PART III.

Such, then, is the true idea of the Christian life—a life not of periodic observances, or of occasional fervors, or even of splendid acts of heroism and self devotion, but of quiet, constant, unobtrusive earnestness, amid the common-place work of the world. This is the life to which Christ calls us. Is it yours? Have you entered upon it, or are you now willing to enter upon it? It is not, I admit, an imposing or an easy one. There is nothing in it to dazzle, much in its hardness and plainness to deter the irresolute. The life of a follower of Christ demands not, indeed, in our day, the courage of the hero or the martyr, the fortitude that braves outward dangers and sufferings, and flinches not from persecution and death. But with the age of persecution the difficulties of the Christian life have not passed away. In maintaining a spirit of Christian cheerfulness and contentment—in the unambitious routine of humble duties—in preserving the fervor of piety amid the unexciting cares and wearing anxieties—in the perpetual reference to lofty ends amid lowly toils—there may be evinced a faith as strong as that of the man who dies with the song of martyrdom on his lips. It is a great thing to love Christ so dearly as to be “ready to be bound and to _die_” for him; but it is often a thing not less great to be ready to take up our daily cross, and to _live_ for him.

But be the difficulties of a Christian life in the world what they may, they need not discourage us. Whatever the work to which our Master calls us, he offers us a strength commensurate with our needs. No man who wishes to serve Christ will ever fail for lack of heavenly aid. And it will be no valid excuse for an ungodly life that it is difficult to keep alive the flame of piety in the world, if Christ be ready to supply the fuel.

To all, then, who really wish to lead such a life, let me suggest that the first thing to be done—that without which all other efforts are worse than vain, is heartily to devote themselves to God through Christ Jesus. Much as has been said of the infusion of religious principle and motive into our worldly work, there is a preliminary advice of greater importance still—that we _be religious_. Life comes before growth. The soldier must enlist before he can serve. In vain, directions how to keep the fire ever burning on the altar, if first it be not kindled. No religion can be genuine, no goodness can be constant or lasting, that springs not, as its primary source, from faith in Jesus Christ. To know Christ as my Savior—to come with all my guilt and weakness to him in whom trembling penitence never fails to find a friend—to cast myself at his feet in whom all that is sublime in divine holiness is softened, though not obscured, by all that is beautiful in human tenderness; and, believing in that love stronger than death, which, for me, and such as me, drained the cup of untold sorrows, and bore without a murmur the bitter curse of sin, to trust my soul for time and eternity into his hands—this is the beginning of true religion. And it is the reverential love with which the believer must ever look to him to whom he owes so much, that constitutes the main-spring of the religion of daily life. Selfishness may prompt to a formal religion, natural susceptibility may give rise to a fitful one, but for a life of constant fervent piety, amid the world’s cares and toils, no motive is sufficient save one—self-devoted love to Christ.

But again, if you would lead a Christian life in the world, let me remind you that that life must be _continued_ as well as begun with Christ. You must learn to look to him not merely as your Savior from guilt, but as the friend of your secret life, the chosen companion of your solitary hours, the depository of all the deeper thoughts and feelings of your soul. You can not live _for_ him in the world unless you live much _with_ him apart from the world. In spiritual as in secular things, the deepest and strongest characters need much solitude to form them. Even earthly greatness, much more moral and spiritual greatness, is never attained but as the result of much that is concealed from the world—of many a lonely and meditative hour. Thoughtfulness, self-knowledge, self-control, a chastened wisdom and piety, are the fruit of habitual meditation and prayer. In these exercises heaven is brought near, and our exaggerated estimate of earthly things corrected.

But, further, in availing yourself of this divine resource amid the daily exigences of life, why should you wait always for the periodic season and the formal attitude of prayer? The heavens are not open to the believer’s call only at intervals. The grace of God’s Holy Spirit falls not like the fertilizing shower, only now and then; or like the dew on the earth’s face, only at morning and night. At all times, on the uplifted face of the believer’s spirit, the gracious element is ready to descend. Pray always; pray without ceasing. When difficulties arise, delay not to seek and obtain at once the succor you need. Swifter than by the subtle electric agent is thought borne from earth to heaven. The Great Spirit on high is in constant sympathy with the spirit beneath, and in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, the thrill of aspiration flashes from the heart of man to God. Whenever anything vexes you—whenever, from the rude and selfish ways of men, any trials of temper cross your path; when your spirits are ruffled, or your Christian forbearance put to the test, be this your instant resource! Haste away, if only for a moment, to the serene and peace-breathing presence of Jesus, and you will not fail to return with a spirit soothed and calmed. Or when the impure and low-minded surround you—when, in the path of duty, the high tone of your Christian purity is apt to suffer from baser contacts—O, what relief to lift the heart to Christ! to rise on the wings of faith—even for one instant to breath the air of that region where the infinite Purity dwells, and then return with a mind steeled against temptation, ready to recoil with the instinctive abhorrence of a spirit that has been beside the throne, from all that is impure and vile. Say not, then, with such aid at your command, that religion can not be brought down to Common Life!

In conclusion, let me once more urge upon you the great lesson upon which we have been insisting. Carry religious principle into every-day life. Principle elevates whatever it touches. Facts lose all their littleness to the mind which brings principle and law to bear upon them. The chemist’s or geologist’s soiled hands are no sign of base work; the coarsest operations of the laboratory, the breaking of stones with a hammer, cease to be mechanical when intellectual thought and principle govern the mind and guide the hands. And religious principle is the noblest of all. Bring it to bear on common actions and coarse cares, and infinitely nobler even than the philosophic or scientific, becomes the Christian life. Live for Christ in common things, and all your work will become priestly work. As in the temple of old, it was holy work to hew wood or mix oil, because it was done for the altar-sacrifice or the sacred lamps; so all your coarse and common work will receive a consecration when done for God’s glory, by one who is a true priest to his temple.

Carry religion into common life, and your life will be rendered useful as well as noble. There are many men who listen incredulously to the high-toned exhortations of the pulpit; the religious life there depicted is much too seraphic, they think, for this plain and prosaic world of ours. Show these men that the picture is not a fancy one. Make it a reality. Bring religion down from the clouds. Apply to it the infallible test of experiment, and, by diffusing your daily actions with holy principles, prove that love to God, superiority to worldly pleasure, spirituality, holiness, heavenly-mindedness, are something more than the stock ideas of sermons.

The world’s scenes of business may fade on our sight, the noise of its restless pursuits may fall no more upon our ear, when we pass to meet our God; but not one unselfish thought, not one kind and gentle word, not one act of self-sacrificing love done for Jesus’ sake, in the midst of our common work, but will have left an indelible impress on the soul, which will go out with it to its eternal destiny. So live, then, that this may be the result of your labors; so live that your work, whether in the Church or in the world, may become a discipline for that glorious state of being in which the Church and the world shall become one; where work shall be worship, and labor shall be rest; where the worker shall never quit the temple, nor the worshipper the place of work, because “there is no temple therein, but the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple thereof.”

[_June 24._]

THE ELEVENTH COMMANDMENT—MANNERS.

By ABEL STEVENS, LL.D.

With most of us manners are a chief ministry of life. If love is the very element, the essence of holiness, then holiness should produce sweetness of both mind and manners. Amiability means, etymologically, loveliness, loveableness. But is it not too often the misfortune of piety, especially in its more earnest forms, to be accompanied by unamiable severity, not to say sourness—by introspective moodiness; unnecessary rigor in petty or indifferent things; uncharitable crimination of those whose opinions of spiritual experience do not conform to our own, habitual obtrusion of our own opinions—not only repelling individual brethren, but sometimes annoying and agitating whole churches?

“Be courteous:” The sentence, though brief, is full of significance, and is divinely authoritative. It is a commandment.

Stanley, in his “Lectures on the Scotch Church,” tells a fine story about Archbishop Usher, the chronologist of sacred history. Hearing of the great genius and saintliness of Rutherford, the celebrated Scotch divine, he went _incognito_ to the rural parsonage of the good pastor, and was received to its hospitality as a belated traveler. The household was “catechised” that evening, and the stranger took his seat among them to share the exercise. “How many commandments are there?” asked Rutherford. “Eleven,” replied Usher. Rutherford rebuked him severely for his ignorance. What had been his education, that he could make such a blunder? The next morning was Sunday, and, as the pastor went on his way through the woods toward his church, he heard fervent prayer in a thicket, and was deeply affected. Usher soon appeared coming out of it, and Rutherford had an explanation. His heart was still more deeply touched, and the archbishop was constrained to preach for him that morning. He did so on the text, “A new commandment,” etc. Rutherford was now still more deeply affected; there was, indeed, an eleventh commandment—“that ye love one another”—and he had unintentionally broken it, for he had not been courteous to his eminent visitor, in his Saturday evening catechetical rebuke, and the command to be courteous was certainly implied in the new commandment—if not, it must be a twelfth one.

It is, indeed, a “commandment” whether the eleventh modified, or a twelfth. Hannah Moore, in her essay on St. Paul, delineates him as a veritable gentleman. He knew how to rebuke audacious sin; but his writings teem with maxims inculcating gentle behavior. There was a fine touch of courtesy in his retraction of that sudden rebuke to the Jewish priest—of courteous respect for the office, if not the officer.

Manners are admitted to be, at least, “minor morals.” _Minor_ morals! How often are they indeed major morals! As making up a great proportion of the habitual conduct of life, their influence on ourselves, as well as on others, is habitual, and, therefore, must be proportionately strong and important. Shall we, then, deem them mere minor morals? Do they not fashion us, to a great extent, for both worlds? “As a man thinketh, so is he,” is an old proverb; as a man acteth, so is he, may be more surely affirmed, especially as he acteth habitually, in the common intercourse of life, so thoroughly modified by our demeanor.

You “know a man by the company he keeps,” says another maxim; you know him still more by the habitudes which accompany him.

You know him by his manners, not merely because manners are the most habitual effect, or expression, of his character, but because they have really, to a great extent, formed his character. They are cause as well as effect.

There is, then, a profound ethical importance in manners, for their educational, their moral, effect on the man himself. A truly courteous man, a true gentleman, and especially a Christian gentleman, is the better for every act of good manners in his daily life. There is sentiment, and, in a sense, moral sentiment, at the bottom of all manners. Respect for others has some very subtle and vital affinity with self-respect; and self-respect is not self-conceit, it is respect for the moral claims of our own nature on our own conduct.

Courtesy is, then, we repeat, ethical—and much more deeply and broadly so than is usually supposed. We can not habitually violate its requisitions without injuring ourselves, as well as others. Discourtesy reacts and degenerates.

But manners are not only important as self-educational; they are powerful in their influence on others, and have, in this respect, an ethical importance: to them attaches an unavoidable responsibility.

Our children are more effectively educated at home than in the school or in the world. The daily, insinuating influence of a mother’s voice, or glance, on the _morale_ of her child, is like the gentle air and sunlight to young plants. The roughness or gentleness of a father’s demeanor in the household may make “roughs” or gentlemen of his boys. Mutual petulance or affectionateness between the children of a family may depend almost entirely on the same qualities in the father and mother. There is scarcely anything, however apparently trivial, in the manners of the home that is not irresistibly educational. The ladder heavenward, visioned in the mind of the patriarch, is planted at the domestic hearth, and inclines over the very cradle. Are manners _minor_ morals, then? Nay, they are the most effective education, they form one of the most potent influences of the common, human life. There are cases in which defective manners inflict an evil equivalent to certain more apparent violations of morality.

Manners are the physiognomy of the soul. Rudeness, and especially ill-tempered severity, show an inferior _morale_. The personal revelation of character, particularly in familiar life, is one of the most influential forces for good or ill that acts upon men. It is in life what it is in literature, only incomparably more influential, as it is more habitual and affects our more direct and more sacred relations and intercourse. We know that in literature it is the great, the distinctive, power of an author. It is the individuality, the intellectual and moral personality of a writer, that mostly makes his productions classical or otherwise. Milton, Shakspere, Goethe, Schiller, Byron, we read themselves in their style of both language and thought; and they thus mold the souls of their readers after their own image. Pascal says, that “When we see a natural style we are surprised and delighted, for, in expecting to see an author, we find a man; while those who have good taste, often, in opening a book, expecting to see a man, find only an author.” “Style is the man,” says another great French writer. And so manners are the man—the style of the man’s conduct, and immeasurable in their silent, unconscious influence on all around us. Not only do parents thus mold the hearts and lives of their children, children the hearts and lives of one another, but pastors thus act on their churches, neighbors on neighbors, and even nations on nations. “Be courteous,” is, then, we may repeat, an important moral law—a divine commandment.

It is a fallacy to suppose that manners are matters merely of social life; they belong to a man’s whole life—his public as well as his private life. They have infinitely more to do with the success of public men than is usually supposed. They affect especially and profoundly the pastoral character and success. It is a great thing to be a true evangelist; but can you be completely so without obedience to the injunction of one who was more than an evangelist, who was an apostle—“Be courteous?” A public man who outrages good manners may not be altogether a moral nuisance, but he can not well be a salutary moral power in the community. His best theoretical instruction, if he be a public teacher, may not compensate for the continuous, insidious, demoralizing influence of his manners on his habitual hearers, especially on the incipient character of children and youth. The public teacher should, above all things, be, as Cicero insisted in regard to the orator, a good man; but, next to this, he should be a genuine gentleman. This phrase ordinarily has a somewhat ambiguous application: we need not say that we are not using it in its equivocal, conventional sense. We use it in the sense of the apostle’s command—“Be courteous,”—maintain your manners, he would say. Gentleness, so incessantly enjoined in holy Scripture, is an equivalent phrase—because genuine politeness itself always includes, as its central element, gentleness (gentility), kindliness; that is to say, a certain moral sentiment of tenderness and goodwill toward all men. It is a fact, worthy of the attention of the ethical philosopher, that true manners, genuine politeness, in not only polished life, but even in the chivalry of the age of knighthood, has thus been identified with a certain moral sentiment; that “gentility” essentially means gentleness; that even the chivalry, the bravery, of the hero, has proverbially been associated with generosity. How can a public man, then, dispense with these qualities? There is not merely a conciliatory influence in good manners on the part of the public man—an influence to win a candid hearing—but there is a positive moral power in them, a power which enhances all other power.

Let us not misunderstand the word. It is courtesy, not merely the manner or appearance of courtesy, that is enjoined. What may be manners in one country or age may not be such in another. Courtesy is the same everywhere and always. Courtesy, as meant by the apostle, and instinctively recognized by refined minds, is not so much manners, as it is the underlying sentiment of manners. And manners themselves should be distinguished from mannerisms. Mannerism is sometimes a mere perversion, a caricature of manners. The highest courtesy is often seen in the avoidance of manners—in the intercourse of true gentlemen, who have so much hearty regard for one another, so much confidence in their mutual good understanding, that they spontaneously dispense with all mere _forms_ of courtesy. Courtesy is thus supreme in its spirit, while unconcerned about its expression. It is a sort of compliment to an intimate friend for you to show that you so far confide in his courtesy as to believe that he expects not the forms of courtesy from you. Lovers are never fastidious about the etiquette of manners. The etiquette of manners seldom enters into the most holy sanctuaries or intimacies of life. It is left outside, as in the East the sandals are left at the door; but courtesy always enters, and is most at home in the homes of the heart.

Great was Paul as a theologian, all the world acknowledges; but he was equally great as an ethical philosopher. What a fine discernment of moral distinctions he had! Love was with him the “fulfilling of the law,” and love is, in his writings, the essential principle of courtesy—gentleness, kindness, sweetness of soul. When were ever better ethics given to the world than in his discourse to the Corinthians on charity? That discourse should certainly rank next to his divine Master’s Sermon on the Mount, the second great religious document in the possession of the world. Any candid skeptic must acknowledge that, would all the world conform to it, the human race would be as perfect in morals and manners as it could be. And what is this but acknowledging the divine fitness, and, therefore, truthfulness, of the document, and, indeed, of the religion which gave it birth? What courtesy could transcend that which “thinketh no evil,” which “envieth not,” which “seeketh not its own,” which “is not puffed up,” which “believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things!”

“A holy life is made up,” says Bonar, “of a number of small things. Little words, not eloquent speeches or sermons; little deeds, not miracles nor battles, nor one great heroic act, or mighty martyrdom, make up the true Christian life. The little, constant sunbeam, not the lightning; the waters of Shiloh, ‘that go softly’ in their meek mission of refreshment, not the waters of the ‘river, strong and many,’ rushing down in torrents, noise and force, are the true symbols of a holy life. The avoidance of little evils, little sins, little inconsistencies, little weaknesses, little follies, little indiscretions and imprudences, little foibles, little indulgences of self and the flesh—the avoidance of such _little_ things as these goes far to make up, at least, the negative beauty of a holy life.”

The aim of Christianity is to produce a sanctified and noble manhood in this world, preparatory for angelhood in a higher world. He that works well for his religion honors it, but he that lives it well honors it more, for such a life is itself the best work, and empowers all other work.

* * * * *

The God who created these fair heavens with the same facility as yon green sapling: he who hath bestowed on man a life of toil, of transient joys and fleeting pains, that he might not forget the higher worth of his enduring soul, and might feel that immortality waited for him beyond the grave,—he, he is one only God! his mighty name Jehovah! earth’s Creator and Judge! adored by Adam, first of men, and Adam’s sons; then by Abraham, our father. But the rites by which we serve him are obscure and dark even to our wisest men. Yet God himself prescribed our sacred types, and will in time disclose their purport.—_Klopstock._

CHINESE LITERATURE.

