By Author [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Title [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Language
all Classics books content using ISYS

Download this book: [ ASCII ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month
fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: The Chautauquan, Vol. 05, October 1884, No. 1
Author: Literary, The Chautauquan, Circle, Scientific
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Chautauquan, Vol. 05, October 1884, No. 1" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

                            THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

      A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Promotion of True Culture.

                                VOLUME V.

                   FROM OCTOBER, 1884, TO JULY, 1885.

             THEODORE L. FLOOD, D.D., Editor and Proprietor.

                          THE CHAUTAUQUA PRESS,
                             MEADVILLE, PA.



  AIR HAS BEEN LIQUEFIED, How. J. Jamin. 579.

  ANIMAL BIOLOGY, Easy Lessons in. 385, 445, 509.

  ANIMALS Feign Death, Do? M. Romanes. 150.

  APPLES. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 194.

  ARBOR DAY. Hon. B. G. Northrop, LL.D. 409.

  ARISTOTLE. William C. Wilkinson. 373.

  ART, American Decorative. C. E. Bishop. 582.

  BANCROFT, George. Prof. W. W. Gist. 526.

  BARLEY. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 137.

  BEETS. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 316.

  BEVERAGES, Household. 260.

  BLACKBERRIES. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 194.

  BLUNDERS, A Chapter of. 242.

  BOOKS, Paragraphs from New. 371, 431, 555.

  BOOKS RECEIVED. 61, 121, 305, 370, 492, 557, 611.

  BOOKS, Talk About. 120, 181, 244, 305, 369, 432, 491, 556, 611.

  BORNEO, Natural History and People of. Wm. T. Hornaday. 533.

  BREAD. Mrs. Emma P. Ewing. 84.

  BUCKWHEAT. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 137.

  CABBAGES. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 316.

  CANADA OF TO-DAY. M. Victor du Bled. 529.

  CARROTS. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 316.

  CASTLE GARDEN. C. E. Bishop. 24.

  CATLIN PAINTINGS, The. O. T. Mason. 524.

  CHAUTAUQUA—1885. 493.
    Glimpses of the Program. 592.
    In Japan. Wm. D. Bridge. 612.
    Intermediate Class of ’84. 122.
    School of Languages for 1885. 558.
    School of Liberal Arts. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 348.
    The Inner. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 220.
    The Upper. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 284.
    The Trustees Reorganize. 358.
    University. Prof. R. S. Holmes. 60, 119, 170, 231, 295, 433, 547.
    Words from. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 45.

  CHAUTAUQUANS AT HOME. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 100.

  CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS, Home Studies in. Prof. J. T. Edwards, D.D. 5, 68,
      141, 199, 252, 323, 375, 440, 500.

  CHOCOLATE. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 257.

  CHRISTMAS, Dangers and Christmas Hints. Helen Campbell. 147.


  C. L. S. C. CLASSES:—
    Class of ’85. 50, 106, 167, 227, 291, 356, 419, 481, 545, 600.
    Class of ’86. 167, 227, 292, 356, 419, 546, 600.
    Class of ’87. 50, 107, 227, 292, 419, 482, 546, 601.
    Class of ’88. 168, 293, 356, 420, 482, 547, 602.

  C. L. S. C. COLUMN, Our. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 591.

  C. L. S. C. GRADUATES, Class of ’84. 306.

  C. L. S. C., How to Help the. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 158.

  C. L. S. C., Important to Members of. 558.

  C. L. S. C. NOTES ON REQUIRED READINGS. 55, 115, 176, 238, 301, 365, 427,
     488, 553.

  COFFEE. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 257.

  CORN. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 82.

  CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS, The. Prof. R. S. Holmes, A.M. 231.

  COURSE OF READING FOR 1885-86. 554.

  CRETE, Neb. 44, 604.

  CRITICISM. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 537.

  CUSTOM HOUSE, The New York. Coleman E. Bishop. 215.

  DAMASCENE PICTURES, Some. Bishop John F. Hurst, D.D., LL.D. 559.

  DREAMS, A Trip to the Land of. Robert R. Doherty. 333.

  EDITOR’S NOTE-BOOK. 53, 113, 174, 235, 299, 362, 425, 486, 551, 609.

    About, Edmond. 362.
    Art in the United States. 425.
    Chautauqua at New Orleans. 360.
    Chautauqua Plan, The. 51.
    Chautauqua Year, A Review of. 550.
    Cholera, The. 549.
    Circles, A Danger for Local. 171.
    C. L. S. C. Books—Practical Loyalty. 233.
    Councils at Baltimore, The. 297.
    Course of Reading for 1885-86. 608.
    Criminals, Reformed. 299.
    Diplomat, An American. 549.
    Dramatists, The Great Greek. 360.
    Electing a Chief Magistrate. 172.
    Fairbairn’s Lectures, Principal. 173.
    Grant’s Illness, General 483.
    Health and Pleasure, Summer. 607.
    Hugo, Victor. 606.
    Liberty Enlightening the World. 550.
    Lighting of Towns, The. 485.
    Morals, Minor. 296.
    Motor, A Poor Man’s. 298.
    Oratory, The Decline of. 111.
    Outlook from the Plainfield Office. 110.
    Pole, The Secret of. 52.
    Presidential Election. 51.
    Prices, The Fall in. 234.
    Public Men in Literature. 423.
    Reading for 1885-86, The Course of. 608.
    Reading of the Periodical Press, Judicious. 112.
    Repudiation, The Dishonesty of. 233.
    Science and Practical Life. 608.
    Senate, The United States. 484.
    Shaksperean Anniversary. 424.
    Soldier, The Modern Treatment of. 485.
    Spirituality in the Church, The Decline of. 423.
    Summer Amusements. 484.
    “That,” The Relative Pronoun. 361.
    Testament, Old, The Revised. 606.
    Winter Sports in Canada. 361.
    World’s Fair, The New Orleans. 111.

  EDUCATION, National Aid to. Gen. John A. Logan. 271, 329.

  EDUCATION, Popular. 62.

  ENGLAND AND ISLAM. Pres. D. H. Wheeler, D.D., LL.D. 402.

  ENGLISH, A Universal Language. Pres. D. H. Wheeler, D.D., LL.D. 435.

  ENGLISH, Differs from other Languages, How. Richard Grant White. 247.

  ENGLISH LANGUAGE, The Mechanism of. Pres. D. H. Wheeler, D.D., LL.D. 497.

  ENGLISH, Notes on Popular. Isaac Todhunter. 345.

  ENGLISH, What is. Richard Grant White. 123.

  ENGLISH, Why we Speak. Richard Grant White. 1.

  EYES, The, Busy on Things About Us. Josephine Pollard. 443.

  FISH CULTURE, The Art of. Prof. G. Brown Goode. 404, 470.


  FOREIGN SERVICE, The Machinery of our. Hon. Eugene Schuyler. 455.

  FORESTRY, A Bird’s-Eye View of. Rev. S. W. Powell. 464.

  FORTRESS, Palace and Prison. Edith Sessions Tupper. 397.

  FRAMINGHAM, Mass. 41, 602.

  GEOGRAPHY OF THE HEAVENS. Chancellor M. B. Goff. 29, 92, 155, 279, 342,
     400, 460, 520, 578.

  GEORGE ELIOT, The Life of. 407.

  GERMANY, Some Modern Literary Men of. 585.

  GREEK LIFE, Glimpses of Ancient. Abridged from J. P. Mahaffy. 13, 73,
     129, 187.

  GREEK MYTHOLOGY. 15, 76, 131, 190.

  HEART, The, Busy with Things About Us. Josephine Pollard. 506.

  HONESTY IN THE C. L. S. C. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 473.

  HOUSE, The Homelike. Susan Hayes Ward. 203, 268, 335, 461.

  HOW TO WIN. Frances E. Willard. 343, 396, 450, 521.

  HOW TO WORK ALONE. Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 411.


  INSTITUTIONS, The Merciful, of Pennsylvania. Prof. C. J. Little,
     Ph.D. 30.

  ISLAND PARK, Indiana. 43, 603.

  JEWS IN SOUTHERN RUSSIA, The Christian Revolt of. Bishop John F. Hurst,
     D.D., LL.D. 218.

  KITCHEN, Common Sense in American. Laura Loraine. 97.

  KITCHEN SCIENCE AND ART, Studies in. 8, 82, 137, 194, 257, 316.

  LAKE D’FUNIAK, Florida. 45.

  LAKE GROVE, Auburn, Maine. 44, 606.

  LAKESIDE, Ohio. 43, 604.

  LOCAL CIRCLES, The. Lewis C. Peake. 162.

  LOCAL CIRCLES, How to Organize. Rev. J. L. Hurlbut, D.D. 161.

  LOCAL CIRCLES. 102, 163, 222, 286, 351, 413, 475, 540, 593.

  LONG BEACH, Southern California. 44.

  MADURA AND ITS PAGODA. Bishop John F. Hurst, D.D., LL.D. 458.

  M’CAULEY, Jerry, and his Work. Coleman E. Bishop. 390.

  MELROSE AND HOLYROOD. Edith Sessions Tupper. 93.

  MEXICO. 338.

  MILTON, as The Poet’s Poet. Prof. William Cleaver Wilkinson. 154.

  MINERALS, The Life of. M. J. Thoulet. 453.

  MOHAMMEDAN UNIVERSITY AT CAIRO. Bishop John F. Hurst, D.D., LL.D. 327.

  MONONA LAKE, Wis. 43, 605.

  MONTEAGLE, Tennessee. 44, 603.

  MONTEREY, California. 41, 603.

  MOUNTAIN LAKE PARK, Maryland. 45, 605.

  MUMMIES, A Group of. O. T. Mason. 572.

  MUSEUMS, Some American. Clarence Cook. 531.

  MUSEUM, of Fine Arts, Boston. Clarence Cook. 562.

  NATURE, The Hospitalities of. Rev. Hugh Macmillan, D.D., LL.D., F. R.
     L. E. 21.

  NEW ORLEANS. Geo. Alfred Townsend. 280.

  NEW ORLEANS, World’s Exposition. Bishop W. F. Mallalieu, D.D. 340.

  NEW ZEALAND. M. Emile Blanchard. 211.

  NIAGARA, Historic. Edith Sessions Tupper. 586.


  NORMAL GRADUATING CLASS OF 1884, Sunday-school. 246.

  NORWAY, The Liberal Upheaval in. Bishop John F. Hurst, D.D., LL.D. 157.

  OATS. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 137.

  ONIONS. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 316.

  OTTAWA, Kansas. 42, 604.

  PAUPER PROBLEM, The, In Germany. Bishop John F. Hurst, D.D., LL.D. 87.

  PAY, Will it. Charles Barnard. 577.

  PEACHES. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 194.

  PEOPLE, Learn to Enjoy. Margaret Meredith. 517.

  POETS, The Laureate. Rev. A. E. Winship. 96, 144, 212.

  POISONS, Two Fashionable. M. P. Regnard. 589.

  POTATO. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 8.

  POTATO, The, Methods of Cooking. Mrs. Emma P. Ewing. 9.

  PROGRAM, Weekly, of Local Circle Work. 49, 101, 160, 221, 286, 350, 413,
     474, 539.


  QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS. A. M. Martin. 46, 107, 168, 229, 293, 357, 420.

  REQUIRED READINGS, Outline of. 49, 101, 160, 221, 285, 350, 413,
     474, 539.

  RICE. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 137.

  ROMANCE VERSUS REALITY. Frances E. Willard. 88.

  ROUND LAKE, New York. 44, 605.

  RYE. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 82.

  SCIENCES, The Circle of. 264, 320, 378.

  SHASTA, Mt., A Trip to. 573.


  SPECIAL NOTES. 62, 122, 182, 245, 306, 372, 434, 496, 557, 616.

  SPEECH, The Bonds of. Richard Grant White. 63.

  STRAWBERRIES. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 194.

  SUMMER HOMES FOR THE CITY POOR. Helen Campbell. 514.

  SUMMER RESORTS, Sanitary Condition of. Hon. B. G. Northrop, LL.D. 564.

  SUNDAY READINGS. Selected by Chancellor J. H. Vincent, D.D. 11, 71,
     127, 186, 250, 314, 382, 438, 504, 570.

  TEA. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 257.

  TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE. Felix L. Oswald, M.D. 17, 79, 134, 183,
     255, 311.

  TURNIPS. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 316.

  VEGETABLES, The Preparation of. 318.

  VESPER AND PRAISE SERVICE, People’s Christmas. 180.

  WAR DEPARTMENT, The. Oliver W. Longan. 151.

  WARREN, to the Class of 1884, Bishop. 101.

  WASECA, Minn. 43, 605.

  WAYSIDE HOMES. Helen Campbell. 567.

  WEATHER BUREAU. Oliver W. Longan. 393.

  WHAT-TO-DO CLUB, The. 536.

  WHEAT. Byron D. Halsted, Sc.D. 82.

  WOMEN, Government Employment for. Mrs. Pattie L. Collins. 27, 467.

  YALE COLLEGE AND YALE CUSTOMS. George E. Vincent. 208.

  YOSEMITE, A Trip to the. Miss Frances E. Willard. 20.


  A PRAYER BY THE SEA. Sarah Doudney. 206.


  AS SEEING THE INVISIBLE. Emily J. Bugbee. 329.

  CONSIDER THE LILIES. Mrs. Mary N. Evans. 463.


  HE MAKETH ALL THINGS NEW. Mary Lowe Dickenson. 86.

  HOW PERSEUS BEGAN TO BE GREAT. Elizabeth P. Allan. 529.

  “INVINCIBLE”—Class of 1885. Phebe A. Holder. 232.

  OUR LADIES OF SORROW. Mrs. E. A. Matthews. 517.


  REASSUREMENT. Ada Iddings Gale. 576.

  THE BELLS OF NOTRE DAME. Ada Iddings Gale. 215.

  THE PARSON’S COMFORTER. Frederick Langbridge. 274.

  THE POET’S VISION. Mary A. Lathbury. 267.

  THE SPELL OF THE HALCYON. Mrs. Mary N. Evans. 146.

  TWO SEAS. Ada Iddings Gale. 339.

  WE SALUTE THEE, AND LIVE. Mary Mathews-Smith. 571.

                            THE CHAUTAUQUAN.


                 VOL. V.      OCTOBER, 1884.      No. 1.

Officers of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

_President_, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio. _Superintendent of Instruction_,
Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven, Conn. _Counselors_, Rev. Lyman
Abbott, D.D.; Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D.D.;
Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D. _Office Secretary_, Miss Kate F. Kimball,
Plainfield, N. J. _General Secretary_, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.


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

    Why We Speak English                                         1
    Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics
        I.—Chemistry of Water                                    5
    Studies in Kitchen Science and Art
        I.— The Potato                                           8
        Methods of Cooking the Potato                            9
    Sunday Readings
        [_October 5_]                                           11
        [_October 12_]                                          12
        [_October 19_]                                          12
        [_October 26_]                                          13
    Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life                              13
    Greek Mythology                                             15
    Temperance Teachings of Science: or, the Poison Problem
        Chapter I.—The Secret of the Alcohol Habit              17
    A Trip to the Yosemite                                      20
    The Hospitalities of Nature                                 21
    Perplexities                                                23
    Castle Garden                                               24
    Alone With My Conscience                                    26
    Government Employment for Women                             27
    Geography of the Heavens                                    29
    The Merciful Institutions of Pennsylvania                   30
    The C. L. S. C. at the Assemblies                           33
    Words from Chautauqua                                       45
    Questions and Answers                                       46
    Outline of Required Readings                                49
    Weekly Program for Local Circle Work                        49
    The C. L. S. C. Classes                                     50
    Editor’s Outlook                                            51
    Editor’s Note-Book                                          53
    C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings for October          55
    Notes on Required Readings in “The Chautauquan”             59
    The Chautauqua University                                   60
    Books Received                                              61
    Special Notes                                               61
    Popular Education                                           62




Learning the reason of anything, by which we generally mean the cause of
it, is a process the instructive benefit of which is not limited by the
subject immediately under consideration. To trace the relation of cause
and effect is a very great and very important part of true education; of
which, it needs hardly here to be said, book-learning is only a help and
adjunct. Indeed, this learning or finding of causes is an education or
discipline which for those who give themselves to intellectual pursuits,
continues all their lives. It is the chief occupation of philosophers,
of men of science, of investigators, of all real students. Virgil—who
was not a very great poet, being of the second, or even of the third
rank, because of his moderate creative power, his lack of vividness of
imagination and liveliness of fancy, but who is remarkable for a broad
and serene thoughtfulness—said: “Happy is he who is able to discover
the causes of things.”[A] And indeed this process of finding causes is
one of the most delightful and fascinating, and, to the soul of man,
most profitable, in which man can engage. Of which the chief reason
is the close and intimate relation that exists between all facts and
thoughts and things. Isolation and independence are conditions hardly
discoverable. Men can not be independent of each other, as we all find
very early in life, if we observe and think. But yet, a man may isolate
himself upon the top of a pillar; or he may build himself a hut in the
woods, and give himself up to contemplation; thinking that in this way
he will discover or evolve something that otherwise would be concealed.
The discoveries and the evolutions in these cases, however, do not prove
of much value, either to the individuals or to mankind. An isolated
man, although monstrous, abnormal, unnatural, is possible, but not an
isolated fact. An isolated fact is almost, if not quite, a contradiction
in terms; for a fact implies conditions and causes from which it can not
be separated. We shall thus find that the inquiry into the cause of such
a simple, every-day fact as our speaking English will lead us through,
although not over, the whole range of the history, known and conjectured,
of that great family of the human race to which the people of Europe and
of civilized America belong. To follow the steps of this inquiry will not
be difficult, and, I hope, not uninteresting to the least learned reader
of this magazine.

Why, then, do we in the United States of America speak English? Because
that language is the speech of the English, or the so-called, Anglo-Saxon
people? Because our forefathers came from England? Partly so. These
facts have certain relations with that into the causes of which we are
inquiring, but they do not wholly account for it. For although we are, in
the main, an English people, and the forefathers of most of us did come
from England, there are now many, although comparatively few, of us who
are of Irish or of German blood. Moreover, in Ireland there are millions
of Irishmen, Celts, who hate “the Saxon” (that is the English), but who
speak English, and whose forefathers have spoken it for many generations.
Now, the first reason why those Irishmen speak, and so long have spoken
English, is a very simple, bald and cogent one, and it is the very reason
of our speaking that language. It is, necessity: nothing more. The Celtic
Irishman whose race-tongue was Erse, spoke English for the very reason
that we, whose race-tongue it is, speak it; because he must speak it to
be understood; for no other reason. But how came this necessity about?
How came English speech into Ireland or into America, or, for that
matter, into England?

Language is a mere instrument of man’s convenience; as much so as a
spade or a knife, or any other tool. He uses it for the purpose of
communicating with those by whom he is surrounded; and he must give to
things and thoughts the names which they give them, or he might as well
be dumb. If they call a certain animal a horse, it will not do for him
to call it a _cheval_; and if they call it _un cheval_, it will not do
for him to call it _ung shovel_, as many persons have found in France to
their surprise and inconvenience. And if he is born and bred in France,
no matter how thoroughly English or Irish he may be in blood, he will
call it _un cheval_, without effort and without thought.

These are obvious facts; but for our present purpose they are not trite,
nor is the consideration of them trifling. They have bearing upon the
very common belief, or assumption, that language is a product of race;
that there is some mysterious and inevitable connection between man’s
physical and mental constitution and the language that he speaks. There
is no such connection. Manner of speech and style of writing are peculiar
in various peoples, as their manner and their style in other things and
acts are peculiar. There is a French style of speaking, as there is
an Italian, an Irish, and an English, which pertains to those various
peoples, and which is a product of their national spirit, their genius,
as we say. But there is no such influence of national spirit, or of
physiological traits or conditions upon the substance of language—words.
The Irish did not speak Erse, because Erse was a natural product of the
Irish physical or mental constitution. So with the English; so with all
peoples. An English, a German or a French boy, born and brought up in
Russia, would speak Russian; and (personal peculiarities apart) they
all would speak it alike, and without the least modification dependent
upon their respective English, German, and French physical and mental
constitution. If, however, their mothers were with them, and their
mothers could speak no Russian, each of those boys would speak two
languages, English and Russian, or German and Russian, or French and
Russian, and, accidents apart, each of them would speak his two equally
well, and with equal freedom. He would think with equal freedom in both.

Some of my readers must know, from their own observation, that this is
true; and yet I do not doubt that even of these there are not a few who
have never thought of it as evidence that, although certain languages are
spoken by certain races, this is not because there is any natural and
peculiar fitness of the words of any one language to the character or the
spirit of any one people. The language used by any and every people has a
historical origin; and the peculiar forms of its words are the product of
time, of circumstance, and probably, in a certain very moderate measure,
of climate, and of physiological conditions.

The sun and the moon received their names for good reasons; the former
because it is the creator (light and heat being the causes of inorganic
life), and the latter because it was the first measurer of time; and
these names they have borne for at least four thousand years—we do not
know how much longer. But now those words have become mere names; mere
sounds which are the vocal indications of the objects to which they are
applied, so that if by some wizardry we were all, with one exception, to
wake up to-morrow calling the light which rules the day, moon, and that
which rules the night, sun, we should be perfectly satisfied, and find in
it no inconvenience; and moreover we should look upon him who used the
words in the converse senses, that we had forgotten, as a madman.

Words however have, with very few exceptions, a real meaning, or at least
a reason for their use, as _sun_ and _moon_ have. The words without
such meaning may be all told upon the fingers. Two words of scientific
origin, but very common use, are illustrative examples—_chloroform_
and _gas_, both of which are of recent, the former of very recent,
fabrication. Chloroform is so called because it is, or is supposed to be,
a chloride of formyl, which is the base of formic acid, a fluid found in
red ants; _formica_ being the Latin for ant. It was desirable to have a
convenient name for this substance, and the name was made by uniting the
first syllable of _chloride_, or _chlorine_, with the first syllable of
_formyl_; whence we have _chloro-form_. The name _gas_ was invented, we
know not why or wherefore, by a Dutch chemist, some two hundred and fifty
years ago, for all those compressible, air-like fluids to which it is
now applied. It was convenient and came first into scientific and then
into general use, so that now it is one of the commonest words, even in
a sarcastic, metaphorical sense, in the speech of all civilized peoples.
Now nearly all words have a significant origin, like _chloroform_. Those
which are without inherent significance, like gas, are very few indeed.
Words like these, and like _oxygen_ (which is only about one hundred and
fifty years old, and means acid-maker), are called coined words, because
they were recently and deliberately made. The words which form the bulk
of language are of very remote origin, and, until lately, of untraced

The tracing of the growth of words which has been scientifically—that
is, historically and logically—prosecuted for a little more than fifty
years, has brought to light the important fact—a fact the discovery of
which is second in importance only to that of the discovery of the law
of gravitation—that all the languages of the civilized peoples of Europe
and America, together with some in Asia, have a common origin. At one
time there was no English, no French, no German, no Russian language, no
Erse or Gælic, no Latin, no Greek; but at that time the germ of all these
languages, and of others which need not be mentioned, existed in a tongue
which for more than four thousand years has been unspoken, but which from
the people who spoke it has been called Aryan (pronounced _Ahrian_).
This discovery was sure to have been made in one way or another; but the
immediate cause of it was the presence in Hindostan of the British East
India Company. In 1776, N. B. Halhed, a servant of that company, who had
been an early friend of Sheridan, the orator and dramatist, published a
Bengali grammar, in which he mentions as very remarkable, “the similitude
of Sanskrit words with those of Persian and Arabic (?), and even of Latin
and Greek; and these not in technical and metaphorical terms, which the
mutation of refined arts and improved manners might have occasionally
introduced, but in the main groundwork of the language, in monosyllables,
in the names of numbers, and the appellations of such things as would be
first discriminated on the first dawn of civilization.” Soon afterward,
in 1786, Sir William Jones, who had gone to Bengal as a judge, in a paper
in “Asiatic Researches,” expressed a like opinion more strongly and in
more comprehensive terms. “The Sanskrit language,” he says, “whatever
may be its antiquity is of a wonderful structure, more perfect than
the Greek, more copious than the Latin, and more exquisitely refined
than either, yet bearing to both of them a stronger affinity, both in
the roots of verbs and in the forms of grammar[B] than could have been
produced by accident, so strong that no philologer could examine all the
three without believing them to have sprung from one common source, which
perhaps no longer exists. There is a similar reason, though not quite
so forcible, for supposing that both the Gothic and the Celtic, though
blended with a different idiom, had the same origin with the Sanskrit.
The old Persian may be added to the same family.”

What Halhed and Jones put forth as strong probability was ere long found,
was clearly proved, to be the truth. Persian, Greek, Latin, Gothic,
Celtic, and of course all languages derived from them, were discovered to
be identical in origin with Sanskrit. Now, what was this Sanskrit, this
wonderful language which so suddenly and so surely unlocked the mystery
of the world’s speech, and revealed the source of all the languages of
civilized Europe, and some of those of Asia? Sanskrit, (the name means
worked-together, elaborated, highly finished,) is the sacred language of
the Brahmans, in which was preserved the religious teachings and legends
of the people of India, whom we call Hindoos. It is quite four thousand
years old in its existing form. For a very long time it was unwritten,
the Brahmans having no letters; and the sacred books (so we must call
them) were transmitted orally, but with such veneration not only for
their doctrine and their story, but their phraseology in its minutest
particulars, that among the Brahmans grammar became a religion, and the
slightest variation from the text of the Vedas—this was the name of the
sacred books—was regarded as a sin. Punctilio in this respect was carried
so far that when letters were borrowed from the West, and an alphabet
was formed, and the Vedas were written, it was protested against by the
conservatives as a sacrilege. Common sense and convenience, however,
carried the day. Sanskrit is the most elaborate, the most minutely
divided, the most elaborately inflected speech known to man. The sight
of a Sanskrit grammar is appalling to the common sense of our day. There
are ten conjugations of verbs; and a verb has ten tenses; and each one
of these tenses has three numbers, singular, dual and plural; and each
tense has two sets of terminations. Nouns, adjectives and pronouns are
singular, dual and plural, and have eight cases. Inflections of all
words are distracting for multitude and intricacy. Yet this elaborately
intricate language was spoken in what we think of as the wilds of Asia
long before the history of the human race is known; at least four
thousand years ago.

A Frenchman named de Chésy learned Sanskrit from a British officer named
Hamilton, who, on his way from India, was detained in France, and taught
it, as he says, to Franz Bopp, a German philologist, who made use of it
in a work on the system of conjugation, and thus became, unintentionally,
a Columbus-like discoverer of the great science of Comparative Philology.
For Bopp “builded better than he knew.” His purpose was merely to
work out his system of conjugation; but in doing this he revealed and
established the unity of speech in all the Aryan or Indo-European
peoples. This he himself afterward elaborated in his “Comparative
Grammar” of the chief Aryan languages. Then came another great German
philologist, Jacob Grimm, who discovered the law, or method, according to
which words changed their forms; and the great end was accomplished. This
happened in 1816-19; and since that time Comparative Philology has worked
upon the lines indicated by Bopp and Grimm. Bopp’s great “Comparative
Grammar,” however, did not appear until 1833.

One of the most important, if not the most important of the results of
the discovery of Sanskrit, and the consequent prosecution of the study
of language upon the historical and comparative method—the only safe
method for the study of any subject—is the revelation of the origin, and
to a certain and very remarkable degree, of the early unrecorded history
of the Aryan or Indo-European peoples; that race which has received the
latter name because it occupies, and for two thousand years and more has
occupied, all India and Europe. Let us glance at this history as it is
thus revealed, for it is very much to our present purpose.

Take a good map of Asia, one which shows the eastern confines of Europe,
and turn your attention to the country now called Joorkistan, lying
between the Caspian Sea and the western boundary of the Chinese Empire.
There, some five or six thousand years ago, (it will not do to be too
particular, all the more because we can not, if we would,) about the
foot of the Hindoo Kosh, and around the sources of the Oxus, there
lived, we have good reason to believe, a people who called themselves
Aryan. They were a white race; much fairer, at least, than the people
who were then occupying Europe and the other parts of Asia. They were
strong of body, intelligent and enterprising. They did not live only
by hunting and herding, like the nomadic peoples, their neighbors, but
cultivated the ground. Their name, Aryan, means honorable, noble; and
there is some reason for believing that it is connected with their
agricultural pursuits and distinction. For reasons which of course we do
not know, but probably from the pressure of population, more than four
thousand years ago this people began to send out bodies of emigrants.
They moved westward, toward the Caspian Sea, of the existence of which
they were probably ignorant. They had used boats upon the Oxus, but the
history of their language shows that they knew nothing of what we call
navigation. Their progress seems to have been slow, but continuous, one
body of emigrants being ere long followed by another. We may be sure
that they had to fight their way. So late as eight hundred years ago all
emigration was armed. The strong took the land red-handed from the weak,
or at least from those who were not so strong and so numerous as they
were themselves. The Aryans reached the Caspian Sea; and took possession
of the country lying south of it, since known as Persia. After a time,
we know not how long, emigration began again from this point. But here
the advancing people divided. Some of them moved in a south-westerly
direction; and this stream of emigration continued until it overflowed
all the vast territory now known as Afghanistan, Belochistan and
Hindostan. Another stream moved westward and northward, and passed
through Turkey in Asia into Europe.

We have reason for believing that up to the time when this division took
place in the country south of the Caspian Sea, the Aryan people spoke
one language; but sufficient time had already elapsed for a considerable
change to have taken place in the tongue which was spoken on the plains
at the foot of the Hindoo Kosh. Language changes rapidly among people
in a low state of civilization, without literature, without letters
which are the landmarks and conservators of speech. But this point of
time and of place is that of a great division in the speech of the
Aryan people. Of the language of those who moved westward into Europe
there are no remains which date within many centuries of this period;
but of the language of those who moved south into Hindostan, we have in
the existing Sanskrit a representative which is of almost indefinable
antiquity, and the perfect preservation of which is marvelous. It is
no rude, ruinous relic, but complete, elaborate, and finished to the
highest point of perfection in its kind. It will be seen (and this must
be constantly borne in mind) that Sanskrit is not the original Aryan
language, but only the oldest existing offshoot from that language.
The great, the inestimable value of the discovery of Sanskrit was not
that we find in it the source of other languages, not that in it was
the origin of the words spoken by the various peoples of Europe; but
that it furnished evidence of the most important fact in the history of
language, one of the most important facts in the history of the world.
It had been assumed that the countless words which were similar in the
language of the European peoples, and the many which were identical,
were derived one from another; that they were adopted by one people from
the language of another; that they were the product of neighborhood, of
intercourse, of imitation, of convection—that is that they were carried
from one country and people into another. The discovery and the study of
Sanskrit proved that these words, or most of them, came into the various
languages in which they are found, not by any or by all of these methods,
but by direct descent from a speech which was at one time common to the
forefathers of all the peoples in India, in Persia, and in Europe. Of
these various languages Sanskrit is not only the oldest, but so very much
the oldest that it carries us up very far toward the original speech
of the Aryan or Indo-European race; so far that we are not without
reasonable hope that philological science may elaborate by its help a
proximate form of the elements of the original Aryan speech.

It is worthy of remark that the European language most like the Sanskrit,
most like it in substance, and notably most like it in grammatical
structure, is the Greek; the language of the people nearest Asia, nearest
the point of the division of the Aryan people into two great streams of
emigration.[C] And here, too, it may well be remarked that the book of
Genesis, in one of those ethnological passages which reveal a knowledge
of prehistoric man so perfectly in accordance with the results of modern
historical inquiry and scientific investigation that it would seem that
they must have been a revelation from Omniscience, makes the confusion
of tongues and the consequent dispersion of nations take place upon
the plains of Shinar, in the very region, at least, where the Aryan
dispersion began.

To resume our brief story of the Aryan advance to take possession of the
world; for we are no longer concerned with what went on in India or the
East. Many centuries had now elapsed, and the Aryan people had multiplied
into many millions of men, and had formed themselves into nations or
peoples ignorant of their common origin, and regarding each other as all
peoples then regarded each other, as enemies, rivals in the possession of
the earth and its products. The emigration continued; those in advance
being driven and pushed on by those who followed. Europe once entered,
there was again a division of the stream of advancing, conquering men.
The dispersion was doubtless greater than before, but again there were
two main bodies, one keeping to the south along the northern shores of
the Mediterranean Sea, the other moving northward, toward the Baltic. The
former has been designated from the principal peoples involved in it,
or resulting from it, the Italo-Græco-Celtic strain; the latter is the
Gothic. It is with this that we are chiefly, but by no means exclusively,
concerned. We are Goths.

It has just been said that those who were in the advance in this great
emigration were pushed on by those who followed. Who were the advance
of this westward movement, the first Aryans who entered Europe? There
is no reasonable doubt that they were the Celts, the people who, some
thirteen hundred years ago, were in absolute and complete possession
of the islands of Great Britain and Ireland, and a small part of the
northwestern coast of what is now, but was not then, France. These
people, this head of the Aryan column, passed through southern Europe,
(we know it by the names they left behind them, given to places during
their temporary, but not short occupation of the soil,) and coming to
the ocean, went northward, then crossed the English channel, and took
possession of Britain and Ireland. There they stopped simply because they
could go no farther. But they were still pushed by those who followed.
The invasion of Britain by the Romans, and yet more, the after invasion
and occupation of it by the so-called Anglo-Saxons, our forefathers, were
a _mere continuation of the Aryan emigration_ which had begun at the foot
of the Hindoo Kosh, in Asia, thousands of years before.

These Celts who went first were followed by the people who, in close
connection with them as to time and affiliation of blood, became the
Latin races (old Romans, Italians, Spaniards, French), and the Greeks.
It was natural that the first stream of Aryan emigration into Europe
should take its course through the countries of these peoples, because
they lie at the south, on the borders of the Mediterranean Sea. Men
never go northward to find homes amid snows and ice one half the year,
if they can find land of more genial clime unoccupied or occupyable. The
leading bodies of the Celts having reached the ocean in the southern part
of Europe, and being pushed on by the steady flow from behind, moved
northward, and as we have already seen, at last left the continent, and
rested in Britain and Ireland. Here, from their insular position, they
were able to maintain their footing firmly, if not undisturbed, for
many centuries. They were not displaced in Britain until about thirteen
centuries ago; and then they were not driven onward, as before they had
been driven; for there was no place whither to drive them. They were, in
the words of an old adage, perhaps as old as this very time, “between the
devil and the deep sea;” and most of them were slain to make room for
their fellow Aryans, their far-away kindred, whom they knew not, and had
no reason to know, and whom they hated with good reason.

The Goths, of whose race we are, and from whom we directly come, moved
northwestward from the western shores of the Black Sea, where they are
first heard of. Their language, in its original form, is lost like
the great original Aryan tongue; but as in the case of that tongue,
a very early offshoot of it has been happily preserved. This is the
Mæso-Gothic, into which Ulphilas, a bishop of the Mæso-Goths, who had
become Christians, translated the New Testament and part of the Old about
one thousand five hundred years ago. Of the former a very considerable
part remains. It is written in large silver letters, on parchment of a
beautiful purple tint. This work shows us all of the structure and much
of the substance of the Mæso-Gothic language; and in the former even
more than in the latter affords, like the Greek, evidence of an origin
identical with that of Sanskrit.

The Gothic people pushed, and were pushed, northward, and began, in their
turn, to divide and to disperse, and soon to be unable to understand each
other’s speech, and to regard each other as foreigners and enemies. For
it must be remembered that these migrations were slow, extending through
centuries; that they consisted of alternate movement and settlement;
settlement for many generations in one place; so that the mountains and
streams and forests still retain evidences of this residence, in the
names given to them by these tribes or sub-tribes of the Aryan people.
It must be remembered, too, that in these remote times, at that early
stage of civilization, when there were no books, except a few manuscripts
on parchment, no strongly built towns, no stability of government, and
when inter-communication was slow, difficult and dangerous, an interval
of a hundred years was quite as long as one of five hundred of the years
last passed, in its effect of separation and isolation of peoples, in its
dividing families into tribes, and tribes into strange and hostile little

From the Goths there was now a new offshoot, one destined to power and
preëminence in the future of the human race. While the greater number of
them remained in the country which for some eighteen centuries has been
loosely called Germany, a large body of them moved northward and took
possession of the countries now known as Denmark, Sweden and Norway, with
the neighboring islands. These people are known ethnologically as the
Scandinavians; and it is from them, and from some very near neighbors
of theirs, also of Gothic race, who settled in the country in and about
the lower part of Jutland (the old name of Denmark), that the English
people, of whom we are a part, are descended.[D] It so happened that in
the continuance of the westward movement of the Aryan people there was a
union on the island of Great Britain, of emigrants from Denmark and the
neighboring country on the continent, and from the western part of the
great northern Scandinavian peninsula (Norway); and the result of that
union, which was some eight centuries in forming, was the English people,
by whom chiefly this country was settled only some two hundred and fifty
years ago, and by whom its laws, its religion, its manners and customs
and its language were determined and established. It is with the last of
these, language, that we are here concerned. What that language is, and
how it became what it is, will be the subject of our next paper.

[A] “Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.” Georgicon II, 490.

[B] The grammar, it is to be said, is far more like that of the Greek
than like that of the Latin language.

[C] There is a language, the Lithuanian, spoken by a Leth-Slavonic
people, northwest of the Baltic, near Poland, which has preserved in a
remarkable and unique manner forms of the old Aryan speech which are
extinct in other European tongues. But it is the language of a small,
rude, unimportant people, without a literature, and indeed was not
written until the sixteenth century. It is of great interest to the
student of comparative philology, but of none to us at present.

[D] The Scandinavians, and all the peoples who are loosely called German
tribes, High-German, Low-German, and what-not, are generally regarded as
branches of a great Aryan stem, which is called the Teutonic race; and
some of my philological readers, should any such honor these unpretending
papers with their attention, may be surprised, and even offended, at my
omission of any mention of the great Teutonic family. As to this, my only
defense, or rather my only excuse, is that I have been unable to convince
myself of the existence of any such branch as the Teutonic, antecedent
to the Gothic, of which the Mæso-Goths were an early offshoot. I can
not see that the Teutones of the Roman historians represent an elder,
dominant, or parent branch of the Aryan race of which the Goths were a
younger and minor. As to the word German, and its use in “German tribes,”
“German dialects,” every scholar knows that it is not an indigenous name,
but that it was imposed from without, by strangers, upon the people who
bear it, who call themselves Deutch; and that this name was in effect
territorial, meaning all the people, of whatever race, who lived within
or beyond certain boundaries. As to the identity of origin in _Deu-tch_
and Teu-ton, that seems to me to be by no means clearly made out. For
Teutonic race I would substitute Gothic. The question from the present
point of view is happily not of serious or intrinsic importance.



Director of the Chautauqua School of Experimental Science.

In our day science invades the kitchen. Knowledge knocks at the sitting
room door. Literature and art visit the parlor of even our humble homes.
To do anything in furtherance of popular education is a delight. Mine be
the task of making the laboratory and the home better acquainted.

The limitations of an article for THE CHAUTAUQUAN cause the first
embarrassment. One must at once become an eclectic, and select wisely the
_best_ from a wide field. The next difficulty is to give coherency and
classification to the truths selected. Upon what golden cord shall we
arrange the shining truths?

Let us use an ancient, though incorrect classification of elements:
Water, air, earth, fire, adding another, organisms. Indeed, this is about
the division of matter which the common people make to-day, although
chemists tell us that neither of these is an element, and that the
simple, indivisible substances in nature are sixty-six in number. As
chemistry and physics are so closely related, we shall consider each of
these topics from the standpoint of both these sciences. This will call
for ten articles, on the following subjects: Chemistry of Water; Physics
of Water; Chemistry of Air; Physics of Air; Chemistry of Fire; Physics
of Fire; Chemistry of Earth; Physics of Earth; Chemistry of Organisms;
Physics of Organisms.



Do not be disturbed by these cabalistic symbols; they are simply the
chemist’s name for water; a most expressive name, too, as we shall
presently discover. Some names are misnomers. Abel Blackman may be both
weak and a white man. Our letters can not mislead. They abbreviate,
show the class of each substance, the elements that form it, and their
proportions. Berzelius devised this mode of naming. (Who was Berzelius?)

On the table stands a glass of water. How beautiful it is! Even diamonds,
costliest of gems, are valued in proportion as they possess its marvelous
clearness, those of the “first water” being most highly prized. We are
now to speak of some of the _chemical_ properties of water; hereafter we
shall consider the physical characteristics.


See! I have dipped my pencil into the goblet, and brought up a drop of
water. What force binds together the pencil and the drop? What holds the
drop to other drops? Why is not this ice instead of water? If I shake the
pencil in what direction does the drop fall? If the drop were larger than
the world, which way would the world go? What other force is there in it
which, according to Faraday, is equal to that in a flash of lightning?
Here are, then, five great forces in a drop of water, yet none of them
changes its nature. It is still H₂O.

Let us place this drop of water in the upright tube of an atomizer.
Apply air. See, the drop has broken into thousands of particles. Now,
suppose we could take one of these and place it in a flask. Apply heat,
and we should separate the little particle into thousands of particles
of steam, but each of these, and any lesser division of these, would
still be H₂O. The minutest division of the water _possible_ would be
called a _molecule_, yet it would still be water, and composed of two
parts of hydrogen and one of oxygen. The old ocean itself contains the
same. The Cracow beds of salt are made of chlorine and sodium, and the
minutest dust from one of its crystals would be found to contain the
same elements, and in the same proportion, both by weight and measure.
Molecules, then, combined, make only _masses_ of the same nature. But
molecules are composed of atoms, and whenever atoms of two or more
different substances are combined they always form something different
from either of these. The force that unites them is called chemical
affinity, or sometimes the chemical force. For example, tenacious iron
unites with a gas and forms a brittle, red substance, rust. Chlorine
is a poisonous gas, and sodium will burn on water, both deadly; united
they give us salt; absolutely essential to life. Hydrogen is the best
substance in the world to burn, and oxygen the best supporter of
combustion. When united they form water, which is universally employed
to extinguish fire. Blue vitriol is blue, as the name implies, yet it is
composed of four elements, two of which, H and O, are colorless, copper,
which is red, and sulphur, which is yellow. Sulphur has little or no
odor, and hydrogen has none, but when united they form a gas which has
the odor of spoiled eggs. White sugar is nothing but black charcoal and
water. It will thus be seen that here is a source of _new_ things in
nature. Whatever chemical affinity touches is changed.

And so we have found another force in our drop of water taken from the
goblet, more wonderful than any yet named, a mighty, transforming energy
which has but one worthy rival in the work of creating new things, the
vital principle, and even that must yield at last to this all conquering
power. If our goblet was large, and held a pound of water, (about a
pint,) we should find that to pull the molecules apart, that is, make
it into steam, would require a force which would raise four tons to the
height of one hundred feet. But more wonderful still, to separate the
pound of water into two chemical constituents would require, according to
Prof. Cooke, an energy which would raise 5,314,200 pounds one foot. Our
pint of water would then occupy 1800 times its present volume.

Let us now give a striking and beautiful illustration of chemical
affinity. We will throw into this tumbler a piece of potassium (symbol
K) half as large as a pea. This interesting metal was discovered by Davy
in 1807. Its affinity for O is very great. As soon as it falls upon the
water it abstracts oxygen and forms potassium oxide (potash), while the
hydrogen and a small amount of volatilized K escape and are burned with a
brilliant violet flame, on account of the heat evolved by the energetic
chemical action.



The composition of water was discovered about one hundred years ago.
Cavendish found hydrogen in 1776, and Priestly discovered oxygen in 1774,
August 1st, a date which some one says “may almost be accepted as the
birthday of modern chemistry.”

Is it not remarkable that four of the brightest “red letter days” in the
history of this science should be embraced within two decades, from 1754
to 1774? In 1754 Joseph Black discovered carbonic acid gas; in 1766 Dr.
Cavendish found hydrogen; in 1772 Dr. Rutherford discovered nitrogen, and
in 1774 Dr. Priestly found the King of the Elements, oxygen. Until then
mankind were ignorant of the existence of a substance which composes in
the aggregate one half the earth.


Returning to our glass, let us suppose that the bottom has been so
perforated that two little strips of platinum wire can be inserted side
by side, at the distance of half an inch from each other, and so as to
leave the tumbler water-tight. Now attach the lower ends of these wires
to wires connected with the poles of an ordinary galvanic battery. Small
bubbles will be seen to rise immediately around the wires in the water.
Fill two glass tubes (closed at one end) with water, and having placed
a little piece of paper over the top, hold the finger on the paper, and
quickly invert the tubes over the wires. The escaping gases will thus be
secured. The electric current is counteracting the affinity of the two
elements that form water, and they are collecting in the tubes. You will
soon find that the H gathers more rapidly than the O, and upon measuring
them there will be twice as much of the former as of the latter. Weigh
them, and the O outweighs the former eight times. If, then, one atom of
O weighs eight times as much as two atoms of H (H₂O is the symbol for
water, remember,) then one atom of O weighs sixteen times as much as one
atom of H; or, in other words, H is sixteen times lighter than O, and is
the lightest substance known.

Place the O and H in a eudiometer over mercury, and send an electric
spark through them; the gases will disappear, with a loud explosion, and
there, resting on the quicksilver, will be seen the original drops of
water which we decomposed. We have now shown the composition of water,
both by analysis and synthesis.


An atom of H is the chemist’s unit. This is a colorless, odorless,
tasteless gas, fourteen times lighter than air. When burned it produces a
more intense heat than any other substance. Iron burns in its flame like
paper. When united with O, and a piece of lime is inserted in the flame,
the latter becomes exceedingly brilliant, forming the Drummond light,
which has been seen at the distance of one hundred miles in the daytime.
So diffusive is H that if a sheet of paper or gold-leaf be placed over an
escaping jet of the gas, it will pass directly through the paper, and may
be lighted on the upper side. H is easily prepared, and many interesting
experiments may be performed with it, some of which it may be well to
mention. Take up on a pointed wire or needle or with tweezers, a piece of
the metal sodium, quickly insert it under a tube filled with water and
invert in a glass of water; the sodium will at once take the O and leave
the H to displace the water in the tube. Remove the tube, still holding
it with opening downward; apply lighted match and a slight explosion will
follow. What two properties of H have you shown by your experiment?


Take a bottle holding one or two pints, fit a cork to it, through which
pass a glass or metallic tube, the end of which is drawn out so as to
leave a small aperture at the top. Place in the bottle a few pieces of
zinc, and some sulphuric acid, diluted with water, in the proportions
of one part of acid to six of water, then insert the cork. You will
immediately see bubbles of H rising. The explanation of this is as
follows: The zinc takes O from the water, thus liberating H; the O forms
an oxide on the surface of the metal, which would prevent further action,
did not the acid dissolve the oxide, thus leaving a fresh surface to
take the O, and continue liberating H until the metal disappears. After
the H has been forming for two or three minutes, hold over the tube an
inverted tumbler for a moment, remove the tumbler and then apply a match
to the contents of tumbler. When the bottle has become _filled_ with H
you can light the gas at the top of the tube, and thus have a steady
flame. Be careful not to attempt to ignite the gas until all of the
air has been forced out of the bottle, as air mixed with H produces an
explosive mixture. In the intense heat of the faint flame you can melt
metals or glass. By placing a larger glass tube, open at both ends, over
the flame, you may be able to produce the celebrated acoustic tones,
varying in pitch and intensity with the size and length of the tube used.
A hydrogen gun can easily be made by taking a tin tube five or six inches
long (closed at one end), from one half inch to an inch in diameter; make
a small aperture near the closed end; then invert the tube for a moment
over the escaping H, keeping the small hole closed with the finger, place
a cork in the open end, and apply a match to the hole. The cork will be
forced out with a loud explosion. What compound is always produced when H
is burned? Let us see. Invert a cold, dry tumbler over a burning jet, and
you will always observe moisture gathering on its surface. Another pretty
experiment may be performed with H by inserting the stem of a common
clay pipe in a piece of rubber tubing, slip the other end of the tubing
over the gas jet, prepare some strong soap suds, and with a little care
you can blow beautiful soap bubbles with your pipe, which, by a skillful
movement may be detached, and they will rise in the air like miniature
balloons; by placing a burning match under them they will explode. Strike
a bell in a large jar filled with H, and it has a squeaky sound. Our
whole art and science of music would be changed if H should be mixed with
the air to any great extent.

Nicely balance a flask or jar containing air; fill the same flask with H,
and the beam will at once be seen to rise.

Let us find the antipodes of weight. Iridium, hammered to increase its
density, is twenty-three times heavier than water; water is about eight
hundred times heavier than air, and air is fourteen times heavier than H:
23×800×14=257,600; that is, one quart of Ir would balance 257,600 quarts
of H.


There are four kings among chemical substances: Oxygen, king of all the
elements; gold, king of the metals; oil of vitriol, king of the acids,
and potash, king of the bases.


This term of distinction is given to oxygen because of its marvellous
activity and range of powers; it unites with all elements save one,
fluorine. Its grasping disposition is often resisted by man; he keeps it
from destroying his house by painting it; from gnawing at the quivering
nerves of his teeth by filling them; from devouring his fruits by canning
them; and Monsieur Goffart has now taught us to save green food for our
cattle, from its ravages by excluding O from our silos. In spite of its
destroying power we can not live without it. The light and warmth in our
homes are produced by its rapid union with fuel. Every moment we breathe
we are absorbing it into our bodies, where it unites with waste matter,
producing heat and energy, and removing that which would clog and poison
the system. There is nothing in nature more beautiful than the plan by
which the animal and vegetable kingdoms mutually sustain each other by
the interchange of O. Look at this little aquarium; here are two or three
shiners, some goldfish, and a few water plants. In this little world
we may see exactly what goes on in the great world. That goldfish is
inhaling O, which is conveyed into the capillaries, unites there with
the carbon, forming CO₂, which is exhaled, seized upon by the plant, and
in the wonderful laboratory of its cells, the C is separated from the
poisonous gas, and retained, while the O is thrown off, again to be used
by the fish. Upon the nice adjustment of the plants to the animals, and
vice versa, depends the life of both. While upon this subject we might
note another interesting evidence of beneficent design in the provision
made for both fish and plants.

