wise committee to plan a series of exercises which shall be of just the right length, of pleasing variety, and on topics in which every one will be interested. Only a careful study of the reading of the month, a knowledge of the taste and ability of the circle, and considerable practice will guarantee a really good program. Many hints may be gathered, we believe, each month from the programs presented in The Chautauquan. At least, many circles report that they find them helpful. The Quincy, Ill., circle writes: “Those programs are a very great help to us.” At Kittery, Maine, where a circle of ten active members has been in operation for three years, they have adopted The Chautauquan programs, and express the belief that with them they will do better work than ever before. This modest little circle has never made itself known before, but in a quiet way has done much good with the “Popular Education” circular. At least one circle in another state owes its existence to its efforts. One of their amusements is the Chautauqua games, and they say that the use of these games has led to much close reading of the books and articles. The regular programs are used, too, at Shenandoah, Iowa, where a circle of twenty-five members, representing the classes of ’86, ’87, and ’88, are meeting weekly. The plan has proven very successful with them, they write. Bryant’s Day was celebrated by special exercises. This circle has found, as we believe all readers will, that bringing all the Greek studies into one year is a great help, instead of a drawback. The more one knows on any subject, the greater his interest. The Greek course of this year enables us to learn a great deal on that subject.

At Putnam, Conn., West Middlesex, Pa., and Dartford, Wis., circles report the adoption of these same programs. The organization at Putnam, numbering eighteen members, is of recent date, although there have been several young people there pursuing the prescribed course for the past five years. An interesting variation to their program is a paper called the Olla Podrida. It is made up of original contributions from the members, and is issued monthly, a different editor being appointed each time. The Middlesex circle is in its second year. It has had already an addition of four ’88s. Dartford circle of six members is a new addition to our ranks, and a very welcome one. We feel sure that the hope they express of gaining great benefit from the Required Readings will not be disappointed.

While many circles find the prescribed exercises satisfactory, we are glad to know that others vary performances to suit the talents and interests of their members. This is found necessary in the Bowling Green, Ohio, circle, we learn from a recent letter. They use the programs simply as a model, and work according to their talent. All the features of a first-class circle are found in this year-old circle at Bowling Green. They boast a goodly membership, an efficient president, a thorough organization, a constitution which all cordially support, and much social life. The first annual reception of our Bowling Green friends was given last summer. In September they wisely held their first meeting, that their plans might be laid to begin work the first week of October—a point which many of us would do well to bear in mind until next fall. Bryant’s Day was observed, and very flatteringly noticed in their local paper. Among the virtues which we infer belong to this circle we must include the missionary spirit. They have in mind the conversion of their whole county to the C. L. S. C.

The same plan in regard to programs is followed at Ludington, Mich., where there is a new circle of twenty-seven members, called “Père Marquette”—a magnificent beginning. Our correspondent writes: “We enjoy our reading and our weekly meetings very much indeed; the only regret I have is that I have let so much time slip by before taking the course.”

Some of the programs sent us contain novelties which when introduced into a purely literary program are very agreeable diversions. One which is capable of being made very entertaining we find in a program from a newly organized circle of thirty members—nearly all ’88s—at Norwich, Conn. It is character personation (“Who am I?”). The well known game, “Characters,” is another number on one of their programs. The response to roll-call by quotations on Bryant’s Day was improved by stating after the quotation an interesting fact from the life of the poet. The Norwich members are certainly to be congratulated on the variety in their exercises.

Another Connecticut circle which has a particularly good plan for its evenings is the “Quintette” local circle, of Sharon. They have but recently organized, and report their plan for work as experimental; successful, too, we prophesy it will be. The secretary informs us: “We intend to learn the questions and answers in The Chautauquan, and recite at our regular meetings, held every two weeks. For the present we in turn are to read aloud selected articles from The Chautauquan and ‘Cyrus and Alexander;’ after each reading discussing in general conversation, what has been read, commenting on pronunciation, looking up references concerning people and places mentioned, and trying to inform ourselves thoroughly about what has been read.” That plan of preparing programs a month in advance, and giving to each member a printed copy has been adopted by the “Longfellow” circle, of North Cambridge, Mass. This circle has begun its second year with extraordinary vigor, the membership being largely increased.

One objection that may be urged against the majority of the programs is that they are too long. It is difficult to make them short. There is so much we want to talk about; so many charming selections to read, such a wealth of subjects for essays, it is not strange that sometimes we tire out ourselves and our guests by overdoing matters. To avoid this try the plan of the Sacramento, Cal., circle, which introduces midway in the evening a “recess of fifteen minutes.” It will prove many a time a saving clause. Another feature of their plan of work may furnish some one an idea; it is that a committee should prepare a set of questions, distribute them one week, and that at the following meeting, the answers, as original and concise as possible, should be read. The circle which has given us these two ideas enrolls itself among the strong and enthusiastic circles. Their year opened most promisingly, six new names being added to their roll. “We all,” they write, “seem to have caught the true Chautauqua inspiration, and it has fired our hearts and elevated the character of our work.” To the hints on programs which the letters of the month have given us we must add two programs, which seem to us particularly good; the first one comes from the circle at Baltimore, Md., now in its sixth year, and is of the Bryant memorial service:

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT—BORN NOV. 3, 1794—DIED JUNE 12, 1878.

Chautauqua Vesper Service.

Bryant Letter to C. L. S. C.

Quotations from Bryant.

Anniversary Hymn.

“Bryant as a Student of Nature.”

Illustrated Readings.

The other is from the “Vincent” circle, of Albany, N. Y. We print the slip in full. It will furnish a useful model for those who may wish to send out similar notices:

C. L. S. C.

THE FIRST
MONTHLY MEETING OF THE
VINCENT CIRCLE
WILL BE HELD
In the North Second Street Methodist Church,
Thursday Evening, November 6, 1884,
At half past seven o’clock.

PROGRAM.

1. Geography of Greece.

2. Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life.

3. Our Every Day Speech.

4. Why are the French at War with China?

5. William Cullen Bryant—A Conversazione.

6. Our Round-Table.

The New Year opens invitingly. Its wealth of instruction is proffered to the earnest student. Remember our motto: “We Study the Word and Works of God.” There is no royal road to learning—save that of hard work! We hope to greet the older members of the Circle. A welcome to all.

The “Bryant Memorial Day” is November 3; let us work up a hearty conversazione. Every monthly meeting we shall have at least one current topic: No. 4 is such. Remember the Round-Table and make it witty and wise. Come promptly.

H. C. Farrar,
President.

A. M. Wright,
Secretary.

The many newly organized circles which are coming in day after day testify that a great amount of work has been done by somebody in the interests of the C. L. S. C. It is true, much has been done. Much more is being done; of how much nothing that we have received is more suggestive than the following letter from a prominent member of the class of ’87, Mr. K. A. Burnell, and it must be remembered that there are many more workers as zealous as is Mr. Burnell:

Walla-Walla, Washington Territory, November 10, ’84.

Dear Chautauquan:—As a member of ’87, and deeply interested in every one of the 18,000 whose names appear on the two big books at Plainfield, as well as every one reading in any one of the classes of all of the great Chautauqua household, I venture an account of an evangelistic tour over the Northern Pacific Railroad.

Miss Kimball most kindly mailed me the names of the two to three score of readers in Dakota, Montana, Idaho, and Washington Territories, and I wrote eighteen letters to as many points, indicating that as one deeply interested in the C. L. S. C., I was to be over the Northern Pacific Railroad on an evangelistic tour, and should be happy to meet circles or individual readers, and render any service possible, and I felt sure if I imparted nothing I should not fail to be a recipient. I heard from most of the messages, and with uniform and marked interest in the fact of meeting one late from Chautauqua, and especially with a member of the Pansy class of ’87.

At Fargo, Casselton, Cooperstown and Mandan, Dakota, I found individual readers, and did what I could to induce others to take up the course. My habit was at the close of each service to make a few minutes’ statement concerning the C. L. S. C. readings, their rapid growth, and their very great advantage and exceeding helpfulness. I received from Plainfield a generous package of the green books, admission sheets, and circulars, and at each place these documents were placed in the hands of the people at the close of the public service, and were received gladly.

At Gladstone, Dakota, the very patient and self-forgetting Scotch-Irish minister brought from his five miles distant ranch, his three sons and two daughters, with whom after the service I drove home, passing the night and most of the next day, the good minister then driving me to my next appointment (Dickinson), which also was one of his preaching places.

This family, as a whole, became so interested in the C. L. S. C. readings (it was not new to them) as to fully decide to take the course, and at once enter upon it. These bright, thoughtful and inquiring young people will be benefited beyond estimate by their thought, research and study, and by their intimate relations to the great numbers who are pursuing the same stimulating studies. The adaptation of our grand everybodies’ college to meet a great want has striking application in this exemplary minister’s home.

At Helena, Montana’s capital, rich and wicked, there is a single reader, but I failed to find her after repeated public intimations. At Rathdrum, Idaho, the only reader (a school teacher) had gone away to the mines. No readers from Oregon were announced from Plainfield, but I was glad indeed to find a circle in good beginning in connection with and at the rooms of the Young Men’s Christian Association of Portland.

The Portland Y. M. C. A. is a vigorous and hard-working company, and in its adoption of the C. L. S. C. readings is doubtless a prophecy as to the future. At Seattle and Tacoma, Washington Territory, under the shadow of grand, old, snow-capped Mount Tacoma, the only glacier mountain in this county, I found a single reader, and one family reading. Steps were taken for forming a circle at an early day. The delights of an evangelistic campaign of forty-five days on the Northern Pacific Railroad have been deepened because of our Chautauqua classmates.

K. A. Burnell.

This individual effort has been supplemented by a great deal of newspaper work. Through the past year very many valuable articles on the C. L. S. C. have appeared from time to time. The Daily Arkansas Gazette, of Little Rock, recently contained such an article from the pen of Mrs. Myra Vaughan. It gave all the details of our work, correctly and interestingly—an article that everybody would read, and having read would ponder. These efforts have told. The number of new circles claiming our recognition this month is the best proof of their success. Listen while we run through the list: A club called the “Clio” club has been formed at Newport, Vermont. There are sixteen members, and the meetings are held weekly. The club has a corresponding secretary, and would be glad to open communication with other circles.——At Woodstock, Vt., seven ladies organized, on September 19, the “Mayflower” circle. They began on Garfield’s Day, with a celebration—an admirable plan—and on November 10th observed Bryant’s memorial day. A bit of personal effort comes with our report, which is worth saving. The lady to whom the circle largely owes its life is the mother of five children, two of whom she teaches at home, while she does all the work for a family of eight. Still she finds time for the C. L. S. C. Another demonstration of our old proverb about “a will” and “a way.”——A letter from Newtonville, Mass., says: “We have started this year a local circle, and hasten to inform you of the fact which gives us so much pleasure; although our number is at present small, being but thirteen, still we are in earnest, and interested in our work, and propose to go through. Our number is made up of very busy people—housekeepers, teachers, young men of business, etc. We attended—that is, most of us—the Framingham Assembly, and there became filled with enthusiasm which terminated in the foundation of our circle.”——Another Massachusetts circle is heard from at Ipswich, whence the secretary writes: “This fall a C. L. S. C. was formed in our town in time to begin work October 1. We organized with about fifteen members; since then our circle has steadily increased, additions being made at every meeting, until now we are thirty in number. We follow, with slight variation, the programs laid out in The Chautauquan. The chemical experiments are performed, and the Bryant memorial day was observed. We are young yet, but we start out under quite favorable auspices, having an intelligent and enthusiastic president, and a circle of busy, wide-awake members. You may hear from us again.”——Last year a few persons at Rockville, Connecticut, subscribed for The Chautauquan and read its numbers with growing interest. This year the fervor was unabated, and steps were taken in October to organize a local circle. They number at present thirty-one members, including one or two graduates—twenty-five belonging to the general Circle, class of ’88. The present prospect is of much profit and real enjoyment in the literary field, during the winter months.——In the quiet old town of Bristol, Rhode Island, upon the borders of the beautiful Narragansett, a number of persons have been pursuing the Chautauqua course of reading by themselves. “Last autumn the idea of forming a local circle was advanced. A preliminary meeting was held October 23d, and the ten Chautauquans present agreed to form a circle. As we are all busy people, with no spare time, we shall hold our meetings but once a month, but we intend to make every meeting a decided success. As Bristol is noted for having within its limits the classic hill where Philip—not of Macedon, but of Narragansett—lived and died, we call ours the ‘Mount Hope’ circle. We hold our meetings at private residences, as this gives them a more social air, and those who have any part assigned them feel more at ease than if in a public hall. At our meeting on November 13th, twenty-one members were present, and responded to roll-call by quotations from Greek authors. Brief papers were read upon mythological events; an interesting biographical sketch of Bryant was also read, and a humorous poem, written for the occasion. Vocal and instrumental music also found a place. The enthusiasm manifested was a promise of future success. The ‘Mount Hope’ circle is exceptionally fortunate in having for its president, Mr. George W. Arnold, the librarian of our excellent ‘Rogers Free Library.’ His familiarity with this choice collection of books, and his ability to place before us just the reference needed at any time, is of inestimable value to us as readers and students. We have, in our membership, representatives from every Protestant church in town. Many of us are teachers, either in the Sunday-school or in public schools, or in both. We are confident that the C. L. S. C. is a power for good, and in the words of an old Sunday-school hymn, ‘We’re glad we’re in this army.’”——In that pleasant summer resort by the sea, Westhampton, N. Y., a few “Pansies” have been studying together, but this year they generously opened their doors, and by their genial influence have drawn together a pleasant set of twenty-one young people. Much good is naturally looked for from this circle. “Already,” writes a friend, “beneficial results are manifest.”——At Buffalo, N. Y., the “Alyssum,” an offshoot from the old circle in that city, has been well organized. They have a plan in their program committee which seems practical. At each meeting a new member is appointed. The former chairman drops out and the next in order takes the position. In this way each member of said committee becomes chairman in turn, serves at three committee meetings, and those who have never done such work have the advantage of seeing how others do before their turn comes. It works admirably. Each member is assessed ten cents a month for the nine months. The circle has decided it shall be the social duty of each member unable to be present to send notice of such absence to the hostess of the evening.——A fine compliment, evidently deserved, is paid the circle at Scranton, Pa., in the following letter: “It affords us pleasure to report the formation of a C. L. S. C. in Pittston, Pa. We have long felt the need of such an organization, but it was at a parlor entertainment given by the ‘Vincent’ C. L. S. C. of Scranton that we fully determined to have one of our own, and we are indebted to that circle for help and encouragement received in forming our circle. Ours, known as the ‘Riverside’ C. L. S. C., was organized in September, and has already reached the limit of its membership—twenty. We meet on Monday evening of each week, at the home of one of the members, and follow the program given in The Chautauquan. We are all delighted with the work, and are already satisfied that the time spent in the pursuance of the course could not be spent more profitably.”

Another new Chautauqua circle is reported in Sullivan, Ohio, from which place a lady writes: “I think our members all appreciate the value of this great educational movement and have the success of the work at heart. We number but five members, but have met regularly since October 8th, the time of organization. We celebrated Bryant’s Day, spending a most delightful evening in the study of Bryant and his productions.”——A local circle of five members has entered upon the work of the class of ’88 at Montezuma, Ind. Full of enthusiasm for the present, and determination for the future, we do not for a moment doubt that they will be able to accomplish the good report which they express themselves so anxious to have ready in 1888.——Two readers in the village of Onarga, Ill., last year, were the leaven from which has risen this year a prosperous circle of eighteen members. Busy mothers and teachers, young ladies at home, and one professor make up their membership. Their methods and plans we hope to hear of in the year.——Three new circles are reported from Michigan: The “Mayflower” of twenty-two members, all “Plymouth Rocks,” at Schoolcraft, where, as they write, they are brimming over with Chautauqua enthusiasm; a circle of a dozen energetic young people organized by the Rev. and Mrs. L. F. Bickford, at Pontiac, and at Climax a very enthusiastic circle of ten members organized in October through the effort of J. H. Brown, a member of the class of ’86; the nine remaining members belong to the class of ’88. They follow the plan given for local circles in The Chautauquan.——Two circles are reported from Iowa—a state which always has a C. L. S. C. report. At Cherokee, owing to the energetic efforts of a young lady graduate from the State Normal, a local circle of eleven members was organized on Bryant’s Day. Though the plans of the infant association are still indefinite, great hopes are entertained of its ultimate success. From Alta, also, a friend writes us of the “Summit Gleaners,” a society lately organized. They began with four members, but have quickly increased to eleven, and hope for more. Two or three of their circle are members of the “Pansy” class; the rest are of the class of ’88. They follow the course prescribed in The Chautauquan as near as possible, for, as they write, they find it better than anything they can suggest.——In October last a local circle was organized in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Special credit is due the Presbyterian minister of the place for working up an interest in the “Chautauqua Idea.” He undertook it at the suggestion of an earnest Christian lady belonging to his church, who has been reading the C. L. S. C. books for more than a year. They have in the circle thirty members, nearly all of whom are reading the books, and more are joining all the time. The circle is popular. The course of reading is well received by their most intelligent people.——Missouri presents the last new circle—a class of seven members formed at Mound City. The books have been secured, and they are now ready for work. All have started with a determination to finish the four years’ course.

The circles of other years are writing us of much that is interesting and suggestive. Many of their bits of circle history and circle social life are so good that we feel a little envious; for example, of the good fortune of the circle at Brantford, Ontario, Canada, where they were recently honored by a visit from Chancellor Vincent. The organization at Brantford, which town, by the way, is a former reserve of the Six Nations, dates from October, 1883, and numbers twenty-one members; “up to the standard” they must be, for they write: “Last month we tried some of the chemical experiments given in The Chautauquan, some of which proved quite successful. Another evening we tested an experiment made by our hostess in cooking potatoes after one of the rules given in The Chautauquan, and they were pronounced by all to be excellent.”

A name we have, too, this month, which is particularly pleasing to those of us who read the “Art Readings” of last year. It is the “Dorionic” Circle, of Biddeford, Maine. From its start the circle has been much interested in Greek history and literature. In comparing the two leading types of Grecian character, the Doric and the Ionic each found enthusiastic champions. Excellent qualities were discerned in both, and in recognition of the value of the combination the circle decided to call itself “Dorionic.” This circle, formed November, 1883, has had a prosperous and pleasant experience. It now numbers sixty, with new members coming in every evening. The Bryant memorial exercises were of special interest. The president of this circle is the Rev. B. P. Snow, president of the class of ’86.

The “Alpha” circle, of Rutland, Vt., has entered upon its fourth year full of zeal and enthusiasm. They commenced the year’s reading promptly on the first of October. In her report, the secretary gives an account of their special features. “We all craved additional information about the great men in Roman history, so at our last meeting we had five-minute sketches of Julius Cæsar, Scipio Africanus, Cicero, Camillus, and Pompey, and at our next meeting are to have as many more. We are also to have an essay on Roman women. A new feature with us is the question-box. Each member is requested to hand in one question upon some given subject, these are distributed and answered at the next succeeding meeting. We observed Bryant’s Memorial and passed a delightful evening.”

