The Chautauquan, February 1883

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[The Chautauquan.]

A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF
THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE.

Vol. III. FEBRUARY, 1883. No. 5.

Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

President, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.

Superintendent of Instruction, J. H. Vincent, D. D., Plainfield, N. J.

General Secretary, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.

Office Secretary, Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.

Counselors, Lyman Abbott, D. D.; J. M. Gibson, D. D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D. D.; W. C. Wilkinson, D. D.

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Contents

[REQUIRED READING]
FOR THE
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle for 1882-83.

FEBRUARY.

[HISTORY OF RUSSIA.]

By Mrs. MARY S. ROBINSON.

CHAPTER VII.
GALITSCH AND THE GREAT REPUBLIC OF NOVGOROD.

We have briefly traced the history of the principality of Kief and that of its rival, Suzdal. Another powerful state, in the twelfth century was Galitsch, the modern Gallicia, the Red Russia of former days, a region south of Poland. This province, peopled by the Khorvats, or white Kroats, had ever remained Slavonic in nationality. Its princes were elected by popular assembly, and retained their dominion by its consent. The intercourse of Galitsch with her neighbors, Hungary and Poland, led to the formation of a powerful aristocracy, which succeeded, first, in controlling the popular assembly, and later in superseding it by an assembly composed exclusively of nobles. When Iaroslaf Osmomuisl, the same whose praise is sung in the song of Igor, put away his wife, Olga, for his paramour, Anastasia, the nobles compelled him to burn the latter alive, to banish her son, and to recognize Olga’s Vladimir as the rightful heir. The young prince, however, followed in the dissolute ways of his father, and went so far as to take for his second wife the widow of a priest, in defiant violation of a law of the Greek Church. The boyars summoned him to deliver the woman over to punishment. The prince, alarmed, fled to Hungary with his family and his treasure; and though in the vicissitude of events, he was recalled after a time, and bore rule for some years before his death, his dominions passed to Roman, prince of Volhynia, whom the Gallicians had invited to bear rule over them when Vladimir had fled from the realm.

This Roman was no easy-going, light-hearted prince of the usual Slavonic type, but a southern Andrei, a stern hero, visiting vengeance upon his enemies and striking terror into the barbarians. The Gallician boyars who had opposed him were put to death by slow torture. To some who had escaped from the country he promised pardon, but upon their return he confiscated their possessions and procured their condemnation to death. He was wont to say: “To eat your honey in peace you must first kill the bees.” He put to flight the Lithuanian tribes of the north, and harnessed his prisoners to the plow. This act of subjugation is commemorated in the folk song: “Thou art terrible, Roman; the Lithuanians are thy laboring oxen.” The report of his stern valor reached the ears of Pope Innocent III, who sent missionaries to bring him over to the Papal Church, and who promised by the sword of Saint Peter to make a great king of the Gallician-Volhynian prince. In the presence of the envoys, Roman drew his own sword from its scabbard and asked: “Is the sword of Saint Peter as strong as mine? While I wear it by my side I need no help from another.” He met his death in an imprudent, unequal combat, during a war with Poland, in 1215. The chronicle of Volhynia names him “the Great,” “the Autocrat of all the Russias;” and the chroniclers generally extol him as a second Monomakh, a hero who “walked in the ways of God, who fell like a lion upon infidels, who swooped like an eagle upon his prey, who was savage as a wild-cat, deadly as a crocodile.”

A more magnanimous hero was Roman’s son, Daniel, whose youth was roughly schooled in adversity. To his principality came Mstislaf the Bold, son of that Mstislaf the Brave, whom we have seen defying the tyranny of Andrei Bogoliubski. The younger Mstislaf was a knight errant, riding hither and thither in search of adventures. He wedded his daughter to the young Daniel, and virtually bore rule in Galitsch till his death in 1228. In wars with the Hungarians, the Poles, the Tartars, Daniel demeaned himself as the worthy son of a mighty sire, and toward the Gallician boyars, whose turbulence had endangered the state, he used a repressive, though not so severe a policy as that pursued by Roman. The Mongol invasion, that overthrew all the Russian governments, ruined Galitsch for the time, along with the others. Daniel did his best to support his shattered country, but was compelled, as a matter of personal safety to take refuge in Hungary. When permitted to return to the desolated principality, he invited thither a vast number of Greeks, Armenians, and Jews, upon whom he conferred abundant privileges as an inducement for them to remain in a depopulated country. The last named people, alien, tenacious, obnoxious to all Christian civilizations, an isolated race wherever their restless fate and their love of gain lead them to emigrate, have proved a disturbing element in Russian nationality. Incapable of assimilation, or unwilling thereto, their population of three millions have no interests, no sympathies with the rest of the nation, save in the intercourse connected with barter, or the stewardship of estates. A continual source of irritation and antagonism, they are “the Polish scourge” of the empire. The hospitality extended to them by Daniel Roman is regarded as the one mistake of his otherwise sagacious administration.

Unable to cope with the all-devouring Mongols, although he made repeated efforts to check their advances, Daniel took part in various European wars, always with brilliant success. The Hungarians spread the fame of the order of his troops, their oriental weapons, the magnificence of their prince, whose Greek habit was broidered with gold, whose caparisons glistened with richly-chased metals, and with jewels, whose saber and arrows were of marvellous workmanship. His warriors were equipped with short stirrups, high saddles, long caftans, or robes, turbans surmounted by aigrets, sabers and poniards in the belt, bows slung at the shoulder, and arrows in the quiver. Their coursers were fleet as the east wind.

Daniel was among the last of the Russian princes to render submission to the Khan of the Horde. “You have done well to come at last,” said Batui, when the prince presented himself at the Tatar court. The khan waived the humiliations usually put upon the princes at their reception; and seeing that the mare’s milk offered his vassal was distasteful, gave him instead a cup of wine. The Gallician-Volhynian, however, was ever feverish under the hard yoke of the Mongols. The civil conflicts of his youth, the ruin of Russia by the Mongols, and the European wars that filled his later years, left him no repose. In a more propitious era his rare powers could have rendered enduring service to his states. As it was, he could not so much as save his own Galitsch from the arrogance of a foreign conqueror. Upon his death it passed to other princes of his family, vassals of the khan, and two centuries later it was lost to Russia, by absorption into the kingdom of Poland. Its fate is unique; for with this exception, no integral state of the early Russian realm has ever become the permanent possession of aliens.

Unique, also, is the history of the wide and glorious principality of Novgorod, the political center of the Russia of the Northwest, the Slavic home of liberty. Its name shines upon the brief but resplendent roll of free nations with Sparta, Arragon, Switzerland. Nay, in the magnitude of its extent, in the exaltation of its freedom, it is not shamed in comparison with our own republic. The sentiment of liberty is traceable from the beginnings of history. During long periods in the earlier epochs, it lay concealed, a spark covered in ashes; but has ever re-kindled in an auspicious time, lighting horizon and zenith with its effulgence. Under the subjections, the servitudes of the ancient empires, the Hebrew theocracy conserved this inextinguishable aspiration of the race. If certain of the Hebrew kings oppressed their subjects, they found them ready for protest and for revolt. When the Roman empire laid its yoke upon the world, the Hebrews of Palestine chose national extinction to national thraldom, and perished by the talons of the Roman eagles. Even then stood ready the new races of the North to catch the falling torch, and to bear it aloft in their sinewy hands. In the mediæval darkness, it glowed, a beacon-light from the summits of Arragon in Spain, and from the peaks of Switzerland. But before Switzerland had a name, when Arragon was scarcely more than a name, Novgorod, by the frozen lakes, far in the wilds of an unknown country, unexplored, untrodden by any civilized people—Novgorod, hidden in its northern nights, was cherishing a freedom such as the republic of the Netherlands cherished in the sixteenth, and the republic of America cherishes in the nineteenth century. To the Slavs of Ilmen belongs the proud distinction of guarding intact through more than six hundred years the instinct for freedom inalienable to the Slavic race. The unrest, the ferment of the Russias to-day, may be traced back to the glorious history, the pathetic surrender of Novgorod the Great; and those who seek to read hopefully the signs of the times, look for the day not far distant, when the venerable “My Lord, Novgorod,” shall receive again his banished bell with weeping and with acclamations; when again his citizens shall assemble in the court of Iaroslaf, and shall proclaim liberty to all his children gathered within his vast and ancient borders.

As we have written, the Novgorodians, Slavs of Ilmen, were the people who founded Russian unity, by the call of Rurik. When he came to them, their city contained a hundred thousand inhabitants, and was the capital of a realm that had a population of three hundred thousand. At least three centuries must have been required for the making of such a state; nor is it improbable that some of the aboriginal Finns known to Herodotus (B. C. 500) mingled with the Slav emigrants who passed the confines of Asia in the fourth Christian century. Ethnologists are of opinion that the early Novgorodians, like the other Russians of all time, are a composite race. The earliest chronicles of the city describe it as divided by the Volkhof, and situated on a vast plain in the midst of dense forests. The river runs northward, from Lake Ilmen to Lake Ladoga. On its right bank rose the cathedral of Saint Sophia, built by Iaroslaf the Great; the Novgorodian kreml, or acropolis, enclosing the palaces of archbishop and prince, the quarter of the potters, and the zagorodni, or suburbs. Here, in 1862, amid national solemnities and festivities, was dedicated the monument to Russian unity, that ennobles a thousand years of Russian history. The left bank contains the court of Iaroslaf, the quarter of commerce, as also those of the carpenters, and the Slavs, par eminence. In the earlier centuries it possessed also a Prussian, or Lithuanian quarter; and hither resorted merchants from all parts of the Orient. In the fourteenth century, the city was enclosed by ramparts, formed of gabions, strengthened at frequent intervals by stone towers. Portions of these defences still remain, attesting this immense extent originally. The cathedral, scarred by the wars of eight centuries, still preserves within the vivid hues of its frescoes, its pillars adorned with figures of saints painted upon golden backgrounds. From the interior of the dome, bends the divine form of Our Lord; beneath him hangs the banner of the Virgin, borne upon the ramparts in times of extremity, for the strengthening of the souls of the besieged, or to strike dismay into the souls of the besiegers. From the cupola, the light falls dimly upon the tombs of the mighty Iaroslaf, the holy Archbishop Nikita, whose prayers once extinguished a conflagration, of Mstislaf the Brave, the hero who defied Andrei Bogoliubski, and of many another captain and saint.

This principality was to old Russia what New England was to our Republic in its initiative period: a center of commerce, a hive of industry, the home of the national freedom and religion. It possessed seven large tributary cities, among them Pskof and Staraïa-Rusa, (old Russia.) Its five provinces covered the whole of Northern Russia, as well as Ingria, beyond the Urals. Among these provinces were Permia on the upper Kama, a land rich in gold and other precious minerals, and traversed by a road leading through a mountain pass; a road connecting Russia with the commercial centres of northern Asia, with Persia, China and India; Russian Lapland, the country of dried fish, reindeer, and fur-bearing animals; Ingria, Karelia, and the ancient, wealthy countries of Esthonia and Livonia. The principality of Novgorod included an area seven times that of our New England. In the capitol were held two large annual fairs; the trade in corn, flax, and hemp, especially from the twelfth to the fifteenth century, made it a commercial entrepôt of such importance as to give rise to the Russian saying, “Who can prevail against God and Novgorod-Viliki!” (the great). Its population was four hundred thousand; ranking it in this respect, at the time, among the chief cities of christendom. When Sviatoslaf, grandson of Rurik, conqueror of the Danubian Bulgarians wished to reside in the sunny land of Kief, and govern “My Lord Novgorod the Great” by deputies, the vetché of that city sent him the message: “If you do not wish to reign over us, we will find another prince;” nor would they rest content with a lesser personage than Sviatoslaf’s son. Sviatopolk, another grand prince, essayed to force his son upon them. “Send him here if he has a spare head,” said the Novgorodians. In truth the princes knowing the curbs put upon their personal power in this republic, coveted rather, the lesser appanages. Vsevolod Gabriel, discontented with his freemen, left the city to reign at Pereiaslavl. After a time he signified his wish to return, but the citizens declined the proposal. “Prince, you violated your oath to die with us,” said they; “you sought another principality: go now where you will.” Some years later he effected a temporary accommodation with them, but again abandoned his post. Whereupon in a great vetché, wherein were represented Pskof and Ladoga, sentence of condemnation was read against the renegade Vsevolod. “He had no compassion upon our poor; he attempted to establish himself at Pereiaslavl; at the battle of Mont Idano he and his drujinas were the first to flee before the men of Suzdal; he was unstable, sometimes uniting with the prince, sometimes with the enemies of Tchernigof.” Vsevolod was banished from the realm.