Water absorbs gases with great readiness—some of them it takes more
readily than others; for example, a pint of water will absorb seven
hundred pints of ammonia gas. It will take but its own volume of carbonic
anhydride under one pressure of the atmosphere.

The descending rain drops absorb these two gases and convey them to the
rootlets of the plant, for food. More wonderful still, the Almighty has
arranged that water should remove O from the air more readily than it
does nitrogen; consequently the rain carries down the O to the fish in
river, lake and ocean, adding its life-giving principle to the air, which
is always contained in water. It is a pretty sight to watch the breathing
of a fish as he sends the rapid currents of water through his gills in
the act of aërating the blood, which, as it passes through, gives them a
crimson color.

It may easily be proved that plants throw off O, by submerging any
vigorous growing plant in a jar of water; in a short time little bubbles
will be seen clinging to the leaves; now fill a bottle with water,
invert, and touch the little globules gently, when they will detach
themselves and pass up into the bottle, displacing the water, and may
afterward be used in experimentation. Perhaps some of you, while drinking
at the brook, have noted these bubbles of O on the leaves of the graceful
water plants below. This is the only place in nature where you can see O
free, and indeed you do not see it here, for O is a colorless, tasteless,
odorless substance; what you do see is the thin sphere of water which
contains it.

O is held by many substances so tenaciously that we can not liberate
it; this gives us “terra firma.” Sand, and many rocks consist of O and
silicon, but the greatest heat and heaviest blows can not separate them.
There are materials, however, which readily yield their O. Dr. Priestly
first found it by heating with a burning glass a compound known now as
red oxide of mercury. The O went off, leaving the shining quicksilver.

You may repeat this historic experiment by placing the material in a test
tube and heating it over an alcohol lamp.

Another substance used for this purpose is black oxide of manganese
(MnO₂), but that which is now generally employed is a white salt, kept by
every druggist, and usually called chlorate of potash (HClO₃).


Place a small amount of this, mixed with an equal quantity of the
manganese, in a test tube, or flask, and heat over a flame. The O will
be liberated, and may be bottled for use. A strange thing about this
operation is that the MnO₂ yields none of the O, but comes out of the
flask just as it went in. Such action, by mere presence, is called
catalysis. We can not explain it, but have some such phenomena in social
life, perhaps, when two people with an affinity for each other are having
a delightful, confidential chat, and a third person joins the group,
immediately producing silence—a plain case of catalysis! Having secured
several jars of O we are now ready to test some of its interesting
properties. Extinguish a candle and suddenly plunge it into a jar of O.
It is relighted. A better way is to make a taper of waxed thread. This
will keep the live coal better, and may be relighted many times. Attach
to a wire a piece of charcoal bark. Ignite and place in another jar.
Beautiful scintillations fill the jar, star like in form. Take a watch
spring, heat one end and bend. Split a match and attach to the spring,
light and place in the jar. It burns with great brilliancy.

Whittle out a little cup of chalk, or crayon, and place phosphorus in it.
Touch the P with a hot wire and lower the cup, with a wire, into a jar of
O. A beautiful combustion follows. In like manner sulphur may be burned,
and produces a bright blue light.


A little ingenuity will supply all apparatus needed for these and other
experiments with H and O. For example, a common pail with a wooden shelf
in it two or three inches from the top makes an excellent pneumatic
trough for transferring or gathering gases, and if the shelf can not be
procured, two or three bricks in the pail will serve the purpose.

Before dismissing our glass of water we must remark that no matter where
it may be found, in the depths of the sea or on the mountain; as a dew
drop, or sparkling as spray; in lake Nyanza, or lake Chautauqua, the
chemical constituents of water are just the same. Almighty care and
wisdom weighs the atoms, even as “he weighs the mountains in scales and
the hills in a balance.” The _apparent_ character of water, as to color,
form, hardness, saltness, and so on, is often varied by _mixing_ with it
other substances, but the changes produced are not chemical, and belong
more properly to the domain of physics.

    NOTE.—The illustrations in this article are from “The Young
    Chemist” of Prof. John Howard Appleton. We can heartily recommend
    to the members of the C. L. S. C., all of Prof. Appleton’s
    admirable works on Chemistry.




The potato is undoubtedly the leading addition which the New World has
made to the list of garden vegetables. Its importance as a food plant
may be judged from the fact that during the year 1880 over one hundred
and sixty-nine million bushels of potatoes were raised in the United
States. If we could obtain the total yield in all countries for a single
year, the figures would express only the simple fact of vastness. It only
need be said that potatoes furnish the larger part of the food for many
millions of people. Think of Ireland, for example, deprived of her annual
crop of potatoes; it means famine and all its attendant ills.

The common, or Irish potato, as distinguished from the sweet potato,
bears the botanical name of _Solanum Tuberosum_, and belongs to the
natural order Solanaceæ. This group or family of plants is characterized
by rank scented herbage, often abounding in narcotic poison. The flowers
are regular, parts usually in fives, and the ovaries mostly two-celled
and many-seeded. Among the more important members of the family are the
tomato, egg-plant, cayenne pepper, and tobacco. Belladonna, hyoscyamus,
and stramonium are better examples of the poisonous and medicinal
properties of the plants in the order, which gives us so wholesome a food
as the potato, and so vile a weed as tobacco. The herbage of the potato
plant is not unlike that of its first and second cousins, but by means
of these narcotic leaves and stems the plant is enabled to transform
crude materials into starch and other valuable substances which are
afterwards stored up in a suitable form for the use of man. The potato
itself, which nearly all persons relish when well prepared for the table,
is not a thick root, as many have supposed, but an enlarged underground
stem, called a tuber. These thickened subterranean stems bear small
leaves, reduced to mere scales, under which are buds, better known as
eyes. A potato is as much a stem as the tender and delicious shoots of
early spring asparagus. The potato plant has three kinds of stems: those
bearing the foliage, those bearing the flowers and the underground stems
which may be styled starch-bearing.

The early history of the potato is very obscure. It is doubtless a native
of South America, where it has been frequently found in the wild state.
The Spaniards are given the credit of first introducing the potato
into Europe in the early part of the sixteenth century. It passed from
Spain into France, and from there on into Germany and other countries
of Europe. The first potatoes to reach England were those carried by
Sir Walter Raleigh on his return from Virginia in 1584. “In the time of
James the First they were so rare as to cost two shillings (sterling)
a pound, and are mentioned in 1619 among the articles provided for the
royal household.” The culture of the potato was encouraged by the Royal
Agricultural Society. Since 1760 it has become an established garden and
field crop, and one it would be a calamity to lose.

The chemical composition of the potato tuber varies greatly according
to the conditions under which it has been grown, namely: soil, weather,
manure, etc. It contains about seventy-five per cent. of water. The
composition of the twenty-five per cent. of dry substance is as follows:
protein, 2 per cent.; fat, .03; starch and other carb-hydrates, 20.7;
fibre, 1.1; ash, .09. By protein is understood the various compounds
containing nitrogen, like the gluten of wheat, white of egg, etc. This
is considered the flesh-forming part of a food. Lean flesh is made up
largely of protein compounds, or albuminoids, as they are sometimes
called. The carb-hydrates contain no nitrogen, and are compounds of
carbon, hydrogen and oxygen. Among the most familiar of this class
are starch, sugar, and gums. The carb-hydrates, in contrast with the
flesh-forming protein compounds are frequently called heat producing
substances. This classification aids in giving a general idea of the
part the two groups play in the animal economy. Both classes of foods
are required, the amount of each depending upon the wear and tear of the
body and the conditions of temperature, etc., under which the animal
lives. A man who is working hard needs more of the protein compounds
to build up the muscles than the person of leisure. When exposed to
severe cold, an increase of the starchy substance is demanded to make
good the losses caused by the excess of animal heat produced. From the
average of many chemical analyses given above, it is seen that the
potato is a heat-producing food, and not a muscle-forming food. The fat
in foods—of which there is very little in the potato—is used both as
fuel and to build up the fatty substance of the body. The proteins or
albuminoids are the most expensive portions of any food; the fats come
next, and the carb-hydrates last. (In this way a chemist is able to
compute the nutritive value of a food from the per cent. of the classes
of constituents found present by analysis.) Wheat contains about eleven
per cent. of protein, and seventy per cent. of carb-hydrates. There is
far less water, but more than that, it has a higher ratio of protein.
It is a richer food. Corn has the same per cent. of starchy matter, but
only nine per cent. of the albuminoids. It is not so rich a food as
wheat. Beans and peas have about fifty per cent. of oil and starch and
twenty-five per cent. of the flesh-formers. This is a very high protein
ratio, and those grains approach closely to the composition of meats,
and may replace them to a large extent. This is all to show that both
chemistry and culinary experience do not rank the potato as a rich food.
It serves the animal economy best when eaten with some other substance
far richer in protein. Thus we have meat and potatoes as a wholesome and
complete food.

The potato thrives in an open, warm, deep, mellow and rich soil. If the
soil is not naturally fertile it needs to be supplied with well rotted
manure; or if this is not available in sufficient quantities, supplement
with some good commercial fertilizer. Thorough tillage, that is, frequent
plowing and harrowing, will supply two other essentials, namely: depth
and mellowness. Drainage may be necessary to remove the excess of water,
the presence of which shuts out the air, and renders the soil cold and
unfit for growing plants. A soil that will grow a good crop of corn will
usually yield a paying crop of potatoes. Both corn and potatoes grow for
only a short season, and have no time to wait for plant food. The roots
need to have all the plant food they can absorb close within reach. As a
rule, land can not be made too rich for potatoes.

There is a wide difference of opinion as to the size and manner of
cutting the “seed” potatoes. If we will remember that a potato is a stem
it will be seen that planting potatoes is virtually setting out cuttings;
as much so as when portions of a grape vine or a currant cane are placed
in the ground. The potato to serve as “seed” should be well matured and
carefully kept through the winter. It is poor economy to plant small
and half matured tubers. As much care should be taken with the “seed”
potatoes as in the selection of scions, with which to engraft a tree.
This leads to another very important point in potato growing. Be sure
and plant good varieties. The list of names of the varieties of potatoes
would fill a volume. The Early Rose has been for several years the type
of excellence. The Beauty of Hebron takes a front rank for quality and
productiveness. The Peach Blow has long been a favorite, though now less
grown. The White Elephant, Snow Flake, and Burbank are three of the
better sorts. The point of growth in a potato is the bud or “eye,” and
the substance of the tuber around this eye furnishes it with nourishment
for its initial growth. The results of experiments uphold the deductions
of science that it is best to cut large potatoes to single “eyes,”
guiding the knife so that each bud shall have an abundance of surrounding
substance. The cut pieces may be planted in hills two and one-half feet
each way, or in drills. A rapid and satisfactory method is to drop the
pieces fifteen inches apart in the furrows made by a light plow. If
placed in every third furrow, the rows will be wide enough for horse
cultivation. In this way the plow prepares the place for the “seed,” and
afterward covers it. When the potato plants are just coming through the
ground, the surface may be stirred with the back of an ordinary harrow.
This loosens up the soil and kills the young weeds. The further culture
consists in frequently passing the cultivator between the rows to keep
the surface soil open and free from weeds. The soil may be thrown toward
the vines after they have attained considerable size.

The potato has met with some serious enemies. The worst pest of late
years is the Colorado beetle. This is now so wide spread and well known
that a description is unnecessary. The remedies are numerous, but Paris
green and London purple are the most effective. These arsenical compounds
are applied in both the dry state and mixed with water. The latter is
generally considered the better method. A teaspoonful of either the
“green” or “purple” is stirred in a watering-pot and applied to the
infested foliage through a fine nozzle. This voracious beetle has a
natural enemy in the shape of a mite that sometimes occurs so abundantly
as to completely cover the victim. Other insect enemies are the stalk
borer and the large potato worm. Burn the vines infested with the former,
and pinch off and crush the latter.

The wet rot, so destructive some seasons, is caused by a minute parasitic
fungus which grows within the substance of the potato leaves and stems,
and afterward descends to the tubers and causes them to decay. Wet and
hot weather are particularly favorable for the development of this
mould. Nothing has been successfully used to stay its ravages. This rot
has swept over Europe, Great Britain and Ireland, at different times,
bringing great distress to all the inhabitants, but especially to the
lower classes, whose daily food is made up largely of the potato. The
tubers should be dug so soon as the fungus is found to have “struck” the
foliage. In this way they may be removed before the rot has invaded them.
Store the potatoes in a dry and uniformly cool place. As the rot does not
come until midsummer, it is best to plant quick maturing varieties, and
plant these early. In this way some of the insect enemies may also be
avoided. Take it altogether, the potato is an easy and profitable crop to



There are only seven distinct methods of cooking potatoes, namely:
roasting, baking, boiling, steaming, stewing, frying, and broiling. But
the culinary possibilities of this simple esculent are so illimitable it
can be served in about as many different ways as there are days in the
year, and be acceptable in all of them, if properly done; for no member
of the vegetable kingdom returns a richer reward for the care bestowed
upon it than the potato.

ROASTED POTATOES.—The primitive method of roasting potatoes under, or
among the ashes of a wood fire, is an excellent one. Bury the potatoes
in hot ashes to the depth of two or three inches, cover with live coals,
and leave undisturbed for half an hour, or until thoroughly roasted. As
soon as done, which can be ascertained by taking one of them from its bed
and testing it, remove, brush clean, break tenderly, place in a dish, and
serve. The starch in a potato will absorb moisture when the starch cells
are broken by heat, and unless roasted or baked potatoes are cracked as
soon as cooked, and the steam allowed to escape, they will become sodden,
dark colored, and rank in flavor. After being broken they can be kept for
a considerable length of time, without much deterioration.

BAKED POTATOES.—Potatoes can be baked by placing them in the oven of a
stove or range, either in a pan or on the grate. To bake a potato just
right, it should be washed clean, wiped dry, put in an oven at a moderate
temperature, and subjected to a gradually increasing heat until the skin
assumes a light brown color, and becomes firm. The white flesh inside
will then be well cooked and mealy, and will possess the exquisite aroma
and delicious flavor of a perfectly roasted potato. If the oven is at the
proper temperature, potatoes will bake in from forty to sixty minutes,
according to size, and like those roasted under the ashes, should, as
soon as done, be removed and broken.

If the flesh is scooped out of partly baked potatoes, mashed, mixed with
sausage meat, seasoned, replaced in the scooped-out shells, and re-baked,
they are called German potatoes; if it is mixed with grated cheese,
bread crumbs and other ingredients, and similarly treated, they are
called stuffed potatoes.

Potatoes are nice when pared and baked with fowl or meat of any kind.
Wash, pare, parboil, and place them in the pan containing the fowl, or
meat. Turn over when partly cooked, that they may brown evenly. They can
be baked in drippings, without meat, and also without being parboiled.

Kentucky potatoes are potatoes pared, sliced, put in layers in a baking
dish, moistened with milk, seasoned with salt, pepper, etc., and baked
in a quick oven. If they are moistened with broth or other liquid, and
the seasoning varied somewhat, each variation will produce a slightly
different dish, and each can, without impropriety, be named after one of
the different States of the Union.

BOILED POTATOES.—Very few people know how to boil a potato so it will be
dry, mealy and fine flavored. To prepare potatoes for boiling unpared,
or in their jackets, wash well in lukewarm water with a brush, and rinse
in cold water. To prepare for boiling without their jackets, wash, pare,
remove all the eyes and dark spots, and soak well in cold water. To boil
either pared or unpared, put the potatoes, when prepared, in a liberal
allowance of slightly salted boiling water, let them boil gently until
tender enough to be easily pierced with a fork, then drain, cover with
a folded towel, and set back on the range, or near the fire, to dry
off. If treated in this manner, they will, when served, be tender and
mealy—perfect powdery snow balls in appearance—and will be apt to tempt
even the most fastidious.

Scooped potatoes are made by scooping balls of the required size from
pared potatoes, with a vegetable scoop, boiling them, and serving with
a sauce or gravy of some kind. Old potatoes treated in this manner are
quite frequently mistaken for new ones, even by professed epicures.

STEAMED POTATOES.—Prepare as for boiling, and cook in a steamer over a
pot or kettle of boiling water. When only a few potatoes are wanted, a
small sized steamer should be used, but by placing a folded towel or
cloth over the potatoes to prevent the escape of steam, even two or
three can be nicely cooked, without inconvenience, in almost any sized
steamer. This is an excellent mode of cooking potatoes, and should be
more generally adopted.

STEWED POTATOES.—Cut pared potatoes in slices about an eighth of an inch
in thickness, put in salted boiling water, cook gently until moderately
tender, then drain off the water, add milk, and season with salt and

Use cream and butter, instead of milk, in its preparation, and plain
stewed potato is converted into potato _à la crème_. A little minced
parsley, if liked, can be added in either case.

FRIED POTATOES.—Slice raw pared potatoes very thin, soak well in cold
water, drain the slices in a colander or sieve, dry them on towels by
rolling and tumbling from one towel to another, separate them, and drop
into a kettle of boiling grease. As soon as they assume a light brown
color, lift with a skimmer, drain on a sieve, sprinkle with salt, and
serve. The browning will be facilitated if the slices, when partly
cooked, are taken from the kettle, exposed to the air a few seconds,
and then returned to the boiling grease. These are the famous Saratoga
potatoes, or Saratoga chips.

If a crimped knife, instead of a plain one, is used for slicing the
potatoes, they will, when fried, be Julienne potatoes. If, instead of
being sliced, the potatoes are cut in balls with a vegetable spoon or
scoop, they will, when fried, be _Parisienne_ potatoes, etc., etc.

Potatoes cut in thin slices in long strips, in globular, angular,
rhomboidal, and other irregular shapes, and fried in a kettle with a
quantity of grease, are served as Saratoga, Julienne, Parisienne, and so
on, while those fried in a spider or skillet in a smaller quantity of
grease are served as potato _à la Français_, potato _à la Provençale_,
potato _à la Barigoule_, etc., etc. But however varied the styles and
however fanciful the names under which potatoes cooked in grease are
made to do duty, they are all simply _fried potatoes_; and the important
feature of their preparation is to have the grease in which they are to
be fried—whether lard, butter, oil, or drippings—boiling hot when they
are put into it, and to keep it so during the entire process of cooking.
It is generally supposed that fried potatoes to be at all eatable must be
served the moment they are taken from the fire; but if kept moderately
warm, and at an even temperature, any of the above varieties—although not
so delicious as when freshly cooked and hot—will remain in quite nice
condition a considerable length of time.

BROILED POTATOES.—Parboil potatoes, cut in slices about half an inch in
thickness, place in a wire gridiron, and broil over a slow fire until
well browned on both sides, then season with salt and pepper, and serve
hot, with a little melted butter poured over them. Cold boiled potatoes
are very nice broiled in the same manner.

MASHED POTATO.—Special attention should be given to the preparation of
such a universally favorite dish as mashed potato. Boil or steam pared
potatoes till well cooked, drain, dry off, mash till fine and free from
lumps, in a warm kettle or pan, stir in a little warm milk—unless the
potato is preferred dry—add a small lump of butter, season with salt and
pepper, and beat until light, with a wooden spoon or potato masher. The
secret of making nice mashed potato consists in mashing the potato until
very smooth before, and beating it until very light after, it has been

Cream potato is made by stirring cream into nicely mashed potato until
of the desired consistency—snow potato by rubbing the potato through a
colander or sieve, and allowing it to pile up in the dish in a snowy
mass, and curly potato by rubbing it through a colander, letting it fall
in long, white curls, in a pyramidal form, on the dish in which it is to
be served, and then putting it in a hot oven till the surface is crisped.

Potato croquettes are made by enriching mashed potato with beaten egg
yolk, seasoning with salt, pepper, nutmeg or other condiments, forming
into little balls or rolls, dipping in egg and bread crumbs, and frying
in boiling grease.

Duchesse potato is made by adding beaten egg to mashed potato, squeezing
it through a pastry bag, or cutting in narrow strips two or three inches
in length, and browning in the oven.

REWARMED POTATOES.—Cold potato should never be thrown away. It should
all be saved and utilized. There are numerous ways in which cold potato
can be rewarmed, and in many of them it is almost as good as when first
cooked. Much of the potato served up at leading hotels in fanciful styles
and with foreign names, is merely rewarmed potato, and can be prepared
readily and inexpensively in any private kitchen.

_To stew cold potato._—Slice cold boiled potatoes, put in a stew pan with
cold gravy of any kind, season with salt and pepper, stew gently for ten
minutes, or until thoroughly heated, and then serve.

Dust potato, heated in this style, with bread crumbs, grated cheese,
etc., and brown in the oven, and it becomes potato _au gratin_.

Stir together in a sauce pan over the fire, a little butter and flour,
add some milk, stew cold sliced potato in it, and the product, when
seasoned with salt, pepper, lemon juice and chopped parsley, will be
_maitre d’hotel_ potato. Omit the seasoning from potato thus warmed,
and pour caper sauce over it, and it will be transformed into potato

_To fry cold potato._—Cut cold boiled potatoes in slices, dredge lightly
with flour, and fry brown in butter, lard or drippings—or, fry without
dredging—or, hash fine, season with salt and pepper and fry.

Cut cold boiled potatoes in little balls, fry, with an onion, in oil,
butter, lard or drippings, and it will be potato _à la Provençale_. Cut
them in the shape of olives, fry in olive oil, with a spoonful of chopped
herbs, and it will be potato _à la Barigoule_.

_Potato Hash._—Melt some butter or drippings in a spider or skillet,
pour in a little sweet milk, season with salt and pepper, add cold boiled
potato hashed, cover closely, and set where it will simmer slowly until
the potato is thoroughly heated.

_Potato and Meat Hash._—Mix well, in about equal proportions, finely
minced cold meat of any kind, and cold potato, moisten with milk, gravy,
or soup stock, season with salt and pepper, make into a roll, or shape
into cakes, put in a greased pan and bake in the oven.

_Potato Fish Balls._—Mix two parts of mashed potato with one part of
finely picked up fish of any kind, season to taste, form into balls or
cakes, and fry brown. The grease in which fish balls are to be fried
should be boiling hot before they are put into it. Freshly cooked potato
is considered best for making fish balls, but cold answers very nicely.

_Potato Soup._—Mix together over the fire an ounce each of butter and
flour until the mixture begins to bubble, then add gradually a quart
of boiling milk, season with salt and pepper, and stir in half a pint
of mashed potato that has been rubbed through a sieve. The quantity of
potato can be varied to suit the taste, and, if liked, a little minced
may be added. This is sometimes called potato _purée_, and sometimes
_potage Parmentier_—after the man who introduced the potato into France.

_Potato Cakes._—Mash cold potato to a smooth paste with a little milk,
season to taste, form into cakes half an inch in thickness, and either
fry or bake.

_Potato Biscuit._—Add a cup of milk to a quart of mashed potato, stir in
sufficient flour to make it the proper consistency, mold into biscuit
half an inch thick, and bake on a griddle or floured pan.

_Potato Soufflé._—Put a quart of mashed potato in a saucepan over the
fire, add an ounce of butter, season to taste, pour in gradually half a
pint of milk, stir till the mixture begins to thicken, then turn into a
baking dish, smooth the surface with a knife, put in a quick oven and
brown lightly.

_Potato Pie._—Cover the bottom of a baking dish with cold roast meat of
any kind cut in small pieces, add a layer of cold sliced potatoes, then
meat and potatoes in alternate layers till the dish is full. Add a little
gravy or soup stock, or a lump of butter, season with salt and pepper,
cover with a crust and bake.

_Potato Fritters._—To a pint of milk add the yolks of three eggs, half
a dozen medium sized cold, boiled potatoes grated, or finely mashed,
and flour enough to make a batter the proper consistency for ordinary
fritters—add the beaten whites of the eggs, and a little salt, and fry in
boiling lard.

_Potato Puffs._—To two cups cold mashed potatoes add two tablespoonfuls
of butter, two beaten eggs, a cup of milk, and a little salt. Stir well
together, pour into a baking dish, and bake in a quick oven.

With a lively imagination, a liberal supply of potatoes, and a few other
ingredients, one can go on and multiply almost indefinitely the different
styles in which potatoes can be prepared for the table; but through
all the variations the seven cardinal methods of cooking them remain
unchanged, and cover and include all the styles of serving, whether
designated by plain unassuming names or dignified with pretentious,
aristocratic titles.



[_October 5._]

THE STRANGE BARGAIN.—In a well known city there lived two merchants—one
of them a skillful arithmetician, and generally an able man; the other,
inexperienced in figures, and by no means a match for the former in
talent. They made the following bargain: The first sold a horse to the
second; but instead of fixing a definite sum of money as the price, they
agreed that it should be regulated by the thirty-two nails with which
the four shoes were fastened to the animal’s hoofs, and should be paid
in millet, one grain being given for the first nail, two for the second,
four for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on; that is, doubling
the number at every nail. The buyer was at first delighted at purchasing
a fine charger for what he fancied a very moderate price; but, when the
account came to be settled, he found that the quantity of grain which,
by the terms of the agreement, he was required to pay, was enormous. In
fact, he would have been reduced to beggary, if some sensible friends had
not interposed and procured a dissolution of the bargain. Gotthold, who
heard the story, observed: “Well does it exemplify the wiles of Satan. By
promising merry hours and temporal gain, he persuades and seduces man at
first into what he calls venial faults, and labors to keep them in these
until they have grown into a habit. Afterwards he advances by geometrical
progression. Sin grows from sin, and one transgression follows another,
the new being always the double of the old; and so the increase proceeds,
until at last the base pleasure which has been bought, can be paid for
only with that which is above all price, namely, the immortal soul;
unless, indeed, God mercifully interpose in time with his holy spirit,
opening the sinner’s eyes, convincing him of the deception, and inducing
him to revoke the bargain, and implore help and deliverance from his
Savior, Jesus Christ. It is therefore best to keep one’s self aloof in
every way from Satan and his concerns, and to regard no sin as venial and
small. How can it be that, when it is committed in opposition to the holy
will of the Most High God?”

My God! teach me to reckon every sin great, so long as I live; but oh,
let me look upon the very greatest sins as little, when I die!

THE LOCK.—A lock was shown to Gotthold, constructed of rings, which were
severally inscribed with certain letters, and could be turned round until
the letters represented the name Jesus. It was only when the rings were
disposed in this manner that the lock could be opened. The invention
pleased him beyond measure, and he exclaimed: Oh that I could put such
a lock as this upon my heart! Our hearts are already locked, no doubt,
but generally with a lock of quite another kind. Many need only to hear
the words _Gain_, _Honor_, _Pleasure_, _Riches_, _Revenge_, and their
heart opens in a moment, whereas, to the Savior and to his holy name it
continues shut. Lord Jesus, engrave thou thy name with thine own finger
upon my heart, that it may remain closed to worldly joy and to worldly
pleasure, self-interest, fading honor and low revenge, and open only to

THE FRUITFUL TREE.—Passing a garden, Gotthold observed a pear tree whose
branches were bending to the ground, as if they would break with the
weight of the fruit. On asking a friend, who was with him, “What do you
think it is which this tree needs?” he was answered: “A prop or two to
support the overloaded boughs.” “No,” rejoined Gotthold, “but hands to
pluck, and baskets to contain the fruit. It presents to us a beautiful
emblem of the Lord Jesus, our beloved Savior. He needs me, and I him;
and so we suit each other, nor think it strange when I say that the Lord
Jesus needs me, I mean that he needs me as this tree does baskets, or
as the widow’s cruse, which God had blessed, needed empty vessels to
contain the oil.… Love constrains the Lord to seek me, as my wants do me
to seek him. He possesses all things—heaven, earth, and all which they
contain; but these he does not need. What he needs is souls and hearts
to replenish with his grace and spirit, and bless with his salvation. O
mighty love, tender compassion, and mercy of our Savior! He, who needs
nothing else, can not do without sinful and wretched man.”

THE CHILD AT PLAY.—A little boy was running about in an apartment,
amusing himself as children are accustomed to do. His money was
potsherds, his house bits of wood, his horse a stick, and his child a
doll. In the same apartment sat his father, at a table, occupied with
important matters of business, which he noted and arranged for the future
benefit of his young companion. The child frequently ran to him, asked
many foolish questions, and begged one thing after another as necessary
for his diversion. The father answered briefly, did not intermit his
work, but all the time kept a watchful eye over the child to save him
from any serious fall or injury. Gotthold was a spectator of the scene,
and thought with himself: “How beautiful an adumbration of the fatherly
care of God! We, too, who are old children, course about in the world,
and often play at games which are much more foolish than those of our
little ones; we collect and scatter, build and demolish, plant and pluck
up, ride and drive, eat and drink, sing and play, and fancy that we
are performing great exploits, well worthy of God’s special attention.
Meanwhile, however, the Omniscient is sitting by, and writing our days
in his book. He orders and executes all that is to befall us, overruling
it for our best interests in time and in eternity; and yet his eye never
ceases to watch over us, and the childish sports in which we are engaged,
that we may meet with no deadly mischief.”

“My God! such knowledge is too wonderful for me. It is high, and I can
not attain unto it; but I shall thank and praise thee for it. O, my
Father! withhold not from me thy care and inspection, and, above all,
at those times when, perhaps, like this little one, I am playing the
fool!”—_From Gotthold’s “Emblems.”_

[_October 12._]

Thus all history is swallowed up in boundless sorrow and remorse for
that he is still laden with his boundless infirmity. But he hath delight
and joy in that he seeth that the goodness of God is as great as his
necessities, so that his life may well be called a dying life, by reason
of such his griefs and joys, which are conformable and like unto the life
of our Lord Jesus Christ, which from beginning to end was always made
up of mingled grief and joy. Grief in that he left his heavenly throne
and came down into this world; joy in that he was not severed from the
glory and honor of the Father. Grief in that he was the son of man; joy
in that he nevertheless was and remained the Son of God. Grief, because
he took upon him the form of a servant; joy in that he was nevertheless
a great Lord. Grief, because in human nature he was mortal, and died
upon the cross; joy, because he was immortal, according to his godhead.
Grief in his birth, in that he was once born of his mother; joy, in that
he is the only begotten of God’s heart from everlasting to everlasting.
Grief, because he became in time subject to time; joy, because he was
eternal before all time, and shall be so forever. Grief, in that the word
was born into the flesh, and hath dwelt in us; joy, in that the word was
in the beginning with God, and God himself was the word. Grief, in that
it behooved him to be baptized, like any human sinner, by St. John the
Baptist, in the Jordan; joy, in that the voice of his heavenly Father
said of him: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Grief,
in that, like others, sinners, he was tempted of the enemy; joy, in that
the angels came and ministered unto him. Grief, in that he ofttimes
endured hunger and thirst; joy, because he is himself the food of men and
angels. Grief, in that he was often wearied with his labors; joy, because
he is the rest of all loving hearts and blessed spirits. Grief, forasmuch
as his holy life and sufferings should remain in vain for so many human
beings; joy, because he should thereby save his friends. Grief, in that
he must needs ask to drink water of the heathen woman at the well; joy,
in that he gave to that same woman to drink of living water, so that she
should never thirst again. Grief, in that he was wont to sail in ships
over the sea; joy, because he was wont to walk dry shod upon the waves.
Grief, in that he wept with Martha and Mary, over Lazarus; joy, in that
he raised their brother Lazarus from the dead. Grief, in that he was
nailed to the cross with nails; joy, in that he promised paradise to the
thief by his side. Grief, in that he thirsted when hanging on the cross;
joy, in that he should thereby redeem his elect from eternal thirst.
Grief, when he said, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me;” joy,
in that he would, with these words, comfort all sad hearts. Grief, in
that his soul was parted from his body, and he died and was buried; joy,
because on the third day he rose again from the dead, with a glorified

Thus was all his life, from the manger to the cross, a mingled web of
grief and joy. Which life he hath left as a sacred testament to his
followers in this present time, who are converted unto his dying life,
that they may remember him when they drink of his cup, and walk as he
hath walked! May God help us so to do! Amen.—_From Tauler._

[_October 19._]

I count it the most grievous offense which the honor of Christianity has
to sustain, that some of its ostentatious disciples confine their piety
to the Sabbath and its ordinances, and banish God from the week-day
employment of ordinary business. Whence that disgusting censoriousness
which spreads the tincture of gall over so many a religious conversation?
Whence that low tone of honesty and truth, which … is so often found to
accompany the uniform appearance, and I believe, too, the occasional
reality, of zeal in matters of religion? Whence, in fact, that separation
of religious from social duty we so often meet with, not merely in their
conception, but in their example and practice?… Alas! against them,
too, we can prefer the charge of not “doing all things,” and we can
substantiate it. With the mark of godliness upon their forehead, their
conduct for the great majority of their time says: “We will not have God
to rule over us.” He is only their occasional God. The easy offering of
their prayers in the family, or of their attendance in the church and at
the table, is ever in readiness. But the living sacrifice of the whole
body, soul, and spirit, is withheld from him. He is deposed from his
right and sovereignty over every minute of their existence; and instead
of his law reaching to all their concerns, and bringing the whole man
under its obedience, we see that in the vast majority of their doings
they cast him off, and are as much the slaves of their own temper, and
inclination, and interest, as if God had not a will for them at all times
to obey, and as if Christ had never set an example before them to study
and to imitate.

Hold, ye hypocrites! who talk of this as the season that is given to the
love of Christ and to the memorial of his atonement! Did not Christ order
away a disciple from his altar?—and upon what errand? Upon what you, it
seems, would call the very worldly and unsuitable employment of making up
a quarrel with a neighbor? Did not Christ say, “If ye love me, keep my
commandments?” And yet the minister who expounds these commandments, and
presses their observance upon you, is looked upon as preaching another
gospel than what Christ left behind him. Oh! when will men cease to put
asunder what God hath joined; and taking their lesson from the Bible, as
little children, submit to it without a murmur, in all its parts, and in
all its varieties!

But let the minister of God be gentle with all men, and humble under the
feeling of his own infirmities. Let him, however zealous for the truth
as it is in Jesus, learn that there is nothing in the purity of his own
practice to justify a tone of indignant superiority to others. It is
easy to see and to approve that which is excellent; but how shall we
compass the doing of it? It is easy to expatiate on the frailties and
the delusions of men; but how shall he manage for himself, when told by
his own melancholy experience that he shares in them? It is easy to
acknowledge the right and the sovereignty of God in all things, and to
press his earnest assurances upon you, that you are wrong, if you suffer
not the word of exhortation urging you to the daily walk and duties of
the Christian; but to what refuge can he fly, when he finds that he
is himself a defaulter, and that after having warmed his heart at the
inconsistency of others, and penned his sentences against it, he mingles
in the business of his work and his family, and forgetting that the eye
of his God follows him there, falls a helpless victim to the imbecilities
of our ruined nature?—_From Dr. Chalmers._

[_October 26._]

The Christian minister needs often to be reminded of this great end of
his office, the perfection of the human character. He is too apt to rest
in low attainments himself, and to be satisfied with low attainments in
others. He ought never to forget the great distinction and glory of the
gospel—that it is designed to perfect human nature. All the precepts of
this divine system are marked by a sublime character. It demands that
our piety be fervent, our benevolence unbounded, and our thirst for
righteousness strong and insatiable. It enjoins a virtue which does not
stop at what is positively prescribed, but which is prodigal of service
to God and to mankind. The gospel enjoins inflexible integrity, fearless
sincerity, fortitude which despises pain and tramples pleasure under
foot in the pursuit of duty, and an independence of spirit which no
scorn can deter and no example seduce from asserting truth and adhering
to the cause which conscience approves. With this spirit of martyrs,
this hardness and intrepidity of soldiers of the cross, the gospel calls
us to unite the mildest and weakest virtues; a sympathy which melts
over others’ woes; a disinterestedness which finds pleasure in toil,
and labors for others’ good; a humility which loves to bless unseen,
and forgets itself in the performance of the noblest deeds. To this
perfection of social duty, the gospel commands us to join a piety which
refers every event to the providence of God, and every action to his
will; a love which counts no service hard, and a penitence which esteems
no judgment severe; a gratitude which offers praise even in adversity;
a holy trust unbroken by protracted suffering, and a hope triumphant
over death. In one word, it enjoins that, living and confiding in Jesus
Christ, we make his spotless character, his heavenly life, the model of
our own. Such is the sublimity of character which the gospel demands, and
such the end to which our preaching should ever be directed.

… We need to feel more deeply that we are entrusted with a religion
which is designed to ennoble human nature; which recognizes in man the
capacities of all that is great, good and excellent, and which offers
every encouragement and aid to the pursuit of perfection. The Christian
minister should often recollect that man, through prepense to evil, has
yet power and faculties which may be exalted and refined to angelic
glory; that he is called by the gospel to prepare for the community of
angels; that he is formed for unlimited progress in intellectual and
moral excellence and felicity. He should often recollect that in Jesus
Christ our nature has been intimately united with the divine, and that in
Jesus it is already enthroned in heaven. Familiarized to these generous
conceptions, the Christian preacher, whilst he faithfully unfolds to
men their guilt and danger, should also unfold their capacities for
greatness; should reveal the splendor of that destiny to which they are
called by Christ; should labor to awaken within them aspirations after
a nobler character and a higher existence, and to inflame them with the
love of all the graces and virtues with which Jesus came to enrich and
adorn the human soul. In this way he will prove that he understands the
true and great design of the gospel and the ministry—which is nothing
less than the perfection of the human character.—_From Channing._


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


Whereas modern life is very much a country life, and we see all our
plains and hills studded with farmsteads and well kept houses, it was
seldom so with ancient, as it is never so with modern, Greece. In old
days the fear of pirates and plunderers, in later days the taste for
talking and for politics, kept men from staying in the country, and
brought them into the towns, where they found safety and society. The
tyrants alone insisted upon country life. Thus we find in Homer that
outlying farms belonging to the nobles were managed by trusty slaves,
who grazed cattle, and stall-fed them for city use. In Hesiod’s time
it was the poor farmer only who dwelt in the country; fashionable and
idle people always came together in the towns. The very same facts meet
us when we read the Greek novels of the latest age, such as the _Story
of Daphnis and Chloe_. There the rich citizens of Mitylene only come
out rarely, like many Irish landlords, to visit their tenants and their
flocks. There are only two large instances of Greek gentry living from
choice in the country. The first is that of the old Attic gentry, whom
Thucydides and Aristophanes describe as living luxuriously on their
estates, and coming seldom to Athens. The second is that of the gentry of
Elis, who were often, Polybius says, complete strangers for generations
to the town. This was so because Attica was protected by her forts and
fleets from sudden attack in these early days, and because the Greeks by
common consent respected the land of Elis as sacred on account of the
Olympic games. Accordingly, Xenophon, who was a sportsman, settled in
this country when he retired from his wars. But we must pay our chief
attention to city life as the almost universal form of Greek society.

The older Greek towns were usually some miles from the sea, because
many pirates went about the coasts. These towns grew out from a castle,
or _Acropolis_, which at first had been the only fortified refuge for
the neighboring people in times of danger. Of this we have a remarkable
example in the very old ruins of Tiryns on the plain of Argos. When the
population increased, they built their towns round this fort, and walled
them in. But the Acropolis or hill fort, generally on some steep crag,
was of course the strongest and safest part of the town. It was also the
seat of the oldest temples, and of the god who took the town under his
special charge. Hence it was often a sacred place altogether, and not
occupied with common houses. If the town prospered, there grew up at the
nearest harbor a roadstead or seaport town, where merchants and sailors
carried on their trade. Thus Athens with its Acropolis is three miles
from the nearest sea, and more than four miles from the Peiræus, which
became its port because the harbor was so excellent. The same may be said
of Argos, Megara, and other towns. Thus Corinth had even two ports, one
on either sea, and both at some miles distance from the great rock on
which its citadel, the Acrocorinthus, was situate. Sparta alone had no
citadel, because the passes into its plain were very difficult and easily
defended. It had not even walls, but looked like a few mean villages
close together. This was a remarkable exception.

The citadel was defended by walls, wherever the natural rock was not
steep enough, and supplied with tanks for water, except in such rare
cases as that of Corinth which has a rich fountain on the top of its
great rock. If you looked down from any of these great citadels upon
the town beneath, the most striking objects were always the temples
and other public buildings which were meant to be admired from without,
whereas the private houses were externally poor and shabby. So also the
public squares and markets were large and imposing, often surrounded
by colonnades and porticoes where people lay in the sun, or even slept
at night. These colonnades were adorned with rows of statues; but the
streets were narrow and dirty. The great contrast to any modern city
must have been first of all the absence of all spires and pinnacles, as
all Greek architecture loved flat roofs, and never built even in many
stories. Then the forest of modern chimneys was also absent—an advantage
which may be held fully to make up for the absence of even splendid
steeples. All private houses were flat and insignificant, for the Greek
never intended his house to be admired from without, he merely meant to
shut out the noise and the thoroughfare of the street, and spent all his
care on inner comforts.

While we build our houses facing the street, with most of their ornament
intended to be seen by those who pass by, the Greek did all he could to
shut out completely all connection with the street. He never had ground
floor windows facing the street, and his house looked like a dead wall
with a strong door in it, furnished with a knocker and a handle. This
door opened outward, which made it safer for those within, but when
they were coming out they used to knock inside lest passers-by might be
thrown down when the door was pushed open. Richer houses did not open
directly on the street, but on a porch which was not regarded as part
of the house. Directly inside the hall door was a narrow hall with a
porter’s lodge opening off it, in which a slave sat, who was put to that
work or to that of attending boys, when not useful for anything else. You
passed through the hall or passage into an open square court, which was
the center of the house, and was surrounded by a covered colonnade or
cloister. The various men’s rooms and the dining room opened upon this
cloister. The same general plan was adopted by the Romans, and inherited
by the modern Italians, so that most Italian palaces in Genoa, Florence,
and elsewhere are built in this way. Opposite the entrance was a second
door, which led from the court into the women’s apartments, and here
was situated the bed chamber of the master and mistress of the house.
In richer houses the women’s rooms were built round a second court like
the first. But more commonly they did not occupy so much room, and were
often placed on a second story, raised over the first at the back part
of the building, with a staircase going up from the court. The Greeks
preferred living on the ground floor, and their houses were not lofty
blocks, like those of our streets. The bed rooms and sitting rooms round
the court were usually small and dark, being mostly lighted only through
their door into the cloister. The upper story had windows. The roof,
which was tiled, like ours, was so flat as to allow people to walk upon
it. The pantries and store rooms were generally at the back of the house,
and near them the kitchen, which alone was supplied with a chimney.
The other rooms seldom required a fire, and, if necessary, were heated
with braziers of hot coke, or charcoal. The covered way upon which they
opened made them cool in summer. Of course the palaces of early kings
and the country houses of the rich Attic nobles had larger rooms and
courtyards than ordinary city houses, but their plan was not different.
Homer describes their halls as ornamented by plates of bright metal on
the walls—a fashion preserved in the house of Phocion at Athens, and of
which we still have traces in the so-called treasure house of Atreus,
near Mycenæ. Fresco painting and rich coloring on the walls did not come
into fashion till the fourth century B. C., and then became so common
that we find almost all the houses in Pompeii, which was really a Greek
town, though in Italy, ornamented in this way. There are large panels of
black, scarlet, or yellow, surrounded with the borders of flowers, and in
the center of the panel there are figures painted, when the owner could
afford it. The same style of ornament, with far better execution, may be
seen in the chambers of the palace now excavated on the Palatine at Rome.

As the Greek citizen lived chiefly in the open air, and in public, and
regarded his house merely as a safe and convenient place to keep his
family and store his goods, it was not to be expected that his furniture
should be expensive or elaborate. The small size of the rooms and the
dislike of the Greeks for large entertainments also tended to the same
economy. Besides, the low valuations of furniture alluded to in several
speeches made in the law courts of Athens prove it clearly as a general
rule in earlier days, though some cities, such as the rich Sybaris, may
have formed exceptions. In later days, with the decay of public spirit,
greater luxury prevailed in private life.

We must therefore consider early Greek household furniture to have been
cheap and simple, but remarkable for a grace of design and beauty of
form which have never since been rivalled. And these were combined with
a diligent attention to comfort and to practical use. Thus the Greek
chair which is often drawn on vases, and which is reproduced in marble
in the front row of the theater at Athens, as we still see it, is the
most comfortable and practical chair yet designed. So also the pots and
pitchers and vases which have been discovered in endless variety, are
equally beautiful and convenient. The chief articles of which we hear
are chairs, stools and couches made in ornamental wood work, with loose
cushions (unlike our modern upholstery); there were also high-backed
arm-chairs, and folding stools often carried after their masters by
slaves. Though men of ruder ages and poorer classes were content to sleep
between rugs and skins on the ground, and a shake down for a sudden guest
was always such (and is so still); yet the Greeks had beds of woolen
mattresses stretched on girths. Tables were only used for eating, and
were then brought in, and laid loosely upon their legs. In early days
each guest had a separate table for himself. This absence of solid tables
must have been the most marked contrast between a Greek room and ours.
People wrote either on their knees (as they now do in the East) or upon
the arm of a couch. Whatever ornaments they kept in their rooms seem
to have been placed on tripods, which often carried a vase of precious
metal and of elegant workmanship. The wonderful variety and beauty of
their lamps must also have been a remarkable feature. They possessed all
manner of cups, bowls, jars, and flasks for wine, and water, and oil,
and we have long lists of names for kitchen utensils, probably not very
different from those found at Pompeii. They used plates and dishes, and
sometimes knives and spoons at meals, but never forks.


The Greeks learned the division of the day into twelve hours from
Babylon, and Plato is said to have invented a water clock marking the
hours of the night in the same way. But in ordinary life, according to
the old fashion, a night and the following day were regarded as one whole
and divided into seven parts. There were three for the night, one when
the lamps were lit, the next the dead hours of the night, and then the
dawn, when the cocks begin to crow. The day was divided into four: early
morning, the forenoon, when the market place began to fill, the midday
heat, and the late afternoon. As in all southern countries now-a-days,
where midday is a time of sleep or idleness, so in old times the Greek
rose very early, generally at the dawn of day. His ablutions were but
scanty, and there is no trace of any bath in the morning. Indeed the
general cleanliness of the Greeks must rather be compared with that of
other modern nations than with ours. In older days the hair was worn
long, and elaborately dressed, as we can see from coins, so that this
must have cost some trouble. But shaving the beard did not come in as a
general fashion till Alexander’s time, and even then shaving often and
having very white teeth are mentioned as rather foppish.

When dressed, the Greek took a very slight meal, corresponding to the
coffee now taken in Greece and elsewhere upon getting up, and merely
intended to stave off hunger till late breakfast. It is said to have
consisted of bread and wine. He then went to call on such friends as
he wished to see on business, before they left their houses. The same
fashion prevailed at Rome. When this was done, he went for a morning
walk or ride, and if a townsman, to see his farms and crops, and give
directions to his country steward. But if he lived in the country, he
must start early to be in the city when the market place filled. For if
there was important public business the assembly met very early, and in
any case he there met all his friends, visited the markets and shops, and
if a merchant, was practically on ’Change at this hour.

At noon all business stopped, and the public places were deserted, when
he returned to his breakfast. The modern Greeks, in country parts, still
spend half the day in this way before they breakfast. The poorer classes
who dined early in the afternoon, and who probably had eaten something
more at early breakfast, spent their midday hours, without going home,
in barber’s shops, in porticoes, and other places of meeting, where
they either slept or gossiped, as their fancy led them. Law-suits, at
which speeches were made and evidence taken, must have been carried on
during this part of the day also. The breakfast of the better classes
was a substantial meal, probably serving as dinner for the children, and
consisted, like the modern Greek breakfast, of hot dishes and wine. It
was, however, thought luxurious to eat two heavy meals in the day, and
much wine drinking before dinner was regarded with the same aversion as
tippling is now-a-days. When the day became cooler, men went out again,
partly to practice gymnastics, which ended in later times with a warm
bath, partly to see others so occupied and talk to their friends. Toward
sunset they returned home to their dinner, the principal meal of the
day, and the only one at which the Greek entertained his friends. If not
a very studious man, or a leading politician, he devoted the evening
to conversation and music, either in his family circle, or among his
friends. In the former case, he went to bed early; in the latter he was
often up all night, and sometimes went from his first feast in company
with his noisy friends to knock up other banqueters and enjoy their
hospitality unasked. There were no clubs or public houses open at night
in the old Greek towns. It should be added that the hours of meals got
gradually later, as luxury advanced.

The dress of a Greek gentleman was simple both in form and color. He
wore a shirt or under garment of wool called chiton, without sleeves,
and drawn tight with a girdle round the waist. As luxury increased, the
Athenians adopted linen instead of wool, the Ionians wore the chiton
down to the feet, and sleeves were frequently added. Trousers were also
considered a foreign dress. Over the chiton was thrown a large cloak
shaped something like a Scotch shawl, but squarer, which was wrapped
about the figure so as to have only the right shoulder and head free.
This was regarded as the principal garment, for while it was not thought
polite to throw it open, and a man without it, though in his chiton, was
called stripped, on the other hand a man wrapped in his cloak without any
under garment was thought perfectly dressed. Most of the portrait statues
of celebrated men which have reached us are indeed represented in this
very way. White was the full dress color for both garments, but other
colors, especially various shades of red, dark blue, and green, were not
unfrequently worn.

The cloak was also doubled, when men were actively employed, and fastened
on the shoulder with a clasp or pin. This was done in imitation of the
smaller but thicker cloaks, some of which were of semicircular shape,
and borrowed from Macedonia. These were worn in war and on journeys. As
to head dress, the Greeks seem to have usually gone about their cities
bareheaded. In case of bad weather, they put on a fur or leather cap
fitting closely to the head, and this was commonly worn by slaves. They
also used in traveling, to keep off the sun’s heat, broad-brimmed felt
hats, very like our “wide-awakes” in form. They were often barefooted,
but also wore ornamented slippers at home, and in the streets sandals
strapped with elegant thongs. In hunting or war, buskins of various
kinds, reaching high on the leg, were adopted. If we add a walking stick,
which up to the time of Demosthenes was even obligatory at Athens, and
was always carried at Sparta, and a seal ring, we complete our picture of
the Greek gentleman’s dress. In Socrates’ day a tunic cost ten drachmæ,
a cloak sixteen to twenty, a pair of shoes eight. Lower class people,
such as farm laborers and slaves, wore the inner garment alone, but with
sleeves, or (in the country) clothed themselves in tanned skins. The
general colors of a Greek crowd must have been a dull woollen white,
relieved with patches of crimson and dark greens and blues.


