The Chautauquan, October 1883

Transcriber's Note: This cover has been created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE CHAUTAUQUAN

A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Promotion of True Culture. Organ of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
———————————
VOLUME IV.
FROM OCTOBER, 1883, TO JULY, 1884.
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THEODORE L. FLOOD, D.D., Editor.

THE CHAUTAUQUA PRESS,
MEADVILLE, PA.

Copyrighted by Theodore L. Flood, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., 1883-4.

[INDEX TO VOLUME IV.]

Agassiz. Prof. J. Tingley, Ph.D. 462.
Alaska—Its Missions. Rev. Wm. B. Lewis. 592.
American Literature, Criticisms on. 503.
American Literature, Selections From.
Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. 446.
Bancroft, George. 334.
Bryant, William Cullen. 208.
Bushnell, Dr. Horace. 145.
Channing, William Ellery. 79.
Dana, Richard Henry. 208.
Edwards, Jonathan. 16.
Franklin, Benjamin. 77.
Halleck, Fitz Greene. 207.
Higginson, Thomas Wentworth. 392.
Holmes, Oliver Wendell. 265.
Howells, William D. 394.
Irving, Washington. 146.
James, Jr., Henry. 393.
Jefferson, Thomas. 79.
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. 210.
Lowell, James Russell. 266.
Mather, Cotton. 14.
Motley, John Lothrop. 333.
Paulding, James Kirke. 147.
Porter, Dr. Noah. 146.
Prescott, William H. 335.
Sandys, George. 14.
Taylor, Bayard. 446.
Thaxter, Celia. 447.
Warner, Charles Dudley. 394.
Washington, George. 78.
Whittier, John G. 264.
Americans, Eccentric. C. E. Bishop. 43, 95, 211, 275, 348, 510, 584.
Amusements of the London Poor. Walter Besant. 457.
Ardent Spirits. B. W. Richardson, M.D. 347.
Arnold, Matthew. Prof. A. B. Hyde, D.D. 270.
Art, Readings in. 11, 75, 142, 204, 262, 330, 384, 442, 500.
Astronomy of the Heavens. Prof. M. B. Goff.
December, 183.
January, 218.
February, 278.
March, 346.
April, 405.
May, 455.
June, 528.
July, 569.
August, 570.
September, 571.
Banquet to Chautauqua Trustees. 307.
Blue Laws. 156.
Book Knowledge and Manners. Lord Chesterfield. 161.
Books Received. 127, 187, 249, 314, 496, 556, 612.
Botanical Notes. Prof. J. H. Montgomery. 227, 287.
California. Frances E. Willard, Pres. W. C. T. U. 222.
Cañons of the Colorado, The. Major G. W. Powell. 564.
Character Building. James Kerr. 153.
Charity of Paris, A Private. 471.
Chautauqua Children’s Class (1883). 62.
Chautauqua for 1884. 543.
Chautauqua to California. Frances Willard, Pres. W. C. T. U. 81.
Chautauqua Winter, Echoes from a. Rev. H. H. Moore. 419.
Class of ’85, To the. 356.
Climate Seeking in America. Geo. A. Townsend. 516.
C. L. S. C. Course for 1884-’85. 600.
C. L. S. C. in Canada, The. 481.
C. L. S. C. in the South. 292.
C. L. S. C. in Toronto, The. 167.
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings.
October, 57.
November, 120.
December, 183.
January, 243.
February, 304.
March, 370.
April, 432.
May, 491.
June, 551.
C. L. S. C. Reunion. 104.
C. L. S. C. Testimony. 103, 606.
C. L. S. C. Work. J. H. Vincent, D.D. 44, 102, 165, 228, 287, 355, 421, 477, 538, 600.
C. L. S. C. ’84. 355.
Commencement, C. L. S. C. Class 1883. 20.
Cooper Institute. J. M. Buckley, D.D. 398.
Council of Nice, The. 581.
Courts of Three Presidents—Thiers, MacMahon, Grévy. 566.
Dead-Letter Office, The. Pattie L. Collins. 460.
Dreamy Old Town, A. Edith Sessions Tupper. 520.
Earthquakes—Ischia and Java. 83.
Editor’s Note-Book. 54, 117, 180, 241, 302, 368, 430, 488, 548, 610.
Editor’s Outlook:
C. L. S. C. an Educational Necessity, The. 53.
C. L. S. C. Plan, The. 178.
C. L. S. C. Course for 1884-5, The. 607.
Chautauqua Outlook for 1884. 609.
College Reform, A. 116.
Complaint, An Unjust. 367.
Day, an Extra. 180.
Dress and Income. 300.
Efficiency and Tenure. 547.
Evangelists. 239.
Floods. 429.
Founder’s Day. 428.
General Conference, Some Points on the. 608.
Greece, History of. 116.
Greeting, To the Class of 1884. 546.
Headquarters of the C. L. S. C. 238.
Idea, Dr. Newman’s New. 487.
Ingenuity in Local Circles. 365.
Is Crime Interesting? 366.
Knowledge, Superfluous. 488.
Lawlessness, Two Kinds of. 485.
Letters of William Cullen Bryant. 367.
Luther, Martin. 179.
Negro, Dr. Haygood’s Battle for. 115.
Père Hyacinthe. 241.
Phillips, Wendell. 429.
Political Methods. 428.
Political Outlook, The. 115.
Political Outlook, Present. 300.
Rewards of Public Service. 486.
Shakspere Controversy, The. 53.
Social Life, A Drawback to. 366.
Spanish Bull Fights. 301.
Steam not an Aristocrat. 300.
Temperance Question, The. 179.
Tenth Assembly, The. 52.
Time Standards, The New. 240.
Wall Street Troubles, The. 608.
Workman, The Decline of Our. 547.
Editor’s Table. 56, 119.
Education of Negro Population. A. G. Haygood. 148.
Electricity. 89.
English, British and American. R. A. Proctor. 410.
Estivation, or Summer Sleep. Rev. J. G. Wood, A.M. 273.
Etiquette. 99.
Experience, A C. L. S. C. 167.
Failings. J. Mortimer-Granville. 39.
Flowers, Early. Francis George Heath. 225.
France, Republican Prospects in. Joseph Reinach. 80.
French History, Readings in. J. H. Vincent, D.D. 315, 377.
From the Baltic To the Adriatic. 36, 87.
Gardening Among the Chinese. 215.
German History. Rev. W. G. Williams. 1, 63, 129, 189, 251.
German Literature. 66.
German Literature, Extracts From.
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang. 194.
Heine, Heinrich. 253.
Humboldt, Alexander von. 253.
Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim. 134.
Luther, Martin. 134.
Sachs, Hans. 133.
Schiller, Friedrich von. 193.
Schleiermacher, Friedrich. 254.
Schopenhauer, Arthur. 255.
Schlegel, Friedrich. 195.
Walther von der Vogelweide. 132.
Winckelman, Johann Joachim. 193.
Going to Europe. 598.
Gospels, The, Considered as a Drama. D. H. Wheeler, D.D. 412.
Graduates C. L. S. C. 310.
Great Organ at Fribourg, The. Edith Sessions Tupper. 94.
Hesitation and Errors in Speech. J. Mortimer-Granville. 454.
Hibernation. J. G. Wood, M.A. 150.
Hyacinth Bulbs. Grant Allen. 351.
Inebriates, What to do with the. W. W. Godding. 514.
Intermediate Normal Class. 188.
Island Park Assembly. 31.
Landmarks of Boston. E. E. Hale. 572.
Lakeside Assembly. 31.
Law, Commercial. E. C. Reynolds, Esq. 260, 327, 382, 439.
Life of a Planet, The. Richard Proctor. 157.
Local Circle, How to Conduct a. 107.
Local Circle Notice. 47.
Local Circles. 105, 169, 230, 288, 356, 422, 478, 539, 601.
London, Disraeli’s. 157.
London Preachers, Some. 536.
Low Spirits. J. Mortimer-Granville. 85.
Man of Learning, Tell Me Something. Margaret Meredith. 150.
Mendelssohn’s Grave and Humboldt’s Home. 339.
Migrations on Foot. Rev. J. G. Wood, M.A. 353.
Missions, Christian. 221.
Monono Lake Assembly. 30.
Monteagle Assembly. Rev. J. H. Warren. 29.
Monterey Assembly. 28.
Mountain Lake Assembly. 31.
Mythology, Slavonic. A. H. Cummings. 34.
Napoleon’s Marshals. 100.
Naval Force, Our. Lieut. G. W. Mentz. 595.
Navy, The. Lieut. G. W. Mentz. 524.
New England Assembly. 32.
New England Branch, Class of ’86. 103.
Normal Class, Chautauqua Graduates (1883). 374.
Normal Class, Chautauqua. J. L. Hurlbut, D.D., and R. S. Holmes, M.A., Instructors. 112, 176, 236, 297, 364, 426, 484, 545.
Nurses, Trained. Lulie W. Winchester. 466.
Ocean Monarch, An. G. Browne Goode. 582.
Ostrich Hunting. Lady Florence Dixie. 220.
Outline of C. L. S. C. Readings.
October, 47.
November, 112.
December, 166.
January, 228.
February, 288.
March, 355.
April, 422.
May, 478.
June, 539.
Peking, The Imperial College of. G. W. Smyth. 587.
Phillips, Wendell. Edward Everett Hale. 451.
Physical Science. 3, 67, 135, 196, 255.
Plant Nutrition. Maxwell T. Masters, M.D. 164.
Poachers in England. Jas. Turves. 90.
Poe, Edgar Allen. C. E. Bishop. 407.
Political Economy. G. M. Steele, D.D. 9, 73, 140, 202.
Popular Education, C. L. S. C. Announcement. 48, 175.
Prisoners and Prisons, Military. O. W. Longan. 475.
Prohibition in Maine. Hon. Neal Dow. 415.
Questions and Answers. A. M. Martin. 49, 109, 172, 234, 294, 362, 425, 482, 544.
Recreation. James Paget. 274.
Recreations of Paris Workmen. R. Heath. 153.
Reunion at Milwaukee. 166.
Roman History, Readings in. W. C. Wilkinson. 437, 497.
Round-Table, C. L. S. C. 171, 233, 292.
Russian Novelist, A. Gabriel Monod. 154.
Schools of Boston, Industrial. E. E. Hale. 417.
Scott, Walter, Eight Centuries with. Wallace Bruce. 91, 162, 216, 284, 343, 403, 467, 533, 589.
Sea as an Aquarium, The. C. L. Anderson, M.D. 279, 341.
Skating and Skaters. Robert MacGregor. 159.
Soldiers’ Home. O. W. Logan. 529.
Speculation in Business. Jonathan. 281.
Stationery, C. L. S. C. 103.
Steel Horse, Our. 523.
Summer Meetings at Chautauqua. 597.
Sunbeams from the Circle. 167, 229.
Sunday Readings. J. H. Vincent, D.D. 6, 70, 137, 198, 257, 328, 388, 440, 499, 560.
Sun and Strange Sunsets, Green. 400.
Table-Talk of Napoleon Bonaparte. 224, 269.
Talk about Books. 126, 248, 314, 436, 495, 556, 612.
Temperature. J. Mortimer Granville. 158.
Tenement House Life in New York. Geo. A. Townsend. 561.
Tricks of Conjurors. Thomas Frost. 125.
Trollope’s (Anthony) Autobiography. 400.
United States History. 267, 336, 395, 448, 506.
University, Chautauqua. 478.
Vanishing Types. Rev. Edward Sprague. 577.
Vegetable Villains. R. Turner. 33, 86.
Waverley Novels. Wallace Bruce. 17.
White House, The. Mrs. Pattie L. Collins. 557.
Wine and Water. Benj. W. Richardson, M.D. 283.
Women as Mistresses of Households, Duties of. F. P. Cobbe. 473.
Women, Work for. 219.
Wreckage, Social. Ellice Hopkins. 40

POETRY.

At Rest. Sarah Doudney. 42.
Autumn Sympathy. E. G. Charlesworth. 80.
Blossoms, To. R. Herrick. 529.
Chillon, Sonnet on. Byron. 582.
Cracked Fiddle, A lay of. Fred. Langbridge. 155.
Divine Sculptor, The. Mrs. Emily J. Bugbee. 451.
Fir Tree, The. Luella Clark. 347.
Flotsom (1492). J. Logie Robertson. 341.
Flowery Fields, In. Mary Harrison. 38.
Gone. E. G. Charlesworth. 40.
Growth. Mrs. Emily J. Bugbee. 561.
Helen’s Tower. Chas. Blatherwick. 338.
His Cold. Foliot S. Pierpoint. 269.
How we Came Together. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D. 32.
Ivy, The. Henry Burton. 19.
Light at Eventide. E. G. Charlesworth. 397.
Luther. Mrs. S. R. Graham Clark. 275.
My Years. Ada Iddings Gale. 343.
Night. Charles Grindrod. 510.
Night. A. St. J. A. 211.
Prayer of Socrates, The. Stuart Blackie. 537.
Returning. Mary Harrison. 148.
Rise Higher. Helen G. Hawthorne. 571.
Sabbath Chimes. Phebe A. Holden. 402.
Self-dependence. Matthew Arnold. 472.
Still Young. Ellen O. Peck. 412.
Stork, The. Translated from the Swedish. 214.
Summer, A Remnant of. E. O. P. 156.
To My Books. Lady Sterling Maxwell. 83.
Under the Autumn Skies. Mrs. Emily J. Bugbee. 161.
Where Lies the Music? Alice C. Jennings. 17.
Zenobia. Ada Iddings Gale. 152.

[The Chautauquan.]

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

Vol. IV. OCTOBER, 1883. No. 1.

Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

President—Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.

Superintendent of Instruction—Rev. J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven, Conn.

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

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

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

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

Contents

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

OCTOBER.

[GERMAN HISTORY.]

By Rev. W. G. WILLIAMS, A. M.

I.

