©If? Stbpatli Utbrarg ■OF 'Mniti^rBal HxtntitviU A BlOGRAPHICAI, ANP BtBLIOGRAPHICAI, Summary of run Wori,d's Most Kmi- NUNT Authors, inci,udiiijo th^ Choicest Extracts and Master. PIECKS prom their WRITINGS .'. .'. JOHN CLARK EIDPATH. Photogravure— Prom a photograph. I Specially engraved for the Ridpath Library. Jonn Clark kidpaxh, A.M. ^ t -i^. Editor of" The Arena," Author of" Ridpath'* History of the United States." "Encyclo- pedia of Universal History," " Great Races of Mankind,'' etc., etc. BCJttton 5e *uic TH^ENTY-FIVE I OLVMtMS Vol.. I. TH AVENUE LIBRARY SOCIETY NEW YORK ®I|0 Utbpatli SItbrarij OF: Umufraal Ett^ratur^ A Biographical and Bibliographicai, Summary of the World's Most Emi- nent Authors, including the Choicest Extracts and Master, pieces from their writings .*. .*. Carefully Revised and Arranged by a Corps op the Most Capable Scholars BDITOR-IN-CHIEF John Clark Ridpath. A.M^ LLD. Editor of " The Arena," Author of " Ridpath'» History of the United States," " Encyclo- pedia of Universal History," " Great Races of Mankind," etc., etc. Botttott ^c %nxc TlVENTY'FiyE VOLUMES Vol. I. FIFTH AVENUE LIBRARY SOCIETY NEW YORK Copyright. 1899 By the globe PUBLISHING COMPANY KEY TO PRONUNCIATION. a as in fat, man, pang. a as in fate, mane, dale. a as in far, father, guard. S, as in fall, talk. a as in ask, fast, ant. a as in fare. e as in met, pen, bless. e as in mete, meet. e as in her, fern. i as in pin, it. I as in pine, fight, file. o as in not, on, frog. 5 as in note, poke, floor. 6 as in move, spoon. 6 as in nor, song, off. u as in tub. u as in mute, acute, u as in pull. a German ii, French u. oi as in oil, joint, boy. ou as in pound, proud. A single dot under a vowel in an unaccented syllable indicates its ab- breviation and lightening, without ab- solute loss of its distinctive quality. Thus: a as in prelate, courage. e as in ablegate, episcopal. 5 as in abrogate, eulogy, democrat fl as in singular, education. A double dot under a vowel in an un- accented syllable indicates that, even in the mouths of the best speakers, its sound is variable to, and in ordinary ut- terance actually becomes, the short u- sound (of but, pun, etc.). Thus: a as in errant, republican, e as in prudent, difference. i as in charity, density. p as in valor, actor, idiot, ji as in Persia, peninsula. e as in t/ie book. u as in nature, feature. A mark (~)under the consonants i, d, s, z indicates that they in like manner arc variable to c/t, j, sk, zk. Thus : t as in nature, adventure. d as in arduous, education, s as in pressure. z as in seizure. y as in yet. B Spanish b (medial). ch as in German ach, Scotch loch. G as in German Abensberg, Hamburg. H Spanish g before e and i; Spanish j ; etc. (a guttural h). n French nasalizing n, as in ton, en. s final s in Portuguese (soft), th as in thin. IM as in then. D =TH. ' denotes a primary, " a secondary ac- cent. (A secondary accent is not marked if at its regular interval of two syllables from the primary, or from another sec- ondary.) LIST OF AUTHORS, VOL. h (WITH PRONUNaATION.) Abbot (aVpt), Ezra. Abbott, Charles Conrad. Abbott, Jacob. Abbott, John Stevens Cabot Abbott, Lyman. A Beckett (g bek'et), Gilbert Abbott Abelard (ab'e lard'), Peter. Abercrombie (ab'er krum bi), John. About (a he/), Edraond. Adams (ad'amz), Abigail (Smith). Adams, Charles Franci? Adams, Hannah. Adams, Henry. Adams, John. Adams, John Quincy. Adams, Sarah Fuller (Flower): Adams, William. Adams, William Davenport Adams, William Henry Davenport. Adams, William Taylor. Addison (ad'i son), Joseph. Adler (adier), Felix. i^lianus (e li a'nus), Claudius. jEschines (es'ki nez). ^schylus (es'ki lus). ^sop (e'sop). Agassiz (ag'a si; Fr. pron. & g'i s50> Jean Louis. Agathias (a ga'thi as). Aguilar (a ge lar'), Grace. Ainsworth (ans'w^rth), William Har- rison. Aird (ard), Thomas. Akenside (a'ken sid), Mark. Alamanni (a la man'nS), Luigi. Alarcon (a lar kon'), Pedro Antonio de. Albertus Magnus (al ber'tus mag' nus). Alcseus (al sS'us). Alcazar (al ka'thar), Baltazat de. Alciphrou (al'si fron). Aicman (alk'man). A'cott (Sl'kot), Amos Bronson. Alcott, Louisa May. Alcuin (al'kwin). Allien (al'den), Henry Mills. Alden, Airs. Isabella (McDonaldJ, . Alden, Joseph. Alden, William Livingston. Aldrich (ai"pch or Sl'drij), Thomas Bailey. Aleardi (a la Sr'de), Aleardo. Alembert (a lori bar'), Jean Baptiste le Rond d'. Alexander (al eg zan'der), Archibald. Ale.xander, James Waddell. Alexander, Joseph Addison. Alfieri (al fe a're), Vittorio. Alfonso (al fon'so) IL of Castile. Alfonso X. of Castile. Alford (al'ford), Henry. Alfred (al'fred) The Great Alger (al'jer), Horatio, Jr. Alger, William Rounseville. Alison (al'i son). Rev. Archibald. Alison, Sir Archibald. AUen (al'en), Charles Grant Allen, Elizabeth (Chase). Allen, James Lane. Allerton (al'C-r ton), Ellen (Palmer). Allibone (al'i bon), Samuel Austin. AUingham (al'ing ham), William. Allston (al'ston), Washington. Almqvist (alm'kvist), Karl Jonas Ludo wig. Amadis of Gaul (am'a dis pv gal). Ambrose, or Ambroslus, Saint Ames (amz), Fisher. Amiel (a me el'), Henri Fr^d^r^ Amory (a'mo ri), Thomas. Anacreon (a nak're on). Andersen (an'der sen), Hans Christian- Andrews (an'droz), Lancelot. Aneurin (an'u rin). Annunzio (a nun'zho), Gabriele d*. Anselm (an'selm). Saint. Anslo (ar.s'io), Reinier. Anstey (ans'ti), Christopher. Antar (ar.'tar), or Antara. Anthology' (an thol'p ji), The Greek. Anthony (an'thp ni), Susan BrowneK- Appleton (apT ton), Thomas Gold. Apuleius (ap y le'ua), or Appuleius. Lucius. PREFACE Literature is the highest blossom of the hu- man spirit. It is higher than artr for if art sur- vives for ages, literature survives forever; it is immortal. Such is the nature of literature that it is sus- ceptible of being translated from language to language, from race to race, from century to cen- tury, and, it may be, from world to world. For thought, we doubt not, is in some measure com- mon to the inhabitants of all the spheres. Is not thought indeed a part and essence of the eter- nities? While the conditions of purely assthetic produc- tion suffer change, and while the canons of artistic criticism are frequently amended and reversed, literature remains coeval with mankind ; it cannot suffer save in the decadence of the race and in the collapse of civilization. Literature is recorded in the book ; the book is its receptacle. Literature is the soul of the book, and the book is the body of the soul. The book is multifarious in form and presence. It may be of papyrus, and its pictured symbols may be the hieratic images and fictions of old Egypt. The book may be the sacred scroll of Brahma. It may be the inaccessible wedges on the sculptured face Cvii) ,iH PREFACE of the rocks of Behistun. It may be the parch- ment roll of Herodotus, from which he reads to the assembled Greeks. It may be the bark of the beech (from which, indeed, is the name of the bock) written in runes on its inner, sappy surface, as by the old Goths beyond the Danube. The book may be the parchment rolls of Roman poet or orator. It may be the crude sheets marked from the black-letter blocks of Gutenburg and Faust. It may be the primitive book of Wyclif or of the old printers of Venice. It may be the printed paper book (albeit "paper" is papyrus) of our modern age, born of revolving cylinders and clat- tering binderies going always, pouring forth their infinity of volumes into the lap of civilization. And in these books is embodied the literature of the world. Literature is not of one race, but of all enlight, ened races. Even the barbarians, though they have it not, possess its rudiments. No sooner do they become self-conscious than they begin to essay the expression of that consciousness in some record of themselves and their deeds. To gather and preserve in an acceptable form the literature of the world, or the best of that literature, is a work not to be overlooked in esti- niating the means by which the civilized life is preserved and promoted. Certainly not all liter- ature can be brought within the reach of all in- telligences. Only some can be preserved and offered as a treasure to some ; and perhaps a por- tion to all. The present work is the result of an effort to PREFACE ix collect the superior productions and masterpieces of the great authors of all the leading races. The body of these volumes is drawn from the literature of the English-speaking peoples, but a large part also from the products of French and German genius. A few selections have been made from the literature of the Norse and from the Slavic races. Beyond the confines of Europe, as far eastward as India, and as far westward as China and Japan, some works have been found worthy of a place in this thesaurus of letters. The past as well as the present products of the human mind have been taken as contributions to this collection. The Middle Ages were not wholly unfruitful, as will be seen from the literary ex- amples chosen out of that obscure and chaotic period in history. Farther on we reach the il- lumined horizon of the classical ages, and find the storehouses of Greece and Rome. Out of these have been taken the more important examples of the intellectual treasure of the Old World. What the immortal Greeks did and what the strong but imitative Romans accomplished in literary crea- tion may be known, at least in outline, by an ex- ainination of the sublime relics of Grecian and Latin greatness which have been reproduced ir these volumes. This work is an evolution. It is the result of £, survival and selection and readjustment of many literary collections already made. It is a farther and more complete development of such works, and, we trust, an improvement upon all preceding- efforts to produce a satisfactory summary of ^tvi' X PREFACE eral literature. In the production of the work, the Editor has freely availed himself, not only of that literary treasure which is now the common property of all mankind, but of the critical skill and industry of many predecessors. This work has grown immediately out of the De Puy University of Literature, and is an ex- pansion and development thereof. It also has for its germinal materials the collection by Guernsey, out of which the De Puy collection was evolved. The valuable collection made by Stedman and Hutchinson under the title of Library of American Literature, on the basis of Professor Tyler's His- tory of American Literature, has also been avail- able and useful for the suggestions which it has afforded. Many other smaller collections of prose and poetry have been freely consulted, with a view to rendering the present work as extensive and complete as possible. More especially is a certain merit claimed for this Library of Literature in this, that it embodies the recent works of many living authors who have been inadequately represented or not represented at all in preceding compilations. At the present time the literary evolution is going on rapidly throughout the world. Not a year passes in which some new wonder comes not to astonish the readers of all nations. Not a decade goes by in which some author as yet but dimly known to man- kind does not come into his full inheritance of fame. A Library of Literature, to be most useful and available, ought to embody the latest and best products of the human mind. It ought also to PREFACE ^j eliminate, by degrees and gently, those work? which, though once admired and re-read with ad. vantage., now pall somewhat on the imaginatiori or offend the new learning of the world. This condition makes it necessary in the preparation of a work such as the present to exercise great care and diligence, not only in making selections from living authors, recent in fame and honor, but also in reconsidering and revising the selections made from those who, though once famous, are now less famous than before. Another essential, not to be overlooked in a col- lection such as this Library of Literature, is the apportionment of the selections according to their importance, their relative interest, and their permanent value to the modern reader — to tlie American reader in particular. This principle of apportionment relates first to the authors themselves, and secondly to the produc- tions of each. A work like the present may easily become misshapen and monstrous from undue prominence given to that which ought to be obscure, or from the obscuration of the great by brevity of space and poverty of example. Sym- metry in the apportionment of space to the various authors, according to their merits and fame, and the like principle in selecting and arranging the works of each according to fitness and value, are the true criteria by which the preparation of a gen- uine Library of Literature ought to be directed. That a work such as the present shall be perfect in its kind is more than can be justly expected. There are very few perfect productions of the xii PREFACE human mind. Even a four-line stanza, subjected to the hard test of rigorous criticism, will bo found to bear imperfections ; the diamond has its specks and flaws. If a single stanza be imperfect, how much more shall the whole poem be imper- fect ? And if the poem, how much more the book of poems? And if a single book of poems, placed under severe scrutiny, be marred with faults and violations of true art, what shall we expect oi a work composed of many volumes drawn together from remote regions across oceans of time and continents of space, to be adjusted and, as it were, made organic in a single work according to the fallible judgment and uncertain taste of a single compiler, whose personal equation and limitation of knowledge must always be considered ? For this Library of Literature perfection is not claimed. The claim is that it embodies much of the earliest and greatest and much of the latest and best products of the human mind. Doubtless, in consulting this work, the reader now and then will be disappointed and sometimes offended to find the omission of his favorite and the insertion of his dislike. This is in the nature of the case, and cannot be avoided. But, on the whole, it is hoped and believed that, for the greater part, they who consult these volumes will find not only a residue of the treasure, but an abundance of that intellect' ual wealth which has enriched the mind, glorifi 'd the world, and purified somewhat the spir-* i\ mankind. J. C. R. Boston. i8q8. ABBOT, Ezra, LL.D., an American biblical scholar, born at Jackson, Me., April 28, 1819 ; died at Cambridge, Mass., March 21, 1884. He grad- uated at Bowdoin College in 1840; taught in va- rious academies until 1847, when he took up his residence at Cambridge, where he was a teacher in the High School until 1852. He devoted him- self especially to private studies in philology and bibliography, reading in the libraries in and around Boston, In 1856 he was appointed Assistant Libra- rian in Harvard College, his special duty being that of classifying and cataloguing the books of the li- brary. He occupied this position until 1872, when he was made Bussey Professor of New Testament Criticism and Interpretation in the Harvard Di- vinity School. His especial forte was bibliog- raphy, upon which subject he was perhaps the best-acknowledged American authority, and he had few equals in other countries. Most of his literary labor appears in the form of contribu- tions to editions of the collected works of others, or in periodicals of the day. For Worcester's Dictionary he laboriously revised the pronounc- ing vocabulary of Greek, Latin, and Scriptural Proper Names, which, says Worcester, " will, it is believed, be found to be more correct than any before published." His Prolegomena to Tischen- dorf's eighth edition of his New Testament is of 14 EZRA ABBOT high critical value. The historico-critical volume on The Author sJiip of the Fourth Gospel {\%Zo) is his main separate work ; for his exhaustive Literature of the Doctrine of a Future Life (1864), though equivalent in bulk to a moderate volume, was pre- pared merely as an Appendix to William Rounse- ville Alger's Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life. This work of Mr. Abbot contains the titles of more than 5,000 books and treatises upon the general subject, all classified under suit- able heads. In the preface to this work Mr. Abbot says: THE BIBLIOGRAPHY OF A FUTURE LIFE. In deciding upon the form of the BibHography, I could not hesitate to prefer a f/«^j8 CHARLES CO.VRAD ABBOTT Mother Earth, tough, shining, unbroken, and brown as the polished chincapins upon which they fall. The increasing warmth toward noon brings out myriads of wasps, that congregate on the south side of the house and of all the outbuildings. I dare venture into no sunny nook regardless of them. They are not teachable, at least at short notice, as Sir John Lubbock's wasp was trained, and respect no lover of nature and admirer of hymenoptera. It is all one with them ; touch, and they touch back with emphasis. I sat upon one this morning while in the meadow, and how quickly he unseated me. Now, safe from their assaults, I hear their horny heads bring up against the window-panes like rattling hail. They retire undiscouraged, and re- turn as impetuously. Lively little battering-rams, always ready for action, never tiring of this butting process, and never learning that they cannot get in. They give us every evidence of stupidity, yet are really teachable creatures. Cabbage-butterflies and fritillaries floated over the frost-bitten grass, active as in August, stooping now and then to suck some sweet the October frost has spared ; but not a flower was to be seen in acres of meadow, A more striking insect phenomenon was the myriads of grasshoppers. They weighed down every blade of grass, and yet there was not a bird in sight to feed upon them. These hoppers were not eating the grass. Had they been, not a blade would have been left by sundown. I chased a cloud of them into the widest portion of the main meadow-ditch, but all, I think, swam safely across. Not a frog or fish appeared to rise to the surface and seize one. I pushed one well down the tall clay chimney of a Diogenes crayfish, but it promptly returned, none the worse for its subterranean journey. I placed another in the dark den of a villainous-looking spider, but it was simply ordered out, and not harmed. It would seem as if these grasshoppers have no enemies, or was it that all carnivorous creatures hereabouts were surfeited with their flesh ? Passing to another lower, weedier, wetter meadow, the number of dragon-flies was the most marked feat- CHARLES CONRAD ABBOTT 19 ure of the locality. A few were black as polished jet; others gray, green, red, barred, and indefinitely varied. I did not stop to count the varieties, but to learn why so many gathered in so small a space. The cause proved to be the decomposing remains of a calf, of which but little beyond the bones were left. Not a square inch of the exposed surfaces of these but was covered with the flies. I knew they were carnivorous, but not to the extent suggested by their hovering over nearly dry bones. I was not much surprised, on a closer inspection of the remains of the calf, to see half a dozen meadow- mice scuttle off through the tall grass, for they are fonder of a flesh than a vegetable diet, in spite of their anatomy ; but I was surprised to find \arge numbers of humble-bees creeping over the ground, in and out among the bones, reaching to where the dragon-flies could not go. Tainted flesh, it would seem, has a host of admirers in many orders of the anima) kingdom. On moving some of the loose bones I found beetles of several sorts, and ants, white, black, «nd red, and at times disturbed whole clouds of minute flies of no name known to me. What a wealth of an'mal life to be found in so unsavory a place ! Mice, hees, beetles, dragon- flies, and minute insects by the million ; all feeding quietly on the shreds of skin ana I'^ndons left by greedy vultures a month or more ago. The threatening bank of duU gray clouds that all day long had been lying along the western horizon roused itself to action an hour or more before sunset, and, overspreading the unflecked blue sky of the morning, practically closed the day. Without further warning it rained, suddenly, steadily, penetratingly. The thickest foliage could not ward it ott, and the steady dripping of dislodged raindrops was heard all through the woods long after the shower had passed by. Without a fare- well ray to gild the treetops on the eastern slopes, the sun went down, and a gloomy night followed what so lately had been a rare, ripe autumn day, full to the brim with all of October's glories. Gloomy out of doors, but none the less worthy of be- ing studied. What of the wealth of life seen earlier in so CHARLES CONRAD ABBOTT the day ? How and where did it take shelter ? It would be hard, indeed, to determine this in every case ; but of a few forms something may be said. The myriads of grasshoppers, strange as it may seem, cunningly sought the broader blades of grass, and, securing a firm hold on the under side, stood, head downward, comfortably roofed and safe from any ordinary rain. I found thou- sands sheltered in this simple manner. The meadow-mice apparently anticipate a soaking rain, and their tortuous tunnels, shallow as they are, were so arranged that the rain did not flow through them. In little, hay-lined anterooms I found several, and all were dry as chips. The roofs of these snug- geries were waterproof, and the rain was warded off from the paths that led to them. These mice were pre- pared for any ordinary dash of rain, but I suppose had other shelter during and after protracted storms. My studies were here interrupted by a second shower, and I was forced to seek shelter for myself, rather than look for the dragon-flies, as I intended. — Upland and Meadow. ABBOTT, Jacob, an American Congregational clergyman, educator, and writer of juvenile books ; born at Hallowell, Me., November 14, 1803; died October 31, 1879. He studied at Bowdoin College and at i\ndover Theological Seminary, and was Professor of Mathematics and Natural Philosophy in Amherst College from 1825 to 1829, when he took charge of the Mount Vernon Female School in Boston. From 1834 to 1838 he was minister of a Congregational church in Roxbury, Mass. Sub- sequently he conducted a school for boys in New York. During the greater part of his life he was actively engaged in authorship. His works in all number not less than three hundred, most of them being of small size, and written for the young. Many of them are in the form of fiction, and are grouped into a series of several volumes, with a common set of characters running through the groups. Among these are the jRo//o Books, 28 vols. ; the Liftry Books, 6 vols. ; the Jonas Books, 6 vols. ; Harper s Story Books, 36 vols. ; Franconia Stories, 10 vols.; TJie Gay Family, 12 vols. The Young Christian series, 4 vols., which preceded most of the others, is of a larger size. He also wrote about twenty biographies of noted persons in ancient and modern history ; Science for the Young, comprising popular treatises on Heat, Light, Force, and Water and Land. He also edi- 22 JACOB ABBOTT ted several historical text-books and compiled a series of School Readers. Our selections are mainly from his more notable books. THE LAST SUPPER. "And when they had sung an hymn they went out into the Mount of Olives." The Saviour and His dis- ciples stood around their table and sang an hymn. It was the Redeemer's last public act — His final farewell. H? had presided over many an assembly, guiding their de. votions or explaining to them the principles of religion. Sometimes the thronging multitudes had gathered around Him on the sea-shore; sometimes they had crowded into a private dwelling; and He sat in the synagogue, and he explained the Law to the congrega- tion assembled there. But the last moments had now come. He was presiding in the last assembly which, by His mortal powers, He should ever address ; and when the hour for separation came, the last tones in which His voice uttered itself were heard in song. What could have been their hymn ? Its sentiments and feel- ings, they who can appreciate the occasion may perhaps conceive ; but what were its words? Beloved Disciple, why didst thou not record them.? They should have been sung in every nation and language and clime. W& would have fixed them in our hearts and taught them to our children ; and whenever we came together to commemorate our Redeemer's sufferings, we would never have separated without singing His parting Hymn. — The Corner Stone. AT THE COUNTRY STORE. The store was kept by a hard-faced looking man who went by the name of Shubael, sometimes with and some- times without the prefix "Colonel." He was an elderly man, quiet and cool in his air and manner, and with a countenance placid but heartless in its expression. There was a certain quick motion of his eye which showed that he was shrewd and observant. His store had a bad name, and yet no one seemed to know ex- JACOB ABBOTT «S actly why. Colonel Shubael himself, too, was the ob- ject of a certain mysterious fear, and even hate ; and yet no one had anything very decided to say against him. He was believed to be a perfectly honest man, so far as legal honesty is concerned. No man understood the law better than he, or the sound policy of keeping on good terms with it. Mr. Shubael's store was small, but it had a snug, so- cial air within. It was nearly square, with a door in the middle of the front. A counter extended along one side and across the back of the store ; and on the re- maining side, near the corner next the road, was a fire- place, with a barrel of oil and another of cider near it, to keep it from freezing. There were other barrels and hogsheads, less likely to freeze, behind the counter against the back side of the room. A door between two great black hogsheads mounted on sticks opened to a dark-looking back room behind. Tubs, bundles of whip- handles, hoes and shovels, barrels, kegs of nails, and iron-ware encumbered the floor, leaving only narrow passages along in front of the counters and toward the fire. There was a little area near the fire also unoccu- pied, and two or three basket-bottomed chairs, with high wooden backs, stood there. A half-keg of closely packed tobacco was near, with one loose fig and an old hatchet lying on it ; and there was an ink-bottle, with a blackened and dried-up quill thrust through the cork, in the chimney corner. This was the aspect of the store in the winter; but it was now summer, between haying and harvesting. The fire was dead, and a great tin fender concealed the ashes and brands. The chairs were put out before the door, and two or three men were sitting and standing there, waiting for the " stage." It was a calm and pleasant afternoon; the forests around were in their best dress, and the view up the pond was picturesque in the highest degree. But the company paid little attention to the beauty of the scenery. They were looking out for the "stage." Mr. Shubael was the postmaster. A little high paling, at the end of the counter opposite the fire, was the post- office. The mail came once a week, bringing a few 24 JACOB ABBOTT newspapers, and sometimes some letters. The company which was collected on this occasion were not interested so much in the contents of the mail as in a new team of horses and a large coach, which was that day for the first time to be put on the road. They were looking off beyond the bridge, where the road could be seen for a considerable distance winding around a hill, and talk- ing with noisy laughter about various subjects that came up. By the side of the door, outside, his chair tipped bade against the side of the building and his feet resting upon a bar which passed along between two posts placed there for fastening horses, sat a tall, dark-complexioned man, with black bushy hair and eyebrows, and an intel- ligent but sinister expression of countenance. They called him McDonner, "McDonner," said one of the men, leaning upon the bar before him, " it's a great poser to me how you con- trive to pick up a living. Your farm over there don't produce enough to winter over a red squirrel. Then you're off, nobody knows where, half of the time. I'll lay ten to one there's some foul play." McDonner muttered some inarticulate ejaculation in reply, and then said, taking down his feet and drawing himself up in his chair, " I can tell you what would be a very pretty way for you to get a living." '' How ? " rejoined his interrogator. "By attending to your own business, and leaving me to manage mine." The company tried to receive this with a laugh, but the attempt was a failure. Shubael was standing at this moment at the door. He interposed to prevent ill-will. " Come, come," said he," no sparring. Who's that com- ing down the road ? " The men turned their eyes in the direction of the road, where they were expecting to see the stage, and they saw a man coming along with something on his shoulder. " It's Terry, as I'm alive," said Shubael, with a sort of a nod and a wink, " bringing back his axe, just as I said — exactly." The men asked him what he meant, but he turned JACOB ABBOTT 25 away with a knowing look and disappeared in the store. McDonner twisted his long body around so as to look in at the door, and called out : "Colonel Shubael, come back here, and tell us all about Terry's axe. You've been coming over the poor fellow in some of your sly ways, I know. Tell us all about it." Shubael came to the door again, with a look of hard, selfish satisfaction on his face, and told his story thus : " Terry got a job the other day which brought him a little money, and he came here and wanted to get an axe. ' Shubael,' says he, ' I want a first-rate axe, and I am able to pay for it.' * Well,' says I, ' Terry, I've got some of Darlington's best, warranted.' 'What's the price ? ' said he. * A dollar and a half,' says I." *' Oh, Shubael," cried one of the bystanders, "you of- fered to sell me one for a dollar and a quarter. That's a fine way to work poor Terry." Here was a shout of laughter, to which Shubael him- self, however, contributed rather faintly, and then pro- ceeded : " Why, I knew he would not keep the axe a week, and so it was not much matter what he paid for it." "Avery pretty reason that, I declare," said McDon- ner. " I rather guess he did not get his money back in a week." *' I told him a dollar and a half, at any rate," contin- ued Shubael, "and he chose out one, and bought a han- dle for it, and paid the money. 'Twas the first time he had bought anything but spirits at my store for three months. I knew he would not keep it a week, and now he's coming back to get the value of it in spirits, or my name's not Shubael." It was not long before Terry approached. He was a thin, dejected, miserable-looking man, though his coun- tenance had a certain expression of intelligence. As he came up to the store door, he was hailed in various tones by the several loungers there, and made the butt of jokes, some coarse and others dull. He received them all with a vacant smile and walked into the store. "Well, Terry," said Shubael, " how do you make your axe go ? " 26 JACOB ABBOTT "It's not a good one," said Terry, "and I want you to take it back." "What's the matter with it? " asked Shubael, taking the axe from Terry's hand and turning a sly glance toward the company, who were looking in at the door to see how the negotiation was to result. "Oh, it's too soft. I can't do anything with it, and you must take it back, as it is warranted," said Terry, pointing to the words '•'Darlington^ ■zcarranfec^," stamped very legibly on the side. " Yes, but / don't warrant it ; it's Darlington that warrants it. I presume, if you take it to his manufac- tory, he'll exchange it for you." Darlington's manufactory was about a hundred and fifty miles off, and in another State. Terry hesitated a minute or two, and then said that he thought the Colonel ought to take it back, as he sold it to him for a good axe. Mr. Shubael seemed very unwilling to do anything about it. He talked of the trouble and expense of send- ing the axe back, and finally told the man, winking at the same time at the bystanders, that he would give him a dollar for it, out of the store, and run the chance of selling it or getting it changed. " Why," said Terry, " that's very hard ; I paid a dol- lar and a half for it, and then there's the handle besides, to say nothing of the putting it in. But it will cost me a good deal to get it back to Darlington's, and the handle must come out to harden it." Terry at length accepted the offer, took up the amount in spirits and sugar, and left the store, jug in hand. As soon as he had gone, the loungers came in, and gave vent to bursts of laughter, which they had contrived to suppress while the bargain was going on, while the colonel, with a smile of self-satisfaction and a nod and a wink, went round to his desk, and began to look into his ledger. — Hoary head and McDonner. ABBOTT, John Stevens Cabot, an American Congregational clergyman and historical writer, brother of Jacob Abbott, born at Brunswick, Me., September i8, 1805, died at Fair Haven, Conn., June 17, 1877. He was educated at Bowdoin Col- lege and at Andover Theological Seminary, and became pastor of Congregational churches in various parts of Massachusetts. In 1844 he relin- quished the regular pastoral office (although he preached at intervals during his whole life) in order to devote himself to authorship, of which he had already made a beginning by \\\'S> Mother at Hotne, Child at Hotne, and other religious works. Subsequently he devoted himself mainly to works of a historical character. He wrote a number of small biographies ranging over a wide field. Of his larger works the principal are : Kings and Queens ; or, Life iyi the Palace ; The French Revolu- tion of 17 Sp ; The History of Napoleon Bonaparte ; Napoleon at St. Helena ; The History of Napoleon HI.; History of the Civil War in America; Ro- mance of Spanish History ; The History of Frederick the Second, of Prussia ; The History of Christianity, and American Pioneers and Patriots. The style of Mr. Abbott is always animated and picturesque, though not unfrequently somewhat inflated. The most popular of his works is the History of Napo- leon, for whom he cherished the warmest admira- 28 JOHN STEVENS CABOT ABBOTT tion, ascribing to him not only capacities of the highest order, but more virtues and fewer faults than are often found in a human being. THE CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON. The history of Napoleon has often been written by his enemies. This narrative is from the pen of one who reveres and loves the Emperor. The writer ad- mires Napoleon because he abhorred war, and did everything in his power to avert that dire calamity ; because he merited the sovereignty to which the suf- frages of a grateful nation elevated him ; because he consecrated the most extraordinary energies ever con- ferred upon a mortal to promote the prosperity of his country ; because he was regardless of luxury, and cheerfully endured all toil and hardships that he might elevate and bless the masses of mankind ; because he had a high sense of honor, revered religion, respected the rights of conscience, and nobly advocated equality of privileges and the universal brotherhood of man. Such was the true character of Napoleon Bonaparte. The world has been bewildered by the contradictory views which have been presented of Napoleon. Hos- tile historians have stigmatized him as a usurper, while admitting that the suffrages of the nation placed him on the throne. They have denounced him as a tyrant inexorable as a Nero, while admitting that he won the adoring love of his subjects. He is called a bloodthirsty monster, delighting in war, yet it is confessed that he was, in almost every conflict, struggling in self-defence, and imploring peace. It is said that his insatiable ambition led him to trample remorselessly upon the rights of other nations, while it is confessed that Eu- rope was astonished by his moderation and generosity in every treaty which he made with his vanquished foes. He is described as a human butcher, reckless of suffering, who regarded his soldiers merely as food for powder ; and yet, on the same page, we are told that he wept over the carnage of the battle-field, tenderly pressed the hand of the dying, and won from those JOHN STEVENS CABOT ABBOTT 29 soldiers who laid down their lives in his service a fervor of love which earth has never seen paralleled. It is recorded that France at last became weary of him, and drove him from the throne ; and in the next paragraph we are informed that, as soon as the bay- onets of the Allies had disappeared from France, the whole nation rose to call him back from his exile, with unanimity so unprecedented that, without shedding one drop of blood, he traversed the whole of France, entered Paris, and reascended the throne. It is affirmed that a second time France, weary of his despotism, expelled him ; and yet it is at the same time recorded that this same France demanded of his executioners his beloved remains, received them with national enthusiasm, con- signed them to a tomb in the very bosom of its capital, and has reared over them such a mausoleum as honors the grave of no other mortal. Such is Napoleon as de- scribed by his enemies. The reason is obvious why the character of Napoleon should have been maligned : He was regarded justly as the foe of Aristocratic Privilege. The English oli- garchy was determined to crush him. After deluging Europe in blood and woe, during nearly a quarter of a century, io^ the accomplishment of this end, it became necessary to prove to the world — and especially to the British people, who were tottering under the burden of taxes which these wars engendered — that Napoleon was a tyrant, threatening the liberties of the world, and that he deserved to be crushed. All the Allies who were ac- complices in this iniquitous crusade were alike interest- ed in consigning to the world's execration the name of their victim ; and even in France the reinstated Bour- bons, sustained upon the throne by the bayonets of the Allies, silenced every voice which would speak in favor of the Monarch of the People, and rewarded with smiles and opulence and honor all who would pour contempt upon his name. Thus we have the unprecedented spec- tacle of all the monarchies of Europe most deeply in- terested in calumniating one single man, and that man deprived of the possibility of reply. — Preface to the His- tory of Napoleon. 3° JOHN STEVENS CABOT ABBOTT PARTING OF NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE. Josephine remained in her chamber overwhehned with speechless grief. A sombre night darkened over the city, oppressed by the gloom of this cruel sacrifice. The hour arrived at which Napoleon usually retired for sleep. The Emperor, restless and wretched, had just placed himself in the bed from which he had ejected his faithful and devoted wife, when the private door of his chamber was slowly opened, and Josephine, trem- bling, entered. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, her hair disordered, and she appeared in all the dis- habille of unutterable anguish. Hardly conscious of what she did in the delirium of her woe, she tottered into the middle of the room, and approached the bedside of her former husband. Then irresolutely stopping, she buried her face in her hands, and burst into a flood of tears. A feeling of delicacy seemed for a moment to have arrested her steps — a consciousness that she had no7i> no right to enter the chamber of Napoleon. In another moment all the pent-up love in her heart burst forth ; and forgetting everything in the fulness of her anguish, she threw herself upon the bed, clasped Na- poleon's neck in her arms, and exclaiming, "My hus- band! my husband!" sobbed as though her heart were breaking. The imperial spirit of Napoleon was entirely vanquished. He also wept convulsively. He assured Josephine of his love — of his ardent and undying love. In every way he tried to soothe and comfort her. For some time they remained locked in each other's em- brace. The valet-de-chambre, who was still present, was dismissed, and for an hour Napoleon and Josephine continued together in their last private interview. Josephine then, in the experience of an intensity of an- guish such as few human hearts have ever known, parted forever from the husband whom she had so long and so faithfully loved. An attendant entered the apartment of Napoleon to remove the lights. He found the Em- peror so buried beneath the bed-clothes as to be invisi- ble. Not a word was uttered. The lights were removed, and the unhappy monarch was left alone, in darkness JOHN STEVENS CABOT ABBOTT 31 and silence, to the melancholy companionship of his own thoughts. The next morning the deathlike pallor of his cheek, his sunken eye, and the haggard expression of his countenance, attested that the Emperor had passed the night in sleeplessness and in suffering. — History of Napoleon Bonaparte. THE DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE. The day was just beginning to dawn as the long file of prisoners was led into the Place de Greve to be con- ducted to the hall of the Convention. First came Robespierre, borne by four men on a litter. His fract- ured jaw was bound up by a handkerchief, which was steeped in blood. . . . He was laid upon a table in an ante-room, while an interminable crowd pressed in and around to catch a sight of the fallen Dictator. The unhappy man was overwhelmed with reproaches and insults, and feigned death to escape this mortal torture. The blood was freely flowing from his wound, coagu- lating in his mouth, and choking him as it trickled down his throat. The morning was intensely hot. Not a breath of pure air could the wounded man inhale. In- satiable thirst and a burning fever consumed him ; and thus he remained for more than an hour, enduring the intensest pangs of bodily and mental anguish. By order of the Convention, he and his confederates were then removed to the Committee of General Safety for examination ; from which tribunal they were sent to the Conciergerie, where they were all thrown into the same dungeon to await their trial, which was immedi- ately to take place before the Revolutionary Tribunal. A few hours of pain, anguish, and despair passed away, when at three o'clock in the afternoon the whole party were conveyed to that merciless Court, which was but the last stepping-stone to death. The trial lasted but a few moments. They were already condemned, and it was only necessary to prove their identity. The Con- vention was victorious, and no man of the Revolution- ary Tribunal dared to resist its will. Had the Com- mune of Paris conquered in this strife, the obsequious 32 JOHN STEVENS CABOT ABBOTT Tribunal with equal alacrity would have consigned the deputies to the guillotine. At five o'clock the carts of the condemned received the prisoners. The long procession advanced through the Rue St. Honore to the Place de la Revolution. The fickle crowd thronged the streets, heaping im- precations upon the man to whom they would have shouted hosanna had he been a victor. Robespierre, his brother, Couthon, Henriot — all mangled, bleeding, and with broken bones — were thrown into the first cart with the corpse of Lebas. As the cart jolted over the pavement, shrieks of anguish were extorted from the victims. At six o'clock they reached the steps of the guillotine. Robespierre ascended the scaffold with a firm step, but as the executioner brutally tore the bandage from his inflamed wound, he uttered a shriek of torture which pierced every ear. The dull, sullen sound of the falling axe was heard, and the head of Robespierre fell ghastly into the basket. For a moment there was silence ; and then the crowd raised a shout as if a great victory had been achieved, and the long- sought blessings of the Revolution attained. Thus died Robespierre, in the thirty-fifth year of his age. His character will probably remain a mystery. — T/ie Fremh Revolution. The Abbott brothers have done immense ser- vice to the cause of education by their successful efforts to render historical books attractive to the young. LYMAN ABBOTT. p:ja5S3a5?S-Js::t.7.-z:^.A^ ABBOTT, Lyman, an American Congregational clergyman, religious writer, and journalist, son of Jacob Abbott, was born at Roxbury, Mass., Decem- ber i8, 1835. He graduated at the University of the City of New York in 1853; studied law with his elder brothers, Benjamin and Austin Abbott, who in conjunction with him wrote two clever novels, Concent Corners and Matthew Carnaby, which were published under the nom de phwie of " Benauly," made up of the initial syllable of the names of each of the writers. He subsequently studied theology under his uncle, John S. C. Abbott, and was pas- tor of Congregational churches in various parts of the country. About 1869 he began to devote himself especially to literature, in editorial con- nection with a number of periodicals, although he continued to preach not unfrequently. In 1876 he became associate editor of the Christian Ufiion (changed to the Outlook in 1893), and in 1881 its editor-in-chief. On the death of Henry Ward Beecher he was requested to take charge tempo- rarily of Plymouth Church, and in 1888 was in- stalled as its permanent pastor. He has also written many separate works, among which are : The Results of Emancipation in the United States ; Old Testament Shadows of Neiv Testa^nent Truths ; Jesus of Nazareth : His Life and Teachi?igSy and a Dictionary of Religious Knowledge. His later Vol. I.— 3 (33 >! -4 LYMAN ABBOTT works are : An Illustrated Commentary on the New Testament, Life of Heriry Ward Beecher, In Aid of Faith, a commentary on The Epistle of Paid to the Romans, Signs of Pro?nise, and The Evolution of Christianity, THE DESTRUCTION OF THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah epitomizes the Gospel. Every act in the great, the awful drama of life, is here foreshadowed. The analogy is so perfect that we might almost be tempted to believe that the story is a prophetic allegory, did not nature itself wit- ness its historic truthfulness. The fertile plain con- tained, embedded in its own soil, the elements of its own destruction. There is reason to believe that this is true of this world on which we live. A few years ago an unusually brilliant star was observed in a certain quarter of the heavens. At first it was thought to be a newly discovered sun ; more careful examination re- sulted in a different hypothesis. Its evanescent char- acter indicated combustion. Its brilliancy was marked for a few hours — a few nights at most — then it faded, and was gone. Astronomers believe that it was a burning world. Our own earth is a globe of living fire. Only a thin crust intervenes between us and this fearful interior. Ever and anon, in the rumbling earth- quake, or the sublime volcano^ it gives us warning of its presence. These are themselves gospel messengers. They say if we would but hear them — " Prepare to meet thy God." The in imations of Science confirm those of Revelation : " The heavens and the earth . . . are kept in store, reserved unto fire against the Day of Judgment and perdition of ungodly men." What was true of Sodom and Gomorrah — what was true of the earth we live on — is true of the human soul. It con- tains within itself the instruments of its own punish- ment. There is a fearful significance in the words of the Apostle : "After thy hardness and impenitent heart treasureth up to thyself wrath against the dav of wrath." LYMAN ABBOTT 35 Men gather, with their own hands, the fuel to feed the flame that is not quenched ; they nurture in their own bosoms the worm that dieth not. In habits formed never to be brolcen ; in words spoken, incapable of re- call ; in deeds committed, never to be forgotten ; in a life wasted and cast away that can never be made to bloom again, man prepares for himself his own deserved and inevitable chastisement. " Son, remember ! " — to the soul who has spent its all in riotous living, there can be no more awful condemnation. — Old Testament Shadows. THE JESUITS. Jesuits is the popular name of a Society more proper- ly entitled "The Society of Jesus " — of all the Religious Orders of the Roman Catholic Church the most impor- tant. The Society of Jesus was founded in 1554 by Ignatius Loyola. He was a Spanish cavalier ; was wounded in battle ; was by his wounds, which impaired the use of one of his legs, deprived of his military ambi- tion, and during his long confinement found employment and relief in reading a Life of Christ, and Lives of the Saints. This enkindled a new ambition for a life of re- ligious glory and religious conquest. He threw himself, with all the ardor of his old devotion, into his new life ; carried his military spirit of austerity and self-devotion into his religious career ; exchanged his rich dress for a beggar's rags ; lived upon alms ; practised austeri- ties which weakened his iron frame, but not his military spirit ; and thus he prepared his mind for those diseased fancies which characterized this period of his extraordi- nary career. He possessed none of the intellectual requirements which seemed necessary for the new leadership which he proposed to himself. The age despised learning, and left it to the priests ; and this Spanish cavalier, at the age of thirty-three, could do little more than read and write. He commenced at once, with enthusiasm, the acquisition of those elements of knowledge which are ordinarily acquired long before that age. He en- tered the lowest class of the College of Barcelona, where he was persecuted and derided by the rich 36 LVA/A.V ylBB07'r ecclesiastics, to whose luxury his self-denial was a per- petual reproach. He fled at last from their machi- nations to Paris, where he continued his studies under more favorable auspices. Prominent among his associ- ates here was Francis Xavier, a brilliant scholar, who at first shrunk from the ill-educated soldier ; yet grad- ually learned to admire his intense enthusiasm, and then to yield allegiance to it and its possessor. Several other Spaniards were drawn around the ascetic. At length, in 1534, Loyola and five associates in a sub- terranean chapel in Paris, pledged themselves to a re- lijrious life, and with solemn rites made sacred their mutual pledges to each other and to God. This was the beginning of the Order of the Jesuits. The original design was a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and a mission for the conversion of Infidels. But as all access to the Holy Land was precluded by a war with the Turks, Loyola and his associates soon turned their thoughts to a more comprehensive organization, spe- cially designed to meet those exigencies which the Reformation had brought upon the Church. Loyola introduced into the new Order of which he was the founder the principle of absolute obedience which he had acquired in his military career. The name given to its chief was the military title of " Gen- eral." The organization was not perfected, so as to re- ceive the sanction of the Pope, until 154X. Its motto was Ad Alajoretn Dei Gloriam — " To the greater Glory of God." Its vows embraced not only the obligations of Chastity, Poverty, and Obedience, but also a pledge on the part of every member to go as missionary to any country which the Pope might designate. Loyola was himself the first General of the new Order. Its Constitution, due to him, is practically that of an Abso- lute Monarchy. The General is elected by a General Congregation, selected for the purpose by the whole body of professed members of the various Provinces. He holds his office for life. A Council of Assistants aid him, but he is not bound by their vote. He may not alter the Constitution of the Society ; and he is subject to deposition in certain contingencies ; but no instance of the deposition of a General has ever oc- LYMAN' ABBOTT 37 curred. Practically his will is absolute law, from which there is no appeal. The Jesuits are not distinguished by any particular dress or peculiar practices. They are permitted to mingle with the world, and to conform to its habits, if necessary for the attainment of their ends. Their widest influence has been exhibited in political circles, where, as laymen, they have attained the highest political positions without exciting any suspicion of their connec- tion with the Society of Jesus ; and in education they have been employed as teachers, in which position they have exercised an incalculable influence over the Church. . . . It should be added that the enemies of the Order allege that, in addition to the public and avowed Constitution of the Society, there is a secret code, called Monita Secreta — " Secret Instructions"— which is reserved exclusively for the private guidance of the more advanced members. But as this secret code is disavowed by the Society — and since its authority is at least doubtful — it is not necessary to describe it here in detail. — Dictionary of Religious Knowledge. A BECKETT, Gilbert Abbott, a British humorist, born in London, January 9, 181 1 ; died at Boulogne, France, August 30, 1856. He wrote bur- lesque dramas while a mere boy, several of which were published before he had reached the age of fifteen. He was one of the founders of Punch (1841), to which he was a frequent contributor, as well as to other journals. In 1849 ^^ ^'^^ ap- pointed a police magistrate, and executed the duties of his oflfiice with marked ability. After his death a pension of ^^loo was granted to his widow. — His son, Arthur William a Beckett, born in 1844, entered the civil service at the age of seventeen, but he soon abandoned it to engage in various literary occupations; and in 1874 he was placed on the editorial staff of Punch, having in the meanwhile been called to the bar. He is the author of man}?- novels and dramas, some of them decidedly clever. Among his tales are : Fallen Among Thieves (1870), The Moderjt Arabian Nights (1875), Our Holiday in the Scottish Highlands (1876), The Ghost of Graystone Grange (1877), The Mystery of Mostyn Mattor (1878). Among his come- dies are: About Town (1873), which had a run of 150 nights; Father and Son (1881), Long Ago (1882), Tracked Out (1888), On Strike, Faded Flow- ers^ and L. S. D. He was special correspondent of the Standard and Globe during the Franco- GILBERT ABBOTT A BECKETT 39 German War. He also published Papers from PiunpJiandle Court, by A Briefless Junior (1889), and edited and produced The Maske of Flower, in honor of the Queen's Jubilee. — The principal works of the elder k Beckett are : The Comic History of England, The Comic History of Rome, and The Comic Blackstone. He was looked upon as one of the wittiest writers of the day. The travesty of Blackstone, in which the treatise of that great light of the law is followed step by step, ranks among the highest works of that class. CORONATION OF HENRY IV. A week's adjournment took place to prepare for the coronation, which came off on the 13th of October, in a style of splendor which Froissart has painted gor- geously with his six-pound brush and which we will attempt to pick out with our own slender camel's-hair. On the Saturday before the coronation, forty-six squires, who were to be made knights, took each a bath, and had in fact a regular good Saturday night's wash, so that they might be nice and clean to receive the honor designed for them. On Sunday morning, after church, they were knighted by the king, who gave them all new coats, a proof that their wardrobes could not have been in a very flourishing condition. After dinner his Maj- esty returned to Westminster, bare-headed, with noth- ing on, according to Froissart,* but a pair of gaiters and a German jacket. The streets of London were deco- rated with tapestry as he passed, and there were nine fountains in Cheapside running with white and red wine, though we think our informant has been drawing rather copiously upon his own imagination for the generous liquor. The cavalcade comprised, according to the same authority, six thousand horse ; but again we are of opinion that Froissart must have found some mare's * Vol. II., page 699, edition 1842. 40 GILBERT ABBOTT A BECKETT nest from which to suppl}^ a stud of such wondrous magnitude. The king took a bath on the same night, in order perhaps to wash out the port-wine stains that might have fallen upon him while passing the fountains. "Call me early if you're waking," were the king's last words to his valet, and in the morning the coronation procession started for the Abbey of Westminster. Henry walked under a blue silk canopy, supported on silver staves, with golden bells at each corner, and car- ried by four burgesses of Dover, who claimed it as then- right, for the loyalty of the Dover people was in those days inspired only by the hope of a perquisite. The king might have got wet through to the skin before they would have held a canopy over him, had it not been for the value of the silver staves and golden bells, which became their property for the trouble of porter- age. On each side were the sword of Mercy and the sword of Justice, though these articles must have been more for ornament than for use, in those days of regal cruelty and oppression. At nine o'clock the king entered the Abbey, in the middle of which a platform, covered with scarlet cloth, had been erected ; so that the proceedings might be visible from all corners of the Abbey. He seated him- self on the throne, and was looking remarkably well, being in full regal costume, with the exception of the crown, which the Archbishop of Canterbury proposed to invest him with. The people, on being asked wheth- er the ceremony should be performed, of course shouted " Aye," for they had come to see a coronation and were not likely to deprive themselves of the spec- tacle by becoming, at the last moment, hypercritical of the new king's merits. We cannot say we positively know there was no "No," but the "Ayes" unquestion- ably had it ; and Henry was at once taken off the throne to be stripped to his shirt, which, in the middle of the month of October, could not have been very agreeable treatment. After saturating him in oil, they put upon his head a bonnet, and then proceeded to dress him up as a priest, adding a pair of spurs and the sword of Justice. While his Majesty was in this motley costume, the Archbishop of Canterbury, clutching off GILBERT ABBOTT A BECKETT 41 the bonnet from the royal head, placed upon it the crown of St. Edward. Henry was not sorry when these harassing ceremonies were at an end, and having left the Abbey to dress, returned to the Hall to dinner. Wine continued to play, like ginger-beer, from the foun- tain ; but the jets were of the same paltry description as that which throws up about a pint a day in the Temple. We confess that we are extremely sceptical in reference to all allegations of wine having been laid on in the public streets, particularly in those days, when there were neither turncocks to turn it on, nor pipes through which to carry it. Even with our present ad- mirable system of waterworks, we should be astonished at an arrangement that would allow us to draw our wine from the wood in the pavement of Cheapside or take it fresh from the pipe as it rolled with all its might through the main of the New River. Whether the liquid could be really laid on may be doubtful, but that it would not be worth drinking cannot admit of a question. Under the most favorable circumstances, our metropolitan fountains could only be made to run with that negative stuff to which the name of negus has been most appro- priately given. Let us, however, resume our account of the ceremonial, from which, with our heads full of the wine sprinkled gratuitously over the people, we have been led to deviate. Dinner was served for the coronation party in excel- lent style, but before it was half over it was varied by an entree of the most extraordinary and novel character. It was after the second course that a courser came prancing in, with a knight of the name of Dymock mounted on the top of the animal. The expression of Henry's astonished countenance gave an extra/Az/, in the shape of calf's head surpri^:td, at the top of the royal table. The wonder of Henry was somewhat abated when the knight put into the royal hand a written offer to fight any knight or gentleman who would maintain that the new king was not a lawful sovereign. The challenge was read six times over, but nobody came forward to accept it ; and indeed it was nearly impos- sible, for care had been taken to exclude all persons likely to prove troublesome, as it was very desirable on 42 GILBERT ABBOTT A BECKETT the occasion of a coronation to keep the thing respect- able. The champion was then presented with " some- thing to drink," in a golden goblet, and pocketed the poculutn as a perquisite. Thus passed off the coronation of Henry IV., which is still further remarkable for a story told about the oil used in a>nointing the head of the new monarch. This precious precursor of all the multitudinous mixtures to which ingenuity and gullibility have since given their heads, was contained in a flask said to have been pre- sented by a good hermit to Henry, Duke of Lancaster, the grandson of Henry HI., who gave it to somebody else, until it came, unspilt, into the possession of Henry of Bolingbroke. We confess we reject the oil, with which our critical acidity refuses to coalesce, and we would almost as soon believe the assertion that it was a flask of salad oil sent from the Holy Land by the famous Saladin. — Comic History of England. ABELARD, Peter, a French scholar, born near Nantes in 1079; died April 21, 1142. He was of a noble Breton family, but the name by which he is known appears to be merely a kind of nick- name which was fastened upon him while a student, and adopted by him. He became famous while a mere youth for his scholastic attainments; and while a young man was the acknowledged head of the " Nominalists" in their victorious controversy with the " Realists." He set up a philosophical school of his own, and about 1 1 15 was placed in the chair at Notre Dame, being also nominated as Canon. Within the precincts of Notre Dame was a girl named Heloise, who was under the care of her uncle, the Canon Fulbert. She was noted for her genius as well as her beauty, and became a pupil of Abelard, who was near forty — more than double her age. Illicit love sprung up between them. H61oise, about to become a mother, went off with her lover. Abelard was eager to marry her upon condition that the marriage should be kept a secret, so that his prospects of ecclesiastical preferment might not be marred. H61oise was with difficulty persuaded to grant this sacrifice to her lover ; and when the marriage came to be a matter of public talk she denied that it had ever taken place, and fled to a convent. Her uncle, be- lieving that Abelard was trying to get rid of his ^43; 44 PETER ABELARD wife, took a fearful vengeance. He and some others broke into the room of their victim and in- flicted the most severe mutilation upon him. The rest of the story of Abelard and Heloise reads like a romance. He reappeared as a public teacher, with greater success than before ; was soon charged with heresy, and obliged to burn the book which he had written. He fled into the forest, built a hut of stubble and reeds, and turned hermit. His retreat was discovered, and its neigh, borhood was thronged with students, who soon carried him back to Paris, where they built for him an oratory to which he gave the name of the Paraclete — the " Comforter." H61oise, who had become a nun, was brought to the Paraclete as the head of a new religious house, of which Abe- lard was the spiritual director. Abelard again fell under religious persecution, and fled to an abbey in Brittany, where he wrote his Historia Calamitatiun, which called out the three famous epistles of H61oise, in which she finally accepted the task of resignation which Abelard had com- mended to her. Abelard was in the end twice condemned by a Council for heres}^ He appealed to the Pope, and was on his way to Rome to urge his plea, when he was stricken down by a fatal sickness. His remains were secretly taken to H61oise at the Paraclete, and upon her death she was buried by his side. The bones of this ill- starred pair have been repeatedly shifted from place to place, and they now repose in a conspic- uous tomb in the cemetery of Pere Lachaise. The most complete edition of Abelard's works was PETER ABELARD 45 published in quarto at Paris in 1616. His fame as a scholastic philosopher was in a measure revivi- fied when Cousin, in 1836, put forth an edition of his works, which had for the most part come down only in manuscript. But to all except a few readers he is only known by his singular connec- tion with Heloise. The letters which passed be- tween them in the later years of their lives have been translated into many languages. The main purport of those of Abelard is to reconcile her to the monastic life. ABELARD TO HfeLOISE. In the admirable order of Providence, by the very means the devil aimed to destroy us, was our Salvation effected. We were just then united by the indissoluble bond of marriage. It was my wish never to be separat- ed from you ; and at that moment God projected to draw us to himself. Had you been tied by no engage- ment, when I left the world, the persuasion of friends or the love of pleasure might easily have detained you in it. It seemed, by this care of heaven, as if we had been designed for some important purpose ; as if it were unbecoming that the literary talents we both pos- sessed should be employed in other business than in celebrating the praises of our Maker. Perhaps it was feared that the allurements of a woman would pervert my heart. It was the fate of Solomon. How many are the blessings with which your labors are daily crowned ! your spiritual children are numer- ous; whilst I, alas ! can number none; and am here in vain, at St. Gildas, preaching to these sons of perdition. And would not, think you, the loss have been deplora- ble, if, immersed in the deplorable pleasures of the world, in lieu of the splendid offspring you now rear for heaven, you had been, with pain, the mother only of a fev/ earthly children ? Then would you have been a mere woman ; and now you surpass us all, and now you 46 PETER A BE LARD change the curse of Eve into the blessing of Mary. Those hands which in holy occupation now turn over the sacred volumes, had been unbecomingly engaged in the mean offices of domestic life ! From such unseemly occupations we have been graciously called, even by a holy violence, as was the great apostle. It has been meant, perhaps, for an example from which other learned persons may take warning, and not presume on their own strength. Be not therefore afflicted, H^loise, nor repine at this paternal chastisement. "God corrects whom he loves." Our sufferings are momentary; they are to purify, and not destroy us. Listen to the prophet, and be com- forted : "God will not judge, nor will He twice punish the same crime," says he. Attend to the important ad- vice which truth itself has given to us: "In patience you shall possess your souls." So says Solomon: "The patient man is better than the warrior, and he that is the master of his own mind than the conqueror of cities." Are you not moved to compunctions and to tears when you behold the innocent Son of God suffering such various torments for you and for us all ? Have Him ever before your eyes ; carry Him in your thoughts. View Him going out to Calvary, and bearing the heavy weight of His cross. Join the company of people, and of the holy women who lamented and wailed round Him. Learn to sympathize with His sufferings ; be early at His monument, and strew perfumes on His grave. But re- member, they be spiritual odors ; and with your tears bedew them. — Berington^s Translation. " There are few lives of literary men more in- teresting," says Hallam, " or more diversified by success and adversity, by glory and humiliation, by the admiration of mankind and the persecution of enemies, or from which more impressive les- sons of moral prudence may be derived." ABERCROMBIE, John, a Scottish physician and philosophical writer, born at Aberdeen, Oc- tober ID, 1780; died at Edinburgh, November 14, 1844. He was recognized as at the head of the medical profession in Scotland, and in 1835 was chosen Lord Rector of Mareschal College, Aber- deen. Besides several medical works he wrote Inquiries Concerning the Intellectual Pozvers of Man, and The Philosophy of the Moral Feelings ; the for- mer being directed especially against the doc- trine of Materialism. "On the whole," says a writer in \\\q North Anicrica7i Review, "this work must be considered as containing much useful information. If some of his arguments are formed with little attention to vigor, we must remember that he wrote for many who cannot appreciate a course of reasoning that is not con- ducted in a popular manner." MATHEMATICAL REASONING. The proper objects of mathematical reasoning are quantity and its relations ; and these are capable of being defined and measured with a precision of which the objects of other kinds of reasoning are entirely un- susceptible. It is indeed always to be kept in mind that mathematical reasoning is only applicable to subjects which can be defined and measured in this manner, and that all attempts to extend it to subjects of other kinds have led to the greatest absurdities. Notwithstanding the high degree of precision which thus distinguishes U7> 48 JOHN ABERCROMBIE mathematical reasoning, the study of mathematics does not, as is commonly supposed, necessarily lead to pre- cision in other species of reasoning, and still less to correct investigation in physical science. The expla- nation that is given of the fact seems satisfactory. The mathematician argues certain conclusions from certain assumptions, rather than from actual ascertained facts ; and the facts to which he may have occasion to refer are so simple, and so free from all extraneous mat- ter, that their truth is obvious, or is ascertained with- out difficulty. By being conversant with truths of this nature, he does not learn that kind of caution and se- vere examination which is required in physical science, for enabling us to judge whether the statements on which we proceed are true, and whether they include the whole truth which ought to enter into the investi- gation. He thus acquires the habit of too great facility in the admission of data on premises, which is the part of every investigation, which the physical inquirer scrutinizes with the most anxious care ; and too great confidence in the mere force of reasoning, without ad- equate attention to the previous processes of investi- gation on which all reasoning must be founded. It has been accordingly remarked by Mr. Stewart, and other accurate observers of intellectual character, that math- ematicians are apt to be exceedingly credulous in re- gard both to opinions and to matters of testimony ; while, on the other hand, persons who are chiefly con- versant with the uncertain sciences acquire a kind of scepticism in regard to statements, which is apt to lead them into the opposite error. These observations of course apply only to what we may call a mere mathema- tician — a character which is now probably rare, since the close connection was established between the math- ematical and physical sciences in the philosophy of Newton. — Inquiries Concerning the Intellectual Powers. THEORIES OF MORALS. In contemplating the conduct of men as placed in certain relations to each other, we perceive some ac- tions which we pronounce to be rig/it, and others which JOHN ABERCROMDIE 49 we pronounce to be wrong. In forming our opinion of them in this manner, we refer to the intc7itions of the actor ; and, if we are satisfied that he really intended to do what we perceived to be the tendenc)^ of his con- duct, or even if he purposed something which he was prevented from accomplishing, we view him with feel- ings of moral approbation or disapprobation ; or, in other words, apply to him the award of praise or blame. Such is our simple idea of Virtue or Vice ; as applied either to the act or the agent. We have a conviction that there is a line of conduct to which ourselves and others are bound by a certain kind of obligation. A departure from this constitutes moral demerit, or Vice ; a correct observance of it constitutes Virtue. This appears to be the simple view of our primary im- pression of Vice and Virtue, The next question is, what is the origin of the impression ; or on what ground is it that we conclude certain actions to be right, and others wrong? Is it merely from a view of their con- sequences to ourselves or others ? or do we proceed upon an absolute conviction of certain conduct being right, and certain other wrong, without carrying the mind further than the simple act, or the simple inten- tion of the actor^ — without any consideration of the effect or tendencies of the action ? This is the question which has been so keenly agitated in the speculations of ethi- cal science ; namely, respecting the origin and nature of moral distinctions. On the one hand, it is contended that these moral im- pressions are in themselves immutable, and that an ab- solute connection of their immutability is fixed upon U3, in that part of our constitution which we call Con- science ; in other words, there is a certain conduct to which we are bound by a feeling of obligation, apart from all other considerations whatever, and we have an impression that a departure from this, in ourselves or others, constitutes Vice. On the other hand, it is main- tained that these distinctions are entirely arbitrary, or arise out of circumstances ; so that what is Vice in one case may be Virtue in another. Those who have adopted the latter hypothesis have next to explain what the circumstances are which give rise, in this manner, to Vol. I.— 4 50 JOHN ABERCROMB2E our impressions of Vice and Virtue — moral approbation or disapprobation. The various modes of explaining this impression have led to the Theories of Morals. — Philosophy of the Moral Feelings. HUME S THEORY. According to the Theory of Utility, as warmly sup- ported by Mr. Hume, we estimate the virtue of an action and an agent entirely by their Usefulness. He seems to refer all our mental impressions to two prin- ciples, Reason and Taste. Reason gives us simply the knowledge of Truth or Falsehood, and is no motive of action. Taste gives an impression of Pleasure or Pain, and so constitutes Happiness or Misery, and becomes a motive of action. To this he refers our impressions of Beauty and Deformity, Vice and Virtue. He has, ac- cordingly, distinctly asserted that the words "right" and "wrong" signify nothing more than "sweet" or "sour," "pleasant" or "painful," being only effects upon the mind of the spectator produced by certain conduct ; and this resolves itself into the impression of its " usefulness." An obvious objection to this sys- tem of Utility was, that it might be applied to the effects of inanimate matter as correctly as to the deeds of a voluntary agent. A printing-press or a steam- engine might be as meritorious as a man of extensive virtue. To obviate this, Mr. Hume was driven to a distinction which, in fact, amounted to a giving up of the doctrine ; namely, that the sense of Utility must be combined with a feeling of Obligation. This leads us back to the previous question, on what this feeling is founded, and at once recognizes a principle distinct from the mere perception of Utility. Virtuous conduct may indeed always contribute to general Utility, or general Happiness ; but this is an effect only, not the cause or principle which constitutes it Virtuous. This important principle has been well stated by Professor Mills, of Oxford. He defines Morality to be " an obedi- ence to the law or constitution of man's nature, assigned him by the Deity, in conformity to His own essential JOHiV ABERCROMBIE 51 and unchangeable attribute, the effect of which is the general happiness of His creatures." — Philosophy of the Mffral Feelings. paley's theory. This eminent writer is decidedly opposed to the doc- trine of a Moral Sense, or Moral Principle ; but the system which he proposes to substitute in its place must be acknowledged to be liable to considerable ob- jections. He commences with the proposition that Virtue is doing good to mankind, in obedience to the Will of God, and for the sake of everlasting Happiness. The Good of Mankind, therefore, is the subject, the Will of God the rule, and everlasting Happiness the motive of human Virtue. The Will of God, he subse- quently goes on to show, is made known to us partly by Revelation, and partly by what we discover of his designs and dispositions from his works, or as we usu- ally call it, the Light of Nature. From this last source he thinks it is clearly to be inferred that God wills and wishes the happiness of His creatures ; consequently, actions which promote that will and wish must be agree- able to Him, and the contrary. The method of ascer- taining the Will of God concerning any action, by the Light of Nature, therefore, is to inquire into the ten- dency of the action to promote or diminish general hap- piness. Proceeding on these grounds, he then arrives at the conclusion, that whatever is "expedient" is " right ; " and that it is the utility of any moral rule which constitutes the obligation of it. In his further elucidation of this theory, Dr. Paley admits that an action may be useful in an individual case which is not right. To constitute it right, it is necessary that it shall be "expedient upon the whole — at the long run — in all its effects, collateral and remote as well as those which are immediate and direct." — Philosophy of th* Moral Feelings. THEORY OF ADAM SMITH. This system is usually called the Theory of Sympathy, According to this ingenious writer, it is required for 52 JOHN ABERCROMBIE our moral sentiments respecting an action, that we enter into the feehngs both of the agent and of him to whom the action relates. If we sympathize with the feelings and intentions of the agent, we approve of his conduct as right ; if not, we consider it as wrong. If, in the individual to whom the action refers, we sympa- thize with a feeling of gratitude, we regard the agent as worthy of praise ; if with a feeling of resent- ment, the contrary. We thus observe our feelings re- specting the conduct of others, in cases in which we are not personally concerned ; then apply these rules to ourselves, and thus judge of our own conduct. This very obvious statement, however, of what every man feels, does not supply the place of a fundamental rule of right and wrong. It applies only to the appli- cation of a principle, not to the origin of it. Our sym- pathy can never be supposed to constitute an action, right or wrong ; but it enables us to apply to individual cases a principle of right and wrong derived from an- other source ; and to clear our judgment in doing so, from the blending influence of those selfish feelings by which we are so apt to be misled when we apply it directly to ourselves. In estimating our own conduct, we then apply to it those conclusions which we have made with regard to the conduct of others ; or we imagine others applying the same process in regard to us, and consider how our conduct would appear to an impartial observer. — Philosophy of the Moral Feelings. After having stated these and other theories of morals, and pointed out their several errors and deficiencies, Mr. Abercrombie enunciates his own views upon the matter: abercrombie's theory. The important distinction v^^hich these observations have been intended to illustrate may be briefly recapitu- lated in the following manner : The aspect of actions, as right or wrong, is founded upon a principle in the human mind entirely distinct from the exercise of Rea- JOHN ABERCROMBIE 53 son ; and the standard of moral rectitude derived from this source is, in its nature, fixed and immutable. But there are many cases in v/hich the exercise of Reason may be employed in referring particular actions to this standard, or trying them, as it were, by it. Any such mental process, however, is only to be considered as a kind of test applied to individual instances, and must not be confounded with the standard to v;hich it is the office of this test to refer them. Right or virtuous conduct does, in point of fact, contribute to general Utility, as well as to the advantage of the individual, in the time and extended sense of that term; and these tendencies are perceived by the Reason, But it is neither of these which constitute it Right. This is founded entirely on a different principle ; the immu- table rule of Moral Rectitude. It is perceived by a different part of our constitution — the Moral Principle, or Conscience ; and, by the operation of this principle we pronounce it Right, without any reference to its con- sequences either to ourselves or others. — Philosophy of the Moral Feelings. 