Before introducing, as is proposed, condensed excerpta from our available
sources of information on Greek Mythology, it may be important for a
large class of readers to define the term, and also to show some of the
advantages arising from well directed mythological studies.

Mythology is a compound Greek word, meaning the science of—or, more
literally, discourse respecting—myths. What is a myth? No exact
definition of the word can be given, because there are many varieties of
myths, and the term has been used in several distinct senses. In the New
Testament it occurs five times, and is in every instance used in an evil,
or severely disparaging sense. In our English version it is translated
“fables,” not such as have been invented to convey and illustrate the
truth, but cunningly devised fictions, used to convey ethical notions
in themselves false. No such condemnation can be pronounced against
the Grecian myths in general, many of which, like those of Plato, are
charming figurative representations of important ideas, the splendidly
imaginative embodiment of subjective truths, and, like the inimitable
parables of our Lord, claim no credence for themselves, only as media
for conveying the lessons taught. Such myths are not only free from
any just reproach, but are commended, as a proper and effective method
of teaching, analogous to allegories, fables and parables, and often
found in the writings of the wisest and best of mankind. If in this way
falsehood has been embellished, we may repudiate their false doctrines,
though we admire the mythological dress in which they are presented.

Conscious that the best verbal definitions that can be given fail
to define or precisely indicate the generally accepted character of
the Grecian myth, we unconsciously multiply words and amplify their
meanings, till the attempt becomes rather descriptive than definitive.
Others, however acute and discerning, have had the same difficulty. In
his attempt to tell us just what a myth is, Dr. McClintock says: “It
is best described as a spontaneous product of the youthful imagination
of mankind—the natural form under which the infant race expressed its
conceptions and convictions about supernatural relations, and prehistoric
events. It is neither fiction, ordinary history, nor philosophy; it is
a spoken poetry, an uncritical and child-like history, a sincere and
self-believing romance. It does not invent, but simply imagines and
repeats; it may err, but it never lies. It is a narration, generally
marvelous, which no one consciously or scientifically invents, and
which every one unintentionally falsifies.” “It is,” says Mr. Grote,
“the natural effusion of the unlettered, imaginative, believing man.”
“It belongs to an age in which the mind was credulous, or confiding, the
imagination full of vigor and vivacity, the passions earnest and intense.
Its very essence consists in the projection of thought into the sphere of
facts; and it arises partly from the unconscious and gradual objectizing
of the subjective, or the confusing of mental processes with external
realities; that is, from imaginatively attributing to external nature the
feelings and qualities which exist only in the percipient soul.”

Myths, then, belong to that period of human progress in which the
untaught mind regards “history as all a fairy tale.” Before the dawn of
science, and the increase of knowledge by the general dissemination of
books, men’s fancies respecting the past, and the uncertain conjectures
of their nascent philosophy could be preserved only by these traditional
and semi-poetical tales of the mythologists. To borrow the fine
expression of Tacitus—_Fingunt simul creduntque_—“They at once fabricate
and believe.”

“The real and the ideal,” again says Mr. Grote, “were blended together
in the primitive conceptions.… The myth passed unquestioned from
the fact of its currency, and its harmony with existing sentiments
and preconceptions.” So to the intensity of a fresh, undisciplined
imagination, and the paucity of terms in the language yet in its extreme
adolescence, the origin of a vast number of myths can easily be traced.
“In those early days men looked at all things with the large open eyes of
childish wonderment, and much of what they saw was incapable of any other
than a metaphorical description at their hands. They had no words for the
purpose, and if the language had been richer it would have responded less
accurately to their thoughts, since they transferred their own feelings
and sentiments to the world about them, and made themselves the measure
of all things.” “Thus,” says one, “the hunter regarded the moon which
glanced rapidly along the clouded heavens, as a beaming goddess with her
nymphs,” and

    Sunbeams upon distant hills,
    Gilding space with shadows in their train,
    Might, with small help from fancy, be transferred
    Into fleet Oreads, sporting visibly.—_Wordsworth._

Among a race of unlettered, but intellectually active, stalwart men,
on whose path science shed but a dim, uncertain light, even natural
phenomena so imperfectly understood, and many things in the realm of the
spiritual and unseen being imaginatively conceived, and described in
metaphors, myths must abound. Nor is it wonderful that those belonging to
a remote prehistoric age are sometimes shrouded in a veil of impenetrable

We may not be able to reach their true meaning, since when
personifications are so manifold, it is often impossible for us to tell
just what was regarded as fancy and what was believed to be fact. It is
worthy of remark that the same is as true of the grotesque incredible
legends current among semi-barbarian tribes at the present day, as in the
earliest Grecian myths. In many of them there is a substratum of facts,
of which there was some rather shadowy knowledge; after some progress,
and the introduction of letters among them, their guesses and imaginings
that were uttered in metaphorical expressions not fully understood, are
in a manner evaporated, or crystallize into dogmas that are accepted as
parts of the tribal faith.

So the more ancient narratives, that are called mythological, as we will
hereafter see, when collected, systematized and written by masters in the
art, have a value not only as indicating the incipient, though imperfect
development of the race, but in most cases, after the winnowing processes
applied have driven away the chaff, some kernels of truth will remain,
more than enough to repay those who mostly study them as interesting
relics of a primitive society, the earnest, impassioned deliverances of
nature’s children, yet unsophisticated by “philosophy falsely so called.”

We will a little further extend, and corroborate these views by another
quotation from a high authority on the subject.

“Myths,” he says, “are figurative representations of events or ideas
in the garb of history; they develop themselves spontaneously, and
unartificially in the consciousness of a primitive people; instead of
being products of design and invention, they symbolize the forces of
nature under whose influence they are formed, and have an essentially
religious character.”

The same authority further says: “The myth proceeds from an idea, either
true or false; the legend proceeds from facts, more or less clearly
apprehended, in which the idea was discovered. The one transforms poetry,
religion or philosophy into history; the other modifies history with
reference to conceptions of poetry, religion and philosophy.”

All persons interested in classical studies, and having given much
attention to comparative philology, find in the early history of mankind
an age in which words were very few—mostly names of things, and not used
to express abstract ideas, or any other than those things necessary to
the simplest modes of life. As words increased in number, some were
introduced expressive of qualities, relations and acts. They are found
variously related, phrases and brief sentences appear, the language
becomes organic, and the first elements of its grammar are discovered.

In a second period, as in the Aryan and Semitic tongues, language is
found advanced to a more systematic, grammatical development, and invites
us to a more critical study and analysis of its forms. As yet there
were neither abstract nor collective nouns, and every name designated a
definite individual object. All these names of things had terminations
suggestive of sex. Neuter nouns were yet unknown. Of course it was
impossible for them to speak of any object, though inanimate, without
ascribing to it something of an active, individual, sexual, personal
character; and for this reason, if for no other, personification is
a special characteristic of all languages in their earlier stages of
development, and it is found to have a close correspondence with the
mythical conceptions in the development of thought in those remote ages.
There was then nothing prosaic in men’s thinking or speaking. Their
language was a kind of unconscious poetry, every word a poem, every
phrase embracing the germs of something metaphorical, or sparkling with
the scintillations of some bright conceptions. Verbs, too, were strongly
expressive of the mind’s various moods and emotions, and needed few
auxiliaries that are employed in more abstract prose. Thus sunset was
described as the sun growing old, decaying, dying; the sunrise as night
giving birth to a brilliant, beautiful child. Spring was Sol greeting the
happy earth with a warm embrace, and showering his treasures into the lap
of nature. Rivers, fountains, grottoes, forests, mountains, rain, storm,
the ocean, fire, thunder clouds and the heavenly bodies were all clothed
with the attributes of living beings, and all descriptions of them were

Volumes have been written, and much more might here be said explanatory
of the general subject, and to remove prejudice against mythological
studies as useless or misleading in their tendency.

Some well meaning persons ask how Christians who know the truth and
rejoice in it can be either pleased or profited by communing with the
thoughts or fancies of those on whom the sun did not shine, and who had
none to lead them.

It is important for all such to distinguish the point of view in
which mythological narratives were contemplated by the ancients, by
mythologists themselves, and that in which we are to regard them. To
them they were in many respects realities closely connected with their
national history and their religious faith. To us they are unreal, but
affording evidence of the little nature taught them or that was acquired
by merely intellectual processes, and their evident, but often vaguely
felt, need of supernatural manifestations.

Classical study and literature are regarded as so important in education,
and a knowledge of Greek mythology is so obviously necessary to a full
understanding of the best Greek authors, that many works have been
published on the subject. The writers have either merely stated the
fables as reported among the ancients, or in addition have sought to
trace them to their origin, either by making conjectures of allegorical,
historical and physical meanings in the stories, or deriving them from
the events of the early ages, recorded in the Bible. But as these
traditions themselves arose in various ways, and often accidentally,
there of course must be error in every system which attempts to refer
them to a common cause and purpose.

The foundation of very many of the fictions of mythology is laid in ideas
that arose from the simplicity and inexperience of persons conversant
only with objects of sense. Wherever an unusual fact or appearance was
observed it was ascribed to a distinct being or existence, operating
directly or immediately. This creation by them of personal existences out
of natural phenomena, this ever ready personification of physical objects
and events, was, in all probability, one of the most fruitful sources of
fable and of idolatry, for which the stars and the elements seem to have
furnished the most common occasion.

“One source of fable,” says an able writer, “is the _perversion_ or
_alteration of facts_ in sacred history; and indeed this is its earliest
and principal source. The family of Noah, perfectly instructed by him
in religious matters, preserved for a considerable time the worship of
the true God in all its purity. But when the members of this family were
separated and scattered over different countries, diversity of language
and abode was soon followed by a change of worship. Truth, which had
hitherto been intrusted to the single channel of oral communication,
subject to a thousand variations, and which had not yet become fixed by
the use of writing, that surer guardian of facts, became obscured by an
infinite number of fables which greatly increased the darkness that had
enveloped it.”

The advantages of an acquaintance with mythology are many. They have been
admirably shown by Rollin, from whom we quote:

    1. It apprises us how much we are indebted to Jesus Christ
    the Savior, who had rescued us from the power of darkness and
    introduced us into the wonderful light of the Gospel. Before
    his time what was the real character of men? Even the wisest
    and most upright men—those celebrated philosophers, those great
    politicians, those renowned legislators of Greece, those grave
    senators of Rome? In a word, what were all the nations of the
    world, the most polished and the most enlightened? Fable informs
    us they were the blind worshipers of some demon, and bowed
    the knee before gods of gold, silver and marble. They offered
    incense and prayers to statues, deaf and mute. They recognized
    as gods animals, reptiles, and even plants. They did not blush
    to adore an adulterous Mars, a prostituted Venus, an incestuous
    Juno, a Jupiter blackened by every kind of crime, and worthy for
    that reason to hold the first rank among the gods. See what our
    fathers were, and what we ourselves should have been, had not the
    light of the Gospel dissipated our darkness! Each story in fable,
    every circumstance in the life of the gods, ought at once to fill
    us with confusion, admiration and gratitude.

    2. Another advantage from the study of fable is that, by
    discovering to us the absurd ceremonies and impious maxims of
    paganism, it may inspire us with new respect for the majesty
    of the Christian religion, and for the sanctity of its morals.
    Ecclesiastical history informs us that a Christian bishop
    (Theophilus of Alexandria), to render idolatry odious in the
    minds of the faithful, brought forth to the light and exposed to
    the eyes of the public, all which was found in the interior of a
    temple that had been demolished; bones of men, limbs of infants
    immolated to demons, and many other vestiges of the sacrilegious
    worship which pagans render to their deities. This is nearly the
    effect which the study of fable must produce on the mind of every
    sensible person; and this is the use to which it has been put by
    the holy fathers and all the defenders of the Christian religion.
    The great work of St. Augustin, entitled “The City of God,” which
    has conferred such honor upon the Church, is at the same time a
    proof of what I now advance, and a perfect model of the manner in
    which profane studies ought to be sanctified.

    3. Still another benefit of great importance may be realized in
    the understanding of authors either in Greek, Latin, or even
    French, in reading which a person is often stopped short if
    ignorant of mythology. I speak now of the poets, merely, whose
    natural language is fable; it is often employed also by orators,
    and it furnishes them frequently with the happiest illustrations,
    and with strains the most sprightly and eloquent.

    4. There is another class of works whose meaning and beauty are
    illustrated by a knowledge of fable, viz., paintings, coins,
    statues, and the like. These are so many enigmas to persons
    ignorant of mythology, which is often the only key to their




“Consistency is the Test of Truth.”—WILBERFORCE.

Among the strange legends of the Middle Ages there are certain traditions
which have evidently a figurative significance, and whose origin has
often been traced to the allegorical mythology of an earlier age. An
allegory of that sort is the legend of the “Marvel of Nikolsburg,” near
Vienna; a miraculous image that appeared always an inch higher than
the person standing before it. “It overtopped a giant, and all but
condescended to the stature of a dwarf,” says the tradition.

That image is a symbol of nature. The lowest savage must dimly recognize
the fact that man can not measure his cunning against the wisdom of
the Creator, and the highest development of science has only revealed
its own incompetence to imitate, or even comprehend, the structural
perfection of the simplest living organism. The Author of life deals
only in masterpieces; the marvelous fitness of his contrivances is as
infinite in his smallest as in his greatest works, and the apparent
exceptions from that rule can nearly all be traced to the influence of
abnormal circumstances. Our own interference with the order of nature has
caused the discords in the harmony of creation which furnish the chief
arguments of pessimism. The winter torrents which devastate the valleys
of southern France with a fury which Condorcet calls the “truculence of
a vainly worshiped heaven,” flowed in harmless brooks till the hand of
man destroyed the protecting forests that absorbed and equalized the
drainage of the Alpine slopes, the same imprudence has turned the gardens
of the East into deserts and obstructed with sandbars the channels of
once navigable rivers. The wanton extermination of woodbirds has revenged
itself by insect plagues. Consumption, that cruel scourge of the human
race, is the direct consequence of the folly which makes us prefer the
miasma of our tenement-prisons to the balm of God’s free air. We are too
apt to confound the results of our sins against nature with the original
arrangements of Providence. But the strangest instance of that mistake
is the fallacy which has long biased our dealings with the curse of the
alcohol habit. Drunkards plead their inability to resist the promptings
of an imperious appetite. Their friends lament the antagonism of nature
and duty, the weakness of the flesh frustrating the resolves of a
willing spirit. Even temperance orators dwell on the dangers of “worldly
temptations,” of “selfish, sensual indulgences,” as if the alcohol habit
were the result of an innate propensity—deplorable in its collateral
consequences, but withal entitled to the compromising concessions which
ascetic virtue owes to the cravings of an impetuous natural instinct.
In other words, we palliate a flagrant crime against the physical laws
of God, as if nature herself had lured us to our ruin; the votaries of
alcohol plead their ignorance, as if the Providence that warns us against
the sting of a tiny insect and teaches the eye to protect itself against
a mote of dust, had provided no adequate safeguards against the greatest
danger to health and happiness.

And yet those safeguards would abundantly answer their protective purpose
if persistent vice had not almost deadened the faculty of understanding
the monitions of our physical conscience. It is true that the
stimulant-thirst of the confirmed drunkard far exceeds the urgency of the
most impetuous instincts, but by that very excessiveness and persistence
the far-gone development of the alcohol habit proves what the mode of
its incipience establishes beyond the possibility of a doubt, namely,
the radical difference of its characteristics from those of a natural
appetite. For,

VALUE.—To the children of nature all hurtful things are repulsive,
all beneficial things attractive. Providence has endowed our species
with a liberal share of the protective instinct that teaches our dumb
fellow-creatures to select their proper food, and even in this age
of far-gone degeneration the dietetic predilections of children and
primitive men might furnish the criteria of a general food reform. No
creature is misled by an innate craving for unwholesome food, nor by an
instinctive aversion to wholesome substances. Our natural repugnance
to nearly all kinds of “medicines,” _i. e._, virulent stimulants, has
already begun to be recognized as a suggestive illustration of that rule.
A child’s hankering after sweetmeats is only an apparent exception,
for, as Dr. Schrodt observes, the conventional diet of our children is
so deficient in saccharine elements that instinct constantly strives to
supply an unsatisfied want. Human beings fed chiefly on fruit syrups
would instinctively hanker after farinaceous substances. The savages
of our northwestern prairies are as fond of honey as their grizzly
neighbors. Nurslings, deprived of their mothers’ milk, instinctively
appreciate the proper component parts of artificial surrogates. Sailors
in the tropics thirst after fruit, after refrigerating fluids, after
fresh vegetables. In the arctic seas they crave calorific food—oil or fat.

But in no climate of this earth is man afflicted with an instinctive
hankering after alcohol. To the palate of an unseduced boy rum is as
repulsive as corrosive sublimate. I do not speak only of the sons of
nature-abiding parents, but of the children of vice, left to the guidance
of their enfeebled, but not intentionally perverted, instincts. The
intuitive bias even of such is in the direction of total abstinence from
all noxious stimulants, for nature has willed that all her creatures
should begin the pilgrimage of life from beyond the point where the
roads of purity and vice diverge. In their projects for the abolition of
the stimulant habit, temperance people are, indeed, rather inclined to
underrate the difficulties of a total cure of a confirmed poison vice,
but equally apt to _overrate the difficulty of total prevention_. The
supposed effects of an innate predisposition can generally be traced
to the direct influence of a vicious education. Jean Jacques Rousseau
expressed his conviction that a fondness for intoxicating liquors is
nearly always contracted in the years of immaturity, when the deference
to social precedents is apt to overcome the warnings of instinct, but
that those who have escaped or not yielded to the temptations of that
period would ever afterward be safe. Dr. Zimmerman, too, admits that
“home influences are too often mistaken for hereditary influences.” And
boy topers are not always voluntary converts. The year before I left my
native town (Brussels), I found a drunken lad on the platform of the
railway depot and carried him to the house of a medical friend, who put
him to bed and turned him over to a policeman the next morning. The
little fellow was recognized as an old offender, but when the court was
going to send him to a house of correction my friend offered to take
him back, and, on condition of keeping him away from his parents, was
permitted to take care of him, and finally made him his office-boy.
His parents were ascertained to be both habitual drunkards, but their
son (_æt. 11_), showed no inclination to follow their example, and
voluntarily abstained from the light wines which now and then made their
appearance on the doctor’s table—though he never missed an opportunity
to rejoin his old playmates, and, as his patron expressed it, “was a
dangerous deal too smart to be entrusted with the collection of bills.”
Six months after his last scrape I found him alone in the doctor’s
office, where he had collected a private library of picture papers and
illustrated almanacs. “What made you get so drunk last Easter?” I asked
him, “are you so fond of brandy?”

“_Nenni, mais Pa m’en fit prendre_,” he replied—“father _made_ me drink

repulsive or insipid. Arsenic, sugar of lead, and antimony, belong to
the latter class. To the first-born children of earth certain mineral
poisons were decidedly _out of the way substances_, against which nature
apparently thought it less necessary to provide special safeguards. But,
though less repulsive than other poisons, such substances are never
positively attractive, and often (like verdigris, potassium, etc.),
perceptibly nauseous. Vegetable poisons are either nauseous or intensely
bitter. Hasheesh is more unattractive than turpentine. Opium is acrid
caustic. Absinthe (wormwood extract) is as bitter as gall. Instinct
resists the incipience of an insidious second nature.

But that instinct is plastic. If the warnings of our physical conscience
remain unheeded, if the offensive substance is again and again forced
upon the unwilling stomach, nature at last chooses the alternative of
compromising the evil, and, true to her supreme law, of preserving
existence at any cost, prolongs even a wretched life by adapting the
organism to the exigencies of an abnormal habit. She still continues her
protest in the feeling of exhaustion which follows every poison-debauch,
but permits each following dose of the insidious drug to act as a
temporary re-invigorant, or at least as a spur to the functional
activity of the exhausted organism, for the apparent return of vital
vigor is, in fact, nothing but a symptom of the morbid energy exerted
by the system in its efforts to rid itself of a deadly intruder, for
each new application of the stimulus is as regularly followed by a
distressing reaction. And _only then_ the slave of the unnatural habit
becomes conscious of that peculiar craving which is entirely distinct
from the promptings of a healthy appetite—a craving uncompromisingly
directed toward a special—once repulsive—substance, a craving defying the
limiting instincts which indicate the proper quantum of wholesome foods
and drinks, a craving which each gratification makes more irresistible,
though for the time being each indulgence is followed by a depressing
reaction. The appetite for wholesome substances—however palatable—is
never exclusive. A child may become passionately fond of ice cream, yet
accept cold water and fruit cake as a welcome substitute. A predilection
for honey, strawberries, or sweet tree fruits will not tempt the admirers
of such dainties to commit forgery and highway robbery to indulge their
penchant—as long as their kitchen affords a supply of savory vegetables.
Unnatural appetites have no natural limits; but the art of the best
pastry cook would hardly induce his customers to stupefy and bestialize
themselves with his compounds. There are no milk topers, no suicidal
potato eaters, no victims of a chronic porridge passion. In spite of
occasional surfeits the craving for alimentary substances increases
and decreases with the needs of the organism, while that of the poison
drinker yields only to the temporary extinction of consciousness.

In a state of nature every normal function is associated with a
pleasurable sensation, and instead of resulting in agonizing reactions
a feast of wholesome food is followed by a state of considerable
physical comfort—“the beatific consciousness of perfect digestion,” as
Baron Brisse describes the pleasures of the after dinner hour. But no
length of practice will ever save the poison slave from the penalties
of his sins against nature. Each full indulgence is followed by a full
measure of woful retributions, while a half indulgence results in a half
depression to the verge of world-weary despondency, or fails to satisfy
the lingering thirst after a larger dose of the same stimulant. And
every poison known to modern chemistry can beget that specific craving.
“Entirely accidental circumstances, the accessibility of special drugs,
imitativeness and the intercourse of commercial nations, the mere
whims of fashion, the authority of medical recommendations, have often
decided the first choice of a special stimulant, destined to become a
national beverage” and a national curse. The contemporaries of the Veda
writers fuddled with _soma-wine_, the juice of a narcotic plant of the
Himalaya foothills. Their neighbors, the pastoral Tartars, get drunk on
_Koumiss_, or fermented mare’s milk, an abomination which in Eastern
Europe threatens to increase the list of imported poisons, while opium is
gaining ground in our Pacific States as fast as lager beer, chloral and
patent “bitters” on the Atlantic slope. The French have added _absinthe_
to their wines and liquors, the Turks _hasheesh_ and opiates to strong
coffee. North America has adopted tea from China, coffee from Arabia (or
originally from Ceylon), tobacco from the Caribbean savages, highwines
from France and Spain, and may possibly learn to drink Mexican aloe-sap,
or chew the coca leaves of the South American Indians. _Arsenic_ has
its votaries in the southern Alps. _Cinnebar_ and _acetate of copper_
victimize the miners of the Peruvian Sierras. The Ashantees are so fond
of _sorghum beer_ that their chieftains have to keep special bamboo cages
for the benefit of quarrelsome drunkards. The pastor of a Swiss colony
in the Mexican State of Oaxaca told me that the mountaineers of that
neighborhood befuddle themselves with _cicuta syrup_, the inspissated
juice of a kind of _hemlock_ that first excites and then depresses the
cerebral functions, excessive garrulity being the principal symptom
of the exalted stage of intoxication. A decoction of the common _fly
toadstool_ (_agaricus maculatus_) inflames the passions of the Kamschatka
natives, makes them pugnacious, disputative, but eventually splenetic
(Chamisso’s “_Reisen_,” p. 322). The Abyssinians use a preparation of
_dhurra-corn_ that causes more quarrels than gambling. It is a favorite
beverage at festivals, and is vaunted as a remedy for various complaints,
though Belzoni mentions that it makes its votaries more subject to
the attacks of the Nile fever. According to Professor Vamberg, the
Syrian Druses pray, though apparently in vain, to be delivered from
the temptation of _foxglove tea_. Comparative pathology has multiplied
these analogies till, in spite of the arguments of a thousand specious
advocates, there is no valid reason to doubt that the alleged innate
craving for the stimulus of fermented or distilled beverages is _wholly
abnormal_, and that _the alcohol habit is characterized by all the
peculiarities of a poison vice_.

3. ALL POISON HABITS ARE PROGRESSIVE.—There is a deep significance in
that term of our language which describes an unnatural habit as _growing
upon_ its devotees, for we find, indeed, a striking analogy between the
development of the stimulant habit and that of a parasitical plant,
which, sprouting from tiny seeds, fastens upon, preys upon, and at last
strangles its victims. The seductiveness of every stimulant habit gains
strength with each new indulgence, and it is a curious fact that that
power is proportioned to the original repulsiveness of the poison. The
tonic influence of Chinese tea is due to the presence of a stimulating
ingredient known as _theïne_, in its concentrated form a strong narcotic
poison, but forming only a minute percentage of the component parts
of common green tea. On the Pacific coast of our country thousands
of Chinese immigrants carry their thrift to the degree of renouncing
their favorite beverage, but neither considerations of economy nor of
self-preservation will induce the same exiles to break the fetters of the
opium habit. Not one hasheesh-eater in a hundred can hope to emancipate
himself from the thraldom of his vice. The guests of King Alcohol, too,
would make their reckoning without their host in hoping to take in the
fun of intoxication as a votary of pleasure would engage in a transient
pastime: his palace is an Armida castle, that rarely dismisses a visitor.

“In describing the effects of the alcohol habit,” says Dr. Isaac
Jennings, “I want to impress the reader with another feature of
it—its perpetuity. It can never be put off during the lifetime of the
individual; it may be covered up to appearance, but it can not be
effaced.… It seems to be a common impression that alcohol circulates
through the body, excites the action of the heart and liver, quickens and
enlivens the animal spirits, and then passes off, and leaves no trace
of its visitation, or at most only a temporary loss of power, which is
soon restored by a self-moved power pump. This is a great and fundamental
error. Every drop of alcohol that enters the stomach inflicts an injury
that will continue as long as the old stock lasts, and reach even to the
young sprouts. It may not be enstamped on them in precisely the same way,
but it will affect essentially the same parts.” (“Medical Reform,” pp.

“If a man was sent to hell,” says Dr. Rush, “and kept there for a
thousand years as a punishment for drinking, and then returned, his first
cry would be, ‘Give me rum, give me rum!’”

“The infernal powers blindfold the victims of their altars,” says
Lessing, and the stimulant vice seems, in fact, to weaken not only
the physical constitution of its votaries, but their moral power of
resistance, and often even the faculty of realizing the perils of their
practice, as if the poison had struck its roots into the very souls of
its victims.

But the alcohol habit grows outward, as well as inward. We have seen
that each gratification of the poison vice is followed by a depressing
reaction. But his feeling of exhaustion is steadily progressive, and the
correspondingly increased craving for a repetition of the stimulant dose
forces its victim _either to increase the quantity of the wonted tonic,
or else to resort to a stronger poison_. The experience of individual
drunkards probably corresponds to the international development of the
alcohol habit. Its first devotees contented themselves with moderate
quantities of the milder stimulants: must, hydromel and light beer. But
such tonics soon began to pall, and the jaded appetite of the toper soon
resorted to strong wines, to hard cider, and finally to brandy and rum.
Others increased the quantity, and learned to drink horse-pails full of
beer, in which “diluted and harmless form” many German students manage to
absorb a quart of alcohol per day.

“People sometimes wonder,” says Dr. Jennings, “why such and such men,
possessing great intellectual power and firmness of character in other
respects, can not drink moderately and not give themselves up to
drunkenness. They become drunkards _by law_—fixed, immutable law. Let a
man with a constitution as perfect as Adam’s undertake to drink alcohol,
moderately and perseveringly, with all the caution and deliberate
determination that he can command, and if he could live long enough he
would just as certainly become a drunkard—get to a point where he could
not refrain from drinking to excess—as he would go over Niagara Falls
when placed in a canoe in the river above the falls and left to the
natural operation of the current. And proportionally as he descended the
stream would his alcoholic attraction for it increase, so that he would
find it more and more difficult to get ashore, until he reached a point
where escape was impossible.” (“Medical Reform,” p. 176.)

Now and then the votaries of the stimulant habit exchange their tonic
for a stronger poison. Claude Bernard, the famous French pathologist,
noticed that the opium vice recruits its female victims chiefly from the
ranks of the veteran coffee drinkers. In Turkey, too, strong coffee has
prepared the way for tobacco and opium; in Switzerland arsenic eaters
have exchanged their kirschwasser for a more potent tonic; many French
and Russian hard drinkers have learned to prefer ether to brandy.

But no poison vice can be cured by milder stimulants. The Beelzebub
of alcohol does not yield to weaker spirits; hence the fallacy of the
_antidote plan_. Nothing was formerly more common with temperance people
of the compromise school than to comfort converted drunkards with
stimulating drugs and strong coffee, in the hope that the organism might
somehow be induced to acquiesce in the _quid pro quo_. That hope is a
delusion. The surrogate may bring a temporary relief, but it can not
satisfy the thirst for the stronger tonic, and only serves to _perpetuate
the stimulant diathesis_—the poison hunger which will sooner or later
revert to the wonted object of its passion. Unswerving loyalty to
the pledge of the total abstinence plan is not at first the easiest,
but eventually the surest way. For even after weeks of successful
resistance to the importunities of the tempter, a mere spark may rekindle
the smothered flames. “What takes place in the stomach of a reformed
drunkard?” says Dr. Sewall—“the individual who abandons the use of all
intoxicating drinks? The stomach by that extraordinary self-restorative
power of nature gradually resumes its natural appearance. Its engorged
blood-vessels become reduced to their original size, and a few weeks or
months will accomplish this renovation, after which the individual has no
longer any suffering or desire for alcohol. It is nevertheless true, and
should ever be borne in mind, that such is the sensibility of the stomach
of the reformed drunkard that a repetition of the use of alcohol, _in
the slightest degree, and in any form, under any circumstances_, revives
the appetite; the blood vessels again become dilated, and the morbid
sensibility of the organ is reproduced.”

The use of any stimulating drug may rewaken the dormant propensity, and
it will not change the result if the stimulant has been administered in
the form of a medical prescription. Strong drink is a mocker, in disease
as well as in health, and the road to the rum shop leads through the
dispensary as often as through the beer garden.

The logical conclusion of all these premises thus reveals the two-fold
secret of the alcohol habit: _the anomaly of its attractiveness and the
necessity of its progressiveness_, and we at last recognize the truth
that the road to intemperance is paved with mild stimulants, and that the
only safe, consistent and effective plan of reform is total abstinence
from all stimulating poisons.


BY MISS FRANCES E. WILLARD, President of W. C. T. U.

The famous San Joaquin Valley is as large as the State of Ohio. It opens
into the Sacramento Valley, and the two are about six hundred miles long.
A plow could go the length of both and never touch a stone. In the San
Joaquin they have a ranche where the gang plow starts in the morning,
goes on a straight line all day, turns back and plows its twin furrow the
next, having thus retraversed the length of one California farm.

It was through seven hours by rail of this valley that we went, in a
southeasterly direction, from San Francisco to Madera, where two coaches
were waiting to carry us over the one hundred miles in a northeasterly
direction that still separated us from the wonderland ruled by “El
Capitan.” There were twenty-three of us, and “none smoked or chewed, or
drank or swore,” as I was credibly informed by our “El Capitan,” the Rev.
Dr. Briggs. By the way, if Chautauqua wants a first class attraction let
this name go on the list. We traveled rapidly. I counted thirty different
horses on our coach in one day. We killed rattlesnakes, that is, the Dr.
did, marching squarely forward and whacking them unmercifully with his
stout cane, while we women, securely perched on our high seats in the
coach, really enjoyed the sight. We saw horse-shoes enough for wholesale
good luck, scattered along the road. We believe, and always shall, that
we perceived a bear track, and wondered if it was made by famous “Club
Foot Joe”—whose annals are they not in all the Tourist’s Chronicles?
We told stories all strictly true. There was no Baron Münchausen
amongst us, though had prosaic Easterners been within earshot of our
driver they might perhaps have promulgated a different declaration.
We did not fear robbers, for “a count” developed the fact that in our
coach—chiefly inhabited by ministers, their wives, and sundry visiting
philanthropists—gold watches were the only “plunder,” and these were
all inscribed “Presented by” to that degree that no well regulated “road
agent” would have wished such a “free advertisement” of his base conduct,
as these trophies must have furnished. We sang old songs of the fireside
and sanctuary, talked of the Chautauquas east and west, “marked” our
favorite trees in “the ample forest of Bishop timber” (to be revealed
after next General Conference), and regulated the affairs of the nation
generally. We fitted ourselves out with a “local government” administered
on the everlasting principles of justice and equality, _i. e._, we
counted the women _in_, not _out_. I copy our rules from the log book of
the expedition:

1. Unquestioned submission to constituted authority.

2. Silence when entering the valley.

3. Wives, be obedient to your husbands.—_The Chaplain._

4. Wives, don’t you do it.—_The Chaplain’s wife._

5. Whenever a dispute arises, the vote of every woman shall count two.—_A

6. Eat dinner often.—_Little Walter Bland._

7. No one shall be required to speak grammatically on this trip.—_F. E.

All of which were unanimously adopted except the one about “counting
two,” which evoked a loud dissent.

The first day we rode seventy-two miles, stopping at Clark’s hospitable
caravansary, and kindly permitting sweet sleep to knit up the raveled
sleeve of care. Decoration Day (May 30th) came next, and with patriotic
intent we had made out a program, intending to “celebrate” in the chapel
built for Dr. Vincent when he conducted a miniature “Chautauqua Assembly”
in the Yosemite a few years since. But when, after a mountain ride of
half a day, surrounded by inclined planes of evergreens, each of which
would have been a world’s wonder, at the East, with superb curves in the
road evermore opening fresh vistas of illimitable height, verdure and
beauty, we rounded


“there was no more spirit in us.” Nay, rather the spirit of beauty and
divinity so possessed us that “plans” and “programs” sunk into oblivion.
Word-pauperism oppresses one upon this height as nothing else on earth.
There is in Europe a single revelation of art which has power to silence
the chatter even of fashion’s devotees, and that is Raphael’s Sistine
Madonna. I have been in its seraphic presence for hours at a time, but
never heard a vocal comment. The foamiest natures are not silenced by
Niagara, by Mt. Blanc, by the Jungfrau’s awful purity, or the terrors of
Vesuvius for their flippant tones have smitten me in all these sacred
places. But from the little child in our midst—a bright faced boy of
four—to the rough, kind hearted driver, not one word was spoken by our
party as


framed in fleecy, flying clouds, greeted our thoughtful eyes and spoke of
God to our hushed souls. Except beside the dying bed of my beloved I have
never felt the veil so thin between me and the world ineffable—supernal.
What was it like? Let no pen less lofty than that of Milton, less atune
with nature’s purest mood than that of Wordsworth, hope to “express
unblamed” the awful and ethereal beauty of what we saw. “Earth with her
thousand voices praises God,” sang the great heart of Coleridge, from the
vale of Chamouni, but here, the divine chorus includes both earth and
heaven, for El Capitan rears his head into the sky, Sentinel, Cathedral
Rocks and sky-climbing clouds rest while the symphony of eighteen
waterfalls rounds out the diapason.

    “The rolling year is full of Thee,
     Forth in the gentle spring Thy beauty walks,
     Thy tenderness and love.”

These tuneful words of Thompson’s “Seasons” express the milder mood of
nature, but who can fitly tell of the condensed impressions about God
made by a valley only six miles long, one mile wide, and half a mile
high, wherein every form of solemn, majestic and pastoral beauty are
combined. A holy awe rested upon us, and tears were in all eyes. At last
the sacred silence was broken by a rich voice, beloved by me for many a
year, as Mrs. Dr. Bentley lead the “_Gloria in Excelsis_,” in which the
jubilant soprano harmonized with the melodious bass of humanity’s united
utterance of praise. “O come, let us worship and bow down, let us kneel
before the Lord, our Maker,” these inspired words leaped to our lips,
and we found that beyond all poets was the fitness of dear old words,
our mothers taught us from the book of God, in this supreme moment of
our experience. “The Lord is in his holy temple, let all the earth keep
silence before Him,” “What is man that Thou art mindful of him,” “Stand
in awe and sin not:” these were the first words that came to us, and
I believe we shall be better men and women always for that vision of
eternity from which the curtain of mystery was for a moment drawn aside.
We learned afterward that as our coaches rolled on into the valley a
third rounded “Inspiration Point,” and Judge ⸺ of Sydney, Ohio, a dear
old gentleman, rose to his feet, clasped his hands as if in prayer, and
exclaimed “Mercy! mercy! Have I lived seventy-six years that I might see
this glory! _God made it all!_” and he lifted up his voice and wept. Such
a scene as that is once for a life time.

We saw the valley from an hundred points of view afterward, we waved our
good-bye to it a week later from this very point, but the first remains
the unmatched view—its like will never greet our eyes again—not in this

As we sped onward into the valley one of us said: “I never felt before
such pity for the blind.”



Some objects are repellant and exclusive. They give no shelter or support
to any created thing. They suffice for themselves, and stand out clearly
defined in their distinct and independent existence. The surface of the
snow is barren; the chilly glacier has no communion with the mountain
glen through which it passes. The clear, sharp-cut crystal harbors no
stain from earth or sky to show its sympathy with the materials out of
which it sprang. The marble rock, like the snow, does not invite the
green things of the soil around it to share its existence with it, and
give to and take from it an element of picturesqueness and beauty.

And yet, as in human society, when social laws overbear private plans,
and the social design is fulfilled in spite of selfish opposition, so in
nature the substances that seek to exclude others are made to contribute
to the general harmony and the beautiful balancing of creation. The very
snow is made to be friendly and hospitable, for it nourishes on its
stainless bosom a simple, one-celled plant which grows with such rapidity
and in such marvelous profusion that it gives to whole fields of polar
and alpine snow a deep crimson hue, as if a creature’s blood had dyed
them. In the shallow parts of water melted on the surface of the glacier
by the hot noonday sun may be seen jelly-like masses of vegetation;
while under the stones which the rocks around hurl down upon it, as if
in anger at its hostility, may be found lively colonies of the small
black glacier flea. Nature will not allow this cold, frigid substance to
maintain a separate existence; for beside bowlders from the rocks, she
persists in soiling its surface with dirt-bands and masses of débris from
the crumbling mountain-side, so that a line of demarcation between ice
and earth can not be drawn, and the glacier blends with the rest of the
mountain; while the sky claims kindred with the deep cerulean blue that
shines in the crevasses. Marble, too, takes on the warm golden tint of
the sunset, and is stained by time with a russet hue that brings it into
partnership with the common rocks, with which all things make friends—the
mosses, the lichens, the vines and birds. Even the hardest crystals
and precious stones have occasional cavities filled with fluids, which
indicate their origin. Nay, so anxious is nature to assimilate every
object, that on the thatch of man’s lowly cottages she plants her tufted
mosses; on the slates of his statelier roofs she paints her frescoes
of golden lichens; and even on his windows she produces not only the
iridescence of age, but also a growth of curious, minute algæ. On his
dark unsightly cinder-walks, which seem like spots of ink disfiguring
nature’s fair page, she makes her dandelions to open their sunshine; and
on the raw new walls which he builds around his possessions, to separate
them from nature’s wastes, she spreads her hoary nebulæ of vegetation.
Man’s works are thus made kindred to the earth and the elements; and
nature, by her hospitalities, makes them at home in every situation.

Some objects are more hospitable than others. The beech, of all trees, is
perhaps the most self-contained. It fills out its trunk so thoroughly;
its bark is so hard and stuffed and rounded with its wood, that it has
not a rift nor a crevice in which any living thing might find refuge.
No moss forms a green tuft upon it; no leafy or shrubby lichen finds
a foothold on its smooth bark. And even the crustaceous species that
consist of a mere film of gray matter grow thinner on its hard repellant
surface than on the rock itself. They cling so closely that they can
not be separated. No botanist would go to the beech expecting to find
on its trunk the wealth of lowly plants in which he delights. To the
entomologist it is equally uninteresting, the number of insects that
frequent it being exceedingly few. Nor is it chosen usually by birds
to build their nests on its boughs. Darwin mentions that worms hardly
ever make their curious castings under its shade. The ground beneath
it nourishes no green grasses, and only its brown mast and polished,
three-cornered nuts carpet the soil.

Why is the beech so inhospitable? Why does it thus stand alone, apart
from the rest of creation, and proudly maintain its own self-sufficient
existence? It is indeed one of the grandest of our forest trees. Nothing
can be lovelier than its translucent foliage in spring, making, as
Coleridge says, “the level sunshine glimmer with green light.” Nothing
can be more splendid than its blaze of amber tints lighting up the
woodland in autumn like a pillar of fire. Its shade is ample; its leaves
are sweet and tender; its nuts pleasant and nutritious. And yet all
creatures, with the exception of the pig, which feeds upon its nuts, seem
to shun it; and hardly any moss or lichen ornaments its trunk and arms
with its quaint jewelry. It stands in the inanimate world of pictures
around us as a type of a thoroughly selfish and unsocial nature. Only
the lover seeks it to carve upon its smooth, hard bark the name of the
beloved one, fondly hoping that it may long retain, clear and sharp as
if cut in stone, the cherished inscription. But even this tender secret
it refuses to keep; its trunk swells, and the letters become dilated and
distorted, and in a few years a new growth smooths out and obliterates
the name, without leaving a trace on its callous wood. Perhaps this
smoothness and hardness of the bark and wood, as well as the dryness
of its shade—for no other woods are so free from damp and so pleasant
to walk in as beech woods—may be the reason why it shelters so little
dependent life. Even the raindrops refuse to linger about it, and though
the sunbeams may play through the green meshes of its transparent foliage
and tremble on the lines of silky hairs that project from the margins
of its young leaves “like eyelashes from the margin of the eyelid,” yet
without moisture the light can favor no growth of fern or moss or lichen,
which loves a damp atmosphere; and without these lowly plants no insect
or bird life can flourish.

Another inhospitable tree is the pine. Its degree of selfishness varies
with the species, some being much more tolerant of alien life than
others; the common larch being, perhaps, the least exclusive, and the
aurucaria the most. The trunk and branches of the larch are covered
from head to foot with tufts and rosettes of hoary lichens, which cling
specially to this tree and give it a most venerable appearance; but the
aurucaria surrounds itself with an impenetrable armor of vegetable spears
and daggers, within whose formidable circle no living thing dare intrude.
I once saw a squirrel skipping along a lawn, and suddenly stopping at the
foot of a tall, wide-spreading aurucaria, it looked up at the bristling
trunk and branches with evident astonishment, as if it had never seen
anything of the kind before; and with an expression of disappointment
and fear that was almost human, and certainly was exceedingly comical,
it turned away and climbed up a more propitious looking species of pine
near at hand. But whatever may be the case in regard to individual trees,
the pine tribe in its social character is decidedly inhospitable. A pine
wood is one of the loneliest scenes in nature, not merely as regards the
intrusion of man, but as regards the intrusion of any other living thing.
Nothing breaks up its uniformity and monotony. It has none of the rich
variety of life that characterizes other woods. The seasons themselves
make no impression upon it, for it is dressed in perennial green, and
it retains its shade alike in summer’s heat and winter’s desolation.
It prevents all undergrowth; no brambles dare to stretch their long,
trailing, thorny arms—like the feelers of some creature of prey—within
its guarded enclosure. No wild roses can open their trembling petals
white with fear, or crimson with blushes, in its solemn sanctuary. No
hazel bush will drop there its ringlets of smoking catkins in spring,
or its ruddy clusters of nuts in autumn. No mimic sunshine of primrose
tufts, no pale star-beams of anemone or sorrel will light up its gloom.
No glimpses of blue sky are let into it by hyacinths, or bluebells, or
violets. To all the lowly plants that find refuge in other woods, and in
turn adorn and beautify their hosts, the pine trees in their dignified
independence refuse admission. No song of bird or hum of insect is heard
beneath their boughs. And on the ground below, strewn deep with a carpet
of brown needles and emptied cones that have silently dropped in the
course of long years from overhead, and are slow to decay, only a few
yellow toadstools and one or two splendid scarlet mushrooms make up for
the painful dearth of vegetation. It seems as if the balsamic breath of
the pines, which is so wholesome to human life—guarding off all fevers
and infectious diseases—were as deadly as the upas shade to other forms
of life.

How widely different is it with the oak! This of all trees—of all living
things—is the most hospitable; and in this respect it is well chosen
as the badge of England, which has the proud distinction of affording
a refuge to every political outcast and victim of ecclesiastical
tyranny throughout the world, and fosters by its love of freedom and
constitutional government, every type and variety of human life. A
whole book might easily be written upon the multitude of living things
that obtain food and shelter from the oak. The natural history of its
inmates and boarders is like that of a garden, or, indeed, a county.
Some creatures are peculiar to it, and find their home nowhere else; and
to many more that are free to come and go, it extends a kindly welcome.
Were it to perish altogether from off the face of the earth, many insects
and plants would disappear utterly. The insect population alone of the
oak tree, including beetles, butterflies, and a great variety of tiny
creeping things which none but a naturalist cares for, or is aware of,
would furnish materials for study of a most interesting and absorbing
kind for many summer weeks together. When we do not see themselves, we
see the evidence of the existence and working of the insects in the great
variety of curious galls which they produce upon the trunk and branches:
oak apples that hang on the twigs like some mysterious unknown fruit,
and are as wondrously fashioned, although excrescences and abortions of
the vital sap, as the legitimate acorn cups and eggs themselves; and
beautiful golden-brown spangles that crowd all the under-surface of the
withering leaves in autumn like the seeds, or the “fairy’s money,” as
it is called, on the back of the ferns, thus linking the oak leaf and
the fern leaf—the highest and the lowest type of vegetation—together
in the wondrous unity of nature by a strange similitude of appearance.
But it is among the plants that we find the most beautiful occupants
of the oak tree. The ivy climbs up its trunk, which affords admirable
support for its myriads of little feet, and changes its glossy leaves,
as it creeps higher and higher, from the deeply-cut angular pattern to
the oval and pointed one; and at the top it waves its airy sprays among
the oak leaves, and produces beside the acorns at the extremities of the
branches, the light-green flowers that blossom only when the plant has
nothing to cling to and must shift for itself; as if nature were taking
care that when the life of the individual was in danger, the life of the
race should at least be made sure. Then there is the mystic mistletoe,
with all its dim and sacred associations with the Druid-worship of our
remote ancestors. It clings still closer to the oak, for it is not an
epiphyte like the ivy—merely making use of the tree for support—and
finding its food independently from the soil and air—but a partial
parasite that strikes its root into the substance of the oak, and while
to some extent feeding upon its prepared juices, is capable of showing a
little independent spirit and working for its own support, as is evident
from the fact of its having green leaves, which, however pale, can still
decompose, to some extent, the sunshine into materials of growth. The
mistletoe is thus a partial boarder of the oak; it gets, so to speak, its
principal meal from it, while for its lighter refreshment it is dependent
upon its own resources. A beautiful emblem truly it is, thus growing on
our royal English tree. According to the suggestive mythology of our
ancestors, which had, indeed, much in it of the deeply philosophical, as
well as of the practical and religious, the oak was Hesus, the god best
and greatest, strongest and ever-during; and the mistletoe was man weak
and poor, but living in him and clinging to his everlasting arms.

It would be almost impossible to enumerate the various kinds of mosses,
lichens, and ferns, that show a preference for the oak, and share its
grand and liberal hospitality. Its trunk seems as if made to harbor
those lowly lilliputian members of the vegetable kingdom, whose quaint
forms and curious properties harmonize so well with the fairy scenery
of midsummer night’s dreams. Unlike the smooth bark of the beech, made
to keep all visitors aloof, the bark of the oak is full of furrows,
crevices, irregularities, porches and outbuildings as it were, where
wandering seeds find lodgement, and first tender growths can secure
their hold against scorching sunbeam and cruel wind. The huge patriarch,
hoary with years, whose lifetime bridges across the whole history of
England, allows the tiny imps of vegetation that are but of yesterday—the
perpetual infants, so to speak, of plant life, freely to clamber over
its roots and arms, and hang upon its rugged bosses which time has used
so cruelly, reducing them almost to bone and muscle, their emerald
bracelets of moss, their plumes of polypody ferns, and their rosettes of
lichen, adorning the magnificent old grandfather of the woods with the
ornaments of youth and beauty! What a wonderful picturesqueness do these
lowly forms of life, crowding around the oak as it grows in years and in
size, give to it! They richly repay the hospitality they receive in the
added charm they impart to the forest patriarch. They show an exquisite
sympathy even with its weaknesses, hiding its defects by their fairy
sprays, and covering its dead members with a lovely pall of vegetable

It teaches us thus the touching lesson that the grandest things in
nature may be made more beautiful and picturesque by the simplest—as
the greatest man may be indebted for his chief happiness to the smiles
and prattle of the little children that climb on his knee. And how open
to all the flowers and shrubs of the wild wood are its wide-spreading
arms! The grass may grow up to the very foot of its trunk unreproved by
any dark frowning shadow cast by its leaves. The hyacinth may make a
fragrant mist of blue about its roots, and the primrose need not blanch
its sunny cheek as it creeps up to its venerable bole. Royal as it is,
its dignity consists in its hospitality; and its nobility is indicated by
its freeness of access and kindly generous welcome to all that may hold
within it the sacred principle of life. The gates of its hospitality,
like the Bukharian nobleman’s, are “nailed open.” Sturdy and independent
as it is, there is thus no object that is more closely linked with the
genial life of nature, that blends more harmoniously with the operations
which different creatures carry on for their own advantage, and makes of
them one genial system of mutual benefit.—_London Sunday Magazine._


“Nothing can possibly fail, because the sole true end or object is
redemption of man; and this is attained ever and for ever, with
no exception, in good and evil, in each largest and most trivial

    How crooked is our life! Its ins and outs
            We can not scan;
    How often do we say, “That’s just too late
            And spoils our plan.”
    How often we perplex ourselves, because
            Of efforts vain,
    And try, without success, to make things come
            Round right again.

