Chapter C: F. Birdseye Believes They Bring Undergraduates More Under Influence (3)

The Palace of Cyrus, the founder of the Persian Empire, is also
mentioned as one of the wonders of the ancient world, though the
preference is given to the Pharos of Egypt by the best authorities.
This palace was cemented with gold.

The wonders of the Middle Ages seem quite modern compared with the
marvels of the ancient world, long since crumbled into dust.

The Colosseum of Rome heads the later list. This was built by
Vespasian, and dedicated by his son Titus, in 80 A.D. According to a
document of the fourth century, this great amphitheater seated
eighty-seven thousand persons, its dimensions being six hundred and
seventeen by five hundred and twelve feet. It was the scene of the
bloody sports in which the Romans delighted, and of the martyrdom of
many of the early Christians.

The Catacombs of Rome, the earliest burial places of the Christians,
are outside the city walls, within a radius of three miles; they were
excavated wherever the soil was suitable for such tunneling, but were
not secretly made, as the old tradition would have us believe. Their
length has been estimated variously at from three hundred and fifty to
eight hundred miles, and the number of dead which they contain is from
six to seven millions.

The Great Wall of China was built by the founder of the Tsin dynasty,
in 256 B.C. Its length was once more than one thousand two hundred and
fifty miles, and it is the largest defensive work in the world, being
thirty-five feet high and twenty-one feet thick. It follows an
irregular course, marking the northern boundary of the empire, and is
not deflected by natural obstacles. There are towers at frequent
intervals, presumably for lookout.

Stonehenge is the most remarkable example of the ancient stone circles
and stands, a magnificent ruin, on Salisbury Plain, in Wiltshire,
southern England. It is at least as early as the Bronze Age, according
to the most modern research, and that was from 2000 to 1800 B.C. From
the arrangement of the stones with reference to the sun, It is
believed to have had some connection with sun worship.

The Leaning Tower of Pisa is the most remarkable of these slanting
campaniles, though not by any means the only one. It was begun in 1174
and finished in 1350. Its height is one hundred and eighty-one feet,
and it is fifty-one and a half feet in diameter at the base. It
inclines thirteen feet eight inches toward the south. The opinion
prevails now that the slant is intentional in all these leaning
towers, though the reason for it is not clear.

The Porcelain Tower of Nanking, which was erected early in the
fifteenth century, was an octagonal structure, faced with variegated
porcelain. Lamps and bells were hung from it. It was destroyed by the
Taipings in 1853, but many miniatures of it are in existence in
various parts of the world.

The Mosque of St. Sophia, in Constantinople, is one of the most
magnificent edifices in the world. It was begun by Justinian in A.D.
532 and was completed in five years. Originally it was named the
Church of St. Sophia. Its walls were decorated with beautiful mosaics,
which have been partly effaced or partly covered with inscriptions
from the Koran. It was converted into a mosque by Mohammed II, in
1453, and four minarets were added, while the golden cross was
replaced by the crescent. Its dome is one hundred and five feet in
diameter and one hundred and eighty-four feet high inside.

IRON IN THE AMERICAN COLONIES.

Original Find Was in North Carolina, While the First Attempt to
Manufacture It Was Made in Virginia in 1619.

Iron is, fortunately, the most abundant of metals as well as the most useful, and is to be found in almost all parts of the world.

The first recorded find was in North Carolina in 1585, while the first effort to manufacture it was made in Virginia in 1619.

The works were destroyed by Indians in 1622. The next attempt was at
Lynn, Massachusetts, where a blast furnace was started in 1643, which
produced some “sow” iron in 1645, and where a forge was built in 1648.
Bog-ore was generally used in New England in colonial days.

The first export of iron (bar) to England was made in 1717, and the
first pig-iron in 1728. Up to 1720, Massachusetts was the chief seat
of the iron industry in the colonies. In the year 1750, Pennsylvania
became the leading iron-producing colony.

The Harp of a Thousand Strings.

A Quaint Specimen of the Sermons Preached by Itinerant Exhorters in the South in the Middle of the Last Century—Now Almost Forgotten, It Had the Whole Country Laughing Fifty Years Ago.

The droll little sketch entitled “The Harp of a Thousand Strings”
appeared many years ago in a New Orleans newspaper. While Joshua S.
Morris is generally credited with the authorship, the claims of others
have been advanced from time to time, and the authorship appears to be
almost as cloudy as the identity of the writers of “Laugh and the
World Laughs With You,” “Casey at the Bat,” and “If I Should Die
To-Night.”

But, however cloudy may be the identity of the author, there is no
suggestion of haziness about the humor which invests the sketch
itself. “The Harp of a Thousand Strings” had scarcely more than
attained the dignity of print when it was pounced upon by nearly every
elocutionist and chronic story-teller in the country. Hundreds of
newspapers reprinted it, and in England it was frequently quoted as an
admirable example of American humor.

All this popularity was too much for it, however. Gorged with
prosperity, it lay down to a Rip Van Winkle slumber from which it has
just been awakened for the readers of THE SCRAP BOOK. Like Rip Van
Winkle, “The Harp of a Thousand Strings” finds that during its long
sleep one of its old friends has passed away. This Is the quaint old
exhorter who, combining business with theology, was so common in the
South half a century ago. Sometimes he was a pedler, a patent medicine
man, a lightning-rod agent, or, like the old fellow pictured in the
sketch, a Mississippi flat-boat captain in search of a cargo, or with
liquor to sell.