9^S aflESf! 1^ dJMJM ^ WB; ^^ W&^^Mff^^ L ^■JjkT A /jkc\ wJ '■v^:0\"7^ /^'l ^^ 1 ^^^ N^^ fe^^^jgfe^3%.>lk^ ABOUT, Edmond - Francois - Valentin, a French novelist, journalist, and dramatist, born at Dieuze, department of Meurthe, February 14, 1828; died in Paris, January 17, 1885. In 1848 he won the prize of honor at the Lyc^e Charlemagtte, and in 1851 was sent to the French School at Athens, Greece, where he devoted himself to archasological studies. In 1855 he wrote La Grhe Coiiteinporaine ; and in the same year pub- lished Tolla, a novel, which was charged with being a plagiarism. He received the decora- tion of the Legion of Honor in 1858 ; and in the following year he put forth at Brussels the Ro- man Question — which was said to have been in- spired by the Emperor Napoleon III. — in which he advocated the abolition of the temporal power of the Pope. In the preface to this work he says: "If I have sought a publisher in Brus- sels, while I had an excellent one in Paris, it is not because I feel any alarm on the score of the regulations of our press, or the severity of our tribunals. But as the Pope has a long arm, which might reach me in France, I have gone a little out of the way to tell him the plain truths contained in these pages." In 1866 M. About was commis- sioned by the Emperor to draw up a report on the state of public opinion in France. Upon the break- ing out of the Franco-German War he became a 1.54) EDMOND'FRANqOIS'VALENTIN ABOUT 55 war correspondent of the newspaper La Soir, and his letters attracted much attention. In 1872 he became editor of the Radical journal Le XIXe Sihhy and in the autumn of that year was arrested at Strasbourg by the Germans, in consequence of his work entitled Alsace. In 1873 he succeeded Philar^te de Chasles as Paris correspondent of the London AthencBum. The works of M. About cover a wide range of topics, including fiction, the drama, and politics ; and many of them have been translated into English. THE SPIRITUAL AND THE TEMPORAL POWER OF THE POPE. The earliest Popes were not Kings and had no bud- gets. Consequently they had no annual deficits to make up. Consequently they were not obliged to borrow millions of M. de Rothschild. Consequently they were more independent than the crowned Popes of more re- cent times. Ever since the Spiritual and the Temporal have been joined, like two Siamese powers, the most august of the two has lost its independence. Every day, or nearly so, the Sovereign Pontiff finds himself called upon to choose between the general interests of the Church and the private interests of his Crown. Think you that he is sufficiently estranged from the things of this world to sacrifice heroically the Earth, which is near, to the Heaven, which is remote ? Besides, we have history to help us. I might, if I chose, refer to certain bad Popes who were capable of selling the dogma of the Holy Trinity for half-a-dozen leagues of territory ; but it would be hardly fair to argue from bad Popes to the confusion of indifferent ones. Think you, however, when the Pope legalized the per- jury of Francis I., after the treaty of Madrid, he did it to make the morality of the Holy See respected, or to stir up a war useful to his Crown "i When he organized the traffic in Indulgences, and threw one-balf of Europe 55 EDMOND-FRANCOIS-VALENTIN- ABOUT into heresy, was it to increase the number of Christians, or to give a dowry to a young lady ? . . . When he suppressed the Order of the Jesuits, was it to reinforce the army of the Church, or to please his master in France ? When he terminated his relations with the Spanish-American provinces upon their proclaiming their independence, was it in the interests of the Church or of Spain ? . . . But this union of powers, which would gain by sepa- ration, compromises not only the independence but the dignity of the Pope. The melancholy obligation to govern men obliges him to touch many things which he had better leave alone. Is it not deplorable that bailiffs must seize a debtor's property in the Pope's name? that judges must condemn a murderer to death in the name of the Head of the Church ? that the executioner must cut off heads in the name of the Vicar of Christ ? There is to me something scandalous in the association of these two words, Pontifical Lottery. And what can the hundred and thirty-nine millions of Catholics think, when they hear their Spiritual Sovereign expressing through his Finance Minister, his satisfaction at the progress of vice as proved by the success of the lotter- ies 1—The Roman Question, Translation of Co ape. CHARACTER OF POPE PIUS IX. Pius IX. plays his part in the gorgeous shows of the B.oman Catholic Church indifferently well. The faithful who have come from afar to see him perform Mass are a little surprised to see him take a pinch of snuff in the midst of the azure-tinted clouds of incense. In his hours of leisure he plays billiards for exercise, by order of his physicians. He believes in God. He is not only a good Christian, but a devotee. His morals are pure as they always have been, even when he was a young priest. He has nephews, who, wonderful to relate, are neither rich nor powerful, nor even Princes ; and yet there is no law which prevents him from spoiling his subjects for the benefit of his family. The character of this respectable old man is made up of devotion, simplicity, vanity, weakness, and obstinacy, EDMOIVD-FRANCOIS-VALENTIN ABOUT 57 with an occasional touch of rancor. He blesses with unction, and he pardons with difficulty. He is a good Priest, and an inefficient King. His intellect, which raised such great hopes, and caused such cruel disap- pointment, is of a very ordinary capacity. The Romans formed an -exaggerated opinion ol him at his accession, and have done so ever since. In 1847, when he hon- estly manifested a desire to do good, the}'' called him a great man ; whereas in point of fact he was simply a worthy man, who wished to act better than his prede- cessors had done, and thereby to win some applause in Europe. Now in 1859 he passes for a violent reaction- ist, because events have discouraged his good inten- tions; and, above all, because Cardinal Antonelli, who masters him by fear, violently draws him backward. I consider him as meriting neither past admiration nor present hatred. I pity him for having loosened the rein upon his people, without possessing the firmness to restrain them seasonably. I pity still more that in- firmity of character which allows more evil to be done in his name than he has ever himself done good. . . . Now he is out of humor with his people, with the French, and v/ith himself. . . . He knows the nation is suffering ; but he allows himself to be persuaded that the misfortunes of the Nation are indispensable to the safety of the Church, Those about him take care that the reproaches of his conscience shall be stifled by the recollection of 1848, and the dread of a new revolution. He stops his eyes and his ears, and prepares to die calmly betv/een his furious subjects on the one hand and his dissatisfied protectors on the other. Any man want- ing in energy, placed as he is, would behave exactly in the same manner. The fault is not his, it is that of weakness and old age. — The Roman Question^ Translation of COAPE. THE OUTLOOK IN 1859. At the worst, and as a last alternative, the Pope might retain the city of Rome, his palaces and temples, his cardinals and prelates, his priests and monks, his princes and footmen ; and Europe would contribute to feed the little colony. But will the Pope and the Car- SB EDMOND-FRANqOIS-VALENTIN ABOUT dinais easily resign themselves to the condition of mere Ministers of Religion? Will they renounce their political influence? Will they in a single day forget their habits of interfering in our affairs, of arming Princes against one another, and of discreetly stirring ijp citizens against their rulers? I much doubt it. But, on the other hand. Princes will avail themselves of the lawful rights of self-defence. They will read history, and they will find there that the really strong govern- ments are those which have kept religious authority in their own hands ; that the Senate of Rome did not grant the priests of Carthage liberty to preach in Italy ; that the Queen of England and the Emperor of Russia are the heads of the Anglican and Russian religions ; and they will see that by right the sovereign metropo- lis of the churches of France should be in Paris. — The Roman Question^ Translation of Co ape. J- Jja n^j ADAMS, Abigail (Smith), wife of President John Adams, born at Weymouth, Mass., Novem- ber II, 1744; died at Qiiincy, Mass., October 28, 1818. She was married to Mr. Adams in 1764, and was his constant associate during his whole public career. Their correspondence during his long absences on official duty takes almost the form of a journal by both parties. It will nat- urally be presumed that the letters of an uncom- monly sensible woman like Mrs. Adams, who lived in an eventful period of our history, and was personally, and for the most part intimately, acquainted with the great men of her times, must be full of interest and instruction. Some of the most characteristic productions of John Adams, also, were written in letters to his wife. In 1785 Mrs. Adams went to Europe, where her husband was residing in a diplomatic capacity. They took up their residence at Auteuil, a village some miles from Paris. In letters home Mrs. Adams de- scribes their way of life : LIFE IN FRANCE. The house we have taken is large, commodious, and agreeably situated near the woods of Boulogne, which belong to the King, and which Mr. Adams calls his park, for he walks an hour or two every day in them. The house is much larger than we have need of; upon occasion forty beds may be made in it. I fancy it must i59l 6c ABIGAIL ADAMS be very cold in winter. There are few houses with the privilege which this enjoys, of having the saloon, as it is called — the apartment where we receive company — upon the first floor. The dining-room is upon the right hand, and the saloon upon the left, of the entry, which has large glass doors opposite to each other, one open- ing into the court, as they call it, the other into a large and beautiful garden. Out of the dining-room you pass through an entry into the kitchen. In this entry are stairs which you ascend ; at the top of which is a long gallery fronting the street, with six windows, and oppo- site to each window you open into the chambers, which all look into the garden. But with an expense of thirty thousand livres in look- ing-glasses, there is no table in the house better than an oaic board, nor a carpet belonging to the house. The floors I abhor, made of red tiles. These floors will by no means bear water ; so the method of cleaning them is to have them waxed, and then a man-servant with foot-brushes drives round your room, dancing here and there like a merry-andrew. This is calculated to take from your foot every atom of dirt, and leave the room in a few moments as he found it. The dining-rooms, of which you make no other use, are laid with small stones, like the red tiles for shape and size. The servants' rooms are generally upon the first floor, and the stairs, which you commonly have to ascend to get into the family apartments, are so dirty that I have been obliged to hold up my clothes, as though I were passing through a cow-yard. You may easily suppose that I have been fully em- ployed, beginning housekeeping anew, and arranging my family, to my no small expense and trouble ; for I have had bed-linen and table-linen to purchase and make, spoons and forks to get made of silver — three dozen of each — besides tea-furniture, china for the table, servants to procure, etc. The expenses of living abroad I have always supposed to be high, but my ideas were nowise adequate to the thing. I could have furnished myself in the town of Boston with everything I have, twenty or thirty per cent, cheaper. Everything which will bear the name of elegant is imported from England ; and, if ABIGAIL ADAMS 6l yoa will have it, you must pay for it, duties and all. . . The only gauze fit to wear is English, at a croM-n a yard ; so that really a guinea goes no further than a copper with us. For this house, garden, stables, etc., we give two hundred guineas a year. Wood is two guineas and a half per cord; coal six livres the basket of about two bushels ; this article of firing we calculate at one hun- dred guineas a year. The difference between coming to this negotiation to France and remaining at the Hague, whet-e a hous^e was already furnished at an expense of a thousand pounds sterling, will increase the expense here by six or seven hundred guineas, at a time, too, when Congress have cut off five hundred guineas from what they have hitherto given. For our coachman and horses alone we give fifteen guineas a month. It is the policy of this country to oblige you to a certain number of servants, and one will not touch what belongs to the business of another, though he or she has time enough to perform the whole. . . . We have a servant who acts as maitre d' hotel, and who is so very gracious as to act as footman, too, to save the expense of another servant, upon condition that we give him a gentleman's suit of clothes, instead of a livery. Thus with seven servants, and hiring a char-woman upon occasion, we may possi- bly make out to keep house. With less, we should be hooted at as ridiculous, and could not entertain any company. . . I have become steward and book-keeper, determined to know with accuracy what our expenses are, and to prevail upon Mr. Adams to return to America, if he finds himself straitened, as I think he must be. Mr. Jay went home because he could not support his family here, wnth the whole salary ; what then can be done, curtailed as it now is,v/ith the additional expense ? Mr. Adams is to keep as little company as he possibly can, but some entertainments we must make, and it is no unusual thing for them to amount to fifty or sixty guineas at a time. More is to be performed by way of negotiation, many times at these entertainments, than at twenty serious conversations ; but the policy of our country has been, and stlH is, to be penny-wisp and fe ABIGAIL ADAMS pound-foolish. But my own interest apart, the system is bad for that nation which degrades its own ministers, by obUging them to live in narrow circumstances. . . . I will add one more expense : There is now a Court- mourning, and every foreign minister, with his family, must go into mourning for a Prince of eight years old, whose father was an ally to the King of France. This mourning is ordered by the Court, and is to be worn eleven days only. Poor Mr. Jefferson had to hie away for a tailor to get a whole black suit made up in two days ; and at the end of eleven days, should another death happen, he will be obliged to have a new suit of mourning of cloth, because that is the season when silk must be left off. We may groan and scold ; but these are expenses which cannot be avoided ; for Fashion is the deity which everyone worships in this country ; and. from the highest to the lowest, you must submit. To be out of fashion is to be more criminal than to be seen in a state of nature — to which Parisians are not averse. — Letter to her Sister, September 5, I'J'84. Mr. Adams became President by the election of 1796; and was defeated at the next election in 1800. The Seat of Government being transferred to Washington, President Adams and his family took up their residence there late in November, for the few months which were to intervene until the close of his term. Mrs. Adams, writing to her daughter, gives some account of the aspects of the new Federal capital. WASHINGTON IN 180O. I arrived here without meeting with any accident worth noticing except losing ourselves when we left Baltimore, and going eight or nine mile?; on the Frederick road, by which means we were obliged to go the other eight through the woods, where we wandered twc hours without finding a guide or the path. Fortunately a ABIGAIL ADAMS 63 Straggling black came up with us, and we engaged him as a guide, to extricate us out of the difficulty. But woods are all you see from Baltimore until you reach the City, which is so only in name. Here and there is a small cot, without a glass window, interspersed among the forests, through which you travel miles without see- ing any human being. In the City there are buildings enough, if they were compact and finished, to accommodate Congress and those attached to it ; but as they are, and scattered as they are, I see no great comfort for them. The house is upon a grand and superb scale, requiring about thirty servants to attend and keep the apartments in proper order, and perform the ordinary business of the house and stables ; an establishment very well proportioned to the President's salary! The lighting the apartments, from the kitchen to parlors and chambers, is a tax in- deed ; and the fires we are obliged to keep, to secure us from daily agues, is another very cheering comfort. To assist us in this great castle, and render less attend- ance necessary, bells are wholly wanting, not one being hung through the whole house, and promises are all you can obtain. If they will put me up some bells, and let me have wood enough to keep fires, I design to be pleased. I could content myself almost anywhere for three months ; but surrounded with forests, can you believe that wood is not to be had, because people can- not be found to cut and cart it ? . . . You must keep all this to yourself ; and when asked how I like it, say that I write to you that the situation is beautiful — which is true. The house is made habit- able, but there is not a single apartment finished ; and all inside, except the plastering, has been done since Briesler came. We have not the least fence, yard, or other convenience, without ; and the great unfinished audience-room I make a drying-room of, to hang up clothes in. The principal stairs are not up, and will not be this winter. Six chambers are made comfort- able ; two are occupied by the President and Mr. Shaw ; two lower rooms, one for a common parlor, and one for a levee-room. Upstairs there is the oval room, which is designed for the drawing-room, and has the crimson 64 ABIGAIL ADAMS furniture in it ; it is a very handsome room now, but when completed it will be beautiful. If the twelve years, in which this place has been considered the fut- ure Seat of Government, had been improved, as they v/ould have been if in New England, very many of the present inconveniences would have been removed. It is a beautiful spot, capable of every improvement ; and the more I viev/ it the more I am delighted with it. . . . — Letter to her Daughter, November 21, 1800. AT THE WHITE HOUSE. Two articles we are very much distressed for : the one is bells, but the more important one is wood ; yet you cannot see wood for trees. No arrangement has been made, but by promises never performed, to supply the new-comers with fuel. Of the promises Briesler had received his full share. He had procured nine cords of wood ; between six and seven of that v/as kindly burnt up to dry the walls of the house, which ought to have been done by the Commissioners, but which, if left to them, would have remained undone to this day. Congress poured in ; but shiver, shiver. No wood-cutters nor carters to be had at any rate. We are now indebted to a Pennsylvania wagon to bring us, through the First CI jrk in the Treasury Office, one cord and a half of v;ood, which is all we have for this house where twelve fires are constantly required; and where, we are told, the roads will soon be so bad that it cannot be drawn, Briesler procured two hundred bushels of coals, or we must have suffered. This is the situation of al- most every person. The public officers have been sent to Philadelphia for wood-cutters and wagons. . . . The vessel which has m^y clothes and other matters is not arrived. The ladies are impatient for a drawing- room ; I have no looking-glasses but dwarfs for this house ; nor a twentieth part lamps enough to light it. Many things were stolen, many more were broken by removal. Amongst the number, my tea china is more than half missing. Georgetown affords nothing. My rooms are very pleasant and warm whilst the doors of the hall are closed. . . . ABIGAIL ADAMS 65 My visitors, some of them, come three and four miles. The return of one of them is the work of one day. Most of the ladies reside in Georgetown^ or in scattered parts of the city at two and three miles dis- tance. . . . We have all been very well as yet. If we can by any means get wood, we shall not let our fares go out ; but it is at a price indeed ; from four dollars it has risen to nine. Some day it will fall; but there must be more industry than is to be found here to bring half enough to the market for the consumption of the inhabitants. — Letter to her Daughter^ November 2j, 1800. Vol. \.-^ . ADAMS, Charles Francis, an American statesman and diplomatist, son of President John Quincy Adams, born at Boston, August 18, 1807; died there November 21, 1886. His father having been appointed to diplomatic po- sitions in Europe, the early boyhood of the son was passed abroad. Returning to the United States in 18 17 he entered Harvard College, where he graduated in 1825, and in 1838 was admitted to the bar. But he never engaged in legal practice, having previously married the daughter of a wealthy merchant of Boston. He entered into political life about 1840, as a member of the Legislature of Massachusetts, and in 1848 was nominated by the " Free Soil " party as their candidate for the Vice-presidency. The new " Re- publican " party was organized some years after, and in 1858 Mr. Adams was elected as representa- tive in Congress from Massachusetts. In 1861 he was sent as minister to Great Britain, holding the position during the whole Civil War and until 1868, when he was recalled at his own request. In 1871- 72 he acted as arbitrator for the United States in the commission appointed to settle the ques- tions between Great Britain and the United States arising during the Civil War. In 1872 he was prominent in organizing the "Liberal Republican" mcvement, and was brought forward as a candi- CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS 67 date for the Presidency. Mr. Horace Greeley was, however, chosen as the candidate of the party, and was also accepted by the Democratic party, but he failed in securing an election. In 1872 Mr. Adams formally joined the Democratic party, by which, in 1876, he was nominated for Governor of Massachusetts. The contributions of Mr. Charles Francis Adams to literature have been very numerous, in- cluding several able papers furnished to the North American Rcviciv and other periodicals. But his most notable literary Avorks are biographico-his- torical, relating to his grandfather, John Adams, his grandmother, Abigail Adams, and his father, John Quincy Adams. His Life and Works of John y^^^-^wj-, in ten volumes, appeared in 1850-56. The preface to this work sets forth his own ideas in respect to the task which had devolved upon him. THE CAREER OF JOHN ADAMS. The editor had reason to know that he was looked upon as the successor to this duty, and that, in this view, all the manuscripts, books, and papers relating to it were to be committed to his care. Whatever might have been his doubts of his own abilities to execute it, little room was left him to indulge them. To say that he has acquitted himself of his obligation to his own satisfaction, is more than he will venture to pretend. All that he will venture to claim for himself is an ear- nest desire to be right, and an endeavor, by no trifling amount of industry, to become so. That he may in many instances have fallen short of his aim will not sur- prise him. Infallibility in such a department of inves- tigation is altogether out of the question. The writer has detected too many mistakes in his own work, and 68 CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS observed too many in the productions of others, to cher- ish a spirit of dogmatism. . . . So much has been said upon the duties of editors in publishing the papers committed to their care, that a few words may be necessary to explain the principles upon which this work has been conducted : In all cases the best copy attainable has been closely adhered to, saving only the correction of obvious errors of haste, or inadvertency, or negligence. Yet as a considerable number of the letters have been taken not from the originals^of which it is not known that they are yet extant — but from the copy-book containing the rough drafts, it is by no means improbable that, in case of a possibility of collation with the real letters, many dis- crepancies, not to say interpolations, and even erasures, may be discovered. Should such instances be brought to light, it is proper that this explanation should stand upon record to guard against charges of alteration. Against such variations it would have been impossible to provide, without materially contracting the valuable materials for the work. For all others, the editor has acted upon his own responsibility, and for reasons which appear to him satisfactory. — Preface to the Works of John Adams. Mr. Charles F. Adams, in closing this exhaust- ive work relating- to his grandfather, adds : " These volumes by no means exhaust the valu- able materials in the possession of the editor for the illustration of the era of the Revolution; neither do they in the least encroach upon the yet larger stores in reserve for the other work in- tended for publication at a future period, and des- tined in giving the Life of John Quincy Adams, to elucidate the history of the generation immedi- ately succeeding." — Nearly a score of years elapsed before Charles Francis Adams fairly en- tered upon the second part of the work which he CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS 69 regarded as having devolved upon him, by the publication of The Memoirs of John Qiiincy Adams (13 vols., 1874-76). The preface to this work clearly sets forth his own view upon what he des- ignates as " the next, and far the most difficult part " of these biographico-historical memorials : THE CAREER OF JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. The papers left by John Quincy Adams were not only much more numerous, but they embraced a far wider variety of topics. Whilst the public career of the father scarcely covered 28 years, that of the son stretched beyond 53. The chief difficulties of the en- terprise have grown out of the exuberance of the materials. Not many persons have left behind them a greater variety of papers than John Quincy Adams, all more or less marked by characteristic modes of thought, and illustrating his principles of public life and private action. Independently of a Diary kept almost con- tinuously for 65 years, and numbers of other produc- tions — official and otherwise — there is a variety of dis- cussion and criticism on different topics, together with correspondence, public and private, which, if it were all to be published, as was that of Voltaire, would be likely quite to equal in quantity the hundred volumes of that expansive writer. But this example of Voltaire is one which might properly serve as a lesson for warning rather than for imitation. . . . The chief objects to be attained by publishing the papers of eminent men seem to be the elucidation of the history of the times in which they acted, and of the extent to which they exercised a personal influence upon opinion, as well as upon events. Where the materials to gain these ends may be drawn directly from their own testimony, it would be far more advisable to adopt them at once, as they stand, than to substitute explana- tions or disquisitions, the offspring of imperfect im- pressions gathered long afterward at second-hand. It R-o happens that in the present instance there remains 70 CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS a record of life carefully kept by John Quincy Adams for nearly the whole of his active days' It may reason- ably be doubted whether any attempt of the kind has been more completely executed by a public man. . . . Very fortunately for this undertaking, the days have passed [1874] when the bitterness of party spirit pre- vented the possibility of arriving at calm judgments oi human action during the period to which it relates. Another more fearful conflict, not restrained within the limits of controversy, however passionate, has so far changed the currents of American feeling as to throw all earlier recollections at once into the remote domain called " History." It seems, then, a suitable moment for the submission to the public of the testimony of one of the leading actors in the earlier era of the Republic. In my labors I have confined myself strictly to the duty of explanation and illustration of what time may have rendered obsolete in the text. Whatever does there appear remains just as the author wrote it. Whether for weal or woe, he it is who has made his own pedestal, whereon to take his stand, to be judged by posterity, so far as that verdict may fall within the province of all later generations of mankind. — Preface to Memoirs of John Qiiiiicy Adams. "s^ ADAMS, Hannah, born at Medfield, Mass., in 1755; died at Brookline, Mass., November 15, 1832. She was the first woman in America to de- vote herself to authorship. Her father, a man of good education, kept a small country store, dealing- among other things in books. He also boarded some students of divinity, from whom the daughter learned Greek and Latin, which she subsequently taught. Her first work, yi View of Religious Opin- ions, was published in 1784, and a second and en- larged edition in 1791. " The emolument I derived from this," she says, " not only placed me in a comfortable situation, but enabled me to pay the debts I had contracted during mine and my sis- ter's illness, and to put out a small sum at inter- est." In 1799 she published a S^inunary History of New England, from the settlement at Plymouth to the adoption of the Federal Constitution. Ingath- ering materials for this work among old manu- scripts, she seriously impaired her eyesight, and had to employ an amanuensis to prepare the copy for the printers. Her most elaborate work, The History of the Jews, since the destruction of Jeru- salem, was in 18 18 reprinted in London, "at the expense and for the benefit of the London Society for Promoting Christianity Amongst the Jews." She commenced an Autobiography, which was continued down to her death by Mrs. H. F. Lee. (71) 72 HANNAH ADAMS During the later years of her life she enjoyed a comfortable annuity, raised by her friends. CHURCH AND STATE IN MASSACHUSETTS. Most of the Massachusetts settlers had, while in their native country, lived in communion with the Established Church. The rigorous severity used to enforce cere- monies, by them deemed unlawful, occasioned their re- moval to New England. The Massachusetts churches, in general, were formed on the Congregational model, and maintained Calvanistic doctrines. The colony had no settled plan of church discipline till after the arrival of Mr. John Cotton, whose opinion in civil and religious concerns was held in the highest estima- tion. He gradually modelled all their church adminis- trations, and determined their ecclesiastical constitu- tions. ... In consequence of the union thus formed between Church and State, on the plan of the Jewish Theocracy, the ministers were called to sit in Council, and give their advice in matters of religion, and cases of conscience which came before the Court, and with- out them they never proceeded to any act of an eccle- siastical nature. None were allowed to vote in the election of rulers but freemen, and freemen must be church members ; and as none could be admitted into the Church but by the Elders, who first examined and then propounded them to the brethren for their vote, the Clergy acquired hereby a vast ascendancy over both rulers and people, and had, in effect, the keys of the State as well as the Church in their hands. The Magistrates, on the other hand, regulated the gathering of the churches, inter- posed in the settlement and dismission of ministers, arbitrated in ecclesiastical controversies, and controlled synodical assemblies. This coercive power of the Magistrates was deemed absolutely necessary to pre- serve the order of the Gospel. — History of New England. HANNAH ADAMS 73 MERITS OF THE MASSACHUSETTS COLONISTS. Though the conduct of our ancestors, in the applica- tion of the power of the civil magistrate to religious concerns, was fraught with error, and the liberal senti- ments of the present age place their errors in the most conspicuous point of view, yet their memory ought ever to be held in veneration. And while we review the im- perfections which, at present, cast a shade over their characters, we ought to recollect those virtues by which they gave lustre to the age in which they lived ; viz. : their ardent love of liberty, when tyranny pre- vailed in Church and State ; the fortitude with which they sacrificed ease and opulence, and encountered complicated hardships, in order to enjoy the sacred rights of conscience ; their care to lay a foundation for solid learning, and establish wise and useful institutions in their infant State ; the immense pains they took in settling and cultivating their lands, and defending the country against the depredations of the surrounding Indians ; and, above all, their supreme regard for re- ligion. . . . The Massachusetts Colony rapidly increased. A dreary wilderness in the space of a few years had be- come a comfortable habitation, furnished with the necessaries and conveniences of life. It is remarkable that previous to this period all the attempts at set- tling " the Northern Patent," upon secular views, had proved abortive. They were accompanied with such public discouragement as would probably have lost the continent to England, or have permitted only the shar- ing of it with the other European Powers, as in the West India Islands, had not the spirit of religion given rise to an effectual colonization. — History of New England. THE HEBREW NATIONALITY. The history of the Jews is remarkable above that of all other nations for the number and cruelty of the per- secutions they have endured. They are venerable for the antiquity of their origin. They are discriminated 74 HANNAH ADAMS from the rest of mankind by their wonderful destina- tion, peculiar habits, and religious rites. Since the de- struction of Jerusalem, and their universal dispersion, we contemplate the singular phenomenon of a nation sub- sisting for ages v»-ithout its civil and religious polity, and thus surviving its political existence. But the Jews appear in a far more interesting light, when considered as a standing monument of the truth of the Christian Religion ; as an ancient Church of God, to whom were committed the Sacred Oracles ; as a people selected from all nations to make known and preserve the knowledge of the True God. To them thf Gospel was first preached, and from them the first Christian Church in Jerusalem was collected. To them we are indebted for the Scriptures of the New as well as of the Old Testament. To them were given the spirit of Prophecy, and the power of working Miracles. From them were derived an illustrious train ot Prophets and Apostles. *'To them pertaineth the adoption and the glory, the service of God and the promises ; and of them, as concerning the flesh, Christ came." . . . The preservation of this extraordinary people during their calamitous dispersion exhibits the faithfulness of the Deity in fulfilling his gracious promise, that "when they are in the land of their enemies, He will not cast them away, nor destroy them utterly," Though from the destruction of Jerusalem to the sixteenth century there are few countries in which they have not been successfully banished, recalled, and again expelled, yet they have never been banished from one country with- out finding an asylum in another, . . . One of the great designs of their being preserved and continued a distinct people appears to be that their singular destiny might confirm the divine authority of the Gospel, which they reject ; and that they might strengthen the faith of others in those sacred truths, to which they refuse to yield their own assent. — History of the Jews. ADAMS, Henry, an American historian, third son of Charies Francis Adams, was born in Bos- ton, Mass., February i6, 1838. He graduated at Harvard in 1858, and from 1861 to 1868 was pri- vate secretary to his father, who was then Minis- ter to England. From 1870 to 1877 he was assist- ant professor of history at Harvard. He then again spent several years in London, and upon his return to this country settled in Washington, D. C. He has been a frequent contributor to periodicals, and was, for a time, the editor of the North Amer- ican Review. He published Essays in Anglo-Saxon Lazv (1876), Life of Albert Gallatin (1879), Writ- ings of Albert Gallatin (1879), John Randolph (1882), History of the United States, including the first and second administrations of Thomas Jefferson and James Madison (1889-90), Historical Essays {i^g\), The Tendency of History {\Zg^). Of his biography of John Randolph, a prominent critic says : " To Mr. Adams, Randolph is, if not quite a lay figure on which to hang historical drapery, at least a cadaver to be curiously dissected for the instruc- tion of an interested class. However this may detract from the interest of the book as a biog- raphy, it very much increases its value to the political student." (75) 76 HENRY ADAMS FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF THOMAS JEFFERSON, For eighteen years after 1783 William Pitt guided England through peace and war with authority almost as absolute as that of Don Carlos IV. or Napoleon him- self. From him and from his country President Jeffer- son had much to fear and nothing to gain beyond a continuance of the good relations which President Washington, with extreme difficulty, had succeeded in establishing between the two peoples. So far as Eng- land was concerned this understanding had been the work of Pitt and Lord Grenville, who rather imposed it on their party than accepted it as the result of any pub- lic will. The extreme perils in which England then stood inspired caution ; and of this caution the treaty of 1794 was one happy result. So long as the British Government remained in a cautious spirit, America was safe; but should Pitt or his successors throw off the self- imposed restraints on England's power, America could at the utmost, even by a successful war, gain nothing materially better than a return to the arrangements of 1794. The War of Independence, which ended in the de- finitive treaty of 1783, naturally left the English people in a state of irritation and disgust toward America ; and the long interregnum of the Confederation, from 1783 to 1789, allowed this disgust to ripen into contempt. When at length the Constitution of 1789 restored order in the American chaos, England felt little faith in the success of the experiment. She waited for time to throw light on her interests. This delay was natural, for American independence had shattered into fragments the commercial system of Great Britain, and powerful interests were combined to resist further concession. Before 1776 the colonies of England stretched from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi, and across the Gulf of Mexico to the coast of South America, mutually supporting and strengthen- ing each other. Jamaica and the other British islands of the West Indies drew their most necessary supplies from the Delaware and the Hudson. Boston and New York HENRY ADAMS Tl were, in some respects, more important to them than London itself. The timber, live-stock, and provisions which came from the neighboring continent were es- sential to the existence of the West Indian planters and negroes. When war cut off these supplies, famine and pestilence followed. After the peace of 1783 even the most Conservative English statesmen were obliged to admit that the strictness of their old colonial system could not be maintained, and that the United States, though independent, must be admitted to some of the privileges of a British colony. The Government un- willingly conceded what could not be refused, and the West Indian colonists compelled Parliament to relax the colonial system so far as to allow a restricted inter- course between their islands and the ports of the United States. The relaxation was not a favor to the United States — it was a condition of existence to the West Indies ; not a boon, but a right which the colonists claimed and an Act of Parliament defined. The right was dearly paid for. The islands might buy American timber and grain, but they were allowed to make return only in molasses and rum. Payment in sugar would have been cheaper for the colonists, and the planters wished for nothing more earnestly than to be allowed this privilege ; but as often as they raised the prayer, English shipowners cried that the naviga- tion laws were in peril, and a chorus of familiar phrases filled the air, all carrying a deep meaning to the English people. " Nursery of seamen," was one favorite ex- pression, " Neutral frauds " another ; and all agreed in assuming that at whatever cost, and by means however extravagant, the navy must be fed and strengthened. Under the cover of supporting the navy any absurdity could be defended ; and in the case of the West Indian trade, the British shipowner enjoyed the right to absurd- ities sanctioned by a century and a half of law and cus- tom. The freight on British sugars belonged of right to British shippers, who could not be expected to sur- render of their own accord, in obedience to any laws of political economy, a property which was the source of their incomes. The colonists asked permission to re- fine their own sugar ; but their request not only roused 78 HENRY ADAMS Strong opposition from the shipowners who wanted the bulkier freight, but started the home sugar-refiners to their feet, who proved by Acts of Parhament that sugar- refining was a British, and not a colonial, right. The colonists then begged a reduction of the heavy duty on sugar, but English country gentlemen cried against a measure which might lead to an increase of the income tax, or the imposition of some new burden on agricult- ure. In this dilemma the colonists frankly said that only their weakness, not their will, prevented them from declaring themselves independent, like their neighbors at Charleston and Philadelphia. Even when the qualified right of trade was conceded, the colonists were not satisfied ; and the concession itself laid the foundation of more serious changes. From the moment that American produce was admitted to be a necessity for the colonists, it was clear that the Americans must be allowed a voice in the British sys- tem. Discussion whether the Americans had or had not a right to the colonial trade was already a long step toward revolution. One British minister after another resented the idea that the Americans had any rights in the matter ; yet when they came to practical arrange- ments the British statesmen were obliged to concede that they were mistaken. From the necessity of the case, the Americans had rights which never could be successfully denied. Parliament struggled to prevent the rebel Americans from sharing in the advantages of the colonial system from which they rebelled ; but un- reasonable as it was that the United States should be rewarded for rebellion by retaining the privileges of subjects, this was the inevitable result. Geography and nature were stronger than Parliament and the British navy. — History of the U?iited States. J(}im.Jdamj ADAMS, John, second President of the United States, born at Braintree, Mass., October 30, 1735 ; died at Quincy, Mass., July 4, 1826. He gradu- ated at Harvard College in 1755, took charge of a Grammar School at Worcester, and read law with the only lawyer in the town ; and in 1758 commenced practice in his native county of Suf- folk, of which Boston was the shire town. In 1764 he married Abigail Smith, a daughter of the minister of the neighboring town of Weymouth. The disputes between Great Britain and the American Colonies, growing primarily out of the Stamp Act, were growing warm, and Adams took a prominent part on the side of the Colonists, although he did not concur in the violent early acts of their leaders. The dispute which was al- layed by the repeal of the Stamp Act broke out afresh upon the passage by Parliament of the Bos- ton Port Bill and the destruction of the tea in Boston harbor. The Congress of 1774 was a con- sequence of these proceedings, Adams being ap- pointed one of the five delegates from Massachu- setts to this Congress, which was convened at Philadelphia. He was prominent among those who were in favor of restricting the aggressions of England upon the rights of the Colonies. His Diary and his numerous Letters, now included in the edition of his Life and Works, prepared bv 8o JOHN ADAMS his grandson, Charles Francis Adams, throw much light upon this seeding period of the American nation. The " Continental Congress" of 1775, although composed of nearly the same members as the Congress of the preceding year, found that higher duties had devolved upon it. The earlier Con- gress had rather to deliberate upon what ought to be done. The Continental Congress was forced by the course of things to decide what could be done, and what must be done. Adams had made up his mind that any reconciliation with the Mother Country was hopeless. Other members thought otherwise, and a most respectful petition to the King was agreed upon. No harm could be done by such a petition, and, as it turned out, no good was done by it. Adams and his associates carried the main practical point : The Colonies were to put themselves into a "state of defence," while still asserting that " the war on their part was defensive only, and without any intention to throw off their allegiance." The meeting of the Congress early in 1776 evinced clearly that a separation between the Mother Country and the Colonies was to be effected by armed force. The decisive point was reached early in May, when a resolution moved by R. H. Lee was passed, aver- ring that the United States "are and ought to be free and independent," Three committees were appointed to prepare the necessary measures. Adams was a member of two of these commit- tees, that on the Declaration of Independence being the most significant. The Declaration itself JOHN ADAMS 8l was drawn up by Jefferson, though the original document was somewhat modified so as to meet the views of Adams, upon whom was devolved the arduous task of carrying the Declaration through the somewhat undecided Congress. For the ensuing twelve years John Adams was one of the most notable men in America. He was recognized as having " the clearest head and the firmest heart of any man in Congress." Early in 1778 he was sent to Europe to take practically the lead in conducting our foreign affairs, first as Commissioner to France, and subsequently as Minister to the Netherlands and to Great Britain. In the meantime it had become clear to all men that the Confederation of States was not a form of government suited to meet the exigencies of the times. Early in 1788 Adams, at his own urgent request, was recalled from his mission abroad. Upon his return he was reappointed as a delegate from Massachusetts to the Continental Congress, which had been assembled mainly to draw up a new form of Constitution for the United States. This Congress had, however, already completed their work, and Mr. Adams had noth- ing to do with the actual framing of the Constitu- tion of the United States. This document, as originally framed, prescribed that each of the Presidential Electors — the number of which was provisionally fixed at sixty-nine — should cast two ballots for different persons. The person receiving the highest vote, provided that it was more than half of the whole number cast, was thereby elect- ed as President. The person receiving the next Vol. I.— 6 82 JOHiV ADAMS highest number, whether a majority of the whole or not, was to be Vice-President. Washington received one vote from each of the Electors, and was thus unanimously chosen as President. The remaining Electoral votes were given to eleven persons. Of these Mr. Adams received thirty- four, the highest number cast for any one person, though lacking one of being a majority of the whole ; and he was therefore declared to have been chosen Vice-President, and President of the Senate ex officio. At the second Presidential election, in 1792, Washington again received an entire Electoral vote. Adams also received a majority of the remaining vote, and was thus chosen again as Vice-President. Washington having positively declined to hold the Presidency for a third term, the election of 1797 took a singular turn. Three candidates were presented for the first place — Adams, Jefferson, and Thomas Pinckney. Jefferson was recognized as the leader of the Anti-Federal or " Republican" party ; while both Adams and Pinckney were the recognized candidates of the Federal party for the first and second places. But a considerable portion of the party wished that Pinckney should receive the higher vote, and thus be chosen as President. A large number of Eastern Federalist Electors withheld their votes from Pinckney, and the result was that Adams had seventy-one Electoral votes, being a majority of the whole, and the highest number for any. He was thus chosen President, while Jefferson, having sixty- nine votes, became Vice-President. JOHN ADAMS 83 At the next Presidential election, in 1800, Adams and Charles C. Pinckney were the Federal candidates, receiving- sixty-five and sixty-four votes respectively. Jefferson and Burr were the Republican candidates, each receiving seventy- three votes. The choice for President thus de- volved upon the House of Representatives, and this body selected Jefferson as President, Burr being Vice-President. The public life of John Adams fairly ended with this defeat. He re- tired to his home in Braintree, and wrote much matter, some of it of decided value. He died on the fiftieth anniversary of the signing of the Dec- laration of Independence. On the same day died Thomas Jefferson, long the associate, and subse- quently the bitter political opponent, of Adams. It is pleasant to call to mind that when both of these patriots had come to be very old men, they forgot the previous animosities of their political life. Most of the ten large volumes which make up the Works of John Adams are of mere temporary and local significance. But some of them contain passages deserving a place in the permanent rec- ord of human thought. Prominent among these works is his Defence of the Constitutions of Govern- ment of the United States of America, first published in London, in 1787, while the author was our Minister in England. The Defence of the Ameri- can Constitutions was published in Philadelphia ten years later in three octavo volumes. The undertaking of this valuable work grew out of the fact, mentioned by Chancellor Kent, that at 84 JOHN ADAMS the commencement of the French Revolution many speculative writers and theoretical politi- cians had been struck with the simplicity of a leg- islature with a single assembly, and had concluded that more than one house was useless and expen- sive. President Adams therefore thought it timely to vindicate the value and necessity of the division of the Legislature into two branches, and of the distribution of the powers of the Govern- ment into distinct departments. The work was written in the form of about fifty letters, and be- fore the present Constitution of the United States had been framed. He speaks therefore of the characteristics of the Governments of the Thirteen independent Colonies or States which constituted the Confederation; and of these he says: THE GOVERNMENTS OF THE THIRTEEN STATES. It will not be pretended that the persons employed in the formation of these Governments had any inter- views with the gods, or were in any degree under the inspiration of heaven, any more than those at work upon ships or houses, or laboring upon merchandise or agriculture. It will be forever acknowledged that these Governments were contrived merely by the use of rea- son and the senses. Neither the people nor their con- ventions, committees or sub-committees, considered legislation in any other light than ordinary arts and sciences, only as of more importance. Called without exception, and compelled without previous inclination — though undoubtedly at the best period of time, both for England and America — to erect suddenly new sys- tems of laws for their future government, they adopted the methods of a wise architect, in erecting a new pal- ace for the residence of his sovereign. . . . Unembar- rassed by attachments to noble families, hereditary lines, and successions, or by considerations of royal blood, JOHN ADAMS 85 even the pious mystery of holy oil had no more influ- ence than that other of holy water. And their leaders — or, more properly followers — were men of too much honor to attempt it. Thirteen Governments, thus naturally founded on the authority of the People alone — without a pretence of miracle or mystery, which are destined to spread over the northern part of that whole quarter of the globe — are a great point gained in favor of the rights of man- kind. The experiment is made, and has completely succeeded. It can be no longer called in question, whether authority in magistrates, and obedience of citi- zens, can be grounded on reason, morality, and the Christian religion, without the monkery of priests or the knavery of politicians. — Preface to the Defence, THE OUTLOOK IN 1 787. The arts and sciences, in general, during the three or four last centuries, have had a regular course of pro- gressive improvement. The inventions in the mechanic arts, the discoveries in natural philosophy, navigation, and commerce, and the advancement of civilization and humanity, have occasioned changes in the condition of the world, and the human character, which would have astonished the most refined nations of antiquity. A continuation of such exertions is every day rendering Europe more and more like one community, or single family. The checks and balances of republican Gov- ernments have been in some degree adopted by the courts of princes. . . . A control has been established over ministers of state and the royal councils, which approaches in some degree the spirit of republics. The press has great influence, even where it is not expressly tolerated ; and the public opinion must be respected by a minister, or his place becomes insecure. . . . And if religious toleration were established, and personal liberty a little more protected, by giving an absolute right to demand a public trial in a certain reasonable time, and the States [Estates] invested with a few more privileges — or, rather, restored to some that have been taken away — these Governments would be brought to rf6 JOHN ADAMS as great a degree of perfection — they would approach as near to the character of governments of Laws and not of Men, as their nature will probably admit of. — Preface to the Defence. The Diary of John Adams, though not kept up unremittingly during his whole life, contains many interesting passages. In January, 1759, ^^^^ long after he had begun the practice of law, he writes: EARLY PLANS FOR LIFE. What am I doing? Shall I sleep away my whole sev- enty years? No, by everything I swear I will renounce this contemplative, and betake myself to an active, rov- ing life by sea or land ; or else I will attempt some un- common, unexpected enterprise in law. Let me lay the plan, and arouse spirit enough to push boldly. I swear I'll push myself into business. LU watch my oppor- tunity to speak in Court, and will strike with surprise ; surprise bench, bar, jury, auditors and all. Activity, boldness, forwardness, will draw attention. I will not lean with my elbows on the table forever, like So-and-so ; but I will not forego the pleasures of ranging the woods, climbing cliffs, walking in fields, meadows, by rivers, lakes, etc., and confine myself to a chamber for nothing. I'll have some boon in return, exchange : Fame, fortune, or something. . . . In Parson Wibird's company something is to be learned of human nature, human life, love, courtship, marriage. . . . He has his mind stuffed with remarks and stories of human virtues and vices, wisdom and folly, etc. But his opinion, out of poetry, love, court- ship, marriage, politics, war, grace, decency, etc., is not very valuable. His soul is lost in dronish effeminacy. I'd rather be lost in a whirlwind of activity, study, busi- ness, great and good designs of promoting the honor, grandeur, wealth, happiness of mankind, — Diary for ^759' JOHN ADAMS 87 THE YEAR 1 7 65. This has been the most remarkable year of my life. That enormous engine, fabricated by the British Parlia- ment for battering down all the rights and liberties of America — I mean the Stamp Act — has raised and spread through the whole continent a spirit which will be re- corded to our honor with all future generations. . . . Such, and so universal, has been the resentment of the people that every man who has dared to speak in favor of the stamps, or to soften the detestation in which they are held, has been seen to sink into universal contempt and ignominy. The people, even to the lowest ranks, have become more attentive to their liberties, more in- quisitive about them, and more determined to defend them than they were ever before. The crown officers have everywhere trembled ; and all their little tools and creatures have been afraid to speak, and ashamed to be seen. This spirit, however, has not been sufficient to banish from persons in authority that timidity which they have discovered from the beginning. The Executive Courts have not yet dared to pronounce the Stamp Act void, nor to proceed to business as usual, though it should seem that necessity alone would be sufficient to justify business at present, though the Act should be allowed to be obligatory. The stamps are in the castle ; the Governor has no authority to unpack the bales ; the Act has never been proclaimed nor read in the Province; and yet the probate office is shut, the custom-houses are shut, and all business seems at a stand. . . . How long we are to remain in this languid condition — this passive obedience to the Stamp Act — is not certain. But such a pause cannot be lasting . . . and it is to be expected that the public offices will very soon be forced open, unless such favorable accounts should be received from England as to draw away the fear of the great ; or unless a greater dread of the multitude should drive away the fear of censure from Great Britain. It is my opinion that by this inactivity we discover cow- ardice, and too much respect for the Act. This rest 88 JOHN ADAMS appears to be — by implication at least — an acknowledg- ment of the authority of Parliament to tax us. And if this authority is once acknowledged and established, the ruin of America will become inevitable. — Diary of ^765- The letters written by Adams to his wife are often extremely interesting. In them he lays bare his inmost heart upon matters of public import. Thus, late in July, 1775, when the first Continental Congress was in session, and the question of revo- lution or no revolution was becoming the impor- tant issue of the time, he writes of Franklin and some other members of that Congress: ADAMS UPON FRANKLIN AND OTHERS. Dr. Franklin has been very constant in his attendance upon Congress from the beginning. His conduct has been composed and grave, and, in the opinion of many gentlemen, very reserved. He has not assumed any- thing, nor affected to take the lead ; but has seemed to choose that Congress should pursue their own senti- ments, and adopt their own plans. Yet he has not been backward ; has been very useful to us on many occa- sions, and discovered a disposition entirely American. He does not hesitate at our boldest measures, but rather seems to think us too irresolute and backward. He thinks us at present in rather an odd state ; neither at peace nor at war; neither dependent nor independent. But he thinks that we shall soon assume a character more decisive. He thinks that we have the power of preserving ourselves; and that, even if we should be driven to the disagreeable necessity of assuming a total independency, and set up a separate State, we can main- tain it. The people in England have thought that the oppo- sition was wholly owing to Dr. Franklin ; and I suppose their scribblers will attribute the proceeding of Congress JOHN ADAMS 89 to him ; but there cannot be a greater mistake. He has had but little share farther than to co-operate and to as- sist. He is, however, a great and a good man. I wish his colleagues from this city [Philadelphia] were all like him ; particularly one [John Dickinson], whose abilities and virtues, formerly trumpeted so much in America, have been found wanting. There is a young gentleman from Pennsylvania whose name is Wilson, whose forti- tude, rectitude, and abilities, too, greatly outshine his master's. Mr. Biddle, the Speaker, has been taken off by sickness ; Mr. Mifflin is gone to the camp ; Mr. Morton is ill too ; so that this Province has suffered by the timidity of two overgrown fortunes. The dread of confiscation, or caprice — I know not what — has influenced them too much. Yet they were for taking arms, and pretended to be very valiant. This letter must be secret, dear, or at least communicated with great dis- cretion. — Letter, July 2j^ J775* It was al JOHN QUINCY ADAMS sions of the separate States, as they were at the organ- ization of the Constitution of the United States. At that time Rhode Island and North Carolina might justly have pleaded that their sister States were bound to them by a compact into which they had voluntarily entered, with stipulations that it should undergo no alteration but by unanimous consent. That the Con- stitution was a confederate Union founded upon prin- ciples totally different, and to which not only they were at liberty to refuse their assent, but which all the other States combined could not, without a breach of their own faith, establish among themselves without the free consent of all the partners to the prior contract ; that the Confederation could not otherwise be dissolved ; and that, by adhering to it, they were only performing their own engagements with good faith, and claiming their own unquestionable rights. The justification of the people of the eleven States which had adopted the Constitution of the United States, and of that provision of the Constitution itself, which had prescribed that the ratification of nine States should suffice to absolve them from the bonds of the old Confederation, and to establish the new Govern- ment, as between themselves, was found in the prin- ciples of the Declaration of Independence. The Con- federation had failed to answer the purposes for which governments are instituted among men. Its powers, or its impotence, operated to the destruction of those ends which it is the object of government to promote. The people, therefore — who had made it their own only by their acquiescence — acting under their responsibility to the Supreme Ruler of the Universe, absolved them- selves from the bonds of the old Confederation, and bound themselves by the new and closer ties of the Constitution. . . . They passed upon the old Con- federation the same sentence which they had pro- nounced in dissolving their connection with the British nation ; and they pledged their faith to each other anew to a far closer and more intimate connection. It is admitted — it was admitted then — that the people of Rhode Island and of North Carolina were free to reject the new Constitution ; but not that they could justly JOHN- QUINCY ADAMS jor claim the continuance of the old Confederation. The law of political necessity — expounded by the judgment of the Sovereign Constituent People, responsible only to God — had abolished that. The People of Rhode Island and of North Carolina might dissent from the more perfect Union, but they must acquiesce in the necessity of the separation. Of that separation they soon felt the inconvenience to themselves, and rejoined the company from which they had strayed. The num- ber of primitive States has since doubled by voluntary and earnest applications for admission. It has often been granted as a privilege and a favor ; sometimes delayed beyond the time when it was justly due — and never declined by any one State entitled to demand it. — The Jubilee of the Constitution. OUR EBAL AND GERIZIM. When the children of Israel, after forty years of wandering in the wilderness, were about to enter upon the Promised Land, their leader, Moses, who was not permitted to cross the Jordan with them, just before his removal from among them, commanded that when the Lord their God should have brought them into the land, they should put the curse upon Mount Ebal and blessing upon Mount Gerizim. Fellow citizens ! the Ark of your Covenant is the Declaration of Independence. Your Mount Ebal is the Confederacy of separate State Sovereignties ; and your Mount Gerizim is the Constitution of the United States. In that scene of tremendous and awful solemnity, narrated in the Holy Scriptures, there is not a curse pronounced upon the people upon Mount Ebal, not a blessing promised them upon Mount Gerizim, which your posterity may not suffer or enjoy from your and their adherence to, or departure from, the principles of the Declaration of Independence, practically interwoven in the Constitution of the United States. Lay up these principles then, in your hearts and in your souls ; bind them for signs upon your hands, that they may be as frontlets between your eyes ; teach them to your chil- dren — speaking of them when sitting in your houses, when walking by the way, when lying down and when I02 JOFIN- QUINCY ADAMS rising up; write them upon the doorplates of your houses, and upon your gates ; cling to them as to the issues of life ; adhere to them as to the cords of your eternal salvation ! So may your children's children, at the next return of this day of jubilee, after a full century of experience under your National Constitution, cele- brate it again in the full enjoyment of all the bless- ings recognized by you in the commemoration at this day, and of the blessings promised to the children of Israel upon Mount Gerizim, as the reward of obedience to the Law of God, — The Jubilee of the Constitution. John Quincy Adams made several translations from French and German authors. Among these is a decidedly clever rendering of the Oberon of Wieland. He also wrote no little poetry. His longest poem, Dermot MacMorrogJi, relates the Conquest of Ireland, in the twelfth century, by the English. It comprises four cantos, containing in all nearly three hundred stanzas, and is worthy of higher appreciation than has been accorded to it. The poem concludes with setting forth the fate of the traitor Dermot, and the subjugation of Ireland: THE FATE OF ERIN. And now the priestly legates in their turn, Absolve the royal penitent from guilt : No more the Holy Pontiff's bowels yearn For vengeance, on the blood of Becket spilt : Profuse his gracious favor, in return Confirms the deed on fraud and falsehood built And grants what Adrian had bestowed before : The right supreme to Erin's verdant shore. Thus was the shame of servitude her lot ; And has been since from that detested day. When Dermot all his country's claims forgot, And basely bartered all her rights away. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS 103 Oh ! could the Muse be heard, his name should rot In fresh, immortal, unconsumed decay, And be with Arnold's name transmitted down, First in the roll of infamous renown. . . , He first with daring and relentless hand, Had torn of friendship and of love the ties ; Had rent of wedlock's sacred vows the band, And taken fraud and falsehood for allies. Expelled with justice from his native land, To Albion's tyrant for revenge he flies ; Betrays his trust, pays homage for his throne ; And seals his country's ruin with his own. . . , And now concentrated, burst forth his rage, He cursed the day on which he had been born ; For on the record of his life no page Could speak of comfort to his state forlorn ; No cordial drop of memory to assuage, Of fell Remorse the vital-searching thorn. A burning fever seized on every vein, And mortal madness fastened on his brain. And to their wildered senses, Erin's saints Appear with lighted torches in their hands, Applying scorpion scourges till he faints. And then reviving him with blazing brands ; While o'er his head a frowning Fury paints In letters which he reads and understands : " Expect no mercy from thy Maker's hand ! Thou hadst no mercy on thy Native Land ! " And to the shades the indignant spirit fled : And thus was Erin's conquest first achieved ; Thus Albion's monarch first became her head. — And now her freedom shall be soon retrieved. For (mark the Muse, if rightly she has read, Let this her voice prophetic be believed), Soon, soon shall dawn the day — as dawn it must, When Erin's sceptre shall be Erin's trust. And here I hang my harp upon the willow ; And will no longer importune the Muse, I04 JOHN QUINCY ADA MS Nor woo her nightly visits to my pillow, Nor more implore her favor or abuse. — Brave sons of Erin, o'er the Atlantic billow ! The harp is yours ! will you to hear refuse? — Take, take it back: yourselves the strain prolong ; And give your Dermot's name to deathless song. For, oh ! if ever on the roll of Time Since man has on this blessed planet dwelt, A soul existed saturate with crime. Or the deep curse of after ages felt, Yours was his country, Erin was his clime ; Nor yet has justice with his name been dealt. My voice, alas, is weak, and cannot sing. Touch, touch yourselves the never-dying string ! Among the minor poems of John Quincy Ad- ams, which appeared under the title of Poems of Religion and Society, perhaps the best is thtjeu d' esprit, in twenty -five stanzas, entitled : THE WANTS OF MAN. I. " Man wants but little here below, nor wants that little long." 'Tis not with me exactly so ; but 'tis so in the song. My wants are many, and if told, would muster many a score ; And were each wish a mint of gold, I still should long for more. II. What first I want is daily bread, and canvass-backs and wine ; And all the realms of nature spread before me when I dine. Four courses scarcely can provide my appetite to quell, With four choice cooks from France besides, to dress my dinner well; JOHN QUINCY ADAMS 105 VI. I want, when Summer's foliage falls and Autumn strips the trees, A house within the city walls, for comfort and for ease. But here, as space is somewhat scant, and acres some- what rare, My house in town I only want to occupy a square. VII. I want a steward, butler, cook ; a coachman, footman, grooms ; A library of well-bound books, and picture-garnished rooms ; Correggios, Magdalen, and Night, the Matron of the Chair ; Guido's fleet Coursers in their flight, and Claudes at least a pair. XII. I want — who does not want ? — a wife, affectionate and fair. To solace all the woes of life, and all its joys to share ; Of temper sweet, of yielding will, of firm yet placid mind. With all my faults to love me still, with sentiment re- fined. XIII. And as Time's car incessant runs, and Fortune fills my store, I want of daughters and of sons from eight to half a score. I want — alas, can mortal dare such bliss on earth to crave ? That all the girls be chaste and fair, the boys all wise and brave. I want a warm and faithful friend, to cheer the adverse hour ; Who ne'er to flatter will descend, nor bend the knee to power ; lo6 JOHN QUINCY ADAMS A friend to chide me when I'm wrong, my inmost soul to see, And that my friendship prove as strong for him as his to me. XVIII. I want a kind and tender heart, for others* wants to feel ; A soul secure from Fortune's dart, and bosom armed with steel, To bear divine chastisement's rod ; and mingling with my plan, Submission to the will of God, with charity to man. XXI. I want the genius to conceive, the talents to unfold, Designs the vicious to retrieve, the virtuous to uphold; Inventive power, combining skill, a persevering soul, Of human hearts to mould the will, and reach from pole to pole. XXIII. I want the voice of honest praise to follow me behind ; And to be thought in future days the friend of human kind ; That after ages, as they rise, exulting may proclaim, In choral union to the skies, their blessings on my name. XXIV. These are the wants of mortal man : I cannot want them long. For life itself is but a span, and earthly bliss a song. — My last great want — absorbing all — is, when beneath the sod, And summoned to my final call, the mercy of my God. XXV. And oh ! while circles in my veins of life the purple stream, And yet a fragment small remains of nature's transient dream, JOHN QUINCY ADAMS IC/i My soul, in humble hope unscared, forget not thou to pray That thus thy want may be prepared to meet the Judg- ment Day. TO A SUN-DIAL. Thou silent herald of Time's ceaseless flight ! Say, couldst thou speak, what warning voice were thine, Shade, who canst only show how others shine ! Dark, sullen witness of resplendent Light In day's broad glare, and when the noontide bright Of laughing Fortune sheds the ray divine, Thy ready favors cheer us ; but decline The clouds of morning and the gloom of night. Yet are thy counsels faithful, just and wise : They bid us seize the moments as they pass, Snatch the retrieveless sunshine as it flies, Nor lose one sand of life's revolving glass. Aspiring still, with energy sublime, By virtuous deeds to give Eternity to Time. \ I ADAMS, Sarah Fuller (Flower), an English poetess and hymn-writer, was born at Great Har- low, Essex, February 22, 1805; "^^^^ married to William Bridges Adams (1795-1872), the inventor of the " fish-joint " and numerous other railway im- provements, in 1834; and died in August, 1848. Her principal work is Vivia Perpetua (1841), a dra- matic poem, couched throughout in a fine strain of impassioned emotion. It symbolizes, in the guise of Vivia's conversion to Christianity, the writer's own devotion to the high ideals which inspired her life. The Royal Progress, a long poem on the surrender of the Isle of Wight to Edward I., ap. peared in 1845. Among her minor works were a little catechism entitled TJie Flock at the Fountain, many poems written for the Anti-Corn Law League, and numerous contributions, chiefly in 1834 and 1835, to the Monthly Repository. Her hymns, composed for use in the services at Fins- bury Chapel, and set to music by her sister, Eliza Flower, can hardly be surpassed as simple expres- sions of pure and passionate devotional feeling. The lines beginning He Scndeth Sun, He Sendeth Shower (1841), are exquisite in their blended fervor and resignation. Her best-known hymn, Nearer, my God, to Thee (1841) — which has been often er- roneously attributed to Harriet Beecher Stowe— ^ is sung wherever the English language is spoken. fioS) SARAH FULLER ADAMS L'x, Her other hymns, most of which have come into common use, are : Part in Peace, Christ's Life ivas Peace (1841), originally sung- in Vivia Pcrpetua by the persecuted Christians, at the close of Act iii., and after Vivia's condemnation in Act v.; Creator Spirit, Gently Fall the Dezvs, Sing to the Lord, Darkness Shrouded Calvary, Go and Watch the Autnmn Leaves, The Mourners Came at Break of Day, O I Would Sing, O Halloivcd Memories, O Love I Thou Makest All Things Even, Part in Peace I Is the Day Before Us ? (altogether differ- ent from the former), TJie World May Change (translated from Schiller), and a rendering of F6n61on's Living or Dying, Lord, I Would Be Thine, NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE. Nearer, my God, to thee ! Nearer to thee. E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me ; Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee ! Though like the wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone. Yet in my dreams I'd be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee ! There let the way appear, Steps unto Heaven ; All that thou sendest me, In mercy given ; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee ! 110 SARAH FULLER ADAMS Then, with my waking thoughts Bright with thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise ; So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee ! Or if, on joyful wing Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, Upward I fly, Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee! FAITH IN DIVINE GOODNESS. He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower, Alike they're needful to the flower. And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, Thy will, not mine, be done ! Can loving children e'er reprove With murmurs whom they trust and love ? Creator, I would ever be A trusting, loving child to Thee. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, Thy will, not mine, be d'''ne ! Oh ! ne'er will I at life repine ! Enough that Thou hast made . mine. When falls the shadow cold of death, I yet will sing, with parting breath. As comes to me or cloud or sun. Father, Thy will, not mine, be done ! ADAMS, William, an English clergyman and religious writer, was born in Warwickshire in 1814; died at Bonchurch, Isle of Wight, January 17, 1848. He was educated at Eton and at Oxford, graduating at Oxford with the highest honors in 1836. From 1837 to 1842 he was Fellow and Tutor at Merton College, and vicar of St. Peter's at Oxford. His first volume, Shadow of the Cross, appeared in 1842, The Distant Hills in 1844 5 then followed TJie Fall of Croesus, The Old Majis Home, and The King's Messengers, the last issued but a short time before his death. These allegories have been translated into a number of European languages, and some of them into Bengalese, and published in India. SCENE IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT. It was on the evening of the i8th of April, 1843. I had been long gazing upon it, and had imagined that I was alone, when my attention was arrested by a sigh from someone near me. I turned round, and saw a venerable old man seated upon a fragment of the fallen cliff, beneath which the violets were very thickly clus- tering. His hair was white as silver, his face deeply furrowed, and yet pervaded by a general expression of childish simplicity, which formed a strong contrast to the lines which must have been indented upon it by care and suffering, no less than the lapse of years. I cannot recall the words of the chance observation which I addressed to him, but it related to the lateness =ind inclemency of the season, and I was at once struck (HI) 112 WILLIAM ADAM:!i by the singularity of his reply. "Yes, yes," he said, musingly, "the winter has indeed been very long and dreary ; and yet it has been gladdened, from time to time, by glimpses of the coming spring." I now observed him more closely. There was a strangeness in his dress which first excited my sus- picion, and I fancied that I could detect a restlessness in his light blue eye which spoke of a mind that had gone astray. " Old man," I said, "you seem tired ; have you come from far ? " "Ah, woe is me," he replied, in the same melancholy tone as before ; " I have indeed travelled a long and soli- tary journey ; and at times I am weary, very weary ; but my resting-place now must be near at hand." " And whither then," I asked, " are you going ? " " Home, sir, home," he replied ; and while his voice lost its sadness, his face seemed to brighten, and his eye grow steady at the thought, " I hope and believe that I am going home." I now imagined that I had judged him hastily, and that the answers which I had ascribed to a wandering intellect proceeded in truth from depth of religious feeling. In order to ascertain this, I asked : " Have you been long a traveller?" " Fourscore and thirteen years," he replied ; and ob- serving my look of assumed wonder, he repeated a sec- ond time, more slowly and sadly than before, " Four- score and thirteen years." " The home," I said, " must be very far off that re- quires so long a journey." " Nay, nay, kind sir, do not speak thus," he answered ; " our home is never far off ; and I might perhaps have arrived at it years and years ago. But often during the early spring I stopped to gather the flowers that grew beneath my feet ; and once I laid me down and fell asleep upon the way. And so more than fourscore and thirteen years have been wanted to bring me to the home which many reach in a few days. Alas ! all whom I love most dearly have long since passed me on the road, and I am now left to finish my journey alone." During this reply I had become altogether ashamed WILLIAM ADAMS 113 of my former suspicion, and I now looked into the old man's face with a feeling of reverence and love. The features were unchanged ; but instead of the childish expression which I had before observed, I believed them to be brightened with the heavenliness of the second childhood, while the restlessness of the light blue eye only spoke to me of an imagination which loved to wan- der amid the treasures of the unseen world. I pur- posely, however, continued the conversation under the same metaphor as before. " You have not, then," I said, "been always a solitary traveller?" " Ah, no," he replied ; " for a few years a dear wife was walking step by step at my side ; and there were little children, too, who were just beginning to follow us. And I was so happy then, that I sometimes forgot we were but travellers, and fancied that I had found a home. But my wife, sir, never forgot it. She would again and again remind me that ' we must so live to- gether in this life, that in the world to come we might have life everlasting.' They are words that I scarcely regarded at the time, but I love to repeat them now. They speak to me of meeting her again at the end of our journey." " And have all your children left you ? " I asked. " All, all," he replied. " My wife took them with her when she went away. She stayed with me, sir, but seven years, and left me on the very day on which she came. It seems strange now that I could have lived with them day after day without a thought that they were so near their journey's end, while I should travel onward so many winters alone. It is now sixty years since they all went home, and have been waiting for me there. But, sir, I often think that the time, which has seemed so long and dreary to me, has passed away like a few short hours to them." " And are you sure, then," I said, "that they are all gone home?" It was a thoughtless question, and I repented the words almost before they were spoken. The tears rose quickly in the old man's eyes, and his voice trembled with emotion, as he replied : " Oh, sir, do not bid me doubt it. Surely, every one of them is gone home ; one, at least, of the number, is undoubtedly Vol. I 8 114 WILLIAM ADAMS there ; and they all went away together, as though they were travelling to the same place ; besides, sir, my wife was constantly speaking to them of their home ; and would not their journey as well as my own have been prolonged, if their home had not been ready for them ? And when I think of them I always think of home ; am I not, then, right in believing that all of them are there ? " There were allusions in this answer which I did not at the time understand ; but the old man's grief was too sacred for me to intrude farther upon it. I felt, also, that any words of my own v.ould be too feeble to calm the agitation which my thoughtless observation had caused. I merely repeated a passage from Holy Scripture in reply : " Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord, even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours." The old man's face again brightened, and as he wiped away the tears he added : "And 'Blessed,' also, 'are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.' There is not only a blessing for those who have been taken to their rest, but there is the image of that blessing to cheer the old man who is left to pursue his solitary journey." At this moment the sun, which had been obscured by a passing cloud, suddenly shone forth, and its rays were reflected by a path of gold in the silent waters. The old man pointed to it with a quiet smile ; the change was in such harmony with his own thoughts, that I do not wonder at the metaphor it suggested to him. "There," said he, "is the blessing of the mourner ! See ! hov/ it shines down from the heaven above, and gilds with its radiance the dreary sea of life." "True," I replied; "and the sea of life would be no longer dreary, if it were not for the passing clouds which at times keep back from it the light of Heaven." His immediate answer to this observation proved the image, which he had employed, to be one long familiar to his own mind. "There are indeed clouds," he said, "but they are never in Heaven ; they hover very near the earth ; and it is only because our sight is so dim and indistinct that they seem to be in the sky." — The Old Man's Home. ADAMS, William Davenport, British jour- nalist, literary and dramatic critic, son of William Henry Davenport Adams, was born at Brixton, Surrey, in 1851. He was educated at Merchant Taylors' School and at Edinburgh University. He has been connected with both daily and weekly papers, and for many years was an editorial writer on the Globe. Among his published works are : Lyrics of Love from Shakespeare to Tennyson (1873), Dictionary of English Literature (1877), Quipps and Quiddities (1881), Modern Anecdotes (1886), By- ways in Book-land, essays (1889), Rambles in Book- land, essays (1890), A Book of Burlesque (1891), With Poet and Player, essays (1891), and A Diction- ary of the Drama. THE REIGN OF ROMANCE. Attention is frequently called to the fact that the most popular fictions of to-day belong to the region of the fanciful. Romance, it is pointed out, reigns tri- umphant at the circulating libraries. And no doubt, for the moment, that is so. Nor is the fact so very re- markable as it is sometimes thought. It would have been strange indeed if there had not speedily been a reaction against the species of story-telling which has so long been paramount among us. For a considerable period the "bread and butter" and "blood and thun- der " schools have had things very much their own way. Of late the so-called realistic school has had an occa- sional inning, but, for the most part, the field has been occupied by the " domestic " and the " sensation?! " — Il6 WILLIAM DAVEN'PORT ADAMS the story of the stable and the still-room, the tale of the tremendous and the terrible. The readers of fiction have alternated, in the main, between these two literary genres, and it was to be expected that there would be a rebound from work so theatrical on the one hand and so namby-pamby on the other. The need for some- thing more genuinely imaginative was too clamant to remain long unsupplied. But, in truth, there has always been, and always will be, a demand for the romantic in prose narrative. It iiiy be more obvious or persistent at one time than at another, but it always exists to some extent. Among the young it never expires altogether, and it grows in ear- nestness with the growth of the mind. The boy who has been fed on " Robinson Crusoe " and " Gulliver's Trav- els" insists upon having their modern equivalents, and the production of stories and hairbreadth 'scapes by flood and field keeps the pens of a dozen or more ivriters perpetually at work. Probably no boys' books of recent years have been so highly esteemed as those of Jules Verne ; and they, we all know, are romantic in the extreme, soaring to heights of fancy to which the A-imards, the Mayne Reids, the Edgars, and the King- ^tons of the past never by any possibility aspired. The feminine mind is even more imaginative than the male, and girls in their teens absorb at every pore the most fantastic narratives on which they can lay their hands. The adult intellect, naturally, is more balanced ; but, probably, the older that one gets, the more prone one is to put aside the realistic representations of life in favor of the fanciful. The more keenly we feel that the romance is going out of our own existence, the more desirous we are to seek it and enjoy it in the realm of fiction. It is extremely likely that hundreds of very excellent people are devoted to literature of this sort without knowing it. They read an infinitude of what they, and others, call simply "novels," without stopping to dis- tinguish what kind of stories they are. And yet the difference between the novel and the romance ought to be readily discernible. There is nothing in common between the two except that they are the products of WILLIAM DAVENPORT ADAMS 117 the invention. Tlie kinds of invention employed are obviously distinct. The novelist takes the characters and events of every day, and invents new combinations for them. He does not supply his own material, that is furnished for him by nature. All he has to do is to pre- sent it to the reader in fresh forms. To a certain ex- tent he is a photographer ; his art consists in the skill with which he arranges the details. This much is cer- tain — that he must not go outside the bounds of the possible or the probable. And therein lies his limited sphere as compared with that of the romancist, to whose imaginative flights no bounds are placed. The roman- cist is the "chartered libertine" of fiction. Like the British army, he can go anywhere and do anything. He can soar into the heavens above or dive into the earth beneath. While the novelist is chained to the surface of society, the romancist can, if he chooses, descend with his fascinated readers into " the waters that are under the earth." — Rambles in Book-land. THE POETRY OF PATRIOTISIVI. The editor of the selection from the lyrical poems of Mr. Alfred Austin draws attention to the fact that the poet is pre-eminently a lover, not only of the coun- try, but of country — a lover, not only of England as a geographical unit, but of England as a nation. The claim is well based, and can be sustained. It is perfectly true ; Mr. Austin is one of the most patriotic of our verse-men. Where'er he roams, whatever realms he sees, his heart, untravelled, fondly turns to England : I cherish still, and hold apart The fondest feeling in my heart For where, beneath one's parent sky, Our dear ones live, our dead ones lie. For him this land is " this privileged Isle this brave, this blest, this deathless England." He bids " fair, proud England" be "proud, fair England still," and, meanwhile, declines to believe that she has "fallen like Rome " or any other empire of the past. Happily, in all this affection for, and pride in, his na- Il8 WILLIAM DAVENPORT ADAMS tive country, Mr. Austin does not by any means stand alone. The line of English patriot-poets is along one, and as distinguished as it is long. It began with great brilliance. There was Warner with his "Albion's Eng- land," and Daniel with his " Civil Wars," and Drayton with his " Poly-Olbion " and " Baron's Wars " and " Bat- tle of Agincourt," and Browne with his "Britannia's Pastorals" — all of them devoted, more or less, to the praise of the country to which the poets belonged, and for which they had a sentiment of genuine admiration. Never, however, have there been such splendid testi- monies as our premier poet-dramatist paid to the charms — the virtues and the achievements — of this tiny isle, this *• little body with a mighty heart," this " precious stone set in a silver sea." Shakespeare, as I have said in a former volume, appears to have had for England an absorbing passion, which found vent in tributes more magnificent than any other land has ever obtained at the hands of its rhymers. After this, the strain of eulogy was, for a certain period, arrested. The men of the Commonwealth had some- thing weightier to do than to be the Laureates of pa- triotism ; those of the Restoration and the Revolution were too largely influenced by foreign habits of thought or by solicitude about their heads to think much, if at all, of the purely patriotic side of life. In the one case they were too indifferent in feeling, and in the other too partisan in their methods to consecrate their pens to the service and celebration of their country. Later on, our poets began to discourse of the beauties of England as a dwelling-place. Pope wrote of Windsor Forest, Dyer of Grongar Hill, and so on, maintaining the tradition of Drayton in poetic topography; singing the praises of picturesque and interesting localities. The first truly patriotic note after Shakespeare was struck by Thomson in that " Rule Britannia" which has survived with wonderful freshness the most laboriously hackneyed treatment — much, no doubt, to the surprise of the author, if he is ever permitted to revisit the glimpses of the moon. The eighteenth century must have been for the English people an era of patriotic moments, or Thomson could never have been inspired WILLIAM DAVENPORT ADAMS 119 to conceive and complete so sturdy an utterance of national feeling. This was the period in which Collins wrote his " Ode to Liberty," with its invitation to the typical Englishman to " read Albion's fame in every age ; " and it is to Collins, also, that we owe that im- pressive dirge in which praise is given to The brave who rest, Ey all their country's wishes blessed. As it happily happens, Tennyson has in no sense been isolated in this matter. The humblest, as well as the greatest, of his contemporaries have emulated him in this phase of song. Eliza Cook was but a gentle poetaster ; nevertheless, she wrote a few lyrics, such as " The Englishman " — 'Tis the star of earth, deny it who can. The island home of the Englishman. •'The Flag of the Free," "The Ploughshare of Old England," and so on, which, in their modest way, did much to create and maintain among us a strong na- tional sentiment. Open the poetical works of Gerald Massey and you will be struck by the enthusiasm and entrain with which that poet of the people celebrates and illustrates the patriotic principle. His pages over- flow with praises of the mother country, with pride in her past and faith in her future. The measures are homely, but they are generous and sincere : Old England still throbs with the muiP.ed fire Of a Past she can never forget ; And again she shall herald the world up higher ; For there's life in the Old Land yet. Even so unassertive and contemplative a poet as Arthur Clough could not help breaking out into a tribute to the " green fields of England." And the men who are writing actively to-day maintain with ad- mirable earnestness and vigor the note which rings through the verse of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Tenny- son. It was only the other day that Mr. Lewis Morris t2o WILLIAM DAVENPORT ADAMS penned an eloquent ** Song of Empire ;" and we all know how of late years Mr. Swinburne has come to the front as a splendid eulogist of the land which gave him birth : Thou, though the world should misdoubt thee, Be strong as the seas at thy side ; Bind on thine armor about thee That girds thee with power and with pride. Where Drake stood, where Blake stood, Where fame sees Nelson stand, Stand thou too, and now too Take thou thy fate in thy hand. — With Poet and Player.^ ADAMS, William Henry Davenport, Eng. lish journalist, compiler, and author, was born at Buxton, Surrey, England, in 1829; died Decem- ber 30, 1 891. He was for a short time the editor of a provincial newspaper. He then removed to London, where he became connected with many of the leading periodicals. After some years spent in journalism, he began to compile, trans- late, and write books on history, biography, geog- raphy, and various other subjects. Among the numerous works which he published are: Memo- rable Battles ill English History (1862); Marvels of Creation (1867); Franco-Prussian War (1871); St. Paul, his Life, his Work, and his Writings (1875); By-ways of English Literature (1875); Celebrated English Women of the Victorian Era (1884); Moun- tains and Mountain Climbing (iSS4) ; Egypt, Past and Present (1885) ; A Concordance to Shakespeare (1885) ; England at War {iZ'^G); Good Queen Anne (1886); Lndia, Pictorial and Descriptive {\Z^f)', Makers of British India (1888) ; The White King ; or, Charles the First (1888) ; Essays on Literary Subjects (1888) ; The Maid of Orleans (1889). He never entirely aban- doned journalism, and from 1870 to 1877 edited The Scottish Guardian, (121) 122 WILLIAM HENRY DAVENPORT ADAMS AKBARS LAST YEARS AND DEATH. The misconduct of his sons darkened the closing years of the great Emperor. Sehm, afterward the Emperor Jahanger, possessed excellent abilities ; but in all other respects contrasted unfavorably with his father and grandfather. Naturally of an austere tem- per, it had been inflamed, and at the same time his in- tellect enfeebled, by the immoderate use of wine. He himself tells us in his autobiography — all the Mughal emperors, by the way, inherited Babar's autobiographic tastes — that in his youth he took at least twenty cups of wine daily, each cup containing half a soi, that is, six ounces, or nearly half a pint (the amount seems in- credible), and that if he went a single hour without his beverage, his hands began to shake, and he was unable to sit at rest. Opium-drinking was another of his vices. The severe and didactis minister-historian, Abul Fazl, he had always regarded as his natural enemy ; and it was partly as a concession to this feeling of his son's that Akbar sent his minister to the Deccan. In 1602 the prince contrived his murder, employing as his agent Narsing Deo, Raja of Orcha, who inveigled him into an ambuscade, overpowered him and his court, and sent his head to the prince. The loss of his principal advis- er — his son's share in which he seems never to have known or suspected — was a great blow to Akbar. He wept bitterly, and passed two days and nights without food or sleep ; and he despatched an army against Narsing Deo, with orders to seize his family, lay waste his territory, and inflict other severities from which, in his ordinary frame of mind, Akbar would certainly have shrunk. His third son, Prince Daniyal, brought much sorrow and shame on Akbar's gray hairs. He, too, was ad- dicted to intemperance ; and his terrible excesses finally killed him in 1604, when he was only in his thirtieth year. His health for some time previous had been lamentably feeble; and the Emperor, besides exacting from him his word of honor that he would drink no more wine, surrounded him with trusty officers to pre- WILLIAM HENRY DAVENPORT ADAMS 123 vent him from gratifying his unhappy craving. But, with the cunning of the dipsomaniac, the prince con- trived to outwit them. He had his liquor conveyed to him secretly in the barrel of a fowling-piece, and speed- ily drank himself to death. The Emperor, an old man, whose strength had been taxed for nearly half a century by the burden of em- pire, was unable to bear the additional pressure of domestic troubles. He had been for some time ailing, when, in September, 1605, his complaint suddenly as- sumed a most unfavorable aspect. Feeling that his end was approaching, he hastened to set in order the vast affairs of his extended empire, so that his successor might have no difficulty in taking up the various threads. His laborious task completed, he sent for his son Selim, and bade him summon to his presence all his omrahs, "for I cannot endure," he said, "that any misunder- standing should exist between you and those who for so many years have shared in my toil and been the as- sociates of my glory." — Warriors of the Crescent. "li ADAMS, William Taylor (pseudonym, Oli- ver Optic), an American writer of juvenile fiction, was born in Med way, Mass., July 30, 1822; died March 27, 1897. He was for twenty years a teacher in the public schools of Boston, for many years a member of the school board of Dorchester, and served for one year in the Massachusetts Leg- islature. With the exception of one or two vol- umes for grown people. The Way of the World and Living Too Fast, his writings consist of stories for boys, of which he produced the unprecedented number of one hundred and twenty-five. It is said that more than two million copies of his books have found their way into the hands of readers. His first book was issued in 1853, under the title Hatchie, the Guardian Slave. Its sale was very large, and it was followed by a collection of stories entitled In Doors and Out. In 1862 ap- peared the Rivcrdale Series, in six volumes. Then came the Starry Flag Series, Army and Navy Se- ries, and the Woodville Stories. His latest works include On the Blockade, Stand by the Union, A Young Knight-errant, and Strajige Sights Abroad, UNDER THE FLAG OF MOROCCO. Half an hour later the craft was near enough to be made out in detail. It was a steamer of about four hundred tons, the commander judged, and somewiLr^ peculiar in her construction. She was **lon§^ low. ar.4 WILLIAM TAYLOR ADAMS 125 rakish/* as piratical schooners were described in former times. She had two masts with an excessive rake, to which the smokestack corresponded. She was of most symmetrical build, and all in the pilot-house called her handsome. The commander and Mr. Boulong observed her very attentively through their spy-glasses. Her colors were set at the main peak, and she sported a burgee at the foremast head. The glasses were directed to the colors, which the observers had thus far been unable to make out. The flag was peculiar ; the captain and the first officer were familiar with those of all nations ; but the northeast wind carried it over so far that it could not be seen distinctly. *' I think that is the flag of Morocco," said one of the Portuguese gentlemen. " And that looks like the Pacha's steam-yacht," added the other. " I recognize the flag now," said Captain Ringgold. " It looks more like a red table-cloth, with a border of half-diamonds in white, and a pair of sheep-shears in the middle. AVho is the Pacha to whom you allude, Don Roderigue ? We have just come from Mogadore, and possibly we may have seen him." " He is an immensely wealthy Moorish gentleman, who holds a high place in the army, and has been gov- ernor, or Kaid, of the province in which he resides," replied Don Roderigue. ''He is not thirty years old, and is called the hand- somest man that ever comes to Funchal ; but we are al- ways very sorry to see his yacht approaching our shore." "Why so ?" "He is a Mohammedan, but does not live up to his creed. He was educated in Paris, and once lived in London. He drinks too much wine over here, and is a reckless, unprincipled scoundrel," continued the Portu- guese gentleman. " We do not think our wives and daughters are safe v/hen he is in Funchal, and we shut them up." " We have met the gentleman, and we do not fancy him," added the captain. " He comes to Funchal two or three times a year, and 126 WILL/ AM TAYLOR ADAMS cruises every summer in the Mediterranean," said Don Joao. "You have the most beautiful young lady I ever met in my life ; and I advise you not to let the Pacha see her." " Unfortunately he has already seen her at Mogadore, and that fact was the reason why we sailed from that port very abruptly," replied Captain Ringgold. Before the arrival of the steamer at the town, the commander had informed Mr. Woolridge of the coming of Noury Pacha, and pointed out the steam-yacht to him. They had an anxious consultation in regard to the matter. The Guardian-Mother came up to her former moorings, and soon landed her gratified passengers from the island, who were profuse in their acknowledg- ments of the pleasure they had derived from the excur- sion. Before the return of the barge from her trip to the shore with the guests, the commander had ordered the second cutter into the water, and the chief steward was ordered to obtain what provisions and stores he needed at once. Mr, Gaskette was in charge of the boat, and Louis and Felix were permitted to go with him. The Pacha's yacht had anchored quite near the shore, but at a considerable distance from the Guardian-Mother. Boats were already plying between her and the town, and one of them had landed near the market. Several of the sailors of the second cutter were sent up to bring off the purchases of Mr. Sage, and Mr. Gas- kette and Louis followed them. The provisions were purchased and sent to the boat. Several of the Moorish tars were seen in the vicinity, and they looked as little like sailors as possible. " By the powers of mud ! " exclaimed Felix, suddenly, as they passed a couple of the Morocco sailors. "One of them is Scott, as sure as you live ! " "Which one ?" demanded Mr. Gaskette. " The one on the right." The second officer asked no more questions, but seized the runaway by the collar of his tunic. Louis under- stood what he intended at once, and thrust his arm through that of the young reprobate, as the officer had done with the other. They had him as a couple of WILLIAM TAYLOR ADAMS 127 French policemen would handle a prisoner, and they marched him at double quick to the boat. The com- panion of Scott attempted to interfere. He seized Louis by the back of his coat-collar, when Felix planted a blow on the side of his head which caused him to stagger and fall. When he got up he departed in the other direc- tion. Scott was tumbled into the boat, and held fast by his captors. Mr, Sage had come, and the officer hurried the boat off. Scott protested with all his might, but he might as well have kept his breath. Louis was not a little surprised to see that the Blanche had hauled out from her moorings, and was already under way. She stood out of the port at once, and when the stores and the prisoner had been taken on board, the Guardian- Mother followed her. But Don Joao was at the head of the customs department, and everything had been ar- ranged with him. " Well, my lad, you look as though you had joined a circus company," said Captain Ringgold, when he had time to speak to the runaway. "You will pay dearly for this," howled Scott, crying like a baby in his anger, " The Pacha is the biggest man in Morocco except the Sultan, and he is my friend." " Knott, take him below, and see that he is dressed like a Christian," said the captain. The old salt obeyed the order with a relish, — Strange Sights Abroad. ^^^B ADDISON, Joseph, an English poet, essayist, and statesman, born at Milston, Wiltshire, May i, 1672; died at Holland House, Kensington, June 17, 17 19. He was the son of Rev. Lancelot Addi- son, Dean of Lichfield, who was an author of some distinction in his day. He was educated at Charter House School, London, and at Queen's and Magdalen Colleges, Oxford, where he distin- guished himself by his Latin verses. While quite a young man he secured the favor of Dryden and other men of letters, and likewise of Lords Hali- fax and Somers, through whose influence he re- ceived a pension of ^^^300 to enable him to travel, and especially to perfect himself in the French language, in order to be prepared for official em- ployment. His continental travels lasted from 1699 to the close of 1703, when he returned to England. King William HL had died in the meantime; Addison's patrons had gone out of power ; his pension was stopped, and for some time he was hard pressed by pecuniary difficul- ties ; but he was known to the leaders of both parties as a man of genius. The great waj of the Spanish Succession had brought the Whigs and Tories of England into some sort of harmonv. On August 13, 1704, Vvac fought the great bat- tle of Blenheim, and the Ministry looked about for some man who could properly celebrate the ("8) . JOSEPH ADDISON. JOSEPH ADDISON lag victory in verse. They sent the Chancellor of the Exchequer to the garret occupied by Addi- son, to engage his services, offering him a gov- ernment commissionership worth ^200 a year as an earnest of still greater favors. The result of this interview was The Campaign^ a poem of some five hundred lines, inscribed to the Duke of Marlborough, whom it celebrates. The poem became famous, and laid the foundation for the fortunes of the poet. Apart from its merits as a poem for the time. The Campaign ranks high among the works of its class. Its special merit is that it discards wholly all the old fashion of ascribing a great victory to the personal prowess of its hero as a man-at-arms. Addison was per- haps the first man to recognize in verse that a bat- tle is won by brains, not by brawn. He reserved his praise for those qualities which made Marl- borough one of the greatest commanders of any age — energy, sagacity in planning, and firmness of mind amid the confusion, uproar, and slaughter of the battle-field. The conclusion of the poem, which might stand for its " argument," reads: THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH. Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse, In the smooth records of a faithful verse ; That, if such numbers can o'er Time prevail, May tell posterity the wondrous tale. When Actions unadorned are faint and weak, Cities and Countries must be taught to speak ; And Rivers from their oozy beds arise ; Gods may descend in factions from the skies, Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays, And round the Hero cast a borrowed blaze. Vol. I.— 9 I30 JOSEPH ADDISON" Marlbro's exploits appear divinely bright, And proudly shine in their own native light ; Raised of themselves their genuine charms they boast, And those who paint them truest praise them most. — The Campaign. The most famous passage in the poem is the twenty lines which form the prelude to the Battle of Blenheim, crowned as it is by the three con- cluding couplets which compare Marlborough to an angel guiding the whirlwind. "The extra- ordinary effect which this simile produced," says Macaula)^, "when it first appeared, and which to the following generation seemed inexplicable, is doubtless to be chiefly attributed to a line which most readers now regard as a feeble parenthesis : ' Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past' Addi- son spoke not of a storm, but of tJie storm. The great tempest of November, 1703, the only tem- pest which in our latitude has equalled the rage of a tropical hurricane, had left a dreadful recollec- tion in the minds of all men. No other tempest was ever in this country the occasion of a parlia- mentary address or of a public fast. London and Bristol had presented the appearance of cities just sacked, and the prostrate trunks of large trees, and the ruins of houses still attested, in all the southern counties, the fury of the blast." MARLBOROUGH AT BLENHEIM. But O my Muse, what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle joined ! Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound. The victor's shouts and dying groans confound, The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies. And all the thunder of the battle rise. — JOSEPH ADDISON' 13I 'Twas then great Marlbro's mighty soul was proved. That in the shock of charging hosts unmoved, Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, Examined all the dreadful scenes of war ; In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, Inspired repulsed battalions to engage, And taught the dreadful battle where to rage.— So when an Angel by Divine command With rising tempests shakes a guilty land- Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past — Calm and serene he drives the furious blast ; And pleased the Almighty's orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind and directs the storm. — The Campaign. Addison's commissionership — apparently a si- necure — placed him in comfortable circumstances, and he amused himself in literary productions. He published the narrative of his Travels in Italy — a country vi^hich he looked upon only through classical eyes ; the lively opera of Rosa- mond, which failed upon the stage, owing to the bad music which was set to it; The Drummer, a comedy ; the tragedy of Cato, and a large number of pamphlets and poems, none of which, except- ing two or three Hymns, are of special account except as the productions of one who had gained a name in other departments of literature. But while he was thus amusing rather than occupy- ing himself with literature, his political pros- pects were growing brighter and brighter. • The Whigs came into power, and the leaders of the party looked out for Addison, whom everybody liked. He was made Under Secretary of State, Chief Secretary for Ireland, and finally Sec- 132 JOSEPH AuDISON retary of State. He was also returned to Parliament in 1708, and held a seat there, for one constituency or another, until his death, eleven years later. But he made no figure in the House of Commons, never attempting but once to make a speech. Indeed we find no evi- dence in him of any great capacity for political affairs. And yet, says Macaulay, " Addison, with- out high birth, and with little property, rose to a post which dukes, the heads of the great houses of Talbot, Russell, and Bentinck, have thought it an honor to fill. Without opening his lips in de- bate, he rose to a post, the highest that Chatham or Fox ever reached ; and this he did before he had been nine years in Parliament." In 1716, at the age of forty -four, and three years before his death, he married the dowager Count- ess of Warwick, to whose graceless son, Lord Warwick, he had been a kind of mentor. This marriage was far enough from a happy one ; and during its brief continuance Addison was never so happy as when he could escape from the mag- nificent drawing-room of his titled and imperious wife, and have a chat and a bottle of wine at a London tavern with some of his old friends and cronies. He died in perfect peace. Among his last words were those to his unworthy son-in-law : " See how a Christian can die." His public fu- neral was a magnificent one. His remains were laid at rest in the vaults of the magnificent Chapel of Henry VII. in Westminster Abbey. He was as good as forgotten almost as soon as he was dead. Neither his rich and titled widow nor any JOSEPH ADDISON I33 one of his contemporary friends ever thought of commemorating him by even a simple tablet on the walls of the Abbey. Three generations passed before the omission was supplied, almost in our own day, by his bust erected in the " Poets' Corner." As a poet or dramatist Addison cannot be placed high even in the third rank of British authors. His tragedy of Cato contains some pas- sages of fine declamation, the best of which is Cato's soliloquy on immortality ; and of the whole work Aikin says : " It is equally remarkable for a correctness of plan and a sustained elevation of style ; " and that it is further distinguished by the " glow of its sentiments in favor of political liberty." The Letter from Italy, addressed to Lord Halifax, has some noble passages ; and one or two of his Hymns and religious Odes stand among the classics of our language. The most notable passage in his versified Account of the Greatest English Poets is that upon the author of the Faery Queen : UPON EDMUND SPENSER. Old Spenser next, warmed with poetic rage, In ancient tales amused a barbarous age ; An age, that yet, uncultivate and rude, Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods, To dens of dragons and enchanted woods. But now the mystic tale, that pleased of yore, Can claim an understanding age no more ; The long-spun allegories fulsome grow. While the dull moral lies too plain below. We view well pleased, at distance, all the sights — 134 JOSEPH ADDISON' Of arms and palfreys, battles, fields, and fights, Of damsels in distress, and courteous knights. But when we look too near, the shades decay. And all the pleasing landscape fades away. — Account of the Greatest British Poets. ON ITALY. Now has kind Heaven adorned this happy land. And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand ! But what avails her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores. Where all the gifts that heaven and earth impart. The smiles of Nature and the charms of Art, While proud Oppression in her valleys reigns, And Tyranny usurps her happy plains 1 The poor inhabitant beholds in vain The reddening orange and the swelling grain ; Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines ; Starves in the midst of Nature's bounty curst, And in the loaded vineyard dies for thirst. — Letter from Italy. ODE ON THE CREATOR. The spacious firmament on high. And all the blue ethereal sky. And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. The unwearied sun, from day to day, Does his Creator's power display. And publishes in every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And, nightly to the listening earth, Repeats the story of her birth ; While all the stars that round her burn. And all the planets in their turn. Confirm the tidings as they roll. And spread the truth from pole to pole. JOSEPH ADDr^^ON' 135 What though, in solemn silence, all Move round the dark terrestrial ball ? What though no real voice, nor sound, Amid their radiant orbs be found ? — In Reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice ; Forever singing as they shine : " The Hand that made us is Divine." THE DIVINE CARE. I, Now are Thy servants blest, O Lord I Now sure is their defence ! Eternal Wisdom is their guide, Their help Omnipotence. II. In foreign realms and lands remote, Supported by Thy care, Through burning climes I passed unhurt. And breathed the tainted air. IV. Think, O my soul, devoutly think, How, with affrighted eyes. Thou sawest the wide-extended deep In all its horrors rise. VI. Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord, '^ Thy mercy set me free ; Whilst in the confidence of prayer My soul took hold on Thee. VII. For though in dreadful whirls we hung High on the broken wave, I knew Thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save. 136 JOSEPH ADDISON- VIII. The storm was laid, the winds retired, Obedient to Thy will ; The sea that roared at Thy command, At Thy command was still. IX. In midst of dangers, fears, and death, Thy goodness I'll adore ; I'll praise Thee for thy mercies past, And humbly hope for more. X. My life, if Thou preserve my life. Thy sacrifice shall be ; And death, if death must be my doom. Shall join my soul to Thee. But Addison owes his great place in English literature mainly to his essays, and especially to those embodied in The Spectator^ a weekly period- ical, the first number of which appeared March I, 171 1, and the last of the first series (No. 555), December 6, 1712. Addison, however, had pre- viously commenced writing essays, especially in The T^ij/Z/^r, established in 1709 by his friend Rich- ard Steele, to which he contributed about sixty short essays, all of which appeared subsequently in his " Works." Among these Tattler essays are some of more than mere temporary value, showing the power of keen observation, felicitous descrip- tion, and trenchant satire, which were soon to be more fully manifested in The Spectator, LITERARY VERMIN. The whole creation preys upon itself ; every living creature is inhabited. A flea has a thousand invisible JOSEPH ADDISON 137 insects that tease him as he jumps from place to place, and revenge our quarrels upon him. A very ordinary microscope shows us that a louse itself is a very lousy creature. A whale, besides those seas and oceans in the several vessels of his body, which are filled with innumerable shoals of little animals, carries about with it a whole world of inhabitants ; insomuch that, if we believe the calculations some have made, there are more living creatures, which are too small for the naked eye to behold, about the leviathan than there are visible creatures upon the face of the whole earth. Thus every nobler creature is, as it were, the basis and support of multitudes that are his inferiors. This consideration very much comforts me, when I think on those numberless vermin that feed upon this paper, and find their sustenance out of it : I mean the small wits and scribblers that every day turn a penny by nibbling at my lucubrations. This has been so advantageous to this little species of writers, that, if they do me justice, I may expect to have my statue erected in Grub Street, as being a common benefactor to that quarter. They say when a fox is very much troubled with fleas he goeth into the next pool, with a little lock of wool in his mouth, and keeps his body under water till the vermin get into it ; after which he quits the wool, and diving, leaves his tormentors to shift for themselves and get their living where they can. I would have these gentlemen take care that I do not serve them after the same manner ; for though I have kept my tem- per pretty well, it is not impossible that I may some time or other disappear, and what will then become of them ? Should I lay down my paper, what a famine would there be among the hawkers, printers, booksellers, and authors ! It would be like Dr. B 's dropping his cloak, with the whole congregation hanging upon the skirts of it. To enumerate some of these doughty antagonists : I was threatened to be answered weekly by the Tit for Tat ; I was undermined by the Whisperer, haunted by Tom Brown s Ghost, scolded at by a Female Tattler, and slandered by another of the same character, under the 138 JOSEPH ADDISON title of Atalantis. I have been aiitwiafed, re-tattled, examined, and condoled. But it being my maxim, " Never to speak ill of the dead," I shall let these authors rest in peace ; and take great pleasure in thinking that I have sometimes been the means of their getting a belly- full. When I see myself thus surrounded by such for- midable enemies, I often think of the Knight of the Red Cross, in Spenser's Den of Error, who, after he has cut off the dragon's head, and left it wallowing in a flood of ink, sees a thousand monstrous reptiles making their monstrous attempts upon him — one with many heads, another with none, and all of them without leyes. If ever I should want such a fry of little Authors to attend me, I shall think my paper in a very decaying condition. They are like ivy about an oak, which adorns the tree at the same time that it eats into it ; or like a great man's equipage, that do honor to the person on whom they feed. For my part, when I see myself thus attacked, I do not consider my antagonists as malicious but hungry ; and therefore am resolved never to take any notice of them. As to those who detract from my labors without being prompted to it by an empty stomach — in return for their censures, I shall take pains to excel, and never fail to persuade myself that their malice is noth- ing but their envy or ignorance. Give me leave to conclude, like an Old Man and a Moralist, with a Fable. The Owls, Bats, and several other Birds of Night, were one day together in a thick shade, where they abused their neighbors in a very sociable manner. This Satyr at last fell upon the Sun, whom they all agreed to be very troublesome, impertinent, and inquisitive. Upon which the Sun, who overheard them, spoke to them after this manner : " Gentlemen, I wonder how you dare abuse one that you know could in an in- stant scorch you up, and burn every mother's son of you. But the only answer I shall give you, or the revenge I shall take of you, is to shine on." — The Tattler, No. 22C>, September 26, lyio. JOSEPH ADDISON- £39 HINTS FOR CHARLATANS. The very foundation of Poetry is Good Sense, if we may allow Horace to be a judge of the art: '■^ Scribendi recte sapere est et prlncipiiim et fons.'' And if so, we have reason to believe that the same man who writes well can prescribe well, if he has applied himself to the study of both. Besides, when we see a man making professions of two different sciences, it is natural for us to believe that he is no pretender in that which we are no judges of, when we find him skilful in that which we understand. Ordinary Quacks and Charlatans are thoroughly sensible how necessary it is to support them- selves by these collateral assistances ; and therefore always lay their claim to some supernumerary accom- plishments which are wholly foreign to their profession. About twenty years ago it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement thrust into your hand of a Doctor " 7uho 7vas arrived at the Knowl- edge of the Green and Red Dragon^ and had discovered the Female Fern Seed." Nobody ever knew what this meant ; but the Red and Green Dragon so amused the people, that the Doctor lived very comfortably upon them. About the same time there was pasted a very hard word upon every corner of the streets. This, to the best of my recollection, was "Tetrachymagogon," which drew great shoals of spectators about it, who read the Bill that it introduced with unspeakable curi- osity, and when they were sick would have nobody but this Learned Man for their physician. I once received an advertisement of one "7^'//^ had studied Thirty Years by Candle-light for the Good of his Countrymen" He might have studied twice as long by daylight, and never have been taken notice of. But Elucubrations cannot be overvalued. There are some who have gained themselves great reputation for physic by their birth, as *'//;^ Seventh Son of a Seventh Son" ^.wA others by not being born at all, as " the Unborn Doctor" who, I hear, is lately gone out of the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per annum, though he was not born to a halfpenny. I40 JOSEPH ADDISON My ingenious friend, Doctor Saffold, succeeded my old contemporary, Doctor Lilly, in the studies both ol Physic and Astrology, to which he added that of Poetry, as was to be seen both upon the sign where he lived, and in the Bills which he distributed. He was succeeded by Doctor Case, who erased the verses of his predeces- sor out of the sign-post, and substituted two of his own, which were as follows ; Within this Place Lives Doctor Case. He is said to have got more by this distich than Mr. Dryden did by all his Works. There would be no end of enumerating the several im- aginary perfections and unaccountable ways by which this tribe of men ensnare the minds of the vulgar, and gain crowds of admirers. I have seen the whole front of a mountebank's stage, from one end to the other, faced with Patents, Certificates, Medals, and Great Seals, by which the several Princes of Europe have testified their particular respect and esteem for the Doctor. Every great man with a sounding title has been his patient. I believe I have seen twenty mountebanks who have given physic to the Czar of Muscovy. The great Duke of Tuscany escapes no better. The Elector of Brandenburg was likewise a very good patient. This great conde- scension of the Doctor draws upon him much good-will from his audience, and it is ten to one, but if any of them be troubled with an aching tooth, his ambition will prompt him to get it drawn by a person who has had so many Princes, Kings, and Emperors under his hands. I must not leave this subject without observing that, as Physicians are apt to deal in Poetry, Apothecaries endeavor to recommend themselves by Oratory, and are therefore without controversy the most eloquent per- sons in the whole British Nation. I would not willingly discourage any of the Arts — especially that of which I am an humble Professor ; but I must confess, for the good of my native Country, I could wish there might be a suspension of Physic for some years, that our King- dom, which has been so much exhausted by wars, might have leave to recruit itself. As for myself, the JOSEFH ADDISON 141 only physic which has brought me safe to almost the age of man, and which I prescribe to all my friends, is Abstinence. This is certainly the best physic for prevention, and very often the most effectual against the present distemper. In short, my recipe is : Take Nothing. Were the Body Politic to be physicked like partic- ular persons, I should venture to prescribe for it in the same manner. I remember when our whole island was shaken by an earthquake some years ago, there was an impudent mountebank who sold Pills which (as he told the country people) were " very good against an earth- quake." It may perhaps be thought as absurd to pre- scribe a diet for the allaying popular commotions and national ferments. But I am verily persuaded that if in such a case a whole people were to enter into a course of Abstinence, and eat nothing but water-gruel for a fortnight, it would abate the rage and animosity of parties, and not a little contribute to the cure of a distracted nation. Such a fast would have a natural tendency to the procuring of those ends for which a fast is usually proclaimed. If any man has a mind to enter on such a voluntary abstinence, it might not be improper to give him the caution of Pythagoras in par- ticular : Abstinea Fabis — "Abstain from Beans." That is, say the interpreters, " Meddle not with Elections " — Beans having been made use of by the voters among the Athenians in the choice of magistrates. — The Tattler^ No. 240, October 21 ^ 1710. Most of Addison's contributions to Tke Tattler are humorous in their form, aiming to satirize the follies of the time. His last paper, which appeared in one of the latest issues of The Tattler, is of a wholly serious character, being introductory to the timely reprinting of the famous " Prayer or Song of Praise made by My Lord Bacon, Chan- cellor of England." 142 JOSEPH ADDISON' SPECIAL PERIODS OF DEVOTION. I have heard that it is a rule among the conventuals of several Orders in the Romish Church to shut them- selves up at a certain time of the year, not only from the world in general, but from the members of their own fraternity, and to pass away several days by them- selves in settling accounts between their Maker and their own souls, in cancelling unrepented crimes, and renewing their contracts of obedience for the future. Such stated times for particular Acts of Devotion, or the exercise of certain religious duties, have been en- joined in all civil governments, whatever Deity they worshipped, or whatever Religion they professed. That which may be done at all times is often totally neglected or forgotten, unless fixed and determined to some time more than another ; and therefore, though several duties may he suitable to everyday of our lives, they are more likely to be performed if some daj^s are more particularly set apart for the practice of them. Our Church has accordingly instituted several Seasons of Devotion, when time, custom, prescription, and (if I may so say) the Fashion itself, call upon a man to be attentive to the great end of his bemg. I have hinted, in some former papers, that the great- est and wisest of men in all ages and countries — partic- ularly in Rome and Greece — were renowned for their piety and virtue. It is now my intention to show how those in our own nation that have been unquestionably the most eminent for learning and knowledge were likewise the most eminent for their adherence to the religion of their country. I might produce very shining examples from among the clergy ; but because Priest- craft is the common cry of every cavilling empty scrib- bler, I shall show that all the laymen who have exerted a more than ordinary genius in their writings, and were jj.e glory of their times, were men whose hopes were filled with Immortality and the prospect of future re- wards ; and men who lived in dutiful submission to all the doctrines of Revealed Religion. I shall in this paper only instance Sir Francis Bacon, JOSEPH ADDISON' 143 a man who for the greatness of genius, and the com- pass of knowledge, did honor to his age and country ; I could almost say to human nature itself. He possessed at once all those extraordinary talents which were divided amongst the greatest authors of antiquity. He had the sound, distinct, comprehensive knowledge of Aristotle, with all the beautiful lights, graces, and em- bellishments of Cicero. One does not know which to admire most in his writings, the strength of Reason, force of Style, or brightness of Imagination. . . . I was infinitely pleased to find among the works of this extraordinary man a Prayer of his own composing which, for the elevation of thought and greatness of ex- pression, seems rather the devotion of an angel than of a man. His principal fault seems to have been the ex- cess of that virtue which covers a multitude of faults. This betrayed him to so great an indulgence toward his servants, who made a corrupt use of it, which stripped him of all those riches and honors which a long series of merits had heaped upon him. But in this Prayer, at the time we find him prostrating himself before the mercy- seat, and humbled under the afflictions which at that time lay heavy upon him, we see him supported by the sense of his integrity, his zeal, and his devotion, and his love to mankind ; which gave him a much higher figure in the minds of thinking men than the greatness had do le from which he had fallen. I shall beg leave tc write down the Prayer itself, with the title to it, as it was found among his Lordship's papers, written in hig own hand ; not being able to furnish my reader with an entertainment more suitable to this solemn time. [Here follows Bacon's " Prayer or Psalm."] — The Tattler ^ Nc, 26j^ December 2j^ lyio. But by far the greater part of the Essays, upon which Addison's fame rests, were contributed to The Spectator. This periodical was planned by Ad. dison in conjunction with Richard Steele, and wa? to consist of papers supposed to be written by a club who had united for that purpose. The first 144 JOSE J* If ADDISON" number appeared on Thursday, March i, 171 1, and was continued daily — Sundays excepted — until the close of 1712 ; the last paper but one fur- nished by Addison (No. 540, November 29th) con- tained an announcement by the imaginary " Spec- tator" that " The Club, of which I am a member, being entirely dispersed, I shall consult my readers next week, upon a project relating to the institu- tion of a new one." The first number of the new Spectator appeared in June, 17 14, and was issued three times a week for about three months. Some- thing more than half the papers were furnished by Addison. But the new Spectator failed to supply the place of the old one. There is no one essay in it which has fixed itself in the public mind. In fact it must be pronounced dull. The best of these papers is the following, which has in it much of the old vein: THE DISTRIBUTION OF HUMAN CALAMITIES. It is a celebrated thought of Socrates, that if all the misfortunes of mankind were cast into a public stock, in order to be equally distributed among the whole spe- cies, those who now think themselves the most unhappy would prefer the share ti:ey are already possessed of, before that which would fall to them by such a division. Horace has carried this thought a great deal further, and implies that the hardships or misfortunes we lie under are more easy to us than those of any other per- son would be, in case we could change conditions with him. I was ruminating upon these two remarks, and seated in my elbow chair, I insensibly fell asleep ; when, on a sudden, methought there was a proclamation made by Jupiter that every mortal should bring in his griefs and calamities, and throw them together in a heap. There was a large plain appointed for the purpose. I took my JOSEPH ADDISON- 145 stand in the centre of it, and saw with a great deal of pleasure the whole human species marching up one after another, and throwing down their several loads, which immediately grew up into a prodigious mountain that seemed to rise above the clouds. There was a certain lady of a thin, airy shape, who was very active in this solemnity. She carried a magnifying-glass in one of her hands. There was something wild and distracted in her looks. Her name was Fancy. She led up every mortal to the appointed place, after having very officiously aided him in making up his pack, and laying it upon his shoulders. My heart melted within me to see my fel- low-creatures groaning under their respective burdens, and to consider that prodigious bulk of human calami- ties which lay before me. There were, however, several persons who gave me great diversion upon this occasion. I observed one bring in a fardel very carefully concealed under an old embroidered cloak, which, upon his throwing it into a heap, I discovered to be Poverty. Another, after a great deal of puffing, threw down his luggage, which, upon examining, I found to be his wife. There were multi- tudes of lovers, saddled with very whimsical burdens, composed of darts and flames ; but what was very odd, though they sighed as if their hearts would break under these bundles of calamities, they could not persuade themselves to cast them into the heap, when they came up to it ; but after a few faint efforts shook their heads, and marched away as heavy loaden as they came. I saw multitudes of old women throw down their wrinkles ; and several young ones who stripped them- selves of a tawny skin. There were very great heaps of red noses, large lips, and rusty teeth. The truth of it is, I was surprised to see the greatest part of the mountain made up of bodily deformities. There were likewise distempers of all sorts, though I could not but observe that there were many more imaginary than real. One little packet I could not but take notice of, which was a complication of all the diseases incident to human nature, and was in the hands of a great many fine peo- ple ; this was called the Spleen. But what most surprised me was a remark I made, Vol. I.— 10 146 JOSEPH ADDISON' that there was not a single Vice or Folly thrown into the whole heap ; at which I was very much astonished, having concluded within myself that every one would take this opportunity of getting rid of his passions, prej- udices, and fra'lties. I took notice in particular of a very profligate fellow, who, I did not question, came loaden with his Crimes ; but upon searching into his bundle, I found that instead of throwing his guilt from him, he had only laid down his Memory. He was fol- lowed by another worthless rogue, who flung away his Modesty instead of his Ignorance. . . . I saw, with unspeakable pleasure, the whole species thus delivered from its sorrow ; though, at the same time, there was scarce a mortal in this vast multitude who did not discover in this vast heap what he thought pleasures and blessings of life ; and wondered how the owners of them ever came to look upon them as bur- thens and grievances. As we were regarding very at- tentively this confusion of miseries — this chaos of calamity — Jupiter issued out a second proclamation, that every one was now at liberty to exchange his af- fliction, and to return to his habitation with any such other bundle as should be delivered to him. Upon this Fancy began again to bestir herself, and parcelling out the whole heap with incredible activity, recommended to every one his particular packet. The hurry and confusion at this time was not to be ex- pressed. A venerable gray-headed man, who had laid down the Colic, and who I found wanted an Heir to his estate, snatched up an undutiful son that had been thrown into the heap by his angry father. The grace- less youth, in less than a quarter of an hour, had the old gentleman by the beard, and had like to have knocked his brains out ; so that meeting the true father, who came toward him in a fit of the gripes, he begged him to take his son again, and give him back his Colic ; but they were incapable either of them to recede from the choice they had made. A poor galley-slave, who had thrown down his chains, took up the Gout in its stead ; but made such wry faces that one might easily perceive he was no great gainer by the bargain. It was pleasant enough to see the several exchanges JOSEPH ADDISON 147 that were made : Sickness against Poverty, Hunger against Want of Appetite, and Care against Pain, The female world were very busy among themselves barter- ing for features. One was trucking a lock of gray hair for a carbuncle ; another was making over a short waist for a pair of round shoulders ; and a third was cheapen- ing a bad face for a lost reputation. But on all these occasions there was not one of them who did not think the new blemish as soon as she had got it into her pos- session much more disagreeable than the old one. I made the same observation on every other misfortune or calamity which every one in the assembly brought upon himself in lieu of what he had parted with, . . . The heap was at last distributed among the two sexes, who made a most piteous sight as they wandered up and down under the pressure of their several burthens. The whole plain was filled with murmurs and complaints, groans and lamentations. Jupiter at length, taking compassion on the poor mortals, ordered them a second time to lay down their loads, with a design to give every one his own again, Tliey discharged themselves with a great deal of pleasure, after which the Phantom who had led them into such gross delusion was commanded to disappear. There was sent in her stead a goddess of a quite different figure : her name was Patience, She had no sooner placed herself by this mount of sorrows, but — what I thought very remarkable — the whole heap sank to such a degree that it did not appear a third part so big as it was before. She afterward returned every man his own proper calamity, and teaching him how to bear it in the most commodious manner, he marched off with it contentedly ; being very well pleased that he had not been left to his own choice as to the kind of evil which fell to his lot. — T/ie Spectator, No. Addison in 1713 contributed about fifty papers to Steele's Guardian, and wrote a considerable number of political and other essays; but his fame rests mainly upon The Spectator in its first form. Of the 550 numbers about 250 were by Ad- 148 JOSEPH ADDISON' dison ; and these are by far the best in the work. Macaulay even affirms that " his worst essay is as good as the best essay of any of his coadjutors." As The Spectator continued only two years, Addi- son must have written an average of between two and three essays every week. The subjects of these are of the most varied. On Monday, per- haps, there would be an ingenious allegory ; on Tuesday an Eastern apologue ; on Wednesday, a bit of character-painting ; on Thursday, a sketch from common life; on Friday, a good-natured but keen hit at some fashionable foible ; on Saturday, a religious meditation well fitted for the ensuing day of rest; and so on for alternate days for more than a hundred weeks, the author being all the while in constant occupation in important public offices. Selections can give only a very general idea of the manner and tone of essays so varied. A VISIT TO WESTMINSTER ABBEY. When I am in a serious humor, I very often walk by myself in Westminster Abbey ; where the gloominess of the place and the uses to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the conditions of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness which is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed a whole day in the churchyard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing my- self with the tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person but that he was born upon one day, and died upon another. The whole history of his life being comprehended in those two circumstances, that are common to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of Satire upon the fOSEPH ADDISON 149 departed persons, who had left no other memorial of them but that they were born and that they died. Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave; and saw in every shovel- ful of it that was thrown up, the fragment of a bone or skull intermixed with a kind of fresh mouldering earth, that some time or other had had a place in the compo- sition of a human body. Upon this, I began to con- sider with myself what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that an- cient cathedral ; how men and women, friends and ene- mies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst one another, and blended together in the same common mass ; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity lay undis- tinguished in the same promiscuous mass of matter. After having thus surveyed this great Magazine of Mortality, as it were, in the lump, I examined it more particularly by the accounts which I found on several of the monuments which are raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric. Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that, if it were possible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. There are others so excessively modest that they deliver the character of the person departed in Greek or Hebrew. I found there were poets who had no monu- ments, and likewise monuments which had no poets. I observed indeed that the present war had filled the church with many of these uninhabited monuments, which had been erected to the memory of persons whose bodies were perhaps buried in the plains of Blenheim, or m the bottom of the ocean. I could not but be very much delighted with several modern epitaphs, which are written with great elegance of expression and justness of thought, and therefore do honor to the living as well as to the dead. ... I have left the repository of our English Kings for the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my mind disposed for so serious an amusement. I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and ISO JOSEPH ADDISOI^ gloomy imaginations. But for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melan- choly ; and can therefore take a view of Nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this I can im- prove myself with those objects which others consider with terror. When I look upon the tombs of the Great, every emotion of envy dies within me ; when I read the epitaphs of the Beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet with the grief of Parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tombs of the Parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly fol- low. When I see Kings lying side by side with those who deposed them ; when I consider rival Wits placed side by side, or the Holy Men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debases of Mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that Great Day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together. — T/ie Spectator, No. 26. VISIT TO THE ROYAL EXCHANGE. There is no place in the town which I so much love to frequent as the Royal Exchange. It gives me a secret satisfaction, and in some measure gratifies my vanity, as I am an Englishman, to see so rich an assem- bly of countrymen and foreigners consulting together on the private business of mankind, and making this metropolis a kind of Emporium for the whole earth. I must confess that I look upon High-Change to be a great Council, in which all considerable nations have their representatives. Factors in the trading world are what Ambassadors are in the politic world : they nego- tiate affairs, and maintain a good correspondence be- tween those wealthy societies of men that are divided from one another by seas and oceans, or live on the different extremities of a continent. I am infinitely de- lighted in mixing with these several Ministers of Com- JOSEPH ADDISON- 151 merce, as they are distinguished by their different walks and different languages. Sometimes I am jostled among a body of Americans ; sometimes I am lost in a crowd of Jews ; and sometimes make one in a group of Dutchmen. I am a Dane, Swede, a Frenchman at dif- ferent times, or, rather, fancy myself like the old phi- losopher, who, upon being asked what countryman he was, replied that he was a " Citizen of the World." . . . This grand scene of business gives me an infinite variety of solid and substantial entertainments. As I am a great lover of Mankind, my heart naturally over- flows with pleasure at the sight of a prosperous and happy multitude insomuch that at many public solem- nities, I cannot forbear at expressing my joy with tears that have stolen down my cheeks. For this reason I am wonderfully delighted to see such a body of men thriving in their own private fortunes, and at the same time promoting the public stock ; or, in other words, raising estates for their own families, by bringing into their country whatever is wanting, and carrying out of it whatever is superfluous. Nature seems to have taken special care to dissemi- nate her blessings among the different regions of the world, with an eye to this mutual intercourse and traffic among mankind, that the natives of the several parts of the globe might have a kind of dependence upon one another, and be united together by their common interest. Almost every degree produces something pe- culiar to it. The food often grows in one country, and the sauce in another. The fruits of Portugal are cor- rected by the sauce of Barbadoes ; the infusion of a China plant sweetened with the pith of an Indian cane ; the Philippine Islands give a flavor to our European bowls. The single dress of a woman of quality is often the product of a hundred climates ; the muff and the fan come together from the different ends of the earth ; the scarf is sent from the torrid zone, and the tippet from beneath the pole ; the brocaded petticoat rises out of the mines of Peru, and the diamond necklace out of the bowels of Indostan. If we consider our own country in its natural pros- pect, without any of the benefits and advantages of 152 JOSEPH ADDISON commerce, what a barren, uncomfortable spot of earth falls to our share ! Natural historians tell us that na fruit grows originally among us, besides hips and haws^ acorns and pig-nuts, with other delicacies of the like nature ; that our climate of itself, and without the assistance of art, can make no further advances tow- ards a plum than to a sloe, and carries an apple to no greater a perfection than a crab ; that our melons, our peaches, our figs, our apricots, and cherries, are stran- gers among us, imported in different ages ; and that they would all degenerate and fall away into the trash of our own country, if they were wholly neglected by the planter, and left to the mercy of our sun and soil. Nor has traffic more enriched our vegetable world than it has improved the whole face of Nature among us. Our ships are laden with the harvest of every climate ; our tables are stored with spices and oils and wines. Our rooms are filled with pyramids of China, and adorned with the workmanship of Japan. Oui! morning's draught comes to us from the remotest cor- ners of the earth. We repair our bodies by the drugs of America, and repose ourselves under Indian cano- pies. My friend, Sir Andrew, calls the vineyards of France our gardens ; the Spice Islands our hot-beds ; the Persians our silk-weavers, and the Chinese our pot- ters. Nature indeed furnishes with the bare necessaries of life ; but traffic gives us a great variety of what is useful, and at the same time supplies us with everything that is convenient and ornamental. . . . For these reasons, there are not more useful members in a commonwealth than Merchants. They knit man- kind together in a mutual intercourse of good offices ; distribute the gifts of Nature ; find work for the poor, and wealth to the rich, and magnificence to the great. Our English merchant converts the tin of his own country into gold, and exchanges his wool for rubies. The Mahometans are clothed in our British manufact- ures and the inhabitants of the frozen zone warmed with the fleeces of our sheep. When I have been standing upon the Change, I have often fancied one of our old Kings standing in person where he is represented in effigy, and looking down JOSEPH ADDISON- 153 upon the wealthy concourse of people with which that place is every day filled. In this case how would he be surprised to hear all the languages of Europe spoken in this little spot of his former dominions, and to see so many private men, who in his time would have been the vassals of some powerful baron, negotiating like Princes for greater sums of money than were formerly to be met with in the royal treasury ! Trade, without en- larging the British territories, has given us a kind of additional Empire, It has multiplied the number of the rich, made our landed estates infinitely more valuable than they were formerly, and added to them estates as valuable as the land itself, — Spectator^ No. 6p. THE DISSECTION OF A BEAU's HEAD. I was invited to the dissection of a Beau's Head. An operator opened it with a great deal of nicety ; and upon a cursory and superficial view, it appeared like the head of another man ; but upon applying our glasses to it, we made a very odd discovery, namely, that what we looked upon as brains were not such in reality, but a heap of strange materials wound up in that shape and texture, and packed together with wonderful art in the several cavities of the skull. For, as Homer tells us that the blood of the gods is not real blood, but only something like it, so we found that the brain of a beau is not a real brain, but only something like it. The Pineal Gland, which many of our modern philoS' ophers suppose to be the Seat of the Soul, smelt very strongly of essence and orange-flower water, and was encompassed with a kind of horny substance, cut into a thousand little faces or mirrors, which were impercep- tible to the naked eye ; insomuch that the Soul, if there had been any here, must have been always taken up in contemplating her own beauties. We observed a large antrum or cavity in the Sinciput, that was filled with ribbons, lace, and embroidery, wrought together in a most curious piece of network, the parts of which were likewise imperceptible to the naked eye. Another of these antrums or cavities was stuffed with invisible billet-doux, love-letters, pricked 154 JOSEPH ADDISON- dances, and other trumpery of the same nature. In an- other we found a kind of powder, which set the whole company sneezing, and by the scent discovered itself to be " right Spanish." The several other cells were stored with commodities of the same kind, of which it would be tedious to give the reader an exact description. There was a large cavity on each side of the head, which I must not omit. That on the right side was filled with fictions, flatteries, and falsehoods, vows, promises, and protestations ; that on the left with oaths and imprecations. There issued out a duct from each of these cells, which ran into the root of the tongue, where both joined together, and passed into one com- mon duct to the tip of it. We discovered several little roads or canals running from the ear into the brain, and took particular care to trace them out through their several passages. One of them extended itself to a bundle of sonnets and little musical instruments ; others ended in several bladders which were filled with wind or froth. But the large canal entered into a great cavity of the skull, from whence there went another canal into the tongue. This great cavity was filled with a kind of a spongy substance, which the French anatomists call Galimatias^ and the English, " Nonsense." The skins of the forehead were extremely tough and thick ; and what very much surprised us, had not in them any single blood-vessel that we were able to dis- cover, either with or without our glasses; from which we concluded that the party when alive must have been entirely deprived of the faculty of blushing. The Os Cribriforme was exceedingly stuffed, and in some places damaged by snuff. We could not but take notice in particular of that small muscle, which is not often discovered in dissections, and draws the nose up- wards, when it expresses the contempt which the owner of it has, upon seeing anything he does not like, or hear- ing anything he does not understand. I need not tell my learned reader, that this is that muscle which per- forms the motion so often mentioned by the Latin poets, when they talk of a man's " cocking his nose," or " play- ing rhinoceros." We did not find anything remarkable in the Eye, sav- JOSEPH ADDISON" I55 ing only that the Micsculi amatorit, or, as we may trans- late it into English, the ** Ogling Muscles," were very much worn and decayed with use ; whereas, on the con- trary, the Elevator, or the muscle which turns the eye toward heaven, did not appear to have been used at all. I have only mentioned in this dissection such new dis- coveries as we were able to make, and have not taken any notice of those parts which are to be met with in common heads. As for the skull, the face, and indeed the whole outward shape and figure of the head, we could not discover any difference from what we discover in the heads of other men. V/e were informed that the person to whom this head belonged had passed for a Man above five-and-thirty years, during which time he ate and drank like other people ; dressed well, talked loud, laughed frequently, and on particular occasions has acquitted himself tolerably at a ball or an assembly: to which one of the company added, that a certain knot of ladies took him for a Wit. — Spectator^ No. 2jj. THE TRANSMIGRATION OF PUG, THE MONKEY. Will Honeycomb told us that Jack Freelove, who was a fellow of whim, made love to one of those ladies who throw away all their fondness upon parrots, monkeys, and lap-dogs. Upon going to pay her a visit one morn- ing he wrote a very pretty epistle upon this hint. Jack, says Will, was conducted into the parlor, where he di- verted himself for some time with her favorite monkey, which was chained in one of the windows ; till at length observing a pen and ink lie by him, he writ the follow- ing letter to his mistress, in the person of her monkey ; and upon her not coming down so soon as he expected, left it in the window and went about his business. The lady soon after coming into the parlor, and seeing her monkey look upon a paper with great earnestness, took it up and to this day is in some doubt — says Will— whether it was written by Jack or the Monkey : " Madam — Not having the gift of speech, I have for a long time waited in vain for an opportunity of making myself known to you ; and having at present the con- 156 JOSEPH ADDISON" venience of pen, ink, and paper by me, I gladly take the occasion of giving you my history in writing, whicK I could not do by word of mouth : " You must know, Madam, that about a thousaad years ago I was an Indian Brachman, and versed in all those mysterious secrets which your European philoso- pher, called Pythagoras, is said to have learned from our fraternity. I had so ingratiated myself by my great skill in the occult sciences with a Dcemon whom I used to converse with, that he prom.ised to grant me what- ever I should ask of him. I desired that my soul might never pass into the body of a brute creature ; but this he told me was not in his power to grant me. I then begged that into whatever creature I should chance to transmigrate, I might still retain my memory, and be conscious that I was the same person who had lived in different animals. " This he told me was within his power, and accord- ingly promised, on the word of a Deemon, that he would grant me what I desired. From that time forth I lived so very unblamably that I was made President of a College of Brachmans — an office which I discharged with great integrity till the day of my death. "I was then shuffled into another human body, and acted my part so well in it that I became First Minister to a Prince who lived upon the banks of the Ganges. 