ON THE ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FILIAL DUTY.

Confucius, sitting at leisure with his pupil, Tsang Tsan, by his side, said to him: “Do you understand how the ancient kings who possessed the greatest virtue and best moral principles, rendered the whole empire so obedient that the people lived in peace and harmony, and no ill-will existed between superiors and inferiors?” Tsang Tsan replied, “Destitute as I am of discernment, how can I understand the subject?” “Filial duty,” said the sage, “is the root of virtue, and the stem from which instruction in moral principles springs forth. The first thing which filial duty requires of us is that we preserve from all injury, and in a perfect state, the bodies which we have received from our parents. And when we acquire for ourselves a station in the world, that we regulate our conduct by correct principles, so as to transmit our names to future generations, and reflect glory on our parents: this is the ultimate aim of filial duty. Thus it commences in attention to our parents; is continued through a series of services rendered to the prince; and is completed by the elevation of ourselves. It is said in the ‘Book of Odes,’

“‘Think always of your ancestors, Talk of and imitate their virtues.’” —_From “Hian King;” or, “Memoir on Filial Duty.”_

THE IMPROVEMENT OF ONE’S SELF.

The ancients who wished to restore reason to its due lustre throughout the empire, first regulated the provinces which they each governed. Desirous of governing well their own kingdoms, they previously established order and virtue in their own houses; for the sake of establishing domestic order they began with self-renovation; to renovate their own minds, they first gave a right direction to their own affections; wishing to direct their passions aright, they corrected their ideas and desires, and to rectify these they enlarged their knowledge to the utmost. Now, this enlargement of knowledge consists in a most thorough and minute acquaintance with the nature of things around us. A thorough acquaintance with the nature of things around us renders knowledge deep and consummate; from thence proceed just ideas and desires; erroneous ideas once corrected, the affections of the soul move in the right direction; the passions thus rectified, the mind naturally obeys reason, and the empire of reason restored in the soul, domestic order follows, of course; from thence flows order throughout the whole province; and one province rightly governed may serve as a model for a whole kingdom.—_From “Ta Hioh;” or, “Superior Lessons.”_

SENTENCES FROM CONFUCIUS.

Grieve not that men know you not, but grieve that you are ignorant of men.

Have no friends unlike yourself.

Learning, without reflection, will profit nothing; reflection, without learning, will leave the mind uneasy and miserable.

Knowledge produces pleasure clear as water; complete virtue brings happiness, solid as a mountain; knowledge pervades all things; virtue is tranquil and happy; knowledge is delight; virtue is long life.

The sage’s conduct is affection and benevolence in operation.

The man who possesses complete virtue wishes to fix his mind therein, and also to fix the minds of others; he wishes to be wise himself and would fain render others equally wise.

Those who, searching for virtue, refuse to stay among the virtuous, how can they obtain knowledge?

In your appearance to fall below decency would be to resemble a savage rustic, to exceed it would be to resemble a fop; let your appearance be decent and moderate, then you will resemble the honorable man.

When I first began with men, I heard words and gave credit for conduct, now I hear words and observe conduct.

The perfect man is never satisfied with himself; he that is satisfied with himself is not perfect.

He that is desirous to improve is not ashamed to ask of others.

Sin in a virtuous man is like an eclipse of the sun and moon, all men gaze at it and it passes away; the virtuous man mends and the world stands in admiration of his fall.

Patience is the most necessary thing to have in this world.

—_From “Lun Yu;” or, “Conversations of Confucius.”_

A BALLAD ON “PICKING TEA IN THE GARDENS IN SPRINGTIME.”

Our household dwells amid ten thousand hills, Where the tea north and south of the village abundantly grows. From _chinsé_ to _kuhyü_ unceasingly hurried, Each morning I must early rise to do my task of tea.

By earliest dawn, I at my toilet, only half dress my hair, And seizing my basket pass the door while yet the mist is thick. The little maids and graver dames, hand in hand winding along, Ask me, “Which steep of Sunglo do you climb to-day?”

The sky is thick and the dusky twilight hides the hilltops; The dewy leaves and cloudy buds can not be easily plucked. We know not for whom their thirst to quench We’re caused to labor and daily two by two to go.

In social couples each to aid her fellows, we seize the tea twigs, And in low words urge one another, “Don’t delay,” Lest on the topmost bough, the bud has even now grown old, And lest with the morrow comes the drizzling, silky rain.

We’ve picked enough, the topmost boughs are sparse of leaves; We lift our baskets filled brimful and talk of going home; Laughing we pass along, when just against the pool A pair of scared mallards rise and fly diverse away.

This pool has limpid water, and there deep the lotus grows; Its little leaves are round as coins, and only yet half-blown; Going to the jutting verge, near a clear and shallow spot, I mark my present looks, try how of late my face appears.

My curls and hair are all awry, my face is quite begrimed; In whose house lives the girls so ugly as your slave? ’Tis only because that every day the tea I’m forced to pick, The soaking rains and driving winds have spoiled my early charms.

With the morning comes the wind and rain together, fierce and high, But the little hat and basket tall still must I take along; The tender leaflets fully picked, we to our homes return, When each sees her fellow’s dress all soiled with miry slime.

This morn without the door, I beheld a pleasant sky; Quickly I combed my girlish tufts and firmly set my pin; With rapid steps away I speed towards the garden’s path, And forgetful of the muddy way, omit to change my shoes.

When just within the garden bounds, I hear the thunder roll; My bowing shoes are soaked quite through, yet still I can’t return; I call my distant comrade to send my message home, And have my green umbrella-hat set hither to me soon.

The rain is past, the outmost leaflets show their greenish veins; Pull down a branch and the fragrant scent’s diffused around; Both high and low the yellow golden threads are now quite culled, And my clothes and frock are dyed with odors through and through.

The sweet and fragrant perfume’s like that from the aglaia; In goodness and appearance my tea will be the best in Wuyuen, When all are picked, the new buds, by next term, will burst forth, And this morning the last third gathering is quite done.

Each picking is with toilsome labor, but yet I shun it not. My maiden curls are all askew, my pearly fingers all benumbed; But I only wish our tea to be of a superfine kind, To have it equal the “sparrow’s tongue” and “dragon’s pellet.”

For a whole month when can I catch a single leisure day? For at earliest dawn I go to pick and not till dusk return; Then the deep midnight sees me still before the firing pan; Will not labor like this my pearly complexion deface?

But if my face is thin my mind is firmly fixed, So to fire my golden buds that they shall excel all besides; But how know I who shall put them in the jewelled cup? Whose taper fingers will give them to the maid to draw?

At a bright fire she makes the tea, her sorrows flee away; Where shall she learn our toil who so tender picked it all? How that without a sign the fierce winds and rains did rise, Drenching and soaking our persons as if plunged into a bath.

But though my heaving bosom like a well-sweep rise and fall, Still patient in my poverty and care I’ll never shun my usual toil; My only thought shall be to have new tea well fired, That the flag and awl be well rolled and show their whitened down.

THE MENDER OF CRACKED CHINAWARE.

_Dramatis Personæ_:

NIU CHAU, a wandering tinker. WANG NIANG, a young girl.

SCENE: A STREET.—[_Niu Chau enters. Across his shoulder is a bamboo, to each end of which are suspended boxes containing the various tools and implements of his trade, and a small stool. He is dressed meanly; his face and head are painted and decorated in a fantastic manner._]

[_Sings._] Seeking a livelihood by the work of my hands, Daily do I traverse the streets of the city. [_Speaks._] Well, here I am, a mender of broken jars, An unfortunate victim of ever-changing plans. To repair old fractured jars Is my sole occupation and support. ’Tis even so, I have no other employment.

[_Takes his boxes from his shoulder, places them on the ground, sits beside them, and drawing out his fan, continues speaking._]

A disconsolate old man, I am a slave to inconveniences. For several days past, I have been unable to go abroad, But observing this morning a clear sky and fine air, I was induced to recommence my street wanderings. [_Sings._] At dawn I left my home, But as yet have had no job. Hither and yon, and on all sides, From the east gate to the west, From the south gate to the north, And all over within the walls Have I been, but no one has called For the mender of cracked jars. Unfortunate man! But this being my first visit to the city of Nanking, Some extra exertion is necessary. Time is lost sitting idle here, And so to roam again I go.

[_Shoulders his boxes and stool, and walks about, crying: “Plates mended! bowls mended! jars and pots neatly repaired!”_]

_Lady Wang_ (_heard within_).—Did I not hear the cry of the mender of cracked jars? I’ll open the door and look. [_She enters, looking around_] Yes, there comes the repairer of jars.

_Niu Chau._—Pray have you a jar to mend? I have long been seeking a job. Did you not call?

_Lady W._—What is your charge for a large jar; and how much for a small one?

_Niu Chau._—For large jars, one mace five.

_Lady W._—And for small ones?

_Niu Chau._—Fifty pair of cash.

_Lady W._—To one mace five and fifty pair of cash, add nine candareens, and a new jar may be had.

_Niu Chau._—What, then, will you give?

_Lady W._—I will give one candareen for either size.

_Niu Chau._—Well, lady, how many cash can I get for this candareen?

_Lady W._—Why, if the price be high, you will get eight cash.

_Niu Chau._—And if low?

_Lady W._—You will get but seven cash and a half.

_Niu Chau._—O, you wicked, tantalizing thing!

[_Sings._] Since leaving home this morning, I have met but with a trifler, Who, in the shape of an old wife, Tortures and gives me no job; I’ll shoulder again my boxes, continue my walk, And never again will I return to the house of Wang.

[_He moves off slowly._]

_Lady W._—Jar-mender! return, quickly return; with a loud voice I entreat you; for I have something on which I wish to consult with you.

_Niu Chau._—What is it on which you wish to consult me?

_Lady W._—I will give you a hundred cash to mend a large jar.

_Niu Chau._—And for mending a small one?

_Lady W._—And for mending a small one, thirty pair of cash.

_Niu Chau._—One hundred and thirty pair—truly, lady, this is worth consulting about. Lady Wang, where shall I mend them?

_Lady W._—Follow me. [_They move toward the door of the house._]

[_Sings._] Before walks the Lady Wang.

_Niu Chau._—And behind comes the _pu-kang_ (or jar-mender).

_Lady W._—Here, then, is the place.

_Niu Chau._—Lady Wang, permit me to pay my respects. [_Bows repeatedly in a ridiculous manner._] We can exchange civilities. I congratulate you; may you prosper.

_Lady W._—Here is the jar; now go to work and mend it.

_Niu Chau._—[_Takes the jar in his hand and tosses it about, examining it._] This jar has certainly a very appalling fracture.

_Lady W._—Therefore it requires the more care in mending.

_Niu Chau._—That is self evident.

_Lady W._—Now Lady Wang will retire again to her dressing-room, And after closing the doors, will resume her toilet. Her appearance she will beautify, On the left, her hair she will comb into a dragon’s-head tuft, On the right she will arrange it tastefully with flowers, Her lips she will color with blood-red vermilion, And a gem of chrysoprase will she place in the dragon’s-head tuft; Then, having completed her toilet, she will return to the door, And sit down to look at the jar mender. [_Exit._]

[_Niu Chau sits down, straps the jar on his knee, and arranges his tools before him, and as he drills holes for the clamps, sings_—]

Every hole drilled requires a pin, And every two holes drilled requires pins a pair. As I raise my head and look around—

[_At this moment Lady Wang returns, beautifully dressed, and sits down by the door_]

There sits, I see, a delicate young lady, Before she had the appearance of an old wife, Now she is transformed into a handsome young girl; On the left, her hair is combed into a dragon’s head tuft, On the right it is adorned tastefully with flowers. Her lips are like plums, her mouth is all smiles, Her eyes are brilliant as the phœnix’s; and She stands on golden lilies, but two inches long. I look again, another look—down drops the jar.

[_The jar at this moment falls, and is broken to pieces._]

[_Speaks._] Heigh-ya! Here then is a dreadful smash.

_Lady W._—You have but to replace it with another, and do so quickly.

_Niu Chau._—For one that was broken, a good one must be given. Had two been broken, then were a pair to be supplied; an old one being smashed, a new one must replace it.

_Lady W._—You have destroyed the jar, and return me nothing but words. Give me a new one, then you may return home, not before.

_Niu Chau._—Here on my knees upon the hard ground, I beg Lady Wang, while she sits above, to listen to a few words. Let me receive pardon for the accident her beauty has occasioned, and I will at once make her my wife.

_Lady W._—Impudent old man! How presume to think that I ever can become your wife!

_Niu Chau._—Yes, it is true, I am somewhat older than Lady Wang, yet would I make her my wife.

_Lady W._—No matter, then, for the accident, but leave me now at once.

_Niu Chau._—Since you have forgiven me, I again shoulder my boxes, And I will go elsewhere in search of a wife; And here, before high heaven, I swear never again to come near the house of Wang. You a great lady! You are but a vile, ragged girl, And will yet be glad to take up with a much worse companion.

[_Going away, he suddenly throws off his upper dress, and appears as a handsome young man._]

_Lady W._—Henceforth give up your wandering profession, And marry me. Quit the trade of a jar-mender. With the Lady Wang pass happily the remainder of your life.

[_They embrace and exeunt._]

—_Chi. Rep., vol. VI., p. 576._

JAPANESE LITERATURE.

TRANSLATIONS FROM JAPANESE MYTHOLOGY.

The first man was Izanagi, the first woman Izanami. Standing together on the floating bridge of heaven, the male plunged his jeweled falchion, or spear, into the unstable waters beneath them, and withdrawing it, the trickling drops formed an island, upon which they descended. The creative pair, or divine man and woman, designing to make this island a pillar for a continent, separated—the male to the left, the female to the right—to make a journey round the island. At their meeting, the female spirit spoke first, “How joyful to meet a lovely man!” The male spirit, offended that the first use of the tongue had been by a woman, required the circuit to be repeated. On their second meeting, the man cried out, “How joyful to meet a lovely woman!” They were the first couple; and this was the beginning of the art of love, and of the human race. The island (Awaji) with seven other large, and many thousand small ones, became the Everlasting Great Japan. The Heaven-illuminating Goddess was their first child. She shone beautifully, and lighted the heavens and the earth. Her father, therefore, transferred her from earth to heaven, and gave her the ethereal realm to rule over. At this time the earth was close to heaven, and the goddess easily mounted the pillar, on which heaven rested, to her kingdom.

The second child became the Goddess of the Moon. Of their third child, a boy, they entertained the highest hopes. He grew up, however, to be a most mischievous fellow, killing people, pulling up their trees, and trampling down their fields. He grew worse as he grew up. He was made ruler over the blue sea; but he never kept his kingdom in order. He let his beard grow down over his bosom. He cried constantly; and the land became a desert, the rivers and seas dried up, and human beings died in great numbers. His father, inquiring the reason of his surly behavior, was told that he wished to go to his mother, who was in the region under the earth. He then made his son ruler over the kingdom of night. The august scape-grace still continued his pranks, unable to refrain from mischief. One day, after his sister, the Sun-goddess, had planted a field with rice, he turned a wild horse loose, which trampled down and spoiled all her work. Again, having built a store house for the new rice, he defiled it so that it could not be used. At another time, his sister was sitting at her loom, weaving. Sosanoö, having skinned a live horse by drawing its skin off from the tail to the head, flung the reeking hide over the loom, and the carcass in the room. The goddess was so frightened that she hurt herself with the shuttle, and, in her wrath, retired to a cave, closing the mouth with a large rock. Heaven, earth, and the four quarters became enshrouded in darkness, and the distinction between day and night ceased.

The gods create great confusion and noise pretending to be very merry when the Sun-goddess within, unable to account for the ill-timed mirth, since heaven and earth were in darkness, rose, and approaching the rocky door, listened to the honeyed words of one of the gods, who was praising her. Impelled further by curiosity, she opened the door, slightly, and asked why Uzumé danced and the gods laughed? Uzumé replied, “I dance because there is an honorable deity who surpasses your glory.” As she said this, the exceedingly beauteous god Futodama showed the mirror. The Sun-goddess within, astonished at her own loveliness, which she now first beheld in the reflection, stepped out a little further to gratify her curiosity. The God of Invincibly Strong Hands, who stood concealed, pulled the rock door open, caught her by the hand, and dragged her forth. The wisest of the gods, who superintended the whole proceedings, took a rope of twisted rice-straw, passed it behind her, and said, “Do not go behind this.” Then they removed the Sun-goddess to her new palace, and put a straw rope around it to keep off evil gods. Her wicked brother was punished by having each particular hair of his head pulled out, and his finger and toe nails extracted. He was then banished.

Another legend says the Sun-goddess spoke to Sosanoö (the Moon-goddess), who reigned jointly with her over the high plain of heaven, and said, “I have heard that there is a food-possessing goddess in the central country of luxuriant reedy moors (Japan). Go and see.” Descending from heaven, she came to the august abode of the Goddess of Food, and asked for refreshment. The goddess, creating various forms of food, such as boiled rice from the land, fish from the sea, beasts, with coarse and fine hair, from the hills, set them on a banqueting-table before Sosanoö, who, enraged at the manner of the creation of the food, killed her.