The student of history has need of divisions. By their aid alone can he hope to have command of the facts and events with which history in so large part deals. It is well therefore to begin the study of any particular history by noting such changes, such epoch-making events as may form partition walls of boxes in which may be placed our classified information.

The history of Germany has been variously divided into periods by the different authors. That which we have adopted here has the sanction of the majority and will be found exceedingly natural, and hence simple and convenient. The student should memorize it thoroughly, being assured that though a very general history of itself, nevertheless it is more than many of supposed information could tell of the history of this wonderful people.

DIVISION OF THE HISTORY OF THE GERMANS INTO TEN PERIODS.

First—From the most ancient times to the conquests of the Franks, under Clovis (A. D. 486).

Second—From conquests of Clovis to Charlemagne (511-768).

Third—Charlemagne to Henry I. (768-919).

Fourth—Henry I. to Rodolphus of Hapsburg. The Saxon, Swabian, and Hohenstaufen houses (919-1273).

Fifth—Rodolphus I. of Hapsburg to Charles V. (1273-1520).

Sixth—Charles V. to Peace of Westphalia (1519-1648).

Seventh—Peace of Westphalia to French Revolution (1648-1789).

Eighth—French Revolution to Peace of Paris (1789-1815).

Ninth—Peace of Paris to Franco-Prussian War (1815-1870-1871).

Tenth—From Franco-Prussian War to present time.

THE PRIMITIVE POPULATIONS OF GERMANY, THEIR ORIGIN, CUSTOMS, RELIGION, ETC.

“Germany, or Deutschland, occupies a large part of Central Europe. Speaking roughly, it now reaches from the Alps to the Baltic and the North Sea, and from the valleys of the Rhine and the Maes to the Danube as far as the March and the Mur, and to the Prosna and the Lower Niemen. The country is mountainous in the south, hilly in the center, and flat in the north, where it forms part of the great plain which takes in the whole of north-eastern Europe. The western part of this plain takes in the country between the Teutoburg Wood and the North Sea. As it passes eastward it widens till it reaches from the Erz and Riesen Mountains to the Baltic. A part of South Germany slopes toward the east, and is watered by the Danube; but the general slope of the country is toward the north. Among the rivers flowing northward are the Rhine, the Ems, the Weser, the Elbe, the Oder, and the Vistula.”—Sime.

“Germany has varied very much in extent at different times. This is due partly to the fact that it has no clearly-marked natural boundaries on the east and west, but chiefly to the peculiarity of its position. It is the central country of Europe. Being surrounded by most of the leading nations of the Continent, the Germans have been involved, more than any other people, in the general history of Europe. Of all their neighbors, the Scandinavians are most nearly allied to the Germans. Both are branches of the Teutonic race. But the Germans are also connected, although not so closely, with the other surrounding peoples. All, if we except the Magyars or Hungarians, who are Turanians, belong to the great Aryan family.”—Sime.

“Ancient authors mention several German tribes, as well as their dwelling places, with greater or less precision. Several of them also speak of the chief tribes, among which the single septs united themselves. But their statements are not sufficiently unanimous or precise to give us that clear view which we would so willingly obtain. The origin of the Germanic nations, therefore, like that of all others, is uncertain. To assign to them a distinct historical origin is to make an assertion without evidence, though it is now indisputably established that the Teutonic dialects belong to one great family with the Latin, the Greek, the Sanscrit, and other European and Asiatic tongues. All the positive knowledge that we have of the German nations, previous to their contact with the Romans, is exceedingly vague and mere conjecture.”—Menzies.

“The Romans first heard the name ‘Germans’ from the Celtic Gauls, in whose language it meant simply neighbors. The first notice of a Germanic tribe was given to the world by the Greek navigator Pytheas, who made a voyage to the Baltic in the year 330 B. C. Beyond the amber coast, eastward of the mouth of the Vistula, he found the Goths, of whom we hear nothing more until they appear, several centuries later, on the northern shore of the Black Sea. For more than two hundred years there is no further mention of the Germanic races; then, most unexpectedly, the Romans were called upon to make their personal acquaintance.”—Bayard Taylor.

“At the time of their first contact with the Romans, these Germanic tribes had lost even the tradition of their Asiatic origin. They supposed themselves to have originated upon the soil where they dwelt, sprung either from the earth or descended from the gods. According to the most popular legend, the war-god Tuisko, or Tiu, had a son, Mannus (whence the word man is derived), who was the first human parent of the German race. Many centuries must have elapsed since their first settlement in Europe, or they could not have so completely changed the forms of their religion and their traditional history.”—Taylor.

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.

“The early Germans were noted for their love of feasting, which was carried to such excess that they would sometimes spend whole days and nights at table, drinking and gaming, in consequence of which they often quarreled and fought so that a convivial meeting frequently terminated in bloodshed. They gambled with dice, as Tacitus, with astonishment, informs us, in a sober state and as a serious occupation, and with so much eagerness for gain, that when they had lost all they hazarded their freedom, and even their very persons, upon the last cast. The loser freely delivered himself up to slavery, although even younger and stronger than his adversary, and patiently allowed himself to be bound and sold as a slave; thus steadfastly did they keep their word, even in a bad case. ‘They call this good faith,’ says the Roman writer. There were various circumstances under which a German might forfeit his liberty, such as marrying a bondwoman, or of not being able to pay his debts; but the generality of the slaves were captives taken in war.

“The Germans did not all sit down at the same table, but each man had his own seat and board, which were of a very rough description, being merely a wooden stool and table, furnished with drinking horns, wooden bowls, spoons, and platters. Each person of rank had his servant behind him to hold his shield and spear. He kept his sword by his side, for on no occasion would a German part with his arms, which was a proof that he expected to have frequent need of them.

“The wives and daughters of the Germans, we are told, shared in all the public entertainments, for however rude and fierce these people might be in other respects, they were distinguished, even in the most barbarous ages, for their attention and respect to the female sex, whom they consulted on the most important affairs, and by whose opinions they were very often guided. The feasts of the Germans, like those of the Gauls and Scandinavians, were always attended by a number of bards, several of whom were attached to the family of every chief, and were treated with the highest respect. They played on the harp and flute, and when they sang of war, the company took part in the concert by clashing their swords against their shields.

“The Germans, in very remote ages, were dressed in skins of wild animals, and afterward in a coarse kind of linen, made by the women; but as they intermixed more with the Gauls, they learned from them to make a finer sort of linen, and woolen also, and as soon as they were acquainted with these useful arts, spinning and weaving became the principal occupations of German women, and a more civilized costume was adopted than that which was made from the skins of the elk and reindeer. These animals, in the time of Julius Cæsar, were very numerous in the forests of Germany, from which, however, they have long since disappeared.

“The Romans justly considered the German nation as an aboriginal, pure, and unmixed race of people. They resembled themselves alone; and like the specifically similar plants of the field, which, springing from a pure seed, not raised in the hot-bed of a garden, but germinating in the healthy, free, unsheltered soil, do not differ from each other by varieties; so, also, among the thousands of the simple German race, there was but one determined and equal form of body. Their chest was wide and strong; their hair yellow, and with young children it was of a dazzling white. Their skin was also white, their eyes blue, and their glance bold and piercing. Their powerful gigantic bodies, which the Romans and Gauls could not behold without fear, displayed the strength that nature had given to this people; for, according to the testimony of some of the ancient writers, their usual height was seven feet. From their earliest youth upward they hardened their bodies by all devisable means. New-born infants were dipped in cold water, and the cold bath was continued during their whole lives as the strengthening renovator, by both boys and girls, men and women. The children ran about almost naked, and effeminate nations wondered how those of the Germans, without cradles or swaddling bands, should grow up to the very fullest bloom of health.

“Cæsar, Tacitus, and Suetonius, with many others, have pointed to one and the same characteristic of the Germans, as the secret of their power and prosperity. The Kelt had everywhere yielded to the eagles of Rome, while the Teuton everywhere checked their flight. Amazed, and even alarmed, at those tall fair-haired, blue-eyed enemies, who had to be conquered with gold instead of steel, Tacitus examines the reasons of their prowess, and finds it in the soberness of their blood, in their reverence for women and for the laws of nature, in their deference to parental authority and their marriages of maturity. ‘Chastity is a custom with them,’ says the ‘De Moribus Germanorum,’ and a passage to the same effect might be cited from Cæsar. Those southern soldiers and statesmen saw, in truth, with a terrible sense of overhanging fate, that race of hardy, chaste, home-loving, free and fearless barbarians, of whom the Emperor Titus said, ‘Their bodies are great, but their souls are greater.’ The tone of Tacitus is that of a man who bitterly feels how much greater, after all, as a moral being, the barbarian may be than the civilized man, when civilization recognizes no higher aim than material splendor, and that utility which subserves material wants. Other civilizations than that of the Empire may read a lesson in those brief pages where the philosopher of a worn-out world records his impression of the races from which the world was hereafter to be reconstituted.”—Menzies.

“The three principal vices of the Germans were indolence, drunkenness, and love of gaming. Although always ready for the toils and dangers of war, they disliked to work at home. The women ruled and regulated their households with undisputed sway. They were considered the equals of the men, and exhibited no less energy and courage. They were supposed to possess the gift of prophecy, and always accompanied the men to battle, where they took care of the wounded, and stimulated the warriors by their shouts and songs. They honored the institution of marriage to an extent beyond that exhibited by any other people of the ancient world. Those who proved unfaithful to the marriage vow were punished with death.”—Taylor.

RELIGIOUS BELIEFS AND USAGES.

“The worship of the ancient Germans coincided with their natural character, and consequently was much more simple and elevated than that of other peoples. Although uncultivated, they carried in their hearts the sentiment of an infinite and eternal power, and they regarded it as an affront to the divinity to enclose it within walls, or to represent it under human form. They consecrated to it the woods and forests as a spacious temple of which nature itself erected the pillars, and to which the immensity of the heavens formed the roof.

“The ancient Germans adored, like the Persians, the sun and fire, but they regarded Wodan as their supreme god. They called him also Alvater, father of all things. Their most beneficent goddess was the mother of the earth (Hertha). The Germans attached great importance to divinations and prognostics. The crow and the owl signified misfortune; the cuckoo announced long life. They discovered the future by means of the branches of fruit trees (runes). Various signs were cut upon each rod, and afterwards the rods were thrown upon a white cloth; then the priest, or father of the family, offered up a prayer to the divinity, and thrice chose from among the rods those which were to give the divine revelations. The clairvoyants were held in high estimation, and history has preserved some of the names of those to which the belief of the people had given a great influence over the decision of public affairs.”—Menzies.

“The people had their religious festivals at stated seasons, when sacrifices—sometimes of human beings—were laid upon the altars of the gods in the sacred groves. Even after they became Christians, in the eighth century, they retained their habit of celebrating some of these festivals, but changed them into the Christian anniversaries of Christmas, Easter, and Whitsuntide.

“Thus, from all we can learn respecting them, we may say that the Germans, during the first century before Christ, were fully prepared by their habits, laws, and their moral development, for a higher civilization. They were still restless, after so many centuries of wandering; they were fierce and fond of war, as a natural consequence of their struggles with the neighboring races; but they had already acquired a love for the wild land where they dwelt, they had begun to cultivate the soil, they had purified and hallowed the family relation, which is the basis of all good government, and finally, although slavery existed among them, they had established equal rights for free men.

“If the object of Rome had been civilization, instead of conquest and plunder, the development of the Germans might have commenced much earlier and produced very different results.”—Taylor.

[To be continued.]

[PHYSICAL SCIENCE.]

I.—THE AIR.

When we begin to look attentively at the world around us, one of the first things to set us thinking is the air. We do not see it, and yet it is present wherever we may go. What is this air?

Although invisible, it is yet a real, material substance. When you swing your arm rapidly up and down you feel the air offering a resistance to the hand. The air is something which you can feel, though you can not see it. You breathe it every moment. You can not get away from it, for it completely surrounds the earth. To this outer envelope of air, the name of atmosphere is given.

The air is not a simple substance, but a mixture of two invisible gases, called nitrogen and oxygen. But besides these chief ingredients, it contains also small quantities of other substances; some of which are visible, others invisible. If you close the shutters of a room, and let the sunlight stream through only one chink or hole into the room, you see some of the visible particles of the air. Hundreds of little motes, or specks of dust, cross the beam of light which makes them visible against the surrounding darkness, though they disappear in full daylight. But it is the invisible parts of the air which are of chief importance; and among them there are two which you must especially remember—the vapor of water and carbonic acid gas. You will soon come to see why it is needful for you to distinguish these.

Now what is this vapor of water? You will understand its nature if you watch what takes place when a kettle boils. From the mouth of the spout a stream of white cloud comes out into the air. It is in continual motion; its outer parts somehow or other disappear, but as fast as they do so they are supplied by fresh materials from the kettle. The water in the kettle is all the while growing less, until at last, if you do not replenish it, the whole will be boiled away, and the kettle left quite dry. What has become of all the water? You have changed it into vapor. It is not destroyed or lost in any way, it has only passed from one state into another, from the liquid into the gaseous form, and is now dissolved in the air.

Carbonic acid gas is also one of the invisible substances of the atmosphere, of which, though it forms no more than four parts in every ten thousand, yet it constitutes an important ingredient. You will understand how important it is when you are told that, from this carbonic acid in the air, all the plants which you see growing upon the land extract nearly the whole of their solid substance. When a plant dies and decays, the carbonic acid is restored to the air again. On the other hand, plants are largely eaten by animals, and help to form the framework of their bodies. Animals in breathing give out carbonic acid gas; and when they die, and their bodies decay, the same substance is again restored to the atmosphere. Hence the carbonic acid of the air is used to build up the structure both of plants and animals, and is given back again when these living things cease to live. There is a continual coming and going of this material between the air and the animal and vegetable kingdoms.

You know that though you can not see the air you can feel it when it moves. A light breeze, or a strong gale, can be just as little seen by the eye as still air; and yet we readily feel their motion. But even when the air is still it can make itself sensible in another way, viz: by its temperature. For air, like common visible things, can be warmed and cooled.