The Novgorodians were ever ready to cite from the code of Iaroslaf, granted them, as they aver, by that law-giver, and guaranteeing them large privileges. No authentic traces of this code have been discoverable; but the people conferred their own privileges. The vetché, summoned by the great bell in the court of Iaroslaf, was the virtual sovereign. By its pleasure the princes of the state were nominated, elected or dethroned. If a prince opposed the will of the vetché, the citizens “made a reverence, and showed him the way out.” Before its tribunal he could stand accused. If he persisted in an oppressive course, he was put in durance. In like manner the vetché elected and deposed the archbishops of the republic, decided for peace and war, conducted the trial of state criminals, and all the other important business of government. Decisions were obtained not by majority, but by unanimity. If the minority stood out stubbornly, the majority summarily threw them into the Volkhof; for with all their wealth, pride and freedom, the Novgorodians retained an occasional trace of their barbaric origin. Commercially, their city was the glory of Russia. Large numbers of the people were occupied in the trade of the Dneiper and with Greece, and still larger numbers with the trade of the Volga and the East. The soil of the lake region is marshy, sandy, and sterile; the cause of frequent pestilences to its relatively dense population who are also the prey of famines, since their supplies have to be brought from afar. In prehistoric centuries, Novgorod maintained a commerce with the Orient, attested by the coins and jewels exhumed from the barrows of the Ilmen. It exchanged iron and weapons for the precious metals procured from the Ural mines by the Ingrians. It bought the fish and wares of the Baltic Slavs. In the twelfth century, this northern metropolis had a market and a church for the merchants from the Isle of Gothland,[A] and in this isle arose a Variag church, attended by Novgorodian families. The city had likewise a large German market, fortified with a stockade. The Germans had the monopoly of all the western trade; no Russian being allowed, by the terms of their compact, to sell German, English, Walloon, or Flemish products. Hydromel, works of art from Byzantium, rugs, felts, tissues from India, fabrics from the looms of Persia, tea, and curious wares from China, filled its bazars. In 1480, when Ivan III, himself, Viliki, or the Great, crippled its liberties, he despoiled it of three hundred chariots laden with silver and gold. The adventurous mercantile character and the proud, free spirit of this people, is typified in the Novgorodian Sinbad, Sadko, hero of the popular epic, who sought his fortune on the seas. A second Jonah in a storm, he plunges into the waves, and is received into the palace of the sea king, who tests his prowess in various ways, and gives him the princess of the sea in marriage. After many exciting adventures Sadko stands on the shore surrounded by piles of treasure. Yet these are nothing compared with the treasures of Novgorod the Great. “Men perceive that I am a rich merchant of Novgorod; but my city is far richer than I.”

The Church of this center of medieval freedom, was the close ally, the consort of the free State. The clergy, unlike that of the rest of Russia, were less Russian orthodox than Novgorodians. The Slavs of Ilmen were the last of the people obliged to accept Christianity; but from the twelfth century onward they refused to receive a Greek or a Kievan archbishop. They must have one of their own freemen. He was promptly elected by the vetché, and installed in the Episcopal palace, without other investiture. Thereafter he was revered as the chief dignitary of the republic, a Novgorodian, as a native, while the prince, being a descendant from Rurik, was a foreigner. In public documents the name of the archbishop took precedence. “With the blessing of the Archbishop Moses, Posadnik (chief magistrate) Daniel,” etc., concludes one of their letters patent. He invariably held with the republic in its contentions with the prince; and in its wars his revenues and those of the Church were at its service. An archbishop of the fourteenth century built for the city a kreml of stone at his own personal expense. A century later the riches of Saint Sophia were given as ransom for the prisoners captured by the Lithuanians. The ecclesiastics took part in secular affairs, nor cared they for exemption from any civic duties. The laity were equally active in spiritual work. One of the chief splendors of the city lay in its magnificent churches and its well-appointed monasteries. The lives of the saints of the republic are voluminous; the miracles all redound to her glory. One of them records that the Lord Christ appeared to the artist who was to paint the interior of the dome of Saint Sophia, and charged him: “Represent me not with extended but with closed hands, for in my hand I hold Novgorod; and when my hand is opened, the end of the city is nigh.”

Not less national was the literature of the Great Republic. The life of the city, of its princes, boyars, merchants, is given in its monastic chronicles. The epics recite the exploits of Vasili Buslaévitch, the boyar who, with his drujina, held the bridge of the Volkhof against all the muzhiki, the rabble of the city. Many such an iron-hearted adventurer, marking his trail as he journeyed, knowing neither friend nor foe, went forth from this brave, happy, proud community into the trackless wastes of Vologda, Archangel, and Siberia.

During not less than five hundred years the Slav republic, greater in extent than any other except our own, maintained intact the freedom of its barbaric founders, the emigrant Slavs who ended their wanderings by the borders of the lakes. Its conquest by the Mongols is one of the mournfulest chapters in history. An avenging though inadequate sequel to it is “The flight of a Tartar Tribe” as recorded by DeQuincey.[B]

“To live is not merely to breath, it is to act; it is to make use of our organs, senses, faculties, of all those parts of ourselves which give us the feeling of existence. The man who has lived longest is not the man who has counted most years, but he who has enjoyed life most. Such a one was buried a hundred years old, but he was dead from his birth. He would have gained by dying young; at least he would have lived till that time.”—Rousseau.

[A GLANCE AT THE HISTORY AND LITERATURE OF SCANDINAVIA.]

By L. A. SHERMAN, Ph. D.

IV.—THE EDDAS: LATER SWEDISH HISTORY.

We have reserved to the last to speak of the religious books of the early Norsemen,—the Elder and the Younger Edda.

The Elder Edda, it has been often said, is the Old Testament of the Norseman’s faith. This is not because of its surpassing age, for the Younger Edda was compiled perhaps as early. The name was suggested because, in the first place, it is composed mostly in verse. It also tells the story of man’s creation, and the limit of his existence on the earth; it prophesies the final destruction of the universe and the genesis of a new heaven and a new earth. It is not a religious history of mankind in early ages; it is rather a biography of the gods, a register of their exploits and wisdom. In its present form it dates probably from the middle of the thirteenth century, but no one knows when its different parts were first composed. It consists of various distinct treatises, which were never united or considered together, until they had almost perished from the memory of the race. After the Scandinavians ceased to be idolaters, the old stories about Thor and Odin lost their charm, and were at length forgotten; only in the far off and dreary Iceland they were still told to enliven the winter evenings, and keep up the memory of life in the old Fatherland of Scandinavia. Even here they began to drop out of mind, when some quaint clerk put what he could remember of them together under the name of Edda (or “great-grandmother”). Some of the chapters are imperfect and fragmentary, showing they were caught and fixed in writing in the nick of time. There are many difficulties in the interpretation, and hints abound that the compiler took liberties with his materials and somewhat idealized his version. It was a Christian hand which copied out the legends, and here and there it wrote Christian sentiments and thought.

The oldest and most important chapter of the Elder Edda is the Völuspá, or Sibyl’s Prophecy. It is addressed to Odin, describing the meeting of the Æsir (or Northern deities), the origin of the human race, and the destruction of men and gods at Ragnarök.[C] We will here transcribe a couple of stanzas as specimens of the form of the old Norse or Icelandic original, and add a close translation:

STANZAS 66 AND 68.

From another chapter of the Elder Edda—that called Hávamál, and the most interesting after the Völuspá—we we will quote also a specimen. The whole chapter is made up of such proverbs or reflections, said to have been indited by Odin himself:

’Tis far out of the way

To an ill friend,

Though he dwell by the roadside;

But to a good friend

Is the path short,

Though he be a great way off.

Thou shalt move on,—

Shalt not be a guest

Always in one place:

The well-beloved becomes odious

If he sit long

In the house of another.

Among the other divisions of the first Edda we will mention the mystical Vafthruthnismál, or words of Vafthruthnir in reply to Odin, who has made inquiry about the cosmogony and chronology of Norse theology; the Grimnismál, or sayings of Grimnir, which describe the imprisonment and maltreatment which Odin suffered at the hands of King Geirröd; the Thrymskvitha, or lay of Thrym, who stole Thor’s hammer, and refused to restore it unless Freyja were given him to wife: by a device of Thor he is slain and the hammer recovered; the Alvismál, a learned dialogue between the dwarf Alvis and Odin. Deserving of separate mention is the famous Vegtams-kvitha, or Vegtam’s lay. Odin has been troubled with dreams concerning Balder, the helpless god, and applies to a Nala, or Sibyl, for their interpretation. Finally we will name the Völundarkvitha, or Song of Wayland. This contains the story of his toils and adventures at the court of Nidud, a Swedish king.

The Younger Edda is written in prose, and is believed to be the compilation, for the most part, of Snorre Sturleson. It must then have been put together about the same time as the Elder Edda, for Snorre was murdered in the year 1241. The materials of the Younger Edda, as of the Elder, are legends concerning the earth-life of the gods. It begins with a sort of preface, which repeats the story of the first chapters of Genesis, as far as the confusion of tongues. The narrative then abruptly shifts to Troy, and from Priam to Saturn and Jupiter. From Memnon, a Trojan prince and son-in-law of Priam, the author next traces the genealogy of Odin, whom he assigns to the nineteenth generation after Priam. Odin possessed the gift of knowing the future; and becoming aware that great renown awaited him in the north regions, set out to find them, with a large company of followers. They reach first Saxland, which they stop to subjugate, and over the conquered lands Odin leaves three sons to bear rule. Then the army of eastern conquerors begins again to march. They occupy Denmark, then Sweden and Norway. Sweden was at that time ruled by a king named Gylfe, who submitted to Odin without battle. From this country Odin selected the site for a city, which he called Sigtown (city of Victory). With this account of the origin of the Scandinavian chieftains and deities, the first part of this Edda closes.

The second portion, or Deception of Gylfe, is full of the most interesting myths of the Teutonic religion. This Gylfe is the king of Sweden mentioned in the introduction, who repairs to the court of the Æsir to find out the secret of their power. He disguises himself and asks admittance to the hall of the gods. They recognize him, and make him the victim of ocular illusion. The hall is so high he can scarcely see the top, and the shingles on the roof are golden shields. Gylfe is admitted, and engages in conversation with Odin himself, who is called Har. Gylfe asks all manner of questions about the various deities, the creation of the world and of man, the steed of Odin, Frey’s famous ship, the life of the gods in Valhall, and the final destruction of all things at Ragnarök. Har answers patiently, and in detail, until Gylfe proceeds to inquire about the new order of things that should spring up after Ragnarök. Har gives him a short answer, and unceremoniously closes the dialogue. The illusion of the city and gold-roofed hall vanishes, and Gylfe finds himself alone on a desolate plain. He returns to his home, and tells what he has heard and seen. In this way, fables the author, the race of Northmen became possessed of their knowledge of divine things.