1 here lived in great honor for several years, but by degrees lost all the innocence of the Brachman, being obliged to rifle and oppress the people to enrich my sovereign; till at length I became so odious that my master, to recover his credit with his subjects, shot me through the heart with an arrow as I was one day ad^ dressing myself to him at the head of his army. ** Upon my next remove I found myself in the woods under the shape of a Jackall, and soon lifted myself into the service of a lion. I used to yelp near his den about midnight, which was his time of rousing and seeking after his prey. He always followed me in the rear, and when I had run down a fat buck, a wild goat, or a hare, after he had feasted very plentifully upon it himself, would now and then throw me a bone that was half-picked, for my encouragement ; but upon my being JOSEPH ADD/SON 157 unsuccessful in two or three chases, he gave .uc stich a confounded grip in his anger that I died of it. " In my next transmigration I was again set upon two legs, and became an Indian Tax-gatherer ; but having been guilty of great extravagances, and being married to an expensive jade of a wife, I ran so curs- edly in debt that I durst not show my head. I could no sooner step out of my house but I was arrested by somebody or other that lay in wait for me. As I vent- ured abroad one night in the dusk of the evening, I was taken up and hurried into a dungeon, where I died a few months after. " My soul then entered into a flying fish, and in that state I led a most melancholy life for the space of six years. Several fishes of prey pursued me when I was in the water, and if I betook myself to my wings, it was ten to one but I had a flock of birds aiming at me. As I was one day flying amidst a fleet of English ships, I observed a huge Sea-gull whetting his bill and hover- ing just over my head. Upon my dipping into the Kater to avoid him, I fell into the mouth of a monstrous shark that swallowed me down in an instant. " I was some years afterward, to my great surprise, an eminent Banker in Lombard Street ; and remember- ing how I had formerly suffered for want of money, became so very sordid and avaricious that the whole town cried shame upon me. I was a miserable little old fellow to look upon, for I had in a manner starved myself, and was nothing but skin and bone v/hen I died. " I was afterward very much troubled and amazed to find myself dwindled to an Emmet. I was heartily concerned to make so insignificant a figure, and did noc know but some time or other I might be reduced to a mite, if I did not mend my manners. I therefore ap- plied myself with great diligence to the offices that were allotted to me, and was generally looked upon as the notablest ant in the whole molehill. I was at last picked up, as I was groaning under a burden, by an unlucky cock-sparrow that lived in the neighborhood, and had before made great depredations upon our com- monwealth. 158 JOSEPH ADDISON- " I then bettered my condition a little, and lived a whole summer in the shape of a Bee ; but being tired of the painful and penurious life I had undergone in my last two transmigrations, I fell into the other ex- treme and turned Drone. As I one day headed a party to plunder a hive, we were received so warmly by the swarm which defended it that we were for the most part left dead upon the spot. " I might tell of many other transmigrations which I went through : How I was a Town Rake, and after- ward did penance in a bay Gelding for ten years ; as also how I was a Tailor, a Shrimp, and a Tom-tit. In the last of these my shapes I was shot in the Christ- mas holidays by a young jackanapes, who would needs try his new gun upon me. " But I shall pass over these, and several other stages of life to remind you of the young Beau, who made Jove to you about six years since. You may remember, Madam, how he masked and danced, and sung, and played a thousand tricks to gain you ; and how he was at last carried off by a cold that he had got under your window one night in a serenade. I was that unfortunate young fellow whom you were then so cruel to. ** Not long after my shifting that unlucky body, I found myself upon a hill in Ethiopia, where I lived in my present grotesque shape, till I was caught by a servant of the English factory and sent over into Great Britain. I need not inform you how I came into your hand. You see, Madam, this is not the first time you have had me in a chain. I am, however, very happy in this my captivity, as you often bestow on me those kisses and caresses which I would have given the world for when I was a man. I hope this discovery of my person will not tend to my disadvantage ; but that you will still continue your accustomed favors to Your most devoted and humble Servant, Pug. "P. S. I would advise your little Shock-dog to keep out of my way ; for, as I look upon him to be the most formidable of my rivals, I may chance one time or other to give him such a snap as he won't like." — The Spectator ^ No. 343. JOSEPH ADDISON- I59 Some of Addison's essays in The Spectator form connected series, each of which would constitute a considerable volume. Among these are the critiques upon Milton's Paradise Lost and upon the English Ballads. Of these Macaulay says : " They are always luminous, and often ingenious. The very worst of them must be regarded as creditable to him, when the character of the school in which he had been trained is fairly con- sidered. The best of them were much too good for his readers. In truth, he was not so far be- hind our generation as he was before his own." The essays in which Sir Roger de Coverly and his friends appear as characters " can hardly," continues Macaulay, " be said to form a plot ; yet they are related with such truth, such grace, such wit, such humor, such pathos, such knowl- edge of the human heart, such knowledge of the ways of the world, that they charm us on the hundredth perusal. We have not the least doubt that if Addison had written a novel on an exten- sive plan, it would have been superior to any that we possess. As it is, he is entitled to be consid- ered not only as the greatest of the English Es- sayists, but as the forerunner of the great English Novelists." These papers are brought to a fitting close by the account of the death of the good old Knight: THE DEATH OP SIR ROGER DE COVERLY. We last night received a piece of ill news at our Club, which very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I ques- tion not but my readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To keep them no longer in suspense, l6o JOSEPH ADDISON Sir Roger de Coverly is dead. He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of his cor- respondents in those parts, that informs him the old man caught a cold at the county-sessions, as he was warmly promoting an Address of his own penning in which he succeeded according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig Justice of the Peace, who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antagonist. I have letters from the Chaplain and Captain Sentry, which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many particu- lars to the honor of the death of the good old man. I have likewise a letter from the Butler who took such care of me last summer when I was at the Knight's house. As my friend the Butler mentions in the sim- plicity of his heart several circumstances the others have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his letter without any alteration or diminution : *■'■ Honored Sir — Knowing that you were my master's good friend, I could not forbear sending you the mel- ancholy news of his death, which has afflicted the whole county, as well as his poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did our lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county-sessions, where he would go to see justice done to a poor widow woman, and her fatherless children, that had been wronged by a neighboring Gentleman ; for you know my good master was always the poor man's friend. " Upon his coming home the first complaint he made was, that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not being able to touch a sirloin, which was served up according to custom ; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good heart to the last. Indeed we were once in great hopes of his recovery, upon a kind message that was sent him from a widow Lady whom he had made love to the forty last years of his life ; but this only proved a lightening before his death. He has bequeathed to this Lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace, and a couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my good old Lady, his mother. JOSEPH ADDISON- l6i •' He has bequeathed the fine white gelding that he i;sed to ride a-hunting upon, to his Chaplain, because he thought he would be kind to him ; and he has left you all his books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the Chaplain a very pretty tenement with good lands about it. It being a very cold day when he made his will, he left for mourning, to every man in the parish, a great frieze-coat, and to every woman a black riding-hood. "It was a very moving sight to see him take leave of his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst we were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us are grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left us pensions and legacies, which we may live very comfortable upon the remain- ing part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal more in charity, which is not yet come to my knowl- edge ; and it is peremptorily said in the parish, that he has left money to build a steeple to the church ; for he was heard to say some time ago, that if he lived two years longer, Coverly Church should have a steeple to it. The Chaplain tells everybody that he made a very good end, and never speaks of him without tears. " He was buried, according to his own directions, among the family of the Coverlies, on the left hand of his father. Sir Arthur. The coffin was carried by six of his tenants, and the pall held by six of the Quorum. The whole parish followed the corpse, with heavy hearts, and in their mourning suits, the men in frieze, and the women in riding-hoods. " Captain Sentry, my master's nephew, has taken pos- session of the Hall-house, and the whole estate. When my old master saw him a little before his death, he shook him by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was falling to him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to pay the several legacies and the gifts of charity, which he told him he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The Captain truly seems a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes much of those whom my master loved, and shows great kindness to the old house-dog, that you know my poor master was so fond of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans the dumb creature made Vol. I.— II Ite JOSEPH ADDISON- on the day of my master's death. He has never joyed himself since ; no more has any of us. It was the mel- anchoHest day for the poor people that ever happened in Worcestershire. This being all from, Honored Sir, Your most Sorrowful Servant, Edward Biscuit. "/'. S. My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a book v/hich comes up to you by the carrier should be given to Sir Andrew Freeport in his name." This letter, notv/ithstanding the poor Butler's man- ner of writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend that there was not a dry eye in the Club. Sir Andrew, opening the book, found it to be a collection of Acts of Parliament. There was in particular the Act of Uniformity, with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir Andrew found that they re- lated to two or three points which he had disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the Club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an inci- dent on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's handwriting burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. Captain Sentry informs me that the Knight has left rings and mourning for everyone in the Club. —The Spectator, No. 5/7. ABLER, Felix, author and lecturer, was born in Alzey, Germany, August 13, 185 1. He is the son of a Hebrew rabbi, and came to the United States when quite young. He graduated at Columbia College in 1870, and afterward studied at Berlin, and at Heidelberg. From Heidelberg he received the degree of Ph.D. From 1874 to 1876 he was Professor of Hebrew and Oriental Literature at Cornell University. In 1876 he es- tablished in New York City the Society of Ethical Culture. Mr. Adler is the lecturer for this soci- ety, which supports a number of charities. His most important works are Creed and Deed (1878) and The Moral Instruction of Children (1892). IMMORTALITY. True disinterestedness is the distinguishing mark of every high endeavor. The pursuit of the artist is un- selfish, the beauty he creates is his reward. The toil of the scientist in the pursuit of abstract truth is un- selfish, the truth he sees is his reward. Why should we hesitate to acknowledge in the domain of ethics what we concede in the realm of art and science ? To say that unselfishness itself is only the more refined ex- pression of a selfish instinct, is to use the term selfish with a double meaning, is a mere empty play on words. We have the innate need of harmony in the moral rela- tions ; this is our glory, and the stamp of the Divine upon our nature. We cannot demonstrate the existence of disinterested motives any more than we can demon- strate that Ihcx'-e is joy in the sun!ir some object of public usefulness, or charity, we do not permit the munificence of the gift to deceive our ju'lgment. Perhaps he is merely desirous of vaunting his wealth, perhaps it is social standing he aims at, per- haps he is covetous of fame. If these suspicions prove well founded, the very men who accept his bounty will, in their secret hearts, despise him, and by a certain re- vulsion of feeling we shall resent his action all the more, because, not only is he destitute of honorable purpose, but he has filched the fair front of virtue, and defiled the laurel even in the wearing of it. We do not even accord the name of goodness to that easy, amiable sympathy which leads us to alleviate the sufferings of others, unless it be guided by wise regard for their permanent welfare. The tattered clothes, the haggard looks, the piteous pleading voice of the pau- per on the public highway may awaken our pity, but the system of indiscriminate alms-giving is justly con- demned as a weakness rather than a virtue. On the other hand, obedience to duty, when it involves pain and self-abnegation, seems to rise in the general estimation. Clearly because in this instance even the suspicion of interested motives is removed, since hard- ship, injury in estate and happiness, and even the possi- ble loss of life, are among the foreseen consequences of the act. It is for this reason that the Book of Martyrs has become the golden book of mankind, and that the story of their lives never fails to fill us with mingled sorrow and admiration and pride. They are monu- ments on the field of history, and milestones on the path of human progress. We regard them and gain new courage and confidence in our better selves. The blazing pyre on the Canipo Fiore, whereon Gior- dano Bruno breathes his last, becomes a beacon-light FELIX ABLER 165 for the truth-seeker ; the dying Socrates still pours be- I nignant peace over many a sufferer's couch ; the Man of sorrows, on Calvary, comforts the hearts of the Christian millions. In the presence of these high ex- ( amples the inadequacy of the selfish standard becomes ' clearly apparent. We recognize what a sublime quality \ that is in man which enables him, not only to triumph y over torment and suffering, but to devote his very self to destruction for the sake of honor and truth. Freely H must Virtue be wooed, not for the dowry she may ^ bring ; by loyal devotion to her for her own sake only, can she be won ! If thus it appears that not only is there nothing in the nature of Virtue to warrant a claim to reward, but that it is her very nature to disclaim any reward, 1 it will become plain that the problem, as stated in the beginning, rests upon an entirely false foundation. That the unrighteous and unprincipled should enjoy temporal happiness, does not offend the law of justice. That you, my good sir, honest in all your dealings, truthful in all your acts, should be unhappy, is greatly to be deplored. Why evil and unhappiness should have been allowed at all to enter a world created by an all good and all powerful Being may fairly be asked. Why those who possess the treasure of a clear conscience should not also possess the lesser goods of earth, is a question with which morality is in nowise concerned. Virtue can have no recompense, save as it is its own recompense, and vice can receive no real punishment, save as it is its own avenger. The hope of immortality, in so far as it is based upon the supposed necessity ot righting in a future state what is here wrong, is there- fore untenable, for it is based upon the assumption of a wrong which exists in the imagmation merely. And he who claims a reward because of his virtue, has thereby forfeited his right to Jtiaintain the claim, since that is not virtue which looks for rewo.rd. — Creed and Deed. JELIANUS, Claudius, a Roman rhetorician of the second century a.d., was born at Prasneste in Italy. He was a teacher of rhetoric at Rome, probably under Hadrian. On account of his ac- curacy and grace in speaking and writing Greek, he was surnamed the " Honey-tongued : " he was also called the " Sophist," from his occupation. He was very fond of retirement, and devoted himself to the study of Plato, Aristotle, Isocrates, Plutarch, Homer, Anacreon, etc., and, although he was a Roman, he gave preference to the Greek writers, and used the Greek language in his works. His entertaining work entitled Vai'ia Historia has many times been republished, as also his treatise, De Natura Attimalium. An edition of the latter work published by Schneider, at Leipsic, in 1784, is considered very useful; also that pub- lished by Fr. Jacobs in 1832. In an edition of his collected works by Gesner, 1556, another work, entitled EpistolcB RusticcE, is also attributed to him. His Varia Historia contains anecdotes of every kind, historical, biographical, and antiquarian, put together without any connection whatever, and was probably never intended for publication. THE SUCKING-FISH. The Echeneis is a sea-fish of a blackish aspect, about AS long as a middling eel. It is named Echeneis from (166) CLAUDIUS ^ LI ANUS 167 its strong faculty ; for, seizing upon the hind part of a ship, though under full sail, in a brisk wind, it will stop her course as a furious horse is restrained by a strong bit and bridle. In vain are the sails spread, and in vain do the winds blow; the passengers are terrified, but the sailors know the reason of it. — Jlisf. De Animal^ Lib, TWO FAMOUS EPIGRAMS, Short ears are an element of beauty. The whole of human virtue may be reduced to speak- ing the truth always, and doing good to others. JESCHINES, an Athenian orator, and the most noted rival of Demosthenes, born at Athens, 389 B.C.; died at Samos, 314 B.C. The accounts of his origin are contradictory. He entered into public service at an early age ; became an actor, served with credit in the army, and afterward appeared as a public orator. In 346 B.C. he was one of the ten ambassadors, among whom was Demosthenes, who were sent by the Athenians to neg^otiate a peace with Philip of Macedon. -<^schi- nes favored the alliance with Philip, and zealously opposed the policy advocated by Demosthenes. In 338 B.C. -^schines, after the battle of Chseronea, an Athenian, named Ctesiphon, proposed that the State should bestow the honor of a golden crown upon Demosthenes, ^schines brought a charge against Ctesiphon of having introduced an illegal measure into the assemblage. The case was not brought to trial until six years after, when Philip was dead. The action, though nominally against Ctesiphon, was really an impeachment of Demos- thenes. The oration of Demosthenes On the Crown^ in reply to -^schines, is one of his most famous productions. Ctesiphon, or, rather, Demosthenes, was acquitted, and ^schines was mulcted in a heavy fine for having brought forward a factious resolution. He was unable to pay the fine, and went to the island of Samos, where he taught (168) MSCHINES 169 oratory with great success. Only three of his orations are extant ; one on his Embassy, one against Timarchus, and the one against Ctesiphon. These orations are distinguished by a happy flow of words, by an abundance and clearness of ideas, and by an air of great ease, which arose less from art than nature. AGAINST CTESIPHON. yrhe Exordium^ You see, Athenians, what forces are prepared, what numbers are formed, and arrayed, what soliciting through the Assembly, by a certain party ; and all this to oppose the fair and ordinary course of justice in the State. As to me, I stand in firm reliance, first, on the Immortal Gods ; next on the Laws and you, convinced that Faction never can have greater weight with you than Law and Justice. . . . Let it also be remembered that the whole body of our citizens hath now committed their State,their Liberties into your hands. Some of them are present waiting the event of this trial ; others are called away to attend on their pri- vate affairs. Show the due reverence to these ; re- member your oaths and your laws ; and if we convict Ctesiphon of having proposed decrees, illegal, false, and detrimental to the State, reverse these illegal decrees, assert the freedom of your Constitution, and punish those who have administered your affairs in opposition to your Laws, in contempt of your Constitution, and in total disregard of your interests. If with these sen- timents impressed on your minds, you attend to what is now to be proposed, you must, I am convinced, proceed to a decision just and religious — a decision of the ut- most advantage to yourselves and to the State. As to the general nature of this prosecution, thus far have I premised, and I trust, without offence. Let me now re- quest your attention to a few words about the laws rel- ative to persons accountable to the Public, which have been violated by the decree proposed by Ctesiphon. . . . \The Peroration?^ And now bear witness for me, thou Z70 jESCHINES Earth, thou Sun ; O Virtue and Intelligence, and thou, O Erudition, which teacheth us the just distinction be- tween Vice and Virtue, I have stood up, I have spoken in the cause of Justice. I have supported my prosecu- tion with a dignity befitting its importance. I have spoken as my wishes dictated ; if too deficiently, as my abilities admitted. Let what hath now been offered, and what your own thoughts must supply, be duly weighed ; and do you pronounce such a sentence as justice and the interests of the State demand. — Transla- tion of Leland. mm yESCHYLUS, the earliest of the three great Greek tragic poets, born at Eleusis, 525 B.C.; died at Gela, in Sicily, 456 B.C. He was of a noble family, tracing its descent from Codrus, the last King of Athens. His first attempt as a tragic poet was made at the age of twenty-five. He sub- sequently distinguished himself as a soldier, being present at the battles of Marathon, Salamis, and Plataea. He gained his first tragic prize at an early age, and subsequently another for a " tril- ogy " or series of three dramas presented consec- utively at a single representation. One of these was the Persiaiis^ which is still extant. He gained in all thirteen prizes for tragedy ; but when he was fifty-seven years of age, he was defeated for the prize by Sophocles. He soon after left Athens and took up his residence in Sicily, be- cause, as is said by some, he had suffered this de- feat by Sophocles; but according to others, the reason was that he was charged with impiety in having divulged the Eleusinian mysteries into which he had been initiated. A legend of very doubtful autlienticity states that he was killed by a tortoise which an eagle let fall upon the bald head of the poet, which he mistook for a stone, ^schylus is said to have been the author of seventy dramas, of which all but five were trag- edies. Of these, seven are extant entire, and there C171) 172 ^SCHYLUS are fragments of several others preserved in quo- tations by various authors. The extant dramas are : the Seven Against Thebes, the Suppliants, the Persians, the Prometheus Bound, the Agamemnon, the Libation-bearers, and the Euniejiides. ^schy- lus is the grandest of the Attic tragic poets. His artistic creed is that there is a blind, overruling, omnipresent, inevitable Fate, or Necessity, against which neither gods nor men can contend success^ fully, and from which they cannot escape ; and yet it is the glory and the duty of the great good man to struggle to the end with undaunted resolution. Running all through his dramas is the idea of " ancestral guilt, continually reproducing itself and continually punished from generation to genera- tion; of hapless kindred criminals, who would not be such if they could avoid it ; but who are goaded on to the commission of ever new atroci- ties by the hereditary curse of their doomed race ; predestined murderers, adulterers, and par- acides, inextricably involved in the dark net of Necessity." THE BINDING OF PROMETHEUS. [Prometheus is led in by Heph^stos and others : Heph- .(ESTOS Speaks .•] thou, Themis, wise in Counsel, son, Full of deep purpose, lo ! against my will, 1 fetter thee against thy will with bonds Of bronze that none can loose, to this lone height. Where thou shalt know nor voice nor face of man. But scorching in the hot blaze of the Sun, Shalt lose thy skin's fair beauty. Thou shalt long For starry-mantled night to hide day's sheen, ^SCHYLUS 173 For sun to melt the rime of early dawn ; And evermore the weight of present ill Shall wear thee down. Unborn as yet is he Who shall release thee : this the fate thou gain'st As due reward for thy philanthropy. For thou, a god, not fearing wrath of gods, In thy transgression gav'st their power to men ; And therefore on this rock of little ease Thou shalt keep thy watch, nor lying down, Nor knowing sleep, nor even bending knee ; And many groans and wailing profitless Thy lips shall utter ; for the mind of Zeus Remains inexorable. Who holds a power But newly gained is ever stern of mood. — Prometheus Bound, Translation of Plumptre. THE SOLILOQUY OF PROMETHEUS. O divine aether, and ye swift-winged winds, and ye fountains of rivers, and countless dimplings of the waves of the deep ! and thou Earth, mother of all, and to the all-seeing orb of the Sun, I appeal ! Look upon me, what treatment I, a god, am enduring at the hand of the gods ! Behold with what indignities mangled I shall have to wrestle through time of years innumer- able. Such an ignominious bondage hath the new ruler of the immortals devised against me. Alas ! alas ! I sigh over the present suffering, and that which is com- ing on. How, where, must a termination of these toils arise? And yet what is it I am saying? I know be- forehand all futurity exactly, and no suffering will come upon me unlooked for. But I needs must bear my doom as easily as may be, knowing, as I do, that the might of Necessity cannot be resisted. But it is not possible for me either to hold my peace, or not to hold my peace, touching these my fortunes. For having bestowed boons upon mortals, I am enthralled unhappily in these hardships. And I am he that hath searched out the source of fire, by stealth borne off enclosed in a fennel- stalk, which hath shown itself a teacher of every art to mortals, and a great resource. Such then as this is the 174 MSCHYLUS vengeance that I endure for my trespasses, being riveted In fetters beneath the naked sky. — Prometheus Bound^ Literal Translation of Buckley. THE WARNING OF HERMES TO PROMETHEUS. I have, methinks, said much in vain ; For still thy heart, beneath my shower of prayers, Lies dry and hard — nay, leaps like a young horse Who bites against the new bit in his teeth, And tugs and struggles against the new-tried rein- Still fiercest in the feeblest thing of all — Which sophism is, since absolute Will disjoined From perfect Mind is worse than weak. Behold, Unless my words persuade thee, what a blast And whirlwind of inevitable woe Must sweep persuasion through thee ! For at first The Father will split up this jut of rock With the great th.under and the bolted flame, And hide thy body where a hinge of stone Shall catch it like an arm ; and when thou hast passed A long black time within, thou shalt come out To front the sun while Zeus's winged hound. The strong carnivorous eagle, shall wheel down To meet thee, self-called to a daily feast. And set his fierce beak in thee, and tear off The long rags of thy flesh, and batten deep Upon thy dusky liver. Do not look For any end moreover to this curse. Or ere some good appear, to accept thy pangs On his own head vicarious, and descend With unreluctant step the darks of hell And gloomy abysses around Tartarus. Then ponder this ! — this threat is not a growth Of vain invention; it is spoken and meant ! King Zeus's mouth is impotent to lie Consummating the utterance by the act : — So, look to it, thou ! — take heed — and nevermore Forget good counsel to indulge self-will. — Prometheus Bound, Translation of Y^ui.k'B'S.th B.ir- RETT Browning. MSCHYLUS 175 THE BEACON-LIGHTS. Hephaistos — sending a bright blaze from Idfe, Beacon did beacon send, from fire the poster, Hitherward : Ide to the rock Hermaian Of Lemnos ; and a third great torch o' the island Zeus's seat received in turn, the Athoan summit. And — so upsoaring as to stride sea over. The strong lamp-voyager, and all for joyance — Did the gold-glorious splendor, any sun like. Pass on — the pine-tree — to Makistos's watch-place ; Who did not — tardy — caught, no wits about him, By sleep — decline his portion of the missive And far the beacon's light, in stream Euripos Arriving, made aware Messapios's warders, And up they lit in turn, played herald onward, Kindling with flame a heap of gray old heather, And strengthening still, the lamp, decaying nowise^ Springing o'er Plain Asopos — full-moon fashion. Effulgent — toward the crag of Mount Kithairon, Roused a new rendering-up of fire the escort — And light — far escort, lacked no recognition O' the guard — as burning more than burnings told you. And over Lake Gorgopis light went leaping, And at Mount Aigiplanktos safe arriving. Enforced the law — " to never stint the fire-stuff." And they send, lighting up with ungrudged vigor, Of flame a huge beard, ay, the very foreland, So as to strike above, in burning onward. The look-out which commands the Strait Saronic. Then did it dart until it reached the outpost, Mount Arachnaios here, the city's neighbor : And then darts to this roof of the Atreidai This light of Ide's fire not unforefathered ! Such are the rules prescribed the flambeau-bearer ; He beats that's first and also last in running. Such is the proof and token I declare thee. My husband having sent me news from Troia : Troia do tlie Achaioi hold this same day. — Agamnnnon^ TransJation of Robert Browning. 176 MSCHYLUS THE DOOM OF CLYT^MNESTRA. [T^CLYTiEMNESTRA i?«^'idst rule my natal hour. Vol, I.—X4 2IO MARK A KENS IDE Not far beneath the hero's feet, Nor from the legislator's seat, Stands far remote the bard. Though not with public terrors crowned. Yet wider shall his rule be found, More lasting his award. Lycurgus fashioned Sparta's fame. And Pompey to the Roman name Gave universal sway : Where are they ? — Homer's reverend page, Holds empire to the thirtieth age, And tongues and climes obey. And thus when William's acts divine No longer shall from Bourbon's line Draw one vindictive vow ; When Sydney shall with Cato rest, And Russell move the patriot's breast No more than Brutus now ; Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art O'er every passion, every heart. Confirm his awful throne : Tyrants shall bow before his laws ; And Freedom's, Glory's, Virtue's cause, Their dread assertor own. Among the best of Akenside's inscriptions are the two following : FOR A COLUMN AT RUNNVMEDE. Thou, who the verdant plain dost traverse here. While Thames among his willows from thy view Retires : O stranger ! stay thee, and the scene Around contemplate well. This is the place Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms, And stern with conquest, from their tyrant King — Then rendered tame — did challenge and secure The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on Till thou hast blessed their memory, and paid Those thanks which God appointed the reward MARK AKENSIDE all Of public virtue. And if chance thy home Salute thee with a father's honored name, Go, call their sons : instruct them what a debt They owe their ancestors ; and make them swear To pay it by transmitting down entire Those sacred rights to which themselves were born. FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER. Such was old Chaucer: Such the placid mien Of him who first with harmony informed The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang : of love or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life ; through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world With cunning hand portraying. Though perchance From Blenheim's towers, O Stranger, thou art come, Glowing with Churchill's trophies ; yet in vain Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold To him, this other hero ; who in times Dark and untaught, began with charming verse To tame the rudeness of his native land. ALAMANNI, Luigi, an Italian poet, born at Florence in 1495 ; died at Amboise, France, in 1556. He was of a noble Florentine family, and took part in the troubled politics of his time. Having- been driven into exile by the hostile party, he took refuge in France, where he was favorably received by the Kings Francis I. and Henry II., by both of whom he was entrusted with impor- tant political affairs. His works comprise almost every species of verse. Among them are two epic poems, a tragedy, a didactic poem, lyrics, satires, eclogues, epigrams, and sonnets, all of which dis- play grace of thought and elegance of expression. Alamanni's influence upon English literature is seen in the introduction into our poetry of the sonnet by his great imitator, the poet Wyatt. SONNET TO ITALY. Thanks be to God ! my feet are now addressed, Proud Italy, at last to visit thee After six weary years of destiny Forbids me in thy dear-loved lap to rest. With weeping eyes, with look and heart deprest, Upon my natal soil I bend the knee, While hope and joy my troubled spirit flee, And anguish, rage, and terror fill my breast. I turn me, then, the snowy Alps to tread. And seek the Gaul, more kindly prompt to greet The child of other lands, than thou art thine. Here, in these shady vales, mine old retreat, I lay in solitude mine aching head : Since Heaven decrees, and thou dost so incline. ALARCON, Pedro Antonio de, a Spanish journalist, poet, novelist, and politician, was born in Giiadix, Granada, March lo, 1833; died at Valdemoro, near Madrid, July 20, 1891. He wished to study law, but his family, who belonged to the nobility, had lost their estates through the war of independence and were unable to educate him, and placed him in the theological school of Guadix. But his tastes were not for the Church, and he neglected his studies for literature, and while in the seminary began writing for a review published at Cadiz. Soon after this, at the age of nineteen, he ran away from the seminary and went to Madrid, but he did not at once meet with success. After taking an active part in a revolu- tion in Vicalvaro, he returned to Madrid and be- gan writing novels, poems, and reviews, and from this time his position in literature was assured. He served as a volunteer in the Morocco cam- paign of 1859, was a member of the Cortes in 1869, and was appointed a Councillor of State by Alfonso XII. in 1875. The same year he was made a member of the Spanish Academ}'. Among his works are : T/ie Strange Friend of Tito Gill, The Three-cornered Hat, and The Child of the Ball. (213) 214 PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCON "UNCLE LUKE. Uncle Luke was uglier than sin, and he had been so all his life ; and now he was nearly forty years old. However, our Lord has seldom sent into the world a man so genial and pleasant as Uncle Luke. His parents were shepherds — pastors, not of souls, but of sheep ; so, when the late Bishop, charmed with Luke's quick, ready wit, requested them to give up their son to him, they gladly assented. But as soon as His Grace died, the lad left the theo- logical seminary for the barracks, where General Care picked him out from the rest of his army and made him his private orderly and personal attendant during the campaign. Soon after his term of service expired it was as easy for Luke to win the heart of Trasquita as it had been for him to capture the esteem of the general and of the prelate. At that time the Navarrese had seen twenty summers, and found great favor in the eyes of all the lads of Estella, some of whom were quite wealthy ; however, she could not resist the witty say- ings, the pleasant jests, the sheepish glances of the en- amoured Murcian swain ; his incessant and roguish smile, so malicious, yet so sweet ; who was always so daring, so ready, so loquacious, so witty and so brave, that finally he not only succeeded in turning the head of the coveted beauty, but her father's and mother's as well. Luke was at that time, and had always been since, rather short, at least compared with his wife; somewhat round-shouldered, very swarthy, with no beard on his face, pockmarked, and having rather a large nose and ears. On the other hand, his mouth was well formed and his teeth were splendid. One might say that only the outside of that man was coarse and ugly, and that, as soon as one began to know him well, his perfections appeared ; and that these commenced with his teeth. Then came his voice, sonorous, flexible, and charming ; manly and grave, deep at times ; soft and caressing whenever he asked for anything, and always hard to withstand. Then came the words uttered by that voice PEDRO ANTONIO DE ALARCON 215 — everything that was opportune, witty, judicious, and winning. And, lastly, Uncle Luke possessed a soul full of loyalty, valor, honesty, common-sense, desire of ac- quiring knowledge, and an instinctive or empirical ac- quaintance with many subjects ; and he always dis- played a profound disdain toward fools, whatever their social standing might be, while a certain ironical, satiri- cal, jesting spirit of ridicule made him appear in the eyes of the Academician like a Francisco de Quevedo in the rough. Such was Uncle Luke outwardly and in- wardly. — The Three-cornered Hat. ALBERTUS, Magnus, a distinguished German scholar and philosopher, born of noble lineage from the Von Bollstadt family, at Laiiingen, a town in the ancient German duchy of Swabia, situated on the Danube River. The date of his birth is believed to be in 1193, but this event is disputed by some authorities, who place it in the year 1205. He received his education chiefly at Padua, and was particularly instructed in Aris- totle's writings. He became a member of the Dominican Order in 1223, and studied theology according to the regulations of this order, at Bologna. He was chosen lecturer at Cologne, in which city his order had a house, and taught theology and philosophy there for a number of years ; he also taught at Ratisbon, Freiburg, Strasburg, and Hildesheim. In 1245 he changed his residence to Paris, and in the same year received his doctorate. He also taught here for some little time, and met with a great deal of success. He was created provincial of his order in 1254, and took a great deal of pains in the performance of his official duties, which were arduous, and succeeded in filling his position with credit to himself. While he was provincial he publicly undertook the defence of the Dominicans against the University of Paris, commented on St. John, and replied to the errors of the Arabian philosopher, Averroes. (- ) MAGNUS ALBERTUS 217 In 1260 the Pope created him Bishop of Ratis- bon, but he resigned his bishopric at the end of three years and spent his remaining days partly in preaching throughout Bavaria and adjoining districts and partly in retirement in the several houses of his order. Almost his last work was his defence of the orthodoxy of Thomas Aquinas, one of his many pupils. He passed away at Cologne in 1280, aged eighty-seven. He was the most widely read man of his time, and was noted for his extensive learning. Physical science was the principal subject of Albertus's works, which were published in twenty-one volumes by Dominican Peter Jammay in 165 1. They embraced a sort of encyclopaedia of learning of his times, and are proof of his great activity, which was philosoph- ical rather than theological ; for, while employ- ing philosophy in general, and Aristotle in par- ticular, in theology's service, he omitted all that is specifically biblical from what belongs to the natural reason, such as miracles, the atonement, and the Trinity ; though he does not refuse to observe, with Augustinian exemplifications, faint representations of the latter doctrine even in Nat- ure. In accordance with church doctrine and to the practical exclusion of Platonic influences, he digested, interpreted, and systematized Aristotle's complete works presented in the Latin transla- tions and notes of the Arabian commentators. His philosophical labors take up the first six and last of the twenty-one books, and are divided generally with regard to the Aristotelian plan of the sciences, and include interpretations and con- 2i8 MAGNUS ALBERT US densations of Aristotle's relative works, with sup- plementary controversies depending on the ques- tions then agitating discussion, and occasionally divergences from opinions of the master. In logic, he makes an effort to unite the three rival theories of universals, holding that they exist in three ways; (i) Ante res, as ideas in the mind of God, from which the class is modelled, and which therefore exist before individual things. (2) In rebus, as the common basis in a class of individual objects. (3) Post reSy as the mental notion of the class. He mainly repeats Aristotle in his meta- physical and physical treatises, differing with him in reference to the eternity of the world and the definition of the soul. His chief theological works are a commentary in three volumes on the Books of the SenteTices of Peter Lombard {Magister Sen- tentt'arum), and the Summa TJieologicB, in two volumes. This last is in substance a repetition of the first in a more instructive shape. His knowl- edge of physical science was considerable, and for the age accurate. He evinced great industry in every department, and, though we discover in his system many openings from which no scholastic philosophy was ever free, yet the continued study of Aristotle gave him a great power of systemat- ic thought and exposition, and the results accru- ing therefrom by no means warrant the ridicu- lous title sometimes bestowed upon him — the "Ape of Aristotle." Rather do they lead us to appreciate the motives which caused his col- leagues to call him " The Great," and the no less honorable title " Doctor Universalis," while MAGNUS ALBERTUS 2xg "Dy some he was even reputed to be a magician. The best authorities upon his life are Sighart, Alberius Magnus, sein Lebcn und seme Wissenschaft, 1857; and D'Assailly, Albert Ic Grand, 1870. The most comprehensive surveys of his philosophy are those of Stockel, Geschichte d. Scholastischen Philosophic, and, in smaller compass, Erdmann, Grundriss d. Geschichte d. Philosophic, vol. i. Haur- ian, Ritter, and Prantl may also be referred to. ANALOGY BETWEEN GOD AND MAN. There is no excellence among- the creatures which is not to be found in a much higher style, and as an archetype, in the Creator ; among created beings it exists only in footmarks and images. This is true also of the Trinity. No artistic spirit can accomplish his work without first forming to himself an outline of it. In the spirit, therefore, first of all, the idea of its work is conceived, which is, as it were, the offspring of the spirit, in every feature resembling the spirit, represent- ing it in its acting. Thus, therefore, the spirit reveals himself in the idea of the spirit. Now, from the acting spirit this idea passes into reality, and for this purpose the spirit must find a medium in outward action. This medium must be simple, and of the same substance with him who first acted, if indeed the latter is so sim- ple that being, nature, and activity are one in him. From this results the idea in reference to God, of the formative spirit, of the planned image, and of the spirit by which the image is realized. The creation in time is a revelation of the eternal acting of God, the eternal generation of his Son. The revelation of God in time for the sanctification of nature, is an image of the eternal procession of the spirit from the Father and the Son. Our love is only a reflection of the divine love; the archetype of all love is the Holy Spirit, who, like all love, proceeds from God. The one love spread abroad through all holy souls proceeds from the Holy Spirit. Love in God neither diminishes nor increases, but we diminish or increase it in ourselves according as we receive this love into our souls, or withdraw from it. ALC-^US was born in Mytilene, in Lesbos, about 6ii B.C. He was a distinguished poet, and Is ranked by some as the first of the lyric poets of Greece. We learn from portions of his poems ihat he was somewhat of a politician, becoming embroiled in the political quarrels and internal bickerings of the city in which he was born. He gave his support to the nobility, taking an active part against those who, at that time, established themselves in a tyrannical manner in Mytilene. On account of his action in this struggle, he was compelled to leave the place of his nativity, and he passed the remainder of his days in exile, leading an eventful and wandering life. At what time he died is unknown. Mahaffy says of him : " He was the perfect picture of an unprincipled, violent, lawless Greek aristocrat, who sacrificed all and everything to the demands of pleasure and power." The -^olian dialect was the standard by which his compositions were guided. There was made a collection of his poems, divided into ten volumes. Their subjects were varied ; some of his poems were hymns to the gods; others were of a warlike or political sort ; while still others again bespoke an ardent love of freedom and a (220J ALCyEUS 221 hateful detestation of tyrants ; and, lastly, some were of an erotic character, and were particularly remarkable for the fervor of the passion they de- picted. Alcaeus was regarded by Horace as his great model, and in one passage (Od. ii., 1-^-26 et seq.) the latter has rendered a fine picture of the poetical powers of the ^olian bard. One kind of metre, the Alcaic, was named for him, supposedly because of the care he took in the construction of his verses. There has not come down to us an entire composition of his, but a complete col- lection of all the portions of his poems extant may be found in Burgk's Poetce Lyrici Grceciy Lipsias, 1852. WINTER. The rain of Zeus descends, and from high heaven A storm is driven ; And on the running water-brooks the cold Lays icy hold ! Then up ! beat down the Winter ! make the fire Blaze high and higher ! Mix wine as sweet as honey of the bee, Abundantly ! Then drink, with comfortable wool around Your temples bound ! — We must not yield our hearts to woe, or wear With wasting care : For grief will profit us no whit, my Friend ! Nor nothing mend. This is our best medicine, with wine fraught To cast out thought. — Translated by John Addington Symonds. An excellent specimen of the style of Alcasus, and the longest and most spirited of the remains 222 ALC^US of his political poems, is the following descrip- tion of THE ILLUMINATION OF HIS OWN PALACE. From floor to floor the spacious palace halls Glitter with war's array ; With burnished metal clad, the lofty walls Beam with the bright noon-day. There white-plumed helmets hang from many a nail, Above, in threatening row ; Steel-garnished tunics, and broad coats of mail, Spread o'er the space below. Chalcidian blades enow, and belts are here. Greaves and emblazoned shields ; Well-tried protectors from the hostile spear. On other battle-fields. With these good helps our work of war's begun. With these our victory must be won. — Mure's Translation. ALCAZAR, Baltazar de, a Spanish poet who lived in the sixteenth century. In his own age he ranked high in the roll of authors, and Cervantes praises him as having made the Spanish river Guadalquiver equal in glory to the Mincio, the Arno, and the Tiber. His verses on Sleep embody a pleasant conceit. Ticknor, in his His- tory of Spajiish Literature^ speaks of him as " a witty Andalusian, who has left a moderate num- ber of short lyrical poems of great spirit, most of them gay, and all of them in a much better taste than was common when they appeared." SLEEP. Sleep is no servant of the will, It has caprices of its own : When most pursued, 'tis swiftly gone ; When courted least, it lingers still. With its vagaries long perplexed, I turned and turned my restless sconce, Till, one bright night, I thought at once I'd master it : — So hear my text. When sleep will tarry, I begin My long and my accustomed prayer; And in a twinkling, sleep is there, Through my bed-curtains peeping in : When sleep hangs heavy on my eyes, I think of debts I fain would pay, And then, as flies night's shade from day, Sleep from my heavy eyelids flies. 2*4 saltajIax d& alcazar And thus controlled, the winged one bends E'en his fantastic will to me ; And, strange but true, both I and he Are friends — the very best of friends. We are a happy wedded pair. And I the lord and he the dame ; Our bed, our board, our hours the same ; And we're united everywhere. — Translation of Bowring. iM^^■ ^li <^MM^^ #^«<^^, /«?^2*r% /iT^P^k, /"^-^^C^r^f^ i:g;:^:^±r_;^j_rg: ALCIPHRON, the most eminent Greek epis- tolographer, lived in the last part of the second century A.D, He was probably a contemporary of Lucian. His letters, numbering about one hundred and sixteen, have been published in three books, and are written in the purest Attic dialect, being regarded as models of style. Their imagi- nar}'- authors are country people, fisherwomen, courtesans, and parasites, who, representing classes of the older Greek community, express their senti- ments and opinions on well-known subjects in re- fined and elegant language, yet without any seem- ing inconsistency, thus delineating the private life of the Athenians at that period. These communi- cations are of great value from the glimpses they give of social life of the period, the materials be- ing mostly derived from the remains of the middle and new Attic comedy. The most active are those supposed to have been written by celebrated hetserre, especially those from Glycera to Me- nanda. The style is a careful imitation of the best Attic. The best editions of his letters are by Bergler (1715) and Wagner (1798). EUTHYDICUS TO EPIPHANIUS. Epistolce. 11/., JQ. By the Gods and Dcemons ! mother, leave, I entreat you, for a short time, the rocks and fields, and come be« Vol. I.— is (225) 326 ALCIPHROI^ fore you die and behold the charming things which are going on in the city. What have you not lost ? The Haloa, the Apaturia, the Dionysia, and the present most sacred Thesmophorian festival. The first day was the ascension ; to-day is appointed for the celebra- tion of the fast ; that which follows is distinguished by the sacrifice to Calligeneia. If you make haste, you may come in to-morrow before the morning star is gone, and sacrifice along with the Athenian women. Come then ; delay not, I entreat you by the safety of myself and my brethren. To die without any knowledge of the city would be abominable ; it is beastly and hateful. Permit me, mother, since I speak for your advantage, to address you thus freely. To be ingenuous in conversa- tion is a virtue in every character ; but it is a matter of particular duty to speak the truth to those of our own family. — AIciphron''s Epistles, Translated by T. MoMvOand W. Beloe. ALCMAN, or ALKMAN, or ALCMARON,a distinguished lyric poet of Greece. Although Lydia in Asia Minor is accredited with being his birthplace, some believe him to have been a native of Sparta, in which place he lived from early boy- hood. He was held by the Alexandrian critics as the most noted of the lyric poets of Greece, and by others as the most ancient. He flourished about the middle of the seventh century B.C. Alcman may be regarded in some particulars to be the father of lyric poetry among the Greeks, and perhaps this is the reason he was placed by the Alexan- drian critics at the head of their lyric canon. In his six books, written in the vigorous broad dialect of the Dorians, are contained all sorts of melos, hymns, pasans, prosodia, parthenia, and erotic songs. His metres did not resemble the compli- cated systems of later lyrists, being easy and various, while on the other hand his proverbial wisdom and the form of his personal allusions sometimes remind one of Pindar. His general character was that of an easy, simple, pleasure- loving man. He claims to have imitated the song of birds. Fragments of his works are extant, the best collection of which was published by F. G. Welcker, Giesen, 1815, 4to ; they are also con- tained in Burgk's Poetce Lyrici Grceci, 1852. The following description of sleep is the best (227; 228 ALCA/.hV and one of the longest of the extant fragments of Alcman. This beautiful passage, which has been imitated and paraphrased by many distinguished I'Oets, so vividly depicts the scener}' of the vale of Lacedccmon that Mure, the translator, declared it (difficult to convey to the imagination of the reader the effect produced on his own by the recurrence !'! the lines to his mind during a walk among the 1 uius of Sparta, on a calm spring night, about an hour after a brilliant sunset: SLEEP. Over the drowsy earth still night prevails. Calm sleep the mountain tops and shady vales, The rugged cliffs and hollow glens ; The wild beasts slumber in their dens ; The cattle on the hilL Deep in the sea, The countless finny race and monster brood Tranquil repose. Even the busy bee Forgets her daily toil. The silent wood No more with noisy hum of insect rings ; And all the feathered tribes, by gentle sleep subdued, Roost in the glade, and b.ang their drooping wings. — Translated by William Mure. ALCOTT, Amos Bronson, an American edu- cator and philosopher, born at Wolcott, Conn., November 29, 1799 ; died at Boston, Mass., March 4, 1888. While a boy he went to the South with a trunk of merchandise, with which he travelled from plantation to plantation. The planters re- ceived him hospitably, and lent him books, which he studied diligently, and thus educated himself in the strictest sense of the term. He returned to Connecticut and opened an infant school. In 1828 he removed to Boston, where he conducted a similar school for some years, and subsequently took up his residence at Concord, Mass. After a visit to England, in 1842, he established an educa- tional community near Harvard, Mass., which was soon afterward abandoned, when he returned to Concord and took upon himself the work of a peripatetic philosopher, lecturing and conversing, as invitations were extended to him, upon a wide range of topics, among which were divinity, ethics, dietetics, and human nature in general. In the meanwhile he contributed, under the title of Orphic Sayings, a series of transcendental papers to The Dial, a magazine edited by Margaret Fuller and Ralph Waldo Emerson, and published several books, among which are Conversations with Chil- dren on the Gospels (1836), Spiritual Culture (1840), Tablets (1868), Concord Days (1872), Table 'talk (229) 230 AMOS BROIVSON" ALCOTT (1877), and Sonnets and Canzonets (1882). His Table-talk, unlike most works so designated, em- body not his utterances taken down by others, mainly from memory, but are his own careful pres- entation and summation of the thoughts and principles which he had inculcated and set forth orally during his thirty years as a peripatetic philosopher. Within the compass of a small vol- ume he has comprised the essential sum and sub- stance of his long meditations and instructions upon high and noble themes pertaining to human life and culture. It finds its nearest parallel in the apothegms of Bacon. CONCORD AND ITS SURROUNDINGS. Like its suburban neighbor beside the Charles, our village, seated along the banks of its Indian stream, spreads a rural cradle for the fresher literature ; and aside from these advantages it well deserves its name for its quiet scenery and plain population. Moreover, few spots in New England have won a like literary re- pute. The rural muse has traversed these fields, meadows, woodlands, the brook-sides, the river; caught the harmony of its changing skies, and portrayed their spirit in books that are fit to live while Letters delight, and Nature charms her lovers. Had Homer, had Vir- gil, fairer prospects than our landscape affords ? Had Shakespeare or Goethe a more luxuriant simplicity than ours ? Only the wit to say or sing these the poet needs ; and of this our neighborhood has not less than many sounding cities. Plain as our landscape is, it has spe- cial attractions for the scholar who courts quiet sur- roundings, scenery not too exciting, yet stimulating to genial and uninterrupted studies. If the hills command no very broad horizon, the prospect is sufficiently sylvan to give an agreeable variety without confusing the mind, while the river in good part compensates for the same- net* as it winds sluggishly along the confines of the AMOS BROiVSOiV ALCOTT 231 village, flowing by the monument into the distance through the meadows. Thoreau, writing of it, jocosely says: "It is remarkable for the gentleness of its cur- rent, which is hardly perceptible, and some have ascribed to its influence the proverbial moderation of the inhab- itants of Concord, as celebrated in the Revolution and on other occasions. It has been suggested that the town should adopt for its coat-of-arms z. field verdant with the Concord River circling nine times round it." — Table-Talk. EPHEMERAL READING. Not in stirring times like ours, when the world's af- fairs come posted with the successive sun rising or setting, can we ignore magazines, libraries, and ephemera of the press. Newspapers intrude into every house, almost supersede the primers and text-books of the schools, proffering alike to hand and eye intelli- gence formerly won only by laborious studies and much expense of time and money. Cheap literature is now in vogue ; the age, if not profound, has chances for at- taining some superficial knowledge, at least, of the world's doings and designings ; the experiments of the few being hereby popularized for the benefit of the many everywhere, the humblest even partaking largely of the common benefit. — Table- Talk, IDEALISM AND IDEALISTS. Life and literature need the inspiration which ideal- ism quickens and promotes. The history of thought shows that a people given to sensationalism and the lower forms of materialism have run to ruin. Only that which inspires life and nobility of thought can maintain and preserve itself from speedy and ignoble decay. And we have too palpable evidences of corrup- tion, public and private, to leave us in doubt as to the tendency of not a little of the cultivation and teachings in our times. . . . The idealists have given deeper insight into life and nature than other schools of thought. If inclined to visionariness, and seemingly sometimes on the verge of lunacy even, they have re- 232 AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT vealed depths of being, a devotion to the spirit of uni- versality, that render their works most edifying. They, more than any other, hold the balance between mind and matter, and illuminated literature, while they fur- thered the science, art, and religion of all times. An age deficient in idealism has ever been one of immorality and superficial attainment, since without the sense of ideas, nobility of character becomes of rare attainment, if possible. — Table-Talk. PREACHING. If the speaker cannot illuminate the parlor, shall he adorn the pulpit ? Who takes most of private life into the desk comes nearest heaven and the children who have not lapsed out of it. Is it not time in the world's history to have less familiarity with sin and the woes of the pit? Commend me to him who holds me fast by every sense, persuades me — against every bias of tem- perament, habit, training, culture — to espouse the just and lovely, and he shall be in my eyes thereafter the Priest of the Spirit and the Sent of Heaven. It is un- deniable that, with all our teaching and preaching — ■ admirable as these often are — the current divinity falls behind our attainments in most things else ; the com- manding practical sense and adventurous thoughts of our time being unawakened to the concerns w^herein faith and duty have their seats, and from whose foun- tains life and thought are spiritualized and made lovely to men. Though allegory is superseded in good part by the novel, the field for this form of writing is as rich and inviting as when Bunyan wrote. A sacred allegory, treating of the current characteristics of the religious world, would be a powerful instrumentality for awaking and stimulating the piety of our times. — Table- Talk. DOGMAS. Every dogma embodies some shade of truth to give it seeming currency. Take the theological trinity as an instance which has vexed the literal Church from its foundation, and still perplexes its learned doctors. AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT 233 An intelligible psychology would interpret the mystery even to the unlearned and unprofessional. Analyse the attributes of your personality — that which you name yourself — and you will find herein the threefold attri- butes of instinct, intelligence, will, incarnate in your own person: — the root plainly of the trinitarian dogma. — Not till we have fathomed the full significance of what we mean when we pronounce ^^ I myself," is the idea of person clearly discriminated, philosophy and religion established upon immutable foundations. — Table- Talk. CONSCIENCE. Ever present and operant is That which never be- comes a party in one's guilt, conceives never an evil thought, consents never to an unrighteous deed, never sins ; but holds itself impeccable, immutable, personally holy — the Conscience — counsellor, comforter, judge, and executor of the spirit's decrees. None can flee from the spirit's presence, nor hide from himself. The reserved powers are the mighty ones. Side by side sleep the Whispering Sisters and the Eumenides. Nor is Conscience appeased till the sentence is pro- nounced. There is an oracle in the breast, an unsleep- ing police ; and ever the court sits, dealing doom or deliverance. Our sole inheritance is our deeds. While remorse stirs the sinner, there remains hope of his re- demption. " Only he to whom all is one, who draweth all things to one, and seeth all things in one, may en- joy true peace and rest of spirit." None can escape the Presence. The Ought is everywhere and imperative. Alike guilt in the soul and anguish in the flesh affirm His ubiquity. Matter — in particle and planet, mind and macrocosm — is quick with spirit. — Table-Talk. SPIRITUALITY. Born daily out of a world of wonders into a world of wonders, that faith is most ennobling which, answering to one's highest aspirations, touches all things mean- while with the hues of an invisible world. And how vastly is life's aspect, the sphere of one's present ac- tivity, widened and ennobled the moment there step 234 AMOS BRONSON- ALCOTT spiritual agents upon the stage, and he holds conscious communication with unseen powers ! "He to whom the law which he is to follow," says Jacobi, *' doth not stand forth as a God, has only a dead letter which can- not possibly quicken him." The religious life tran- scends the scientific understanding, its light shining through the clouds to those alone whose eyes are anointed to look behind the veils by lives of purity and devotion. — Table- Talk. PERSONAL IDENTITY. Personal Identity is the sole Identity. "That which knows and that which is known," says Aristotle, "are really the same thing." The knowing that I am affirms also the personality immanent in all persons ; and hence of the Supreme Person, since distinct from per- eonality neither mind nor God were thinkable. And it were impossible to have like conceptions in our minds, (f we did not partake of one and the same intellect. Were God not God, I were not // Myself in Him myself descry. An impersonal God were an absurdity. Personality is essential to the idea of spirit, and man, as man, were unthinkable without the presupposition of personality. It is the / that gives subsistence to nature and reality to mind. Where the / is not, nothing is. Religion and science alike presuppose its presence as their postulate and ground. It is the essence of which substance is the manifestation. Qualities are inherent in substance, and substance is one and spiritual. Personal Identity is spiritual, not numerical, souls being one, bodies not one. Any number of bodies can never attain to unity, since it is the one in each that defines and denotes it. The personality is inclusive of the one in each and in ?^\.— Table- Talk. SIGNIFICANCE OF SLEEP. Our sleep is a significant symbol of the soul's ante- cedence. Shall I question that I now am, because I am unconscious of being myself while I slept; or because I am conscious of being then unconscious? I am sure of being one and the same person I then was, and AMOS BROATSON ALCOTT 235 thread my identity through my successive yesterdays into the memory out of which my consciousness was born ; nor can I lose myself in the search of myself. At best, our mortality is but a suspended animation, the soul meanwhile awaiting its summons to awaken from its slumbers. Every act of sleep is a metamor- phosis of bodies and a metempsychosis of souls. We lapse out of the senses into the pre-existent life of memory through the gate of dreams, memory and fancy opening their folding-doors into our past and future periods of existence : — the soul freed for the moment from its dormitory in space and time. The more of sleep the more of retrospect ; the more of wakefulness, the more of prospect. Memory marks the nadir of our consciousness, imagination its zenith. Be- fore the heavens thou art, and shall survive their decay. Were man personally finite, he could not conceive of infinity ; were he mortal he could not conceive of im- mortality. Whatever had a beginning comes of neces- sity to its end, since it has not the principle of perpetuity inherent in itself. And there is that in man which cannot think annihilation, but thinks continu- ance. All life is eternal ; there is no other. Despair snuffs the sun from the firmanent. For souls that of His own good life i>artake He loves as His own self ; dear as His eye They are to Him. He'll never them forsake. When they shall die, then God Himself shall die. They live, they live in blest eternity. —Table-Talk. In the Conversations with Children on the Gospels^ written in 1840, a w^hole generation before this book of Table- Talk appeared in print, Mr. Alcott developed somewhat of the fundamental idea which led him in after years to become an oral teacher. CONVERSATION AS A MEANS OF INSTRUCTION. In conversation all the instincts and faculties of our being are touched. They find full and fair scope. It tempts forth all the powers. Man faces his fellow man. 236 AMOS BRONSON- ALCOTT He feels the quickening life and light ; the social affec- tions are addressed ; and these bring all the faculties in train. Speech comes unbidden. Nature lends her im- ages. Imagination sends abroad her winged words. We see thought as it springs from the soul, and in the very process of growth and utterance. Reason plays under the mellow light of fancy. The genius of soul is waked, and eloquence sits on her tuneful lip. Wisdom finds an organ worthy her serene utterance. Ideas stand in beauty and majesty before the soul. And genius has ever sought this organ of utterance. It has given full testimony in its favor. Socrates — a name that Christians can see coupled with that of their Divine Sage — descanted thus on the profound themes in which he delighted. The market-place, the work- shop, the public streets, were his favorite haunts of instruction. And the divine Plato has added his testi- mony, also, in those enduring works, wherein he sought to embalm for posterity both the wisdom of his master and the genius which was his own. Rich text-books these for the study of philosophic genius ; next in finish and beauty to the specimens of Jesus as recorded by John. — Spiritual Culture. The Orphic Sayings — one hundred in num- ber — appeared in The Dial for July, 1840, and January, 1841. They are pregnant and brief; sometimes of only a line or two ; all told they fill barely a score of pages. Some of them are nota- ble as indicative of the author's turn of thought at this period of his life. SOME ORPHIC SAYINGS. I. T/:e Heart-dial. — Thou art, my heart, a soul-flower, feeling ever and following the motions of thy sun. Open- ing thyself to her vivifying ray, and pleading thy affin- ty with the celestial orbs. Thou dost the livelong day uial on Time thine own eternity. . . . viii. Mysticism. — Because the soul is herself mysterious, the saint is a mystic to the worldling. He lives to the soul ; he par- AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT 237 takes of her properties ; he dwells in her atmosphere of light and hope. But the worldling, living to sense, is identified with the flesh ; he dwells amidst the dust and vapors of his own lusts, which dim his vision, and obscure the heavens wherein the saint beholds the face of God. ... X. Apotheosis. — Every soul feels at times lier own possibility of becoming a God ; she cannot rest in the human ; she aspires to the godlike. Men shall become Gods. Every act of admiration, prayer, praise, worship, desire, hope, implies and predicts the future apotheosis of the soul. . . . xxv, TJie Prophet. — The prophet, by disciplines of meditation and valor, faithful to the spirit of the heart, his eye purified of the motes of tradition, his life of the vestiges of usage, ascends to the heights of immediate intuition. He rends the veil of sense ; he bridges the distance between faith and sight, and beholds the spiritual verities without script- ure or meditation. In the presence of God he com- munes with Him face to face. . . . xxxviii. Time. — Or- ganizations are mortal ; the seal of death is fixed on them even at birth. The young future is nurtured by the past, yet aspires to a nobler life, and revises in his maturity the traditions and usages of his day, to be supplanted by the sons and daughters whom he begets and ennobles. Time, like fabled Saturn, now generates, and, ere even their sutures be closed, devours his own offspring. Only the children of the soul are immortal ; the births of time are premature and perishable. . , . XLViii. Beauty. — All departures from perfect beauty are degradations of the divine image. God is the one type which the soul strives to incarnate in all organizations. Varieties are historical ; the one form embodies all forms ; all having a common likeness at the base of difference. Human heads are images, more or less perfect, of the soul's or God's head. But the divine features do not fix in flesh, in the coarse and brittle clay. Beauty is fluent ; art of the highest order represents her always in flux, giving fluency and motion to bodies solid and immovable to sense. The line of beauty symbolizes motion. . . . lxix. Popularity. — The saints are alone popular in heaven, not on earth ; elect of God, they are spurned by the world. They hate their 238 AMOS BRO.VSON' ALCOTT age, its awards, their own affections even, save as those unite them with justice, with valor, with God. Whoso loves father or mother, wife or child, houses or lands, pleasures or honors, or life, more than these, is an idolater, and worships the idols of sense ; his life is death ; his love hate ; his friends foes ; his fame in- famy. , . . Lxx. Getiius and Sanctity. — A man's period is according to the directness and intensity of his light. Not erudition, not taste, not intellect, but character, describes his orbit, and determines the worlds he shall enlighten. Genius and sanctity cast no shadow ; like the sun at broad noon, the ray of these orbs pours direct intense on the world, and they are seen in their own light. . . . Lxxiii. Barrenness. — Opinions are Life in foliage ; deeds in fruitage. Always was the fruitless tree accursed. . . . lxxxiii. Retribution. — The laws of the soul and of nature are forecast and pre-ordained in the spirit of God and are ever executing themselves through conscience in man, and gravity in things. Man's body and the world are organs through which the retributions of the spiritual universe are justified to reason and sense. Disease and misfortune are mem- oranda of violations of the divine law, written in the letter of pain and evil. . . . lxxxvii. Tradition. — Tradition suckles the young ages, who imbibe health or disease, insight or ignorance, valor or pusillanimity, as the stream of life flows down, from urns of sobriety or luxury, from times of wisdom or folly, honor or shame. . . . xcvii. Immortality. — It is because the soul is immortal that all her organs decease, and are again renewed. Growth and decay, sepulture and resurrec- tion, tread fast on the heels of the other. Birth en- tombs death ; death encradles birth. The incorruptible is ever putting off corruption ; the immortal mortality. Nature, indeed, is but the ashes of the departed soul ; and the body her urn. . . . c. Silence. — Silence is the initiative to wisdom. Wit is silent, and justifies her children by their reverence of the voiceless oracles of the breast. Inspiration is dumb, a listener to the oracles during her nonage ; suddenly she speaks, to mock the emptiness of all speech. Silence is the dialect of heaven ; the utterance of the gods. — Orphic Sayings. LOUISA M. ALCOTT. ALCOTT, Louisa May, an American author, daughter of Amos B. Alcott, born at German- town, Pa., November 29, 1832 ; died at Boston, Mass., March 6, 1888. Her earliest work, Fairy Tales, was published in 1855. During the early part of the Civil War she acted as a hospital nurse, and in 1863 issued a volume of Hospital Sketches made up from letters which she had written to her friends at home. About this time she became a contributor to the Atlantic Monthly, and began her distinctive career as a writer of books about young people and for young people. The princi- pal of these are: Moods (1864), Morning Glories (1867), Little Women (1868), which was her first decided success ; An Old-fashioned Girl (1869), Little Men (1871), Work (1873), Eight Cousins (1875), and its sequel. Rose in Bloom (1877), which, perhaps, rank first among her books ; Under the Lilacs (1878), Jack and Jill, (1880), Spinning-wheel Stories (1884), Jo's Boys (1886), and Comic Tragedies (1893). Besides these she put forth at different times several volumes of short stories, among which are Cupid and Chow-chow, Silver Pitchers, and Aunt Joe's Scrap-bag. Speaking of the stories of Miss Alcott, Charles F. Richardson, in his American Literature, says: "Their fresh and staid spirit — for childhood is demure as well as frolic- some — make them acceptable to adults and chii- 240 LOUISA MA Y ALCOTT dren alike. Miss Alcott's wholesome young New England girls and boys represent types, at least, which will remain, in fact and in fiction, long after her essentially ephemeral books are forgotten." MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY. "Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. " It's so dreadful to be poor," sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. ''I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and others nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured sniff. " We've got father and mother," said Beth, content- edly, from her corner. The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said, sadly : " We haven't got father, and shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say " perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of father far away, where the fighting was. Nobody spoke for a minute ; then Meg said, in an altered tone : " You know the reason mother proposed not having jny presents this Christmas was because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone ; and she thinks we ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in the army. We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and ought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don't ; " and Meg shook her head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted. " But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good. We've each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving that, I agree not to expect anything from mother or you ; but I do want to buy Undine and Sintrajn for myself ; I've wanted it so long," said Jo, who was a bookworm. "I planned to spend mine in n"w music," said Beth, LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 241 with a little sigh which no one heard but the hearth- brush and the kettle-holder. " I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing-pencils ; I really need them," said Amy, decidedly. *' Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to give up everything. Let's each buy what we want, and have a little fun ; I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining the heels of her boots in a gentlemanly manner. " I know / do — teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'm longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the complaining tone again. " You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. " How would you like to be shut up for hours with a fussy, nervous old lady, who keeps you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to fly out of the window or cry ? " " It's naughty to fret ; but I do think washing dishes, and keeping things tidy, is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross ; and my hands get so stiff, I can't practise well at all ; " and Beth looked at her rough hands, with a sigh that anyone could hear that time. "I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy ; "for you don't have to go to school with imper- tinent girls, who plague you if you don't know your les- sons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose isn't nice," " If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if papa was a pickle-bottle," advised Jo, laugh- ing. " I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary" returned Amy, with dignity. " Don't peck at one another, children. Don't you wish we had the money papa lost when we were little, Jo ? Dear me ! how happy and good we'd be, if we had no worries ! " said Meg, who could remember better times. "You said, the other day, you thought we were a deal happier than the King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in spite of their money." Vol. I.- 16 242 LOUISA MAY ALCOTT " So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are ; for though we have to work, we make fun for ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say." "Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look at the long figure stretched on the rug. Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to whistle. " Don't, Jo ; it's so boyish ! " "That's why I do it." ** I detest rude, unladylike girls ! " " I hate affected niminy-piminy chits ! " "'Birds in their little nests agree,'" sang Beth, the peace-maker, with such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the "pecking " ended for that time. " Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. " You are old enough to leave off boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn't matter so much when you were a little girl ; but now you are so tall, and turn up your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady." "I'm not ! and if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down a chestnut mane. " I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China- As- ter ! It's bad enough to be a girl anyway, when I like boys' games and work and manners ! I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy, and it's worse than ever now, for I'm dying to go and fight with papa, and I can only stay at home and knit, like a pokey old woman ! " And Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like castanets, and her ball bounded across the room. " Poor Jo ! It's too bad, but it can't be helped ; so you must be contented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us girls," said Beth, stroking the rough head at her knee, with a hand that all the dish- washing in the world could not make ungentle in its <-«uch- "As for you, Amy," continued Meg, "you are alto- I LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 243 gather too particular and prim. Your airs are funny now ; but you'll grow up an affected little goose, if you don't take care. I like your nice manners and refined ways of speaking, when you don't try to be elegant ; but your absurd words are as bad as Jo's slang." " If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please ? " asked Beth, ready to share the lecture. *' You're a dear, and nothing else," answered Meg, warmly ; and no one contradicted her, for the " Mouse " was the pet of the family. The clock struck six ; and having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair of slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good effect upon the girls ; for mother was coming, and everyone brightened to welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp ; Amy got out of the easy-chair without being asked ; and Jo forgot how tired she was, as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze. " They are quite worn out ; Marmee must have a new pair." " I thought I'd get her some with my dollar," said Beth. "No, /shall !" cried Amy. "I'm the oldest," began Meg; but Jo cut in with a decided " I'm the man of the family now papa is away, and 2 shall provide the slippers, for he told me to take special care of mother while he was gone." " I'll tell you what we'll do," said Beth ; " let's each get her something for Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves." " That's like you, dear ! What will we get ? " ex- claimed Jo. Everyone thought soberly for a minute ; then Meg announced, as if the idea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, "I shall give her a nice pair of gloves." ''Army shoes — the best to be had," cried Jo. •' Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed," said Beth. '• I'll get a little bottle of cologne ; she likes it, and it won't cost much, so I'll have some left to buy my pencils," ailded Amy. 244 LOUISA MAY ALCOTT "How will we give the things?" asked Meg, " Put them on the table, and bring her in, and see her open the bundles. Don't you remember how we used to do on our birthdays ? " answered Jo. " I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the big chair with the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the presents with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses ; but it was dreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bun- dles," said Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea, at the same time. " Let Marmee think we are getting things for our- selves, and then surprise her. We must go shopping to-morrow afternoon, Meg ; there is so much to do about the play for Christmas night," said Jo, marching up and down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air. " I don't mean to act any more after this time ; I'm getting too old for such things," observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about " dressing-up " frolics. " You won't stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown with your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best actress we've got, and there'll be an end of everything if you quit the boards," said Jo. "We ought to rehearse to-night. Come here, Amy, and do the fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that." " I can't help it ; I never saw anyone faint, and I don't choose to make myself all black-and-blue, tumb- ling fiat as you do. If I can go down easily, I'll drop ; if I can't, I shall fall into a chair and be graceful; I don't care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol," re- turned Amy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she was small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece. " Do it this way : clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room, crying, frantically, ' Roderigo ! Save me ! Save me ! ' " and away went Jo, with a melo- dramatic scream which was truly thrilling. Amy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly be- fore her, and jerked herself along as if she went by ma- chinery ; and her " Ow ! " was more suggestive of pins LOUISA MAY ALCOTT 245 being run into her than of fear and anguish, Jo gave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her bread burn as she watched the fun, with interest. " It's no use ! Do the best you can when the time comes, and if the audience laugh, don't blame me. Come on, Meg." Then things went on smoothly ; for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech of two pages, without a single break ; Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful incantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect; Roderigo rent his chains asunder manfully; and Hugo died in agonies of remorse and arsenic, with a wild " Ha J ha!" " It's the best we've had yet," said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and rubbed his elbows. " I don't see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You're a regular Shakespeare ! " exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her sisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things. *' Not quite," replied Jo, modestly. *' I do think " The Witch's Curse, an Operatic Tragedy," is rather a nice thing; but I'd like to try "Macbeth," if we only had a trap-door for Banquo. I always wanted to do the killing part. * Is that a dagger that I see before me ? ' " muttered Jo, rolling her eyes and clutching the air, as she had seen a famous tragedian do. " No, it's the toasting-fork, with mother's shoe on it instead of the bread. Beth's stage-struck ! " cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a general burst of laughter. — Little Women. WHAT THE SWALLOWS DID. A man lay on a pile of new-made hay, in a great barn, looking up at the swallows who darted and twittered above him. He envied the cheerful little creatures; for he wasn't a happy man, though he had many friends, much money, and the beautiful gift of writing songs that everybody loved to sing. He had lost his wife and little child, and would not be comforted ; but lived alone, and went about vvith such a gloomy face that no one liked to speak to him. He took no notice of friends and neighbors ; neither used his money for himself nor 246 LOUISA MA V ALCOTT Others ; found no beauty in the world, no happiness anj^- where ; and wrote such sad songs it made one's heart ache to sing them. As he lay alone on the sweet- smelling hay, with the afternoon sunshine streaming in, and the busy birds chirping overhead, he said, sadly, to himself : " Happy swallows, I wish I was one of you ; for you have no pains nor sorrows, and your cares are very light. All Summer you live gayly together ; and when Winter comes, you fly away to the lovely South, unsep- arated still." "Neighbors, do you hear what that lazy creature down there is saying?" cried a Swallow, peeping over the edge of her nest, and addressing several others who sat on a beam near by. "We hear, Mrs. Skim, and quite agree with you that he knows very little about us and our affairs," answered one of the swallows, with a sprite chirp, like a scornful laugh. "We work harder than he does any day. Did he build his own house, I should like to know "i Does he get his daily bread for himself ? How many of his neighbors does he help? How much of the world does he see, and who is the happier for his being alive?" "Cares, indeed!" cried another; "I wish he'd under- take to feed and teach my brood. Much he knows about the anxieties of a parent !" And the little mother bustled away to get supper for the young ones, whose bills were always gaping wide. " Sorrows we have too," softly sighed the fourth swal- low. "He would not envy me, if he knew how my nest fell, and all my children were killed ; how my dear hus- band was shot, and my old mother died of fatigue on our Spring journey from the South." " Dear Neighbor Dart, he ivould envy you, if he knew how patiently you bear your troubles; how tenderly you help us with our little ones; how cheerfully you serve your friends; how faithfully you love your lost mate; and how trustfully you wait to meet him again in a love- lier country than the South." As Skim spoke, she leaned down from her nest to kiss her neighbor ; and as the little beaks met, the other birds gave a grateful and approving murmur ; for Neigh- LOUISA MA V ALCOTT 247 bor Dart was much beloved by all the inhabitants of Twittertown. " I, for my part, don't envy him,'' said Gossip Wing, who was fond of speaking her mind, "Men and women call themselves superior beings ; but upon my word, I think they are vastly inferior to us. Now look at that man, and see how he wastes his life. There never was anyone with a better chance for doing good ; and yet he mopes and dawdles his time away most shame- fully." "Ah! he has had a great sorrow, and it is hard to be gay with a heavy heart, an empty home ; so don't be too severe. Sister Wing," and the white tie of the little widow's cap was stirred by a long sigh, as Mrs. Dart glanced up at the nook where her nest once stood. "No, my dear, I won't; but really I do get out of patience when I see so much real misery which that man might help, if he'd only forget himself a little. It's my opinion he'd be much happier than he now is, wan- dering about with a dismal face and a sour temper." "I quite agree with you; and I dare say he'd thank anyone for telling him how he may find comfort. Poor soul ! I wish he could understand me ; for I sympathize with him, and would gladly help him if I could." And, as she spoke, kind-hearted Widow Dart skimmed by him with a friendly chirp which did com- fort him ; for — being a poet — he fused to permit the reading of the classical poets. His ftrjaJ visit to England was made in 790 as am- ALCUIN 253 bassador, which place he filled until 792. With great difficulty Alcuin, in 801, managed to secure permission to take up his residence at the Abbey of St. Martin, at Tours, of which he had had charge in 796, where he taught until his death, May 19, 804. While at the Abbey he was al- ways in communication with Charlemagne, which proves their love of knowledge and religion, and their energy and zealousness in contriving and performing plans for their promotion. Alcuin's composition was of a higher order of purity and elegance than that of most literary men of his time. Duchesne collected and published his works in i vol. folio, Paris, 161 7; Froben issued a better edition, 2 vols, folio, Ratisbon, 1777. They consist of (i) Tracts upon Scripture, (2) Tracts upon Doctrine, Discipline, and Morality, (3) Historical Treatises, Letters, and Poems. It is believed that Al- cuin was the writer of the noted Caroline Books, published under the name of Charlemagne, which held up to execration image-worship of any form as being idolatrous. Lorenz wrote a Life of Alctiin, which was published by Halle in 1829, and was translated into English by Slee in 1837. DIALOGUE ON THE VIRTUES. Charlemagne. — I wonder that we Christians should so often depart from virtue, though we have eternal glory promised as its recompense by Jesus Christ, who is Truth itself ; whilst the heathen philosophers steadily pursued it merely on account of its intrinsic worth, and for the sake of fame. Alcuin. — We must rather deplore than wonder, that most of us will not be induced to embrace virtue. 254 ALCUIN either by the fear of punishment or the hope of promised reward. Charlemagne. — I see it, and must, alas! acknowledge that there are many such. I beg you, however, to inform me as briefly as possible, how we, as Christians, are to understand and regard these chief virtues. Alcuin. — Does not that appear to you to be wisdom, whereby God, after the manner of human understand- ing, is known and feared, and his future judgment be- lieved ? Chaflemagne. — I understand you ; and grant that nothing is more excellent than this wisdom. I also remember that it is written in Job, Behold, the wisdom of man is the fear of God! And what is the fear of God but the worship of God, which in the Greek is called ©coo-c/?€ia. Alcuin. — It is so : and further, what is righteousness but the love of God, and the observance of his com mandments ? Charlemagne. — I perceive this also, and that nothing Is more perfect than this righteousness, or rather thai iiere is no other than this. Alcuin. — Do you not consider that to be valor where- by a man overcomes the " Evil One," and is enabled to bear with firmness the trials of the world ? Charlemagne. — Nothing appears to me more glorious than such a victory. Alcuin. — And is not that temperance which checki desire, restrains avarice, and tranquillizes and governs all the passions of the soul ? — Slee's Translation. ALDEN, Henry Mills, an American editor and author, born at Mt. Tabor, Vt., in 1836. He graduated at Williams College in 1857, and at An- dover Theological Seminary in i860. In 1863-64 he lectured before the Lowell Institute on The Structure of Paganism. In 1869 he became editor of Harper s Magazine. He is the author of a poem, The Ancient Lady of Sorrozv (1872) ; of a prose work of great beauty, 6^(?^ /;/ His World {iZgo), \n con- junction with Alfred H. Guernsey ; of Harper's Pic- torial History of the Great Rebellion (i 862-65) ; and A Study of Death (1895), of which work The Critic says : " It is a beautiful reflection or meditation on immortality. It is the work of a poet for whom science is a wonderful parable. Mr. Alden, it seems, is in advance of others who use the ar- gument from analogy; his very indifference to ar- gument and thesis gives him in our eyes this ad- vantage ; the resort to mystical interpretation instead of conscious argument is a sign. Never- theless he does not recognize the contradiction surviving even in his attitude. He is still in the aesthetic state ; but practical Christianity rather than conscious sesthetic Christianity is nearer to the demand and spirit of to-day." THE VEDIC HYMNS. Such ministers were the}^ — at once prophets and poets — in whose hearts were born and on whose lips blossomed into song the ancient Vedic hymns. In these 256 HENRY MILLS ALDEM we come nearest to the first beginnings of Aryan faith, in the face of the sunrise. These hymns for ages were not committed to writing, but were passed from lip to lip, in a living tradition, existing only as they were sung — the direct utterances of a household faith, when households themselves were not as yet established in fixed habitations, when life was nomadic, free as the winds and the streams, and immediately responded to nature. They were chants sung at sacrifices, in the open air, at sunrise and noonday and sunset, but espe- cially at sunrise, about the family altar, v/hen as yet there were no temples and no fixed hierarchy. They have the naive simplicity of childhood, frankly asking for all material good — whose only delight is in the using. They are the expression of a simple faith like that of the Psalmist of Israel when he singeth, " The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want." There are heavenly folds this Shepherd hath, corresponding to His earthly folds — but in the vision of these prophets there is but one fold, comprehending all, and one Shepherd. Man is inseparably linked with nature. We find here a divina- tion of all that science can ever disclose, even when it shall have been spiritually informed, respecting the cor- relation of forces. All life is flame. The sun is God's witness, the symbol of the invisible flame, which is also the principle of life in all that lives, and has its symbol also in the sacrificial fire. Here also do we find the primitive significance of sacrifice, which is not a propitiatory offering, but a feast, where God, the friend, the brother, the associate of man, becomes his guest. In generating the sacrificial flame by the friction of two pieces of wood (the arant)^ man is evoking, under his own hand, the divine princi- ple ; and his offering of bread and wine consumed and ascending, is received by God as a token of human co- operation with Him — of the human life blending with and uniting its strength with the divine. There are no misgivings, no expressions of fear, but only songs of exultation because of this intimate and sacred associa- tion — a communion, in which all the renewing, illumi- nating strength of the universe is concentrated for the expulsion of darkness and death. — God in His World. HENRY MILLS ALDRN 957 THE GOSPEL OF LOVE. The last word of the Christ is that we love one ano*^her ; and out of this divine human fellowship must be developed the ultimate Gospel of truth. Of such a Gospel we have the brightest glimpse in the record of early Christianity. The world is awaiting a new Pente- cost. But what embodiment in human economics this new spiritual revival will take, we know not, nor can we be surt that its bright light may not again suffer eclipse. ^Ve only know that so long as its impulse is wholly t)f divine quickening, love will take the place of self-seeking and will build up human brotherhood ; and the shaping of this life will be the expression of some utterlj' new divine delight in the free play of emo- tional activit'vis. There may be lapses ; human aspira- tion may agam suffer the mortal disease of ambition, and the eager, joyous possession of tne earth may again take on the sickly hue of selfishness, the tender mas- tery of love become again the love of mastery ; but this hardening unto death is also a part of the divine plan — the winter of the heart covering the vitalities of springtime. Every new cycle will more nearly approach the earthly realization of the heavenly harmony. . . . The children of the kingdom are the friends of God, building with Him they know not clearly what. They have never known. Every unfolding of the divine life in them — in the shapings of their own life — is a sur- prise. When they would comfortably abide in the structures they have shaped under the impulse of fresh inspiration, then there always comes that other surprise, as of sad autumn, abruptly following upon summer, the deep green changing to the almost taunting brightness of decay — the surprise of corruption, so necessary to any new surprise of life. When the sun flames into a sudden glory before his setting, there is a moment of sadness, and then we seem to hear a voice, saying, He shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go. When the forms of life with which they have fondly lingered break up and disappear, the children take nat- ure at her own bright meaning. Their regrets dissolve into the raptures of coming life — they are the children of the resurrection. — God in His World. Vol. I. — 17 ALDEN, Isabella (McDonald) (pseudonym, "Pansy"), an American author, born in New York in 1841. Her stories are chiefly for the young, and those known as the Pansy books are widely read and very popular. They comprise a large number of volumes, among them Helen Lester ; di prize story. Ester Reed; One Common- place Day; An Endless Chain; Ruth Er shine's Crosses ; Links in Rebecca's Life ; Four Girls at Chautauqua ; Chrissys Endeavor ; Helen, the His- torian, and Mrs. Dee Dunmore Bryant. Mrs. Alden is the editor of a juvenile periodical called Pansy, and is connected with the Chautauqua Summer School. " CHRIS, I wouldn't." Looking back over this period of her life, Chrissy al- ways singled this out as one of her hard evenings. She was not, as she pathetically phrased it herself, " ac- quainted with " her brother ; they had no assured tastes in common for her to fall back upon. She was by no means at her best ; there was a dead weight of anxiety and disappointment tugging at her heart, there were endless questions knocking at the door of her mind, clamoring to be taken up and thought about ; there was, besides all this, a sort of undertone of nameless heart- ache, which she did not even care to define, but which added its share to the general gloom. All these must be put down with resolute hand, and her brother Har- mon interested and amused if possible. ISABELLA ALDEN' 259 She bent her energies to the task. Whatever was to be done to-morrow, this slie would accomplish to-night or learn that she could not do it. The cards were written with many a graceful flourish, and admired. . . . Then Chrissy chattered about a dozen nothings which she thought might amuse him. She dc" tailed with happy mimicry certain conversations she had heard that day, though never a word of that one which had sent her home with such a blanched face and throbbing heart. She described, with animation she was far from feeling, some of the costumes planned for the coming entertainment ; with rigid determination to carry the thing through at all cost to herself, she gave a minute description of the tableau which she hated, and remembered for years the thrill of actual pain, mingled with unbounded surprise, when she was interrupted by his sudden, " If I were you, Chris, I wouldn't." "Wouldn't what?" " Oh! go into that sort of thing. It is well enough for other fellows' sisters, but not for mine. That's unselfish, isn't it?" with a slight laugh. Then, in answer to her stare of astonishment and dismay : "I can't define the feeling. I suppose it is all folly anyway. There's no harm, of course ; I don't mean that. It doesn't begin with the things one sits and stares at nightly, at the theatre, and admires and applauds. That's all right, no one objects to it ; because, you see, it is somebody else's sister, or nobody's sister ; nobody that one cares for, you know, or ever expects to. But when it comes to setting one's own sister up to be stared at, and com- mented on, and talked up the next night when they get to their clubs — why, it goes against the grain. You won't understand it ; you are not expected to under- stand ; fact is, you don't know how some fellows talk, and it's just as well you shouldn't. I know it is quite the style ; done in the name of the church, and for the cause of benevolence and missions, and all that ; and I know perfectly well, Chris, the motive, so far at least as some of you are concerned, is all right, but I have often thought if you girls could be present at some of the club - rooms afterward, and not be visible, you wouldn't like it. Of course you can say that people 26o ISABELLA ALDEl^ talk about everybody, and so they do ; but they can't make so much out of an evening party, for instance — unless you dance a good deal — as they can out of pri- vate theatricals. That is what they call them, Chris. You may name them ' entertainments,' or ' tableaux,' or any other pretty name that suits you, but what the fel- lows say when they get together is * theatricals.' I didn't mean to say a word of all this. I've thought it^ and I've wished young ladies, especially you, somehow, wouldn't go into such things ; but it didn't seem worth while to say it — not for a fellow like me. I can't make it plain to you, you know ; it is only a feeling, and I meant to keep still. I don't know how I happened to go on like this. You can forget all about it if you like, and go on with your story. It is a pretty thing, any- way, and must take oceans of work. There's one thing you may understand, Chris. Of course no fellow will say anything rude about you before me without getting knocked over for it. You see it is such a confounded mean world ; nobody can do anything without wishing he hadn't." . . . He looked at her anxiously as he spoke, wishing within himself that he had been deaf and dumb before he upset her bright pretty talk by any of his notions. Why couldn't he have held his tongue ? Of course she would go on with it — why shouldn't she? The young ladies all did. Now she would go and be offended with him, and he hadn't meant to offend her. Meantime, Chrissy, holding back with resolute will the outburst of passionate tears which longed to have their way, holding back with equal firmness the sharp sense of failure and humiliation, refusing to think of the young men who had talked about her that day, who had dared to say that she might distinguish herself if she would go on the boards, . . . bent over Harmon when the cough was at last subdued, wiping with her own fine bit of cambric the moisture from his forehead, and said gently, soothingly : " I did not know you felt like this, Harmon. I would not have done anything of which you disapproved, if I had dreamed of such a thing. I wish you had told me before. But now you must not talk any more to-night ; it is that which has made you ISABELLA ALDEN a6l cough. I'm going to play for you some of your favorite music while you rest." . . . He smiled, and leaned back white and worn against the pale green of the chair cushions, and closed his eyes. While Chrissy played brilliant waltzes — his fa- vorite style of music — he said to himself that she was a brick anyway ; most girls would have gone and sulked jf they had been pitched into that way, and it was very nice of her to say that she wouldn't have done anything of which he disapproved, if she had known it. — Chrissy s Endeavor. ALDEN, Joseph, D.D., an American educator, author, and Congregational clergyman, born at Cairo, N. Y., January 4, 1807; died at New York, August 30, 1885. He graduated at Union College in 1828; studied theology at Princeton Seminary, New Jersey ; was a college tutor for two years; and in 1834 was ordained pastor of a Congrega- tional church in Massachusetts. From 1835 to 1852 he was Professor of Rhetoric in Williams College, Massachusetts; from 1852 to 1857, Pro- fessor of Moral Philosophy in Lafayette College, Pennsylvania; from 1857 to 1867, President of Jefferson College, Pennsylvania; and in 1867 was made Principal of the State Normal School at Albany, N. Y. He contributed largely to period- icals, especially to the New York Observer^ of which he was for a time editor. Some of his later works are : Christian Ethics, or the Science of Duty ( 1 866) ; Eleniejits of Intellectual Philosophy ( 1 866) ; The Science of Govcrnme^it (1867) ; Hand- Book for Sunday School Teachers (1872) ; First Steps in Political Econ^ amy (1879), ^'^^^ Thoughts on the Religious Life (1879). CONCEPTIONS OF THE INFINITE. There has been a great deal written about the abso- lute and the infinite which conveys no meaning to such as have not the faculty of understanding the unintel- ligible. For example, Mansel says: "That which is conceived of as absolute and infinite must be conceived (262^ JOSEPH ALDEN^ 263 of as combining within itself the sum not only of all actual but of all possible modes of being." — There is no such thing as a general infinite. There are infinite things or attributes, just as there are true prop- ositions. But the infinite and the true are not inde- pendent entities. We cognize infinite objects, and can thus form an abstract idea of infinity. The idea is not definable. As we say, *' Truth is that in which all true proportions agree," so we may say, that the infinite is that in which all infinite objects agree. That is infinite which has no limit. That which we cognize as limit- less is to us infinite. AVe must distinguish between the infinite and the indefinite. God's wisdom is infinite ; it transcends all our powers of expression. So of his mercy and his benevolence. Infinite existence is ever- lasting existence. When we speak of God as the In- finite Existence, we mean that all his attributes are infinite. The human mind can form no adequate appre- hension of infinite things; and yet it is not, properly speaking, a negative apprehension which we have of it. The fact that we cannot know everything about a sub- ject or object does not prove that we cannot know any- thing about it. The fact that we cannot by searching find out God to perfection, does not prove that we can- not know many things respecting him. God is infinite : that is, His existence and attributes are without limit — transcend all our power of apprehension. We know nothing that can be added to them. — Elements of Intel- lectual Philosophy. ALDEN, William Livingston, son of Joseph Alden, was born at Williamstown, Mass., in 1837. He was educated at Lafayette and Jeff- erson Colleges, studied law, and while waiting for clients became a contributor to newspapers and magazines. In 1874 he joined the editorial staff of the New York Times, with which he remained connected until 1885, when he was appointed Consul-General at Rome. Since the expiration of his term of office he has resided in Paris and in London, engaged in literary work. His early volumes. Domestic Explosives (1878) and Shooting Stars (1879), were collections ot humorous articles previously published in the Times. His later books are : The Canoe and the Flying Proa (1880) ; three books for boys: The MoraJ Pirates (1881), The Cruise of the Ghost (1882), and The Cruise of the Canoe Club (1883) ; Life of Columbus (1882) ; Ad- ventures of Jimmy Brozvn (1885); Trying to Find Europe (i 886) ; The Neiv Robinson Crusoe (i 888) ; The Loss of the Swansea (1889) ; A Lost Soul {iSg2). A REMEDY FOR BRASS INSTRUMENTS. In order to be a great military commander it is gen- erally conceded that a certain amount of indifference to human suffering is requisite. . . . Alike callousness of heart is a necessary characteristic of the man who undertakes to learn to play upon a musical instrument. The sum of human agony caused by the early efforts of players upon stringed, reed, and brass instruments Ca64) WILLIAM LIVINGSTON ALDEN 265 is incalculable, and it is noticeable that wlierever mu- sical amateurs abound the Universalist faith makes no progress. . . . Many learned commentators have discussed the nature of the insanity under which King Saul frequently suffered, but it is odd that no one has perceived that it was due to the youthful David's persistent practice upon the harp. We know that on one occasion, while David was playing an air, which doubtless closely resembled " Silver Threads among the Gold," Saul flung a javelin at the musician and drove him away. Doubtless, the king was hasty, but let us remember his extreme provocation. As for David, not content with having already killed the leading Philistine giant, he went and played the harp to that unhappy nation, with the view of demoralizing the people so that he could make an easy conquest of them on coming to the Israelitish throne. While the javelin is probably a specific for all suffer- ing due to accordions, violins, cornets, and flutes, it is not a remedy which is available at the present day. The most successful mode of treatment which has been devised is that which was recently tried, with admirable results, in the case of a young man residing in a Twenty- second Street boarding-house, who was addicted to the French horn ; and it is due to the medical profession that the history of the case should be briefly given. The young man in question occupied the second-story front hall-bedroom. He was apparently a quiet and well-meaning person, but under a smooth and spotless shirt-bosom he concealed a heart heedless of human suffering. . . . That he preferred to learn the French horn does not palliate his offence ; for although the horn lacks the ear-piercing shrillness of the cornet, its tone has a wonderfully penetrating power, and is to the last degree depressing to the spirits. Unfortunately . . . he paid his room-rent in advance with cold-blood- ed punctuality. Hence, although he rose up early and sat up late to practise the horn, his landlady could not make up her mind either to request him to leave or to hint to him, by the discreet method of helping him ex- clusively to cold coffee and bare bones, that his pres- ence in her house was undesirable. 266 WILLIAM LIVINGSTON ALDEN The man who begins to play a wind instrument em- ploys the most of his time in what may be called *' sight- ing shots-' For example, when this particular young man desired to sound B flat, it would take a long while before h& could get his elevation and his wind-gauge regulated- He would hit three or four notes above B flat, and three or four notes below it a score of times before he would finally make a bull's eye. Even when, after long effort, he succeeded in hitting the desired note, the sound produced would be what is technically called a "blaat," or, in other words, an uncertain, tone- less, and most unmusical sound. It is needless to speak of the effect which this sort of thing had upon his fellow- boarders. At the end of two weeks public indignation had grown to that extent that it was seriously proposed to melt the horn and to pour the metal down the throat of the player, as a warning that unless he promptly re- formed he would be dealt with severely. It was then that a homoeopathic physician residing in the house called a meeting of the aggrieved boarders in order to propose what he believed would prove a radical cure. After describing with great clearness the painful symptoms which prolonged practice upon the horn de- velops in unfortunate and unwilling listeners, he asserted that in order to successfully combat the effects of horn- playing, the use of other instruments which produce analogous symptoms was indicated. Hence, he proposed that each boarder should provide himself with a cornet, a violin, an accordion, a flute, or a drum, and administer these remedies whenever any symptoms of the French horn were manifested. The next evening at seven o'clock the familiar gasp of the horn was heard. Instantly it was followed by the screech of the violin, the spasmodic choking of the cor- net, the drone of the accordion, the wail of the flute, and the fierce uproar of the drum. In two minutes a crowd was collected in the street under the impression that a large orchestra was rehearsing Wagner's " Meis- tersinger,'^ and the young man with the French horn was lying on the floor of his room in strong convulsions. The cure was complete. Early the next morning the French-horn player was removed to a lunatic asylum, WILLIAM LIVINGSTON ALDEN 267 where he still remains. He is quiet and harmless, but he believes that he is a remnant of the wall of Jericho, which fell down under the assault of the Hebrew trum- pets, and constantly insists that Congress should make an appropriation to repair him and mount him with bar- bette guns. . . . His horn has vanished, and the in- mates of his former boarding-house arc contented and happy. — Shooting Stars, ALDRICH, Thomas Bailey, an American jour- nalist, poet, and novelist, born at Portsmouth, N. H., November 1 1, 1836. He entered the counting- house of his uncle, a New York merchant, where he remained three years; began to write for va- rious periodicals, and subsequently acted as proof- reader in a printing-office. He became connected with the 'Qosion Atlantic Monthly, of which he was made editor in 1883. His poems include: The Bells (1855) ; Baby Bell (1856) ; Cloth of Gold (1874) ; Flower and Thorn (1876); Friar Jerome's Beautiful Book (1881); Mercedes and Later Lyrics ; also a household edition of his complete poems (1885); WyndJiam Towers (1889); TJie Sister s Tragedy and Other Poems (1891), and Unguarded Gates and Other Poems. PRELUDE TO CLOTH OF GOLD.* You ask me if by rule or no Our many-colored songs are wrought? — Upon the cunning loom of thought, We weave our fancies so and so. The busy shuttle comes and goes Across the rhymes, and deftly weaves A tissue out of autumn leaves With here a thistle, there a rose. With art and patience thus is made The poet's perfect Cloth of Gold : When woven so, nor moth nor mould Nor time can make its colors fade. * By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. ,(268) THOMAS HAH I ^' \l DKMCH. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 269 L ENVOIE TO CLOTH OF GOLD.'* This is my youth — its hopes and dreams. How strange and shadowy it all seems After so many years ! Turning the pages idly, so, I look with smiles upon the woe, Upon the joy with tears ! Go, little Book. The old and wise Will greet thee with suspicious eyes, With stare or furtive frown ; But here and there some golden maid May like thee : — Thou'lt not be afraid Of young eyes, blue or brown. To such a one, perchance, thou'lt sing As clearly as a bird of spring, Hailing the apple-blossom; And she will let thee make thy nest, Perhaps, within her snowy breast. Go : rest thou in her bosom. THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS. Kind was my friend who in the Eastern land Remembered me with such a gracious hand, And sent this Moorish crescent which has been Worn on the haughty bosom of a queen. No more it sinks and rises with unrest To the soft music of her heathen breast ; No barbarous chief shall bow before it more. No turbaned slave shall envy and adore. I place beside this relic of the Sun A cross of cedar, brought from Lebanon ; One borne, perchance, by some pale monk who trod The desert to Jerusalem — and his God ! •By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 270 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH Here do they lie, two symbols of two creeds. Each meaning something to our human needs ; Both stained with blood, and sacred made by faith, By tears, and prayers, and martyrdom and death. That for the Moslem is, but this for me ! The waning crescent lacks divinity : It gives me dreams of battles, and the woes Of women shut in dim seraglios. But when this cross of simple wood I see, The Star of Bethlehem shines again for me, And glorious visions break upon my gloom :— The patient Christ, and Mary at the tomb. A TURKISH LEGEND. A certain Pasha, dead five thousand years, Once from his harem fled in sudden tears, And had this sentence on the city's gate Deeply engraven, " Only God is great." So these four words above the city's noise Hung like the accents of an angel's voice, And evermore, from the high barbican, Saluted each returning caravan. Lost is that city's glory. Every gust Lifts, with crisp leaves, the unknown Pasha's dust; And all is ruin — save one wrinkled gate Whereon is written, " Only God is great." LITTLE MAUD. I. Oh, where is our dainty, our darling, the daintiest dar- ling of all ? Where is the voice on the stairway, where is the voice in the hall ? The little short steps in the entry, the silvery laugh in the hall ? Where is our dainty, our darling, the daintiest darling of all ? Little Maud ' THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 271 II. The peaches are ripe in the orchard ; the apricots ready to fall ; A.nd the grapes reach up to the sunshine over the gar- den wall. O rosebud of women ! where are you ? (She never re- plies to our call !) Where is our dainty, our darling, the daintiest darling of all? Little Maud ? EGYPT. Fantastic sleep is busy with my eyes : I seem in some vast solitude to stand Once ruled of Cheops : upon either hand A dark, illimitable desert lies. Sultry and still — a realm of mysteries ; A wide-browed Sphinx, half buried in the sand, With orbless sockets stares across the land, The wofullest thing beneath these brooding skies, Where all is woful, weird-lit vacancy. 'Tis neither midnight, twilight, nor moonrise. Lo ! while I gaze beyond the vast sand-sea The nebulous clouds are downward slowly drawn, And one bleared star, faint-glimmering like a bee, Is shut in the rosy outstretched hand of Dawn. EDGAR ALLAN POE. He walked with demons, ghouls, and things Unsightly — terrors and despairs — And ever in the blackened airs A dismal raven flapped its wings. He wasted richest gifts of God ; But here's the limit of his woes : — Sleep rest him ! See above him grows The very grass whereon he trod. Behold ! within this narrow grave Is shut the mortal part of him. Behold ! he could not wholly dim The gracious genius Heaven gave ;— 27fl THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH For strains of music liere and there, Weird murmurings, vague, prophetic tones, Are blown across the silent zones Forever in the midnight air. DECEMBER. Only the sea intoning, only the wainscot-mouse, Only the wild wind moaning over the lonely house. Darkest of all Decembers ever my life has known, Sitting here by the embers stunned, helpless, alone. Dreaming of two graves lying out in the damp and chill* One where the buzzard, fiying, pauses at Malvern Hill ; The other — Alas ! the pillows of that uneasy bed Rise and fall with the billows, over our sailor's head. Theirs the heroic story : — Died, by frigate and town ! Theirs the calm and the glory, theirs the cross and the crown. Mine to linger and languish here by the wintry sea. Ah, faint heart ! in thy anguish, what is there left to thee \ Only the sea intoning, only the wainscot-mouse, Only the wild wind moaning over the lonely house. BY THE POTOMAC. The soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves By the Potomac ! and the crisp ground-flower Lifts its blue cup to catch the passing shower; The pine-cone ripens, and the long moss waves Its tangled gonfalons above our braves. Hark, what a burst of music from yon bower !— The Southern nightingale that, hour by hour, In its melodious madness raves. — Ah, with what delicate touches of her hand, With what sweet voices, nature seeks to screen The awful crime of this distracted land ; Seis her birds singing, while she spreads her green Mantle of velvet where the murdered lie, As if to hide the horror from God's eye. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICh 273 BEFORE THE RAIN.' We knew it would rain, for all the mom A spirit on tender robes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens ; Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers ; Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves ; the amber grain Shrunk in the wind ; and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous clouds of rain ! AFTER THE RAIN.* The rain has ceased, and in my room The sunshine pours an airy flood ; And on the church's dizzy vane, The ancient cross is bathed in blood. From out the dripping ivy leaves, Antiquely carven, gray and high, A dormer, facing westward, looks Upon the village like an eye. And now it glimmers in the sun, A square of gold, a disc, a speck : And in the belfry sits a dove With purple ripples on her neck. Richardson, \w American Literature, S2Lys'. "The poetry of Thomas Bailey Aldrich may be de- scribed, with substantial fairness, in the terse words wherein Emerson characterizes Herrick: he *is the lyric poet, ostentatiously choosing petty subjects, petty names for each piece, and disposing of his theme in a few lines, or in a • By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co, Vol. 1o~jS 274 7^11 OM AS BAILEY ALDRICH couplet; is never dull, and is the master of minia- ture painting.'" Among his prose works are : Out of His Head ( 1 862) ; Story of a Bad Boy ( 1 870) ; Marjorie Daw ajid other People (1873); Prtidence Palfrey (1874); The Queen of Sheba {i2>7y)', The Stilhvater Tragedy (1880) ; Frovi Ponkapog to Pesth (1883) ; and, in conjunction with Mrs. Oliphant, The Second Son (1888); 2i\so, An Old Toivn by the Sea, and Tzvo Bites at a Cherry. Whether in prose or verse, Mr. Aldrich is always charming. He possesses a light and brilliant touch, which is found in all his writings, and, to quote the words of Edward Eggleston : " It is this lightness of touch which more than anything else marks the literar}'^ artist. He who makes you feel the weight of his thought without letting you feel heaviness of expression, he who floats his ideas to you upon wings, is the true artist in literature." john flemming to edward delaney,. August ii, — — Your letter, dear Ned, was a godsend. Fancy what a fix I am in, I, who never had a day's sickness since I was born. My left leg weighs three tons. It is em- balmed in spices and smothered in layers of fine linen, like a mummy. I can't move. I haven't moved for five thousand years. I'm of the time of Pharaoh. I lie from morning till night on a lounge, staring into the hot street. Everybody is out of town enjoying himself. The brownstone-front houses across the street resemble a row of particularly ugly coffins set up on end. A green mould is settling on the names of the deceased, carved on the silver door-plates. Sar- donic spiders have sewed up the key-holes. All is silence and dust and desolation. I interrupt this a moment, to take a shy at VVatkins with the second volume of Csesai Birotteau. Missed him ! I think I THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 275 could bring him down with a copy of Sainte-Beuve or the Dictionnaire Universal, if I had it. These small Balzac books somehow don't quite fit my hand ; but I shall fetch him yet, I've an idea Watkins is tapping the old gentleman's Chateau Yquem — duplicate key of the wine-cellar. Hibernian swarries in the front base- ment. Young Cheops upstairs, snug in his cerements. Watkins glides into my chamber, with that colorless, hypocritical face of his drawn out long like an accor- dion ; but I know he grins all the way downstairs, and is glad I have broken my leg. Was not my evil star in the very zenith when I ran uptown to attend that din- ner at Delmonico's? I didn't come up altogether for that. It was partly to buy Frank Livingstone's roan mare, Margot. And now I shall not be able to sit in the saddle these two months. I'll send the mare down to you at the The Pines — is that the name of the place ? Old Dillon fancies that I have something on my mind. He drives me wild with lemons. Lemons for a mind disease. Nonsense. I am only as restless as the devil under this confinement, a thing I am not used to. Take a man who has never had so much as a headache or a toothache in his life, strap one of his legs in a sec- tion of waterspout, keep him in a room in the city for weeks, with the hot weather turned on, and then ex- pect him to smile and purr and be happy ! It is pre- posterous, I can't be cheerful or calm. Your letter is the first consoling thing I have had since my disaster — ten days ago. It really cheered me up for half an hour. Send me a screed, Ned, as often as you can, if you love me. Anything will do. Write me more about the little girl in the hammock. That was very pretty, all that about the Dresden china shepherdess and the pond-lily; the imagery a little mixed, perhaps, but very pretty. I didn't suppose you had so much sentimental furniture in your upper story. It shows how one may be familiar for years with the re- ception-room of his neighbor, and never suspect what is directly under his mansard. I supposed your loft stuffed with dry legal parchments, mortgages and affi- davits ; you take down a package of manuscript, and 276 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH lo ' there are lyrics and sonnets and canzonettas„ You really have a graphic descriptive touch, Edward De- laney, and I suspect you of anonymous love-tales in the magazines. I shall be a bear until I hear from you again. Tell me all about your pretty incomiue across the road. What is her name? Who is she ? Who's her father ? Where's her mother ? Who's her lover ? You cannot imagine how this will occupy me. The more trifling the better. My imprisonment has weakened me intellectually to such a degree that I find your epistolary gifts quite con- siderable, I am passing into my second childhood. In a week or two I shall take to india-rubber rings and prongs of coral. A silver cup, with an appropriate in- scription, would be a delicate attention on your part. In the meantime, write ! edward delaney to john flemming. August 12, The sick pasha shall be amused. Bismillah ! — he wills it so. If the story-teller becomes prolix and tedious, the bow-string and the sack, and two Nubians to drop him into the Piscataqua ! But truly. Jack, I have a hard task. There is literally nothing here, except the little girl over the way. She is swinging in the ham- mock at this moment. It is to me compensation for many of the ills of life to see her now and then put out a small kid boot, which fits like a glove, and set herself going. Who is she, and what is her name "i Her name is Daw. Only daughter of Mr. Richard W. Daw, ex- colonel and banker. Mother dead. One brother at Harvard ; elder brother killed at the battle of Fair Oaks nine years ago. Old, rich family, the Daws. This is the homestead where father and daughter pass eight months of the twelve; the rest of the year in Baltimore and Washington. The New England winter too many for the old gentleman. The daughter is called Marjorie — Marjorie Daw. Sounds odd at first, doesn't it ? But after you say it over to yourself half a dozen times, you like it. There's a pleasing quaintness to it, something prim and violet-like. Must be a nice sort of girl to be called Marjorie Daw. THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 277 I had mine host of The Pines in the witness-box last niglit, and drew the foregoing testimony from him. He has charge of Mr. Daw's vegetable-garden, and has known the family these thirty years. Of course I shall make the acquaintance of my neighbors before many days. It will be next to impossible for me not to meet Mr. Daw or Miss Daw in some of my walks. The young lady has a favorite path to the sea-beach. I shall inter- cept her some morning, and touch my hat to her. Then the princess will bend her fair head to me with cour- teous surprise not unmixtd with haughtiness. Will snub me, in fact. All this for thy sake, O Pasha of the Snapped Axle-tree ! . . . How oddly things fall out ! Ten minutes ago I was called down to the parlor — you know the kind of parlors in farm-houses on the coast — a sort of amphibious parlor, with sea-shells on the man- tel-piece and spruce-branches in the chimney-place, where I found my father and Mr. Daw doing the antique polite to each other. He had come to pay his respects to his new neighbors. Mr. Daw is a tall, slim gentle- man of about fifty-five, with a florid face and snow- white mustache and side-whiskers. Looks like Mr. Dombey, or as Mr. Dombey would have looked if he had served a few years in the British Army. Mr. Daw was a colonel in the late war, commanding the regiment in which his son was a lieutenant. Plucky old boy, backbone of New Hampshire granite. Before taking his leave, the colonel delivered himself of an invitation as if he were issuing a general order. Miss Daw has a few friends coming at 4 p.m., to play croquet on the lawn (parade-ground) and have tea (cold rations) on the piazza. Will we honor them with our company (or be sent to the guard-house) ? My father declines on the plea of ill-health. My father's son bows with as much suavity as he knows, and accepts. In my next I shall have something to tell you. I shall have seen the little beauty face to face. I have a presentiment, Jack, that this Daw is a 7-ara avis ! Keep up your spirits, my boy, until I write you another letter, and send me along word how's your leg. — Marjorie Daw ALEARDI, Aleardo, an Italian poet and pa- triot, whose original name was Gaetano Aleardi^ was born near Verona, November 14, 1812; died there July 17, 1878. His father's farm lay in the beautiful valley of the Adige, and from the gran- deur of the scenery near his home is traceable the love of nature which is found in all his verses. He acquired knowledge in the school of nature more easily than he did while attending school at home, where he was considered a very dull boy. He afterward attended the University of Padua to pursue a course in the law, although it is said he did this more to please his father than any- thing else, who advised him to leave off writing verses and devote his attention to something more serious. His compliance with his father's wishes satisfied the latter, but did not keep 3'oung Aleardi from following his natural bent, for it was while at Padua that he produced his first political poems. He engaged in the practice of law for a short time at Verona, and while there composed his first lengthy poem, Arnaldo, which was well thought of. Upon the breaking out of the Venetian Revolu- tion, in 1848, he became actively engaged in the cause of the patriots, and when the new Venetian Republic, born of this insurrection, was ushered into existence, Aleardi was chosen as its repre- sentative at Paris. But the new government qoX' (278) ALEARDO ALEARDI 279 lapsed shortly ; Aleardi was recalled, and for ten years devoted his labors to the cause of Italian unity and freedom. He was imprisoned at Man- :ua in 1852, and again at Verona in 1859; '^vas at 3ne time a member of the Italian Parliament, and .ater Professor of -Esthetics in the School of Arts at Brescia. Aleardi's principal impressions, like those of nearly all the other Italian poets, were caused by the exciting events of Italy's struggle to secure her independence, and his best work was done prior to the peace of Villafranca. His Le Prime Storie (The Primal Stories), a picturesque tale, was written in 1848. His Una Ora della Mia Giovinezza (An Hour of My Youth) was produced in 1858. In it he speaks of his struggles, trials, and dis- appointments in his country's cause. Like almost all of his work, this poem is mostly meditative; its diction is, as always, beautiful, and has the peculiar lustre which is so characteristic of him. Monte Circello\s,2i song of the Italian victories, which at the same time presents some scientific truths in a novel way. Among his other works are : Le Citta Italiane Marinore e Conimercianti, Rafaello e la For- narina, Le Tre Fiume, Le Tre Franciulle, I Sctte Soldati, and Canto Politico, the latter having been produced in 1862. CRITICISM OF HIMSELF. My pen resembles too much a pencil ; I am too much of a naturalist, and am too fond of losing myself in minute details. I am as one who, in walking, goes leisurely along, and stops every moment to observe the dash of light that breaks through the trees of the 28o ALEARDO ALEARDI woods, the insect that alights on his hand, the leaf that falls on his head, a cloud, a wave, a streak of smoke ; in fine, the thousand accidents that make creation so rich, so various, so poetical, and beyond which we ever< more catch glimpses of that grand, mysterious some- thing, eternal, immense, benignant, and never inhuman or cruel, as some would have us believe, which is called God. — Frofn Howells's Modern Italian Poets. THE poet's lament. Muse of an aged people, in the eve Of fading civilization, I was born Of kindred that have greatly expiated And greatly wept. For me the ambrosial finger* Of graces never wove the laurel crown, But the fates shadowed, from my youngest days. My brow with passion-flowers, and I have lived Unknown to my dear land. Oh, fortunate My sisters that in the heroic dawn Of races sung ! To them did destiny give The virgin fire and chaste ingenuousness Of their land's speech ; and, reverenced, their hand* Ran over potent strings. To me, the hopes Turbid with hate ; to me, the senile rage % To me, the painted fancies clothed by art Degenerate ; to me, the desperate wish, Not in my soul to nurse ungenerous dreams, But to contend, and with the sword of song To fight my battles too. — From Howells's Modern Italian Poets. \ ALEMBERT, Jean Baptiste le Rond de, a dis- tinguished French mathematician, philosopher, and general writer, born at Paris, November i6, 1717 ; died there October 29, 1783. A portion of his name was probably given him from the fact of his having been left near the church of St. Jean le Rond, Paris, where as a foundling he was picked up by a commissary of police on the day of his birth. His surname he added himself. It afterward leaked out that he was the bastard son of the Chevalier Destouches and Madame de Tencin, a woman of doubtful reputation. On ac- count of his frail body, or possibly some agree- ment with one of his parents, he was intrusted to the care of a glazier's wife, Rosseau by name, who resided hard by, instead of being assigned to the foundling asylum. His foster-mother took such care in bringing him up that she gained his life- long attachment. After he became famous he re- fused to recognize his natural mother as holding that connection to him, and claimed the glazier's wife as his real maternal parent. On the other hand, his father, without making his identity known, caused an annuity of 1,200 francs to be given him, which covered his educational ex- penses from his fourth to his tenth year. In 1730 he attended the Mazarin College, which was controlled by the Jansenists, who, discovering (281) 2»2 JEAN BAPTISTE LE ROND DE ALEMBERT his wonderful merit, and possibly being guided by his Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, which he wrote during the first 3^ear of his philosophical course, attempted to tend his talent in the direc- tion of theology. A check being placed upon his love for poetry and mathematics, he still received no teaching at college, except a few primary les- sons from Caron, in the science which was to ele- vate him to prominence. He acquired by his own unaided attempts a knowledge of the higher mathematics after leaving college, which caused him to credit himself with certain discoveries which he afterward learned had already been demonstrated. He was admitted to the bar in 1738, but did no practising. He next undertook the study of medicine, but his natural conditions overcoming him, he requested the return of his mathematical books, which he had sent a friend to retain until he had taken his degree. He was made a member of the Academy of Sciences in 1 741, to which he had formerly presented several writings. He was the author of UAlcmbcrf s Prin- ciple, in relation to the solution of complex dynam- ical problems. He published his Reflexions sur le cause generale des Vents, which secured for him the prize medal of the Academy of Berlin in 1746, and which added to his fame. Having dedicated his work to Frederick, King of Prussia, who had just brought a glorious campaign to a close, the latter forwarded him a polite letter and placed him among his literary friends. In 1754 Frederick prevailed upon D'AIembert to receive a pension of 1,200 francs per year. In 1763, while on a visit to JEAN BAPTISTE LE ROND DE ALEMBERT 283 Berlin, he refused the presidency of the Academy of Berlin, which had been tendered to him several times before. In 1752 he published his treatise on the Resistance of Fluids, and about the same time he published, in the Memoirs of the Academy of Ber- lin, Researches Concerning the Integral Calculus, a branch of mathematical science. His principal works are : Traits de Dynamique (1743) ; Traits de V^quilibre et dii movement des fiuides (1744); Re- cherche s sitr la precession des equi?ioxes et stir la nutation de I'axe de la tcrre (1749); Rccherches sur differ e7its points importants du syst^ine du monde{\ 754); Melanges de philosophic et du litterature ; Elements de philosophic ; Opuscules mathematiques (1761-80), etc. He was associated with Diderot in the prep- aration of the far-famed Dictionnaire Encyclope'- dique. In 1762 Catherine of Russia offered him a sal- ary of 100,000 francs to become her son's instruc- tor, but he refused, even after higher remuneration had been offered. In 1755, on Pope Benedict XIV. 's motion, he was made a member of the In- stitute of Bologna. David Hume held him in such esteem that he willed him i,*200. ANECDOTES OF BOSSUET. Bossuet's talents for the pulpit disclosed themselves almost from his infancy. He was announced as a phenomenon of early oratory at the hotel de Ram- bouillet, where merit of all kinds was summoned to ap- pear, and was judged of, well or ill. He there, before a numerous and chosen assembly, made a sermon on a given subject, almost without preparation, and with the highest applause. The preacher was only sixteen years old, and the hour was eleven at night ; which gave occa- sion to Voiture, who abounded in plays on words, to say that he had never heard so early or so late a sermon. i 284 JEAN BAPTISTE LE ROND DE ALEMBERT One of those persons who make a parade of their un- belief, wished to hear, or rather to brave him. Too proud to confess himself conquered, but too just to re- fuse the homage due to a great man, he exclaimed, on leaving the place, "This man to me is the first of preachers ; for I feel it is by him I should be converted, if I were ever to be so." He one day presented to Louis XIV. Father Mabil- lon, as " the most learned Religeuse of his Kingdom." — "And the humblest too," said le Tellier, Archbishop of Rheims, who thereby thought to epigrammatise adroitly the modesty of the prelate. The famed Arch- bishop, however, humiliated as he felt himself by the elevated genius of Bossuet, was too just to suffer it to be slighted. Some young court chaplains, one of whom has since occupied high stations, talking one day in his presence, with French levity, of the works and abilities of the Bishop of Meaux, whom they ventured to ridicule ; "Be silent," said le Tellier, " respect your master and ours." — Translated by John Aikin, ALEXANDER, Archibald, D.D., an Ameri- can clergyman and scholar, born in Rockbridge County, Va., April 17, 1772; died at Princeton, N. J., October 22, 185 1. He was educated at Hampden-Sidney College ; studied theology, and was licensed to preach in 1791. He was chosen President of Hampden-Sidney College in 1796; became pastor of a Presbyterian church in Phila- delphia in 1807; and in 1812, upon the organiza- tion of the Presbyterian Theological Seminary at Princeton, was appointed Professor of Theology in that institution, retaining that position until his death. He wrote Outlines of the Evidences of Christianity, Treatise on the Canon of the Old and New Testaments, History of the Patriarchs, History of the Israelites, Annals of the Jewish Nation, Ad- vice to a Young Christian, Bible Dictionary, Counsels from the Aged to the Young, ThougJits on Religious Experience, African Colonization, History of the Log College, and a work on Moral Science, which was published after his death. Of this last work the Westminster Review says : Though not aspiring to the dignity of a treatise, it forms a most compact and convenient text-book. It is a calm, clear stream of abstract reasoning, flowing from a thoughtful, well-instructed mind, without any parade of logic, but with an intuitive simplicity and directness which gives an almost axiomatic force. From this characteristic we could almost have conjectured what is 286 ARCHIBALD ALEXANDER Stated in the preface, that the study of ethical philoso- phy was the author's favorite pursuit for at least three- score years ; and that for forty years it formed a branch of academical instruction in connection with his theo- logical course. PROOFS OF THE TRUTHS OF CHRISTIANITY. If the Christian religion is "a cunningly devised fable," there are two things relative to it v/hich can never be satisfactorily accounted for. The one is, that falsehood should be surrounded with so many of the evidences and circumstances by which truth is charac- terized ; the other, that an imposture, proceeding from minds exceedingly corrupt, should be marked with such purity in its moral principles, and such a benevolent and peaceful tendency in all its provisions and precepts. Whatever objections may be made to the system of Christianity, these difficulties will stand in the way of the deist ; and he never can overcome them. Let us calmly contemplate this subject. The Chris- tian religion is founded on facts for the truth of which an appeal is made to testimony — the ground on which all other ancient facts are received. If these facts did really occur, then Christianity must be true. If they did not, why can it not be shown ? Was there ever a case, in which transactions so public, and in the truth of which so many persons were interested, were so cir- cumstanced as to baffle every effort to detect the fraud attempted to be imposed on the world ? Here then is a wonderful thing. The defenders of Christianity ap- peal to facts attested by many competent and credible witnesses ; they show that these witnesses could not themselves have been deceived in the nature of the things concerning which they give their testimony ; they demon- strate from every circumstance of their condition that they could have had no motive for wishing to propagate the belief of these facts, if they had not been true ; that, in giving the testimony which they did, they put to risk, and actually sacrificed, everything most dear to men ; that, even if they could have been induced by some inconceivable motive to propagate what they knew ARCHIBALD ALEXANDER 2S7 to be false, it was morally impossible that they could have persuaded any persons to believe them ; because the things related by them being of recent date and public nature, and the names of persons and places specified, nothing v/ould have been easier than to dis- prove false assertions so situated. Moreover, the per- sons who first became disciples of Christ and members of the church from the declarations of the apostles cannot be supposed to have admitted the truth of these things without examination, or every principle of self- preservation must have been awake to guard them against delusion. l>y attaching themselves to this new sect "everyv/here spoken against," and persecuted both by Jews and Gentiles, they did, literally, forsake all that man holds most dear in this life. If there had existed no persons possessed of power and sagacity, who were deeply interested in the refutation of falsehoods which would implicate them in disgrace, the evidence would not be so overwhelming as it is ; but we know that all the power and learning of the Jewish nation, and also of the Roman Government, were arrayed against the publishers of the gospel ; for just in proportion as the report of these men gained credit, the conduct of those who persecuted Christ unto death would appear clothed in the darkest colors. Why did they not, at once, come forward and crush the imposture ? It has also been fully established by the friends of revelation, that we are in possession of the genuine records published soon after the events occurred. There is no room for any suspicion that the gospels were the fabrication of a later age than that of the apostles ; or that they have been corrupted and interpolated since they were writ- ten. And finally, the effects produced by the publica- tion of these facts are such as almost to constrain the belief that the gospel narrative is true ; for the rapid and extensive progress of the Christian religion can, upon no other principles, be rationally accounted for. It would be as great a miracle for a few unlearned fishermen and mechanics to be successful in founding a religion, which in a short time changed the whole aspect of the world, as any recorded in the New Testament. Now, supposing the facts in the question to be truCj, 386 ARCHIBALD ALEXANDER what other, or greater, evidence of the truth could we have had than we already possess ? What other facts of equal antiquity are half as well attested ? Let the deist choose any portion of ancient history, and adduce his testimony in proof of the facts, and then compare the evidence in their support with that which the friends of Christianity have exhibited for all the material facts recorded in the gospel ; and I shall be disappointed if sie does not, upon an impartial examination, find the latter to be much more various and convincing. — Pre-' iiminary Discourse on the Evide?ices of Christianity. ALEXANDER, James Waddell, D.D., an American Presbyterian clergyman, son of Rev. Archibald Alexander; born in Louisa County, Va., March 13, 1804; died July 31, 1859. He graduated at Princeton College in 1820; was a tutor there until 1827, when he became pastor of a Presbyterian church at Charlotte Court-House, Va., and in 1829 of one at Trenton, N. J. In 1833-34 he was Professor of Belles-Lettres and Lafin in Princeton College; Avas pastor of the Duane Street Presbyterian Church, New York, 1844-49; Professor of Ecclesiastical History, Church Government, and Sacred Rhetoric in Princeton Theological Seminary, 1849-51. In 1851 the Duane Street church was reorganized as the Fifth Avenue church, New York, and he again became its pastor, a position which he held until his death. He was a frequent contributor to re- ligious and literary periodicals, and wrote many books, among which are more than thirty small volumes for the American Sunday-School Union: Memoirs of Rev. Archibald Alexander, his father; Consolation ; Sacramental Discourses ; Thoughts on Family Worship; Plain Words to a Young Communi- cant ; Thoughts on Preaching ; Discourses on Chris- tian Faith and Practice, and The American Mechanic Xsid Workingman s Companion. Vol. T,--J9 (289) 290 JAMES WADDELL ALEXANDER ON EXTEMPORANEOUS PREACHING. "You have expressed," he says, addressing a young preacher, " fears as to your ever becoming an extem- poraneous preacher. Many who have excelled in this way, have had fears like yours. My counsel is, that you boldly face the obstacles and begin ex ahrupto. The longer you allow yourself to become fixed in another and exclusive habit, the greater will be your difficulty in throwing it aside. Some of the authors whom I re- spect recommend a beginning by gradual approaches ; such as committing to memory a part, and then going on from that impulse. This is what Cicero illustrates by the fine comparison of a boat which is propelled by its original impulse, and comes up to the shore even v.hen the oars are taken in. Others te'l you to throw in passages extemporaneously amidst your written ma- terials ; as one who swims with corks, but occasionally leaves them. Doubtless many have p^-ofited by such devices ; yet if called on to prescribe the very best method, I should not prescribe these. Again, there- fore, I say begin at onee. When one orre inquired of the celebrated Gilbert Stuart how young persons should be taught to paint, he replied: 'Just as puppies are taught to swim — chuck them in ! ' No one learns to swim in the sea of preaching without goinq; into the water. " As I am perfectly convinced that any man can learn to preach extempore who can talk extempore — always provided that he has somewhat to say — my earnest ad- vice to you is that you never make the attempt without being sure of your matter. Of all the defects of utter- ance I have ever known, the most serious is having nothing to utter. In all your experiments, therefore, iecure by pre-meditation a good amount of material, and let it be digested and arranged in your head accord- ing to an exact partition and a logical concatenation. The more completely this latter provision is attended to, the less will be the danger of losing your self-pos- session or your chain of ideas. Common-sense must ad- ^it that tfie great thinjj is to have the nal ter. All JAMES VVADDELL ALEXANDER 291 speaking which does not presuppose this is a sham. And of method it may be observed that even if divisions and subdivisions are not formally announced, they should be clearly before the mind, as affording a most important clew in the remembrance of what has been prepared. If you press me to say which is absolutely the best practice in regard to * notes,' properly so called, I unhesitatingly say, use none. Carry no scrap of writing into the pulpit. Let your scheme, with all its branches, be written on your mental tablet. " Do not prepare your words. If you would avail your- self of the plastic power of excitement in a great assem- bly to create for the gushing thought a mould of fitting diction, you will not spend a moment on the words ; following Horace : * Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur.' Nothing more effectually ruffles that com- posure of mind which the speaker needs, than to have a disjointed train of half-remembered words floating in the mind. For which reason few persons have ever been successful in a certain method which I have seen proposed, to wit : that a young speaker should prepare his manuscript, give it a thorough reading beforehand, and then preach with a general recollection of its con- tents. The result is that the mind is in a libration and pother betwixt the word in the paper and the probably better word which comes to the tip of the tongue. Generally speaking, the best possible word is the one which is born of the thought in the presence of the assembly. And the less you think about words as a separate affair, the better they will be." — Thoughts on Preaching, ALEXANDER, Joseph Addison, D.D., an American biblical scholar, son of Rev. Archibald Alexander; born in Philadelphia, Pa., April 24, 1009; died at Princeton, N. J., January 28, i860. He graduated at Princeton Colleg-e in 1826, and was Adjunct Professor of Ancient Languages and Literature, 1830-33. He was a professor in Prince- ton Theological Seminary from 1851 until his death, holding successively the chairs of Oriental and Biblical Literature, of Church History and Government, and of New Testament Literature and Biblical Greek. He published two volumes of Sermons ; Essays on tJie Primitive Church Offices ; Commentaries on various books of the New Testa- ment ; The Psalms Translated and Explained, and Isaiah Translated and Explai?ied, the last two being his most notable works. THE DOWNFALL OF BABYLONIA : Isatah XX. 3. And it shall be (or come to pass) in the day of Jeho- vah's causing thee to rest from thy toil (or suffering, and from thy conunotion (or disquietude), and from the hard ser- vice which was wrought by thee (or imposed upon thee). In this verse and the following c ontext, the prophet, in order to reduce the general piomise of the foregoing verse to a more graphic and in.pressive form, recurs to the downfall of Babylon as the beginning of the series of deliverances which he had predicted, and describes the effect upon those most concerned, by putting into the mouth of Israel a song of triumph over their oppressor. JOSEPH ADDISON ALEXANDER 293 This is universally admitted to be one of the finest spec- imens of Hebrew, and indeed of ancient composition. 4. The7i shall thou raise this song over the king of Baby- Ion, and say, Hoiu hath the oppressor ceased, the golden [city\ ceased f The meaning of the first clause is, of course, that Israel would have occasion to express such feelings. The King here introduced is an ideal person- age, whose downfall represents that of the Babylonian monarchy. 5. This verse contains the answer to the question in the one before it. Jehovah hath broken the staff of the wicked, the rod of the rulers. The rod and staff are common figures for dominion ; and their being broken, for its destruction. 6. Smiting Jiations in anger by a stroke without cessation^ ruling nations in 7a rath by a rule without restraint i^xttx^Wy, which he or one indefinitely, did not restrain). The parti- ciples may agree grammatically either with the rod or with the King who wields it. The English Version ap- plies the last clause only to the punishment. But the great majority both of the oldest and the latest writers make the whole descriptive of the Babylonian tyranny. 7. At rest, quiet, is the whole earth. They burst forth into singing (or a shout of joy). There is no inconsist- ency between the clauses, as the first is not descriptive of silence, but of tranquillity and rest, " The land had rest " is a phrase employed in the Book of Judges to describe the condition of the country after a great na- tional deliverance. The verb to burst is peculiarly de- scriptive of an ebullition of joy long suppressed, or suddenly succeeding grief, 8. Not only the earth and its inhabitants take part in this triumphant song or shout, but the trees of the forest. Also (or even) the cypresses rejoice with respect to thee, [the cedars of] Lebanon [saying], Now that thou art fallen {Viterddly lain down), the feller (or woodman, literally the cutter) shall not come up against us. Now that we are safe from thee, we fear no other enemy. As to the meaning of the figures in this verse, there are various opinions ; but the only one that seems consistent with a pure taste is that which supposes this to be merely a part of one great picture, representing 294 JOSEPH ADDISON' ALEXANDER universal nature as rejoicing. Both here and elsewhere, in the sacred books inanimate nature is personified, and speaks for itself, instead of being merely spoken of. 9. The bold personification is now extended from the earth and its forest to the invisible or lower world, the inhabitants of which are represented as aroused at the approach of the new victim, and as coming forth to meet him. Hell from beneath is moved (or in commotion^ for thee {i.e. on account of thee) to ineet thee [at] thy coming; it rouses for thee the giants (the gigantic shades or spectres), «// tJie chief o?ics (literally he-goats) of the earth ; it raises from their thrones all the kings of the na- tions. The word translated hell has already been ex- plained as meaning, first, a grave or individual sepulchre, and then the grave as a general receptacle, indiscrimi- nately occupied by all the dead without respect to char- acter ; as when we say, the rich and the poor, the evil and the good lie down together in the grave, not in a single tomb, which would be false, but underground, and in a common state of death and burial. The English word Hell, though now appropriated to the condition or the place of future torments, corresponds, in etymology and early usage, to the Hebrew word in question. The passage comprehends two elements, and only two : religious verities or certain facts, and poetical embel- lishments. It may not be easy to distinguish clearly between these ; but it is only between these that we are able, or have any occasion, to distinguish. The admis- sion of a third, in the shape of superstitious fables, is as false in rhetoric as in theology. The shades or spectres of the dead might be conceived as actually larger than the living man, since that which is shadowy or indistinct is commonly exaggerated by the fancy. Or there may be an allusion to the Canaanitish giants who were ex- terminated by the divine command, and might well be chosen to represent the whole class of departed sinners. Or, in this particular case, we may suppose the kings and great ones of the earth to be distinguished from the vulgar dead as giants or gigantic forms. I o. All of them shall answer and say to thee : Thou also art made weak as we, to us art thou likened I This is a tatural expression of surprise that one so far superior JOSEPH ADDISON ALEXANDER 295 to themselves should now be a partaker of their weak- ness and disgrace. The interrogative form given to the last clause by all the English versions is entirely ar- bitrary, and much less expressive than the simple asser- tion or exclamation preferred by the oldest and the latest writers. 11. Down to the grave is brought thy pride {or pomp), fhe tnusic of thy harps; under thee is spread the worm ; thy covering is vermin. The word harp is evidently put for musical instruments or music in general, and this for mirth and revelry. Some suppose an allusion to the practice of embalming, but the words seem naturally only to suggest the common end of all mankind, even the greatest not excepted. The imagery of the clause is vividly exhibited in Gill's homely paraphrase : " Nothing but worms over him and worms under him ; worms his bed, and worms his bed-clothes." 12. Ifcna art thou fallen from heaven, Lucifer, son of the morning—felled to the ground, thou that didst lord it otxr the nations. In the two other places where the word translated Lucifer occurs, it is an imperative, signifying howl. This sense is also put upon it here by the Peshi- to ; but all the other ancient versions and all the lead- ing Rabbins make the word a noun, denoting ^r/^ A/ ^«^, or more specifically^r;^/;/ j/ar/ or, according to the ancients, more specifically still, the Morning Star or harbinger of daylight, called in Greek Heosphoros, and in Latin Lucifer. The same derivation and interpretation is adopted by the latest writers. Some of the Fathers — regarding Luke x. 18, as an explanation of- this verse — apply it to the fall of Satan, from which has arisen the popular perversion of the beautiful name Lucifer to signify the Devil. In the last clause the figure of a fallen star is exchanged for that of a prostrate tree. The last clause is a description of the Babylonian tyr- anny. 13. His fall is aggravated by the impious extravagance of his pretensions. And (yet) thou hadst said in thy heart (or to thyself^, The heavens will / mount (or scale), above the stars of God will L raise viy throne, and L will sit in the mount of meeting (or assembly) in the sides of the North. He is here described as aiming at equality with God 896 JOSEPH ADDISON ALEXANDER himself. There are two distinct interpretations of the last clause ; one held by the early writers, the other by the moderns. According to the first, it relates to the mountain where God agreed to meet the people, and to make himself known to them (Ex. xxv. 22 ; xxxix. 