I may say to you, my brethring, that I am not an edicated man, an’ I am not one of them as believes that edication is necessary for a Gospel minister, for I believe the Lord edicates His preachers jest as He wants ’em to be edicated; an’ although I say it that oughtn’t to say it, yet in the State of Indianny, whar I live, thar’s no man as gets bigger congregations nor what I gits.

Thar may be some here to-day, my brethring, as don’t know what persuasion I am uv. Well, I must say to you, my brethring, that I’m a Hard-shell Baptist. Thar’s some folks as don’t like the Hard-shell Baptists, but I’d rather have a hard shell as no shell at all.

You see me here to-day, my brethring, dressed up in fine clothes; you mout think I was proud, but I am not proud, my brethring, and although I’ve been a preacher of the Gospel for twenty years, an’ although I’m capting of the flat-boat that lies at your landing, I’m not proud, my brethring.

I am not gwine to tell edzactly whar my tex may be found; suffice to say, it’s in the leds of the Bible, and you’ll find it somewhar between the first chapter of the book of Generations and the last chapter of the book of Revolutions, and ef you’ll go and search the Scriptures, you’ll not only find my tex thar, but a great many other texes as will do you good to read, and my tex, when you shall find it, you shall find it to read thus:

“And he played on a harp uv a thousand strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck.”

My text, my brethring, leads me to speak of sperits. Now, thar’s a great many kinds of sperits in the world—in the fuss place, thar’s the sperits as some folks call ghosts, and thar’s the sperits of turpentine, and thar’s the sperits as some folks call liquor, an’ I’ve got as good an artikel of them kind of sperits on my flat-boat as ever was fotch down the Mississippi River; but thar’s a great many other kinds of sperits, for the tex says, “He played on a harp uv a _t-h-o-u-s_-and strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck.”

But I tell you the kind uv sperits as is meant in the tex is FIRE. That’s the kind uv sperits as is meant in the tex, my brethring. Now, thar’s a great many kinds of fire in the world. In the fuss place, there’s the common sort of fire you light your cigar or pipe with, and then thar’s foxfire and camphire, fire before you’re ready, and fire and fall back, and many other kinds uv fire, for the tex says, “He played on the harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits of jest men made perfeck.”

But I’ll tell you the kind of fire as is meant in the tex, my brethring—it’s HELL FIRE, an’ that’s the kind uv fire as a great many uv you’ll come to, ef you don’t do better nor what you have been doin’—for “He played on a harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck.”

Now, the different sorts of fire in the world may be likened unto the different persuasions of Christians in the world. In the first place, we have the Piscapalions, an’ they are a high-sailin’ and highfalutin’ set, and they may be likened unto a turkey buzzard that flies up into the air, and he goes up, and up, and up, till he looks no bigger than your fingernail, and the fust thing you know, he cums down, and down, and down, and is a-fillin’ himself on the carkiss of a dead hoss by the side of the road, and “He played on a harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck.”

And then thar’s the Methodis, and they may be likened unto the squirril runnin’ up into a tree, for the Methodis beleeves in gwine on from one degree of grace to another, and finally on to perfection, and the squirril goes up and up, and up and up, and he jumps from limb to limb, and branch to branch, and the fust thing you know he falls, and down he cums kerflumix, and that’s like the Methodis, for they is allers fallen from grace, ah! and “He played on a harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits of jest men made perfeck.”

And then, my brethring, thar’s the Baptist, ah! and they have been likened unto a ’possum on a ’simmon tree, and thunders may roll and the earth may quake, but that ’possum clings thar still, ah! and you may shake one foot loose, and the other’s thar, and you may shake all feet loose, and he laps his tail around the limb, and clings, and he clings furever, for “He played on the harp uv a _thous_and strings, sperits uv jest men made perfeck.”

[Sidenote: A Startling Summons.]

An error for which nervousness may have been responsible, was that made by the boy who was told to take the Bishop’s shaving water to him one morning and cautioned to answer the Bishop’s inquiry “Who’s there,” by saying, “The boy, my Lord.” Whether from nervousness or not, the boy managed to transpose the words of this sentence with ludicrous effect, and the Bishop was surprised and perhaps alarmed to hear in response to his inquiry the answer, “The Lord, my boy.”

The Effects of Music on Animals.

A Pigeon Was One of Mozart’s Most Appreciative Auditors—Cats, Mice, and
Cows Have Performed Queer Antics When Under the Influence of Strains
from Violins and Pianos.

The power of music is growing to be recognized by physicians in the treatment of certain diseases. Its effect upon animals is very marked, sometimes for good and in other instances for quite the opposite, though it is not always easy to know just which is the case.

A writer in _Harper’s Magazine_ half a century ago gave some results of personal observation of animals under the influence of music. These observations are interesting and amusing, and would seem to show beyond a doubt that animals may be quite as fond of sweet sounds as man.

The sensibility of animals to music will hardly be questioned in the
present day, when the manners and habits of all animated nature are so
thoroughly observed and studied.