    How disappointment will not let us hold
            The course we would,
    But throws us off from every hoped-for boon
            That we think good.
    How little things perplex our onward path
            From day to day,
    Seeming to render futile all our work,
            Stopping our way.

    Oh! could this crooked life be straightened out,
            And every bit
    Met fairly by another, point to point
            In sequence fit;
    The difficulties then were not so hard
            To meet and bear,
    Were there a carrying on of some wise plan,
            And purpose fair.

    What if the Master’s plan _be_ utter good,
            Too vast, in sooth,
    For us to grasp it with our puny powers?
            In this grand truth,
    For such it is—although things look not so
            To our weak sight—
    Lies the true meaning of these crooked things
            If read aright.

    The source of all the discord that we feel,
            Is that our will
    Is not made one with God’s, and so we strive
            To make life still
    A thing that we call good—a little good
            That we can know;
    Instead of in our ignorance content
            God’s way to go.



A song was popular about forty years ago, in which was couched an
invitation to every nation to come along and make no delay, as “Uncle
Sam is rich enough to give you all a farm.” At Castle Garden, since that
invitation, respondent aliens to the number of over seven and a half
million have “come along,” and Uncle Sam has redeemed the promise to all
who applied. Yet, munificent as is this bounty, the State of New York
bestows a more liberal hospitality, and a more beneficent care on the
immigrant. During a discussion in a New York club lately of the question
“What does this country owe to other nations?” a gentleman vehemently
protested against the assumption couched in the question. “When a subject
of another nation lands on our shores,” he said, “we meet him with food
and raiment, find him occupation, and give him a farm. Talk about our
owing other people anything! The obligation is all on the other side.”

The speaker did not half recite the obligation that the Empire State
assumes on behalf of the stranger. It reaches out arms of protection
to him, like a mother yearning across seas, almost from the time he
sets sail. It meets the ship at the Lower Bay of New York, inspects its
sanitary condition and that of the passenger; hears his complaints, and
if he have any grievance, tries to remedy it. It receives him at Castle
Garden, helps him to secure and check his baggage and buy a passage
ticket to any point at lowest rates. It gives him his mail, if he have
any waiting; telegraphs or writes the news of his arrival to his friends,
if he have any in this country, and sends him and his baggage to them
if his destination be in or near the city. It gives him food if he be
hungry; medicine and nursing if he be ill; a Bible if he can read; sends
him to an asylum, if he be _non compos mentis_, or back to Europe if
he be a pauper. It changes his foreign coin into American on terms of
equal value, and gives him a piece of paper with the whole transaction
figured out so he can ponder over it and come back for explanations
or corrections, if need be. It finds him a hotel, if he want one, the
proprietor of which is under heavy bonds to kindly entreat the stranger
and not overcharge him; it stands guard with big clubs to keep off
biped wolves, and if, notwithstanding, in the exercise of his new-found
liberty, he walk into pitfalls, it sends a detective or a policeman to
secure him restitution. It finds him immediate occupation at prices
that sound fabulous by the side of his old-time pittance; it furnishes
interpreters, guides and guardians—in a word, exercises over him a wiser
and more helpful paternalism of government than he has ever known. And
all this paternal care it extends to him not only when he arrives;
it stands ready to renew the guardianship at any time within a year
thereafter if he return to Castle Garden and ask it. Most of this it does
without charge to the immigrant; all of it is free if he have no money
to pay withal. Not so much is done for any other visitor—not even for
the titled and wealthy stranger. Nay, the opera singer or the champion
pugilist receives less consideration. Really, the only “distinguished
arrivals” in this country are the steerage passengers.

The State of New York stands guardian to the whole United States in this
matter. Its little timely aid and provision of employment, its security
extended to those destined inland, as well as the care it takes to
prohibit entirely the landing of paupers and helpless ones, prevent many
from becoming a public expense in other states.

Perhaps you are ready to give it credit, in all this, for Christian
philanthropy. Not at all. It is enlightened self-interest on the part of
the State. She is simply guarding the chief city of the country, which
happens to be within her borders, from the peril and cost of unregulated
immigration. And she takes care to make some one else pay all the bills,
my friend. The expense of doing all this is chiefly met by a tax on
the steamship lines, called “head-money;” a tax of two dollars a head,
for all steerage passengers. And besides that she makes the steamship
company, at its own expense, carry back to the old country any emigrant
who has no money or friends in this. In collecting the head-money tax
and in enforcing the restrictions against pauper immigration the State
has indirectly the powerful aid of the United States government—a plain
recognition of the fact that the whole duty properly belongs to the

The regulation of immigration by states is one of the anomalies of our
government. It is a relic of the early conflicts between the powers
of state and nation. After the infant Yankee nation had outgrown its
first constitution—that absurd, distrustful experiment of setting up a
nation and denying it all governmental powers—the matter of imposing and
collecting duties on imports of merchandise, etc., which had formed one
of the chief bones of contention between states, was taken from state
authority entirely, and given in charge of the general government. But at
the same time the regulation of the more important _human_ importations
was left with the states, and to this day the general government assumes
no control in the matter of what is strictly an international interest,
and concerns the welfare of all the states. Thus it came about that the
states in which are immigration ports acquired a large control over the
character of the population, and hence over the prosperity of other
states. That a business so much international and interstate in character
should have been left to local governments is a curious illustration of
the lack of foresight on the part of the founders of the constitution, as
well as one of the many evidences that they were not at heart democratic
enough to thoroughly believe in and understand the common people. Had
they anticipated that the time would ever come when human cargoes should
disbark upon our shores to the number of half a million in a year, of
people unused to our institutions and uneducated in self-government,
they doubtless would have devised a protective tariff which would have
prevented an invasion so threatening, as they might think, to our peace
and stability. It is often well that statesmen are not more prescient.
Legislating for the future in the light of the present, they would
most certainly go wrong, especially in legislating for a country of
such rapidly changing conditions as have followed each other here.
Those adopted citizens who raise the cry against the Chinese and demand
protection against imported labor, may thank their stars that the same
spirit did not seize the prophetic minds of the earlier law-makers of the

Castle Garden, on the Battery, gives on the loveliest and healthiest park
of New York and the noblest harbor in the world. The main structure is
old Castle Clinton, a large circular fort built early in the century for
the protection of the city. Now it is converted to the uses of peace,
to welcome invaders instead of repelling them, but still to protect the
city, and the state and the nation. The open central space has been
roofed over and converted into a great rotunda; while the embrasures and
casemates designed for great cannon and magazines are used for baggage
rooms and various apartments. This is better than hammering swords into
plow-shares, this using forts to welcome ploughmen to our broad acres.
Wooden excrescences around the wall provide offices, hospitals, insane
asylums, labor bureaus, and various other departments. The rotunda and
fort walls can accommodate 3,000 immigrants and their baggage—and do you
know all that the words, immigrant’s baggage, implies?

On this little amphitheater of war is daily held a Congress of All
Nations. If you want to see Europe, come to Castle Garden, not go abroad.
There is nothing left over there but the houses and the superfluous
nobility and wealthy. Men are Europe, and the manhood of Europe is being
skimmed off for America’s use. A gentleman told me that when he traveled
in Circassia he looked in vain through the mass of awe-inspiring female
ugliness for the famous types of Circassian beauty. “Where are the
beautiful women?” he asked. “In Constantinople, all,” was the answer. So,
he said, it is with the manliness of Europe—it goes to America. Not the
most cultured, intelligent and favored. It would be small merit in them
to break away and come to America; that they do not proves that they are
too contented, fat and selfish for our use. But a man who, being born and
trained to a life of subjection and dependence; rooted to the spot on
which generations of his fathers have lived and died; who hardly knows
whether his native hills or city streets bound the world or not—when
one of these tears up his roots and sets out three thousand miles in
search of a chance to breathe and grow, be sure, be very sure there is
a spark in him of something that is wanted in this country. There is
the germ of an American citizen; the growth of it will appear in a few
generations. It is this surviving, vital spark of character that enables
this nation to assimilate so much crude human material and convert the
so-called “offscourings of Europe” into elements of national prosperity
and strength. What could we have done in forty years with seven and a
half million foreign aristocrats and capitalists? What would have become
of us if they had come to us! A few of them have come lately, and they
are already trying to build here a landed aristocracy, and on stolen land
at that. Men should be estimated by the abuses and disadvantages they
have survived, as well as by what they are. The courage, independence and
aspiration that outlive centuries of subjection in sufficient force to
carry a man half around the world into _terra incognita_ are the elements
of empire.

A ship load of six or ten hundred does not make a very big caucus in this
rotunda of the world’s congress, but it makes the scene picturesque,
as to costumes, more so as to goods and chattels—the latter seeming
to include women and children. All the family heir-looms, such as
pots, pans, feather-beds and nondescript furniture came along. I can
believe in all the dozen ship loads of “traps” that “came over in the
‘Mayflower,’” since seeing one load of later immigrants debouch. And
they come, like a lot of wealthy bankrupts, with all their property on
their wives’ backs. The loads on these biped beasts of burden make one
think of the loads of hay on small donkeys in Spain, or those mountains
packed on camels in the East. At the head of the family caravan marches
the _pater familias_ loaded down with a shot-gun, half a dozen canes, a
long-tailed pipe or some queer fiddle-looking instrument. Well, he has
never been able to stand upright and hold up his head in the presence
of anybody _but_ his wife. A man must rise superior to something. One
of these years, mayhap, the order of superiority will be reversed, and
some of the daughters of this flock be advocating, or at least thinking,
women’s rights at Chautauqua. Housewives can tell you how soon some
of the daughters of these subjugated women learn a goodly degree of
independence. I anticipate this result more for the girls than the boys,
because when the caravan files before the clerk’s desk for registration
these “beasts of burden” are often the only ones self-possessed enough
to give the names, ages and intentions of the family. Often the lord
and master has forgotten the names, generally the ages of his children,
and not infrequently he has to refer to his chattel for his own name
and age. There is a scared look in all eyes. I don’t wonder, after such
an uprooting and hegira, that they look dazed, and that some go clean
daft—as they do.

One naturally looks here for the queer in dress, action or design, and
there is plenty to gratify the curiosity. Far across are two men who
look like Digger Indians in queer costumes—dirty red, long sacks and
short laced leggings. They are squatty, swarthy, sluggish, and outwardly
uncanny-looking. We go across the wide rotunda and find that each of
these unpromising delegates has a Bible, and that one of them is writing
the fly-leaf over with much small, neat chirography—a language which no
one here can interpret. They are Russian Finns. Despise nothing you see
here, my friend. You would look a trifle out of condition, and mayhap
your “plug hat” would excite a smile after a steerage journey to Finland.
I doubt if, arrived there, you would settle to as intelligent and
philosophical an occupation as writing a commentary on the Bible.

Then come a more canny couple—two manny-clad, bright-faced boys, Scotch
bairns, as their pretty dialect reveals. One is ten and the other eleven
years old; and these bit laddies are making the journey all the way alone
from Loch Lomond to Loch Michigan; billed and ticketed to their widower
father in Chicago. It is a picnic to them, you can see, yet in their
childish faces there is a sedate gravity, such as belongs to the earnest
race of the Covenanters. Nearly six hundred children last year came thus
alone “over the back of the round sea” to seek parents or friends. There
are in the United States Senate, in gubernatorial chairs, at the head of
great industries, in leading positions of all kinds, other boys who in
other years came thus alone to the land of promise. So we despise not the
day of small things at Castle Garden, says our attentive _chaperon_.

The most out-of-place delegate that I saw here was a Bedouin Arab. “What
sought he thus afar!” Very tall and slender and sinewy; swarthy skin,
black, close-cropped hair, intensely black stubbed beard, behind and
amidst which his white teeth, constantly exposed like a bull-dog’s, shine
like a battery behind a bristling _chevaux de frise_. His head is raised,
his nostrils dilated, his black, piercing eyes look far away over the
unseen crowds; he moves restlessly with a swift, cat-like tread and an
undulatory motion of his long, lithe body, like that of a tiger. He seems
a veritable wild beast at bay, and I watch from a respectful distance to
see him pounce down on some unsuspecting emigrant. Yet might not this
animal some day turn up an alderman in a “growing city,” having first
studied law? ’Twere not to consider too curiously to consider so; no,
faith, not a jot. I admit it were some time a paradox, but now our time
gives it proof.

Plenty of romances and not a few tragedies are enacted or consummated
here. If the re-unions that take place in this old fort consecrate it
to humanity, and make it a temple of affection, its disappointments
make it a theater for melodramas and tragedies in reality. Last year
one hundred and fifty-three emigrants were sent to the insane asylum on
Ward’s Island, East River, a large proportion of whom were young people,
and a majority women. They come over to find their mates, and either
do not meet them, or worse, find they have lost them indeed. Thence
they become aliens to the whole universe and find their only home in
the Fantastic Realm. Melancholia is the prevalent form of aberration.
The shock of transplanting and the excitement of new scenes upon simple
and undeveloped natures are also a pregnant cause of mental overthrow.
A little negro boot black, contemplating the insane asylum, said to me
reflectively, “I think anybody is foolish to go crazy.” As three-fourths
of the crazy ones here are unmarried, it might seem foolish to expose
themselves when so simple a remedy is so available as marriage is here.

For Castle Garden is a famous place for weddings. Romances begun in the
old country or on shipboard, and eke runaway matches to this distant
Gretna Green find fusion here. Plenty of girls also come to America to
unanticipated homes. A curious feature of the supply agency of the bureau
is its match-making offices. The commissioners are applied to by men in
this country for wives—perhaps on the principle that if a man marries he
will be compelled to support a German or Irish girl anyway, so he might
as well marry one and have done with trouble on that score. Sometimes,
also, a man sends by mail his request, as who should say, “Please forward
to my address in good order, upon approval, one (1) wife, per express.”
The original of the following letter was shown me at the superintendent’s

                                  “FORT CŒUR D’ALENE, IDAHO TERRITORY.

    “DEAR SIR:—Having noticed in the columns of some New York papers
    that some young men have procured good wives at the Castle
    Garden, and as I presume that the demand is not equal to the
    supply, I am desirous of having a good, honest woman for a wife
    and would make an offer of a comfortable home to a deserving
    woman. Of course the lady must be consulted about taking her
    chances in coming out this far, but I am making this offer in
    good faith and would like an answer as soon as your convenience
    will permit. My reasons for sending so far are—I am keeping a
    hotel, stables and ranch on one of the few routes to the newly
    discovered Cœur d’Alene gold fields, am doing a fair business, am
    a young bachelor not yet thirty-two, and can’t find a girl of any
    use to me inside of three hundred miles. So I thought I, being a
    New Yorker myself, would send and have you try and procure me a
    life-partner. Hoping this may meet with kind favor I am, yours,

                                                           “M. E. L.”

There is never any difficulty in making up these improvised matches, but
the wooers, like young Lochinvar, have to come out from the West and make
their own selections. So far as reported, these matches result happily,
which goes to show that connubial felicity does not always follow the law
of natural selection. Perhaps the matches that are made in Castle Garden
are different from those reputed to have been made in heaven.

Somewhat too much of incident.

Is there in all history a human migratory movement like this? Men have
always been, like poor Joe, moving on, but generally for conquest or
subjugation of other races. No such fusion of bloods has ever before
taken place—the nearest approach to it being the amalgamation of races
through which the modern Englishman came. But that commingling was
always the result of conquest and subjugation, and the antagonistic
nature of the union delayed the peaceful fusion and left its impress of
belligerency on the resultant race characteristic. In this last Anabasis
of Liberty, however, everybody is welcome, all elements are assimilated,
everything converted to the uses of empire and the work of peopling a
continent with an entirely new race of men—new in blood, thought and aim.
Whether as a result of the varied forces of heredity or the unprecedented
influences of environment, it is evident that here a new people is being
created for a new purpose. The future Greene who shall essay the writing
of “The Making of America,” will find in the mutual reaction of race
characteristics on each other, in the influence of material surroundings
and in the stimulus of free institutions, the profound study of the
origin and evolution of the American citizen.


[The following poem was read by Dr. Vincent on the morning of August 25,
1884, at the closing exercises of the Chautauqua Assembly. This poem Dr.
Vincent has read at the close of several Assemblies, and always with
marked effect.]

    I sat alone with my conscience,
      In a place where time had ceased,
    And we talked of my former living
      In the land where the years increased;

    And felt I should have to answer
      The question it put to me,
    And to face the answer and question,
      Throughout an eternity.

    The ghost of forgotten actions
      Came floating before my sight,
    And things that I thought were dead things
      Were alive with a terrible might;

    And the vision of all my past life
      Was an awful thing to face,
    Alone with my conscience sitting
      In that solemnly silent place.

    And I thought of a far-away warning
      Of a sorrow that was to be mine,
    In a land that there was the future,
      But now is the present time;

    And I thought of my former thinking,
      Of the judgment day to be;
    But sitting alone with my conscience
      Seemed judgment enough for me.

    And I wondered if there was a future
      To this land, beyond the grave;
    But no one gave me an answer,
      And no one came to save.

    Then I felt that the future was present,
      And the present would never go by,
    For it was the thought of my past life
      Grown into eternity.

    Then I woke from my timely dreaming
      And the vision passed away.

    And I pray that I may not forget it
      In this land before the grave;
    That I may not cry in the future,
      And no one come to save.

    And so I have learned a lesson
      Which I ought to have known before,
    And which, though I learned it dreaming,
      I hope to forget no more.

    So I sit alone with my conscience,
      In the place where the years increase,
    And I try to remember the future
      In the land where time will cease.

    And I know of the future judgment,
      How dreadful soe’er it may be,
    That to sit alone with my conscience
      Will be judgment enough for me.



No other issue of the day has absorbed me like the ever vexed problem of
woman’s work. I have read at various times many learned dissertations
upon women’s duties, women’s spheres and women’s capabilities; her
few successes and countless failures; most of them from the pens of
men, and a few from her own sex, but the first have, as a class, been
almost purely theoretical, and the second incomplete, one sided and
argumentative rather than instructive. A certain popular author wisely
observes that “Everything depends upon the point of view.” It is scarcely
possible for a man from his standpoint to take in the difficulties and
intricacies that lie all along the path of the gentle sex in the pursuit
of work, and after having obtained it, its successful accomplishment at
a salary not at all commensurate with its value. And the task is equally
difficult for a woman, since misfortune begets the most disagreeable and
unreasonable form of egotism, and the burden of her grievance demoralizes
her logic and vitiates the force of her statements. I am distinctly
conscious of all this as I approach the subject, and only a long and
crucial experience has given me the courage of opinions. One fact
seems to be lost sight of in the ceaseless clamor concerning “women’s
rights,” viz.: that most of them have more “rights” than they enjoy, and
conspicuous among them, the privilege of earning their own living. The
avenues of remunerative employment are only too few, and each is filled
to repletion with a hungry multitude. There are those, the achievements
of whose genius have lifted them beyond all praise or blame and given
them a rich and well merited reward, but it is not to these exceptional
cases that the ordinary laws of the great struggling masses can apply.
The world has known but one Mrs. Browning, one George Eliot, one Patti,
one Nilsson, but the example of these daughters of the sky soaring and
basking in the sunlight has only served to accentuate the gloom and toil
of the dwellers in the valleys below. Spirits such as these must ever
remain apart from the constant, harassing struggle of average women, and
this is the class for which I write.

I have often thought that it was the shadow of the curse of slavery still
resting upon our land that prevents, even in the wide and generous light
of the present day, a proper recognition of the true majesty of labor.
Unfortunately, the term is still regarded as synonymous with servitude,
not precisely degraded servitude, but certainly something so near akin to
it that it could never be confused with badges of the Legion of Honor!

Sewing, for a woman, means starvation, or slow death by torture;
factories and shops tell their own pitiful stories; the paths of music,
art, literature, and the drama, are strewn with dismal failures; and when
I come to teaching, that worst abused vocation of all, language fails me.
In Boston, I have heard it said that a faithful teacher can support the
burden of existence only about seven years. I can well believe it; but
on the other hand, to one such worker there are ten thousand drones. The
first impulse of every gentlewoman, thrown upon her own resources, seems
to be to teach; as to what or how, she is nebulous, delightfully vague,
the only point settled being the choice of occupation. Governesses are
engaged, to whom the entire charge of children is given, who receive the
treatment and wages of servants. In our public schools the felicitous
standard of excellence is a high percentage in examination, while the far
more important considerations of adaptability, patience and self-control
are disregarded. The evil effects of such a system are visited upon
defenseless children. Women, as a rule, regard their work, whatever it
may be, as only a temporary makeshift; the hope of something better lures
them like the _ignis fatuus_; the dim and uncertain prospect of a distant
future imparts a half-hearted exertion to the present, and this fact
touches the key-note of a large proportion of their failures. If all of
them could be brought to a thorough realization that we are a surplus
quantity, an unwelcome factor, yet one that can not be eliminated, the
answer to these problems which confront us might still be hidden, but
we should at least stand upon the threshold. On the other hand, I have
known women of singleness of purpose, of unalterable resolution, and the
courage of heroes arrayed in the ranks of the breadwinners. True, they
belonged to a hopeless minority, but this only served to render their
virtues the more conspicuous. Long observation and thorough investigation
have led me to the conclusion that the government departments at
Washington afford the best field for female labor now open to the sex.
Best, because the hours are not unreasonable, and the compensation
fair; best, because there are no three months’ vacations to be tided
over without pay, and also, on account of the certainty of retention
unless just cause can be shown for removal. It has been now nearly a
quarter of a century since it was decided that women were eligible to
these positions, being, I believe, during the late war that the first
appointments were made. Small experimental beginnings have crystallized
into wonderful results. Hundreds of women through the liberality and
enlightenment of our government are enabled to maintain themselves and
those dependent on them in comfort and respectability, and each of them
holds her office by the same tenure that their superiors hold theirs,
so that she is equally independent and fearless, owing her allegiance
not to them, but to the government which claims absolute fidelity over
a solemn oath. Our public service has been much and justly criticised;
it is still very far from invulnerable, but within the last two years
it has made more than creditable progress in the right direction. That
there have been, at various times, ignorant, careless and corrupt abuses
of the appointing power can not be denied. For many years the sole power
behind the throne was political influence, and thousands of appointments
of both men and women have doubtless been made without reference either
to the educational qualifications or moral character of the appointee.
Sometimes it was a case that appealed only to the sympathies, as a needy
widow, or a wounded soldier; or sometimes the unscrupulous tool of a
more unscrupulous politician; not unfrequently a poor relation—all of
these were made pensioners upon the treasury of the nation. Liberal pay
for conscientious, intelligent labor scarcely constituted one plank in
the departmental platform, but a pernicious sentiment looking toward
a minimum of work and a maximum of pay exerted a wide influence. In
view of the heterogeneous clerical assortment this is scarcely a matter
of surprise. There are comparatively few natures so strong that they
unflinchingly continue to do right simply because it is right. Even so
recently as five years ago, no clerk, not even the most capable and
faithful, could possess the assurance for a single day that his or her
dismissal might not be demanded to make a vacancy for some one commanding
stronger political influence. Inevitably, this knowledge had an injurious
effect. Another circumstance: the salaries being similarly apportioned,
it often chanced that a clerk doing five times the amount of work, and
of infinitely better quality than his neighbor, received the same pay;
and in the course of events a promotion would come to the idle and
inefficient employe, while the competent and industrious one toiled on at
the old salary.

The Treasury, the Interior, the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the
Postoffice Department, the Pension Office, and the Government Printing
Office, all employ a large proportion of female clerks. The average rate
of compensation is $900 per annum. For some years it was much lower, but
the end came, and the reward, as it usually does to those who patiently
labor and patiently wait. It has proven another verification of the old
adage “A work well begun is half done.” The progress has been very slow,
but all prejudice is obstinate and difficult to remove; every reform
fights for its foothold inch by inch; the gates of light ever unclose
reluctantly. The legislative halls of the nation have not been wanting
in men who have vehemently maintained that no government clerkship
should be filled by a woman. Not on account of mental, moral or physical
lack, but because these places were their legitimate spoils, which they
prostituted their high offices to unworthily bestow. And on the other
side, there have been great and generous spirits that have emphatically
declared that _all_ of these offices should be given to females, unless,
indeed, the charge of bureaus requiring an unusual degree of executive
ability. Many women are skillful accountants, neat and rapid copyists,
and accomplished linguists, and these are what government work demands.
Their accuracy and rapidity in counting money is marvelous. Beyond and
far above their intellectual or mechanical capabilities, I should mention
honesty. The peculations and defalcations of male employes have been
legion, but no woman has ever been known to betray her official trust. A
former Secretary has affirmed that in his opinion this unfailing honesty
was attributable to cowardice; that they were not too good to steal, only
that they were afraid! Well, let the honorable gentleman have his way. No
matter how low the motive, the fact remains, and the result is favorable
to the national exchequer. Even with the odium of this ungenerous
construction, they will probably continue to enjoy a pardonable pride in
this bit of departmental record.

The creation of a Civil Service Commission has drawn a broad line of
demarkation between the abuses of the past and the reforms of the future.
It would be difficult to over-estimate the good already accomplished.
In the first place, it has destroyed the incentive for removal, since
the vacancy can no longer be filled save by the wholly disinterested and
impartial Commission. Secondly, an employe may now indulge a reasonable
expectation, if his services warrant it, of advancement from grade to
grade as opportunities occur; in any event he will no longer be subjected
to the mortification of seeing a wholly unworthy person passed directly
over his head to a position to which he was entitled by every law of
right and justice. But one of the very best features of this Commission
is, the outer wall, the bulwark itself that they have reared, _i.
e._, the examination. It is thorough and comprehensive, and need not
be tampered with, or even approached, by the illiterate, since only
ignominious failure could result. There is no escape from the ordeal.
It is the one narrow path that leads to the inner courts, and there is
no avoiding nor evading its labyrinths. It is by no means uncommon to
hear complaints and repinings over their hard lot and small salary,
from clerks of both sexes, who receive a far greater amount for their
services than they could possibly obtain elsewhere. To use the mildest
language, it comes with a very bad grace from women who could not earn
twenty-five cents per day scrubbing door steps, and men whose highest
occupation outside would probably be driving a dray. This class is now
effectually shut out. Henceforth none but the intelligent laborer need
apply. I do not mean to say that liberal culture, or even a very superior
order of education is necessary for the performance of ordinary clerical
work—it is not—but a decent, rudimentary knowledge is indispensable, and
this the government has a right to demand. Even this, unfortunately, is
but one of the requirements that go toward making up a desirable clerk.
The more highly educated are often inefficient, while those of moderate
attainments attain an enviable standard of excellence. Acute perception
and rapid and accurate performance, an ability to use instantaneously
whatever knowledge possessed, a ready and retentive memory, conscientious
and never flagging industry—these make up the model clerk. I bear willing
and glad testimony that there are many such; those who have an honest
pride in their work, who do it well, because it would be impossible for
them to do anything carelessly, who do not look forward to “pay-day” for
their reward, but find it every day and every hour in the consciousness
of duty done. I once heard a chief say to one of his subordinates:
“Whenever I give you anything to do I am satisfied that it will be right.
I no longer have any sense of responsibility in regard to it. I am _sure_
of you.” This seemed to me a compliment of the best order, for, alas! the
number is very small of whom we can be perfectly “sure.” Emerson says of
the working classes that “finishers” such as these are very rare, but
that the world is blessed in having even a few.

To those whose desires or ambitions lead toward this branch of national
service, I would say, the channel for all information is the Commission,
with its headquarters at Washington. Neither the member of Congress from
your own district, nor even your powerful Senator can now pronounce
an “open sesame.” Nor can a political force from California make an
appointment from Maryland and accredit the appointee to his own State,
while Florida grapples with the rights of Oregon, and Maine and Texas
are inextricably mixed. Such measures as these have been of frequent
occurrence, but the despoilers are now themselves despoiled. Each state
has always been nominally entitled to its quota, but practically the
law was of no avail. Henceforth a just distribution of favors will be
demanded. The English Civil Service, which is the perpetual boast of
our cousins across the water, even so late as the time of Trollope’s
experiences, was in a deplorable condition; the evils of ours are not
of such ancient and stubborn growth, and the remedies lie near at hand.
We have taken no half way measures; the treatment is heroic, and the
cure is to come from the ground up. We may in time arrive at the ideal
arrangement of retiring and pensioning these public servants as France
does her postal employes, but this will probably be much later on, since
our Republic is not modeled after Plato’s!

This article is designed specially for women. I have wished to give
my fellow laborers not familiar with this particular vineyard some
general ideas in regard to these positions, how they are obtained,
what qualifications are necessary, and lastly the salaries. As I said
before, the average salary for women is $900 per annum, but there are
many who receive $1,000 and $1,200, while a more limited number are paid
$1,400 and $1,600. Leave of absence for thirty days during the year
is granted, with pay. Absence, other than this, must be without pay,
unless on account of sickness. Of course the departments are closed on
legal holidays. The hours are from nine until four, with thirty minutes
intermission at noon for luncheon. The offices, are well heated, well
ventilated, and furnished with the best desks, chairs, stationery,
pens and ink; every appliance and convenience that could be desired is
liberally supplied. Certainly the last vice of which Uncle Sam could be
accused is niggardliness. Payment of salaries takes place on the 15th
and 30th of each month. Many employes draw their salaries only on the
30th, but all who wish can do so at both the dates mentioned. One strong
argument against the employment of women has been that they lose much
more time than men from sickness. This is lamentably true; whether it
comes from an abnormal state of existence, the forcing of weak hands
to strong work, and the necessary out-door exposure to heat and cold,
rain and snow, I can not say; it may be that the answer is found in the
sad and homely saying that “A woman’s work is never done.” Too many,
alas! turn from their desks only to a change of labor at home; to bake
and brew, to patch and darn, to nurse the sick, to answer and instruct
eager, tireless, little questioners; to be, in a word, father, mother and
servant, to an entire household. I can not apply this palliation without
a great deal of discrimination. I will generously say that it perhaps
covers the cause of one half of the absenteeism attributed to sickness.
That there are many conscienceless ones who take advantage of every
pretext to remain away from their duties and make false representations
in regard to their absence can not be doubted; and naturally in making
up the general percentage the innocent suffer for the guilty, but as this
injustice has prevailed throughout human affairs from the beginning of
time, it will probably continue. On the other side, I will say that in
the important bureau with whose workings I am most familiar, I believe
the most careful and painstaking work is done by the female clerks,
and the compensation to male clerks is correspondingly much greater.
The doctrine of “Equal work, equal pay,” is not yet enforced, but the
chances are better and the prospects brighter in this direction than in
any other. In conclusion, let me add, that I have made this impartial
exposition of a dry subject in behalf of such of my readers as stand face
to face with that dragon of the century—the unending struggle for food
and raiment.


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


While affording such accurate methods of determining time, does not
directly furnish that by which we are accustomed to be guided, so that
astronomers are wont to speak of _solar time_, as _mean solar time_, and
_apparent solar time_, the former being that kept by our clocks and the
latter that from which the former is estimated. If the earth moved around
the sun at an unvarying rate, then each time the sun threw the shadow
of a vertical rod directly north (in the northern hemisphere) would
indicate noon at the point where the rod was located; and the interval
between two such successive shadows would be exactly one day, and we
could divide the time into twenty-four equal spaces and call each space
one hour. Now, this is what we imagine the earth to do; or rather, for
the sake of convenience, and because the results are the same in either
case, we conceive the sun to move around the earth, and make a _mean_ or
_mock sun_, move around the earth in a day of twenty-four hours of equal
unvarying length, and call this a _mean solar day_. But the _true_ or
_apparent solar day_ is considerably different from this, being sometimes
less and sometimes more than twenty-four hours in length, the _true sun_
reaching the meridian as much as 16¼ minutes before or after the _mean
sun_, both reaching it together only four times each year, viz.: On
April 1, June 15, September 1, and December 24. Of course it would be
impossible to construct a time-piece that would keep pace with the _true
sun_. Indeed, it is difficult enough to construct one that will keep with
the mean sun. But all difficulty is obviated by making clocks whose _rate
of error_ can be determined. This rate being known it is easy to estimate
the correction, and thus obtain exact time. For example, suppose a clock
to _gain_ 0.24 of a second per day, then in two days it will gain two
times 0.24 of a second, and in three days three times 0.24 of a second,
etc. These amounts subtracted from the noon-time of the clock would give
the correct noon. For any other hour, a part of the 0.24 depending on
the number of hours after noon must be subtracted. If the clock _loses_,
then in a similar manner the proportioned loss must be added. In actual
practice, we may say that even the best chronometers do not keep exact
time; and every one has to be “corrected” in the manner indicated.

To obtain mean time from apparent time we apply to apparent time a
correction called the equation of time. Thus, at noon, on October 1st,
in Washington, the equation of time is _minus_ 10 minutes 34.58s., which
means that if from 12 hours we subtract 10m. 34.58s. we shall have 11h.
49m. 25.42s., the mean time of apparent noon, or noon as indicated by the
north shadow of the vertical rod. Or, if at 10m. 34.58s. after the sun
crosses the meridian we set our watch at 12 o’clock, we shall have exact
mean time. On the 31st of October the real sun will be 16m. 17.56s. ahead
of the mean sun, while on the 31st of December it will be 3m. 38.11s.
behind the mean; that is, will reach the meridian at 12h. 3m. 38.11s. p.
m. mean time.

Beside the ordinary clocks, the chronometers used by navigators keep mean
solar time, and family almanacs usually in some form give the “equation
of time” under the headings, “clock slow” or “fast,” or “sun south.”
Astronomers use also another kind of time called “sidereal,” of which we
may have something to say in the future.

On the 1st, 16th and 31st of this month the sun rises at 5:57, 6:13
and 6:30 a. m., and sets on the same days at 5:42, 5:18 and 4:58 p. m.
respectively, showing a decrease of one hour and seventeen minutes in
thirty days, or at an average rate of 2m. 34s. per day. On the 18th and
19th the sun will be eclipsed, entering the moon’s shadow at 10:20 p. m.
on the 18th in longitude 132° 0.6′ east, and in latitude 63° 30.5′ north;
and leaving it at 2:15 a. m. on the 19th in longitude 134° 22.7′ west,
and in latitude 33° 25′ north. Greatest eclipse occurs at 12:18 a. m. on
the 19th. Magnitude, 0.638. As the entire eclipse is during our night,
it will of course be invisible to us, but can be seen by the inhabitants
of the northeastern part of Asia and the northwestern portion of North


Will be eclipsed on the 4th, beginning at 3:07 p. m. and ending at 6:41
p. m., Washington mean time. The beginning of totality will be at 4:07
p. m., and the ending at 5:40 p. m.; the middle at 4:53 p. m. Magnitude,
1.533. As the moon in this section does not rise till about 5:20, only
the latter half of the eclipse will be visible. On the 16th, the moon
rises at 3:45 a. m.; on the 1st, sets at 2:21 a. m., and on the 31st at
3:11 a. m. On the 4th, at 4:52 p. m., full; on the 11th, at 9:21 a. m.,
enters upon its last quarter; on the 18th, at 7:23 p. m., new moon; and
on the 26th, at 11:46 p. m., enters upon its first quarter. Is nearest
to the earth on the 7th, at 8:48 a. m., and farthest away on the 23d, at
7:48 a. m.


Presents himself as an object of interest for a few mornings before
and after the 5th, the day on which he reaches his greatest western
elongation, 17° 58′ from the sun; and as he rises nearly an hour and a
half earlier than the latter body, may with a little care be clearly
distinguished. His times of rising are as follows: On the 1st at 4:33;
16th, at 5:12; and 31st, at 6:22 a. m. His motion is direct and amounts
to 43° 46′. As he moves away from the sun, after 6:00 a. m. on the 3d,
his diameter diminishes from 7.4″ to 4.6″. On the 17th, at 7:58 p. m.,
he is 2° 1′ north of the moon.


Remains a morning star during this month, shining, toward its close, with
somewhat decreased brilliancy. Her motion is altogether eastwardly, and
amounts to 33° 12′ 46″, diameter changing from 21.6″ on the 1st to 17.6″
on the 31st. On the 1st, she will rise at 2:13; on the 16th, at 2:35; and
on the 31st, at 3:01 a. m. On the morning of the 7th the trio, Jupiter,
Venus and _Alpha Leonis_ (Regulus) will give an exhibition worth much
more than all the trouble it costs to obtain the view. Jupiter rises
first at 2:30; a few minutes later, and to the south, Venus appears, and
almost at the same time a little northward, Regulus: the three presenting
a combination rarely witnessed. On the 6th, at 11:00 a. m., Venus will be
1° 15′ south of Jupiter; on the 7th, at 7:00 p. m., 55′ south of Regulus;
and on the 15th, at 2:48 a. m., 3° 35′ north of the moon.


Though accounted an evening star, will be above the horizon in the day
time most of the month, on the 1st rising at 8:55 a. m. and setting at
7:01 p. m.; on the 16th, rising at 8:50 a. m. and setting at 6:32 p. m.;
and on the 31st, rising at 8:46 a. m., and setting at 6:08 p. m. Its
declination on the 31st is 21° 34′ south. Motion for month direct and
amounting to 22° 28′. Diameter decreases from 4.6″ to 4.4″. On the 21st,
at 6:15 a. m., 4° 10′ south of the moon.


(Together with Venus) makes this month’s mornings brilliant. Rising on
the 1st at 2:26, on the 16th at 1:44, and on the 31st at 12:57 a. m.; and
his diameter increasing from 31″ to 32.2″, makes each stay appear longer
and each return brighter. His motion is direct and equals 4° 56′ 51″. On
the 6th, at 11:00 a. m. he is 1° 15′ north of Venus; and on the 14th, at
11:57 a. m., 4° 42′ north of the moon.


Rises on the 1st at 9:29 p. m., and sets on the 2nd at 12:09 p. m.; rises
on the 16th at 8:29 p. m., and sets on the 17th at 11:09 a. m.; rises on
the 31st at 7:29 p. m., sets 10:02 a. m. on November 1st. His motion, 42′
26″, is retrograde. Diameter increases from 17.8″ to 18.8″. On the 5th,
at 8:00 a. m. is stationary; and on the 9th, at 3:50 p. m., 3° 30′ north
of the moon.


Will be morning star throughout the month, moving eastwardly 1° 40′ 45″;
diameter increasing about one-tenth of a second. On the 8th, at 3:00 a.
m. will be 1° 10′ south of Mercury; on the 16th, at 7:19 p. m., 2° 5′
north of the moon. Its times of rising are as follows: On the 1st, 5:13
a. m.; on the 16th, 4:19 a. m.; on the 31st, 3:24 a. m.


Motion for the month is 44′ 22″ retrograde; diameter, 2.6″. On the 7th,
at 11:44 a. m., he is 1° 33′ north of the moon. His night ascension on
the 31st is 3h. 21m. 23.5s., and declination 16° 36′ north, about 1h. 8m.
west of _Aldebaran_ in the constellation _Taurus_. He rises on the 1st,
at 7:38; on the 16th, at 6:39, and on the 31st, at 5:39 p. m.


BY PROF. CHAS. J. LITTLE, PH.D., State Librarian of Pennsylvania.

The State of Pennsylvania makes generous provision for her poor—or, since
one half of the inmates of her alms-houses are foreign born, it will be
better to say, for the poor within her borders. In the twenty counties
of the state in which there are no alms-houses, and where the poor are
cared for under the township system, there are expended perhaps $300,000
annually. How the poor are cared for under this wretched system, it were
perhaps better not to inquire too curiously. In the remaining counties of
the state there are sixty-one alms-houses, the total cost of maintaining
which amounted in the year 1883 to $1,296,945. In addition to this sum,
these same counties spend a quarter of a million of dollars in what is
called “out-door relief.” Much of this latter expenditure is, judging
from the report of the Commissioners of Public Charities, sheer waste.

These sixty-one alms-houses of the state shelter 8,630 inmates, of whom
2,328 are women, and 1,024 children. In the year 1883, 1,739 inmates of
the alms-houses were reported insane. By act of the last legislature
children over two years of age are excluded from the county alms-houses,
and insane persons are ordered to be removed to the state hospitals.
Unfortunately, the legislature neglected to appropriate the money
necessary to carrying out this reform, and as a consequence, there has
been serious trouble, and probably not a little suffering throughout the
state. It would not do to speak of all these sixty-one alms-houses as
merciful institutions. Some of them are branded by the Commissioners of
Public Charities as abodes of cruelty; others, as breeding places of vice
and immorality; others still as utterly inadequate, both in building and
management, to the purposes of their existence. Among those thus branded
are the alms-houses of two of the richest counties of the state—Chester
and Cumberland. On the other hand, many of these institutions are worthy
of all praise, the taxpayers having spared no expense in the erection
and equipment of the buildings, and the management being intrusted to
conscientious men and women.

In addition to this provision which the state has made for the poor
within its limits, there are numerous private institutions for the care
and comfort of the adult poor. There is, for instance, in Reading, a
“Home for Aged Widows and Single Women,” which, at present, contains
eleven inmates, its full capacity. Many more seek the benefits of this
institution than can be accommodated in the two story brick dwelling
which has been built expressly for its purposes. In Philadelphia there
is a “Home for Aged Couples,” containing twelve inmates; an “Old Man’s
Home” in West Philadelphia, containing 65 inmates; the “Penn Asylum for
Indigent Widows and Single Women;” the “Maypother Home for Women;” a
“Home for Infirm Colored Men and Women;” and the “Edwin Forrest Home for
Aged and Infirm Actors.” These are undenominational. They are supported,
partly by admission fees, which are required of those receiving the
benefits of the various homes; partly by the property conveyed to the
homes by the inmates, but chiefly by contributions and bequests of
benevolent individuals.

The Roman Catholic Church supports, through the Sisters of the Good
Shepherd, “Saint Ann’s Widow’s Asylum,” to which widows over fifty years
of age are admitted; they also have a “Home for the Aged Poor,” under
the care of the Little Sisters of the Poor, which has at present some
three hundred inmates. Christ Church, Philadelphia, has a “Home for Aged
Women,” as have also Saint Luke’s Church, in Philadelphia, and Saint
Luke’s Church, Germantown. There is also in Philadelphia, a “Home for
Aged and Infirm Methodists,” with accommodations for one hundred men and

Under the Constitution of 1873, the legislature is forbidden to
appropriate any monies to denominational or sectarian institutions,
no matter how large their scope, or how unsectarian may be their
benevolence. But there is nothing to forbid generous appropriations
to such homes for the aged and infirm as are not under denominational
control; yet the managers of such institutions should bear in mind that
in order to secure any help from the state, they should make report
of their workings to the State Board of Public Charities. Next to
the institutions for the adult poor, it will be best to consider the
large provision which has been made both by the state and by private
individuals for the care of children; especially for the care of orphans.
First of all stands that magnificent network of charities which covers
the entire state—


For these the total appropriations have been, in round numbers, eight
millions of dollars. They were begun in 1865, and have therefore been
in operation nearly twenty years. These homes may be divided into two
classes: first, the Soldiers’ Orphans’ Schools and homes, of which there
are twelve—three in Philadelphia, and the remainder in other parts of
the state; and secondly, homes which have undertaken the education of
soldiers’ orphans, but which are not exclusively devoted to that work.
There have been admitted to these schools since the establishment of
the system, 13,011 children; and there were in school on the 31st of
May, 1883, 4,630 children, of whom 1,931 were girls. In the report of
John W. Sayers, special inspector and examiner of orphan schools, it is
stated that “the schools are fully up to all reasonable expectations;
splendid work has been done, and is still being accomplished for the best
interests of the scholars.” By the Extension Act of 1883, these schools
will be continued until June 1st, 1890, at which time Pennsylvania may
rest satisfied that she has discharged some of her debt toward her
deceased soldiers in no ungenerous fashion. The schools will, by that
time, have cost the state nearly ten millions of dollars; a sum which
no citizen of the Commonwealth will begrudge to the children of the men
whose bones are scattered from Gettysburg to the Gulf of Mexico.

Next in order to the Soldiers’ Orphans’ Schools is the magnificent
charity of Stephen Girard, known throughout Pennsylvania, and throughout
America, as “Girard College.” This institution, in its buildings, in
its general equipment, in its corps of teachers, is one of the most
remarkable in the world. The buildings were erected at an expense of
two millions of dollars; subsequent additions have largely increased
this original outlay. But the property and funds now in the hands of
the Girard Trust amounts to nearly ten millions of dollars, and is
administered with great care and intelligence. The gross revenue of the
Girard estate in 1883 amounted to $931,295. By the will of Mr. Girard
this college is for the benefit of poor white male orphan children. The
first preference being given to orphans born in the city of Philadelphia,
the second to those born in other parts of Pennsylvania, the third to
those born in the city of New York, and the fourth to those born in the
city of New Orleans. No child can be admitted before the age of six,
nor after the age of ten. At present the institution contains 1,104
pupils. Under the will of Mr. Girard no attempt can be made to give these
boys what is sometimes spoken of as “higher education;” the shrewd old
merchant thinking it much wiser that they should be apprenticed to trades
than that they should be turned into the world without capital to make a
living by their wits.

Mrs. Eliza Burd, of Philadelphia, in the year 1848 founded a home
for girls, which was handsomely provided for in her last will and
testament. This institution, which is under the care of Saint Stephen’s
Episcopal Church, of which Mrs. Burd was a member, is situated in West
Philadelphia, and is one of the finest charities of the city. The
grounds are extensive, the buildings are very fine, and the results thus
far achieved have been of a most satisfactory character. In addition
to these orphan schools there are in Philadelphia nineteen asylums
for orphans and abandoned children. Some of these, like the Northern
Home and Southern Home for Friendless Children, are undenominational.
Others of them, like the Methodist, Baptist, Lutheran, and Jewish
orphanages, are sectarian, and thus excluded from state aid. Perhaps
the Roman Catholic Church has more homes of this character in different
parts of Pennsylvania, than all other denominations taken together. In
Philadelphia alone they have “Saint Joseph’s Female Orphan Asylum,”
in charge of the Sisters of Charity, “Saint John’s Orphan Asylum,” in
charge of the Sisters of Saint Joseph, “St. Vincent’s Orphan Asylum,” at
Tacony, an “Asylum for Italian Orphan Children,” “The Catholic Home for
Destitute Orphan Girls,” “St. Vincent’s Home,” which cares for children
who are under five years of age, and two magnificent orphanages in West
Philadelphia. Indeed, it is difficult to know the exact extent of Roman
Catholic charities of this kind in our state. Excluded by law, as are
all sectarian institutions, from any participation in the public funds,
they make no reports to the public authorities, and not accustomed to
appealing to the general public for aid, their workings are known only to
the members of their own communion. In the city of Pittsburgh the Roman
Catholic Church has four Orphan Asylums, the United Presbyterian Church
has an Orphan Home, the Episcopal Church has a Home for Orphan Children
and Aged Women.

There is also a Protestant Orphan Asylum, and a Colored Orphan Asylum
in the same city. There are homes for orphans in Beaver, in Berks, in
Huntingdon, in Lancaster, in Perry, in Schuylkill, in Susquehanna, in
Luzerne, and in York counties, other than those which are maintained by
the Roman Catholics. A third kind of provision for the poor is


Some of these are for friendless girls, for the time without occupation
and without roof to shelter them; some of them are for those who have
strayed from the paths of virtue, and who require the special care of
those who have the courage and the Christian faith to deal with this
phase of human wretchedness.

Of the first class we may mention: “The Western Temporary Home,” which
is a shelter for those too weak to go to work, “The Boarding Home for
Young Women,” and a “Home for the Homeless;” and of the second, “The
Howard Institution,” under the care of an association of women Friends,
for furnishing shelter, food and clothing to poor outcast women, and “The
Midnight Mission,” which has for its object the rescue and salvation
of fallen women. Here might be included the Inebriate Asylums, such as
“The Franklin Reformatory,” whose object is the recovery of drunkards
to decent society. A peculiar charity of this kind is a “Temporary Home
for Children,” which is designed to lighten the burden of parents whose
circumstances are such as to prevent the proper care of their offspring.
The number of children in this home is at present sixty-one; and the
institution seems to be accomplishing a good work.

Allegheny City has a “Home for the Friendless,” somewhat similar to the
one just described. In this home one hundred and twenty-five children
are receiving care and support at the present time. It is impossible to
do justice to the charities of Pennsylvania, in an article of limited
extent; many of them can not be enumerated at all; some of them can only
be mentioned; and hence I shall make no attempt to estimate either the
cost of these charities or the value of their results. And much, in any
event, would of necessity remain untold. No record is possible—at least,
no earthly record—of the prayers, the anxieties, the thoughtfulness, the
patient persistence of the men, and especially of the women, who sustain
these charities with their energies and their love. Whilst others are
helplessly bemoaning the evils of large cities, these faithful servants
of him who went about doing good are quietly, but efficiently, working
to rescue and save a soul from darkness, and a body from pollution.
Every large city has its devouring eddies into which drift hundreds of
thoughtless and ignorant creatures every year. Every large city in this
state, let us thank God, has also its brave and earnest Christian souls
who are ready to run no small risks, and to make no small sacrifices, if,
peradventure, they may save a soul.