Reporting the matter in heaven, Amaterasŭ was angry at Sosanoö, and degraded her (the Moon-goddess) from joint rule, and condemned her to appear only at night, while she, the Sun-goddess, slept. Amaterasŭ then sent a messenger the second time to see whether the Food-goddess was really dead. This was found to be the case. Out of the dead body were growing, millet on the forehead; silk-worms and a mulberry-tree on the eyebrows; grass on the eyes; on the belly, rice, barley, and large and small beans; The head finally changed into a cow and horse. The messenger took them all, and presented them to Amaterasŭ. The Sun-goddess rejoiced, and ordained that these should be the food of human beings, setting apart rice as the seed of the watery fields, and the other cereals as the seed of the dry fields. She appointed lords of the villages of heaven, and began for the first time to plant the rice-seeds. In the autumn the drooping ears ripened in luxuriant abundance. She planted the mulberry-trees on the fragrant hills of heaven, and rearing silk-worms, and chewing cocoons in her mouth, spun thread. Thus began the arts of agriculture, silk-worm rearing, and weaving.

JAPANESE PROVERBS.

Good doctrines need no miracles.

The fortune-teller can not tell his own fortune.

The doctor does not keep himself well.

To give an iron club to a devil is to give riches to a bad man.

While the hunter looks afar after birds, they fly up and escape at his feet.

The ignorant man is gentle.

Every one suffers either from his pride or sinfulness.

Even a calamity left alone for three years may turn into a fortune.

Birds flock on the thick branches.

Heaven does not kill a man.

Having inquired seven times, believe the common report.

The poet, though he does not go abroad, sees all the renowned places.

Don’t trust a pigeon to carry grain.

There is no medicine for a fool.

If you keep a tiger you will have nothing but trouble.

The more words; the less sense.

Who steals money is killed; who steals a country is a king.

The best thing in traveling is a companion; in the world, kindness.

The gods have their seat on the brow of a just man.

Proof is better than discussion.

The world is just as a person’s heart makes it.

If you hate anyone, let him live.

Excess of politeness becomes impoliteness.

Poverty can not overtake diligence.

Making an idol does not give it a soul.

Beware of a beautiful woman; she is like red pepper.

Pearls unpolished shine not.

Even a monkey sometimes falls from a tree.

Send the child you love most on a journey.

Live under your own hat.

Hearing is paradise; seeing is hell.

When life is ruined for the sake of money’s preciousness, the ruined life cares naught for the money.

The tongue is but three inches long, yet it can kill a man six feet high.

RAIKO AND THE ONI.

The wonderful story of “Raiko and the Oni” is one of the most famous in the collection of Japanese grandmothers. Its power to open the mouths and distend the oblique eyes of the youngsters long after bed-time, is unlimited.

Long, long ago there was a great war between the Genji and Heiké, in which many men were killed. One of the Genji warriors, named Raiko, could not find any one valiant enough to fight with him, and so he wished to find a ghoul to slay. Now, there lurked at the palace gate a fierce ghoul, which he sent his retainer, Watanabé Tsuna, to kill. Now, Tsuna was, next to Raiko, the strongest man in the whole country, and was not afraid of the ghoul. When he went out to the gate, the oni seized him by the helmet, but Tsuna caught the ghoul’s arm with the left hand, and, with his sword in his right hand, cut off the limb. The ghoul was so frightened that it ran away, leaving its hairy arm and claws. Tsuna was very proud of his victory, and kept the arm as a trophy, carefully packed in a fine box. One day an old woman came to see the hero, saying she had heard of his feat, and would like to see the wonderful limb which he, by his valor, had cut off. Now, Tsuna was always good-natured to old people and good children, being only angry with wicked robbers and demons, and so he opened the box to show the old lady his treasure. Now, this old woman was nothing more than a ghoul in disguise. No sooner had Tsuna opened his box than she snatched the limb, and flew away with it through the smoke-hole in the roof, changing, as she flew, into her true shape—that of a hideous ghoul.

At this time Raiko was sick, and a three-eyed ghoul came to torment him, knowing he was very weak; but Raiko drew his sword, which he always kept at his side, and gave the ghoul a lusty cut that sent him, all bloody and howling, away. His retainers followed the tracks of blood to a great cave, in which they found a colossal spider, which Raiko succeeded in killing.

Shu-ten dōji was another ghoul which Raiko, with his retainers, went to slay. Raiko went to his cave, and asked for a night’s lodging. He found there a great red man, with long red hair, drinking strong saké out of a huge trencher which would hold several tubfuls. After a while the ghoul got drunk, and fell asleep. Raiko then drew his sword and cut off the monster’s head. His retainers helped him to carry it out, and it was paraded with great pomp where every one could see it. It was bigger than the great lion’s head which used to be carried through the streets of Yedo at the great festival procession of Kanda Miō Jin, which it required twenty men to carry. It had frightful horns and tusks, and devoured many people.

Raiko was a Kugé, and one of the bravest warriors of all time. Brave men such as he long ago killed all the wicked things in Japan, so that good little children might go to sleep, and not be afraid of the ghouls coming to take them from papa, mamma, brothers, sisters, and grandmothers.

DELIVERANCE: NIRVANA.

A pilgrim through eternity— In countless births have I been born, And toiled the architect to see, Who builds my soul’s live house in scorn.

Oh, painful is the road of birth By which, from house to house made o’er, Each house displays the kind and worth Of the desires I loved before.

Dear architect! I now have seen thy face, And seized thy precept’s law. Of all the houses which have been Not one again my soul can draw.

Thy rafters crushed, thy ridge-pole, too, Thy work, O builder, now is o’er! My spirit feels Nirvâna true, And I shall transmigrate no more.—_Buddha._

[_End of Required Reading for June._]

JUNE.

By ELLEN O. PECK.

Open thy gates, O summer, The air is balmy and sweet, And a radiant guest is ready To enter with fairy feet. ’Tis June with her brow of sunshine, And her wealth of green and gold, With drapery graceful and flowing, And flowers in every fold. O beautiful June! Thou art come again! O month of joy! O month of pain!

Thy face is the face of my darling That lies beneath thy flowers, And that comes to me with thy coming On the wings of the golden hours; The years are swift in passing But the memories fondly stay, And time has no power to rob me Though it bear my youth away; For, framed like thee in choicest gold Is the face of my love which can not grow old.

Thy lilies were clasped in her fingers— Not whiter the lilies than they— When under thy skies which were weeping They laid my darling away. There I planted a delicate rose-tree, Which thy coming calls to bloom, Each year a sweet reminder Of her heart’s own sweet perfume. Not fairer the bloom of these flowers of the sun, Than the radiant life of my beautiful one.

And I read anew at thy coming Sweet lessons of love and truth, With the bitter lines of sorrow I learned in my happy youth. God sends a message golden Each year in thy glowing train, I would not fail in grasping Though with good it brings me pain. While I grieve for the beauty earth holds no more I catch a gleam of the heavenly shore.

TAXIDERMY.

MR. WATTERTON’S METHOD OF STUFFING BIRDS.

Observe, before procuring a specimen, how beautifully the feathers of a bird are arranged, one falling over the other in the nicest order; and that, where this charming harmony is interrupted, the defect, though not noticed by an ordinary spectator, will appear immediately to the eye of a naturalist. Thus, a bird not wounded, and in perfect feather, must be procured if possible, for the loss of the feathers can seldom be made good; and where the deficiency is great, all the skill of the artist will avail him little in his attempt to conceal the defect, because, in order to hide it, he must contract the skin, bring down the upper feathers and shove in the lower ones, which would throw all the surrounding parts into contortion.

You will observe, that the whole skin does not produce feathers, and that it is very tender where the feathers do not grow. The bare parts are admirably formed for expansion about the throat and stomach, and they fit into the different cavities of the body at the wings, shoulders, rump, and thighs, with wonderful exactness; so that in stuffing the bird, if you make an even rotund surface of the skin where these cavities existed, in lieu of re-forming them, all symmetry, order, and proportion, are lost forever.

You must lay it down as an absolute rule, that the bird is to be entirely skinned, otherwise you can never succeed in forming a true and pleasing specimen.

Wire is of no manner of use, but, on the contrary, a great nuisance, for where it is introduced a disagreeable stiffness and derangement of symmetry follow.

The head and neck can be placed in any attitude, the body supported, the wings closed, extended, or elevated, the tail depressed, raised, or expanded, the thighs set horizontal or oblique, without any aid from wire. Cotton will effect all this.

A very small proportion of the skull bone, say, from the forepart of the eyes to the bill, is to be left in, though even this is not absolutely necessary. Part of the wing-bones the jaw-bones, and half of the thigh-bones remain; every, thing else, flesh, fat, eyes, bones, brains, and tendons, are all to be taken away, and the skin anointed thoroughly with a solution of corrosive sublimate or with arsenical soap.

Introduce the cotton for an artificial body by means of a little stick like a knitting needle, and without any other aid or substance than that of this little stick and cotton, your own genius must produce those swellings and cavities, that just proportion, that elegance and harmony of the whole so much admired in animated nature, so little attended to in preserved specimens. After you have introduced the cotton, sew up the orifice you originally made in the belly, beginning at the vent. And from time to time, till you arrive at the last stitch, keep adding a little cotton, in order that there may be no deficiency there. Lastly, dip your stick into a solution of corrosive sublimate, and put it down the throat three or four times, in order that every part may receive it.

When the head and neck are filled with cotton quite to your liking, close the bill as in nature. A little bit of bees wax at the point of it will keep the mandibles in their proper place. A needle must be stuck into the lower mandible perpendicularly. Bring also the feet together by a pin, and then run a thread through the knees, by which you may draw them to each other as near as you judge proper. Nothing now remains but to add the eyes; with your little stick make a hollow in the cotton within the orbit and introduce the glass eyes into it. Adjust the orbit to them as in nature, and that requires no other fastener.

Great attention must be paid to the size of the orbit, which will receive within it an object much larger than the eye, so that it must be drawn together with a very small delicate needle and thread, at the part farthest from the beak.

A small quantity of the solution is now applied to the bill, orbits, and feet.

Take any ordinary box large enough for holding the bird, and fill three-fourths of it from the top at one end, and the other end forming an inclined plane; make a hollow in it sufficient for the reception of the bird, place it in the box with its legs in a sitting posture; take a piece of cork into which three pins have been stuck for legs, like a three-footed stool; place it under the bird’s bill, and the needle which was formerly run through the bill is stuck into the cork, which will act as a support to the bird’s head. If the neck is wished to be lengthened, put more cotton under the cork, or _vice versa_; and if the head is wished to be projecting forward, it has only to be brought nearer the front of the box, humoring the cork, so as to place it in the position you require.

As the back part of the neck shrinks more in drying than the fore part, a thread must be tied to the end of the box, mid fastened to the beak, to prevent the face from looking too much upward. If the wings are wished elevated, support them with cotton; and if it be very high, place a piece of stick under them.

Should you desire to expand the wings, the order of the feathers must be reversed, commencing with the two middle ones. When perfectly dry, place them in the natural order, and they will ever afterwards continue as you wish them. If the crest is wished to be erect, the feathers must be moved in a contrary direction for a day or two, when they will soon take the position wished for.

The box must now be placed out of the reach of the sun, air, or fire, so that the skin may dry slowly. The corrosive sublimate is of much service in this respect, for it renders the skin moist and flexible for many days. The bird should be lifted every day, so that any faults may be corrected which take place while drying.

The small wing-coverts are apt to rise, owing to the skin coming in contact with the wing bones. The part which rises should be gently pulled with the finger and thumb for a day or two, and the feathers pressed down.

The feathers should be frequently adjusted so as to render them distinct and visible.

The legs begin to stiffen in three or four days, when it will be time to place them in the desired position; and the toes either arranged, or curved, so as to hold a branch, in which two spikes must be placed for the reception of the feet, whereon they are to be stuck, and can afterwards be removed at pleasure. All the threads which kept the different parts in their places may now be removed.

Touch the whole feathers with a solution of corrosive sublimate, so as to preserve them from the attack of moths. The surest way of proceeding is to immerse the bird in the solution of corrosive sublimate, and then dry it before you begin to dissect it.

If it is intended to represent the bird flying, its wings are extended to their utmost stretch, the tail placed horizontally, and expanded, the neck forced forward, the legs and feet drawn up close to the breast, with the toes closed. It may then be suspended from the ceiling, by a piece of very fine _brass_ wire, such as is used for piano-forte strings.

A very spirited and striking position is, when the bird is about to take flight. In this attitude, it is placed with the body reclining forward, and the wings slightly raised, which can be managed without the assistance of external wires, by merely placing a little cotton or tow under the wings, while the skin is yet wet.

Descriptions of this kind are endless; let those who intend stuffing birds study nature in its various details, and, where this can not be come at, good books and prints will be found an excellent substitute.

GYMNASTICS.

The lack of proper muscular exercise is the cause of a large portion of the irritability, nervousness, back-ache and lassitude of the majority of people. Every person has in his bodily organization the means of preserving health and overcoming disease. The failure lies in the individuals refusing to use available means. A few simple gymnastics, practised daily, in a well-ventilated space, and in a light and loose dress, will, with careful diet, and frequent cold baths, preserve health and remove disease. Nor are these exercises complicated, they are within the reach of every one.

“An excellent plan,” says Prof. Hartelius, “is to have two thick vertically hanging ropes fixed to the ceiling, at two feet distance from each other, for all the members of the household to perform daily a hanging or trunk-lifting exercise. The hands grasp the ropes at equal heights above the head, and support, for a short moment, the whole weight of the body, either by simply hanging with straight arms or—if the person be sufficiently strong—by slowly bending the elbows, thus lifting the body. This trunk-lifting should be repeated three to six times, and, when the body is lowered in the intervals between, this should be done slowly, with the toes always touching the ground before the heels, to avoid nervous commotion.” But there are simpler exercises, which may be practised without even apparatus as simple as the above, and nothing on this line can be better than the same author’s series of gymnastic prescriptions for different diseases. If your daily occupation does not afford sufficient exercise, and, in consequence, your blood is thin, you are weak and nervous, or troubled with gout or obesity, he offers a series of exercises, simple and effective. Standing with arms stretched to full length, move them slowly sideways and upward, till they attain a vertical position above the head, hands and fingers well stretched. While moving to this position, the arms are gently rotated outwards, so as to make the palms face each other when stretched overhead; the arms are then lowered through the same plane. This exercise should be repeated eight to sixteen times, remembering that the head and trunk are to be kept straight, chest arched forward and arms kept well back during the movement. The movement may now be changed by moving the stretched arms slowly forward, upward and sideways, so as to describe a circle. Now standing straight, with arms dropped, raise the heels so as to throw the whole weight of the body on the toes, then the heels are lowered simultaneously and the toes raised, thus throwing the weight of the body on the heels. After repeating several times the heel-and-toe raising, move the shoulders so as to describe a circle forward, upward, backward and downward, keeping the head well up and the back stretched. Now stretch the arms and raise them quickly forward and upward, until they reach a vertical position at each side of the head; then they are slowly lowered sideways, downward, close to the side. The next motion, which the author calls by the expressive name of the “wing-stride-standing-trunk-circling,” is performed chiefly by means of the muscles of the trunk situated around the hips. The commencing position is, hands on the hips, feet placed sideways with a distance of two feet between them. The trunk is moved from the waist, describing as large a circle as possible, first to the left, then to the right. The legs should be kept straight, the head and hips steady. Motions with the head follow, and consist simply in bending the head, first slowly forward then raised and bent as far back as possible. Then bent from left to right as far as possible without moving the rest of the body. The head is turned from left to right and followed by the _head-circling_, in which the head describes slowly as wide a circle as can be done without straining, several times to the left and then as many times to the right. After the exercise with the head come trunk movements, to be performed in the following directions, forward, backward, to the sides, and turning in a circle, the hands being kept on the hips, the chest arched and the legs straight. This is but one _prescription_, each exercise, of course, being repeated several times. Prof. Hartelius gives a great variety of exercises, a careful use of which will certainly do much for any one. There can be no vigorous, bounding life in the frame which is inert. Motion is the sign of life through all the earth and bodily motion is absolutely necessary to health.

ETCHING.

A style of picture most popular of late among artists and buyers is the etching. Not that it is a new style, but simply that it has been revived, perfected, and made the fashion. Etching is not new, for it dates back at least to Albert Dürer, in the first of the sixteenth century, and very probably was known before his time.

The methods are very interesting and simple. To etch means to eat. Thus from the very name we gain insight into the mode of work. The tools are easy to obtain, for as Hamerton, the most interesting of modern etchers, says, “Almost any bar of metal that can be sharpened to a point will do to etch with. Turner used an old fork. A nail at the end of a stick would answer the purpose; common sewing needles have often been used. There are, however, various degrees of usefulness even in things so easily made as etching-needles, and different artists have different tastes.” But, as the art has grown popular, these primitive tools have been replaced by better styles. The shops contain several styles of needles and instruments. The etching-needle is ordinarily a piece of stout steel wire inserted in a handle, and ground to a fine point. Two or three of these needles of different thicknesses are used, some for broad and some for fine lines. Having needles, the etcher prepares a copper plate by covering it with a coating of asphaltum and wax, and _this_, if you wish to speak technically, must be called the etching ground. It is blackened by lampblack mixed with the varnish. Upon this the drawing is made. The lines can be made broad or fine, as the needles are of different degrees of fineness, and, of course, these lines cut through the _ground_ to the plate beneath. Upon the plate where the picture has been drawn dilute nitric acid is poured. The result of pouring nitric acid on copper is well known: it eats or corrodes, or etches the copper; but upon our ground of wax makes no effect. The eating of the acid is called _biting in_. When the work is well bitten in, the acid is poured off, and the plate cleaned and examined. If the lines of the lighter parts appear to be sufficiently etched, they are painted over with the asphaltum, ground and dissolved in spirits of turpentine, while the rest of the work is re-bitten, _i. e._, the acid is applied to the other parts again.