The other important portions of the Younger Edda are the Discourse of Brage, the Skaldskaparmál, and the Hattatal. Brage is the northern Apollo, and never opens his lips except to utter words of wisdom. His discourse is mythologic and supplemental to the Gylfaginning, or Delusion of Gylfe. The Skaldskaparmál is also partly narrative, partly a digest of the rules and principles to be followed in composing verse. The Hattatal is merely an enumeration of the various meters employed in Icelandic poetry.[D]

We will now resume with Sweden. It will be remembered that we know much less of Sweden in early times than of Norway or Denmark. The Swedes did not join, so far as is known, the viking expeditions which ravaged the south and west of Europe. They robbed and oppressed the Finns and other tribes living near them on the north and east, and sent forth the bands of Varangians which conquered Russia and threatened Constantinople. Thus they came less in contact with France and Britain, and left no foreign record of their internal history. We are told, doubtfully, of various sovereigns who ruled Sweden in the tenth century, and of one Erik Sejrsöl, who humbled Denmark. This king died in 993, leaving an infant son Olaf, the “Lap-King.” In boyhood he was brought under the instruction of an English missionary and baptized into the Christian faith. Olaf’s reign was a stormy one, partly on account of the hostility of the Swedes to the Christian religion, partly on account of a bitter quarrel with Norway. Olaf was at best a very ill Christian. He broke his solemn word pledged to his subjects, and came near losing his crown in consequence. After his death the new religion had a harder struggle than ever, and at times seemed virtually extinct. For the next hundred years anarchy and idolatry prevailed together. With the accession of Sverker Carlson, in 1135, both evils ceased, and Sweden was enrolled among the faithful subjects of Rome. King Sverker’s religion, however, seems rather an affair of temperament than of choice. Like the Anglo-Saxon King Ethelwulf, he was incapable of energetic action. On Christmas eve of the year 1155 he was murdered by his servants while on the way to mass. Erik the “Saint” succeeded, who made the Christian religion respected at home as well as feared abroad. He added Finland to the royal domains, and established an archbishop’s see at Upsala. Thus Sweden was put fairly on the road to civilization and prosperity.

The Sverker dynasty continued in power until 1250, then giving way to the Folkungar line of kings. A century later, under the rule of Magnus Smek, a revolution occurred which set upon the throne Count Albrecht, of Mecklenburg, nephew of the deposed Magnus. This did not bring peace or quiet, and upon the invitation of one of the contending factions, Margaret, Queen of Denmark and Norway, invaded the country and captured the Swedish throne. She was succeeded by her nephew, Erik of Pomerania, who married Philippa, daughter of Henry the Fourth of England. Erik proved utterly incapable of managing the three kingdoms his aunt had united, and after a quarter of a century of civil war lost the allegiance of each of the three. Denmark and Norway chose for their ruler Erik’s nephew, Christopher of Bavaria, and Sweden was induced to ratify their choice. Upon his death, in 1448, the Oldenburg line, in Norway and Denmark, begins with Christian I. This king attempted to subjugate Sweden, but Karl Knudson, her marshal king, succeeded in keeping his crown. After his death, Hans, son and successor to Christian I., won Sweden by the aid of German mercenary troops. Again Sweden shakes off the Danish yoke, and again is subjugated by Christian II. At length in 1523 Gustaf I., known commonly in history by the title of Gustavus Vasa, liberated Sweden forever from foreign domination. But foreign domination was scarcely worse than the domestic tyranny of the nobles and the clergy. Gustaf set himself the task of breaking down this also. In his twenty-seven years of rule he established the reformed or Lutheran faith, elevated the peasantry, developed the resources of the country, replenished the national treasury and created a navy and army of defence.

Thus was established the Vasa line, destined to remain in power until the time of Napoleon. Gustaf was succeeded by his son Erik, a young man of promise, who is most easily remembered for having been a suitor for the hand of the English queen, Elizabeth. He soon fell a victim of insanity and resigned the crown to his brother John. The latter king, who attempted to restore Catholicism, proved almost as great a failure. Sigismund and Charles IX continue the line, when we reach the famous name of Gustavus Adolphus (Gustaf Adolf II.) This king, the most accomplished prince of his age, came to the throne in 1611. He had at once to measure his strength against Denmark, Poland, and Russia, but found no difficulty in adjusting with each an advantageous peace. It was a reign like Elizabeth’s in England: there was ability on the throne, there was wise counsel beside it, and the people loved and confided in both. As soon as the pressing affairs of his government were adjusted Gustavus determined to go over to Germany and assist the Protestants in their struggle with the Catholic league. At the head of only 15,000 Swedes he assumed the leadership of the Protestant cause, and won the important battles of Leipsic and Lützen,—the latter at the cost of his life. The Swedes have never ceased to cherish the memory of their hero king, who combined the most generous and chivalrous impulses with a bravery not unworthy of the viking age.

The death of Gustaf II was the first of a succession of calamities to Sweden. The cause of the German Protestants ceased to prosper, and the Swedish co-operation was abandoned. The late king had left no heir except a daughter Christina, whose administration ended in disgrace. The reign of Charles X followed, 1656-1660, four years of disorder and unprofitable drain upon the national resources. A regency followed, for Charles XI was but four years old. After assuming the reins of government, he suffered various defeats, and lost for Sweden many of her former conquests. Like the first Gustavus he was the friend of the lower orders, and by their aid overcame the power of the nobility and made himself an absolute sovereign. After his death in 1697, his son, Charles XII, succeeded at the age of fifteen. The rival powers of Denmark, Poland and Russia, thinking it a favorable opportunity to crush Sweden, formed a league with this intent. Charles at once proved himself equal to the occasion by forcing Denmark to conclude peace, and defeating an army of 50,000 Russians with 8,000 Swedes. Poland was next attacked and King Augustus driven from his throne. Charles then made the same mistake of moving upon Moscow in the winter, which broke the power of Napoleon a century later. Defeated by Peter the Great at Pultowa, Charles retreated to Bender in the dominions of the Sultan. Here he was for a time imprisoned, but at length escaping returned to Sweden in safety. For a time he seemed likely to regain the prestige he had lost, but the fatal “shot” which pierced his brain at the siege of Friedrichshall, in 1718, crushed the hopes of Sweden. From a dictatorial position in the politics of Europe, she had fallen to the rank of a third-rate power. Though thus the occasion of his country’s ruin, Charles XII is the idol of every Swede. How fondly the memory of his age (“Den Karolinska Tiden”) is still cherished in Sweden, we shall see in our next paper.

PRONOUNCING VOCABULARY.

Teutones (Tútonēs). Ul´filas (u like oo). Al´aric, Theod´oric. Pyth´eas. Dönsk tunga (Dernsk toong´-a). Siegfred (Seeg´fred). Norrœnamál (Norrāna maul). Frode (Frŏ´dā). Harald Haarfager (Harald—a as in father—Horfager) Reykiavik (Reī´kiavik´.) Blodœxe (Blooderxā). Erik Graafell (Er´ik Grófell). Bielozero (Bē´ĕloz´ero). Iz´borsk. Ruotsalaíset. Bjarne (Byar´nā; first a as in father). Njál (Nyaul). Völuspá (Vérloospaú). Ragnarök (Rágnarérk). Freyja (Freiya). Upsála (u like oo).

[To be continued.]

[PICTURES FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.]

By C. E. BISHOP.

V.—THE BATTLE OF PANCAKE CREEK.

“Decisive battles of history” are such because of long trains of events that lead up to them and explode there. Those events form one of the most interesting studies of historical philosophy; an understanding of them is necessary to an intelligent reading of subsequent changes. One of these culminating points and turning points was the Battle of Bannockburn, fought June 24, 1314, between the Scotch under King Robert, “the Bruce,” and the English under the ill-starred King Edward II.

Edward I had been a great fighter. He fought the Scotch so persistently that his tomb bears the vain-glorious inscription, “Here lies the Hammer of the Scots.” He died, worn out, in a Scotch campaign (1307), enjoining on his son, it is said, the pleasant duty of boiling all the flesh off his father’s bones and carrying them at the head of the army until Scotland should be crushed. Then he might celebrate at once the funeral of Scotland’s freedom and of its “Hammer.” Edward II very wisely disregarded this barbarous dying request. He at once abandoned the Scotch war.

Seven years of peace followed, during which Scotland was drilling and gathering strength under Bruce, while England was torn and weakened by internal quarrels between the king and his dissolute favorites on one side, and the lawless and tyrannical barons on the other. By the fall of 1313 the Scotch had cleared the English garrisons out of all their castles save Stirling, and that, the key to the borders, they besieged. “Its danger roused England out of its civil strife to a vast effort for the recovery of its prey.” The army gathered to this task comprised thirty thousand horsemen, and seventy thousand English, Welsh, and Irish footmen, raw, undisciplined, disorderly; while Bruce’s army numbered only thirty thousand, nearly all on foot, but they were inured to war and reckless fighters, those wild clansmen.

The little burne (brook) of Bannock (pancake) runs through a swamp near the rock on which Sterling Castle stands. Bruce chose his position, as he fought the battle, with a genius for arms which showed him to be the first soldier of his age. On his right flank was the creek and marsh, on the left the ledge of rocks and castle, in the rear a wooded hill. The ground in front was cut up by patches of forest and undergrowth and swamp-holes, so that no large body of the enemy at once could come at him. This robbed the English of much of their advantage of numbers. Other precautions, it will appear, took away also the superiority of his enemy in the matter of cavalry.

The battle which took place here has been much written and sung about, but rational explanations of its surprising outcome are hard to find. We may seek them in the disorganization and disaffection of the English army and the incapacity of its command; in the contrary circumstances on the Scotch side; and in four striking reverses which befell the English. But as these reverses were due to superior generalship and better fighting on the Scotch side, we may as well put the credit where it belongs, with Bruce and his compatriots.

The first of these four reverses took place the night before the general engagement. Edward had sent ahead a detachment of eight hundred knights to relieve the besieged English in Sterling Castle, and hold it as a base of operations. To send so weak a force upon so important a task marked the incapacity of the English generalship at the outset. But the movement was well executed, for the first Bruce knew the squadron was on his flank and between him and Sterling. Riding up to Earl Randolph, his nephew, who had been cautioned against this very manœuvre, he cried, “Randolph, you are flanked. A rose has fallen from your chaplet.”

Randolph was an English settler in Scotland and was distrusted by the Scotch; but he made a brave stand against the English. He formed in the order of Hastings—a hollow square—the front rank kneeling, the next stooping, the inside line erect, their spears a perpendicular wall of bristling steel. Around this square and on these points the English cavalry circled and broke and were used up. Lord Douglas, though a personal enemy of Randolph, when he saw him sore beset, chivalrously asked leave to go to his assistance. “No,” declared Bruce, “I’ll not break my lines. Let him redeem his own fault.” He did—and a few defeated horsemen galloped away to King Edward to report the first English repulse. Bruce’s stern decision not to break his order of battle, even at the risk of a defeat of Randolph, is the key to his successful control of the undisciplined Scotch, and to his victory.

Early in the day of the 24th the English host came in sight. Edward rode out with his body-guard to reconnoitre. The first sight that met his eyes was an aged priest, bare-footed, walking along the Scotch lines and all the rough soldiers on their knees.

“See,” said the confident king, “They kneel, they cry for mercy.”

“Yea,” said Sir Ingeltram de Umfraville, “they cry for mercy, but it is to God, not to you.”

Presently came Bruce riding a little Scotch pony along the lines, giving his men their last directions and words of cheer. English chivalry, in the person of Sir Henry de Bohun, thought this an opportunity for cheap glory. Chivalry, with all its pretense of fairness, took odds when it could, and de Bohun in full armor, on a heavy Flanders steed, thundered down on Bruce. Dextrously dodging Bohun’s spear, Bruce rose in his stirrups and, as his enemy careered past with a great circle in the air he brought his axe down full on Bohun’s head. The axe was shattered by the tremendous blow, while helmet and skull were cleft and the brilliant knight rolled in the dust. A great shout from the Scotch hailed this feat; a damp silence among the English hailed this defeat No. 2. “The Englishmen had great abasing,” says old Barbour. As for Bruce, when his chiefs reproached him for the risk he had taken, he only looked ruefully at the fragment of the axe-handle in his hand and muttered, “I have broken my good axe.”