We no longer doubt the dictum of the poet, who sings, “Music hath
charms to soothe the savage breast”; and, therefore, it is not so much
in corroboration of his assertion, as in illustration of a fact so
interesting and pleasing in itself, that we are about to bring to the
notice of the reader some few instances of animal love of music which
are too well authenticated to admit of a doubt, and some of which are
the records of our personal observation and experience.

Mozart and His Pigeon.

One of the German biographers of Mozart makes mention of a tame
pigeon, which was the companion and pet of that extraordinary genius
when a child. The bird, when at liberty, would never leave the side of
the young composer while he was playing any instrument, and had to be
caught and confined in his cage to prevent him from following his
little favorite from room to room.

Whenever the boy came into the presence of the pigeon, the latter
manifested the utmost uneasiness until he began to play; if the door
of the cage were opened, the bird would fly to the violin and peck at
the strings, or to the harpsichord and jump and flutter on the keys,
and would not be pacified until the child sat down to play, when it
would perch quietly on his shoulder, and sit there for hours almost
without moving a feather.

Cats have a species of undelightful music of their own, performed, as
we all know, at unseasonable hours on the leads, house-tiles, and
garden-walls of our dwellings. Puss’s performances are generally too
chromatic for ears not feline, and we humans are given to disconcert
their concertos with a shower from the water-jug, or anything else
that comes to hand, when their untimely carols rouse us from our
sleep.

In revenge, puss is generally as indifferent to the sublimest strains
of the human voice or cunningly played instrument as any post can
possibly be, and prefers the untuneful scream of the cat’s-meat man to
the noblest compositions of Beethoven.

Cats Have Musical Ears.

Still, as if nature was determined to assert the triumph of harmony
over every living thing, now and then a cat turns up who has a genuine
musical ear, and will manifest unequivocal satisfaction and delight at
harmonious combinations of sound.

We once owned a cat who would listen complacently to music by the hour
together, always accompanying it with a gentle purring—who would leave
her hunting-ground in garden or cellar whenever music was going on in
parlor or drawing-room—who would scratch at the door, and croon and
mew to be let in, and would resent a prolonged exclusion by certain
expressive displays of disapprobation. When admitted, she would leap
on the piano, and attempt, after the New Zealand fashion of expressing
regard, to rub noses with the performer.

An old friend of ours reports another instance, which is perhaps still
more remarkable. He was in the habit, most evenings in the week, of
spending an hour or two at the piano after the studious labors of the
day.

His pet cat, though as a kitten indifferent to music, grew to like it,
and regularly led the way to the piano when the business of the
tea-table was done. Here she took post on a chair, and listened
gravely during the whole performance. When it ceased, and the
instrument was closed, she would return to the rug, or to his knee,
and sleep out the rest of the evening.

A Feline Paderewski.

Not so, however, if the piano was left open; in that case, puss leaped
on the keys and pawed a performance of her own, in which she showed an
extreme partiality for the treble notes, and something like alarm at
the big bass ones, when she happened to give them an extra vigorous
kick with her heels. In fact, a rousing discord would frighten her off
the keys, but she would return again and soothe her feelings by a
gentle pattering among the upper notes.

These exploits she repeated whenever the piano was left open, and
whether she had auditors or not; so that it became necessary to close
the instrument or exclude the cat from the room in order to insure a
moment’s quietness. If by any chance her master spent the evening from
home, puss showed her disappointment and dissatisfaction by
restlessness and ill-temper.

Twenty-five years ago the writer was one of a joint-stock proprietary
who owned a boat on an inland river, winding through a retired and
picturesque tract of country. There were seven of us, all being either
singers or players of instruments; and in this boat it was our custom
to spend an occasional leisure hour in musical voyagings up and down
the river. To many an old English melody on these occasions did the
moss-covered rocks and precipitous banks return harmonious echoes.

A Dancing Cow.

We made strange acquaintances on those long voyages, up a stream
navigated by no other keel than ours, and, among other natural
curiosities, we fell in with a musical cow. This creature, a small,
cream-colored specimen of the Alderney breed, suckled her calf, along
with a dozen other vaccine mothers, in a meadow which sloped down to
the river’s brink.

Whenever we turned the bend of the river, “with our voices in tune as
the oars kept time,” and the meadow came in sight, there we were sure
to see the white cow, standing up to the shoulders in the water,
whither she had advanced to meet us, her neck stretched out and her
dripping nose turned toward the boat.

As we skirted the meadow, she kept pace with us on the bank,
testifying her delight by antics of which no cow in her senses would
have been thought capable. She would leap, skip, roll on her back,
rear on her hind legs, and then hurl them aloft in the air like a
kicking horse—now rushing into the water to look at us nearer, now
frisking off like a kitten at play.

When she came to the meadow-fence, she dashed through it furiously
into the next field, and so on through the next fence, and the next
after that. The fourth being railed, she would turn it by wading the
river, and was only prevented from following us farther by a steep,
precipitous bank which stopped her progress.

After these mad gambols, she always returned to her calf, first
saluting us with a long, plaintive kind of bellow, by way of farewell.

Violin Charms a Snake.