42, 43). According to this view of the passage, it describes the King of Babylon as insulting God by threatening to erect his throne upon those consecrated hills, or even affecting to be God, like Antichrist, of whom Paul says, with obvious allusion to this passage, that he opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or is worshipped, so that he, as God, sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God (II. Thess. ii. 4). Whether the weight of argument preponderates in favor of the old interpretation or against it, that of authority is altogether in favor of the new one. This makes the Babylonian speak the language of a heathen, and with reference to the old and wide-spread oriental notion of a very high mountain in the extreme north, where the gods were believed to reside, as in the Greek Olympus. This is the Meru of the Hindu mythology, and the El- borz or Elborj of the old Zend books. The meaning of the clause, as thus explained, is " I will take my seat among, or above, the gods upon their holy mountain." This interpretation is supposed to be obscurely hinted in the Septuagint version. As the expression is in this case put into the mouth of a heathen, there is not the same objection to it as in the other cases, where it seems to be recognized and sanctioned by the writer. The general meaning is of course the same on either hypothesis. The expression stars of God does not merely describe them as his creatures, but as being near him in the upper world, or heaven. 14. / will moil tit above the cloud-heights; I will make myself like the Most High. This is commonly regarded as a simple expression of unbounded arrogance ; but there may be an allusion to the oriental custom of call- ing their kings gods, or to the fact that the Syrian and Phoenician kings did actually so describe themselves (Ezek. xxviii. 2, 6, 9 ; II. Mace. ix. 21). According to some writers, the singular noun is used here to denote the cloud of the Divine presence in the tabernacle and JOSEPH ADDISON' ALEXANDER 297 temple. This would agree well with the old interpreta- tion of verse 13 ; but according to the other, cloud is a collective, meaning clouds in general. 15. But instead of being exalted to heaven, thou shalt be brought down to hell ^ to the depths of the pit. Against the strict application of the last clause to the grave is the subsequent description of the royal body as un- buried. But the imagery is unquestionably borrowed from the grave. Some understand by sides the hori- zontal excavations in the oriental sepulchres or cata- combs. But according to its probable etymology the Hebrew word does not mean sides in the ordinary sense, but rather hinder parts, and then remote parts or ex- tremities, as it is explained by the Targum here and in verse 13. The specific reference may be either to ex- treme height, extreme distance, or extreme depth, according to the context. Here the last sense is re- quired by the mention of the pit ; and the word is accordingly translated in the N\x\%dXt profundum. 16. Those seeing thee shall gaze (or stare) at thee^ they shall look at thee attentively [and say], Is this the man that made the earth shake, that made the kingdoms trembUt The scene in the other world is closed ; and the Prophet, or triumphant Israel, is now describing what shall take place above ground. The gazing mentioned in the first clause is not merely the effect of curiosity, but of in- credulous surprise. . . . 19. With the customary burial of kings he now con- trasts the treatment of the Babylonian's body. And ihou art cast out from thy grave, like a despised branch, the raiment of the slain, pierced with the sword, goiiig down to the stones of the pit [even] like a trampled carcass [as thou art]. That the terms of the prediction were lit- erally fulfilled in the last king of Babylon, is highly probable from the hatred with which this impious king — as Xenophon calls him — was regarded by the people. Such a supposition is not precluded by the same his- torian's statement that Cyrus gave a general permission to bury the dead, for his silence in relation to the king rather favors the conclusion that he was made an ex- ception, either by the people or the conqueror. There is no need, however, of seeking historical details in this 298 JOSEPH ADDISON ALEXANDER passage, which is rather a prediction of the downfall of the empire than the fall of any individual monarch, 20. Thou shalt not be joined with them [the other kings of the nation] /« burial, because thy land thou hast de- stroyed, thy people thou hast slain. Let the seed of evil- doers be tiumed no more forever. The only natural in- terpretation of these words is that which applies them to the Babylonian tyranny as generally exercised. The charge here brought against the king implies that his power was given him for a very different purpose. The older writers read the last clause as a simple prediction. Thus, the English Version is " The seed of evil-doers shall never be renowned." But the later writers seem to make it more emphatic by giving the future the force of an imperative or optative. Some of the older writers understand the clause to mean that the names of the wicked shall not be perpetuated by transmission in the line of their descendants ; others explain the verb as meaning "to be called," />., proclaimed or celebrated. It is now pretty generally understood to mean, or to ex- press a wish, that the posterity of such should not be spoken of at all, implying both extinction and oblivion, — Isaiah, Translated and Explained. I 1 ALFIERI, Count VlTTORiO,an Italian dramatic poet, born at Asti, in Piedmont, January 17, 1749, and died at Florence, October 8, 1803. His father, a nobleman of considerable estate, died while the son was an infant, and he was sent to the Academy and University at Turin, where he received a very indifferent education. Of philosophy and science he acquired next to nothing ; of Latin hardly enough to read the most elementary books. His own provincial dialect was so different from the Tuscan, or recognized Italian, that the works of Dante, Petrarch, and Tasso were almost unintel- ligible to him ; and he had subsequently to learn the language in which he was to immortalize him- self, as though it were a foreign tongue. He, how- ever, learned French, and this was the only Ian- guage which he could fairly read at the age of seven-and-twenty. At the age of seventeen he received permission to travel, and passed two years in various parts of Italy, in France, England, and Holland. In 1769, having become of age, and receiving possession of his large fortune, he set out again upon his travels, visiting Austria, Prussia, Denmark, Swe- den, Holland, England, Russia, France, Spain, and Portugal, returning to Italy in 1772. His life up to this time was extremely dissolute, measured even by the loose standard of his own time and ^299) -on VITTORIO ALFIERI country. In 1776, when he was in his twenty- eighth year, he formed a deep and lasting attach- ment for the Countess of Albany, wife of Charles Edward Stuart, best known in history as the " Young Pretender " to the English Crown. She was a little younger than Alfieri, and lived most unhappily with her husband, now verging upon threescore, whose character had become in every way disreputable since his hope of the English Crown had vanished. There is nothing to show that the intimacy was a "guilty " one, in the or- dinary acceptation of the word. He himself de- clares that their intimacy " never exceeded the bounds of honor," although his " attentions were such as to warrant the jealousy of her husband and his brother, the Cardinal of York." Charles Edward died in 1788, and she soon afterward took up her residence with Alfieri, but there is no posi- tive evidence that they were ever married. The last half of the life of Alfieri was marked by many eccentricities, of which there is no need of special mention. His first serious thought of becoming an author dates at about 1772. His earliest dramatic work was Cleopatra, which was brought upon the stage at Turin in 1775. From that time he set himself resolutely to become a tragic poet. It is in this character alone that he is of special interest to after ages, although he wrote six or more come- dies, several odes, a volume of autobiography, and other prose. His tragedies, nineteen in number, are all cast in the antique mould, or, rather, such an idea of the antique spirit as he could gather VITTORIO ALFIERI 301 from the French of Corneille and Racine. His tragedies are ahnost independent of scenery and incident. In no one of them are there more than six speaking characters, and of these rarely more than three are upon the stage at any one time. There is indeed often a crowd of " Citizens," " Sol- diers," " Councillors," and " Guards," but they act only the part of the " Chorus " of the ancient drama, breaking in upon and emphasizing the declamation of the real characters. And these characters were almost entirely Alfieri himself, whether they wore the toga of Brutus, the chlamys of Agis, or the cassock of Raimondi de Pazzi. More than half the subjects are taken from ancient Greek and Roman legend. Philip II. of Spain and the mysterious Don Carlos, Mary Stuart, and Saul, King of Israel, each have a place. If we were to assign the one governing motive running through the tragedies of Alfieri, it should be the hatred of kingly rule. " When we think of Alfieri," says Mariotti, " we must bring our- selves back to his age. The regeneration of Ital- ian character was yet merely intellectual and in- dividual, and Alfieri was born from that class which was the last to feel the redeeming influence. Penetrated with the utter impossibility of distin- guishing himself by immediate action, he was forced to throw himself on the last resources of literature. He had exalted ideas of its duties and influence : he had exalted notions of the dignity of man : — an ardent, though a vague and exag- gerated love of liberty, and of the manly virtues which it is wont to foster. He invaded the stagfe. 302 VITTORIO ALFIERT He wished to effect upon his contemporaries that revolution which his own soul had undergone. He wished to wake them from their long lethargy of servitude ; to see them thinking, willing, striv- ing, resisting." The dedications to some of Alfieri's tragedies are quite as notable as anything in the dramas themselves. The tragedy of Agis, the Spartan King who was put to death by his subjects, is dedicated to Charles I. of England, or rather to his shade, for his head had fallen a century and a half before. The First Brutus is dedicated to George Washington, in a few months to be the first President of the United States. TJie Second Brutus is dedicated to " the Future People of Italy," such as they might be in a generation yet to come ; such as, it may be hoped, they have measurably now come to be. These three Dedi- cations are worthy to stand among the things by which Alfieri should be commemorated: Dedication to Agis. — Ma)\ ijSd. To the Most Sacred Majesty of Charles the First, Khig of Great Britain, etc. : It seems to me that I may dedicate my Agis, without meanness or arrogance, to an unfortunate and dead King. As you received your death from the sentence of an unjust ParHament, this King of Sparta received his by a similar one of the Ephori. But just as the ef- fects were similar, so were the causes different. Agis, by restoring equality and liberty, wished to restore to Sparta her virtue and her splendor ; hence he died full of glory, leaving behind him an everlasting fame. You, by attempting to violate all limits to your authority, false- ly wished to procure your own private good ; heace noth> VITTORIO ALFIERI 303 ing remains of you ; and the ineffectual compassion of others alone accompanies you to the tomb. The de- signs of Agis, generous and sublime, were afterward happily prosecuted, and with much glory to himself, by Cleomenes, his successor, who found the whole prepared. Your designs, common to the herd of monarchs, were and are perpetually attempted by many other princes, and also carried into effect, but uniformly without fame. In my opinion, one can in no way make a tragedy of your tragical death, the cause of it not being sublime. I should always have thought, even if I had not at- tempted to do it, that from the death of Agis, the true grandeur of the Spartan King being considered, a noble tragedy might have been constructed. Both the one and the other were and will be a memorable example to the people, and a terrible one to kings ; but with this remarkable difference between them, that many others have been and will be like to that of Your Majesty, but never one like to that of Agis. Dedication to The First Brutus. — December^ lySS. To the most illustrious and Free Citizen, General Wash- ington : The name of the Deliverer of America alone can stand in the title-page of the tragedy of the Deliverer of Rome. To you, most excellent and most rare citi- zen, I therefore dedicate this ; without first hinting at even a part of the so many praises due to yourself, v/hich I now deem all comprehended in the sole mention of your name. Nor can this my slight allusion appear ro you contaminated by adulation ; since, not knov/ing you by person, and living disjoined from you by the immense ocean, we have but too emphatically nothing in common between us but the love of glory. Happy are you, who have been able to build your glory on the sublime and eternal basis of love to your country, demonstrated by actions. I, though not born free, yet having abandoned in time my Lares, and for no other reason than that I might be able to write loftily of Liberty — I hope by this means at least to have proved what might have been my love for ray couniry, if I had indeed fortunately belonged to one that deserved the name. In this single respect, 304 Vrj-TORJO ALFIEKI I do not think myself wholly unworthy to mingle my name with yours. Dedication to The Second Brutus. — Januajy, i^Sp. To the Future People of Italy : I hope that I shall be pardoned the insult by you, O generous and free Italians, that I innocently offered to your grandfathers, or great-grandfathers, in presenting to them the Two Brutuses, tragedies in w'hich, instead of ladies, interlocutors, and actors, the people was intro- duced among many most lofty personages. I also feel how enormous the offence was to attribute tongue, hand, and intellect to those who — from having entirely forgot- ten that they themselves had ever received these gifts from nature — thought it impossible that their successors should ever re-acquire them. — " But if my words are destined to be seeds which fructify in honor to those whom I arouse from death," I flatter myself that per- haps justice will be repaid me by you, and not dissev- ered from some praise. Indeed I am certain that if on this account I received blame froni your ancestors, it would not, however, be exempted totally from esteem ; since all could never hate and despise him whom no in- dividual hated, and who manifestly constrained himself — as far as was within his power — to benefit all, or at least the majority. The tragedy of The First Brutus, among the latest of those of Alfieri, is based upon the well- known Roman legend. The action of the drama takes place wholly in and near the Forum in Rome, and occupies not more than two days. The first act opens with Brutus and Collatinus, the husband of Lucretia, haranguing the citizens in the Forum, and inciting them to rise against the House of Tarquin. The body of Lucretia is then brought in, and the act thus concludes: People.. — ' Atrocious sight ! Behold the murdered lady in the Forum, VITTORIO ALFIERI 305 Brutus. — Yes, Romans, fix — if ye have power to do it — Fix on that immolated form your eyes. That mute, fair form, that horrible generous wound, That pure and sacred blood — Ah ! all exclaim, " To-day resolve on liberty, or we Are doom'd to death. Naught else remains ! " People. — All, all, Yes, free we all of us will be, or dead. Brutus. — Then listen now to Brutus. — The same dagger Which from her dying side he lately drew, Brutus now lifts ; and to all Rome he swears That which first on her very dying form He swore already. — While I wear a sword. While vital air I breathe, in Rome henceforth No Tarquin e'er shall put his foot — I swear it ; Nor the abominable name of king. Nor the authority, shall any man Ever again possess. — May the just gods Annihilate him here, if Brutus is not Lofty and true of heart ! — Further I swear, Many as are the inhabitants of Rome, To make them equal, free, and citizens ; Myself a citizen and nothing more. The laws alone shall have authority. And I will be the first to yield them homage. People. — The laws, the laws alone ! We with one voice To thine our oaths unite. And be a fate Worse than the fate of Collatinus ours If we are ever perjured ! Brutus. — These, these are True Roman accents. Tyranny and tyrants, At your accordant hearty will alone, All, all have vanished. Nothing now is needful Except 'gainst them to close the city gates ; Since Fate, to us propitious, has already Sequestered them from Rome. People. — But you meanwhile Will be to us at once consuls and fathers. You to us wisdom, we our arms to you, Our swords, our hearts, will lend. Vol. I.-~2o 3o6 riTTORJO ALFIERI Brutus. — In your august And sacred presence, on each lofty cause, We always will deliberate. There cannot From the collective people's majesty Be anything concealed. But it is just That the patricians and the Senate bear A part in everything. At the new tidings They are not all assembled here. Enough — • Alas, too much so — the iron rod of power Has smitten them with terror. Now yourselves To the sublime contention of great deeds Shall summon them. Here then we will unite, Patricians and plebeians ; and by us Freedom a stable basis shall receive. People. — From this day forth we shall begin to live. In the next three acts the story is developed. Brutus and Collatinus are made consuls. Tarquin sends a message to the Romans, proposing that his guilty son shall be given up to punishment for his crime. A number of the patricians form a conspiracy to restore the Tarquins. Among these are Titus and Tiberius, the sons of Brutus, who are led to believe that thus only can the life of their father be preserved. The plot is discovered, and the conspirators are apprehended. The fifth act opens in the Forum. Collatinus and Brutus are on the rostrum. The conspirators are led in in chains, Titus and Tiberius last. People. — Ah ! how many, How many may the traitors be ? — Oh heaven ! Behold the sons of Brutus ! Collatinus. — Ah ! I cannot Longer restrain my tears. Brutus. — A great day, A noble day is this, and evermore Will be a memorable one for Rome. — Oh ye, perfidiously base, who dared VITTORIO ALFIERI y^ Your scarce-awakened country to betray, Behold ye all before assembled Rome. Let each of you, if it be possible, Defend himself before her. — All are silent. — Rome and the Consuls ask of you yourselves, Whether to you, convicted criminals, The punishment of death be due ? \^All are silent. '\ To death Then all of you are equitably sentenced. The people's majesty, with one consent, Pronounces the irreversible decree. Why should we longer tarry ? — Oh ! my colleague Weeps and is silent. Silent is the Senate ; Silent the citizens. People. — Oh fatal moment ! — Yet just and necessary is their death. Titus. — One innocent alone amongst us all, Now dies, and this is he. [Points to his brother^ People. — Oh pity ! See, He of his brother speaks. Tiberius. — Believe him not : Or we are both equally innocent. Or equally transgressors. In the paper My name is written next to his. Brutus. — No one Whose name is written on that fatal scroll Can be called innocent. Some may, perchance, Have been less culpable in their intent, But only to the gods the intent is known. And it would be an arbitrary judgment, And thence unjust, the guilty to absolve, As to condemn them from the inference Drawn from professed intention. It would be A spurious judgment, such as kings assume ; Not such as by a just and simple people Is held in reverence. People who alone To the tremendous sacred laws submit; And who, save of the letter of those laws. In their decrees, of naught avail themselves. Collatinus. — Romans, 'tis true that these unhappy youths Were with the rest of the conspirators 3o8 VITTORIO ALflERI Involved. But that they were solicited, Confounded, tampered with, and finally. By the iniquitous Mamilius In an inextricable snare entrapped, Is also as indubitably true. He made them think that all was in the power Of the expelled Tarquinii ; thence their names--' Would you believe it — also they subscribed Only to save their sire from death. People. — Oh heaven ! And is this true indeed ? We then should save These two alone. Brutus. — Alas ! what do I hear ? — Is this the people's voice ? — Just, free, and strong, Ye would now make yourselves, and how ? would ye Lay, as the base of such an edifice, A partial application of your laws ? — That I, a father, might not weep, would ye Now make so many other citizens. Sons, brothers, fathers, weep ? — To the keen axe, Which they have merited, shall now so many, So many others yield their passive necks, And shall two culprits only be exempt From this, because they seem not what they are ? — They were the Consul's sons, although in deeds They were not so. 'Mong the conspirators With their own hand were they enrolled. — Or all Or none of them should die. — Absolve them all, And at once ruin Rome. Save two alone, And if it seem so, it would be unjust — . Now, less a just than a compassionate judge, Hath CoUatinus these two youths defended, Asserting that they wished to save their father. — Perhaps this was true ; but perhaps the others wished, Their fathers some, their brothers some, and some Their sons to save ; and not on this account Are they less guilty ; since they rather chose To sacrifice their country than their friends. — The father in his heart may weep for this ; But in the first place should the genuine Consul Secure the safety of his native country ; And afterward, by mighty grief o'erwhelmed, VITTORIO ALFIERI 305 Fall on the bodies of his lifeless sons. — Ye will behold, ere many hours are past, To what excess of danger, by these men, Ye have been brought. To fortify our hearts In strength imparted by the strength of others, In individual strength to make us strong, Inflexible as champions of freedom. Cruel, though just, 'tis indispensable That we abide this memorable test. — Depart, oh lictors ; be the culprits all Bound to the columns ; let the hatchet fall Upon them. — I have not a heart of steel.-— Ah ! Collatinus, this is the time for thee To pity me : perform for me the rest, [Brutus sinks on his seat, and turns aiuay his eyes from the spectacle. Collatinus sees the conspirators bound to the columns.'] People. — Oh cruel sight ! — The wretched father dares Not look at them. — And yet their death is just. Brutus. — The punishment approaches. The delin- quents Have heard the sentence of the Consuls. — Now Think on the pangs of the distracted father. — The cleaving hatchet o'er each neck impends. — Oh heaven ! my very heart is rent in twain ! — I with my mantle am constrained to hide The insufferable sight ! — This may at least Be granted to the father. — But ye, fix ye on them your eyes. — Now Rome, Free and eternal, rises from that blood. Collatinus. — Oh superhuman strength ! Valerius. — Of Rome is Brutus The Father and the God. People. — Yes, Brutus is The Father and the God of Rome. Brutus. — I am The most unhappy man that ever lived. [The curtain falls while the lictors stand ready to strike the blo7v.\ " Alfieri has united the beauties of art, unity, singleness of subject, and probability, the proper- 31© VITTORIO ALFIERI ties of the French drama, to the sublimity of situation and character and the important events of the Greek theatre, and to the profound thought and sentiment of the English stage."-— Sismondi, ALFONSO II., King of Castile, flourished dur- ing the latter half of the twelfth century, succeed- ing to the crown in 1163, and died in 1196. His court was famous for the troubadours, who were drawn thither by the monarch's patronage of their art. The king is remembered for one pretty song; PARTING AND MEETING. Many the joys my heart has seen, From various sources flowing : From gardens gay and meadows green, From leaves and flowerets blowing, And spring her freshening hours bestowing. All these delight the bard ; but here Their power to sadden or to cheer In this my song will not appear. Where naught but love is glowing. When I remember our farewell, As from her side I parted. Sorrow and joy alternate swell, To think how, broken-hearted, While from her eyelids tear-drops started, " Oh, soon," she said, " my loved one, here, Oh, soon, in pity re-appear ! " Then back I'll fly, for none so dear As her from whom I parted. •^Translation cf Taylor. fan) ALFONSO X., King of Leon and Castile, born in I22I, ascended the throne in 1252, was deposed by his son, Sancho, in 1282, and died in 1284. His acquaintance with geometry, astronomy, and the occult sciences of his time gained for him the ap- pellation of el Sabio, " the Learned." The works in prose attributed to him range over a great va- riety of subjects, historical, scientific, and legal, although many of them were merely written or compiled by his order. He caused the Bible to be translated into Castilian, and thereby per- formed for the Spanish language a service very similar to that performed for the English by James L Mariana says of him : " He was more fit for letters than for the government of his sub- jects ; he studied the heavens and watched the stars, but forgot the earth and lost his kingdom." The following letter, written in 1282, just at the time of his troubles with his son, is said by Mr. Ticknor to be " a favorable specimen of Castilian prose at a period so early in the history of the language : " LETTER TO DON ALONZO PEREZ DE GUZMAN. My aflRiction is great, because it has fallen from such a height that it will be seen from afar ; and as it has fallen on me who was the friend of all the world, so in all the world will men know this my misfortune, and its sharpness, which J guffer unjustly from my son, assisted (3«j ALFONSO X 313 by my friends and my prelates, who, instead of setting peace between us have put mischief, not under secret pretences or covertly, but with bold openness. And thus I find no protection in mine own land — neither de- fender nor champion ; and yet have I not deserved it at their hands, unless it were for the good I have done them. And now, since in mine own land they deceive, who should have served and assisted me, needful is it that I should seek abroad those who will kindly care for me ; and since they of Castile have been false to me, none can think it ill that I seek help among those of Bena- marin.* For if my sons are mine enemies, it will not be wrong that I take mine enemies to be my sons ; en- emies according to the law, but not of free choice. And such is the good King Aben Jusaf ; for I love and value him much, and he will not despise me or fail me ; for we are at truce. I know also how much you are his, and how much he loves you, and with good cause ; and how much he will do through your good counsel. Therefore look not at the things past, but at the things present. Consider of what lineage you are come, and that at some time hereafter I may do you good ; and that if I do it not, that your own good deed shall be its own good reward. Therefore my cousin, Alonzo Perez de Guzman, do so much for me with my lord and your friend that, on the pledge of the most precious crown that I have, and the jewels thereof, he should lend me so much as he may hold to be just. And if you can obtain his aid, let it not be hindered of coming quickly ; but rather think how the good friendship that may come to me from your lord will be through your hands. And so may God's friendship be with you. Done in Seville, my only loyal city, in the thirtieth year of my reign, and in the first of these my Troubles. THE KING. —^Translation of Ticknor. * A race of African princes who ruled in Morocco, and subjected all Western Africa- 514 ALFONSO X. The noblest monument which Alfonso X. reared to himself was a code of Spanish Common Law, designated Las Siete Partidas, " The Seven Parts," from the number of divisions in the work. Sixty years after the death of Alfonso, this code was proclaimed as of binding authority in all the ter- ritories held by the kings of Castile and Leon, and has been the basis of Spanish jurisprudence ever since. " The Partidas" says Mr. Ticknor, " read very little like a collection of statutes, or even like a code, such as that of Justinian or Na- poleon. . . . They are a kind of digested result of the opinions and reading of a learned monarch and his coadjutors in the thirteenth century, on the relative duties of a king and his subjects, or the entire legislation and police, ecclesiastical, civil, and moral, to which, in their judgment, Spain should be subjected ; the whole inter- spersed with discussions concerning the customs and principles on which the work itself, or some particular part of it, is founded," UPON TYRANTS AND THEIR WAYS. A tyrant doth signify a cruel lord who by force or by craft or by treachery, hath obtained power over any realm or country ; and such men be of such nature that, when once they have grown strong in the land, they love to work their own profit, though it be in the harm of the land, rather than the common profit of all ; for they always live in an ill fear of losing it. And that they may be able to fulfil this their purpose unencum- bered, the wise of old have said that they use their power against the people in three manners : The first is, that they strive that those under their mastery be ever ignorant and timorous ; because when they be such, they may not be bold to rise against ALFONSO X. 315 them, nor to resist their wills. The second is, that the people be not kindly and united among themselves, in such wise that they trust not one another ; for, while they live in disagreement, they shall not dare to make any discourse against their lord, for fear faith and secrecy should not be kept among themselves. And the third way is, that they strive to make the people poor and to put them upon great undertakings, which they can never finish ; whereby they may have so much harm, that it may never come into their hearts to de- vise anything against their ruler. And above all this, have tyrants ever striven to make spoil of the strong and to destroy the wise ; and have forbidden fellowship and assemblies of men in their land, and striven always to know what men said or did ; and to trust their coun- sel and the guard of their persons rather to foreigners, who will serve at their will, than to men of the land, who serve from oppression. And, moreover, we say that, though any man may have gained mastery of a kingdom by any one of the lawful means whereof we have spoken in the laws going before this, yet, if he use his power ill, in the ways whereof we speak in this law, him may the people still call tyrant ; for he turneth his mastery, which was right- ful, into the wrongful, as Aristotle hath said in the book in which he treateth of the rule and government of kingdoms. — Partida II., Tit. /., Translation of Ticknor. THE EDUCATION OF PRINCESSES. The governesses are to endeavor, as much as may be, that the king's daughters be moderate and seemly in eating and in drinking, and also in their carriage and dress, and of good manners in all things ; and especially that they be not given to anger ; for besides the wick- edness that lieth in it, it is the thing in the world that most easily leadeth women to do ill. And they ought to teach them to be handy in performing those works that belong to noble ladies ; for this is a matter that becometh them much, since they obtain by it cheerful- ness and a quiet spirit ; and besides, it taketh away bad thoughts, which it is not convenient they should have. '•^Partida I J., Tit. VII., Translation of Ticknor. 3i6 ALFONSO X. Of the poetry of Alfonso X., says Mr. Ticknor, " We possess, besides works of very doubtful gen- uineness, two, about one of which there has been little question, about the other none. Of his Cdn- tigas, or ' Chants ' in honor of the Madonna, there are extant no less than four hundred and one ; and by his last will he directed these poems be per- petually chanted in the church of St. Mary of Murcia, where he desired his body might be Duried. Only a few of them have been printed. . . . Del Tcsoro, ' The Treasury,' is a treatise on the philosopher's stone, and the greater portion of it is concealed in an unexplained cipher ; the re- mainder, being partly in prose and partly in oc- tave stanzas, which are the oldest extant in Cas- tilian verse ; but the whole is worthless and its genuineness doubtful:" — an opinion from which we dissent. THE philosopher's STONE. Fame brought this strange intelhgence to me, That in Egyptian lands there hved a sage, Who read the secrets of the coming age, And could anticipate futurity ; He judged the stars, and all their aspects ; he The darksome veil of hidden things withdrew, Of unborn days the mysteries he knew, And saw the future as the past we see. . . . He made the magic stone, and taught me too : We toiled together first ; but soon alone I formed the marvellous gold-creating stone, And oft did I my lessening wealth renew. Varied the form and fabric, and not few This treasure's elements, the simplest, best, And noblest, here ingenuously confessed, I shall disclose, in this my verse to you. ALFONSO X. 317 And what a list of nations have pursued This treasure. Need I speak of the Chaldee, Or the untired sons of learned Araby ; All, all, in chase of this most envied good ? — Egypt and Syria, and the tribes so rude Of the Orient, Saracens and Medians, all Laboring in vain, though oft the echoes fall Upon the West, of their song's amplitude ? If what is passing now I have foretold In honest truth and calm sincerity. So will I tell you of the events to be Without deception ; and the prize I hold Shall be in literary lore enrolled. Such power, such empire never can be won By ignorance or listlessness ; to none But to the learned state my truths be told. So, like the Theban Sphinx, will I propound My mysteries, and in riddles truth will speak. Deem them not idle words ; for if you seek. Through their dense darkness, light may oft be found Muse, meditate, and look in silence round ; Hold no communion of vain language ; learn And treasure up the lore — if you discern What's here in hieroglyphic letters bound. My soul hath spoken and foretold ;'I bring The voices of the stars to chime with mine : . He who shall share with me this gift divine, Shall share with me the privilege of a king. Mine is no mean, no paltry offering ; Cupidity itself must be content With such a portion as I here present ; And Midas's wealth to ours a trifling thing. So when our work in this our sphere was done, Deucalion towered sublimely o'er the rest ; And proudly dominant he stood confessed On the tenth mountain ; thence looked kindly on 31 8 ALFONSO X. The Sovereign Sire, who offered him a crown, Or empires vast, for his reward ; or gold, From his vast treasure, for his heirs, untold : So bold and resolute was Deucalion, I'll give you honest counsel, if you be My kinsman or my countryman : If e'er His gift be yours, its treasury all confer On him who shall unveil the mystery ; Offer him all and offer cheerfully, And offer most sincerely. Weak and small To your best offering, though you offer all. Your recompense may be eternity. — From Del Tesoro^ Translation Anon, ALFORD. Henry, D.D., an English divine, biblical scholar, and poet, born in London, Octo- ber 10, 1810; died January 12, 1871. He was edu- cated at Trinity College, Cambridge ; took orders, and was made Vicar of Wymeswold, in Leicester- shire. In 1853 he took up his residence in Lon- don, becoming preacher at the Quebec Street Chapel, where he acquired much celebrity as a preacher, and was for several years before and after Examiner in Logic and Moral Philosophy in the Universit}'' of London. He had already, in 1841, delivered a masterly course of the. Hulsean Lectures at Cambridge, and in the same year pub- lished his scholarly Chapters on the Greek Poets. la 1857 he was made Dean of Canterbury. He be- gan his literary career in 1S31 by the publication of a little volume oi Poetieal Fragments, which was followed in 1835 by The School of the Heart and other Poems. From time to time he put forth many poems, notable among which were a series of Hymns for various seasons of the Christian year, which hold a high place in modern hymnology. About 1852 he made for an American publisher a complete collection of his poetical works, which was dedicated to Longfellow. After that he wrote little poetry, the current of his thought being turned in other directions, especially toward bib- (319) 320 HEXRY ALFOKD lical criticism. By way of prologue to his col- lected poems he prefixed the following: PROLOGUE TO COLLECTED POEMS. Not war, nor hurrying troops from plain to plain, Nor deeds of high resolve, nor stern command, Sing I. The brow that carries trace of pain Long and enough the sons of Song have scanned : Nor lady's love in honeysuckle bower, With helmet hanging high, in stolen ease: Poets enough, I deemed, of heavenly power Ere now had lavished upon themes like these.— My harp and I have sought a holier meed. The fragments of God's image to restore, The earnest longings of the soul to feed, And balm into the spirit's wounds to pour. One gentle voice hath bid our task God-speed And now we search the world to hear of more. EPILOGUE TO " THE SCHOOL OF THE HEART." Thus far in golden dreams of youth I sung Of Love and Beauty — Beauty not the child Of change, nor Love the growth of fierce desire, But calm and blessed both — the heritage Of purest spirits, sprung from trust in God. Further to pierce the veil asks riper strength, And for men resting on conclusions fixed By patient labor, wrought in manly years. Here rest we then : our message thus declared, Leave the full echoes of our harp to ebb Back from the sated ear: teaching meanwhile Our thoughts to meditate new melodies, Our hands to touch the strings with safer skill. HYMN FOR SAINT ANDREW'S DAY, Of all the honors man may wear, Of all his titles proudly stored, No lowly palm his name shall bear, "The first to follow Christ the Lord-*' HENRY ALFORD 321 Such name thou hast, who didst incline, Fired with the great Forerunner's joy. Homeward to track the steps divine, And watch the Saviour's blest employ. Lord, give to us, Thy servants, grace To hear whene'er thy preachers speak. When Thou commandest, Seek My face. Thy face in earnest hope to seek. Mr. Alford put forth several volumes of Ser- mons delivered at the Quebec Street Chapel, and in 1865 a small volume of Meditations on tJie Advent, From these we present some extracts. A CHRISTIAN HOUSEHOLD. The household is not an accident of nature, but an ordinance of God. Even nature's processes, could we penetrate their secrets, figure forth spiritual truths ; and her brightest and noblest arrangements are but the representatives of the most glorious of those truths. The very state out of which the household springs is one — as Scripture and the Church declare to us — not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, see- ing that it sets forth and represents to us the relation between Christ and His Church. The household is a representation, on a small scale as regards numbers, but not as regards the interests concerned, of the great family in heaven and earth. Its whole relations and mutual duties are but reflections of those which subsist between the Redeemer and the people for whom He hath given Himself. The household, then, is not an institution whose duties spring from beneath — from the necessities of circumstances merely ; but is an appointment of God, whose laws are His laws, and whose members owe direct account to Him. The father of a household stands most immediately in God's place. His is the post of greatest responsibility, of greatest influence for good or evil. His it is — in the last resort — to fix and Vol. I.— 21 322 HEXRY ALFORD determine the character which his household shall bear. According as he is good or bad, godly or ungodly, self- ish or self-denying, so will, for the most part, the com- plexion of the household be also. As he values that which is good — not in his professions, for which no one cares, but in his practice which all men observe — so will it most likely be valued also by his family as they grow up and are planted out in the world. Of all the influences which can be brought to bear on man, paternal influence may be made the strongest and most salutary ; and whether so made or not, is ever of immense weight in one way or the other. For, remem- ber, that paternal influence is not that which the father tries to exert merely, but that which, in matter of fact, he does exert. That superior life, ever moving in ad- vance of the young and observing and imitative life of all of us — that source from which all our first ideas came — that voice which sounded deeper into our hearts than all other voices, day by day, year by year, through all our plastic childhood — will all through life, almost in spite of ourselves, still keep in advance of us, still con- tinue to sound. No other example will ever take so firm hold, no other superiority be ever so vividly and constantly felt. And again remember, this example goes for what it is really worth. Words do not set it; religious phrases do not give it its life and power. It is not a thing of dis- play and effort, but of inner realities, and recurring acts and habits. It is not the raving of the wind around the precipice — not the sunrise and sunset, clothing it with golden glory — which moulded it, and gave it its worn and rounded form ; but the unmarked dropping of the silent waters, the melting of the yearly snows, the gush- ing of the inner springs. And so it will be, not what the outward eye sees in him, not that which men repute him, not public praise nor public blame, that will en- hance or undo a father's influence in his household ; but that which he really is in the hearts of his family ; that which they know of him in private ; the worth to which they can testify, but which the outer world never saw , the affections which flow in secret, of which they know the depth, but others only the surface. HENRY ALFORD 323 And so it will be with a father's religion. None so keen to see into a man's religion as his own household. He may deceive others; he may deceive himself; he can hardly long succeed in deceiving them. If religion with him be a mere thing put on — an elaborate series of outward duties, attended to for expediency's sake- something befitting his children, but not equally fitting him : oh, none will so soon and so thoroughly learn to appreciate this, as those children themselves. There is not any fact which, when discovered, will have so bane- ful an effect on their young lives as such an apprecia- tion. No amount of external devotion will ever coun- terbalance it, no use of religious phraseology, nor con- verse with religious people without. But if, on the other hand, his religion is really a thing in his heart — if he moves about day by day as seeing One invisible — if the love of Christ is really warming the springs of his inner life — then, however inadequately this is shown in matter or in manner, it will be sure to be known and thoroughly appreciated by those who are ever living their lives around him. — Sermons at Quebec Chapel. ON PROVIDENCE. And here again, passing from the mere general con- sideration of belief in an overruling God to our be- lief in a God and Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, we shall find our grounds of comfort immensely strength- ened, and our vision exceedingly cleared. During this present time, our ascended and glorified Saviour is wait- ing till all things are put under His feet. The whole moral world is by degrees being subdued to Him. By various dispensations of God's providence the good is prevailing, the evil is being defeated and put out. Now, if ever, is it true that the good man is God's especial care, and that all scope is given for all the best and highest graces of humanity to expand and flourish. The perfect pattern of the Redeemer is before us ; the wit- nessing Spirit is within us ; the many mansions are being prepared for us by Him who will return to take us thither. He that will love life and see good days, is not dependent on promises of earthly prosperity. 324 HENRY ALFORD His life is hid with Christ in God ; his good day asre to come in that place whither his Saviour Christ has gone before him. What a comfort it is for us to feel, in the midst of dark and perplexing circumstances, that the mighty and all-wise Being who is overruling all things for His glory, and bringing good out of man's evil, is our own God ; that His covenanted mercies are ours ; that in Christ Jesus all His promises are forever ratified to each one, even the least and most helpless among us. What a powerful motive does it furnish to all good, what a dis- couragement to all evil, to remember that we have now no more general assurance that God is on the side of good, but a positive promise that all power in heaven and earth is given to him who laid down His life for the truth ; and that one day all who have followed Him in the paths of truth and holiness shall be like Him — par- takers in His victory — changed into His spotless pu- rity — inheritors of the new heaven and earth wherein dwelleth righteousness ; which he hath purchased for them, and wherein they shall reign with Him, when truth shall finally have been established, and all evil shall forever have been put down. — Meditations on the Advent. Dean Alford, as he was generally designated during the later years of his life, was a frequent contributor to current literature. One of his latest productions was a very clever Plea for the Queen s English. But apart from his work as a preacher the most important work of his life was his critical edition of the Greek Testament, of which the first volume appeared in 1844, the second in 1852, the third and fourth in 1855-57. This edi- tion is in many respects — especially for its almost exhaustive collection of the various readings found in the extant manuscripts — perhaps the most valuable edition ever put forth. ALFRED The Great, King of England, born at Wantage, 849 ; died October 28, 901. He suc- ceeded to the crown, upon the death of his father, Ethelwulf, in 872, but was for a time driven from the throne by the Danes, who overran the king- dom of the West Saxons. But after many ad- ventures and some severe reverses, he completely routed the invaders in 879, and firmly established his sway. In 891 there was another furious in- vasion of the Northmen, who gave much trouble during most of the remaining years of his reign. Alfred was, says the Saxon chronicler Ethelwerd, "the immovable pillar of the Western Saxons; full of justice, bold in arms, learned in speech, and above all things imbued with the divine in- structions; for he translated into his own lan- guage, out of Latin, unnumbered volumes, of so varied a nature and so excellently, that the sor- rowful book of Boethius seemed not only to the learned but even to those who heard it read, as if it were brought to life again." In 1849 ^ great public meeting was held at the town of Wantage, in Berkshire, the place of his birth, to celebrate the one thousandth year since the birth of Alfred ; it was then resolved that "a Jubilee Edition of the works of King Alfred the Great should be immediately undertaken, to be edited by the most competent Anglo-Saxon schol- (325) 326 ALFRED THE GREAT ars who might be willing to combine for the pur- pose." The work was completed not long after, in two large volumes, and was dedicated to Queen Victoria, who traces her descent to Alfred. In the preface the editor, the Rev. J. A. Giles, says: "These works extend to almost every kind of learning then known, or, rather, they reach even beyond the utmost excellence of all contemporary learning. They comprise Poetry, History, Geography, Moral Philosophy, and Legislation ; and they form, in fact, the most valu- able portion of Anglo-Saxon Literature. It is no disparagement to these writings that they are mostly paraphrases of ancient Latin authors. This was the necessary result of the ignorance in which the whole English nation were then sunk." Alfred the Great is one out of not more than half a dozen kings who deserve a place among authors. Indeed it would be hard to name more than these three or four: David (and perhaps Solomon) of Israel, Alfred of England, and Fred- erick the Great of Prussia. King Alfred set forth the principles which guided him in the work which he undertook and performed in this direc- tion. He of course writes in Anglo-Saxon : Alfred's plans. Covetousness and the possession of this earthly power I did not well like, nor strongly desired at all this earthly kingdom ; but I desired materials for the work that I was commanded to do. This was that I might unfractiously and becomingly steer and rule the power committed to me. For no man may show any craft or rule, nor steer any power without tools or ma- ALFRED THE GREAT 327 terials. . . . These are the materials of a King's work, and his tools to govern with : That he may have his land fully peopled ; that he should have his prayer-men, and army-men, and work-men. Without these tools no king may show his skill. . . . It often occurs to my mind to consider what manner Df wise men there formerly were in the English nation, both spiritual and temporal ; and how the kings who then had the government of the people obeyed God and his written will ; how well they behaved both in (var and peace, and in their domestic government ; and how they prospered in knowledge and religioa. I considered also how earnest God's ministers then were, as well about preaching as about learning; and how men came from foreign countries to seek wisdom and doctrine in this land ; and how we who live in these times are now obliged to go abroad to get them. To so low a depth has learning fallen among the Eng- lish nation, that there have been very few on this side of the Humber who were able to understand the English of their service, or to turn an epistle out of Latin into English ; and I know there were not many beyond the Humber who could do it. There were so few that I cannot think of one on the south side of the Thames when I first began to reign. . . . I called to mind that the law was first written in the Hebrew tongue ; and that when the Greeks learned it, they translated it into their own language, besides many other books. And after them the Latins, when they learned it, translated it, by means of wise inter- preters, into their own language, as all other Christian people, too, have turned some part of it also into their own tongue. For which reason I think it best that we also should turn into the language which we all of us know, some such books as are deemed most useful for all men to understand; and that we do our best to effect, as easily as we may, with God's help, if we have quietness, that all the youth of free-born Englishmen, such as have wealth enough to maintain them, be brought up to learn, that, when at an age when they can do nothing else, they may learn to read the English lan- guage then ; and that afterward the Latin tongue shall 328 ALFRED THE GREAT be taught to those whom they have it in their power to teach and promote to a higher condition. Alfred's period of literary activity most probably was confined mainly to the ten or twelve years of peace after the defeat of the Danes in 878. The translation of Boethius appears to have been be- gun in 884, and the last of his works was proba- bly written in 893 ; for after that the whole of his time was most likely taken up by the critical position of his kingdom, menaced as it was by foreign foes. The translation, or rather para- phrase, of the De Consolatione Philosophice of Boe- thius must have been a labor of love with Alfred. Boethius, who flourished about A.D. 500, was per- haps the last of the Roman writers who were versed in Greek literature, and whose productions deserve to rank by the side of those of the Augustan age. The forty-seven Metres into which Alfred rendered the work of Boethius are among the best specimens of Anglo-Saxon poetry. Metre VI., On Change, is one of the shortest of these. It is here given in the original, with a literal line-for- line translation, which will serve to show the marked affinity between the Anglo-Saxon and our present English: ON CHANGE. Tha se Wisdom eft Then wisdom afterward Word-hord onleac. Word-hoard unlocked. Sang' soth-ewidas. Sang various maxims, And thus self a ewceth : And thus himself expressed : Thonne sio sunne When the Sun Sweotolost scineth Clearest shineth Hadrost of hefone, Serenest in the heaven, HuEthe Moth athistrod Quickly are obscured Ealleofereorthan All over the earth ALFRED THE GREAT 329 Othre steorran ; Forthcem hiora birhtti Ne bith aiehi So gesettamte With thare sunnati leoht. Thonne stnolte blcBwth Southan and west an Wind under woioium, Thonne weaxath hrathe Feldes blosiman, FcEgan thcEt hi moton. Ac se stearea storfn Thonne he strong cyvith Northan and eastan. He genimeth hrathe Thcere rosen white And eac tha ruman see, Northerne yst Nede gebceded That hio strange geondsiyred On stathu beateth Ea la / thcet on eorthan Auht foeslices Weorces on worulde Ne wunath cefrl Other stars ; Because their brightness Is not aught When set beside With that Sun's light. When mildly bloweth Southern and western Wind under clouds, Then wax rathly The field's blossoms, Joyful that they may. But the stark storm, When he strong cometh Northern and eastern, He taketh away rathly The rose's beauty. And eke the roomy sea. By northern storm Of necessity bidden. That it be strongly stirred up. On the shore beateth Alas that upon earth Aught fast-fixed Work in the world Ne'er abideth forever ! ALGER, Horatio, Jr., an American author and clergyman, born in Revere, Mass., January I3lh, 1834, and died in Natic, Mass., July i8th, 1899. He graduated at Harvard in 1852, and, after spending three years in teaching and jour- nalism, took a course in the Cambridge Theo- logical School. He then spent nearly a year in European travel, at the same time acting as a newspaper correspondent. In 1864 he was or- dained pastor of a Unitarian church in Brewster, Mass. In 1866 he removed to New York, and soon became interested in the condition of the street-boys of the city, which fact subsequently influenced the character of his writings. Besides his contributions to periodical literature, he has published a volume of poems and several series of books for boys, including lives of Webster, Lin- coln, and Garfield. Among his favorite stories for boys are : Ragged Dick, Luck and Pluck, and Tattered Tom. His later publications include Strugglmg Upward (1890); Dean Dunham (1891); Digging for Gold (1892) ; Facing the World (1893) ; Only an Irish Boy and Victor Vane (1894), and Adrift in the City (1895). JOHN OAKLEY's trials. John Oakley had triumphed in his encounter with Ben Braj'ton, and rode off like a victor. Nevertheless, he could not help feeling a little doubtful and anxious about the future. There was no doubt that Ben would (330) HORATIO ALGER, JR. 33I complain to his mother, and as it was by her express permission that he had taken the horse, John felt appre- hensive that there would be trouble between himself and his stepmother. I have already said, that, though a manly boy, he was not quarrelsome. He preferred to live on good terms with all, not excepting Ben and his mother, although he had no reason to like either of them. But he did not mean to be imposed upon, or to have his just rights encroached upon if he could help it. What should he do if Ben persevered in his claim, and his mother supported him in it ? He could not decide. He felt that he must be guided by circumstances. He could not help remembering how four years before Mrs. Brayton (for that was her name then) answered his father's advertisement for a housekeeper; how, when he hesitated in his choice, she pleaded her poverty, and her urgent need of immediate employment ; and how, influenced principally by this consideration, he took her in place of another to whom he had been more favor- ably inclined. How she should have obtained sufficient influence over his father's mind to induce him to make her his wife after the lapse of a year, John could not understand. He felt instinctively that she was artful and designing, but his own frank, open nature could hardly be expected to fathom hers. He remembered again, how, immediately after the marriage, Ben was sent for, and was at once advanced to a position in the household equal to his own. Ben was at first disposed to be polite, and even subservient to himself, but grad- ually, emboldened by his mother's encouragement, be- came more independent, and even at times defiant. It was not, however, until now that he had actually begun to encroach upon John's rights and assume airs of superiority. He had been feeling his way, and waited until it would be safe to show out his real nature. . . . Plunged in thought, he had suffered Prince to subside into a walk, when, all at once, he heard his name called. " Hallo, John ! " Looking up, he saw Sam Selwin, son of Lawyer Sel- win, and a classmate of his at the academy. "Is that you, Sam?" he said, halting his horse. 332 HORATIO ALGER. JR. " That is my impression," said Sam, " but I began to think it wasn't just now, when my best friend seemed to have forgotten me." "I was thinking," said John, "and didn't notice." " Where are you bound ?" " Nowhere in particular. I only came out for a ride." " You're a lucky fellow, John." " You forget, Sam, the loss I have just met with ; " and John pointed to his black clothes, " Excuse me, John. You know I sympathize with you in that. But I'm very fond of riding, and never get any chance. You have a horse of your own." " Just at present." "Just at present ! You're not going to lose him, are you?" "Sam, I am expecting a little difficulty, and I shall feel better if I advise with some friend about it. You are my best friend in school, and I don't know but in the world, and I've a great mind to tell you." " I'll give you the best advice in my power, John, and won't charge anything for it either, which is more than my father would. You know he's a lawyer, and has to be mercenary. Not that I ought to blame him, for that's the way he finds us all in bread and butter." " I'll turn Prince up that lane and tie him, and then we'll lie down under a tree, and have a good talk." John did as proposed. Prince began to browse, apparently well contented with the arrangement, and the two boys stretched themselves out lazily beneath a wide-spreading chestnut tree, which screened them from the sun. "Now fire away," said Sam, "and I'll concentrate all my intellect upon your case, gratis." "I told you that Prince was mine for the present," commenced John. " I don't know as I can say even that. This afternoon when I got home I found Ben Brayton just about to mount hin'.." " I hope you gave him a piece of your mind." " I ordered him off," said John, quietly, " when he in- formed me that the horse was his now — that his mother had given it to hiia" HORATIO ALGER, JR. 333 " What did you say ? " " That it was not hers to give. I seized the horse by the bridle till he became alarmed and slid off. He then came at me with his riding-whip, and struck me." " I didn't think he had pluck enough for that. I hope you gave him as good as he sent." " I pulled the whip away from him, and gave him two blows in return. Then watching my opportunity I sprang upon the horse, and here I am." "And that is the whole story?" " Yes." ** And you want my advice ?" " Yes." " Then I'll give it. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, stick to that horse, and defy Ben Brayton to do his worst." " It seems to me I've heard part of that speech be- fore," said John, smiling. "As to the advice, I'll follow it if I can. I'm not afraid of anything Ben Brayton can do ; but suppose his mother takes his part ? " — Luck and Fluck, ALGER, William Rounseville, an American Unitarian clergyman and author, born at Free- town, Mass., December 30, 1822. He graduated at Harvard College, and at the Cambridge Di- vinity School in 1847; became pastor of a Uni- tarian congregation at Roxbury, Mass., and in 1855 succeeded Theodore Parker as minister of the Society of " Liberal Christians," in Boston. In 1876 he became minister of the Unitarian Church of the Messiah, in New York, of which Orville Dewey and Samuel Osgood — who after- ward became an Episcopalian — had been pastors. Mr. Alger held this position for three years, and was succeeded by Robert Collyer. All these suc- cessive ministers of the Church of the Messiah have won a place in the literature of their day. After vacating his pastoral charge in New York, Mr. Alger preached for three years at various places in the West, and about 1882 returned to New England, to devote himself to general litera- ture, which had indeed been his main vocation almost from the first. His principal works are: A Symbolic History of the Cross of Christ (185 1) ; The Poetry of the Orient (1856); A Critical History of the Doctrine of a Future Life, to which Ezra Abbot appended a notable appendix, elsewhere noticed (1861); TJie Genius of Solitude (1866); Friendships of Women WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER 335 (1867); Prayers offered in the MassacJmsetts House 0/ Representatives (1S68); The End of the World and the Day of Jjidgmcnt (1870); The Szvord, the Pen, and the Pulpit (1870) ; Life of Edivin Forrest (1877); The School of Life {i^2>i)\ The Sources of Consolation in Human IJfe (1892). The most notable of his works is the Critical History of a Future Life. THE PROBLEM OF A FUTURE LIFE. Pausing, in a thoughtful hour, on the mount of observation, whence the whole prospect of life is visible, what a solemn vision greets us. We see the vast pro- cession of existence flitting across the landscape, from the shrouded ocean of birth, over the illum.inated con- tinent of experience, to the shrouded ocean of death. Who can linger there and listen unmoved to the sub- lime lament of things that die! Although the great exhibition below endures, yet it is made up of changes, and the spectators shift as often. Each rank of the past, as it advances from the mists of its commencing career, wears a smile caught from the morning light of hope; but as it draws near to the fatal bourne it takes on a mournful cast from the shadows of an unknown realm. The places we occupy were not vacant before we came, and will not be deserted when we go; but are forever filling and emptying afresh. We appear: there is a short flutter of joys and pains — a bright glimmer of smiles and tears — and we are gone. But whence did we come? and whither do we go? Can human thought divine the answer? It adds no little solemnity and pathos to these reflections to remember that every considerate person in the unnumbered successions that have preceded us has, in his turn, con- fronted the same facts, engaged in the same inquiry, and been swept from his attempts at a theoretic soki- tion of the problem into the solemn solution itself; while the constant refrain in the song of existence soundeth behind him: "One generation passeth awa}', 336 WILLIAM ROUNSEVILLE ALGER and another generation conieth; but the earth abideth forever." Widely regarding the historj' of human life from the beginning, what a visionary spectacle it is ! How miraculously permanent in the whole ; how sor- rowfully evanescent in the parts ! What pathetic senti- ments it awakens ! Amidst what awful mysteries it hangs. Mr. Alger goes on through several hundreds of pages to set forth the manifold and multiform views which have been held of the human soul ; of its origin and future condition and destiny, as conceived by men of all ages and countries ; and then gives his own conclusions as to the whole matter of the future life — premising that, "If the boon of a future immortality be not ours, therefore to scorn the gift of the present life is to act not like a wise man, who with grateful piety makes the best of what is given ; but like a spoiled child, who, because he cannot have both his oranges and his gingerbread at once, pettishly flings his gingerbread in the mud." THE HERE AND THE HEREAFTER. The future life — outside of the realm of faith — to an earnest and independent inquirer, and considered as a scientific question, lies in a painted mist of un- certainty. There is room for hope, and there is room for doubt. The wavering evidences in some moods preponderate on that side, in other moods on this side. Meanwhile it is clear that, while he lives here, the best thing he can do is to cherish a devout spirit, cultivate a noble character, lead a pure and useful life in the ser- vice of wisdom, humanity, and God ; and, finally, when the appointed time arrives, meet the issue with rever- ential and affectionate conformity, without dictating terms. Let the vanishing man say — like Riickert's dying flower — '* Thanks to-day for all the favors I have WILLI A Af ROUNSEVILLE ALGER 337 received from sun and stream, and earth and sky ; for all the ornaments, from men and God, which have made my little life an ornament and a bliss. Farewell all ! Content to have had my turn, I now fall asleep without a murmur or a sigh." . . . When we die, may the Spirit of Truth, the Comforter of Christ, be our confessor ; the last inhaled breath our cup of absolution ; the tears of some dear friend our extreme unction. No com- plaint for past trials, but a grateful acknowledgment for all blessings our parting word. And then, resigning ourselves to the Universal Father, assured that what- ever ought to be, and is best for us to be, will be. Either absolute oblivion shall be welcome ; or we will go forward to new destinies, whether with preserved identity, or with transformed consciousness and powers, being indifferent to us, since the will of God is done. — Critical History of a Future Life. Vol. I..— 2a ALISON, Rev. Archibald, a Scottish divine and author, born at Edinburgh, November 13, 1757; died there May 17, 1839. He was educated at the University of Glasgow and at Balliol Col- lege Oxford ; took orders in the Church of Eng- land, and received several valuable preferments, fmall}^ returning to Edinburgh in 1800, and becom- ing senior minister in St. Paul's Chapel, where his eloquent discourses attracted much attention. His Essays on the Natuj'e mid Principles of Taste, first published in 1790, is established as an Eng- lish classic. In 181 1 he published two volumes of sermons. Those upon the Fonr Seasons are especially admirable. EFFECT OF SOUNDS AS MODIFIED BY ASSOCIATION. The howl of the wolf is little distinguished from the howl of the dog, either in its tone or in its strength ; but there is no comparison between their sublimity. There are few, if any, sounds so loud as the most com- mon of all sounds, the lowing of a cow ; yet this is the very reverse of sublimity. Imagine this sound, on the contrary, expressive of fierceness or strength, and there can be no doubt tliat it would become sublime. The hooting of the owl at midnight, or amid ruins, is strik- ingly sublime ; the same sound at noon, or during the day, is very far from being so. The scream of the eagle is simply disagreeable when the bird is either tame or confined ; it is sublime only when it is heard amid rocks and deserts, and when it is expressive to us of liberty and independence, and savage majesty. The neighing of a war-horse on the field of battle, or of a (338) ARCHIBALD ALISON 339 j'oung untamed horse when at large among mountains, is powerfully sublime ; the same sound in a cart-horse, or a horse in a stable, is simply indifferent, if not dis- agreeable. No sound is more absolutely mean than the grunting of swine ; the same sound in the wild boar — . an animal remarkable for fierceness and strength — is sublime. The low and feeble sounds of animals which are con- sidered the reverse of sublime, are rendered so by asso- ciation. The hissing of a goose, and the rattle of a child's plaything, are both contemptible sounds ; but when the hissing comes from the mouth of a dangerous serpent, and the noise of the rattle is that of the rattle- snake, although they do not differ from the others in intensity, they are both of them highly sublime. There is certainly no resemblance between the noise of thun- der and the hissing of a serpent ; between the growling of a tiger and the explosion of gunpowder ; between the scream of the eagle and the shouting of a multi- tude : yet all of these are sublime. In the same man- ner there is as little resemblance between the tinkling of the sheep-fold bell and the murmuring of the breeze ; between the hum of the beetle and the song of the lark ; between the twittering of the swallow and the sound of the curfew : yet all these are beautiful. — Essays on Taste. ASSOCIATIONS OF THE PAST. Even the peasant, whose knowledge of former time? extends but to a few generations, has yet in his village some monuments of the deeds or virtues of his fore- fathers, and cherishes with a fond veneration the me- morial of those good old times to which his imagination turns with delight, and of which he loves to recount the simple tales that tradition has brought him. And what is it that constitutes the emotion of sublime delight which every man of common sensibility feels upon his first prospect of Rome ? It is not the scene of destruc- tion which is before him. It is not the Tiber, dimin- ished in his imagination to a paltry stream, flowing amidst the ruins of that magnificence which it once adorned. It is not the triumph of Superstition over 340 ARCHIBALD ALISON the wreck of human greatness, and its monuments erected upon the very spot where the first honors of humanity have been gained. It is ancient Rome which fills his imagination. It is the country of Ceesar, of Cicero, and Virgil which he sees before him. It is the Mistress of the World which he sees, and who seems to him to rise again from the tomb to give laws to the universe. All that the labors of his youth, or the stud- ies of his maturer age, have acquired with regard to the history of this great people open at once on his imagination, and present him with a field of high and solemn imagery which can never be exhausted. Takt. from him these associations — conceal from him that i'. is Rome which he sees — and how different would b^ his emotion. — Essays on Taste. THE LESSONS OF AUTUMN, There is an eventide in the day; an hour when the sun retires and the shadows fall, and when viature assumes the appearance of soberness and silence. It is an hour from which everywhere the thoughtless fly, as peopled only, in their imagination, with images of gloom. It is the hour, on the other hand, which in every age the wise have loved, as bringing with it senti- ments and affections more valuable than all the splen- dors of the day. Its first effect is to still all the turbu- lence of thought or passion which the day may have brought forth. We follow with our eyes the descend- ing sun ; we listen to the decaying sounds of labor and of toil ; and, when all the fields are silent around us, we feel a kindred stillness to breathe upon our souls, and to calm them from the agitations of society. From this first impression there is a second, which naturally fol- lows it : In the day we are living with men ; in the eventide we begin to live with nature ; we see the world withdrawn from us, the shades of night darken over the habitations of men, and we feel ourselves alone. It is an hour fitted, as it would seem, by Him who made us, to still, but with gentle hand, the throb of every unruly passion, and the ardor of every impure desire ; and while it veils for a time the world that misleads us, to awaken in our hearts those legitimate affections ARCHIBALD ALISON 34i which the heat of the day may have dissolved. In the moment when earth is overshadowed, Heaven opens to our eyes the radiance of a sublimer being: our hearts follow the successive splendors of the scene, and while we forget for a time the obscurity of earthly concerns, we feel that there are *'yet greater things than these." There is, in the second place, an eventide in the year : a season when the sun withdraws his propitious light ; when the winds arise and the leaves fall, and nature around us seems to sink into decay. It is said, in general, to be " the season of melancholy ; " and if by this word be meant that it is the time of solemn and serious thought, it is undoubtedly the season of melan- choly. Yet it is a melancholy so soothing, so gentle in its approach, and so prophetic in its influence, that they who have known it feel, as instinctively, that it is the doing of God, and that the heart of man is not thus finely touched but to fine issues. We rise from our meditations with hearts softened and subdued, and we return into life as into a shadowy scene, where we have "disquieted ourselves in vain." Yet a few years, we think, and all that now bless, or all that now convulse humanity, will also have perished. The mightiest pageantry of life will pass ; the loudest notes of triumph or of conquest will be silent in the grave; the wicked, wherever active, "will cease from troubling," and the weary, wherever suffering, " will be at rest." Under an impression so profound, we feel our own hearts better. The cares, the animosities, the hatreds, which society may have engendered, sink un- perceived from our bosoms. In the general desolation of nature we feel the littleness of our own passions ; we look forward to that kindred evening which time must bring to all ; we anticipate the graves of those we hate as of those we love. Every unkind passion falls with the leaves that fall around us ; and we return Uowly to our homes, and to the family which surround us, with the wish only to enlighten or to bless them. — Sermons on the Seasons. ALISON, Sir Archibald, a Scottish histGiian, son of the Rev. Archibald Alison ; born at Kenley, Shropshire, England, where his father was then vicar, December 29, 1792; died near Glasgow, Scotland, May 23, 1867. His father returned to his native Scotland in 1800, and with his family took up his residence in Edinburgh. The son was educated at the Universit}^ of Edinburgh, studied law, and was admitted to the bar in 18 14. He then travelled on the Continent, and published an account of his travels in France. He rose to emi- nence in his profession, was made Deputy Advo- cate-General in 1822, member of the Crown Coun- oil in 1828, and Sheriff of Lanarkshire in 1834, having in the meanwhile published several valu- able legal works. He was successively Lord Rector of Marischal College, Aberdeen, and of Glasgow University, and was created a baronet in 1852. His works are very numerous, including many essays, political, historical, and miscellane- ous, originally contributed to Blackwooa' s Maga- zine, and in 1850 published separately in three vol- umes : Principles of Population (2 vols., 1840), com- bating the theory of Malthus ; England in 181^ and 18/J.5, discussing the currency question ; and the Life of the Duke of Marlborough (1847 ; third and ver}' much enlarged edition, 1855). His prin- cipal works, however, are the History of Europe, ARCHIBALD ALISON' "43 from the commencement of the French Revolu. tion to the restoration of the Bourbons (1039-42), and a continuation, bringing the narrativti down to the accession of Louis Napoleon (1852-59). This continuation is acknowledged to be of very slight value. " The author has not exercised much care in its composition. It is hastily and inaccu- rately written, and is disfigured by blunders, omis- sions, and inconsistencies. The diffuse style of the narrative, which was felt as a drawback on the earlier History, is still more conspicuous in this continuation." The first history achieved a great temporary success, and was translated not only into all European languages, but also into Arabic and Hindustani. Upon the whole, even this work is regarded as of no very high author- ity, although it has not a few distinguishing mer- its. Perhaps the descriptions of military opera- tions are the best features of the work. The prejudices of the author stood in the way of his being an impartial and reliable historian of the causes of events, and his moral reflections, in which he is extremely diffuse, " are quite un- worthy of the author of the narrative portions of the history." His hatred of the French Revolu- tion itself led him to adopt the most exaggerated statements of the atrocities committed during the " Reign of Terror." He adopts without qualifica- tion the statement of Prudhomme that " 18,063 persons were guillotined by order of the Re\^olu- tionary Tribunal," whereas the number fell some- what short of 2,500. He sums up — still following Prudhomme — the number of the victims of the 344 ARCHIBALD ALISON Revolution at more than a million, among whom were ^"900,000 men, 15,000 women, and 22,000 children, slain in La Vendee ; " and this, he says, does not include the whole number of victims. In setting forth the immediate causes which brought about the Revolution, he enumerates fairly the enormous wrongs and oppressions under which the people labored ; but adds, strangely enough, that " the immediate source of the convulsion was the spirit of innovation which overspread France." The value of Alison's History of Eu- rope rests upon the vigor of isolated passages rather than upon its merits as a whole. In writ- ing the Life of the Diike of Marlborough, he was not swayed by his prejudices, and the work is of high value. EPOCHS IN EUROPEAN HISTORY, 1815-52. The First Period, commencing with the entry of the Allies into Paris, after the fall of Napoleon, terminates with the passing of the Currency Act of 1819 in Eng- land, and the great creation of Peers in the democratic interest during the same year in France. The effects of the measures pursued during this period were not per- ceived at the time ; but they are very apparent now. The seeds which produced such decisive results in after times were all sown during its continuance. ^\it Second Period begins with the entire establish- ment of a Liberal Government and system of adminis- tration in France in 1819, and ends with the revolution which overthrew Charles X. in 1830. Foreign transac- tions begin, during this era, to become of importance ; for it embraces the revolutions of Spain, Portugal, Naples, and Piedmont in 1820 ; the rise of Greece as an independent State in the same year ; and the im- portant wars of Russia with Turkey and Persia in 1828 ARCHIBALD ALISON' 345 and 1829 ; and the vast conquests of England in India over the Goorkhas and Burmese Empire. The topics it embraces are more varied and exciting than those in the first ; but they are not more important. They are the growth which followed the seeds previously sown. England and France were still the leaders in the movement ; the convulsions of the world were but the consequences of the throes in them. The Third Pej-iod commences with the great debate on the Reform Bill — of tv/o years' continuance — in Eng- land in 1831, and ends with the overthrow of the Whig Ministry, by the election of October, 1841. The great and lasting effects in the change