This covering of a part of the plate is called stopping out.

Stopping out and biting in are continued until all the lines are of the required depth. If, by accident or oversight, a line is too deeply bitten in, it is rubbed with an instrument called the _burnisher_. This tool polishes the plate when scratched, and softens the too deep lines.

This process is old. It has been used with various modifications since the time of the first etchers. A new method, called by its author, P. G. Hamerton, the _positive process_, is gaining very general favor. Let him state its merits:

“By my positive process the artist, whilst etching, sees his work in black upon a white ground, as distinctly as if he were drawing with a lead-pencil on white paper, instead of seeing it in copper on a black ground. The old negative process is objectionable not only because it is negative, but because the lines are brilliant, which causes them to appear more numerous than they really are.” Hamerton prepares his plate by brightening it, first with cyanide of silver, and then laying on a ground of white wax. The plate is fastened into a tray, or shallow bath, and the mordant, as the acid preparation is called, is poured over it. The etcher draws his picture while the plate lies in the mordant. The lines blacken as soon as drawn. If a second or third biting is necessary, the plate is cleaned and re-waxed.

This is the mechanical part of etching. So simple it is that it seems that any one could be a successful etcher. But there is a knowledge and skill apart from the mechanical work. What is it? Haden well answers the question: “It is an innate artistic spirit, without which all the study in the world is useless. It is the cultivation of this spirit, not arduously but lovingly. It is a knowledge that is acquired by a life of devotion to what is true and beautiful; by the hourly and daily comparing of what we see in nature and the thinking of how it should be represented in art. It is the habit of constant observation of great things and small, and the experience that springs from it. It is the skill to combine and the skill to separate—to compound and to simplify—to fuse detail into mass—to subordinate definition to space, distance, light, and air. Finally, it is the acumen to perceive the near relationship that expression bears to form, and the skill to draw them—not separately, but together.”

THE TWO SOWERS.

By ALEXANDER ANDERSON.

Death came to the earth, by his side was Spring, They came from God’s own bowers, And the earth was full of their wandering, For they both were sowing flowers.

“I sow,” said Spring, “by the stream and the wood, And the village children know The gay glad time of my own sweet prime, And where my blossoms grow.

“There is not a spot in the quiet wood But hath heard the sound of my feet, And the violets come from their solitude When my tears hath made them sweet.”

“I sow,” said Death, “where the hamlet stands, I sow in the churchyard drear; I drop in the grave with gentle hands, My flowers from year to year.

“The young and the old go into their rest, To the sleep that awaits them below; But I clasp the children unto my breast, And kiss them before I go.”

“I sow,” said Spring; “but my flowers decay When the year turns weak and old, When the breath of the bleak winds wears them away, And they wither and droop in the mould.

“But they come again when the young earth feels The new blood leap in her veins, When the fountain of wonderful life unseals, And the earth is alive with the rains.”

“I sow,” said Death; “but my flowers unseen Pass away from the land of men, Nor sighs nor tears through the long sad years Ever bring back their bloom again.

“But I know they are wondrous bright and fair In the fields of their high abode; Your flowers are the flowers that a child may wear, But mine are the blossoms of God.”

Death came to the earth, by his side was Spring; The two came from God’s own bowers; One sow’d in night and the other in light, Yet they both were sowing flowers.

A TOUR ROUND THE WORLD.

By MRS. JOSEPH COOK.

[Continued.]

On a voyage from Suez to Bombay there is no debate as to what line of steamers to take, for those of the Peninsular and Oriental Line, commonly spoken of as the P. & O. steamers, are acknowledged to rank first in comfort, cleanliness, and safety.

It is on the day before Christmas that the Chautauquans embark on the stately “Siam.” At four o’clock in the afternoon all is ready, the word of command goes forth, the chains rattle, the gang-plank is drawn, and under bright skies and on a smooth sea we start on our voyage from the Levant to the Orient. We are on deck at seven o’clock Christmas morning, but the mountain region of Sinai is already far behind us, as dim as cloudland, and we have fairly entered the Red Sea. Our pocket thermometer indicates 75° of heat, and when we go to breakfast we find the _punkahs_ swinging. The stewards are immaculate in their white trousers and black alpaca jackets.

This is our first introduction to the _punkah_, which becomes our best friend in India. It is simply a fan some three feet wide, and from five to ten feet long, suspended from the ceiling by cords, hanging over the dining table, the drawing-room, or over your bed, and manipulated by a mild Hindu, who, if he were not doing this, would probably be seated in the same position doing nothing. It is a wonder that our midsummer American heats have not been alleviated by similar contrivances, only with our inventive genius we should have them propelled by machinery. Alexander Duff complains of suffering more in public speaking in America than in India, from the absence of the _punkah_, which is hung over preacher as well as people in the churches of the principal Indian cities.

A voyage to India is a prolonged pleasure excursion. Day after day your ship steams through unruffled seas and under unclouded skies. The mercury ranges from 75° to 85°. Thick canvas stretched over the deck protects us from the sun’s fierce rays, and in these shortest days his course is quickly run. July, August, and September are the months when the Red Sea, which is like a chimney between two deserts, becomes almost intolerable. Late in the afternoon of our fourth day out, we pass certain islands which rear their sharp, barren tusks above the waters, and the sun sinks behind verdureless mountains some two thousand feet high. At an early hour the next morning we pass the Straits of Babel Mandeb, and reach Aden at eleven o’clock. This Gibraltar of the Arabian Seas is owned by the English, and, in the extinct crater of a volcano, has sprung up a flourishing town of thirty thousand inhabitants. Rain comes here only once in three years, when it descends copiously during the greater part of September. This precious downfall is caught in wells excavated out of the solid rock; and this, together with what is manufactured from sea water, supplies the inhabitants during the dry season at the rate of six shillings for one hundred gallons.

As our steamer stopped in the roadstead off Aden we discerned small boats coming toward us, and numerous black heads bobbing up and down in the clear, green waters. These boats contained African boys, of the Somali tribe, from eight to fifteen years of age, who, perfectly naked, except a strip of cloth about the loins, climbed up like squirrels on our ship, shouting continually, in good English, “Have a dive, sir? have a dive? have a dive?” As soon as a bit of silver was thrown into the water half-a-dozen of them would plunge for it and, after a moment’s disappearance of the black heads, up they would come again, one of them having in his mouth the coveted coin. The water seemed to be as natural an element to these boys as though they were the descendants of Undine. When neither diving nor swimming they would tread the aqueous fluid in such a way as almost to sit on the waves. One poor little fellow had had one leg bitten off by a shark, close up to the thigh, but he hopped about as merrily as any of them and performed as marvelous aquatic feats. During the five hours we remained in port our ship’s deck was filled with traders, who had brought for sale white and gray ostrich feathers, pieces of amber with imprisoned insects, photographs of Aden, grass cloth from Madagascar, and Turkish embroideries. They began by asking most exorbitant prices, and when you offered about half what they asked, such sad, reproachful glances as they cast upon you! Eventually they would accept fair terms rather than lose the trade. Throughout India, Europeans, in dealing with natives, have found by long experience that the real worth of their merchandise is about one-third of the asking price. It was interesting to see the various nationalities as they gathered on our ship’s deck: there were Parsee and Mohammedan merchants from Bombay, Jewish traders with their close-shaven heads and long cork-screw curls hanging in front of their ears, and the merry Somali boys, with their woolly heads and gleaming white teeth, and bronze figures so slightly covered.

After leaving Aden we turned from the Red Sea into the Indian Ocean, and for six days our course was due east. At sunrise on the seventh morning the coast of India was visible, and at nine o’clock our ship dropped anchor in the harbor of Bombay. “Fair haven” is the meaning of Bombay, and, built on an island, or chain of islands, it encloses a splendid harbor of forty square miles. To the north and east are numerous islands, and on the mainland there are hills from one thousand to two thousand feet high, while the handsome government buildings are seen on the west, prominent among them being the lofty and well-proportioned tower of the University.

The drive to our hotel, although it was two miles distant, seemed but a step, such were the strange sights on which we looked with wide-eyed amazement. Here were men wearing all their clothes on their heads, immense turbans of white or red cotton, and a loin cloth, while all the rest of the body was innocent of covering. On their foreheads were lines of yellow and red paint, which indicated their religious sect, while the single dot of paint between the eyebrows proclaimed the fact that the man had been to the temple and received purification for the day. Children, as naked as the cherubs in Italian art, wore, instead of the cherubic wings, silver bands about the ankles, and women, with scanty drapery, were adorned with bracelets; necklaces, and the hideous nose rings. The Parsees in their white garments and towering hats made a pleasant contrast with the scantily-clothed natives, while the yellow-turbaned Sepoy in policeman’s uniform, and the European, with his topee hat and inevitable white umbrella, made still another variety. It is possible to visit India and come away without seeing anything more of native life than can be observed in the streets. English life in the presidential cities is precisely the same as in London or Edinburgh, but when it was understood that the Chautauquans desired chiefly to study the manners and customs of the people of the land, ample opportunities offered to visit government and mission schools, native Christian churches, and those desolate apartments called zenanas, where, after marriage, Hindu and Mohammedan ladies are immured.

An afternoon’s excursion to the Elephanta Caves gives us an idea of the rock temples of the Hindus. These famous caves are on an island in Bombay harbor and are all hollowed by laborious excavation out of trap rock. The largest one is about one hundred and thirty feet deep and equally wide, and rests on huge pillars twenty feet high. Bas-reliefs, staring passively from the rocky walls, represent Siva in various forms, with his wife, Parvati. Facing the entrance of the temple is a colossal trimurti, representing the Hindu trinity, Brahma, the creator, in the center, Vishnu, the preserver, on the left, Siva, the destroyer, on the right. Glimpses of the outer world, with its tropical luxuriance of vegetation, bathed in the ruddy light of the sinking sun, made a most striking contrast to the mysteriousness and gloom of this heathen temple, to which, in the days when worship was celebrated there, the costliest offerings were brought.

Horrible as the Hindu custom of cremation is to our ideas, the Parsee fashion of leaving the dead to be devoured by vultures, is a thousand times more repulsive. The Parsees are descendants of the ancient Persians, who sought refuge in India from religious persecution some thousand years ago. They are not only fire-worshipers, but they desire to maintain the purity of all the elements. Their “towers of silence” are circular white stone structures, perfectly plain outside, but the ghastly thing about them is the fringe of vultures sitting around the edge with their heads pointing inward. The bodies of the dead are placed, quite naked, in grooves within the enclosure; hundreds of vultures swoop down from the neighboring trees whenever a body is thus exposed, and in an incredibly short time the satiated birds move away with slow, heavy flight, having left nothing behind but a skeleton! After the skeleton has become perfectly dry in the sun and wind, the carriers of the dead, a separate and peculiar class who are not permitted to mix in social intercourse with other Parsees, gloved and with tongs remove the bones from the grooves and cast them into a central well, where rich and poor must literally meet in death.

Eight days in Bombay and we are off for Poona. The first-class railway carriages in India are wider and longer than those in England, with a small bath room attached, and are so arranged as to be easily converted into comfortable sleeping-coaches, but you are expected to furnish your own bedding. Poona, the capital of the Mahrattis, signifies “the holy city,” and is the stronghold of Brahminism. It is situated in a wide-stretching, treeless plain, surrounded with hills. Here are the government English schools, the Sanscrit College and the military headquarters for Western India. A quiet Sunday here in a delightful Scotch manse, twenty-four hours in Ahmednagar, where we are received most hospitably by Americans of the Mahratti mission, and on we go to Agra, to which point the Taj Mahal is drawing us like a magnet.

Approaching Agra in the freshness of the morning, an exclamation of delighted surprise from one of the quartette drew the rest of us to the window, and there, about a mile distant across a level country, rose that miracle of loveliness in white marble, the Taj Mahal. We saw it reflected in the Jumna as we crossed the railway bridge, two or three graceful palm trees intervening, and then the grim walls of the extensive fort became visible as we glided into the city. The Taj was built less than two hundred and fifty years ago by the Mogul emperor, Shah Jehan, as a tomb for his favorite wife, Moomtaj a Mahal. It is thought that he purposed rearing a similar tomb for himself on the opposite side of the river, and having the two mausoleums connected by a bridge, but this stupendous project was never executed, and Shah Jehan lies by the side of his beloved wife, whose best known name, from her surpassing beauty, was Noor Jehan, the “Light of the World.” The Taj is situated in a quadrangle measuring eighteen hundred by one thousand feet, enclosed with red sandstone walls, turrets at the angles and a gateway on each side. The colossal gateway itself is a grand object, with its lofty arches of red stone, through which one sees as in a frame the avenue of black cypresses leading up to the dazzling monument. Most attractive gardens stretch away on either side, where are walks, seats and umbrageous trees, and one is at liberty to wander over the soft turf and examine the roses which grow here, under the skilful care of an English florist, with unsurpassable prodigality of bloom and fragrance. The Taj, toward which all this loveliness is but the outer court yard, stands on a superb terrace of white marble 313 feet square, and at each angle rises a slender minaret. From the center of the building, which is an irregular octagon, springs the marble dome, slightly bulbous in shape, 70 feet in diameter, and rising to a height of 120 feet. The dome is surmounted by a gilt crescent 260 feet from the ground level. At each of the four corners is a light marble cupola. Around all the arches of the portals and the windows, around the cornice and the domes, on the walls and in the passages are inlaid chapters of the Koran, the graceful, flowing Arabic characters being formed of black marble. The real tombs of Shah Jehan and his wife are in a spacious vaulted chamber immediately below the one containing the sarcophagi, and this is reached by a sloping passage. Everything is exquisitely finished here, and all the materials are genuine, but the elaborateness of detail is in the grand hall above, which is a lofty rotunda lighted both from above and below by screens of marble perforated to a depth of two inches in most elegant lace-like patterns. Around this chamber is a wainscoting of sculptured tablets representing in bas-relief flowers, special prominence being given to the lotus and the lily. The octagonal marble screen, six feet high, which surrounds the sarcophagi is open tracery of most intricate design. The sarcophagi themselves are of the purest marble, inlaid with a mosaic, resembling the Florentine, in vines and flowers. Thirty bits of cornelian form the petals of a single flower, and the other stones most used in this rich ornamentation, which is lavishly employed over the exterior as well as the interior of the building, are bloodstone, agate, lapis-lazuli, turquoise, coral, chalcedony, amethyst, and other stones which have no name in our language. The dome contains an echo more remarkable than that of the Baptistery at Pisa, and even to ordinary conversation it sends down a shower of musical sounds like sweet bells jangled. During the five hours we spent here a constant crowd of natives had been coming and going. Toward sunset the Europeans began to assemble. We looked down on the gay scene from the great arch of the gateway. Green parrots with harsh scream darted in and out of the leafy branches; the familiar gray squirrel ran noiselessly up and down the tree trunks; the scent of innumerable blossoms filled the air; the Taj reflected the golden glory of the sunset, and after the sun had gone its color changed to a light blue, and as the brief twilight faded and the moon came out it looked like a pearl. The chattering crowd left one by one, until we were comparatively alone. We walked around the mausoleum and stepped inside the arch of one of the mosques. A flock of frightened doves flew out with whirring wings. Symmetry, purity, and perfection, such as are rarely seen in man’s work in all this round world were before us. Directly above the gilt crescent of the dome hung the full moon, over whose face light clouds were passing. As we watched the sky and the movement of the clouds, the dome itself seemed to float like an airy bubble.

In greatest contrast to this magnificent mausoleum is the simple sodded grave of that faithful daughter of Shah Jehan, who shared her father’s captivity, and who desired this inscription to be placed on her stone: “Let no rich canopy cover my grave. This grass is the best covering for the last resting-place of the poor in spirit.” This we turned aside to see as we drove the eleven miles out of Delhi to visit the Kutab Minar, which is perhaps, after the Taj, the most celebrated piece of architecture in India. It is a fluted column, 240 feet high, and supposed to be, not a Mohammedan, but a Hindu building, dating from the twelfth century. It is built in a series of five stories. The first three are of fine red sandstone, on which are horizontal bands of passages from the Koran carved in boldest relief, and these are harmonious in architecture, but the last two stories are of white marble, with a plain surface, and seem like a patch. The great mosque of Delhi is called the Jumma Musjid, or Friday Mosque. The arrangement is the same in all Mohammedan temples large and small. A quadrangle open to the sky, a fountain flowing into a square, shallow tank, in the center, for the ablutions of the faithful, a colonnade on three sides with open arches, and on the west, facing Mecca, stands a building surmounted with domes, open in front, and destitute of everything approaching a symbol. Pure monotheism is here—the worship of the invisible deity. In the midst of this revolting polytheism of the Hindus one hears with no little satisfaction the muezzin’s call from the minaret, “God is great. God is one. There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his prophet.”