This warming and cooling of the air is well illustrated by what takes place in a dwelling-house. If you pass out of a warm room, on a winter’s day, into the open air when there is no wind, you feel a sensation of cold. Whence does this sensation come? Not from anything you can see, for your feet, though resting on the frozen ground, are protected by leather, and do not yet feel the cold. It is the air which is cold, and which encircles you on all sides, and robs you of your heat; while at the same time you are giving off or radiating heat from your skin into the air. On the other hand, if, after standing a while in the chilly winter air, you return into the room again, you feel a sensation of pleasant warmth. Here, again, the feeling does not come from any visible object, but from the invisible air which touches every part of your skin, and is thus robbed of its heat by you.

Now, how is it that the atmosphere should sometimes be warm and sometimes cold? Where does the heat come from? and how does the air take it up?

Let us return again to the illustration of the house. In winter, when the air is keen and frosty outside, it is warm and pleasant indoors, because fires are there kept burning. The burning of coal and wood produces heat, and the heat thus given out warms the air. Hence it is by the giving off or radiation of the heat from some burning substance that the air of our houses is made warmer than the air outside.

Now, it is really by radiation from a heated body that the air outside gets its heat. In summer, this air is sometimes far hotter than is usual in dwelling-houses in winter. All this heat comes from the sun, which is an enormous hot mass, continually sending out heat in all directions.

But, if the sun is always pouring down heat upon the earth, why is the air ever cold? Place a screen between you and a bright fire, and you will immediately feel that some of the heat from the fire place has been cut off. When the sun is shining, expose your hand to its beams for a time, and then hold a book between the hand and the sun. At first, your skin is warmed; but the moment you put it in the shade, it is cooled again. The book has cut off the heat which was passing directly from the sun to your hand. When the atmosphere is felt to be cold, something has come in the way to keep the sun’s heat from directly reaching us.

Clouds cut off the direct heat of the sun. You must often have noticed the change of temperature, when, after the sun has been shining for a time, a cloud comes between it and the earth. Immediately a feeling of chilliness is experienced, which passes off as soon as the cloud has sailed on, and allowed the sun once more to come out.

The air itself absorbs some of the sun’s heat, and the greater the thickness of air through which that heat has to make its way, the more heat will be absorbed. Besides this, the more the rays of heat are slanted the weaker do they become. At noon, for example, the sun stands high in the sky. Its rays are then nearest to the vertical, and have also the least thickness of air to pass through before they reach us. As it descends in the afternoon, its rays get more and more slanted, and must also make their way through a constantly increasing thickness of air. Hence the middle of the day is much warmer than morning or evening.

At night, when the sun no longer shines, its heat does not directly warm the part of the earth in shadow. That part not only receives no heat from it, but even radiates its heat out into the cold sky. Hence night is much colder than day.

Then, again, in summer the sun at noon shines much higher in the sky with us, or more directly overhead, than in winter. Its heat comes down less obliquely and has less depth of air to pass through, and hence is much more felt than in winter, when, as you know, the sun in our part of the world never rises high even at mid-day.

If we were dependent for our warmth upon the direct heat of the sun alone, we should be warm only when the sun shines. A cloudy day would be an extremely cold one, and every night as intensely frosty as it ever is in winter. Yet such is not the case. Cloudy days are often quite warm; while we are all aware that the nights are by no means always very cold. There must be some way in which the sun’s heat is stored up, so that it can be felt even when he is not shining.

In summer the ground gets warmed; in some parts, indeed, becoming even so hot at times that we can hardly keep the hand upon it. In hot countries this is felt much more than in this country. Soil and stones absorb heat steadily, that is to say, soon get heated, and they soon cool again. When they have been warmed by the sun, the air gets warmed by contact with them, and keeps its heat longer than they do; so that even when at night the soil and stones have become ice-cold, the air a little above is not so chilly. On the other hand, when the surface of the ground is cold, it cools the air next it. The ground parts easily with its heat, and a vast amount of heat is in this way radiated at night from the earth outward into the cold starry space. Much more heat, however, would be lost from this cause did not the abundant aqueous vapor of the atmosphere absorb part of it, and act as a kind of screen to retard the radiation. This is the reason why in hot climates, where the air is very dry—that is, contains a small proportion of the vapor of water—the nights are relatively colder than they are in other countries where the air is moister. In like manner, clouds serve to keep heat from escaping; and hence it is that cloudy nights are not so cold as those which are clear and starry.

The atmosphere, then, is heated or cooled according as it lies upon a warm or cold part of the earth’s surface; and, by means of its aqueous vapor, it serves to store up and distribute this heat, keeping the earth from such extremes of climate as would otherwise prevail.

The air lying next to a hot surface is heated; the air touching a cold surface is cooled. And upon such differences of temperature in the air the formation of winds depends.

Hot or warm air is lighter than cold air. You have learned how heat expands bodies. It is this expansion of air, or the separation of its particles further from each other which makes it less dense or heavy than cold air, where the particles lie more closely together. As a consequence of this difference of density, the light warm air rises, and the heavy cold air sinks. You can easily satisfy yourselves of this by experiment. Take a poker, and heat the end of it in the fire until it is red-hot. Withdraw it, and gently bring some small bits of very light paper, or some other light substance, a few inches above the heated surface. The bits of paper will be at once carried up into the air. This happens because the air, heated by the poker, immediately rises, and its place is taken by colder air, which, on getting warmed, likewise ascends. The upward currents of air grow feebler as the iron cools, until, when it is of the same temperature as the air around, they cease.

This is the principle on which our fire-places are constructed. The fire is not kindled on the hearth, for, in that case, it would not get a large enough draft of air underneath, and would be apt to go out. It is placed some way above the floor, and a chimney is put over it. As soon as the fire is lighted, the air next it gets warmed, and begins to mount, and the air in the room is drawn in from below to take the place of that which rises. All the air which lies above the burning coal gets warmer and lighter; it therefore flows up the chimney, carrying with it the smoke and gases. You will understand that though a bright blazing fire is a pleasant sight in winter, we do not get all the heat which it gives out. On the contrary, a great deal of the heat goes up the chimney; and, except in so far as it warms the walls, passes away and warms the outer air.

What happens in a small way in our houses takes place on a far grander scale in nature. As already pointed out, the sun is the great source of heat which warms and lightens our globe. While the heat of the sun is passing through the air, it does very little in the way of warming it. The heat goes through the air, and warms the surface of the earth. You know that in summer the direct rays of the sun are hot enough to burn your face, and yet, if you put even a thin sheet of paper over your head, enough to cut off these rays, the sensation of burning heat at once goes off, although the same air is playing about you all the time.

Both land and water are heated by the sun’s rays, and the same change in the air then takes place which we find also at our firesides. The layer of air next the warmed earth becomes itself warmed. As it thereby grows lighter it ascends, and its place is taken by colder air, which flows in from the neighborhood to take its place. This flowing in of air is wind.

One of the most important ingredients in the air is the vapor of water. Let us try to see, first of all, how it gets into and out of the air. And in this case, as before, you will find that great questions in science often admit of being simply and readily illustrated by the most familiar things.

You may have noticed that on very cold nights the windows of sitting-rooms, or crowded public halls, are apt to be found streaming with water on the inside.

Now, in such cases, where does the moisture come from? Certainly not out of the glass. It is derived from the vapor of water present in the air. This word vapor is often used to describe some kind of visible mist or fog. But these visible forms of moisture are not properly vapor in the sense in which the term is used in science. The aqueous vapor of the air is always invisible, even when the air is saturated with it, and only when it passes back into the state of water do you actually see anything.

When the invisible vapor dissolved in the air becomes visible, as in mists, clouds, dew, or rain, it is said to be condensed, and this process of liquefaction is called condensation.

The quantity of vapor which the air can contain varies according to temperature, warm air being able to hold more than cold air.

As the air is cooled, its power of retaining vapor diminishes. When it becomes colder than the temperature at which it is able to keep its supply of vapor dissolved, the excess of vapor is condensed and becomes visible. The temperature at which this takes place is the point of saturation, or dew-point.

Perhaps you may ask how it is that the vapor so universally present gets into the atmosphere, and where it comes from. If you pour a little water into a plate, and set it down in the open air, you will note in the course of a day or two, that the water has sensibly diminished. The air has drunk up part of it, and will drink up the whole, if the water is allowed to stand long enough. What takes place from a small quantity of water goes on from every surface of water on the face of the earth, from every brook and river and lake, and from the great sea itself. Water is constantly passing off into vapor, which is received and retained by the air. This process is called evaporation, and the water which passes off into vapor is said to evaporate.

Since warm air can hold more vapor than cold air, evaporation must be more vigorous in sunshine than at night, and during summer than during winter.

On a dry, bracing day, evaporation goes on rapidly, because the air has not nearly got all the quantity of vapor it can hold in solution. On a damp day, however, when the air contains about as much vapor as it can hold at that particular temperature, evaporation is quite feeble, or ceases altogether. This varying capacity of the air for vapor is the reason why laundresses find so much difference between days, in the ease with which they can have their clothes dried.

After sunset, when the sky is clear, you know that the grass gets wet with dew. In the morning you may see mists hanging over woods, and streams, and hills, and gradually melting away as the sun mounts in the sky. At all times of the year you may watch how clouds form and dissolve, and form again, ever changing their size and shape as they move through the air. Now these are all examples of the condensation of vapor. Let us see how the process takes place.

Condensation, as we have seen, results from a cooling of the air. When vapor is condensed, it does not at once take the form of running water. The cold glass brought into the warm room has first a fine film of mist formed upon it, and then by degrees the clear drops of water come. In reality mist is made up of exceedingly minute particles of water, and it is the running together of these which makes the larger drops. So in nature on the great scale, when condensation occurs the vapor first appears as a fine mist. This is always the result of cooling; so that, whenever you see a mist or cloud forming, you may conclude that the air in which it lies is being cooled.

Dew is the name given to the wetness which we notice appearing in the evening, or at night, upon grass, leaves, or stones, or even sometimes on our hair. In the morning you have, no doubt, often watched the little dewdrops sparkling upon the foliage and the delicate threads of gossamer. Now this wetness does not come out of the leaves or stones, nor out of your hair. It is all derived from the air by condensation, exactly as we see the film of mist form upon the cold tumbler in the warm moist air of a room. In fact, that film of mist was really dew, and all dew is formed in the same way, and from the same cause.

At night, when the sky is clear, the earth radiates heat rapidly; that is to say, it gives off into cold space a great part of the heat which it has received from the sun during the day. Its surface consequently becomes cold, as you may have felt when you put your hand upon leaves or stones after nightfall. The layer of air next the cooled ground is chilled below its point of condensation, and the excess of vapor is deposited as dew upon the grass, twigs, stones, and other objects. Hence it is that the temperature at which this condensation begins to take place is called the dew-point.

Another way in which a cold surface of the earth may produce condensation is shown by what takes place among mountains. When a warm moist wind blows upon a chill mountain top, the air is cooled, and its vapor becomes visible in the form of a mist or cloud. You can often see that the cloud is quite solitary, and even shapes itself to the form of the ground, as if it were a sort of fleecy cap drawn down over the mountain’s head. This is often well marked in the morning. As day advances, the ground, warmed by the sun, no longer cools the air, and hence the mist is gradually re-absorbed into the atmosphere. But by and by, at the coming on of night, when the ground is once more cooled by radiation, if there should be vapor enough in the air, the mist will re-form, and the mountain put on his cap again.

Cold air, as well as cold ground, condenses the vapor of warmer air. If you watch what goes on along the course of a river, you will often see examples of this kind of condensation. The ground on either side of the river parts with its heat after sundown sooner than the river itself does, and consequently cools the air above it more than the air above the river is cooled. So when this colder air from either side moves over to take the place of the warmer damp air lying on and rising from the river, condensation ensues in the form of the mist or river-fog, which so commonly hangs at night and early morning over streams.

A cloud is merely a mist formed by the cooling of warm moist air, when it loses its heat from any cause, such as expansion during ascent, or contact with currents of cooler air. If you watch what goes on in the sky, you may often see clouds in the act of forming. At first a little flake of white appears. By degrees this grows larger, and other cloudlets arise and flock together, until at last the sky is quite overcast with heavy clouds, and rain begins to fall. The vapor which is thus condensed in the air has all been obtained by the evaporation of the water on the earth’s surface. It rises with the warm air, which losing its heat as it ascends, and coming too in contact with colder layers of the atmosphere, can not hold all its vapor, and is obliged to get rid of the excess, which then condenses into cloud.

On a summer morning the sky is often free from cloud. As the day advances, and the earth gets warmed, more vapor is raised; and as this vapor, borne upward by the ascending air-currents, reaches the higher and colder parts of the atmosphere, it is chilled into the white fleecy clouds which you see forming about mid-day and in the afternoon. Toward evening, when less evaporation takes place, the clouds cease to grow, and gradually lessen in size until at night the sky is quite clear. They have been dissolved again by descending and coming in contact with the warm air nearest to the earth. Again, you have often noticed that clouds move across the sky. They are driven along by upper currents of air, and of course the stronger these currents are the faster do the clouds travel. In this way the sky is sometimes completely overcast with clouds which have come from a distance.

You are well aware that rain always comes from clouds in the sky. When the sky is clear overhead, no rain falls. Only when it gets overcast does the rain come. You can watch a dark rain-cloud gather itself together and discharge a heavy shower upon the earth. When a cold glass is brought into a warm room, you will remember that the film of mist formed upon the glass is found by degrees to gather into drops, and trickles down the cold surface. Now the mist on the glass and the cloud in the sky are both formed of minute particles of water, separated by air. It is the running together of these particles which gives rise to these drops. In the one case, the drops run down the cold glass. In the other case, they fall as drops of rain through the air. Rain, therefore, is thus a further stage in the condensation of the aqueous vapor of the atmosphere. The minute particles of the cloud, as condensation proceeds, gather more moisture round them, until at last they form drops of water, too heavy to hang any longer suspended in the air. These then fall to the earth as rain-drops.