in the Constitution of Great Britain, by the passing of the Reform Act, partially developed themselves during this period, and the return of Sir Robert Peel to power was the first great reaction against them. During the same time, the natural effects of the revolution in France appeared in the government — unavoidable in the circumstances — of mingled force and corruption of Louis Philippe, and the growth of discontent in the inferior classes of society, from the disappointment of their expectations as to the result of the previous convulsion. Foreign episodes of surpassing interest signalize this period : for it contains the heroic effort of the Poles to restore their national independence in 1831 ; the revolt of Ib- raham Pasha, the bombardment of Acre, and the narrow escape of Turkey from ruin ; our invasion of Afghan- istan, and subsequent disaster there. The Fourth Period^ commencing with the noble con- stancy in adversity displayed by Sir Robert Peel and the English Government in 1842, terminates with the overthrow of Louis Philippe, and consequent European Revolutions in February, 1848. If these years were fraught with internal and social changes of the very highest moment to the future destinies of Great Britain, and of the whole civilized World, they were not less dis- tinguished by the brilliancy of her external triumphs. They witnessed the second expedition into Afghanistan, and capture of Cabul ; the conclusion of a glorious peace with China under the walls of Nankin ; the con- quest of Scinde and desperate passage of arms on the 346 ARCHIBALD ALISON Sutlej. Never did appear in such striking cola^r, the immense superiority which the arms of Civilization had acquired over those of Barbarism, as in this brief and animating period. The Fifth Period commences with the overthrow of Louis PhiHppe in February, 1848, and terminates with the seizure of supreme power by Louis Napoleon in 1852. It is, beyond all example, rich in external and internal events of the very highest moment, and attended by lasting consequences in every part of the world. It witnessed the spread of revolution over Germany and Italy, and the desperate military strife to which it gave rise ; the brief but memorable campaign in Italy and Hungary ; and the bloodless suppression of revolution in Great Britain and Ireland by the patriotism of her People and the firmness of her Government. Interest- ing, however, as these events were, they yield in ulti- mate importance to those which, at the same period, were in progress in the distant parts of the earth. The rich territories of the Punjaub were, during this period, added to the British dominions in India, which was now bounded only by the Indus and the Himalaya snows. At the same time the spirit of republican aggrandize- ment — not less powerful in the New than in the Old World — impelled the Anglo-Saxons over their feeble neighbors in Mexico : Texas was overrun, California conquered, and the discovery of gold mines, of vast ex- tent and surpassing richness, hitherto unknown to man, changed the fortunes of the world. The simultaneous discovery of mines of the same precious metal in Aus- tralia acted as a magnet, which attracted the stream of migration and civilization, for the first time in the his- tory of mankind, to the Eastern world. And now, while half a million Europeans annually land in America, and double the already marvellous increase of Trans- atlantic increase, a hundred thousand Anglo-Saxons yearly migrate to Australia, and lay the foundations of a second England and another Europe, in the vast seats provided there for their reception. Events so wonderful, and succeeding one another with such rapidity, must impress upon the most incon- siderate observer the belief of a great change going for- ARCHIBALD ALISON" 347 ward in human affairs, of which we are the unconscious instruments. That change is The Second Dispersion of Mankind: the spread of Civilization, the extension of Christianity, over the hitherto desert and unpeopled parts of the earth. It is hard to say whether the pas- sions of civilization, the discoveries of science, or the treasures of the wilderness have acted most powerfully in working out this great change. — Preface to History of Europe^ iSij-j2. SCOTT, BYRON, WORDSWORTH, AND COLERIDGE. Sir Walter Scott is universally considered as the greatest writer of imagination of this century. Like most other great men the direction of his genius was in a great degree determined by the circumstances in which he arose ; but its character was exclusively his own. Close observation of nature, whether animate or inanimate, was his great characteristic ; the brilliancy of fancy, the force of imagination, were directed to clothing with sparkling colors her varied creations. It is hard to say whether his genius was most conspicu- ous in describing the beauties of nature, or delineating the passions of the heart. He was at once pictorial and dramatic. He was at first known as a poet ; but charming as his poetic conceptions were, they were ere- long eclipsed by the wide-spread fame of his prose ro- mances. The novels of "the Author of Waverley" caused the poems of Walter Scott to be for a time for- gotten ; but time has re-established them in their celeb- rity. . . . With his great and varied powers Scott might have been a most dangerous writer, if, like Vol- taire, he had directed them to sapping the foundations of religion, or to the delineation of the degrading or the licentious in character. But the elevated strain of his mind preserved him from such contamination. It was on the noble — whether in high or low life — that his affections were fixed. Alike in delineating the manners of feudal times, or the feelings of the cottage, the dig- nity of man was ever uppermost in his mind. No man ever threw a more charming radiance over the tradi tions of ancient times ; but none ever delineated in a 348 ARCHIBALD ALISON' nobler spirit the virtues of the present ; and his dis- criminating eye discovered them equally under the thatch of the cottage as in the halls of the castle. Per- haps he is the only author of numerous works of fiction of whom it may with truth be said that he never wrote a line which on his death-bed he could wish recalled. Waver ley, Guy Ma?inering, The Antiquary, The Bride of Lanunermoor, Old Mortality, are the perfection of romantic pictures of later times ; The Abbot, Quentin Durivard, and Ivanhoe, of the days of chivalry. But these rich veins were at length exhausted, and the pro- lific fancy of the author diverged into other scenes and periods in which he had not such authentic materials to work with, and where his graphic hand was no longer to the same degree perceptible. Some of his later ro- mances are so inferior to the first that it is difficult to believe they have been composed by the same master spirit. It is on the earlier novels, which delineate the manners, feelings, and scenes of Scotland, and a few, such as Ivanhoe, Kenihvorth, The Talisman, and Quentin Durward, that his fame as a writer of romance wiK permanently rest. Byron is the author who, next to Sir Walter Scott, has obtained the most wide-spread reputation in the world. And yet his character and the style of his writ- ings differ so widely from those of " the Wizard of the North," it is difficult to understand how, at the same time, they attained almost equal celebrity. . . . It is on Childe Harold, more than on his metrical romances, that his reputation will ultimately rest. ■ The reputation of the latter was at first prodigious. They were so much admired not because they were founded on nature, but because they differed from it. Addressed to the exclu- sive circles of London society, they fell upon the high- born votaries of fasliion with the charm of novelty ; they breathed the language of vehement passion, which was as new to them as the voice of nature, speaking through the dreamy soul of Rousseau, had been to the corrupted circles of Parisian society half a century be- fore. As such, they excited an immense sensation, and even more than the thoughtful and yet pictured pages of Childe Harold^ raised the author to the very pinnacle of ARCHIBALD ALISOiV 349 celebrity. ... In one class of readers the dramas of Byron have won for him a very high reputation ; in another Don Juan is his passport to popularity. But though characterized by ardent genius, and abounding with noble Hnes, his dramatic pieces want the elements of durable fame. They are too wild for ordinary life, too extravagant for theatrical representation. , . . Donjuan is different ; there is much in it which unhap- pily too powerfully rouses every human breast. But although works of fiction in which genius is mingled with licentiousness, often at first acquire a very great celebrity, at least with one sex, they labor under an in- superable objection. They cannot be the subject of conversation with the other. Works of fiction are chiefly interesting to both sexes, because they portray the feelings by which they are attracted to each other. When they are of such a description that neither can communicate those feelings to the other, the great ob- ject of composition is lost, and a lasting celebrity to the author is impossible. Wordsworth presented in most respects a most de- cided contrast to Southey, his neighbor in the moun- tains of Cumberland. He had not Southey's informa- tion ; was not distracted by any prose compositions ; and made no attempt to traverse the numerous and varied fields of thought or industry which Southey has tilled with so much zeal. But on that very account he was more successful, and has left a far greater reputa- tion. He was less discursive than his brilliant rival, but more profound. Little attended to — as works of that stamp generally are in the outset — they gradually but unceasingly rose in public estimation ; they took a lasting hold of the highly educated youth of the next generation ; and he now numbers among his devout worshippers many of the ablest men, profound thinkers, and most accomplished and discriminating women of the age. Indeed, great numbers of persons, whose mental powers, cultivated taste, and extensive acquirements entitle their opinions to the very highest consideration, yield him an admiration approaching to idolatrj^ and assign him a place second only to Milton in English poetry. He is regarded by them in much the 350 ARCHIBALD ALISON same light that Goethe is by the admiring ana .nipas- sioned multitudes of the Fatherland. It may be doubted, however, whether with all his depth of thought, simplicity of mind, and philosophic wisdom, Wordsworth will ever get that general hold of the English mind which Goethe has done of the German mind. The rea- son is, that he is not equally imaginative. He is a great philosophic poet ; and to minds of a reflective turn, no writer possesses more durable or enchaining charms. But how many are the thoughtful and reflecting to the great body of mankind. . . . As the active bears so great a proportion to the speculative part of mankind, Goethe, who depicts the feelings of the former, will always be a more general favorite than Wordsworth, who delineates the speculations of the latter. But that very circumstance only enhances the admiration felt for the English poet by that small but gifted portion of the human species who, mingling with the active part of the world, yet judge them with the powers of the specu- lative. Coleridge in some respects bore a close resemblance to Wordsworth ; but in others he was widely different. He was deep and reflecting, learned in philosophic lore, and fond of critical disquisition. He was less abstract than Wordsworth, but more dramatic ; less philosophic, but more pictorial. Deeply penetrated with the genius of Schiller, he has transferred the marvels of two of the great German's immortal dramas on Wallenstein to the English tongue with the exactness of a scholar and kin- dred inspiration of a poet. His Ode to Mount Blanc is one of the sublimest productions in that lofty style in the English language. But he is far from having at- tained the world-wide fame of Gray, Burns, and Camp- bell in that branch of poetry. The reason is, that his ideas and images are too abstract, and too little drawn from the occurrences or objects of common life. He was deeply learned, and his turn of mind strongly meta- physical. But it is neither by learning or metaphysics that lasting celebrity, either in oratory or poetry, is to be attained. Eloquence, to be popular, must be in ad- vance of the age, and but a little in advance. Poetry, to move the general mind, must be founded on ideas ARCHIBALD ALISON 351 common to all mankind, and feelings with which every- one is familiar; but yet educe from them novel and pleasing conceptions. It reaches its highest fhght when, from these common ideas and objects, it draws forth uncommon and elevating thoughts ; conceptions which meet with a responsive echo in every breast, but had never occurred, at least with equal felicity, to anyone before. — History of Europe^ 1813-^2, Chap. V. ALLEN, Charles Grant Blairfindie, com- monly known as Grant Allen — who has also writ- ten under the nom de plume both of Cecil Power and J. Arbuthnot Wilson — a British scientific writer and novelist, was born February 24, 1848, on Wolf Island, opposite Kingston, Canada, where his father was the incumbent of the Anglican Church, and died October 25, 1899, ^^ graduated at Oxford in 187 1. In 1873 he was appointed Professor of Logic and Philosophy at Queen's College, Spanish Town, Jamaica, and from 1874 until 1877 was its princi- pal. He then returned to England, where he has since lived. Among his scientific writings are: Physiological Ethics (1877) ! ^-^^^ Color Sense (1879) I The Evolutiojtist at Large (1881) ; Colin Cloufs Cal- endar (1882), and Force and Energy (1888). Among his most popular novels are : In All Shades (1886) and This Mortal Coil {iZ'i'S). His most recent pub- lications are : What's Bredin the Bone {Boston, 1891), a prize story, for which he received i^ 1,000; Dti- niaresqs DangJiter (1891) ; The Duchess of Powysland (1891); Blood Royal (1893); Dr. Pallisers Patient ; The Attes of Catnllus ; Science in Arcady ; The Story of the Plants ; The Woman Who Did ; British Barba- riafts (iSgS), and A Hill-top Novel {i2)g6). He has also contributed a series of papers, Post-prandial Philosophy, to the Westminster Gazette. In 1885 he published a life of Charles Darwin, in Andrew Lang's series of English Worthies. CHARLES GRANT BLAIRFIXDIE ALLEN 353 FLOWERS AND INSECTS, I suppose even that apocryphal person, the general reader, would be insulted at being told at this hour of the day that all bright-colored flowers are fertilized by the visits of insects, whose attentions they are specially designed to solicit. Everybody has heard over and over again that roses, orchids, and columbines have ac- quired their honey to allure the friendly bee, their gaudy l^etals to advertise the honey, and their divers shapes to ensure the proper fertilization by the correct type of insect. But everybody does not know how specifically certain blossoms have laid themselves out for a particu- lar species of fly, beetle, or tiny moth. Here on the higher downs, for instance, most flowers are exception- ally large and brilliant ; while all Alpine climbers must have noticed that the most gorgeous masses of bloom in Switzerland occur just below the snow-line. The reason is, that such blossoms must be fertilized by but- terflies alone. Bees, their great rivals in honey-suck- ing, frequent only the lower meadows and slopes, where flowers are many and small ; they seldom venture far from the hive or the nest among the high peaks and chilly nooks where we find those great patches of blue gentian or purple anemone, which hang like monstrous breadths of tapestry upon the mountain sides. This heather here, now fully opening in the warmer sun of the southern counties — it is still but in the bud among the Scotch hills, I doubt not — specially lays itself out for the humble bee, and its masses form about his high- est pasture-grounds; but the butterflies — insect vagrants that they are — have no fixed home, and they therefore stray far above the level at which bee-blossoms alto- gether cease to grow. Now, the butterfly differs great- ly from the bee in his mode of honey-hunting ; he does not bustle about in a business-like manner from one buttercup or dead-nettle to its nearest fellow ; but he flits joyously, like a sauntering straggler that he is, from a great patch of color here to another great patch at a distance, whose gleam happens to strike his roving eye by its size and brilliancy. Plence, as that indefatigable Vol. I. — 23 354 CHARLES GRAXT BLAIRFIXDIE ALLEN observer, Dr. Herman Miiller, has noticed, all Alpine or hill-top flowers have very large and conspicuous blos- soms, generally grouped together in big clusters so as to catch a passing glance of the butterfly's eye. As soon as the insect spies such a cluster, the color seems to act as a stimulant to his broad wings, just as the candle- light does to those of his cousin, the moth. Off he sails at once, as if by automatic action, toward the distant patch, and there both robs the plant of its honey and at the same time carries to it on his legs and head fertil- izing pollen from the last of its congeners which he favored with a call. For of course both bees and but- terflies stick on the whole to a single species at a time ; or else the flowers would only get uselessly hybridised instead of being impregnated with pollen from other plants of their own kind. For this purpose it is that most plants lay themselves out to secure the attention of only two or three varieties among their insect allies, while they make their nectaries either too deep or too shallow for the convenience of all other ki«ci6 ■ — The Evolutionist at Large. ALLEN, Mrs. Elizabeth (Chase) (pseudo- nvm, " Florence Percy"), an American poet, also known as Mrs. Akers Allen (from Paul Akers, the sculptor, her first husband), was born in Strong, Me., October 9, 1832. She began writing at a very early age, and published her first volume, Forest Buds, in 1855. Soon after this she became a con- tributor to the Atlantic MontJily and other peri- odicals. Her second volume of poems appeared in 1866, in which is her well-known poem Rock Me to Sleep, Mother. Later appeared The Silver Bridge and Other Poems (1886) ; Gold Nails to Hang Mem- ories On (1890), and The High-Top Szi'ceting (iSgi). From 1873 to 1879 Mrs. Allen was the literary edi- tor of the Portland, Me., Advertiser. Many of her poems have been set to music. IN A GARRET. This realm is sacred to the silent past ; Within its drowsy shades are treasures rare Of dust and dreams ; the years are long since last A stranger's footfall pressed the creaking stair. This room no housewife's tidy hand disturbs ; And here, like some strange presence, ever clings A homesick smell of dry forgotten herbs — A musty odor as of mouldering things. Here stores of withered roots and leaves repose, For fancied virtues prized. u-\ days of yore, (355) 356 ELIZABETH ALLEN Gathered with thoughtful care, mayhap by those Whose earthly ills are healed for evermore. Here shy Arachne winds her endless thread, And weaves her silken tapestry unseen, Veiling the rough-hewn timbers overhead, And looping gossamer festoons between. Along the low joists of the sloping roof, Moth-eaten garments hang, a gloomy row, Like tall fantastic ghosts, which stand aloof. Holding grim converse with the long ago. Here lie remembrances of childish joys — Old fairy-volumes, conned and conned again, A cradle, and a heap of battered toys, Once loved by babes who now are bearded men. Here, in the summer, at a broken pane, The yellow wasps come in, and buzz and build Among the rafters ; wind and snow and rain All enter, as the seasons are fulfilled. This mildewed chest behind the chimney, holds Old letters, stained and nibbled, faintly show The faded phrases on the tattered folds Once kissed, perhaps, or tear-wet — who may know? I turn a page like one who plans a crime. And lo ! love's prophecies and sweet regrets, A tress of chestnut hair, a love-lorn rhyme, And fragrant dust that once was violets. I wonder if the small sleek mouse, that shaped His winter nest between these time-stained beams, Was happier that his bed was lined and draped With the bright warp and woof of youthful dreams? Here where the gray incessant spiders spin, Shrouding from view the sunny world outside, A golden bumblebee has blundered in And lost the way to liberty, and died. ELIZABETH ALLEN 357 So the lost present drops into the past ; So the warm living heart, that loves the light, Faints in the unresponsive darkness vast Which hides time's buried mysteries from sight. Why rob these shadows of their sacred trust ? Let the thick cobwebs hide the day once more ; Leave the dead years to silence and to dust, And close again the long unopened door. — The High- Top Sweeting, ALLEN, James Lane, an American novelist and poet, born in Fayette County, Ky., December 21, 1849. Hi3 early education was received in a private school on his father's plantation, and in this school he was also fitted for college. He en- tered Kentucky University at Lexington, and in 1872 graduated as bachelor of arts, later earning the degree of master of arts. He engaged as in- structor in the University and as principal of the Preparatory Academy connected with it and, after- ward, as a professor at his alma mater and at Bethany College, W. Va. In 1898 Kentucky Uni- versity conferred upon him the honorary degree of LL.D. Mr. Allen did not make his debut as a writer until about thirty-five years of age. His first published work was in verse, and ap- peared in various magazines. He won a recog- nized place at once because of the remarkable excellence of his style. Short stories followed the verses. His published works are: FluU and Violin (1891); TJie Blue-Grass Region of Kentucky (1892); John Gray, A Kentucky Tale of the Olden Time (1893); A Ke?itucky Cardinal (1894); After- math (1895); Summer in Arcady (1897), and The Choir Invisible. Many of the sketches included in these volumes were first published in Har- per's and The Century. In speaking of Mr. Al- len's works in general, a prominent critic says: " In telling a story of vital interest, Mr. Allen gives us a record of value to every student of his- tory or of the historic aspect of society, a study of the civilization of a century ago, not merely of (358) JAMES LA.VE ALLEN 359 Kentucky, but of the young Republic. He repro- duces with the utmost faithfulness the landscape, manners, customs, and characters of the time, with some of those problems which belong to no time, but are always as old as the race and as new as the individual." REV. JAMES MOORE. On one of the dim walls of Christ Church, in Lexing. ton, Ky,, there hangs, framed in thin black wood, an old rectangular slab of marble. A legend sets forth that the tablet is in memory of the Reverend James Moore, first minister of Christ Church and President of Tran- sylvania University, who departed this life in the year 1814, at the age of forty-nine. Just beneath runs the record that he was learned, liberal, amiable, and pious. Save this concise but not unsatisfactory summary, little is now known touching the reverend gentleman. A search through other sources of information does, in- deed, result in reclaiming certain facts. Thus, it ap- pears that he was a Virginian, and that he came to Lexington in the year 1792, when Kentucky ceased to . be a county of Virginia, and became a State. At first \^ he was a candidate for the ministry of the Presbyterian church ; but the Transylvania Presbytery having re- proved him for the liberality of his sermons, James kicked against such rigor in his brethren, and turned for refuge to the bosom of the Episcopal communion. But this body did not offer much of a bosom to take refuge in. Virginia Episcopalians there were in and around the little wooden town ; but so rampant was the spirit of the French Revolution and the influence of French infidel- ity that a celebrated local historian, who knew thor- oughly the society of the place, though Vv^riting of it long afterward, declared that about the last thing it would have been thought possible to establish there was an Episcopal church. Not so thought James. He beat the cane-brakes and scoured the buffalo trails for his Virginia Episcopalians, 36o JAMES LANE ALLEN huddled them into a dilapidated little frame-house on fhe site of the present building, and there fired so deadl}' a volley of sermons at the sinners free of charge, that they all became living Christians. Indeed, he fired so long and so well that several years later — under favor of Heaven and through the success of a lot- tery with a one-thousand-dollar prize, and nine hundred and seventy-four blanks — there was built and furnished a small brick church, over which he was regularly called to ofificiate twice a month at a salary of two hundred dollars a year. Here authentic history ends, except for the additional fact that in the university he sat in the chair of logic, metaphysics, moral philosophy, and belles-lettres — a large chair to sit in, with ill-matched legs and most un- certain bottom. Another authority is careful to state that he had a singularly sweet breath and beautiful manners. Thus, it has been well with the parson, as respects his posthumous fame ; for how many of our fellow-creatures are learned without being amiable, amiable without being pious, and pious without having beautiful manners ! And yet tlie best that may be related of him is not told in the books ; and it is only when we have allowed the dust to settle once more upon the histories, and have peered deep into the mists of oral tradition, that the parson is discovered standing there in spirit and the flesh, but muffled and ghost-like, as a figure seen through a dense fog. A tallj thinnish man, v/ith silky, pale-brown hair, worn long and put back behind his ears, the high tops of which bent forward a little under the weight, and thus took on the most remarkable air of paying incessant at- tention to everybody and everything ; set far out in front of these ears, as though it did not wish to be dis- turbed by what was heard, a white, wind-splitting face, calm, beardless, and seeming never to have been cold, or to have dropped the kindly dew of perspiration ; gray eyes, patient and dreamy, being habitually turned in- ward upon a mind toiling with hard abstractions ; hav- ing within him a conscience burning always like a planet; a bachelor — being a logician ; therefore sweet- JAMES LANE ALLEN 361 tempered, never having sipped the sour cup of experi- ence; gazing covertly at womankind from behind the delicate veil of unfamiliarity that lends enchantment ; being a bachelor and a bookworm, therefore, already old at forty, and a little run-down in his toilets, a little frayed out at the elbows and the knees, a little seamy along the back, a little deficient at the heels ; in pocket poor always, and always the poorer because of a spend- thrift habit in the matter of secret charities ; kneeling down by his small, hard bed every morning and pray- ing that during the day his logical faculty might dis- charge its function morally, and that his moral faculty might discharge its function logically, and that over all the operations of all his other faculties he might find heavenly grace to exercise both a logical and a moral control ; at night kneeling down again to ask forgive- ness that, despite his prayer of the morning, one or more of these same faculties — he knew and called them all familiarly by name, being a metaphysician — had gone wrong in a manner the most abnormal, shameless, and un- foreseen ; thus, on the whole, a man shy and dry, gentle, lovable, timid, resolute, forgetful, remorseful, eccentric, impulsive, thinking too well of every human creature but himself, an illogical logician, an erring moralist, a wool-gathering philosopher, but, humanly speaking,, al- most a perfect man. But the magic flute? Ah, yes! The magic flute! Well, the parson had a flute—a little one — and the older he grew, and the more patient and dreamy his gray eyes, always the more devotedly he blew his little friend. How the fond soul must have loved it ! They say that during his last days, as he lay propped high on white pillows, once, in a moment of wandering con- sciousness, he stretched forth his hand, and in fancy lifting it from the white counterpane, carried it gently to his lips. Then, as his long delicate fingers traced out the spirit ditties of no tone, and his mouth pursed it- self in the fashion of one who is softly blowing, his whole face was overspread with a halo of ecstatic peace. And yet, for all the love he bore it, the parson was never known to blow his flute between the hours of sunrise and sunset — that is, never but once. Alas, that 362 JAMES LANE ALLEN memorable day ! But when the night fell and he cat: le home — home to the two-story log-house of the widow Spurlock ; when the widow had given him his supper of coffee, sweetened with brown sugar ; hot johnny-cake, with perhaps a cold joint of venison and cabbage pickle ; when he had taken from the supper-table, by her permission, the solitary tallow-dip in its little brass candlestick and climbed the rude, steep stairs to his room above ; when he had pulled the leathern string that lifted the latch, entered, shut the door behind him on the world, placed the candle on a little deal table covered with text-books and sermons, and seated him- self beside it in a rush-bottomed chair, then — he began to play ? No ; then there was a dead silence. For about half an hour this silence continued. The widow Spurlock used to say that the parson was giving his supper time to settle ; but alas ! it must have set- tled almost immediately, so heavy was the johnny-cake. Howbeit, at the close of such an interval, anyone standing at the foot of the steps below, or listening beneath at the window on the street outside, would have heard the silence broken. At first the parson blew low, peculiar notes, such as a kind and faithful shepherd might blow at nightfall as an invitation for his scattered, wandering sheep to gather home about him. Perhaps it was a. way he had of calling in the disordered flock of his faculties — some weary, some wounded, some torn by thorns, some with their fleeces — which had been washed white in the morning prayer — now bearing many a stain. But when they had all answered, as it were, to this musical roll-call, and had taken their due places within the fold of his brain, obedient, attentive, however weary, however suf- fering — then the flute was laid aside, and once more there fell upon the room intense stillness ; the poor student had entered upon his long, nightly labors.— Flute and Violin. ALLERTON, Ellen (Palmer), an American poetess, born at Centreville, N. Y., in 1835; died at Padonia, Kan., September, 1893. In 1862 she was married to Mr. Alpheus Allerton, with whom she took up her home in Wisconsin, where they resided until 1879, when they removed to Hamlin, Kan. Mrs. Allerton early manifested a fond- ness for literature, but wrote little for publica- tion until after her marriage, when she began to contribute largely, especially in verse, to the newspapers in the far west. A volume of these poems was collected in 1885, under the title of Annabel, and other Poems. Poems of the Prairies appeared in 1889. The title-poem of this volume had never before been published, and indeed hardly equals the spirit and freshness of the earlier and shorter pieces, which are imbued with the fresh, vigorous spirit of civilized life on the broad, fertile prairies. One of these poems, which stands as a sort of motto for the whole, is: MY AMBITION. I have my own ambition. It is not To mount on eagle wings and soar away Beyond the palings of our common lot. Scorning the griefs and joys of every day ; I would be human — toiling like the rest. With tender human heart-beats in my breast. (363) 'M ELLEN ALLERTON And so beside my door I sit and sing My simple strains — nov/ sad, now light and gay, Happy if this or that but wake one string, Whose low, sweet echoes give me back the lay. And happier still, if girded by my song. Some strained and tempted soul stands firm and strong. . . . I send my thought its kindred thought to greet, Out to the far frontier, through crowded town. Friendship is precious, sympathy is sweet ; So these be mine, I ask no laurel crown. Such my ambition, which 1 here unfold ; So it be granted, mine is wealth untold. One of the freshest and most characteristic oJ these prairie poems is the following : WALLS OF CORN. Smiling and beautiful, heaven's dome Bends softly over our prairie home. But the wide, wide lands that stretched away Before my eyes in the days of May — The rolling prairie's billowy swell Breezy upland and the timbered dell, Stately mansion and hut forlorn — All are hidden by walls of corn. All the wide world is narrowed down To walls of corn, now sere and brown. What do they hold, those walls of corn Whose banners toss on the breeze of mora? He who questions may soon be told, A great State's wealth these walls enfold. No sentinels guard these walls of corn, Never is sounded the warder's horn ; ELLE.V ALLERTON" 365 Yet the pillars are hung with gleaming gold, Left all unbarred though thieves are bold : — Clothes and food for the toiling poor, Wealth to heap at the rich man's door ; Meat for the healthy, and balm for him Who moans and tosses in chambers dim; Shoes for the barefooted, pearls to twine In the scented tresses of ladies fine; Things of use for the lowly cot, Where (bless the corn) want cometh not; Luxuries rare for the mansion grand, Gifts of a rich and fertile land. All these things, and so many more It would fill a book to name them o'er, Are hid and held in walls of corn, Whose banners toss on the breeze of morn. Where do they stand, these walls of corn, Whose banners toss on the breeze of morn ?— • Open the atlas, conned by rule In the olden days of the district school ; Point to the rich and bounteous land That yields such fruits to the toiler's hand. "Treeless desert," they called it then, Haunted by beasts and forsook by men. Little they knew what wealth untold Lay hid where the desolate prairies rolled. Who would have dared, with brush or pen, As this land is now, to paint it then ? And how would the wise ones have laughed in scorn, Had the prophet foretold these walls of corn, Whose banners toss on the breeze of mom ! ALLTBONE, Samuel Austin, LL.D., an Amer- ican bibliographer, born in Philadelpliia, Pa., April 17, 1816; died in Switzerland, September 2, 1889. Although actively engaged in mercantile business, he was an earnest student in English literature, edited for several years the publications of the American Sunday- School Union, and contrib- uted largely to the NortJi American Review and other periodicals. In 1882 he became librarian of the newly established Lenox Library, in New York. His works, which are mainly bibliograph- ical compilations, include a Critical Dictionary of English Literature (3 vols., 1858-71) ; Poetical Quotatiojis, from Chaucer to Tennyson (1873) ; Prose Quotations, from Socrates to Macaulay (1875), and Great Authors of All Ages (1879). His greatest work is the Critical Dictionary of English Litera- ture, from the earliest period down to the latter half of the nineteenth century, " containing over forty-six thousand authors, with forty indexes of subjects." It is safe to say that there is scarcely a writ(3r in the language who has during the long period in question produced any book worthy of remembrance who is not described with more or less detail in these volumes. The articles relating to the great writers in our language are full as to the works themselves, and embody also the critical estimates of them as enunciated by the C366) SAMUEL A USTIN ALU BONE 367 best authorities. In the preface and introduction to this work Mr. Allibone sets forth with some minuteness the object which he had in view in its compilation. We group together a few of his most characteristic sentences : PURPOSE OF THE DICTIONARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. It has been computed that of the 650,000 volumes in the English language, about 50,000 would repay a peru- sal. Suppose a person to read 100 pages a day, or 100 volumes a year, it would require 500 years to exhaust such a library. How important is it, then, to know what to read ; and how shall this knowledge be ob- tained ? If there be an advantage in full definition, in alphabetical arrangement, and consequent facility of reference in a Dictionary of Words, why should we not have a Dictionary of Books and Authors, as well as of Words ? It is a remarkable fact that, notwithstanding the obvious advantages of such a work, there was none such in print before the present publication. There were, indeed, meagre " Compendiums " of English Lit- erature, and " Comprehensive Cyclopaedias," the largest of which (with the exception of a book of titles of Works) contains about 850 out of more than 30,000 authors. Much of such knowledge, too, is found scat- tered here and there in expensive biographical compi- lations, which can never become popular, because very costly, and are, indeed, insufficient authorities in literary history. Deeply lamenting this serious deficiency in the English Republic of Letters, the compiler deter- mined to undertake the preparation of the long-desired work, and he has now the pleasure of presenting to the public the result of his labors extending over a long period, and pursued with unwearied zeal. The princi- pal features of the work are the following : I. It is arranged in alphabetical order, to insure fa- cility of reference. — 2. While professing to chronicle only British and American authors, we have sometimes overlooked the question of nativity, and enrolled a 368 SAMUEL A USTIN ALU BONE writer whose insignia of literary nobility could properly be quartered on an English field ; such as Anselm, Lan- franc, Benoit De Sainte Maur, Peter of Blois, and Joseph Blanco White. — 3. As a general rule, a succinct biog- raphy is given of each author of note. The length of such notice, of course, depends upon his prominence as an individual, and his rank as an author. Those of the first class, numbering several thousands, are treated at considerable length ; less space is devoted to those less distinguished. — 4. Compilers of manuals of literature have almost universally fallen into the great error of giving their own opinions almost exclusively upon the merits of the authors under consideration. Now these opinions may be valuable or not. This capital error is avoided in the present work. The compiler occasion- ally ventures an opinion of his own ; but this will be merely supplemental to opinions better known and more highly appreciated by the reading public. As a care- fully prepared record of the opinions of great men upon great men, this book will prove an invaluable guide to the student of literary history. — 5. The laudable curi- osity of the bibliomaniac, or lover of rare works, is not forgotten in these volumes. — 6. The second division of the work consists of a copious Index of Subjects, so that the inquirer can find at a glance all the authors of any note in the language, arranged under the subject or sub- jects upon which they have written. The compiler thus presents to the public, in a single work, a Comprehen- sive Manual of English Literature — Authors and Sub- jects — a Manual which is to the Literature of the lan- guage what an ordinary Dictionary is to the Words of the language. . . . In conclusion, we would impress upon our readers the duty of the zealous pursuit of those paths of learning and science which lead to usefulness, happi- ness, and honor. Be not dismayed by the apparently unattractive character of much of the scenery through which you must pass. Persevere ; and distaste will soon yield to pleasure, and repugnance give place to enjoyment. An ever-present and influential sense of the importance of the goal will do wonders in over- coming the difficulties of the way. To those Israel- SAMUEL AUSTIN ALLIBONE 369 ites whose hearts fainted for a sight of their beloved Temple, the sands of the desert and the perils of the road presented no obstacles which their energy and their faith could not surmount. The arid " Valley of Baca " to them became a well ; for, in the beautiful language of the Psalmist, " the rain also filleth the pools." — Preface to Dictionary of English Literature. Vou I. — 94 ALLINGHAM, William, an Irish poet, born in Ballyshannon, Ireland, in 1828; died 1889. He began to contribute to literary periodicals at an early age, and, removing to England, he was ap- pointed to a position in the customs. For several years he was editor of Frasers Magazine, in which many of his poems first appeared. Among these is Laivrence Bloomfield in Ireland, which contains nearly five thousand lines, and sketches the char- acteristic features of contemporary Irish life. His first volume of poems was published in 1850. This was followed by Day and Night 5^«^.y (1854); Fifty Modern Poems (1865) ; and Songs, Poems, and Ballads (1877), consisting of revised versions of many pieces before published, with the addition of many new ones. His Lawrence Bloomfield was also republished in a separate volume, in 1869. In 1874 he v»^as married to Helen Paterson (born in 1848), an artist of very decided merit in water- colors, and a draughtsman upon wood. Although Mr. Allingham is of English descent, and has resided during most of his manhood in or near London, most of the themes of his poetry are de- rived from his native Ireland. His birthplace, Ballyshannon, is fondly referred to as The kindly spot, the friendly town, where everyone is known, And not a face in all the place but partly seems my own. WILLIAM ALLTNGHAM 371 Mr. Allingham's poems, though not rising to the highest grade of art, are yet genuine in their way, evincing a fine feeling for nature, graceful fancy, and poetic diction, free from all obscurity and mysticism. TO THE NIGHTINGALES. You sweet fastidious nightingales i The myrtle blooms in Irish vales. By Avondhu and rich Lough Lene, Through many a grove and bowerlet green, Fair-mirrored round the loitering skiff. The purple peak, the tinted cliff, The glen where mountain-torrents rave. And foHage blinds their leaping wave, Broad emerald meadows filled with flowers, Embosomed ocean-bays are ours With all their isles ; and mystic towers Lonely and gray, deserted long, Less sad if they might hear that perfect song , What scared ye? (ours, I think, of old) The sombre fowl hatched in the cold 1 King Henry's Normans, mailed and stern, Smiters of galloglas and kern ? Or, most and worst, fraternal feud, • Which sad lerne long hath rued ? Forsook ye, when the Geraldine, Great chieftain of a glorious line, Was haunted on his hills and slain, And, one to France and one to Spain, The remnant of the race v/ithdrew ? Was it from anarchy ye flew, And fierce oppression's bigot crew, Wild complaint, and menace hoarse, Misled, misleading voices, loud and coarse? Come back, O birds, or come at last ! For Ireland's furious days are past ; And, purged of enmity and wrong, Her eye, her step, grow calm and strong^. 37* WILLIAM ALLINGHAM Why should we miss that pure delight? Brief is the journey, swift the flight ; And Hesper finds no fairer maids In Spanish bowers or English glades. No loves more true on any shore, No lovers loving music more. Melodious Erin, warm of heart, Entreats you ; stay not then apart. But bid the merles and throstles know (And ere another May-time go) Their place is in the second row. Come to the west, dear nightingales ! The rose and myrtle bloorit in Irish vales. WA8HINGTON ALLSTON. ALLSTON, Washington, an American painter and author, born at Waccamaw, S. C, November 5, 1779; died at Cambridge, Mass., July 9, 1843. He entered Harvard College in 1796, and after- ward began the study of medicine, which he soon abandoned for art. He went to London, where he became intimate with his countryman, Benjamin West, then President of the Royal Academy. In 1804 he proceeded to Rome, where he remained several years, finally returning to America in 1 809. Two years after he again visited Europe, and gained the prize of two hundred guineas offered by the British Institution. In 1 8 19, after having been chosen an Associate of the Royal Academy, he took up his permanent resi- dence at Cambridge, Mass., devoting himself to art and letters. He is best known as a painter, the subjects of most of his pictures being drawn from the Old Testament. He was for many years engaged upon a great work, Belshazzar s Feast, which was painted over and over, and was finally left unfinished. He was twice married ; his first wife, who died in 1813, being the sister of William Ellery Channing ; the second, to whom he was married in 1830, was a sister of Richard H. Dana. He had the capacity for taking a high rank among the authors, as well as the painters of his genera- tion, but his published writings are few. They (373) 374 WASHINGTON ALLSTON might all be comprised in two moderate volumes. In prose there is Monaldi, an Italian romance, pub- lished in 1841, but written at least twenty years before ; The Hypochondriac, a short magazine story, and four Lectures on Art. He had intended to write two more lectures ; but, although the first was written about 1830, the series was never com- pleted, and the four were not published until after his death, when they were given to the press by Richard H, Dana, Jr., with a brief memoir of the author. This volume also contains the poetical works of Allston. These consist of The Sylphs (j////^ 5^rtj^«5-, published in 1813, and some other poems written at intervals during many years. Among these are America to Great Britain, in 18 10, which was, seven 3^ears later, inserted by Cole- ridge in his Sibylline Leaves, with the following note: "This poem, written b}^ an American gen- tleman, a valued and dear friend, I communicate to the reader for its moral no less than its poetic spirit." AMERICA TO ENGLAND. All hail ! thou noble land, Our fathers' native soil ! O, stretch thy mighty hand, Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore ! For thou with magic might Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright The world o'er ! The genius of our clime From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the guest sublime ; While Tritons of the deep WASHINGTON ALLSTON 375 With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine ; — O'er the main our naval line Like the milky-way shall shine Bright in fame. Though ages long have past Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravelled seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins ! And shall we not proclaim That blood of honest fame Which no tyranny can tame By its chains ? While the language free and bold Which the Bard of Avon sung, In which our Milton told How the vault of heaven rung When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ; — While this with reverence meet. Ten thousand echoes greet. From rock to rock repeat Round our coast ; — While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul Still cling around our hearts — Between let ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the Sun : Yet still from either beach The voice of blood shall reach. More audible than speech, "We are one." Several of AUston's sonnets are of high merit. Among them are : ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. The earth has had her visitation. Like to this She hath not known, save when the mounting waters Made of her orb one universal ocean. For now the tree that grew in Paradise, 37« WASHINGTON ALLSTON That deadl)^ tree that first gave Evil motion, And sent its poison through earth's sons and daughters, Had struck again its root in every land. And now its fruit was ripe — about to fall — And now a mighty kingdom raised the hand. To pluck and eat. Then from his throne stepped forth The King of Hell, and stood upon the earth : But not, as once, upon the earth to crawl, A nation's congregated form he took Till, drunk with sin and blood, earth to her centre shook. ON ART, O Art, high gift of Heaven ! how oft defamed When seeming praised ! To most a craft that fits, By dead prescriptive rule, the scattered bits Of gathered knowledge ; even so misnamed By some who would invoke thee ; but not so By him — the noble Tuscan — who gave birth To forms unseen of man, unknown to earth, Now living habitants. He felt the glow Of thy revealing touch, that brought to view The invisible idea; and he knew. E'en by his inward sense, its form was true : 'Twas life to life, responding — the highest truth So through Elisha's faith, the Hebrew youth Beheld the thin blue air to fiery chariots grow. ON THE LATE S. T. COLERIDGE. And art thou gone, most loved, most honored friend ! No, never more thy gentle voice shall blend With air of earth its pure ideal tones, Binding in one, as with harmonious zones, The heart and intellect. And I no more Shall with thee gaze on that unfathomed deep, The human soul ; as when, pushed off the shore, Thy mystic bark would through the darkness sweep, Itself the while so bright ! For oft we seemed As on some starless sea — all dark above, All dark below ; yet, onward as we drove, To plough up light that ever round us streamed. But he who mourns is not as one bereft Of all he loved ; thy living truths are left. WASHINGTON A LIST ON ITi ON IMMORTALITY, To think for aye ; to breathe immortal breath ; And know nor hope, nor fear, of ending death ; To see the myriad worlds that round us roll Wax old and perish, while the steadfast soul Stands fresh and moveless in her sphere of thought: O God, omnipotent ! who in me wrought This conscious world, whose ever-growing orb — When the dead past shall all in time absorb — Will be but as begun : Oh, of thine own, Give of the holy light that veils thy throne. That darkness be not mine, to take my place Beyond the reach of light, a blot in space ! So may this wondrous life from sin made free Reflect thy Love for aye, and to thy glory be. ALMQV 1ST, Karl Jonas Ludwig, a Swedish novelist and writer, born at Stockholm, Novem- ber 28, 1793 ; died at Bremen, September 26, 1866. He commenced life under promising circum- stances, but being of a restless disposition, he severed his connection with the university, resign- ing his place in the capital, and, with a number of boon companions, settled in the wilds of Werm- land; but his visions of the enjoyments of Scan- dinavian life were soon dissipated, and he dis- covered that the wielding of the pen was more preferable and to his taste than guiding a plough, and the year 1829 found him once more a resident of Stockholm, at which time his literary career began. Soon after he set out upon this new kind of work, and after writing some educational books, he published his great novel. The Book of the Thorn-Rose, which brought him at once into prom- inence. From this time onward his progress was remarkable. Almqvist was equalled by few writ- ers in the quantity and versatility of his works. Among his more noted additions to the modern literature of Sweden are his writings on religious edification, studies in lexicography and history, in mathematics and philology ; his treatises on phi- losophy, aesthetics, morals, politics, and education ; lectures, romances, and l}- rical, epic, and dramatic poems. Among his books are Gabriele, Mimanso, (37S) KARL JONAS LUDWIG ALMQVIST 379 Amalie Hillner, Araininta May, Koliimbine, Mar- jam. His dictioa is so fine that the first place in the list of Swr.dish writers has been accorded him. His roviog nature le-d him to resign one profitable posit'on after another, and he was at last dependent altogether upon what his literary and journalistif; labors brought him. His brilliant novels and pamphlets grew more vehement with his expandin^^* socialistic notions, which caused his friends to df-sert him and his enemies to rejoice in their victory over him ; but the criticism of former friend and foe alike ceased in 185 1, when they learned of the astounding news that Alm- qvist had escaped from Sweden in order to avoid the punishment due him upon his being convicted of forgery, and the crime of murder being laid at his door; and he was lost to view for a consider- able period. It is now known, however, that he took up his abode in St, Louis, Mo., U. S. A. While on a journey to Texas, bandits relieved him of all his manuscripts, including several unprinted novels. He made a personal appeal to President Lincoln, to whom he was for a time private sec- retary, but the stolen, and to him valuable, prop- erty vvits never recovered. He ended his strange career one year after his return to Europe in . THE BATTLE OF THE LORD. God draws His awful weapon, To smite the world he loves; But, lo ! the world is worthy, For she his image proves :— 38o KARL JONAS LUDWIG ALMQVIST His battle-lightning striketh, And lays her heart's core bare; But, lo ! that heart him liketh : It grows divinely fair ! Hail ! war of God, that shakest earth .' Hail ! peace of God, thus brought to birth ! — Translated for The University of Literature. THE DESERTED CHURCH. Azouras remained within the church ; and, placing himself beside the stairs leading to the organ-loft ot this once famous cloister of St. Clara, she watched the people as they departed one by one, until, herself un- observed, she heard the sexton and the church-keepe; go out ; and as the last door closed, she emerged from her place of concealment. Here, then, was our Azoura^ shut in from the world and from all mankind, alon?: ii- this great building, into which the lavish sun was pour- ing its golden light. Ignorant of ecclesiastical cus- toms, she yet remembered indistinctly the religious ser- vices to which she had accompanied her mother long ago. Walking up the aisle, a strange, sad feeling of loneliness^ and an apprehension of impending danger, possessed her beating heart ; and she longed for the old freedom of the forest. At the railing of the altar she was about to kneel, remembering that she had once seen many people there upon their knees ; but then it struck her that the decorated cushions were not for her. On the bare stones of the floor outside, however, she knelt with folded hands. But now, now what to do, or where to turn ; or what use was it all anyway ? She looked everywhere, for something, something to lean upon ; but where, where, where was it ? She prayed to the long, straight pipes of the organ ; she looked be- seechingly to the empty pulpit ; then to the pews ; but help came not. She remembered that she had once seen a couple of clericals in gowns moving around inside the railing and handing out something to the kneelers ; and now she was kneeling on the stones, and nobody was here to offer her anything, whether it might have been for good or for nothing at all. Azouras wept. KARL JO.VAS LUDWIG ALMQVIST 381 Sti.l kneeling, she looked through the great whidows at the noonday sky that was all ablaze with light. But it was light only ; no stars ; not even the sun, that was hidden behind the window post. Only light ; nothing to rest her weary eyes upon. She looked down ; a tomb- stone was beneath her knees ; and on it Swedish names, and all well known to her. " But, oh ! I have no name ! My many names have all been borrowed. No one has written me down in a book ; and none says, Poor Azouras ! " And Azouras wept again. And then an invisible something within felt sorry for the poor visible something without, and echoed : " Poor Azouras Tintomara ! " And then Azouras wept bitterly. " God is dead ; but I must live ; for I am a woman." And Azouras wept more bitterly still. And as the day fled, and the vespers struck, the bells of the tower rang out their solemn peal. Then the keys of the door, rattling in the lock, warned the heathen girl to hide herself in her corner. Ere the congregation had assembled, Azouras, like an evanescent cloud, had vanished from before the altar. And as she stole away from the great build- ing, and came out into the churchyard, and left by the northern gate, there mingled with the receding tones of the organ a harmony of soul that sang of happiness ; and in the fragrant air she stood a radiant being of joy and hope. Whether because that Azouras had wept, or that the unseen Helper had scattered the fears of the heart of Azouras, who shall say ? — From the Tornrosem Bok^ Translated for The University of Literature. ■SiW^''%^'^ '' ■i--J'^ •^^ MwmMimimix AMADIS OF Gaul is the mythical hero of one of the most famous of the mediaeval romances of chivalry. The romance was written by the Por- tuguese Vasco de Lobeira, who died in 1403. The original Portuguese story has perished, and a Spanish version made by Montalvo, nearly a cen- tury later, is practically the original of the ro- mance as we have it, which was a great favorite in its day, was translated into many languages, expanded into many times its original length, and was perhaps the best, certainly the most pop- ular, of the romances of chivalry. Amadis, in the romance, is the son of a king of Gaul, who is rep- resented to have lived somewhere about the be- ginning of the Christian era. He goes through many adventures in all the known and unknown world, and marries Oriana, daughter of Lisuarte, King of North Britain. One of the most charac- teristic and most pleasing passages in this ro- mance is that which describes the early loves of Amadis and Oriana : AMADIS AND ORIANA. Now Lisuarte brought with him to Scotland Brisena, his wife, and a daughter that he had by her when he dwelt in Denmark, named Oriana, about ten years old, and the fairest creature that ever was seen ; so fair that she was called "Without Peer," since in her time there was none equal to her. And because she suffered much AMADIS OF GAUL 3^3 from the sea, he consented to leave her there, asking the King Laguines, and his Queen, that they would take care of her. And they were very glad therewitli ; and the Queen said, " Trust me that I will have such a care of her as a mother would." And Lisuarte, entering into his ships, made haste back into Great Britain, and found there some who had made disturbances, such as are wont to be in such cases. And for this cause, he remembered not him of his daughter, for some space of time. But at last, with much toil that he took, he obtained his kingdom ; and he was the best king that ever was before his time ; nor did any afterward better maintain knighthood in its rights, till King Arthur reigned, who surpassed all the kings before him in goodness ; though the number that reigned between these two was great. And now Lisuarte reigned in peace and quietness in Great Britain. The Child of the Sea, Amadis, was twelve years old, but in size and limbs seemed to be fifteen. He served before the Queen, and was much loved of her, as he was of all the ladles and damsels. But as soon as Oriana, the daughter of King Lisuarte, came there, she gave to her the Child of the Sea, that he should serve her, saying, " This is a child who shall serve you." And she answered that it pleased her. And the child kept this word in his heart, in such wise that it never afterward left it ; and, as this history truly says, he was never, in all the days of his life, wearied with serving her. And this their love lasted as long as they lasted. But the Child of the Sea, who knew not at all how she loved him, held himself to be very bold, in that he had placed his thoughts on her ; considering both her greatness and her beauty, and never so much as dared to speak any word to her con- cerning it. And she, though she loved him in her heart, took heed that she should not speak with him more than with another. But her eyes took great solace in show- ing to her heart what thing in the world she most loved. Thus they lived silently together, neither saying aught to the other of this estate. Then came, at last, the time when the Child of the Se.a understood within 384 AMADIS OF GAUL himself that he might take arms, if any there were that would make him a knight. And this he desired, be- cause he considered that he should thus become such a man and should do such things as that either he should perish in them, or, if he lived, that then his lady should deal gently with him.. And with this desire he went to the King, who was in his garden, and kneeling before him, said : " Sire, if it please you, it is now time that I should be made a knight," and the King said, " How, Child of the Sea, do you already adventure to maintain knighthood ? Know that it is a light matter to come by it, but a weighty thing to maintain it. And whoso seeks to get this name of knighthood and maintain it in its honor, he hath to do so many and such grievous things that often his heart is wearied out ; and if he should be such a knight that, from faint-heartedness or cowardice, he should fail to do what is beseeming, then it would be better for him to die than to live in shame. Therefore I hold it good that you wait yet a little." But the Child of the Sea said to him : " Neither for all this will I fail to be a knight ; for, if I had not thought to fulfil this that you have said, my heart would not so have Striven to be a knight." — Translation of Ticknor. AMBROSE, or AMBROSIUS, Saint, a father of the Latin Church, born at Treves, Prussia, about A.D. 340; died at Milan. Italy, in April, 394. He studied at Rome, and about 369 he was sent as Consular Prefect to Upper Italy. Five years later he was elected Bishop of Milan, notwith- standing he was an unbaptized civilian. He ably espoused the cause of the Catholics against the Arians and the pagan writers, and excom- municated the Emperor Theodosius for the part he had taken in the massacre at Thessalonica. Hodgkin, in his Italy and Her Invaders, says of Saint Ambrose : " He was elected, while still an unbaptized catechumen and governor of the province, to the post of Bishop of Milan, having entered the church with his troops to quell the fury of the partisans of the two rival candidates. While he soothed the people with his wise words, a little child, so the story runs, suddenly called out ' Ambrose is Bishop ; ' the words were caught up and carried round the church by the rapturous acclamation of the whole multitude." Concerning the great power of Ambrosius with the people, it has been said : " Many circumstances in his his- tory are strongly characteristic of the general spirit of the times. The chief causes of his victory over his opponents were his great popularity and the superstitious reverence paid to the episcopal Vol. I.— 25 (^5> 386 SAINT AMBROSE character at that period. But it must also be noted that he used several indirect means to obtain and support his authority with the people. He was liberal to the poor ; it was his custom to comment severely in his preaching on the public characters of the times; and he introduced popu- lar reforms in the order and manner of public worship." Speaking of a number of stories of miracles wrought in behalf of Ambrosius, Dr. Cave says: "I make no doubt but God suffered them to be wrought at this time on purpose to confront the Arian impieties." Ambrosius was a voluminous writer in defence of the Catholic faith. His Hexaemeron is a homiletical treatise on the history of the creation. His Hymns, which have exercised a powerful influence among Chris- tians of all later ages, are largely devoted to the Trinity and to the divinity oi Christ. Another of his works, which has been much read by theolog- ical scholars, is De Officiis Ministroriim ; and the " Ambrosian Ritual " has been traditionally as- cribed to him. ON THE SIN UNTO DEATH. How could John say that we should not pray for the sin unto death, who himself in the Apocalypse wrote the message to the angel of the church of Pergdmos ? "Thou hast there those that hold the doctrine of Ba- laam, who taught Balac to put a stumbling-block before the children of Israel, to eat things sacrificed unto idols, and to commit fornification. So hast thou also them that hold the docti-ines of the Nicolaitans. Re- pent likewise, or else I will come to thee quickly."* Do you see that the same God who requires repentance * Rev. ii. 14, 15, 16. SAINT AMBROSE 3S7 promises forgiveness? And then He says : "He that hath ears let him hear what the spirit saith to the churches : To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna."* Did not John himself know that Stephen prayed for his persecutors, who had not been able even to listen to the Name of Christ, when he said of those very men by whom he was being stoned : " Lord, lay not this sin to their charge ?"f And we see the result of this prayer in the case of the Apostle, for Paul, who kept the gar- ments of those who were stoning Stephen, not long after became an apostle by the Grace of God, having before been a persecutor. — Translated by De Romestin. THE STUDY OF THE CREATION. It is not by the nature of the elements, but by the nature of Christ, who hath done all things according to His will, abounding in the fulness of His Godhead, that we are to order our thoughts of what was made, and our inquiries into that which nature could bring about. Even as in the Gospel, when He was curing the leprous, and pouring light anevv^ on the eyes of the blind, the people present and beholding His works acknowledged not any course of medical cure, but in admiration of the Lord's power, gave, as it is written, glory to God. Nor was it on calculation of the number of the Egyptians, the combinations of the heavenly bodies, the proportions of the elements, that Moses stretched forth his hand to the division of the Red Sea, but in simple obedience to the commandment of God's power. Whence also he saith himself, " Thy right hand, O Lord, hath waxed glo- rious in power : Thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy." That way, therefore, that way do ye lift up your minds, O ye who form this holy congre- gation ; and turn your whole spirit in that direction. God seeth not as man seeth : God looketh on the heart, man on the outward appearance. By the same rule^ neither doth man see as God doth. Thou hearest thaf God saw and approved : far be it then to judge by thing" * Rev^. li. 17. f Acts vii. 6a "388 SAINT AMBROSE eyes of the things which He made, or by thine own thoughts to argue concerning them; rather, what God saw, and approved, see that thou account not those things matter of free discussion. — Translation by Keble. Saint Ambrose introduced the method of sing- ing or chanting known as the " Ambrosian Chant." PRAYER OF SAINT AMBROSE. Before the ending of the day, Creator of the world, we pray That with Thy wonted favor, Thou Wouldst be our guard and keeper now. From all ill dreams defend our sight, From fears and terrors of the night ; Withhold from us our ghostly foe, That spot of sin we may not know. Our Father, that we ask be done, Through Jesus Christ, Thine only Son , Who, with the Holy Ghost and Thee, Doth live and reign eternally. — N bale's Translation. AMBROSIAN PASCHAL HYMN. At the Lamb's high feast we sing Praise to our victorious King Who hath washed us in the tide Flowing from His pierced side ; Praise we Him, Whose love divine Gives His sacred blood for wine, Gives His body for the feast, Christ the victim, Christ the priest. Where the Paschal blood is poured, Death's dark angel sheathes his sword; Israel's hosts triumphant go Through the wave that drowns the foe. Praise we Christ, Whose blood was shed. Paschal victim. Paschal bread ; With sincerity and love Eat we manna from above. SAINT AMBROSE 3S0 Mighty victim from the sky, Hell's fierce powers beneath Thee He ; Thou hast conquered in the fight, Thou hast brought us life and light; Now no more can death appall. Now no more the grave enthrall ^ Thou hast opened Paradise, And in Thee Thy saints shall rise. "^Translated by Thomas Campbell AMES, Fisher, an American orator, statesman, and writer, born at Dedham, INIass., April 9, 1758; died there, July 4, 1808. He graduated at Harvard College in 1774; was a teacher for a short time ; studied law ; wrote occasionally'' on political topics in the newspapers ; was chosen as representative to the State Legislature in 1788; and in the following year was elected as Repre- sentative in the first Congress convened under the new Constitution. He retained his seat through- out the two terms of the administration of Wash- ington, whose policy received his earnest support. His most notable speech in Congress was deliv- ered April 28, 1796, in support of a motion "that it is expedient to pass the laws necessary to carry into effect the treaty lately concluded between the United States and the King of Great Britain." His health had by this time become greatly impaired ; and in the opening of this speech he said : " I en- tertain the hope — perhaps a rash one — that my strength will hold me out to speak a few minutes." After leaving Congress he retired to his farm at Dedham, still however writing largely upon public affairs. In February, 1800, at the request of the Legislature of Massachusetts, he delivered a Eu' logy on Washington, and in 1804 wrote an apprecia- tive Sketch of the Character of Alexander Hamilton, who had recently been killed in a duel with Aai'on (390) FISHER AMES 39^ Burr. A collection of the Works of Fisher Ames was issued in 1854 by his son. It comprises a brief memoir, a large number of letters, his most important speeches, and a score or two of politi- cal, literary, and miscellaneous essays. The es- say on American Literature, written early in the present century, does not present a very flatter- ing picture of its condition and prospects at that period. EARLY AMERICAN LITERATURE. Few speculative subjects have exercised the passions more, or the judgment less, than the inquiry what rank our country is to maintain in the world for genius and Hterary attainments. It might indeed occur to our dis- cretion that, as the only admissible proof of literary excellence is the measure of its effects, our national claims ought to be abandoned as worthless the moment they are found to need asserting. Nevertheless, by a proper ipirit and constancy in praising ourselves, it seems to be supposed, the doubtful title of our vanity may be quieted in the same manner as it was once sup- posed the currency of the Continental paper could, by a universal agreement, be established at par with specie. Yet r^uch was the unpatriotic perverseness of our citi- zen'*^ they preferred the gold and silver, for no better reason than because the paper bills were not so good. And now it may happen that, from spite or envy, from want of attention or the want of our sort of informa- tion, foreigners will dispute the claims of our pre-em- inence in genius and literature, notwithstanding the great convenience and satisfaction we should find in their acquiescence. As the world will judge of the matter svith none of our partiality, it may be discreet to an'.ii4pate that judgment, and to explore the grounds upo.i Thich it is probable the aforesaid world will frame it. Aftd, after all, we should suffer more pain than los? if we should in the event be stripped of all that doe-« not belong to us ; and especially if, by a better 392 FISHER AMES knowledge of ourselves, we should gain that modesty which is the first evidence, and perhaps the last, of a real improvement. For no man is less likely to increase his knowledge than the coxcomb, who fancies he has already learned it out. An excessive national vanity — as it is the sign of mediocrity, if not of barbarism — is one of the greatest impediments to knowledge. It will be useless and impertinent to say, a greater proportion of our citizens have had instruction in schools than can be found in any European state. It may be true that neither France nor England can boast of so large a portion of their population who can read and write, and who are versed in the profitable mystery of the Rule-of-Three. This is not the footing upon which the inquiry is to proceed. The question is not, what proportion are stone-blind, or how many can see, when the sun shines ; but what geniuses have arisen among us, like the sun and stars, to shed life and splendor on our hemisphere. The case is no sooner made, than all the fire-fly tribe of our authors perceive their little lamps to go out of themselves, like the flame of a candle, when lowered into the mephitic vapor of a well. Excepting the writers of two able works on our politics, we have no authors. To enter the lists in single combat against Hector, the Greeks did not offer the lots to the name- less rabble of their soldiery. All eyes were turned upon Agamemnon and Ajax, upon Diomed and Ulysses. Shall we match Joel Barlow against Homer or Hesiod ? Can Thomas Paine contend against Plato ? Or could Findley's history of his own insurrection vie with Sallust's narrative of Catiline's? There is no scarcity of spelling-book makers, and authors of twelve-cent pamphlets ; and we have a dis- tinguished few — a sort of literary nobility — whose works have grown to the dignity and size of an octavo volume. We have many writers who have read, and who have the sense to understand what others have written. But a right perception of the genius of others is not genius. Nobody will pretend that the Americans are a stupid race ; nobody will deny that we justly boast of many able men, and exceedingly useful publi- FISHER AMES 393 cations. But has our country produced one great orig- inal work of genius ? If we tread the sides of Parnas- sus, we do not climb its heights ; we even creep in our path, by the light that European genius has thrown upon it. Is there one luminary in our firmament that shines with unborrowed rays ? Mr. Ames proceeds in this essay to point out what he regarded as the probable course which American literature would run. His political bias here crops out most notably. He was a Federal- ist, and the Federal party had suffered defeat. The Republicans were dominant, and Jefferson was the exponent of what was then styled " Re- publicanism," what we now style " Democracy," and what in Fisher Ames's view was " Dema- goguery;" something which, in his judgment, was utterly opposed to anything which deserved the name of literature. He says : Surely we are not to look for genius among dem- agogues ; the man who can descend so low has sel- dom very far to descend. As experience evinces that popularity — in other words, consideration and power — is to be procured by the meanest of mankind — the meanest in spirit and understanding — and in the worst of ways, it is obvious that at present the excitement to genius is next to nothing. If we had a Pindar, he would be ashamed to celebrate our chief, and would be disgraced if he did. But if he did not, his genius would not obtain his election for a selectman in a Democratic town. It is party that bestows emolument, power, and consideration, and it is not excellence in the sciences that obtains the suffrages of party. It must be borne in mind that at the time when this was written — about 1805— Thomas Jefferson, 394 FISHER AMES then President of the United States, and the un- questioned chief of his party, was the best-cultured man in America, and there were few for whom, in this respect, superiority could be claimed in Europe. But in the view of Fisher Ames he was only a coarse, vulgar demagogue. Mr. Ames goes on to put forth his prognostications as to the fut- ure of literature in America. He says: But the condition of the United States is changing. Luxury is sure to introduce want, and the great inequali- ties between the very rich and the very poor will be more conspicuous, and comprehend a more formidable host of the latter. Every step (and we have taken many) toward a more complete, unmixed Democracy is an advance toward destruction. Liberty has never yet lasted long in a Democracy ; nor has it ever ended in anything better than Despotism. With the change in our Government, our manners and sentiments will change. As soon as our Emperor has destroyed his rivals, and established order in his army, he will desire to see splendor in his court, and to occupy his subjects with the cultivation of the sciences. If this catastrophe of our public liberty should be miraculously delayed or prevented, still we shall change. With the augmenta- tion of wealth there will be an increase of the number who may choose a literary leisure. Literary curiosity will become one of the new appetites of the nation; and, as luxury advances, no new appetite will be denied. After some ages we shall have many poor, and a few rich ; many grossly ignorant, a considerable number learned, and a few eminently learned. Nature, never prodigal of her gifts, will produce some men of genius, who will be admired and imitated. The Eulogy on WasJiington is undoubtedly the most elaborately prepared of all the writings of Fisher Ames. A few sentences must here FISHER AMES 395 suffice to represent some of its prominent char* acteristics: CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. It is natural that the gratitude of mankind should be drawn to their benefactors. A number of these have successively arisen, who were no less distinguished for the elevation of their virtues than the lustre of their talents. But for their country and the whole human race, how few alas, are recorded in the long annals of ages, and how wide the intervals of time and space that divide them ! In all this dreary length of way, they ap- pear like five or six light-houses on as many thousand miles of coast. They gleam upon the surrounding darkness with an unextinguishable splendor, like stars seen through a mist ; but they are seen like stars, to cheer, to guide, and to save. Washington is now added to that small number. By commemorating his death we are called this day to yield the homage that is due to virtue ; to confess the common debt of mankind as well as our own ; and to pronounce for posterity, now dumb, that eulogium which they will delight to echo ten ages hence, when we are dumb. . . . A lavish and undistinguishing eulogium is not praise, I know that some would prefer a picture drawn to the imagination. They would have our Washington repre- sented of a giant's size, and in the character of a hero of romance. Others — 1 hope but few — v/ho think meanly of human nature, will deem it incredible that even Washington should think with as much dignity and elevation as he acted ; and they will grovel in the search for mean and selfish motives that could incite and sustain him to devote his life to his country. . . . Our nation, like its great leader, had only to take counsel from its courage. When Washmgton heard the voice of his country in distress, his obedience was prompt, and though his sacrifices were great, they cost him no effort. When overmatched by numbers, a fugitive, with a little band of faithful soldiers — the States as much exhausted --s dismayed, he explored his own undaunted heart, and there found resources to re- trieve our affairs. We have seen him display as muck sgS FISHER AMES valor as gives fame to heroes, and as consummate pru- dence as insures success to valor ; fearless of dangers that were personal to him, hesitating and cautious when they affected his country ; preferring fame be- fore safety or repose, and duty before fame. Rome did not owe more to Fabius than America to Washington. Our nation shares with him the singular glory of having conducted a civil war with mildness, and a revolution with order. . . . However his military fame may excite the v/onder of mankind, it is chiefly by his civil magistracy that his example will instruct them. His presidency will form an epoch, and be distinguished as " The Age of Wash- ington." Already it assumes its high place in the po- litical region. Like the Milky-Way it whitens along its allotted portion of the hemisphere. The latest genera- tions of men will survey, through the telescope of his- tory, the space where so many virtues blend their rays^ and delight to separate into groups and distinct virtues. — Eulogy on Washington. In the brief sketch of Alexander Hamilton, the character of that great political leader is thus summed up : THE CHARACTER OF HAMILTON. His early life we pass over ; though his heroic spirit in the army- has furnished a theme that is dear to patriotism and will be sacred to glory. — In all the dif- ferent stations in which a life of active usefulness has placed him, we find him not more remarkably distin- guished by the extent than by the variety and versa- tility of his talents. In every place he made it appar- ent that no other man could have filled it so well ; and in times of critical importance, in which alone he de- sired employment, his services were justly deemed abso- lutely indispensable. As Secretary of the Treasury, his was the most powerful spirit that presided over the chaos. Indeed, in organizing the Federal Government in 1789, every man of either sense or candor will allow, the difficulty seemed greater than the first-rate abilities FISHER AMES 397 could surmount. He surmounted them ; and Washing- ton's administration was the most wise and beneficent, the most prosperous, and ought to be the most popular, that ever was intrusted with the affairs of a nation. Great as was Washington's merit, much of it in plan, much in execution, will of course devolve upon his Minister. As a lawyer, Hamilton's comprehensive genius reached the principles of his profession. He compassed its ex- tent, he fathomed its profound, perhaps even more familiarly and easily than the ordinary rules of its prac- tice. With most men law is a trade ; with him it was a science. As a statesman he was not more distinguished by the great extent of his views, than by the caution with which he provided against impediments, and the watch- fulness of his care over right and the liberty of the sub- ject. In none of the many revenue bills which he framed — though Committees reported them — is there to be found a single clause that savors of despotic power ; not one that the sagest champions of law and liberty would, on that ground, hesitate to approve and adopt. It is rare that a man who owes so much to nature de- scends to seek more from industry, but Hamilton seemed to depend on industry, as if nature had done nothing for him. His habits of investigation were very remark- able ; his mind seemed to cling to a subject till he had exhausted it. Hence the uncommon superiority of his reasoning powers — a superiority that seemed to be augmented from every source, and to be fortified by every auxiliary — learning, wit, imagination, and elo- quence. • . . Some have plausibly, though erroneously, inferred, from the great extent of his abilities, that his ambition was inordinate. This is a mistake. Such men as have a painful consciousness that their stations happen to be far more exalted than their talents, are generally the most ambitious. Hamilton, on the contrary, though he had many competitors, had no rivals ; for he did not thirst for power, nor would he, as was well known, de- scend to office. He was perfectly content and at ease in private life. Of what was he ambitious? Not of 398 FISHER AMES wealth ; no man held it cheaper. Was it of popularity? That weed of the dunghill, he knew, when rankest, was nearest to withering. A vulgar ambition could as little comprehend as satisfy his views. He thirsted only for that fame which Virtue would not blush to confer, nor Time to convey to the end of his course. The only ordinary distinction to which, we confess, he did aspire, was military ; and for that, in the event of a foreign war, he would have been solicitous. He undoubt- edly discovered the predominance of a soldier's feelings; and all that is honor in the character of a soldier was at home in his heart. His early education was in the camp ; there the first fervors of his genius were poured forth, and his earliest and most cordial friendships formed. Those who knew him best, and especially in the army, will believe, that if occasions had called him forth, he was qualified, beyond any man of his age, to display the talents of a great general. It may be very long before our country will want such military talents; it will probably be much longer before it will again possess them. — Sketch of the Character of Alexander Hamilton. The political writings of Fisher Ames, either in the form of private letters or of newspaper ar- ticles, constitute the bulk of his Works as put forth by his son. The following is an extract from one oi these newspaper articles, published in the summer of 1804. The burden of this and many others of about the same date is that the " Jaco- bin " administration of Jefferson was like to re- sult in something like the imperial despotism of Napoleon. THE POLITICAL OUTLOOK IN 1804. Let any man who has any understanding, exercise it to see that the American Jacobin Party, by rousing the popular passions, inevitably augments the powers of FISHER AMES 399 Government, and contracts within narrower bounds, and on a less sound foundation, the privileges of the people. Facts — yes, facts, that speak in terror to the soul — confirm this speculative reasoning. What limits are there to the prerogatives of the present Adminis- tration? and whose business is it, and in whose power does it lie, to keep them within those limits? Surely not in the Senate : the small States are now in vassal- age, and they obey the nod of Virginia. Not in the Judiciary : that fortress which the Constitution had made too strong for an assault, can now be reduced by famine. The Constitution : alas ! that sleeps with Washington, having no mourners but the virtuous, and no monument but history. Louisiana — in open and avowed defiance of the Constitution — is by treaty to be added to the Union ; fne bread of the children of the Union is to be taKen and given to the dogs. Judge then, good men and true — judge by the effects — whether the tendency of the intrigues of the party was to ex- tend or contract the measure of popular liberty. Judge whether the little finger of Jefferson is not thicker than the loins of Washington's administration ; and after you have judged, and felt the terror that will be inspired by the result, then reflect how little your efforts can avail to prevent the continuance, nay, the perpetuity of power. Reflect, and be calm. Patience is the virtue of slaves, and almost the only one that will pass for merit with their masters. — Political Essays. " As a speaker and as a w^riter, Fisher Ames had the power to enlighten and persuade, to move, to please, to charm, to astonish. He united these decorations that belong to fine talents to that penetration and judgment that designate an acute and solid mind. It was easy and delightful for him to illustrate by a picture, but painful and laborious to prove by a diagram." — Alonzo Pottef. AMIEL, Henri Frederic, a Swiss poet and philosopher, born at Geneva, Switzerland, Sep- tember 27, 1821 ; died there May 11, 1881. He was descended from one of the emigrant fam- ilies that left Languedoc, France, after the revoca- tion of the Edict of Nantes. At twelve years of age he was left an orphan and passed into the care of a relative. He was educated at the College or Public School of Geneva and at the Academy (University). After leaving the Academy he studied for several years at Heidelberg and Ber- lin, spending his vacations during this time in travel in Italy, Sicily, Scandinavia, Holland, and Germany. In 1849, after a public competition, he was ap- pointed Professor of Esthetics and French Liter- ature in the Academy of Geneva. This position he held for four years and then exchanged it for the Professorship of Moral Philosophy. During his lifetime he published only a few essays and several small volumes of poems, which was a dis- appointment to his friends. But after his death it was found that he had left a large work, a private journal, upon which he had been engaged for many years, noting his observations and medita- tions, and it is upon \\\\s Journal InttJiie that his reputation as a writer rests. A portion of it was published in 1882, and was immediately recognized as a great work, and the author as a man of broad HENRI FRED&RIC AMIEL 401 culture, originality, and a profound thinker. A second volume was published in 1884 which in no- wise lessened, but added to the fame of the author. His works are: Grains de Mil (1854); // Penseroso (1858); La Part du Rtfve (1863); Jour dt Jour (1880), and Joicrnal Intime (1882-84). December 30thy 1850. — Nothing resembles pride so much as discouragement. To repel one's cross is to make it heavier. November iSth, 18^1. — Kindness is the principle of tact, and respect for others the first condition of savoir- vivre. He who is silent is forgotten ; he who abstains is taken at his word ; he who does not advance falls back ; he who stops is overwhelmed, distanced, crushed ; he who ceases to grow greater becomes smaller ; he who leaves off gives up : the stationary condition is the be- ginning of the end — it is the terrible symptom which precedes death. To live is to achieve a perpetual triumph : it is to assert one's self against destruction, against sickness, against the annulling and dispersion of one's physical and moral being. It is to will without ceasing, or rather to refresh one's will day by day. November loth, i8j2. — How much have we not to learn from the Greeks — those immortal ancestors of ours ! And how much better they solved their problem than we have solved ours ! Their ideal man is not ours, but they understood infinitely better than we, how to reverence, cultivate, and ennoble the man whom they knew. In a thousand respects we are still barbarians beside them — as Beranger said to me with a sigh in 1843 — barbarians in education, in eloquence, in public life, in poetry, in matters of art, etc. We must have millions of men, in order to produce a few elect spirits ; a thou- sand was enough in Greece. If the measure of a civili- zation is to be the number of perfected men that it pro- duces, we are still far from this model people. The slaves are no longer below us, but they are among us. We carry within us much greater things than they, but we ourselves are smaller. It is a strange result. Ob- VOL. I.