The vigorous circle which sprang into existence at the beginning of the year of ’83-’84 at East Weymouth, Mass., has had this year a very marked increase in its members. A public meeting was called early in October and its effects were soon evident in the dozen new names which were added to their roll. Much of the energy with which the circle has been enabled to begin its work is attributed to the inspiration which the members who visited the Framingham Assembly gathered from its inspiring meetings. This spirit seems to have spread through all New England. The circles are teeming with new ideas and swelling with numbers. At Gloucester, Mass., where the “Prospect” C. L. S. C. was organized in 1883, they have a membership of nineteen, and have begun the year expecting large things in the future. At Reading, Mass., a “Triangle” of young ladies is meeting fortnightly to compare notes and talk over the readings. They find the course valuable, and send us the encouraging word that soon they hope to unite the several readers in the town into a circle. And the “Hurlbut” circle of East Boston are writing a book—“A Cyclopædia of Animal Life.” Each member in turn prepares his or her paper with a good deal of care, obtaining information from standard works of reference. The writer must confine himself to four pages—letter paper size—and as he is expected to describe two representatives of the animal kingdom within this compass, he must select the most important and interesting characteristics, and condense his statements. The Cyclopædia is necessarily limited—but ten representatives of each letter of the alphabet. The members of the “Hurlbut” circle are learning strange and beautiful things concerning animal life.

Some of the “old circles” are new to us. Such is the one at New Canaan, Conn., whence a friend writes: “You ought to have been informed last year of the existence of a flourishing C. L. S. C. in this place. We have twenty members, with the promise of others. Our meetings are both pleasant and profitable, each member faithfully doing his part. During the past year we had some very interesting programs. Our members are enjoying the work. We are greatly pleased with The Chautauquan.” The growth and energy started during the summer is not confined to New England, either. There is a word from Long Island, which is as ringing as any Framingham report. It comes from East Norwich, where the circle was reorganized this year with a regular membership of eighteen. Their meetings are held in a very pleasant school house, and are rapidly increasing in interest. They take great pride in the circle, which they rightly consider one of the best in the land.

At Caledonia, N. Y., the year-old circle has returned to work. Nearly all the old members are back, and several new ones have joined, swelling the membership to twenty-seven. They must thoroughly enjoy the course, for they do all the work. The secretary informs us that the “Temperance Teachings of Science” have evoked quite a lively and interesting discussion which was entered into by nearly all present. They expect that some time during the winter they will be favored with some interesting chemical experiments, performed by a prominent chemist of Rochester.

The local circle at Harrisburg, Pa., was reorganized on September 30th, with an increased membership, the total number now being fifty, of which thirty-one are new members. Although the meetings of last year were very interesting and profitable, those of this year bid fair to surpass them in every way. The members appear to have decided to do thorough work and already its effect can be seen upon the meetings. The programs are varied and take in as much of the month’s readings as it is possible to crowd in and yet do justice to all.

Eleven large circles are registered in Washington, D. C. Each month we hear some good thing from them. An item from the Washington Evening Star says of the “Union” circle: “With the approach of the winter season the literary and social clubs of the city begin to attract attention, and none have begun the season’s work with more vim than the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circles, of which there are now several in the city, all owing allegiance to the central organization, whose headquarters are at Plainfield, New Jersey. One of the oldest of these Chautauqua organizations in the city is ‘Union’ circle, which meets every Thursday evening at the residence of the president. It has a total of nearly thirty members, all of whom are enthusiastic in the work, and each meeting’s exercises are of an interesting character. Some of the members of ‘Union’ circle will graduate in the four years’ course of reading next year.” And the secretary of “Foundry” circle writes: “‘Foundry’ local circle, of this city, enters upon the third year of its existence with thirty-five enthusiastic members. Our meetings are held weekly in the parlor of Foundry M. E. Church. We have followed some of the programs for weekly meetings in The Chautauquan, and have had interesting meetings. The evening of October 27th was given up to chemistry, Prof. Israel, of the Washington High School, delivering an interesting lecture on the subject, and performing the experiments explained in The Chautauquan for October, and some others not mentioned there.”

A new circle at Kalamazoo, Mich., has led the former organization to adopt the title of “Alpha” circle. This latter is a very lively body, we judge from their report. Their reorganization was a time for a general meeting, to which invitations were issued. So well has the year started off that the secretary writes: “Our past four meetings have been so very enjoyable that the closing hour—ten o’clock—comes only too soon. One feature of the evenings which has caused us the greatest sport has been the ‘pronouncing’ match (also ‘questions and answers’ match), which was carried on as a spelling match, choosing sides, etc.; the one who first takes his seat through failure must favor the society with a song, suggested by the fortunate one. The roll-call responded to by quotations, as suggested in The Chautauquan, monthly report, essays and impromptu speeches form pleasing variety. A speech on a given subject is required as penalty for former absence. Then, too, the music! How we enjoy that part of the program! As our musical committee varies each Monday evening, singing or playing often falls to the lot of non-musicians, who amuse us by compliance; on one occasion an organ grinder’s instrument was secured for the evening’s entertainment.”

An Egyptian campaign in the interests of the C. L. S. C. is being organized at Metropolis, in Illinois. Have they a Chinese Gordon, we wonder, to conduct their forces? They must have a leader as efficient, surely, for they write that their circle, strengthened by a goodly increase, organized promptly at the beginning of the year, that their former members belonging to the class of ’86 are becoming more in earnest as the year advances, and that they are planning to go down into Egypt, an expedition which has the heartiest good wishes of us all.——At Aurora, Ill., too, a campaign was planned for the fall, which proved most successful. The secretary of the “First” circle of that city, while at Chautauqua, planned a Round-Table, at which the three circles should unite in celebrating “Opening Day.” A very entertaining program was prepared, and Chancellor Vincent kindly wrote them a letter of greeting; the hope that the circle had had of increasing their membership by this union meeting was not disappointed. Aurora now boasts five circles, each numbering from eighteen to twenty members.

Illinois also sends us a chapter of history this month which is very good reading. It is from the Winchester circle: “Our circle has just entered its fourth year’s work, with nine members. Having consisted mainly, in previous years, of teachers, our number has been fluctuating. Since October, 1880, we have enrolled eighteen names, nearly all of whom proved zealous workers. At present we have only two of the original number, who are called the ‘Veterans.’ During the summer of 1881 two of our members went on to attend the convention; that of 1882 was spent by three of them on ‘A Tour Around the World,’ in The Chautauquan; and the recent vacation, that of 1883, was devoted to the ‘Art Papers’ of last year; by the way, when those appeared in the journal, they seemed so fully to meet the wants of some of the members that an ‘Art Branch’ was promptly organized and a thorough study of the subject commenced. As we took up each artist separately, and only held our branch meetings every two weeks, we did not finish with the year’s work, nor are we through yet, having gotten as far as Rubens in the May number of 1884. We feel repaid a thousand times for doing the extra work. Last year Prof. J. M. Crow, of Grinnell, Iowa, a student of Leipsic University, and a gentleman who has made several trips to Europe, lectured for us on ‘Greece and the Parthenon.’ This year we propose to hold an extra meeting each month, invite our friends in, and thus strive to convince them that the C. L. S. C. work is not superficial (as some have the impression). We defend our Alma Mater from the attacks of the skeptical, with almost as much energy as ‘Horatius held the bridge,’ and trust we are laying the foundation for a circle that will flourish in the future. Our president and others of the class hope to represent us at Chautauqua next summer. Miss M. Huston, our former enthusiastic president, is now a teacher in California, whither she has doubtless carried the C. L. S. C. spirit. Since taking up the course, the hitherto dismal days of fall have become golden ones, and life has grown sweeter, brighter and better.”

A local circle was organized in the little village of Blue Earth City, Minn., several months since, with about ten members, now increased to thirteen. They meet every Tuesday evening at the house of some member. Their reading is confined to the magazine principally; each gives some item of news at the opening of the meeting, then questions are asked on the preceding lesson, and persons are appointed to look up and report at the next meeting any subject which may arise in connection with the lesson. They are all greatly interested and feel that the meetings are a benefit, as well as a help in cultivating among the members a better acquaintance and more friendly relations.

From Fairfield, Iowa, a friend writes: “We would like to report ourselves as living and active in our work. This new year has opened auspiciously. Our circle numbers twenty-five are not found outside the C. L. S. C. We are known as the ‘Hawkeye Arc,’ have our meetings weekly and hope to greatly profit by the studies of the year. We have met a serious loss in the death of our president, Mrs. T. D. Ewing, the wife of the president of Parson’s College, of this place. She was a lady of culture and liberal education, and gave her best efforts to the advancement of the C. L. S. C. in this, her adopted home. But we are glad that while many of our associates are called to ‘come up higher,’ the work does not languish and is still exerting the beneficent influence of this wonderful band of reading ones.”

Norfolk, Nebraska, is as far as we can go west this month. A live, enterprising circle at that point is working with a western vim. They seem to take a rather unusual pride in being “like everybody else,” but when we remember the points of resemblance, it is not surprising that they should be proud. They send word: “All bear stories open with ‘once upon a time,’ so all reports of C. L. S. C.s read, ‘Our circle was organized on such an evening, and consists of lawyers, doctors, bankers, ministers, merchants, and their wives and daughters; all intelligent, enthusiastic workers,’ etc. Ours is no exception to this rule. We have twenty-five members with three officers, president, vice, and secretary. As variety hath charms, our president is authorized to appoint a new leader for each evening, and as no two men or women of different professions have minds made after the same mould, we succeed in the variety. Especially do we succeed in this particular, when we undertake to pronounce the Greek words found in the readings.”

THE C. L. S. C. CLASSES.

CLASS OF 1885.

“Press on, reaching after those things which are before.”

OFFICERS.

President—J. B. Underwood, Meriden, Conn.

Vice President—C. M. Nichols, Springfield, Ohio.

Treasurer—Miss Carrie Hart, Aurora, Ind.

Secretary—Miss M. M. Canfield, Washington, D. C.

Executive Committee—Officers of the class.

Class badges may be procured of either President or Treasurer.

Letters are coming to the secretary from members in all parts of the United States—Kentucky, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Indiana, Ohio, Minnesota and Iowa being represented, and the indications are, the “Invincibles” will not be “lost in the woods” in August ’85. Those who attended the camp-fire last season at Chautauqua will appreciate the foregoing phrase.

One enthusiastic young lady writes: “I have read the course alone, could not form here even a ‘straight line’ or a ‘triangle;’” another, “I am alone in my studies, but hope to meet and greet my fellow-laborers ‘under the arches.’” Such courage is truly “Invincible” and should be rewarded by an extra seal.

Letters ending “Your Chautauqua friend,” “hoping to clasp hands with you at Chautauqua in August ’85,” etc., make one feel “Chautauqua” is the magic word that draws us together as links in the great C. L. S. C. chain, and that friendships formed through its medium may continue even after we have “finished our course.” “For so the whole round earth is every way bound by gold chains about the feet of God.”

CLASS OF ’86.

“We study for light, to bless with light.”

CLASS ORGANIZATION.

President—The Rev. B. P. Snow, Biddeford, Maine.

Vice Presidents—The Rev. J. C. Whitley, Salisbury, Maryland; Mr. L. F. Houghton, Peoria, Illinois; Mr. Walter Y. Morgan, Cleveland, Ohio; Mrs. Delia Browne, Louisville, Kentucky; Miss Florence Finch, Palestine, Texas.

Secretary—The Rev. W. L. Austin, Dunkirk, New York.

NEW ENGLAND ORGANIZATION.

Class Headquarters was a new and most pleasant feature at Framingham last summer, and one which the limited hall accommodations rendered a necessity. The class tent was tastefully decorated, and over the entrance was displayed the device of the class—a hand passing a lighted torch to another hand—with the class motto, “We study for light to bless with light.” The committee having the matter in charge hope to provide suitable accommodations for the class at the Assembly next season.

A very pleasant reunion was held in Normal Hall, Thursday, July 24, at 10 a. m. The exercises consisted of an address by the president, the Rev. B. P. Snow, of Biddeford, Me., and stirring speeches by representatives from several states, with reading of original and selected articles. A most interesting item on the program was the reading of the well known poem, “No sect in Heaven,” by Mr. C. Cleveland, of Hartford, Conn., son of the authoress, who is also a member of the class. Miss Gelia H. Tewkesbury (Helen Hawthorne) was unanimously elected class poetess. Hon. Wm. Claflin, ex-Governor of Massachusetts, was made an honorary member of the class.

Six hundred and forty-eight names from one hundred and seventy-three towns are now enrolled, only a fraction of the whole number. Will all members of Class ’86 in New England, who have not yet registered, please send their names and address, stating whether they are studying alone or in a circle, and the name of the circle, to the New England Secretary at their earliest convenience?

The following officers were elected for the ensuing year:

President, the Rev. B. P. Snow, Biddeford, Me.; Vice Presidents, Miss Emily Jordan, Alfred, Me., Edwin F. Reeves, Laconia, N. H., the Rev. J. H. Babbitt, Swanton, Vt., Chas. Wainwright, Lawrence, Mass., H. Howard Pepper, Providence, R. I., the Rev. A. Gardner, Buckingham, Conn.; Secretary and Treasurer, Mary R. Hinckley, New Bedford, Mass.

A new badge bearing the emblem of the class is proposed. If it is adopted further particulars will be given hereafter.

Ida M. Grisell, of the class of ’86, died at her home in Upper Sandusky, Ohio, June 30, 1884. She was an enthusiastic Chautauquan, having remarked shortly before her death that life seemed so much more worth living since she had taken the course.

CLASS OF ’87—“THE PANSIES.”

From De Soto, Mo., comes news of most vigorous work in the C. L. S. C., a large circle of enterprising members and a program for the observance of the Bryant Day, that tells of a meeting of rare interest.

The Rev. N. B. Fisk, of Woburn, Mass., class of ’87, is the secretary and treasurer of the Board of Trustees who have in hand the erection of the “Hall on the Hill” for New England’s accommodation at Framingham.

In the November number of The Chautauquan the New England branch of the Class of ’87 was given three presidents. The Rev. F. M. Gardner, of Lawrence, Mass., is the president; the other two names should have been grouped with the vice presidents.

Newspaper notices of C. L. S. C. work sometimes do more than we expect. Circles in the country and smaller towns read programs of meetings and other Chautauqua items with a good deal of interest, and often get encouragement from seeing what others are doing. The papers are glad to get the notices. We advise circles to use them freely, and to publish in their local papers notices of the memorial days, with a list of the reading for those days. Try it.

The “Pansy” bed at Chautauqua, projected as a testimonial improvement by the class of ’87, is in the hands of a committee who are to secure a good location and carry the matter to completion. It will be placed near the Amphitheater, a little toward Mrs. Alden’s cottage. Already a number of most exquisite designs have been furnished by widely separated members of the class. When agreed upon the description will be given in our column.

One New England minister, who is a member of ’87, writes: “I consider this Chautauqua business a part of my pastoral duties; it is so saturated with the spirit of Jesus, emanating from such a consecrated man as Dr. Vincent, and comprehending so much of the devotional, aggressive, and persuasive in religion. I have a Congregational church in a hotbed of infidelity and heresy, and can see very plainly that such books as ‘Philosophy of the Plan of Salvation’ and ‘Evidences,’ together with the devout spirit of the whole plan, are making an impression among the skeptical and shaking them somewhat in their infidel intrenchments.”

A Michigan mother nearly sixty years old writes a letter, touchingly grateful that the C. L. S. C. was ever organized. She has two sons who are members with her of the class of ’87, and who are herders of cattle in New Mexico. She says no one can appreciate her joy at the assurance that they are held by their reading to the improvement of their time, and thus escape the evils that work the ruin of many boys away from home. She with them forms a circle. Their meetings are only through correspondence. Neither has ever seen Chautauqua, or any other summer Assembly, but they bless the plan of improvement whose privileges they share.

Among pleasant C. L. S. C. experiences which are found among the members of ’87, as among those of the other classes, is the case of an engineer on the railway west from Chicago. The last argument he made to his wife why he could not join the class and do the reading was that he would unavoidably so soil his books that she could not tolerate them in their cosy cottage home. She said, “Try it, and I will clean every soiled page the year through and have them tastily on our little shelves.” He agreed to undertake it. She found no small task upon her hands, but she did it by pinching her allowance to the purchase of a duplicate for each successive book, to which joyous accomplishment on her part her husband points with pride in his growing library.

Quite a large proportion of the class are going on with the reading this second year. But the number can be increased by a little personal effort on the part of those who have the C. L. S. C. enthusiasm. See that your book stores keep the books ready for sale. See that each member has one of the C. L. S. C. circulars for 1884-5, so that they may not be in any doubt about what the reading for each month is. Help them about sending for The Chautauquan by forming a club and sending together, thus saving expense. Some fail to send in their annual fees, but go on with the reading. Secretaries of circles should collect the annual fees of 50 cents, and send on by check or postoffice order to Plainfield. By attending to these matters some will be kept in the ranks who would otherwise fall behind. If any one can not do the prescribed reading just as directed in The Chautauquan, week by week or day by day, let such try to keep a little in advance, rather than behind. The officers of circles ought to keep in advance especially, so as to be ready to arrange some parts of the program for the future meetings of their circles.

The most of the more than two hundred ’87s whose names were registered at Chautauqua, this year, promised to write Mrs. Alden, Carbondale, Pa.—“Pansy”—a letter of incident in the work, she most kindly indicating her willingness to write a book, dedicated to the class. It’s one thing to promise, another to perform, and while we could not think of a Chautauquan who would not do as they agree, the secretaries of ’87, with the president, are very anxious to know if Mrs. Alden has received nearly two hundred letters. Early in the new year the class officials will write to Carbondale to know if all the promises have been made good. Mrs. Alden’s book will be grand, every one of her more than fifty books are excellent. Let every one of us who promised do gladly all that we promised and more.

The ’87 badges were noticeably fine at Chautauqua last year, and every reader in that great class should have this badge. They should be worn uniformly at the circles and on all memorial days. Class love (call it pride if you will) is important indeed; it can scarcely be overestimated. You are and can be in but one class, and that is the class to you, and will be all through life. ’87 “Pansy” class is yours, and you love your classmates, and you are deeply interested in every one of them, and will be all along down through life. It is true that the first great class (in numbers at least) is ’87, and while we hope ’88 and ’89 and ’90 will every way excel it, it still remains for us of ’87 to make the most of every hour.

Miss Ellen A. Shaw, of Keeseville, N. Y., a member of the C. L. S. C., of the class of ’87, entered “that school where she no longer needs our poor protection, but Christ himself doth rule,” on September 30, 1884, aged nineteen years. They had been “nineteen beautiful years,” exceptionally happy to herself, and the source of great pleasure to all her friends. Graduating from the High School in Keeseville in June, 1884, she immediately took up the Chautauqua Idea, and began the prescribed course in October following. She enjoyed it exceedingly, interested others in it, read carefully, and made her memoranda and reports faithfully until her strength failed, and she laid down her hopes of earthly improvement, with brighter ones of the country where our mental powers know no fatigue or decay.

At a meeting of the “Bryant” circle of Worcester, Mass., C. L. S. C., October 7th, 1884, the following memorial was adopted: “Whereas, It has pleased our Heavenly Father to remove from our circle one of our beloved members, Miss Effie C. Warner, of the class of ’87, we desire to express our appreciation of her character and her worth as a member of our circle. Her presence was always welcomed with pleasure, and our meetings were made interesting by her fine musical attainments, which she was ever ready to devote to the cause she loved. While we mourn her loss, we bow in submission to the will of him who ‘doeth all things well.’ We are thankful for her pure, gentle life, and feel sure that its influence will long be felt in our circle.”

