Chapter VII: Part 7

6. Q. What was the current story as to those who died there? A. That those who died there staid there, and those who came after would see them.

7. Q. What does the narrator state is one of his hobbies? A. That a great deal of the sickness, and consequently a great deal of the sorrow, from which we suffer in this world, comes from ignorance of, or, worse still, disobedience to God’s laws.

8. Q. From what source had the entire supply of drinking water for the haunted house been procured? A. From a well in the garden some distance from the house.

9. Q. What did microscopic examination of the water reveal? A. That in its then present condition it was so impure as to be actually a slow poison to any who might drink it.

10. Q. What did digging in the vicinity of the well show? A. That a cesspool leaked directly into the spring, which formed the main supply of the well.

11. Q. What change was now made in regard to the supply of water? A. An artesian well was driven in the rear of the garden entirely out of the way of any drainage from the slope above.

12. Q. What followed from this change? A. The “ghosts” entirely disappeared, and the house was soon found to be as healthy as any in the village.

13. Q. What are the first directions given as to keeping a house clean? A. There must be no decaying vegetables or fruit, no rubbish of any kind kept in the cellar, and the air must be kept perfectly fresh and sweet.

14. Q. What direction is given as to the sink? A. Be sure that your sink is clean, don’t let the drain get stopped up, and once a day, at least, wipe it out thoroughly clean and dry.

15. Q. What precaution is given in reference to the collection of rubbish? A. Don’t let rubbish of any kind collect in the house, keep all your pantries and cupboards clean, and don’t get into the habit of pushing things away into holes and corners.

16. Q. What is said about the care of beds? A. Be sure that your beds are well aired, and that the bedsteads are occasionally wiped off with hot water and soap.

17. Q. What is the subject of Hampton Tract, No. 9? A. “Cleanliness and Disinfection.”

18. Q. What is the name given to the most offensive things? A. Filth.

19. Q. What class of diseases kill about one-half of all who die in England, and are diseases most common in our American towns and homes? A. Filth diseases.

20. Q. For what purpose is this tract written? A. To show why and how to make continual warfare against uncleanliness for the protection of the health and comfort of the people.

21. Q. How may the water of a well or spring be poisoned so that the use of it will destroy life? A. By permitting the drainage into it through the soil of defiling matter.

22. Q. In what substances will some kinds of contagion long remain? A. Porous substances, like the clothing or bedding used by the sick, or in the carpets and cloths, and even in the floors and wall-paper, or unwashed walls of the sick-room.

23. Q. Of what are the contagious disorders of the skin, the eyes and mouth the results? A. Of neglect of cleanliness.

24. Q. What is doubtful in regard to persons who become filthy in their habits, and neglect to provide for the purification of their bodies, clothing and premises? A. It is doubtful if they will ever be found pure and sweet in their thoughts, language and influence.

25. Q. Mention some of the things that in their respective ways and times require the faithful application of sanitary rules. A. The air, the water, the streets and grounds, the clothing and dwellings of individuals, and waste and decaying matters.

26. Q. What should be prevented from defiling the air in any region where it is to be breathed? A. Foul vapors and gases, and smoke and sickening odors.

27. Q. What is said as to the water used for drinking and in households? A. The wells, springs, cisterns, and reservoirs of water used for drinking and in households must always be protected against defilement.

28. Q. Name some articles of food that quickly become unwholesome if in the presence of decaying matter and putrid gases. A. Meats, and especially fish, milk and butter.

29. Q. When are the pathways and grounds about dwellings, and all roadways, best kept clean and free from nuisance? A. When so graded and sloped as to give easy surface drainage for the water.

30. Q. How are the freshness and healthfulness of paths and grounds improved? A. By an occasional layer of fine gravel; but never by sawdust, chips, or planks.

31. Q. What is the best of sanitary rules for all undergarments? A. The modern practice of boiling as well as washing.

32. Q. What are some of the essential means of cleanliness of habitations? A. Through-and-through ventilation, sunlight, the hot scrubbing of wood floors, and the wiping and dusting of walls.

33. Q. What is said of the putrescence of refuse materials used for food? A. It is not only excessively offensive, but may be the cause of sudden and even fatal sickness.

34. Q. How has many a valuable life been lost and many a family prostrated by sudden sickness? A. By the putrid emanations of a few bushels of rotting potatoes or cabbages, or by putrid animal matters and melons, in cellars or store-rooms.

35. Q. What should be done in regard to sewerage matter if it is not completely washed away by flowing water? A. It should be led, in tubes, to porous grounds at least two hundred yards away from the house.

36. Q. What are essential for every person and every dwelling in order to secure purity and health? A. Pure water and fresh air, and means for applying these elements for cleansing.

37. Q. What allowance of water is needed by every individual who is to be kept perfectly clean in person, clothing and premises? A. From twenty to thirty gallons daily.

38. Q. How much fresh air should every person have supplied every minute? A. From twenty-five to one hundred cubic feet.

39. Q. What is necessary as well as ventilation for preserving the cleanliness and purity of a dwelling or any apartment? A. Sunlight.

40. Q. What habit and duty should be established by all? A. The habit and duty of revolting against foul or stagnant air.

