The Chautauquan, March 1885

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The Chautauquan.

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

Vol. V. MARCH, 1885. No. 6.

Officers of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

President, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio. Chancellor, J. H. Vincent, D.D., New Haven, Conn. Counselors, The Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D., the Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C. Wilkinson, D.D.; Edward Everett Hale. Office Secretary, Miss Kate F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J. General Secretary, Albert M. Martin, Pittsburgh, Pa.

Contents

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REQUIRED READING FOR MARCH.

TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE;
Or, THE POISON PROBLEM.
PART VI.

BY FELIX L. OSWALD, M.D.

CHAPTER VI.—SUBJECTIVE REMEDIES.

“Deeprooted evils can not be abolished by striking at the branches.”—Boerhave.[1]

The history of the temperance movement has demonstrated the sad futility of palliative remedies. We have seen that the malady of the poison vice is not a self-limited, but a necessarily progressive evil. The half-way measures of “restrictive” legislation have resulted only in furnishing additional proof that prevention is better, because less impossible, than control.[A] The regulation of the poison traffic, the redress of the unavoidably resulting mischief, the cure and conversion of drunkards, in order to be effectual, would impose intolerable and never ending burdens on the resources even of the wealthiest communities, while the advocates of prohibition would forestall the evils both of the remedy and the disease.

But we should not overlook the truth that, in our own country at least, the poison plant of intemperance springs from a composite root. In southern Spain, under the dominion of the Saracens,[2] the poison vice was almost unknown during a series of centuries.[B] The moral code and the religion of the inhabitants discountenanced intemperance. The virtue of dietetic purity ranked with chastity and cleanliness. An abundance of harmless amusements diverted from vicious pastimes. Under such circumstances the absence of direct temptations constituted a sufficient safeguard against the vice of the poison habit; but in a country like ours the efficacy of prohibition depends on the following supplementary remedies:

1. Instruction.—In the struggle against the powers of darkness light often proves a more effective weapon than might or right. Even the limited light of human reason might help us to avoid mistakes that have undoubtedly retarded the triumph of our cause. We must enlighten, as well as admonish our children, if we would save them from the snares of the tempter; among the victims of intemperance, even among those who can speak from experience and can not deny that their poison has proved the curse of their lives, only a small portion is at all able to comprehend the necessary connection of cause and result. They ascribe their ruin to the spite of fortune, to the machinations of an uncharitable world, to abnormally untoward circumstances, rather than to the normal effects of the insidious poison. Intoxication they admit to be an evil, but defend the moderate use of a liquor as infallibly injurious in the smallest as in the largest dose; they underrate the progressive tendency of their vice and overrate their power of resistance; they cling to the tradition that alcohol, discreetly enjoyed, may prove a blessing instead of a curse. We must banish that fatal delusion. We must reveal the true significance of the poison habit before we can hope to suppress it as a life blighting vice. Our text-books should be found in every college and every village school from Florida to Oregon. Every normal school should graduate teachers of temperance. The law of the State of New York providing for the introduction of primers on the effects of alcoholic beverages was attacked by one of our leading scientific periodicals, with more learning than insight, on the ground that the physiological action of alcohol is as yet obscure even to our ablest pathologists, and therefore not a fit subject for a common school text-book. The same objection might be urged against every other branch of physiology and the natural history of the organic creation. “Every vital process is a miracle,” says Lorenz Oken,[3] “that is, in all essential respects an unexplained phenomenon.” A last question will always remain unanswered wherever the marvelous process of life is concerned, but our ignorance, as well as our knowledge, of that phenomenon has its limits, and in regard to the effects of alcoholic beverages it is precisely the most knowable and most fully demonstrated part of the truth which it behooves every child to know, but of which at present nine tenths of the adults, even in the most civilized countries, remain as ignorant as the natives of Kamtschatka who worship a divinity in the form of a poisonous toadstool. A boy may be brought to comprehend the folly of gambling even before he has mastered the abstruse methods of combination and permutation employed in the calculus of probable loss and gain. We need not study Bentham[4] to demonstrate that honesty is an essential basis of commerce and social intercourse. By the standard of usefulness, too, temperance primers might well take precedence of many other text-books. Our school boys hear all sorts of things about the perils encountered by the explorers of African deserts and Arctic seas, but next to nothing about the pitfalls in their own path—no room for the discussion of such subjects in a curriculum that devotes years to the study of dead languages. Is the difference between the archaic and pliocene form of a Greek verb so much more important than the difference between food and poison?

With such a text as the monster curse of intemperance and its impressive practical lessons, a slight commentary would suffice to turn thousands of young observers into zealous champions of our cause, just as in Germany a few years of gymnastic training have turned nearly every young man into an advocate of physical education. The work begun in the school room should be continued on the lecture platform, but we should not dissemble the truth that in a crowded hall ninety per cent. of the visitors have generally come to hear an orator rather than a teacher, and enjoy an eloquence that stirs up their barrenest emotions as much as if it had fertilized the soil of their intelligence, just as the unrepentant gamesters of a Swiss watering place used to applaud the sensational passages of a drama written expressly to set forth the evils of the gambling hell. Enthusiasm and impressiveness are valuable qualifications of a public speaker, but he should possess the talent of making those agencies the vehicles of instruction. The great mediæval reformers, as well as certain political agitators of a later age, owe their success to their natural or acquired skill in the act of stirring their hearers into an intellectual ferment that proved the leaven of a whole community—for that skill is a talent that can be developed on a basis of pure common sense and should be more assiduously cultivated for the purposes of our reform. A modern philanthropist could hardly confer a greater benefit on his fellow-citizens than by founding a professorship of temperance, or endowing a college with the special condition of a proviso for a weekly lecture on such topics as “The Stimulant Delusion,” “Alcoholism,” “The History of the Temperance Movement.”

Pamphlets, too, may subserve an important didactic purpose, and in the methods of their distribution we might learn a useful lesson from our adversaries, the manufacturers of alcoholic nostrums, who introduce their advertisements into every household, by publishing them combined with almanacs, comic illustrations, note-books, etc., i. e., not only free, but winged with extra inducements to the recipient, and often by the special subvention of druggists and village postmasters—till quack annuals have almost superseded the old family calendars with their miscellanies of pious adages and useful recipes. Could we not retrieve the lost vantage ground by the publication of temperance year-books, compiled by a committee of our best tract societies and distributed by agents of the W. C. T. U.—with inspiring conviction to emulate the zeal stimulated by a bribe of gratuitous brandy bottles?

Popular books must above all be interesting, and with a large plurality of readers that word is still a synonym of entertaining. A German bookseller estimates that the romances of Louisa Mühlbach have done more to familiarize her countrymen with the history of their fatherland than all historical text books, annals and chronicles taken together, and we should not despise the aid of the novelist, if he should possess the gift of making fiction the hand-maid of truth, and the rarer talent of awakening the reflections as well as the emotions of his readers, for all such appeals should prepare the way for the products of the temperance press proper, by which we should never cease to invoke the conscience and the reason of our fellowmen.

2. Proscription.—That union is strength is a truth which asserts itself even at the expense of public welfare, and in favor of those who combine to thwart the purposes of the law or prevent the progress of needed reforms. To the cabals of such adversaries, against whom the influence of moral suasion would be powerless, we should oppose weapons that would strike at the foundation of their strength, namely, the most effectual means to diminish the number of their allies. Many of those who are callous to the stings of conscience would hesitate to defy the stigma of public opinion; others who are proof against all other arguments would yield if we could make it their commercial interest to withdraw their aid from the enemies of mankind.

That the prescription of alcohol for remedial purposes will ultimately be abandoned, like bleeding, blue-pill dosing and other medical anachronisms, is as certain as that the Carpathian peasants will cease to exorcise devils by burning cow dung, and we can somewhat promote the advent of that time by patronizing reform physicians in preference to “brandy-doctors,” as Benjamin Rush[5] used to call them, and by classing alcoholic “bitters” with the prohibited beverages. It is mere mockery to prohibit the sale of small beer and permit quacks to sell their brandy as a “digestive tonic,” and obviate the inconveniences of the Sunday law by consigning their liquor to a drug-store. Does the new name or the admixture of a handful of herbs change the effects of the poison? We might as well prohibit gambling and permit musical lottery drawings under the name of sacred concerts. Till we can do better we should permit druggists to sell alcoholic bitters only on the certified prescription of a responsible physician, all such prescriptions to be duly registered and periodically reported to the Temperance Commissioner of a Board of Health. Nostrum-mongers[6] will probably continue to fleece the ignorant to the end of time, but they must cease to decoy their victims by pandering to the alcohol vice.

3. Healthier Pastimes.—There is no doubt that a lack of better pastimes often tends to promote intemperance. In thousands of our country towns, equidistant from rural sports and the amusements of the metropolis ennui rather than ignorance[C] or natural depravity leads our young men to the dram shop, and in recognizing that fact we should not delude ourselves with the hope that reading-rooms alone could remedy the evil.[D] The craving after excitement, in some form or other, is an instinct of human nature which may be perverted, but can never be wholly suppressed, and in view of the alternative we would find it cheaper—both morally and materially—to gratify that craving in the comparatively harmless way of the Languedoc[9] peasants (who devote the evening hours to singing contests, trials of skill, round dances, etc.), or after the still better plan of the ancient Greeks. Antiquity had its Olympic Games, Nemean and Capitoline arenas, circenses, and local festivals. The Middle Ages had their tournaments, May days, archery contests, church festivals and guild feasts. The Latin nations still find leisure for pastimes of that sort—though in modified, and not always improved, forms; but in Great Britain, Canada and the United States, with their six times twelve hours of monotonous factory work, and Sunday laws against all kinds of recreations, the dreariness of existence has reached a degree which for millions of workingmen has made oblivion a blest refuge, and there is no doubt that many dram-drinkers use alcohol as an anodyne—the most available palliative against the misery of life-weariness. We would try in vain to convert such men by reproofs or ostracism. Before we can persuade them to renounce their excursions to the land of delirium the realities of life must be made less unendurable. They know the dangers of intemperance, but consider it a lesser evil.[E] They know no other remedy. Hence their bitter hatred of those who would deprive them of that only solace. Shall we resign such madmen to their fate? I am afraid that their type is represented by a larger class than current conceptions might incline us to admit. Let those who would verify those conceptions visit a popular beer garden—not as emissaries of our propaganda, but as neutral observers. Let them use a suitable opportunity to turn the current of conversation upon a test topic: “Personal Liberty,” “The Sunday Question,” “Progress of the Prohibition Party.” Let the observer retain his mask of neutrality, and ascertain the views—the private views—of a few specimen topers. Do they deny the physiological tendencies of their practice? The correlation of alcohol and crime? They avoid such topics. No, nine out of ten will prefer an unanswerable or unanswered argument; the iniquity of interfering with the amusements of the poor, with the only available recreations of the less privileged classes. Take that away and what can a man do who has no better pastimes, and can not always stay at home? What shall he do with sixteen hours of leisure?

The question then recurs: How shall we deal with such men? How reclaim them sufficiently even for the nobler purposes of the present life, not to speak of higher aims? How save them from the road that leads down to death? A change of heart may now and then work wonders, even the wonder of a permanent reform; but we have no right to rely on constant miracles, and for thousands in sorest need of help there is only one practical solution of the problem: Let us provide an opportunity of better pastimes—not as a concession to our enemies, but as the most effectual method to counteract the attraction of their snares and deprive them of the only plausible argument against the tendencies of our reform. We need not profane the Sabbath by bull-fights. We need not tempt the poor to spend their wages on railway excursions or the gambling tables of a popular summer resort. But we should recognize the necessity of giving them once a week a chance for outdoor amusements, and unless we should prefer the Swedish compromise plan of devoting the evening of the Sabbath to earthly purposes, we should adopt the suggestion of the Chevalier Bunsen,[10] and amend the eight hour law by a provision for a free Saturday afternoon. Half a day a week, together with the evenings of the long summer days, would suffice where the means of recreation are near at hand. Even the smallest factory villages could afford a little pleasure ground of their own, a public garden with a free gymnasium, a footrace track, ball ground, a tennis-hall or nine-pin-alley, for the winter season, a free bath, and a few zoölogical attractions. In larger towns we might add free music, a restaurant managed on the plan of Susanna Dodds, M.D.,[F] and perhaps a museum of miscellaneous curiosities. Such pleasure resorts should be known as Temperance Gardens. They would redeem as many drunkards as all our prisons and inebriate asylums taken together; they would do more: they would prevent drunkenness. And above all, they would accustom the working classes to associate the name of Temperance with the conceptions of liberality, manliness, cheerfulness, and recreation, instead of—well, their present misconceptions. We might arrange monthly excursions, and the happiest yearly festival would be a Deliverance Feast; an anniversary of the day when the city or village decided to free itself from the curse of the poison traffic. Like some of the Turner halls[11] of the German gymnasts, temperance gardens could be made more than self-supporting by charging a small admission fee to the spectator-seats of the gymnasium, and selling special refreshments at a moderate advance on the cost price. The surplus might be invested in prizes to stimulate competition in such gymnastics as wrestling, running, and hammer throwing (“putting the club,” as the Scotch highlanders call it), with reserved days, or arenas, for juvenile competitors. In winter we might vary the program by archery, singing contests, and trials of skill in various domestic fashions, with an occasional “spelling bee”—at least for those who could be trusted to consider it a pastime, rather than a task, for the purpose of recreation should not be sacrificed even to considerations of utility. In regard to athletics, that apprehension would be superfluous; the enthusiasm of gymnastic emulation has exerted its power at all times and among all nations, and needs but little encouragement to revive in its old might. It would make the Temperance Garden what the Village Green was to the archers of Old England, what the palæstra was to the youth of ancient Greece. It would supersede vicious pastimes; it would regenerate the manhood of the tempted classes, and thus react on their personal and social habits; they would satisfy their craving for excitement in the arena, they would learn to prefer mechanical to chemical stimulants.[G] Physical and moral vigor would go hand in hand.