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

ONE HUNDRED QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON “COLLEGE GREEK COURSE IN ENGLISH,” AND “THE CHARACTER OF JESUS.”

BY A. M. MARTIN,
General Secretary C. L. S. C.

I.—FIFTY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON “COLLEGE GREEK COURSE IN ENGLISH,” FROM COMMENCEMENT OF BOOK TO PAGE 82, INCLUSIVE.

1. Q. What is the object of the volume, “College Greek in English?” A. To furnish readers not versed in any tongue but the English, with the means of obtaining, at their leisure, and without change of residence on their part, approximately the same knowledge of Greek letters as is imparted to students during a four years’ stay in the average American college.

2. Q. What is said of the courses of Greek reading in colleges? A. Various colleges have various courses of Greek reading prescribed for their students, and some colleges from time to time vary their courses.

3. Q. What is the Greek course considered in the present volume? A. A kind of eclectic and average Greek course.

4. Q. In Europe how does the university student accomplish his prescribed course of study? A. In any way he may choose to adopt, aiming simply at being able to pass the tests of examination that await him only at long intervals of his progress.

5. Q. How are the examinations of college students conducted in this country? A. The student is examined, not only at certain widely separated stations in his course, but every day.

6. Q. What is said of the standard of performance in recitation? A. It varies greatly under different teachers, at different colleges, in different classes. It is never anywhere too high.

7. Q. What is the average maximum accomplished in colleges in any one Greek author? A. About one hundred pages of text.

8. Q. What is probably a fair estimate for the average number of terms in which Greek is studied by the Greek student? A. Five or six terms, and it is rarely the case that to any one Greek author more than a single term is devoted.

9. Q. On an average how many Greek authors are introduced into a college Greek course? A. Six are as many as are perhaps introduced on an average.

10. Q. What is the plan in the present book? A. To give the readers a taste of some ten or twelve Greek authors, representing four departments of Greek literature.

11. Q. What are the four departments of Greek literature represented? A. History, philosophy, poetry, and eloquence.

12. Q. Who are the historians represented? A. Herodotus and Thucydides.

13. Q. What title has been bestowed upon Herodotus? A. The father of history.

14. Q. How many years may have elapsed after Homer wrote the world’s first great epic, before Herodotus wrote the world’s first great history? A. Five hundred years.

15. Q. When did Thucydides write his historical masterpiece? A. Promptly after Herodotus—perhaps while Herodotus was still among the living.

16. Q. What makes Herodotus differ so much in seeming antiquity from his younger contemporary, Thucydides? A. It is largely the striking contrast in tone and manner between the two historians.

17. Q. What has gained for Herodotus a traditional and popular repute of untrustworthiness, that he is far from deserving? A. His credulity, together with his plan of reporting reports, to a great extent irrespective of their probable truth.

18. Q. What is said of Herodotus’s efforts to gain information? A. He was very painstaking in his efforts to gain information, and traveled extensively.

19. Q. What does the word history in its present universal usage mean? A. A supposedly trustworthy account, written with a degree of philosophical insight into cause and effect, of transactions rising to a certain height of importance and dignity.

20. Q. In the use of Herodotus what did the word history mean? A. Merely a report of investigations, researches, inquiries undertaken by the author.

21. Q. What is there to the conception of Herodotus’s work? A. A kind of epic majesty and sweep.

22. Q. Where and when was Herodotus born? A. In Halicarnassus, a Dorian Greek colony on the coast of Asia Minor, about 484 B. C.

23. Q. When and where did Herodotus die? A. When and where he died is not certainly known.

24. Q. What made up to Herodotus the whole world of mankind? A. The Greeks and the Barbarians.

25. Q. What are the ultimate objective points at which he aims? A. First, Marathon, and then Thermopylæ and Salamis, with Platæa and Mycale.

26. Q. To reach these points what start does the history take? A. From the origin of those empires older than the Persian, which in due time the Persian received and swallowed up.

27. Q. Of what countries does it fall within the comprehensive design of the history to treat? A. Of Lydia, Egypt, Babylon, Scythia, Libya, as well as of Persia and Greece.

28. Q. From what fact does the book on Egypt have a peculiar interest? A. From the fact of its being the only literature to furnish information concerning that country parallel with the information contained in the Bible.

29. Q. To what parts of the history does the present author chiefly limit himself? A. To the story of Crœsus and the invasion of Xerxes.

30. Q. What do these two parts together best illustrate? A. The peculiar theory of human life upon which Herodotus conceived and composed his history.

31. Q. How does Crœsus come in our historian’s way? A. As having, according to Herodotus, been the first Asiatic to commence hostilities against the Greeks.

32. Q. What Greek colonies did Crœsus bring under his dominion? A. The Greek colonies in Asia Minor.

33. Q. Of what empire was Crœsus the ruler? A. The Lydian empire.

34. Q. For whom did Sardis, the capital of the Lydian empire, become the resort? A. For the sages of Greece.

35. Q. Whom among the Greek celebrities to visit him did Crœsus make his own guest, and lodge him in his palace? A. Solon.

36. Q. With what is the first considerable extract from Herodotus made by our author occupied? A. With an account of a conversation between Solon and Crœsus.

37. Q. Against whom did Crœsus make war? A. Cyrus, king of Persia.

38. Q. What was the result of the war in which Crœsus engaged with Cyrus? A. Sardis was taken by Cyrus and Crœsus made a captive.

39. Q. How was Crœsus treated by Cyrus after he became his prisoner? A. He was made his companion and counselor.

40. Q. An account of the capture of what city by Cyrus is given in the extracts from Herodotus? A. The capture of Babylon.

41. Q. To what is nearly the entire second book of Herodotus’s history devoted? A. To an account of Egypt, the land and the people.

42. Q. What plan has our author followed in making extracts from Herodotus’s history of the invasion of Greece by Xerxes? A. A few salient anecdotes are selected from the full store supplied by Herodotus.

43. Q. What aim are the selections made to serve? A. Not only to show the matter and method of Herodotus, but to illustrate the characters of two men in particular, brought into the strong light of mutual contrast by the struggle—Xerxes and Themistocles.

44. Q. To what is the fact due that Thucydides is not so entertaining a historian as Herodotus? A. Partly to the nature of his subject; but partly to the nature of the man.

45. Q. What does Thucydides describe in his history? A. The so-called Peloponnesian war.

46. Q. To what conflict is this name given? A. To a conflict, continued with little interruption during twenty-seven years, between Sparta, with her allies, on the one side, and Athens, with her allies, on the other.

47. Q. What was the prize contended for in this war? A. The leadership in Hellenic affairs.

48. Q. How did Thucydides regard the Peloponnesian war? A. He thought that never in the world had there been a war so great as promised in its imminency to be the Peloponnesian war.

49. Q. In what particulars is the history of Thucydides important? A. Not as history, but, first, as literature, and secondly, as fund of illustration for the Greek national genius, it is of the very highest importance.

50. Q. In what form is it composed? A. In the form of annals, that is, the events and incidents are related chronologically by years.

II.—FIFTY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON “THE CHARACTER OF JESUS.”

51. Q. What is the design of the author in the argument of the book under consideration? A. To show the self-evidencing, superhuman character of Christ, forbidding his possible classification with men.

52. Q. What is the grand peculiarity of the sacred writings? A. That they deal in supernatural events and transactions, and show the fact of a celestial institution finally erected on earth.

53. Q. Who is the central figure of Christianity? A. Jesus Christ, and with him the entire fabric either stands or falls.

54. Q. In the argument, what is, and what is not assumed, in regard to the narrative by which the manner and facts of the life of Jesus are reported to us? A. The truth of the narrative is not assumed, but only the representations themselves as being just what they are.

55. Q. On what is it proposed to rest a principal argument for Christianity as a supernatural institution? A. On the single question of the more than human character of Jesus.

56. Q. What is the first peculiarity at the root of his character? A. That he begins life with a perfect youth.

57. Q. What is the early character of Jesus in this respect? A. It is a picture that stands by itself.

58. Q. What element in the character of Jesus in his maturity do we discover at once which distinguishes it from all human characters? A. His innocence.

59. Q. How does human piety begin? A. With repentance.

60. Q. What does Christ, in the character given him, acknowledge as to sin? A. He never acknowledges sin.

61. Q. What elements of character was Christ able perfectly to unite? A. Elements of character that others find the greatest difficulty in uniting, however unevenly and partially.

62. Q. What attitude of Jesus is distinct from any that was ever taken by a sane man, and is yet triumphantly sustained? A. The attitude of supremacy toward the race, and inherent affinity or oneness with God.

63. Q. What is there peculiar in the passive side of the character of Jesus? A. In opposition to the impression of the world generally, Christ connects the non-resisting and gentle passivities with a character of the severest grandeur and majesty.

64. Q. What is it easy to distinguish in what is called preëminently the passion of Christ? A. A character which separates it from all mere human martyrdoms.

65. Q. In what way does Christ show himself to be a superhuman character even more sublimely than in the personal traits exhibited in his life? A. In the undertakings, works, and teachings, by which he proved his Messiahship.

66. Q. What was the grand idea in the mission of Christ? A. To new-create the human race and restore it to God, in the unity of a spiritual kingdom.

67. Q. How is the plan of Christ related to time? A. It is a plan as universal in time as it is in the scope of its objects.

68. Q. With whom does Christ take rank? A. He takes rank with the poor, and grounds all the immense expectations of his cause on a beginning made with the lowly and dejected classes of the world.

69. Q. Hitherto what opinion had prevailed among all the great statesmen and philosophers of the world, in regard to a great change or reform in society beginning with the poor? A. No philosopher who had conceived the notion of building up an ideal state or republic ever thought of beginning with the poor.

70. Q. Where was any hope of reaching the world by any scheme of social regeneration to begin? A. With the higher classes, and through them operate its results.

71. Q. How is the more than human character of Jesus further displayed in his thus identifying himself with the poor? A. In the fact that he was yet able to do it without eliciting any feeling of partisanship in them.

72. Q. What is noticed first of all in the teaching of Christ? A. The perfect originality and independence of his teaching.

73. Q. What is not to be detected by any sign in his teaching? A. That the human sphere in which he moved imparted anything to him.

74. Q. By what methods does he not teach? A. He does not teach by the human methods.

75. Q. In what particular does he never reveal the infirmity so commonly shown by human teachers? A. He never veers a little from the point, or turns his doctrine off by shades of variation to catch the assent of multitudes.

76. Q. What is one remarkable fact that distinguishes Christ from any other known teacher of the world? A. Words could never turn him to a one-sided view of anything.

77. Q. What was the relation of Christ to the superstitions of his times? A. He was perfectly clear of all the current superstitions.

78. Q. Of what did Christ never take the ground or boast the distinction? A. Of a liberal among his countrymen.

79. Q. What is a remarkable and even superhuman distinction of Jesus in regard to the simplicity of his teachings? A. While he is advancing doctrines so far transcending all deductions of philosophy, and opening mysteries that defy all human powers of explication, he is yet able to set his teachings in a form of simplicity that accommodates all classes of minds.

80. Q. What form for truth was Jesus first able to find? A. A form for truth adequate to all the world’s uses.

81. Q. What is the character of the God that Christ revealed? A. God whom the humblest artisan can teach, and all mankind embrace with a faith that unifies them all.

82. Q. In what has the morality of Jesus a potential superiority to that of all human teachers? A. In the fact that it is not an artistic or theoretically elaborated scheme, but one that is propounded in precepts that carry their own evidence.

83. Q. What is a high distinction of Christ’s character as seen in his teachings? A. That he is never anxious for the success of his doctrines.

84. Q. In what was the character of Jesus different from that of all the mere men of the race as shown by familiarity? A. Instead of being reduced in eminence, as human characters are, it was raised and made sacred by familiarity.

85. Q. What two questions now remain which the argument of the author requires to be answered? A. Did any such being as Jesus actually exist? and, if so, was he a sinless character?

86. Q. What can we believe more easily than that Christ was a man, and yet a perfect character, such as here given? A. We can believe any miracle more easily.

87. Q. If Jesus was a sinner, of what was he conscious? A. He was conscious of sin, as all sinners are, and, therefore, was a hypocrite in the whole fabric of his character.

88. Q. What would such an example of successful hypocrisy be of itself? A. The greatest miracle ever heard of in the world.

89. Q. What is Mr. Parker’s estimate of the doctrine of Christ? A. “He pours out a doctrine beautiful as the light, sublime as heaven, and true as God.”

90. Q. What is the first conclusion reached by our author in his argument? A. That Christ actually lived and bore the real character ascribed to him in history.

91. Q. What is the second conclusion? A. That he was a sinless character.

92. Q. What is it incredible and contrary to reason to suppose of a being out of humanity? A. That he will be shut up within all the limitations of humanity.

93. Q. Jesus being a miracle himself, if he did not work miracles what would it be? A. It would be the greatest of all miracles.

94. Q. What is said of the mythical hypothesis to account for the Christian miracles advanced by the critics who deny them? A. It is itself impossible.

95. Q. What have the evangelists been able to give us concerning Christ? A. A doctrine upon which the world has never advanced, and a character so deep that the richest hearts have felt nothing deeper, and added nothing to the sentiment of it.

96. Q. Of what are these mighty works of Jesus, which have been done and duly certified, a fit expression to us? A. Of the fact that he can do for us all that we want.

97. Q. What does our author call the spirit of Jesus unabridged? A. The great miracle of Christianity.

98. Q. What only can draw the soul to faith, and open it to the power of a supernatural and new-creative mercy? A. Nothing but to say, “Jesus of Nazareth, a man approved of God by miracles and signs which God did by him.”

99. Q. In what way are all the conditions of life raised by the advent of Jesus? A. By the meaning he has shown to be in them, and the grace he has put upon them.

100. Q. What does our author say it would be easier to do than to get the character of Jesus out of the world? A. It were easier to untwist all the beams of light in the sky, separating and expunging one of the colors.

THE CHAUTAUQUA UNIVERSITY.

THE CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS.

BY PROF. R. S. HOLMES, A.M.

“What is the relation of the Correspondence Schools to the University?”

“I am a member of the Correspondence Class in German; am I also a member of the University?”

Correspondents have recently asked these questions. They are important enough to receive public answer, since they represent many of the same import. They exhibit an uncertainty concerning the relation of the University to other Chautauqua institutions, which should be removed. To accomplish it is our present purpose.

We answer the first easily. There is no relation between the University and the Correspondence Schools; the latter have ceased to exist as separate institutions. We answer the second easily, though this answer may seem to contradict the former. A member of the Correspondence Class in German is, and is not, a member of the University. Both answers are true. The separate existence of the Correspondence School has ceased, but its existence in the University as the College of Modern Languages continues.

Again, although members of the Correspondence School are thus in the University, they are not matriculated members, not having met the matriculation requirement. The faculty is unchanged. Dr. Worman directs the College of Modern Languages; Prof. Lalande the Department of French.

But the answers thus given do not meet the spirit of the questions. To do this we must review the history which has resulted in the Chautauqua University. The Chautauqua Summer School of Languages held its first session in the summer of 1879. It made no claim to originality. It was among the earlier of these popular schools, and has achieved an enviable reputation. It ranged itself from the outset on the side of the so called “new education.” It adopted the system of Pestalozzi, and announced to the world the opening of a school for instruction in language by the natural method. Six schools were organized with a brilliant corps of teachers. After the lapse of six years, it is the candid judgment of a careful observer, that better teaching has never been done on this continent than was done in that first session of the Chautauqua Summer School. The original heads of the French and German Schools still occupy their positions with honor alike to themselves and to Chautauqua, while the standard of excellence has never been higher than at the present hour.

The session of the Summer School lasted for six weeks. It early became evident that these six weeks must in some way be supplemented if the student was to make any lasting acquisition. To meet this necessity members of the school were advised to continue their work at home, and were assured that needed aid would be rendered by correspondence by their department professors. The attempt was made. It failed. The causes were numerous. There was the lack of the teacher’s presence, and of a bond of union. Professional duties claimed the teacher’s time. Acquaintance had been too brief to create even personal interest of teacher in pupil. The student had no incentive to persistent effort, there was a lamentable want of system, and the correspondence was irregular and unsatisfactory. It failed; but failure is not the end of Chautauqua enterprises. Another year witnessed another effort for an after-school course of study. One person was selected to receive all inquiries from the students, to forward them to the respective teachers, and to secure from the teachers prompt attention. This attempt failed; but failure brought yet deeper conviction that there were great possibilities in the after-school idea, if only a true method of work could be found. There were a few patient students who had persevered notwithstanding the difficulties. Something must be provided for them. After much deliberation a plan for Correspondence Schools was adopted. There was to be a regular course of study, lasting from October to July. Ten dollars was to be the annual tuition fee. Each professor was pledged to a definite amount of work, and each school was to have the benefit of the Chautauqua name; but there was no homogeneity. Each professor was independent of every other, giving attention only to the details of his own particular school, and with no interest save his own. The only benefit that could accrue to Chautauqua was a possible increase in attendance upon the Summer School.

The plan succeeded. For three years teachers and students have worked successfully. True, there have been disadvantages. French and German are living languages. Pronunciation is difficult even to one trained in language when aided by a present native teacher. Valuable as the lesson paper may be in helping to a knowledge of principles and translation, it can not speak, nor tell another how to speak. Yet it is plain that one who is correctly trained in principles, and can with rapidity translate, could easily master pronunciation when once in contact with the living teacher.

But notwithstanding these difficulties the schools have been successful. Good work has been done. The students have made notable progress; and some able to attend the Summer School, have speedily added to their foundation in principle the essentials of correct pronunciation. The problem was solved; but with its solution came another important question. Why may not all the subjects embraced in a college curriculum be taught by correspondence? To this there can be but one answer: There is no reason why any subject may not be so taught, except such as require the use of instruments and the performance of experiments; and for these good local instructors could be obtained. The next and logical step is the incorporation and organization of the Chautauqua University.

We have now reached a point where a comprehensive answer can be made to the questions which begin this paper. To organize the University, the professors identified with the Correspondence Schools were retained, while the schools themselves, which had achieved success by efforts of Chautauqua officials, and through the prestige of the Chautauqua name, were merged in Chautauqua’s crowning glory—the University.

Henceforth there are no separate and unrelated institutions, which professors shall control and direct as circumstances allow; but each is part of one grand institution, watched over and directed by its Chancellor, and managed through its central office. All this is effected without prejudice to any interest. The professor becomes the representative of an institution which will hereafter be known as the pioneer in the grandest educational movement of the century. The student, from an isolated class, is brought into relation with many other departments of study, with a curriculum which may end in a diploma and degree. All this has been possible only through the work which Chautauqua has accomplished. Not only has it been possible, but possible at a merely nominal cost. The little tuition charged has gone as an inadequate compensation to the faithful work of talented teachers. Chautauqua has received from these sources no pecuniary benefit. Here is a question for each student of the Correspondence Schools to ponder: Do I not owe something to the University in return for the advantages I have enjoyed, and to aid it in extending them to others? Here, too, is an anomaly: A University planning the largest educational work, without a dollar of endowment and with meager provision for necessary expenses. In addition to the former tuition fee of ten dollars there is required from all students, before entering, the payment of a matriculation fee of five dollars. Only those who have paid this fee are enrolled upon the University books. This explains the statement already made, that members of the Correspondence classes were, and were not, members of the University. There is no purpose to disturb the present status of the schools of French, German and English. Those who entered them under the previous arrangement are entitled to the benefits promised them. Should any student in these schools feel disposed to aid the work by the payment of the matriculation fee, proper acknowledgment will be made. It will not for the present year be required; but with the expiration of the year, when the obligation between student and teacher has been met, the University will assert its right to demand full conformance to its requirements by all who participate in its privileges. Professors will no longer be burdened with business details. All fees will be sent to the central office, and through it students will be introduced to their professors, and the University will enter upon a future of usefulness which no forecasting can express.