41. Q. What study should be established by all? A. The study of available means for supplying fresh air.

42. Q. For what are disinfectants not a substitute? A. They are not a substitute for cleanliness, and the use of water and fresh air, which are the great purifiers.

43. Q. What is the most important use of disinfectants? A. It is that which destroys the infections and invisible virus of the contagious or infectious diseases.

44. Q. What are the principal disinfecting agents employed? A. Heat and chemical substances.

45. Q. What is it found that boiling heat will destroy? A. Infectious or contagious virus in clothing and infected apartments.

46. Q. What are some of the chemical substances used as disinfectants? A. Sulphate of zinc, carbonate of soda, chloride of lime, and carbolic acid.

47. Q. How is the special drying of a damp apartment best secured? A. By the continual and strong currents of air, blowing through and through.

48. Q. What proportion of the volume is air contained in the grounds upon which we walk, or that are under and about our houses? A. It is found to be nearly one-fifth of the entire volume or quantity of every solid foot or yard of earth.

49. Q. How is this air clean and fresh, or impure and sickening? A. According to the condition of the grounds and the places out of which it comes.

50. Q. Like habits of personal virtue and the right use of our time and thoughts, what will these habits of cleanliness and the sanitary regulation of houses become? A. Sources of personal and domestic happiness and health.

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

APRIL.

For the month of April the required C. L. S. C. reading comprises two of the Hampton Tracts—No. 5, A Haunted House, and No. 9, Cleanliness and Disinfection—and the designated reading in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. The following is the division of the work for the month according to weeks:

FIRST WEEK—1. Hampton Tract, No. 5, A Haunted House.

2. Russian History, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Reading, selection for April 1, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

SECOND WEEK—1. Hampton Tract, No. 9, Cleanliness and Disinfection.

2. Scandinavian History and Literature, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Reading, selection for April 8, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

THIRD WEEK—1. Readings in Physiology, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

2. Pictures from English History, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday Reading, selection for April 15, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

FOURTH WEEK—1. Selections from English Literature, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. [See page 423.]

2. Sunday Readings, selections for April 22 and 29, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

* * * * *

Poesy is a beauteous young lady, chaste, honorable, discreet, witty, retired, and who keeps herself within the limits of the strictest discretion; she is the friend of solitude, fountains entertain her, meadows console her, woods free her from ennui, flowers delight her; and, in short, she gives pleasure and instruction to all with whom she communicates.—_Cervantes._

THOMAS HOOD.[N]

I have a delightful rather than a difficult, or even a delicate duty to perform in speaking of those remains of Hood which are not in the keeping of the graveyard’s silent warders, but in the custody of ever-living generations of men and women. I have at this day no intelligent opinions of Thomas Hood’s ability and achievements to oppose; no detractions from his just and symmetrical fame to rebuke; no reluctant acknowledgments of his mastership to stimulate. The most that can be done now for the dear, dead poet, is to waft his fame, on the breath of honest applause, to circles of men outside of the serried ranks which have already closed in upon his shrine.

It appears from the researches of his children that he was born May 23, 1799.

It rarely happens in the history of genius that the verdict of posterity becomes unanimous within its own generation. Yet, this is true of Thomas Hood. He was, indeed, broadly and lovingly appreciated in life, and he had not been long dead when every murmur of doubt, every dissonance of judgment concerning his kingship among the humorous poets of the nineteenth century, died away. Where now he is not admired and extolled and loved for what he did for letters and humanities, let us charitably suppose he is only _not known_. Of him it is preëminently true,

“None know him but to love him;
None name him but to praise.”

I have no hesitation in making my discourse this afternoon his eulogy. If I could not have praised him as a matchless humorist, as a great poet, and as a noble example of manhood, I would have kept silence concerning him.

No name in the literary annals of our century better deserves to be inscribed upon the hearts of the people than does his. He was the friend of the people, and of all the motley he chose to wear, no garb better fitted him, or was more commonly worn, than that of brotherly kindness. This, indeed, he always wore, like a close-fitting tunic, and even when the gay tissues and tinsel of Momus or Harlequin glittered upon the outside, the cerement of charity was between them and his bosom.

The chief reputation Hood achieved in his lifetime was not that which now cleaves to his name. He was known and admired for what is, however admirable in itself, the lesser of his two great gifts. These were wit and poetry, and he shone most to the public eye in the former. I have pronounced him a matchless humorist and a great poet. The proof of my words must be sought in his works.

* * * * *

He was as peculiar in his humor as he was in his character. His passion for punning was never exceeded, perhaps. It would have aroused all the dogmatism of Dr. Johnson’s elephantine nature to explosive indignation against him. Looked at superficially, very much of what Hood wrote appears to be the veriest wantoning of verbal merriment. There are whole volumes of prose and verse, in which he seems to riot in fun, and to ransack the English language for sounds and synonyms of nonsense; but, even in his wildest abandonment to the mood of mirth, there is discoverable a method in his madness, a meaning in his mummery, which is the token of a great brain, throbbing under the jester’s plume, and of a noble heart beating right humanly beneath the mummer’s spangled vest.