At this period it was that, rescuing a fine snake from some ignorant
boys who were about to kill it, under the notion that it was venomous,
but who were glad to sell it for twopence, we carried the slippery
creature home, and assigned him a lodging in a small wicker basket,
filled with moss and suspended by a single string from a hook in the
ceiling of our bachelor’s snuggery.

The reptile grew to know us, and to welcome us in his way, by gliding
his cold coil across our face and temples when we brought him fresh
moss, or tempted him with food, which, by the way, he would never
take. It was by accident only that we discovered his musical
predilections.

One evening, while marching the room to the sound of our old violin,
with which it was our custom to beguile an occasional hour, we caught
sight of what seemed a monstrous python threatening us from aloft. It
was the shadow of our pet snake, projected by the single candle on the
table to the arched ceiling above, and magnified to formidable looking
dimensions.

The fellow was hanging out of the basket almost by the tip of his
tall, and, with his head stretched toward us, was following our
motions as we walked up and down the room.

We remembered the snake-charmers, and conceived at once that it was
the music which had brought him out; and so it proved, as we had
opportunity of certifying by repeated experiments. Whenever he heard
the violin he came out, and always with his head in the direction of
the sound, as if anxious to reach it. When taken from the basket and
hung around the neck, he lay limp and as if lifeless while the music
lasted, and did not immediately recover when it had ceased.

One day, on finding that he made no appearance at the call of the
violin, we reached down the basket and found him gone. Whether he had
fallen out by accident while hanging by his tall, or taken the leap on
purpose, there was no knowing; but he had disappeared, and we saw him
no more, though a few weeks after his departure we found his skin,
turned inside out, behind a box placed against the wall.

Dogs Are Discriminating.

Dogs, judging from the conduct of the generality of them, may be
regarded as indifferent to music, as they are noticed neither to seek
nor shun it, as a general rule. Being remarkably docile, however, they
may be, and are, taught to discriminate tunes, and to dance to violin,
pipe, and drum in a manner that indicates plainly enough their
appreciation of musical time at least.

Some dogs grind organs at the command of their unfeeling exhibitors;
and though they always set about the business with a serious face,
that may be no proof that they dislike music.

Our own dog—a cross between a Scotch and a Skye terrier—is affected in
an extraordinary way by the notes of the harmonium, and chooses to
post himself close to the instrument while it is playing. So long as
the music runs below a certain pitch all is well; but touch a single
note above that, and he prepares to join in the performance himself.

A Tuneful Terrier.

If a shrill note is prolonged above a minim, he points his nose in the
air, at an angle of about forty degrees, and, elongating his body in a
straight line from the nostrils to the tail, pitches precisely the
same note, which he will go on sounding as long as you please. The
inference generally drawn is that he dislikes it, and that the notes
to which he thus responds are painful to him. To us that is not so
clear, since, though the door be open, and he has the run of the whole
house, he never shows the least disposition to make his escape. Who
shall say that it is not a luxury to him?

The point is doubtful, at least; and we shall give him the benefit of
the doubt, and acquit him of the charge, which we deem odious, of
disrelishing music.

We shall close the present sketch by a remarkable instance of the love
of music exemplified in the conduct of a party of mice who had
obtained surreptitious admission at a public concert. Thus it runs:

“Soon after Miss Hay had commenced her first song, the party occupying
the front seats saw a mouse sauntering leisurely up and down, close to
the skirting of the platform on which she was singing. As the song
proceeded, the mouse stood spellbound. A lady tried to drive it away
by shaking her concert-bill at it; but the little animal had lost its
fear of man, and would not retire.

Appreciative Mice.

“At the conclusion of the piece the mouse vanished, but reappeared,
bringing with it a companion when the next song commenced. At the end
of song the second the two mice retreated to their hole, but made
their third appearance on the boards when the singing was again
renewed.

“Eventually, six or seven mice came out regularly with every song, and
retired when the music ceased. While the melodious tones filled the
apartment all attempts to drive away the mice were vain. These most
timid members of the animal kingdom were too fascinated to be in
terror of the human family, who actually filled the room; and though a
fiftieth part of the means used to drive them away would, under
ordinary circumstances, have sufficed, they now stood, or slowly
glided, so entranced by the melody which pervaded the room that they
were heedless of the presence of their natural enemies.

“How naturalists may explain this phenomenon we know not, nor shall we
swell this article by attempting a solution.”

The paragraph concluded by giving the names of several respectable
individuals who witnessed the singular phenomenon, and who were
willing to testify to the truth of the report.

The Discovery of America.

BY WASHINGTON IRVING.

In accordance with its policy of presenting to its readers each month articles that have to do with the history and characteristics of the month itself, THE SCRAP BOOK herewith reprints the most entertaining account that has been written of what is, without question, the most memorable incident of the month of October—the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus. It is from the pen of Washington Irving, the first great man of letters produced in the New World.

In the course of a period of travel in Europe, Irving went to Madrid, Spain, in 1826. There a post as attaché of the United States Legation was offered to him by Alexander H. Everett, then our minister to the Spanish court. This offer was accepted. Mr. Everett suggested that Irving make a translation from the Spanish of Navarrete’s “Voyages of Columbus.” The suggestion appealed to Irving, but he had scarcely more than addressed himself to his task when the idea occurred to him to write an original work on the subject. He searched the Spanish archives for new material and worked so zealously that in July, 1827, he was able to place the completed manuscript in the hands of John Murray, the famous English publisher, who brought out the work, in three volumes, in 1828.