It is at this moment, just before the battle, that Burns puts into the mouth of Bruce the most inspiring battle-hymn ever written:

Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,

Scots wham Bruce hae often led,

Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victory.

Now’s the day and now’s the hour;

See the front o’ battle lour.

See approach proud Edward’s power,

Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave,

Wha can fill a coward’s grave,

Wha sae base as be a slave,

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland’s king and law

Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,

Freeman stand or freeman fa’

Let him follow me.

By oppression’s woes and pains,

By your sons in servile chains,

We will drain our dearest veins

But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurper low!

Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty’s in every blow!

Let us do or die!

In the battle which now began, the wisdom of Bruce’s plans appeared. His small cavalry force he placed in hiding at the right for flank operations on the dreaded English archers. To cope with the more dreaded English men-at-arms he had dug all the solid ground along his line full of pits, set them full of sharp stakes, and covered all fairly with boughs and turf. His baggage, horses and camp impediments were parked behind the hill in his rear; the wagoners and servants (“Gillies”) there secreted were destined to play an important part in this singular battle—a part so signal that the hill has ever since been known as Gillies Hill.

The English attack began, as expected, in the assault of archers. It made havoc among the Scotch with their bull’s-hide bucklers for their only protection. “Now we’ll cut their bow-strings!” cried Edward Bruce to the Scotch horsemen in cover, and forthwith they were hewing and sabering among the English yeomen, who, having no small arms wherewith to fight hand to hand, were helpless to resist this attack. They were stampeded and hurled back a confused mass upon the English army. Defeat No. 3.

The appearance of Scotch horse in the engagement was a surprise to the English. To meet it they ordered a charge of their own cavalry. Down the narrow passages they thundered, a galling fire of Scotch arrows in their faces.

Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came,

With spears in rest and hearts on flame,

That panted for the shock;

Down, down in headlong overthrow,

Horseman and horse the foremost go,

Wild floundering on the field.

Loud from the mass confused the cry

Of dying warriors swells on high,

And steeds that shriek in agony.

They came like mountain torrent red,

That thunders o’er its rocky bed;

They broke like that same torrent’s wave

When swallowed by a darksome cave,

Billow on billow rushing on

Follows the path the first has gone.[E]

“Some of the horses that stickit were,” says Barbour, “rushed and reeled right rudely.” The fall of the horse in the pits was complete with hardly a blow from the Scotch. As yet Bruce’s line had not been touched; Bruce’s brain more than Scotch brawn had won thus far.

The grand charge of Edward’s body-guard, three thousand steel-clad knights, the pick of English chivalry, was now ordered to redeem the day. They charged the line of Scotch spearmen and axmen with great fury and effect—“Sae that mony fell down all dead; the grass waxed with the blude all red.”

The Scotch knights, until now held in reserve, were led by Bruce himself, and a most desperate struggle took place, all the forces left on both sides being engaged. “And slaughter revelled round.”

Just at the moment when the victory hung trembling in the balance, a strange apparition turned the English pause into a panic. The Scotch wagoners and camp-followers, impatient of inactivity, had hastily armed themselves with such knives, clubs, and rejected weapons as were at hand, improvised banners of tent cloth and plaids, and came marching over the hill, fifteen thousand strong. They made a “splurge” and a racket, in inverse ratio to their real formidableness; but coming directly after the staggering attack of Bruce’s reserves, they had all the appearance to the English of large reinforcements.

“When they marked the seeming show

Of fresh, and fierce, and marshaled foe,

The boldest broke away.”

Thus the cooks and hostlers precipitated the English defeat and panic. Edward would have thrown himself away in a personal effort to turn the defeat, but Sir Giles de Argentine seized his horse’s bridle and led him out of the fight. Having despatched him and a few faithful comrades toward the coast, De Argentine said, “As for me, retreating is not part of my business;” and plunging into the fight, hopelessly and uselessly, was slain. The king by hard riding reached Dunbar and escaped by sea to London.

The retreat was more disastrous to the English than the battle. The bare-legged, bare-headed, bare-armed Scotch, with their long knives, drove their enemies in large numbers into the river Forth; and Barbour says the Bannock creek was so choked up that one might walk dry-shod from bank to bank on the drowned horses and men. The English loss was ten thousand; among them twenty-seven nobles, two hundred knights and seven hundred esquires, while twenty-two nobles and sixty knights were made prisoners. The pursuit continued for miles, every step marked by blood and booty. Those old knights went soldiering in great style; their military establishments were enormous and rich. The English camp was taken, with great booty in treasure, jewels, rich robes, fine horses, herds of cattle, droves of sheep and hogs (great eaters, those old English!), machines for the siege of towns, wagon loads of grain and portable mills; the train of wagons which carried the treasure into Scotland was sixty miles long. The king’s tent and treasure were captured, including the royal signet-ring. One prisoner was a talented Carmelite friar whom Edward had brought along to celebrate his anticipated victory in verse; but Bruce compelled him to buy his own release by writing a poem glorifying the Scotch victory instead.

But a greater spoil than all this was found in the ransom of captive knights and nobles. While the common soldiers were ruthlessly put to death, the wealthy were carefully spared and well treated. This was not done so much from the spirit of chivalry as from a spirit of speculation; wealthy prisoners were the prize for which many great battles were fought. An explanation of the large number of prisoners of this class is found in this fact, and in the additional one that a heavily-armored knight, if once dismounted, could not run away; if once thrown to the ground he was about as helpless as a turtle turned on his back. If a poor Scotchman stumbled over one of these dismounted ironclads his fortune was made—provided the prisoner or his friends had one. All to do was to cut the strings of his helmet, set your knife against his throat, and make a good bargain for taking it away again.

The victory of Bannockburn, besides enriching Scotland, forever secured her independence. It confirmed the fighting qualities of the Scots, in pitched battle, before the world. It got them the permanent alliance of France against England, out of which grew those long double wars which cost England so dearly, and prevented her finally conquering either country. Ever England was in the situation of the bear which, when she attacks the French hunter, finds his Scotch mastiff on her haunches. It gave Scotchmen a new respect among the English, and it no longer was said an English yeoman carried twelve Scots under his green jacket; so that to war on Scotland became less a pastime with English soldiers. For three hundred years, under the influence of the independence thus sturdily maintained, Scotch character grew as strong and self-respecting as that of England, so that the union between the two countries finally took place as a partnership of equals, rather than upon the conditions under which the lion and lamb are sometimes said to lie down together—the lamb inside the lion. A different relation existed between England and Ireland, with all the consequences of shame to one and suffering to the other that the world has for centuries seen.

Bannockburn was one of the most decisive battles of the world.

[To be continued.]

[SUNDAY READINGS.]

SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D. D.

[February 4.]

SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS LIFE OF THE ISRAELITES FROM SAUL TO CHRIST.

By W. F. COLLIER, LL.D.

During this period the state of social life among the Jewish people underwent a very great change. An immense flow of wealth into the country took place. Through intercourse with other countries, many new habits and fashions were introduced. The people lost not a little of their early simplicity of character and life. A splendid court had been set up, and a splendid capital built. Commercial relations had been established with remote parts of the world. A great stride had been taken in the direction of luxury and refinement.

There was now a standing army, a large staff of civil officers, and a vast number of menial servants in the country. Besides the ass, the horse and the mule were now introduced as beasts of burden; chariots and splendid equipages were set up; and many persons assumed the style and bearing of princes. Private dwellings underwent a corresponding change, and all the luxuries of Egypt and Nineveh became familiar to the Hebrews.

But was all this for good? It appears as if the nation, or its leaders, now struck out a new path for themselves, in which God rather followed than preceded them, giving them, indeed, at first, a large measure of prosperity, but leaving them more to their own ways and to the fruits of these ways than before. This, at least, was plainly the case under Solomon. The vast wealth circulated in his time over the country did not bring any proportional addition, either to the material comfort, or to the moral beauty, or to the spiritual riches of the nation. There can be no doubt that “haste to be rich” brought all the evils and sins which always flow from it in an age of progress toward worldly show and magnificence.

It appears from the Proverbs that many new vices were introduced. Many of the counsels of that book would have been quite inapplicable to a simple, patriarchal, agricultural people; but they were eminently adapted to a people surrounded by the snares of wealth and the temptations of commerce, and very liable to forget or despise the good old ways and counsels of their fathers. The Proverbs will be read with far greater interest, if it be borne in mind that this change had just taken place among the Hebrews, and that, as Solomon had been instrumental in giving the nation its wealth, so, perhaps, he was led by the Spirit to write this book, and that of Ecclesiastes, to guard against the fatal abuse of his own gift.

The practice of soothsaying, or fortune-telling, was common among the Jews at the beginning of this period. The prevalence of such a practice indicates a low standard of intellectual attainment. It seems to have had its headquarters among the Philistines (Isa. ii:6); and very probably, when Saul drove all who practised it from the land, he did so more from enmity to the Philistines than from dislike to the practice itself. It continued, as Saul himself knew, to lurk in the country, even after all the royal efforts to exterminate it. (I Sam. xxviii:7.) Probably it never altogether died out. In New Testament times it was evidently a flourishing trade. (Acts viii:9; xiii:6.) All over the East it was practised to a large extent, and the Jewish sorcerers had the reputation of being the most skillful of any. It was the counterfeit of that wonderful privilege of knowing God’s mind and will, which the Jew enjoyed through the Urim and Thummim of the high-priest. Those who would not seek, or could not obtain, the genuine coin, resorted to the counterfeit.

In literary and scientific culture the nation made a great advance during this period. In a merely literary point of view, the Psalms of David and the writings of Solomon possess extraordinary merits; and we can not doubt that two literary kings, whose reigns embraced eighty years, or nearly three generations, would exercise a very great influence, and have their example very largely followed among their people. David’s talents as a musician, and the extraordinary pains he took to improve the musical services of the sanctuary, must have greatly stimulated the cultivation of that delightful art.

What David did for music, Solomon did for natural history. It need not surprise us that all the uninspired literary compositions of that period have perished. If Homer flourished (according to the account of Herodotus) 884 years before Christ, Solomon must have been a century in his tomb before the “Iliad” was written. And if it be considered what difficulty there was in preserving the “Iliad,” and how uncertain it is whether we have it as Homer wrote it, it can not be surprising that all the Hebrew poems and writings of this period have been lost, except such as were contained in the inspired canon of Scripture.

There were, also, great religious changes during this period of the history. Evidently, under Samuel, a great revival of true religion took place; and the schools of the prophets which he established seem to have been attended with a marked blessing from heaven. Under David the change was confirmed. In the first place, the coming Messiah was more clearly revealed. It was expressly announced to David, as has been already remarked, that the great Deliverer was to be a member of his race. David, too, as a type of Christ, conveyed a more full and clear idea of the person and character of Christ than any typical person that had gone before him.

It is interesting to inquire how far a religious spirit pervaded the people at large. The question can not receive a very satisfactory answer. It is plain that even in David’s time the mass of the people were not truly godly. The success of Absalom’s movement is a proof of this. Had there been a large number of really godly persons in the tribe of Judah, they would not only not have joined the insurrection, but their influence would have had a great effect in hindering its success. The real state of matters seems to have been, that both in good times and in bad there were some persons, more or less numerous, of earnest piety and spiritual feeling, who worshipped God in spirit, not only because it was their duty, but also because it was their delight; while the mass of the people either worshipped idols, or worshipped God according to the will, example, or command of their rulers.