The world at first mistook him, no doubt, for a literary harlequin, a poetical pranker, at whose antics they were called upon to laugh only. The admirable humorist lived to see their great mistake rectified, and to behold

“Laughter, holding both his sides,”

not infrequently lift his restraining hands to eyes all suddenly dashed with great blinding tears, or to a bosom growing tempestuous with sighs and throes of human sympathy.

Yet there were not, I think, two distinct sides to Hood’s nature, as some of the earlier critics said, to account for the mysterious pathos welling up from the founts of his wit, but rather a unique single, capable of many manifestations seemingly distinct and diverse, and even antagonistic, but all alike, whether grave or gay, imaginative or practical, comic or tragic—phases only of a homogeneous soul.

It was truly said of him that he introduced comedy and tragedy to each other, and taught them to live together in a cordial union. When his most whimsical poems are scanned, for the discovery, not of their feet, but of their feeling, they reveal his heart beneath the rattling ribs of verbiage.

In that extraordinary poem, “Miss Killmansegg and her Precious Leg,” which to the hasty or over-serious reader seems only a foolish though glittering pageant of rhetorical figures and fancies, a motley troop of “whims and oddities,” there is nevertheless a deep vein of wisdom, which, if visible nowhere else, leads plainly enough to the surface in the terribly grotesque catastrophe. The heroine having lost a member by a casualty, wore instead of it a leg of gold, which she laid under her pillow at night, to keep it from the clutches of her spendthrift lord, who had hinted to her—

—In language low,
That her precious leg was precious slow,
A good ’un to look at, but bad to go,
And kept quite a sum lying idle.
That instead of playing musical airs,
Like Colin’s foot in going up-stairs,
As the wife in the Scottish ballad declares—
It made an infernal stumping;
Whereas a member of cork, or wood,
Would be lighter and cheaper, and quite as good,
Without the unbearable thumping.

Dissensions ripened into quarrels. The countess, in her anger, destroyed her will, which act hastened the dreadful end. That night her sleep was broken;—

’Twas a stir at her pillow she felt,
And some object before her glittered.
’Twas the golden leg!—she knew its gleam,
And up she started, and tried to scream;
But e’en in the moment she started—
Down came the limb with a frightful smash,
And, lost in the universal flash,
That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash,
The spark, called vital departed!

* * * * *

Gold, still gold! hard, yellow and cold,
For gold she had lived, and she died for gold,
By a golden weapon—not oaken.
In the morning they found her all alone,
Stiff and bloody, and cold as a stone—
But her leg, the golden leg, was gone,
And the “golden bowl” was broken!
Gold—still gold! it haunted her yet—
At the “Golden Lion” the inquest met,
Its foreman and carver and gilder—
And the jury debated, from twelve till three,
What their verdict ought to be,
And they brought it in a _felo-de-se_,
Because her own leg had killed her!

And here follows what the poet designates “Her Moral:”—

Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammered and rolled,
Heavy to get, and light to hold,
Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled:
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old,
E’en to the verge of the church-yard’s mould;
Price of many a crime untold:
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Good or bad a thousand-fold—
How widely its agencies vary,
To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless;—
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamped with the image of Good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary.

The bulk of his production is expressed with the same levity which strikes the ear, as in the verses just quoted. He was unquestionably the greatest trafficker in words of double meaning the world had ever known. His stock was exhaustless, and whether home-made or far-fetched, his _mots_ and _jeux_ were sure of currency.

The secret of the perpetual playfulness of his pen is to be found in the eagerness of the public mind to be moved to mirth, and in his need to minister to the mood of the public mind. In a word, he was dependent upon his brain for his bread. Labor was his law, and so, as it befel, humor and mirth became his profits. His puns (so easily spun from himself,) were transmuted into pence and pounds. His quips looked quaintly ahead to quarter-day. His grotesque metaphors were sold in the street, like plaster images, for a livelihood. Had he been less under constraint to please the public ear, he would have wrought, perchance, one dull epic, instead of a thousand delicious epigrams.

* * * * *

His writings are indeed light, but in a double sense. They are light with the buoyancy of the zephyr or of the gossamer wafted in its bosom. They are light also with the luminousness of the sun-beam, kindling beauty and light and warmth as it flashes along its track. The writings of Hood are to be laughed at, but they who only laugh at them have no true appreciation of their subtle power. They disparage them for their mirthfulness, because they can not discover the depths below the dimpling surface of their rolling humor.

* * * * *

His description of a November fog, in London, must be familiar to many of you, but I will venture to quote it in illustration of his facility in rhyming, and also of his skill in supplying the details of a picture which is all painted only in shadows. It is entitled,

“NOVEMBER.”

No sun—no moon—
No morn—no noon,—
No dawn—no dark—no proper time of day,—
No sky—no earthly view,—
No distance looking blue,—
No road—no street—no “’t other side the way,”—
No end to any row,—
No indications where the crescents go,—
No top to any steeple,—
No recognitions of familiar people,—
No courtesies for showing ’em,—
No knowing ’em.
No traveling at all—no locomotion,—
No inkling of the way—no motion,—
“No go”—by land or ocean,—
No mail—no post,—
No news from any foreign coast,—
No park—no ring—no afternoon gentility,—
No company—no nobility,—
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,—
No comfortable feel in any member,—
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,—
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,—
November.