“INVINCIBLE”—CLASS OF ’85.

BY PHEBE A. HOLDER.

The age is trembling with the steps

Of an advancing God,

Our pulses feel the thrill and beat

With sympathetic chord.

The everlasting doors of Truth

Stand open to our sight,

Along the shining way she leads

We walk in purest light.

Her precious words inspire the soul,

Touch every hidden key,

Sweep every chord with subtle power,

And wondrous sympathy.

A large, rich soul can always give,

Scatter its wealth around,

And like the sun that lights the world,

No poorer shall be found.

To meet the morning we go forth

Leaving behind the night,

And face the full, clear blaze that glows

With pure electric light.

Press on while deeper meanings come

Into the wondrous years,

And brighter with God’s changeless love

Immortal life appears.

“Press on to reach the things before”

Our watchword still shall be,

Until is sown the golden crown

Of immortality.

EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

PRACTICAL LOYALTY—C. L. S. C. BOOKS.

The C. L. S. C. text-books are adapted to the peculiar method of C. L. S. C. work. They are the result of efforts to meet the wants of the main body of our members, and there has been no hap-hazard in their selection, but careful, patient and abundant thoughtfulness. Sometimes a member desires to substitute some book not in the course for one of ours. Sometimes his request may be granted; often it may not be granted. In the first place, it is desirable that there should be uniformity in the work done, and this we secure, for the most part, by uniform text-books. In a college, the uniformity is secured by the living teacher; we must secure ours by the printed page. Our need of common text-books is therefore peculiar and imperative. If we granted all the requests for substitutions which might be made, we should end by frittering away our course of study. We might seriously impair it by granting only those requests which seem to those who make them to be entirely reasonable. There must be hard and fast lines in any system of instruction; in our system the uniform text-books make one of those lines. It is our means of keeping together, of easily communicating with each other, of simplifying examinations and assisting our members in overcoming difficulties. In a rare case, a substitution may be allowed; but the substituted book must be equally good and equally fresh. Very few old text-books are now good. The subjects have undergone changes of importance either in the principles or the modes of illustrating them. A good text-book must be a fresh book. Furthermore, our books are specially adapted to private study; the ordinary school-books are made to be interpreted by a living teacher. The full meaning of this difference will not be grasped at once by those who have not thought about it. We have had to think about it. Our success depended upon our thinking about it to some purpose. The result of much thinking and careful planning is the Chautauqua system of text-books. We find it more and more important to adhere to our own books. The books are our teachers.

We hope, therefore, that those who have desired changes to meet their special wants will remember the reason why their wishes can not be consulted. There is a call for loyalty on their part to the system. It depends on their loving it enough to forego some personal feelings or interests. We are in special and numerous ways dependent upon the affectionate respect of our members for the invisible authority of this institution—just as colleges depend on a like feeling toward the visible authority in their work. The colleges select their text-books; we select ours. In each case, substitutions ought to be very rare. If the disappointed applicant for a change of book has a loyal feeling toward the C. L. S. C. he will cheerfully sacrifice his preferences or his convenience to the welfare of the whole body. The whole body must move on common lines to common ends; and the individual members keep step, because a great army can not march in any other way—the individual must coöperate in the movement according to a common plan. We therefore appeal to the loyalty of our members to aid us in all reasonable ways to maintain our system of uniform books. We see more clearly than they possibly can that this uniformity is vital to the C. L. S. C. organization.

THE DISHONESTY OF REPUDIATION.

In the North American Review for December Mr. John F. Hume repeats his appeal to the honest people of this country to vindicate the national honor by paying the dishonored bonds of twelve states. Mr. Hume is severe and almost bitter; but he tells us some truth which must needs be unpleasant and should be seriously told. We are in an anomalous position in the matter of these state debts; the states are by the eleventh amendment secure from legal pursuit, and the Union secures them from the forcible settlement which the law of nations authorizes. There is no doubt that each of these states would have been seized for debt by foreign powers, just as Mexico was seized a few years ago, if the national government did not cover them with its protection. The evil is precisely this, that the constitution cuts off creditors of states from any remedy when the states do not pay their debts. This state of things was brought about by the whole people when the eleventh amendment was adopted. We are all therefore responsible for state roguery. We have, though unintentionally, authorized the repudiation by opening the door to it; and so long as we leave the door open we are responsible for the rascally people who repudiate state bonds. We have tried hard to see some escape from the logic of Mr. Hume; but we have found none. We are as a nation responsible for the existence of these dishonored debts, which now exceed three hundred millions of dollars. We are a dishonest nation; it is a hard saying, but it is the exact truth of the case.

The logical remedy is the repeal of the eleventh amendment, but unfortunately there is no hope of that. The defaulting states are too numerous; and there is further some doubt whether the rest of us are honest enough to approve such a reform. Representatives in legislatures and in Congress are liable to be influenced by a set of considerations which have no proper relation to the matter. It is affirmed that the states were wronged by their officers in the issue of the bonds; that the bonds are now held by men who bought them for a small part of their face value; and that to pay them is to honor the rascalities which gave them birth, and reward speculators in unreasonable measure. If the subject is pressed upon our attention, we shall be told, and have no reason to disbelieve it, that the speculators are spending money through a lobby, and that the road to honor lies through more filth than is piled up in the path of dishonor. The evil, we shall be told, is done, and is irremediable. We can not reach the persons who were really wronged. They have parted with their property at an almost total sacrifice; the present holders have no moral rights whatever. All this has been plentifully said, and it has lulled many consciences to sleep. Another moral opiate is the fact that the creditors had due notice that the states could not be sued at law, and therefore can not complain of this defect in our constitution. But this is a two-edged argument and might well rouse a sleepy conscience. These state debts are for this very reason debts of honor, such as honest men pay before all other debts. And yet, it is true, and pity ’tis ’tis true, no hope exists that the unfortunate amendment can be repealed. It is perfectly just to say that it would be proper to accompany the repeal with any legislation which might be required to enable courts to take account of all the equities in each case, even to require that original holders of bonds, or their heirs be found, and that any reduction from par in the original sales be allowed to the state. It would, in short, be possible to do justice as exactly as men can do justice in transactions of this complicated character, and to secure the tax-payers of the states in default against any oppression. But the great public is not going to be convinced. It will be said that the remedial measure is for the relief of idle rich men in Wall street, and Congressmen and legislators will be warned not to sign their death warrants. In the course of such a campaign so much immorality will be taught, so many men now decent in life will be manufactured into rascals, that it may be wiser not to attempt to repeal the eleventh amendment. It is a disagreeable conclusion to reach, but we reach it frankly: We are a dishonest nation. There is no reasonable hope, rather no shadow of hope, that we can purge ourselves in the matter of dishonored state bonds. There are not enough honest voters to redeem our reputation. We may succeed in raising up an honest generation to follow us; for our part, we of this generation must wear the stigma and groan under the burden of our dishonor. We are not able to allow creditors of defaulting states to present their cases to our own courts and have them passed upon as all other debts are. The nation has a court to consider claims against itself; but a state is free of even such supervision, and is authorized to be guilty of any dishonesty. The other remedy which Mr. Hume proposes is not practicable for the foregoing reasons. He proposes that the nation shall assume all these debts. We could easily pay them; but for that matter, it would be easier for the indebted states to pay them than not to pay them. No one doubts that the state of Illinois did the best thing financially when in 1845 it assumed and provided for the crushing debt—for which, by the way, it had very little to show as value received. Good men avoid dishonest communities, and such states are resorted to by men of prey. Granted, however, that we might pass in Congress the proper bills to pay the dishonored bonds of states, it would certainly be better to pay thus than to bear our reproach. And yet this would only give us a short rest. The next decade would find us plunged back into the gulf of disgrace. So long as dishonest men can create debts, for which no one is legally responsible, by using the names of states, the business of making us all responsible for scoundrelism will go on. No, we will modify that. The men who made the debts are not necessarily rascals. They may mean that posterity shall pay the debts; but so long as a dishonest legislature can with a stroke of the pen plunge us back into dishonor, it is hardly worth while to pay the dishonored millions now staring our consciences in the face and humiliating us to the dust. The bill for paying off the debts should be contingent on the repeal of the eleventh amendment. In short, this repeal is the only road to honor. When we shake ourselves from our rogueries, we shall have to march to the eleventh amendment and wash ourselves in a national act of repeal. We write most sorrowfully our conviction that we shall not for some time rid ourselves of this uncleanness.

Mr. Hume very properly calls attention to the solemn silence of our American churches on this subject. We are glad that he has done so. Our church organizations are verily guilty in the matter. They often lift up their voices on subjects of far less obvious and direct moral concernment. We are living in a state of the national law whose direct effect is to make every citizen a thief, a partaker with thieves in their violation of the eighth commandment. Decalogue religion is, we sometimes fear, a little below par. Thousands of our citizens who are church members fail miserably in keeping the Decalogue in their public conduct as voters and members of political parties. And yet we believe that the silence of our churches is due to the forgetfulness of the facts, or to despair of any real and permanent cure. It is a hard case. More than one newspaper has asked how many bonds Mr. Hume owns; and the ministers who urge the duty of public honesty will in fact find themselves aiding and abetting the schemes of Wall street speculators and lobbyists. The road to righteousness is so foul and so infested with thieves that sublime courage is necessary to him who attempts the journey. We have written every sentence of this article with a consciousness that we are offending men who see the uncleanness of the path to honor, and do not see that it is the righteous road in spite of the foul smells with which it reeks. We recall such to the simple facts: First, by the eleventh amendment a state can not be sued. It is the only debt-creating power in the Union which is above any form of judicial inquiry or compulsion. Even the Union has a court of claims whose decisions are respected by Congress. Second, more than three hundred millions of money is apparently due by defaulting states to their creditors. The nation stands between the creditors and the states, and bars the way to the courts. It is our one colossal and unpardonable crime against the eighth commandment.

THE FALL IN PRICES.

It is often disagreeable to admit a plain truth, and there are truths which one may safely admit in private which have an almost incendiary character when printed. To admit in private that the commercial outlook is not good costs nothing; to print the fact and prove it is to run the risk of aggravating the causes of the unpromising condition of affairs. The public is like a patient whose chance of recovery depends upon his not knowing his critical condition. If his nerves get to playing around that danger, they may drag him into it. To state in printed words that the times are bad and growing worse might be to tell a truth; but it would tend to produce the worse times. This is the reason why editors are either silent, or even lie a little, in seasons of financial and commercial depression. But it is also true that in our present circumstances there are unpleasant things which admit of mitigation, and even of radical cure; and it is perhaps wiser to state what most of us know and suggest the remedies for an evil case.

It is known that the wages of laboring men and clerks all over the country are being cut down. It is probably within the mark to say that seven millions of wage-earners (of all classes) will receive in 1885 an average of ten per cent. less compensation for their services than they received in 1884. Assuming a very low average for the old wages, $1.25 per day, the total reduction in wages for the year will amount to more than $260,000,000. This amount will of course be taken from the net total of trade. The workmen and clerks will buy two hundred and sixty million dollars worth less of goods in 1885. The reduction will be dispersed over a large area, but it will not spread into a thinness which will render it impalpable. Nor does the reduction end with the workmen. All the persons of whom workmen buy manufactured goods will buy less for their own consumption—they also will have less to buy with. This class is a very large one, and there are few of us who do not belong in it—are not in some way dependent on workmen for patronage. To say that all these will reduce their annual purchases two hundred and sixty millions, carrying the reduction up to five hundred and twenty millions, is probably within the mark. We may as well consider in this connection the reductions in the price of farm products, another great drain on the volume of trade. Agricultural products are worth at most ten per cent. less than in 1883. The effect of the reduction in prices of farm products acts more disastrously on trade, since farmers usually double their caution. They will not merely buy ten per cent. less; they will buy as little as possible. Old clothes, old wagons, old tools, will be kept in use, and it may be within the mark to say that the loss of farmers’ trade of all sorts will amount to as much as all the others—to five hundred and twenty millions more. One thousand and forty millions taken off from the net total of sales of goods will necessarily be keenly missed. The payment of all the national debt in a prosperous year would be easier and more pleasant. If it had no compensations this reduction would crush the life out of us. At least it is a burden to bear. Economies upon customary spending in a single household matter but little, but economies in millions of households—less buying of customary comforts—are a large matter. They are not merely a consequence of hard times; they make the times hard. And we are so bound together that the enforced economies in the families of workmen act on the whole purchasing line with mathematical certainty. It is a good thing, a beneficence of natural order, that there are compensations. We see these natural offsets most easily by looking back at the case of the farmer. He has to sell his food in a cheaper market, and wants to buy also in a cheaper market. He has made food cheaper for the workman, and he wants the goods made by the workman at less cost. He wants the same amount of cloth, sugar, salt, tools, etc., for the same number of bushels of wheat. It is the cloth, tools, etc., that he wants as a farmer. As a debtor, indeed, he wants the same number of dollars; and this is his real pinch. He is in debt, and has to pay in the fall of grain a twenty per cent. premium on what he owes. As a producer, he would, however, suffer no harm if all other prices fell as much as the price of grain. If, then, by the corresponding and simultaneous reduction of the price of food and of wages, the ten per cent. less money would buy the same things to eat and wear—if the reduction were equalized all round—nobody would suffer. The farmer’s grain would buy as much as before; the workman’s wages would buy as much. Goods of all kinds would be so much cheaper in money terms, but just as valuable in barter terms. The reduction would be only in the figures and not in the facts of trade. The footings of the ledgers would be smaller, but the ledgers of comfort would show an undiminished balance in favor of happiness.

Will it work out in this way? Partly it will; partly it will not. Cheaper food will partly balance the accounts of all parties, but some accounts will not balance. Prices sink or rise unequally. And this is not half our trouble. In these matters “thinking makes it so;” the belief that we are losing ground causes the sliding back which we dread. There is a reluctance to buy what we are accustomed to buy. The reduction in wages makes men feel poor; and to feel poor is to be a poor customer of the seller. Suppose that a general fall in prices is going on—a possibly complete explanation of our troubles—then we must remember that all values are disturbed. We can not make a “horizontal reduction” by a stroke of the pen. It must be effected slowly and painfully and irregularly and in detail. The results are suffering and depression of spirit. The strain is severe, but it has to be borne; and patience really lightens all burdens. If we reflect that these stretches of bare ground in trade are really safe roads—safer than the smoother paths along which we have driven gaily and recklessly—we shall have confidence to keep company with patience, and the two will make a rough road tolerable, if not enjoyable. Honest and industrious souls thrive in such times. Speculative rogues thrive in good times. The honest man’s chief trouble is that he will get into debt. His worst calamity is he is paying now with eighty-cent wheat debts contracted in dollar-wheat prices. The poor man can not be helped. May the Lord be good to him.

“But” one will say, “this is not our whole disease. We are really at war. Workmen are falling under the wheels of a great machine called progress; and the machine is driven by forces too powerful for any hope of resistance. It is not a mere readjustment of prices; it is a life and death struggle; and the god Competition must be dethroned, or the people will perish.” We do not believe this wild-eyed reformer, but we do expect a hard winter. Let us all remember the poor.

EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK.

The steady growth of this country is shown by the fact that in the last fiscal year there was a net increase of 2,154 in the number of post-offices. The total number is now 50,071. About this time it is interesting to learn that there are only 2,323 President’s post-offices with salaries of $1,000 and higher; and there are only 159 free delivery offices. The expenses of the last year exceeded the receipts by more than three millions of dollars.

Hostile Apaches continue to be troublesome on the Mexican border. They escape across the line and are safe from pursuit. These troubles will end when the two governments make permanent arrangements for the pursuit of marauders across the boundary. A temporary provision of that kind has existed, but it should be permanent—unless, indeed, our citizens fear Mexican soldiers more than they fear Indians.

A United States Court has decided in due form that an “Indian not taxed is not a citizen of the United States.” It is time he was made a citizen. The fiction of regarding the Indians as independent powers, and dealing with them as tribes, ought to be made an end of. The Indians themselves need the discipline of citizenship, and we need to free ourselves from a useless and harmful fiction. By all means keep faith to the last farthing, but make a man of this red brother as soon as possible.

A Connecticut paper soberly declares that a citizen of that state did not know the name of either candidate for the presidency until the Saturday before the election. And yet people unreasonably complain that there was too much noise in the late campaign.

It is remarked that Presidential electors were scratched to a considerable extent this year. It is as unreasonable a performance as kicking the stone you have stumbled over, more so indeed for the stone has done you some harm, while a Presidential elector is incapable of doing any harm. He is, by our political customs, merely a machine for transmitting a vote to the candidate of the party. But there has been so much of this scratching this year that politicians will probably estimate its influence hereafter. In a close election this species of scratcher might defeat his own wishes and his party by blind stupidity.

A new life of the witty Sydney Smith has brought to light a new piece of his inimitable jesting. A friend complained to Smith that in an important interview Lord Brougham had treated him as if he were a fool. “Never mind, never mind,” said the incorrigible wit, in his most sympathetic tones, “never mind, never mind, he thought you knew it.”

“Swift as the wind” is not very swift after all. The record of its travels in New York City, for a whole week in November, showed only 1,076 miles. Ocean steamers go nearly three times as fast, and through trains from New York to Chicago travel five times as fast. A good pedestrian would beat an average wind if he did not have to rest.

Since the November election there has been a marked increase in business failures. The wages of workmen have been reduced in many places, and many mills have suspended. Politicians are not agreed about the cause, but it is probable that this will be a hard winter for the poor. Heavenly charity will, we trust, be everywhere equal to the tasks laid upon her. Remember the poor.

It is positively affirmed that physicians regard canned foods as dangerous. Many cases of poisoning occur from eating such foods, but chemical testimony is divided. Some chemists trace the poisoning to special conditions of the food used; in other words, the food was in an advanced state of decomposition when it was put into the can. This is the opinion recently expressed by an eminent English chemist. In this view, proper caution in examining the food will avert all danger.

What impressions would our chief cities make on those of us who do not live in them, if we received all our knowledge of them through the newsy papers? San Francisco, for example, is known in that way as the home of Sand Lot orators, astonishing divorce suits, fighting editors, and swearing preachers. The latest of these picturesque incidents is the shooting of an editor, Mr. De Young, who is the second man in his family to be shot by outraged and bloody-minded readers. Such incidents doubtless misrepresent the City of the Golden Gate; but many thousands of newspaper readers know only these miserable doings in San Francisco.

The sacred hen of Brahma has long been at home in American barn-yards; and now we learn that for several years the sacred cow of India has been establishing herself in the South. The Brahma cattle, judiciously crossed with English breeds, are becoming fashionable in New Mexico.