In order that the sketch here given may be the better appreciated by persons who have allowed the earlier incidents of Columbus’s memorable voyage to escape their memories, it may be well to say that with funds supplied by Ferdinand and Isabella, King and Queen of Spain, Columbus sailed from Palos, Spain, on August 3, 1492. The expedition consisted of the Santa Maria, a decked ship, with a crew of fifty men, and commanded by Columbus in person; and of two caravels—the Pinta, with thirty men, commanded by Martin Pinzon, and the Niña, with twenty-four men, under Vicente Yañez Pinzon, a brother of Martin. Columbus had the rank of admiral. The total number of men on the three vessels was one hundred and twenty. Owing to an accident to the rudder of the Pinta, the expedition was compelled to put in at the Canary Islands on August 9th. On September 6th the vessels again weighed anchor and sailed westward into the mysterious “Ocean Sea.”

The situation of Columbus was daily becoming more and more critical. In proportion as he approached the regions where he expected to find land, the impatience of his crews augmented. The favorable signs which increased his confidence were derided by them as delusive; and there was danger of their rebelling, and obliging him to turn back when on the point of realizing the object of all his labors. They beheld themselves with dismay, still wafted onward, over the boundless wastes of what appeared to them a mere watery desert surrounding the habitable world.

What was to become of them should their provisions fail? Their ships were too weak and defective even for the great voyage they had already made, but if they were still to press forward, adding at every moment to the immense expanse behind them, how should they ever be able to return, having no intervening port where they might victual and refit?

In this way they fed each other’s discontents, gathering together in little knots, and fomenting a spirit of mutinous opposition; and when we consider the natural fire of the Spanish temperament and its impatience of control, and that a great part of these men were sailing on compulsion, we cannot wonder that there was imminent danger of their breaking forth into open rebellion and compelling Columbus to turn back.

In their secret conferences they exclaimed against him as a desperado, bent, in a mad fantasy, upon doing something extravagant to render himself notorious. What were their sufferings and dangers to one evidently content to sacrifice his own life for the chance of distinction? What obligations bound them to continue on with him, or when were the terms of their agreement to be considered as fulfilled?

They had already penetrated unknown seas, untraversed by a sail, far beyond where man had ever before ventured. They had done enough to gain themselves a character for courage and hardihood in undertaking such an enterprise and persisting in it so far. How much farther were they to go in quest of a merely conjectured land? Were they to sail on until they perished, or until all return became impossible? In such case they would be the authors of their own destruction.

On the other hand, should they consult their safety, and turn back before too late, who would blame them? Any complaints made by Columbus would be of no weight; he was a foreigner without friends or influence; his schemes had been condemned by the learned and discountenanced by people of all ranks. He had no party to uphold him, and a host of opponents whose pride of opinion would be gratified by his failure. Or, as an effectual means of preventing his complaints, they might throw him into the sea, and give out that he had fallen overboard while busy with his instruments contemplating the stars—a report which no one would have either the inclination or the means to controvert.

Columbus was not ignorant of the mutinous disposition of his crew; but he still maintained a serene and steady countenance, soothing some with gentle words, endeavoring to stimulate the pride or avarice of others, and openly menacing the refractory with signal punishment should they do anything to impede the voyage.

On the 25th of September the wind again became favorable, and they were able to resume their course directly to the west. The airs being light and the sea calm, the vessels sailed near to each other, and Columbus had much conversation with Martin Alonzo Pinzon on the subject of a chart, which the former had sent three days before on board of the Pinta. Pinzon thought that, according to the indications of the map, they ought to be in the neighborhood of Cipango and the other islands which the admiral had therein delineated.

Columbus partly entertained the same idea, but thought it possible that the ships might have been borne out of their track by the prevalent currents, or that they had not come so far as the pilots had reckoned. He desired that the chart might be returned, and Pinzon, tying it to the end of a cord, flung it on board to him.

While Columbus, his pilot, and several of his experienced mariners were studying the map and endeavoring to make out from it their actual position, they heard a shout from the Pinta, and, looking up, beheld Martin Alonzo Pinzon mounted on the stern of his vessel, crying:

“Land! land! Señor, I claim my reward!”

He pointed at the same time to the southwest, where there was indeed an appearance of land at about twenty-five leagues’ distance.

Upon this Columbus threw himself on his knees and returned thanks to God; and Martin Alonzo repeated the _Gloria in Excelsis_, in which he was joined by his own crew and that of the admiral.

The seamen now mounted to the masthead or climbed about the rigging, straining their eyes in the direction pointed out. The conviction became so general of land in that quarter, and the joy of the people so ungovernable, that Columbus found it necessary to vary from his usual course and stand all night to the southwest.

The morning light, however, put an end to all their hopes, as to a dream. The fancied land proved to be nothing but an evening cloud, and had vanished in the night. With dejected hearts they once more resumed their western course, from which Columbus would never have varied but in compliance with their clamorous wishes.