One may travel day after day in India without meeting Europeans, but crowds of natives fill the third and fourth-class carriages, in which the rates are very low. India is in advance of America in one respect. On every train there is always one carriage provided for ladies who are traveling alone, called the “Ladies’ Reserved,” as is the custom in England and on the Continent. Here only, where we pride ourselves on our railway conveniences, do we have the odious fashion of herding together promiscuously in sleeping coaches, which may be endurable if one has an escort, but is most disagreeable when a lady is unattended.

Much of the scenery in India is monotonous and uninteresting, but the tropical vegetation is always attractive. We pass palms in all stages of growth, stalwart, untutored banyans, graceful, delicate bamboos, plantains, the scarlet-blossoming cotton tree, the feathery, fir like casuarina, some squares of sugar-cane and covered spaces for the cultivation of the betel-nut, which has a smooth green leaf, not unlike the plantain, and which, mixed with a preparation of lime and spices, is used by the natives for chewing, quite as much as tobacco is with the western nations. The scarlet lips, tongue and gums, which result from using this leaf, are quite as disagreeable to see as the disgusting effects of tobacco chewing.

White paddi birds hover over the marshes, and groups of cattle are grazing in the meadows. At the tanks, which abound everywhere in India, and which are often partially covered with a green scum, the natives are bathing, or washing soiled linen, or carrying water away for cooking purposes! The railway stations remind one of England, they are so neat and tasteful and attractive with their blossoming shrubs and potted plants. Dracænas grow here seven feet high, and these with other foliage plants, and the showy, scarlet poincettia and magenta bougainvillia are oftenest seen at the railway stations. Occasionally we pass near a small village. The mud huts, with their drooping thatched roof, are surrounded by palms and plantains, and stand near a tank of water. The native Indian has no idea of privacy. One sometimes sees a whole population out in the streets cleaning their teeth. No man in India thinks of shaving himself, but instead of our luxurious modern appliances, the barber and his victim go out on the sidewalk, sit opposite each other on their haunches, and the deed is done in the face of the world. The barber is an important member of the community. He often acts as village doctor, and, in some parts of India, helps to arrange marriages. There are very few beggars to be seen in India, except such as are religious mendicants by profession. There is no poor law, but the patriarchal system obliges every wealthy head of a family to provide for his poor relations to the twentieth cousin.

In Delhi, Cawnpore, and Lucknow memories of the Sepoy mutiny of 1857, and all its attendant horrors, fill the air. Cawnpore is pre-eminently a memorial town. Every trace of the buildings where the fiendish massacre occurred has vanished, and now one looks abroad on shaded avenues, beautiful gardens, a quiet cemetery, and broad stretches of green turf. Over the ghastly well stands the colossal white marble figure of an angel leaning against a cross and bearing palm branches.

The architectural beauty of Benares as a city of temples and palaces, and its characteristic features as a sacred, pilgrim city can best be seen by a sail on the river soon after sunrise. The city is built tier above tier on a cliff which stretches along the bank of the river for three miles. From the heights numerous flights of stone steps lead down to the water, and these are thronged by devotees who begin the day by a bath in the Ganges. It is evidently a religious act, for although there are crowds of men of all ages, there is no frivolity and very little conversation. The women keep by themselves, but they have no entirely separate bathing place. As our boat glided along we came to the burning _ghât_, where we paused and saw the flames already lighted about one body. Another body, wound about in red figured cotton, was lifted from the bier and placed on the funeral pyre. It seemed all the more shocking because life had so recently departed that there was none of the rigidity of death, and the limp form might, from all appearance, have belonged to one in sleep. While we lingered the clang of discordant instruments told of the approach of a funeral procession. The body is carried on a rude bier constructed like a ladder, and borne on the shoulders of men who shuffle and jostle along in no very reverent manner. The bearers carry the corpse into the Ganges and leave it there, that the sacred waters may flow over it before cremation. In the early morning we saw these three phases of a Hindu funeral and, sailing on, still another yet more shocking sight was revealed to us, for we caught a glimpse, just under the surface of the water, of a naked, swollen, floating human body, and above it the vultures were hovering. Leaving our boat, we walked a long distance through the narrow winding streets of the city to one of the largest and most frequented temples, where is the famous “Well of Salvation,” into which worshipers throw flowers until there is the most fearful stench rising from this putrid mass of decaying matter, and yet this loathsome stuff the deluded devotees drink, as they believe it will wash away the blackest crimes. Haste and dissatisfaction seemed the predominant mood of every mind.

Calcutta takes its name from Kali, the goddess of vengeance. Situated on the river Hooghly, ninety miles from the sea, its heat is more oppressive than that of Bombay, and in no respect is the city as attractive. A day at Serampore, an early morning visit to the Kalighat, an excursion to Darjeeling, from which point we had a view of the snowy range of the Himalayas, a morning in the botanical gardens, where we linger under the great banyan tree, which covers a space of ground eight hundred feet in circumference, and whose far-reaching branches are supported by nearly two hundred trunks, some of them a hundred feet in height, drives on the Maidan at sunset, and many visits to mission schools and zenanas, under the auspices of American ladies, fill with delightful experiences our two weeks in this city.

Four days by steamer across the Bay of Bengal and we are beyond the break-water in the harbor of Madras. As soon as our ship drops anchor we are surrounded by masulah boats and catamarans. The former are curious constructions, sewed together to outride safely the furious dashing of the Madras surf, while the latter are fishing boats, formed of three logs scooped out a little into the canoe shape, and manned by a single naked native. Nothing but British pluck and enterprise, or American daring, would have attempted to build a city on a site so utterly unpropitious as Madras. On an inhospitable coast, exposed to the northeast monsoon and to the unsheltered glare of a scorching sun, stands a thriving city of four hundred thousand inhabitants. Although warned against venturing into Southern India after the first of March, we find the heat less intolerable here than in Calcutta. Scotch hospitality makes our week in Madras altogether enjoyable, and then we are off to Bangalore, a hill station and the chief military post of Southern India. After a pause of two days, we proceed to Trichinopoly, where Bishop Heber met death from apoplexy, in his forty-fifth year.

On our railway journey to this place we passed cacti, with pale yellow and magenta blossoms. Strange aquatic birds stood lazily in the marshes. Numerous weavers’ nests hung on the trees along the wayside. These weavers are an industrious and happy community. They work diligently in the construction of their nests, and have harmonious relations with each other, stopping now and then in the midst of their activities, as if by mutual understanding, to indulge in a little concert, and when their burst of melody is over they resume their nest-building. It is said that they light up their homes by attaching a glow worm to a fresh bit of mud, which is plastered on the inside of the nest. The freshness of the early morning is succeeded by dry heat as the sun rises higher and higher with torrid beams. We see the natives quench their thirst with the milk of green cocoanuts, but we dare not indulge in its use. The pampas grass waves and glistens in the sunlight; enormous ant-hills are seen surrounding dead stumps or standing unsupported on level plains; green parrots and gorgeous butterflies chase each other unmindful of the heat, and toward noon we see the famous rock and huge _gopuras_ of Trichinopoly across the rice fields. In spite of the fierce heat which overwhelms us with drowsiness, we take a carriage in the middle of the afternoon for the temples of Seringham. On our way we pass a horse which has dropped dead with sun-stroke. Europeans are something of a novelty here, and we are followed by a crowd of men and boys as soon as we leave our carriage to walk through the pillared hall of the temple. From the flat stone roof we obtain an idea of the extent of this great pagoda, which is seven miles in circumference and includes many bazars and streets of Brahmin’s houses. From the summit of the rock of Trichinopoly, which rises two hundred and fifty feet above the town, we see the sun set, a fiery ball. Northward lies Seringham, with its dark gateways rising out of a sea of green foliage; eastward we look toward Tanjore, where the Danish missionary, Schwartz, lies buried; to the south and west stretches the town of Trichinopoly. The clang of heathenish music is going on in the adjoining temple of Siva. On our descent we come upon one of the temple elephants, with bells hung on each side to announce his approach. He makes a salaam to us and picks up most adroitly with his trunk a tiny bit of silver which we offer him, passing it up to his rider. It is curious to see the great creature come down the stone steps with apparent ease.

At Madura we were in a thoroughly American atmosphere of kindliness and cordiality. Even the American rocking-chair was not wanting to make us feel at home. Here we met the faithful workers in the Madura mission, and studied the fruits of their forty years of labor. Seven hours’ railway ride over a flat, fertile but uninteresting country, with the mercury at 95°, and we reach our last stopping place in India, Tuticorin, from which port we take steamer for Colombo, on the island of Ceylon. As our ship moved away from this southernmost point of the Indian Continent we looked back at the neat little town, once famous for its pearl fisheries, and all our memories since landing at Bombay seemed to gather into one entire and perfect pearl.

Twenty-four hours pass and we are in the harbor of Colombo within the shelter of the substantial breakwater of artificial pressed stone. The heat, although greatly tempered by the sea breeze, is like that of a vapor bath. One of the largest and best conducted hotels we have seen in this part of the world receives us, and we are immensely amused by the costume of the Singalese waiters, who present a most ladylike appearance. They wear long white petticoats and round-about jackets, while the hair is combed back from the forehead, fastened in a knot behind, and ornamented with a yellow tortoise shell comb. This extraordinary style of dressing the hair has existed since the days of Ptolemy, who describes it. It seems a strange incongruity to see a beard and mustache, a comb and a chignon on the same head. One of our party says that while he can affiliate the world over with “a man and a brother,” he declines to have anything to do with a man and a sister. A few hours in Colombo, and we are off to Kandy, a hill station seventy-five miles distant. We are fortunate in having with us Mr. Fergusson, one of the best botanists of this region. Vegetable life flourishes here in rank, riotous luxuriance. We pass palmyra, cocoanut, and talipot palms; cinnamon fields; coffee plantations, and rice growing on artificial terraces like hanging gardens. The red and pink lantennæ that we cultivate in our home gardens grows and blossoms by the wayside with the freedom of the commonest weed. At one of our stopping places we buy mangoes and rose-apples, and green cocoanuts containing a cool, delicious milk. The cocoanut water was most refreshing, but the mangoes were far inferior to our peaches, and the rose-apples were more agreeable to the eye than to the palate.

How exhilarating were the first whiffs of mountain air and the first glimpse of wooded hills and deep valleys after the steaming heat and monotonous flatness of the plains! All through the bright hours of this Saturday afternoon we climbed ever higher and higher through scenery combining Alpine grandeur with tropical luxuriance, until sunset found us at Kandy, the sacred city of the Buddhists. In the center of the town is a picturesque lake, fringed with tall, graceful bamboos, whose feathery branches sway with the slightest breeze, and in repose look like fountains of green spray shooting up into the deep blue sky. Hills rise on either side, on whose slopes are coffee plantations. There are a number of pagoda-shaped temples here, one of which contains that holy relic, the pretended tooth of Buddha. The people of this region are much more vigorous and manly than the Singalese of the coast, and the chignon and comb seem still more absurd when worn by this energetic, war-like race.

The seventy miles between Colombo and Galle is traversed the first third of the way by rail, and the remaining two-thirds by a somewhat primitive stage coach. Natives are in front and in the rear, but we have the whole interior to ourselves, the horn sounds its inspiriting strains, and we are off at good speed over excellent roads. We are never far from the sea. Sometimes we drive on the shore in sight of the rolling surges, again we see the gleaming blue water through the palms, and whenever we pause we hear the deep undertone of its mighty voice. The plantain, the mangrove, the dark, glossy, broad leaf of the breadfruit are almost the only varieties of foliage we have in contrast with the ever-present cocoanut, which casts its shadow on the ground with a central stem of light, instead of shade, running through the immense frond. The population of Ceylon is twelve times as dense in the western as in the eastern provinces, and all the inhabitants of the coast are supported by the cocoanut. The natives have a saying that the cocoanut palm loves the sound of the human voice, and, like the magpie and robin, will not flourish away from the habitations of men. Like the palmyra palm in the north of Ceylon, the cocoanut in the south yields most of the necessaries of life. Its fruit furnishes food, its shell drinking vessels, its juice palm wine and sugar, its stem materials for building, its leaves roofs, matting, baskets and paper. The number of these trees in the island is estimated to be twenty millions, which yield from seven to eight hundred million cocoanuts annually, and are worth ten million dollars. These trees are carefully guarded at night when the fruit is ready to pick. The natives climb these tall, smooth trunks with great agility, partly by the aid of bamboo ladders, and oftener with the help of a short band of cocoanut fibre between the feet or around the loins. Along the route we passed half a dozen or more school houses, admirably constructed for the climate, with a substantial roof, wooden walls about six feet high, and the upper portion left open to all the winds of heaven. We could see the blackboards and the teacher and the pupils as we dashed by. On the summit of Richmond Hill, two miles from the town of Galle, where the Wesleyan mission is situated, we can not do better than pause and await the steamer which is to bear us to Hong Kong and Yokohama. A broad verandah, furnished with tables, rattan couches and easy chairs, commands a magnificent outlook. A waving sea of palms leads up to distant mountains on the one side, while on the other a sea of palms stretches away to that far-flashing ocean which is soon to bear us on its bosom.

[To be continued.]

ART OF CONVERSATION.

The art of conversation so essential to every one who wishes to mingle in society, can only be perfected by frequent intercourse with the polite, yet great assistance may be derived by an intelligent person from the observations below, and no important blunders can possibly be made if the rules here given be attended to.

Under favorable circumstances, and among persons who know how to train a conversation, there are few if any amusements more grateful to the human mind. Every one knows something which he is willing to tell, and which any other that he is in company with wishes to know, or which if known to him, would be amusing or useful.

To be a skilful conversationist, one’s eyes and ears should be busy; nothing should escape his observation. His memory should be a good one, and he should have a good-natured willingness to please and to be pleased.

It follows that all matter of offense in conversation should be avoided. The self-love of others is to be respected. Therefore, no one is tolerated who makes himself the subject of his own commendation, nor who disregards the feelings of those whom he addresses.

There is as much demand for politeness and civility in conversation as in any other department of social intercourse. One who rudely interrupts another, does much the same thing as though he should, when walking with another, impertinently thrust himself before his companion, and stop his progress.

It was one of the maxims of a French philosopher, that “in conversation, confidence has a greater share than wit.” The maxim is erroneous, although it is true that a fashionable fool may attain to the small talk of which much of the conversation of society is composed, and his glib confidence may so impose upon the superficial as to make this pass for wit; but it will not be received as such by that portion of society whose esteem is desirable. Good sense, sound and varied information, are as necessary as confidence to enable a man to converse well.

In addition, then, to the ordinary routine of education, make yourself acquainted with the passing circumstances of the day—its politics, its parties, its amusements, its foibles, its customs, its literature, and at the present time I must also say its science. Some of these subjects may be the parent of much gossip and scandal; still, a man moving in society as a gentleman, must be ignorant of nothing which relates thereto, or if he is, he must not appear to be.

Avoid a loud tone, particularly in speaking to ladies. By observing men of the world, you will perceive that their voices, as it were, involuntarily assume a softness as they address the sex; this is one of the most obvious proofs of an intimacy with good society.

Never attempt to occupy the attention of a company for a long time; unless your conversation is very brilliant it must become very tiresome.

The object of conversation is to entertain and amuse. To be agreeable, you must learn to be a good listener. A man who monopolizes a conversation is a bore, no matter how great his knowledge.

Never get into a dispute. State your opinions, but do not argue them. Do not contradict, and above all, never offend by correcting mistakes or inaccuracies of fact or expression.

Never lose temper—never notice a slight—never seem conscious of an affront, unless it is of a gross character, and then punish it at once.

You can never quarrel in presence of ladies, but a personal indignity may be avenged _anywhere_.

Never talk of people by hints, slurs, innuendoes, and such mean devices. If you have anything to say, out with it. Nothing charms more than candor, when united with good breeding.

Do not call people by their names in speaking to them. In speaking of your own children, never “Master” and “Miss” them—in speaking to other people of theirs, never neglect to do so.

It is very vulgar to talk in a loud tone, and indulge in horse-laughs. Be very careful in speaking of subjects upon which you are not acquainted. Much is to be learned by confessing your ignorance—nothing can be by pretending to knowledge which you do not possess.

Never tell long stories. Avoid all common slang phrases and pet words.

Of all things, don’t attempt to be too fine. Use good honest English—and common words for common things. If you speak of breeches, shirts, or petticoats, call them by their right names. The vulgarity is in avoiding them.

Be not partial to theorizing, or your conversation will assume the style of speech-making, which is intolerable.

CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON.

By ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

I think we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God’s. Had we no hope Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope Of yon grey blank of sky, we might grow faint To muse upon eternity’s constraint Round our aspirant souls; but since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop, For a few days consumed in loss and taint? O pusillanimous heart, be comforted And like a cheerful traveler, take the road, Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn and thou unshod To meet the flints? At least it may be said, “Because thy way is _short_, I thank thee, God.”

TALES FROM SHAKSPERE.

By CHARLES LAMB.

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

Bertram, Count of Rossilion, had newly come to his title and estate, by the death of his father. The King of France loved the father of Bertram, and when he heard of his death, he sent for his son to come immediately to his royal court in Paris; intending, for the friendship he bore the late count, to grace young Bertram with his especial favor and protection.