Transitions from gay to grave are so much in the manner of Hood that you will not wonder if I sandwich between the playful production of his muse just quoted, and another still more grotesque to follow, an example of his verse, in which the bizarre yields entirely to the beautiful, the tricksy to the true, leaving “a gem of purest ray serene” for the coronal of pastoral poetry. It is the charming idyl,

“RUTH.”

She stood breast-high amid the corn,
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush,
Deeply ripened,—such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veiled a light
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;—
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks:—

“Sure,” I said, “heaven did not mean
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf down, and come,
Share my harvest and my home.”

I hoped to find time for quoting one of his numerous ballads, in which he not only displays his facility in punning, and satirizes the lachrymose style of ballad verse prevalent at that period, but I must content myself with reciting the oft-repeated stanza with which one of his best ballads closes, burdened with the fate of Ben, the jilted sailor-boy:—

His death, which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton,
And the sexton tolled the bell.

If I were required to indicate that one of all Hood’s poems in which the humor is the maddest and merriest, I think I should, in spite of embarrassment, choose “the tale of a trumpet,” which, like the story of Miss Kilmansegg, rides double, and carries a moral behind it. Dame Eleanor Spearing, who was too excessively deaf to hear the scandals narrated in her presence, was beset by a peddler, who, with many arts and pleas, prevailed upon her to buy of him a marvelous ear-trumpet. From that time the dame heard sad and shocking tales at the village fire-sides, and, of course, repeated them, until the place was filled with “confusion worse confounded,” and in Hood’s own words:—

In short, to describe what came to pass
In a true, though somewhat theatrical way,
Instead of “Love in a Village”—alas!
The piece they performed was “The Devil to Pay.”

The discovery is soon made that the dame’s diabolical trumpet has blown all this mischief, and a condign fate overtakes the unhappy old woman. She is seized by the populace and dragged to the pond just as the peddler who sold her the horn makes his appearance, but—

“Before she can utter the name of the d—
Her head is under the water level!”

The moral of the story points itself, but you can afford to listen to the humorist’s quaint phrasing of it:

“There are folks about town—to name no names—
Who greatly resemble this deafest of dames;
And over their tea, and muffins and crumpets,
Circulate many a scandalous word,
And whisper tales they could only have heard
Through some such diabolical trumpet.”

I did not interrupt the outlines of the story to illustrate its wonderful plethora of puns and pranks, but you will not be averse to a moment’s delay here for a taste of its quaint quality. It is altogether a piece of poetical pyrotechny, in which there are verbal rockets, and serpents, and stars and blue-lights, and double-headers; but, as in many of his poems, the humor seems to go off chiefly with the giddy sparkling whirl and whiz of metrical Catherine wheels. The peddler commends his marvelous trumpet to the dame so marvelously deaf:—

“It’s not the thing for me—I know it—
To crack my own trumpet up, and blow it;
But it is the best, and time will show it.
There was Mrs. F.,
So very deaf,
That she might have worn a percussion cap,
And been knocked on the head without hearing it snap.
Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day
She heard—from her husband at Botany Bay!
Come—eighteen shillings—that’s very low,
You’ll save the money as shillings go,—
And I never knew so bad a lot,—
By hearing whether they ring or not!
Eighteen shillings! it’s worth the price,
Supposing you’re delicate-minded and nice,
To have the medical man of your choice,
Instead of the one with the strongest voice—
Who comes and asks you how’s your liver,
And where you ache, and whether you shiver,
And as to your nerves, so apt to quiver,
As if he was hailing a boat on a river!
And then, with a shout, like Pat in a riot,
Tells you to ‘Keep yourself perfectly quiet!’”

* * * * *

In Hood’s remarkable poems of passion and imagination are to be found, perhaps, his patent of nobility in the realm of poetry. But, if it was made out there, it has had renewal in his later poems of humanity. It was in the last period of his great and restless toil that he flung off, like light fancies, some of his poems, whose stanzas will be echoed in the anthem of his undying fame. Of these are “The Lay of the Laborer,” “The Pauper’s Christmas Carol,” “The Song of the Shirt,” and “The Bridge of Sighs.” It was coincidently with the epoch of that comical and potential journal, _Punch_, (which has never failed to poke the heavy ribs of oppression, and to prick the great fat paunch of selfishness, in a very lively manner), that this new inspiration of brotherly kindness came to Hood. His troubled heart began to beat itself against the bars of its intellectual prison-house, and to wail out its resistless pleas for the poor, the friendless, and the desolate. “The Song of the Shirt” is one of the most extraordinary lyrics ever struck from the harp of poesy. Little thought he, however, that the lines—which, as they were written by his trembling fingers, were almost as spasmodic as if they had been literally convulsed out of his suffering frame,—little thought he that they would peal out on London’s ear, on England’s ear, and strike deep down into the national heart with a warrant for his immortality, more imperative and universal than any which his wit had framed, or his genius had wrought, from the beginning of his career down to the day on which he sang “The Song of the Shirt.”