For several days they continued on with the same propitious breeze, tranquil sea, and mild, delightful weather. The water was so calm that the sailors amused themselves with swimming about the vessel. Dolphins began to abound, and flying fish, darting into the air, fell upon the decks. The continued signs of land diverted the attention of the crews and insensibly beguiled them onward.

On the 1st of October, according to the reckoning of the pilot of the admiral’s ship, they had come five hundred and eighty leagues west since leaving the Canary Islands. The reckoning which Columbus showed the crew was five hundred and eighty-four, but the reckoning which he kept privately was seven hundred and seven. On the following day the weeds floated from east to west, and on the third day no birds were to be seen.

The crews now began to fear that they had passed between islands, from one to the other of which the birds had been flying. Columbus had also some doubts of the kind, but refused to alter his westward course. The people again uttered murmurs and menaces, but on the following day they were visited by such flights of birds, and the various indications of land became so numerous, that from a state of despondency they passed to one of confident expectation.

Eager to obtain the promised pension, the seamen were continually giving the cry of land, on the least appearance of the kind. To put a stop to these false alarms, which produced continual disappointment, Columbus declared that should any one give such notice, and land not be discovered within three days afterward, he should thenceforth forfeit all claim to the reward.

On the evening of the 6th of October Martin Alonzo Pinzon began to lose confidence in their present course, and proposed that they should stand more to the southward. Columbus, however, still persisted in steering directly west. Observing this difference of opinion in a person so important in his squadron as Pinzon, and fearing that chance or design might scatter the ships, he ordered that, should either of the caravels be separated from him, it should stand to the west, and endeavor as soon as possible to join company again. He directed, also, that the vessels should keep near to him at sunrise and sunset, as at these times the state of the atmosphere is most favorable to the discovery of distant land.

On the morning of the 7th of October, at sunrise, several of the admiral’s crew thought they beheld land away to the west, but so indistinctly that no one ventured to proclaim it, lest he should be mistaken, and forfeit all chance of the reward: the Niña, however, being a good sailor, pressed forward to ascertain the fact.

In a little while a flag was hoisted at her masthead, and a gun discharged, being the preconcerted signals for land. New joy was awakened throughout the little squadron, and every eye was turned to the west. As they advanced, however, their cloud-built hopes faded away, and before evening the fancied land had again melted into air.

The crews now sank into a degree of dejection proportioned to their recent excitement; but new circumstances occurred to arouse them. Columbus, having observed great flights of small field-birds going toward the southwest, concluded they must be secure of some neighboring land, where they would find food and a resting-place. He knew the importance which the Portuguese voyagers attached to the flight of birds, by following which they had discovered most of their islands.

He had now come seven hundred and fifty leagues, the distance at which he had computed to find the island of Cipango; as there was no appearance of it, he might have missed it through some mistake in the latitude. He determined, therefore, on the evening of the 7th of October, to alter his course to the west-southwest—the direction in which the birds generally flew—and continue that direction for at least two days.

After all, it was no great deviation from his main course, and would meet the wishes of the Pinzons, as well as be inspiriting to his followers generally.

For three days they stood in this direction, and the farther they went the more frequent and encouraging were the signs of land. Flights of small birds of various colors, some of them such as sing in the fields, came flying about the ships, and then continued toward the southwest, and others were heard also flying by in the night. Tunny fish played about the smooth sea, and a heron, a pelican, and a duck were seen, all bound in the same direction. The herbage which floated by was fresh and green, as if recently from land, and the air, Columbus observed, was as sweet and fragrant as April breezes in Seville.

All these, however, were regarded by the crews as so many delusions beguiling them on to destruction; and when on the evening of the third day they beheld the sun go down upon a shoreless ocean, they broke forth into turbulent clamor. They exclaimed against this obstinacy in tempting fate by continuing on into a boundless sea. They insisted upon turning homeward and abandoning the voyage as hopeless.

Columbus endeavored to pacify them by gentle words and promises of large rewards; but finding that they only increased in clamor, he assumed a decided tone. He told them that it was useless to murmur; the expedition had been sent by the sovereigns to seek the Indies, and, happen what might, he was determined to persevere until, by the blessing of God, he should accomplish the enterprise.

Columbus was now at open defiance with his crew, and his situation became desperate. Fortunately the manifestations of the vicinity of land were such on the following day as no longer to admit a doubt. Besides a quantity of fresh weeds, such as grow in rivers, they saw a green fish of a kind which keeps about rocks; then a branch of thorn with berries on it, and recently separated from the tree, floated by them; then they picked up a reed, a small board, and, above all, a staff artificially carved.

All gloom and mutiny now gave way to sanguine expectation, and throughout the day each one was eagerly on the watch, in hopes of being the first to discover the long-sought-for land.

In the evening, when, according to invariable custom on board of the admiral’s ship, the mariners had sung the _Salve Regina_, or vesper hymn to the Virgin, he made an impressive address to his crew. He pointed out the goodness of God in thus conducting them by soft and favoring breezes across a tranquil ocean, cheering their hopes continually with fresh signs, increasing as their fears augmented, and thus leading and guiding them to a promised land.

He now reminded them of the orders he had given on leaving the Canaries—that, after sailing westward seven hundred leagues, they should not make sail after midnight. Present appearances authorized such a precaution. He thought it probable they would make land that very night; he ordered, therefore, a vigilant lookout to be kept from the forecastle, promising to whomsoever should make the discovery a doublet of velvet in addition to the pension to be given by the sovereigns.