Bertram was living with his mother, the widowed countess, when Lafeu, an old lord of the French court, came to conduct Bertram to the king. The King of France was an absolute monarch, and the invitation to court was in the form of a royal mandate, or positive command, which no subject, of what high dignity soever, might disobey; therefore though the countess, in parting with this dear son, seemed a second time to bury her husband, whose loss she had so lately mourned, yet she dared not keep him a single day, but gave instant orders for his departure. Lafeu, who came to fetch him, tried to comfort the countess for the loss of her late lord, and her son’s sudden absence: and he said, in a courtier’s flattering manner, that the king was so kind a prince, she would find in his majesty a husband, and that he would be a father to her son: meaning only that the good king would befriend the fortunes of Bertram. Lafeu told the countess that the king had fallen into a sad malady, which was pronounced by his physicians to be incurable. The lady expressed great sorrow on hearing this account of the king’s ill health, and said, she wished the father of Helena (a young gentlewoman who was present in attendance upon her), were living, for that she doubted not he could have cured his majesty of his disease. And she told Lafeu something of the history of Helena, saying she was the only daughter of the famous physician Gerard de Narbon, and that he had recommended his daughter to her care when he was dying, so that since his death she had taken Helena under her protection; then the countess praised the virtuous disposition and excellent qualities of Helena, saying she inherited these virtues from her worthy father. While she was speaking, Helena wept in sad and mournful silence, which made the countess gently reprove her for too much grieving for her father’s death.

Bertram now bade his mother farewell. The countess parted with this dear son with tears and many blessings, and commended him to the care of Lafeu, saying, “Good, my lord, advise him, for he is an unseasoned courtier.” Bertram’s last words were spoken to Helena, but they were words of mere civility, wishing her happiness; and he concluded his short farewell to her with saying, “Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make much of her.” Helena had long loved Bertram, and when she wept in sad and mournful silence, the tears she shed were not for Gerard de Narbon. Helena loved her father, but in the present feeling of a deeper love, the object of which she was about to lose, she had forgotten the very form and features of her dead father, her imagination presenting no image to her mind but Bertram’s.

Helena had long loved Bertram, yet she always remembered that he was the Count of Rossilion, descended from the most ancient family in France. She of humble birth. Her parents of no note at all. His ancestors all noble. And therefore she looked up to the high-born Bertram, as to her master and to her dear lord, and dared not form any wish but to live his servant, and so loving to die his vassal. So great the distance seemed to her between his height of dignity and her lowly fortunes, she would say, “It were all one that I should love a bright peculiar star, and think to wed it, Bertram is so far above me.”

Bertram’s absence filled her eyes with tears, and her heart with sorrow; for though she loved without hope, yet it was a pretty comfort to her to see him every hour, and Helena would sit and look upon his dark eye, his arched brow, and the curls of his fine hair, till she seemed to draw his portrait on the tablet of her heart, that heart too capable of retaining the memory of every line in the features of that loved face. Gerard de Narbon, when he died, left her no other portion than some prescriptions of rare and well-proved virtue, which by deep study and long experience in medicine, he had collected as sovereign and almost infallible remedies. Among the rest was one set down as an approved medicine for the disease under which Lafeu said the king at that time languished; and when Helena heard of the king’s complaint, she, who till now had been so humble and so hopeless, formed an ambitious project in her mind to go herself to Paris, and undertake the cure of the king. But though Helena was the possessor of this choice prescription, it was unlikely, as the king as well as his physicians were of opinion that his disease was incurable, that they would give credit to a poor unlearned virgin, if she should offer to perform a cure. The firm hopes that Helena had of succeeding, if she might be permitted to make the trial, seemed more than even her father’s skill warranted, though he was the most famous physician of his time; for she felt a strong faith that this good medicine was sanctified by all the lucky stars in heaven, to be the legacy that should advance her fortune, even to the high dignity of being Count Rossilion’s wife.

Bertram had not been long gone, when the countess was informed by her steward that he had overheard Helena talking to herself, and that he understood from some words she uttered, that she was in love with Bertram, and had thought of following him to Paris. The countess dismissed the steward with thanks, and desired him to tell Helena she wished to speak with her. What she had just heard of Helena brought the remembrance of days long past into the mind of the countess, those days probably when her love for Bertram’s father first began; and she said to herself, “Even so it was with me when I was young. Love is a thorn that belongs to the rose of youth; for in the season of youth, if ever we are nature’s children, these faults are ours, though then we think not they are faults.” While the countess was thus meditating on the loving errors of her own youth, Helena entered, and she said to her, “Helena, you know I am a mother to you.” Helena replied, “You are my honorable mistress.” “You are my daughter,” said the countess again; “I say I am your mother. Why do you start and look pale at my words?” With looks of alarm and confused thoughts, fearing the countess suspected her love, Helena still replied, “Pardon me, madam, you are not my mother; the Count Rossilion can not be my brother, nor I your daughter.” “Yet, Helena,” said the countess, “you might be my daughter-in-law; and I am afraid that is what you mean to be, the words mother and daughter so disturb you. Helena, do you love my son?” “Good madam, pardon me,” said the affrighted Helena. Again the countess repeated her question, “Do you love my son?” “Do you not love him, madam?” said Helena. The countess replied, “Give me not this evasive answer, Helena. Come, come, disclose the state of your affections, for your love has to the full appeared.” Helena on her knees now owned her love, and with shame and terror implored the pardon of her noble mistress; and with words expressive of the sense she had of the inequality between their fortunes, she protested Bertram did not know she loved him, comparing her humble unaspiring love to a poor Indian, who adores the sun, that looks upon his worshiper but knows of him no more. The countess asked Helena if she had lately an intent to go to Paris? Helena owned the intent she had formed in her mind, when she heard Lafeu speak of the king’s illness. “That was your motive for wishing to go to Paris,” said the countess, “was it? Speak truly.” Helena honestly answered, “My lord your son made me to think of this; else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, had from the conversation of my thoughts been absent then.” The countess heard the whole of this confession without saying a word either of approval or of blame, but she strictly questioned Helena as to the probability of the medicine being useful to the king. She found that it was most prized by Gerard de Narbon of all he possessed, and that he had given it to his daughter on his death-bed; and remembering the solemn promise she had made at that awful hour in regard to this young maid, whose destiny, and the life of the king himself, seemed to depend on the execution of a project (which, though conceived by the fond suggestions of a loving maiden’s thoughts, the countess knew not but it might be the unseen workings of Providence to bring to pass the recovery of the king, and to lay the foundation of the future fortunes of Gerard de Narbon’s daughter), free leave she gave to Helena to pursue her own way, and generously furnished her with ample means and suitable attendants, and Helena set out for Paris, with the blessings of the countess, and her kindest wishes.

Helena arrived in Paris, and by the assistance of her friend the old lord Lafeu, she obtained an audience of the king. She had still many difficulties to encounter, for the king was not easily prevailed on to try the medicine offered him by this fair young doctor. But she told him she was Gerard de Narbon’s daughter (with whose fame the king was well acquainted), and she offered the precious medicine as the darling treasure which contained the essence of all her father’s long experience and skill, and she boldly engaged to forfeit her life, if it failed to restore his majesty to perfect health in the space of two days. The king at length consented to try it, and in two days’ time Helena was to lose her life if the king did not recover; but if she succeeded he promised to give her the choice of any man throughout all France (the princes only excepted) whom she could like for a husband; the choice of a husband being the fee Helena demanded, if she cured the king of his disease.

Helena did not deceive herself in the hope she conceived of the efficacy of her father’s medicine. Before two days were at an end, the king was restored to perfect health, and he assembled all the young noblemen of his court together, in order to confer the promised reward of a husband upon his fair physician; and he desired Helena to look around on this youthful parcel of noble bachelors, and choose her husband. Helena was not slow to make her choice, for among these young lords she saw the Count Rossilion, and turning to Bertram, she said, “This is the man. I dare not say, my lord, I take you, but I give me and my service ever whilst I live into your guiding power.” “Why then,” said the king, “young Bertram, take her; she is your wife.” Bertram did not hesitate to declare his dislike to this present of the king’s of the self-offered Helena, who, he said, was a poor physician’s daughter, bred at his father’s charge, and now living dependent on his mother’s bounty. Helena heard him speak these words of rejection and of scorn, and she said to the king, “That you are well, my lord, I am glad. Let the rest go.” But the king would not suffer his royal command to be so slighted; for the power of bestowing their nobles in marriage was one of the many privileges of the kings of France; and that same day Bertram was married to Helena, a forced and uneasy marriage to Bertram, and of no promising hope to the poor lady, who, though she gained the noble husband she had hazarded her life to obtain, seemed to have won but a splendid blank, her husband’s love not being a gift in the power of the king of France to bestow.

Helena was no sooner married, than she was desired by Bertram to apply to the king for him for a leave of absence from court; and when she brought him the king’s permission for his departure, Bertram told her that as he was not prepared for this sudden marriage, it had much unsettled him, and therefore she must not wonder at the course he should pursue. If Helena wondered not, she grieved, when she found it was his intention to leave her. He ordered her to go home to his mother. When Helena heard this unkind command, she replied, “I can nothing say to this, but that I am your most obedient servant, and shall ever with true observance seek to eke out that desert, wherein my homely stars have failed to equal my great fortunes.” But this humble speech of Helena’s did not at all move the haughty Bertram to pity his gentle wife, and he parted from her without even the common civility of a kind farewell.

Back to the countess then Helena returned. She had accomplished the purport of her journey, she had preserved the life of the king, and she had wedded her heart’s dear lord, the Count Rossilion; but she returned back a dejected lady to her noble mother-in-law, and as soon as she entered the house, she received a letter from Bertram which almost broke her heart. The good countess received her with cordial welcome, as if she had been her son’s own choice, and a lady of a high degree, and she spoke kind words, to comfort her for the unkind neglect of Bertram in sending his wife home on her bridal day alone. But this gracious reception failed to cheer the sad mind of Helena, and she said, “Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone.” She then read these words out of Bertram’s letter: “When you can get the ring from my finger which never shall come off, then call me husband, but in such a _then_ I write a _never_.” “This is a dreadful sentence!” said Helena. The countess begged her to have patience, and said now Bertram was gone, she could be her child, and that she deserved a lord, that twenty such rude boys as Bertram might tend upon, and hourly call her mistress. But in vain by respectful condescension and kind flattery this matchless mother tried to soothe the sorrows of her daughter-in-law. Helena still kept her eyes fixed upon the letter, and cried out in an agony of grief, “Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.” The countess asked her if she found these words in the letter? “Yes, madam,” was all poor Helena could answer.

The next morning Helena was missing. She left a letter to be delivered to the countess after she was gone, to acquaint her with the reason of her sudden absence; in this letter she informed her that she was so much grieved at having driven Bertram from his native country and his home, that to atone for her offense she had undertaken a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Jaques le Grand, and concluded with requesting the countess to inform her son that the wife he so hated had left his house forever.

Bertram, when he left Paris, went to Florence, and there became an officer in the Duke of Florence’s army, and after a successful war, in which he distinguished himself by many brave actions, Bertram received letters from his mother, containing the acceptable tidings that Helena would no more disturb him; and he was preparing to return home, when Helena herself, clad in her pilgrim’s weeds, arrived at the city of Florence. Florence was a city through which the pilgrims used to pass on their way to St. Jaques le Grand; and when Helena arrived at this city, she heard that a hospitable widow dwelt there, who used to receive into her house the female pilgrims that were going to visit the shrine of that saint, giving them lodging and kind entertainment. To this good lady therefore Helena went, and the widow gave her a courteous welcome, and invited her to see whatever was curious in that famous city, and told her that if she would like to see the duke’s army, she would take her where she might have a full view of it. “And you will see a countryman of yours,” said the widow; “his name is Count Rossilion, who has done worthy service in the duke’s wars.” Helena wanted no second invitation, when she found Bertram was to make part of the show. She accompanied her hostess; and a sad mournful pleasure it was to her to look once more upon her dear husband’s face. “Is he not a handsome man?” said the widow. “I like him well,” replied Helena with great truth. All the way they walked, the talkative widow’s discourse was all of Bertram; she told Helena the story of Bertram’s marriage, and how he had deserted the poor lady his wife and entered into the duke’s army to avoid living with her. To this account of her own misfortunes Helena patiently listened, and when it was ended the history of Bertram was not yet done, for then the widow began another tale, every word of which sank deep into the mind of Helena; for the story she now told was of Bertram’s love for her daughter.

Though Bertram did not like the marriage forced on him by the king, it seems he was not insensible to love, for since he had been stationed with the army at Florence, he had fallen in love with Diana, a fair young gentlewoman, the daughter of this widow who was Helena’s hostess: and every night, with music of all sorts, and songs composed in praise of Diana’s beauty, he would come under her window, and solicit her love: and all his suit to her was that she would permit him to visit her by stealth after the family were retired to rest; but Diana would by no means be persuaded to grant this improper request, nor give any encouragement to his suit, knowing him to be a married man: for Diana had been brought up under the counsels of a prudent mother, who, though she was now in reduced circumstances, was well-born, and descended from the noble family of the Capulets.

All this the good lady related to Helena, highly praising the virtuous principles of her discreet daughter, which she said were entirely owing to the excellent education and good advice she had given her; and she further said, that Bertram had been particularly importunate with Diana to admit him to the visit he so much desired that night, because he was going to leave Florence early the next morning. Though it grieved Helena to hear of Bertram’s love for the widow’s daughter, yet from this story the ardent mind of Helena conceived a project (nothing discouraged at the ill success of her former one) to recover her truant lord. She disclosed to the widow that she was Helena, the deserted wife of Bertram, and requested that her kind hostess and her daughter would suffer this visit from Bertram to take place, and allow her to pass herself upon Bertram for Diana; telling them her chief motive for desiring to have this secret meeting with her husband, was to get a ring from him, which he said if ever she was in possession of, he would acknowledge her as his wife.

The widow and her daughter promised to assist her in this affair, partly moved by pity for this unhappy forsaken wife, and partly won over to her interest by the promise of reward which Helena made them, giving them a purse of money in earnest of her future favor. In the course of that day Helena caused information to be sent to Bertram, that she was dead, hoping that when he thought himself free to make a second choice by the news of her death, he would offer marriage to her in her feigned character of Diana. And if she could obtain the ring and this promise too she doubted not she could make some future good come of it. In the evening after it was dark, Bertram was admitted into Diana’s chamber, and Helena was there ready to receive him. The flattering compliments and love discourse he addressed to Helena were precious sounds to her, though she knew they were meant for Diana; and Bertram was so well pleased with her, that he made her a solemn promise to be her husband, and to love her forever; which she hoped would be prophetic of a real affection, when he should know it was his own wife, the despised Helena, whose conversation had so delighted him.

Bertram never knew how sensible a lady Helena was, else perhaps he would not have been so regardless of her; and seeing her every day, he had entirely overlooked her beauty, a face we are accustomed to see constantly losing the effect which is caused by the first sight either of beauty or of plainness; and of her understanding it was impossible he should judge, because she felt such reverence, mixed with her love for him, that she was always silent in his presence; but now that her future fate, and the happy ending of all her love projects, seemed to depend on her leaving a favorable impression on the mind of Bertram from this night’s interview, she exerted all her wit to please him; and the simple graces of her lively conversation and the endearing sweetness of her manners so charmed Bertram, that he vowed she should be his wife. Helena begged the ring from off his finger as a token of his regard, and he gave it to her; and in return for this ring, which it was of such importance to her to possess, she gave him another ring, which was one the king had made her a present of. Before it was light in the morning, she sent Bertram away; and he immediately set out on his journey toward his mother’s house.

Helena prevailed on the widow and Diana to accompany her to Paris, their further assistance being necessary to the full accomplishment of the plan she had formed. When they arrived there, they found the king was gone upon a visit to the countess of Rossilion, and Helena followed the king with all the speed she could make.

The king was still in perfect health, and his gratitude to her who had been the means of his recovery was so lively in his mind, that the moment he saw the countess of Rossilion, he began to talk of Helena, calling her a precious jewel that was lost by the folly of her son; but seeing the subject distressed the countess, who sincerely lamented the death of Helena, he said, “My good lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all.” But the good-natured old Lafeu, who was present, and could not bear that the memory of his favorite Helena should be so lightly passed over, said, “This I must say, the young lord did great offense to his majesty, his mother, and his lady; but to himself he did the greatest wrong of all, for he has lost a wife whose beauty astonished all eyes, whose words took all ears captive, whose deep perfection made all hearts wish to serve her.” The king said, “Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear. Well—call him hither;” meaning Bertram, who now presented himself before the king: and, on his expressing deep sorrow for the injuries he had done to Helena, the king, for his dead father’s and his admirable mother’s sake, pardoned him, and restored him once more to his favor. But the gracious countenance of the king was soon changed towards him, for he perceived that Bertram wore the very ring upon his finger which he had given to Helena; and he well remembered that Helena had called all the saints in heaven to witness that she would never part with that ring, unless she sent it to the king himself upon some great disaster befalling her; and Bertram, on the king’s questioning him how he came by the ring, told an improbable story of a lady throwing it to him out of a window, and denied ever having seen Helena since the day of their marriage. The king, knowing Bertram’s dislike to his wife, feared he had destroyed her; and he ordered his guards to seize Bertram, saying, “I am wrapt in dismal thinking, for I fear the life of Helena was foully snatched.” At this moment Diana and her mother entered, and presented a petition to the king, wherein they begged his majesty to exert his royal power to compel Bertram to marry Diana, he having made her a solemn promise of marriage. Bertram fearing the king’s anger, denied he had made any such promise, and then Diana produced the ring (which Helena had put into her hands) to confirm the truth of her words; and she said that she had given Bertram the ring he then wore, in exchange for that, at the time he vowed to marry her. On hearing this, the king ordered the guards to seize her also; and her account of the ring differing from Bertram’s, the king’s suspicions were confirmed; and he said, if they did not confess how they came by this ring of Helena’s they should both be put to death. Diana requested her mother might be permitted to fetch the jeweler of whom she bought the ring, which being granted, the widow went out, and presently returned, leading in Helena herself.