“Now, mind, Hood, mark my words, this will tell wonderfully: it is the best thing you ever did,” said his wife, as she folded the manuscript for the pocket of _Punch_. And “tell” it did, for not only did England make it a household ballad, but France and Germany and Italy, even, engrafted it upon their popular anthology, while here, in the New World, we bear its odd burden,—

Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam,
Stitch, stitch, stitch, and
Work, work, work,

not more in our memories than in our hearts. Let us not forget, moreover, that women,

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,

sent their _shillings_ from their scanty earnings all over England to help sculpture the pale marble that covers poor Hood on Kensall Green.

Quite as remarkable as the song I have just dismissed is “The Bridge of Sighs.” It withstood the ponderous assaults of dull-headed and cold-hearted critics when it was builded, and now its somber arches will span the deep river of the popular feeling forever and ever. It is a marvelously tender ode, a rare carol of charity, warbled out fearlessly, where prudish philanthropy would have drawn down its hood and held its breath, lest, perchance, it should seem at the side of a fallen woman. Now may the world lift up its head and exult that sorrow, shame, and despair have found a champion, whose voice over the

One more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death,

echoes the divine verdict of Jesus of Nazareth over the sinful woman brought to him for the stern judgment of Moses, “_Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone._”

* * * * *

Much remains unsaid that I would fain say. But it is time for me to close. And what words shall I choose for last words concerning my subject, who, if he were indeed my _subject_, would make me doubly royal, for was not he the crowned king of kindly wits?

He did not live to laugh, albeit he often laughed to live. There is, indeed, a marvel to us in his exterior mirthfulness, for he had a deep fount of sadness in his soul. The last lines of his magnificent “Ode to Melancholy” afford us the key to his inner nature:

There is no music in the life
That sounds with idle laughter solely;
There’s not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

Yet had he wept where he has laughed, had he poured forth bile instead of humor, had he exhaled dull vapors instead of fancies, he might have made a few miserable, but the many he has made glad would have missed the blessed sunshine of his song and spirit.

So, for his “Lays,” that yet lift us up; for his “Whims,” that we are but too happy to indulge; for his oddities that we even admire; for his “Own,” which is yet far more ours than his; for his “Designs,” which were never against any one’s piece but his own; for his “Pleas,” which pleased all classes of his clients; for his “Puns,” with which folly alone was punished; for his spirit, which was always of highest “proof” on trial; for his wit, which, witnessed of another’s, as Shakspere says, “it ambles, it goes easily;” for his worth, that had a morning and a noon tide, though it was never (k)nighted; for his heart, which in the chase of charity, was never be-_hind_; for his name, which is a covering of honor and a crown of bays;—for all these things, be blessings on the name and memory of Thomas Hood. [Great applause.]

* * * * *

Dr. Vincent said: I am surprised and delighted to learn that about seventy members of the C. L. S. C. went out after fossils with Colonel Daniels before breakfast this morning. I am very glad to learn that so many of our circle are interested in this department of study.

The members of the C. L. S. C. are most of them women, or a very large part of them women, and they hear on this ground a good many things said affecting woman’s sphere and work, and they hear in the course of the conversation a great many things said which may not be altogether true, in reference to the sentiments prevailing at Chautauqua concerning this question of woman’s work and woman’s sphere. I was very glad to know that opportunity was taken the other day to discuss one side of that question, and I am very glad that opportunity was given to discuss the other side this afternoon. We must remember in all this discussion, that the largest liberty is granted to all members of the C. L. S. C., that those who believe in woman’s suffrage, and those who are opposed to woman’s suffrage, may be equally loyal to the great objects of the Circle. One thing, however, must be said, that if woman is depreciated as to her relative social power, influence, or value by the managers of the Circle, they are not worthy of your confidence. For the Circle which proposes to exalt the home, and increase the intellectual power of woman as mother, and as a member of society, should certainly recognize as a fundamental doctrine woman’s equality in every legitimate respect with man. [Great applause.] And, if opportunity affords for the further discussion of this question, I hope we shall be able to avail ourselves of the opportunity, and have a thorough understanding among all members of the C. L. S. C. as to where those of us who are most devoted to its interests stand on these questions. I make these remarks, in as indefinite a way as I can, that through the mists you may catch the spirit of the hour, and not mistake the true sentiment of the Chautauqua Circle. [Applause.]

Adjourned.

* * * * *

DR. GODWIN’S “MAN IN THE MOON.”—This amusing little work was published in 1638, and written by Dr. Godwin, Bishop of Llandaff in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and collated to the see of Hereford by her successor, King James I. It was composed when the author was a young student at Christ Church College, Oxford, under the assumed name of Domingo Gonzales. One of the prints represents a man drawn up from the summit of a mountain, with an engine set in motion by birds, which was the mode in which the said Gonzales was supposed to have reached the moon. This curious and now scarce production [there is a copy of it in the British Museum] excited wonder and censure on its appearance, and is thought to have supplied hints to Dr. Wilkins, Bishop of Chester, in compiling his work called “A Discovery of a New World in the Moon.” Dr. Godwin is familiar to most clerical readers as author of “_Præsules Anglicani_,” a useful referential work, and his “_Nuntius Inanimatus_” is said to have contained the first hints of a telegraph, which useful invention was, however, not discovered till the end of the last century.

AN UNNOTED EVIDENCE

OF THE NECESSITY OF A REVEALED RELIGION.

By REV. R. H. HOWARD, A. M.