Perhaps the most unfortunate man in the late campaign was a distinguished one who ostensibly had nothing to do with politics. Ex-Senator Conkling is credited with depriving, by secret influence, Mr. Blaine of many votes. The misfortune is in the fact that good and bad politicians agree in despising a sneak.

The “roller-skating rink” is condemned in vigorous terms by one of the Methodist conferences. It is doubtless becoming a nuisance. The base-ball business is past praying for, so degraded and disreputable has it become. There seems to be no possibility of maintaining any form of athletics in a wholesome, moral condition. They are becoming a worse nuisance each year.

The outbreak of cholera in Paris has created almost a panic, in New York, in the middle of November. Cholera has always been a warm weather disease, and the apprehensions of New York were altogether unreasonable. The disease made very little headway in Paris. Perhaps we should provide for its reception in this country next summer; though it could be kept out by proper and sufficient quarantine measures.

We advise our readers not to give up Shakspere on account of the so-called cipher of the Hon. Ignatius Donnelly. Authority is of some importance in this case, and whatever authority Mr. Donnelly has is in Minnesota politics. All that has been reported about Mr. D.’s discovery might be true and still not disturb Shakspere’s claim to the writings which bear his name.

The last of the patents for sewing machines expired in 1876; but the women of the country are so attached to the old machines that they would not buy the new, and probably better machines. The result is that the new companies go into bankruptcy and the old companies monopolize the business. Here is a plain account of one of the “grasping monopolies” of the country. A few others are explained by the insane attachment of the men of the country to tools of a particular brand or make.

We notice in the papers an unusual number of reports of contests over wills containing charitable bequests. Let us say frankly that we think this post mortem method of being charitable rather a sneaking way of discharging the duty of benevolence. Give like a man what you might keep yourself. It is a coward’s way to assess your children to pay your debts to philanthropy. A man who really wants to be benevolent is usually able to execute his own will. Be your own executor.

The largest farm in America has been sold to foreign nabobs. It is a cattle ranch of 800,000 acres in Texas. Mr. King, who has just sold it for $6,500,000, built up this property, beginning with nothing. He is now eighty years old and thinks it time to retire from business. The new owners will operate the farm as a joint stock concern, and it will probably be bankrupt in twenty years. One King is better than a score of nabobs for such business.

Dr. Talmage is still picturesquely anti-evolution. In a recent speech he said: “There ought to be some place where God could go, where the evolutionists could not reach him. They keep ordering him off the premises.… According to evolutionists we are only a sort of Alderney cow among other cattle. I believe in an evolution of mortality into immortality—a heavenly evolution.”

The English House of Lords has obtained a great victory. After a summer of agitation in the form of great meetings, monster processions and burning eloquence, the Ministry has compromised with the Lords on the Franchise bill, on terms dictated by the Lords. The Radicals are very angry; but Mr. Gladstone has secured the extension of the ballot to some millions of Englishmen, and is believed to regard this success as a fitting crown of his public career. He will leave the “reform of the Lords” to his successors.

The immigration of ten months of this year brought us 414,000 new citizens; in the same period last year 501,000 came to us. The reduction is less than was expected; but the depression in trade is now acting as a check on immigration, though matters are even worse in Europe. This is, however, a stream which will not dry up in this century, perhaps not in the next.

A French chemist has thought of a useful device to prevent accidents in the handling of poisons. A large number of persons are killed every year by mistakes of apothecaries, of their friends, or of themselves. The French chemist suggests that white cylindrical bottles be used for medicines to be taken internally, and colored square bottles for medicines to be used externally. The suggestion can be improved by additional devices to prevent mistakes, but half the errors would be cut off by the proposed plan.

A great many Republicans are unhappy because their party has not settled the Mormon question. Probably the Senate will resist the admission of Utah as a state; but the evil is only postponed. Some vigorous measures must be taken, or plural marriage will become one of the established modes of regulating the American family. If polygamy becomes a state institution, it will be as strongly entrenched as slavery was; and it may be held that a plural marriage in one state is good in all the states; this is the rule for monogamous marriage.

In New York City, in 1884, eleven thousand and fifty girls under fourteen years of age were arrested by the police; the number of boys of like age was only two thousand two hundred and forty-eight. The disproportion has its melancholy lesson.

A story went over the country that the temperance people of an Ohio town mobbed and killed a liquor man. The story should have been that some rejoicing Democrats refused to leave a saloon, where they were drinking, and fatally wounded the proprietor while he was attempting to put them out. Our authority for the revised version is the New York Sun.

A decision, under the anti-Chinese laws, seems to nullify them. Judge Brown has decided that a Chinaman has a right to land and visit with us. This looks reasonable, but we have no police to look him up and send him packing when he has visited enough.

The Indian question moves to a final settlement. Commissioner Price reports a considerable increase in the number of Indian farmers and students; and General Crook’s annual report on the murderous Apaches of New Mexico and Arizona is full of promise. The General has had no serious trouble with American Apaches for a whole year. Mexican Apaches still trouble us.

A story is circulating that the watch of Arctic-explorer De Long and the watch of his wife stopped at the same instant—he with his watch being in the Arctic Ocean, and she with hers in this country. It is added that the clock at home and the chronometer on the far-off ship united with the watches in the conspiracy. It is not worth while to believe this story, at least not until proper corrections for longitude are made. When meridian time shall be used everywhere, such stories will come within the range of intelligent consideration.

A ghastly corpse of a woman is found among ashes in a cellar in New York City. The police do not know whether it is a case of murder or of suicide. But the pathetic and blood-chilling fact is that many persons who had mysteriously lost female relatives came to see if the body might be that of their sister, wife or friend. Many people go down out of sight suddenly in the waves of city life.

A commercial treaty with Spain is pending in the United States Senate. Its object is to facilitate trade between our country and Cuba. We need foreign markets for our manufactures—and those markets lie in the West Indies, Mexico, and South America.

The Centennial Methodist Conference held in Baltimore, December 10th to 16th, commemorated the organization in that city, Christmas week, 1784, of the Methodist Episcopal Church. It should not be forgotten, however, that Methodism had existed in this country for about twenty years. The recent celebration represented some 3,000,000 of Methodists.

Two pieces of new wit deserve a place in this record. The first is the “288 joke,” and it is explained as “too gross.” Spell too with a w. Pepper and salt to your taste. The other describes a sermon as like champagne. The preacher is elated by the criticism until it is added that “extra-dry” champagne is meant.

The most unreasonable man we have heard of during the last month went to a physician to be treated for several diseases. The doctor looked him over carefully, minutely examined all the implicated organs, and informed the patient that there was nothing the matter with him, whereupon the hero of several diseases assaulted the physician, and became the hero of a police court.

Quacks receive a blow by a legal decision in Massachusetts that men who administer drugs, whose effects they do not know, are criminally responsible for the mischief they do. It is common sense and deserves a wide circulation.

Silver dollars continue to accumulate in the Treasury. The Secretary advises Congress to abolish one, two and five dollar bills, so that all payments under ten dollars may be made in silver. This is the French method, and a good one. It is the best compromise offered, and the silver men ought to accept it.

The French are considering a plan to restore the practice of transporting ex-convicts to some far-off French colony. Experience shows that transportation is the best practical measure for securing the permanent reformation of the criminals; but the colonists always object to this class of new citizens.

We produce apples for Europe. It is expected that 2,000,000 barrels will be exported this year. Good eating apples are but little cultivated in Europe; ours are the best in the world. This is an apple year. Who says that times are hard?

The Rev. Dr. A. G. Haygood has resigned the presidency of Macon College, Georgia, to give his time to the management of the Slater Educational Fund. We regret that Dr. Haygood has taken this step. He is a man of broad views and generous impulses, and useful in a high institution of learning. It is not too much to say that he is better known at the North than any educator in the South. His sermons and lectures in Northern States have awakened new sympathies in the hearts of many people for the cause of higher education in the South, and indeed, Dr. Haygood has been one of the best representatives of the South. Always standing firmly by his college and people, he has done much to strengthen the bonds of union between the two sections. Perhaps his new office will give him a new range on more people, and increase his opportunities for usefulness. It is not the privilege of many men to decline the offices of bishop and the presidency of a college such as that at Macon inside three years, but Dr. Haygood has done both of these things. We predict for him large success in his new educational work.

It is refreshing to find that the Christmas idea of making others happy has at last reached our Sunday-schools. For years teachers and parents have made annually an exhaustive effort to feast their schools on Christmas day. However great their efforts the results could never be entirely satisfactory. Somebody was unavoidably overlooked, and the managers were always too nearly worn out to enjoy the holiday. A new plan, we hope, is to be instituted. Last season many schools tried it, more are making the experiment this year. It is to substitute giving by the school. On Christmas eve the classes bring in offerings for the poor. Whatever they wish and their purses allow is offered. The plan meets with the heartiest reception wherever proposed, the smallest children often being the most eager to give. A general adoption of this method of celebrating Christmas would do much to counteract the selfish feeling so often found in Sunday-schools that gifts, entertainments and prizes must be continually given in order to keep the school together.

Edward Everett Hale has consented that his name be added to the list of the counselors of the C. L. S. C. This announcement will be received with genuine satisfaction by every one interested in our work. It is an honor to us to number such a man in our faculty. Mr. Hale’s position in the religious and literary world is well established. Last spring when The Critic and Good Literature asked the public to cast a vote for the forty native American authors whom it deemed most worthy to form the “forty immortals” of a proposed American Academy, his name was the eleventh on the list, which ran: Holmes, Lowell, Whittier, Bancroft, Howells, Curtis, Aldrich, Harte, Stedman, White and Hale. His books are known most widely; his sympathies are broad and wise; he is a man of the truest culture of both mind and heart. He will be welcomed most warmly by Chautauquans as one of their honored counselors.

Mr. Richard Grant White, whose articles on English form so important and interesting a part of this year’s course of reading, has been for several weeks seriously ill; so ill, indeed, that he has been quite unable to prepare his article for the present issue of The Chautauquan. By another month, however, Mr. White writes us that he believes his health will be so improved that he can continue his work.

The announcement of the Chautauqua School of Church Work, found in this issue, associates with the Chautauqua work a name well known and deeply honored by many of our readers. Dr. Geo. P. Hays, the director of this new department at the great summer school, was for several years president of Washington and Jefferson College, and since his connection with that institution ceased he has been the pastor of a Presbyterian church in Denver, Col. His name has several times appeared on the Chautauqua programs, and his appearance on that platform has always been very welcome. Dr. Hays will represent the C. L. S. C. in the West, and we look for large results from his efforts. This new department of church work will be a great addition to the Chautauqua attractions for 1885.

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

COLLEGE GREEK COURSE IN ENGLISH.

P. 16.—“Herodotus.” Critical essays containing the results of the researches concerning Herodotus will be found in the works of the eminent Germans, Creuzer, Dahlman, Heyse, Blum, A. Bauer, K. O. Müller, Stein, Kirchhoff and Blakesley. De Quincey has an essay in Vol. i. of “Historical and Critical Essays.” See also Vol. ii. of “A History of Classical Greek Literature,” by J. P. Mahaffy.

The following abridged opinions on Herodotus are interesting. Macaulay says of him: Of the romantic historians, Herodotus is the earliest and the best. His animation, his simple-hearted tenderness, his wonderful talent for description and dialogue, and the pure, sweet flow of his language place him at the head of narrators. He reminds us of a delightful child.… But he has not written a good history.… The faults of Herodotus are the faults of a simple and imaginative mind. He wrote as it was natural he should write. He wrote for a nation susceptible, curious, lively, insatiably desirous of novelty and excitement; for a nation in which the fine arts had attained their highest excellence, but in which philosophy was still in its infancy. Mahaffy quotes the German Blakesley’s opinion that Herodotus wrote not to instruct but to please, that he selected such events and attributed such motives as he thought would be striking and popular, without any misgivings as to the accuracy of statement; that at his time there was no historic sense, but that the idea of exact and critical historical writing is a late and gradual acquisition which Thucydides acquired only by his extraordinary genius and circumstances in those early days.

P. 21.—“Rawlinson,” The Rev. George. (1815-—.) An Oxford man, in 1874 made Canon of Canterbury. Besides his “Herodotus” he has published a celebrated work called “The Five Great Monarchies of the Ancient Eastern World, or the History, Geography and Antiquities of Chaldea, Assyria, Babylonia, Media and Persia.” To this he added, in 1873, the “Sixth Great Oriental Monarchy,” meaning Parthia, and in 1876 the “Seventh Great Oriental Monarchy; or the Geography, History and Antiquity of the Sassanian or New Persian Empire.”

“Rawlinson,” Sir Henry. (1810-—.) A brother of the former. When but sixteen years of age he was sent to the East in the service of the East India Company; being transferred to the Persian army, he began to study the Persian cuneiform inscriptions and forwarded valuable copies to England. He also explored the countries of Central Asia. His studies have given him high rank among modern archæologists. His publications include several valuable works on the history and inscriptions of Assyria, Babylon and Chaldea, and he has contributed many learned papers to the journals of the Asiatic Society.

“Wilkinson.” (1797-1875.) An Englishman who during a residence of twelve years in Egypt studied the history, ruins, manners and customs of the country. His studies were embodied in voluminous works on a great variety of phases of Egyptian life and history, including the “Topography of Thebes and General View of Egypt,” “Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians,” “Architecture of Ancient Egypt,” “Modern Egypt and Thebes,” and others. In striking contrast was a subject on which he published a work in 1858—“Color, and the General Diffusion of Taste among all Classes.”

P. 22.—“Lydian Empire.” Lydia was a very early seat of Asiatic civilization, the empire being founded at Sardis in mythical times. Three dynasties of kings are said to have ruled the country, the Atyadæ, the Heraclidæ and the Mermnadæ, the last of which alone is authentic. Of their civilization Smith says: “Among the inventions or improvements which the Greeks are said to have derived from them were the weaving and dyeing of fine fabrics; various processes of metallurgy; the use of gold and silver money, which the Lydians are said to have first coined; and various metrical and musical improvements, especially the scale or mode of music called the Lydian, and the form of lyre called the Magadis.” After the Persian conquest of Lydia it formed with Mysia, the second satrapy. After the Macedonian conquest it passed to the kings of Syria, thence to those of Pergamus, and finally to the Romans, who made it a part of the province of Asia.

“Sardis,” or Sardes, stood until the wars of the Middle Ages, when in 1402 it was almost entirely destroyed by Tamerlane. The remains extend over a wide space. Two Ionic columns (see illustration, page 33, of “College Greek Course,”) are the most conspicuous of the remains. These columns are supposed to have belonged to a temple of Cybele. The walls of the Acropolis, some of its towers, a few remnants of the magnificent palace of Crœsus, of a gymnasium, and a few other buildings are all that can be traced. The tombs of the Lydian kings are in the neighborhood, prominent among which is the tumulus of Alyattes, a huge circular mound 1,140 feet in diameter. An Arabian village of mud huts called Sart now stands on its site.

P. 26.—“Crœsus’s father.” Alyattes, king of Lydia, B. C. 617-560.

P. 27.—“Hermus.” A good sized river of Asia Minor, rising in Phrygia, flowing through Lydia, watering the plain of Sardis, and emptying into the Gulf of Smyrna.

P. 28.—“Telmessus.” A town of Cana about six miles from Halicarnassus. Its people were celebrated for their power in divination.

P. 32.—“Agbatana.” The usual form of writing the word is Ecbatana; the first form is the Ionic, used in poetry.

“Pactyas.” An army was sent against this man when he fled to Cyme, thence to Mytilene, and from there to Chios. The Chians gave him up to the Persians.

P. 33.—“L’Allegro,” läl-lāˈgrō. The merry, the gay.

P. 35.—“Nitocris.” Supposed to have been the wife of Nebuchadnezzar, and the mother or grandmother of Belshazzar. While queen of Babylon many important works were carried on by her for the improvement of the city.

P. 37.—“Massagetæ.” They were probably a nomad people of Central Asia. The best authorities suppose them to have lived north of the Jaxartes and the sea of Aral. Some critics identify them with the Mesech of the Scriptures. Many of their customs were very peculiar. They worshipped the sun, to which they sacrificed horses. Their very old people were killed and eaten. The race to which they belonged is in dispute, though usually considered the Turkoman.

P. 40.—“Prexaspes.” He had always been held in high honor by Cambyses, having been employed by the latter to kill his brother Smerdis, whom he feared. Later in life an impostor calling himself Smerdis, tried to usurp the throne and Cambyses suspected Prexaspes, but he cleared himself. After the death of Cambyses this false Smerdis was acknowledged king, and the Magi, who had put him on the throne, tried to win over Prexaspes to their plans, but he told before the assembled Persians of the assassination of the true Smerdis, and then threw himself from the tower on which he was standing.

P. 43.—“Apis.” A bull worshipped by the Egyptians. He was supposed to contain the spirit of the divinity Osiris, and was the symbol of fertility. The god must be black, with a white square or triangular mark on his forehead, an eagle on the back, and other mysterious marks about the body. When such an animal was found he was carried to Heliopolis and thence to Memphis, where he had his own temple and priests. The lifetime of Apis was twenty-five years. If one died the whole land was in mourning until a successor was found.

P. 45.—“Staters,” stāˈter. The chief gold coin of the Greeks, usually worth about $5.50, though it varied much in value.

P. 51.—“Andrians.” The inhabitants of Andros, the most northerly of the Cyclades.

“Ca-rysˈti-ans.” Those of Carystus, a town on the southern coast of Eubœa. Beautiful white marble and the mineral asbestos abounded near Carystus.

“Parians.” From Paros, one of the largest of the Cyclades, north of Delos.

P. 52.—“Thucydides.” For additional readings on Thucydides see Grote’s History of Greece, and also Thirwall’s, Mahaffy’s History of Classical Greek Literature, Müller and Donaldson’s History of Greek Literature, and Mure’s History of the Greek Language and Literature.

Cicero commends Thucydides as “a faithful and dignified narrator of facts,” and declares that he surpasses all others in the art of composition.

Macaulay says: “Thucydides has surpassed all his rivals in the art of historical narration, in the art of producing an effect on the imagination by skilful selection and disposition without indulging in the license of invention.”

Mahaffy thus compares Herodotus and Thucydides: “While the conceptions of history in Herodotus and Thucydides were mainly the consequence of the temper of the men and of their surroundings, it must be declared that, for an historian, the atmosphere in which the latter lived, while giving him critical acumen and freeing him from theological prejudices narrowed his view and distorted his estimate of the relative importance of events. We may indeed feel very grateful that Herodotus was not attracted in early life by this brilliant exclusiveness, and that he remained an Ionic instead of becoming an Attic historian.”

P. 56.—“Jowett,” jowˈet. (1817-—.) An English Greek scholar and professor.

P. 72.—“Peabody.” (1811-—.) An American theologian and author.

P. 73.—“Eurymedon.” One of the Athenian generals in the Peloponnesian war. After the expedition to Corcyra, Eurymedon commanded in the expedition against Sicily in 425. In 414 he was a leader in a second armament fitted out against Syracuse; he fell in the first sea fight in the harbor of that city.