But the constant tendency was to idolatry; and the intercourse with foreign nations which Solomon maintained, as well as his own example, greatly increased the tendency. Under Solomon, indeed, idolatry struck its roots so deep, that all the zeal of the reforming kings that followed him failed to eradicate them. It was not till the seventy years’ captivity of Babylon that the soil of Palestine was thoroughly purged of the roots of that noxious weed.

During six hundred years that constituted the kingdom of Israel from the close of Solomon’s reign to the total captivity, the same spirit of luxury and taste for display prevailed.

In regard to wealth and property, the moderation and equality of earlier days were now widely departed from. Isaiah denounces those who “join house to house, and lay field to field, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth.” Notwithstanding, some men, like Naboth, stood up bravely for their paternal rights; and even in Jeremiah’s time, the old practice of redeeming possessions survived. (xxxii:7.) Many of the people lived in elegant houses “of hewn stone” (Amos v:11), which they adorned with the greatest care. There were winter-houses, summer-houses, and houses of ivory. (iii:15.) Jeremiah describes the houses as “ceiled with cedar and painted with vermilion” (xxii:14); and Amos speaks of the “beds of ivory” and luxurious “couches” on which the inmates “stretched themselves.” (vi:4.)

Sumptuous and protracted feasts were given in these houses. Lambs out of the flock and calves from the stall had now become ordinary fare. (vi:4.) At feasts, the person was annointed with “chief ointments;” wine was drunk from bowls; sometimes the drinking was continued from early morning, to the sound of the harp, the viol, the tabret, and the pipe. (Isa. v:11, 12.) The dress, especially of the ladies, was often most luxurious and highly ornamented. Isaiah has given us an elaborate picture of the ornaments of the fine ladies of Jerusalem. He foretells a day when “the Lord would take away the bravery of the ankle-bands, and the caps of net-work, and the crescents; the pendants, and the bracelets, and the veils; the turbans, and the ankle-chains, and the girdles, and the smelling-bottles, and the amulets; the signet-rings, and the nose-jewels; the holiday dresses and the mantles, and the robes, and the purses; the mirrors, and the tunics, and the head-dresses, and the large veils.” (Isa. iii:18-23.—Alexander’s Translation.)

A plain, unaffected gait would have been far too simple for ladies carrying such a load of artificial ornament: the neck stretched out, the eyes rolling wantonly, and a mincing or tripping step completed the picture, and showed to what a depth of folly woman may sink through love of finery. Splendid equipages were also an object of ambition. Chariots were to be seen drawn by horses, camels, or asses, with elegant caparisons (Isa. xxi:7); the patriarchal mode of riding on an ass being now confined to the poor.

There are some traces, but not many, of high intellectual culture. Isaiah speaks of “the counselor, and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent orator,” as if these were representatives of classes. We have seen that one of the kings of Judah (Uzziah) was remarkable for mechanical and engineering skill. Amos refers to “the seven stars and Orion,” as if the elements of astronomy had been generally familiar to the people. On the other hand, there are pretty frequent references to soothsayers and sorcerers, indicating a low intellectual condition. The prevalence of idolatry could not fail to debase the intellect as well as corrupt the morals and disorder society.

Very deplorable, for the most part, are the allusions of the prophets to the abounding immorality. There is scarcely a vice that is not repeatedly denounced and wept over. The oppression of the poor was one of the most flagrant. Amos declares that the righteous were sold for silver, and the poor for a pair of shoes. From Hosea it appears that wives were bought and sold. The princes and rulers were specially blamed for their covetousness, their venality, their oppressions, their murders. (Isa. i:23; x:1. Hosea ix:15.) Impurity and sensuality flourished under the shade of idolatry. In large towns there was a class that pandered to the vices of the licentious. (Amos vii:17.) Robbery, lies, deceitful balances, were found everywhere. Even genuine grief, under affliction and bereavement, had become rare and difficult; and persons “skillful of lamentation” had to be hired to weep for the dead!

The revivals under the pious kings of Judah, as far as the masses were concerned, were rather galvanic impulses than kindlings of spiritual life. Yet it can not be doubted that during these movements many hearts were truly turned to God. The new proofs that were daily occurring of God’s dreadful abhorrence of sin, would lead many to cry more earnestly for deliverance from its punishment and its power.

In the disorganized and divided state into which the kingdom fell, rendering it difficult and even impossible for the annual festivals to be observed, the writings of the prophets, as well as the earlier portions of the written word, would contribute greatly to the nourishment of true piety. The 119th Psalm, with all its praises of the word and statutes of the Lord, is a memorable proof of the ardor with which the godly were now drinking from these wells of salvation. Increased study of the word would lead to enlarged knowledge of the Messiah, though even the prophets themselves had to “search what, or what manner of time the Spirit of Christ which was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ and the glory that, should follow.” One great result of the training of this period was, to carry forward the minds of the faithful beyond the present to the future. In the immediate foreground of prophecy all was dark and gloomy, and hope could find no rest but in the distant future. The shades of a dark night were gathering; its long weary hours had to pass before the day should break and the shadows flee away.

[February 11.]

CHRIST AND THE APOSTLES.

The great central event in all history is the death of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The centuries circle round the cross. Hundreds of stately figures—some in dazzling lustre, some in deepest gloom—crowd upon our gaze, as the story of the world unrolls before us; but infinitely nobler than the grandest of these is the pale form of Jesus, hanging on the rough and reddened wood at Calvary—dead, but victorious even in dying—stronger in that marble sleep than the mightiest of the world’s living actors, or than all the marshalled hosts of sin and death. Not the greatest sight only, but the strangest ever seen; for there, at the foot of the cross, lie Death, slain with his own dart, and Hell vanquished at his very gate.

All that have ever lived—all living now—all who shall come after us, till time shall be no more, must feel the power of the cross. To those who look upon their dying Lord with loving trust, it brings life and joy, but death and woe to all who proudly reject that great salvation, or pass it unheeding by.

The details of that stupendous history—his lowly, yet royal birth—his pure, stainless life—his path of mystery and miracle—his wondrous works, and still more wondrous words—his agony—his cross—his glorious resurrection and ascension—all form a theme too sacred to be placed here with a record of mere common time, or blended with the dark, sad tale of human follies and crimes. Rather let us read it as they tell it who were themselves “eye-witnesses of his majesty”—who traced the very footsteps, and heard the very voice, and beheld the very living face of incarnate love. And remember, as you read, that history is false to her noblest trust if she fails to teach that it is the power of the cross of Christ which alone preserves the world from hopeless corruption, and redeems from utter vanity the whole life of man on earth.

Wildly, and blindly, and very far, have the nations often drifted from the right course—there seemed to be no star in heaven, and no lamp on earth; but through every change an unseen omnipotent hand was guiding all things for the best: soul after soul was drawn by love’s mighty attraction to the cross; light arose out of darkness; a new life breathed over the world; and the wilderness, where Satan seemed alone to dwell, blossomed anew into the garden of God.[F]

********

After Christ—the apostles. “On the fifteenth day after his death, beginning in Jerusalem, the very furnace of persecution, they first set up their banner in the midst of those who had been first in the crucifixion of Jesus, and were all elate with the triumphs of that tragedy. But what ensued? Three thousand souls were that day added to the infant Church. In a few days the number was increased to five thousand, and in the space of about a year and a half, though the gospel was preached only in Jerusalem and its vicinity, ‘multitudes both of men and women,’ and ‘a great company of the priests, were obedient to the faith.’ Now, the converts being driven, by a fierce persecution, from Jerusalem, ‘went everywhere preaching the Word;’ and in less than three years churches were gathered ‘throughout all Judea, Galilee, and Samaria, and were multiplied.’ About two years after this, or seven from the beginning of the work, the gospel was first preached to the Gentiles; and such was the success, that before thirty years had elapsed from the death of Christ, it spread throughout Judea, Galilee, and Samaria; through almost all the numerous districts of the lesser Asia; through Greece and the islands of the Ægean Sea, the seacoast of Africa, and even into Italy and Rome. The number of converts in the several cities respectively, is described by the expressions, ‘a great number,’ ‘great multitudes,’ ‘much people.’ Jerusalem, the chief seat of Jewish rancor, continued the metropolis of the gospel, having in it many tens of thousands of believers. These accounts are taken from the book of the Acts of the Apostles; but as this book is almost confined to the labors of Paul and his immediate companions, saying very little of the other apostles, it is very certain that the view we have given of the propagation of the gospel, during the first thirty years, is very incomplete. In the thirtieth year after the beginning of the work, the terrible persecution under Nero kindled its fires; then Christians had become so numerous at Rome, that, by the testimony of Tacitus, ‘a great multitude’ were seized. In forty years more, as we are told in a celebrated letter from Pliny, the Roman governor of Pontus and Bythinia, Christianity had long subsisted in these provinces, though so remote from Judea. ‘Many of all ages, and of every rank, of both sexes likewise,’ were accused to Pliny of being Christians. What he calls ‘the contagion of this superstition’ (thus forcibly describing the irresistible and rapid spread of Christianity), had ‘seized not cities only, but the less towns also, and the open country,’ so that the heathen temples ‘were almost forsaken,’ few victims were purchased for sacrifice, and ‘a long intermission of the sacred solemnities had taken place.’ Justin Martyr, who wrote about thirty years after Pliny, and one hundred after the gospel was first preached to the Gentiles, thus describes the extent of Christianity in his time: ‘There is not a nation, either Greek or barbarian, or of any other name, even of those who wander in tribes and live in tents, among whom prayers and thanksgivings are not offered to the Father and Creator of the Universe by the name of the crucified Jesus.’ Clemens Alexandrinus, a few years after, thus writes: ‘The philosophers were confined to Greece, and to their particular retainers; but the doctrine of the Master of Christianity did not remain in Judea, but is spread throughout the whole world, in every nation, and village, and city, converting both whole houses and separate individuals, having already brought over to the truth not a few of the philosophers themselves. If the Greek philosophy be prohibited, it immediately vanishes; whereas, from the first preaching of our doctrine, kings and tyrants, governors and presidents, with their whole train and with the populace on their side, have endeavored, with their whole might, to exterminate it; yet doth it flourish more and more.’... In connection with the moral power and vast extent of this work, it should be considered, that among those who were brought to the obedience of Christ were men of all classes, from the most obscure and ignorant to the most elevated and learned. In the New Testament we read of an eminent counselor, and of a chief ruler, and of a great company of priests, and of two centurions of the Roman army, and of a proconsul of Cyprus, and of a member of the Areopagus at Athens, and even of certain of the household of the Emperor Nero, as having been converted to the faith. Many of the converts were highly esteemed for talents and attainments. Such was Justin Martyr, who, while a heathen, was conversant with all the schools of philosophy. Such was Pantænus, who, before his conversion was a philosopher of the school of the Stoics, and whose instructions in human learning at Alexandria, after he became a Christian, were much frequented by students of various characters. Such also was Origen, whose reputation for learning was so great that not only Christians, but philosophers, flocked to his lectures upon mathematics and philosophy, as well as on the Scriptures. Even the noted Porphyry did not refrain from a high eulogium upon the learning of Origen. It may help to convey some notion of the character and quality of many early Christians—of their learning and their labors—to notice the Christian writers who flourished in these ages. Saint Jerome’s catalogue contains one hundred and twenty writers previous to the year 360 from the death of Christ. The catalogue is thus introduced: ‘Let those who say the Church has had no philosophers, nor eloquent and learned men, observe who and what they were who founded, established, and adorned it.’ Pliny, in his celebrated letter to Trajan, written about sixty-three years after the gospel began to be preached to the Gentiles, expressly states that in the provinces of Pontus and Bythinia many of all ranks were accused to him of the crime of being Christians. We have now prepared the several facts that constitute the materials of our argument. Here is an unquestionable historical event: the rapid and extensive spread of Christianity over the whole Roman empire in less than seventy years from the outset of its preaching. Has anything else of a like kind been known in the world? Did the learning and popularity of the ancient philosophers, powerfully aided by the favor of the great and the peculiar character of the age, accomplish anything in the least resembling the success of the apostles? It is a notorious fact that only one of them ‘ever dared to attack the base religion of the nation, and substitute better representations of God in its stead, although its absurdity was apparent to many of them. An attempt of this kind having cost the bold Socrates his life, no others had resolution enough to offer such a sacrifice for the general good. To excuse their timidity in this respect, and give it the appearance of profound wisdom, they called to their aid the general principle that it is imprudent and injurious to let people see the whole truth at once; that it is not only necessary to spare sacred prejudices, but, in particular circumstances, an act of benevolence to deceive the great mass of the people. This was the unanimous opinion of almost all the ancient philosophical schools.’ No further proof is needed that such men were incapable of effecting anything approximating to the great moral revolution produced in the world by the power of the gospel. How different the apostles! boldly attacking all vice, superstition, and error, at all hazards, in all places, not counting their lives dear unto them so that they might ‘testify the gospel of the grace of God.’ But where else shall we turn for a parallel to the work we have described? What efforts, independently of the gospel, were ever successful in the moral regeneration of whole communities of the superstitious and licentious?” (McIlvaine’s Evid., Lect. IX.) This excellent writer adds, in a note: “The early advocates of Christianity, in controversy with the heathen of Greece and Rome, were accustomed to dwell with great stress upon the argument from its propagation. Chrysostom, of the fourth century, writes: ‘The apostles of Christ were twelve; and they gained the whole world.’ ‘Zeno, Plato, Socrates, and many others, endeavored to introduce a new course of life, but in vain; whereas Jesus Christ not only taught, but settled, a new polity, or way of living, all over the world.’ ‘The doctrines and writings of fishermen, who were beaten and driven from society, and always lived in the midst of dangers, have been readily embraced by learned and unlearned, bondmen and free, kings and soldiers, Greeks and barbarians.’ ‘Though kings and tyrants and people strove to extinguish the spark of faith, such a flame of true religion arose as filled the whole world. If you go to India and Scythia, and the utmost ends of the earth, you will everywhere find the doctrine of Christ enlightening the souls of men.’ Augustine, of the same century, speaking of the heathen philosophers, says: ‘If they were to live again, and should see the churches crowded, the temples forsaken, and men called from the love of temporal, fleeting things, to the hope of eternal life and the possession of spiritual and heavenly blessings, and readily embracing them, provided they were really such as they are said to have been, perhaps they would say, ”These are things which we did not dare to say to the people; we rather gave way to their custom than endeavored to draw them over to our best thoughts and apprehensions.“’”