Do not the remarks of Timayenis, the author of our excellent history of Greece, relative to the effect upon the popular faith of Greece, of the progress of philosophic thought, or of intellectual inquiry, (see page 396), suggest a striking and forcible, not to say new, argument in favor of the necessity of a revealed religion—of a divinely inspired and attested, and hence absolutely _authentic_, revelation of God’s will? His language is as follows: “But perhaps the principal reason (for the persecution of Socrates) was, that his dialectic and searching system, though limited by him to human questions only, was finally _applied by his hearers_ to the _higher_ questions concerning the _creation of the universe_, and _tended to undermine the foundations of the prevailing religion_. The misfortune of ancient society was, that the popular religion was _never to be the subject of any philosophical debate_; either philosophy must _be left to destroy the religion, or society_, striving for the conservation of the latter, _must limit, as much as possible, free philosophical research_. Hence we see the most intelligent and most liberal of the Hellenic tribes continually persecuting, for religious reasons, the most prominent philosophers.”

Our author might have better said, it seems to me, that it was the misfortune of the popular religion in ancient Hellas to be of such a sort as not manifestly to be able successfully to abide searching scrutiny—the white light of scientific, or philosophic, investigation. Had theirs been a religion founded on _fact_, instead of the grossest absurdities, and embracing in their judgment only the highest, sublimest truth, instead of manifold and manifest errors, there would, clearly, have never been any occasion, on their part, to dread its becoming the theme of philosophical debate. Nay, the more severely it was subjected to this ordeal of intellectual inquiry the more clearly would its truth, evidently, be made to appear. Hence, to stand, as some people appear to, even in our day, in such mortal dread of rationalistic, or destructive, criticism, really evinces anything but a robust,—in fact, a very slender and tottering faith, or confidence in the divine, and hence immovable, foundations of their religion.

The line of argument suggested by the foregoing quotation may be stated somewhat as follows: Early in the historical development of a race certain religious beliefs at once spring up. These are born of instinct. Strangely, whatever their manifest absurdity, this feature seems at first to constitute no serious bar to their popular acceptance. Meanwhile, palpably erroneous and absurd as many of these beliefs may really be, they yet, in process of time, not only become deeply rooted, but come to serve certain important practical purposes. Meager and poor as they may be comparatively, they are yet, in point of fact, very much better than none. Without them, indeed, or deprived of the restraining, salutary influences of the same, society itself, perhaps, would be found to be quite impossible. Hence, as also doubtless from feelings of reverence therefor, a national faith, even if it is not all that could be desired, is always jealously guarded. The man who has the temerity to introduce any religious novelties, whatever the extent to which the latter may be really an improvement on the prevailing doctrines, will be likely to be looked upon, not only with suspicion, but as a public enemy, and hence, as one deserving of many stripes. “Strange gods” anciently received a no more hearty welcome or kindly hospitality than do “isms” and “heresies” generally at the present day.

Meantime, however bitter or determined may be the opposition thus developed against it, this antagonism is by no means going effectually to bar out the light of truth from men’s minds. Nay, this very persistent and determined effort to keep it out can naturally tend only to pique curiosity, awaken suspicion and scepticism, develop opposition, and stimulate inquiry. The light must come. Meanwhile, clearly, with this gradually progressive development of the intellectual life of a people, and the prevalence, hence, of a thoughtful, inquiring habit, on their part, of what, in modern times, is known as the “scientific spirit,” religion plainly, as well as everything else, must come in for its share of criticism and investigation. And woe to it if, in this its day of judgment, it be found wanting—if, in connection with this truly crucial ordeal, its foundations be found to consist only of “hay, wood, and stubble.” Nay, nor does it scarcely matter what interests besides may be involved, and must hence be sacrificed with it; it must all the same at once “step down and out.” The idea is that the development of brains is, in the long run, absolutely fatal to a religion founded in error—to all the fabrics of ignorance and superstition. True, these brains can never produce a religion specially worthy of being substituted for the one they have destroyed. But they can, and, in the very nature of the case, inevitably will, sooner or later, demolish and sweep utterly away any faith found to be fundamentally irrational and absurd.

Hence, now, in order to the stability of society, and a permanent and healthy national life,—in fact in order to all kinds of progress and of civilization, an absolutely perfect religion is necessary—one, to say the least, that can effectually, triumphantly, abide even the keenest search of man’s scientific ken. But, plainly, man’s unassisted genius—no merely finite understanding—is equal to the task of producing any such religion: this “one thing” thus so supremely “needful,” yet remains; therefore, if we are to have it at all, this faith must come from on high.

Divine interposition thus, by way of a revealed religion, is evidently absolutely indispensable to prevent nations, by virtue of their very intellectual activities, from undermining and subverting their own foundations, and ultimately destroying the very institutions that might otherwise be their pride and prove as enduring as time.

LOSS AND GAIN.

By MRS. EMILY J. BUGBEE.

All’s lost, do we say?
When the stars of earthly hope go down,
When the light fades out in shadows gray,
When thorns grow sharp on the rugged ground,
And the birds of the summer flee away?

What’s lost?
Why, only our little throne of pride,
Only the outward trappings of life,
Only the friends that could not abide,
When sunshine faded and storms were rife.