There are five Insane Hospitals in the State of Pennsylvania, under the
control of the state, located respectively at Harrisburg, Danville,
Dixmont, Norristown and Warren. The total expenditures of these five
hospitals for 1883 amounted to $711,666. In addition to these there are
“The Pennsylvania Hospital for the Insane,” “Philadelphia Hospital for
the Insane,” “The Friends’ Asylum for the Insane,” located at Frankford,
near Philadelphia, and the “Training School for Feeble Minded Children;”
the four latter involving an annual expenditure of nearly $400,000.
The total number of insane confined in these institutions is 5,338, of
whom 4,361 are indigent patients supported at the expense of the state.
When the act of the legislature, already alluded to, shall have taken
full effect, the total number of insane patients in these hospitals
will reach at least 7,000. “The Pennsylvania State Lunatic Hospital” at
Harrisburg was founded in the year 1848, and since that time the total
amount appropriated by the state is $1,110,929. The district entitled
to the benefit of this hospital is composed of sixteen counties, with a
population of nearly one million; and the capacity of the hospital is
only sufficient for twenty-seven per cent. of the insane persons resident
in the district. “The Western Pennsylvania Hospital,” at Dixmont, was
founded in 1855. The total amount appropriated by the state since that
time is $1,022,128. In addition to what it has received from the state,
this hospital owns 373 acres of land, which were paid for entirely by
private contributions. The district in which this hospital is located
is composed of thirteen counties, with a population of 900,000; and the
hospital has accommodations for only twenty-two per cent. of the insane
residents within the district. “The State Hospital for the Insane” at
Danville was founded in 1868, and has received in appropriations from
the state, $1,408,900. The district in which it is located is composed
of twenty-one counties, with a population of 800,000; and the present
capacity of the hospital for seven hundred patients, is sufficient
for fifty-four per cent. of the insane residents within the district.
“The State Hospital for the Insane” at Warren was founded in 1873. The
total amount appropriated by the state since that time is $1,125,000.
The district in which it is located is composed of ten counties, with
a population of about 400,000 inhabitants. Its present capacity is six
hundred, which is eighty-seven per cent. of the insane residents of
the district. “The State Hospital for the Insane” at Norristown was
founded in 1876. The amount appropriated by the state since that time is
$9,616,846. The district within which it is located is composed of seven
counties, with a population of 1,300,000. Its present capacity is eight
hundred and four; that is for only thirty four per cent. of the insane
residents of the district. “The Pennsylvania Hospital for the Insane” is
located in West Philadelphia, the hospital grounds covering 113 acres,
upon which are erected two buildings, one the department for males, and
the other the department for females. This is the institution which has
become known throughout the country by the name of its long-time chief
physician and superintendent—Dr. Thomas S. Kirkbride. Although it has
frequently received aid from the state, it is not a state institution.
From the opening of this hospital up to 1882, the number of patients
admitted was 8,673. Of these, 7,052 were residents of Pennsylvania, the
remainder coming from all parts of the United States, Central and South
America, and some few from Europe. The total annual expenditures for
both departments during 1882 was $182,000. “The Friends’ Asylum,” at
Frankford, has long been known in the eastern part of the state as a
well conducted and generously managed institution.

It has at present about one hundred patients, all of whom are supported
by their friends. “The Philadelphia Hospital” contains 617 patients,
of whom 332 are female. Under what is known as “The Hoyt Lunacy Act”
of 1883, the supervision of hospitals for the insane, both public and
private, will be much stricter than it has ever been heretofore. That act
was intended to remedy many of the evils which are constantly occurring
in the treatment of these sorely afflicted people. A special committee
of the Board of Public Charities is charged with its execution, which
committee is composed at present of Philip C. Garrett, Henry M. Hoyt,
Thomas G. Morton, E. Coppee Mitchell and W. W. H. Davis, whose names
are a guarantee that the insane of Pennsylvania will be treated with
scrupulous care, and that no sane man or woman need any longer dread
that one form of incarceration which is worse to the healthy minded than
either the prison or the grave—incarceration among maniacs. Akin to these
institutions for the insane is the Training School for Feeble Minded
Children, located at Media. This institution was founded in 1853, and
has received from the state since that time the sum of $723,498. It also
receives contributions from neighboring states, in return for which the
children of contributing states are admitted to its benefits. The number
of pupils now in the school is 428, of which about 200 are from the State
of Pennsylvania. The total annual expenditure of this school amounts to


The most noted of these is “The Institution for the Instruction of the
Blind,” located in Philadelphia. The buildings of this institution are
valued at $183,000; its funds and investments at $266,773. The average
number of pupils in the institution for 1883 was 178; and the average
number of state beneficiaries 145, for which the state granted the sum of

There are also located in Philadelphia two working homes for the
blind—one for men and one for women—into which are received many of
the graduates of the Institution for the Instruction of the Blind. In
the home for men there are eighty-five beneficiaries; in the home for
women there are forty. The purpose of these institutions is, as far
as possible, to offer employment and not alms; to make its inmates
independent, so far as their disability shall permit. There is an
Institute for the Deaf and Dumb located in Philadelphia, and a Western
Pennsylvania Institution for the Deaf and Dumb, located about twelve
miles east of Pittsburgh. In the former of these institutions there
are about 300 pupils; in the latter about 102. To the former the state
appropriates $78,000 annually. For some reason, unknown to me, the
appropriation of $40,000 asked from the legislature by the latter last
session was not granted.


The one purely state hospital in Pennsylvania is “The Anthracite
Hospital,” located at Ashland. This is intended for the coal and
mining regions, in which injuries are of such frequent occurrence.
Unfortunately, this was not opened for the reception of patients until
November, 1883; but already upward of forty-one patients have been
admitted, and are receiving the benefit of medical care and treatment.
Of institutions not under the control of the state, the most famous is
probably “The Pennsylvania Hospital,” located in Philadelphia. Round
this have grown up a number almost as famous—the splendid “University
Hospital” in West Philadelphia, “The Orthopedic Hospital” for the
treatment of nervous diseases, the Presbyterian and Episcopalian
Hospitals, the Jewish Hospital, the new Stewart Hospital, founded by a
distinguished Methodist physician of Philadelphia, the Wills Hospital
for diseases of the eye, the Howard Hospital for Incurables, and the
Children’s Hospital for the relief of sick and suffering children.

In addition to these are the “Preston Retreat,” one of the most
touching charities of Philadelphia, and the “Maternity Hospital,” which
has been founded to rescue unfortunate women in the terrible extremity
into which their sin has driven them. Outside of Philadelphia there
is the splendid hospital recently opened at Harrisburg, “The Western
Pennsylvania Hospital,” “The Mercy Hospital” of Pittsburgh, the Hospital
of Wilkes-barre, the Hospital of Scranton, the Reading Hospital, “The
St. Joseph’s Hospital” of the same city, the “St. Luke’s Hospital” of
Bethlehem, and the “York Hospital,” of York, Pa. The work of these
hospitals it would be impossible to describe within the limits of an
article like this. The patients within their walls not unfrequently
receive, gratuitous, treatment equal to that for which the rich must pay
enormous prices.

But it should be mentioned in this connection that in Philadelphia there
are two Homes for the Training of Nurses, physicians having long since
discovered that their skill and industry is frequently thwarted by the
ignorance and incompetence of ordinary nurses. The women who are admitted
as pupils to these homes must pledge themselves to the work for which
they are prepared. They are taught by lectures, and by actual work in the
sick room, how to handle and care for the sick; and when their education
is completed their names are placed upon a register, so that those
desiring trained nurses may secure them by application to the matrons of
these establishments. A more important charity hardly exists within the

This article may be fitly closed by reference to those institutions which
are founded for the care of children afflicted with that which is worse
than disease—with a tendency to crime. Of these there are two now in
operation—the House of Refuge in the city of Philadelphia, and the Reform
School at Morganza, Washington county, Pa. The House of Refuge expends
annually about $130,000, and the Reform School about $190,000. The total
number of inmates in the House of Refuge is 671, and of the Morganza
School 339, making an aggregate of 1,010. Perhaps there is no sadder
chapter in the report of the Board of Public Charities than that relating
to these schools. The statistics deserve careful study, and show how
unwarranted are many of the assertions constantly made about the criminal
classes. For instance, nearly one-half of these children are of American
parentage, and of the 490 children committed, only 24 could read and
write well; whereas only 125 were absolutely illiterate. Two hundred and
eighty-five were committed for that which is set down in the statistics
as “incorrigibility.” It would be curious to know just what this means,
and whether, after all, the real fault was not chargeable to the parents
rather than to the child. I can conceive of nothing more terrible than
that which I fear lurks underneath this item.

There is now being erected at Huntingdon an


To which all male criminals between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five,
sentenced for the first time, shall be committed. The purpose of this
Reformatory is, if possible, to save to society youthful criminals. The
jail and the penitentiary only harden the offender, and turn him forth
hopeless, helpless, revengeful, and in his own terrible language, “To get
even with the society which has punished and destroyed him.” Ex-Governor
Hoyt, whose large mind and generous heart are only fully known to those
who have close personal intercourse with him, was strongly impressed
during his administration with the defects of our treatment of the
criminal classes. He made himself a thorough master of the literature
bearing upon this subject, and became an ardent, even enthusiastic
advocate of the reformatory system; and during his administration, and
since his administration, has done his utmost, in public and private, to
further the completion and the opening of this institution, which, it is
hoped, may be ready for occupancy at an early day.

Pennsylvania, which spends such large sums for its poor, which pours out
its thousands for its insane, its sick and its afflicted, may well afford
to spend even millions for the reformation of its criminals, many of whom
are quite as much sinned against as sinning.



The summer vacation which the C. L. S. C. allows, is characterized by
one particularly strong and profitable feature, a feature peculiar,
too, to this organization. It is the system of summer meetings. These
meetings are not idling times for holiday excursions, nor are they
outings even. They are serious assemblies for serious purposes, and are
marked by original and charming methods of work. Though the dozen or more
assemblies which have sprung from the Chautauqua Assembly all introduce
these C. L. S. C. methods, it is at Chautauqua that we naturally find
them in their original form. With the work of one year over and the work
of another approaching, it is the plan of the counselors to save rather
than kill the time of the interval; to spend it in carefully examining
the work done, in comparing plans, listening to and weighing criticisms,
in devising new ideas for the future, in short, in taking an inventory of
stock now on hand, and in laying in new goods for the coming year. Most
successfully was this accomplished at Chautauqua this year during the
months of July and August.

The Round-Table was, of course, the gathering through which most was
done. Before this season the Round-Tables have been held during the
August meetings only, but July found so large a number of the members of
the C. L. S. C. at Chautauqua that the five o’clock hour was set aside
from the first, and during the entire season at least three afternoons
of the week found the “White-Pillared Hall” filled. These assemblies
had some peculiarly attractive points, striking even to the idler, who,
strolling by, stopped to look and listen. Perhaps one of the first
attractions was the charm which the Hall and Grove never failed to
exercise, a charm which always contributed to the success and enjoyment
of Round-Tables, Vesper Services and Vigils. The rustling trees, the
long rays of golden light, the fair vistas of sky and water and sun-lit
foliage which one catches through the frame-work of white pillars produce
that strong sympathy, that oneness with the life of nature which elevates
the heart, invigorates the mind, and for the time, at least, raises one
above mere earth life. Without exception the five o’clock hour was one of
rare beauty. Many remarked during the summer: “Is it not strange that we
always have a pleasant evening for our C. L. S. C. meetings?” The very
weather seemed to breathe a benediction.

The Round-Tables were uniformly characterized by earnestness. The people
who met had serious purposes written on their faces, and in all the
deliberations it was evident that the best good of the great Circle was
at heart. The “best plan” not “_my_ plan” seemed the desire of each. This
earnestness was accompanied by the greatest eagerness. A lecturer before
the “Teachers’ Retreat” remarked: “These C. L. S. C. people completely
nonplus me. I never saw folks so eager to learn.” It was true; they were
eager, anxious, determined to learn. They sought the best and truest
methods of work, the strongest thoughts on all subjects, and the newest
facts in each branch of knowledge. The Round-Tables brought together the
very people at Chautauqua who were most deeply imbued with this energy.

The unity of spirit was remarkably strong. At one of the most impressive
meetings of the season this oneness in feeling was thoroughly proven.
Some one had suggested in a note to the leader that a plan should be
introduced into the C. L. S. C. by which the religious readings of the
course might be made denominational; the secular readings being kept
alike for all, but several courses of religious readings being prepared
so that each reader might use books setting forth the doctrines of his
own church. The feeling aroused against this measure was intense. Most
emphatically did the members express the opinion that any plan which
should divide the readings of the Circle even on one point should be
rejected. We have never seen any expression of opinion on the part of the
members of the C. L. S. C. which so plainly said: “This is a brotherhood
in which we will not be divided by creed, doctrine or difference.”

In all the serious work done there was a tender thoughtfulness and care
for those who were serving the Circle, which was most touching. It was
shown in many ways: in greetings of flowers and kind messages sent to
the Superintendent of Instruction, in the willing spirit which every
one showed in helping to carry on the work, but never more beautifully
than in the testimonial of books sent to Chautauqua’s bell-ringer, with
the following resolution, adopted at the Round-Table of August 23:
“_Resolved_, That the members of the C. L. S. C. here present join in a
most heartfelt appreciation of the fidelity of our beloved bell-ringer,
Father Skellie, in his labors of love during the years, ringing regularly
the Bryant bell on all memorial days in the interest of the C. L. S. C.
near and far, and showing a deep and abiding interest by word and deed
in all the general well-being of our beloved Chautauqua; and we hereby
present to him the accompanying testimonial of our love and esteem.”

The vesper services filled the five o’clock hour each Sabbath. They
were marked by the same earnestness and brotherly feeling which was so
strong in the Round-Tables and hallowed by a deep religious spirit. These
meetings were thoroughly spiritual. An influence pervaded them which
could not fail to touch an observer. The great interest in the vesper
services at Chautauqua this season ought to lead to a wide observance of
these services during the year by local circles.

Social life was by no means neglected, but promoted by some charming
devices. Among the most enjoyable reunions were the vigils held in the
Hall of Philosophy in the weird light of the Athenian watch-fires. The
strangeness of the scene gave a peculiar charm to these gatherings. In
fact the novelty of all the C. L. S. C. entertainments at Chautauqua
gave them a certain _esprit du corps_ which was very captivating. Adding
to this the strong class feeling which prevailed, and we have the very
best elements for enjoyable social affairs. Each class was thoroughly
organized, and planned for its members excursions, reunions, banquets,
camp-fires and vigils without number. It would be very hard to say which
class had the most enjoyable season. It was certain, however, that they
all learned to know each other better, and the hours spent in chatting
around the camp-fire or in listening to pleasant and witty speeches from
their members at the reunions in the Temple, or in steaming around the
lovely lake, were among the most profitable as well as enjoyable spent at

Of course the C. L. S. C. work had its climax in the commencement season,
which was opened on Sunday, August 17, by the baccalaureate sermon
delivered by Rev. Herrick Johnson, of Chicago. Practical and strong,
this sermon was a fitting preparation for the exercises of Tuesday, the
19th of August, the graduating day of the Class of 1884. This event, so
full of meaning to the members of the class, had a setting as beautiful
as ever blessed the graduation of any one. It was a perfect August day,
the air flooded with a wealth of sunshine, but its heat tempered by a
delightful breeze. The imposing ceremonies began promptly. Early in the
morning the long processions consisting of the Trustees of the Assembly,
professors and students from the C. S. L. C., the classes of the C. L.
S. C., and the friends of the graduates, were formed. While these lines
were gathering, the Class of 1884 entered the Gate to St. Paul’s Grove,
marched under the arches, and was received at the Hall of Philosophy,
where the solemn recognition services were performed. There the members
of the Class of 1884 who had completed the prescribed course of reading
were accepted and approved as graduates of the Chautauqua Literary and
Scientific Circle, and were pronounced entitled to membership in the
“Society of the Hall in the Grove.”

No one who saw this scene can ever forget the solemn ceremonies. When it
was over the class marched between the open ranks of the long processions
formed to do them honor and filed into the Amphitheater where the
graduation services were held. After the opening exercises of song,
prayer and readings, Counselor W. C. Wilkinson, D.D., of Tarrytown, N.
Y., delivered the following commencement oration:


The Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle is founded, at least in
part, upon the idea that literature is a true good of life. Is it? That
is the question which I raise for discussion to-day.

A strange time of day, I hear some of you exclaim, for that question
to be raised. Are we not nearing the end of the nineteenth century of
the Christian era? May we not take a few things for settled, and is not
the worth of literature one of those few? But there is a French saying
that it is the unexpected which happens. So it is the out-of-season that
is opportune—sometimes. And this seemingly out-of-season topic, this
anachronism, the question of the value of literature, is perhaps exactly
the thing that will prove timely to-day.

For, incredible as it should seem, the real value of literature, the
validity of the claim of literature to be regarded as a substantial human
good, has of late been brought seriously into question. It is the men
of science—not all of them, but some of them—that begin to challenge to
literature its hitherto conceded title to be considered one of the great
interests of mankind. These men say literature has had its day. A long
day it has been, too long in fact, but the day is done now and literature
must disappear. The future—such is their language—the future belongs to
science. Science is the true great good of the human race. Science, they
go on to represent, science can do for us what we really need to have
done. Literature, on the other hand, can supply no real want of mankind.
The great vogue that literature has enjoyed in the past, is due to an
illusion—an illusion that with the broadening light of science, a light
brightening and broadening every moment, dissolves and vanishes. More
and more we are having done with the traditional and conventional. And
anything more entirely traditional and conventional than the claim of
literature on the attention and reverence of men does not exist. What we
really need, and what we are going henceforth to insist on having, is
substance, not shadow. Literature is shadow. It affords no satisfaction
except to the sentiment. It makes nobody stronger, healthier, richer,
more comfortable. It does not help us travel faster or travel more
safely. It does not carry messages for us. It does not build our houses,
or ventilate them, or warm them. It does not plant, or cultivate, or
reap. It does not bind, or thresh, or grind, or cook. It does not invent
any of the conveniences of life. We do not owe the sewing machine to
literature, or the telegraph, or the telephone, or even the printing
press itself, which so serves literature. Literature is a drone and an
idler. Science works and produces. Science has done for us all the things
enumerated, with many things beside, too many for enumeration, in which
literature has had no useful part at all. Literature is a fine gentleman,
a fine lady, sitting by with folded hands, hands folded and too delicate,
far too delicate, for any productive employment. We can get along without
this ornament to our civilization—the delight, the luxury of a few, a
burden which the many must drudge to support. Science, on the contrary,
is the servant equally of all. Her hands are not afraid of soil and toil.
She loves to work. Give her henceforward the chance that literature had,
abundantly had, and neglected. Endow schools for science, encourage her,
cheer her; in short, let science have the place that literature has
enjoyed too long.

Such, I say, is the bold language in disparagement of literature, and
in comparative exaltation of science, that we find some scientists, or
perhaps I ought to say some literary men, self-constituted spokesmen for
scientists, holding in these days concerning the just claim of literature
to be regarded as one of the true goods of human life.

Now I propose that we entertain candidly the question thus raised. Let us
not treat it as a question to which the answer is foregone. Let us put
aside prepossession, and ask ourselves freshly and freely and frankly,
quite as if our conclusion were doubtful, what are the rational grounds
on which we may rest the title of literature to share with science, at
least equally, the attention and the cultivation of mankind.

Share with science, I say, and at least equally share. More than this I
do not claim. Certainly I should not claim more than this in presence
of the C. L. S. C. You are a circle or society of literature indeed.
But no less you are a society of science. You embrace both ideas, both
interests, with impartial regard. You would not listen favorably to me
were I to decry science. But I have no such disposition. I love science,
honor her, applaud her, bid her God-speed. I wish I knew more of what
science could teach me. I wish I could do more to help science on. But at
least, with all good heart, I say, God make her prosper! And this breadth
of sympathy, in my mind and my heart, I owe largely to literature.
Literature, as I understand her spirit, is catholic and generous. If I
have myself any capacity of liberal love for human progress in whatever
sphere, I have derived that capacity in no small degree from the
inspiration of literature. I should wrong my own client, I should grieve
her, I should earn rejection at her hands, if I stood here, or elsewhere,
in the name of literature, to say aught, as if on her behalf, against a
sister that she loves. For literature loves science, and will contentedly
hear nothing to her harm.

What, then, I ask, are the sound and substantial reasons, the reasons
valid in the court of common sense, why we should stand by literature as
one of our great goods of life?

The reasons that I find are of two sorts: First, those that respect the
number of the persons benefited; and, second, those that respect the
degree to which these are benefited—in other words, first those that
respect the quantity, and second those that respect the quality of the
benefit bestowed.

First, then, as regards the breadth, the diffusiveness, of the blessing
that literature ministers to mankind.

But since the present comparison is naturally between literature and
science, it may be well, at this point, that we pause to take our
bearings. What is literature? And what is science? Let us clearly
understand the terms and ideas with which we deal. Literature then may be
defined as the record of what men have thought, felt, fancied, done, in
the world. Science is reasoned and classified knowledge respecting the
facts and laws of nature or the physical universe. Our question is not,
Which is the greater good, literature or science? Our question is, Is not
literature, as compared with science, at least an equal good?

Now we, that is, men and women in general, who ask this question,
may have either one or the other of two quite different relations to
literature or to science. These two different relations we may name and
distinguish. In the first place, you—any man or any woman, I mean—may
be either, on the one hand a producer of literature, or a promoter of
science; or, on the other hand, you may be simply one to enjoy literature
or to reap the fruits of science. Since, however, those who make
literature also enjoy literature, and those who advance science also reap
the fruits of science, we may as well disregard entirely the productive
relation which belongs in either case to the few, and consider only the
fruitional relation, which belongs in both cases to the many—in fact, to

Just here, however, I am met with a warning. I am bidden take heed. I am
told that exactly because literature is not to all a good, but a good
only to the select and favored few, because literature is aristocratic,
not democratic; because it is a luxury, not a necessity; because it
concerns not the average man, but the picked man, one in a thousand, not
the thousand—exactly because of this, I am told, it is that literature
has got to give way and let science, which is a universal interest, take
its too long usurped place. Well, I stop to answer this challenge. I
admit at once that, if such be the fact, if literature be a monopoly, and
not a common good, then I lose my case. And I say more, then I ought to
lose my case, and I am glad to lose my case. For I avow myself a democrat
in this matter. I go with the people. I belong with the majority. I stand
up for the benefit of the most. But is it true that literature is an
exclusive, a seclusive thing? Is it true that the many can not enjoy it,
do not enjoy it? Is not literature a general, a diffusive good? If not,
then however great a good it may be to a few, I am not here to defend its
cause. We are a popular association, this C. L. S. C., or we are nothing.
If I did not believe literature to be a thing for everybody, I, as one
among the Counselors of this organization, should favor a dismissal of
literature from our plan and plead for the substitution of something else
in its place that should be a thing for everybody. What is the fact?

Why, the fact is that literature is the very atmosphere, the intellectual
atmosphere, in which we all, not some of us, but all of us, live and
breathe and have our being. We drew in this air as soon as we began to
think. Long before we could read for ourselves, before even we could
listen understandingly to the reading of others, we felt unconsciously,
but most really, and most profoundly, the effect, the beneficial effect
of literature. The home in which you were reared, the character and the
spirit of the mother that gave you birth, that nurtured and tended your
infancy—these were different, and they were better, because literature
had done something to make them and mold them. And were they not
literature, those lullabies that quieted us in our cradle, the fairy
tales that fed the fancy of our wondering childhood, the stories from the
Bible that expanded our infant minds to embrace the idea of a God, of a
Savior, of a future life, of heaven, and of hell? Those men seem not to
know what their words mean; those men who talk of expunging literature,
and bringing up the new generations of mankind on science. Really to do
what they say, but what surely they never could intelligently mean, would
be to destroy for the whole civilized race of mankind the very grace and
glory of life.

I know very well that comparatively few out of any human generation ever
become widely or deeply conversant with literature. It is but the one
person out of ten, or a hundred, or out of a thousand it may be, that
reads books. This I freely acknowledge. Nay, this I loudly proclaim. It
is because this is so that the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle
exists—because this is so, and because it ought not to be so, and because
there are at least a few of us that do not mean to have it continue to be
so. Such, however, is undeniably at present the fact. Readers of books,
take the civilized world at large, are few and far between. But no matter
for that. What I have maintained is nevertheless true. Literature is a
universal good. How many of you spend time in gazing heavenward at the
sun? But you see by the light of the sun none the less. The sun lights
the world in thousands and ten thousands of places where he does not
directly shine. And literature is a sun. It blazes high in the heavens
and spreads its beneficent illumination everywhere abroad among the
haunts of civilized mankind. There are coverts, it is true, into which
its rays can not immediately pierce. But even into such coverts its rays
enter. There is such a thing as diffusion of light by refraction and
reflection and transmission. In this way literature becomes a light that
lighteth every man that cometh into the world. _A_ light, I say—for I
use those sacred words with reverence. ONE is _the_ light that lighteth
every man. And, by the way, let us remember that it is greatly through
literature, that is, through a book, _the_ book, the Bible, that Jesus
himself shines hither, across seas and continents of space and across
centuries of time, to light us here as in a city in the wilderness to-day.

Of the hundreds of thousands of Englishmen of the present generation
that have from time to time listened to the noble eloquence of that
great orator, John Bright, perhaps not one in a hundred has ever read,
for example, the “Paradise Lost” of Milton. But does it therefore follow
that to these of the overwhelming majority the “Paradise Lost” of Milton
is nothing? Far from it. John Bright has acknowledged his vast debt
to the poetry of Milton for the enrichment of his own gift of speech;
and through John Bright, Milton’s poetry has thus become a real, an
appreciable good to all the hundreds of thousands of men that have fed on
John Bright’s eloquence, though they may never have read for themselves a
line of Milton’s magnificent and inspiring verse.

This is but a single, and it is of course a very inadequate illustration.
Every sermon you hear, every lecture, every speech, every newspaper you
read, owes something, and something that it could by no means spare,
to the beneficence of literature. Take away the light of literature
from the world of mind—why, it would be like putting out the sun in the
heavens. The very men who talk of such a vandalism, such an unspeakable,
such an anachronistic vandalism, these very men would grope as in
Cimmerian darkness. I will tell you what the effect would be like. It
would be like suddenly annihilating all the civilized inhabitants of
the world and endowing the unreclaimed savages of waste and wild with
the powers and appliances that centuries of science have accumulated
for the service of mankind. Imagine, if you can, the Hottentots and
Caffirs and Ojibways remaining uncivilized in character, but equipped
with the material apparatus of civilization. Would you like to live
among them? What sort of use, think you, would they be likely to make of
their magnificent acquisitions? But a thought like this is associated
rather with the second than with the first of our reasons for regarding
literature as a true good of human life. To this second reason we
presently make our transition; first, however, let us fix it firmly in
our thought that literature is no narrow, no exclusive interest, but an
interest as broad and as expansive as is civilization itself. The fact
that literature is in character such, is capable of being made clear by
additional illustration. The city of New York is supplied with water from
the Croton river. Every inhabitant of the city enjoys the benefit of
this water supply. There is a system of aqueducts ramifying from Croton
river to every street, to every dwelling, to almost every room, in the
great metropolis. You have but to apply your hand, and instantly at that
silent sign, Croton river flows to meet your demand. For it is not water
simply, it is Croton river that is brought thus within the reach of every
one that will have of it. So it is with the distribution of effect from
literature. The conduits of literature run everywhere. The current flows
to every mind within the bounds of civilization. Men may not know this,
but they share the blessing all the same without knowing it. There are,
I suppose, plenty of people in New York, who, when they turn the faucet
to their water-pipe, not once dream that the fountain which they see
springing as if by magic under their touch, is a true river brought from
forty miles away. But true river it is nevertheless. Certainly not one in
a hundred thousand of New Yorkers has ever tasted of Croton river where
it flows in its natural bed. But they taste Croton river for all that,
every time they drink water in New York. And thus it is that, however
little men think of it, they still do share the benefits of literature
with almost every breath of larger intellectual life that they draw. To
the original sources of literature, the great books, ancient or modern,
they may never have directly resorted, never even have seen them from
afar, nay, never so much as heard of them; but they drink from them all
the same, every time they take in a thought or a fancy, however brought
within their reach, that once sprang up first in some great human brain,
and was then immortalized in a tale, an essay, a history, a poem.

Thus much for the extent or quantity of the influence for good to
men exerted by literature. It certainly is not too much to claim for
literature that it is an interest broad enough in its range and reach of
power to be called a general, if not a universal interest of civilized

We have next and last to consider the kind or quality of this expansive
influence. As I have said, it is not to most men a material good. Only
to those who live by literature, to those who make books, to our men
and women of letters distinctively so-called, is literature a material
interest. To the vast majority of us all, literature is chiefly a
spiritual, an intellectual, a sentimental good. This I fully admit.

But I am far from admitting that because this is so, therefore literature
is less a real good than anything else whatever, no matter what, the most
solidly material interest of mankind that you can name. For what is our
life? It is no doubt partly animal. We need, first of all, to subsist
somehow, and then, if possible, to subsist comfortably. Beyond these
two ends, subsistence and comfort, our animal nature has little or no
craving. Give us a chance to go on living, and living with comfort, and
we as animals ask nothing more. Science greatly helps us to accomplish
these ends, and for so much we owe to science a large debt. But beyond
this limit what does science do for us, for us, I mean, the generality
of mankind? I wish to be perfectly candid and to concede to the claim
of science everything that is justly hers. But what, I ask, beyond
helping us live, and helping us live comfortably, does science even aim
or aspire to do for the majority of the human race? For the scientists
themselves, I acknowledge, for that comparatively small number of men
who engage in the pursuits of science as a business of their life,
science does much more. For these men science affords a means to vast
enlargement and ennoblement of mind. The brilliant hypotheses, the bold
speculations, the broad generalizations, the stimulating guesses, the
expansive conceptions, with which science deals—what can be thought of
more fitted to feed the imagination and reason of man and advance him
to the strength and stature of angels than is such occupation of mind
as these afford? And then no doubt also, mere patient observation for
the collection of facts is a work more humble, indeed, yet worthy to be
reckoned a true discipline and reflection of the intellectual nature. But
then we are to remember that these relations to science are for the few
and not for the many. The many simply enjoy the material fruit without
enjoying the glorious intellectual quest that finds the fruit, do you
say? Yes, but the many may enjoy the ennobling effect upon the intellect
of those large conclusions to which science leads the scientific man.
This, I concede, is to some extent true, but it is not true to any very
considerable extent. And to the extent to which it is true, literature is
largely the means through which the effect is produced. The great results
of science, satisfying, inspiring as they are to those who first come
at them, and to those others who really appreciate them as literature,
by eminence, presenting them in her own admirable ways, is able to make
them appreciated—these great results, I say, of science, tend when taught
as lessons in the text-books of the schools, to become mere lifeless
commonplaces of knowledge and of thought—mainly barren of force to
quicken and fructify the mind. It has been said, and truly said, that the
average American school-boy of to-day knows at twelve more true science
than the wisest philosopher of Greek or Roman antiquity could ever by
possibility have learned. But, as has been replied, and truly replied, it
by no means thence follows that such a school-boy is wiser than was Plato
or Aristotle. It is not what you know, it is what you are, that chiefly
signifies. And what you are, in that which is most central and most
important, literature does more, far more, to make you than lies within
the utmost reach of science; that is, if you are an average man, if you
are one of the majority, and not one of the elect few who follow science
as the vocation of a life. This is what I claim for literature, and this
my claim for literature I acknowledge myself under obligation to make
good by something beyond mere confident assertion of the fact.

I do not undervalue comfort. I like to be comfortable. I like to see
people comfortable. But there are two sorts of comfort—one is comfort
of the body, and one is comfort of the mind. These two kinds of comfort
react mutually on each other. That is, bodily comfort tends to create
comfort for the mind, as also does comfort of mind to create bodily
comfort. But of the two kinds of comfort one is a great deal closer to
us, and a great deal more durable than the other. If I had to choose
between them I should not hesitate a moment. I should say, give me a
mind at ease. The mind is master after all. Who has not seen men and
women stretched helpless and hopeless on the rack of bodily pain, but
triumphing nevertheless into peace and joy? That was the victory of mind.
It makes far more difference to us, for our comfort, for our happiness,
what is the course of our thoughts, our fancies, our affections, than
what is the course of our bodily sensations. A sweet thought, a sovereign
affection, a ravishing vision of fancy may make a man forget hunger,
thirst, fatigue, pain. But no amount of physical comfort can ease you of
anguish fastened upon your mind. That clings and stings in spite of all,
and poisons all.

Science can do much for me to promote my comfort of body. True, however
much she does, I am so constituted that immediately I want a little
more. Comfort might perhaps be well enough defined as perfect balance
between desire and supply. Only there never is in bodily concerns any
such balance. We always want something more than we have. This sense
of need constantly surpassing supply is the very spring of progress
in civilization. Civilization has been wittily said to consist in
the multiplication of artificial wants together with a corresponding
multiplication of artificial supplies for those wants. But in view of the
fact that want forever outruns supply, a change might not inaptly be made
in this French definition of civilization. We might say that civilization
is an endless process of multiplying wants and of then multiplying
appliances that never will satisfy these wants.

Now, I am in favor of material progress. I am not one of those who think
that the simplicity of savagery is better than the artificiality of
civilization. No, I say, let us be as civilized as possible. Let us make
all the progress we can. Let us go endlessly on in finding out God’s
great universe, and so realizing that mastery once divinely bestowed on
man over the powers and capacities of nature. Let us do all this with
heart and hope, but let us at the same time recognize the fact that never
so shall we obtain immortality, never so obtain exemption from ill. Our
world will still be a world of human infirmity and human suffering,
however much the physical framework of things is put by science under our
control. In truth, it may well be doubted whether of real comfort, the
sum is greater to men now, over and above all deduction, than it was a
century or centuries ago. The appliances and means of comfort are more
now, perhaps a hundred fold. But so too are the needs that must be met.
And the difference of real comfort in favor of these times would not be
found great. I repeat that I am not a reactionist. I want no retrograde
movement, but, on the contrary, only advance, and ever advance. Still,
whatever the advance, there will be, proceeding from that advance, no
corresponding advance in solid human comfort and happiness.

The reason is that human comfort and happiness depend in the main on
conditions that science can not supply. They depend on the state of
the mind within. They depend on the habitual or prevalent course of
thought and feeling in the soul. What we chiefly need is not easier and
more comfortable subsistence—though this too is good and desirable—but
a released and victorious mind. We shall never escape our physical
conditions, and these will always be more or less unsatisfactory. We
shall rub against the bars, we shall press against the pricks of our
material environment and suffer. This is inevitable. But there is for
us something better than escape from physical limitation would be, were
such escape possible. We can live a life of the mind that shall be, to a
great degree, independent of the life of the body, and ascendent over it.
Even let our hands be filled with mean and sordid tasks, we may, as Mrs.
Browning puts it in her verse, keep our souls “singing at a work apart.”
The mind is its own place—and its own environment. In this fact lies our
hope. And here is the great chance of literature.

Literature comes to us in our prison, and brings deliverance that is more
than deliverance. It brings large thoughts to us, solvent affections,
free fancies. We forget our bondage and our pain. We live a life of the
mind that soars, as the bird soars, above the ground where else we should
crouch and grovel. And I say that this is a real, a solid, a substantial
good. Sentimental it is—yes, but our most true life is sentiment. Morton
did for us, I suppose, a valuable service when he discovered the use of
ether as an anæsthetic. That discovery has mitigated many a physical
pang. But it is to me certain that Longfellow’s poetry, for example, has
done not less to bring comfort to men. Pasteur, the great French savant,
has, it is said, found a specific by inoculation for hydrophobia. That is
a vast boon to our kind. The same great scientist explored the disease
that was destroying the silk worm in France, and applied an effective
remedy. He performed a similar service in the rescue of the cattle from
a widespread and destructive malady. Pasteur, by such achievements as
these, has added untold millions on millions of dollars to the material
wealth of the world. I glory and joy in these beneficent results of
science. Human existence is blessed thereby. But blessed not less is
human existence by the great literary gift of such a body of poetry as
Tennyson’s. You can not count in millions of dollars the wealth of the
world received from Tennyson, but God can count it in heart-throbs, and
in stirrings of the brain, too costly and too precious for countless
millions of dollars to buy.

Blessed, I have said, is human existence in the beneficent results of
science. But how blessed? What are we rich for? Why is it a good that
we should possess a surplus beyond the necessities of subsistence,
of subsistence in material comfort? That we need not work so hard to
live, that we may have some privilege of leisure? But how is leisure a
blessing to our race? By giving us a chance to be idle, to be lazy? I
trow not. Leisure is a good to us when we use it well, not otherwise. It
is not using leisure well to spend the time and the strength saved to
us through science from the sordid demands of mere subsistence—getting,
in accumulating appliances of pleasure. We may indeed accumulate the
appliances so, but we shall never so accumulate the pleasure. God has
planned it for us otherwise. Comfort turned into luxury ceases to be
comfort. What then shall we do with our leisure when, at the gift of
wealth through science, we have gained our leisure? We must not squander
it in luxurious ease. Wealth so used would be not a blessing, but a curse.

No, wealth is a blessing to us only when we say within ourselves, now
that we need not work all the time to keep soul and body together, now
that our body is sufficiently well served, go to, let us see what we can
do for our soul. I am not preaching to-day, and I utter not a word about
religion for the soul. But, apart from religion, what is there that you
can do for your soul, that is, for your self, better worth doing than to
feed it with thought, with reason, with emotion, with imagination? What
does your release from drudgery signify to you, if it does not signify
opportunity to live freely a life higher than the life of a brute? The
good that science accomplishes for us is in itself an imperfect good. It
is merely means to an end. We are defeated if we stop with the means. We
must go on by the means to the end. Science is chiefly good as science
makes way for literature. Let literature come in through the door that
science opens.

Make free and wide your mind to the expanding and ennobling influence of
literature. Every time you read a great book, you grow. And growth is
life, and life is power, and power is joy. Literary culture is a process
of intellectual annexation. You read, and you annex province after
province of thought and of experience to the realm that was yours before.
There is no limit to this expansion of empire. It is not simply during
the intervals while you are reading that you establish new currents
of intellectual life within you. What you read remains a permanent
possession. Do not say, No, my memory is poor, I can not retain what I
read. But you do retain it—in effect. It has gone into the substance
of your mind. Your mind is now of a different texture. Your horizon is
extended. Before, you dwelt low in a valley shut in by narrowing hills.
You saw only what was immediately around you. You have a higher point of
outlook now. Your landscape is wider, more various. But there are yet
higher heights to be won. Go on and up. What an inspiring thing it is to
stand in the Alps, where there is nothing visible to overtop you but the
sky itself! Toward such an experience, in the realm of mind, literature
invites you.

There is no exclusiveness, no monopoly here. You are all invited. Homer,
Virgil, Dante, Milton—these are not for one, or for a few, but for all.
Socrates will talk with you, and Plato and Aristotle. Demosthenes will
repeat his peerless eloquence for you, and Cicero, and Chatham, and
Webster. It is a glorious fellowship. Here are Æschylus and Sophocles and
Euripides, here are Herodotus, Thucydides and Xenophon, here are Horace
and Juvenal, Livy and Tacitus. All ages and all races are yours. You may
be wise with the wisdom of time. Who would be content to live his own
individual life alone, when, to each one of us all it is open to live, as
it were, the whole life of mankind? And this is the gift of literature.

Let us be thankful that it is impossible for them to take away from
us the “Iliad,” the “Æneid,” the “Divina Commedia,” the “Pilgrim’s
Progress,” the “Paradise Lost.” These great works and their fellows are
ours forever. And there are more and ever more such works to be created
and enjoyed. Literature is indestructible. They may depress it, but they
can not destroy it. Always, however much we may enjoy knowing nature, we
shall at least as much enjoy knowing man. And it is in literature that
man speaks to man. And never will come a time when there shall not be
souls that must speak, and souls, too, in still greater number, that can
not but listen.

Literature, then, is a true good of human life, both because, first or
last, it addresses all, and because it speaks to that in all which is
highest, most permanent, most controlling. Did I say I would claim for
literature nothing more than equality of place with science? Let me unsay
that. Science is knowledge, literature is wisdom. As wisdom is better
than knowledge, so greater than science is literature.


In the afternoon the presentation of diplomas took place in the
Amphitheater. The services were most interesting, many excellent
addresses being delivered. A very interesting feature was the
presentation of a Class Memorial by the ’84s. This memorial is to adorn
the walls of the new Hall of Philosophy, and consisted of the portraits
of President Lewis Miller and Superintendent of Instruction, Dr. J.
H. Vincent. After the unveiling of the portraits President Miller was
introduced and said:

_Chautauquans, and especially the Class of ’84_:—The name Chautauqua is
now among classical words, and various definitions of it have been given,
and, until its meaning is fully known, definitions will be given. You
will therefore allow me to give a few definitions, so that this classical
word may fix itself upon your minds and hearts, and its spirit may ever
be with you. What does it mean? In its crude form I will not say, but
in these last few years, and since this Assembly began, it has come to
mean a place where God is all and in all; it means a place where caste,
sectarianism and denominationalism are unknown; a place for formulating
all kinds of moral forces; a place of rest, of proper rest, and physical
development; a place to inspire mental culture—in short, a place for the
consecration of all of man’s possibilities for good, and to prepare men
to go out to the world to do good. These are some of the definitions,
and you do not wonder, when you are here, how various and how broad
the outlook is, an outlook so broad that I fear many times we become
discouraged because of its breadth, and give up in despair. I am glad to
see this afternoon that there are many here who have not given up.

Now, for your encouragement, let me say a few words. Suppose that the
world should stand still for sixty years, and you had no more teachers
for the young, that all teaching stopped, and those who now have the
ability to teach, those who now have the skill to work in the mechanical
arts, or to take that scientific field we heard of this morning, passed
away, and there should be no more students or apprentices for sixty
years, what would be the result? Taking this country as a guide, we
would have but one million people who are in any vocation. This is an
astonishing fact, taken from the census of the United States, as I
gathered it some time ago for another occasion. Now, take the other fact:
in 1880, twenty-six millions of the American people—more than one half of
the inhabitants of the United States—were below twenty-one years of age,
and had not taken up any vocation or any purpose in life. Chautauqua puts
within your reach a privilege. I saw a man among your number this morning
who was eighty-four years old. With that exception, few of you are sixty.
There are not so many gray hairs here as there were this morning. In
sixty years many of you will have gone; most of the men you find here
on this platform will have gone, and you will have the privilege of
taking their places. We sometimes think we have no place, there is no
use trying to become anything because all these places are filled, but
before you are sixty years old you will have the privilege of coming up
through these avenues and taking any place you are able to fill. These
avenues will be open to you. See what privileges you will have. I will
give you the figures. You will have sixty-four thousand chances to take
the rostrum or the pulpit; you will have eighty-five thousand chances
to take a place in medicine; you will have two hundred and twenty-seven
thousand chances to be teachers or scientists. All others will have
given way before you. Now, do you think it worth while to struggle to
become something? We can not all go through the schools, but by this new
Chautauqua Idea we can gather together, and put our hearts together, and
in this way gather some ability that will be consecrated for good.

Dr. Vincent then announced Dr. Lyman Abbott, one of the Counselors of the
C. L. S. C., who spoke as follows:


_Mr. Chairman and Fellow-Chautauquans_:—The Circle, you know, is symbolic
for the conception of perfection. The C. L. S. C. stands, therefore,
by its very title, for an inclusion of all knowledge. Dr. Wilkinson
this morning dealt with one half of that Circle, literature. There is
nothing to be added to what he said this morning, for certainly I would
not detract anything from what he said, if I could. The praise that he
awarded to literature as a means of education was well deserved, as it
was well given.

I thank him for having left us for this afternoon the other half of
the subject, and I want to say something to you about science. And I
approach it from the side of ignorance, not as a scientific man, but
as one whose education in youth, and ever since, has been neglected on
the scientific side, and who looks at science from the point of view
of desire and aspiration, not from the standpoint of satisfaction and
achievement. Certainly science has done a great deal for us in the mere
physical and material realm, and of that aspect Dr. Wilkinson spoke this
morning. It has enlarged, if not our comforts, certainly the material of
our comforts. It has enlarged, if not our satisfaction, at all events
our content. It is to science we owe the fact that we have so largely
increased the facilities also for our learning. Science has made for
us voyaging and travel easy; science has bound the different parts of
our nation together with iron bands; science enables us readily and
quickly to communicate with one another; science has formed our houses,
preserving us from cold; science has illuminated our houses, and redeemed
from darkness and night the hours that can be given to social intercourse
and study. In innumerable ways, science has added to our material and
moral well-being.

But it is of science as an educator that the words I have to speak
this afternoon are to be directed. I am sure nature has another aspect
than that of a mere servitor, and is a material educator. So science
has another aspect than that of adding to our mere material and bodily
comfort. Science ministers also to our intellect and our spirit, like
literature. I shall not undertake to put these in the balance, each over
against the other, and see which is the better of the two. Now, it is
scarcely necessary for me to point this to you who are pursuing both
literature and science, that both of these develop the mind. Science as
well as literature develops the soul and the spirit of man, the inner
life. Science is teaching us to observe. It is teaching us other things,
but that is all I wish to say to you this afternoon. It is teaching us
to observe—how to use our eyes. It is astonishing how many men and women
there are in this world who do not know how to use their eyes. Science
is making us observant of the minuter as well as of the grander of God’s
works. The motto of the C. L. S. C. stands on the wall before you, “We
study the Word and the Works of God.” The word written in man’s heart,
that literature opens to us; the works that are written on all nature,
that science opens to us.

I go out for a walk on the Catskills; I look off, I see the view, the
trees, the June aspect. But there is a scientist who walks by my side.
He points out to me the little scratches in the rock, and tells me it
is the path of the glacier, that here where I am walking the glacier in
the centuries long gone by made its march, and that there were higher
mountains here then than now, and there was a sea in the valley below,
and here are the marks, the footprints of it. He takes his hammer, breaks
a rock, and points out to me a trilobite. He tells me that all these
rocks are rich in the remains of animal life, they are filled with the
remains of those animals which have disappeared. He is seeing what I
did not see, what I did not know, he has learned to use his eyes, he is
teaching me that I am as one who, having eyes, sees not.

One does not need great apparatus to become in some small measure at
least, a scientific observer. I was brought up as a boy to think,
whether my teacher’s fault or my own I do not know, that the only use
of my eyes was to read books, and I read them. But the great book in
the midst of which I was living I never read. I know of some boys in my
home who have furnished themselves with some naturalists’ pins, some
cork, one of those boxes of drawers made to hold spools such as you see
in any dry goods store, and which you can get for a “thank you;” they
have provided themselves with a pole and a net, and now, when they go
out into the woods, it is not for frolic, or waste of time. They see a
bug or butterfly, they out with the pole and catch it. They are filling
a museum. When they catch their butterfly, they come home with more
questions about him, where he comes from, than I can answer. Whether
their museum comes to much or not I do not care. They are learning to
read that literature that comes before all books, the literature that God
has written in the clouds, in the rocks, in the mountains, and in the
flying things.

But science teaches us more than that. It teaches us not merely to
observe with our eyes, but with our inward nature. We do not simply see
works. “The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof.” You do not
know a library because you know the names of the books that are printed
on the backs of them, and you have not begun to know science because you
have begun to gather a few isolated facts out of the heaven above, or the
rocks beneath, or the trees. Not until you have learned what is in the
books do you know literature; not until you know what is the truth that
lies behind nature and palpitates within it, do you know science.

The crown that is upon the brow of science is composed of stars, every
one of which is a star from God’s own heavens, and the hieroglyphic
roll she has in her hands, which we strive to read, is God’s own words,
no less than the printed book, from which we study of his word and his
works. Science and religion stand at the door of God’s great temple,
beckoning with one hand to those who stand without, and with the other
pointing to Him who sits upon the throne within.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. Vincent then read the following letter from Counselor Gibson, of

                                             LONDON, 15th July, 1884.

    MY DEAR FELLOW STUDENTS:—The pressure of engagements, which is
    usually at its height in the month of May, and begins to relax as
    June advances, has this year continued much longer than usual,
    and threatens now to traverse the month of July; but I must not
    again disappoint my dear brother, Dr. Vincent, by postponing my
    letter till too late, as I unhappily did last year, for which I
    ask his pardon, and yours.

    I congratulate you, with all my heart, on the work of the year,
    and on the wonderful growth of our Circle. How speedily has the
    little one become a thousand, and many thousands!

    I can not say that the Chautauqua Idea, pure and simple, has as
    yet taken root in England; but there are approximations to it,
    and the principles of which it is an embodiment are everywhere
    gaining ground. To my mind Chautauqua stands for the keeping
    together of many things which God hath joined, and which men are
    too apt to put asunder. First, I think of holiday recreation and
    wholesome study which many imagine to be mutually destructive,
    whereas our experience proves them to be mutually helpful. Well,
    the people here are beginning to appreciate this. In connection
    with the great “Fisheries Exhibition,” which was the chief
    novelty of the London season, last year, courses of useful
    instruction were organized; and this year, as an important part
    of “The Health Exhibition,” which has taken its place, lecture
    courses, bearing on important branches of sanitary science, have
    been delivered, and a number of useful little manuals, like those
    with which we have become familiar in our Chautauqua course, have
    been issued, one of them by Mrs. Gladstone.

    Then, I think of secular and sacred culture, which there has been
    quite too much disposition in our day to separate, and which
    are, in my opinion, so happily combined in our studies. Here I
    am reminded of the recent great Sunday-school meeting at Exeter
    Hall, which I had the privilege of addressing, where the chair
    was occupied by the Hon. A. J. Mundella, who manages with such
    ability and energy the educational department of the government.
    Mr. Mundella, who has risen from a very humble position, had
    the foundation of his education laid in the Sunday-school, and
    a night school connected with it, and when very young, received
    much stimulus and encouragement by the presentation of a Bible
    for proficiency in his Sunday-school lessons. He does not forget
    his obligation, and his speech that evening from the chair was
    eminently hearty and satisfactory. I am reminded, also, in the
    same connection, of an important meeting held recently in the
    Jerusalem Chamber, a private meeting, from which reporters were
    excluded, and which, therefore, I must not report to you further
    than to say that it was a representative gathering of leading
    men of all denominations, including some distinguished Roman
    Catholics, (one of whom, by the by, made the finest speech of
    the evening), to consider the question whether it was possible
    under a system of State Education in a country like England
    satisfactorily to combine secular and religious instruction.