P. 81.—“Alcæus.” About B. C. 600. A native of Mytilene. In a war between Athens and his country he is said to have fled, leaving his arms on the field of battle. He was afterward driven from his native land in a strife between the nobility and people, and spent the remainder of his life traveling. Some of his odes are extant, and the imitations of Horace have made the character of Alcæus’ verse well known. See “Brief History of Greece,” page 52. Mahaffy says of Alcæus, we see in him “the perfect picture of an unprincipled, violent, lawless Greek aristocrat, who sacrificed all and everything to the demands of pleasure and power.”

THE CHARACTER OF JESUS.

Excellent works to read in connection with “The Character of Jesus” are Farrar’s “Life of Christ,” Thomas Hughes’s “Manliness of Christ,” Geikie’s “Life and Words of Christ,” Pollock’s “The Christ of Christianity and of Modern Criticism.”

P. 108.—“Celsus.” An Epicurean philosopher who lived in the second century. Only fragments of his works have been preserved as quotations given by Origen. He charges Christians with blind credulity, with religious arrogance, with party divisions, and with having altered their sacred writings. His own doctrines were that evil is necessary and eternal, and that sin can never be entirely removed, least of all by vicarious sacrifice.

P. 109.—“Justin Martyr.” The earliest of the church fathers after the apostolic age. He lived in the second century, and attended the pagan schools of Asia Minor, Greece and Egypt. Afterward he embraced the Christian religion and wrote two apologies in its behalf. He suffered martyrdom at Rome under Marcus Aurelius, because he refused to sacrifice to the heathen gods.

“Tertullian.” An eminent Latin father of the church who lived at Carthage in the second century. He was converted from paganism to Christianity. He was a man of powerful intellect and great learning; was the author of numerous works which are still extant.

P. 111.—“Summum bonum.” A Latin expression meaning the highest good.

P. 134.—“Talmud.” The work which gives the laws, both civil and canonical, of the Jews. It contains the rules by which the conduct of the people is regulated, and relates not only to religion, but also to philosophy, medicine, history, and the branches of practical duty.

P. 136.—“Mr. Parker,” Theodore. (1810-1860.) A distinguished American scholar; a Unitarian minister. His new doctrines gave great offence to the New England Unitarians, as he assumed the absolute humanity of Christ, and said his inspiration differed in no respect from that of other men. He died in Florence, whither he had gone for his health.

P. 161.—“Vishnu.” One of the gods of the Hindoos, a sun god. He gave the earth to man as his inheritance. The unbroken order of the world is due to him.

NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS IN “THE CHAUTAUQUAN.”

TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE.

1. “Abd el Wahab.” The founder of a recent Mohammedan sect now dominant throughout the greater part of Arabia. He was the son of an Arab chief, and was born about the end of the seventeenth century. He was highly educated, and conceived the idea of restoring in its primitive shape the ruined structure of Islam. The Koran had fallen into abeyance, and their religion was little else than a round of external ceremonies. He gained a numerous following in his efforts to revive the old zeal in their religion. The sect took the name of the Wa-haˈbis, or the Wa-haˈbites.

2. “The earthquake at Lisbon.” This, the greatest of the frequent earthquakes at Lisbon, and one of the most remarkable that ever occurred anywhere, took place in 1775, and destroyed a great part of the city. The area affected was very extensive. The shock was felt on one side as far as the southern shore of Finland, and on the other it reached to Canada, an area of 7,500,000 square miles. The force required to move this must have been enormous, for suppose the thickness of the earth’s crust moved to have been only twenty miles, then 150,000,000 cubic miles of solid matter was moved. The sea wave caused by it rose to a height of sixty feet at Cadiz.

3. “Laputa.” The name of a flying island described by Swift in his imaginary “Travels of Lemuel Gulliver.” It is said to be “exactly circular, its diameter seven thousand eight hundred and thirty-seven yards, or about four miles and a half, and consequently contains ten thousand acres.” The inhabitants are speculative philosophers, devoted to mathematics and music.—Webster’s Dictionary.

So materializing is the spirit of the age that the extended study of physical and mechanical science seems likely one of these days to convert our island (Great Britain) into a Laputa.—Keightly.

4. “Syrian Maronites,” marˈo-nites. A Christian tribe of very ancient origin. In the year 1445 they were formally united to the Roman Catholic Church, but were allowed to retain their own national rites and usages. Their priests are allowed to marry.

5. “Lazaretto.” A pest-house or hospital for the reception of the sick, particularly for those affected with contagious distempers.

6. “Bactrian nomads.” Bactria is a country of Central Asia. A great part of it is made up of stretches of barren and drifting sands, so that the inhabitants are obliged to resort to the nomadic style of life. It was subjugated by Alexander the Great, but afterward became independent. Its modern history is not important.

7. “Titus Oates.” An Englishman who in the reign of Charles II. communicated the details of a pretended plot, “the figment of his own brain,” in which were revealed a rising of the Catholic party, a general massacre of the Protestants, the burning of London, and the assassination of the king. Several incidents seemed to corroborate the monstrous assertion, and it was universally believed. All London went wild with fear and rage, and at one time a massacre of the Roman Catholics seemed likely to occur in anticipation of the one the Protestants feared. Many of the Catholics were arrested, tried and condemned to meet the death of traitors at the block. On the accession of James II., Oates was tried, sentenced to be pilloried, publicly whipped, and afterward imprisoned for life. When William III. came to the throne he was pardoned, and was no more heard of. He died in obscurity seventeen years later, in 1705, at the age of seventy-six.

8. “Jack Sheppard.” (1701-1724.) He was noted for twice escaping from prison at Newgate, whither he was sent for taking part in the revolution against the king, George I. He was hung at Tyburn.

9. “Absinthe.”—A cordial of brandy flavored with wormwood.

SUNDAY READINGS.

1. “St. Augustine.” (354-430.) One of the fathers of the Christian church. He was born at Tagaste, in Africa. He was sent to Carthage to be educated, and there plunged into the frightful abyss of corruptions which marked that wicked city. In his “Confessions” he describes his life at this time, and does not seek to excuse himself. At the age of thirty-three years he embraced the Christian religion and was baptized by Ambrose. His conversion from his errors was complete and permanent. Monica, his mother, who through all these years had been praying for her son, died shortly after, feeling that she could depart in peace, as her eyes had seen his salvation. He wrote with great zeal and voluminously against all the sects which the church held to be heretical.

2. “Bourdaloue,” Louis. (1632-1704.) A most eloquent French preacher. Louis XIV. was an attendant upon his ministry, and on many different occasions invited him to preach the festival sermons before the court of Versailles. He was renowned for the solid dignity of his thought and his fervid religious eloquence.

GLIMPSES OF ANCIENT GREEK LIFE.

1. “Alcmæonid,” alc-meˈo-nid. One of the tribe of the Alcmæonidæ, a noble family of Athens. It received its name from Alcmæon, a great-grandson of Nestor. The story of the sacrilege brought upon the family by Megacles is given on page 11 of “Brief History of Greece.” Clisthenes was their most famous member in after years.

2. “Recouped,” re-koopˈed. Recompensed.

3. “Leech.” The word comes from the Anglo-Saxon word for healer, physician, but in this sense is now almost obsolete.

4. “A-gesˌi-laˈus.” “Cle-omˈe-nes.” See “Brief History of Greece.”

5. “Oligarchies,” olˈi-garchˌies. Governments in the control of a few persons.

6. “Cyrene,” cy-reˈne. A maritime city in Northern Africa, founded by a Greek colony; beautiful for situation, and of great mercantile importance. “It was built on a high terrace of the Cyrenæan table-land, about nine miles from the coast of Appolonia, which became its port. The road which connected the city with the harbor, a vast necropolis, and ruins of streets, temples, theaters, tombs, and remnants of art, are still visible. The site of the ancient city has been identified with the modern Grennah.”

7. “Æginetan,” æg-i-neˈtan. Pertaining to the island and city of Ægina.

8. “Dicasts.” The dicasts in ancient Athens exercised the functions of our jurymen, rather than of the judges of courts.

9. “Arˈte-mon.” Said to have been from Clazomenæ. He was an engineer, and to him was attributed the invention of the testudo and the battering ram. In the siege of Samos he was employed by Pericles.

10. “Anˈax-agˌo-ras.” (B. C. 500-428.) An Ionian philosopher, a native of Clazomenæ. When a young man he went to Athens, where he became the teacher of Pericles, Euripides and others. See “Brief History of Greece,” page 62.

11. “Ic-tiˈnus.” A Grecian architect who lived about 450 B. C. He was the architect of the great temple of Minerva, on the Acropolis, and of that of Apollo Epicurius, in Arcadia.

12. “Pol-yg-noˈtus.” (460?-430? B. C.) A painter, whose native home was Thasos, but who afterward became a citizen of Athens, where he was employed by Cimon to ornament the temple of Theseus. “He is styled ‘The Homer of painting,’ because he treated his subjects in an epic rather than a dramatic spirit. He had imagination in the highest degree. In allusion to the ideal character and moral expression of his works, Aristotle calls him an ethic painter. The same critic says, in another passage, ‘Polygnotus represented men better than they are (superior to nature).’ Among his works were the ‘Capture of Troy,’ and the ‘Visit of Ulysses to the Lower World.’”

13. “Ma-chaˈon Pod-a-lirˈi-us.” A son of Æsculapius, celebrated among the Greeks for his ability as a physician; he is said to have gone to the Trojan war with thirty ships; he acted as a surgeon as well as serving in battle. He is mentioned by some writers as one of the heroes who were concealed in the wooden horse.

GREEK MYTHOLOGY.

Those desiring to carry on more fully their readings in Greek Mythology will find the following works peculiarly helpful: “Mythology of the Aryan Nations,” G. W. Cox; “Introduction to the Science of Religion,” Max Müller; “Origin and Development of Religious Belief,” Baring-Gould; “Handbook of Mythology,” G. W. Cox; “Myth and Science,” Vignole; “Mythology,” Seeman.

1. “Hestia.” The Greek form corresponding to the Latin Vesta. It is conjectured by some that the two words are the same, going back to a period when the Greeks and Latins were still an undivided people.

2. “Pe-nāˈtēs.” The word is derived from penus, the innermost part of the house, and referred to those divinities who, as exercising providential care over domestic affairs, were considered as the gods of the household. The Penates were also the gods of the state, considered as a family, and as such had a sanctuary near the center of Rome, where sacrifices were made by public men.

3. “Tutelary,” tūˈte-la-ry. Derived from the Latin word tutela, protection, and signifying protecting goddess.

4. “Vestal.” The priestesses of Vesta. A temple to this goddess stood in Rome, in the Forum, and over the temple presided four, afterward six, virgins, who were chosen to the office at first by the kings, and later by lot. They entered on this service when no older than ten years, and served thirty years; the first ten being spent in learning, the second ten in performing, and the third in teaching, their duties. A vow of chastity was taken, the violation of which was punished by being buried alive. The chief duty of the virgins was to keep the fire on the altar of the goddess ever burning. After the term had expired they might marry, although it was considered unlucky.

5. “Cyl-leˈne.” The highest mountain in Peloponnesus. It was sacred to Mercury, who was said to have been born there, and was hence called Cyllenius.

6. “Alˈphe-us.” The largest river in Peloponnesus. It rises in Arcadia, but soon sinks underground. It rises again and unites with the Eurotas. After flowing together for nearly three miles the two rivers disappear underground. The Alpheus rises again at Pegæ, and flows northwest into the Ionian Sea.

7. “Pro-meˈthe-us.” See page 54 of “Brief History of Greece.”

8. “Tartarus.” According to Homer Tartarus is the lowest hell, a locality as far below Hades as earth is below heaven; into this dark region all who rebelled against Zeus were hurled. Later the word was used synonymously with Hades.

9. “Psychopompus,” si-ko-pomˈpus.

10. “Non ego,” etc. I shall not all die.

11. “Cerˈbe-rus.” “The monster that guarded the entrance to the infernal regions. He was a son of Typhon and Echidna, and is represented as a dog with three heads, the tail of a serpent, and a mane composed of the anterior extremities of numberless snakes. His business was to admit the spirits of the dead into their subterranean abode, and to prevent them from leaving it. Orpheus lulled him to sleep with his lyre, and Hercules dragged him from Hades, and exhibited him to the eyes of wondering mortals.”

12. “Terˈra in-cog-niˈta.” Unknown land.

13. “Judges.” Miˈnos, and Rhadˌa-manˈthus were brothers, sons of Jupiter and Europa. The former, the king and legislator of Crete, was distinguished for his wisdom, and with the latter, famous throughout life for his justice, was made a judge of the lower world. The third judge, Æˈa-cus, was a son of Jupiter and Ægina. The island where he was born was named after his mother, and he became its ruler. He was renowned for his justice, being called upon by gods as well as men to settle disputes.

14. “Tanˈta-lus.” From this name we have the word tantalize, signifying to put a good within sight, that it may excite desire, but still to keep it out of reach.

15. “Psyche,” siˈke.

16. “Pro-serˈpi-na,” or Per-sephˈo-ne. The daughter of Jupiter and Ceres, and wife of Pluto, by whom she is said to have been carried off to Hades.

17. “Ganˈy-meˌde.” Said to have been the most beautiful of human beings. Jupiter was so delighted with him that he carried him to Olympus as his cup-bearer.

KITCHEN SCIENCE.

1. “Ro-saˈce-æ.” A highly important order in botany, including herbs, shrubs and trees that have stipulate leaves and regular flowers, resembling those of the rose family. It includes five sub-orders, eighty-seven genera, and 1,000 species. It embraces our finest ornamental flowering shrubs, and a long catalogue of delicious fruits, as apples, pears, peaches, plums, cherries, strawberries, blackberries and raspberries.

2. “I-duˈnä.” The goddess who kept in a box the apples which the gods tasted in order to preserve their perpetual youth.

3. “Orchards of Hesperus.” The lands watched over by the Hesperides, maidens who guarded the golden apples which Earth gave Hera at her marriage to Zeus. The apples grew on a tree which was also further guarded by a sleepless dragon. These “orchards” were in that part of the heaven where the sun sets.

4. “Pyˈrus.” A genus of trees of the order Rosaceæ, including the apple and pear and some ornamental trees.

5. “The American Pomological Society.” This society was organized in New York October 10, 1848. Its main object was to elicit and disseminate information relating to fruit growing, and to promote a cordial spirit of intercourse among horticulturists. It has brought together from all the states and territories the most intelligent, experienced and skilful cultivators who have taught each other and made the knowledge of one the property of all. Its sessions are held in the different leading cities of the country.

6. “Pruˈnus Perˈsi-ca.” The Prunus is a genus of trees of the order Rosaceæ, including those species which have the stone of the fruit sharp-pointed, and a longitudinal furrow passing all round. The young leaves are rolled up. “Persica” means that it is a native of Persia.

7. “Curculio,” weevil. A Linnæan genus of insects characterized by the elongation of the head into a beak or snout, at the extremity of which the mouth is placed, and from which the club-shaped antennæ spring. The species are very numerous and are distributed over all parts of the earth.

8. “Ruˈbus.” A genus of the order Rosaceæ, distinguished by a five-lobed calyx, without bracts, and the fruit formed by an aggregation of small drupes.

9. “Rubus Vil-loˈsus.” Villosus signifies shaggy or long-haired; given because the leaflets of the high blackberry are hairy on both sides.

10. “Rubus Can-a-denˈsis.” So called because it is found growing in Canada.

11. Fra-gaˈri-a.

APPLES, PEACHES, BLACKBERRIES AND STRAWBERRIES.

1. “Méringue,” mā-răngˈ.

CHEMISTRY.

1. “Galileo,” găl-i-leeˈo. (1564-1642.) An illustrious astronomer, mathematician and philosopher, the creator of experimental science. He made a number of important discoveries in the science of astronomy, among which were Jupiter’s satellites, Saturn’s rings, the sun’s spots, and the starry nature of the milky way. He was a strong advocate of the Copernican system—which represents the sun to be at rest in the center and the earth and other planets to move round it—and for this was twice persecuted by the Inquisition. On both occasions he was publicly compelled to abjure the system, but the last time he is said to have stamped his foot while muttering to himself, “but nevertheless it does move.” The later years of his life were spent in his country house near Florence.

2. “Torricelli,” tor-ri-celˈli. (1608-1647.) A celebrated Italian mathematician and philosopher. He made himself renowned for all time by his interpretation of the fact that water will rise in a suction pump to a height of thirty-two feet, which, up to his time, had been explained on the ground that “nature abhors a vacuum;” above that limit the law was modified. Torricelli employed mercury to perform this experiment, and soon found the clue to the mystery. He discovered that the column of fluid was sustained by the pressure of the atmosphere on the open surface of the fluid.

3. “Blaise Pascal.” (1623-1662) A distinguished French philosopher and scholar. In his sixteenth year he produced a treaty on conic sections; in his nineteenth year he invented a calculating machine. Turning his attention to the theory of fluids which Torricelli had advanced, he wrote two essays which established his reputation as an experimental physicist. He was the author of the magnificent but unfinished “Pensées.” He was of a deeply religious turn, and before his death was entirely given up to prayer and practices of mortification, among which may be mentioned that of wearing an iron girdle studded with sharp points which he forced into his flesh whenever he felt himself assailed by sinful thoughts. “Puy de Dome,” pwī deh dōm.

4. “Tarpeia,” tar-peˈya. The daughter of Tarpeius, the governor of the citadel of Rome. She promised to open the gates of the city to the Sabines if they would give her what they carried on their left hands, meaning their gold bracelets. The king consented, and as he entered the gates, to punish her perfidy he threw not only his bracelet, but his shield upon her. His soldiers followed his example, and she was crushed to death. She was buried in the capitol, which from her has been called the Tarpeian Rock.

5. “Haliotis,” hal-i-ōˈtis. A genus of gasteropods with a shell resembling the human ear. The gasteropods are a class of univalve mollusks, like the snail.

6. “Skate.” A kind of shark. A name given to several species of fish having a rhomboidal body.

7. “Magdeburg Hemispheres.” They are two hollow hemispheres generally made of brass or copper, with edges accurately fitted to each other, and one of them provided with a stop cock. When the edges are pressed tightly together and the globe thus formed is exhausted of air through the cock, the hemispheres are held together with such force that it is with great difficulty they can be pulled apart.

8. “Otto von Güricke,” fon gāˈrik-eh. (1602-1686.) A celebrated German physicist. He invented the air-pump and made the famous experiment with the Magdeburg hemispheres.

9. “Tower of Pisa.” The round marble belfry called “The Leaning Tower” because it deviates about fourteen feet from the perpendicular. It is 180 feet high, and consists of seven stories divided by rows of columns, and surmounted by a flat roof and an open gallery commanding a splendid view of the surrounding country. It was built in the twelfth century by a German architect, Wilhelm of Innsbruck.

10. “Mariotte,” Mä-ri-ŏtˈ. A French philosopher of the seventeenth century. He possessed an extraordinary power of drawing conclusions from experiment. He made a thorough investigation of the subject of the conduction of water, and calculated the strength necessary for pipes under different circumstances.

11. “Air-gun.” An instrument resembling a musket. By means of a condenser the air is forced into a metallic globe which is attached to the musket nearly opposite the trigger.

12. “Torricellian Vacuum.” To produce this vacuum a small quantity of pure mercury is placed in the tube and boiled for some time. It is then allowed to cool and a further quantity, previously warmed, added, which is boiled, and so on until the tube is quite full; in this manner the moisture and the air which adhere to the sides of the tube pass off with the mercurial vapor.