But there is another important form in which the moisture of the clouds may descend to the surface of the earth. When the weather is cold enough, there fall to the ground not drops of rain, but flakes of snow.

If you bring snow indoors, it soon melts into water. If you expose this water for a time it evaporates. Snow, water, and aqueous vapor are thus only different forms of the same substance. We say that water can exist in three forms—the gaseous, the liquid, and the solid. Snow is an example of the solid condition.

On a frosty night pools of water are covered with a hard, transparent crust, of what is called ice. You may break this crust into pieces, but if the cold continues, a new crust will soon be formed with bits of the old one firmly cemented in it. And the greater the cold the thicker will the crust be, until perhaps the whole of the water in the pools may become solid. If you take a piece of this solid substance, you find it to be cold, brittle, and transparent. Brought into a warm room it soon melts into water, and you may drive off the water as before into vapor. Ice is the general name given to water when it is in the solid state, such forms as snow and hail being only different appearances which ice puts on. Whenever water becomes colder than a certain temperature it passes into ice, or freezes, and this temperature is consequently known as the freezing-point.

The upper layers of the atmosphere are much colder than the freezing-point of water. In the condensation which takes place there, the clouds do not resolve themselves into rain. The vapor of the up-streaming currents of warm air from the earth’s surface is condensed and frozen in these high regions, and passes into little crystals, which unite into flakes of snow. Even in summer the fine white cloudlets which you see floating at great heights are probably formed of snow. But in those countries, such as ours, where in winter the air even at the surface is sometimes very cold, the snow falls to the ground, and lies there as a white covering, until returning warmth melts it away.

Besides rain and snow, the moisture of the air takes sometimes the form of hail, which consists of little lumps of ice like frozen rain; and of sleet, which is partially melted snow. But rain and snow are the most important, and it is these two forms which we must follow a little further.

Before doing so, let us gather together the sum of what has been said about the aqueous vapor of the air. We have learned that, as every sheet of water on the face of the globe evaporates, the air is full of vapor; that this vapor is condensed into visible form, and appears as dew, mist, and cloud. We have learned further, that the vapor of which clouds are formed is resolved into rain and snow, and, in one or other of these forms, descends to the earth again. There is thus a circulation of water between the solid earth beneath and the air above. This circulation is as essential to the earth in making it a fit habitation for living things, as the circulation of blood is in keeping our bodies alive. It mixes and washes the air, clearing away impurities, such as those which rise from the chimneys of a town. It moistens and quickens the soil, which it renders capable of supporting vegetation. It supplies springs, brooks, and rivers. In short, it is the very mainspring of all the life of the globe. So important a part of the machinery of the world deserves our careful consideration. Let us next attend, therefore, to what becomes of the rain and the snow after they have been discharged from the air upon the surface of the earth.

[To be continued.]

[SUNDAY READINGS.]

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

[October 7.]
“TENDENCIES TO ERROR.”

By Rev. WILLIAM FRASER, LL.D.

“Let no one, upon a weak conceit of sobriety or an ill-applied moderation, think or maintain that a man can search too far, or be too well studied in the book of God’s word, or in the book of God’s works—divinity or philosophy—but rather let men endeavor an endless progress or proficiency in both; only let them beware that they apply both to charity and not to arrogance; to use, and not to ostentation; and again, that they do not mingle or confound these learnings together.”—Bacon.

Many have lost their early faith in the Bible and are following its guidance with faltering footstep. Between them and hitherto accepted truths the sciences have been placing apparently insurmountable obstacles. The trustful simplicity with which they once read the sacred record has almost perished. Inferences by the man of science, conflicting with the interpretations of scripture by the theologian, have rudely shaken their most cherished convictions. They are not infidels, they are not skeptics, for doubt is distasteful to them, they long for more definite expositions and a firmer faith.

Such, possibly, may be some of you. In the midst of such discussions as are at present in progress, perplexity is not unnatural. Your most anxiously sustained investigations have hitherto only multiplied difficulties, and a sense of responsibility alone constrains you to linger over conclusions from which your judgment recoils. This hesitancy of belief may be at the outset disheartening; yet it may be inseparable from that clearness of insight and that force of character which, in the end, commonly create the stablest convictions, and evoke adequate proof to shield them. To shun or to denounce you because you can not acquiesce in what we believe is inconsistent, not only with the lessons of philosophy, but with his example to “bear witness to the truth.”

What is your duty, with the natural sciences on the one hand, appealing so largely to your reason, and the scriptures on the other hand, appealing so constantly to your faith? Obviously, to depreciate neither, but to welcome both the sciences and the scriptures, to ascertain their harmony, to note their differences, and to accept all the treasures of truth which they may bring. Indifference is inexcusable as is excessive zeal, and apathy as antagonism.

The Bible, free to us as are the fields of science, challenges the severest scrutiny. It is the boldest of books, and demands the application of every test. As it is the most comprehensive history in the world, and gives amplest scope for research; as its earliest records are the oldest in existence, and its latest prophecies shed light far into the future; as it touches depths and reaches heights which no other book can approach; as it brings into closest connection the visible and invisible, natural law and supernatural force, the condition of man and the character of God, it is exposed to assaults which no other book can bear.

Systematic and persistent study is required at your hand, that you may estimate aright not only the facts and arguments brought against the Bible, but those also which are adduced in its favor. The task may be arduous, but this price is not too great for the settlement of questions so momentous; and if the solution of some of them may have to be for a season postponed, yours will be the satisfaction which the conscientious improvement of every opportunity invariably fosters.

Different lines of investigation may be profitably followed, but we may suggest the following as exhaustive, or nearly exhaustive, of the most prominent questions which modern research has raised.

As the Bible is confessedly related to the natural sciences, archæology, history, and modern civilization, let it be placed successively in the midst of their facts, and let us see to what extent its statements can bear their light.

There are many questions which none of us can honestly avoid; and while some may remain unsettled, the unbiased review of those solutions which have been already offered, and which have been generally accepted, will be found to confirm scripture instead of confuting it.

1. As to science. Have astronomy and geology given evidence for or against the eternity of the visible universe? Has biology determined the origin of life? Whence it is? Have comparative anatomy and physiology, psychology and ethics, established more than one origin for the human race? Are the incidental allusions in scripture contradicted or confirmed in natural science?

2. As to archæology. Can the Bible confront prehistoric revelations? Antiquity is pouring over the oldest records, increasing light. Ruins, monuments, inscriptions, parchments, have been emitting their wondrous testimonies, parallel with scripture histories. Assyria, Egypt, Palestine, Greece, Rome, in their histories, revolutions, and domestic episodes, have all been interwoven with the statements of scripture as with those of no other book. To what purpose has historic criticism dealt with the sacred page? Is the Bible yielding or is it growing brighter in the crucible of archæology?

3. As to modern history and civilization. By its claim to uplift and bless the human race, the Bible is separated from all other books. It proposes to revolutionize man’s moral history here, and to prepare him for a future whose course it in part delineates. Has it failed, or is it failing? Has it been enfeebled by the lapse of ages? Has it become effete amid changes which have given intellect new instruments and reason new spheres? Has it lost its former hold of the human mind, and is it sinking amid the tumult of bitterly conflicting opinions? Has ever tribe been found which it could not raise and enlighten? Or has ever civilization outshone, in any land, its intellectual and moral splendor?

4. As to the supernatural. If the Bible is the book which it professes to be, and which we hold it is, the ordinary and the extraordinary, the natural and the supernatural, must be associated in its character and history. What is the warrant which men of science adduce for repudiating the supernatural while they accept the natural? And by what reason does the Christian apologist attempt to preserve their connection? Is there no evidence around us in the contrasts of barbarism and civilization, as well as in the histories of nations, in their relation to prophecy? And are there no facts in the strangely revolutionized lives of thousands in the Christian church, which proclaim the singular moral force of the word of God?

[October 14.]

Assuming that you are willing to follow such a course of study as we have sketched, either to remove doubts which may be lingering in your own mind, or to aid some brother in his struggle to win the repose which you have gained, we shall, at the outset, offer some suggestions as to the spirit and the method by which your work should be characterized. It is of much importance to know, what is, and what is not, within our reach.

1. Do not assume the possibility, in the present state of our knowledge, of demonstrating a perfect agreement between science and scripture, or rather between the inferences of the philosopher and the interpretations of the theologian. Much remains to be ascertained before that result can be realized. The natural sciences are confessedly incomplete; some of them are only in their infancy, and can teach us little. Many years may pass before they can be brought into perfect accord with the Bible. As the facts of natural science have not been all ascertained and classified, as its laws have not been all recognized, and as the inferences of to-day may be modified by the discoveries of to-morrow, it is absurd to be demanding immediate evidence of a perfect agreement between science and scripture. Apparent contradictions are, at the present stage unavoidable. There must first be an exact and exhaustive examination of all those points at which the scriptures and the sciences touch each other; for so long as a single fact or a single law remains unknown, some important or essential truth, intimately related to the Bible, may be concealed. While the natural sciences continue incomplete, natural theology must necessarily have an imperfect foundation. As confessedly dependent on what is incomplete, natural theology can have neither the comprehensiveness nor the definiteness which characterizes supernatural theology, as dependent on what is now complete and unvarying. We can not force the legitimate yet somewhat incoherent teachings of the one book—the works of God—of which but a few leaves have been separated, scanned and paged, into perfect harmony with the teachings of the other book, whose revelation of truth has been finished, accredited, and closed.

2. Wait patiently, while you work persistently, for the solution of difficulties which may be continuing to press upon you. The experience of the past is an encouragement for the future. The sciences have again and again become their own interpreter, and rejected erroneous inferences. Many examples might be given, but one or two may in the meantime suffice. Human skeletons were found in what seemed old limestone, on the northeast coast of the mainland of Guadaloupe; and after bold attacks on the Bible, which were met by some very weak and irregular defenses, it was ascertained that the whole was a mistake, that the limestone was of very recent formation, that the skeletons were of well-known Indian tribes, and agitation ceased. A similar commotion was raised when the supposed imprints of human feet on limestone had been figured and described in the American Journal of Science; and Christians met strange infidel hypotheses by feeble assertions, until Dr. Dale Owen proved the imprints to have been sculptured by an Indian tribe. Thereafter, for a season, the scientific inquirer and the theological student prosecuted their respective investigations in peace. There are important lessons for us in these, and in many similar facts. Christian apologists have often egregiously erred, not only in hastily accepting statements as to supposed facts, but in admitting the validity of the reasoning which has been eagerly founded on them, and in making a fruitless attempt to twist scripture into harmony with what science itself has subsequently disowned. Facts ill observed, and afterward misstated, have drawn many of our best and most candid students into unnecessary collision with biblical critics; and, after much heat in controversy, and the waste on both sides of much intellectual energy, the obstacle lying between them has unexpectedly vanished in the fuller light of science. The evil to be deplored is, that after the errors have disappeared their influence remains. The imprint often lingers after the counterfeit die has been broken.

3. There is a constant tendency on the part of discoverers to invest new facts with a fictitious interest, and those who are hostile to the Bible eagerly parade them for the discomfiture of Christians. Every fact is to be welcomed, but it is to be treasured up only that it may be adjusted to other facts, and become in part the foundation of a new truth. Isolated and unexplained facts have been too often unceremoniously dragged in to give testimony against some scripture statement, and have too easily been held sufficient to push aside those accumulated evidences to its truth, which history, or science, or both, had indisputably established. It is not, indeed, surprising that the faith of many young men has failed, when they have observed the too ready acquiescence of prominent Christian writers in theories which necessitate the abandonment of some of the impregnable fortresses which have been raised by exact scholarship around those portions of scripture which had longest been exposed to the fiercest assaults. Were this method common, no permanent foundation could be laid, and progress in any science would be impossible. Is it not absurd to be displacing cornerstones, and disowning, at random, first principles? No system of philosophy, no science, not even mathematical, the exactest, and in one sense the most permanent of all the sciences, could have any weight or make the least progress if subjected to such changes in both its principles and their applications, as have marked the history of Bible assaults, concessions and defenses. When facts, which are utterly inexplicable are presented, we should retain the fact in science and also the relative statement in scripture, assured that in due time the solution will come.

[October 21.]

4. Neither accept nor offer apologies for the Bible. It has, of late, become common on the part of those who are alarmed by the temporary triumphs which scientific investigation has given to those who are avowedly hostile to the Bible, to demand that its propositions be altogether disassociated from both science and philosophy, on the plea that the Bible was not given to teach either the one or the other. The proposal is plausible, but it is really unnecessary, for although not given to teach physical science, the Bible can not contradict either its facts or its legitimate inferences. The word of God can not be regarded as by any possibility contradicting the just lessons of his works. Like every other book, the Bible must bear all the light that can fall on its pages; and it must not only stand the tests of criticism and history, but vindicate all its claims as the “more sure word of prophecy.” Otherwise, appeals for leniency are profitless. True, in its highest connections, the Bible is unapproachable by other books; it is easily distinguishable from them all; yet in its human relations it must submit to all the ordinary appliances of scholarship. No apologies can justify a single error in either its science or its history, and its propositions are obviously inadmissable if they contradict human reason; they may be above, but they can not be opposed to it.

5. Akin to an easy escape from difficulties, through apologies for the Bible, is the tendency to glide into conclusions directly hostile. The prevailing activity of the age is so unfavorable to leisurely investigations as to facilitate the subtle advances of error. While many writers of the present day are as preëminently gifted, and as distinguished in the different departments of learning, as those of any preceding age; and while their reasonings and their conclusions are borne by the daily and the serial press to every man’s door, multitudes think and decide by substitute. They want leisure, and trust to others. Rapidity of locomotion, the chief physical feature of our time, betokens also its intellectual tendencies. Men read cursorily and decide rapidly. The daily newspaper is making book-study rarer than hitherto. It is felt in ten thousand instances to be distasteful or difficult. The subtle influence of the daily newspaper is telling on our thoughtfulness. We really seem to be approaching the fulfillment of Lamartine’s prediction, “Before this century shall have run out, journalism will be the whole press, the whole of human thought. Thought will not have had time to ripen, to accommodate itself into the form of a book. The book will arrive too late; the only book possible soon, will be a newspaper.”