The good countess, who in silent grief had beheld her son’s danger, and had even dreaded that the suspicion of his having destroyed his wife might possibly be true, finding her dear Helena, whom she loved with even a maternal affection, was still living, felt a delight she was hardly able to support; and the king, scarce believing for joy that it was Helena, said, “Is this indeed the wife of Bertram that I see?” Helena, feeling herself yet an unacknowledged wife, replied, “No, my good lord, it is but the shadow of a wife you see, the name and not the thing.” Bertram cried out, “Both, both! O pardon!” “O, my lord,” said Helena, “when I personated this fair maid, I found you wondrous kind; and look, here is your letter!” reading to him in a joyful tone those words, which she had once repeated so sorrowfully, _When from my finger you can get this ring_—“This is done, it was to me you gave the ring. Will you be mine, now you are doubly won?” Bertram replied, “If you can make it plain that you are the lady I talked with that night, I will love you dearly, ever, ever dearly.” This was no difficult task, for the widow and Diana came with Helena purposely to prove this fact; and the king was so well pleased with Diana, for the friendly assistance she had rendered the dear lady he so truly valued for the service she had done him, that he promised her also a noble husband: Helena’s history giving him a hint that it was a suitable reward for kings to bestow upon fair ladies when they perform notable services.

Thus Helena at last found that her father’s legacy was indeed sanctified by the luckiest stars in heaven; for she was now the beloved wife of her dear Bertram, the daughter-in-law of her noble mistress, and herself the countess of Rossilion.

THE LAST SNOW OF WINTER.

By SARAH DOUDNEY.

Soft snow still rests within this wayside cleft, Veiling the primrose buds not yet unfurled; Last trace of dreary winter, idly left On beds of moss, and sere leaves crisply curled; Why does it linger while the violets blow, And sweet things grow?

A relic of long nights and weary days, When all fair things were hidden from my sight; A chill reminder of those mournful ways I traversed when the fields were cold and white; My life was dim, my hopes lay still and low Beneath the snow.

Now spring is coming, and my buried love Breaks fresh and strong and living through the sod; The lark sings loudly in the blue above, The budding earth must magnify her God; Let the old sorrows and old errors go With the last snow!

CONJURORS.

By THOMAS FROST.

A French conjuror of the first of the present century, was Comte, who was as famous for his ventriloquil powers as for his legerdemain. Many anecdotes are current among continental conjurors of the consternation which Comte created on various occasions by the exercise of his powers as a ventriloquist off the boards. He once overtook near Nevers a man who was beating an overladen ass, and, throwing his voice in the direction of the poor brute’s head, reproached the fellow for his cruelty, causing him to stare at the ass for a moment in mingled surprise and awe, and then take to his heels. On another occasion, being in the marketplace of Mâcon, he inquired the price of a pig which a peasant woman had for sale, and pronounced it extortionate, a charge which the owner, with much volubility, denied.

“I will ask the pig,” said Comte, gravely. “Piggy, is the good woman asking a fair price for you?”

“Too much by half,” the pig seemed to reply. “I am measled, and she knows it.”

The woman gasped and stared, but she was equal to the occasion.

“Oh! the villain,” she exclaimed. “He has bewitched my pig! Police, seize the sorcerer!”

The bystanders rushed to the spot, but Comte slipped away as quickly as he could, and left the affair to the intelligence of the police.

On one occasion the possession of this strange power was the means of saving Comte’s life. He was denounced by some ignorant Swiss peasants in the neighborhood of Friburg, as a sorcerer, set upon and beaten with sticks, and was about to be thrown into a limekiln, when he raised such a horrible yell, which appeared to proceed from the kiln, that the fellows dropped him, and fled precipitately from the spot.

Miller, whose strange adventures and vicissitudes were related by himself in his “Life of a Sowman,” was a conjuror of the fair-frequenting class during the greater part of his varied life. He relates an amusing anecdote of a failure he once had in performing the common trick of cooking a pancake in a hat. He was performing before a private party at Kelso, and among the company was an elderly gentleman, who sat close to the operating table, and caused some discomposure to Miller and his attendant by the closeness of his observation of their motions, and the grimaces and chucklings in which he indulged whenever he discovered, or thought he had discovered, the mode in which any of the tricks were performed. The pancake trick is done by secretly introducing into the hat a ready cooked and hot pancake in a tin dish, and above this a gallipot. The batter is prepared, in sight of the spectators, in a similar gallipot, just as much smaller than the other as to fit closely into it. The contents of the smaller gallipot are poured into the larger one, and both are withdrawn together; and the conjuror, after pretending to cook the pancake over a lamp or candle, presents it on the tin dish.

Miller’s attendant was so much confused by the watching, grimacing, and chuckling of the old gentleman that he omitted to place the gallipot in the hat which a gentleman of the party had lent for the purpose, and Miller poured the batter upon the pancake before he discovered the omission. He was not so ready-witted as Robert-Houdin showed himself on similar occasions, nor was his attendant so equal to the emergency as the French conjuror’s ministering imp proved in the face of such a disaster. They could only stare in bewilderment at the spoiled hat until Miller, recovering from his confusion, confessed his failure, explained the manner in which the trick is done, and threw the blame upon the inquisitive and chuckling old gentleman.

Anderson, a juggler widely known in Europe as the “Wizard of the North,” during a provincial tour met with a strange adventure. One day, toward the conclusion of an engagement at Elgin, he visited Forres, a town twelve miles distant, to make arrangements for repeating his performance there, in the vicinity of the “blasted heath,” on which, according to tradition, Macbeth met the witches. Having made the requisite arrangements, he was directed by the printer to the residence of an elderly widow, who had apartments to let, which, proving suitable, were taken for one week.

“You’ll excuse me, sir,” said the widow when he was about to depart, “but I maun tell ye I’m a puir widow, and a’ that I hae to live by is what I get by lettin’ my apartments. Ither folk hae engaged ’em, saying I might expect ’em on a certain day; but they didna come, sae I was disappointed. It’s an old sayin’, that ‘burnt bairns dreed the fire.’ Ye are a stranger, although a decent lookin’ man, and ye may do the same; sae I hope ye winna object to pay half o’ the rent aforehand.”

Anderson made no objection, but at once handed four half-crowns to the old lady. At that moment he remembered that he must see the printer again before he left Forres, and, as the day, which had threatened to be a wet one, was fine, he left his umbrella with the widow, whose good opinion the payment in advance of one moiety of the week’s rent had quite secured. But, unfortunately, the widow read the words, _Great Wizard of the North_, on the handle of the umbrella when Anderson had left her; and he observed, on his return, that she trembled and changed color as she regarded him intently from head to foot, without venturing to approach him.

“Save us!” she faintly ejaculated. “Wha are ye?”

“I am a rather notorious character,” Anderson replied, with a smile, “and I have no doubt, although you have never seen me before, that you have heard of me. My name is Anderson, and I am known as the Wizard of the North.”

“A weezard, are ye?” said the affrighted widow. “Then, for the love o’ guideness, gang oot o’ my house! I wadna lodge ye for ae night under my roof nae for a’ the world. For the love o’ heaven, gang awa, and tak your umbrella alang wi’ ye.”

As the Elgin coach was shortly to pass the house, Anderson did not pause to explain or remonstrate, but stepped at once toward the door, when the widow cried, “Stap! Dinna leave ought belanging to ye wi’ me; tak your siller wi’ ye, and never let me see your face again.”

Hastily taking the four half-crowns from her purse, she threw them upon the floor, screaming that they burned her fingers, and immediately fell back in a swoon of terror. In her fall, her head struck a stool, slightly lacerating her cheek; and on several of the neighbors hurrying in, on hearing her scream and fall, they found her bleeding, and apparently lifeless. The women cried out that the stranger had murdered the widow, and the men seized Anderson’s arms, to prevent his escape.

At that moment the coach was driven up, and the driver, seeing a crowd about the widow’s house, pulled up, and inquired the cause of the commotion.

On being told that a murder had been committed, the guard leaped down, and, looking through the window, recognized Anderson, whom he had seen several times in Elgin. The coach started again, and Anderson, finding he was in an awkward position, as the old lady gave no signs of life, demanded to be taken before a magistrate at once. This, he was told, was impossible, as there was no magistrate within seven miles, and all that could be done was to lodge him in the town jail until the next day.

To the jail the conjuror was taken, therefore, between a couple of constables, who were commendably prompt in making their appearance. The coach went on to Elgin, where the guard lost no time in spreading the news of the wizard’s arrest, and, going to the Assembly Rooms, told the audience, who were just growing impatient at the conjuror’s non-appearance, that “they might conjure for themselves that night, for there would be no wizard, as he was where he would not get out with all his magic; he was in Forres jail, for murdering an old woman.” A thrill of horror ran through the crowded auditory; then a murmur arose, and loud demands were made for the return of the money paid at the doors. This was done; and nothing was talked of at Elgin that night but the horrible murder at Forres.

On the following morning, Anderson was conducted to the residence of the magistrate, where the widow, who had recovered in the course of the night, told as much of the tragi-comical story as she knew. The gentleman who administered justice in that remote district smiled at the old lady’s narrative, reproved the witnesses for their hastiness, and at once discharged Anderson, with an expression of regret for the inconvenience and loss to which his detention had subjected him. The news of the _dénouement_ of the affair reached Elgin as soon as Anderson, for whom it proved an excellent advertisement, bringing crowds to the Assembly Rooms, and inducing him to prolong his stay in that town several nights beyond the term he had intended.

THE INFLUENCE OF WHOLESOME DRINK.

Three-quarters of that staunch body which you bring with you to the task of perusing these pages, my firmly-knit friend, notwithstanding substantial appearances, are nothing but thin water. If without your clothes you weigh one hundred and fifty pounds, one hundred and thirteen of those pounds are mere liquid, which could be poured through the spout of a tea-pot, or even the channel of a tobacco pipe. Are you surprised to find yourself of so watery a nature? If you are so, you have no good ground for your wonder, for I can tell you that liquid has plenty of work to perform for your good.

Water is continually being drained away out of the supply-pipes of your body, and therefore requires to be as constantly restored to them, unless the blood is to be allowed to get so thick that it can no longer flow freely through their channels. The Great Architect of your body purposed that this should never happen, because if it did, all the powers of your frame, which are sustained by the blood-movement, would suffer and flag. Therefore he has contrived a plan to prevent such thickening of the life-stream.

So soon as your blood has begun to grow thick and to flow slowly, it moves unwillingly and lazily through the structures of your throat, as well as through all other parts. The thick lazily moving blood there causes that unpleasant feeling which you call thirst; a feeling which is so disagreeable that the instant you are conscious of it, you seek to get rid of it by swallowing drink.

When you drink water to quench your thirst, the thin liquid goes down into your digesting bag, and is then directly sucked up into the supply-pipes which run about all over its inside. There it thins the thickened blood, goes with it to the heart, and is thence pumped out through the channels of supply, taking its part in all the operations of life, diluting and changing here, and carrying and cleansing everywhere. There are various outlets through which the waste is poured away, but the principal of these lie upon the skin and in the kidneys. Before it is poured away, however, it actually forms part and parcel of all the structures of your frame; is for the time a portion of your life! It runs not merely through the digesting-canal of your body to the outlets for waste, but actually through the blood, and heart, and brain. Hence you see good drink may carry health, and vigor, and activity to all these internal and delicate parts; but bad drink may at once introduce mischief there, and danger, and disease.

The best possible drink is, of course, that which has the most power to fulfil the main office for which it is required; that is, the keeping the blood duly thin, for easy and ready flow. In its capability to do this, Nature’s own liquid, pure water, stands altogether alone. No other fluid is at once so incorruptibly impartial, and so generously free; so ready to dissolve, so willing to carry, and so frank to return what is entrusted to it. When healthy people drink freely of pure water, the solid substance of their frames is actually washed and worn away, in consequence, more quickly; but this is directly made up to them by their getting stronger appetites, and eating more solid food. The food replaces the wear, and they do not waste, although their structure is more quickly consumed. The wear and tear goes to work, instead of to waste.

People do not, however, drink only pure water, perfect as that liquid is for the performance of the service for which it is swallowed. An immense amount of ingenuity and industry is spent in preparing beverages which are commonly preferred to plain water, because they have very agreeable flavors, and because it is believed that they are nourishing as well as thirst-quenching. These agreeable artificial beverages are principally prepared by the agency of boiling water, and the leaves and seeds of certain vegetables, which are cultivated for the purpose very extensively in various quarters of the globe.

Of these vegetable-furnished beverages, some are swallowed as soon as they have been prepared, and even while the warmth of the water is in a certain degree retained. Others are kept for some time, and allowed to pass into a condition of half decay, before they are used. The former class consist of the tea, coffee, and cocoa, so familiarly known in most households, besides being employed daily in a greater or less degree, by more than seven hundred millions of human beings.

Few persons undervalue the fragrant drink, which pours forth its pleasant leafy smell upon almost every table, from the cottage to the palace, once or twice in the day. Tea-drinkers are not, however, aware how enormous is the quantity of the fragrant leaf that is required every year for their supply, although only distributed to them by small spoonfuls.

Upon the hillsides, in the remote land of China, there are thousands of acres of gardens filled with rows of plants, that look from a distance something like large gooseberry bushes, but which upon closer inspection more nearly resemble stunted japonica shrubs. Almost as soon as these shrubs have fully put forth their young leaves, men and women come round, and strip their twigs and branches bare. They then carry away the leaves, and dry them with much care, partly by exposure to the sunshine and air, and partly by the heat of fires of charcoal, until two-thirds of their weight have been steamed away. When the leaves are dried quickly, the shrunk and crisped foliage is of a green color. When they are left moist for a longer period, and are dried more slowly, they turn of a dull black hue. In either case, the crisped and curled leaves form the tea, portions of which are sent over the sea for the use of English tea-tables. The ground which is devoted to the growth of the tea plant, in China, would, if all joined together, form a farm nearly as large as Wales! Three millions and a half of acres are there covered with tea-bushes; and the entire produce of these acres in tea, is fifty times as large as the amount which is consumed in England. Fifty monster ships, like the Great Eastern, would not hold therefore the tea produce of a single year. Of tea, and of its allies, coffee and cocoa, the earth yields yearly not less than three thousand millions of pounds; a quantity which it would take a grocer a hundred years to weigh out, if he worked at the rate of a pound every second. More than half the inhabitants of the earth are daily engaged in the occupation of consuming this vast amount.

Although these favorite beverages are now so extensively used, this has not been very long the case. In the year 1664 the East India Company made a present to the Queen of England of two pounds of tea, considering it a very rare and choice gift. The Chinese themselves do not seem to have drunk tea generally before the seventh century. Cocoa was brought from Mexico to Spain in the middle of the sixteenth century for the first time; and coffee was not seen in London until the seventeenth century. Hence it appears that these drinks are at least not actually necessary to human beings. The forefathers of the present generation did without them for centuries.

When articles, which were scarcely known to be in existence three centuries ago, have so rapidly spread themselves through the world, that they are now viewed almost in the light of daily requisites by the larger half of mankind, it may very safely be concluded that there is some strong reason for the result. The reason may be a good one, or a bad one; the articles may be found to be of great service when employed, or they may be merely felt to produce agreeable feelings not necessarily serviceable. Is it possible to determine in which of these predicaments tea and its allies stand? As a first step towards the formation of an opinion in this matter, it will be quite worth any interested person’s while to satisfy himself by a very easy experiment that there is something in tea, which careless notice and common use would never discover. Let him simply rub a teaspoonful of dry tea leaves to powder, and place it in a flat watch-glass, standing on the hot hob of a fire-place, a piece of stiff white paper being twisted up into the form of a sugar-loaf, and covered over the watch-glass and powdered tea. So soon as the tea has become very hot, a white steam-like vapor will rise from it, and be entangled in the paper, and if the paper cap be removed after a few minutes and be unfolded, its surface will be found to be sprinkled with a white glittering powder, something like pounded glass, or very fine salt. The powder is the vapor, turned into the powdery state, after it has been entangled by the paper. There is so much of this white powder in tea, that three grains can be procured from half an ounce of the leaves. Fifty pounds of good tea would furnish a pound of the white powder.

Having found out the existence of this white powder, hidden away in the black or green leaves of tea, the next thing we have to do is to discover, if possible, what its nature and character are. The chemists have given it a learned name—_that_ will not help us much in our present proceedings, still it may be convenient to know the curious substance by the title it bears among learned men. The chemical name of the white powder is _theine_. This means nothing more than the white powder contained in tea. There is another really helpful consideration, however, which naturally occurs while we look at this substance. “Where did the white powder come from?” How did it get into the tea-leaf?