The union of temperance and athletic education has, indeed, been the ideal of many social reformers, from Pythagoras to Jean Jacques Rousseau,[12] and the secret of their failure was a mistake that has defeated more than one philanthropic project. They failed to begin their reform at the basis of the social structure. He who fears the hardships of such a beginning lacks, after all, true faith in the destiny of his mission. Perseverance and uncompromising loyalty to the tenets of our covenant is to us a duty, as well as the best policy, for as a moral offense treason itself would not be more unpardonable than doubt in the ultimate triumph of a cause like ours. There is a secret which almost seems to have been better known to the philosophers and patriots of antiquity than to this unheroic age of our own, namely, that in the arena of moral contests a clearly undeserved defeat is a step toward victory. In that warfare the scales of fate are not biased by a preponderance of gold or iron. Tyrants have reached the term of their power if they have made deliverance more desirable than life; the persuasive power of Truth is increased by oppression; and if the interests of a cause have become an obvious obstacle in the road of progress and happiness the promoters of that cause have to contend with a law that governs the tendencies of the moral as well as the physical universe, and inexorably dooms the unfit to perish.[H] The unmasked enemies of mankind have no chance to prosper.

And even where their disguises still avail them amidst the ignorance of their victims we should remember the consolation of Jean Jacques Rousseau in his address to the Polish patriots: “They have swallowed you, but you can prevent them from assimilating you.” Our enemies may prevent the recovery of their spoil; they may continue to devour the produce of our fields and of our labor, but we do not propose to let them enjoy their feast in peace; whatever their gastric capacity, it will be our own fault if we do not cause them an indigestion that will diminish their appetite. “All the vile elements of society are against us,” writes one of our lecturers, “but I have no fear of the event if we do not cease to agitate the subject,” and we would, indeed, not deserve success if we should relax our efforts before we have secured the coöperation of every friend of justice and true freedom.

It is true, we invite our friends to a battle-field, but there are times when war is safer than peace, and leads to the truer peace of conscience. The highest development of altruism inspires a devotion to the welfare of mankind that rewards itself by a deliverance from the petty troubles and vexations of daily life; nay, all personal sorrows may thus be sunk out of sight, and those who seek release from grief for the inconstancy of fate, for the frustration of a cherished project, for the loss of a dear friend, may find a peace which fortune can neither give nor take away by devoting themselves to a cause of enduring promise, to the highest abiding interest of their fellowmen. At the dawn of history that highest aim would have been: security against the inroads of barbarism. In the night of the Middle Ages: salvation from the phantoms of superstition. To-day it should be: deliverance from the curse of the poison vice.

That deliverance will more than compensate all sacrifices. Parties, like individuals, are sometimes destined to conquer without a struggle; but the day of triumph is brighter if the powers of darkness have been forced to yield step for step, and we need not regret our labors, our troubles, nor even the disappointment of some minor hopes, for in spite of the long night we have not lost our way, and the waning of the stars often heralds the morning.

FOOTNOTES

[A] “All past legislation has proved ineffectual to restrain the habit of excess. Acts of Parliament intended to lessen, have notoriously augmented the evil, and we must seek a remedy in some new direction, if we are not prepared to abandon the contest or contentedly to watch with folded arms the gradual deterioration of the people. Restriction in the forms which it has hitherto assumed, of shorter hours, more stringent regulation of licensed houses and magisterial control of licenses, has been a conspicuous failure. For a short time after the passing of Lord Aberdare’s act, hopes were entertained of great results from the provisions for early closing, and many chief constables testified to the improved order of the streets under their charge; but it soon appeared that the limitation, while it lessened the labor of the police and advanced their duties an hour or so in the night, was not sufficient to reduce materially the quantity of liquor consumed, or the consequent amount of drunkenness.”—Fortnightly Review.

[B] “The western Saracens abstained not only from wine, but from all fermented and distilled drinks whatsoever, were as innocent of coffee as of tea and tobacco, knew opium only as a soporific medicine, and were inclined to abstemiousness in the use of animal food. Yet six millions of these truest sons of temperance held their own for seven centuries against great odds of heavy-armed Giaours, excelled all christendom in astronomy, medicine, agriculture, chemistry and linguistics, as well as in the abstract sciences, and could boast of a whole galaxy of philosophers and inspired poets.”—International Review, December, 1880.

[C] “Education is the cure of ignorance,” says Judge Pitman, “but ignorance is not the cause of intemperance. Men who drink generally know better than others that the practice is foolish and hurtful.” “It is not the most earnest and intelligent workers in the sphere of public education that make their overestimate of it as a specific for intemperance. While they are fully sensible of that measure of indirect aid which intellectual culture brings to all moral reforms, they feel how weak is this agency alone to measure its strength against the powerful appetite for drink.”

[D] “In a primitive state of society field sports afford abundant pastimes, our wealthy burghers find indoor amusements, and scholars have ideal hunting grounds of their own; but the large class of our fellow-citizens, to whom reading is a task rather than a pleasure, are reduced to the hard choice between their circenses[7] and their panes[8]. Even the slaves of ancient Rome had their saturnalia, when their masters indulged them in the enjoyment of their accumulated arrears of happiness; but our laborers toil like machines, whose best recreation is a temporary respite from work. Human hearts, however, will not renounce their birthright to happiness; and if joy has departed this life they pursue its shadow in the land of dreams, and try to spice the dry bread of daily drudgery with the sweets of delirium.”—International Review, December, 1880.

[E] “But beside their excitative influence, strong stimulants induce a lethargic reaction; and it is for the sake of this after effect that many unfortunates resort to intoxication. They drink in order to get drunk; they are not tempted by the poison-fiend in the guise of a good, familiar spirit, but deliberately invoke the enemy which steals away their brains.”—International Review, December, 1880.

[F] Author of “Health in the Household.”

[G] “I can not help thinking that most of our fashionable diseases might be cured mechanically instead of chemically, by climbing a bitter-wood tree, or chopping it down, if you like, rather than swallowing a decoction of its disgusting leaves.”—Boerhave.

[H] “The ultimate issue of the struggle is certain. If any one doubts the general preponderance of good over evil in human nature, he has only to study the history of moral crusades. The enthusiastic energy and self-devotion with which a great moral cause inspires its soldiers always have prevailed, and always will prevail, over any amount of self-interest or material power arrayed on the other side.”—Goldwin Smith.[13]

SUNDAY READINGS.

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

[March 1.]

Repose now in thy glory, noble founder. Thy work is finished; thy divinity is established. Fear no more to see the edifice of thy labors fall by any fault. Henceforth beyond the reach of frailty, thou shalt witness from the heights of divine peace, the infinite results of thy acts. At the price of a few hours of suffering, which did not even reach thy grand soul, thou hast bought the most complete immortality. Banner of our contests, thou shalt be the standard about which the hottest battle will be given. A thousand times more alive, a thousand times more beloved since thy death than during thy passage here below, thou shalt become the corner-stone of humanity so entirely, that to tear thy name from this world would be to rend it to its foundations. Between thee and God there will no longer be any distinction. Complete conqueror of death, take possession of thy kingdom, whither shall follow thee, by the royal road which thou hast traced, ages of worshipers.

The essential work of Jesus was the creation around him of a circle of disciples in whom he inspired a boundless attachment, and in whose breast he implanted the germ of his doctrine. To have made himself beloved “so much that after his death they did not cease to love him,” this was the crowning work of Jesus, and that which most impressed his contemporaries. His doctrine was so little dogmatical that he never thought of writing it or having it written. A man became his disciple, not by believing this or that, but by following him and loving him. A few sentences treasured up in the memory, and above all, his moral type, and the impression which he had produced, were all that remained of him. Jesus is not a founder of dogmas, a maker of symbols; he is the world’s initiator into a new spirit.… To adhere to Jesus in view of the kingdom of God, was what it was originally to be a Christian.

Thus we comprehend how, by an exceptional destiny, pure Christianity still presents itself, at the end of eighteen centuries, with the character of a universal and eternal religion. It is because in fact the religion of Jesus is in some respects the final religion. The fruit of a perfectly spontaneous movement of souls, free at its birth from every dogmatic constraint, having struggled three hundred years for liberty of conscience, Christianity, in spite of the fall which followed, still gathers the fruits of this surpassing origin. To renew itself it has only to turn to the Gospel. The kingdom of God, as we conceive it, is widely different from the supernatural apparition which the first Christians expected to see burst forth from the clouds. But the sentiment which Jesus introduced into the world is really ours. His perfect idealism is the highest rule of unworldly and virtuous life. He has created that heaven of free souls, in which is found what we ask in vain on earth, the perfect nobility of the children of God, absolute purity, total abstraction from the contamination of this world, that freedom, in short, which material society shuts out as an impossibility, and which finds all its amplitude only in the domain of thought. The great master of those who take refuge in this ideal kingdom of God is Jesus still. He first proclaimed the kingliness of the spirit; he first said, at least by his acts, “My kingdom is not of this world.” The foundation of the true religion is indeed his work. After him there is nothing more but to develop and fructify.

“Christianity” has thus become almost synonymous with “religion.” All that may be done outside of this great and good Christian tradition will be sterile. Jesus founded religion on humanity, as Socrates founded philosophy, as Aristotle founded science. There had been philosophy before Socrates and science before Aristotle. Since Socrates and Aristotle, philosophy and science have made immense progress; but all has been built upon the foundation which they laid. And so, before Jesus, religious thought had passed through many revolutions; since Jesus it has made great conquests; nevertheless it has not departed, it will not depart from the essential condition which Jesus created; he has fixed for eternity the idea of pure worship. The religion of Jesus, in this sense, is not limited. The church has had its epochs and its phases; it has shut itself up in symbols which have had or will have their day; Jesus founded the absolute religion, excluding nothing, determining nothing, save its essence.…

Whatever may be the transformations of dogma, Jesus will remain in religion the creator of its pure sentiment; the Sermon on the Mount will never be surpassed. No resolution will lead us not to join in religion the grand intellectual and moral line at the head of which beams the name of Jesus.—Renan.[1]

[March 8.]

Were you ever made to see and admire the all sufficiency of Christ’s righteousness, and excited by the spirit of God to hunger and thirst after it? Could you ever say, my soul is athirst for Christ, yea, even for the righteousness of Christ? Oh, when shall I come to appear before the presence of my God in the righteousness of Christ; oh, nothing but Christ! nothing but Christ! Give me Christ, O God, and I am satisfied! My soul shall praise thee forever. Was this, I say, ever the language of your hearts? And after these inward conflicts, were you ever enabled to reach out the arm of faith and embrace the blessed Jesus in your souls, so that you could say, My beloved is mine, and I am his? If so, fear not, whoever you are—hail, all hail, you happy souls! The Lord, the Lord Christ, the everlasting God is your righteousness. Christ has justified you, who is he that condemneth you? Christ has died for you, nay, rather is risen again, and ever liveth to make intercession for you. Being now justified by his grace, you have peace with God, and shall ere long be with Jesus in glory, reaping everlasting and unspeakable redemption both in body and soul. For there is no condemnation to those that are really in Christ Jesus. Whether Paul or Apollos or life or death, all is yours if you are Christ’s, for Christ is God’s! … Oh think of the love of Christ in dying for you! If the Lord be your righteousness, let the righteousness of your Lord be ever in your mouth.… Think of the greatness of the gift, as well as of the giver! Show to all the world in whom you have believed! Let all by your fruits know that the Lord is your righteousness, and that you are waiting for your Lord from heaven! Oh, study to be holy, even as he who has called you, and washed you in his own blood, is holy! Let not the righteousness of the Lord be evil spoken of through you. Let not Jesus be wounded in the house of his friends; but grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ day by day. Oh, think of his dying love! Let that love constrain you to obedience! Having much forgiven, love much.—Whitefield.[2]

[March 15.]

But in proportion to the exaltation of the soul, and also in proportion to its purity and spirituality—the very opposite extreme or condition; in proportion to the impressibleness and moral sensibility of a man’s spiritual nature, he has direct communion with God, as friend with friend, face to face. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” There are thousands of instances—they occur in every church where there are eminent Christians—of men and women who come to such a state of spiritual purity and spiritual openness that they talk with God as friend with friend. There is the direct operation of the Spirit of God upon their soul. Not that they less than any others are blessed by the spirit that applies the Word; not that they less than any others are subject to the indirect operations of nature and society; but there is, over and above these, also, for those that are able to take it, this direct inspiration of God’s soul. Whether it be by thought, I know not; or whether it be by moral feeling, I know not. “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the spirit.” I do not know the mode of divine agency; but of the fact that the human soul in its higher spiritual relations is open; that there is nothing between it and God, as it were; that it palpitates, as it were, under the conscious presence of God, and is lifted up to a faith and a truth that are not possible to it in its lower realms—of that fact I have no more doubt than I have of my own existence.