13. “Mont-golˈfi-er.” There were two brothers of this name, Etienne and Joseph, distinguished as the inventors of the first kind of balloons. They were both received as members of the French Academy. They lived in the latter part of the eighteenth century.

14. “Pneumatic Dispatch.” The packages are placed on easily rolling carriages which are nicely fitted within tubes. The force necessary to move them is produced by the alternate compression and expansion of air in large reservoirs. This compression and expansion is caused by forcing the water into, and then allowing it to run out of a connecting reservoir, the action being changed by a system of cocks.

15. “Gay-Lussac.” (1778-1850.) A Frenchman, one of the most distinguished chemists and physicists of modern times. In 1804 he made a balloon ascension of 23,000 feet, and Humboldt examined with him the air brought down from that height, for the purpose of discovering the intensity of the magnetic force. In 1839 Gay-Lussac was created a peer of France.

16. “Lockyer.” (1836-—.) An English astronomer. He invented a method of observing the red flames of the sun without being obliged to wait for an eclipse. In 1870 and 1871 he was sent to Sicily by the English government, as the chief of the eclipse expedition.

A CHAPTER OF BLUNDERS.

Pass, certificate, and competitive examinations are, no doubt, all sufficiently serious affairs to examinees, and sufficiently trying ones to examiners. To the outer public, however, to those “who have no son or brother there,” such “exams.” are, as a rule, nothing if not a source of amusement. The “results” aimed at in examinations are, for the most part, admirable; but in the course of the processes, in the answering of examination questions, the unexpected constantly happens, and it is the unlooked-for results, the “surprises” of the occasions, that make sport for the Philistines. The situation on this head is easily explicable. It is a natural result of the modern system of preparation for examination—the cram system. Examinees bent only on “getting through” will answer questions on the hit-or-miss principle, while others, whose brains have become more or less addled under the pressure of “memory work,” will evolve from their unbalanced inner consciousness replies fearfully and wonderfully made.

Some of the “exam.” stories current in educational circles, though characteristic, and possibly “founded on fact,” have an air of belonging to the too-good-to-be-true category. A number of these are told against—and, if invented, were probably invented by—undergraduates. Thus—so the story goes—an undergraduate was asked to name the minor prophets, and, not having “got them up,” neatly and politely replied that he would rather not make invidious distinctions. Another university man, called upon to give the parable of the Good Samaritan, did so correctly enough until he came to the passage where the Samaritan said to the innkeeper: “When I come again I will repay thee,” to which he added, “This he said, knowing that he would see his face no more.” Perhaps, however, the examinee upon this occasion was a conscious humorist, and had in mind the worldly-wise saying, that there are a great many people willing to play the part of the Good Samaritan, less the oil and the twopence.

Something of the same stamp must have been the candidate for a degree, who, asked to state the substance of St. Paul’s sermon at Athens, said that it was “crying out for two hours, ‘Great is Diana of the Ephesians.’” With variations, that is the substance of a great many sermons, and of other discourses beside sermons.

Such stories as the above may or may not be rather broadly illustrative than strictly true, but in any case they can be pretty well matched by others, about the truthfulness of which there is no doubt. Every year a certain proportion of the children of the London board schools enter into a competitive examination in Scriptural knowledge, for the “Peek Prizes,” which consist of handsomely got-up Bibles and Testaments. They are “paper work” examinations, and the following are a few of the many curious “hash” answers that have at various times been put in at them.

“Abraham was the father of Lot, and ad tew wives. One was called Hishmale and tother Haggar, he kept wun at home, and he turned tother into the desert where she became a pillow of salt in the day time, and a pillow of fire by night.”

“Joseph wore a koat of many garments. He was chief butler to Faro and told is dreams. He married Potiffers dortor, and he led the Gypshans out of bondage to Kana in Gallilee, and there fell on his sword and died in sight of the promised land.”

“Moses was an Egypshion. He lived in a hark made of bulrushes, and he kept a golden calf and worshipt brazen snakes, and he het nothing but kwales and manner for forty year. He was kort by the air of his ed while riding under the bow of a tree and he was killed by his son Absolon as he was hangin from the bow. His end was pease.”

Of the numerous stories told in connection with diocesan inspection “exams.” in public elementary schools, the two following are perhaps the best known and most worth quoting. At one of these exams., a boy, asked to mention the occasion upon which it is recorded in Scripture that an animal spoke, made answer: “The whale when it swallowed Jonah.” The inspector, being something of a humorist, maintained his gravity and asked: “What did the whale say?” To which the boy promptly replied: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” Another inspector, finding a class hesitating over answering the question, “With what weapon did Samson slay the Philistines?” and wishing to prompt them, significantly tapped his own cheek, and asked, “What is this?” and his action touching “the chords of memory,” the whole class instantly answered: “The jawbone of an ass.”

A good example of the manner in which students who are “in” for several “subjects” at the same time get their ideas mixed, is that of the youth who having to answer the question, “Who was Esau?” replied; “Esau was a man who wrote fables, and sold the copyright for a bottle of potash.” Here the confusion thrice confounded of Esau and Æsop, birthright and copyright, and pottage and potash, is really admirable in its way.

As might be expected, the examinations of medical students afford some good stories—true or otherwise. As might also be expected, some of them are wittily impudent. For instance, a “badgering” examiner asked a student what means he would employ to induce copious perspiration in a patient, and got for answer: “I’d try to make him pass an examination before you, sir.” The most frequently cited anecdote of this kind is that of the brusque examiner—said by some to have been Dr. Abernethy—who, losing patience with a student who had answered badly, exclaimed: “Perhaps, sir, you could tell me the names of the muscles I would put in action if I were to kick you?” “Undoubtedly, sir,” came the prompt reply; “you would put into motion the flexors and extensors of my arm, for I should knock you down.” On the same lines as this was the retort made to M. Lefebvre de Fourcy, a French examiner, celebrated, not only for his learning, but also for his severity and rudeness. He was examining a youth, who, though well up in his work, hesitated over answering one of the questions put to him. Losing temper at this, the examiner shouted to an attendant: “Bring a truss of hay for this young gentleman’s breakfast.” “Bring two,” coolly added the examinee, “Monsieur and I will breakfast together.” Of such alleged answers by students as that the pancreas was so named after the Midland railway station, that the bone of the upper arm (humerus) was called the humerous, and was so styled because it was known as the funny-bone; or that the ankle-bone (tarsus) was so called because St. Paul walked upon it to the city of that name—of such alleged answers as these it is charitable to suppose that they must be weak inventions of the enemy.

Many of the comicalities in the way of examination answers recorded by her Majesty’s inspectors of schools, the examiners in the school board scholarships competitions, and other the like official personages, go a long way to prove that in examination blundering, as in many other matters, truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. At least, it seems to us that no invented story—supposing examination stories ever are invented—could equal for “nice derangement” the following written answer which was actually given at an examination in the “specific subjects” in a public elementary school within the metropolitan area. The specific subject taken was physiology, and the children “presented” in it were asked to “describe the processes of digestion,” which one of them did in this wise: “Food is digested by the action of the lungs. Digestion is brought on by the lungs having something the matter with them. The food then passes through your windpipe to the pores, and thus passes off your body by evaporation, through a lot of little holes in your skin called capillaries. The food is nourished in the stomach. If you were to eat anything hard you would not be able to digest it, and the consequence would be you would have indigestion. The gall-bladder throws off juice from the food which passes through it. We call the kidneys the bread-basket, because it is where all the bread goes to. They lay up concealed by the heart.”

Domestic economy, as nowadays taught to “children of the elementary school class,” embraces a good deal of physiological knowledge, or rather, as applied to such children, physiological jargon. It is a subject which affords hosts of amusing answers, though, from considerations of space, two or three must here suffice for specimens. Thus, in reply to the question, “Why do we cook our food?” one girl gives the delightfully inconsequent reply: “Their of five ways of cooking potatoes. We should die if we eat our food roar.” Another girl writes: “The function of food is to do its proper work in the body. Its proper work is to well masticate the food, and it goes through without dropping, instead of being pushed down by the skin.” A third domestic economy pupil puts in her examination paper that “food digested is when we put it into our mouths, our teeth chews it, and our tongue roll it down into our body.… We should not eat so much bone-making foods as flesh-forming and warmth-giving foods, for if we did we would have too many bones, and that would make us look funny.” On the subject of ventilation, one student informs us that a room should be kept at ninety in the winter by a fire; in the summer by a thermometer: while a classmate writes: “A thermometer is an instrument used to let out the heat when it is going to be cold.” Another girl sets down: “When roasting a piece of beef place it in front of a brisk fire, so as to congratulate the outside.” But an answer—still in domestic economy—that better, perhaps, than any of the above illustrates the jargoning that comes of the cram system, is the following: “Sugar is an amyolid, if you was to eat much sugar and not nothing else you would not live because sugar has not got no carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen. Potatoes is another amyolids.”

The definitions sometimes given by children in reply to examination questioning, are, to say the least of it, original. After a reading of Gray’s “Elegy” by a fourth-standard class, the boys were asked what was meant by “fretted vaults,” and one youth replied: “The vaults in which those poor people were buried; their friends came and fretted over them.” Asked what he understood by “elegy,” another boy in the same class answered: “Elegy is some poetry wrote out for schools to learn like Gray’s ‘Elegy.’” A class of girls, who had read a passage from “Evangeline,” were told to write out the meaning of “the forge,” and these were among the answers, “A firnest in a blacksmith shop.” “A firnest in a blacksmith.” “The village smithy’s anvil.” “The dust that rises from the floor of a blacksmith’s.” A teacher, giving a reading lesson to his class in the presence of an inspector, asked the boys what was meant by conscience—a word that had occurred in the course of the reading. The class having been duly crammed for the question, answered as one boy: “An inward monitor.” “But what do you understand by an inward monitor?” put in the inspector. To this further question only one boy announced himself ready to respond, and his triumphantly given answer was, “A hironclad, sir.”

A few years back there was published, as a curiosity, in its way, the subjoined transcript from Cowper’s poem on Alexander Selkirk written (from dictation) by a fifth-standard boy at a government examination of a public elementary school: “I Ham Monac of hall I searve, there is none heare my rite to Dispute from the senter. Hall round to the sea I am lorde of the fowls to the Brute all shoshitude ware are the charms that sages have sene in thy face better Dewel in miste of a larms than in this moste horribel place. I am how of umity reach if must finish my Jurny a lone never here the swete music of speach i start at the sound of my hone the Beasts that rome over the place my form with indrifence see they are so unocent with men such tamess is shocking to me.”

The examiner for the School Board Scholarship competed for in 1882, gives the following among other equally strange answers on historical matters. “When Commonwealth comes to the throne it is called Oliver Cromwell.” “The treaty of Utrecht was fought between the Zulus and the English.” “Lord Clive captured the Fiji Islands in 1624.” “Cardinal Wolsey was a great warrior.” “Walpole translated the Bible.” “Walpole was another favorite of Henry VIII. He was the chief man in helping Henry to get a divorce.” “Chaucer wrote Æsop’s fables.” In another of these scholarship examinations Jack Cade was described as “a great Indian conqueror,” Sir Christopher Wren was set down as “a discoverer” and “an animal painter,” and Mr. Gladstone as “a great African traveler.” The battle of Crecy was stated to have been fought in the reign of George III., between the Britons and Romans, and “The Wide, Wide World” was named as Shakspere’s greatest work. This last, however, was not so bad as the history of a pupil-teacher, who informed the examiner that “Shakspere lived in the reign of George III., discovered America, and was killed by Caliban.”

A schoolboy habit of placing upon a question some literal meaning other than that intended by the examiner, often leads to answers as curious as unexpected. Thus an inspector, testing a class upon their knowledge of the succession of the kings of Israel, asked the boy to whose turn it had come to be questioned: “And who came after Solomon?” To which the youngster answered: “The Queen of Sheba, sir.” Asked what were the chief ends of man, another boy replied, “His head and feet;” and a third, questioned as to where Jacob was going when he was ten years old, replied that he was “going on for eleven.” One specially practical juvenile, called upon to say for what the Red Sea was famous, answered, “Red herrings!”

To the type of answers here in view, belongs an answer given by a boy whose father was a strong teetotaler, and upon whom it would appear home influence had made a stronger impression than school lessons. “Do you know the meaning of syntax?” he was asked. “Yes,” he answered; “sin-tax is the dooty upon spirits.” An inspector, who had been explaining to a class that the land of the world was not continuous, said to the boy who happened to be standing nearest to him: “Now, could your father walk round the world?” “No, sir,” was promptly answered. “Why not?” “Because he’s dead,” was the unlooked-for response. As little anticipated, probably, was the answer made to another inspector, who asked, “What is a hovel?” and was met with the reply: “What you live in.”

A prettily humorous examination story is that of the little Scotch boy at the Presbytery examination. He was asked: “What is the meaning of regeneration?” “To be born again,” he answered. “Quite right! Would you not like to be born again?” He hesitated, but being pressed, said that he would not, and asked why not, replied: “For fear I might be born a lassie.” Alike astonishing and amusing was an answer given by an adult examinee, who was “sitting” for a certificate as acting teacher. In the examination to test general knowledge, he was asked, “What is the age of reason?” and answered: “As many years as have elapsed since the birth of the person so named.” It was also a certificate candidate, who, in reading, rendered two lines from Goldsmith’s “Edwin and Angelina” thus:—

The wicket opening with a latch

Received the armless pair.

—All the Year Round.

TALK ABOUT BOOKS.

The “Critical and Exegetical Hand-book to the Gospel of Matthew,”[C] now given to American readers with an admirable preface by Dr. Crooks, is just what the title asserts, a critical exegesis of the text. The author was a thorough linguist, and especially familiar with the language in which Matthew wrote. His expositions, which are accurately grammatical, give evidence of much philological research, and a strict, attention to the usus loquendi of both classic and New Testament Greek. As an exegete he ranks with the best; albeit, the exegesis itself is, at times, clearer than the English used to state it. Some sentences are burdened with adjuncts, and there is not always the most felicitous arrangement of the explanatory clauses. One familiar with good writing will occasionally feel an impulse to recast and improve what does not quite suit him. For professional men, and especially young ministers, the Hand-book has great value, and is worthy of their careful study.

At least one novel book has been issued among the recent holiday volumes. It is “One Year’s Sketch Book,”[D] a collection of engravings following the birth, growth, and death of a year. Flowers are made to interpret the changing phases of the seasons by the artist, for, though she weaves in many landscapes, they are almost always as backgrounds, for now a bunch of ox-eyed daisies, a bouquet of blue violets, a loose cluster of roses, a spray of clematis, or a bunch of bitter-sweet. She deals more sympathetically, too, with flowers than with other subjects, and her work on them shows much more finish. There are several anachronisms in the book that are annoying. March is made to follow May; the page called the end of spring-time bears a cluster of trailing arbutus as its emblem, a flower which belongs to the birth of spring; and in her preface, she makes her newly wedded birds hesitate between nest building in the locust, with its “drooping white blossoms heaving with sweetness,” and the apple trees with their “pink and white glory blushing against the sky,” forgetful that the “pink and white glory” has fallen to the ground before the locust flower has come. The pictures are quite as beautiful, however, as if placed in strict calendar order, and the make up of the book is delightful.

Probably the most suggestive work on education ever written is Rousseau’s “Emile.”[E] It is the work to which we owe the common sense and the thoughtful training which more and more characterize our system of education. It is the work which aroused Pestalozzi and Frœbel, but it has been for many years practically a dead volume, particularly to English readers. Old, poorly translated, long, and with many tedious digressions, teachers and mothers who ought to have been reading it were repelled by these difficulties. Some time ago M. Jules Steeg removed these barriers from his French countrymen by arranging a volume into which he gathered the most valuable portions of Emile, and now one of our country-women has removed the difficulties from English readers by a clear translation of Mr. Steeg’s work. It is a book worth possessing, and educators ought to welcome this practical and satisfactory arrangement of Rousseau’s great book.

A jest book and a history are not often found in the same volume, but the “Enchiridion of Wit,”[F] is not only what it professes, a hand book of English conversational wit; it is a very delightful history of certain periods of English court and society life. The author has adopted the novel plan of arranging chronologically the bon-mots he has collected. The effect is very striking. This grouping into periods enables a reader to study the progress, the men, the culture and refinement of each age from an entirely new standpoint, and one which no other book with which we are familiar makes possible. The volume will form a valuable handbook in studies of the education and polish of the social and literary coteries from the time of Sir Thomas Moore down to the days of Thackeray and Bishop Wilberforce.

“A Penniless Girl”[G] is the story of one who, simply because she was a girl, could not inherit the immense fortune which would have fallen to a son. Her father’s disappointment, and neglect of the daughter whose mother died at her birth, her reception into the house of a wealthy noble family where, after she had been well educated, she accepted the position of governess; and her struggles to free herself from the meshes spread on all sides to lead her into a marriage for wealth and position, and to remain true to herself and the man she loved, make up the plot. It is a book that will help while away an hour or so very pleasantly.

A few short extracts from the first page of “Episodes of My Second Life”[H] give the meaning of the title. “On the 15th of August, 1836, I was born again. On that day I embarked at Gibraltar for New York, being then twenty-five years old. It was the beginning of a new life.” The author is an Italian, and had passed his seventieth birthday before beginning this book. It is made up principally of reminiscences of his life in America and in England. His comments on some of the customs of American social life give us a not very flattering view of ourselves as others sometimes see us. His appreciation of the treasures of English literature is very great, and his commendation of them as warm as his denunciation of French literature is bitter. His patriotic, diplomatic, literary, parliamentary, and journalistic experiences give quite an insight into these great fields of labor. There is much of egotism within its pages, but the book is very readable and possesses literary merit.

“Light Ahead”[I] is one of those satisfactory books in which the poor good characters all turn out well, and have abundant opportunity to heap coals of fire on the heads of the bad rich ones, who in former years had treated them with contempt. The story of the little spirituelle Alice, who, from a refined home where poverty dwelt, won her way among the noble and the true in the highest circles, until she gained an established position in the very best society, will do good wherever it goes.

“Pretty Lucy Merwyn”[J] is a charming story for the young. There is a freshness and an individuality about it that captivates the reader from the first. The racy, original little speeches of Lucy and her companions have in them a naturalness that is seldom found, and the descriptions of their travels abroad are so vivid that those reading half believe that they themselves are visiting the “memory haunted lands beyond the seas.” It is written in good style and in the purest English.

Marion Harland, with her usual good sense in taking everything new and good into the kitchen, has prepared a “Calendar”[K] for housewives. It is the aptest device we have ever seen for furnishing a daily inspiration to model housekeeping. No woman with a spark of household pride in her soul can pull away the leaves of this pretty calendar day by day and read the bright thoughts, the practical hints, and the encouraging words which Mrs. Terhune has put on them without profit. It is a pretty object, too, for a wall, with its richly colored sketch of Marion Harland herself, sitting in the corner of her library.

A choice little book is the one containing two brief sketches called “Miss Toosey’s Mission” and “Laddie.”[L] One experiences something of a sense of wrong on looking in vain at the title page for the author’s name. Both stories are written in a delightful manner, and find their way straight to one’s heart. Would that there were more like poor Miss Toosey, who grieve over making just such failures of their lives as she thought she had. Could she only have known of the purpose which she fanned to life in the breast of strong John Rossiter to go into the mission field and really do what she so fondly dreamed of once, she would have felt that she had wrought “better than she knew.”