— 26 _ 402 HEiXRI FR&DER/C AMIEL jective civilization produced great men, while making no conscious effort toward such a result; subjective civilization produces a miserable and imperfect race, contrary to its mission and its earnest desire. The world grows more majestic, but man diminishes. Why is this? We have too much barbarian blood in our veins, and we lack measure, harmony, and grace. Christianity, in breaking man up into outer and inner, the world into earth and heaven, hell and paradise, has discomposed the human unity, in order, it is true, to reconstruct it more profoundly and more truly. But Christianity has not yet digested this powerful leaven. She has not yet conquered the true humanity, she is still living under the antinomy of sin and grace, or here below and there above. She has not penetrated into the whole heart of Jesus. She is still in the narthex of penitence, she is not reconciled, and even the churches still wear the livery of service, and have none of the joy of the daughters of God, baptized of the Holy Spirit. Then, again, there is our excessive division of labor ; our bad and foolish education, which does not develop the whole man ; and the problem of poverty. We have abolished slavery, but without having solved the ques- tion of labor. In law there are no more slaves — in fact, there are many. And while the majority of men are not free, the free man, in the true sense of the term, can neither be conceived, nor realized. Here are enough causes for our inferiority, October 2'jth^ iS^6. — To judge is to see clearly, to care for what is just, and therefore, to be impartial — more exactly, to be disinterested — more exactly still, to be impersonal. To do easily what is difficult for others is the mark of talent. To do what is impossible for talent is the mark of genius. Our duty is to be useful, not according to our desires, but according to our powers. The man who insists upon seeing with perfect clear- ness before he decides, never decides. Accept life, and you cannot accept regret. — Journal Intijtie. Translation «2/" Mrs. Humphry War^, AMORY, Thomas, a British novelist and humorist, born, probably in Ireland, in 1692 ; died in London, November 25, 1789. He was educated as a physician, but did not practise as such, hav- ing inherited a considerable estate from his father, who was Secretary of the Commission for Confis- cated Estates in Ireland. He wrote several works of fiction, the principal of which are : Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great Britain^ and The Life and Opinions of John Buncle, Esq. He appears to have portrayed his own character in the delinea- tion of the hero of this last work. " John Buncle," says Hazlitt, "is the English Rabelais. The soul of Francis Rabelais passed into Thomas Amory. Both were physicians, and enemies of too much gravity. Their great business was to enjoy life. Rabelais indulges his spirit of sensuality in wine, in dried meats, tongues, in Bologna sausages, in Botorgas. John Buncle shows the same symp- toms of inordinate satisfaction in bread-and-but- ter. While Rabelais roared with Friar John and the monks, John Buncle gossiped with the ladies, etc." John Buncle had seven successive wives. The description of the wives is ample enough, while (403) 404 THOMAS AMORY not a word is said of their numerous progeny. He thus explains his theory upon this matter : bungle's wives and children. I think it unreasonable and impious to grieve im- moderately for the dead. A decent and proper tribute of tears and sorrow humanity requires ; but when that duty has been paid, we must remember that to lament a dead woman is not to lament a wife. A wife must b a living woman. . . . As I mention nothing of my children by so many wives, some readers may perhaps wonder at this ; and, therefore — to give a general an- swer once for all — I think it sufficient to observe, that I had a great many to carry on the succession; but as they never were concerned in any extraordinary affairs, nor ever did any remarkable things, that I ever heard of — only rise and breakfast, read and saunter, drink and eat — it would not be fair, in my opinion, to make any- one pay for their history. And so, instead of telling about his children, John Buncle gives profound dissertations upon the origin of earthquakes, on muscular motion, upon phlogiston and fluxions, upon the Athana- sian Creed, and a score or two alike related topics. Bulwer-Lytton's " Caxton " novels are in many points near kindred with Amory's Life and Opin- ions of John Buncle. Among the quiet passages of this work is John Buncle's account of his first meeting with Marinda Bruce — the first of his seven duly lamented wives: BUNCLE AND MARINDA. In the year 1739 ^ travelled many hundred miles to visit ancient monuments and discover curious things ; and as I wandered, to this purpose among the vast hills of Northumberland, fortune conducted me one evening, in the month of June, when I knew not where to rest, THOMAS AMORY 405 to the sweetest retirement my eyes have ever beheld. This is Hali-farm. It is a beautiful vale surrounded with rocks, forest, and water. I found at the upper end of it the prettiest thatched house in the world, and a garden of the most artful confusion I had ever seen. The little mansion was covered on every side with the finest flowery greens. The streams all round were mur- munng and falling a thousand ways. All the kind of singing-birds were here collected, and in high harmony on the sprays. The ruins of an abbey enhance the beauties of this place ; they appear at the distance of four hundred yards from the house ; and as some great trees are now grown up among the remains, and a river winds between the broken walls, the view is solemn, the picture fine. When I came up to the house, the first figure I saw was the lady whose story I am going to relate. She had the charms of an angel, but her dress was quite plain and clean as a country-maid. Her person appeared faultless, and of the middle size, between the disagree- able extremes ; her face, a sweet oval, and her complex- ion the brunette of the bright rich kind ; her mouth, like a rosebud that is just beginning to blow ; and a fugitive dimple, by fits, would lighten and disappear. The finest passions were always passing in her face ; and in her long, even, chestnut eyes, there was a fluid fire, sufficient for half-a-dozen pair. She had a volume of Shakespeare in her hand as I came softly toward her, having left my horse at a dis- tance with my servant ; and her attention was so much engaged with the extremely poetical and fine lines which Titania speaks in the third act of the Midsummer Night's Dream, that she did not see me till I was quite near her. She seemed then in great amazement. She could not be much more surprised if I had dropped from the clouds. But this was soon over, upon my ask- ing her if she was not the daughter of Mr. John Bruce, as I supposed from a similitude of faces, and informing her that her father, if I was right, was my near friend, and would be glad to see his chum in that part of the world. Marinda replied : "You are not wrong," and immediately asked me in. She conducted me to a par- 4o6 THOMAS AMORY lor that was quite beautiful in the rural way, and wel- comed me to Hali-farm, as her father would have done, she said, had I arrived before his removal to a better world. She then left me for a while, and I had time to look over the room I was in. The floor was covered with rushes wrought into the prettiest mat, and the walls decorated all round with the finest flowers and shells. Robins and nightingales, the finch and the linnet, were in the neatest reed cages of her own mak- ing, and at the upper end of the chamber, in a charming little open grotto, was the finest strix capite aurito, cor- pore riifo, that I have seen, that is the great eagle owl. This beautiful bird, in a niche like a ruin, looked vastly fine. As to the flowers which adorned this room, I thought they were all natural at my first coming in ; but on inspection, it appeared that several baskets of the finest kinds were inimitably painted on the walls by Marinda's hand. These things afforded me a pleasing entertainment for about half an hour, and then Miss Bruce returned. One of the maids brought in a supper — such fare, she said, as her little cottage afforded ; and the table was covered with green peas and pigeons, cream-cheese, new bread and butter. Everything was excellent in its kind. The cider and ale were admirable. Discretion and dig- nity appeared in Marinda's behavior ; she talked with judgment; and under the decencies of ignorance was concealed a valuable knowledge. — Life and Opinions of John B uncle. ANACREON, a Greek lyric poet, born in the Ionian town of Teos in Asia Minor about 563 B.C.; died in the neig-hboring town of Abdera about 478 B.C. Of the events of his life very little is positively known, though legends of question- able authority relate many incidents ; such as that he was invited to the island of Samos to instruct Polycrates, the son of the ruler of the island, in music; that he rose high in the favor of his pupil when he became ruler of the island ; that after the overthrow of Polycrates, Anacreon was in- vited to Athens by Hipparchus, the son of Pisis- tratus, after whose assassination he repaired to Larissa, in Thessaly, which was then ruled by Echecratidas, sprung from an Ionian family ; and that in his old age he returned to his native coun- try, where he died in his eighty-fifth year, having been choked by attempting to swallow a cherry- pit or, according to others, a dried grape. His writings, consisting of odes, epigrams, elegies, iambics, and hymns, were numerous. At the time of Suidas (eleventh century a.d.), it is said that five books of these poems were still extant. Since then all of these have perished except about sixty short odes and a few fragments, and even the genuineness of these odes has been warmly dis- puted by recent German critics, who maintain that their versification shows that they belong to a period some centuries later than the time of 4o8 A NACRE ON Anacreon. The citizens of Teos certainly held the memory of Anacreon in high esteem. They placed his effigy upon their coins, some of which are now extant. These indeed represent a very different man from what one would expect the writer of the existing Anacreontics to have been. The face is coarse and brutal — almost Silenus-like. In Athens also a statue was erected in his honor, representing him as a drunken singer. The An- acreontic Odes which are now extant, whether written by the Teian bard or not, are among the most graceful remains of Greek poetry. They are, indeed, for the most part amatory or conviv- ial, but they are wonderfully free from all taint of grossness or sensuality. The love-poems might be recited in the most modest household, and the drinking-songs sung at the most decorous ban- quet. The merit of these poems, indeed, lies in the manner rather than in the matter. There are few poems which can be less adequately repre- sented by translation into any modern language. The best translations into English are those of George Bourne and Thomas Moore. Bourne, though amplifying somewhat, keeps pretty close to the text, while Moore's version, though the tone is fairly preserved, is rather a paraphrase than a translation. We give specimens of both of these translators : ON HIS LYRE. While I sweep the sounding string, While the Atridae's praise I sing — Victors on the Trojan plain — Or to Cadmus raise the strain, AJSrACREON 409 Kark, in soft and whispered sighs, Love's sweet notes the shell replies. Late I strung my harp anew, Changed the strings — the subject X.OQ, Loud I sung Alcides' toils ; Still the lyre my labor foils ; Still with love's sweet silver sounds Every martial theme confounds. Farewell, heroes, chiefs, and kings ! Naught but love will suit my strings. — Translation of BotrRit*. THE WEAPON OF BEAUTY. Pointed horns — the dread of foes- Nature on the bull bestows ; Horny hoofs the horse defend ; Swift-winged feet the hare befriend j Lions' gaping jaws disclose Dreadful teeth in grinning rows; Wings to birds her care supplied ; Finny fishes swim the tide ; Nobler gifts to man assigned, Courage firm, and strength of mind. From her then exhausted store Naught for woman has she more ? Hov/ does nature prove her care ?— Beauty's charm is woman's share. Stronger far than warrior's dress Is her helpless loveliness. Safety smiles in beauty's eyes ; She the hostile flame defies ; Fiercest swords submissive fall :— - Lovely woman conquers all. — Translation of BouRNE CUPID AS A GUEST. Twas at the solemn midnight hour, When silence reigns wit'^v.a\:,''ul power, Just when the bright am -^glittering bear Is yielding to her keeper's care, 4IO ANACREON When spent with toil, with care opprest, Man's busy race has sunk to rest, Sly Cupid, sent by cruel Fate, Stood loudly knocking at my gate. " Who's there ? " I cried, " at this late hour ? Who is it batters at my door? Begone ! you break my blissful dreams ! " — But he, on mischief bent, it seems. With feeble voice and piteous cries, In childish accents thus replies : " Be not alarmed, kind Sir; 'tis I, A little, wretched, wandering boy, Pray ope the door, I've lost my way This moonless night, alone I stray ; I'm stiff with cold ; I'm drenched all o'er; For pity's sake, pray, ope the door ! " Touched with this simple tale of woe, And little dreaming of a foe, I rose, lit up my lamp, and straight Undid the fastenings of the gate ; And there, indeed, a boy I spied, With bow and quiver by his side. Wings too he wore — a strange attire ! My guest I seated near the f''"e, And while the blazing fagots shine, I chafed his little hands in mine ; His damp and dripping locks I wrung, That down his shoulders loosely hung. Soon as his cheeks began to glow, ** Come now ; " he cries, " let's try this bow For much I fear this rainy night, The wet and damp have spoiled it quite." — That instant twanged the sounding string, Loud as the whizzing gad-fly's wing. — Too truly aimed, the fatal dart My bosom pierced with painful smart. — Up sprang the boy with laughing eyes. And, " Wish me joy, mine host ! " he cries ; " My bow is sound in every part ; Thou'lt find the anroy in thy heart ! " ■" — T/\u!s!afion o/BovtCiiS^. A NACRE ON 411 The poet — be he the Teian Anacreon or some singer otherwise unknown and unnamed — gives to "the best of life-painters" some hints as to the picture which should be made of the lady of his heart. It is a pretty bit of word-painting — far prettier in the original than in the best trans- lations. Moore comes nearest to reproducing it i'* our language : THE IDEAL PORTRAIT. Thou whose soft and rosy hues, Mimic form and soul infuse ; Best of painters, come portray The lovely maid that's far away. Far away, my soul, thou art, But I've thy beauties all by heart.— Paint her jetty ringlets straying, Silky twine in tendrils playing ; And, if painting hath the skill To make the balmy spice distil, Let every little lock exhale A sigh of perfume on the gale. Where her tresses' curly flow Darkles o'er the brow of snow, Let her forehead beam to light, Burnished as the ivory bright. Let her eyebrows sweetly rise In jetty arches o'er her eyes. Gently in a crescent gliding. Just commingling, just dividing. But hast thou any sparkles warm The lightning of her eyes to form ? — Let them effuse the azure ray With which Minerva's glances play ^ And give them all that liquid fire That Venus' languid eyes respire. O'er her nose and cheek be shed Flushing white and mellowed red ; Gradual tints, as when there glows In snowy milk the bashful rose. 412 A NACRE ON Then her lip, so rich in bhsses ; Sweet petitioner for kisses ; Pouting nest of bland persuasion, Ripely suing love's invasion ! Then, beneath the velvet chin, Whose dimple shades a love within, Mould her neck, with grace descending, In a heaven of beauty ending ; While airy charms, above, below, Sport and flutter on its snow. Now let a floating lucid veil Shadow her limbs, but not conceal. A charm may peep, a hue may beam ; And leave the rest to fancy's dream. — Enough — 'tis she ! 'tis all I seek ; It glows, it lives, it soon will speak ! — Translation of MoORE, The Anacreontic convivial songs would have been regarded as very tame in later days of hard drinking. There is only one of them in which there is anything which inculcates more than an altogether moderate indulgence in the wine-cup: IN PRAISE OF WINE. When the nectar'd bowl I drain. Gloomy cares forego their reign ; Richer than the Lydian king Hymns of love and joy I sing ; Ivy wreaths my temples twine And while careless I recline, While bright scenes my vision greet Tread the world beneath my feet. Fill the cup, my trusty page ; Anacreon, the blithe and sage, As his maxim ever said, " Those slain by wine are nobly dead. ' — Translation of BouRNE. A NACRE ON 4x3 PLEA FOR DRINKING. The earth drinks up the genial rains. Which deluge all her thirsty plains ; The lofty trees that pierce the sky Drink up the earth and leave her dry ; The insatiate sea imbibes each hour The welcome breeze that brings the showtT • The sun, whose fires so fiercely burn, Absorbs the waves, and in her turn The modest moon enjoys each night Large draughts of his celestial light. Then, sapient sirs, pray tell me why, If all things drink, why may not I ? — Translation of BoURlP;^ MODERATION IN WINE. Haste ! haste thee, boy, and bring the bowl. To quench the fever of the soul. The copious stream with skill combine ; Add ten parts water, five of wine. The copious draught will thirst assuage, Nor in the breast too fiercely rage. O cease, my friends, for shame give o'er These clamorous shouts, that deafening roai. This Scythian scene all peace destroys ; Turns joy to madness, mirth to noise ; Let cheerful temperance rule the soul — The best ingredient in the bowl. — Translation of BouRNE. Some of the most pleasing of these odes ciie inspired by the various aspects of nature, ani- mate and inanimate. UPON SPRING. See the young, the rosy Spring, Gives the breeze her spangled wing; While virgin graces, warm with May, Fling roses o'er her dewy way 1 414 ANACREON The murmuring billows of the deep Have languished into silent sleep ; And mark ! the flitting sea-birds lave Their plumes in the reflecting wave, While cranes from hoary winter fly To flutter in a kindred sky. Now the genial star of day Dissolves the murky clouds away. And cultured field and winding stream Are sweetly tissued by his beam. Now the earth prolific swells With leafy buds and flowery bells; Gemming shoots the olive twine, Clusters ripe festoon the vine ; All along the branches creeping, Through the velvet foliage peeping, Little infant fruits we see, Nursing into luxury. — Translation of MooRE. TO THE CICADA. O thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect ! that delight'st to rest Upon the wild w'ood's leafy tops, To drink the dew that morning drops. And chirp thy song with such a glee That happiest kings may envy thee ! Whatever decks the velvet field, Whate'er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor art thou yet the peasant's fear. To him thy friendly notes are dear. For thou art mild as matin dew. And still, when Summer's flowery hue Begins to paint the bloomy plain, We hear thy sweet prophetic strain ; Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear. And bless the notes, and thee revere. The muses love thy shrilly tone ; Apollo calls thee for his owr- ; A NACRE ON' 41" 'Twas he who gave that voice to thee ; 'Tis he that tunes thy minstrelsy. Unworn by age's dim decline, The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. Melodious insect ! child of earth ! In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth ; Exempt from every weak decay That withers vulgar frames away, With not a drop of blood to stain The current of thy purer vein ; So blest an age is passed by thee. Thou seem'st a little deity, — Translation of MooRE. TO THE SWALLOW. Once in each revolving year, Gentle bird ! we find thee here. When nature wears her Summer vest, Thou comest to weave thy simple nest ; But when the chilling Winter lowers. Again thou seek'st the genial bowers Of Memphis or the shores of Nile, Where sunny hours of verdure smile. And thus thy wing of freedom roves, Alas ! unlike the plumed loves That linger in this hapless breast, And never, never, change their nest ! Still, every year, and all the year A flight of loves engenders here ; And some their infant plumage try, And on a tender winglet fly ; While in the shell, impregned with fires, Cluster a thousand more desires ; Some from their tiny prisons peeping. And some in formless embryo sleeping. My bosom, like the vernal groves. Resounds v/ith little warbling loves ; One urchin imps the other's feather, Then twin desires, they wing together, And still, as they have learned to soar, The wanton babies teem with more. — Translation of Moore. 4l6 A NACRE ON Anacreon — if we may assume these odes to be the production of the Teian poet — seems to have passed into a genial old age, at times making light of the inroads of age, but at other times looking back regretfully upon his vanished youth and forebodingly toward the unknown future. APPROACHING AGE. " Anacreon," the women say, " Old fellow, you have had your day ; Consult your mirror, mark with care How scanty now your silver hair ; Old wintry Time has shed his snows, And bald and bare your forehead shows ! "— - But, faith, I know not where they've gone, Or if I've any left, or none ; But this I know, that every day, Shall see me sportive, blithe, and gay j For 'tis our wisdom so to do. The nearer Death appears in view. — Translation of BoURNE. LIVE WHILE WE LIVE. Could glittering heaps of golden ore Life preserve or health restore, Then, with ceaseless, anxious pain, Riches would I strive to gain. That, should Death unwished for come. Pointing to the dreary tomb, I might cry, in sprightly tone, " Here's my ransom, Death, begone V But alas, since well I know Life cannot be purchased so, Why indulge the useless sigh ? Fate decrees that all shall die. Vainly to our wealth we trust. Poor or wealthy — die we must. — Present joys then let me share, Rosy wine to banish care ; ANACRSOiY 417 Cheerful friends that faithful prove, Beauty's smile, and blissful love. — Translation of BouRNE. LOOKING BACKWARD AND FORWARD. Alas ! my youth, my joys have fled, The snows of age have bleached my head ; Tedious, toothless, trembling age. Must now alone my thoughts engage. Adieu, ye joys which once I knew. To life, to love, to all, adieu ! — Henceforth, unhappy ! doomed to know Tormenting fears of future woe ! Oh, how my soul with terror shrinks, Whene'er my startled fancy thinks Of Pluto's dark and gloomy cave, The chill, the cheerless, gaping grave ! When Death's cold hand hath closed these eyes ! And stifled life's last struggling sighs, In darkness and in dust must I, Alas ! forever — ever lie ! — Translation of Bourne. Vol. I.— 27 ANDERSEN, Hans Christian, a Danish dramatist, poet, and story-writer, born at Odense, island of Fiinen, April 2, 1805 ; died at Copen- hagen August 4, 1875. His father, a poor shoe- maker, died while the son was a child. In 1819 he was sent by his mother to Copenhagen to study music. Here he underwent many hard- ships, but in the end found patrons by whom he was warmly befriended ; and by their aid he was enabled to pursue his studies at the Gymnasium. He entered the University in 1828; but before that time he had gained considerable reputation by his poems, especially by one entitled T/ie Dying CJiild. This was followed, in 1829, by a sa- tirical narrative of A Journey on Foot from the Holm-canal to tJie Eastern Point of Amak. He now fairly commenced his literary career, publishing a volume of poems in 1830, and another entitled Fantasies and Sketches, in 1831. All of his numer- ous works have been translated into German, and many of them into English, French, and other languages. These translations have given him a far more extended reputation than could have been attained by their issue in their original lan- guage, which is understood by comparatively few readers. The German edition of his Complete Works comprises about fifty small volumes. Many of these books were the result of travels in HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 4^9 various parts of Europe. In 1844 he received a pension from the Danish Government ; and in 1875, upon the 70th anniversary of his birthday, he was invested with the grand cross of the Order of Dannebrog". Some of his dramatic pieces met with a very favorable reception ; but he is best known by his tales and his sketches of travel. Prominent among his works are: The Improvisatore, which describes in a glowing style his impressions of Italy ; O. T., a novel depicting life in Northern Europe ; Only a Fiddler, a half-autobiographic story of homely life ; A Poefs Bazaar, a collection of miscellanies ; and several series of Tales for Children. He also wrote The Story of my Life^ bringing the somewhat imaginative narrative down to 1847. This work was continued by an- other hand down to the time of Andersen's death THE DYING CHILD. Mother, I'm tired, and I would fain be sleeping. Let me repose upon thy bosom seek ; But promise me thou wilt leave off weeping ; Because thy tears fall hot upon my cheek. Here it is cold ; the tempest raveth madly ; But in my dreams all is so wondrous bright : I see the angel-children smiling gladly When from my weary eyes I shut out light. Mother, one stands beside me now ! and listen ! Dost thou not hear the music's sweet accord 1 See how his white wings beautifully glisten ! Surely those wings were given by our Lord ! Green, gold, and red are floating all around me : They are the flowers the angel scattereth. Shall I have also wings whilst life has bound meT Or, mother, are they given alone in death ? 430 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN Why dost thou clasp me as if I were going ? Why dost thou press thy cheek thus unto mine? Thy cheek is hot, and yet thy tears are flowing : — I will, dear mother, will be always thine ! Do not sigh thus : it marreth my rejoicing ; And if thou weep, then I must weep with thee.-==- Oh, I am tired ; my weary eyes are closing : — Look, mother, look ! the angel kisseth me ! — Translation of Mary Howitt. JENNY LIND IN COPENHAGEN. One day, in 1840, in the hotel in which I lived in Copenhagen, I saw the name of Jenny Lind among those of the strangers from Sweden. I was aware at that time that she was the first singer in Stockholm. I had been that same year in the neighboring country, and had there met with honor and kindness. I thought, therefore, that it would not be unbecoming in me to pay a visit to the young artist. She was at this time entirely unknown out of Sweden, so that I was con- vinced that, even in Copenhagen, her name was known only by few. She received me very courteously, but yet distantly, almost coldly. She was, as she said, on a journey with her father to South Sweden, and was come over to Copenhagen for a few days in order that she might see this city. We parted distantly, and I had the impression of a very ordinary character, which soon passed away from my mind. In the Autumn of 1843 Jenny Lind came again to Copenhagen. My friend Bournonville, who had mar- ried a Swedish lady, a friend of Jenny Lind, informed me of her arrival here, and told me that she remem- iDered me very kindly, and that now she had read my writings. He entreated me to go with him to her, and to employ all my persuasive art to induce her to take a few parts at the Theatre Royal ; I should, he said, be then quite enchanted with what I should hear. I was not now received as a stranger ; she cordially extended her hand, and spoke of my writings and of Fredrika Bremer, who was her intimate friend. " I have never made my appearance," said she, " out of Sweden : everybody in my .native land is so affec- HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 421 tionate and kind to me, and if I made my appearance in Copenhagen and should be hissed ! — I dare not vent- ure on it ! " I said that I, it was true, could not pass judgment on her singing, because I had never heard it ; neither did I know how she acted ; but nevertheless I was con- vinced that such was the disposition at this moment in Copenhagen that only a moderate voice and some knowledge of acting would be successful ; I believed that she might safely venture. Bournonville's persuasion obtained for the Copen- hageners the greatest enjoyment which they ever had. Jenny Lind made her first appearance among them as Alice in " Robert le Diable." It was like a new revelation in the realms of art ; the youthfully fresh voice forced itself into every heart ; here reigned truth and nat- ure ; everything was full of meaning and intelligence. At one concert Jenny Lind sang her Swedish songs ; there was something so peculiar in this, so bewitching, people thought nothing about the concert-room ; the popular melodies uttered by a being so purely feminine, and bearing the universal stamp of genius, exercised their omnipotent sway ; the whole of Copenhagen was in raptures. Jenny Lind was the first singer to whom the Danish students gave a serenade : torches blazed around the hospitable villa where the serenade was given. She expressed her thanks by again singing some Swedish songs ; and I then saw her hasten into the deepest corner, and weep for emotion. " Yes, yes," said she, " I will exert myself ! I will en- deavor ; I will be better qualified than I am, when I again come to Copenhagen." On the stage she was the great artiste who rose above all those around her ; at home, in her own cham- ber, a sensitive young girl, with all the humility and piety of a child. Her appearance in Copenhagen made an epoch in the history of our opera. It showed me art in its sanctity — I had beheld one of its vestals. " There will not in a whole century," said Mendelssohn, speaking to me of Jenny Lind^ " be born another being so gifted as she ; " and his words expressed my full conviction. One feels, as she makes her appearance on 422 HANS CHRISTIAN' ANDERSEN the Stage, that she is a pure vessel from which a holy draught will be presented to us. There is not anything which can lessen the im- pression which Jenny Lind's greatness on the stage makes, except her own personal character at home. An intelligent and child-like disposition exercises here its astonishing power ; she is happy, belonging, as it were, no longer to the world ; a peaceful, quiet home is the object of her thoughts ; and yet she loves art with her whole soul, and feels her vocation in it. A noble, pious disposition like hers cannot be spoiled by homage. On one occasion only did I hear her ex- press her joy in her talent, and her self-consciousness. It was during her last residence in Copenhagen. Al- most every evening she appeared either in the opera or at concerts ; every hour was in requisition. She heard of a society the object of which was to assist unfortunate children, and to take them out of the hands of their par- ents by whom they were misused, and compelled either to beg or steal, and. to place them in other and better circumstances. Benevolent people subscribed annually a small sum each for their support ; nevertheless the means for this excellent purpose were small. " But have I not still a disengaged evening?" said she ; "let me give a night's performance for the benefit of these poor children ; but we will have double prices ! " Such a performance was given, and returned large proceeds. When she was informed of this, and that by this means a number of poor children would be bene- fited for several years, her countenance brightened, and the tears filled her eyes. "It is, however, beautiful," she said, " that I can sing so ! " Through Jenny Lind I first became sensible of the holiness there is in art : through her I learned that one must forget one's self in the service of the Supreme. No books, no men, have had a better or a more ennob- ling influence on me as the poet, than Jenny Lind. I have made the happy discovery by experience, that in- asmuch as art and life are more clearly understood by me, so much more sunshine from without has streamed into my soul. What blessings have not compensated HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN 423 me for the former dark days ! Repose and certainty have forced themselves into my heart. — The Story of ?fiy Life ; translation of Mary Howitt. Andersen's Stories for Children number several scores in all, written at various intervals. Of these we extract but one : THE UGLY LITTLE DUCK. It was so delightful in the country, for Summer was in the height of its splendor. The corn was yellow, the oats green, the hay, heaped into cocks in the meadow below, looked like little grass hillocks ; and the stork strutted about on its long, red legs, chattering Egyptian, for that was the language it had learned from its mother. The fields and meadows were surrounded by more or less thickly wooded forests, which also enclosed deep lakes, the smooth waters of which were sometimes ruf- fled by a gentle breeze. It was, indeed, delightful in the country. In the bright sunshine stood an old mansion sur- rounded by a moat and wall, strong and proud almost as in the feudal times. From the wall all down the way to the water grew a complete forest of burdock leaves, which were so high that a little child could stand up- right among them. It was a real wilderness, so quiet and sombre, and here sat a Duck upon her nest hatch- ing a quantity of eggs ; but she was almost tired of her tedious though important occupation, for it lasted so very long, and she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks preferred swimming about on the moat, and the canals that ran through the garden, to visiting her in her solitude. At length, however, there was a crackling in one of the eggs, then a second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. " Piep ! piep ! " sounded from here : " Piep ! piep ! " sounded from there, at least a dozen times. There was, all of a sudden, life in the eggs, and the little half-naked creatures, their dwellings having become too confined for them, thrust out their heads as out of a window, looking quite confused. 424 HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN " Quick ! quick ! " their mother cried ; so the little ones made as much haste as they possibly could. They stared about them, as if examining the green leaves ; and their mother let them look as long as they liked : for green is good for the eyes. " How large the world is ! " they said ; and certainly there lay before them a much more extensive space than in their eggs. " Do you imagine this is the whole world ? " their mother answered. " Oh, no ; it stretches far beyond the garden, and on the other side the meadow, where the parson's cows are grazing, though I have never been there But you are all here, I suppose ? " she added with true maternal solicitude ; and she stood up ; whereby, in spite of all her care, there was a great over- throw and confusion among the little ones. " No, I have not them all yet," she said sighing. " The largest of the eggs lies there still. How much longer is it to last ? It is becoming really too wearing." She mustered, however, all her patience, and sat down again. " How are you getting on ? " an old Duck inquired, coming to pay her friend a formal visit. "With one of the eggs there seems to be no end of the trouble," the over-tired mother complained. " The shell must be too thick, so that the poor little thing cannot break through ; but you must see the others, which are the prettiest little creatures that a mother could ever wish for. And what an extraordinary resem- blance they bear to their father, who is certainly the handsomest Drake in the whole yard ; but he is giddy, and faithless as, indeed, all men are ! He has not vis- ited me once here in my solitude." '* Show me the tgg which will not burst," the old Duck said, interrupting her. " Take my word for it, it is a turkey's egg. I was once played the same trick ; and precious trouble I had, with the little ones ; for they were afraid of the water. How I coaxed, scolded and fumed, but all of no use ; they would not be in- duced to go in. Now let me examine the obstinate tg% ; yes, it is just as I expected ; it is a turkey's ^g\XQ,\iV'—^TranUation &/ AVLRED WeHNART. ANDREWS, Lancelot, an English bishop, born at Barking, in 1555 ; died in London, Septem- ber 25, 1626. He was educated at various schools, finally at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, of which he was chosen a Fellow in 1576. He took orders, and soon attracted the notice of Sir Francis Wal- singham. Queen Elizabeth's Secretary of State, from whom he received several preferments ; and after the death of the Queen he came high into the favor of James L, her successor. He was one of the body of translators of the Bible, the first twelve books of the Old Testament being under his special charge. In 1605 he was consecrated Bishop of Chichester, in 1609 was transferred to the see of Ely, and in 1625 to that of Winchester. With perhaps the exception of Ussher, he was es- teemed the most learned English theologian of his time ; and he was in his day accounted the most eloquent of the Anglican preachers, being styled Stella Pradicantiuvi, " The Star of Preachers." His works consist of two treatises in reply to Cardinal Bellarmin, in which he advocates the right of princes over ecclesiastical councils ; an esteemed Manual of Devotion, and numerous Sermo7is and other Discourses. Six years after his death a col- lection of ninety-six of his sermons was published "by His Majesty's special commandment." Bish- op Hacket, in his funeral discourse, thus eulo- LANCELOT ANDREWS 437 gizes Bishop Andrews: "He was the most apos- tolical and primitive-like divine, in my opinion, that ever wore a rochet in his age ; of a most venerable gravity, and yet most sweet in all com- merce ; the most devout that ever I saw when he appeared before God ; of such a growth in all kinds of learning, that very able clerks were of low stature to him ; in the pulpit a Homer among preachers." Doubtless his manner had much to do with his repute as a preacher. To men of after ages, who only read his sermons, his style appears affected, pedantic, and strained. UPON ANGELS AND MEN. I. What are angels? surely they are spirits — immortal spirits. For their nature or substance, spirits ; for their quality or property, glorious ; for their place of abode, heavenly ; for their durance or continuance, immortal. — And what is the seed of Abraham, but as Abraham him- self? And what is Abraham? Let him answer him- self: I am but dust and ashes. What is the seed of Abraham ? Let one answer in the persons of all the rest ; Dicens piitrediiii, etc.: — Saying to rottenness, thou art my mother, and to the worms, ye are my brethren. They are spirits ; now what are we, what is the seed of Abraham ? Flesh, And what is the very harvest of the seed of flesh? what but corruption, and rottenness, and worms ? There is the substance of our bodies. — 2. They are glorious spirits ; we vile bodies (bear with it, it is the Holy Ghost's own term : Who shall change our vile bodies). And not only base and vile, but filthy and unclean : ex ifnmundo conceptum mundi^ conceived of un- clean seed, there is the metal. And the mould is no better, the womb wherein we were conceived, vile, base, filthy, unclean. There is our quality. — They are heav- enly spirits, angels of heaven ; that is, their place of abode is in heaven, ours is here below in the dust ; inter pulice^ et culices, tineas, arances, et vermes ; our place is 438 LANCELOT ANDREWS here among fleas and flies, moths and spiders, and crawling worms. There is our place of dwelling. — 4. They are immortal spirits, that is their durance. Our time is proclaimed in the prophet. Flesh, all flesh is grass, and the glory of it as the flowers of the field (from April to June). The scythe cometh, nay the wind but bloweth, and we are gone, withering sooner than the grass, which is short ; nay, fading sooner than the flower of the grass, which is much shorter ; nay, saith Job, rubbed in pieces more easily than any moth. Thus w-e are to them if you lay us together ; and if you lay us upon the balance, we are altogether lighter than vanity itself ; there is our v/eight. And if you would value us, man is but a thing of naught : there is our worth. Hoc is omnis /wfno ; this is Abraham, and this is Abraham's seed: and who would stand to com- pare these with angels ? Verily, there is no comparison ; they are incomparably far better than the best of us.— Sermons, ANEURIN, a Welsh poet of the seventh cen- tury, was the son of a chieftain of a tribe which dwelt to the south of the Firth of Forth. He is known as the author of the epic poem, The Godo- din, which was the name of his tribe, otherwise called the Otadini. This poem, which records the battle of Cattraeth, fought in A.D., 603 and at which Aneurin is supposed to have been present, has been often translated, wholly or in part, and sometimes imitated — notably by the poet Gray in his Death of Hoel. The principal translation is that of the Welsh scholar, John Williams. Some writers have identified Aneurin with Gildas, while others have made him the son of Gildas. Elton, in his Origins of English History, speaks of The Gododin as " the history of a long war of races, compressed under the similitude of a battle into a few days of ruin." It is the chief source of in- formation we have concerning the author, who says that he was educated at St. Cadoc's College, at Llancarvan, and that he afterward joined the bardic order and became a warrior priest. He was taken prisoner in the battle which forms the subject of his muse ; afterward he returned to Llancarvan; then, in his old age, he went into Galloway, where, it is said, he was assassinated. The manuscript of his poem is a vellum book of (439) A.io ANEURIN the thirteenth century, up to which time the poem was preserved by oral tradition, COMMENCEMENT OF THE GOUODIN. Lo, the youth, in mind a man, Daring in the battle's van ! See the splendid warrior's speed On his fleet and thick-maned steed, As his buckler, beaming wide, Decks the courser's slender side, With his steel of spotless mould, Ermined vest and spurs of gold. Think not, youth, that e'er from me Hate or spleen shall flow to thee : Nobler meed thy virtues claim, Eulogy and tuneful fame. Ah ! much sooner comes thy bier Than thy nuptial feast, I fear ; Ere thou mak'st the foeman bleed Ravens on thy corse shall feed. Owain, lov'd companion, friend, To birds a prey— is this thy end ? Tell me, steed, on what sad plain Thy ill-fated lord was slain ? — Translated by John Parry. CYNON. None made the social hall so free from care As gentle Cynon, Clinion's sovereign lord ; For highest rank he never proudly strove. And whom he once had known he ne'er wouM slight. Yet was his spear keen-pointed, and well knew To pierce, with truest aim, th' embattled line. Swift flew his steed to meet the hostile storm, And death sat on his lance, as, with the dawn, He rushed to war in glory's brilliant day. -^Translated from the Gododin, by John Parry. ANNUNZIO, Gabriele d*, an Italian nov- elist, was born in 1864, on board the brigantine Irene, in the waters of the Adriatic ; and to this circumstance has been ascribed the profound love which he has always manifested for the sea. He spent his childhood on the coast of Central Italy, and from the ninth to the sixteenth year of his age he studied in the college of the old town of Prato, in Tuscany. Here he gained considerable notoriety by the publication of a volume of verses, to which he gave the Latin title Priino Vere. From Prato, he went to the University of Rome; and here, in 1882, while a student, he published his first prose work, Terra Vergine, and another vol- ume of verse. Canto Novo. In 1883 he issued In- termezzo di Rime. Then came // Libro delle Ver- gini (1884) ; San Pantaleojie (1886) ; L Isotteo (1886) ; Chimera (1888); Elegie Romane (1892); the Poema Paradisiaco (1893); and the prose works II Pia- cere (1889); Giovamii Episcopo (1892), and Llnno- cente (1892), these last two translated into French by G. Herelle under the respective titles Episcopo et Cie and Ulntrns, and // Piacere as V Enfant de Volupt^. His Trionfo delta Morte appeared in 1894, and was translated into French as Le Tri- omphe de la Mort, and into English, by Arthur Horn- blow (1897), as The Triumph of Death. This latter work was greeted with a storm of adverse criti- 442 GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO cism, one prominent writer in the United States going so far as to assert that " it is not a presenta- tion of life, but of the corruption that attends life and that tries to make it impossible," and that " the essential rottenness of the book condemns it in spite of a certain brute force ; " that " there is no excuse for putting D'Annuncio's books before English readers." On the other hand, The Tri- umph of Death has had its able and strenuous advo- cates. M. de Vogiie asserts that it has a right to be known as one of the master-books of our time. AN INCIDENT OF HIPPOLYTE'S YOUTH. The old hotel of Ludovico Togni, with the walls of its long vestibule done in stucco and painted to imitate marble, with its landing-places with green doors, deco- rated all over with commemorative stones, gave an im- mediate impression of quasi-conventual peace. All the furniture had an aspect of being heirlooms. The beds, the chairs, the sofas, the couches, the chests of drawers, had the style of another age, now fallen into disuse. The delicately-colored ceilings, bright yellow and sky- blue, were decorated at their centres with garlands of roses or other usual symbols, such as a lyre, a torch, or a quiver. On the paper-hangings and woollen carpet the bouquets of flowers had faded, and had become al- most invisible ; the window-curtains, white and modest, hung from poles from which the gilt had worn off ; the rococo mirrors, while reflecting these antique images in a dull mist, imparted to them that air of melancholy, and almost of unreality, which solitary pools sometimes give at their edges. " How pleased I am to be here ! " cried Hippolyte, penetrated by the charm of this peaceful spot. " I wish I could stay here forever." And she drew herself up in the great armchair, her head leaning against the back, which was decorated with a crescent, a modest crochet-work in white cotton. GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO 443 She thought once more of her dead aunt Jane and of her distant infancy. " Poor aunt ! " she said ; " she had, I recall, a house like this — a house in which, for a century, the furniture had not been moved from its place. I always recollect her unhappiness when I broke one of those glass globes beneath which artificial flowers are preserved, you know. I remember she cried over it. Poor old aunt ! I can see her black lace cap, with her white curls which hung down her cheeks." She spoke slowly, pausing from time to time, her gaze fixed on the fire which flamed in the fireplace ; and, every now and then, so as to smile at George, she raised her eyes, which were somewhat downcast and sur- rounded by dark violet rings; while from the street arose the monotonous and regular noise of pavers beat- ing the pavement. " In the house, I can recall, there was a large hay- loft with two or three windows, where we kept the pigeons. You reached the loft by means of a small, straight stairway, against the wall of which hung, heaven knows since when, skins of hares, hairless and dried, stretched from two ends of crossed reeds. Every day I carried food to the pigeons. As soon as they heard me coming, they clustered around the door. When I entered, it was a veritable assault. Then I would sit on the floor and scatter the barley all around me. The pigeons surrounded me ; they were all white, and I watched them pecking up their food. The sound of a flute stole in from a neighboring house ; always the same air at the same hour. This music seemed deli- cious to me. I listened, my head raised to the window, my mouth wide open, as if to drink in the notes which showered. From time to time, a belated pigeon arrived, beating her v/ings on my head, and filling my hair with white feathers. And the invisible flute went on play- ing. The air still rings in my ears ; I could hum it. That is how I acquired a passion for music, in a dove- cote, when a child." And she repeated mentally the air of the ancient flute of Albano; she enjoyed its sweetness with a melancholy comparable to that of the wife who, after many years, 444 GABRIELE D'ANNUh^ZIO discovers a forgotten sugar-plum at the bottom of her wedding-box. There was an interval of silence. A bell sounded in the corridor of the peaceful residence. " I remember. A lame turtle-dove hopped into the room ; and it was one of my aunt's greatest favorites. " One day a little girl of the neighborhood came to play with me — a pretty little blond girl named Clarisse. My aunt was confined to bed by a cold. We amused ourselves on the terrace, to the great damage of the vases. The turtle-dove appeared on the sill, looked at us without suspicion, and squatted down in a corner to enjoy the sunshine. Scarcely had Clarisse perceived it, however, when she started forward to seize it. The poor little creature tried to escape by hopping away, but it limped so comically that we could not control our laughter. Clarisse caught it ; she was a cruel child. From laughing we were both as drunk. The turtle-dove trembled with fear in our hands. " Clarisse plucked one of its feathers ; then (I shud- der still when I think of it) she plucked the dove almost entirely, before my eyes, with peals of laughter which made me laugh too. One could have believed that she was intoxicated. The poor creature, despoiled of its feathers, bleeding, escaped into the house as soon as it was liberated. We started to pursue it, but, almost at the same moment, we heard the tinkle of the bell, and the calls of my aunt who was coughing in her bed. Clarisse escaped rapidly by the stairway ; I hid myself behind the curtains. The turtle-dove died that same night. My aunt sent me to Rome, convinced that I was guilty of this barbarity. Alas ! I never saw Aunt Jane again. How I have wept ! My remorse will last forever." She spoke slowly, pausing from time to time, fixing her dilated eyes on the flaming hearth, which almost magnetized her, which began to overcome her with a hypnotic torpor, while from the street arose the mo- notonous and regular noise of pavers beating the pave- ment. — The Triumph of Death, Chap. j. ANSELM, Saint, Archbishop of Canterbury, and the founder of the scholastic theology, born near Aosta, Italy, in 1033 ; died at Canterbury, England, April 21, 1109. While studying under the celebrated prelate and scholar, Lanfranc, he assumed the monastic habit at Bee, in France, in 1060. He became Prior of Bee in 1063, and was made Abbot of Bee in 1078. In 1093 he was made Archbishop of Canterbury. He was an able ad- vocate of the right of investiture, which he sup- ported against William II. and Henry I. ; and the anniversary of his death is celebrated in the cal- endar of the Roman Catholic Church, his canoni- zation having taken place probably in the year 1494. Anselm's principal works are the two celebrated treatises Monologion and Prosologion, written dur- ing his quiet years at Bee, and his treatise on the atonement, Cur Dens Homo, written after he became archbishop and during the time of the heated controversy between the Pope and the Kings of England. The two former of these three great works have been translated into French en- riched with notes, by Bouchitte, and were pub- lished at Paris in 1842; the Cur Dens Homo has often been published in a separate form. Of the principal authorities concerning Anselm and his writings, the Anselm of Mohler was translated into English in 1842, and the Saint Anselm of R. W. t445j 446 SAIiVT ANSELM Church was published in 1870. A prominent au- thority says : "His Monologion and Prosologion are the most remarkable. He originated the attempt, which was afterward renewed by Des Cartes, to constitute the true principle of science, and which has been justly characterized as one of the boldest ever made in the philosophical world." SAINT ANSELM's MEDITATION. Let the carnal and the worldly minds make their boast of such imaginary advantages as are agreeable to sensual dispositions ; but for thee, who art a Christian, God forbid, that thou, like them, should think the cross of Christ a thing to be ashamed of, that thou shouldst not glory in it, that thou shouldst imagine anything be- sides can be matter of just glory and advantage to thee, but only the name of thy crucified Lord, Christ Jesus. Make thou thy boast then in that name, which is above every name, in which whosoever is blessed upon earth, shall be blessed also in heaven. Let iJicin give thanks 7v/wm the Lord bath redeemed {VsVi. cviii. 2) ; yea, let them ever praise his holy name. O come and let us ascribe due honour to our Saviour, who hath done so great things for us, great things, whereof we do and ought to rejoice. Lift up your hearts and join your voices, ye children of grace and redemption, and let us magnify his name together, saying, We praise thee, 7ve bless thee, ive glorify thee, we give thanks to thee, for thy great glory, O Christ, the King of Israel, the Light of the Gentiles, the Prince of all the kings of the earth, the Lord of hosts, the power of God Almighty in its utmost strength and perfection. We worship thee, O precious and valu- able ransom of our souls ! O, our peace, and most ac- ceptable sacrifice ! Who, by the sweet-smelling savour of thy sin-offering, didst incline the Father, whose dwelling is on high, to cast an eye of pity upon the vilest of his creatures here below, and didst open a way to reconciliation for the sons of wrath and perdition. We publish the praise of thy mercy, O blessed Jesus, SAINT A MS ELM 447 and out of the abundance of our hearts do gratefully recount the sweetness of thy love ; we offer unto thee our daily sacrifice of gratitude and glory, for the incom- prehensible excellence of thy goodness, and the bowels of that tender and unbounded compassion which thou hast been pleased to extend to a most reprobate and ungracious seed, a race of miserable wretches, sunk in sin, and justly sentenced to destruction.—SxANHOPE's Translation. ANSLO, Reinier, a Dutch poet, born at Am- sterdam in 1626; died at Perugia, Italy, May 16, 1669. In 1649 he made a voyage to Italy, where he acquired great reputation, especially for his Latin verses. Pope Innocent X. gave him a beau- tiful gold medal for a poem which he had com- posed on the occasion of the jubilee celebrated in 1650; and Queen Christina, of Sweden, made him a present of a chain of gold for a Dutch metrical composition which he had addressed to her. It has been claimed that certain traces of a secret leaning toward the Roman Catholic re- ligion are discoverable in his verses, and there is little doubt that he was favorably disposed toward the principles of those who had treated him so well in his pilgrimage. A collection of his poems, in quarto, was published at Rotterdam in 171 3. Among his earlier works were The Croivn of Saint Stephen the Martyr, and a poem on the massacre of St. Bartholomew, entitled The Eve of St. BartJioloviciv. THE PLAGUE OF NAPLES. Where shall we hide us — he pursuing ? What darksome cave, what gloomy ruin? It matters not : distress and fear Are everywhere. Who now can sliield us from the fury That seems upon our steps to hurry? Our brow exudes a frozen sweat On hearing it. U43) REINIER ANSLO 449 List to that scream ! that broken crying : Could not the death-gasp hush that sighing? Are these the fruits of promised peace ? Oh, wretchedness ! E'en as a careless shepherd sleeping, Forgetful of the flocks he's keeping, Is smitten by the lightning's breath : The bolt of death : E'en as the growing mountain-current Pours down the vale its giant torrent, And sweeps the thoughtless flocks away That slumbering lay : So were we roused ; so woe descended BertDre the bridal feast was ended, And Sleep fell heavy : followed there By blank despair. — Translation of Bowrjw% Vol. I.~»i« ANSTEY, Christopher, an English versifier, born at Brinkley, October 31, 1724; died at Chip- penham, August 3, 1805. His father was rector of Brinkley, in Cambridgeshire, and had also a con- siderable landed property, which was in time in- herited by the son. He was educated at Eton, from which school he was elected to King's Col- lege, Cambridge ; but in consequence of some quarrel with the authorities he did not take his degree, although he stood high as a classical scholar. He subsequently entered the army; then married an heiress, through the influence of whose family he was returned to Parliament. His wealth and personal qualities gained him a place in the best fashionable and literary society of the day. He was a frequent visitor at Bath, then the favorite watering-place. He wrote, dur- ing his long and prosperous life, many ** society poems," of which The New Bath Guide and The Election Ball are now worth remembering. TJie New Bath Guide, published in 1766, was among the most successful poems of that age. Anstey received ;^200 for the copyright, and he gave the money to the hospital at Bath. Dodsley, the publisher, declared that the profits on the sale were greater than he had ever gained in the same period by any other book. Anstey's New Bath Guide furnished the thought, and indeed not a lit- CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY 451 tie of the actual material, which Smollett, five years later, wrought up in his clever story of Humphrey Clinker. Anstey's Election Ballh?^^ quite a number of clever hits which may be appreciated now — a century or more after they were written : THE PUBLIC BREAKFAST. Now my lord had the honor of coming down post, To pay his respects to so famous a toast ; In hopes he her Ladyship's favor might win, By playing the part of a host at an inn. I'm sure that he's a person of great resolution, Though delicate nerves, and a weak constitution, For he carried us to a place 'cross the river, And vowed that the rooms were too hot for his liver. He said it would greatly our pleasure promote. If we all for Spring Gardens set out in a boat : I never as yet could his reason explain, Why we all sallied forth in the wind and the rain ; For sure such confusion was never yet known ; Here a cap and a hat, there a cardinal blown ; While his Lordship, embroidered and powdered all o'er Was bowing, and handing the ladies ashore. . . . You've read all their names in the news I suppose: But for fear you have not, take the list as it goes. There was Lady Greasewrister, And Madame Van-Twister, Her Ladyship's sister ; Lord Cram, and Lord Vulture, Sir Brandish O'Cultur, With Marshal Carouzer, And old Lady Touzer ; And the great Hanoverian Baron Panzmowzer; Besides many others who all in the rain went, On purpose to honor this great entertainment. The company made a most brilliant appearance And ate bread-and-butter with great perseverance ; And the chocolate, too, that my Lord sat before 'en\ The ladies despatched with the utmost decorum. 452 CHRISIOPHER AySVEV Soft musical numbers were heard all around The horns' and the clarions' echoing sound. . . . Oh, had I a voice that was stronger than steel, With twice fifty tongues to express what I feel, And as many good mouths, yet I never could utter All the speeches my Lord made to Lady Bunbutter ! So polite all the time that he ne'er touched a bit, While she ate up his rolls and applauded his wit ; For they tell me that men of true taste, when they treat, Should talk a great deal, but they never should eat. . . . So when we had wasted more bread at a breakfast Than the poor of our parish have ate for this week past, I saw, all at once, a prodigious great throng Come bustling and rustling and jostling along ; For his Lordship was pleased that the company now To my Lady Bunbutter should curtsey and bow ; And my Lady was pleased too, and seemed vastly proud At once to receive all the thanks of a crowd. And when, like Chaldeans, we all had adored This bt_autiful image set up by my Lord, Some few insignificant folk went away. Just to follow the employments and calls of the day. . . . Now why should the Muse — my dear mother — relate The misfortunes that fall to the lot of the Great t As homeward we came — 'tis with sorrow you'll hear What a dreadful disaster attended the Peer : For whether some envious god had decreed That a Naiad should long to ennoble her breed ; Or whether his Lordship was charmed to behold His face in the stream, like Narcissus of old ; In handing old Lady Comefidget and daughter, This obsequious Lord tumbled into the water ; But a Nymph of the Flood brought him safe to the boat ; And I left all the Ladies a-cleaning his coat. ANTAR, or ANTARA, an Arabian poet and soldier, who is supposed to have died a little be- fore the time of Mohammed's flight to Medina. He is the hero of a romance which Mohammed instructed his disciples to teach to their children, which is known by every Bedouin of the desert, which is repeated night after night by the pro- fessional narrators of Bagdad and Constantinople, and is familiar wherever the Arabic language is spoken. This romance, supposed to have been written b}^ Asmai, preceptor to Haroun-al-Raschid, makes Antar the son of the warrior Shedad-el- Absi and the Abyssinian slave Zabuba. Being brought into disgrace, while still, with his mother, in slavery, by having fallen in love with his beau- tiful cousin Abla, he began to seek opportunities of signallizing himself as a soldier and as a poet ; and, rising in favor, he filled the country with the fame of his song and his sword. By some Arabic historians he is said to have been killed, and by others to have died naturally of old age. In literature Antar is renowned as the author of one of the seven great poems hung up in the Kaaba at Mecca, and known as the suspended poems. antor's love for his cousin ibla. When the breezes blow from Mount Saadi, their freshness calms the fire of my love and transports. Let my tribe remember I have preserved their faith ; but they feel not my worth, and preserve not their engage- (433) 454 ANTAR ments with me. Were there not a maid settled in the tents, why should I prefer their society to absence ? Slimly made is she, and the magic influence of her eye preserves the bones of a corpse from entering the tomb. The sun as it sets, turns towards her, and says : " Darkness obscures the land ; do thou rise in my absence ; " and the brilliant moon calls out to her : " Come forth ; for thy face is like me when I am at the full, and in all my glory ! " The Tamarisk trees complain of her in the morn and the eve, and say : " Away, thou waning beauty, thou form of the laurel ! " She turns away abashed, and throws aside her veil, and the roses are scattered from her soft fair cheeks. She draws her sword from the glances of her eyelashes, sharp and penetrating as the blade of her forefathers, and with it her eyes commit murder, though it be sheathed : is it not surprising that a sheathed sword should be so sharp against its victims ! Graceful is every limb, slender her waist, love-beaming are her glances, waving is her form. The damsel passes the night with musk under her veil, and its fragrance is in- creased by the still fresher essence of her breath. The lustre of day sparkles from her forehead, and by the dark shades of her curling ringlets night itself is driven away. When she smiles, between her teeth is a moist- ure composed of wine, of rain, and of honey. Her throat complains of the darkness of her necklaces. Alas ! alas ! the effects of that throat and that neck- lace ! Will fortune ever, O daughter of Malik, ever bless me with thy embrace, that would cure my heart of the sorrows of love? If my eye could see her baggage camels, and her family, I would rub my cheeks on the hoofs of her camels. I will kiss the earth where thou art ; mayhap the fire of my love and ecstasy may be quenched. Shall thou and I ever meet as formerly on Mount Saadi ? or will the messenger come from thee to announce thy meeting, or will he relate that thou art in the land of Nejd ? Shall we meet in the land of Shu- reba and Hima, and shall we live in joy and happiness? I am the well-known Antar, the chief of his tribe, and I shall die ; but when I am gone, history shall tell of me. — Translated from the Arabic by IIerrick Hamilton. ANTHOLOGY (Gr. literally " Flower-Gather- ings "). A collection of small poems, forming, as it were, a kind of bouquet or garland. Such col- lections exist in many languages; but the term is more specifically used to denote the famous col- lection of the minor Greek poets, of most of whom only a few fragments are extant. Not a few of these consist of a single couplet, often originally an inscription upon some monument, as that composed by Simonides and placed by Miltiades upon a statue of Pan erected on the battle-field of Marathon : Me, goat-foot Pan of Arcady — the Median's fear — The Athenians' friend, Miltiades, placed here. Still more famous is the inscription, also by Simonides, upon a monument erected over the re- mains of those Spartans who fell at Thermopylae : Go, stranger, and to Lacedsemon tell That here, obedient to her laws, we fell. Another, also attributed to Simonides, com- memorates the Corinthians who fell at the naval battle of Salamis : Well-watered Corinth was our home before ; We lie on Salamis's Aiantian shore. — The ships of Tyre, the Persian, and the Mede We routed ; and thus sacred Greece was freed. Not a few of the poems in the Greek Anthology arc votive inscriptions hung above some offering C455> 456 ANTHOLOGY to the gods in gratitude for some great deliver ance, or to propitiate their favor in the future. Thus an epigram, by Lucian, records a humble thank-offering from one who had been saved from shipwreck : To Glaucus, Nereus, Ino, and to Melicerte, as well To Neptune, and the mystic powers in Samothrace that dwell— Grateful that, from the sea preserved, he now on shore can live, Lucilluscutsandgives these hairs: — 'tis all he has to give. Three brothers — hunters and fishers — dedicate the implements of their craft to the silvan deity Pan. The inscription on the votive tablet is by Leonidas, though the general idea is expressed by other iDoets, with more or less of variation : Three brothers dedicate, O Pan, to thee Their nets — the various emblems of their toil : — Pigr^s, v/ho brings from realms of air his spoil : Dam^s from woods, and Clitor from the sea. So may the treasures of the deep be given To this ; to those the spoils of earth and heaven. An epigram, ascribed to no less an author than Plato, has been often imitated. It purports to be by Lais, the famous courtesan, at a time when her charms had begun to wane : I, Lais, who smiled at Greece with scornful pride, I, at whose doors a swarm of lovers sighed, This glass to Venus give :■— That which I shall be I would not — what I was I cannot — see. Lafs has been commemorated in a stinging epitaph by Antipater of Sidon : Lai's, who walked in gold and purple dyes, Here on her sea-girt Corinth lowly lies; ANTHOLOGY A! The pampered friend of Eros, whom that elf Nurtured more daintily than Venus's self. Brighter this human goddess than the stream, Which in Pirene sheds its fulgent gleam ; And wooers more she had who sought her arms, Than ever sighed for brilliant Helen's charms ; And man}?- revelled in those graces — sold For the false glare of all-subduing gold. Even in her ashes live the rich perfume Of odors ever floating round her tomb : Steeped are her locks in myrrh ; the buxom air Inhales the fragrance of her essenced hair ; And when she died, Cythera near her stood With grief-soiled cheeks, and Eros sobbed aloud. — Oh ! if those charms so many had not bought, Greece had for Lais as for Helen fought. Votive offerings were frequent upon occasions ot approaching nuptials, and they called forth not a few of the prettiest effusions of the Greet versifiers. Here is one by an anonymous poet: Timaret^ — her wedding-day now near — To Artemis has laid these offerings here : Her tambourine, her pleasant ball ; the net As a safe guardian o'er her tresses set ; Her girlish dolls, in mimic robes arrayed : Gifts fitting for a maid to give a maid. — Goddess, thy hands upon her kindly lay And keep her holy in thy holy way. Leonidas of Tarentum has left numerous grace ful inscriptions of this class. This, which tells its own story, is addressed to Rhea, the Mother oi the Gods : O holy Mother ! on the peak Of Dindyma, and on those summits bleak That frown on Phrygia's scorched plain. Holding thy throne : with favoring aspect deigD To smile on Aristodice, Silene's virjjin child, that she 458 ANTHOLOGY May grow in beauty, and her charms improve To fulness, and invite connubial love. For this she seeks thy porch, with tributes rare, And o'er thine altars strews her votive hair. And this is addressed to the goddess who pre- sides over child-birth, by a matron who had safely given birth to twins : Here, Ilethyia ! at thy noble feet Ambrosia lays a grateful offering meet — A robe and head-dress, favored by thy power In the sore travail of her perilous hour ; And in due season strengthened to bring forth A double offspring at a happy birth. Agathias commemorates a triple offering de- voted by a happy wife and mother to the three goddesses who had crowned her life with glad- ness. It should not be forgotten that the original Greek idea of Aphrodite was wholly devoid of that grossness which came in time to be the pre- vailing characteristic of the conception of the Goddess of Love. To Aphrodite garlands, braids of clustering hair To Pallas, and her zone to Artemis, Callirhoe gave : Fit tributes offered there, Whence to her lot had fallen a triple bliss. — A loved and loving suitor she had wed, In modest purity her life was led And a male race of children blessed her bed. The shorn-off hair was a frequent and natural offering. Youths also offered the first clippings of their beards — the first-fruits, so to speak, and tokens of adolescence. Thus an anonymous epi- gram says, with a fine moral added : Lycon, the rising down that first appeared To Phoebus gave — the presage of a beard ; ANTHOLOGY 459 And prayed that so he might in after years On his gray locks — as now — employ the shears. Grant this request, and on his age bestow The honor that should crown a head of snow. When the youth laid away childish things he w