There is such a thing yet as walking with God; there is such a thing yet as being under direct divine inspiration. I do not think there is such a thing yet as authoritative inspiration. Apostles are over and gone. Prophets have had their day. It is individual inspiration that exists now. It is authoritative only for the soul to which it comes, not lifting that soul up into authority, and enabling it to say “Thus saith the Lord” to any other soul. But I believe that still the divine Spirit works upon the individual heart, and teaches that individual heart as a father teaches a child.

Blessed are they that need no argument; and blessed are they whose memories take them back to the glowing hours of experience, in which they have seen the transfigured Christ; in which to them the heavens have been opened; in which to them the angels of God not only have descended upon the ladder, but have brought the divine and sacred presence with them. Many a couch of poverty has been more gorgeous than a prince’s couch; many a hut and hovel has been scarcely less resplendent to the eye of angels than the very battlements of heaven. Many that the world has not known; who had no tongue to speak, and no hand to execute, but only a heart to love and to trust—many such ones have had the very firmament of God lifted above them, all radiant. There is this truth in the Spirit of God that works in the hearts of men directly, and in overpowering measure. Blessed be God, it is a living truth; and there are witnesses of it yet.—Beecher.

[March 22.]

Jesus Christ, in his dying discourse with his eleven disciples, in the 14th, 15th, and 16th chapters of John (which was, as it were, Christ’s last will and testament to his disciples, and to his whole church), often declares his special and everlasting love to them, in the plainest and most positive terms, and promises them a future participation with him in his glory in the most absolute manner, and tells them, at the same time, that he does so to the end that their joy may be full. John xv:2: “These things have I spoken unto you that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” See also, at the conclusion of the whole discourse, chapter xvi:33: “These things have I spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” Christ was not afraid of speaking too plainly and positively to them; he did not desire to hold them in the least suspense. And he concluded that last discourse of his with a prayer in their presence, wherein he speaks positively to his Father of those eleven disciples, as having all of them savingly known him, and believed in him, and received and kept his word; and that they were not of the world; and that for their sakes he sanctified himself; and that his will was that they should be with him in his glory; and tells his Father that he spake these things in his prayer, to the end that his joy might be fulfilled in them: verse 13. By these things it is evident that it is agreeable to Christ’s designs, and the contrived ordering and disposition Christ makes of things in his church, that there should be sufficient and abundant provision made, that his saints might have full assurance of their future glory.

The apostle Paul, through all his epistles, speaks in an assured strain; ever speaking positively of his special relation to Christ, his Lord, and Master, and Redeemer; and his interest in, and expectation of, the future reward. It would be useless to take notice of all places that might be enumerated. I shall mention but three or four. Gal., ii:20: “Christ liveth in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.” Phil., i:21: “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” II. Tim., i:12: “I know whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day.” II. Tim., iv:7,8: “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me at that day.” … It further appears that assurance is not only attainable in some very extraordinary cases, but that all Christians are directed to use all diligence to make their calling and election sure; and are told how they may do it. II. Peter, i:5-8. And it is spoken of as a thing very unbecoming of Christians, and an argument of something very blamable in them, not to know whether Christ be in them or no. II. Cor., xiii:5: “Know ye not your own selves, how that Jesus Christ is in you except ye be reprobates?” And it is implied that it is an argument of a very blamable negligence in Christians, if they practice Christianity after such a manner as to remain uncertain of the rewards, in I. Cor., ix:26: “I therefore so run, not as uncertainly.” And to add no more, it is manifest that for Christians to know their interests in the saving benefits of Christianity is a thing ordinarily attainable, because the apostles tell us by what means Christians (and not only apostles and martyrs) were wont to know this. I. Cor., ii:12: “Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit which is of God, that we might know the things which are fully given to us of God.” And I. John, ii:3: “And hereby do we know that we know him if we keep his commandments.” And verse 5: “Hereby know we that we are in him.” Chapter iii:14: “We know that we have passed from death unto life.” … Verse 19: “Hereby we know that we are of the truth, and shall assure our hearts before him.” Verse 24: “Hereby we know that he abideth in us, by the spirit which he hath given us.” So chapter iv:13, and chapter v:29, and verse 19.—President Edwards.[3]

[March 29.]

Who has an understanding so exalted, so richly gifted, as to be able to say what love is! Should I say it is a dew, I merely describe its refreshing power. Should I say it is a star, I but describe its loveliness. Should I say it is a storm, I but describe the impossibility of restraining it. Should I say it is a ray of the sun, then I but describe its hidden source. Should I say it is produced in the utmost depths of the soul, when the breath of heaven unites with the heart’s blood of the new man, that it is the breath of the soul, still I should not have represented it, for I should but have said what it is in itself, not what it is to others. Should I say it is the light of the sun, that gives life and color to all creatures, still I should not have truly set it forth, for I should but have said what it is for others, not what it is in itself. Should I say it is a ray of the seven colors in a pure drop of water, still I should not have described it, for it is not so much a form as an odor, and a savor, in the depths of the human heart. Who has such a lofty understanding, such deep thoughts, as to be able to say what love truly is! The Scripture says—it is a flame of the Lord.[I] Yes it is a flame, steady, bright, and pure; a flame which lights up and warms, and shines through the heart into which it has entered, and then falls on other hearts, and the more light and warmth it gives to others, the brighter and stronger it burns in our breast.

But love, says the apostle, is greater than faith and hope, for beyond that limit where faith and hope depart, love still remains.… For as the door in this poor temporal life was but a little gate that did not always stand open, but was often shut by a strong gust of wind; in eternity the poor little gate will become a mighty portal, whose doors stand open night and day, which no storm-wind will ever close, through which the soul will freely pass into the heart of God and all his creatures. O, since in this life love has made us so rich, though but a little brook, which, when the sun shone fiercely, was almost dried up, how rich will it not make us when the little brook has become the stream, yea, the ocean, when it flows forth from the heart of God, in full spring-tide, and sin no more builds a barrier in the heart of the creature, and there will be a free and sacred giving and receiving between heaven and earth, and among all that is in heaven and upon earth! O, who has so exalted an understanding that he can truly say what love is!—Tholuck.[4]

FOOTNOTES

[I] Canticles, viii:6, German version.

STUDIES IN KITCHEN SCIENCE AND ART.

VI. CABBAGES, TURNIPS, CARROTS, BEETS, AND ONIONS.

BY BYRON D. HALSTED, SC. D.

The Cabbage is a native of Europe, and grows wild along the sea coasts of England. The wild plant lives for two years, has fleshy leaves, and is so different from the cabbages of the garden as not to be recognized as their parent. Under cultivation this one species of plant (Brassica oleracea[1]) has produced the Savoy, Brussels sprouts, cauliflower, borecole,[2] etc. A more wonderful plant and a more useful one is seldom found in the whole range of the vegetable kingdom. The Romans did much to extend the culture of the cabbage. In Scotland it was not generally known until the time of Cromwell. Much improvement has been made in American sorts of cabbages within the past fifty years. In the wild state the cabbage has a hard, woody stalk, but the fine specimens in market have only a small stem, bearing a large, compact head, of closely folded leaves.

The first essential in the successful growing of cabbage is the right kind of soil. It should be a sandy loam, with a gravelly, and not a clayey subsoil. Soil that is naturally wet must be thoroughly underdrained before being devoted to cabbage growing. The importance of an abundance of well rotted manure can not be too fully impressed upon the mind of any person contemplating the production of excellent cabbages. Much that may be here said concerning the preparation of the soil for growing cabbages applies with equal force to the other vegetables treated in this article. Earliness is one of the leading points to be gained in raising most garden crops. It is the man with the first load of cabbages that gets the best price in the market. There is a great deal of stress to be placed upon the proper selection of seed, but seed is not all. The young plants of the earliest sorts must be fed, and they require this food at an early stage in their growth, when chemical changes are only slowly going on in the soil. In other words, early crops need a far larger amount of manure for their satisfactory growth than crops started in midsummer, when the soil is rapidly yielding up its food elements. Early crops need to grow in cool spring weather, and therefore should be abundantly supplied with food in an available form. Mr. Gregory says in his excellent pamphlet on “How to Grow Cabbages,” “If the farmer desires to make the utmost use of his manure for that season, it will be best to put most of it into the hill, particularly if his supply runs rather short; but if he desires to leave his land in good condition for next year’s crop, he had better use part of it broadcast. My own practice is to use all my rich compost broadcast, and depend on guano, phosphates, or hen manure in the hill.” This view of heavy manuring is confirmed by Mr. Henderson, in his “Farm and Garden Topics,” when he says: “For the early cabbage crop it should always be spread on broadcast, and in quantity not less than one hundred cart loads or seventy-five tons to the acre.… After plowing in the manure, and before the ground is harrowed, our best growers in the vicinity of New York sow from four to five hundred pounds of guano, or bone dust, and then harrow it deeply in.” The best sorts of cabbages for the early crop are: The Jersey Wakefield, which has a head of medium size, close, and of a deep green color; Early York, smaller, but quite early; Early Winningstadt, later, but an excellent sort. Among the best late kinds may be named: Large Flat Dutch, American Drumhead, Drumhead Savoy, and the Red Dutch. The last mentioned is largely used in pickling.

The young plants are obtained from seeds in various ways, determined by the numbers desired. When large quantities are needed for the early crop, the seed is sown in a hot-bed or green-house, about February 1st, for the latitude of New York City, and transplanted into other heated beds near March 1st. In this way fine plants may be obtained by the first of April. Many of the large cabbage growers prepare the soil, mark it in rows, and drop the seed in the hills where the plants are to grow. In this way much labor is saved, and there is the advantage of having several plants in each hill, to guard against losses from cut-worms. Cabbages quickly respond to good culture, and repay in large measure for every stirring of the soil, either with the hoe or the horse cultivator.

The most troublesome insect enemy is probably the Cabbage-worm, which in some localities has destroyed the whole crop. The mature insect deposits its eggs upon the under side of the cabbage leaves. These eggs soon hatch, and the green caterpillars begin their destructive work. No poisonous substances can be applied without endangering the lives of those who may afterward eat the cabbage. Hot water (160 degrees) has proved effective in killing the worms, while not doing injury to the plants. Flea-beetles have done some damage, as also the Cabbage-bug. After the crop is grown the cabbages may be kept by burying them in trenches, heads down. Three facts need to be kept in mind: Repeated freezing and thawing cause rot; excessive moisture also induces decay; and a dry air withers the head and destroys the flavor. About a foot of earth is usually a sufficient covering.

Cabbage in the many forms it is presented upon the table is a most wholesome and agreeable article of food. The farmer’s garden is not complete without a full crop of cabbages. Any heads that are not needed for the family table can be fed with profit to the farm live stock. Poultry in particular, need some green food daily through the winter season, and a cabbage now and then satisfies this natural craving.

Turnips.—The garden turnips belong to the same genus (Brassica) with the cabbages, and are therefore closely related to them. The turnip is supposed to be a native of England and other parts of Europe. It is not known when this plant was first introduced into cultivation, and its wild state is unknown. At the present time it forms one of the prominent crops in all countries adapted to its growth.

The remarks made under the subject of cabbages concerning the free use of manure need not be repeated here. Turnips grow freely upon a rich and mellow soil, kept clean of all weeds. They do not require as fertile a soil as cabbages, and when the earth is very rich, there is sometimes an excessive growth of tops, without a corresponding development of the roots. It is not necessary to say that cabbages are grown for their many thick leaves, while turnips are raised for their roots. Plants as a whole have many places for the storing up of nourishment. Sometimes it is in the stems, as in the potato; in other cases the leaves or roots serve as a store-house of accumulated substance. The plant makes these deposits, to be drawn upon at some future time, either for further growth of the same plant or for the early development of another. The root crops, for example, are naturally plants of two year’s duration. The first season is spent in gathering and storing up substance in a large root. During the following year the starch, sugar, oil, etc., is withdrawn and used in the production of a flower-stalk, upon which the crop of seeds is finally borne, and after this the plant dies.

Turnips are mainly grown as a second crop, following early potatoes, etc. The soil should be made fine and rich before the seed is sown. Rutabagas may be sown from the 15th of June until the 15th of July. Yellow Stone, Aberdeen, White Cowhorn and Strap-leaved Red-top are sown in the order named, and from July 15th to the 1st or 10th of September. The seed is sown in drills, wide enough apart to admit of horse cultivation. The thinning of the plants in the row is of great importance. This work is best done with a hoe, the workman chopping out the turnips and leaving the plants about four to six inches apart in the row. In garden culture the rows need not be so far apart. It is very essential to keep the weeds down and the soil frequently stirred. The harvesting is simple. When growth is completed the roots are pulled, then the tops cut off and the turnips placed in root cellars or pits.

Turnips have an important place in a carefully planned system of farming. The root crop is a means of securing a large amount of most wholesome food for live stock, and at the same time it cleans the soil from weeds and prepares it for the growth of succeeding crops.

The leading insect enemy of young turnip plants is the Turnip-fly. If the seedlings can be protected until they get a good start in life there is no further trouble. Equal parts of wood ashes and land plaster scattered over the young turnip leaves is a good remedy. Air-slaked lime is also employed in the same manner.