As one result of this process, truth and error are often imperceptibly mingled. So swift is the transition from one fact and inference to another, that truth and error, like different colors blent into one by rapid motion, become so much alike, that few can separate them. Thus with every advance of truth, error is wafted forward. The seeds of future tares and wheat are being profusely scattered. It can not be denied, that while to almost every man’s door are daily wafted accurate records of passing history, of the discoveries of science, of the triumphs of art, and of the generalizations of philosophy, the same messengers no less sedulously exhibit, now faintly and now in the strongest light, every difficulty connected with the Bible, both real and imaginary, the boldest objections of historic criticism, the theories of speculative philosophy, the apparent contradictions of science and scripture, and the saddening conflicts of professing Christians. The constant diffusion of such influences does tell in the long run, not only on less active minds, but on the most energetic, and it renders easier of acceptance every erroneous conclusion.

But this incessant activity is a symptom of health. It augurs good. Rightly directed, it may strengthen character while it develops mental power, and gives a more exquisite appreciation of the just and true. But remember that everything depends on this rightness of direction; and to secure this, unfailing caution is required. The wind and tide which, rightly used, would hasten the voyager to his harbor, may, if unheeded, strand him on an unexpected shore; and those subtle forces, and those under-currents, which should have aided in guiding us to a satisfying intellectual and moral repose, may, through the thoughtlessness or the indolence that at the outset disregarded a slight divergence from the truth, almost but not altogether imperceptible, destroy our happiness through the shipwreck and the ultimate abandonment of our Christian faith.

6. Another common tendency in the wrong direction claims your attention. It manifests itself in repugnance to controversy or discussion in every form. Many shrink from it as unseemly, and seek escape in either solitude or study. While peace is in itself desirable, it is not always attainable. You cannot escape conflict by letting go the Bible; nor can you traverse any fields of science without entanglement in the intellectual struggles of disputants whose reasonings have sometimes but little of the calmness of philosophy. Nor is this to be regretted. The repose of meditation is not so bracing as the discipline of occasional contest for the truth.

[October 28.]

There are other advantages. The attrition of discussion often reveals and beautifies truths which would otherwise have remained unrecognized. Apathy or silence may shelter error without preserving truth. Intellectual indolence, bad for the world, is still worse for the Church. The highest life is demanded by the Bible, and, therefore, also the greatest activity. From intellectual warfare, the sciences and the scriptures have nothing to lose, but everything to gain. On Christian or skeptic, on prophet true or false, the Bible never enforces silence. It seals no thinker’s lip. “The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream; and he that hath my word, let him speak my word faithfully. What is the chaff to the wheat? saith the Lord.” In the field of thought, nothing save the chaff perishes. Lost truths spring up again; and, beneath their spreading branches, vitiated reasoning, unsound criticism, and erroneous conclusions, ultimately decay as briers beneath the spreading oak.

There are those also who deplore discussion only because it raises questions hostile to the scriptures, and alarms the weak. This anxiety, though laudable, is fruitless. Vital questions are already discussed on all hands, and in every variety of aspect. There are disadvantages, but they are generally inseparable from the progress of truth.

It will be admitted on both sides, that while the extension of exact knowledge contracts the sphere of superstition, it enlarges at the same time the sphere of skepticism. Superstition may be displaced without Christianity becoming its substitute; there may be a high and an attractive civilization, based on science and its applications, which, in acknowledging the intellectual and moral supremacy of the Bible, and nothing more, may for a season destroy credulity, only to give fuller scope to no-belief, and to evoke ultimately an opposition to the Bible hitherto repressed or unknown. For such results we must be prepared; they are collateral, not essential or direct. They are, in fact, the price which we pay for our intellectual freedom. We are neither to falter nor hesitate because the increasing light, which is dissipating ignorance and extending the boundaries of truth, is at the same time indirectly opening to error a wider field for the distribution of her forces, revealing new weapons for her armory, and enabling her to seize and for a season to retain, positions hitherto unknown and unassailed. In the history of the physical sciences, and of archæological discovery, error has often rushed to the battlements of truth, and, seizing some detached or imaginary facts, has wielded them against the Bible, until the sciences have themselves expelled her, and repudiated her reasoning. Such agitation is not to be deplored; it conducts to stability, it evokes more good than evil, and not unfrequently has it happened that the superstition which long benumbed the Church, and the infidelity which aroused her, have yielded to the unexpected sway of some Bible truth, when a more definite meaning has been given to some natural law or Providential dispensation.

Those misunderstand the character of the Bible who suppose its safety lies in keeping it as far as possible from the rigorous investigations and the exact conclusions of science or philosophy. Such a method is indispensable. To pursue truth in one department, implies, or should imply, not only a love of truth in every department, but also a resolute purpose to discover and dislodge every error. Which of the sciences, as preserved from controversy, is entitled to cast the first stone at the others, or their students? “Philosophy and literature,” says Lord Kinloch, in an admirable work, “while professing to pursue truth in the composure of unruffled seclusion, and to be desirous of having it elicited by the healthy excitement of friendly debate, will protest against the dishonor of soiling their hands, or disarranging their robes in the turmoil of heated controversy; and least of all will they consent to be defiled with the mire or exposed to the perils of religious strife. This plea is false in fact, as it is futile in philosophy. It is in fact false; for literary and philosophical controversies have neither been few in number nor wanting in a keen and rancorous spirit. And, admitting that religious contentions have been still more rancorous and embittered, it is only what might be reasonably expected, on account of the higher interests at stake. The plea is, moreover, worthless on philosophical principles; for it eviscerates the distinction between truth and error of all meaning and value. Better not to admit the distinction at all, than, having admitted it in one instance, deny it in another; or, what is worse, depreciate its significance even to thought, and that too in the most important of its applications. All argument and all effort are forever at an end, unless truth,—yea, all truth,—be precious; so precious, that in the legitimate pursuit of it we may and ought to put forth our utmost strength; and in defense of it, when found, incur the utmost hazard.”

Do not be discouraged by apparently insurmountable obstacles. The boldest assertions and the most plausible reasonings need not disturb you. Difficulties seemingly insuperable have, in the past, suddenly evanished in the light of unexpected discoveries; and every science, you may rest assured, will hereafter show strength enough and light enough to purify its own temple and be its own interpreter. The past may be held to be prophetic of future solutions; and the sciences will be found not only correcting the mistakes and the arrogance of many of their students, but rebuking the too hasty concessions of Christian apologists, and either directly or indirectly revealing, at the same time, the impressiveness and the majesty of scripture truth.

[POLITICAL ECONOMY.]

By G. M. STEELE, D.D.

I.

I. DEFINITIONS—UTILITY OF THE SUBJECT.

1. Social science comprises the statement and explanation of the natural laws which govern men in their mutual relations. Political economy is the application of that portion of those laws which pertain to the production and distribution of wealth. Now we are not to be discouraged by this term wealth, as though the subject were one which concerns only rich men, and in which a poor man could have no interest. The man who has a little property, worth only one or two hundred dollars, is just as really a possessor of wealth as one who has one or two millions; and to be able to acquire and rightly use these small fortunes is, in the aggregate, of more importance than the acquisition and management of the greater riches of the few.

2. But what is meant by wealth? For the present it is enough to say that it comprises all things which have value. A more complete definition will follow by and by. What, then, do we mean by value? This, too, has many forms of definition, but they for the most part have one element in common. The general notion concerning it is that it has reference to the amount of one commodity that may be equitably given in exchange for a designated amount of another; this is a correct notion. Thus a bushel of wheat may be exchanged for two bushels of oats, or a cord of wood for twenty yards of cloth. That is, the value of a bushel of wheat is that of two bushels of oats, and the value of twenty yards of cloth is the same as that of a cord of wood. It is thus seen to be a relative term, and not indicative of any quality of any one thing considered by itself. But in all instances of relationship there must be some ground of the relation. Let us try to determine what it is in this case. A superficial thinker might decide that it is money, from the fact that value is generally estimated in money. But money is itself in the same relation to all other commodities in this respect as they are to one another, and its value rests upon the same basis.

3. The chief element in value, and that constitutes its original standard, is the cost of production; and by cost is meant the amount of labor involved. Labor is the voluntary effort put forth by man to secure some desired object. But when we say this, a little caution is needed. We are not to infer that the present value of an article is estimated by the amount of labor required at the time of its production, especially if that was a long time ago. A hundred years since, it required the labor of a man for days to produce a yard of cotton cloth. A dozen yards of better cloth can now be produced by the same amount of labor; of course the present value of the latter is superior to the present value of the former, even if this were as good as new. It is the labor that would be required to reproduce or replace an article which determines its value.

4. But there is another element which is essential to value; this is utility. It comprises all those qualities in an object which make it available to gratify any desire. It will readily be seen that there are objects which have utility and at the same time are without value. They are such objects as cost nothing; that is, such as involve no labor in their acquisition. Thus air, and sunshine, and rain, have no value; but they are of immeasurable utility. Value is often in the inverse ratio of utility. Iron is a far more useful metal than gold, but gold is vastly more valuable than iron. Still, though utility may exist where there is no value, there can be no value where there is no utility; because no one would put forth effort for that which could not gratify any desire, and it is the ability to gratify desire that constitutes utility. Sometimes utility becomes the paramount element in determining value; but ordinarily it is subordinate to the cost of production. When the article is one for which there is a very great demand, and of which there is a great scarcity, the value may increase many times beyond the cost. In such case the utility rather than cost rules. But where the demand is readily and fully met by the supply, the cost controls.

5. But valuable things can not be produced very largely without tools, implements, and various contrivances. These constitute capital. Capital is the result of previous labor reserved and employed in further production. This implies self-denial. A man can not consume what he has secured by labor and at the same time preserve it to aid in additional production. Hence he must restrain his desires if he would save something for this purpose. This capital is sometimes called pre-existent labor. The point to be observed is that its existence is due, not to labor alone, but to abstinence as well. The two elements in the cost of production are labor and abstinence, and we may combine these in the one term, sacrifice. Sacrifice and utility, then, are the two essential conditions of value; and we may complete our definition of value by saying that value is man’s estimate of the amount of sacrifice requisite to the attainment of a desired object.

6. Hence, if wealth comprises all valuable objects, and if every desirable object which involves sacrifice has value, it would be a proper definition to say that wealth consists of all those objects and qualities useful to man, the attainment of which involves sacrifice. This includes not only material objects and qualities, but also all those human powers acquired by sacrifice, which enable man to master nature. This is not admitted by many writers. But Mr. Carey states, in a broad way, that “Wealth is the power to command the always gratuitous services of nature.” When man is at his weakest nature does nothing for him. Every infant, if dependent on nature alone, would inevitably perish. So in the infancy of society, it is only by the most strenuous exertion that a precarious existence is secured. But with every increment of power in man, nature multiplies her services. They are not bought but freely given, and given as soon as man is able to command them. In the most advanced civilization the forces of nature have become so subservient to man that in thousands of cases one can accomplish what a score, or sometimes even a hundred, could not formerly have done. It is this increase of power more than that of material commodities which constitutes the real wealth of the world.

7. From this it follows that the proper subject of political economy is MAN. The laws pertaining to the underlying science are found in the nature and character of man—in his tastes, his desires, in the motives influencing him and in the limitations to which he is subject. The results to be achieved are his prosperity and freedom, his mastery over nature, and his happiness. Here, then, is the prime reason why every person who aspires to any intelligence at all should have some acquaintance with this subject. It has to do more than any other study with his temporal welfare, and with the welfare of society, without the prosperity of which his individual prosperity will suffer.

8. A second reason is implied in the meaning of the terms used. Economy is from a Greek compound signifying husbandry. It has reference to the prudent management by a householder of his means so as to secure the largest measure of prosperity for his family. It does not mean parsimony, nor even mere frugality; that is, it does not consist in mere abstinence for the sake of saving. It is rather a wise use of means and forces, so as to make them as effective as possible. There is an old proverb which says, “There is more in calculation than in hard work,” and though sometimes perverted in the interest of human laziness, it is nevertheless full of philosophy. It is this “calculation” which such a study greatly aids.

9. Political economy, as the term implies, has reference to man in society,—to “the body politic.” The social element in man is as imperative as any part of his constitution. Man’s greatest need is association. The solitary individual is only a minute constituent of man in man’s relation to the main purposes of life. No man is complete in himself. He must be supplemented by others, generally by many others, and he must find a large part of his own completeness in this association. Each has something that others lack, and we are designed to be sources of mutual supply to our several wants.

Here emerges another vital fact. Individuality is as indispensable as association. A superficial thinker might regard these characteristics as antagonistic. The fact is so far otherwise that each is really dependent on the other. Men must differ in order to be of any use to one another. It is the difference that makes the individuality. Mutual aid is the object of association. Hence the greater the difference, the greater the individuality; and the greater the individuality, the greater the association. No man would associate with another unless the one had something which the other lacked. But for this there would be no commerce. Two farmers producing nothing but wheat would have nothing to exchange with each other. Two men of precisely the same mental possessions, habits and aptitudes, would never be companions for each other.

On the other hand it is only by association that individuality becomes the most highly developed. Only by such development do the differences among men become great and numerous. In the lower grades of humanity there is comparatively little difference between individuals, and there is little association. It is only in advanced civilization that a strongly marked individuality exists, and that we find those numerous differences which make the mutual dependence the greatest. Here is a potent reason for the study of this subject. It is impossible to estimate the power of association in production alone. It is known in a general way that the combination of men gives greatly increased results as compared with those of men working separately. Yet it is not nearly realized that a hundred men properly associated in an industrial enterprise will often effect two or three hundred times as much as all the very same men working separately.