“After the death of Jesus Christ, twelve poor fishermen and mechanics undertook to teach and convert the world. Their success was prodigious. All the Christians rushed to martyrdom, all the people to baptism: the history of these early times was a continual prodigy.”—Rousseau.

Now what explanation can be given of this impressive fact,—the rapid conquest of Christianity over ancient religions, priests, magistrates, and all the passions and prejudices of the people? There is but one explanation: the spirit of God influenced the hearts which he had made to embrace his truth. To establish Christianity on the earth, he was pleased to exert a power which, to the same extent, future ages have not witnessed. Christianity in her strength, with so many earthly advantages in her favor, accomplishes far less than Christianity in her infancy, with every worldly influence against her. “There is reason to think that there were more Jews converted by the apostles in one day, than have since been won over in the last thousand years.” (Jacob Bryant, 1792.) Compare the results of modern missionary efforts (which, indeed, have accomplished enough to stimulate to greater exertions) with the fruits of the preaching of the Apostle to the Gentiles! When more energy, more prayer, and greater faith shall be devoted to the conversion of the world—both Jews and Gentiles—we may confidently look to the Lord of the harvest for more abundant fruit.[G]

[February 18.]

THE BIBLE AND OTHER RELIGIOUS BOOKS.

By Rev. GEO. F. PENTECOST, D. D.

The most casual reader of the Bible, if he have any serious thoughtfulness of mind, must remark its unique and extraordinary character, differing as it does in its structure and matter, its spirit and style, from all other books. Side by side, the best and most celebrated of them, its incomparable superiority is almost instantly recognized. Here and there there have been found passages from other books that have been thought to compare favorably with some of the sublime teachings of the Bible. But it has been remarked that even when the precepts and moral teachings of both early and later ancients are found in the Bible, especially in the teachings of Jesus, they “receive a different setting, and a more heavenly light is in them. A diamond in a dark or dimly lighted room is not the same thing as a diamond in the track of a sunbeam.”[H] The simplicity and naturalness of the Bible are most striking. Where else can be found such graphic pictures of paternal and domestic life? The straightforward delineation of its most conspicuous characters; its record of the sins of God’s people with the same impartial pen as is used for the setting forth of their virtues; its lofty moral tone; its sublimity of thought; as well as its superhuman authority, all bespeak its unique character. For like the Master, of whom it is the constant and consistent witness, its words are with authority. It never speculates or halts in its teaching, but drives straight to the mark in its ever recurring “Thus saith the Lord,” in the Old Testament, and in the “Verily, verily, I say unto you” of the Master.

I met a young man some months ago in the inquiry-room in Hartford, and I said to him, as to others whom I met there nightly, “Well, my young friend, are you a Christian?” He replied, “I am not; but I am an inquirer after truth.” “What is your trouble?” I asked. “Why,” said he, “I do not know which Bible to believe, or whether they are all alike to be believed, each one for what it is worth.” “What do you mean?” I replied. “I do not understand you; there is but one Bible.” “Oh, yes, there are many Bibles. There are the Vedas and the Zend-Avesta and the Koran, but I do not count much upon the Koran; the others, however, are very ancient books, and contain the religion of the larger part of the inhabitants of the earth.” I found he had been reading Mr. Max Müller’s studies in comparative religions, and was much taken up with the idea that the Bible, especially the Old Testament scriptures, was only a Jewish version of the “more ancient” religions of Aryan races. I was at first disposed to ignore his difficulties and pass him by, but on second thought I felt it to be my duty to try and meet them. And since then I have found a great many persons who, while they are in no sense students or scholars, have read some book or magazine article by which they have been innoculated with the thought that the Bible is only one of many equally ancient and equally trustworthy religious books. And so it may be well just here to have our attention called to the difference between the Bible and these two of the more famous books. The Vedas are a very ancient collection of sacred hymns addressed to the fancied gods of nature, and make no pretension to be in any sense a revelation. They are the outpourings of the natural religious sentiment. The Zend-Avesta is an ancient speculation into the origin of things. It does not pretend to be a revelation of the truth, but only a human effort to account for and explain things that are seen. But the Bible differs from both in a most marked manner. The Bible is the revelation of God and the history of creation, the origin of things and of man, showing God to be the creator and author of all, and our relation, not to nature, but to him. Now the difference between a speculation and a revelation is this: One is an effort of the human mind to account for things seen, and so make discovery of the things that are not seen; an effort to leap from the earth outward and upward into the presence and mystery of the unseen and eternal. The other is a positive statement of the truth out and downward from God to man. We notice that the Bible, when speaking of God, never gives an opinion, never speculates. It always, in simple and majestic measure declares, as in the opening sentence of the Bible, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” That is so utterly different, both in matter and manner, from any sentence ever framed by philosopher or religious speculator, that it almost goes without saying that these could not have been the words of man, they are the words of God spoken by man as he was moved of God to speak, in order that man might have the truth, and have it at once and simply, in a single breath.

The majestic sweep of the first chapter of Genesis is so great, packing away in a small compass the entire account of the creation of the world and all things therein, that on its face it bears the stamp of God rather than man. Think, if you can, of any human philosopher dashing off with a few bold strokes of his pen such an account of creation. If you want to read the finest specimen of human speculation and argumentation on record, turn to the divinely preserved debate between Job and his three friends recorded in the Book of Job, II, xi to xxxii. How the battle between Job and his three friends rages through those thirty chapters, until, weary with the conflict, they give over their arguments, drawn from observation, tradition and law. Nothing was settled, until, exhausted, they all sat face to face defiant and unconvinced each by the other. Then it was that Elihu (xxxii: 7), moved by inspiration, set the truth before them all. The result was that they were dumb (15), for they had but “darkened counsel by words without knowledge” (xxxviii:2); and Job was humbled before God, saying, “Behold I am vile, what shall I say unto thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth. Once have I spoken; but I will not answer; yea, twice; but I will proceed no further” (xl:4, 5). This book is a striking and remarkable illustration of the difference between speculation and revelation. And as it is supposed that the Book of Job is the most ancient book in the Bible, if not in the world, this fact alone would go far to clear up the perplexity that exists in the minds of some as to their comparative worth and the true relation existing between ancient writings and the Bible.

[February 25.]

THE BIBLE AND SCIENCE.

By Rev. GEORGE F. PENTECOST, D. D.

Many, especially among the younger and partly educated portions of every community, are troubled with what they term the scientific difficulties of the Bible. We can only hint at this point. Because the Bible is not a speculation as to the origin of things, but an authoritative statement of the truth from God to man, it does not follow that its revealed truth is unphilosophical. And so, because the Bible does not contain a scientific account of creation, and is not written in the terms of the modern scientists it does not follow that the Bible is scientifically inaccurate in its statements. It must be borne in mind that the Bible was written ages before the birth of the modern sciences. And had it been written in scientific language it would have been to the people then living, and even to the great mass of people now living, an utterly unintelligible book—as most scientific books are unintelligible except to the educated few.

There can be no greater mistake than to suppose, for an instant, that any well ascertained fact of science has yet been shown to be in conflict with the Scriptural account of creation. We are aware that the assertion to this effect is often made; but such assertions have never been proved. Indeed, it is becoming more evident every day that science and revelation are drawing nearer together; that is, drawing nearer, in her domain to the truth as revealed in the Word of God. But were this not so, and were it shown that there was a real and thoroughly demonstrated error in the Bible account of creation, so that we must needs honestly give up Moses and the Bible, to whom should we go for the truth? We might adapt the words of Joshua and say (xiv: 15), “And if it seem evil unto you to believe the Bible, choose ye this day whom ye will believe, whether the pantheistic or materialistic philosophers who speculated before the rise of modern science, or the atheistic, theistic, or agnostic scientists;” for there be some who say science teaches there is no God, and some who say there must be God, and others who say we can not know if there be a God. Certainly science is at present on a wide sea of discovery in many boats, guided, each boat, by the theory of its particular occupant. Two things are certain: (1) Neither philosophy nor science has succeeded thus far in impeaching the accuracy of the Bible statement; (2) they have as yet reached no common ground of agreement among themselves. So that the Christian need not, as yet, (and I am sure he never will) be in any fear from the assaults of the students of science. It is indeed no new experience for the Bible to meet the shock of skepticism. For centuries it has been the object of attack, always fierce and relentless, and for centuries it has endured and beaten back its assailants. As a granite rock in the sea meets and hurls back into the ocean the fierce waves that roll in upon it, so the Bible has met and beaten back by the power of its immovable and eternal truth all its assailants. Like a rock in the sea rooted in a great submarine but unseen formation, it has sometimes seemed to be overwhelmed by the surging fury of the waves, but it has ever emerged unshaken and triumphant; the only effect has been to sweep away some human theological structure or false system of interpretation built upon it, but not growing out of it.

In this connection it is well to bear in mind that skeptical scientists have of late become far less haughty in their criticisms of the Bible, and far more humble in their estimate of their own knowledge (as it becomes every student, whether of science or theology, to be); for says an eminent scientific writer on the rights and duties of science: “It becomes science to confess with much humility how far it falls short of the full comprehension of nature, and to abstain conscientiously from premature conclusions. The rapid progress of discovery in recent times only makes more plain to us the fact that the extension of our knowledge implies the extension of our ignorance, that everywhere the progress of our knowledge leads us to unsolvable mysteries. It would be easy to furnish illustrations from every branch of science; but geology and biology are very fertile in them.” It has seemed due to many honest but uninformed minds, especially among the young, to say so much by way of recognition of their new-found difficulties, and also by way of indicating the outline of answer.