The Carrot.—The wild carrot, Daucus Carota,[3] is a native of Europe and has become naturalized in this country to such an extent as to be ranked among the worst of weeds. The cultivated carrot was introduced into England by the Dutch, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth (last half of the sixteenth century), and has since been much improved and quite generally grown. In its native or wild state the root is small, woody, and of very little value as an article of food. All of our so-called “root plants” in the wild state store up only sufficient food in the root to meet the wants of the plant the coming season. This tendency to accumulate has been developed under cultivation, and an excess is stored up, which is appropriated by man. The plant has enjoyed more favorable conditions for growth and been relieved in great part of the struggle for existence that is constantly going on among wild plants. All cultivated plants are living unnatural lives, being favored in various ways, and when they are left to shift for themselves either die or drift back, generation after generation, to the old original form from which the ancestors were forced to depart. No plant is a better illustration of this fact than the carrot. If left for only a few years, the fleshy rooted plants of the garden degenerate into the coarse, woody-rooted weeds of the pasture or hedge-row. We can not pass this point without endeavoring to enforce the importance of keeping up all the most favorable conditions of growth for garden vegetables, and carefully selecting seed of plants that show the least tendency to degenerate.

The plot for growing carrots should be nearly level, otherwise heavy rains may wash the seeds and young plants out of place. The soil should be deep, rich and mellow. Carrots are no exception to the rule that root crops flourish under high culture. When the barnyard fails to supply sufficient manure, it is well to use guano, superphosphates, and other quick acting fertilizers. If the soil is heavy, it is best to sow the seed in ridges made by a plow, thus enabling a horse-weeder to pass between the rows and not injure the young plants coming through the surface. Use seed not over one year old, and it is well to sow some radish seed with it, to come up first and show the rows, thus aiding in the early cultivation of the soil. It is of the greatest importance to keep the weeds down until the carrots get a good start. About six weeks after sowing, that is, the middle of July, thin the plants, leaving them four or five inches apart in the row. The carrots are dug and stored like most root crops. If grown in large quantities, most of the labor of getting the roots out of the soil is performed by horses. Carrots keep well in long piles, six feet wide at the bottom, and of any length. Ventilating holes need to be left at frequent intervals along the ridge of the covered heap. There are several varieties of carrots, some of them being earlier than others, while the size and general shape varies greatly. The Long Orange, Short Horn, Early Horn and White Belgian are among the leading sorts. Market gardeners are now favoring the shorter sorts, the endeavor being to get them turnip-shaped, and thus save much labor in digging the roots.

Beets.—The species Beta vulgaris,[4] the parent of our common beets, is a native of Egypt, and grows wild along the Mediterranean Sea at the present day. The name is from the Celtic word Bett, meaning red, the prevailing color of most beets. This garden vegetable has been generally grown for six hundred years, and during that time has undergone many important changes. Long ago the beet arrived at a state of perfection beyond which it is not easy to pass. The Mangold-Wurzel[5] and Sugar Beets are derived from another species. These are grown very extensively in Europe and are worthy of far more attention by American farmers. The Swiss Chard is another species of the genus Beta, largely grown in some countries for the leaves, which only are used. They are stripped off and used like spinach. The soil best adapted to the growing of beets is a rich, sandy loam, rather light than otherwise. It should be thoroughly pulverized by deep plowing, harrowing, etc., until a fine, mellow bed is prepared for the seeds. The seeds are sown in rows, and the soil should be pressed firmly upon them. For early beets the sowing may be done so soon as the ground can be worked. The late sorts may be sown in July. As soon as the plants are above ground a push-hoe should be passed close to the rows. A few days later the beets need to be thinned to five or six inches in the row. The removed plants make excellent greens. The remaining work until harvest time is keeping the soil free from weeds and loose by frequent hoeing. The rake is better than the hoe, if it is used frequently and no weeds get large. Beets should be harvested before frosts injure them. Handle carefully and store in a place where the temperature is uniformly a few degrees above freezing.

The Egyptian is among the best early sorts; it has a dark blood color, and much resembles a flat turnip in shape. The Long, Smooth, Blood Beet is considered as ranking first for general family and market uses.

The Mangold-Wurzels are coarse beets of large size, grown as a field crop for live stock. The White Sugar is a Mangold, free from much of the red coloring matter of the red sorts. These larger varieties of beets are very extensively grown in Europe for the manufacture of sugar, and it would add to our agricultural wealth if they were more frequently a part of a well planned system of rotation of crops in America. It may not pay for us to make beet sugar, but the use of the roots as a wholesome winter food for stock is profitable.

Onions.—The onion (Allium cepa[6]) has been cultivated from early times, and its native country is unknown. As it is mentioned in sacred writings it is supposed that its home is in the far East. Onions thrive best on old ground, especially if it is a light, sandy loam. The onion field should be nearly level, clear of weeds, and liberally supplied with the best well-rotted manure; guano and superphosphates are excellent for onions. Deep plowing is not necessary. The amount of seed to be used depends upon the kind of onions desired. If they are to be pulled for early market, more seed is required than when they are to attain their full growth.

There are many varieties of onions grown from seeds. The Yellow Danvers, White Portugal and Weathersfield Red are well known sorts, representing the three prevailing colors. Onions are largely grown from sets, that is, bulbs that have ripened while quite small, and when set out grow and form large onions. The small size and early maturity are due to sowing the seed thick. From thirty to forty seeds are sown to each inch of the row. The sets are mature when the leaves begin to wither, and are then removed and dried. In planting the sets they are placed in rows about four inches apart.

The “Potato Onion” or “English Multiplier” is propagated by offsets. An onion of this class, if planted in the spring, will produce a cluster of small ones around it. These small onions will grow into large ones the next season. There are several sorts of onions that bear clusters of small bulbs upon the tops of the flower stalks, in place of seed pods. The “Tree,” “Top,” and “Egyptian” onions are of this class. These bulblets, when planted, produce large bulbs, and these latter, when set out the following season, throw up stalks bearing bulblets.

Onions are ready for harvesting as soon as the leaves droop and become dry. The bulbs should be well cured and placed in a dry, cool, storage room. The crop is sometimes badly injured by smut, especially when onions have been grown upon the same soil for many years. The onion maggot causes some destruction. Guano and unleached ashes, when scattered over the bed, have both proved of value.

The above is only a brief consideration of five of the leading garden vegetables. The first four, namely: Cabbages, turnips, carrots and beets, are to a great extent farm crops, well suited for live stock. The composition of these is as follows:

The turnips contain the least dry substance, and the cabbages are far the richest in albuminoids. The carrot leads in starch, sugar, etc., followed closely by the beets. There is very little poetry in any of the five vegetables here briefly described, though they may enter into the daily food of those who think of lofty things and write in the most elegant style. They are the humble, unobtrusive toilers in the gardens of the world.

THE PREPARATION OF VEGETABLES.

There are two laws underlying the preparation of all vegetables for the table; the first is, cook until tender; the second is, do not cook until mushy and the juice extracted. By overlooking the first you are left with a rank, tough, indigestible dish; by overlooking the second with one watery, and—worst of all culinary adjectives—juiceless. A time-table regulating the exact number of minutes which each vegetable shall be cooked can not be perfectly exact. Not rules, but judgment must decide the limit of time. However a table of approximations may be of service to amateur cooks whose experience has not yet taught them that essential of successful cookery.

Cabbage.—When young, requires an hour; winter cabbage, double that time.

Turnips.—When young, three quarters of an hour; winter turnips, two hours.

Carrots.—When young, three quarters of an hour; winter carrots, two hours.

Beets.—When young, three quarters of an hour; winter beets, four hours.

Onions.—When young, one hour; winter onions, two hours.

The temperature at which vegetables should be cooked is a point of great importance. A little reflection should easily settle the question, however. When young vegetables are tender, the juices are easily withdrawn, continued stewing or soaking extracts all the flavor and strength; when old they become tough, and only long stewing will make them tender and bring out the juices. By putting young vegetables into cold water we extract the juice before they begin to cook, and by the time they become tender they are tasteless; but by putting winter vegetables into cold water they are gradually softened, and by the time they are cooked tender the juice is fully developed; hence the reason for the rule which cooks have formulated: Put all young, green vegetables into salted boiling water; all dried and winter vegetables into cold water.

Add to your regard for these first principles a nice skill in draining all the water from your cabbage, turnips, carrots, beets and onions, and that most delicate of all cookery arts—the art of seasoning—and you can not fail of toothsome entrées[1] and salads.

Cabbage Salad or Slaw.—Remove from a firm, fresh cabbage the outer leaves and slice fine. The simplest dressing is of sugar, salt and vinegar. Mayonnaise[2] dressing may be prepared by taking the beaten yolks of six eggs and into them beating, drop by drop, two tablespoonfuls of salad oil; now alternate with every few drops of two tablespoonfuls of salad oil, small quantities of vinegar until two tablespoonfuls of vinegar have been used. Beat into this mixture, which should be very smooth, one saltspoonful of salt and half as much cayenne pepper, set in a cold place until wanted. A cooked mayonnaise dressing is made by adding to each tablespoonful of boiling vinegar, the beaten yolk of an egg, and cooking until stiff. Remove the mixture and stir in an ounce of butter. When cool, season it with salt, pepper and mustard; then add sweet cream until it is of the desired consistency.

Hot Slaw is prepared by stewing chopped cabbage until tender, and then adding a dressing of vinegar, butter, salt and pepper.

Pickled Cabbage.—Chop, not too fine, a fresh cabbage, and season it with white mustard seed, salt and pepper. Now pack this firmly into a jar and add cold vinegar. Cloves should be sprinkled over the top to prevent mould. Or, pack a layer of chopped cabbage alternately with a layer of chopped onions, and having salted, allow it to stand for about twenty-four hours. A dressing of one pint of vinegar, one cup of sugar, and one teaspoonful each of ground mustard, black pepper, cinnamon, turmeric, mace, allspice, and celery seed is made for each head of cabbage and half dozen of onions, by scalding the vinegar and adding sugar and spices. Into this dressing pour the cabbage and onions. Allow them to simmer for half an hour, then put into jars.

Boiled Cabbage.—Quarter a cabbage from which the outer leaves have been removed, and which has been examined carefully for insects and slugs. Boil until tender. Drain well, being careful to press out the water. Boiled cabbage may be chopped, and a tablespoonful of butter, pepper and salt stirred in, or it may be served with white sauce or drawn butter. White sauce is made by cooking together one ounce of flour and two ounces of butter, and, after adding a pint of milk allowing the mixture to simmer slowly. Season with salt and pepper. Drawn butter differs from white sauce only in having water or broth in place of the milk. Cabbage may be boiled in water taken from the pot in which corned beef or pork is being cooked. This seasons it nicely.

Stewed Cabbage.—Chop cabbage fine and stew until tender. When “done” add sweet milk sufficient for a dressing and allow it to cook for ten minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Marion Harland gives this recipe for a stewed “stuffed cabbage:” “Choose for this purpose a large, firm cabbage. When perfectly cold bind a broad tape about it, or a strip of muslin, that it may not fall apart when the stalk is taken out. Remove this with a thin, sharp knife, leaving a hole about as deep as your middle finger. Without widening the mouth of the aperture excavate the center. Chop the bits you have taken out very small; mix with some cold boiled pork or ham, or cooked sausage-meat, a very little onion, pepper, salt, a pinch of thyme, and some bread crumbs. Fill the cavity with this, bind a wide strip of muslin over the hole in the top, and lay the cabbage in a large sauce-pan with a pint of ‘hot liquor’ from boiled beef or ham. Stew gently until very tender. Take out the cabbage, unbind carefully, and lay in a dish. Keep hot while you add to the gravy, when you have strained it, pepper, a piece of butter rolled in flour, and two or three tablespoonfuls of rich milk or cream. Boil up and pour over the cabbage.”

Baked Cabbage.—The cold boiled cabbage left over from dinner is very nice baked. Chop it fine and add a dressing made of beaten eggs and milk and seasoned with salt and pepper. Put it into a buttered baking dish, and having strewn the top with bread crumbs or rolled crackers, bake it brown.

Fried Cabbage.—Another excellent dish to be prepared from cold boiled cabbage is fried cabbage. Chop the cabbage fine and stir in a little melted butter, two beaten eggs, a little cream, pepper and salt, and cook until slightly brown.

Boiled Turnips.—Boil until tender and drain dry. After mashing them smooth, being careful to rub away all hard lumps, stir in a tablespoonful of butter and season with salt and pepper. If it is preferred to cut them in slices, they are nice served with white sauce or drawn butter as a dressing. A little vinegar added to the dressing is by many considered an improvement. Young turnips are nice served whole with either of these sauces.

Stewed Turnips.—An excellent way of warming over boiled turnips is to add sufficient milk to them to stew thoroughly, and then to season with pepper and salt.

Baked Turnips.—Cold boiled or sliced turnips may be “done over” by putting them into a baking-pan, covering with bread crumbs, moistening with milk, and then baking in the oven. Freshly boiled turnips, sliced thin, may be cooked in the same way.

Boiled Carrots.—If carrots are small and young they may be boiled whole, but if they are large they should be split into two or three pieces; when cooked they may be served with butter, salt and pepper, or with white sauce, like sliced boiled turnips.

Mashed Carrots.—Boiled carrots are very nice mashed with a large spoonful of butter, a little cream, and seasoning of pepper and salt worked into them. Serve as you would mashed potatoes.

Fried Carrots.—Cold boiled carrots, or those which have been parboiled, may be sliced and fried brown in butter. They must be seasoned, of course, with pepper and salt.

Stewed Carrots.—Parboil carrots for three quarters of an hour. Put them into a stew-pan and pour on them a teacupful of broth with seasoning of pepper, salt and butter, and stew until they are tender. A little cream and a lump of butter may be added and the whole allowed to boil up.