The breeze had been fresh all day, with more sea than usual, and they had made great progress. At sunset they had stood again to the west, and were plowing the waves at a rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the lead, from her superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed throughout the ships; not an eye was closed that night.

As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin on the high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the dusky horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch. About ten o’clock he thought he beheld a light glimmering at a great distance. Fearing his eager hopes might deceive him, he called to Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the king’s bedchamber, and inquired whether he saw such a light; the latter replied in the affirmative.

Doubtful whether it might not yet be some delusion of the fancy, Columbus called Rodrigo Sanchez, of Segovia, and made the same inquiry. By the time the latter had ascended the round-house the light had disappeared. They saw it once or twice afterward in sudden and passing gleams—as if it were a torch in the bark of a fisherman, rising and sinking with the waves, or in the hand of some person on shore borne up and down as he walked from house to house.

So transient and uncertain were these gleams that few attached any importance to them; Columbus, however, considered them as certain signs of land, and, moreover, that the land was inhabited.

They continued their course until two in the morning, when a gun from the Pinta gave the joyous signal of land. It was first descried by a mariner named Rodrigo de Triana; but the reward was afterward adjudged to the admiral for having previously perceived the light.

The land was now clearly seen about two leagues distant, whereupon they took in sail and laid to, waiting impatiently for the dawn.

The thoughts and feelings of Columbus In this little space of time must have been tumultuous and intense. At length, in spite of every difficulty and danger, he had accomplished his object. The great mystery of the ocean was revealed; his theory, which had been the scoff of sages, was triumphantly established; he had secured to himself a glory durable as the world itself.

It is difficult to conceive the feelings of such a man at such a moment, or the conjectures which must have thronged upon his mind as to the land before him, covered with darkness. That it was fruitful was evident from the vegetables which floated from its shores.

He thought, too, that he perceived the fragrance of aromatic groves. The moving light he had beheld proved it to be the residence of man. But what were its inhabitants? Were they like those of the other parts of the globe, or were they some strange and monstrous race, such as the imagination was prone in those times to give to all remote and unknown regions? Had he come upon some wild island far in the Indian Sea, or was this the famed Cipango itself, the object of his golden fancies?

A thousand speculations of the kind must have swarmed upon him, as, with his anxious crews, he waited for the night to pass away; wondering whether the morning light would reveal a savage wilderness, or dawn upon spicy groves, and glittering fanes, and gilded cities, and all the splendors of Oriental civilization.

ORIGIN OF POPULAR GAMES.

Dice-Shaking, Chess, and Polo Rank As Patriarchs, While Ping-Pong and
Basket-Ball May be Said to Be Only Fledgelings Just Out of the
Incubator—Football Was Taken to England by the Romans.

Few nations are able to boast of such a great variety of games as are played in Great Britain and the United States. In many cases the Anglo-Saxon has been responsible for the preservation of games which are now almost unknown in the countries in which they had their origin. Some of these forms of diversion are older than the Roman Empire, while others, like ping-pong and basket-ball, are of recent invention.

=BASEBALL= holds undisputed sway as the American national game. It is
founded on the old English game of rounders, and for almost a century
it has been known in the Eastern States in various forms.

=BASKET-BALL= is unique, inasmuch as it was the invention of one man,
and was completed at a single sitting. In 1891, in the course of a
lecture at the Young Men’s Christian Association in Plainfield,
Massachusetts, the lecturer spoke of the mental processes of
invention, and used a game, with its limitations and necessities, as
an illustration. James Naismith, who was a member of the class, worked
out basket-ball that same night as an ideal game to meet the case. It
was presented the next day in the lecture-room and put in practise
with the aid of the members of the gymnasium. From there it spread to
other branches of the Young Men’s Christian Association and
subsequently to athletic clubs and the general public.

=BILLIARDS= is believed by some to have been brought from the East by
the Crusaders, while others claim an English origin for it and find it
allied to the game of bowls. Still others assert that the French
developed it from an ancient German game. It seems pretty certain that
the first person to give form and rule to the game was an artist,
named Henrique Devigne, who lived in the reign of Charles IX. One
writer sees in billiards the ancient game of paille-maille played on a
table instead of on the ground, and this is indeed a very reasonable
assumption.

=BOWLS=, or bowling, is one of the most popular and ancient of English
pastimes, its origin being traceable to the twelfth century. It was
held in such disfavor for years that laws were enacted against it and
it was an illegal pursuit. Alleys were built, however, as it could not
be played out-of-doors during the winter, and the game flourished in
spite of opposition. In the beginning of the eighteenth century greens
began to increase, while the alleys were rigorously and absolutely
suppressed. It soon became a royal game, and no gentleman’s place was
complete without a bowling-green.

=CHECKERS= is said by some to be a very old game, while others declare
it to be of comparatively modern origin. Whence it came is absolutely
unknown. The game is also called draughts, and there are many
varieties of it—Chinese, English, Polish, Spanish, Italian, and
Turkish. It is also found among the native tribes of the interior of
New Zealand.