The “Laddie” was a prominent physician in London, who years before as an uncommonly promising youth had left his simple rural home and poor mother. The story tells of how she went to find him, and the thoughtless words he spoke which made her leave his grand house, and of the long search he had for her and the sad finding.

The firm, convinced statements of Dr. Van Dyke in “The Reality of Religion”[M] are a welcome change from much “popular” writing and preaching on religious themes. To him there is no question of the truths of the Bible. God is manifest as a physical reality, a moral reality, an historical reality, a spiritual reality. The saving power of the Cross of Christ is no theory; it is a fact. The whole is ringing with the perfect confidence the writer feels in the living truths which he presents. It carries in its tone conviction. The book is a strong argument for what it teaches. If one man has found such perfect knowledge no reader can afford to overlook his experience. It is a forcible appeal to unbelievers; it is splendid help to wavering minds.

Mrs. Harrison, in writing “The Old Fashioned Fairy Book”[N] has not only opened up a world of delight for little readers in which they can amuse themselves by the hour, but has also conferred a great favor upon mothers and many other older persons by putting into their hands the means by which they may be enabled to respond to the oft repeated wish, “tell us a story, please.” The book is a treasure house in which one may find that which will suit any hour and any mood. There are tales of dwarfs and witches, and “lots of fairies,” and lovely princesses, and brave champions, and all the rest of the things that belong to fairy lore. And charming illustrations set off the whole book; even the cover is a delight.

We are pleased to welcome a complete collection of Lucy Larcom’s poems.[O] For many years she has been sending out her fresh, loving verses, until she has won a warm place in the hearts of earnest readers. Her poems possess beside a real melody in versification, a pure, devotional tone which makes them something better than merely pleasing; it makes them inspiring. Her deep appreciation of nature, her quick sympathy with the sorrowing and the tempted, her tender love for childhood, fill her poems, making them most beautiful collections for lovers of verse.

“How We Live”[P] is a little book finely illustrated, that treats of Physiology and Hygiene. It is adapted to the use of scholars in the elementary schools. The chapters are short, well arranged, and clearly expressed; at the end of each is a list of questions upon the subjects taught in the chapter, put in a novel and interesting manner. The effects of alcohol and narcotics upon the system are pointed out, but great care has been taken not to exaggerate the statements, as is too often the tendency in a work of this nature. The book merits a welcome from all parents, who should see that their children are learning just such lessons as it teaches, and so growing up to be strong men and women.

One of the new series of Appleton’s Science Text-Books is a Compend of Geology.[Q] The aim of the author has been to make an interesting as well as an instructive book, and to direct the attention of scholars to the phenomena now occurring on all sides. No roundabout method for leading up to the study proper has been used, but the author has very simply commenced at the beginning. The directness of the whole book is one of its best features. His method of unfolding the science is at once easy and natural, and can not fail to awaken and retain the close attention of the student. The definitions are clear, concise, and simply stated; the illustrations are numerous and finely supplement the text.

A very neat little book is that called “Vocal and Action Language.”[R] In a carefully prepared introduction the objections against the study of elocution are very fairly met, and its necessity, importance and history set forth. Public speakers can gather many a useful hint from its pages aside from the practical drill lessons which it contains.

[C] Critical and Exegetical Hand-book to the Gospel of Matthew. By Heinrich August Wilhelm Meyer, Th.D. Translated from the sixth edition of the German, by the Rev. Peter Christie. New York: Funk and Wagnalls. 1884.

[D] One Year’s Sketch Book. Illustrated and arranged by Irene E. Jerome. Boston: Lee & Shepard, Publishers. New York: Charles T. Dillingham. 1885.

[E] Emile; or Concerning Education. Extracts, with an Introduction and Notes by Jules Steeg, Dêputé Paris, France. Translated by Eleanor Worthington. Boston: Ginn, Heath & Co. 1885.

[F] The Enchiridion of Wit. The Best Specimens of English Conversational Wit. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1885.

[G] A Penniless Girl. A Novel. From the German of W. Heimburg. Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1885.

[H] Episodes of My Second Life. By Antonio Gallengo. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1885.

[I] Light Ahead. By Cecelia A. Gardiner. New York: Phillips & Hunt. Cincinnati: Walden & Stowe. 1884. Price, $1.25.

[J] Pretty Lucy Merwyn. By Mary Lakeman. Boston: Lee & Shepard, publishers. New York: Charles T. Dillingham. 1884.

[K] The Common Sense Calendar. By Marion Harland. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 1885.

[L] “Miss Toosey’s Mission” and “Laddie.” Boston: Roberts Brothers. 1884.

[M] The Reality of Religion. By Henry J. Van Dyke, Jr., D.D. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

[N] The Old Fashioned Fairy Book. By Mrs. Burton Harrison. Illustrated by Miss Rosina Emmet. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. 1884. Price, $2.00.

[O] The Poetical works of Lucy Larcom. Household edition. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1885.

[P] How We Live, or the Human Body and How to Take Care of it. By James Jolonot and Eugene Bouton, Ph.D. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1884.

[Q] A Compend of Geology. By Joseph Le Conte. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1884.

[R] Vocal and Action Language. By E. N. Kirby. Boston: Lee & Shepard, publishers. New York: C. T. Dillingham. 1885.

SPECIAL NOTES

CHAUTAUQUA SCHOOL OF CHURCH WORK.

Rev. Geo. P. Hays, D.D., Director, Box 2529, Denver, Colorado.

This school is designed to do whatever may be found practicable in training Christians for official position in their churches, and for personal effort for the conversion of their acquaintances and friends. With this in view, it is divided into two departments, and will during the summer session of 1885 hold two sessions per day.

Official Duty.—This department will hold a morning session. Here the theory of all official authority and influence, and the best methods of meeting the same, will be studied in their scriptural statements, their abstract application in the rules of business and of the church, and their concrete illustrations in the lives of successful officers in the church and the world.

Personal Effort.—This department will hold an afternoon session, at which the Scriptural obligation to work as individuals will be carefully considered, and, afterward, the best methods of dealing with our friends as to their objections, their fears, and their indifference. In both departments an effort will be made duly to appreciate personal peculiarities, and yet for all make the experience of others as useful as possible.

The stationery adopted for the classes of ’87 and ’88 is out, and very pretty it is, too. Mr. Henry Hart, of Atlanta, Ga., manufactures and sells the paper for these classes. The satisfaction which his badges have given is the best recommendation for his stationery. Readers of the C. L. S. C. who may wish to secure either badges or paper will reach Mr. Hart by addressing Atlanta, Ga.

Alma Mater, No. 3, which has just been sent to all members of the C. L. S. C., is the first number for the current year 1884-5. Four numbers will be sent during the year, but on account of some necessary changes, the various “lessons” in every-day speech, self-discipline, etc., will not appear in the order first announced. The readings in each of the four numbers will be required, but not in connection with the work of any one month.

Members of the class of ’88 should send items of particular interest to the class to the Rev. C. C. McLean, Jacksonville, Florida. Mr. McLean has been chosen to prepare class matter for The Chautauquan. Do not let him lack for news. Those items which interest you as a “Plymouth Rock” will interest your classmates.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL NORMAL GRADUATES.

CLASS OF 1884.

CHAUTAUQUA ASSEMBLY NORMAL ALUMNI.

O. B. Booth | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Mrs. O. S. Baum | Chautauqua, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
Harriet E. Borden | Kalkaska, Kalkaska Co., Mich.
O. S. Baum | Chautauqua, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
Gertrude E. Cutler | Jamestown, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
Alvaretta Crouse | 118 Brown St., Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Caroline C. Cornnelle | Madisonville, Hamilton Co., Ohio.
Harry E. Crankshaw | 409 E. Center St., Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Josephine L. Creque | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Orra N. Chamberlain | Watseka, Iroquois Co., Ill.
Charles E. Caskey | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Bella C. Carter | Randolph, Cattaraugus Co., N. Y.
George W. Dithridge | 751 Broadway, New York, N. Y.
Harriet M. L. Dithridge | Tionesta, Forest Co., Pa.
Ella B. Downey | Windsor Hotel, Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Morris Elwell | Newark Valley, Tioga Co., N. Y.
Hattie M. Ensign | Madison, Lake Co., Ohio.
Sadie L. Gifford | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Cornelius C. Hunt | Summerville, Jefferson Co., Pa.
Clara E. Hill | Buffalo, Erie Co., N. Y.
Ella M. Holden | Marlborough, Middlesex Co., Mass.
Carrie E. Hill | 46 York St., Buffalo, Erie Co., N. Y.
Rettie M. Hanna | Lakeville, Livingston Co., N. Y.
Mrs. E. J. Harper | North Hope, Butler Co., Pa.
W. C. Herrick | 713 E. Market St., Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Cora J. Hoover | Flushing, Genesee Co., Mich.
Emma M. Jones | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Lillie W. Johnson | Memphis, Shelby Co., Tenn.
Emma D. Knapp | Box 102, Fairfield, Fairfield Co., Conn.
Jennie F. Kenyon | 207 S. Union St., Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Lorenzo Kidder | Connellsville, Fayette Co., Pa.
J. H. King | 133 W. Fourth St., Cincinnati, Ohio.
Christina Lang | Fetterman, Allegheny Co., Pa.
Celia R. Long | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Sadie Lyle | 37 Liberty St., Allegheny City, Allegheny Co., Pa.
Inez Marshall | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Mrs. Fanny A. Marsh | Union City, Erie Co., Pa.
Miss Vie Maynard | Busti, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
F. E. Meigs | Warrensburg, Johnson Co., Mo.
Marcia Mitchell | Terre Haute, Vigo Co., Ind.
Ora M. Neeld | 81 Wood St., Pittsburgh, Pa.
Ella Paterson | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Frank C. Perkins | Dunkirk, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
Sarah J. Payne | Pittsburgh, Allegheny Co., Pa.
Amos A. Rothtrock | Westerville, Franklin Co., Ohio.
Ida E. Rockwell | Darien, Genesee Co., N. Y.
Louise Rickart | 1131 Madison St., St. Louis, Mo.
May Rhodes | Corry, Erie Co., Pa.
William G. Roberts | Bellevue, Huron Co., Ohio.
Charles L. Reifsnider | 115 James St., Akron, Ohio.
J. Frumont Scott | Delaware, Delaware Co., Ohio.
T. C. Strickland | Randolph, Cattaraugus Co., N. Y.
Laura L. Smith | 120 W. Seventh St., Terre Haute, Ind.
Helen A. Storer | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
James H. Smart | Kingsville, Essex Co., Ontario.
L. M. Swanzey | Ridott, Stephenson Co., Ill.
Harry G. Limric | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
Frances M. Sawyers | 32 Ward St., Pittsburgh, Pa.
M. E. Taylor | 513 Prospect St., Cleveland, Ohio.
Mrs. Alice Trow | Drake’s Mills, Crawford Co., Pa.
Mrs. Josephine Taylor | Pittsburgh, Pa.
Emily Gertrude Weegar | Akron, Summit Co., Ohio.
The Rev. Charles G. Wood | Kansas, Edgar Co., Ill.
Cora E. Wise | 110 N. Summit St., Akron, Ohio.
Hattie M. Wise | 110 N. Summit St., Akron, Ohio.
Mrs. Margaret A. Watts | 13 Main St., Louisville, Ky.
E. E. Williams | Tilsonburg, Oxford Co., Ontario.
Hattie L. Waters | Southfield, Oakland Co., Mich.
Jennie T. Weimer | 209 S. Forge St., Akron, Ohio.

FRAMINGHAM NORMAL UNION.

Rubie L. Adams | care of the Rev. E. A. Adams, Chicago, Ill.
Nellie F. Alexander | 56 Messer St., Providence, R. I.
Lottie M. Alexander | 63 Court St., Boston, Mass.
Emily J. Anthony | 13 Chestnut St., Providence, R. I.
Anna L. Batchelder | Westborough, Worcester Co., Mass.
Annie C. Beale | Wiscasset, Lincoln Co., Maine.
Mrs. Sarah J. Bragg | Spencer, Worcester Co., Mass.
Emma F. Brown | 17 Piedmont St., Worcester, Mass.
M. Anna Burns | Oakdale, Worcester Co., Mass.
Mrs. H. K. Burrison | West Newton, Middlesex Co., Mass.
Mrs. Geo. Clark | 5 Home St., Worcester, Mass.
Mary E. Dorr | Cordaville, Worcester Co., Mass.
Mrs. S. C. Dyer | Spencer, Mass.
Minnie E. Gaskins | Mattapan, Suffolk Co., Mass.
Jessie E. Guernsey | Framingham, Mass.
Mrs. S. C. Hayward | Fitchburg, Mass.
Jesse H. Jones | North Abington, Plymouth Co., Mass.
Miss G. F. Leonard | Cambridgeport, Mass.
Elizabeth Merriam | South Framingham, Mass.
Ella F. Moore | Framingham, Mass.
Mrs. Nellie E. Moulton | 8 Madison St., Worcester, Mass.
Abbie P. Noyes | 72 Line St., Newburyport, Mass.
Ella C. Roberts | 19 Mount Vernon St., Boston, Mass.
Mary L. Sawyer | Boxford, Essex Co., Mass.
Miss M. J. Sherman | Brookfield, Mass.
Carrie L. Smith | 13 Broadway, Providence, R. I.
Elizabeth F. Thayer | Lexington, Mass.
Effie L. Warner | 574 Maine St., Worcester, Mass.
Florence E. Whitcher | Lexington, Middlesex Co., Mass.
Mrs. Emma C. White | Braintree, Norfolk Co., Mass.
Stella M. A. Wilcox | Providence, R. I.
Lillia T. Witherbee | 100 Franklin St., Boston, Mass.

INTER-STATE ASSEMBLY, OTTAWA, KANSAS.

A. P. Allen | Hillsborough, Montgomery Co., Ill.
Robert Cochran | Bridgeport, Kan.
H. J. Coker | Garnett, Anderson Co., Kan.
J. F. Drake | Emporia, Lyon Co., Kan.
Mary H. Gardner | 1023 Grand Ave., Kansas City, Mo.
George K. Grant | Media, Douglas Co., Kan.
O. Hansen | Centralia, Nemaha Co., Kan.
M. Ingels | Lanna, Allen Co., Kan.
Rose M. Kinney | Hamlin, Brown Co., Kan.
Mary E. Leonard | Ottawa, Franklin Co., Kan.
Mrs. C. B. Markham | 1121 Parallel St., Atchison, Kan.
R. L. McNabb | Council Grove, Morris Co., Kan.
Jennie Penrod | Emporia, Lyon Co., Kan.
The Rev. Francis Rice | Augusta, Butler Co., Kan.
Mary E. Gibson | Ottawa, Franklin Co., Kan.
Mrs. Sarah K. Stebbins | Atchison, Atchison Co., Kan.
The Rev. F. C. Sherman | Stockton, Rooks Co., Kan.
William Wheeler | Ottawa, Franklin Co., Kan.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL PARLIAMENT.

Herman C. Boehme | Fordham, N. Y.
Sadia E. Baird | 193 Waverly Place, N. Y. City.
Mrs. Hattie E. Buell | Cazenovia, Madison Co., N. Y.
Delia A. Matson | Oswego Falls, Oswego Co., N. Y.
Libbie I. McLean | 193 Waverly Place, N. Y. City.

MOUNTAIN LAKE PARK ASSEMBLY.

Robert W. Armstrong | 128 Lexington St., Baltimore, Md.
The Rev. L. E. Peters | Clarksburg, West Va.
The Rev. M. W. Ryder | Oakland, Md.
G. W. Atkinson | Wheeling, West Va.
Laura W. Rice | 197 Carrolton Ave., Baltimore, Md.

CHAUTAUQUA TEACHERS’ UNION.

[Individual students who have taken the Normal Course and Examination.]

Effie Danforth | Peru, Huron Co., Ohio.
Minnie A. Fletcher | 122 East 19th St., New York City.
John T. Judd | Lewisburg, Union Co., Pa.
Mrs. Ella C. Keith | 16 Cambridge St., Worcester, Mass.
John A. Parker | Schooley’s Mountain, Morris Co., N. J.
Cyrus Poling | Philippi, Barbour Co., West Va.
Antoinette F. Peterson | 720 14th St., N. W., Washington, D. C.
Margaretta V. Wilcox | 649 North 35th St., Philadelphia, Pa.
William S. Corlett | Warrensville, Cuyahoga Co., Ohio.
Fred. C. Abbott | Waterbury, Conn.
Florence Edwards | 594 Prospect St., Cleveland, Ohio.
Mrs. E. P. Hickok | Winfield, Cowley Co., Kan.
Ida A. Mahler | Box 564, Waterbury, Conn.
William McKay | East Norwich, Queens Co., N. Y.
A. W. Moss | Sweet Valley, Luzerne Co., Pa.
Retta Richardson | Stockton, Chautauqua Co., N. Y.
Edwin H. Williams | Waterbury, Conn.
Minnie A. Wyman | Waterbury, Conn.
Jennie G. Haight | Cleveland, Ohio.
Emily H. Miller | New Vienna, Clinton Co., Ohio.
Mrs. Cornelius D. Tinsley | 3 Adams St., Petersburg, Va.
Miss E. Beswick | 58 Anne St., Toronto, Ontario.
Carrie Baur | 432 North 6½ St., Terre Haute, Ind.
Mary J. Erwin | Charlotte, Mich.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 188, “term” changed to “terms” (The terms Æginetan and Eubœic)

Pages 188-189, “drachma” and “drachme” are both used for the singular. Not changed.

Page 189, “when” changed to “then” (one drachma, then very dear)

Page 189, “Similarily” changed to “Similarly” (Similarly in music)

Page 190, “856” changed to “586” (the public contests at Delphi (586))

Page 192, “taught” changed to “taut” (from whose taut string arrows fly)

Page 194, “beome” changed to “become” (to become more pleasing)

Page 198, reversed order of lines “apples into the whites, which must have been whipped to a” and “stiff froth. Beat in the sugar with a few light sweeps of the”, originally printed the other way around.

Page 202, “Guy Lussac” changed to “Gay-Lussac” (the loftiest mountains. Gay-Lussac)

Page 225, “Chatuauquan” changed to “Chautauquan” (the chemical experiments given in The Chautauquan)

Page 228, “Worccster” changed to “Worcester” (Worcester, Mass.)

Page 229, “he” changed to “the” (contained in the Bible)

Page 229, “ffrst” changed to “first” (been the first Asiatic)

Page 234, “sinc” changed to “since” (since farmers usually double their caution)

Page 234, noted more for amusement than anything else, the line “in millions of households—less buying of customary comforts—are” was originally printed upside down.

Page 241, “Pensees” changed to “Pensées” (the magnificent but unfinished “Pensées.”)

Page 241, “Guy-Lassac” changed to “Gay-Lussac” (Gay-Lussac was created a peer)

Page 241, “th eEnglish” changed to “the English” (by the English government)

Page 242, repeated word “are” removed (students who are “in” for several “subjects”)

Page 244, “Gibralter” changed to “Gibraltar” (I embarked at Gibraltar for New York)

Page 245, “Steegs” changed to “Steeg” (an Introduction and Notes by Jules Steeg)