    And this suggests another of our pleasing combinations at
    Chautauqua, the drawing together, not only in fraternal
    feeling, but also in important work, of Christians of different
    denominations. I need not say that the current of the times
    still sets in the same direction. The meeting in the Jerusalem
    Chamber, above referred to, is an illustration of it; and as a
    farther indication I may refer to the fact that recently the
    rector of St. Paul’s, Cheswick, after due announcement, preached
    and conducted divine service for Mr. McLeod, successor to Dr.
    Cumming, of Crown Court. He did it with the full knowledge that
    it might get him into trouble; but he was willing to have the
    question tested at his expense. Considerable notice has been
    taken of it in various ways, but no one has ventured to make any

    I take it that one prominent feature of the Chautauqua movement
    is the desire and endeavor to bring those privileges which have
    been hitherto to a large extent the possession of the few,
    within reach of as large a circle as possible—the attempt to
    bring the scholarship of the scholarly into far closer relations
    with the wants of the people. And here I am reminded of the new
    Oxford movement, of which you have no doubt heard—the resolution
    of a large number of young Oxonians to devote themselves to
    work in the East End of London for the educational and social
    amelioration of its wretched poor. The plan involves residences
    among the people and brotherly intercourse with them. It remains
    to be seen, whether, without those high Christian motives which
    have always been found necessary in the past, but so far are not
    at all acknowledged, there will be that “patient continuance in
    well-doing,” without which nothing worthy can be accomplished.
    But whatever may be thought as to the probable success and
    permanence of the movement, it is certainly a most gratifying
    sign of the times.

    But I am allowing myself to drift into a treatise _de omnibus
    rebus et quibus dam aliis_, and must therefore call a halt, and
    come to a period, which I do with renewed congratulations for
    the past and hearty good wishes and earnest prayers for a happy
    holiday season, and a prosperous and fruitful year of work.

    I shall not sign myself your Counselor, though you honor me with
    the title, for I am sure that any counsel I can give at this vast
    distance is of very small account, but I do heartily call myself
    your sincere friend,

                                                   JOHN MONRO GIBSON.

Many kind letters of greeting and encouragement were read. No one stirred
a deeper sympathy than that from Mrs. Abbey Gough, of Westfield, N. Y.,
the senior graduate of the C. L. S. C.:

“Although I am too feeble to be with you to-day, and although I am nearly
eighty-four years old, I am with you in spirit. God bless the C. L. S.
C., and God bless the Class of ’82.”

Dr. Vincent said: “This dear woman marched in through the gate when
eighty-two years of age; her son of over fifty, or about fifty, behind
her; his daughter of twenty, perhaps, behind him; three generations in
that Class of ’82. She still lives, at the age of eighty-four, to give
greeting on this glad day.”

The letters were followed by the reports from the assemblies, after which
Dr. Vincent addressed the Class of ’84 as follows:


To the members of the Class of ’84, a few words. I have watched your
progress during the four years with peculiar interest. You have gained
to yourselves a reputation as a class noted for zeal and earnest work
in the C. L. S. C. You are known as “The Irrepressibles.” You have
been characterized by an ingenuity in devising methods. In making up
the history of the C. L. S. C. there are several things that may be
traced to you. You number in your roll some distinguished names. You
have throughout the entire extent of the Circle labored with peculiar
diligence and fidelity for its general good. I am sure that the Class of
’82, and the Class of ’83, whose experience made it possible for you to
be what you have been, will not complain of the tribute which at this
time I seek to pay to you. I know that the other classes will follow your
lead, and be glad if they can have the good reputation which attaches to
your name, the name of the Class of ’84, the “Irrepressibles” of the C.
L. S. C.

There are some of you who are young, in the freshness and brightness of
life, with youth’s outlook. May it be a long time before the grave folds
its arms about you. May you do valiant service not only in the cause of
the C. L. S. C.—that were a little thing—but, using it as a platform,
may you accomplish large things and worthy in the homes you represent,
in the community of which you are a part, in the branch of the Church of
the living God with which you may be connected, and may your impress be
felt on the national life. Above all, may you do good work in God’s way,
by the divine process in your own lives, that as the years go by you may
build up character that shall shine as a light on the world, character
that shall endure through the eternities.

Some of you are in middle life. Aches, and pain, and signs of breaking
down once in awhile, make you stop and think. You wish that you could
recuperate, and get back some of the old power. Probably you will. You
have yet ten years, twenty years, thirty years, in which you may do
splendid service. May God’s blessing through this ministry enrich these
remaining years, and make you glad, and your friends glad, through every
succeeding year, that you were ever identified with our Circle.

Some of you are old. You do not like to have that stated; or do you?
You do not feel old: eighty-four years is nothing. May the venerable
members of our Circle, who count from—where _does_ old age begin—from
eighty-four and above, may you live until the new century shall dawn,
and may your last days be your brightest and your best days. You do
not know, you men and women of advanced years, how it warms our hearts
to see you in this presence and engaged in these services. We have for
all time glorified childhood. I can never allow a youngster to pass me
without a salutation. There is only one place where I do not like to hear
a child’s voice, and that is when it interrupts a public service. I take
great delight in these little fellows whom we meet in the streets, at the
front doors, and in all American homes everywhere. But I think we have
glorified the possibilities of childhood to such an extent that men and
women full-grown have come to think that all the possibilities of life
are hidden in the earliest years. When we see men and women of advanced
age coming to this place to receive the reward of four years’ work, with
ambition for years to come remaining, we feel that the possibilities of
this life are not limited at all.

And when we remember, as the poet says, that death is “but a gray eve
between two shining days,” there is no limitation to man. Therefore, work
on, work forever. God help us to begin in this life, that we shall make
everlasting progress as we enjoy the fellowship of the saints in the
presence of God.

So, then, my young friends of eighty-four years and under, I bid you
welcome to-day to this place, and as President Miller shall authorize
the distribution of the diplomas which you have won, we shall take
pleasure in handing them to you. We expect one of these days to see them
glittering with seals, new seals freshly won, placed on the pyramid. When
you are asleep in the long sleep, the diploma shall hang on the wall—a
tribute to your ambition and faithfulness.

The class song of ’84 was sung, the diplomas were distributed to the
graduates, and the Commencement services of the Class of ’84 were at an


There is no part of the world where the C. L. S. C. thermometer runs
higher than in New England, notwithstanding the current opinion as to
the general iciness of that region. The members of the circle in the six
Eastern States are as enthusiastic in their loyalty, and as ardent in
their manifestation of it, as any other section on the planet. This was
abundantly shown at the fifth session of the New England Sunday-school
Assembly, held at Framingham, Mass., from July 16 to 26, under the
direction of Rev. Dr. Vincent, assisted by Rev. A. E. Dunning and Rev. J.
L. Hurlbut, D.D. The work under the auspices of the C. L. S. C. was most

The C. L. S. C. is a circle with several centers, hence no one will
be surprised to learn that at Framingham there was more than one
headquarters. At a modest little cottage with one room, Rev. and Mrs. O.
S. Baketel conducted the business of the Circle, enrolled names, received
fees, distributed circulars, furnished badges, and answered questions
innumerable. But besides this, every class had its own headquarters,
where the class register was kept and where members met for acquaintance
and conversation. Of course the Irrepressible ’84 trimmed up its tent,
and attracted general notice; but its example was soon followed, and it
was hard to say which of the classes kept itself most prominently before
the eyes of the people.

The Round-Table was held in Normal Hall, which was crowded with members
at every session, and brilliant with badges, for at Framingham every
C. L. S. C. wears the colors of his class. At the opening Round-Table
Dr. Vincent presided, and a spicy discussion on the question “What is
Education?” was participated in by many speakers. The second meeting, in
the Superintendent’s absence, was conducted by Dr. J. L. Hurlbut, who
wrote on the blackboard the words, “What good is the C. L. S. C. doing?”
A rattling fire of answers, fifty in number, was shot off from the seats
faster than the nimble pen of the reporter could take them down. Perhaps
in some future article we may present some of them to the readers of
THE CHAUTAUQUAN, as handy arguments for use in working up an interest
in the cause. Other Round-Tables were held, alike in the enthusiasm and
the interest, though differing in their subjects. New England is a land
where everybody speaks in the town-meeting, and the Round-Table of the
C. L. S. C. is no exception to the general rule. The camp-fire was more
systematically conducted than is usual at assemblies. On the evening
appointed, each class met at its headquarters and marched to the Normal
Pavilion. Here the procession was formed in order of classes, with
the venerable veterans of ’82 in the advance, and the infants of ’88,
organized on that very day as the “Plymouth Rock Class” as last in the
line. The army, five hundred strong, marched through the darkness to a
natural amphitheater in the edge of the encampment, where a gigantic
bonfire had been already kindled. Here a circle was formed, the members
in front, and a few thousand spectators peeping over their shoulders,
and wishing that they were there. Songs were sung, and speeches were
made by representatives of each class, beginning with the youngest, for
which Rev. A. E. Dunning spoke, and ending with Rev. O. S. Baketel for
’82, after which Dr. Vincent gave a few warm, uplifting words. Then two
circles were formed, clasping hands around the dying embers. Within stood
the class of ’84, about to graduate, and around them their companions
of the other classes, all joining hands, while “Blest be the tie” was
sung with deep feeling, a prayer was offered, and the benediction was
spoken. This camp-fire was one where mirth, sentiment, thoughtfulness
and religion were mingled in happy proportions. The class anniversaries
formed a prominent feature in the Assembly. Every class had its
organization; its headquarters was a place where social reunions were in
progress nearly all the time; and in addition, each class, from ’82 to
’87, held its own anniversary, generally in Normal Hall, where speeches
were made, poems were read, histories recited, prophecies predicted,
songs sung, and the merits, general and specific, of each class in the
C. L. S. C. over all the other classes, were duly presented to its own
delight. Middle aged men and women showed all the enthusiasm of young
collegians in the _esprit du corps_ for their class organization. The
Recognition Services were attended by nearly a thousand members of the C.
L. S. C. and twice as many outside listeners. The procession, marshaled
by Prof. Sherwin and headed by Dr. Vincent, “the distinguished guests,”
and the band, marched around the grounds to the Auditorium. Here the
heroes of the day, the class of ’84, occupied the platform, while the
graduate and undergraduate classes filled the reserved seats in front.
The Commencement oration was delivered by President Julius R. Seelye, of
Amherst, on “The Power of Ideas.” He was followed by Mr. John B. Gough,
in a few remarks both witty and wise. Then Dr. Vincent, with a brief
address to the graduating class, presented the diplomas to those present,
one hundred and eighty-eight in number. We are conscious that our brief
paragraph is a cold _résumé_ of one of the most enthusiastic and glowing
services ever held in New England. We must not forget to state that the
New England C. L. S. C. have resolved to erect a Hall of Philosophy
on the topmost summit of the hill in the Assembly ground. It is to be
modeled after the classic building in St. Paul’s Grove, dear to all
Chautauquans, and will gleam from far, with its columns and white roof,
inviting the passers by to climb the heights of knowledge by the paths of
the C. L. S. C.


The fifth annual Pacific Coast Assembly convened at Monterey, California,
on Monday evening, June 30, 1884. The president, Dr. Stratton, was
not able to be present at the opening of the Assembly, and Dr. C. L.
Anderson, of Santa Cruz, vice president, took the chair and made the
opening address. It was an admirable review of the studies of the year,
a cordial greeting to all present, and an enthusiastic explanation of
the Chautauqua Idea. His audience was a large and intelligent one. The
hall was beautifully decorated with evergreens, flags, bunting, and the
C. L. S. C. mottoes. The evening was one of rare beauty, and altogether
the Assembly lacked nothing but the genial presence of a few of its usual
leaders. The summer was unusually cool, and consequently there were
fewer people at the coast than last year, but the Chautauquans turned
out well, and there was a perceptible increase in the daily attendance
over that of last year. The musical department was under the excellent
management of Mrs. R. L. Higgins, of San José, and was a matter of great
pleasure and congratulation during the whole session. Various clergymen
were in attendance, and a brief devotional exercise opened each meeting.
There is not space here for extended notice of the ten days’ literary
feast, but we will briefly recapitulate the points of interest. Miss
Lucy Washburn, of the State Normal School, gave two admirable talks upon
the “Circulation of the Blood,” and two others upon “Methods of Bible
Study,” all of which were precisely what the audience liked to hear,
and were as profitable as they were pleasant. Professor Moses, of the
Berkeley State University, gave three historical lectures of great value,
upon that period of Roman history during which Christianity became the
religion of the empire. Rev. Dr. McLean, of Oakland, gave a brilliant
description of a recent trip to the Hawaiian Islands. Mr. F. B. Perkins,
of San Francisco, talked wisely and wittily of “Methods of Historical
Investigation.” Mr. Adley Cummins lectured eloquently upon “What the
Orient has done for us.” Mr. Clee, of Berkeley, talked interestingly
of the “Date Palm.” Mr. Matthew Cook, of Sacramento, lectured upon
“Entomology.” Rev. Dr. Vance, of Carlisle, Penn., read a charming paper
upon “Africa.” Mrs. M. H. Field, of San José, had two papers, one upon
“Holy George Herbert,” and the other upon the “Women of Ancient Greece.”
Miss Jessica Thompson, of San José, also had two beautiful literary
papers, one upon Shakspere’s “As You Like It,” and the other upon
Tennyson’s “Princess.” Mr. Joel Bean told of the “Council of Nice,” and
Dr. C. L. Anderson unfolded the marvels which lie in “A Drop of Water.”
Dr. Stratton gave the closing lecture—a most noble one—on “Potential
Ideas.” The Sabbath included in the session was devoted to Temperance,
under the excellent management of the W. C. T. U. of California.
There was a glorious sermon in the morning by Rev. Dr. Briggs, of San
Francisco, upon “Woman’s Work,” a grand children’s meeting in the
afternoon, and a women’s mass meeting in the evening, when Mrs. McCall,
of San José, read an excellent paper upon “Temperance Education.” Mrs.
Browne, of San Francisco, the State President of the W. C. T. U., made a
grand address, and others made brief remarks. Beautiful weather prevailed
during the entire Assembly, and the utmost good fellowship. The regular
business meeting was held on the afternoon of the 10th. The reports of
the secretaries and treasurer were read, and an election of officers
held. The old officers were reinstated, and various committees appointed.
Rev. Dr. Stratton is again president; Dr. C. L. Anderson, Dr. Wythe,
and Professor H. B. Norton, vice presidents; Mrs. M. H. Field, general
secretary; Miss M. S. Bowman, Assembly secretary; Mrs. Eloise Dawson,
treasurer. C. L. S. C. day was the closing day of the Assembly. It was
as bright and sunny as could be desired, and all things were propitious.
The Chautauquans gathered in the parlors, each distinguished by an oak
leaf badge, and then marched two and two in long procession over to the
Assembly Hall. There were but eight graduates present. Four graduating
essays were read, all of marked merit. The general secretary read some
clippings from her note book. Dr. Stratton made a brief address. Mrs.
McCall read a beautiful memorial paper on Mrs. M. H. McKee, of San José,
one of last year’s graduates, and a most efficient and brilliant member
of the C. L. S. C. The diplomas were presented, and then the Assembly
adjourned to meet in the afternoon on Chautauqua Beach for a Round-Table
talk and a mussel-roast. The names of the graduates present were: Dr.
C. L. Anderson, Santa Cruz, Cal.; Mrs. Helen Dryden, Gilroy, Cal.; Mrs.
J. A. Whitney, Gilroy, Cal.; Mrs. Lillian Shuey, Brentwood, Cal.; Miss
Gussie H. Wilcox, Sacramento, Cal.; Mrs. Eloise Dawson, Mrs. C. P. Baily
and Mrs. Eliza Mantz, San José, Cal. There are thirty others who have
completed the course but who were prevented from coming to Monterey. The
Round-Table on the beach was a lively affair. Some fifteen or twenty
circles were represented, and all reported their respective circles as
wide-awake and pursuing their readings with unabated zeal. After this
exchange of experiences the Assembly laid aside its dignity and gave
animated attention to the steaming mussels which were generously passed
around by “the muscular committee.” The tempting bivalves had been
gathered by the bushel in the early morning, and at precisely the right
hour laid upon great beds of coals in full sight of the Round-Table
gathering. A bevy of young ladies assisted in serving the multitude, and
a merry feast it proved. The California mussel-roast and the down-east
clam-bake are convivial cousins. The Monterey Assembly closed its fifth
meeting in peace and good will, and with the hope of many and many
another summer school by the sunset sea.



    God of our lives—past, and to be,
    God of the earth, the land and sea,
    With all Thy works, we worship Thee.

    In humble faith our souls would bear
    To Thee our every weight of care,
    And all the burden of our prayer.

    But with what language can we raise
    A fitting tribute to Thy praise,
    And celebrate Thy works and ways?

    Fresh blessings, countless as the sand,
    Flow as perpetual from Thy hand
    As do the waves upon the strand.

    More deep and boundless than the sea,
    Thy love from all eternity
    Sides every inlet full and free.

    On this Pacific shore we meet,
    This Temple-Grove our pilgrim feet
    Draws to its sacred calm retreat.

    Make us to feel Thy presence near,
    And with Thy goodness crown the year
    Whose harvest fruits are offered here.

    Our “Feast of Tabernacles” bless,
    Hallow these tents and cottages
    With peace, and joy, and righteousness.

    A host from many a church and land,
    We would, with loyal heart and hand,
    For Christ our King united stand.

    Thou who hast led us all our days,
    O’er fertile plains and desert ways,
    Be here an _altar_ to Thy praise!


The Inter-State Assembly of Kansas, Missouri, and the surrounding states,
was held at Ottawa, Kansas, from June 24th to July 4th, under the
superintendence of Rev. J. L. Hurlbut, D.D. It was a large meeting, some
estimating the aggregate attendance at fifty thousand different people,
during the eleven days; and in every way successful, whether viewed as
to the interest of its exercises, the thoroughness of the work done in
its classes (which are the backbone of an Assembly), or the financial
receipts, which are needful to maintain the institution. The C. L. S. C.
is somewhat new at this Assembly, as it was first recognized in 1883,
when only about twenty members were present at the camp-fire. This
year witnessed a great increase in the interest. Several Round-Tables
were held, and reports were received from twenty-eight local circles,
aggregating over four hundred members, all of which were represented by
members present. At the Round-Table discussions were held upon topics
such as these: “What are the advantages of the local circle?” “How may
the local circles be made interesting as well as profitable?” “How shall
they be organized?” beside endless inquiries concerning the subject of
“seals” which not even Dr. Vincent himself could always have answered had
he been present. The camp-fire was held on Tuesday evening, July 1, and
was a great success, since it not only gave delight to the members, but
awakened an interest among the public present, and was followed by forty
new members who joined the C. L. S. C. the next day, the advance guard
of the class of 1888. After the evening lecture the members gathered in
procession, marched around the encampment, and formed in a circle around
the fire. Here the songs were sung, and addresses, brief and pointed,
some grave and others gay, were made by Rev. D. C. Milner, of ’82, the
president of the Assembly, Mr. F. A. Hatch, (_the_ member of ’84 who was
present), Y. M. C. A. secretary, of Kansas City, Rev. Duncan Brown, of
St. Joseph, Mo., Mr. A. Zartman, of Kansas City, (a place which boasts
of seven circles and two hundred members of the C. L. S. C.), Mr. E.
A. Spring, our Chautauqua sculptor, and Professor W. F. Sherwin, who
belongs to all the classes. At the close the hand-clasping circle was
formed by the members, seventy-three in number, and a prayer was offered
by the superintendent of the Assembly. The C. L. S. C. tide is rising
at the Inter-State Assembly, and next year we hope to count our members
by the hundreds. One minister, who with his wife had been reading the
course alone, went home from the Assembly and organized a circle of forty
members, ready for the fall campaign; and there are more to follow. It is
proposed next year to hold a Recognition Service, and confer the diplomas
upon such members of the graduating class as live between the Mississippi
and the Rocky Mountains, and can be present at Ottawa.


While the opening exercises of the Inter-State Assembly at Ottawa,
Kansas, were in progress a similar service was being held for the first
time in a large pavilion on the grounds of the Maplewood Park Assembly
near Waseca, Minn. The location of this new Assembly is delightful. It
is on the high lands of Central Minnesota, about sixty miles south of
the great cities of the Northwest, St. Paul and Minneapolis, and central
to a large and wealthy agricultural region, in which within easy reach
of the grounds are a number of thriving villages. The grounds consist of
a peninsula putting out into Waseca lake and covered by a heavy growth
of maple, beech and elm forest trees. The nucleus of a C. L. S. C.
organization existed in a local circle in the village of Waseca. During
the ten days of the Assembly several meetings were held, the plans of
the Home College explained, converts made, and on the evening of July
1st the first camp-fire was kindled in the presence of a large audience.
Addresses were delivered by Reverends Levi Gilbert, H. C. Jinnings, John
Stafford, Dr. Emory Miller and others. The meetings were pronounced
successful, and the prediction of still larger successes volunteered.


At Island Park Assembly, located near Rome City, Indiana, interest in
the work and delightful associations of the C. L. S. C. began with the
observance of the Sunday vesper hour on the Sunday preceding the opening
of the Assembly. From that the enthusiasm and interest grew, reaching
a climax on Chautauqua Day. A new hall had been erected on a beautiful
point of land projecting into the lake, through the open window of which
came the glint of sunset light and the rippling of wavelets on the beach
to mingle with the voice of “Evening Praise.” The Sunday evening vespers
were among the most delightful and helpful religious influences of the
Assembly. At the daily Round-Tables a series of brief lectures were
delivered, three by Dr. Wm. M. Blackburn on “English History,” two on
“Biology” by Dr. W. F. Yocum, one on the “Study of Literature” by Wallace
Bruce, and three on “Astronomy” by Prof. F. H. Baily. “Chautauqua Day”
was the red letter day of the Assembly. Early in the morning people
began to gather, each train reinforcing the crowd, all eager to see
and hear the “Commencement exercises.” The Tabernacle was beautifully
decorated with flags, bunting, flowers, oak leaf wreaths and festoons,
the mottoes of the C. L. S. C., monograms and other devices. On the edge
of the platform stood a representation of the “Golden Gate,” under the
arch of which the members of the class of ’84, present to receive their
diplomas, passed to their seats on the platform. The procession was of
imposing proportions, the largest ever seen at Island Park. The oration
was delivered by Counselor Lyman Abbott, D.D., and his eloquent words
of counsel will not soon be forgotten. Sixteen members of ’84 received
their diplomas. In the evening, after the Chautauqua vesper service, the
night procession was formed and escorted along the illuminated way under
arches on which the legends, “Religion,” “Art,” “Science,” “History,”
“Literature” and “Philosophy” could be read, to the place of the
camp-fire. Here by the light of a magnificent fire an hour was spent in
singing Chautauqua songs, listening to bright and witty speeches, brief
recitations and reminiscences of similar fires at Chautauqua, closing
with the “Night Song” and prayer for light and blessing on members of the
Circle present and absent.


Monona Lake Assembly promises to be one of the more important centers
of C. L. S. C. work. The grounds are situated on the banks of one of
the four lakes surrounding the capital city of the State of Wisconsin,
and within a mile of it. Seventy-five passenger trains go and come each
day, making the grounds accessible from all directions. In spite of
rainy weather and low temperature the attendance this past season was
large and enthusiastic. Daily Round-Tables were held and though often
interfered with by other meetings and lack of a suitable and permanent
place of meeting, were well attended and proved very interesting.
Thursday, July 31st, was C. L. S. C. day, and about three hundred and
fifty members participated in the Recognition Service. The oration was
delivered by Bishop Cyrus D. Foss, D.D., the theme selected, “The True
Education” was ably discussed and a source of encouragement to many
members of the circle. The camp-fire was lit on the highest point of land
on the grounds, and the spot thus dedicated was tendered by the Board
of Directors as the site for a new Chautauqua Hall. A vigorous canvass
of the State will be made in the interest of the C. L. S. C., and it is
expected that a new and commodious hall will be erected in time for our
next annual gathering.


This flourishing gathering of students, religious and secular, was
preceded this past summer by a large assembling of the teachers of Ohio
and vicinity, and the people were already admirably prepared for the
direct work of the Assembly. The program was the finest ever enjoyed by
the patrons of this place. In lectures and miscellaneous entertainments,
as well as normal class and children’s class work, it was not behind the
best in every feature of such gatherings, and the promises for future
years are most encouraging. Neither is Lakeside a whit behind its “old
mother” of the fair Chautauqua Lake in enthusiasm on the subject of
the C. L. S. C., although it necessarily lacks in numbers, and in the
distinction which comes of being the great “head-center;” a distinction
belonging, of course, to but the one place. But that all the people who
have interests at Lakeside, and who come under the influence of its
work, shall have something to do with this great reading circle, and get
a measure of its benefits, is one of the intense desires and energetic
aims of the Lakeside authorities. In accord with this purpose a day was
set apart, as usual, at the summer session of 1884, for the recognition
of as many members of the class of ’84 as might be present. Chancellor
Vincent was on hand and delighted the audience in the forenoon of the day
with his lecture on “Our Minister,” and in the afternoon held the special
Recognition Services, delivering one of his characteristic addresses on
this theme so near his heart, and moving his large company of hearers to
increasing zeal in behalf of the movement. Quite a representation of the
class were formally graduated. A large distribution of circulars relating
to the C. L. S. C. was made, and hundreds of people who had not before
come into direct knowledge of the subject were stirred into interest, and
doubtless many are thereby now at wholesome work. Several Round-Tables
were held during the Assembly, one by Dr. Vincent, on the evening of
the Special day, another by S. A. Wildman, Esq., and still another by
Rev. B. T. Vincent, the superintendent of the Assembly. At these there
was much interest manifested, and much more promoted, and evidences of
good work within the patronizing territory of Lakeside were given. It
is confidently expected that there will be a large representation of
the Class of 1885 at the Recognition Services which are provided for in
the outline of the program for the next year. And while, of course, all
who can go to Chautauqua and graduate under the brilliant circumstances
which attend the Commencement day there, will gladly do so, yet it will
be in some degree a delight, if that is not possible, to graduate at this
nearer point.


The Nebraska Sunday-school Assembly, held in August, at Crete, twenty
miles west of Lincoln, Neb., aroused much interest in the C. L. S. C. A
paper was read on the “History and Aims of the Circle,” by Rev. W. B.
Dada, of Stanton, Neb. Rev. A. E. Dunning, of Boston, president of the
class of ’88, followed with most encouraging words. Thirty-five persons
gave their names as members of the new class. Badges were secured,
and the freshman class is full-fledged for action. There were also a
few representatives of the classes of ’84, ’85, ’86 and ’87 present.
Three Round-Tables were held and many questions asked and answered. The
interest seemed to deepen as the session advanced. On August 23 all the
members of the different classes took a boat ride on the Blue River, and
on Thursday evening, August 26th, held a grand camp-fire on the grounds
of the Assembly, around which able speeches were made, cheering words
spoken, and Chautauqua songs sung. After the exercises the Chautauqua
salute was given in honor of Mr. F. I. Foss, of Crete, who the night
before publicly gave the Assembly a clear title deed to all the grounds
which it occupies, one hundred and nine acres, valued at $7,500, a
gift most noble and generous, accompanied with a condition as a spur
for others to lend a helping hand, namely: that $10,000 be raised for
buildings and improvements. The next day the citizens of Crete generously
subscribed nearly $5,000. Thus we have a young Chautauqua out here in the
far west, an infant child of but two years, but with the promise of a
glorious future. Rev. A. E. Dunning, of Boston, Mass., is to be managing
conductor next year.


Monteagle is about midway between the east and the west ends of
Tennessee, on the south side. It is about 2,400 feet above the sea. The
Assembly grounds are on the top of a plateau, and comprise about three
hundred and fifty acres. On one side they are bounded by a precipitous
bluff which goes straight down nearly a thousand feet. Monteagle is
two years old. They have their Amphitheater, and they have a Hall of
Philosophy, the pillars being the natural trunks of trees. There was
present there this summer a mass of representatives from the Southern
States. Electricity seemed to be in the air, and they gave salutes in a
manner never excelled. On C. L. S. C. day Rev. Frank Russell delivered an
address showing the design of the great Circle. In Mr. Russell’s report
at Chautauqua of the work done there he gives a pleasant description of
the decorations, the gate and arches. “The Hall of Philosophy was not
quite completed. The arrangement of the arches and the gate was a little
crude. I visited the spot some time Saturday morning, and directed the
carpenters how to make the gate. I regretted that it was not a golden
gate, and that there was no time to gild it. The ladies said they
would fix that. They took the ‘golden rod,’ which grows so profusely
all around there, and when we went there in the afternoon in the mixed
procession for the graduating class of ’84, the gate was upholstered and
really quilted in golden rod. It was a golden gate. We had the complete
procession, and the children with the flowers. The diplomas were given
and the Hall was dedicated.” One thing must be especially interesting to
the C. L. S. C. there, and that is that the Assembly at Monteagle was not
put to a dollar of expense for the building or any of the lectures before
the C. L. S. C. They collected the money themselves, and their treasurer
disposed of it. When they completed the Hall of Philosophy there was a
little money left in the treasury. In the evening they had a camp-fire
at the end of the Hall. It was a beautiful cone of flame which stood
until it was all consumed. The speeches were of a high character, without
preparation, thoroughly spontaneous.


Round Lake is located very near Saratoga Springs, twenty-five miles north
of Albany. In 1878 Dr. Vincent inaugurated Sunday-school Assembly work
there, and since that, with one exception, it has been kept up. C. L. S.
C. work has spread over the eastern part of the country very rapidly. Its
tidal wave caught the Round Lake people and bore them on to high tide,
and has kept them there ever since. They have thrown much energy into
their labors. The C. L. S. C. is a one-idea ism. On C. L. S. C. day at
Round Lake they were fortunate in having Counselor Wilkinson present. His
address was able. They are planning to do better and better, and expect
to stir that whole section by another year.


To accommodate the growing circles of the C. L. S. C. a regular
Chautauqua Assembly has been established at Long Beach, Southern
California. This locality, after deliberation, was chosen as being
central and accessible. It is twenty-two miles from Los Angeles by rail,
on a splendid ocean beach ten miles long, where tourists and invalids
may enjoy surf bathing the year round, with all the accommodations of
civilization, in a mild climate, tempered by the ocean in winter and
summer. Six months ago Long Beach was little more than a sheep ranch.
Now it has a great hotel, and lesser ones, forty cottages, and over a
hundred tents. Artesian water is brought three miles and delivered in
iron pipes on many streets. On the 21st we had a regular field day,
and good audiences. At 10 a. m. a lecture on the “Chautauqua Idea” was
delivered by Dr. Clark Whittier, of Riverside, and other speakers.
At 3 p. m. a regular Round-Table was held by Rev. S. J. Fleming, of
Ontario, California, and a masterly lecture by Prof. G. F. Bovard, of the
University of Southern California, followed. At this meeting a committee
on permanent organization was formed, and Dr. Clark Whittier was elected
president. Plans are made to organize, if possible, a C. L. S. C. in
every pastoral charge, school district, mine, and Y. M. C. A. in the
seven southern counties of California. We mean aggressive work on the
borders of the great Pacific.


The first Local Circle Assembly of which we have heard was held on June
30th, at Lake Grove, Auburn, Me. Six different circles in the towns of
Lewiston, Auburn, and New Gloucester were represented, and with their
invited guests made a gathering of several hundred people. This was the
first out-of-door C. L. S. C. Assembly ever held in Maine. The occasion
was one of great interest. A program of delightful exercises was carried
out. There was a grand banquet and a long list of witty and entertaining
after-dinner speeches. Among the pleasant features of the occasion was
the following kindly letter from Dr. Vincent to the Assembly:

                                   NEW HAVEN, CONN., June 18th, 1884.

    MY DEAR SIR AND BROTHER:—Through you I desire to salute the
    members of the C. L. S. C. to assemble at Lake Grove. Nothing but
    official engagements of an imperative character could keep me
    from the fellowship of the six circles on the 30th inst. I hail
    with joy all these movements which tend to develop the social
    life of our members, and to create within the circle something
    of the class and society spirit which characterizes the college.
    An important factor of school life is the association of students
    and the sympathy growing out of similar aims and experience.
    The delight which accompanies the development and play of such
    sentiments is not limited to the early years of life, nor are the
    relief, the recreation and the inspiration which it furnishes
    alone needed by youthful students. Full grown men need and can
    appreciate the same; and it is the object of the C. L. S. C. to
    promote it by our class spirit, by our annual and class songs,
    by the mottoes, often repeated, by the sundry devices which tend
    to make the C. L. S. C. a union of hearts. Accept my hearty
    salutations. May I exhort you all to be diligent missionaries of
    the C. L. S. C. Idea? Enlist as many members as you can in the
    class of 1888; and where it is impracticable to enlist members
    as members of the C. L. S. C., present to them with strong
    argument, the scheme of the “Spare Minute Course,” which will
    sooner or later result in larger work proposed by the older
    society. Praying that our Heavenly Father may be in the midst,
    that you may continue to study his word and works, and in all
    these you may never be discouraged, I remain your affectionate

                              J. H. VINCENT, Supt. Instr. C. L. S. C.

    J. C. HASKELL, Pres. Auburn C. L. S. C.

It is hoped that a summer school will follow in the train of this first


During the past year plans have been matured for holding an Assembly at
Lake D’Funiak, Florida. The C. L. S. C. will, of course, be the great
feature of the gathering. As the Assembly meets in February we may hope
to report its work in the present volume of THE CHAUTAUQUAN.


Beautiful for situation in one of the many lovely glades of the
Alleghenies, nearly 3,000 feet above the sea, in the very midst of grand
and imposing mountain scenery, and where the freshness and crispness
of the air itself gives inspiration, Mountain Lake Park, Garrett Co.,
Maryland, although but in the third year of its existence, owing to the
facility with which it is reached from the Mississippi Valley and the
Atlantic slope, and to its increasing celebrity as a delightful and
healthful summer resort, already numbers about eighty cottages and four
or five hotels or boarding houses, which in the height of the season
are inadequate to accommodate the guests who desire to avail themselves
of its many advantages. The Mountain Lake Park Assembly commenced its
second annual meeting here on August 14th, under the most favorable
auspices. The lecture course was an unusually brilliant one. The names
of Revs. D. H. Muller, D.D., of Cleveland, Ohio, Washington Gladden,
D.D., of Columbus, Ohio, Jesse Bowman Young, A. M., Philadelphia,
Penn., J. B. Van Meter, D.D., Baltimore, Md., Prof. Charles J. Little,
Ph.D., State Librarian of Pa., and others are themselves a sufficient
assurance of the very high character of the literary feast provided for
the deeply interested and discriminating audiences who daily listened
to them. The Chautauqua Sunday-school Normal Course was one of the
marked features of interest during the Assembly, the instructors being
Rev. J. T. Judd, Lewisburg, Pa., president of the Assembly, Prof. J. B.
Young, Philadelphia, Rev. Wm. M. Frysinger, Baltimore, and Prof. W. A.
Lindsay, Carlisle, Pa. After passing a written examination, diplomas
of the C. T. U. were granted to Rev. L. E. Peters, Clarksburg, W. Va.,
Dr. Robert W. Armstrong and Miss Laura Rice, of Baltimore, Maryland.
Thursday, August 28, was C. L. S. C. day. The members of the circle, the
officers of the Assembly, and the president and directors of Mountain
Lake Park Association assembled at 11 a. m., at a designated place in the
grove. The marshal of the day, C. O’Brien Mettee, Esq., of Baltimore,
formed the line of procession, which was headed by a number of little
girls bearing flowers to strew the path of the graduate, Mrs. A. C.
Rodgers, of Baltimore, who followed immediately with her escort of four
maids of honor. The officers of the Assembly and of the Association,
with the members of the circle, and other Chautauquans present, each
wearing a sprig of golden rod as a badge, brought up the rear of the
line. While marching from the Grove to the Auditorium the procession
united in singing Chautauqua Hymn No. 1, “We gather here a pilgrim
band,” after which, while the members and invited guests took the seats
reserved for them, Rev. Jesse B. Young, A. M., made the Commencement
address, after which all joined in the responsive service appropriate
to the second motto, “Let us keep our heavenly Father in the midst,”
and in the Chautauqua Hymn of Greeting. The president of the Mountain
Lake Park Association, Rev. Dr. J. B. Van Meter, of Baltimore, made the
salutatory address, Rev. C. W. Baldwin, of Cumberland, Md., offered
a few words, and President Judd then made a brief but eloquent and
suggestive address, concluding with the presentation of the Chautauqua
diploma to the graduate, Mrs. A. C. Rodgers, of Baltimore. At a meeting
of the circle on August 29, a unanimous vote of thanks was tendered
to President Judd, “for the able and kindly manner in which he had
presided over its sessions and in various ways furthered its interests.”
The secretary was instructed to furnish a copy of his report to THE
CHAUTAUQUAN for publication. The closing meeting of the Assembly was held
at night, followed by a general illumination, camp-fire, corn-roast,
stump speeches, and a general hand-shake good-bye. Rev. J. T. Judd was
unanimously reëlected as president for the ensuing year, and Dr. Robert
W. Armstrong, of Baltimore, was elected secretary, in place of Miss
Jennie Jones, resigned. Between twenty and thirty new members were added
to the circle.


BY REV. J. H. VINCENT, D.D., Superintendent of Instruction.

The season is over. The crowds have gone. The classic groves are again
quiet. The silent lake lies by a silent shore, reflecting the lovely
verdure of trees and terraces, and the deep blue of overarching heavens.
The Temple, busy scene for all these weeks, is solitary now as a deserted
abbey. The huge amphitheater with its capacious concave, its chairless
orchestra and sealed up organ, seems awful in its vast emptiness, and
sacred with haunting memories of eloquence and song, and of surging,
enraptured, applauding multitudes. Palestine is deserted. Jerusalem is
solitary. The waters of the Dead Sea have backed up until Jordan has far
overflown its banks. The fountains have ceased their play, the electric
light no more vies with moon and stars, the walks are well-nigh forsaken,
and again in the primeval forest one walks alone, and undisturbed
meditates in the temple of nature. One spot is doubly sacred since the
crowds have gone. It is the Hall of Philosophy. In impressive majesty it
crowns the hill. Its white columns present a fine contrast with the brown
and gray trunks, and the now changing foliage of the trees in St. Paul’s
Grove. The vesper song has ceased. The voices of query and counsel,
raillery, jest and melody, are no more heard. The earnest souls who
hither came with love and zeal, with hope and desire, have passed forth
into a busy world, with memories not soon to be forgotten, joys never
to be wholly extinguished, and resolutions which reach out towards the
higher, larger plane of human aspiration, to find their end and crown in

There is to me an ineffable charm about this dear old Hall. In it nature
dwells and God reigns. In it many a burdened soul has found in earnest
thoughtfulness, freedom and rest. Many an unsyllabled vow, without human
sign to mark it, has here brought peace and strength out of the silent
but all-encompassing heavens, to prepare human souls for human and divine
service in far away homes, and in coming days of struggle and sorrow.
The most sacred center of the whole Chautauqua world is the “Hall in the
Grove.” It is not far thence to heaven.

As I linger a few days in these silent and sacred sanctuaries after the
multitudes have gone, to rest myself and prepare for severer duties out
in the world, I think, of course, of the great and goodly company of
readers and students in the C. L. S. C. over this and other lands, and I
know you will receive a few words of advice that spring from the grasses
and drop from the trees, and steal out of the silences as enthusiasm
turns a listening ear to what the unembodied spirit of Chautauqua may say
to the sons and daughters of Chautauqua everywhere.

1. First of all let me say that enthusiasm, enkindled by solemn services
such as we have here enjoyed, needs to be incarnated and exercised in
plain, straight-forward, everyday doing through the whole year. Songs
and raptures, longings and covenants, must be transformed into heroisms
of a plain and practical type in the unsentimental and homely fields to
which stern duty may lead us. The Chautauqua fervor must become fidelity.
The Hall of Philosophy must help shop, kitchen, school-room and parlor.
Emotion must go into motive and muscle. Songs in August must make sinews
for October and May.

2. Our work must be more regular and steady. Spasmodic reading “to catch
up” are not as useful as everyday readings with plenty of time to think
over what one has read. System demands will-power. In resoluteness is
discipline. We retain and appropriate more effectually what we read
without a sense of hurry. A feeling of regret and of anxiety must hinder
the best action of mind. Therefore let us get into the way of doing a
little every day. Overcome the apparent or real difficulty in your way.
Resolve and then work your resolve, until it is worked out into action.
Make up your mind to this and keep it made up.

3. Don’t wait for local circles to be organized. Be your own local circle
till others become a part of you. Don’t regulate your life by the plans,
purposes, or whims of your neighbors. Be, and let your simple being stir
up other people to be and to do.

4. Go after other people. Talk to them. Tell them what this C. L. S.
C. movement means. Put “circulars” in their way. Send messages and
ambassadors to them. Don’t “bore” them exactly, but bear on them till
they at least examine the claims of the C. L. S. C.

“Day is dying in the West,” and it is time for closing words. Very
soon autumn leaves will strew the ground, and very soon the glory of
autumn will be hidden by the crystal splendors of winter. The blessed
reunions of this summer will have passed into history, and our scattered
fraternity be engaged in the conflicts of this weary and busy, but after
all, glorious world. In the strife and the weariness and the work let
us remember every inspiring service of the past, and gather strength
also from our look of faith into the future, the future that is nearest,
and the future that is very far off—a future in which we shall be the
glad children of a good Father—that father a great King, and that King
immortal, invisible, eternal, who has wonderful things for us which one
day he will give to us when he gives to us himself.

CHAUTAUQUA, September, 1884.



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


1. Q. So far as we know where did the history of Europe begin? A. In

2. Q. Who first settled the country, and who first conquered the land? A.
The Pelasgians, a simple agricultural people, were the first to settle
the country. Next, the Hellenes, a warlike race, conquered the land.

3. Q. To what did the blending of the Pelasgians and the Hellenes give
rise? A. To the Grecian language and civilization.

4. Q. What were two great “holding-points” for all the Greeks? A. The
half-yearly meeting of the Amphictyonic Council, and the national games
or festivals.

5. Q. What are the subjects of four of the early legends in the history
of Greece? A. The Argonautic Expedition in search of the Golden Fleece,
the Twelve Labors of Hercules, the Siege of Troy, and the Hunt of the
Caledonian Boar.

6. Q. What was one of the first clearly defined events of Grecian
history? A. The Dorian migration. The Dorians descended from the
mountains, moved south, conquered the Achæans in the Peloponnesus, and
occupied the chief cities—Argos, Corinth, and Sparta.

7. Q. What two races came to be the leading ones in Greece, and what
rival cities represented their opposing traits? A. The Dorians and the
Ionians. Sparta represented the Dorians and Athens the Ionians.

8. Q. Who finally crystallized into a constitution all the peculiarities
of the Spartan character? A. Lycurgus, a member of the royal family.

9. Q. What are some of the regulations Lycurgus prescribed in his aim
to make the Spartans a race of soldiers? A. Trade and travel were
prohibited. No money was allowed, except cumbrous iron coins. Most
property was held in common. Boys were educated and cared for by the

10. Q. What conquest made Sparta dominant in the Peloponnesus? A. The
conquest of Messenia in two long, bloody wars.

11. Q. According to the legends, what did Cecrops, the first King of
Athens, teach the people of Attica? A. Navigation, marriage, and the
culture of the olive.

12. Q. After the death of Codrus, the last monarch, how was Athens
governed? A. By archons, who first ruled for life, then for ten years,
and finally for one year.

13. Q. What was the character of a code of laws prepared by Draco for the
government of Athens? A. They were said to have been written in blood,
every offence being punished with death.

14. Q. Who drew a new constitution, repealing the harsh edicts of Draco,
and what was the effect upon Athens? A. Solon. Athens prospered under his
wise management.

15. Q. What tyrants subsequently governed Athens? A. Pisistratus, and his
sons, Hippias and Hipparchus.

16. Q. After the assassination of Hipparchus and the banishment of
Hippias, what form of government was established in Athens by Cleisthenes
as archon? A. A democracy.

17. Q. What brought about the Persian wars near the beginning of the
fifth century? A. The attempt of Cyrus, the King of Persia, to punish
Athens for assisting the Ionian cities of Asia Minor in throwing off the
Persian yoke.

18. Q. What was the result of the first expedition against Greece, sent
out under Mardonius, the son-in-law of Darius? A. The land troops were
defeated in Thrace, and the fleet was shattered while rounding Mount

19. Q. In what famous battle were the Persians defeated on a second
expedition against Greece? A. The battle of Marathon, the victorious
forces being commanded by Miltiades.

20. Q. After the death of Miltiades what two generals associated with him
at Marathon came to be the leading men in Athens? A. Themistocles and

21. Q. Under whom was the third invasion of Greece by the Persians
attempted? A. Under Xerxes, the son and successor of Darius, with over a
million soldiers.

22. Q. At what place were the Persian hosts held in check by a small band
of Greeks under Leonidas, a Spartan? A. At the pass of Thermopylæ.

23. Q. On the third day, a traitor having pointed out a mountain path by
which the Persians gained the rear of the Greeks, what was the fate of
Leonidas? A. He, with three hundred Spartans and seven hundred Thespians,
perished, fighting to the last.

24. Q. What leading city of Greece did the army of Xerxes burn? A. Athens.

25. Q. In what naval contest were the Persians soon after totally
defeated? A. The battle of Salamis.

26. Q. On the same day of the battle of Salamis what contest occurred at
the island of Sicily? A. The battle of Himera, in which the Carthaginian
forces under Hamilcar were utterly routed by Gelo, the tyrant of Syracuse.

27. Q. In the following year what land and what naval battles gave the
final death blow to the Persian rule in Europe? A. Platæa and Mycale.

28. Q. What league was formed to keep the Persians out of the Ægean? A. A
league called the Confederation of Delos, the different states annually
contributing to Athens a certain number of ships, or a fixed sum of money
for the support of the navy.

29. Q. After the banishment of Themistocles and the death of Aristides,
who were the leading men at Athens? A. Pericles and Cimon.

30. Q. To all students of Grecian literature, who must always appear as
the central figure of Grecian history? A. Pericles.

31. Q. What is the period during which Pericles ruled Athens called? A.
The Age of Pericles.

32. Q. During the latter part of the life of Pericles what war broke out
in Greece, which lasted twenty-seven years? A. The Peloponnesian war in
which nearly all the states of Greece took part, Athens and Sparta being
on opposite sides.

33. Q. What was the plan for the conduct of the war on either side? A.
The Spartan plan was to invade and desolate Attica, while that of Athens
was to ravage the coast of the Peloponnesus with its fleet.

34. Q. While the citizens of Attica were seeking protection within the
walls of Athens, what leader died during the pestilence that followed? A.

35. Q. Who was chief among the demagogues that now arose in Athens? A.
Cleon, a cruel, arrogant boaster, who gained power by flattering the

36. Q. What was the fate of Platæa during this war? A. It was besieged by
the Spartans, and when those defending the city surrendered every man was
put to death and the city razed to the ground.

37. Q. After peace had been established, by the influence of what
demagogue was the bloody contest renewed? A. By the influence of
Alcibiades, a young nobleman, the nephew of Pericles and pupil of

38. Q. What naval expedition was fitted out at the instance of
Alcibiades, and with what result? A. An expedition against Sicily. The
Athenian ships were defeated, and the troops attempting to flee by land
were overtaken and forced to surrender.

39. Q. Before the final defeat of the expedition, to what rival city had
Alcibiades given his support upon being summoned to Athens to answer
charges that had been brought against him? A. To Sparta.

40. Q. How was the Peloponnesian war ended? A. By the surrender of Athens
and her fleet, and the destruction of her long walls.

41. Q. By whom was Athens now for a time ruled? A. An oligarchy of thirty
persons. After they had ruled only eight months the Athenian exiles
returned in arms, overthrew the tyrants, and re-established a democratic

42. Q. What is meant by the “Retreat of the Ten Thousand” in Grecian
history? A. The march of ten thousand Greeks from the heart of the
Persian empire through a hostile country back to Greece.

43. Q. What battle, under what general resulted in the overthrow of
Spartan rule, and made Thebes the chief city in Greece? A. The battle of
Leuctra, the Theban army being led by Epaminondas.

44. Q. At what place did Epaminondas fight his last battle and die in the
moment of victory? A. At Mantinea.

45. Q. When Philip came to the throne of Macedon, to what end did he bend
every energy of his mind? A. To becoming the head of all Greece.

46. Q. What wars grew out of Philip’s scheme? A. The Sacred wars.

47. Q. At what battle did the Macedonian phalanx annihilate the armies of
Thebes and Athens? A. The battle of Chæronea.

48. Q. What befell Philip as he was preparing to lead an army into
Persia? A. He was assassinated at his daughter’s marriage feast.

49. Q. Who succeeded Philip, and by his conquests established a vast
empire in Asia? A. His son, Alexander.

50. Q. Soon after the death of Alexander, among whom was his empire
divided? A. Among his principal generals.


51. Q. What is the specific object of the “Preparatory Greek Course in
English?” A. To put into the hands of readers the means of accomplishing,
so far as this can be done in English, the same course of study in Greek
as that prescribed for those who are preparing to enter college.

52. Q. Of what three most famous peoples in the world are the Greeks one?
A. The Jews, the Greeks, and the Romans.

53. Q. By what name did the Greeks speak of themselves, and what was
their name for the land in which they lived? A. Hellenes, and Hellas was
their name for the land in which they lived.

54. Q. When trustworthy history begins, what were the three chief
divisions of the Hellenic stock? A. The Dorians, the Æolians, and the

55. Q. For what two things is the literature of Greece equally
remarkable? A. For its matter and for its form.

56. Q. What is there remarkable about the form of Greek literature? A.
There never has been elsewhere in the world so much written approaching
so nearly to ideal perfection in form as among the Greeks.

57. Q. In what department of literature do we without reserve have to
acknowledge the supremacy of the Greeks? A. In eloquence, and in the
literature of rhetoric, of taste, and of criticism.

58. Q. What is the golden age of Greek literature, Greek art, and Greek
arms? A. The age of Pericles.

59. Q. What do we know of the pronunciation of their language by the
ancient Greeks? A. Nobody knows with certainty exactly how the ancient
Greeks pronounced their language.

60. Q. What has been the general rule for scholars in the pronunciation
of Greek? A. To pronounce somewhat according to the analogy of their own

61. Q. What attempt, only partially successful, has recently been made
to introduce uniformity in the pronunciation of Greek? A. To secure the
common adoption of the pronunciation prevalent in Greece at the present

62. Q. What four Greek grammars are mentioned as perhaps the best? A.
Hadley’s, Goodwin’s, Crosby’s and Sophocles’.

63. Q. To what source of Greek learning do all these manuals acknowledge
their indebtedness? A. To German sources of Greek learning.