What’s left?
Why God! and _His_ true Heaven above,
The glory of earth, and sea and air,
The deathless pulse in His heart of love,
And we to His grand estate are heir.

Infinite gain:
The riches that never more take wing,
The gold wrought out in the furnace fire,
The strength that is born of suffering,
And the upward lift of the soul’s desire.

CHAUTAUQUA EMERGING FROM WINTER.

A LETTER FROM CHAUTAUQUA.

By the REV. VICTOR CORNELLE.

We enjoy this forest life; not only through the Assembly, but through the delightful autumn, when we scatter the pretty leaves in every path; through the cold, long winter and its deep and lasting snows; and through the sunny opening spring. To those who come and go, the Assembly is only a summer gathering for rest and instruction; but to us, who live here, it is like a large and stirring city passing through our woods, and bringing with it the world’s best attainments in every department of learning, the press, the telegraph, etc., and leaving behind saloons and their train of vices. In April our quiet is usually broken by a few scattered families who come before to prepare the way for the thousands who are soon to follow. These increase through June and July and reach the climax in August. Before September closes we can only hear the distant footsteps of a departing city; and when winter comes you can find but sixty small families sprinkled through the cottages. We had a long and pleasant fall, and work went on briskly while pleasant weather lasted. The Superintendent said the improvements this year would exceed any two previous years. The work was distributed over the grounds, but the most marked appears before the hotel, where the ground is worked into an easy undulating grade down to the lake. More cottages were built than usual, many enlarged and others repaired. The lake has been frozen over more than two months with ice from fourteen to sixteen inches thick, carrying sleighs all winter. The fishing-coops appeared in ordinary numbers, and the fishermen gazed long through the holes cut in the ice for the fish that would not come. A few were caught.

The fierceness of the winter is broken by the woods. The wind which sweeps the snow into immense drifts outside is heard here flowing over and among the tree-tops with a deep and constant roar; but is little felt. The memorial bell rings with a regularity and punctuality truly gratifying to those who are expected to hear it at a distance. We can inform all Chautauquans that it rings, and the imagination alone is required to convey its sound to every ear, and its inspiration to every heart. The Sabbath dawns upon us with such a peaceful quiet that it fills our hearts with reverence. Instead of being shocked by the vices of the city, we are charmed by the innocent beauties God has thrown around us in the works of his hands. The services held in the chapel are well attended, and the little society is gradually increasing. The five o’clock meetings for prayer and song in the grand and silent hall have continued without a single break. The attendance declined through the hardest of the winter, but is now increasing. Our C. L. S. C. has sustained a happy existence through the quiet winter. We number twenty, meet weekly to read essays, ask questions, and exchange opinions.

* * * * *

We find this noble precept often repeated in Plato:
“Do thine own work, and know thyself.” Each member
of this sentence comprehends the whole duty of man,
and each includes the other. He who would do his own
work aright will discover that his first lesson is to
know himself and what is his duty; and he who rightly
understands himself will never mistake another man’s
work for his own, but will attend to himself, and
above all improve the faculties of his mind, will
refuse to engage in useless employments, and will get
rid of all unprofitable thoughts and schemes. And as
folly, even if it should succeed in obtaining all
that it can possibly desire, will never be satisfied,
so also wisdom, ever acquiescing in the present, is
never dissatisfied with its existing state. Epicurus
exempts the wise man from forethought and care for the
future.—_Montaigne._

CHAUTAUQUA SCHOOL OF LANGUAGES.

ANGLO-SAXON PRIZES.

Last spring it was announced that during the session of the School of Languages in ’82 two prizes would be awarded for proficiency in Anglo-Saxon acquired during the session. Accordingly, after due announcements, the examination was held during the last days of the session. The papers were submitted to Dr. Cook, Professor of English in the University of California, well-known to old students at Chautauqua. He has lately decided upon the papers with the following result: The first prize was awarded _Miss Mary Parker_, Ogdensburg, N. Y.; the second to _Miss Mary A. Bryant_, Columbia, Tennessee. It is expected that similar prizes will be offered during the session of ’83.

HINTS TO BEGINNERS IN THE STUDY OF NEW TESTAMENT GREEK.

By REV. ALFRED A. WRIGHT, A.M.[O]

THE PURPOSES OF THIS COURSE OF STUDY.

It is one purpose of the study of New Testament Greek as conducted by the Dean of the Department of Greek and the New Testament in the Chautauqua School of Theology, to acquaint students with the best methods for obtaining an elementary knowledge of grammatical and philological principles lying at the basis of Bible Greek.

It is another purpose to acquaint students with the best methods of using the tools needed to mine the treasures of Greek ideas which are not always near the surface of things.

The supreme purpose of this course of study is to enable students to read for themselves the very _words_ which the blessed Master and his Apostles uttered, and to so enter into the mysteries of the language-forms and idioms as to behold the very _ideas_ which Christ and his Apostles had before their mental eyes.

He who attempts this is fascinated from the start with the anticipations of discovery and with the comforts of expected reward for every toil of endeavor. And, as he advances, whatever difficulties present themselves, appear only as the stepping-stones upon which he may plant his ascending footsteps, and from whose loftier elevations he may scan a wider scope of beauty.