Boiled Beets.—In preparing beets for the kettle they should be washed, but not cut. When done, rub off the skin and slice. Butter, pepper and salt should be added for seasoning. If you like a dressing of vinegar put a tablespoonful of butter into half a cup of vinegar, add pepper and salt, and boil before turning upon the beets.

Baked Beets.—Slice your beets and place in a baking pan with butter, pepper and salt. Allow about twenty minutes longer for baking than boiling. This method preserves much of the juice of the vegetable which is lost in boiling.

Stewed Beets.—Parboil your beets until nearly done, rub off the skin and slice. Into your stew-pan pour enough milk to cover the beets, add a little butter, salt and pepper, and simmer slowly until they are done.

Boiled Onions.—Onions may be laid in cold water half an hour before cooking. Boil them in two waters until tender. When cooked, drain carefully and serve with butter, salt and pepper. Boiled onions are nice with a dressing of drawn butter.

Baked Onions.—Choose large onions for baking, and after peeling boil for an hour. Drain them thoroughly and about each wrap a piece of buttered tissue paper, bake them until they are quite tender, then remove the paper and brown in the oven, basting with butter. Serve them with drawn butter.

Stewed Onions.—Onions which have been parboiled may be stewed in milk sufficient to cover. When done, a dressing of hot cream and butter, seasoned with salt and pepper, may be poured over them; or they may be chopped fine, and the cream, butter and seasonings be stirred in.

Fried Onions.—Slice into small strips and fry in butter, taking care to brown them evenly. Season with salt and pepper. Onions sliced thin and fried in hot fat are called Saratoga onions.

THE CIRCLE OF THE SCIENCES.

PHYSICS.

In the science of material things, mechanics takes account of forces that act on masses from without; physics, of those that act from within, or which, in some way, modify the condition of the bodies themselves. Both branches were, till recently, included in the vaguely comprehensive term “Natural Philosophy,” and the partial separation observed in modern treatises and text-books gives a little more distinctness to the facts presented. Under the former the earth is contemplated as a planet, obedient to the universal law of gravitation, and moving regularly in its orbit. The mechanism of the system is complete; the measure and adjustment of all the parts perfect.

GEOLOGY,

As a physical science, considers the earth apart from the solar system with which it is connected, and takes account of its materials and structure, and the forces that unite them. Its position in the group is about midway between mechanics and chemistry, being closely allied to other natural sciences, while its phenomena are occasionally varied by both mechanical and chemical agents.

PHYSIOGRAPHIC GEOLOGY

Treats of the earth’s exterior physical features; of its form—an oblate spheroid—of its surface, oceans, continents, seas, lakes and rivers, hills, mountains, valleys and plains; of soils made from previously existing organic or inorganic substances, the detritus of rocks containing various minerals and small particles of decomposed vegetable matter. The materials of this outer covering of the earth are from many different sources, and variously constituted. From the finest grains of sand, clay, and loam, to pebbles, boulders, and fragments of enormous dimensions, they are mingled apparently without any fixed order or proportions; sometimes but slightly covering the solid rock, at others piling it up in ridges and hills of considerable height. In this surface formation are included ancient sea-beaches, lake and river terraces, deltas, deposits of sand and clay, with vast beds of marls, peat and calcareous tufa,[1] all the progressive accumulations since the present order of things began. In some of these deposits, more recent than the Drift[2] period, fossils are abundant and very full of interest. In New Zealand the bones of a bird[3] were found which exceed in bulk those of the largest horse, and are now in the museum of the College of Surgeons, London. The bird when alive was eleven or twelve feet high.

Less than a century ago what might have been a fossil elephant was found imbedded in ice on the coast of Siberia, and in such a perfect state of preservation that the people fed their dogs on its flesh. The animal was well covered with hair, and adapted to a cool climate, a representative of an extinct race. How it was imbedded, or how long it had been preserved in that condition, no one knows.

In Great Britain are found fossils of the rhinoceros and hippopotamus, of elephants, tigers, hyenas and giant elks, all of which are extinct species. The United States is especially prolific in the remains of huge mammals. The mastodon and megatherium were doubtless indigenous to this country. The latter had a thigh bone three times as large as the largest elephant, and the cavity through which it passed, indicates a spinal cord an inch in diameter. These largest skeletons were found in Georgia and South Carolina. Those of the mastodon are numerous, and found in many different places. Physiographic geology is a study intensely interesting, and of great practical importance, as it bears directly on many of the industries of life; but this general notice is sufficient.

LITHOGRAPHIC GEOLOGY.

The ultimate particles of material bodies, of which we know but little, exert such force or influence on each other as to decide the character of the mass; even if the atoms are identically the same in substance they may come together in a way to secure different results. The bulk of the solid part of the earth is rock, but all rock is not the same. We find several species of granite, of limestone, and sandstone, a long list. But the whole may be divided into two classes, stratified and unstratified. Whatever the two classes seem to have in common, they are not of the same origin. The first occur in layers or strata, others are crystalline and massive. The loose materials, such as sand, clay and gravel, that have accumulated at the bottom of the pond or lake, are found arranged in beds or parallel layers. The streams carry the materials from the highlands, and they are at length deposited in the basin, and when hardened become stratified rocks. As this process is still going on, and recently formed strata are found approaching the consistency of stone, it is but reasonable to conclude that all rocks of this class, being formed in like manner under the water, are of aqueous origin. They are further classed according to certain peculiarities, either of material or formation.

Gneiss, abundant in all parts of New England, is a kind of stratified granite, of about the same materials, but splits readily into slabs that are used both for building purposes and flagging stones.

Mica slate resembles gneiss, has the same minerals, but more mica, and is of a more slaty structure, and the glistening particles of mica abound in it.

There are several other kinds of slate, named from the minerals that predominate in them, or the purposes for which they are mostly used. Roofing slate of excellent quality is extensively quarried in Maine, Vermont and Massachusetts.

Quartz rock consists mainly of quartz, but often has more or less mica. Sandstone is of kindred formation, the principal part of which is quartz, reduced to sand, and the grains more or less firmly united. In both the colors are various.

Conglomerate consists of water-worn pebbles of various kinds and sizes cemented together, and sometimes making a strong, compact rock.

The limestone formations are extensive in nearly all countries. In their structure some are very compact and break with a smooth surface. Those capable of a fine polish are called marble, the more common uses of which are well known. The purest crystalline limestone is used in sculpture; the best quality being obtained from Carrara, Italy, and that called Parian from the island Paros.

Chalk, a useful formation, is a carbonate of lime. In some caves the dropping of calcareous water forms stalactites, which hang from the roof like immense icicles, and are often extended till they meet the accumulations below, called stalagmites, and form beautiful columns. Of the more than seven hundred crystals from this source alone, and of the many other varieties of minerals having much in common, and yet enough that is peculiar to distinguish them, no mention can be made. A careful reader and close observer will gather from familiar objects a fund of information of great value.

The parallel strata mentioned are not always horizontal, but sometimes nearly, if not quite perpendicular. Occasionally a ledge broken quite through separates, and the rock on one side of the fissure is either elevated or depressed, making what is called a fault.

The fissures crossing a bed of rock are often filled with a mineral entirely different from the rock itself. In some cases where the vein is small the foreign substance may have come in from above or laterally, deposited from water as in the case of stalactites. The larger fissures were evidently filled with the melted material thrust up from beneath.

The unstratified rocks are in masses, without fossils of animals or plants, and of igneous origin. Some of this class were probably formed later, and by the melting of secondary rocks, but most of them by the gradual cooling of the central mass containing the melted minerals embodied in them.

DYNAMIC GEOLOGY

Treats of the forces that move things on or beneath the earth’s surface. The Drift shows not a little confusion. Things are evidently in an abnormal condition, and strangely mixed. Some of the disturbing causes are obvious. Currents of the atmosphere and ocean have done much, but are not sufficient to account for all the phenomena. Boulders brought from ledges north of the great western lakes, are found scattered over all the western states, some much battered on the passage, others bearing only marks of long exposure to the elements. Deep furrows have been plowed in the rocks and hill tops over which they passed, at an elevation of thousands of feet above the level of the sea. Currents of water could never have lifted such huge masses from the lower to higher levels, or transported them any such distances. Icebergs or glaciers have evidently moved over the whole Drift region with fragments of rocks and pebbles frozen into their lower surface, that, like huge rasps, both cut away and polished the hardest rocks, at the same time bearing forward the boulders and whatever else chanced to be held in their cold embrace. There are other footprints of many and very great changes that have been wrought. Though many persons have erroneous impressions of the inequalities on the earth’s surface, the height of the loftiest mountains being but little when compared with the earth’s diameter, yet there is evidence that the normal condition has not been preserved. Large districts have, even within the historic period, been lifted far above their former level, and others sunk as much below. New islands have appeared in the midst of the sea, while others have sunk out of sight. Multitudes now live on what was once the bed of the sea, “in which were things innumerable, great and small beasts;” and ships sail over territory once covered with the habitations of living men. Rocks of immense thickness have been broken and the parts lifted into a vertical position, and many such great changes have taken place. What wrought them? It is safe to say that at least two forces have been operating, the one more gradual than the other. The cooling of the internal mass must cause contraction, which, in a globe of such dimensions, would be sufficient to break the strongest rocks constituting its shell. This force, when properly directed, might lift the rocks, and even throw them back on other strata of more recent formation. Then the expansive force of the gases within, when raised to their highest tension, is enough to cause earthquakes, and pour through the partially opened craters, or where the barriers are made less secure, floods of lava that are in time changed into rocks of that peculiar class. The vent will be found where the crust above the struggling giant is weakest, whether that be on the mountain top where the rocks had been shoved up into a vertical position, or at the bottom of the sea.

The dynamics of geology suggest problems of no ordinary interest, but our narrow limits forbid even a statement of them.

MINERALOGY

Is that branch of geology that treats of mineral substances, and teaches how to distinguish and classify them according to their properties. This is a wide field for investigation, and so fruitful that the temptation to linger in it is strong. Mining and work with the products of the mines engage the industry of so many that it would be especially pleasant to study with them a subject of such general interest. We relinquish that privilege, in order to state two or three things that seem thoroughly established by what is found written in the book of nature, and are in perfect accord with God’s later scriptures, the Bible, when rightly interpreted.

1. The first fact is the great age of the earth. Processes are plainly indicated that must have required not only thousands, but millions of years for our planet, before man, made in the image of God, entered it as the theater of his responsible activities. The facts of the carboniferous[4] period alone discredit, and utterly overthrow the theory which limits the days of creation to six of twenty-four hours each. The Bible gives the order of the successive creations, but does not fix the age of the things created. The word translated day often means an age or an indefinite number of years, as is seen by referring to the places where it is found. Give it this well established meaning in the first chapter of Genesis, and all is plain. There was time for millions of races of inferior creatures to live and die before the divine plans and works were consummated, and the earth became a suitable abode for the human race.

2. The second great fact is that all things were made on a plan, and in some connection. There are no isolated objects or superfluous parts in the physical world. The number may be countless, and the forms given them reveal an endless variety, but each has its connections, and all the parts are necessary to a perfect whole.

3. Another lesson is learned from the mute witnesses, which is that, while a long succession of races of animals, for which the earth, in its different stages of progress was a fit abode, existed, each higher in rank than its predecessor, the several races had distinctive characteristics, as the radiates, mollusks, articulates, and vertebrates. A lower species, when its purpose is served, becomes extinct, and is succeeded by a higher.

CHEMISTRY,

By analyzing compound and compounding simple substances, discovers their elementary properties, the forces that are resident in matter, and the laws that govern them. It demonstrates by experiments the affinity of ultimate particles, and of gases of unlike kinds for each other, an affinity which produces homogeneous compounds, often very unlike the elements that unite in forming them. The chemist has much to do with physical objects, but in handling them his appropriate business is to consider the changes produced by chemical attraction in all bodies, whether solid, liquid, or gaseous.

GEOGRAPHY

Is an ancient science, suitable for schools of all grades, and not for primary and intermediate departments alone. The child can treasure many of the facts that, if held in the memory, will be of use to him as he advances in years and knowledge, but his geography will benefit him little unless it is studied when his faculties are more mature. One who despises this study as beneath him, knows nothing yet of the important science as he ought.

PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY

Has many things in common with both astronomy and geology, as it discusses the physical condition of the earth and its relations as a member of the solar system; describes its great natural divisions of land and water; and takes account of dynamic forces, such as aerial and oceanic currents, that are constantly causing important changes. The whole exterior structure of the earth, the phenomena of rain and dew, fog, frost, and snow, are geographical questions, to be discussed with special reference to the general laws or principles involved. It shows unity in the midst of diversity, and constancy of phenomena in the midst of apparent changes.

MATHEMATICAL GEOGRAPHY

Treats of the form and size of the earth, of the construction of globes to represent it; determines the latitude and longitude of places on its surface, and all geographical problems pertaining to numbers, distances, and magnitudes.