64. Q. Who is the most recent of the great German authorities in Greek
grammar? A. Curtius.

65. Q. In what dialect are the books chiefly written from which the
selections are taken in making up Greek readers? A. The Attic dialect.

66. Q. How many chief dialects were there of the Greek language, and
how were they created? A. There were three—the Ionic, the Doric and the
Attic—created in part by differences of age, and in part by difference of

67. Q. In whose writings is the Ionic dialect exemplified, and how is
it characterized? A. In the writings of Homer and Herodotus, and is
characterized by fluent sweetness to the ear.

68. Q. In what dialect were the most of the greatest works in Greek
literature composed? A. The Attic.

69. Q. What are some of the distinguishing features of the Attic dialect?
A. It is the neatest, most cultivated and most elegant of all the
varieties of Greek speech.

70. Q. To whom are the fables commonly attributed that are generally
found in Greek readers? A. To Æsop.

71. Q. Who made the collection of fables that go under Æsop’s name? A.
They are mainly the collection of a monk of the fourteenth century.

72. Q. What are the names of some of the eminent persons about whom
anecdotes are usually related in the collections found in Greek readers?
A. Diogenes, Plato, Zeno, Solon, Alexander, and Philip of Macedon.

73. Q. What Greek writer of the second century after Christ is more or
less quoted from in the ordinary Greek reader? A. Lucian.

74. Q. What famous dialogues did he write? A. Dialogues of the dead.

75. Q. Of what have these dialogues been the original? A. Of several
justly admired imitations.

76. Q. In what direction did Lucian exercise his wit? A. In ridiculing

77. Q. What are some of the kinds of other matter that goes to make up
the Greek reader? A. Bits of natural history and fragments of mythology.

78. Q. From what work of Xenophon do Greek readers often embrace
extracts? A. His “Memorabilia of Socrates.”

79. Q. What was the design of this work? A. To vindicate the memory of
Socrates from the charges of impiety and of corrupting influence exerted
on the Athenian youth, under which he had suffered the penalty of death.

80. Q. What is the plan of the work largely? A. To relate what Socrates
did actually teach.

81. Q. What work by a Christian writer did pagan Socrates in large part
anticipate? A. “Natural Theology,” by Paley.

82. Q. What was the chief characteristic trait of the method of Socrates
in teaching? A. His art in asking questions.

83. Q. What is the book usually adopted in sequel to the reader for
giving students their Greek preparation to enter college? A. Xenophon’s

84. Q. In what two respects is this work highly interesting? A. First, as
a specimen of literary art, and second, as strikingly illustrative of the
Greek spirit and character.

85. Q. What is the meaning of the word “Anabasis?” A. “A march upward,”
that is, from the sea.

86. Q. Of what is the book an account? A. Of an expedition by Cyrus the
Younger into Central Asia, and the retreat of the Greek part of his army.

87. Q. Who accompanied Cyrus on this expedition? A. An oriental army of
about 100,000, and a body of Greeks numbering about 13,000.

88. Q. What was the object of this invasion on the part of Cyrus? A.
To obtain possession of the Persian throne, occupied by his brother,

89. Q. In what does the main interest of the Anabasis as a narrative lie?
A. Rather in the retreat than in the advance.

90. Q. From what does the whole matter of the famous advance and retreat
of the ten thousand derive grave secondary importance? A. From the fact
that it resulted in revealing to Greece the essential weakness and
vulnerability of the imposing Persian empire.

91. Q. When was Xenophon, the author, born, and with whom was he not far
from contemporary? A. He was born about 431 B. C., being thus not far
from contemporary with the Hebrew prophet Malachi.

92. Q. What did Xenophon’s presence of mind and practical wisdom give
him in the retreat? A. A kind of leadership which he maintained until a
prosperous issue was reached on the shores of Greece.

93. Q. Among the other chief works of Xenophon what one is prominent? A.
The “Cyropædia.”

94. Q. What was the starting point of the expedition related in the
Anabasis? A. Sardis.

95. Q. During the march what city did the army plunder where four hundred
years later the Apostle Paul was born? A. Tarsus.

96. Q. When they reached the river Euphrates what did Cyrus openly tell
the Greek captains as to the object of the expedition? A. That he was
marching to Babylon against the great king Artaxerxes.

97. Q. What was the result of this disclosure when made to the men? A.
They felt, or feigned, much displeasure, but by lavish promises the
majority were prevailed upon to adhere to Cyrus.

98. Q. What Persian commander among the forces proved a traitor and met
with a tragic death? A. Orentes.

99. Q. Where did the armies of Cyrus and Artaxerxes finally encounter
each other? A. At Cunaxa.

100. Q. In what way did Cyrus meet with his death? A. While engaged in a
personal contest with Artaxerxes Cyrus was struck with a javelin under
the eye and slain.


OCTOBER, 1884.

_First Week_ (ending October 8).—1. Barnes’ “Brief History of Greece,”
from page 1 to “The Civilization,” page 46.

2. Preparatory Greek Course in English, from chapter i. to chapter v.,
page 21.

3. “Why we Speak English,” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

4. Sunday Readings for October 5, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Second Week_ (ending October 15).—1. Barnes’ “Brief History of Greece,”
from page 46 to “Readings in Greek History,” page 93.

2. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from chapter v. page 21, to
“Lucian,” page 43.

3. Readings in Chemistry, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

4. “How to Make Home Beautiful,” in _Our Alma Mater_.

5. Sunday Readings for October 12, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Third Week_ (ending October 23).—1. Barnes’ “Brief History of Greece,”
from page 93 to “Life of Socrates,” page 143.

2. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from “Lucian,” page 43, to
“First Book,” page 65.

3. “Studies in Kitchen Science and Art,” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

4. “Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life,” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

5. Sunday Readings for October 19, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Fourth Week_ (ending October 31).—1. Barnes’ “Brief History of Greece,”
from “Life of Socrates,” page 143, to end of volume.

2. “Preparatory Greek Course in English,” from “First Book,” page 65, to
“Second Book,” page 87.

3. The “Temperance Teachings of Science,” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

4. “Greek Mythology,” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

5. Sunday Readings for October 26, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.


It often happens that local circles are deterred from much of the good
work which they might do because they have no systematic plans. Lack of
time, or, perhaps, sometimes, a not quite clear understanding of how to
arrange weekly programs prevents leaders from laying out the work in
attractive and practical ways. To supply this need we introduce into
THE CHAUTAUQUAN weekly programs of literary exercises for local circle
use. These programs are simply suggestive. No one is expected to follow
them _in toto_, or even to follow them at all unless they shall choose
to do so. They can be re-arranged, added to, or selected from, to suit
the needs of a particular circle. If in any case helpful hints shall be
gleaned their object will be attained. The exercises presented will be
arranged to correspond to the reading of the week to which the program
belongs. When a Memorial day occurs the weekly program will be dropped
and a typical program for memorial exercises inserted. Plans for monthly
public meetings will also be inserted from time to time.


Roll-call—Responded to by quotations from Greek authors.

1. A talk on the geography of Greece.

2. Fifteen minutes quiz on “Why we Speak English.”


3. Written _résumé_ of the events of the past month.

4. Essay—The Climate of Greece.


5. Map exercise—Tracing of the Aryan Migration.

6. Question drawer.



1. Written answers to questions handed in at previous meeting.

2. Select Reading.

3. Essay—Greek Civilization.


4. Thirty minutes in Chemistry—performing of the experiments described in

5. Pronouncing match on Greek names.


Roll-call.—Responded to by quotations.

1. Brief outlines of the week’s readings.

2. Essay—The Athens of To-day.


3. A Talk on the Potato.

4. Essay—The Battlefields of the Persian War.


5. An Ancient Greek House—explained by diagrams drawn from the
explanations given in readings, and illustrated by the pictures and
relics which are accessible.



1. Essay—Modern Greece and the Modern Greeks.

2. General review of “Questions and Answers on the Required Readings.”

[For this review a large society may be divided into two divisions,
exactly as for an old fashioned spelling school, and the questions given
out to the sides as words are given to spell. “Missing” puts one out,
and the person who stands up until the questions are exhausted wins the
match. This often proves both a profitable and amusing exercise.]


3. Essay—The Battle Fields of the Persian War.


4. Debate.—Resolved that the use of alcohol as a medicine is not


CLASS OF 1885.


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

       *       *       *       *       *

“THE OUTLOOK.”—The Class of ’84 printed a handsome and ably conducted
quarterly sheet, called _The Outlook_, but the class of ’85 decided,
after full consideration, to accept the offer of THE CHAUTAUQUAN, of the
use of a page or more each month in the official organ of the C. L. S.
C. It was believed that through this department of THE CHAUTAUQUAN all
the members of the Class could be promptly reached; that all the purposes
of the Class could be promoted efficiently in the department, and that,
through it, the members of the entire fraternity—the alumni as well as
the members of ’86, ’87 and ’88, could be advised each month of what the
Invincibles were about. Accordingly, with this number we begin a class
page for the ’85s.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE INVINCIBLES AT CHAUTAUQUA IN 1884.—The Class of 1885 “come out
strong”—as the late Mr. Mark Tapley would say—at Framingham, this year,
and there was also a good representation of its members at Chautauqua. A
delightfully fraternal feeling was manifested on the several occasions
when class meetings were held. President Underwood improved on
acquaintance and showed himself to be a lively and pleasant gentleman,
as well as an industrious and efficient officer—to such an extent and
to such universal acceptance and approval that he was reëlected to his
honorable position by the unanimous voice of the members present. Mrs.
Philomena Downs, of Burlington, Iowa, being in ill-health and not able
to be present this year, sent in her resignation as vice president and
insisted on its acceptance, and Mr. C. M. Nichols was elected in her
place. Miss Carrie Hart, of Aurora, Indiana, who had proved especially
serviceable as treasurer, was reëlected, and Miss N. M. Schenck, of Osage
City, Kansas, feeling that her remoteness from the Chautauqua center was
a feature of inconvenience, desired a successor appointed, and Miss M. M.
Canfield, of the Third Auditor’s office, Washington, D. C., was chosen
secretary in her place. These persons compose the executive committee.

The Commencement orator for 1885 will be selected by Chancellor Vincent.

By unanimous vote of the class, Mrs. Frank Beard, of Syracuse, New York,
was selected to write the class song for 1885, and Prof. W. F. Sherwin,
of the Boston Conservatory of Music, was asked to set it to music.

Chancellor John H. Vincent, D.D., was asked to preach the baccalaureate
sermon for 1885, and he has kindly consented to do so.

It has been decided by the class to ask each member to send twenty-five
cents to the treasurer, Miss Carrie Hart, Aurora, Ind., as a contribution
to the class fund for 1885. It is important that these contributions
should be sent early, and that they should constitute, in the aggregate,
a good round sum.

The Class of ’85 is indebted to the Class of ’84 for a pleasant excursion
by steamer, from Chautauqua to Lakewood.

Badges for the Class of 1885 may be had of the president, Mr. J. B.
Underwood, or of the secretary.

Mr. Henry Hart, of Atlanta, Georgia, has been selected to prepare the
stationery for the Class of ’85, and those wishing note paper and
envelopes can order them of him. The design is a heliotrope, with the
word “Invincible” over the figures “’85,” with the motto of the class.
The envelopes are to match and the price of a box of the note sheets and
envelopes will be only fifty cents. It is thought they will be very neat
and tasteful.

       *       *       *       *       *

“FALL IN!”—Those members of the Class of 1884—the “Irrepressibles,”—who
“failed to connect” at the Golden Gate, on Commencement day, are
cordially invited (“by these presents”) to fall into the ranks of the
“Invincibles” and march with them to victory.


This column is devoted to the Class of ’87. Items of interest, facts
and incidents will appear each month, and we hope occasionally to have
something from “Pansy.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The first meeting of the Class of ’87 held at Chautauqua this year was
called at the request of members present, in the Hall of Philosophy,
Rev. Frank Russell presiding. It was decided there that the officers
elected last year were chosen for four years, and they were requested
to continue in the service of the class. At a subsequent meeting in the
Temple one member said that he had good authority for stating that any
member of the class who was behind and would make up the reading for the
year could do so and hand in the memoranda this year or any time during
the _four_ years. The numbers of the class could still be increased by
looking up former members of other classes who had read one year or more
and dropped out. All were urged to become helpers in this respect. It
was also advised in the interest of our _alma mater_ that we should use
our efforts to increase the Class of ’88, which is now being formed, and
bring the new members into local circles.

       *       *       *       *       *

The members of the class enjoyed a social hour with Mrs. Alden in
the grove at Chautauqua the past summer. Many written questions were
presented to her which were promptly and wisely answered. To the
question, “Will Mrs. Alden write a book, dedicated to the Pansy Class?”
she replied, “Yes, if every one present will write me a four page letter
of incident relating to C. L. S. C. work.” All most heartily voted to do
this. These letters must be in her hand (Mrs. G. R. Alden, Carbondale,
Pa.,) before February 1st, 1885. Of course Mrs. Alden will be happy
to receive letters of incident in the work from members of the class
that were not present. It goes without the saying that every member is
delighted with the promised book, and who of our 18,000 will not peruse
with delight the gifted author’s words of wisdom when they shall appear.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our class has over 18,000 names on the two great books at the office in
Plainfield. It is a great privilege as well as an honor to be one of such
an army of all ages and conditions and in all lands, who are vieing with
each other to improve the passing moments in training body and soul for
highest interests for this life and the life to come.

       *       *       *       *       *

Is it too much to expect that a round ten thousand of the Pansy Class
shall graduate, and that one-half of them shall receive their diplomas
at Chautauqua? Think of every seat in our vast Amphitheater being filled
with the graduating class in August, 1887!



The eleventh Assembly has wrought its work, and it is safe to say no
Assembly ever made more converts to the Chautauqua Plan. Among the
number, too, were many of the best thinkers and ablest educators in the
country. Many left Chautauqua this summer convinced of the possibilities
in the work, and resolved to spread its influence. One of these, the Rev.
Dr. A. A. Livermore, president of the Unitarian Theological School at
Meadville, Pa., a man widely known as a ripe scholar, has published an
article analyzing the Chautauqua plan. This article explains most clearly
the strong features of the work. After describing the enthusiastic
Commencement the writer says of the C. L. S. C.: “College education,
as it has been hitherto carried on, has been largely a forced concern;
students have been sent to school, rather than gone on their free and
spontaneous will. The pupils of Chautauqua are voluntary agents, and
engage in their work with a will. It is the difference between task
work and love work. Almost all schools and colleges are handicapped by
the compulsion necessary to bring their pupils up to the mark. But here
all goes like clock work. There is a vim and abandon which argue the
best results. Not knowledge, but the love of knowledge, is the best of
accomplishments, and that is breathed into the Chautauquan graduates.

“The _religious element_ is made a leading principle in the Chautauqua
education, and it is the true one. Intellect for intellect, taste for
taste, study for study, lacks the genuine inspiration, but put on the
annex of religious faith in God, Christ and immortality, and you have got
an effective leverage to raise the whole nature of man. The Chautauqua
Idea is not so much to make specialists; as for example, engineers,
editors, ministers, doctors, lawyers, but well instructed men and women.
Human nature is a diamond in the rough, and it is worth polishing and
setting for its own sake. God having bestowed such a magnificent treasure
on man, he is guilty who does not put it to its intended purpose, and
return it to its author improved and developed to its best extent.

“Another fine idea of the Chautauqua University is to _educate people at
their homes_. Massing students together in great monastic institutions
is dangerous business. Humanity heats and moulds and corrupts when
put into crowded institutions, be they prisons or colleges. Some of
the worst disorders perpetrated in society take place in schools and
universities where young people are herded together in great numbers with
the restraints of home and society largely thrown off. This scheme is
to carry on the work at the fireside, on the farm, at the shop, by the
work bench. Carry education to the people, instead of carrying the people
to education. And still further it is the idea not to take people from
their usual occupations after they are educated, not to take farmers,
mechanics, housewives from their present callings and put them in the
learned professions, but to leave them still where they are, and start
them on a course of mental and moral improvement which they can conduct
all their lifetime at their homes, and while still engaged in their
several industries. This is a capital merit of the system, and deserves
especial commendation.

“So planned and so engineered, Chautauqua is the university of _the
common people_, of the great middle class that constitute the strength
and glory of every country, and especially of ours. Its numbers are
prodigious, its extent is world wide. It sets a splendid example for all
nations. It strikes the keynote for the education eventually of the whole
human race. In our land it is destined to do more for the perpetuation of
our free institutions than many another time-honored school or college
that limits its benefits to some privileged class, sex, color or section.
Chautauqua blows a trumpet to every quarter of the compass, and says to
all, ‘Come ye and buy wine and milk without money and without price.’”


Is there not ample room for non-partisan comment on partisan struggles?
We are in the midst of a political conflict which inevitably takes
up a large part of the general attention; surely there must be some
suggestions which a non-partisan can profitably make. For example, look
at the fact, new in important points, that personal scandal affecting
candidates occupies a conspicuous place in the contest. We have been in
the habit of reasoning that such an element must be demoralizing. Is it
such in the present instance? We think not. We further think that some
very good results may follow such a political campaign. The prominence
given to questions of personal purity, in public life and in private
life, is itself a good sign. It means that the people are keenly alive to
moral issues, that these issues cannot be evaded, that the public demand
for purity has risen without the special notice of the quick-witted
managers of politics. Nor are the discussions having any unfavorable
effect on sound morals. The people insist upon the moral element, and by
so doing prove that they are sounder, truer, more religiously patriotic
than they were supposed to be. We see also the better uses of the press
in more favorable lights. When a scandal is not merely mud, but involves
plain matters of fact in the life of a candidate, the press is put on
its good behavior to tell the story with decorum, and prove it with
good evidence. We never have seen a cleaner campaign, though we never
saw one with such conspicuous challenging of private character. A wise
man said long ago that the American people are always grave in grave
circumstances. The present occasion proves the rule. The solemnity of the
challenge of character has given an air of sobriety to the campaign which
is as satisfactory as it was unexpected.

Another thing which seems to us quite in our way to say is that the
political contest has an uncommonly large humanitarian element in
the center of the field. We probably have readers who believe that
the interests of the American workmen are not specially concerned in
the result. It is not that question of fact which we now raise, but
the fact of the _solicitude_ for the workmen which is conspicuous.
We are witnessing, at this point, not so much a discussion about the
tariff—for so far there has not been much of that—as a discussion over
the permanent welfare of a large and growing section of our population.
This discussion is not carried on by them so much as on behalf of them.
Granted that a great party sees in their welfare an opportunity; what
is it that makes the opportunity? It is surely not any incidents of the
last Congress, or any opinions of candidates. These would be insufficient
to create the discussion in its serious form. Is it not true that the
philanthropy which freed the slave is thinking and feeling for the men
in mills, and their wives and little ones? It would be easy to show
that the politicians would have passed this matter by if they could.
But we have become a manufacturing country. The laborer has become a
great fact. He is a citizen, a social element, a man with a soul, and
the head of a family. The social instinct in us took alarm some years
ago. Outside of parties it has worked out into humanitarian feeling,
and is ripening into purpose. The workman is likely for some decades
to fashion for us the spirit of our politics and the ends sought by our
statesmanship. No matter how much or little it may influence the results
of this struggle for the control of the government, the question of the
workman’s well-being has come among us to stay. It touches our life at
all points. It challenges our institutions. It says to us: “Solve me or I
will dissolve you.” Are we to have a distinctly depressed class doing our
work? Is the “white slave” to live, suffer and die under our feet? There
are persons who say, “it is inevitable. Older societies have sifted down
to the bottom these forlorn and hopeless elements by force of a natural
necessity, by a law of human society.” No good and strenuous American
believes such a doctrine. The country we live in exists in our thought,
to make life fairer, sweeter, more equally gracious for all the members
of the national household. Our ideal is challenged by the specter of a
degraded mass of laborers. We can not see this ghost of the old world
without a shiver of apprehension. It may be that tariff questions do not
touch the main question; that is for others to consider. What we note is
that the whole of this labor question, with its complicated relations to
all other questions, looms large on the horizon.

A third suggestion is that the only practicable mode of dealing
successfully with issues which concern morals, philanthropy and sobriety,
is to get them a place in the one general contest which is waged for the
control of the government. Two parties, one contest—that is the system
of the Republic. All others than the two parties are participants in
the one battle, and on one side or the other. A man in society has to
accept the sun and rain, the social order, the general constitutional
order. His third, fourth, fifth parties are related by the usages of the
country to the real contest between the two parties. He must and really
does choose which of the two he prefers for the victor. He might as well
reject the showers of summer and say he will have none of them as to say
he will have neither party. He must have one or the other; he will have
one or the other; he will contribute to the victory of one or the other.
It is possibly hard to choose; but when it is easy to do so, and one
really wishes to defeat his own party, it is best to deal it a blow in
front with both fists. Providence has arranged a system of mathematics
which counts the men in the Cave of Adullam on one side or the other in
the engagement of the battle-field. It is a good thing to put 200,000
temperance men in line in a state; but a little column of 5,000 or 20,000
of the same army demonstrating by itself really weakens the cause,
because it is so small a part of the army. Workingmen’s parties are no
better. They are made up of men whose interests are in the hands of the
great parties, one or the other of which must take the administration of
affairs. The rule is that this truth of social mathematics grows clear
to most men as the campaign proceeds; and in the end the great body of
voters vote directly for the side they prefer. The stubborn fact is that
only one man can be president at a time, and that the people must choose
one of two men for the office. That is the law of American politics which
no one of us can change. There is not even any relief from it afforded
by dispersing the electoral votes among several men and leaving the
House of Representatives to choose. That body is in existence with a
distinct political complexion—to give the election to it is to choose
one of the two candidates. That is not a chance fact of to-day; it is
a rule of our political system. The political preference of the House
of Representatives is always known when the presidential vote is cast.
We are simply shut up, all of us, to promoting, directly or indirectly,
the election of one of two men to the office of President of the United


The rescue of the Greely party of Arctic explorers (a few days too late)
has given the public two extraordinary sensations. The first exciting
incidents were those of the rescue of a party of men who had gone a
few miles nearer to the Pole. We were allowed two weeks of satisfaction
and rejoicing over the rescue and the scientific gains of the Greely
expedition. Then came a sickening revelation of cannibalism among the
starved and dying explorers. The sensational press never seemed so
hateful as it did when it went prying into the horrors of the last
month of that struggle for life. The cap-sheaf was put on indecency
by a pictorial paper which gave a picture of one of the dead men, and
printed under it that, after he was dead his comrades ate his flesh. The
shamelessness of such journalism can not be rebuked; civilized language
has no adequate terms. It is, however, no longer possible to deny that
cannibalism is one of the remote possibilities of Arctic exploration. The
fact may or may not temporarily arrest the efforts to uncover the secrets
of the frozen North. We do not perceive a sufficient reason in the fact.
We know that horrors hang around all histories of such discovery—this
among them. But this is only a more disgusting fact. We know that the
circumpolar battles between man and nature cost human life, rich and
costly life, vast sufferings and cruel disappointments. It would be a
strange thing if the full exposure of a revolting fact which is not new
to the initiated few, should raise a murmur among the many now for the
first time enlightened—a murmur so strong as to restrain governments from
further explorations. We doubt if public opinion can in that way get a
leverage under the scientific enthusiasm and overthrow it.

The main question recurs: What is the use of Arctic exploration? In
general terms, it may be said that there are few, if any, unsolved
problems of science on which Northern discovery _might not_ shed light,
and it may be said with equal truth that there is apparently nothing to
be found out at the Pole, but the location of frozen hills and frozen
seas among which life is impossible. There are chances that hints towards
the solution of many problems may be gained in that world of frost; there
is no certainty, not even any high probability that we shall be any
wiser when we have beaten the Ice King and successfully traversed his
dominions. Our readers know that the original impulse to these dangerous
voyages was the hope of finding a northwest passage to India. When hope
vanished new thoughts took the place of the old notion of going to India
by the North Atlantic. Questions of ocean currents, of northern forms
of vegetable and animal life, of the aurora borealis, of the phenomena
of the Ice Age of the earth, of divers other eagerly studied questions
of the world and man have arisen to stimulate discovery. The scientific
man kept on in the lines which the trader had given over in despair.
Besides, our blood was up. To be beaten by frost is not to be consented
to by courageous humanity. And so the struggle has gone on. Fruitlessly?
No, a considerable amount of precious knowledge has been gained. Each ten
years adds some stretches of land and sea to our maps. The total result
is probably richly worth the life and treasure expended. If in a battle
a cause can claim ten thousand lives, who may say that in the pursuit
of knowledge a few hundred shall be grudged? Besides, the world needs
a moral gymnasium—a field in which courage, endurance, heroism, may be
trained. The North is a better gymnasium than the field of war. It has
fewer horrors and a more thorough discipline. Examples of manliness,
devotion, self-denial abound in these stories of Arctic discovery. The
examples tell on society at large much more effectively than military
exploits. Every nation is interested in every heroic incident of the
frozen seas. The attempt to call a halt in these enterprises will
probably fail; and perhaps after all we should wish them to fail. Every
life is well spent whose loss tells on general character, and we have
no chapters of secular life that are richer in inspiration than those
of Polar enterprise. Lives are lost; but our Lord’s rule is good always
that lost lives may be better lost than saved. The North may yet yield
up precious secrets; it is safe to prophesy that if it has any under its
winding sheet of ice man will discover it.


The Required Reading in THE CHAUTAUQUAN for the month of October ends on
page 20, with the article on “Temperance Teachings of Science.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Henry Bergh, who has done a good work for horses in New York, and
tried to do a good deal of work not absolutely good for other animals
(cats for instance), has one quality of a successful reformer; he can use
strong language. He denounces M. Pasteur as “A Jenner in France who now
crawls to the earth’s surface and begins the fiend-like and disgusting
work of polluting the bodies and flesh of the lower animals.” Mr. Bergh
does not believe in inoculation for small-pox. It is a pity he does not
confine his benevolence to horses and their sorrows, a subject which he

       *       *       *       *       *

Constant gains characterize the uses of electricity. Recently a message
was sent from Australia to England in _twenty-three minutes_, over
13,318 miles of wire. French experiments in the use of electricity as a
motor are making rapid progress. Telephone messages have been sent 1,200
miles, from Cincinnati to Baltimore, and we are not certain that this is
the best record. Bulwer’s “Coming Race” did everything by just touching
buttons and setting automata at work. Perhaps that race is really
“coming” after all.

       *       *       *       *       *

What is in a name? The cholera is no worse, nor any more curable, by
calling its cause a _microbe_ (literally minute life, meaning microscopic
insect). It does help us, however, to emphasize old truth. The diseased
are usually victims, Dr. Koch says, of the microbes. If the digestive
organs are impaired, the microbe attacks them with more success.
Still, we are thus far not very much wiser for the terms _microbe_ and
_bacillus_. Meanwhile, Dr. Koch’s first practical rule, that “dry heat
is fatal to the microbe,” is contradicted by the well-known fact that
cholera in Asia is very much at home in the dryest heat known on the

       *       *       *       *       *

The papers report that a colored man having married a white woman in
Indiana has been tried for the crime and sentenced to five years in the
penitentiary. We can not discover any use in such proceedings. As we
have remarked once before, the mixture of races is not brought about by
legitimate relations of the sexes, but by illegitimate. Indiana punishes
the wrong people. For one mulatto born in marriage there are a thousand
born out of wedlock. Besides, it has not been proved that the moral
quality of a crime attaches to marriage by persons of different races. It
is highly speculative morals, at all events.

       *       *       *       *       *

The New York financial troubles of May have, as we anticipated, led to
no general disaster. In New York the business community is well over the
panic, stocks have recovered astonishingly, and general trade is active
and good. Credit lines are closer than they were; but this is a good
result. A large harvest gives the people assurance of cheap food, and
stimulates enterprise. The shock in May has proved a blessing. We need to
be reminded often that honesty, diligence and prudence are necessary to
business success, individually and collectively.

       *       *       *       *       *

Do not play with it; in the language of the boys, “it’s loaded.” We
refer to the theory that impure private life is something relatively
unimportant in public life. Vote as you judge proper; but don’t corrupt
public morals by public apologies for lechery in any form; it is
dangerous business.

       *       *       *       *       *

A respectably-sized body of unrespectable Americans have recently
emigrated to Canada—made up of defaulting bank officers and other
trust-breakers. There is a defect which ought to be remedied in the
extradition laws. Canada does not wish to be colonized by this class
of thieves, and we prefer to house and feed the rascals in appropriate
residences at home. It is, in fact, a scandal to civilization that this
class of thieves can escape punishment by crossing the suspension bridge.

       *       *       *       *       *

It has settled into custom for the President of the United States to
take a long vacation in the summer. We owe the custom, a wholesome
one, to General Grant. It was criticised severely when he as President
began to travel about in the summer. His successors have improved the
practice by roving more widely and extending their acquaintance among
their fellow-citizens. President Arthur has traveled a good deal in an
unostentatious way this summer, and we have not seen a word of criticism.
It is good for the President’s health, it extends his knowledge of the
country and the people, and it gives his fellow-citizens an opportunity
to see and know him.

       *       *       *       *       *

The cholera in Europe drove Americans home this year in midsummer, and
gave us an unusually large contingent of the English tourist, who, shut
off from the Alps, has been trying our Rockies and the Yosemite. A new
feature of our own summer travel is a considerable stream of pleasuring
flowing toward Alaska. Perhaps when the seals are killed off Alaska may
pay as a summer resort.

       *       *       *       *       *

One of the new blossoms of the “Chautauqua Idea” is a summer school
maintained by the “South End” churches of Boston. Our correspondent, the
Rev. E. E. Hale, is one of the active managers. Its session this year
lasted six weeks, and was devoted to popular instruction in kindergarten
and housekeeping subjects. The aim is to help the poor to knowledge in
practical matters.

       *       *       *       *       *

The world’s stock of wit is increasing. We Americans are the principal
inventors of it, and are especially strong in the hyperbolical variety.
A recent specimen worth preserving is the story that a Florida man
recently killed an alligator, in whose stomach he found a hen sitting on
a dozen eggs. The exaggeration turns upon the capacity of an alligator
for swallowing, and the equanimity of the sitting hen. Another example is
the statement that Puget Sound oysters often weigh sixty pounds apiece,
and are not served on the half shell, since “nothing less than a flatboat
will answer the purpose.” A good collection of American hyperboles would
make a very marketable book. “Turning a howitzer loose on a June bug” is
a fresh specimen which we find in a daily newspaper. A “funny editor”
having to report that locomotives have fallen from $15,000 to $8,000,
adds: “We would not advise our readers to lay in their winter stock of
locomotives just yet; they may go lower.”

       *       *       *       *       *

The preachers who indulge in vacations are not allowed any peace. The
_New York Examiner_ has found a new tender spot to thrust a pin into.
A resting pastor, it thinks, has no business to work or study. He is
defrauding his church if he does. But then the _Examiner_ rubs the sore
spot it has made by the more athletic remark that it is a sin to grind
all the year through. Yes, fifty-two days of rest are required of us all.
It is pleasant, by the way, to read that “the pastors are returning to
their flocks,” a statement which lets out the fact that the flocks did
not take a vacation.

       *       *       *       *       *

A new thing under the sun this year is the meeting of the great British
Association for the Advancement of Science on American soil. The Montreal
meeting was still further novel in the presence and participation of
distinguished United States Americans. “Greater Britain” will doubtless
more and more take part in these annual gatherings of British science.
The success of the Montreal meeting will provoke the emulation of
Australia, New Zealand, and British India and Africa.

       *       *       *       *       *

Vegetarians object to eating meat because animals must be killed to
supply such food. One of our quick-witted exchanges has discovered
a counter argument, or rather an _ad hominem_ of the you’re another
variety. “According to some scientists vegetables feel and perhaps
think.” The London _Graphic_ suggests that “the blushing carrot is
susceptible of tender emotions, and that the retiring ways of the truffle
are due to a well-reasoned aversion to the wickedness which is to be
witnessed above ground.” “Perhaps” this is rather speculative.

       *       *       *       *       *

It has been a dry summer, but it has rained financial scandals. The
heaviest part of the clearing-off shower—we hope it is clearing off—fell
on New Brunswick, N. J., where first the cashier and next the president
of a bank committed suicide in the midst of the ruin they had wrought.
That is awful, but it is morally more satisfactory and healing than the
flight into Canada. When financial wreckers are hurt to the point of
remorse and suicide, the horrors of the crime of genteel stealing will
begin to be realized. That sin is dangerous, too. Let us thank God and
take courage.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. McCosh has been re-visiting the Old World, and at a breakfast party
in Belfast stated an interesting fact. “In my early life,” he said, “I
applied for many positions which I did not get; but I never applied for
the positions which I have since held.” There is plenty of good wholesome
use for the motto: “Let the place seek the man.” It is the rule for
the good places, as the case of Dr. McCosh shows. Perhaps it is more
generally the rule for other places than men suppose it to be.

       *       *       *       *       *

John Bright continues to excel in strong quotable phrases and
descriptions. The House of Lords being once more in the way of reform,
Mr. Bright declares that House to be filled with “the spawn of the
blunders, the wars and the corruption of the dark ages of our history.
They have entered the temple of honor, not through the temple of merit,
but through the sepulchres of their ancestors.” The last clause will
probably be as lasting as his “Cave of Adullam.”

       *       *       *       *       *

A notable saying easily forgets its parentage. It is too much trouble for
a busy world to remember _who_ said this or that first. An expression
passes into currency, and after that it is no matter who coined it. It
was, we are now told, a Harvard professor who said not of Edward Everett,
but of the Rev. Dr. Huntington, that his prayers were the most eloquent
ever addressed _to a Boston audience_. The Dr. Huntington referred to
was then a Unitarian of Boston, but is now Protestant Episcopal Bishop
of Central New York. The _Christian at Work_ is our authority for the
precise facts. We do not advise any one to try to remember them.

       *       *       *       *       *

The French have brought about a state of war in China, by a series of
aggressive measures which seek the aggrandizement of France at the
expense of the territorial rights of the Chinese empire. There is not
the least justification for these proceedings; nor can we hope that good
will come of it. The French are successful at home and failures abroad.
The French cry out that England has done even the same; but that charge,
if true, would not excuse France. England has, in all recent instances,
had the protection of Englishmen or some other fair pretext. Even the
jingoism of Beaconsfield could make some respectable covering for its
brutality. The French simply want some land and mines in Tonquin “for the
glory of France.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Science gets a footing everywhere. The loss of the United States
steamship “Tallapoosa,” by collision with a schooner, has led to an
investigation to ascertain whether the officers and men on duty are
afflicted with color blindness. We have a notion that in this case the
old-fashioned word carelessness is more scientific than any term used by
optical learning.

       *       *       *       *       *

One of the fine points of superfine theology is that Adam was the first
member of the Christian Church, and was taken in immediately after
the fall. We see it—the fine point reproduced in a religious paper.
It is a pity that theology should be strained in men’s eyes by such
uses—especially in view of the pressing wants of the living descendants
of Adam.

       *       *       *       *       *

The making of mortgages is one of the most fascinating of employments. It
is like picking up gold in chunks. Paying mortgages is another affair,
a most refined species of torture which takes away and returns nothing.
But people who do not expect to pay have all the pleasure and none of
the pain. The semi-civilized government which owns Panama proposes to
mortgage its share of the earnings of the Panama Canal for $15,000,000.
Considering that the canal may never be finished, and that it may never
earn anything at all, it must be pure fun to make that mortgage. Public
debts grow large easily because no particular person expects to pay any
one of them. Selling such mortgages is picking up nuggets of gold—getting
without effort—hence public borrowing needs conscience as a restraint.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is a satisfaction to know that the best horses have been taken out of
the hands of gamblers. Mr. Vanderbilt recently sold the queen of horses
to Mr. Bonner, editor of the _New York Ledger_. On this side of the
Atlantic, at least, fast horses are improving in reputation by keeping
good human company.

       *       *       *       *       *

The cholera of Asia is in Europe again after a long absence—since 1868.
It has been a topic of great interest all summer, but its ravages have
been comparatively insignificant. After a short period of general
prevalence in Marseilles and Toulon, the unwelcome visitor went on its
travels in search of dirty places in France and Italy—finding some good
food in the latter country. Dirt is the delight of this scourge. Sanitary
science easily handles it, keeps it within moderate limits, and stamps it
out after brief duration. A renewal of the epidemic in the savage forms
of 1832 and 1848 is not to be feared. The world is cleaner. The cholera
has raged fiercely in Italy, especially in Naples, because sanitary
reforms have made slow progress there. The people change their habits
there with great reluctance, and all travelers know that Naples is the
filthiest city in Europe. Wherever good sanitation prevails, cholera is
checked with comparative ease. A fine use of royalty is shown by the
visit of King Humbert to the afflicted towns and their hospitals.

       *       *       *       *       *

The New York _Evening Post_ irreverently refers to the Emersonian
philosophy as a “mixed American drink.” It is more prosaic in suggesting
that the Concord School of Philosophy is not a school, and has no
philosophy of a clear type, but is a continuation in summer of the winter
lecture platform—a summer lyceum. We suspect that the Emersonians will
not accept the amended title.

       *       *       *       *       *

Switzerland has investigated the liquor question and found that more
alcohol per head is consumed by the Swiss than by any other people
in Europe. That little country spends $30,000,000 for drink, and yet
the commission which reports these facts, also declines to advise any
restrictive legislation and makes a fervid eulogy of the habit of social
drinking. “Public houses,” they say, “foster intellectual activity, and
are a remedy against misanthropy, vanity and egotism.” This report is
probably the most remarkable document ever produced by a committee. It
gives the size of the evil in bold lines and then splashes on the gay
colors with reckless prodigality.



Instead of indicating the sounds of the vowels in the Greek and Latin
names given in the notes, we follow the plan of Webster’s Unabridged
Dictionary, giving rules for pronouncing the vowels and consonants. As
the two principal marks (¯ ˘) are in Greek and Latin used differently
from what they are in English, indicating the _quantity_ instead of
_quality_, it will be found less confusing to adopt this method.


1. Any vowel at the end of an accented syllable, and _e_, _o_, and _u_,
at the end of an unaccented syllable, have the long English sound.

2. _A_, ending an unaccented syllable, has the sound of _a_ in _father_,
or in _last_.

3. _I_, ending a final syllable, has the long sound. At the end of an
initial unaccented syllable it varies between _i_ long and _i_ short
(like _i_ in _pin_). In all other cases _i_, ending an unaccented
syllable, is short.

4. _Y_ is like _i_ in the same situation.

5. _Æ_ and _æ_ like _e_ in the same situation.

6. If a syllable end in a consonant the vowel has the short English sound.

7. _E_, in final _es_, like _e_ in Andes.


1. _C_, before _e_, _i_, _y_, _æ_, _œ_, is pronounced like _s_; before
_a_, _o_, and _u_, and before consonants, like _k_.

2. _G_, before _e_, _i_, _y_, _æ_, and _œ_, or another _g_ followed by
_e_, has the sound of _j_; before _a_, _o_ and _u_, and consonants other
than _g_, the hard sound.

3. _Ch_ is like _k_, but is silent before a mute at the beginning of a

4. Initial _x_ is like _z_.

5. _T_, _s_ and _c_, before _ia_, _ie_, _ii_, _io_, _iv_, and _ev_,
preceded immediately by the accent, change into _sh_ and _zh_; but when
the _t_ follows _s_, _t_, or _z_, or when the accent falls on the first
of the vowels following, the consonant preserves its pure sound.

6. Initial _ph_, before a mute, is silent.

7. _S_ has generally the sound of _s_ in _this_.

8. When two consonants like _mn_, _nm_, etc., occur at the beginning of a
word, they are to be pronounced with the first consonant mute.

       *       *       *       *       *

P. 9.—“Voltaire,” vol-têrˈ (1694-1778). French author.

P. 11.—“Mycenæ.” A city of Argos (see map in History of Greece), said to
have been the leading city of Greece during the time of the Trojan war.
Its remains are most interesting. The walls and the “gate of lions,”
supposed to belong to the ancient acropolis, and two immense subterranean
chambers, the walls of which contain some of the largest blocks found in
the walls of buildings, are among its antiquities.

“Cyclopean.” Pertaining to a class of giants, who had but one eye in
the middle of the forehead. They were said to inhabit Sicily, and to be
assistants in the workshops of Vulcan, fabled to be under Mt. Etna.

“Schliemann.” A German antiquarian and traveler, who claims to have
discovered the genuine home of Ulysses, and also to have unearthed
ancient Troy. The latter he locates on the plateau of Hisarlik.

“Arcadia,” ar-caˈdi-a. The central country of the Peloponnesus. It
received its name of “the Switzerland of Greece” from the mountains which
surround it on all sides, and traverse its surface in every direction.

P. 13.—“Laconisms,” lăcˈo-nĭsms. A laconism; a brief pointed sentence; an
expression in the laconic brief style of a Lacedæmonian or Spartan. The
word is derived from Laconia, the name of the country.

“Pelopidas.” A Theban noble of great fortune. He was a firm friend of
Epaminondas, assisting him in driving the Spartans from Thebes and being
present at the battle of Leuctra. Many important civil and military
affairs were entrusted to him. In 364 Pelopidas was sent to assist the
Thessalonians against Alexander, but at the battle of Cynoscephalæ, (see
“History of Greece,” p. 162,) he was slain while pursuing Alexander,
whose army he had driven from the battle field.

“Miltiades.” In early life Miltiades had been made tyrant of the
Chersonesus. He had engaged in many wars and taken from the Persians some
of their possessions. These later conquests brought on him the hostility
of Darius of Persia, and Miltiades was obliged to flee to Athens, where,
on the approach of the Persians, he was made one of the ten generals
who commanded the Athenian army. After the battle he obtained seventy
ships, ostensibly to continue hostilities, but in reality he used them to
satisfy a private enmity against the island of Paros. He was unsuccessful
in this and wounded. On his return he was tried and cast into prison
where he died from the effects of his wounds.

P. 16.—“Ichthyologist,” ĭchˌthy-ŏlˈo-gist. One who understands the
classification of fishes.

P. 19.—“Longinus.” (213?-273.) The most distinguished adherent of the
Platonic philosophy in the third century. His learning was so great that
he was called “a living library.” He taught many years at Athens, but
at last left to go to Palmyra, as the teacher of Zenobia. When she was
afterward defeated by the Romans and captured, Longinus was put to death.

P. 20.—“Chrysostom.” (347-407.) The “golden mouthed,” so called because
of his eloquence. In 397 he was made Bishop of Constantinople.

“Isocrates.” (436-338 B. C.) One of the ten Attic orators. His style was
artificial and labored, but exercised immense influence upon oratory at

“Renascence,” re-nāsˈcence. A springing up. A becoming alive again.

P. 35.—“Academe,” aˈca-deˌme. Originally the name of a public pleasure
ground situate in the Ceramicus, said to have belonged in the time of
the Trojan war to Academus, a local hero. In the fifth century B. C.
this land belonged to Cimon, who on his death gave it to the citizens
as a public pleasure ground. Here Socrates talked, and Plato taught his
philosophy until his school was named the Academic, and the Platonists
the Academists. A school started by one of these philosophers was called
an Academy.

“Hymettus,” hy-metˈtus. A mountain about three miles south of Athens
famous for its honey and its marble.

P. 36.—“Ilissus,” i-lisˈsus. A river of Attica rising on Mount Hymettus,
flowing through the eastern part of the city, and disappearing in the
marshy plains outside.

“Lyceum.” The principal gymnasium of Athens. It received the name
_Lyceum_ from its nearness to the temple of Apollo _Lyceios_, or Apollo
the wolf slayer. Here Aristotle (to whom reference is made in the
preceding line of the verse) taught his philosophy. See p. 64 of “Brief
History of Greece.”

“Stoa.” The _stoa_, or portico, was a place enclosed by a colonnade
or arcade, and used for walking in. There were several in Athens.
The _Encyclopædia Britannica_ says: “It is probable that some of the
porticoes in the Agora were built by Cimon; at all events the most
beautiful one among them was reared by Pisianax, his brother-in-law,
and the paintings with which Polygnotus, his sister’s lover, adorned it
(representing scenes from the military history of Athens, legendary and
historical), made it ever famous as the ‘painted portico.’”

“Melesigenes,” melˌe-sigˈe-nes. Meles-born. A name sometimes given to
Homer. One of the traditions of his birthplace is that he was born on the
banks of the Meles, in Ionia.

“Phœbus.” The bright or pure. An epithet given to Apollo (see “History of
Greece,” p. 72) by Homer. When Apollo became connected with the sun this
name was given to him as the sun-god.

P. 38.—“Memorabilia,” mĕmˌo-ra-bĭlˈi-a. Things to be remembered.

P. 39.—“Planudes.” A Byzantine monk of the fourteenth century. He was
the editor of the Greek Anthology, the author of works on theology and
natural history, as well as the collector of the fables mentioned here,
and the author of Æsop’s biography.

P. 40.—“Pessimism,” pesˈsi-mism. The doctrine of those who believe
everything to be at the worst.

P. 42.—“Parmenio.” A general of Philip and Alexander. He was second in
command in Alexander’s Persian campaign, and did much to secure the great
victories. His son being accused of being privy to a plot against the
king’s life in 330 B. C., confessed himself guilty, and involved his
father. Both were put to death.

P. 43.—“Lucan.” (39?-65.) A Roman poet.

P. 44.—“Lyttelton.” Lord George. (1709-1773.) An Englishman of noble
family. He held various official positions, and in 1756 was raised to the
peerage. The last ten years of his life were spent in literary pursuits.
Beside his “Dialogues of the Dead,” he wrote a history of Henry II., and
a work on St. Paul.

“Fenelon,” faˌneh-lonˈ. (1651-1715.) A French prelate and author.
His most famous works, “Dialogues of the Dead,” “Directions for the
Conscience of a King,” and “The Adventures of Telemachus,” were written
for the use of the grandsons of Louis XIV., of whom he had been appointed

“Landor.” (1775-1864.) An English author. His works were very voluminous,
including poems, satires, dramas, etc. The work here referred to was
called “Imaginary Conversations,” being a series of dialogues between
persons of past and present times. It was said to have greatly increased
the author’s literary reputation.

“Erasmus,” e-răzˈmŭs. (1467-1536.) A Dutch classical scholar of wide
reputation. At the time that Luther advanced the tenets of the reformers
Erasmus would not adopt these extreme views. Luther ridiculed and
denounced the scholar, and Erasmus retorted by turning his wit against
the monastic habits and scholastic dignity.

P. 45.—“Phidias,” phidˈi-as. (B. C. 490?-432.) The greatest of Grecian
sculptors. His chief works were the Athene of the Acropolis, the Zeus at
Olympus, and the decorations of the Parthenon, in which he was assisted
by his pupils.

“Alcamenes,” al-camˈe-nes. (B. C. 444-400.) A pupil of Phidias. His
greatest work was a statue of Venus.

“Myron.” A Bœotian sculptor, born about 480 B. C. His masterpieces were
all in bronze. The Quoit-player and the Cow are most famous. Myron
excelled in animals and figures in action.

“Euphranor.” A sculptor and painter of Athens who flourished about 360 B.
C. His finest statue was a Paris, and his best paintings adorned a porch
in the Ceramicus. He also wrote on proportion and colors.

P. 46.—“Polycleitus,” polˈy-cleiˌtus. A Greek sculptor who lived about
430 B. C. His statues of men are said to have surpassed those of Phidias.
The Spear-bearer was a statue so perfectly proportioned that it was
called the canon or rule.

“Bendis,” benˈdis; “Atthis,” atˈthis; “Men.” Local deities among the

“Anubis.” One of the Egyptian deities, the son of Osiris. He was
represented in the form of a man with a dog’s head, or as a dog. His name
meant gilded, and his images were of solid gold.

“Lysippus.” The favorite sculptor of Alexander the Great. His statues
were all in bronze, and it is said reached the number of 1,500.

“Pentelicus.” A mount in Attica celebrated for its marble.

“Praxiteles.” Born at Athens B. C. 392. He worked in both marble and
bronze. About fifty different works by him are mentioned. First in fame
stands the Cnidian Venus, “one of the most famous art creations of
antiquity.” Apollo as the lizard-killer, his Faun, and a representation
of Eros are probably best known.

P. 47.—“Colossus of Rhodes.” A bronze statue of the sun which stood at
the entrance of the harbor of Rhodes. It was one hundred and five feet in
height, cost three hundred talents, and was twelve years in erecting. The
Colossus was designed by Chares.

“Pnyx,” nĭks. The place of public assembly in Athens.

P. 48.—“Philippics.” The orations delivered by Demosthenes against Philip
of Macedon.

P. 50.—“Paley,” William. (1743-1805.) An English theologian. The author
of several valuable works. In the “Natural Theology” here referred to he
attempts to demonstrate the existence and perfect character of God from
the evidences of design in nature.

P. 51.—“Helvetius,” hĕl-veeˈshĭ-us. Claude Adrien. (1715-1771.) A French
philosopher. The author of a famous work on the materialistic philosophy.

“Mellanippides,” melˌa-nipˈpi-des. A celebrated poet of Melos who lived
about B. C. 440.

“Zeuxis.” A painter who lived in the latter part of the fifth century
B. C. Part of his life was spent in the practice of his art in
Macedonia, thence he went to Magna Græca, where at Croton he painted his
masterpiece, a Helen. Zeuxis made a great fortune by his painting.

P. 61.—“Diogenes.” He came from Laërte, in Cilicia, and probably lived
in the second century A. D. He is the author of “The Lives of the
Philosophers,” a work in ten books. Almost nothing is known of his life.

P. 62.—“Tacitus,” tacˈi-tus. (A. D. 55-117.) A Roman historian. His
histories of the condition and customs of the Britains and Germans are
trustworthy accounts, written in a clear and concise style. A history of
Rome is his most ambitious work. The “Germania” mentioned was a history
of the origin, customs, situation and peoples of Germany.

P. 70.—“Darics,” dărˈic. The word is derived from Darius, and applied to
an ancient Persian coin weighing about 128 grains, and bearing on one
side the figure of an archer.