10. Again, this subject intimately concerns man in his governmental relations. For governments must furnish many of the conditions for the best economical results. Then, too, the great moral enterprises of the age, and of all ages, have to do with the principles here involved; education, pauperism, vicious social usages, the dangerous classes, have to be considered, and can only rightly be considered in the light of these truths. It is wonderful how closely this study is connected with all the great interests of humanity. Whole communities which have been impoverished and demoralized by neglecting some of the obvious principles of political economy, have revived and prospered under their application. Portions of our own country are examples of both these kinds of effects, and that, too, within the memory of men now living.

We shall follow the usual plan of the division of the subject under the heads of production, consumption, exchange and distribution.

II. PRODUCTION—LABOR.

1. Production is the creation of value by rendering the utilities of nature available to man. The creation, it will be noticed, is not of matter but of value. There are two great agencies which must co-operate in production—nature and man. Man furnishes labor; nature furnishes materials and forces. The former would be useless without the latter. There must be soils, and mines, and trees, and animals, or no matter how much labor there may be, there can be no grain, nor fruit, nor metals, nor lumber; no houses and no meat, nor hides nor leather. So also there may be all kinds of material, but without labor they are of no available service to man.

2. But nature furnishes not only materials but also forces to aid man in his productive efforts. The more obvious and palpable of these are gravitation, especially in falling water, wind, the explosive property of gunpowder and dynamite, the expansive power of steam, magnetism, electricity, and the forces of vegetation. There are also numerous passive powers, or properties of matter which, when adapted by man, give him much advantage; such are the mechanical powers of the lever, inclined plane, wheel and axle, pulley and wedge, and those qualities of the metals which render them capable of taking an edge for cutting purposes, as also malleability, ductility, elasticity, etc. It is a beneficent fact of nature that she furnishes these materials and forces gratuitously. She is not churlish nor parsimonious in this respect. The more we avail ourselves of her help, the more ready she is to help us; and the greater the advantage we obtain, the more lavishly she bestows her gifts upon us.

It is thus seen that labor consists not in creating things but in moving them; that is, in effecting changes. It directs the natural forces to the service of man, and it is in this that production consists. It can move materials into position where these forces can act upon them with the desired effect. Thus an agricultural laborer can effect such changes in the soil as are requisite to the growth of corn; he can place the seed in the ground, but he can not make the crop. It is as impossible for him to create a kernel of grain as to create a planet. Labor may move the fuel to the fire-place and properly dispose it for kindling. It may move a match, which by a previous movement has taken fire, to the prepared fuel; but all this would be useless but for the conditions and forces which nature furnishes.

3. The application of labor to production is of two kinds, direct and indirect. The direct changes effected by labor may be embraced under the three heads of transmutation, transformation, and transportation. The first comprises elementary changes, as when under required conditions ingredients of the soil and of the atmosphere are changed into grain and vegetables, and fruit. The second is where there is simply a change in the form of the material, as when boards are made into a table, or leather into shoes. The third implies merely a change of place, as when coal in a mine, where it has no value, becomes valuable by being brought within reach of those who desire it for fuel.

4. The greater part of labor is indirect; in some cases so much so that its relation to the product is unseen. For instance, the man who makes your shoes is not the only laborer concerned in that product. Some previous labor produced the leather, and before that some labor produced the hide from which the leather was made; some persons made the tools, some the house or shop, and some provided sustenance for the shoemaker. All these are conditions, without which no shoes can be made, and all who provide them furnish a part of the labor on which the product of the shoes depends.

Of this indirect labor there are several kinds. (1) Those who provide the materials, and there may be many grades of these; (2) those who furnish the implements and the machinery; (3) those who supply the sustenance and shelter, and raiment for the laborers; (4) the government agencies for protecting the workman; (5) organizers and managers of business enterprises, without whom production would often fall far short of what it now accomplishes; (6) the labor of raising children who are subsequently to become laborers; (7) all those engaged in the work of education, by which men are prepared for the most efficient work—this includes not only teachers, but writers, clergymen, etc.; (8) professional men, who devote themselves to matters essential to the interests of the community and thus not only save the time of the laborers, but often their property and their health, and their lives; (9) inventors and discoverers, who ascertain new conditions of more efficient production. These are the principal, though there are also others.

[READINGS IN ART.]

I.—SCULPTURE: ITS VARIETIES AND MATERIALS.

All work cut out in a solid material, in imitation of natural objects, is called sculpture. Thus carvings in wood, ivory-stone, marble, metal, and works moulded from wax and clay, come under the head of sculpture.

But sculpture, as we are about to consider it, is to be distinguished by the term statuary from all carved work belonging to ornamental art and glyptics. It must be borne in mind, however, that the sculptor does not ordinarily carve his work directly out of the marble; he first makes his statue, or bas relief, in clay or wax. This method enables him to “sketch in clay” and perfect his work in this obedient material. Michael Angelo, and many great masters could dispense with this and carve at once the statue from the block. The modeling in clay is, however, generally the primary work. The “model,” as it is called, is afterward moulded, and by means of this mould a cast of the original clay statue, or bas-relief, is taken by the use of liquid plaster. The clay model is, therefore, like the original drawing of a painter—a master work.

The model completed, most of the carving is done by a skilled laborer, the sculptor taking it up to give the finish, which a master-hand alone can bestow. The copying of the model into marble is accomplished by means of a method of mechanical measurement, or “pointing.” The model and the block of marble are both fastened to a base called a “scale-stone,” to which a standard vertical rod can be attached at corresponding centers, having at its upper end a sliding needle, so adapted by a movable joint as to be set at any angle and fastened by a screw when so set. The master sculptor having marked the governing points with a pencil on the model the instrument is applied to these and the measure taken. The standard being then transferred to the block-base, the pointer, guided by his measure, cuts away the marble, taking care to leave it rather larger than the model, so that the general proportions are kept, and the more important work is then left for the master hand.

The character of work is influenced by the nature of the material in which the sculptor carves; the harder the stone the more difficult to give it the pliant forms of life. It is remarkable that the most ancient and perfect Egyptian statues should have been formed of very hard stones; and, as the ancient Egyptians were not acquainted with steel, they must have been dependent upon bronze, of various degrees of hardness, for their cutting tools. These works are remarkable for their excellence, both of form and proportion, and in the finish given to the details of feature, the dress, and the ornaments.

Assyrian sculpture was in softer stones, limestones and alabaster; only small objects, such as seals, being worked in hard stones.

Greek and Roman sculptors made many statues and bas-reliefs in hard stones, such as basalt, granite, and porphyry. The extreme difficulty of such work may be understood when it is seen that the ordinary method of the chisel and mallet, in the most skillful hands, would be quite unavailing in this hard material. The treadle-wheel, the drill, and the file, are brought to aid the chisel, and even these require the use of emery upon the wheel of the lapidary, in the manner in which the hardest stones are cut.

Clay modeled and dried in the sun, or hardened by the fire, was naturally one of the early forms in which sculpture was developed. At once ready to hand, and easily modeled, it was adopted for the same reasons that made clay convenient for the ordinary vessels of every-day use. We find countless numbers of these baked, or sun-dried clay figures. They have escaped destruction because of the little value of the material and because they resist decay. The Egyptians and Assyrians applied a vitreous glaze to terra-cotta objects, which made them more decorative and more durable.

Terra-cotta was chosen by many sculptors to preserve the spirit and freedom of the original. Although some shrinking under the action of the fire must be allowed for, yet what is well baked is certain to possess the excellence of the fresh clay. It escapes the chances of over-finish, which too often befalls marble and bronze.

Another form of sculpture to be noticed is called chryselephantine, on account of the combined use of gold and ivory; the nude parts of the figure being of ivory, probably with color applied to the features and the drapery of gold. The statue was substantially but roughly made in marble, with wood, perhaps, upon it; the ivory being laid on in thick pieces.

Statues of wood, of various kinds, were made by the most ancient sculptors. Many small figures in wood, the work of the Egyptian carvers, are to be seen in the museums, and the mummy cases show the practice of carving the head, while the trunk is left only partly shaped out of the block.

Bronze was one of the most important forms of ancient statuary. It must be remembered that bronze is an entirely different alloy from brass, the former being an alloy of copper and tin, while brass is of copper and zinc. Small proportions of gold, silver, lead, and iron, were mixed with the bronze by ancient metal-workers to give various colors to their work; thus a blush of shame was produced by allowing the iron in the bronze to rust. Plutarch mentions a face which was pale, the sculptor having mixed silver with the bronze.

The primitive bronze-workers, before they arrived at the knowledge of casting, began by hammering solid metals into shapes. The toreutic art, although not definitely known at present, was probably that of hammering, punching, and chiseling plates of metal, either separately or with a view of fixing them upon stone or wood. Both the solid hammered work and the hollow-plate work is mentioned by the authorities. The hollow statues were built up in pieces, fastened together with nails, rivets, and dove-tails, and it is not improbable that some system of welding was practiced.

The casting of metals in moulds must have followed the discovery that they could be melted. As the sculptor improved in his art of modeling he would be able to make better moulds. He would soon observe that the solid statue was not only very costly, but so very heavy that the whole figure would collapse from sheer weight.

This trouble was corrected by the discovery of a contrivance for casting metals in a hollow mould. It was done pretty much as it is at the present day, by fixing within the mould a core, which did not touch the sides, except at certain small points necessary for support. The space between this and the surface of the mould was to be filled by the molten metal.

There is still another method, less common in modern times, but employed by the ancients, for some of their smaller works. This is when a wax model is encased in clay or plaster of Paris and the molten metal then poured into it to melt the wax, and take the form of the work precisely as it left the hand of the sculptor. The original model is thus destroyed and the bronze takes its place. Some very large and important works have recently been cast in this method, but with the core. In bronze casting with a core, this contrivance must be made with great care. The mould, which is obliged to be formed of pieces fitted together, in order that the model may be taken out, is first well soaked in oil, then melted wax is applied to the inner side of the moulded parts in such thickness as may be required in the metal of the completed statue. But as a hollow metal statue would not be strong enough to support its own weight, a sort of skeleton of iron bars is made to take the general form of the figure, and this strong frame-work is firmly fixed within the mould. We have then the mould, with its wax lining, enclosing the iron skeleton, or armature, as it is called, with an opening left in the proper place to allow of pouring in the liquid plaster of Paris mixed with pounded brick, which fills the space about the armature. Therefore, if at this stage, the mould were taken to pieces again, the sculptor would behold his statue as one of apparently solid wax. Practically this is done in order that he may satisfy himself of the success of his work, and correct it where necessary. The model is then again placed in the mould preparatory to casting.

Galvano-plastique, or the use of electricity, to deposit a thin layer of metal in a pure state upon a model, is an important invention or application of science to art.

Having described the various materials and methods employed in sculptured art, we are ready to classify the different forms adopted and arrange them under the proper terms.

Sculpture in relief is the first division. There are four varieties. Bas-relief, or basso-relievo, is the term used when the work projects from the plain surface, the forms being rounded as in nature. If the work is very little raised, the forms being not so projecting as in nature, it is called flat-relief, or stiacciato. If more raised, but not free from the ground in any place, it is half-relief or mezzo-relievo. If the relief is still higher it becomes full-relief, or alto-relievo, in which parts of the human figure are entirely free from the ground of the slab. In sunk-relief, or cavo-relievo, the work is recessed within an outline, but still raised in flat relief, not projecting above the surface of the slab. Much of the renaissance and modern sculpture combines the first-named kinds of work on different planes in degrees of distance, with some under-cutting. The beauty and character of bas-relief depend much upon the representation of outline.

Statuary proper is sculpture in the round. The statue is therefore seen on every side.

Statues are, (1) standing; (2) seated; (3) recumbent; (4) equestrian.

Statues are classed into five forms as to size: Colossal, above the heroic standard; heroic, above six feet but under the colossal; life-size; small life-size; statuettes, half the size of life and smaller.

To know the proper proportions of the figures is a matter of the utmost value in all sculpture, even more so than in painting, as the statue is measurable on every side and in every direction. It would have been impossible for the ancient Egyptians to carve out of the living rock their tremendous figures unless they had arrived at a rule of proportion for their figure. Without this their colossi would have been only rude monsters. Such a rule they had discovered and laid down in a canon, as it is called, similar to that which was followed by the Greek sculptors after them, and especially made known by Polycletus, whose name it received. Though there is some doubt about the precise terms of the canon, there can be no doubt that it had for its unit of measurement some part of the human figure. The version of Vitruvius Pollio is supposed to be the correct one. He says: “Nature has so composed the human body that the face, from the chin to the top of the forehead, and the roots of the hair, should be a tenth part; also the palm of the hand from the wrist-joint to the tip of the middle finger; the head from the chin to the highest point, an eighth; from the top of the chest to the roots of the hair, a sixth.”

The rule of ten faces, or eight heads, derived from this, has remained to the present time. Several sculptors of a later period, who have given much attention to the subject of proportion, differ slightly from the canon of Polycletus, though it is commonly accepted.

That strict rules of symmetrical proportion should be followed is necessary in all statuary, but especially in that which serves as a decoration for architecture. The knowledge of the figure acquired by eminent sculptors inspired them with admiration for the beautiful, and enabled them to express in the creation of their art an ideal of grand beauty, which was guided by a taste and feeling which rarely failed to direct them aright. It was the greatest sculptor of modern times, Michael Angelo, who said that the sculptor should carry “his compasses in his eye.” Some one comments on this that, “Sculptors, and painters especially, dread the rule of geometry. They regard rule as a fetter upon their invention, not dreaming that this great man (Michael Angelo), before he expressed himself thus, had for so long a time had the compasses in his hand.” This points to a profound truth in all practical art, that no man can be a great artist unless he have the power of drawing in the true proportions of the beautiful.