POLITICAL GEOGRAPHY

Describes, in a general way, the countries and nations of men as they are politically divided, defines their boundaries, and to some extent characterizes their social and civil institutions. A great advance has been made in this branch during the present century. People respecting whom little was known, have come into the family of nations. The maps have been changed, and generally in a way that indicates the rapid progress of civilization. Asia has been so thoroughly explored that our general knowledge of the country may be regarded as nearly complete. No great terra incognita remains in that quarter, though fuller and more precise knowledge respecting the people in some parts is yet much to be desired. The interior of Africa is still but partially known, though the work of discovery has been pushed forward with considerable enterprise, and a host of explorers have struggled to penetrate the mystery that enveloped, for ages, that great division of the globe. The Upper Nile country has been explored far beyond the region assigned on the maps to the “Mountains of the Moon,” and all know the intense anxiety that is to-day felt for the safety of General Gordon and his little garrison, still shut up in Khartoum.

The study of geography, rightly pursued, is remunerative, full of inspiration, and as intensely interesting as any in the whole circle of physical sciences.

BIOLOGY

Is scientific discourse about life and vital forces. We give it a high position in the circle, since vitality is superior to either chemical or mechanical laws, suspending or modifying them for the production of organized structures of plants and animals. Even vegetable biology confronts us with that mystery of mysteries, life, which is quite inexplicable. We can only say it is a peculiar, indefinable something, necessary to the existence of such organisms, and without which they soon sink in ruinous decay.

The living germ is the determining power that shapes the organic body, and every germ will have its own body. Under no possible culture can the acorn develop into an animal. It will produce an oak, a tree of its own species, and nothing else can grow from it. So also of the animal germ. The form or kind is as determinate while the embryo is yet in the egg, as it will ever be. The life once begun in everything that lives and grows, there is a power that takes hold of the elements nature has in store for it, and, by a most wonderful transformation, works them up into its own body; and this power of assimilation must forever distinguish it from all lifeless inorganic matter.

The mystery deepens when we notice that living things exist in generations. The plant has seed in itself for the production of another plant. It has life in itself, and power to vitalize its successors. The products of the field and the forest grow and mature, then wither and decay; but they have successors of the same kind.

So human beings exist in successive generations. One generation passeth away, and another cometh, and so the race lives on. While alike in their power of assimilation and reproduction, there is a wide difference between the vegetable and the animal. They have not the same organs, and do not subsist on the same food. The plant is constantly consuming carbonic acid, and giving out oxygen, while animals consume the oxygen, and restore to the atmosphere carbonic acid. The difference of their physical structure, and their different relations to inorganic matter, suggest a wide difference in the “bios” or life, that animates them. Just what that difference is, no one can tell. It is a question for which science furnishes no answer. In his physical organization man differs but little from the lower animals. In this he is brother to the beasts that perish, having the same nature, needs, and liabilities. If he is “fearfully and wonderfully made,” so are they; in agility and strength many of them far surpass him. His peculiarities of form and structure do not secure, and, it may be safely said, were not intended to secure physical superiority, but rather to fit the organization for the indwelling of the rational soul, that is his distinguishing characteristic.

PHYSICAL ASTRONOMY

Has been made the subject of much diligent research and study. Some facts respecting the physical elements and structure of the sun and planets have been ascertained with reasonable certainty, but much is still in doubt. Assuming that the essential properties of matter are the same everywhere, we may tell with assurance of what the sun and stars are made, provided all solar and stellar phenomena are explained by physical laws that are understood, and in operation around us. This has been done in part, but not so as to harmonize the views of all astronomers. Since the use of the spectroscope[5] results have been more satisfactory, and on some questions of much interest, conjecture and theory have given place to certainty. By the decomposition of sunbeams or pencils of solar light, the refracted rays show the presence of several distinct chemical elements. Finding by a qualitative analysis that there is iron, copper, zinc, nickel, sodium, and other terrestrial substances in the solar and stellar spectra, we know that they enter into the composition of those celestial bodies. But in what proportions or combinations they exist is not known.

METEOROLOGY AND AEROLITES.

Who has not seen a shooting star? For a moment the bright objects dart through greater or less spaces in the heavens, and then disappear. Those of inferior size give but little light, and are seldom seen unless the eye is, at the time, directed toward the space they traverse. Occasionally one flames out with such brilliancy as to light up, for a moment, the whole heavens. These are called meteors—a name quite proper for both classes, and only the very ignorant suppose any of them to be real stars. They come singly, two or three in an hour, or in showers, such as were witnessed in 1833. When of such size that they strike the earth before being consumed by their intense heat, they are aerolites, or meteoric stones. Great masses of these are found in different places, and show such a peculiar combination of their chemical elements as to distinguish them from all other stones; and mineralogists generally conclude they were not formed on the earth. Whence they come is not certainly known. That they were formed by an aggregation of their materials in our atmosphere seems incredible. Nor were they thrown off by some great convulsion, from the moon, with force sufficient to carry them beyond the attraction of that body. Perhaps most astronomers now believe, on what they think sufficient evidence, that the celestial spaces are occupied by innumerable small bodies moving round the sun, of whose nature and orbits nothing is certainly known. The earth, it is supposed, while making its annual circuit, must be constantly encountering them, and, as in passing rapidly through the upper region of the atmosphere they take fire and burn, the shooting star or meteor is simply the light of that flame. The mechanical production of heat, now well understood, shows why they burn. The rapid motion of the earth, especially if it be duplicated by that of the minute body striking through its atmosphere, would generate heat sufficient to quite consume the meteoroids; so that generally their solid substance is dissipated before they reach the ground. Sometimes the heated aerolite explodes when in such proximity to the earth that the fragments fall before they are consumed.

THE AURORA.

That most interesting atmospheric phenomena, the Aurora Borealis, though so familiar, has never been fully explained. It is rarely seen in equatorial latitudes, but increases in frequency and brightness as we go north, even to the arctic circle.

In this latitude all observers may at times notice two distinct forms of the aurora. The one, as we often see it, has a cloud-like appearance, with a soft radiance permeating it, and seems a vast, irregular patch of mellow light, ever changing, and at times showing a slightly reddish or purple tinge. It is more frequently seen near the northern horizon, having the form of a beautiful arch, the ends of the segment apparently resting on the horizon, and the middle, or crown, a few degrees above it. The other takes the form of streamers, reaching far up toward the zenith. Gently curved, like the celestial sphere on which they are projected, they are not stationary, but almost constantly in motion, but soon resuming their former position, spreading themselves out like immense flags, with their numerous silken folds, ever dancing, quivering, undulating, as if stirred by some gentle breeze, though all else seems in calm repose. To say that the phenomena are electrical, would, probably, not be the whole truth, though evidence is not wanting that the aurora is in some way connected with the electricity and magnetism of the earth and its atmosphere. Practical telegraphists testify that during a brilliant display of “northern lights” such strong, irregular currents of electricity pass along the wires that it is difficult to send a dispatch; at other times the currents are so strong that they can communicate without the battery.

There is, perhaps, about as much against the theory of a purely electrical origin, as in its favor, and, on the whole, we conclude that the Aurora Borealis is one of the things respecting which modern observations have suggested more difficulties than modern science is yet able to explain.

HOME STUDIES IN CHEMISTRY AND PHYSICS.

BY PROF. J. T. EDWARDS, D. D.

Director of the Chautauqua School of Experimental Science.

FIRE.—PHYSICAL PROPERTIES.

Clearness, accuracy, and brevity are the essentials of good definition. That it is no easy task to combine these, every teacher realizes.

Perhaps it is near the truth to say that fire is that operation in nature which at the same time evolves heat and light. The operation is, at the present time, supposed to be a certain vibration of ethereal or more solid substances. All matter is in motion. Whence this motion was first derived no philosopher can tell, unless he goes back to that primal source of both matter and motion, which in the beginning created the heavens and the earth, and said, “Let there be light, and there was light.”

Prof. James Dwight Dana[1] declares that the first act of creative power must have been heralded throughout the universe by a flash of light. Thus the geologist unites with the scriptural narrator, in the statement that light and heat belonged to the first day of creation, although scoffers for a long time ridiculed the idea that light could exist without the sun.

All space is supposed to be filled with a substance called ether, and that it permeates even solid material. When, for any reason, the natural motion of the molecules of matter is much increased, these molecules have the power of imparting their vibration to the ether in contact with them, and that in turn may produce vibrations in other substances, and if these vibrations come in contact with the nerves of touch, there follows the sensation of warmth or heat. If the vibrations of the ether are still more rapid, when they fall upon the retina, we have the sensation of sight, and we call the agent light. Heat and light, then, are the same. In one instance the vibration is capable of affecting one set of nerves, and in the other, two sets of nerves. The heat-vibration can be discovered by the sense of touch alone, but the light-vibration may be detected both by the eye and the touch.

This variation in sensations, when produced by the same cause, may be illustrated as follows: Apply some salt to the tongue, and place some also in a wound, the two sensations are entirely unlike. Again, the vibrations of a body may be so slow that we can discover them by touch, as showing resistance, or so rapid that they are reported to the ear as a shrill sound, or they may be increased so intensely as to evolve heat, and if still more increased in rapidity, affect the eye as light. The spectrum affords us still another illustration of this truth. Pass through a prism a single ray of light, lo, it appears on the screen in all the colors of the rainbow. Nor is this all; between the bright colors, and beyond the violet and the red are invisible lines, and the various parts of the spectrum, although all are produced by the one ray, are capable of creating quite different results. If one should place a delicate thermopile below the red color, it at once reports heat, although the eye sees nothing there. The beautiful colors of the spectrum flash their light into the eye, raise the temperature of the thermometer and affect chemical transformations, while, still more wonderful, the dark lines above the violet, though unseen and not indicated by the thermopile, act upon the sensitized plate of the photographer with decided chemical force. Thus changes in vibrations as to rapidity, length and direction make changes in the resulting sensations.

Light-waves are always heat-waves, and heat-waves may, by increasing the rapidity of the vibrations, become light-waves. It will be observed that three of our senses are close akin. Hearing, feeling (as regards warmth) and seeing are all produced by vibrations. It is quite in accord with the doctrine of modern science to believe that the morning stars did “sing together,” for light is essentially rhythmic, and to senses adapted to the perception of their harmonies, the sunbeams would make music. The various colors of the spectrum differ solely in the wave-lengths of their vibrations. The red corresponds to low pitch in music and the violet to high pitch. As the vibrations of air striking upon the ear increase in rapidity, the sound rises in the scale. There is this difference between the ear and the eye—the former, if trained, can detect all the tones in a chord of music, while the latter, however cultivated, can not discern the varied colors blended in white light.

There must be sixteen vibrations in a second to produce a continuous sound. When these vibrations reach thirty-eight thousand in a second they become inaudible.

Eisenlohr[2] informs us that the red color in the spectrum has four hundred and fifty-eight trillion vibrations in a second, and extreme violet seven hundred and twenty-seven trillions. The former yields 37,640 waves in an inch, and the latter 59,750 waves in the same space. Now mark another beautiful analogy between sound and sight. In looking at the spectrum we can not discern the light or heat below the red color, because the waves are so slow. Ascending the gamut of color, the rapidity of the vibrations increases, until just beyond the violet it becomes so great that the eye can detect no color.

MECHANICAL ENERGY TRANSFORMED INTO ELECTRICITY.

Ex.—The boy on the insulated stool is repeatedly struck with some furry substance, like a tiger skin. He becomes highly electrical and capable of emitting sparks.

The same fact is discovered in the world of sound—beginning with vibrations which are too slow to be heard at all, we ascend the scale eleven octaves, when the vibrations become so rapid as to be inaudible. Complete darkness may be caused by either too slow or too rapid vibrations of light and heat, and utter silence by the same conditions in the sound waves.

SOURCES OF LIGHT AND HEAT.

These are five in number: The sun and stars, chemical action, percussion, friction and electricity. Stars are suns, but at a vast distance from our earth, the nearest being twenty trillions of miles away. To other systems they doubtless perform the offices of suns. Being so remote, however, although of myriad number, their influence upon our earth is hardly appreciable, and will not, therefore, be here considered.

GEISSLER’S TUBES.[3]

Ex.—This tube is filled with rarefied gases. Platinum wires convey the electric current through the tube, revealing curious striated sections of brilliant light, varying in shape and color, with the variety of gas and the degree of rarefaction.

Our sun is an immense reservoir of energy. It is difficult to conceive its size. It would require twelve hundred thousand of our globes to equal it in volume. More than one hundred such worlds as ours might be strung upon the line forming its diameter. The sun has been for ages throwing off its vibrations of heat and light. Thousands of years before fires were kindled on hearthstones this form of energy, according to the modern doctrine of the correlation of forces, was locked up in the tropical vegetation of the coal periods, and in the great deposits of coal preserved for future use. The same anticipatory benevolence which projects on its journey the friendly ray of the north star, forty-three years before the mariner’s eye can see it, provided fuel for man thousands of years before it was needed.

This energy of the sunbeam reappears in the summer warmth of our dwellings in winter, in the expansion of steam, in the blow of the trip hammer, and throbs even in the pulsations of the human heart.

The cells of all plants need the force of the sun’s rays to separate the carbon from the oxygen contained in the carbonic di-oxide absorbed by the rootlets and stomata of the leaves. Thus the great luminary builds the forests and clothes the earth with verdure. “All flesh is grass,” and therefore to the forces of the sun’s vibrations we must trace not a little of animal growth and strength. The sun gives out more heat than it would if six tons of coal were burnt on every square yard of its surface every hour. Sir John Herschel[4] declares that its light is equal to that of one hundred and forty-six calcium lights, each one formed of a ball of lime equal to the sun in bulk; yet even a small calcium light is so dazzling that the eye can not look steadily at it.

The careless expression sometimes heard when the moon shines brightly, “It is as light as day,” is a striking hyperbole, for it would require eight hundred full moons to equal the brightness of daylight.