=CHESS= always has been the subject of more dispute, so far as its
origin is concerned, than any other game. It is probably the most
ancient as well as the most intellectual of games, and it is played
all over the world. The belief which is most generally accepted is
that it came from the Hindoos, and the most conservative estimate
places its age at one thousand years. Some persons, however, claim an
age of from four to five thousand years for it. Its basis is the art
of war, and the Hindoo name for it, _chaturanga_, means the four
“angas” or members of an army which are given in Hindoo writings as
elephants, horses, chariots, and foot-soldiers.

=CRICKET= is the national game of Englishmen, and seems always to have
been played in Britain. The first mention of it is found in a
manuscript of the thirteenth century. The name comes from the Saxon
_cric_ or _cryc_, a crooked stick—an obvious reference to the bat with
which it is played. Wherever the English have colonized, the game is
played, and in many of the British possessions it has become popular
with the natives, notably in New Zealand.

=CROQUET= is said to have been derived from paille-maille, or mall,
which was played in Languedoc in the thirteenth century. Mall was very
popular in England at the time of the Stuarts. No other game has had
such fluctuations of fortune as croquet, as it sunk into oblivion by
the end of the eighteenth century, yet was revived during the middle
of the nineteenth, and assumed almost the popularity of a national
game.

=CURLING= has been popular in North Britain for the last three
centuries, and is regarded as a Scottish game. It is possible that
some of the Flemish merchants brought it into the country toward the
close of the sixteenth century, but however that may be, it owes its
development to the Scotch, and is now decidedly the national game of
Scotland.

=DICE= are said by some to have had their origin in occult sources,
but more reasonably they are ascribed to Psalmedes, of Greece, B.C.
1244. Those exhumed at Thebes are identical with those used to-day,
and the games played with them are the simplest and most widely known
games of chance in the world.

=FOOTBALL= was undoubtedly introduced into England by the Romans, and
is, therefore, older than the national game of cricket. Varieties of
it may be found in many parts of the world. It is known in the
Philippines and through the Polynesian Islands, among the Eskimos, the
Faroe Islands, and even by the Maoris of New Zealand. The Greeks also
played it.

=GOLF= is popularly supposed to have its origin In Scotland, but there
seems to be good reason for believing that it came from Holland. The
name itself is undoubtedly of German or Dutch extraction, and an
enactment of James I of England, bearing date 1618, refers to a
considerable importation of golf-balls from Holland, and at the same
time places a restriction upon this extravagant use, in a foreign
country, of the coin of the realm.

=LACROSSE= is the national ball-game of Canada. It came from the
aboriginal red men, who doubtless played it for many centuries before
the discovery of the New World. Different tribes played it in
different ways, and it was usually very rough. The name was given to
it by the French Canadians, who saw the resemblance between the curved
netted stick used in playing it and a bishop’s crozier or _crosse_.

=PING-PONG= is really table-tennis, and had its origin in that game.
Its immense popularity lasted only a brief space of time, and its
greatest vogue was in France and America.

=POKER= is probably a development of _il frusso_, an Italian game of
the fifteenth century. A similar game called _primiera_ was played in
Italy in the sixteenth century, and thence journeyed into Spain. In
France this became _ambigu_, and later appeared in England under the
name of brag. Poker is distinctly an American game, and seems to have
descended more directly from the game of brag than from any of the
others.

=POLO= is of Eastern origin, and has been a favorite pastime in
Persia, Tatary, and the frontiers of India from prehistoric times. The
name of the game varies with the district, and the rules are not the
same on minor points, though they are substantially alike on the main
issues. China and Japan also have a game closely resembling the
Persian sport.

=POOL AND PYRAMIDS= are both a form of billiards, and their origin
from the same source is apparent.

=SHUFFLEBOARD= probably comes from the same source as quoits, curling,
and bowling. It was immensely popular in England during the reign of
Henry VIII. Subsequently it was one of the games forbidden by law
because it turned the people from the practise of archery.

=TENNIS= is pronounced the oldest of all the existing ball-games. It
is impossible to give its origin, but it was played in Europe during
the Middle Ages, in the parks or ditches of the feudal castles. It was
at first the pastime of kings and nobles, but later it grew popular
with all classes. The French took it from the Italians and the English
from the French.

=WHIST= undoubtedly is derived from the old game of trumps, which has
a purely English lineage. There is no record of the origin of this
game nor of its development into ruff-and-honors, which was the parent
of whist. The earliest reference to it is believed to be in a sermon
of Latimer’s, about the year 1529. The name probably is derived from
the “hist” or “silence” which close attention to play demands of the
players.

THE WORLD’S GREAT OPERAS.[1]

=Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman—No. 3.=

_An original article written for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

Footnote 1:

This series began in THE SCRAP BOOK for August. Single copies, 10c.

[Sidenote: =The Flying Dutchman.=]

Ten weeks after the production of “Rienzi,” the Dresden Theater produced Wagner’s new opera, “The Flying Dutchman,” which had been composed in seven weeks after the completion of “Rienzi.” Much to the surprise of Wagner and his friends, “The Flying Dutchman” met with a cold reception, and served to slam shut in Wagner’s face the door of popularity which “Rienzi” had opened. The work was inadequately staged and sung; but a more effective cause of its failure lay in the fact that it was a new kind of opera, whose method the public did not understand.