The Bible is not a scientific, but a religious book, intended not to inform the scientific and philosophic understanding, but to instruct the religious intelligence of man in those things that make for the life that now is, and that which is to come (I Tim., iv:8). What a blessed fact it is that we thirsty mortals can drink a glass of pure water and quench our burning thirst without having to know the chemical analysis of water, or how it was originally created. We are thirsty beings, and if our thirst is not slaked we shall die. Meantime we find water is provided; it is offered to us, and we are told it will slake our thirst, that it was provided in nature for that very purpose, and without stopping to have it analyzed, we drink it and live. We thus experimentally prove it to be water, and that all that was claimed for it is true. We likewise are religious beings, and if we do not find truth, and love, and happiness, and regeneration, and eternal life, and resurrection, we shall die and perish. God’s word is brought to us; it contains truths, or at least statements and promises that stand over against these spiritual hungerings and thirstings just as food and drink stand over against the hunger and thirst of the body. We take hold by faith of these promises, and the hunger and thirst of our souls are satisfied. We know the truth of the Bible, therefore, not by metaphysical or intellectual demonstration, but by experimental proof, as real in the sphere of our religious nature as scientific demonstration is real in the realm of matter. Two and two make four, that is mathematics; hydrogen and oxygen in certain proportions make water, that is science; Christ and him crucified is the power and wisdom of God for salvation, that is revelation. But how do you know? Put two and two together, and you have four; count and see. Put hydrogen and oxygen together, and you have water; taste and prove. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. Believe and thou shalt know. The last is as clear a demonstration as the others.

As a practical necessity we do not have to know the mysteries involved in our own being, and in all the provisions of nature made for our well-being on the earth. It is well to understand the chemistry of food and drink; but it would not only be unwise but might be fatal for us to postpone eating and drinking until we had mastered the chemistry. And so again we may derive great satisfaction and benefit in discovering a philosophical and scientific adjustment of revelation; but we would be consummately foolish if we refused to believe—and thus practically to demonstrate, by believing—the truth of God’s word, until we had found the philosophical and scientific adjustment of it.

Our Lord said when he was in the world, “I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes” (Matt. xi:25). God does not reveal himself and his truth to the wisdom of the philosopher or to the prudence of the scientist, but he is easily found by child-like faith. “For after that, in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God, by the foolishness of preaching, to save them that believe. For the Jews (the scientists) require a sign, and the Greeks (the philosophers) seek after wisdom; but we preach Christ and him crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called (believers), both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.... Not in enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power: that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God” (I Cor., i:21-24; ii:4, 5, et seq.). While philosophers and scientists have been disputing and treading over and over again the dreary paths of pantheism and materialism, trying to put God in a crucible or under a microscope, millions of souls in the ages past, and thousands in the daily present, have been and are finding God and Christ and salvation, to the joy and rejoicing of their souls; living in the power of an endless life even here; some meeting death triumphantly even at the stake, and others peacefully passing into the presence of him whom, having not seen on earth, they have yet known by faith and the power of his presence in them.

The engineers who directed the work of the Hoosac Tunnel started two gangs of men from opposite sides of the mountain. So accurate was their survey that when they met midway in the mountain, the walls of the excavations approaching from the different starting points joined within less than an inch. The practical working of the bore proved the scientific accuracy of the survey. Man, starting from the side of his human spiritual need reaching out and upward toward God, is met by the revelation in Christ coming out and downward from God, a revelation which exactly fits and covers his need. This perfect match between the human need and the heavenly supply is the perfect proof of the Divine origin of the Bible. Just as color is intuitive to sight, harmony to the musical sense, beauty to the sense of the beautiful, so is God’s word intuitive to the spiritual consciousness. Coleridge was wont to say: “I know the Bible is true because it finds me.”

[End of Required Reading for February.]

[GRACE.]

By B. W.

There is grace in the leaves of the unfolding rose,

In the calm of the floating swan,

In the bend of a river that swiftly flows,

And the bridge of a single span.

There is grace in the sweep of a midnight sky,

In the bounds of a wild gazelle,

In the measures of music rolling by,

And the tale which the poets tell.

There is grace in the round of that baby’s arm;

In the form that is bending to kiss;

There is grace in all ways that quietly charm

And that silently waken bliss.

But the grace which most deeply enamors my heart

Is the bearing of Jesus to me;

—How quietly he with all riches could part,

A man and a Savior to be.

In him is more fulness of all I call grace,

Than the eye or the heart e’er possessed.

His knowledge is heaven, wherever the place;

His beauty, my quietest rest.

[WHAT GENIUS IS.]

By JAMES KERR. M. A.

We will now consider what genius is, and, more particularly, whether it is an inborn or an acquired power.

On this much debated question there are, so to speak, two schools of thought, diametrically opposed to one another, and each pushing its views to an extreme, as if there were no middle way in which the truth may be found.

On the one hand, genius is held to be a kind of inspiration, which accomplishes its object without training or effort. No culture is needed; no special education whatever. Shakspere warbled “his native wood-notes wild” spontaneously. The songs of Burns are the outpourings of untaught genius; and no culture or education could have improved them in the slightest degree. They are like the song of the lark, free and spontaneous. But all this, we know, is an ideal dream. Shakspere, besides reading the volume of human nature which lay open before him, and which he made all his own, read many books, and took much pains with his writings. And as for Burns, he received a training of no ordinary kind. To say nothing of the volume of human nature spread out before him, from his youth upward, and which, like Shakspere, he read with penetrating glance, he perused with critical care the literary compositions of others, by which his mind was disciplined and his taste refined.

How far the greatest writers are from being perfect in themselves, and how much they are indebted to other aids, let one say who is entitled to speak with authority on such a subject. The great German writer Goethe thus speaks: “How little are we by ourselves, and how little can we call our own! We must all accept and learn from those that went before us, and from those that live with us. Even the greatest genius would make but little way if he were to create and construct everything out of his own mind. The world influences us at each step. The artist who merely walks through a room and casts a glance at the pictures, goes away a wiser man, and has learnt something from others. My works spring not from my own wisdom alone, but from hundreds of things and persons that gave the matter for them. There were fools and sages, long-headed men and narrow-minded men, children, and young and old men and women, that told me how they felt and what they thought. I had but to hold out my hands and reap a harvest which others had sown for me.... Many a time I am told that such and such an artist owes all to himself. Sometimes I put up with it; but sometimes, too, I tell them that he has little reason to be proud of his master.”

But though the slightest reflection suffices to show that there can be no inborn genius which accomplishes its ends in full perfection without education or training of any kind, there will still remain among most of us a vague belief to the contrary. It is more congenial to the popular taste to imagine that genius is an immediate gift from heaven, owing all to its divine source, than that it requires in any degree to be aided and supplemented by less sublime means.

On the other hand, many contend that genius is wholly an acquired power, using such arguments as the following: It is constantly found that the habit of taking pains ever accompanies what we call genius. In actual fact the two are ever found united. Where the one is present the other is present also. Where the one is absent the other also is absent. May not the one be the cause of the other? Then look at the effect of education in improving our intellectual powers. Look at the effect of education and constant practice in making the mind alert, and capable of doing well whatever it does often! Nor must it be forgotten that it is not one part only of man’s education that is to be considered, but every part. Everything that happens to us, everything that affects us, from the first dawn of our existence, is part of our education. When the Queen and Prince Albert were taking counsel together about the education of their children, a sagacious friend whom they consulted, to their surprise insisted strongly on this point, that a child’s education begins “the first day of his life.” Impressions are made on the infant mind going farther back than we can trace them. All these impressions, all the influences that surround us, from our first entrance into life, are a part of our education.

All this may be true; but there is perhaps some danger of our attributing too much importance to education. There are natural differences of intellectual power among men altogether apart from the education they receive. Some minds are strong by nature and in their very organization, while others are uncommonly weak.

Some are naturally so stupid and weak in the head that nothing can be made of them, let their education be continued ever so long. One day, when calling at the Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh, I stood beside a man, who was depositing some money, whose intellect was of this low type. The teller asked him if he wished to lift the interest of the money lying to his credit for the past year. He just answered, “Let it lie.” Then the teller handed him a paper to sign. He said, “I canna do’t.” Feeling interested in the man, I advised him to go to a night school, at least to learn to sign his name. He replied, “I hae been at it four years, and I canna do’t.” Of course, of such a man nothing could be made. No amount of education could ever make him a genius, or even raise him above mediocrity in any branch of learning.

But if we take minds of a higher order, is it not possible that education acting upon them may be attended with happier results, and may ultimately produce that beautiful, that rich and rare type of mind which we call genius? Such was the opinion of Dr. Johnson. In his “Life of Cowley,” and with reference to the boyhood of the poet, Dr. Johnson says: “In the window of his mother’s apartment lay Spenser’s ‘Fairy Queen,’ in which he very early took delight to read, till, by feeling the charms of verse, he became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. Such are the accidents which, sometimes remembered, and perhaps sometimes forgotten, produce that particular designation of mind, and propensity for some certain science or employment, which is commonly called genius. The true genius is a mind of large general powers accidentally determined to some particular direction.”

Nor was this a mere passing thought with the great moralist; it was his confirmed belief. More than once we find the same idea repeated in his conversations. Thus, on one occasion, he is reported to have said: “No, sir, people are not born with a particular genius for particular employments or studies, for it would be like saying that a man could see a great way east, but could not west. It is good sense applied with diligence to what was at first a mere accident, and which by great application grew to be called by the generality of mankind a particular genius.”

If Dr. Johnson’s view is correct, we ought surely to meet with far more men of genius in the world than we do! There is no want of such as possess “large general powers,” and yet men of genius are rare. They are like angel’s visits, few and far between.

Dr. Johnson’s argument has been repeated in every variety of form. One says genius is untiring patience. Another says it is a great capacity for taking trouble. Another says it is simply hard work. But again we may ask, If genius is what such writers represent it to be, why are not men of genius more frequently met with?

Nor can it be said their lot forbids or that opportunities are wanting. What with the multiplication of books, and the general extension of education among all classes, knowledge now unrolls her “ample page” to every eye, and yet our embryo Miltons remain mute and inglorious, and the fairest flowers of genius, with rare exceptions, are still born to blush unseen, and waste their sweetness on the desert air.

Such being the case, may we not reasonably suppose that something more is needed for the production of genius than “large general powers, accidentally determined to some particular direction?”

In one sense, indeed, Dr. Johnson’s views may be not far from the truth. If by the word genius we mean transcendent genius, such as is found in our Shaksperes and Miltons, his definition can not be considered as otherwise than defective. But we do not always confine the word to this strict meaning. In a looser sense there are various types of genius. One star differeth from another in glory. If only a few occupy the higher places, and reach, so to speak, the topmost round of the ladder, a vastly greater number—a multitude which no man can number—may occupy lower places, and cluster on the lower rounds, sighing in vain to reach the highest. If Dr. Johnson had only in view this lower type of genius, his definition may be considered as fairly correct. To attain this station little more may be needed than “large general powers,” supplemented by persevering effort.

But in order to reach the highest rank of transcendent genius something more is needed, and that something we may call aptness of nature. Bacon, after giving some examples of extraordinary skill acquired in bodily exercises, says: “All which examples do demonstrate how variously, and to how high points and degrees, the body of man may be, as it were, moulded and wrought. And if any man conceive that it is some secret propriety of nature that hath been in these persons which have attained to those points, and that it is not open for every man to do the like, though he had been put to it; for which cause such things come but very rarely to pass; it is true, no doubt, that some persons are apter than others; but so as the more aptness causeth perfection, but the less aptness doth not disable.”