ELECTRIC MOTION CONVERTED INTO SPARKS.

Ex.—A file is made part of the circuit, and as the wire conducting the electricity is rubbed along the file, the circuit is alternately formed and broken, and sparks follow each breaking of the circuit.

Of all forms of paganism, that of the Fire Worshipers[5] seems least unreasonable, for the sun is even now, to us, the best symbol of beneficence and unfailing energy. After thousands of years it shows no diminution of power, and although the imagination can conceive the possibility of its destruction, the most accurate scientific observations have not discovered the slightest indications of its lessening influence. “His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it; there is nothing hid from the heat thereof.”

CHEMICAL ACTION.

In a preceding article the chemistry of fire has been considered at some length. It only remains to mention briefly a few of the physical phenomena attending it. When elements unite by the force of affinity, it is supposed that their atoms rush together, and that their motion is converted into heat.

In the case of the galvanic battery the impetuous movement of the atoms toward the poles becomes electricity. We have constantly recurring instances in nature of that great truth that energy, though constantly disappearing is never lost, but reappears under new manifestations and a new name. It may for a time remain dormant, and anon become perceptible, as in the case of latent heat. For example, in mixing five pounds of water at a temperature of 212° Fahrenheit, and five pounds of ice, seven hundred and fifteen units of heat disappear in melting the ice, and the aggregate temperature of the mass is proportionally lower than that of the substances united. But upon their returning to their former state, this latent heat reappears as sensible heat.

In chemical action producing fire, the uniting materials are usually converted, first, into a gaseous form, but there are some exceptions. The most interesting is the following: When a few flakes of iodine are placed upon a fragment of phosphorus, the atoms of the two elements rush together with great energy, producing spontaneous combustion, and liberating sufficient heat to burn the superfluous iodine, with the evolution of beautiful violet fumes.

The mechanical action in flame is full of interest. Its brightness always seems to depend upon the incandescence of solid particles. This can easily be seen in an ordinary lamp. A piece of cold porcelain inserted in a flame will cool the incandescent carbon, and it will be deposited as soot.

The Bunsen[6] burner clearly proves that the brilliancy of our lights depends upon the incandescence of the carbon. This is a contrivance for passing jets of air through a flame, so that the intimate mixing of the oxygen of the air with the carbon will cause the immediate combustion of the latter. This results in converting it instantly to invisible gas (CO₂) before incandescence, and consequently the Bunsen flame, while it is intensely hot, emits but a feeble light.

Any physical change that facilitates the movement of atoms seems to increase the intensity of chemical action.

SHOWING THE PRODUCTION OF ELECTRIC LIGHT FROM CARBON POINTS.

Ex.—The rods are first placed near together, then as the circuit is formed they are drawn apart, and the electric light is formed between them.

An instructive experiment illustrating the characteristics of different kinds of flame may be performed as follows: Place near each other a small alcohol lamp and a piece of paraffine candle; when lighted observe the two flames. The three cones in each can be easily discerned, the candle burns with a much brighter light, showing it to be richer in incandescent carbon. Insert in each flame a piece of fine wire or narrow strip of glass, either of these will be much more quickly heated by the alcohol lamp, because its flame is richer in hydrogen. If a glass jar which is cold be placed over each, a film of vapor (H₂O) will gather on that covering the alcohol lamp with greater rapidity than on the other. If the jars remain over the flames until they are extinguished by the lack of oxygen, more carbonic anhydride (CO₂) will be formed from the combustion of the alcohol.

PERCUSSION.

When a blow is arrested by an object, the motion is converted into heat. The ancient flint-lock gun and the percussion-cap fire-arm both illustrate this fact. In the former, the descending flint struck out the spark, and in the latter the cap is exploded by the arrested hammer. The stroke of a cannon ball is attended with a flash. If the world were suddenly stopped in its course, heat enough would be generated to set it on fire. Nitro-glycerine and dynamite are exploded by percussion. Familiar illustrations of this scientific truth meet us in everyday life. It has even passed into a proverb with a moral application, that “hard cracks make the sparks fly.” A novel effect of percussion may have been noticed when a fall upon the ice has resulted in a mechanical disturbance of the optic nerve which revealed whole constellations of stars never yet catalogued.

FRICTION.

It is a spirited sight to watch the operation of sharpening tools upon a grindstone or emery wheel run by steam. Showers of sparks are produced by the friction. We often observe the same phenomenon when the brakes are applied to rapidly revolving car wheels. Rails are heated by the friction of the passing train. You may have had the misfortune, while riding, to have one of your carriage wheels become set, caused by the box of the hub, and the axle becoming so heated by friction as to “unite” their surfaces. All machinery requires constant watching and lubrication to prevent undue friction and serious wearing.

Mills have not unfrequently been set on fire by rapidly revolving belts coming in contact with the woodwork. When the whale, frantic with the pain of the harpoon, darts away with lightning speed, the sailors are compelled to dash water over the spinning wheel on which the rope is wound.

In all these instances motion is transformed into heat.

ELECTRICITY.

Galvanic, frictional, magnetic, thermal and animal electricity are all capable of producing heat. The first also produces an intensely brilliant light. We have long been acquainted with the “Voltaic arc”[7] of the galvanic battery, but less familiar are the magnificent manifestations of frictional electricity. Dynamo-electric machines are of comparatively recent construction, and their object is to convert mechanical energy into that of electric currents, and vice versa.

A striking application of galvanic electricity is frequently seen in the discharge of gunpowder and other explosives, by making the electric current pass through a small platinum wire which is in close contact with them.

Electric energy is propagated in waves, and this wire, being so small, is incapable of transmitting them all at once, so they beat upon it until their repeated blows cause it to become red hot, and the material in contact is thus ignited.

Perhaps the grandest illustration of this action was seen in blowing up the rocks of Hell Gate[8] in the East River, and thus opening a safe passage for the commerce of the world. The tiny finger of a little child, the daughter of the engineer, at a given signal, pressed the key that closed the circuit, and, like Æolus,[9] when he struck the rock, set free the mighty elements of destruction.

This same principle, viz.: that resisted motion becomes heat and light, is seen in both the Brush and the Edison electric lights. In the former, electric currents pass along wires to carbon points, shaped like a crayon, and covered by a film of copper, and separated by a distance of about one half inch. The air between is a non-conductor, and here the flame is formed. In the Edison light, however, the two conducting wires enter a glass globe, from which the air is excluded. Here they are connected with a spiral wire about as large as a knitting needle, and three-quarters of an inch in length. When the electricity is turned on, this spiral glows with an intensely brilliant white light.

SOLIDS DIFFER AS TO CONDUCTING POWER.

Ex.—If we hold a pipe stem or rod of glass in one hand and a copper wire in the other, and apply the ends of these to a flame, the wire will convey the sensation much more quickly to the hand than the other. This shows that solids differ as to conducting power.

A marvelous illustration of the relation between electric and sound vibrations is found in the telephone and microphone. The former is becoming a household necessity; the latter, though not so well known, is not less wonderful. It brings to our ear the tick of a watch miles away, and through it the walking of a fly sounds like the tramp of a horse.

DISTRIBUTION OF HEAT.

Heat is distributed by radiation, conduction, and convection. By the first we mean that heated bodies have the power of projecting from themselves, by means of the ether, their own vibrations. Thus the sun is constantly distributing its light and heat in all directions. Conduction takes place where the molecules of a substance nearest a fire first become heated and then impart their motion to the remainder of the mass, somewhat as in a row of suspended ivory balls, the first of which, when struck, transmits its motion from ball to ball, the last one flying off.

Convection takes place in liquids and gases. Here the particles in contact with the heated body becoming lighter by expansion, rise, and are followed by others, thus forming a current.

WATER A POOR CONDUCTOR.

Ex.—Fill a tube nearly full of water, applying a flame to the upper part of the tube. The water at this point will readily boil, while that in the lower part of the tube remains cool, showing that water is a poor conductor, and that liquids must be heated by convection.

The process of warming a room illustrates the three methods of heat distribution. The heat passes through the stove by conduction, away from it by radiation, and to the remote parts of the room by convection.

EFFECTS OF HEAT.

They are four in number. Rise of temperature, expansion, liquefaction, evaporation. The first indication of the presence of heat is discovered by an elevation in temperature. Though man is not a reliable thermometer, he would be able, ordinarily, even if blind, to chronicle the progress of the sun, from horizon to horizon, by the increasing and decreasing warmth. The little thermometer placed beneath the tongue of the invalid gives reliable report of the combustion going on within his system. We see a thousand illustrations of the expansive effects of heat, many of which are familiar to all. The exceptions are more interesting than the rule, and less known, the ordinary rule being that heat expands and cold (absence of heat) contracts. Water contracts by cold until it reaches the temperature of 39°, and then expands with great violence until congelation is completed, at 32°. A British officer in Quebec filled a twelve inch shell with water, and closed the fuse hole with a wooden plug securely driven in with a mallet. Upon being exposed to intense cold the plug was projected a distance of several hundred feet, and a long tongue of ice was found protruding from the opening.

It is supposed that sufficient heat would convert all solids first into liquids, and then into gases. In the process of distillation, if we wish to retain its products, we combine both heating and cooling.

The knowledge of the melting and vaporizing point of substances is of immense value. We are enabled thus to drive off and secure the various ingredients entering into many complex substances. A notable instance is seen in the means used to secure the rich and varied products of petroleum.

THERMOMETERS.

These are not the only measurers of heat. We have the pyrometers, used for ascertaining the temperature of extremely hot bodies, and the thermo-electric pile, an apparatus which constitutes the most delicate test for heat which has been devised. It will detect heat in the body of a fly walking near it.

SHOWING DISTILLATION.

Ex.—Place a small amount of water, colored with ink, in a flask, and apply heat. The water will be vaporized, and in passing through the tube, which is surrounded by another tube containing cold water, it is condensed as a colorless liquid.

Thermometers are of three kinds, as to the materials used. They are air, alcohol, and mercurial. In each case the contraction and expansion of these respective substances are made to register variations of heat and cold. They are of three kinds, as to their system of grading—Réaumur’s, the Centigrade, and Fahrenheit’s. The first two make zero the freezing point; the last makes 32°. The boiling point of Réaumur’s is 80°, the Centigrade 100°, and Fahrenheit’s 212°. Once more changing the basis of classification, we find thermometers divided into three classes, with reference to the purposes they serve. The ordinary thermometer records the degree of heat or cold at the moment of observation. The differential thermometers can be made of two ordinary thermometers, by wrapping a piece of cloth around the bulb of one; these would show at any given moment whether it was growing warmer or colder. If it is growing warm, the column of mercury in the thermometer with the covered bulb will stand lower than the other, as the cloth prevents the heat reaching the quicksilver as readily as in the other. If it is higher than in the other, the weather is growing colder, as the cover prevents the heat from going off as rapidly as from the other. The third class, the registering thermometer, is so called because it marks the extremes of temperature. Without going into detail, it is perhaps sufficient to say that a minute bar of steel is placed on top of the column of mercury, and remains at any point to which it is pushed, thus recording the greatest degree of heat during any given interval of time. Somewhat similar in arrangement is the alcohol thermometer, marking the greatest degree of cold. It will, of course, be understood that almost all apparatus is greatly varied to serve special purposes. The limits of our article will preclude further discussion of fire in relation to light, although the subject of both physical and physiological topics is full of fascination and value.

End of Required Reading for March.

The most important question for the good student and reader is not, amidst this multitude of books which no man can number, how much he shall read. The really important questions are, first, what is the quality of what he does read; and, second, what is his manner of reading it. There is an analogy which is more than accidental between physical and mental assimilation and digestion; and, homely as the illustration may seem, it is the most forcible I can use. Let two sit down to a table spread with food; one possessed of a healthy appetite, and knowing something of the nutritious qualities of the various dishes before him; the other cursed with a pampered and capricious appetite, and knowing nothing of the results of chemical and physiological investigation. One shall make a better meal, and go away stronger and better fed, on a dish of oatmeal, than the other on a dinner that has half emptied his pockets. Shall we study physiological chemistry and know all about what is food for the body, and neglect mental chemistry, and be utterly careless as to what nutriment is contained in the food we give our minds? Who can over-estimate the value of good books, those ships of thought, as Bacon so finely calls them, voyaging through the sea of time, and carrying their precious freight so safely!—Prof. W. P. Atkinson.

THE MOHAMMEDAN UNIVERSITY OF CAIRO.

BY BISHOP JOHN F. HURST, D. D., LL.D.

Years ago I had taken pains to gain all accessible information concerning the most celebrated, and certainly also the largest, university in the entire Mohammedan world. In 1871 when in Cairo a number of days, through lack of a proper guide and full knowledge of this important institution, I left the city without seeing it. I was determined this time, therefore, to make sure of a visit to it, and to see carefully, with my own eyes, this marvel of the Mohammedan faith. The University is located in a mosque, and is, in fact, the one chief business of the mosque itself. Religion—such as it is—is the fundamental feature of all Moslem education. Not a science is taught in any school of Mohammedanism which does not begin with the Koran, and again come back to it. Whether law or medicine or geometry—in fact, whatever is communicated to the young, the first and ever predominant lesson imparted with it and through it is, that the Koran is the fountain of all science. Very naturally, then, the school is a part of the service of the mosque. This idea is not new. It is an oriental habit. We find proofs even in the Scriptures that the church was God’s first school. In ancient Egypt the temple, the palace, and the school were the perfected trinity in every city, and often the temple and the school were so closely enclosed that no careful observer could tell where one began and the other ended. The same idea re-appears in the arrangements which Charlemagne made for the higher education of the Frankish empire. The school was often located under the palace and in close connection with the chapel roof, and was called scholia palatina, or the school of the palace. At first the object seems to have been that the emperor’s children and other children of the court might have the best opportunity for learning; but very soon the limits became broader, and all who wanted to learn could have every advantage, within close distance of both church and palace.