Surely—if there are hidden secrets of divine truth phrased in the metaphor or in the thought tone of the Bible Greek, the student can afford to tightly gird his loins for the journey;—it shall prove to him indeed the “Quest of the Holy Grail.”

DIFFICULTIES—IN THE LANGUAGE.

1. “_It is all Greek to me_,” is often said with a quality of facetiousness in tone and manner which is evidently intended as a compliment to the exceeding difficulty of learning the language. Or, it may be a _quasi_ tribute to the very picturesqueness of the Greek letters and word-forms as they appear in the sentence. Or, it may be said by one who is overwhelmed at the erudition of some academic “Greek” flourishing a Greek Testament, and suggesting in manner a certain layman of Lynn, who once took from the parlor table a book printed in French, and asked his astonished hostess, “Is this Latin or French? For if it’s Latin I can read it.” Or it may be possible the superstition that the mysteries of religion are themselves in some manner connected with the very forms of Greek words, has its influence in producing the expression; however, it is a fact that the phrase is found on the lips of even cultured persons, “_It’s all Greek to me_.”

2. _Misapprehension._—The fact is, many people misapprehend the nature of the language and of the real difficulties in the way of mastering its secrets. For the new scholar will invariably assert that Greek, especially New Testament Greek, is _not_ a difficult study, because of the language forms or idioms. The _real_ difficulties are to be found in other places, than in the gardens of the text.

THE REAL DIFFICULTIES.

1. _Lack of Early School Training._—Here is a real difficulty which many Sunday-school teachers and others _feel_. Unquestionably, however, they too much magnify it. An undertaking may be difficult and yet possible. Its difficulty may be over-estimated. A lack of early or the best school training, seriously affects one’s future success in letters or in art. But if there be will and energy and perseverance in a man, these will go far toward insuring his success, while he who has them not will surely fail though blessed with every advantage of school and teacher.

Elihu Burritt, blacksmith, learned eighteen languages and twenty-two dialects, because he _would_ learn them, not because he had early scholastic advantages.

Shakspere says,

“It is not in our stars
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

2. _Lack of Time._—With busy pastors, superintendents and teachers, this difficulty is a _real_ one. Nevertheless we may hint to _some_ pastors that their busy-ness is largely misdirected. It is certain there is time enough to do all that God wants you or needs you to do. But to elaborate the sixth topic of a thirty minute discourse upon the anvil of three weeks’ time, and to do nothing else must be pronounced at least doubtfully wise or valuable. Or, to “run in and see” the mince-pie making Martha or the floor-scrubbing Patience or the boudoir-adorning Evelyn and her æsthetic sister Elsie, and to do nothing else, may please the dear creatures and make one the most popular pastor for the village ages, but is _this_ wise or valuable?

[Hint. _They who “run in” may “run out.”_] A New York _Sun_ reporter in describing the proceedings of the last Democratic State Convention, coined a new word,—not elegant indeed, but extremely expressive. “The Hon. —— arose and proceeded to _peppersauce himself_ all over the convention.” Certainly this is a most emphatic use of the middle form of a noun-verb, and is indefinitely suggestive of the very action and _distributive energy_ of the Hon. ——’s speech as well as of the speecher. The _number_ of parish calls made per year is not the only measure of a pastor’s value to his church. We must have the _qualis_ as well as _quantus_ of his work if we would make a fair test of values. But the quantity of this work is the very consumption of time. Probably you could both learn Greek and make better pastoral calls if you should refrain from distributing yourself so continuously over the parish. Wesley’s rule, “Be diligent. Never be unemployed. Never be _triflingly_ employed. Neither spend more time at any place than is strictly necessary,” is one of universal wisdom. Kirke White learned Greek while walking to and from a lawyer’s office.

A nail cutter was at work cutting nails at his machine in the mill; the long stick that held his pincers was grasped in his right hand and the other end of it, running between his side and elbow, was slung in a cord pendent from the floor above. The red-hot nail plates glowed in the fire, ready to be seized one by one in the pincers, as the workman finished feeding the last one into the closing jaws of the machine. Only a minute’s time and a single nail plate—turned for every nail by the deft hand of the skilled artisan, and fed accurately, became nails. The workman was so adjusted in mental tether to his work that the jaws never closed upon the iron pincers. With a single motion the refuse bit within the pincers fell amongst its fellow scraps, and a new plate began its course. And all the while _the workman was reading a book_. The babel of two hundred crunching jaws around availed nothing to disturb him. He’d planned to save time. He didn’t mean to become machinery or a machine. _That man could learn Greek._

[To be continued.]

EDITOR’S OUTLOOK.

The C. L. S. C. as a Substitute for the College.

The C. L. S. C. has been called the “People’s College.” That it is indeed a school for the thousands who pursue its course of study no one has questioned. Some, however, of the more exact of speech might doubt the propriety of applying the dignified name of college to an institution of its character. We do not set up any claims on the ground of derivation from the Latin verb _colligere_, to collect or bring together, for then would the C. L. S. C. outrank all other colleges in the world. Nor do we plead the right to use such a name because of the scores of institutions chartered under the name of college, which scarcely bear comparison for character and grade of instruction with our academies and best high schools. Let us be content to speak of plain, unpretentious C. L. S. C. as a substitute for the respectable college.