Bacon here hits the exact point. And what he says applies not to the physical powers only, but to the intellectual powers also. A greater degree of “aptness” is necessary to “perfection,” to the highest excellence in any study or pursuit, though less “aptness” may lead to eminence of a high though less perfect kind.

We speak of Napoleon’s military tact or aptness which he had from nature, and which he so greatly improved by practice. He combined aptness of nature with persevering study, and it was the two combined which for so many years chained victory to his chariot wheels.

In like manner the great writer has a literary tact or aptness, the gift of nature, and which he greatly improves by study and practice. The two qualities of aptness and persevering study go hand in hand, and the one is as indispensable as the other in order to reach the highest excellence.

This leads us to what appears to be the best definition of genius that can be given. Genius of the highest type may be defined to be “a special aptitude developed by special culture.” Special aptitude is the germ of genius, and is the gift of nature. Special culture is the means by which this natural gift is fully developed and so vastly improved.

May we not suppose that the poet Burns had this definition in his eye when he said: “I have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude to learn the muse’s trade, is a gift bestowed by him who forms the secret bias of the soul; but I as firmly believe that excellence in the profession is the fruit of industry, labor, attention, and pains!”

[ARIZONA.]

By Rev. SHELDON JACKSON, D. D.

Arizona is a land of constant surprises. In its natural phenomena it is the paradise of the scientist, antiquarian, and tourist. Its deep cañons are the open book of geology; its vast prehistoric ruins alike stimulate and baffle the antiquarian, and its marvelous scenery, its flora, remnants of a strange people, and ancient architecture, will attract thousands of tourists.

The first portion of the United States to be settled by Europeans, it is the last developed of all our territories save Alaska.

Possessing the oldest civilization, it is just coming into contact with the new. Railway trains rattle and palace cars glide past prehistoric ruins.

With scarcely a place in history, it has been the theatre of many stirring events for three centuries: the battleground of races and civilizations.

It is preëminently the land of romance. It breaks upon the world and is connected with the waning of the great empire of the Montezumas.

In the early enthusiasm of American exploration it is linked with fabulous stores of silver. When questioned as to the source of all his great wealth, Montezuma was accustomed to point to the north. Rumors were rife of the northern cities of Civola (cities of the bull) and Chichiticala, with their fabulous wealth; of wonderful rivers, with their banks three or four leagues in the air; of races of highly “civilized Indians, and beautiful women, fair as alabaster.”

The very name “Arizona” (silver land) fired the avarice of the Spanish heart. The spark to set this enthusiasm on fire was supplied by the arrival in 1536 at Culican, in Sinaloa, of Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, with three companions, all that were left of the ill-fated expedition of Narvaez and his three hundred followers.

During nine years of untold hardship and adventure, without compass or chart, through an unknown wilderness of woods, swamps, and arid plains, and hostile tribes, they crossed the continent from Florida to California, and made known a new region and people.

His description of the “seven cities of Civola,” excited alike the warrior and the priest. New conquests and fabulous wealth, and new fields for the Church started into existence expeditions of discovery and conquest. On the 7th of March, 1539, Padre Marcos de Nizza, a Franciscan monk, accompanied by Estevanico, a negro attendant, started in search of the “seven cities.” They passed through the land of the Papagoes and Pimas, traversed the valley of Santa Cruz, and finally came in sight of one of the pueblos (probably Zuñi). The negro having gone in advance with a party of Indians and been murdered, the monk did not enter the pueblo, but returned to Culican.

The viceroy, Mendoza, then projected two expeditions, one by sea, under Fernando de Alarcon, and the other by land, under Vasquez de Coronado. This latter expedition started in April, 1540, with a thousand men, mainly Indians. The expedition penetrated through Arizona to the Pueblo villages on the Rio Grande, and northward to the fortieth degree of latitude.

In 1582, Antonio de Espejo explored the valleys of Little Colorado, the Verde and Rio Grande, discovering valuable mines of silver.

On September 28, 1595, Juan de Ornate asked for permission and assistance in establishing a Spanish colony in the new country, which was granted, and many flourishing missions and settlements sprang up. In 1680 the pueblos of New Mexico, and the Apaches, of Arizona, arose in rebellion and drove the Spanish from the country.

In 1698 a Jesuit missionary, Eusebius Francis Kino, left his station at Dolores, and journeying northward, commenced missions among the Cocopahs and Yuma Indians. Previous to this the Jesuit fathers seem to have established the missions of St. Gertrude de Tubac, San Xavier del Bac, Joseph de Tumacacori, San Miguel Sonoita, Guavavi, Calabassus, Arivica, and Santa Ana. The cupidity and cruelty of the priests seemed so great, that in 1757 the Indians rebelled, destroying the missions and killing most of the priests.

In 1764 an unknown Jesuit priest (probably Jacobi Sedalman) visited the country, penetrating as far north as the Verde.

In 1769 the Marquis de Croix had fourteen priests sent out to replace those killed by the Indians.

On the 20th of April, 1773, two priests, Pedro Font and Francisco Garcia, left Central Mexico, and the following spring explored the Gila River from Florence to its mouth.

In 1776-7 two Franciscan priests, Sylvester Velez Escalente, and Francisco Atanaco Dominguez, traversed Arizona, Utah, Nevada, and California. In 1776 there were eighteen missions in Arizona. At this time religious exploration seems to have largely ceased.

In 1773 the Spanish held the country south of Tucson, then called Tulquson. Unwilling to leave the rich silver mines, that brought such treasure to the Church, the priests and Spanish settlers gathered around them in their half religious and half military missions; again and again returned to the country, only to be again driven out by the Apaches, so that more than half the priests sent to Arizona were killed by the Indians. And yet the missions, through the fidelity of the Pima and Papagoes, held their own until the revolution for Mexican independence. From that time forward they languished, until suppressed by a decree of the Mexican government in 1827.

In 1824 Sylvester and James Pattie, father and son, from Bardstown, Kentucky, made up a party of one hundred adventurous frontiersmen to trap on the headwaters of the Arkansas. After many adventures in New Mexico the party broke up, and a few of them attempted to cross Arizona to the Pacific. Upon reaching San Diego they were imprisoned, and the father died in prison.

Pauline Weaver, of White County, Tennessee, penetrated Arizona as early as 1832.

As one of the results of the Mexican War, the portion of Arizona north of the Gila River was ceded to the United States February 2, 1848, and the southern portion acquired by the Gadsen purchase of December 30, 1853.

The discovery of gold in California in 1849 made Arizona a highway for the adventurous spirits that pressed across the continent to establish an empire on the Pacific coast. In 1855 the boundary survey was completed by Major Emory and Lieutenant Michler.

In August, 1857, a semi-monthly line of stages was put on between San Antonio, Texas, and San Diego, California. This was followed in August, 1858, by the celebrated Butterfield Overland Express, making semi-weekly trips between St. Louis and San Francisco—time twenty-two days. This was run with great regularity until the rebellion in 1861.

By act of Congress in 1854 Arizona was attached to New Mexico, and a commissioner appointed to survey the boundary.

In 1854 Yuma was laid out under the name of Arizona City. In 1857 a few mining settlements began to spring up in the Mohave country. In 1859 a newspaper was published for a short time at Tubac. The country was nominally a portion of New Mexico, but Santa Fe was far away and the Apaches ruled the land.

In 1857 and again in 1860 efforts were made in Congress to secure the establishment of a separate territorial organization.

On the 27th of February, 1862, Captain Hunter with a band of one hundred guerrillas reached Tucson and took possession of Arizona for the Confederate government. The miners fled the country. The Apaches fell upon them, murdering many of them by the way. The Mexicans rushed across the border and stripped the mines of their machinery and improvements, and the country was deserted.

Spurred by the necessities of the case Congress organized the Territory of Arizona, February 24, 1863. From that time to 1874 the history of the Territory was one of fierce struggle with the Apaches, whose power was finally broken by General Crook, when scarcely a warrior capable of bearing arms was left living.

And yet the wild career of the fierce Apache was not an unmingled evil. He kept back the Spanish settlements and thus prevented the land from being covered with large Spanish grants, which are proving so injurious to the adjoining countries of New Mexico and California.

Since the settlement of the Apache the progress of the country has been steady and uninterrupted, and especially rapid since the advent of the Southern Pacific Railroad, in 1878-9. By the census of 1880 it has 40,400 population as against 9,658 in 1870, besides some of the semi-civilized tribes of Moquis, Pima, Papago and Maricopa Indians. These tribes have from the beginning been the friend of the white man, and in many critical periods the white man’s only protection from the incursions of the wild Apache.

During the earlier days of California emigration many a man lost and perishing on their plains was taken to their homes, nourished into strength and sent on his way rejoicing—for all of which they have never received any adequate return from the American people or government. Schools have lately been established among them by the Presbyterian Church.

The Indian population in the Territory numbers 20,800. In 1880 there were six banks and nineteen newspapers—six of which were dailies. The Roman Catholics had five churches and seven priests. The Mormons thirty-five churches, one hundred and seventy-eight high priests and five thousand members. The Presbyterians two churches and two ministers. Protestant Episcopal one church and one minister.

In 1882 the Protestant working force in the Territory consisted of half-a-dozen Methodist ministers, two or three Baptists, two Episcopalians and three Presbyterians.

In 1880 there were 3,089 school children, and the school expenditures amounted to $21,396. The production of gold and silver in 1880 was $4,500,000. In the same year there were 145,000 head of cattle and 1,326,000 head of sheep in the country.

Arizona has an area of 114,000 square miles—about as large as all New England and New York combined. The unbroken ranges of mountains that sweep down between California and Nevada and through Utah and Colorado, in Arizona are broken up into detached ranges. Among the more remarkable of these ranges are the Peloncillo, Pinaleno, Santa Catarina, Santa Rita, Dragoon, Chiricahuas, Mogollon, White, San Francisco, Peacock, Cervat, and Hualapais. They generally have a northwest and southeast course, with long narrow valleys between them.

The two great rivers are the Gila and Colorado, with their principal tributaries, the San Juan, Little Colorado, Bill Williams, Rio Verde, and Salt rivers. The Colorado has the most remarkable cañon formation in the known world. The valleys of the San Juan, Little Colorado, Salt, and Gila rivers are agricultural valleys, with millions of acres of great fertility, producing wheat, barley, oats, cotton, tobacco, lemons, oranges, grapes, figs, etc., of which over two hundred thousand acres are now under cultivation. Portions of the valleys of Santa Crux and Gila are cultivated by the Indians. Upon the Little Colorado are many settlements of Mormons.

In the western and southwestern sections are large areas of desert land, intensely warm in summer. The northern and eastern sections are at a higher altitude, and possess a delightful climate. The climate is remarkably healthy, and with the coming of railways will be greatly sought by invalids. The Southern Pacific Railroad crosses the southern section of the Territory from west to east, and the Atlantic and Pacific the northern portion from east to west, while a branch line of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe connects the southern portion with the Gulf of California at Guymas.

The great industry of the country is silver mining, building up flourishing districts at Tombstone, Globe, Prescott, and other places. Gold, copper, and lead also abound.

[THE SIX FOLLIES OF SCIENCE.]

By I. D’ISRAELI.

Nothing is so capable of disordering the intellects as an intense application to any one of these six things: the Quadrature of the Circle; the Multiplication of the Cube; the Perpetual Motion; the Philosophical Stone; Magic; and Judicial Astrology. In youth we may exercise our imagination on these curious topics, merely to convince us of their impossibility; but it shows a great defect in judgment to be occupied on them in an advanced age. “It is proper, however,” Fontenelle remarks, “to apply one’s self to these inquiries; because we find, as we proceed, many valuable discoveries of which we were before ignorant.” The same thought Cowley has applied, in an address to his mistress, thus:

“Although I think thou never wilt be found,

Yet I’m resolved to search for thee:

The search itself rewards the pains.

So though the chymist his great secret miss,

(For neither it in art or nature is)

Yet things well worth his toil he gains;

And does his charge and labor pay