Having pointed out the leading points in the technic of sculpture, we take up its history, beginning naturally with the earliest forms as found in Egypt.

The Egyptians, inhabiting a flat, uniform country, of pure and salubrious climate, working as sculptors before a written language was invented, carved their colossal sphinx almost entirely out of the living rock; an amazing example of symbolic sculptural representation, combining the human with the brute form of the lion. The date of this first great work is probably earlier than that of the earliest pyramids—that built by Chofo, King of Memphis, the Cheops of Herodotus, and the larger one by Nef Chofo, his son. M. Renan, speaking for M. Mariette, states that a tablet was found by him recording that Nef Chofo did certain repairs to the sphinx; so that since it required repairs, it must already have existed for a considerable time. All small barbaric or archaic work of the ancient Egyptians in sculpture has perished in the vast lapse of time. But this one monument, raised at least 4,000 years before the Christian era, stands to prove, with its companion pyramids, the wonderful power of conception, the energy and practical skill which characterized the early Egyptians. What they lacked in ideas of beauty, they made up for by the simple grandeur in the colossal size and perfection in execution.

The intention of producing a monument to last forever was shown in an equally striking manner in the construction of the pyramids, and with an exercise of science and skill even more remarkable.

Egyptian art, in the form of architecture, was, after the pyramids of Ghizeh, further developed about 1650 B. C., under Osirtesen I., who built the oldest of the temples at Thebes. Columns and obelisks were then invented, and the cavi relievi were largely used. Statuary, however, did not advance until after the Phœnician Shepherd Kings—a body of wandering Arabs, so called, who conquered Upper Egypt for a time—were driven out by Amosis, King of Thebes, about 1450 B. C.

Passing over Amunothph I. and his successor Thothmosis I., of whom there is a fine statue in the Turin Museum, we come to Thothmosis II., whose reign marks a period of vast development, as he married Nitocris, the last Queen of Memphis, capital of Lower Egypt, and thus united the two kingdoms, about 1340 B. C. The great avenue of sphinxes, leading to the temple of Karnak, was made in her reign, and there is a statue of Thothmosis II., a seated figure seven feet nine inches high, in good proportions, of about seven heads high, the fingers and toes straight, not showing the knuckles, and the legs sharply chiseled at the shins, not showing the small bone on the outside of the leg, as in the statues of the later time of Amunothph III. (about 1260 B. C.).

The famous colossus, called the musical Memnon, one of the two still standing in the desert near Thebes, more than fifty feet high, is of this period. These statues are not in good proportion, being too short in the waist. The two fine lions, carved in red granite, belonging to this time, which Lord Prudhoe brought over and presented to the British Museum, are remarkable as examples of fine typical treatment of the lion. They show much grandeur of feeling, and, compared with the modern naturalistic sculpture of lions, they are superior as examples of monumental art.

In 1170 B. C. reigned Ramses II., the greatest of the Egyptian kings, under whom was invented all the wonderful adaptation of the lotus and papyrus plant to the design of columns, as seen in the famous colonnade of the hall of Karnak. His statue, in the Turin Museum, is in the finest style of ancient Theban art; it is a seated figure carved out of a block of black granite, and is not colossal, being only five feet seven inches high. The point to be noticed in this statue is the effort at action, which is not seen in earlier works. The right hand is raised to the breast holding the short sort of crosier of the god Osiris; the left hand resting on the knee, strongly clenched. The colossal statue of Ramses, as Osiris, may be taken as examples, with that of the Memnon, in the British Museum, of the sculpture of this time. The large sphinx in the Louvre bears the name of Ramses II. The four-seated colossi, carved out of the living rock at the entrance of the great temple of Abou Simbel in Ethiopia, represent the same king. They are between sixty and seventy feet high, and wonderfully well sculptured, but the proportions are not so good as in some smaller statues, as they are six heads only in height, and short in the waist and thick in the limbs, showing no attempt at any close or correct imitation of nature. They look straight before them with a calm smile of confident power and contentment. These statues, and others which are to be seen in the museums, are not equal to those of the time of Amunothph III., previously referred to; they are not so well carved, and the features are heavy, with thick noses and lips, while the limbs are clumsy, and without any attempt at accurate modeling.

It will be observed, therefore, that Egyptian sculpture may be classed broadly into three styles. (1) the Egyptian proper, reaching its finest period in the reign of Amunothph III.; (2) the Ethiopic Egyptian; (3) the later Egyptian, leading to the decline of that style of sculpture. Of the first it should be noticed that the general proportions of the figure were more accurately considered than the relative proportions of hands and feet to the limbs, which are generally incorrect. There are, however, some examples of excellent proportion, as in a colossal arm and fist in the British Museum. This arm belonged to a statue of Thothmes III., and came from Memphis. It is about ten feet long. The fist also came from Memphis, and measures four feet across. The heads of statues of this period are of the pure Coptic type, with a nose somewhat aquiline, and the lips comparatively thin. The eyes, however, were always carved in full in profile representations; the feet, one in advance of the other on the same plane. The details of form at the knuckles and legs are well indicated.

In the Ethiopic-Egyptian statues, general proportion is lost sight of; the figures become dumpy, being only six heads high; the limbs are clumsy and wanting in modeling; the hands and feet stiff and not marked by details at the joints; nor do they show the small bone of the leg. The heads are more of the Negro type, with turned-up noses and thick lips.

In the later Egyptian it is remarkable that with more attempt to imitate nature in the modeling of the muscles, the forms of the trunk and limbs become unnaturally puffed. More is added in symbolic attributes; heads of the cat, the hawk, and the ape, are placed on the human body; the dress is more elaborate, that of the head especially, on which a disc for the sun was often placed, as on the god Osiris. From the fall of Thebes, about 1000 B. C., to the conquest of Egypt by the Persians, 523 B. C., sculpture became more and more degraded, and soon lost its original style of simplicity and grandeur of form.

After some two centuries of rule, the Persians were conquered by Alexander the Great, 332 B. C., but there are no statues of Greek style of this date found in Egypt; under the Ptolemies, his successors for 300 years, new temples of inferior but still Egyptian style were built, such as those at Phile, Edfou, and Denderah, and many statues were made, but nearly all have been destroyed, and there is not one of any king or queen of the Ptolemies.

After Egypt became a Roman province, in 38 B. C., Egyptian sculpture, in a debased form, was still continued upon the decoration of the temples, but the statues were then in the hands of Greek artists. Still later, there is the well-known statue of Antinous as an Egyptian, the work of a Greek sculptor of the time of the Emperor Hadrian (A. D. 117-138).

Assyrian sculpture is a discovery of recent times, first made in 1842-3 by Botta, the French consul at Mosul on the banks of the Tigris, and almost simultaneously by Mr. Layard, who though he had seen the ruins of Nineveh in 1840 did not get permission to examine and excavate till 1845. The sculptures differ widely from any in Egypt in being nearly all in bas-relief and high relief. There are very few statues, carved in the round, that stand either with a support practically or on the legs. There are no colossi nearly approaching in size the Egyptian and Greek colossal statues, none being higher than eighteen feet, while as we have seen sixty feet was a moderate height for an Egyptian or Greek colossal figure, and some were higher. The colossal human-headed bulls and lions with wings, at the portals of the king’s palace, are in high relief on huge slabs, one on each side, facing outwards, and one on each side on the wall, with the head turned to look to the front. It does not appear that any principal figure was set up in an interior, either of these compound animals, or of any deity or king. No colossal seated figures like the Egyptian statues have been found. The standing figures carved in relief differ entirely in the expression of the countenance and motive of the figure from the Egyptian. They have all some action; the king grasps a captured lion, or as chief priest he walks with his staff which he holds firmly, while the left hand rests on the hilt of his sword. It is true that the legs are on one plane, and the feet in a position that could not support the body; still the intention to show action and life is there. There is none of the desire to express majestic, calm, eternal repose and content which is so characteristic of Egyptian sculptured statues. Throughout the great number of slabs in the British Museum and in the Louvre there is a very vigorous descriptive power displayed in carving figures of men, horses, chariots, battles, sieges of cities, hunting scenes, processions, rivers with men swimming on inflated skins, with fish and boats; implements, weapons, chairs, baskets, trees, birds, buildings, with a close resemblance to the real objects that is very distinctive of the Assyrian style. The quadrupeds and birds are much better done than the human figures; the character of some of the mules is faithfully given, and there is much feeling for nature in some of the lions in the hunting-scenes. There is no doubt, also, that this naturalistic realism was carried further by painting the sculptures. In none of these painted reliefs, however, is there anything of the careful carving and delicate delineation of the Egyptian cavi relievi; they are all boldly done, and with a good deal of skill, but by hands that would seem to have been self-taught, and at liberty to represent as they pleased so that the conventional attributes and symbolic objects were duly made clear. There is scarcely any regulated use of typical forms; and in the proportions of the figures especially there is no rule. The principal figures are about 6½ heads high, and in others the heads are often larger, while the arms and legs are out of all proportion gigantic, the muscles being exaggerated into masses at the calf and knee, and the shin-bone absurdly prominent. All truth seems to have been sacrificed for the sake of conveying a violent look of immense strength. The battle scenes remind us of some of the puerile representations by mediæval workmen of a poor style, or the debased Roman work seen on sarcophaguses. The Assyrians, unlike the Egyptians, were “mighty hunters,” consequently horses were favorites with the Assyrian carvers, as they were with the Greek sculptors afterwards; they seldom have more than one fore-leg and one hind one, but their heads are carefully carved, and all the trappings show the same intention to obtain exact resemblance as is displayed in the dress and ornaments of the kings and other figures. It is important to observe that these sculptures are very equal in merit; there is no sign of improvement and little of falling off. As to the date of these sculptures, they are much later than all the Egyptian work of the finer style.

It may be concluded that the Assyrian palaces, with their sculptured walls, took a much shorter time to build than the Egyptian, as they were built of sun-baked bricks, with ornamental slabs below, and wooden beams and columns above, all which structures have perished leaving only the stone slabs. The soft nature of the stone, which is a kind of grey alabaster, extremely suited to carving in the manner employed, afforded the facility that influenced the style and enabled the carvers to indulge their inclination for realistic detail. They do not appear to have sought for fine colored hard stones as the Egyptians did, nor do they show the same desire to make their work monumental and enduring.

Assyrian sculpture was always archaic, though at the same time more vigorous in what might be called graphic sculpture, and truer in imitation of nature than Egyptian, which rarely attempted action in the figure or facial expression. There is, however, no alliance between the two styles, and there was never likely to be, as the Assyrians were not a people of poetic and abstract ideas, but of facts, circumstances, and action. They thought of the present glory, and did not trouble themselves about the future. The same characteristics will partly account for the absence of any kind of reference to a future state. The tree of life with the priest ministering before it and holding fruit is to be seen; but it is remarkable that no sepulchral monuments have been found; no tomb or mark of regard in any shape for the welfare of the dead hereafter has been discovered.

Bearing in mind that the Assyrians were never a statue-making people, and never attempted to follow the example of the Egyptians—do we find them influencing the sculptural art of any other people in work like that of the Assyrians? This question is answered at once by the remains found at Persepolis, where there are to be seen similar winged and human-headed lions and bulls, and sculptured slabs, but no statues either in the round or in alto-relievo.

The ruins of the palaces of Cambyses, Darius, and Xerxes, the date of which is from 560 B. C. to the conquests of Alexander the Great (331 B. C.), show only sculptural remains left, after all the soft brick walls and the wooden beams and rafters have long perished. Persian sculptural art since those days never advanced to the dignity of statuary, but like its Assyrian predecessor stopped short where Greek art began to develop. The same is to be observed of that ramification of the Assyrian arts which is to be traced in the building of the temple of Jerusalem under Solomon, which, however, was some five centuries before the time of Cambyses, and about the same length of time after the settling of the Israelites in the Delta of the Nile (1550 B. C.). The law of Moses was sufficient to prevent any sculpture in the likeness of living things; but the cherubim, with their wings, seem to have been borrowed from the Assyrians. The temple was, no doubt, built of stone and cedar-wood after the manner of the Assyrians, and with a profusion of ornament in carving, of valuable marbles, wood, and embossed work in precious metals.

The colossal sculptures in the rock-cut temples of India, whether taken as derived from the Assyrian centre or not, may be classed with that style as semi-barbaric and naturalistic, with a superadded symbolism which only led to the most extravagant deformities of the human figure to express the power and attributes of a deity. Statuary proper never existed in any shape of beauty like the human form, throughout Persia, India, and China, and there is no sign of any disposition amongst the Asiatics to learn the art from their European conquerors; it is not in their nature.

[SELECTIONS FROM AMERICAN LITERATURE.]

[MODERN STATE OF ANCIENT COUNTRIES.]

By GEORGE SANDYS.

The parts I speak of are the most renowned countries and kingdoms; once the seats of most glorious and triumphant empires; the theaters of valor and heroical actions; the soils enriched with all earthly felicities; the places where Nature hath produced her wonderful works; where arts and sciences have been invented and perfected; where wisdom, virtue, policy, and civility, have been planted, have flourished; and, lastly, where God himself did place his own commonwealth, gave laws and oracles, inspired his prophets, sent angels to converse with men; above all, where the Son of God descended to become man; where he honored the earth with his beautiful steps, wrought the works of our redemption, triumphed over death, and ascended into glory; which countries, once so glorious and famous for their happy estate, are now, through vice and ingratitude, become the most deplored spectacles of extreme misery; the wild beasts of mankind having broken in upon them, and rooted out all civility, and the pride of a stern and barbarous tyrant possessing the thrones of ancient and just dominion. Who, aiming only at the height of greatness and sensuality, hath in tract of time reduced so great and goodly a part of the world to that lamentable distress and servitude, under which (to the astonishment of the understanding beholders) it now faints and groaneth. Those rich lands at this present remain waste and overgrown with bushes, receptacles of wild beasts, of thieves, and murderers; large territories dispeopled or thinly inhabited; goodly cities made desolate; sumptuous buildings become ruins; glorious temples either subverted or prostituted to impiety; true religion discountenanced and oppressed; all nobility extinguished; no light of learning permitted, nor virtue cherished; violence and rapine insulting over all, and leaving no security except to an abject mind, and unlooked-on poverty; which calamities of theirs, so great and deserved, are to the rest of the world as threatening instructions. For assistance wherein, I have not only related what I saw of their present condition, but, so far as convenience might permit, presented a brief view of the former estates and first antiquities of those peoples and countries; thence to draw a right image of the frailty of man, the mutability of whatever is worldly, and assurance that, as there is nothing unchangeable saving God, so nothing stable but by his grace and protection.