The approach to the University of Cairo is a narrow street, with open booths on either side, where the artisans ply their crafts in full view of every passer-by. Three industries take the lead of all others—book-selling, book-binding, and hair-shaving. The nearest street to the University bears the name of the Street of the B, and such it may well be called. The Mohammedan has always a shaven head. He wears a great turban, of white or some other color. Green is the most infrequent shade, for that indicates that the wearer is a descendant of the prophet Mohammed. Not one hair is allowed under that turban. When it gets a little long the barber must shave the pate as clean as an ostrich egg. All along a part of the street leading to the University the barbers sit on the floors their shops, and shave the heads of their customers. The one to be shaved does not sit in a chair, but simply stretches out full length on the floor and puts his head in the lap of the barber, who also sits on the floor, with his feet doubled up under him. Then begins the process of shaving. It is a most lowly operation. No paper is used during the process, the barber getting rid of the shaved hair and soap by wiping the razor on his customer’s face until the entire tonsorial feat is finished and an ablution of cranium and face is in order. In addition to the barber shops there are probably not less than twenty-five book shops, as many binderies, and a good number of stationery stalls. These are all of modest dimensions, but are well stocked with everything that a student needs that is to say, a student of the Mohammedan order.

Between the point where the street ends and the University enclosure proper, there is a large fore-court. Here one sees such a medley of all forms of life and strange habits, in connection with study, that he can never forget it. It is the place where no serious study goes on, but where the news is discussed and conversation enjoyed. Even the barbers have spilled over into this court, for I saw a number of them busily shaving the heads of outstretched students. One of them, seeing a Frank scanning his work, stopped a moment, and holding up his razor from the pate which he had nearly made bald again, asked me if I did not want to be shaved too. I thanked him—but had not time. Imagine a half-dozen students lying about in Mead Hall, in Drew Seminary, near the doors of Drs. Butts, or Strong, or Miley, or Crooks, or Upham, and having their heads shaved by busy barbers, who sit flat on the marble floor and relieve the crania of their theological patrons of their last capillary endowment! Then think of students munching at a crust of dark bread or a pomegranate, or some edible, good or poor, according to his resources. Some students have families, and here the children come and play about them, at times when their fathers are not busy with their books. So far as I could see, there was no formal studying in this great fore-court. Perhaps there were a hundred persons in it, lying, sitting, walking. Some alone with their meditations, others entertaining a group of eager listeners, and gesticulating with oriental realism. Only one class had the appearance of any work, a group of boys. One of the number displeased his teacher, whereupon the latter beat him smartly with his fist until the little fellow’s eyes swam in tears; my blood fairly boiled at the teacher’s cruelty. I thought I was already in the University proper, but this was a serious error. The institution was yet to come; I was only approaching the great establishment.

I had no sooner touched the threshold of the great central hall than a man met me, and, with a most polite salaam, informed me that I must now put on slippers. He was a magnificent specimen of a well developed Egyptian—tall, muscular, grave, yet pleasant, and only answering such questions as were put to him. Unlike the European guides in blue and brass, those of Africa have no stereotype speeches which they hurl at you, as they have done at the thousands before you. In a moment four pairs of soft slippers, of yellow sheepskin, were brought to my companions and myself, and the wary hands which brought them slipped them on over our boots and tied them on with red strings. We were now to enter upon the holy stone floor of the great hall of Mohammedan learning, and only holy dust must fall upon that tessellated floor, and then only with softest touch. Here was a scene which baffles all description. The hall was about two hundred and fifty feet long and two hundred wide. All the classes were reciting, engaged in work, or listening to the professor. Every one who recited did it loudly. I stood beside one of the theological professors and watched his method. His class numbered forty students, whose various physiognomies showed that they had come from every part of the broad Mohammedan world. The professor sat squat on the floor, with his bare feet doubled up about him. There is no craze as yet among Mohammedans for only young teachers. This man, like many others, had long since passed beyond middle life. His heavy gray beard and very dark face were lighted up by as keen a pair of black eyes as ever became diamonds, when they saw in his young days the prophet’s torch in Mecca, or in vision beheld the curtain drawn aside which hides the Moslem paradise from human sight. The forty students sat about him in a circle, yet in such way that all were before him at once. He was one of the circle, in fact, and as he taught he swayed to and fro, and looked off into the distance as if in reverie, and then again at his class, and, with an intensity that only an Arab possesses, he burned his ideas into the very brain of the students. He sat at the foot of a stone pillar, and leaned against it at intervals, when his weary form needed a little rest.

This theological professor had the method of all. He held a thin book in his hand which seemed to be his own brief, and, after reading snatches from it, he gave a comment or explanation of it, and then had one student and then another repeat what he had said. Our American infant class method of teaching verses, and having them committed to memory while the class are together, and then repeating them, so that the teacher can see that the work is well and surely done, is precisely the method of both elementary and advanced education in this greatest university of the Mohammedan world. The brief of this theological professor was merely his collection of definitions, and these were committed to memory on the spot. Some of the students had sheets of tin, something smaller than the sheets of roofing tin with which we are familiar in the United States. On these they wrote in ink, with reed styles, and with such dexterity that a whole page was filled in a very short time. What was written on these tin slates was taken away, and designed to be committed to memory, when that process was not finished during the session of the class.

Now the entire floor of this immense hall was covered with classes at work. No teacher or student sat in a chair. There was not even a footstool in the entire University. The professors and students formed little or large groups all over the immense space, no class interfering with another, and each going on with its work as if alone, and yet not a partition or a curtain dividing the groups at study. I saw only a little eating here, an occasional student slily making a lunch of new dates, the fruit with “gold dust” on it, now just in from the country.

I could not help noticing the various ages of the students. Some were really very advanced in years. They were waked up very late in life. Something had broken loose under their twenty-five yards of cotton cloth which they call a turban, and they had come down the Nile with the rise, or had been wafted from the Darfur sands, and were going to study. They could do more, and be more, when they went back again. Here, too, was the old-time idea. The notion that a university is a thing for the young alone is a modern affair. The old conception was, it was everybody’s place—the universum of men as well as studies. In Mohammedanism, as in Christianity, when once the passion for learning strikes one, the years count nothing. The person in the fifties or even in sixties is just as apt to be overwhelmed, swept on, by the learning frenzy as though he were only eighteen and smitten by other inspirations.

The entire number in attendance at this greatest University of the Mohammedans is about thirteen thousand. Some calculations place it at fifteen thousand. They come from every part of the world where the cimetar of Mohammed and his successors has drawn blood, and where the crescent now floats. Each part of the large hall has its nation, where the students are grouped territorially. Here, in one place, are the Benguelese, from southwestern Africa; in another place are the Algerines, from the sound of the Mediterranean surf. Yonder are only Thracians, from south of the Balkans. This group, as black as your hat, consists entirely of Nubians. Another is made up solely of natives of Zanzibar. These divisions reach into nearly all the Asiatic and African lands. There are Afghanistaneze and others from still farther east, from the very heart of India, and even from the far Pacific islands. One has only to see these collections of students, massed around a teacher of their own language and nationality, to become convinced of the broad field of Mohammedanism and the mightiness of the effort needful to uproot it.

Poverty! That is no name for the condition of the students. They come to Cairo from the far-off regions, impelled by some passion bordering on that for learning, living on a little crust and fruit, having no sleeping place at night save the space of the sacred mosque which serves as a university, never paying a piastre for all the instruction of years, and looking forward with earnest longing to the time when they can leave again and impart to their native villages, or the very desert wastes, the wisdom which they have gained in the shades of the great hall of learning in the Cairo of the caliphs. There is a dash of self-seeking in their coming hither. When the tocsin of war is sounded, there is no exemption from conscription save learning. He who has once entered the doorway is safe from the conscription list. Were an attack made on the very citadel where Mohammed Ali put to death every plotting Mameluke—except one, who leaped upon his faithful Arab steed and plunged safely into the depths below—nothing could touch him. He has come to the fountain of knowledge, and Mars has no claim upon him. At the present time the number of students is not so large as usual, for there is no fear of a war, except such as the English are fighting and holding themselves responsible for. I looked carefully at the kind of food which these students ate, and in all cases it was of the simplest quality. Some were taking their solid dinner, and it was nothing more than a rude bowl of lentil soup or a flat cake of pounded grain. The clothing in most cases betokened the same poverty. The slippers were of rude construction, such as fifteen cents would buy, and even these are to be worn at the general prayer, which begins the day for all the students, only to be laid aside during the later hours. The habit is a loose black, or other colored robe, which has become threadbare by long usage. I am sure I saw many students, and professors as well, whose entire dress could not have cost five francs apiece. This dress they have on, moreover, is the whole scope of their wardrobe. When they get another suit it will probably be when they reach home again, and enter upon their calling for life.

The professors get no salary. They have passed through various stages of learning, and when once they have committed every word of the Koran, and perhaps some of the more noted commentaries on it to memory, and have given other proofs of aptness at teaching, they are declared able to instruct. But they get no pay for teaching. Neither the University treasury pays them, nor does the student do it. Their instruction is positively gratuitous. Now, if by copying the Koran or other book, or by private teaching in families, or by doing some outside manual work, they can be supported, well and good. But for sitting squat on the sacred marble floor and teaching students the holy laws, and all the holy sciences that come from them, there must be no itching palm. This is the one place, and only one, so far as I can recall, where I have been where there has been no call for backsheesh.

How, then, is this immense establishment supported? I answer, that many students are sustained, and so permitted to remain at the University, by the funds of the institution. The treasury, instead of taking care of the professor, goes rather to keeping the student from starvation. There are many endowments which have fallen into the hands of the state which constitute a large part of this treasury. Education has always been an attractive investment, and many Mohammedans have left sums of money for this purpose, and so the University of Cairo owes a good part of its wealth to this source. Again, when funds fall from certain causes, into the treasury of the state—perhaps property for which there are no heirs—it is devoted to this purpose. The building and all its belongings, and all really needy students are thus provided for. Out of the three hundred professors and other teachers, only one is paid a salary. He is the general director, or rector, and his salary amounts to 10,000 piastres, or about five hundred dollars of our money.

Of one thing I was very careful to make inquiry. I mean as to the bearing of this institution on the propagation of Mohammedan ideas. In all descriptions I had become familiar with concerning the great purpose of the students, the thought was made predominant that the students went away with a missionary zeal, and became intense propagators of the faith throughout their lives. The Rev. Mr. Harvey, of that noble cause and magnificent institution for Egypt, the United Presbyterian Mission, from the United States, was a very kind escort during my visit. He has been many years a resident of Cairo, and is very familiar with every form of Mohammedan life, and he informs me that this zeal for the Moslem faith does not exist, that the students do not go away with it, and never exhibit it, except in rare cases, in later life. Their stay in the University may be long. They may be three or four or five years, and if no way to work opens they may spend most of their life there, but whenever they do leave, sooner or later, they go off not simply as teachers of theology, but as jurists, mathematicians, or professional men of other callings, and religion is less in mind than secular work. Even when they go out as imams, or priests, that profession carries with it certain functions which belong both to the town clerk or the district judge, and hence the priesthood is absorbed in certain legal and administrative functions which eclipse the sacred office altogether. As to a burning zeal to disseminate Mohammedanism, it does not exist. It has no unquenchable love for itself, and is only continuing its own means of propagation because of something better. That something better is at its doors, and is beginning to thread the labyrinths of the Dark Continent. In due time Christianity will do for Africa what it has done for Europe, and is this day doing for the half of Asia.

The darkest feature of my visit to the University was the absence of women. Alas! you never see the Mohammedan woman in these oriental lands, save with veiled face and hesitant step. Only yesterday I saw a handsome carriage being driven along one of the principal Cairene streets, preceded by a gaily dressed herald, who cried, “Make way, make way,” as is the fashion here still. The silken curtains were drawn, but the occupants were two ladies. They must live in the dark. In the mosque they must sit in the lofty spaces, far back behind the wooden screen work, and even then be veiled. The very small girls, who trip about with little rattling and tinkling bells around their ankles, are hardly old enough to learn the way to the next street before the veil is drawn over their face, and only their little eyes are permitted to look out. In the multitudes which I saw at the University, both as students and teachers, there was but one woman. She was probably the wife of a professor, and had come merely to bring the learned man his dinner, and then slip back again to the dark rear room of the house misnamed a home, and await his coming, and be the menial still to prepare his evening meal. Mohammedanism has no place for woman in its educational system. Its best interpretation of her office is that she is simply man’s slave. But the better day is coming, and may it soon be here, when the right of all women, in all these oriental countries, to the highest and the largest knowledge, shall be recognized as equal to that of any men beneath the shining sun.

AS SEEING THE INVISIBLE.

BY MRS. EMILY J. BUGBEE.

To stand at the post of duty

Whether we rise or fall,

If this be a place of beauty,

Or the homeliest lot of all.

To walk with a soul undaunted

In the God appointed way,

Whether with praise enchanted,