P. 2.—“Freeman,” Edward. (1823-⸺.) An English historian, the author of
several valuable works.

P. 3.—“Amphictyonic,” am-phicˈty-ŏnˌic.

“Nabanasser,” na-bon-nasˈser. A king of Babylon, the date of whose
accession was fixed by the Babylonian astronomers as the era from which
they reckoned. It began February 26, B. C. 747.

“Medea,” me-deˈa. The daughter of the king of Colchi by the aid of whose
charms (she was a powerful sorceress) Jason obtained the fleece.

“Alcmene,” alc-meˈne. The daughter of the king of Mycenæ. Her promised
husband being absent, Jupiter assumed his form and under this disguise
married her.

“Eurystheus,” eu-rysˈthe-us.

P. 4.—“Meleager,” meˌle-aˈger; “Theseus,” theˈse-us; “Calydon,”
calˈy-don. An ancient city of Ætolia (see map of Greece).

“Menelaus,” menˈe-laˌus; “Agamemnon,” agˌa-memˈnon.

“Achilles,” a-chilˈles.

P. 5.—“Odyssey,” ŏdˈys-sey; “Ulysses,” u-lysˈses.

“Ithaca,” ithˈa-ca. A small island in the Ionian Sea off the coast of
Epirus. “Penelope,” pe-nelˈo-pe.

“Pelops,” peˈlops. Fabled to have been the son of Jupiter. The king of
Pisa in Elis from whom the peninsula of Greece, the Peloponnesus, took
its name.

P. 6.—“Cyrene,” cy-reˈne; “Massilia,” mas-silˈi-a.

P. 9.—“Messenia,” mes-seˈni-a. For these wars see page 97 of History.
“Cecrops,” ceˈcrops; “Codrus,” coˈdrus.

P. 10.—“Areopagus,” ăr-e-ŏpˈa-gŭs.

P. 11.—“Hippias,” hipˈpi-as; “Hipparchus,” hip-parˈchus.

“Alcmæonidæ,” alcˈmæ-onˌi-dæ; “Megacles,” megˈa-cles.

P. 13.—“Ahura Mazda,” or Ormuzd, a-huˈra mazˈda. The supreme deity of the
ancient Persians.

P. 14.—“Mardonius,” mar-doˈni-us; “Athos,” aˈthos.

P. 15.—“Phidippides,” phi-dipˈpi-des.

P. 16.—“Dionysiac,” di-o-nysˈi-ac. See page 75 of History.

“Pan.” The god of flocks and shepherds among the Greeks.

P. 18.—“Demaratus,” demˈa-raˌtus.

P. 20.—“Simonides,” si-monˈi-des.

P. 21.—“Himera,” himˈe-ra. See map in History. “Gelo,” geˈlo;
“Pausanius,” pau-saˈni-as; “En route,” On the way.

P. 22.—“Diodorus,” di-o-doˈrus. A historian of the time of Augustus Cæsar.

P. 24.—“Eurymedon,” eu-rymˈe-don. A small river in Pamphylia.

P. 25.—“Ephialtes,” ephˌi-alˈtes. An Athenian statesman, the friend of

P. 27.—“Melos,” meˈlos; “Thera,” theˈra; “Corcyra,” cor-cyˈra;
“Zacynthus,” za-cynˈthus; “Chios,” chiˈos; “Naupactus,” nau-pacˈtus;
“Acarnania,” acˌar-naˈni-a; “Ambracia,” am-braˈci-a; “Anactorium,”

P. 28.—“Archidamus,” arˌchi-daˈmus.

“Colonus,” co-loˈnus. A demus of Attica lying about a mile northwest of

“Acharnæ,” a-charˈnæ. The chief demus of Attica, nearly seven miles north
of Athens. Its people were warlike, and its land fertile.

P. 29.—“Paralus,” parˈa-lus.

P. 31.—“Alcibiades,” al-ci-biˈa-des; “Nicias,” nicˈi-as.

P. 32.—“Gylippus,” gy-lipˈpus; “Deceleia,” decˌe-leiˈa.

P. 34.—“Antalcidas,” an-talˈci-das. A Spartan statesman, through whose
diplomacy this treaty was brought about.

P. 35.—“Megalopolis,” meg-a-lopˈo-lis.

P. 36.—“Mantinea,” manˌti-neˈa.

P. 37.—“Chæronea,” chær-o-neˈa.

P. 38.—“Tetradrachm,” tĕtˈra-dram. Four drachmas. An ancient silver coin,
worth about 79 cents.

“Illyrians,” il-lyrˈi-ans. The inhabitants of Illyria, a country west of

“Temple of Diana.” The Ephesian Diana personified the fructifying power
of nature, and was represented as the goddess of many breasts. Of the
temple the “American Encyclopædia” says: “Its (Ephesus) chief glory was
its magnificent temple of Diana, and the city did not decay until the
Goths destroyed the temple. The Ionian colonists found the worship of
Diana established and the foundations of the temple laid.”

“Gordium.” The ancient capital of Phrygia, named from Gordius. See page
178 of Greek History.

“Callisthenes,” cal-lisˈthe-nes.

P. 39.—“Granicus,” gra-niˈcus; “Issus,” isˈsus; “Arbela,” ar-beˈla;
“Persepolis,” per-sepˈo-lis.

P. 40.—“Gedrosia,” ge-droˈsi-a; “Roxana,” rox-aˈna; “Hydaspes,”
hy-dasˈpes. The northernmost of the five great tributaries of the Indus.

P. 41.—“Rawlinson,” George. (1815-⸺.) An English historian and

P. 42.—“Rameses,” ra-meˈses. The Egyptian kings of the nineteenth and
twentieth dynasties, who ruled for nearly three hundred and fifty years,
beginning about 1460 B. C.

“Pharos.” A lofty tower built for a light-house upon a small island off
the Mediterranean coast of Egypt. The name of the island was Pharos, and
was given to the tower.

“Ptolemy,” tŏlˈe-mĭ. Sator (the savior) was a title given him by the
inhabitants of Rhodes, whom he had saved from a siege.

“Philadelphus.” Distinguished for brotherly love. Ptolemy had taken this
title to signalize his love for his sister whom he had married, a union
which Egyptian law allowed.

“Euergetes,” eu-erˈge-tes. Benefactor. This surname was given him by the
Egyptians when from a campaign into Syria he brought back the idols which
Cambyses had carried off to Persia.

“Septuagint,” sĕpˈtu-a-gĭnt. “So called because it was said to have been
the work of seventy, or rather of seventy-two, interpreters.”

P. 43.—“Archimedes,” är-kĭ-mēˈdēz. (B. C. 287?-212.) A famous
mathematician of Syracuse.

“Hero,” or Heron, heˈro. A Greek mathematician of the third century.

“Apelles,” a-pelˈles. The most famous of Grecian painters. A friend of
Alexander’s, and the only painter he allowed to take his portrait.

“Hipparchus,” hip-parˈchus. Called the father of astronomy. A Greek who
lived at Rhodes and Alexandria.

“Ptolemy.” A celebrated mathematician, astronomer and geographer. Of his
history we know nothing, but still have a large number of his treatises
on a great variety of subjects.

“Euclid,” yooˈklid. The mathematician who gave his name to the science of
geometry. Nothing is known of his history.

“Eratosthenes,” erˌa-tosˈthe-nes. One of the most learned men of his day.
He cultivated astronomy, geography, history, philosophy, grammar and
logic. But fragments of his writings remain.

“Strabo.” A native of Pontus. Lived during the reign of Augustus. He
wrote a historical work now lost, and a famous treatise on geography, in
seventeen books. This latter is nearly all extant.

“Manetho,” manˈe-tho. An Egyptian priest who lived in the reign of
Ptolemy I. He wrote in Greek a history of Egypt from which we have the
dynasties of Egypt’s rulers saved, though the work is lost, and an
account of the religion of his country.

“Aristophanes,” arˌis-tophˈa-nes. A native of Byzantium. He lived in
the reigns of Ptolemy II. and III., and had control of the library of

“Apollonius,” apˈol-loˌni-us. A native of Alexandria, sometimes called
“the Rhodian,” as he was honored with franchise by Rhodes, where he
taught rhetoric successfully. His greatest poem, still extant, was a
description of the Argonautic expedition.

“Sosigenes,” so-sigˈe-nes. A peripatetic philosopher of Alexandria.

“Origen,” orˈi-gen. (185?-254?) One of the most voluminous of early
Christian writers.

“Athanasius,” athˌa-naˈsi-us. (296?-373.) A native of Alexandria, made
archbishop of the city in 326. He was subject to great persecution from
the Arians who held that Christ was a being inferior to God, while
Athanasius held to the orthodox belief.

“Antiochus,” an-tiˈo-chus; “Seleucidæ,” se-leuˈci-dæ.

P. 44.—“Eumenes,” euˈme-nes; “Arsacidæ,” ar-saˈci-dæ; “Brennus,” brenˈnus.

P. 45.—“Justinian,” jus-tinˈi-an. Byzantine emperor.

“Antiochus,” an-tiˈo-chus. Of Ascalon. The founder of the Fifth Academy,
and the teacher of Cicero while he studied at Athens. He had a school at
Alexandria, and one in Syria also.

“Ptolemæum,” ptolˈe-mæˌum. A large gymnasium built by Ptolemy

“Dipylum.” A gate on the northwestern side of the city wall. So called
because consisting of two gates. It is the only one whose site is
absolutely certain.

“Speusippus,” speu-sipˈpus. An Athenian philosopher. A nephew of Plato,
whom he succeeded as president of the First Academy.

“Xenocrates,” xe-nocˈra-tes. (396-314 B. C.) A philosopher who succeeded
Speusippus as president of the Academy.

“Polemon,” polˈe-mon. The Athenian philosopher who succeeded Xenocrates
as president of the Academy.

P. 46.—“Autochthon,” au-tokˈthon; “Phratries,” phrāˈtres; “Apollo
Patrôus,” pa-trôˈus.

“Ion,” iˈon. Fabled to have been the ancestor of the Ionians, from whom
they took their name.

P. 48.—“Lucian,” lūˈshan. See page 65 of History. “Menippus,” me-nipˈpus;
“Strepsiades,” strep-siˈa-des.

P. 50.—“Ion.” Of Ephesus. One of Plato’s dialogues is named from him.

P. 51.—“Tyrtæus,” tyr-tæˈus.

P. 52.—“Lesbian,” lesˈbi-an. From Lesbos. A large island off the coast of
Asia Minor.

“Alcæus,” al-cæˈus; “Anacreon,” a-naˈcre-on.

“Christopher North.” The _nom de plume_ of John Wilson, a Scottish
author. (1785-1854.)

“Dionysos,” di-o-nyˈsus.

P. 53.—“Thespis,” thesˈpis; “Trilogy,” trĭlˈo-gy.

P. 54.—“Prometheus,” pro-meˈthe-us.

P. 55.—“Jocasta,” jo-casˈta.

P. 59.—“Halicarnassus,” halˌi-car-nasˈsus. See map.

P. 62.—“Thales,” thaˈles; “Anaximander,” a-naxˈi-manˌder; “Anaxagoras,”
anˈax-agˌo-ras; “Hippocrates,” hip-pocˈra-tes; “Pythagoras,”
py-thagˈo-ras; “Crotona,” cro-toˈna.

P. 63.—“Marsyas,” marˈsy-as. A satyr who had found a flute discarded
by Athene, which emitted beautiful sounds of its own accord. Elated he
challenged Apollo to a musical contest, but was defeated. Apollo flayed
him alive for his presumption in contesting with him.

P. 65.—“Antisthenes,” an-tisˈthe-nes.

“Ceramicus,” cerˈa-miˌcus. A district of Athens, so called from Ceramus,
the son of Bacchus, some say, but more probably from the potter’s art
invented there.

P. 69.—“Alpheus,” al-pheˈus. The chief river of the Peloponnesus. See map.

“Choragic,” cho-răgˈic; “Lysicrates,” ly-sicˈra-tes. In 355 B. C.
Lysicrates was chosen choragus (p. 76) and took the prize. In honor of
this event he erected this monument.

“Callimachus,” cal-limˈa-chus. An architect and statuary, who probably
lived about 400 B. C. Very little is known of his life.

P. 70.—“Propylea,” propˌy-leˈa; “Apollodorus,” a-polˈlo-doˈrus (440
B. C.); “Rembrandt,” rĕmˈbrănt (1607-1669). A famous Dutch painter.
“Parrhasius,” par-rhaˈsi-us (400 B. C.).

P. 71.—“Protogenes,” pro-togˈe-nes (330 B. C.); “Nicias,” nicˈi-as (320
B. C.); “Pausias,” pauˈsi-as (360 B. C.); “Scopas,” scoˈpas (395-350 B.

“Niobe,” niˈo-be. The subject is the vengeance of Apollo and Artemis
upon the Theban Queen Niobe, who boasted that because of her fourteen
children she was superior to Leda, who had but two. As a punishment all
her children were destroyed.

“Mausoleum,” mau-so-lēˈum. A monument built over the remains of Mausolus,
king of Caria, by his wife Artemesia.

P. 72.—“Poseidon,” po-seiˈdon; “Demeter,” de-meˈter; “Hestia,” hesˈtia;
“Hephæstos,” he-phæsˈtos; “Aphrodite,” aphˈro-diˌte.

P. 73.—“Ariadne,” a-ri-adˈne; “Hesperides,” hes-perˈi-des; “Mnemosyne,”
mne-mosˈy-ne; “Parnassus,” par-nasˈsus; “Clio,” cliˈo; “Melpomene,”
mel-pomˈe-ne; “Thalia,” thaˈli-a; “Calliope,” cal-liˈo-pe; “Urania,”
u-raˈni-a; “Euterpe,” eu-terˈpe; “Polyhymnia,” polˈy-hymˌni-a; “Erato,”
erˈa-to; “Terpsichore,” terp-sichˈo-re.

“Dodona,” do-doˈna. In Epirus.

P. 75.—“Panathenaia,” pan-athˌe-naiˈa.

“Erechtheium,” erˈech-theiˌum. So called because Erechtheus, a former
king of Athens, was said to have been buried there.

“Athene Polias.” The name given to Athene when she was represented as
protectress of the state.

P. 77.—“Kallirhoë,” kal-lirˈho-ë. A famous well of Athens, still called
by its ancient name.

P. 78.—“Obolus,” ŏbˈo-lŭs. A small silver coin, worth about three cents.

“Cinerary,” cinˈer-a-ry. The word means pertaining to ashes, and was
applied to those urns used by the ancients to hold the ashes of the dead.

P. 80.—“Gizeh,” jeeˈzeh, or geeˈzeh. A village of Egypt three miles from
Cairo. The three great pyramids are but five miles from Gizeh.

“Labyrinth.” The one here referred to was at Arsinoë, in Egypt.

P. 81.—“Hippodrome,” hipˈpo-drome; “Platanistæ,” plat-a-nisˈtæ;
“Eurytus,” euˈry-tus; “Aristodemus,” a-risˈto-deˈmus.

P. 82.—“Cynosarges,” cynˈo-sarˌges. A gymnasium built for Athenians born
of foreign mothers.

“Antisthenes,” an-tisˈthe-nes.

“Lycabettus,” lyc-a-betˈtus. A mountain northeast of Athens and close to
the wall.

P. 93.—“Epidaurus,” epˈi-dauˈrus; “Trœzen,” trœ-zenˈ; “Phlius,” phliˈus;
“Sicyon,” sishˈi-on; “Malea,” ma-leˈa; “Pheidon,” phiˈdon.

P. 94.—“Eurysthenes,” eu-rysˈthe-nes. “Procles,” proˈcles.

P. 96.—“Carystus,” ca-rysˈtus. A town on the southern coast of Eubœa.

“Diagorids,” di-agˈo-rids. So called from Diagoras, of Rhodes, the first
of the family who distinguished himself in the Grecian games.

“Aristomenes,” ar-is-tomˈe-nes. See page 99 of History.

P. 97.—“Prytaneum,” prytˈa-nēˌum. “A public hall in Athens regarded as
the home of the city, in which the duties of hospitality were exercised
on behalf of the city to its own citizens and strangers.”

P. 98.—“Amphia,” am-phiˈa; “Ithome,” i-thoˈme; “Theopompus,”

P. 99.—“Stenyclaros,” stenˈy-claˌros.

P. 100.—“Ceadas,” ceˈa-das; “Rhegium,” rheˈgi-um.

“Bacchiad.” So called from Bacchis, king of Corinth. They had held the
supreme power for a long time.

P. 101.—“Eëtion,” e-eˈti-on.

“Lapithæ,” lapˈi-thæ. So called from their ancestor, Lapithes. They were
inhabitants of Thessaly, and are fabled to have fought with the Centaurs
and defeated them. “Cypselus,” cypˈse-lus.

P. 102.—“Thrasybulus,” thrasˌy-buˈlus; “Lycophron,” lycˈo-phron.

P. 103.—“Sancho Panza,” sănkˈo pănˈza. The esquire of Don Quixote.
“Eupatrids,” eūˈpa-trĭd.

P. 104.—“Stadium,” stāˈdi-ŭm. A Greek measure of length of a little over
six hundred feet. “Theagenes,” the-agˈe-nes.

P. 105.—“Diasia,” di-aˈsi-a. The name is derived from the Greek word for
god and means pertaining to the god.

“Prytanes,” prytˈa-nes. A member of one of the ten sections into which
the senate was divided.

P. 106.—“Eumenides,” eu-menˈi-des. The avenging deities, or the Furies.
“Geomori,” ge-omˈo-ri.

P. 109.—“Hyperakrians,” hyˌper-akˈri-ans.

“Pediaian,” ped-iˈai-an; “Paralian,” par-aˈli-an.

P. 110.—“Lygdamis,” lygˈda-mis; “Aristogiton,” a-risˈto-giˌton;
“Harmodius,” har-moˈdi-us.

P. 111.—“Sigeion,” or Sigeum, si-geiˈon. A promontory of Asia Minor at
the entrance to the Hellespont.

“Lampsacene,” lampˈsa-ce-ne. So called from Lampsacus, a city of Asia
Minor on the coast of the Hellespont.

P. 112.—“Phaleron,” pha-leˈron. The most easterly of the harbors of
Athens. “Cleomenes,” cle-omˈe-nes.

P. 116.—“Diences,” di-enˈces.

P. 118.—“Iacchus,” i-acˈchus. A name given to Bacchus in the Eleusinian
Mysteries. On the sixth day of the festival occurred this procession.

“Æacidæ,” æ-acˈi-dæ. The descendants of Æacus, among whom were Peleus,
Achilles and Pyrrhus.

P. 119.—“Ægaleos,” æ-gaˈle-os.

P. 120.—“Psyttalea,” psytˈta-leˌa.

“Munychia,” mu-nychˈi-a. Artemis, or Diana, had a temple on a hill called
Munychia, in the peninsula of Piræus.

P. 122.—“Ecclesia,” ec-clēˈsi-a. The public legislative assembly of the

“Dicastery,” dī-castˈe-ry. The assembly of the jurymen: a court of

P. 125.—“Timocreon,” ti-moˈcre-on. A lyric poet of Rhodes.

P. 127.—“Eion,” e-iˈon; “Strymon,” stryˈmon.

“Cyclades,” cycˈla-des. A group of islands in the Ægean Sea. So called
because they lay in a circle around Delos, the most important of them.

P. 130.—“Mounychia,” written, also, Munychia. One of the three harbors of
the Piræus.

“Sounion,” souˈni-on, also written Sunium. The promontory at the southern
extremity of Attica.

P. 133.—“Sybota,” sybˈo-ta. A number of small islands off the coast of
Epirus, opposite Corcyra.

P. 138.—“Clazomenæ,” cla-zomˈe-næ. A city of Asia Minor. See map.

P. 140.—“Andocides,” an-docˈi-des. (B. C. 467-393?) One of the ten Attic

“Adonia,” a-doˈni-a. An annual festival held in honor of Adonis, a
beautiful youth loved by Venus, who was killed by a wound received while
on the chase.

P. 141.—“Theramenes,” the-ramˈe-nes; “Critias,” critˈi-as.

P. 142.—“Dracontides,” dra-conˈti-des.

P. 143.—“Anytus,” anˈy-tus; “Meletus,” me-leˈtus; “Lycon,” lyˈcon.

“Argimisæ,” arˈgi-miˌsæ. Three small islands opposite Mytilene in Lesbos.
The Athenians defeated the Lacedæmonians there in B. C. 406.

P. 154.—“Cardouchian,” car-douˈchi-an. See map, p. 64, of Preparatory
Greek Course.

P. 155.—“Cheirisophos,” chei-risˈo-phos; “Taochi,” taˈo-chi. See same map
as preceding.

P. 158.—“Orchomenians,” orˌchom-eˈni-ans. Inhabitants of Orchomenus, a
city of Arcadia.

P. 160.—“Itonian,” i-toˈni-an. A name of Athene, derived from the town of
Iton, in Thessaly, where she had a temple.

P. 165.—“Polibius,” po-lĭbˈ-us. (B. C. 204?-122?) Greek historian.

P. 184.—“Kurdistan,” koor-dis-tänˈ; “Gangamela,” ganˈga-meˌla.

P. 188.—“Bessos,” besˈos. The satrap of Bachia who put Darius to death,
in B. C. 330, and assumed the title of king.



P. 2, c. 2.—“Erse,” erish. A Celtic language, properly called the Gælic,
but by the Scotch Highlanders called Erse.

“Bengali,” ben-galˈee. The dialect spoken in Bengal.

“Brahmans,” brähˈmans. The priests who officiated in the Hindoo
ceremonials. The devotees and worshipers sometimes received this name.

“Vedas,” vēˈdas. “Punctilio,” punc-tĭlˈyo. Exactness in forms, conduct or

P. 3, c. 1.—“De Chésy,” deh shaˈzeˈ. (1773-1832.) He was an orientalist
of some renown.

“Bopp.” (1791-1867.) A German professor of oriental languages in the
University of Berlin during most of his life.

“Grimm.” (1785-1863.) A German philologist and voluminous writer.

“Joorkistan,” joor-kis-tanˈ.

“Hindoo Kosh.” Also spelled Kush, Koosh, or Kusch. A range of mountains
in Central Asia.

“Oxus,” oxˈus. Called also the Amoo, the Gihon, or Jehoon.

P. 3, c. 2.—“Lithuanian,” lithˈu-āˌni-an.

P. 4, c. 2.—“Mæso-Goths.” Mœsia, or Mysia, was a country of Europe
occupying about the same territory as do Servia and Bulgaria to-day. It
was occupied by the Goths in the fourth century. They were called Mæso or

“Ulphilas,” or Ulfilas, ŭlˈfi-las. (310-381.) The family of Ulfilas were
Christians supposed to have been carried away by the Goths. In 341 he
became the bishop of these people and soon induced a number of them to
leave their warlike life to settle a colony in Mœsia. Here he cultivated
the arts of peace, doing much to civilize the people. He introduced an
alphabet of twenty-four letters, and translated all of the Bible except
the book of Kings.


P. 5, c. 1.—“Cabalistic,” căbˈa-lisˈtĭc. Anything consisting of symbols
which have a hidden meaning is called cabalistic.

“Berzelius,” ber-zeeˈlĭ-us. (1779-1848.) A Swedish chemist.

P. 5, c. 2.—“Faraday,” fărˈa-da. (1791-1867.) An English chemist and
natural philosopher.

“Cracow.” The former capital of Poland. The “beds” referred to are the
Wieliczha (we-litchˈka) salt mines a few miles from the city.

“Davy,” dāˈvĭ. Sir Humphrey. (1778-1829.) An English chemist of whom it
has been said that “since the days of Sir Isaac Newton the history of
British science has recorded no discoveries of equal importance with
those of Sir Humphrey Davy.”

P. 6, c. 1.—“Cavendish.” (1730-1810.) An English chemist and
mathematician. The discoverer of hydrogen, of the composition of water,
and the founder of pneumatic chemistry.

“Priestly,” preestˈle, Joseph. (1783-1804.) An English chemist and

“Black.” (1728-1799.) A chemist and physician of Edinburgh. His chief
researches were set forth in his experiments on “Magnesia, Quicklime and
other Alkaline Substances.” He also originated the theory of latent heat.

“Rutherford,” rŭthˈer-ford. (1749-1819.) A Scottish physician and

“Eudiometer,” eūˈdi-omˌe-ter. An instrument for measuring the amount of
oxygen contained in a given bulk of elastic fluid.

“Drummond Light.” So called from Thomas Drummond. (1797-1840.) A British
naval officer, the inventor of the light.

P. 6, c. 2.—“Iridium,” ĭ-rĭdˈi-ŭm. One of the metallic elements.

P. 7, c. 1.—“Fluorine,” flūˈor-ĭne.

“Monsieur Goffart,” mo-seerˈ gofˈfärˌ.

“Silos,” sīˈlos. A subterranean pit for keeping grain.

“Carbonic Anhydride,” car-bŏnˈic an-hyˈdride. The term _anhydride_ means
that the substance to which it is applied is derived from an acid by
the removal of the water. That is, in this case _carbonic anhydride_ is
carbonic acid minus the water.

P. 7, c. 2.—“Terra-firma.” The Latin for firm land. “Manganese,”
mănˌga-nēseˈ. “Catalysis,” ca-tălˈy-sis. A dissolution into parts.

P. 8, c. 2.—“Pneumatic trough,” pneū-matˈic. A trough used for
experiments with gases.


P. 8, c. 1.—“Solanum Tuberosum,” sō-lāˈnum tū-be-roˈsum. A night-shade
bearing tubers.

“Solanaceæ,” sōˈla-nāˈce-æ. The family of night-shades.

“Belladonna,” bĕlˌla-dŏnˈna. Deadly night-shade. The name means “fine
lady.” So called because formerly used as a cosmetic.

“Hyoscyamus,” hīˈos-ciˌa-mus. Henbane.

“Stramonium,” stra-mōˈni-um. Commonly called Jamestown weed, or thorn

P. 8, c. 2.—“Protein,” prōˈteĭn.

“Carb-hydrates.” Compounds of carbon and water.

P. 10, c. 1—“A la crème,” ä lä crām. With cream.

“Julienne,” zhüˈle-en; “Parisienne,” pä-rēˈze-ĕnˈ. Parisian.

“A la Français,” ä lä fränˈsāˈ. In the French fashion.

“A la Provençale,” ä lä prōˌvānˈsälˌ. In the provincial style.

“A la Barigoule,” bäˈre-goolˈ.

P. 10, c. 2.—“Maitre d’hotel,” matrˌdō-telˈ. Literally the head master of
the hotel.

“Polonaise,” pōˌlo-nazˈ. Polish.

P. 11, c. 1.—“Purée,” puˈrāˌ. Soup.

“Potage Parmentier,” pōˈtäg pär-monˈte-ā. Parmentier’s soup.


P. 13, c. 1.—“Daphnis and Chloe,” daphˈnis, klō.

P. 13, c. 2.—“Tiryns,” tiˈryns; “Acrocorinthus,” acˌro-co-rinˈthus.


P. 17, c. 2.—“Condorcet,” konˌdorˈsaˌ. (1743-1794.) French metaphysician.

P. 18, c. 2.—“Rousseau,” rooˈsōˌ. (1670-1741.) A French lyric poet.

“Hasheesh,” hăshˈeesh. A gum-resin in hemp. It is produced by boiling the
leaves and flowers of the common hemp with a little butter.

“Absinthe,” ab-sĭntheˈ. Made from brandy flavored with wormwood.

P. 19, c. 1.—“Brisse,” brēs; “soma,” sōˈma; “koumiss,” kouˈmiss.

“Aloe,” ălˈo. A genus of trees belonging to warm climates.

“Cinnabar,” cĭnˈnā-bar. A compound of sulphur and mercury.

“Acetate,” ăçˈe-tāte. A compound formed of acetic acid (the acid which we
find diluted in vinegar) and copper.

“Ashantee,” a-shanˈtee. A savage tribe on the west coast of Africa.

“Oaxaca,” wä-häˈkä.

“Chamisso,” shä-misˈo. (1781-1838.) A German naturalist, poet and
traveler. His Travels (_Reisen_) are among his important works.

“Dhurra,” durˈra. Indian millet or Guinea corn, cultivated in Asia and
southern Europe.

“Belzoni,” bel-zōˈnee. (1778?-1823.) An Italian traveler and explorer.

“Druses.” A people living on Mount Lebanon. They have a religion peculiar
to themselves and of which little is known.

P. 19, c. 2.—“Armida,” ar-meeˈdä. Armida is one of the most prominent
female characters in Tasso’s “Jerusalem Delivered.” The poet tells us
that when the crusaders reached the holy city, Satan held a council to
devise some means of distracting the plans of the Christian warriors,
and Armida, a very beautiful sorceress, was employed to seduce Rinaldo
and other crusaders. Rinaldo was conducted by the sorceress to a remote
island, where in her splendid castle, surrounded by delightful gardens
and pleasure grounds he quite forgot his vows and the great object to
which he had devoted his life.

P. 20, c. 1.—“Bernard,” bĕrˌnärˈ. (1813-1870.)

“Kirschwasser,” keershˈwäs-ser. Cherry water. Made by fermenting the
small black cherry.

“Diathesis,” di-ăthˈe-sĭs. The peculiar constitution of a man which
predisposes him to a particular disease.


The Chautauqua University, (projected several years ago), was
incorporated by act of the Legislature of the State of New York in
the spring of 1883. The section of the act giving its object reads as
follows: “The leading object of said corporation shall be to promote
liberal and practical education, especially among the masses of the
people; to teach the sciences, arts, languages and literature; to prepare
its patrons for their several pursuits and professions in life, and to
fit them for the duties which devolve upon them as members of society;
such instruction to embrace all departments of culture which the board of
trustees may deem useful and proper.” In further elucidation of the idea,
the Chancellor of the University, Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., has said: The
design of The Chautauqua University is to aid the following persons in
the acquisition of a liberal and practical education: (1) Worthy young
people not able to go to college; (2) those who, having begun a college
course, have been compelled to abandon it by circumstances beyond their
control; (3) a class of more mature men and women who, at the maximum of
their mental power, desire to make amends for the educational omissions
of the earlier years.

The wisdom of the men who have devised this plan is apparent to any
observer. The proportion of those who are able to reap the advantages
of a college education is small, and of these there are two distinctly
marked classes. First, are those who, from choice and natural taste,
with means to gratify that taste, seek a higher education, giving to
the pursuit an earnest and untiring devotion. From this class come the
scholars, professors and specialists of the hour. Second, are those who
are put within the sphere of college training by external influences,
and who are carried to the completion of their prescribed duties only
under authority. Outside of the small number embraced in these two
classes is the vast multitude of our citizens—elderly men, in active
life, who look backward with regret to the unimproved opportunities of
early days; middle aged men, longing to drink at the fountain of eternal
youth which sends forth its delightsome streams through the fields of
knowledge; young men, with aspirations and throbbings of conscious power
if only opportunity can be found to give their endowments play; boys
on farms, behind counters and in shops, who look with half concealed
envy at their more fortunate play-fellows of the earlier years, who are
in school, academy or college, while for them, daily toil with scanty
remuneration is the price of support for daily life; matrons sighing
over life’s burdens, and mourning over the fate which has shut to them
the doors of education; young women, whose fingers, guided by a gifted
brain, might have wrought marvels in art if only they had been taught
how; and who long even yet to know—only to know. Of all such the world
is full, and they can not go to college. Again must “Mahomet go to the
mountain.” As they can not go to the university, say the incorporators
of this Chautauqua University, the university shall go to them. We will
make a people’s university which shall cover the widest possible scheme
of study. We will make it eclectic, so that each seeker for knowledge
can work in lines best suited to his own endowments. We will make it
possible for the man who has been taken out of his college course before
its completion, to finish it to his own satisfaction, in his own way, and
in the station where Providence has placed him. We will enter every open
door with our fireside college. We will make no restriction as to age or
sex. We will make no limitation as to the time occupied in the completion
of the work which we demand. We will make a Universal University.

The Chautauqua University thus outlined is as an institution _unique_.
Its local habitation is an office in the city of Plainfield, New Jersey.
Its name is as given above. New England mountain ranges, the fertile
hills and valleys of the Middle States, the prairies, the cañons and
ranches of the broad West and the wide-spreading plantations of the
South, are its campus. Its dormitories are the homes of the land; its
chapel the Church of Christ, in its most catholic spirit and form; its
curriculum is as wide and comprehensive as are the fields of knowledge;
its text-books are standards, whether in the department of classics,
ancient or modern, mathematics or science, art, or the humanities; its
chairs are filled by specialists, men of ability in their respective
realms; its library is the most magnificent in the wide world, being
the aggregate of all the books of all the homes out of which our
students shall come, and all public and private libraries to which they
have access. Its examinations will be as thorough, rigid, critical
and impartial as the severest scholarship can wish. Its diploma will
be awarded only after a successful passing of all the examinations
prescribed, and will be a well-earned guerdon of conscientious labor—a
diploma which will be an honor to its holder, and will command the
respect of even the highest of the already established universities.

Such is the non-resident Chautauqua University; a university complete in
all its purposes, perfect in its plan of organization, its constituency
the largest in the world, its dome the o’erarching blue, its center
Chautauqua, the grandest educational outgrowth of the century. The
means by which advancement in the Chautauqua University shall be
attained is correspondence. This idea, though not entirely new, nor
confined exclusively to Chautauqua, is yet recent enough in its American
adaptations, to come as a novelty to the majority of those who will
become students in this university, and will through university channels
achieve a practical realization, which will make Chautauqua the home
of its adoption. This correspondence presupposes earnest, unflagging,
indefatigable study. The class-room finds its chief work to be the
testing of results—the detection of false methods of investigation; the
correction of faulty application of principles, and the stimulation to
better efforts in the light of better information.

The part thus assigned to the class-room can be performed with equal
worth by the correspondence system, and the only proviso for the largest
success is in the regular, systematic, daily devotion to study of a
fixed portion of time, and such a student, though he may never look
into his teacher’s face, may become in the lines which he has chosen as
successful and eminent as his more fortunate neighbor, whose privilege
it may be to sit day by day in the presence of the same teacher in his
distant college class-room. The means by which this correspondence and
inter-communication is to be accomplished is the central office of the
University at Plainfield, N. J. Students desiring to avail themselves of
its privileges, upon the simple stating of the fact by letter addressed
to The Chautauqua University, will receive full details of the courses
of study, the books required, the essential particulars of the workings
of the institution, and all information necessary to matriculation. When
the student has been once fully entered in the University course he is
put into communication with one or more professors, for the beginning of
his work. From that time his progress will depend solely upon the nature
of his own efforts. The department professor will furnish directions
for study, with instructions how to use the required books, outline
memoranda which shall be filled and returned to the professor, and lesson
papers for occasional and free interchange, by which an exact record of
progress can be obtained.

The office of the University will be in charge of a registrar, part of
whose duty shall be to keep an accurate knowledge of the advancement and
proficiency of each student, to develop the university spirit among the
students, and to bring the different departments into harmonious and
concurrent relations.

What we have written will, of necessity, come under the eye of every
member of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle. To each of
you we appeal. Give to this preliminary statement as wide a currency as
possible. Representatives of the classes we have described are in every
community where the C. L. S. C. exists. Bring this article to the notice
of such. Let the Chautauqua spirit, to which you are debtor, through you
be communicated to those around you, and thereby aid in the work of a
broader and better culture for the nation.

    R. S. HOLMES,
    Registrar Chautauqua University.

    PLAINFIELD, N. J., September, 1884.


Anatomy, Physiology, and Hygiene: A Manual for the use of Colleges,
Schools, and General Readers. By Jerome Walker, M. D. New York: A. Lovell
& Co. 1884.

Practical Work in the School Room. Part I. A Transcript of the Object
Lessons on the Human Body Given in Primary Department, Grammar School No.
49, New York City. New York: A. Lovell & Co. 1884.

Harry’s Vacation; or, Philosophy at Home. By William C. Richards, A. M.
New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1884.

Essentials of English for Schools, Colleges, and Private Study. By Alfred
H. Welsh, A. M. Chicago: L. C. Griggs & Co. 1884.

Stories by American Authors. Vol. V. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons.

Echoes from the Valley. By Rob Roy McGregor Parrish. Portland, Oregon.
Geo. H. Himes, Printer and Publisher. 1883.

Cookery for Beginners. A Series of Familiar Lessons for Young
Housekeepers. By Marion Harland. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co.

A Golden Inheritance. By Reese Rockwell. New York: Phillips & Hunt. 1884.

A Dictionary of Miracles. Imitative, Realistic, and Dogmatic. By the Rev.
E. Cobham Brewer, LL.D. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1884.

Which: Right or Wrong? By M. L. Moreland. Boston: Lee & Shepard,
Publishers. 1883.

A Mother’s Souvenir. By Mrs. H. W. T. Sayers. Indianapolis: Wm. B.
Burford. 1884.

The King’s Men. A Tale of To-morrow. By Robert Grant, John Boyle
O’Reilly, J. S. of Dale, and John T. Wheelwright. New York: Charles
Scribner’s Sons. 1884.

College Greek Course in English. By William Cleaver Wilkinson. New York:
Phillips & Hunt. Cincinnati: Cranston & Stowe. 1884.

Spiritual Life; Its Nature, Urgency, and Crowning Excellence. By Rev. J.
H. Potts, A. M. New York: Phillips & Hunt. Cincinnati: Cranston & Stowe.

Christina; or, The Persecuted Family. A Tale of Sorrow and Suffering. By
Rev. J. Dillon. New York: Phillips & Hunt. Cincinnati: Cranston & Stowe.

One Little Rebel. By Julia B. Smith. New York: Phillips & Hunt.
Cincinnati: Cranston & Stowe. 1884.

Centenary Thoughts for the Pew and Pulpit of Methodism, in Eighteen
Hundred and Eighty-four. By R. S. Foster, one of the Bishops of the M. E.
Church. New York: Phillips & Hunt. Cincinnati: Cranston & Stowe. 1884.

Queer Stories for Boys and Girls. By Edward Eggleston. New York: Charles
Scribner’s Sons. 1884.


All business correspondence relating to Chautauqua or the Hotel Athenæum
should be addressed to W. A. Duncan, Syracuse, N. Y.

       *       *       *       *       *

Members of the C. L. S. C. should remember that Appleton’s “Chemistry,”
published by the Providence Lithograph Company is the one used in the
Required Readings for 1884-85. Appleton’s “Young Chemist” can not be
substituted for it.

       *       *       *       *       *

One favor is granted by Professor Hall, of the department of microscopy
in the Chautauqua University, to the twenty circles of the C. L. S. C.
who make early applications. He will give instruction in microscopy, and
will loan twenty boxes, six slides each, of specimens, the circles to
procure a thirty dollar instrument, such as he has recommended, and to
pay the postage on the slides both ways.

       *       *       *       *       *

The C. L. S. C. of the New England Assembly have decided to erect a
hall on the hill at the New England Assembly, South Framingham, Mass.,
corresponding to the Hall of Philosophy at Chautauqua. New England
members who desire to contribute to this most worthy enterprise should
send their subscriptions to Rev. Webster Woodbury, Foxboro, Mass.; Rev.
William Full, South Framingham, Mass.; Rev. M. H. A. Evans, Leominster,
Mass.; Rev. George E. Lovejoy, Franklin, Mass.; Rev. B. F. Fullerton,
Hopkinton, Mass.; Dr. E. M. White, Boston, Mass.; Rev. N. B. Fisk,
Woburn, Mass. Send subscriptions to any member of the committee, but send
the cash to the treasurer, Rev. N. B. Fisk, Woburn, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Question._—Do undergraduate members of the C. L. S. C. have to pay an
extra fee for the White Seal in connection with each year of the regular
course? _Answer._—No.

       *       *       *       *       *

Dr. W. C. Wilkinson writes us to state to members of the C. L. S. C. that
the whole of pages 168, 169, of “Preparatory Latin Course in English,”
condemning Plutarch of carelessness are hereby expunged. The necessary
correction will be made in future editions of the book.

       *       *       *       *       *

Presidents or secretaries of local circles in Canada are particularly
requested to send to Lewis C. Peake, drawer 2559, Toronto, Canada, the
name and location of their circle, names of officers, number of members,
times of meeting, and any other matters of interest concerning the work
of the circle. He will be glad to furnish any quantity of circulars,
forms of application for membership, and general information. Now is the
time for a grand missionary effort all along the line, and local circles
and individual members must lead the way.



_President_—Lewis Miller.

_Superintendent of Instruction_—J. H. Vincent, D.D.

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

_Office Secretary_—Miss Kate F. Kimball.

_General Secretary_—A. M. Martin.

THE C. L. S. C.

The Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle is a school at home—a
school after school—a college for one’s own house, by which he may become
acquainted in a general way with the school and college world, into which
so many of our young people go, about which their parents know so little,
and the benefits of which college people themselves need to recall in
their later years.

It is for busy people, who left school years ago, and who desire to
pursue some systematic course of instruction.

It is for high school and college graduates, for people who never entered
either high school or college, for merchants, mechanics, apprentices,
mothers, busy housekeepers, farmer boys, shop girls, and for people of
leisure and wealth who do not know what to do with their time. College
graduates, ministers, lawyers, physicians, accomplished ladies, are
taking the course. They find the required books entertaining and useful,
giving them a pleasant review of studies long ago laid aside. Several of
our members are over eighty years of age. Very few are under eighteen.

The C. L. S. C. Course requires about forty minutes’ time a day for the
term of four years. It need not be done every day, although this is a
desirable way to carry on the work. The readings are comprehensive,
clear, simple, and entertaining. They vary, of course, in interest
according to the taste of the reader.

More than sixty thousand names are enrolled in this so-called “People’s
University.” Although not a University at all, it has put educational
influence, atmosphere and ambition into the homes of the people, which
will lead many thousands of youth to seek the education which colleges
and universities supply.

It is an easy thing to join the C. L. S. C. No preliminary examination
is required; indeed, no examination is required at any time. Members
are expected to fill out certain simple memoranda year after year, and
forward them to the central office of the C. L. S. C., at Plainfield, N.
J. But this is no task at all. A careful reading of the books is all that
is necessary in order to graduate.

The following is the distribution of the subjects and books of the
regular course through the year:


Brief History of Greece. (Barnes.)

Preparatory Greek Course in English.

Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 5. Greek History.


    “Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life.”
    “Greek Mythology.”
    “The Temperance Teachings of Science.”
    “Studies in Kitchen Science and Art.”
    “Sunday Readings.”

Our Alma Mater—“Lessons in Every-Day Speech.”


Preparatory Greek Course in English. (Continued.)

Art of Speech. Vol. I.


    “Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life.”
    “Greek Mythology.”
    “The Temperance Teachings of Science.”
    “Sunday Readings.”


Preparatory Greek Course in English. (Concluded.)

Cyrus and Alexander.


    “Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life.”
    “Greek Mythology.”
    “The Temperance Teachings of Science.”
    “Sunday Readings.”

Our Alma Mater—“Lessons in Every-Day Speech.”


College Greek Course in English.

The Character of Jesus. (Bushnell.)


    “Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life.”
    “Greek Mythology.”
    “The Temperance Teachings of Science.”
    “Studies in Kitchen Science and Art.”
    “Sunday Readings.”


College Greek Course in English.

Beginner’s Hand-Book of Chemistry.

How to Help the Poor.


    “The Circle of the Sciences.”
    “Huxley on Science.”
    “Home Studies in Chemistry.”
    “Sunday Readings.”

Our Alma Mater—“Lessons in Household Decoration.”


College Greek Course in English. (Concluded.)

Beginner’s Hand-Book of Chemistry.


    “The Circle of the Sciences.”
    “Home Studies in Chemistry.”
    “Talks About Good English.”
    “Sunday Readings.”


Hurst’s History of the Reformation.

Beginner’s Hand-Book of Chemistry.


    “The Circle of the Sciences.”
    “Home Studies in Chemistry.”
    “Easy Lessons in Animal Biology.”
    “Talks about Good English.”
    “Studies in Kitchen Science and Art.”
    “Sunday Readings.”

Our Alma Mater—“Lessons in Self-Discipline.”



    “Easy Lessons in Animal Biology.”
    “Talks About Good English.”
    “Sunday Readings.”



    “Easy Lessons in Animal Biology.”
    “Talks About Good English.”
    “Sunday Readings.”

Review Full Year’s Course.


To defray the expenses of correspondence, memoranda, etc., an annual fee
of fifty cents is required. This amount should be forwarded to Miss K. F.
Kimball, Plainfield, N. J., by New York or Philadelphia draft, Postoffice
order, or Postal note on Plainfield, N. J. Do not send postage-stamps if
you can possibly avoid it.

N. B.—In sending your fee, be sure to state to which class you belong,
whether 1885, 1886, 1887, or 1888.


Persons desiring to unite with the C. L. S. C. should forward answers
to the following questions to DR. J. H. VINCENT, Plainfield, N. J. The
class graduating in 1888 should begin the study of the lessons required
October, 1884. They _may_ begin as late as January 1, 1885.

1. Give your name in full.

2. Your post-office address, with county and State.

3. Are you married or single?

4. What is your age? Are you between twenty and thirty, or thirty and
forty, or forty and fifty, or fifty and sixty, etc.?

5. If married, how many children living under the age of sixteen years?[E]

6. What is your occupation?

7. With what religious denomination are you connected?


Persons should be present to enjoy the annual meetings at Chautauqua,
but attendance there is not necessary to graduation in the C. L. S. C.
Persons who have never visited Chautauqua may enjoy the advantages,
diploma, and honors of the “Circle.” The _Daily Assembly Herald_ is
published on the grounds during the Chautauqua Assembly. Send $1 for the
_Daily Herald_ to T. L. FLOOD, Meadville, Pa.

[E] We ask this question to ascertain the possible future intellectual
and moral influence of this “Circle” on your homes.

FOR 1884-1885.

The Chautauqua Periodicals.


Vol. V. 1884-1885.

The fifth volume of THE CHAUTAUQUAN begins with the present issue. The
magazine has a new and improved make-up. A corps of the ablest writers
in the country supply its columns. One-half of the Required Readings
of the C. L. S. C. are published in its pages. The Special C. L. S. C.
Departments will be more full and entertaining than ever.

Among its contributors are: Richard Grant White, Dr. Felix L. Oswald,
Bishop Hurst, Edward Everett Hale, Miss Susan Hayes Ward, Mrs. Emma P.
Ewing, Mr. Byron D. Halsted, Dr. J. H. Vincent, D. H. Wheeler, D.D.,
LL.D., Miss Ida M. Tarbell, A.M., Miss Frances E. Willard, Dr. G. W.
Clark, Bishop H. W. Warren, LL.D., Mr. A. M. Martin, Mr. C. E. Bishop,
Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D., Mrs. Emily J. Bugbee, Rev. C. E. Hall, D.D.,
Prof. G. Browne Goode, Prof. J. T. Edwards, D.D., Prof. W. G. Williams,



Complete sets of the eleventh volume of THE CHAUTAUQUA ASSEMBLY DAILY
HERALD are now ready. This paper, published in nineteen numbers, in
August of this year, on the grounds at the great Chautauqua Assembly,
offers a unique and invaluable collection of lectures not to be found
elsewhere in print. The present volume contains about eighty lectures,
selected from the Chautauqua program for 1884.


Delivered by Principal A. M. FAIRBAIRN, of England, on Philosophy, also
appears in this volume of THE ASSEMBLY HERALD, on the following subjects:
“Locke and Berkeley,” “Hume,” “The Mills,” “Positivism,” “Herbert
Spencer,” “Science and the Problem of Thought.” This series of lectures
is alone worth the price of the volume.


Something New for the Young People.

_A Children’s Daily Paper, Published on the Grounds at Chautauqua in

THE YOUTH’S C. L. S. C. is a fresh and entertaining sheet, published in
the interests of the Chautauqua Boys and Girls. Volume I. contains twelve
numbers. It is printed on heavy paper, and beautifully illustrated from
designs by our Special Artist. Its pages are enriched by contributions

    DR. J. H. VINCENT,

_The set gives a Picture of the Children’s World at Chautauqua._ Complete
sets of Vol. I. now ready. It makes an invaluable and beautiful gift for
the children in the Primary Department of the Sunday-school.


    THE CHAUTAUQUAN                      $1.50
    THE ASSEMBLY DAILY HERALD             1.00
    THE YOUTH’S C. L. S. C.                .50


    THE CHAUTAUQUAN, each                $1.35
    THE ASSEMBLY DAILY HERALD, each        .90
    THE YOUTH’S C. L. S. C., each          .40


    ASSEMBLY DAILY HERALD,  }            $2.25
    THE CHAUTAUQUAN,        }

    ASSEMBLY DAILY HERALD,  }            $2.70
    THE CHAUTAUQUAN,        }
    THE YOUTH’S C. L. S. C. }


       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 8, author’s name changed from “HALSTEAD” to “HALSTED”

Page 9, “cions” changed to “scions” (the selection of scions, with which)

Page 9, “decends” changed to “descends” (and afterward descends to the

Page 10, “pototoes” changed to “potatoes” (_Parisienne_ potatoes)

Page 12, repeated word “that” removed (in that the voice of his heavenly

Page 15, “repesented” changed to “represented” (are indeed represented in
this very way)

Page 15, “analagous” changed to “analogous” (analogous to allegories,
fables and parables)

Page 16, “Semetic” changed to “Semitic” (the Aryan and Semitic tongues)

Page 17, “affordng” changed to “affording” (affording evidence of the
little nature taught them)

Page 19, “favorate” changed to “favorite” (renouncing their favorite

Page 25, “gentlemen” changed to “gentleman” (A gentleman told me)

Page 42, “Hawaian” changed to “Hawaiian” (a recent trip to the Hawaiian

Page 43, “beach” changed to “beech” (maple, beech and elm forest)

Page 54, “anthing” changed to “anything” (it may never earn anything at

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Chautauquan, Vol. 05, October 1884, No. 1" ***

Doctrine Publishing Corporation provides digitized public domain materials.
Public domain books belong to the public and we are merely their custodians.
This effort is time consuming and expensive, so in order to keep providing
this resource, we have taken steps to prevent abuse by commercial parties,
including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Doctrine Publishing
Corporation's ISYS search for use by individuals, and we request that you
use these files for personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort
to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.