[THE DESIGN OF THE NEW ENGLAND PLANTATIONS.]

By the Rev. COTTON MATHER.

There were more than a few attempts of the English to people, to settle and improve the parts of New England which were to the northward of New Plymouth, but the designs of those attempts being aimed no higher than the advancement of some worldly interests, a constant series of disasters confounded them, until there was a plantation erected on the nobler designs of Christianity, and that plantation, though it has had more adversaries, perhaps, than any one upon earth, yet, having obtained help from God, it continues to this day. There have been very fine settlements in the northeast regions, but what is become of them? I have heard that one of our ministers, once preaching to a congregation there, urged them to approve themselves a religious people from this consideration: that otherwise they would contradict the main object of planting this wilderness, whereupon a well-known person, then in the assembly, cried out: “Sir, you are mistaken, you think you are preaching to the people at the Bay; our main end was to catch fish.” Truly ’twere to have been wished that something more excellent had been the main end of the settlements in that brave country, which we have, even long since the arrival of that more pious colony at the Bay, now seen dreadfully unsettled, no less than twice, at least, by the sword of the heathen, after they had been replenished by many hundreds of people who had thriven to many thousands of pounds, and all the force of the Bay, too, to assist them in maintaining their settlements. But the same or like inauspicious things attended many other endeavors to make plantations, on such a main end, in several other parts of the country, before the arrival of the Massachusetts colony, which was formed on more glorious aims.

REMARKS ON THE CATALOGUE OF PLANTATIONS.

(1) There are few towns to be now seen on our list but what were existing in this land before the dreadful Indian war which befell us twenty years ago; and there are few towns broken up within the then Massachusetts line by that war but what have revived out of their ashes. Nevertheless the many calamities which have ever since been wasting the country have so nip the growth of it, that its later progress hath held no proportion with what was from the beginning; but yet with such variety, that while the trained companies of some towns are no bigger than they were thirty or forty years ago, others are as big again.

(2) The calamities that have carried off the inhabitants of our several towns have not been all of one sort. Pestilential sicknesses have made fearful havoc in divers places, where the sound have not perhaps been enough to tend the sick, while others have not had one touch from the Angel of Death, and the sword hath cut off scores in sundry places, when others, it may be, have not lost a single man by that avenger.

(3) ’Tis no unusual, though no universal experiment, among us, that while an excellent, laborious, illuminating ministry has been continued in a town, the place has thriven to admiration; but ever since that man’s time they have gone down the wind in all their interests. The gospel has evidently been the making of all our towns, and the blessings of the Upper have been accompanied with the blessings of the Nether Springs. Memorable also is the remark of Slingsby Beibel, Esq., in his most judicious “Book of the Interests of Europe:” “Were not the cold climate of New England supplied by good laws and discipline, the barrenness of the country would never have brought people to it, nor have advanced it in consideration and formidableness above the other English plantations exceeding it much in fertility and other inviting qualities.”

(4) Well may New England lay claim to the name it wears, and to a room in the tenderest affections of its mother, the happy island. For as there are few of our towns but what have their namesakes in England, so the reason why most of our towns are called what they are, is because the chief of the first inhabitants would thus bear up the names of the particular places there from whence they came.

(5) I have heard an aged saint, near his death, thus cheerfully express himself: “Well, I am going to heaven, and I will there tell the faithful who are gone long since from New England thither, that though they who gathered in our churches are all dead and gone, yet the churches are still alive, with as numerous flocks of Christians as were ever among them.” Concerning most of the churches in our catalogue, the report thus carried unto heaven, I must now also send through the earth; but if with “as numerous,” we could in every respect say as gracious, what joy to all the saints, both in heaven and on earth, might be from thence occasioned.—Magnalia Christi Americana.

[EXTRACTS FROM “ESSAYS TO DO GOOD.”]

By the Rev. COTTON MATHER.

To take a poor child, especially an orphan left in poverty, and bestow a liberal education on it, is an admirable charity, yea, it may draw after it a long train of good, and may interest you in all the good done by him whom you have educated. Hence, also, what is done for schools, for colleges, and for hospitals is done for the general good. The endowment and maintenance of these is at once to do good to many.

But alas, how much of the silver and the gold is buried in hands where it is little better than if conveyed back to the mines whence it came. How much of it is employed to as little purpose as what arrives at Hindoostan, where a great part of it, after some circulation, is by the Moguls lodged in subterraneous caves never to see the light again. The Christian whose faith and hope are genuine, acts not thus.

Sometimes elaborate compositions may be prepared for the press, works of great bulk, and of greater worth, by which the best interests of knowledge and virtue might be considerably promoted, but they lie, like the impotent man at the pool of Bethesda, in silent neglect, and are likely to continue in that state, till God inspires some wealthy persons nobly to subscribe to their publication, and by this generous application of their property to bring them abroad. The names of such noble benefactors to mankind ought to live as long as the works themselves live; and when the works do any good, what these have done towards the publishing of them, ought to be “told for a memorial of them.” He urges gentlemen of leisure to seek “some honorable and agreeable employments,” and says, “I will mention one: The Pythagoreans forbade men’s eating their own brains, or keeping their good thoughts to themselves.” The incomparable Boyle observes that as to religious books in general, “those that have been written by laymen, and especially by gentlemen, have (cæteris paribus) been better received and more effectual than those published by clergymen.” Mr. Boyle’s were certainly so. Men of quality have frequently attained such accomplishments in languages and science that they become prodigies of literature. Their libraries also have stupendous collections approaching toward Vatican or Bodleian dimensions. It were much to be wished that persons of wealth and station would qualify themselves for the use of the pen, as well as of the sword, and deserve this eulogium: “They have written excellent things.” An English person of quality in his treatise entitled “A view of the soul,” has the following passage: “It is certainly the highest dignity, if not the greatest happiness of which human nature is capable in the vale below, to have the soul so far enlightened as to become a mirror, conduit or conveyor of God’s truth to others.” It is a bad motto for a man of capacity to say, “My understanding is unfruitful.” Gentlemen, consider what subjects may most properly and usefully fall under your cultivation. Your pens may stab atheism and vice more effectually than other men’s can. If out of your tribe there come those who handle the pen of the writer, they will do uncommon execution. One of them has ingenuously said, “Though I know of some functions, yet I know no truths of religion that like the shew-bread belong to the priests alone.” * * *

To do good is a sure and pleasant way effectually to bespeak God’s blessings on ourselves. Who so likely to find blessings as the men who are blessings? While we work for God, he certainly will work for us, and ours—will do for us more than we have done for him; “more than we can ask or think.” A good action is its own reward.

But what shall be done for the good man in the heavenly world? His part and work in the city of God are at present incomprehensible to us, but the kindness which his God will show him in the strong city will be truly marvelous. The attempts which the Christian has made to fill this world with righteous things, are so many tokens for good to him, that he shall have a portion in that world wherein shall dwell nothing but righteousness. He will be welcomed with “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

I will conclude with a declaration which I will boldly maintain. It is this: Were a man able to write in seven languages, could he daily converse with all the sweets of the liberal sciences to which the most accomplished make pretensions; were he to entertain himself with all ancient and modern history; and could he feast continually on the curiosities which the different branches of learning may discover to him, all this would not afford the ravishing satisfaction which he might find in relieving the distresses of a poor, miserable neighbor, nor would it bear any comparison with the heartfelt delight which he might have by doing service to the kingdom of our great Savior in the world.

[SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE.]

By JONATHAN EDWARDS.

There is a kind of taste of the mind, whereby persons are guided in their judgment of the natural beauty, gracefulness, propriety, nobleness, and sublimity of speeches and action, whereby they judge, as it were, by the glance of the eye, or by inward sensation, and the first impression of the object; so there is likewise such a thing as a divine taste, given and maintained by the Spirit of God, in the hearts of the saints, whereby they are in like manner led and guided in discerning and distinguishing the true spiritual and holy beauty of actions; and that more easily, readily, and accurately, as they have more or less of the Spirit of God dwelling in them. And thus “the sons of God are led by the Spirit of God, in their behavior in the world.”

A holy disposition and spiritual taste, where grace is strong and lively, will enable a soul to determine what actions are right and becoming Christians, not only more speedily, but far more exactly, than the greatest abilities without it. This may be illustrated by the manner in which some habits of mind, and dispositions of heart, of a nature inferior to true grace, will teach and guide a man in his actions. As for instance, if a man be a very good natured man, his good nature will teach him how to act benevolently amongst mankind, and will direct him, on every occasion, to those speeches and actions which are agreeable to rules of goodness, than the strongest reason will a man of a morose temper. So if a man’s heart be under the influence of an entire friendship, and most endeared affection to another, though he be a man of an indifferent capacity, yet this habit of his mind will direct him, far more readily and exactly, to a speech and deportment, or manner of behavior, which shall in all respects be sweet and kind, and agreeable to a benevolent disposition of heart, than the greatest capacity without it. He has, as it were, a spirit within him, that guides him; the habit of his mind is attended with a taste by which he immediately relishes that air and mien which is benevolent, and disrelishes the contrary, and causes him to distinguish between one and the other in a moment, more precisely, than the most accurate reasonings can find out in many hours. As the nature and inward tendency of a stone, or other heavy body, that is let fall from aloft, shows the way to the center of the earth more exactly in an instant than the ablest mathematician, without it, could determine, by his most accurate observations, in a whole day. Thus it is that a spiritual disposition and taste teaches and guides a man in his behavior in the world. So an eminently humble, or meek, or charitable disposition, will direct a person of mean capacity to such a behavior, as is agreeable to Christian rules of humility, meekness and charity, far more readily and precisely than the most diligent study and elaborate reasonings of a man of the strongest faculties, who has not a Christian spirit within him. So also will a spirit of love to God, and holy fear and reverence toward God, and filial confidence in God, and an heavenly disposition, teach and guide a man in his behavior.

It is an exceedingly difficult thing for a wicked man, destitute of Christian principles in his heart to guide him, to know how to demean himself like a Christian, with the life and beauty, and heavenly sweetness of a truly holy, humble, Christ-like behavior. He knows not how to put on these garments; neither do they fit him.

The saints in thus judging of actions by a spiritual taste, have not a particular recourse to express rules of God’s word, with respect to every word and action that is before them, the good or evil of which they thus judge: But yet their taste itself, in general, is subject to the rule of God’s word, and must be tried by that, and a right reasoning upon it. As a man of a rectified palate judges of particular morsels by his taste; but yet his palate itself must be judged of, whether it be right or no, by certain rules and reasons. But a spiritual taste of soul mightily helps the soul in its reasonings on the word of God, and in judging the true meaning of its rules: As it removes the prejudices of a depraved appetite, and naturally leads the thoughts in the right channel, casts a light on the word of God, and causes the true meaning, most naturally, to come to mind, through the harmony there is between the disposition and relish of a sanctified soul, and the true meaning of the rules of God’s word. Yea, this harmony tends to bring the texts themselves to mind, on proper occasions; as the particular state of the stomach and palate tends to bring particular meats and drinks to mind, as are agreeable to that state. “Thus the children of God are led by the Spirit of God” in judging of actions themselves, and in their meditations upon, and judging of, and applying the rules of God’s holy word: And so God “teaches them his statutes and causes them to understand the way of his precepts;” which the Psalmist so often prays for.

But this leading of the spirit is a thing exceedingly diverse from that which some call so; which consists not in teaching them God’s statutes and precepts, that he has already given; but in giving them new precepts by immediate inward speech or suggestion, and has in it no tasting the true excellency of things, or judging or discerning the nature of things at all. They do not determine what is the will of God by any taste or relish, or any manner of judging of the nature of things, but by an immediate dictate concerning the thing to be done; there is no such thing as judgment or wisdom in the case. Whereas, in that leading of the spirit which is peculiar to God’s children, is imparted that true wisdom and holy discretion, so often spoken of in the word of God; which is high above the other way, as the stars are higher than a glow worm; and that which Balaam and Saul (who sometimes were led by the spirit in that other way) never had, and no natural man can have without a change of nature.

[End of Required Reading for October, 1883.]

Man is only a reed, the weakest plant of nature, but he is a thinking reed. It is not necessary that the whole universe should be in arms to crush him. A vapor, a drop of water is sufficient to put him out of existence. But even though the universe could crush him to atoms, man would still be more noble than that which kills him, because he is conscious that he is dying, and of the advantage which the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing.—Pascal.

Nothing is so dangerous as an ignorant friend; a wise enemy is worth much more.—La Fontaine.

[WHERE LIES THE MUSIC?]

By ALICE C. JENNINGS.

[When Paganini once rose to amuse a crowded auditory with his music, he found that his violin had been removed, and a coarser instrument substituted for it. Explaining the trick, he said to the audience, “Now I will show you that the music is not in my violin, but in me.”—Chautauquan for December, 1882.]

An artist once, whose magic could command

That sound its deepest secrets should unfold,

Had found his instrument by evil hand

Exchanged for one of meaner, coarser mould.

Yet, like the clashing tongue of vibrant bells,

The hindrance but a greater power revealed.

“See, I will show thee that the music dwells

In me, and not the instrument I wield.”

He turns, and sweetly, grandly, at his call,

The violin its richest music flings.

The instrument is naught—the player all—