The white powder of tea was formed in the leaf, when that leaf was stretched out in the Chinese sunshine, as the plant grew on the side of the warm Chinese hills. It was made out of the food which the plant sucked in from its native soil and its native winds, in the little chambers of its living structure, at a great expense of wise effort and skill. No human artist can make a grain of that white powder, if he spend a lifetime in the trial. In the little tea-leaf, as it grows on its sunshiny hillsides, the most subtle and cunning powers are set to work by the wisdom which knows everything, and by the hand which holds and directs all things in man’s wonderful world. The result is, that out of coarse earth, and thin vapors, and fostering sunshine, the ingredients of the white powder are gathered together, and mixed, each in its proper proportions, and in the right manner, in the hidden recesses of the growing plant. God, in his own sublime language, says to the Chinese soil, and atmosphere, and sunshine, “_Let the white powder of the tea plant be_,” and there it is.

In a world that is so overflowing with perfect contrivance as this one, which serves as man’s dwelling place, it is not at all likely that this curious white powder is made by the tea plant in such abundance—twenty-five thousand tons of it at least turned out on the Chinese hills every year, and scattered thence to the four corners of the world—without having some very good work appointed it to do. You will not wonder, therefore, that inquiring men, who know that all these thousands of tons get mixed in the ordinary course of ordered events with the flesh and blood of human bodies, should be very curious to find out what they are capable of doing there. Another very surprising fact also tends greatly to strengthen this curiosity. The coffee tree grows not in China, but in Ceylon, in Arabia, and in the West Indies. The cocoa tree flourishes on the other side of the American continent, in Mexico and Peru. Yet the coffee and cocoa plants make out of the East and West Indian, the Arabian, and the South American soils, vapors, and sunshine, exactly the same kind of white powder that the tea plant manufactures on the Chinese hills. Plants so unlike in external appearance, and living in districts so remote from each other, first get to be used in similar ways in the preparation of beverages for millions of the human race. Then curious and prying inquirers find that there is one principle present in all these beverage-yielding plants. The common-sense inference is plain. It is most likely that it is this one substance present in all the three different plants, which has led to their being employed so generally in the preparation of drink.

The experiments which the chemists have tried with this white powder, with a view to the discovery of the action it may be able to exert upon living bodies when taken into them, appear to prove simply this. When swallowed in proper quantities it has a most wonderful sustaining power. It seems as if it enabled food which is taken with it to go one-fourth part as far again in supporting the strength of the body, as it would without the addition; and if it does this, it is certainly not because it adds an equal amount of bulk to the food, for a trifling pinch of three or four grains of the powder, as much as could be laid on a silver four-penny piece, is enough for the purpose during one day. If a healthy man has half a pound of bread taken from his daily meals, and three grains of the white powder of tea added in its stead, his body does not miss the bread. The white salt of tea, coffee, and cocoa, seems to possess the power of relieving the body from the effects of wear and waste, and so of decreasing its requirement of food.

This extraordinary substance also produces another very remarkable effect on the living body, when it is swallowed in these small quantities. It cheers and enlivens, at the same time that it aids in supporting the bulk and strength of the frame. The chemist finds, when he examines its precise composition, that it is even more adapted to supply the substance which the nerves and brain lose by wear and tear, than to diminish the loss the flesh undergoes from the same cause. The white powdery ingredient of coffee and tea is most probably a rich and strong nerve-food, provided for the support of the nervous structure and brain, rather than for the nourishment of the flesh; it is nerve-making substance rather than flesh-making substance; and it exerts some mysterious and very extraordinary influence of lessening the waste of wear and tear in the structures of the living frame, without stopping their useful activity in the same degree.

In order that the nature and suspected action of this white powder of tea, coffee, and cocoa may be kept fairly in the mind, it may be well, instead of speaking of it by its learned name, to call it the nerve-food ingredient of these beverages. Some further remark might very well be made touching the probable reason why these beverages, thus rich in a nerve-strengthening food, should have come into such general use in modern times, although scarcely employed in remote ages. But it may, on the whole, be best merely to say that it is quite in accordance with the general management of the Gracious Providence who rules over man’s world, that the additional wear and tear of nerve and brain, which of necessity follows from the increase in numbers in the human race, and from the advance of the arts and civilization, should have had some counteracting compensation provided for its relief.

The best foods and the most valuable medicines are all as injurious as poisons, when they are taken in great excess. Every blessing which God has furnished to man is intended to be _used_, and not to be _abused_. Men are expected to learn how to employ them well, and how to avoid applying them improperly. The nerve-food ingredient of tea and coffee is no exception to this universal rule. When three or four grains of it are taken in the day, it refreshes and sustains; but if as much as ten grains are taken in the same time, it makes the blood flow with great rapidity through the supply-pipes of the body, and produces an uneasy feeling in the head, continued watchfulness, and trembling in the limbs. These effects, however, it must be remembered, are the results not of use, but of the abuse of the substance. The Chinese account for the sleep-banishing power of tea, when taken in excess, in this way: They say that many centuries ago there lived in the Flowery Land a holy man, who desired to spend his entire life in watching and prayer, but who was constantly catching himself napping in spite of every effort to keep himself awake. Getting at last to be very angry with the eyelids, which would not keep open, he one day determined that he would settle the business effectually by cutting them off. He put his shrewd plan into effect, and cast the offending eyelids aside upon the ground. The eyelids, however, directly took root, and grew up into two fine plants, which bore leaves, having the form of eyelids, and being fringed with hairs, like eyelashes, round their borders. The plants proved to be tea plants, and the leaves of the descendants of those plants now make amends for the offenses of their first parents, the holy man’s eyelids, by furnishing a drink which keeps sleepy people awake.

Tea contains several other ingredients besides the nerve-food just now described. It has in it something which gives it the very fragrant smell, and delicate agreeable flavor, tea drinkers learn to value so highly. This fragrant principle, however, does not exist in the fresh tea-leaf. It is produced by a new sorting and arranging of the ingredients held in the fresh leaf, during the process of drying and roasting. The more carefully the tea is dried, the more delicious its taste and scent become. But tea has also an astringent matter in it, something like the astringency of the mouth-drawing sloe-leaf;—this is not very easily dissolved from it by boiling water. It is only taken up from it after it has remained in hot water for a very long time. Tea contains too a large amount of a true flesh-making substance, of a nature very closely resembling that of the meal of beans or peas. This is not at all dissolved in boiling water. It has been related that when the Queen of England first received her present of the precious tea, the royal cook, not quite understanding what ought to be done with it, boiled it well, and then dished it up on the dinner table, in the same way as spinach and other vegetables. If it be true that the queen’s cook did treat the tea in this way, the plan was not altogether so absurd as it seems. Tea leaves, well cooked, and eaten after this fashion, would prove quite as wholesome and nutritious as beans and peas, the excess of the more active ingredients being removed by the boiling water, and the nourishing meal being principally left behind. Not more than a fourth part of this valuable production, tea, is really unnourishing wood and ash.

When a beverage is prepared from tea, if it be the object to get their finest qualities from the leaves, without regard to expense, the best method of proceeding is to use a large proportion of tea, pouring on as much boiling water at once as will make us the quantity required, and taking it off again after the tea has been standing about ten minutes. The water then dissolves principally the nerve food ingredient and fragrant flavors, and leaves behind the coarser meal and astringent parts. When, on the other hand, the object is to get all the nourishment out of the tea which it can be made to yield, about a quarter of a small teaspoonful of carbonate of soda should be put into the water with the leaves, and the whole should be allowed to stand, covered up closely in a warm place, for a longer time. By this management, the nutritious meal and other coarser ingredients are partially dissolved into the water, as well as the finer parts. The addition of sugar and milk to the beverage of course increases its directly nourishing powers.

Half an ounce of good tea contains about three grains of the active nerve-food ingredient. This therefore is quite as much as any individual should use for the preparation of beverage for a single day. It is also somewhat important how even this moderate quantity is employed. Much of the bad effect which has been attributed to tea, really has been due to the way in which the tea has been drunk, rather than to the direct influence of the leaf. People commonly swallow many cups of it in rapid succession, and pour it down their throats as hot as they can bear it. This is all very unreasonable and wrong. As a rule, never more than a couple of small cups of tea, made from about two drachms of the leaf, should be taken at one time, and even these should not be drunk until the beverage is so far cooled as to cease to give an impression of actual heat to the palate and stomach. The stomach itself makes things warm that are submitted to its influence; there can, therefore, be no harm in warmth. Warm things are not weakening to the stomach, as some people conceive. It is only hot things that are weakening, because they force and over-goad the activity of the organ, and then leave it weary and exhausted from the forced work it has been made to perform.

[To be concluded.]

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The men most to be pitied are those who have no command over themselves, who can not do what they would, and who, even whilst they are performing virtuous deeds, do so from mean motives, from regard to happiness and mental satisfaction, fear of the reproaches of conscience, or else of future punishment. This is all very well and useful, supposing that the man can not be kept in the straight path by any other motives, but he who looks inwardly to the heart and soul can derive no satisfaction from such conduct. True nobility only exists when the good is sought for its own sake, either as a recognized law of pure duty, or from the feeling of the lofty dignity and constraining beauty of virtue. It is only these motives that show the disposition to be great and noble, and these alone react upon the character.—_Wilhelm von Humboldt._

C. L. S. C. WORK.

By J. H. VINCENT, D. D., SUPERINTENDENT OF INSTRUCTION, C. L. S. C.

The studies for June are, in addition to the Required Readings of THE CHAUTAUQUAN in English, Russian, Scandinavian, Religious, Chinese, and Japanese history and literature, the little Chautauqua Text-Book on China, Corea, and Japan.

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There are no memorial days for June.

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Finish the required readings for June as early as possible; fill out the memoranda promptly; and report to Miss K. F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J.

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Practice the Chautauqua songs at home; with them sing baby to sleep; with them fight the blues; from them gather new inspiration.

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Whitaker’s English Almanac has an especially full astronomical department. It contains an immense amount of British information, in three hundred and twenty closely packed pages. It is on sale at Brentano’s, New York.

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S. Pease, 64 Summer Street, Lynn, Mass., would like to purchase the first volume of THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

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Members of the Class of 1883 taking the White Seal course for this year, are not required to re-read Chautauqua Library, volume one.

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Members of the C. L. S. C. may wear their badges at any time, and in any place.

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A special seal may be won by members of the Class of 1882 who will re-read with care the following books. There are members of this class who have expressed the desire to review that year’s work, and to do it with greater thoroughness: Green’s Short History of the English People; Stopford Brooke’s Primer of English Literature; Chautauqua Library of English History and Literature, volumes one, two, and three; Mackenzie’s Nineteenth Century; Justin McCarthy’s History of our own Times; three historical plays of Shakspere.

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“Can the author of our Greek history give information as to the time of the settlement of the Doric colonists of Spain and Ireland?” Answer: Concerning the Doric colonies of Spain and Ireland, Prof. Timayenis says: No movement ever occurred in any section or tribe in Greece for the purpose of establishing any colony in Ireland, or any part of the world beyond the pillars of Hercules. A few, very few, daring Greeks, especially from the coasts of Ionia, and belonging to the Ionic, not the Doric tribe, led by a spirit of adventure, sailed beyond the pillars of Hercules, and are supposed to have reached Albion (England). Then, fearing the return voyage, a few of these daring adventurers remained in Albion, and thus crossed into the continent, i. e., passed into Europe proper from the narrow sea-passage separating England from Europe. “Sporadic settlements” may have taken place, but no colonization of Ireland ever took place. These sporadic, commercial movements occurred about 700 B. C., and even earlier. As the Greeks had founded several cities on the coast of Africa, in Carthagenia, and these cities flourished in a most wonderful manner, a large number of these Greeks passed to the south of Spain. They belonged to the Doric, Ionic, and Æolic tribes. But very probably the Doric element predominated. The number of Greeks who settled in Spain was not large, and very many reasons can be brought to substantiate this statement. These settlements in Spain, according to the best authorities, commenced 600 B. C., and again a few hundred of Greeks found their way to Spain about 600 A. D.

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A New York graduate of 1882, a counselor at law, writes to Mrs. M. Bailey, of Jamestown, as follows: “As a graduate of the C. L. S. C. of ’82 I enclose one dollar, voluntary contribution to the memorial bell. I think the idea a good one, but why have I heard so little about it? The committee should send a circular to every member of the class, and see, too, that they receive a reply, not necessarily a contribution. Many will neglect it from carelessness or lack of interest, unless the matter is energetically pushed. As a member of ’82 I am interested in this, as I wish the bell to do honor to the class. * * * There is one thing I would especially like to see the class of 1882 do, and that is to found a scholarship somewhere. Most of its members, I presume, like myself, are not college graduates, but more or less self-educated, and therefore prize, perhaps, all the more a thorough university course, and would be glad to help some one to advantages of which they were deprived.”

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The second Commencement Day in the history of the C. L. S. C. will be Saturday, August 18, 1883. Let the class of 1883 be present in person, or by a word of salutation to the class, through the superintendent of instruction. Address, after July 14, Dr. J. H. Vincent, Chautauqua, N. Y.

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C. L. S. C. “Recognition” Days: At Ocean Grove, N. J., Tuesday, July 3. At Monterey, Cal., between July 4 and 13. At Monteagle, Tenn., Saturday, July 21. At Lake Bluff, Ill., Wednesday, July 25. At Monona Lake, Wis., Thursday, July 26. At Lakeside, O., Monday, July 30. At Framingham, Mass., Thursday, August 30.

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At Mountain Lake Park, Md., under the direction of Rev. Dr. W. M. Frysinger, there will be a C. L. S. C. Recognition Service.

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“Would you allow a boy of nine years to read Shakspere? My nine-year-old does this. He also reads the tales published in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. I frequently hear him quoting Hamlet, and telling the story to his sister. No one has encouraged or advised him to do this.” Answer: Steadily, faithfully, prudently fill this little fellow’s mind with Bible facts, reading to him its finest passages of poetry and history; guiding him to the love of truth in every-day life; training him regularly to attend worship; cultivating to its highest degree conscientiousness in all little things; mix in with his Shaksperean readings choicest selections from other classic writers, and you will have nothing to fear from the youngster’s taste for Shakspere.

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A lady writes: “My copy of Mrs. Alden’s ‘Hall in the Grove,’ has been read by from twenty-five to thirty persons, and is still going.” A good plan to help on the C. L. S. C. Let our readers take the hint.

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Committee on Graduation at Monterey: President C. C. Stratton, D.D.; J. H. Wythe, D.D.; Prof. H. B. Norton; Miss L. M. Washburn.

C. L. S. C. SONG.

EVENING PRAISE.

MARY A. LATHBURY. WM. F. SHERWIN, 1877.

QUARTET _or_ SEMI-CHORUS.

1 Day is dying in the West; Heav’n is touching earth with rest: Wait and worship while the night Sets her evening lamps alight Thro’ all the sky.

FULL CHORUS.

Holy, holy, holy Lord God of Hosts! Heav’n and earth are full of Thee! Heav’n and earth are praising Thee, O Lord most high!

2 Lord of life, beneath the dome Of the Universe, Thy home, Gather us who seek Thy face To the fold of Thy embrace, For thou art nigh.—_Chorus._

Copyright, 1877, by J. H. Vincent.

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Now that the Chautauqua University has its charter, signed by the Governor of New York, it will be something to have on a C. L. S. C. diploma, in one of the higher fraternities, the seal bearing this legend: “The C. L. S. C. of the Chautauqua University.”

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Let all graduates of 1883, who can not be present at Chautauqua, August 18, send to the president a simple word of salutation, with a short sentiment, which may be read at the afternoon meeting. Do not neglect this. A few words may have packed into them a forcible and encouraging thought.

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Will members of the C. L. S. C. who know of any graduates of the Class of 1882 who have died during the past year, be kind enough to send to the Superintendent of Instruction their names and residences, date of death, and any items concerning their lives, illness, etc., which may be suitable for enrollment in the archives of the C. L. S. C.

PACIFIC BRANCH C. L. S. C.

The especial attention of the members of the Pacific Branch is called to the following announcement from the Plainfield office:

Members of the Pacific Branch should send their final reports to Miss K. F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J., immediately after finishing the June reading, that she may be able to forward the list of graduates on the Pacific coast to the Commencement Day Committee early in July. No names can be reported at the Monterey Assembly as graduates whose report blanks do not reach the Plainfield office by the 28th of June.

J. H. VINCENT, Supt. of Instruction, C. L. S. C.

C. L. S. C. TESTIMONY.

_Massachusetts._—The arrangement of subjects seems to me so well adapted to the requirements of such a class of readers, and suits my own case so completely, that I can not say too much in its favor. Sickness and death visited my home last year, and my reading lost much of its interest, and brought me discouragement in one way—it was so hard to read with a mind distracted by anxiety—but it was a great comfort withal, and just what I had wanted, but not dared undertake for some time. This winter it has been my privilege to meet regularly with the local circle, and the subjects are exceedingly interesting.

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_Massachusetts._—I am one of the “busy housekeepers,” and to me the C. L. S. C. course has proved “a poem, and a picture, and a sermon altogether.” I have not been to school for twenty years, but loved study when I did attend. How often I have wished, even now, I could attend some school or college, and lo! the college has come to me. Last summer I read “The Hall in the Grove.” That book gave me a strong desire to be numbered with the army of Chautauqua. There has been a circle of a few young people in our town for two years. This year it has greatly increased, and it has been my privilege to be numbered with them. This course of study meets a want in thousands of hearts, not unfelt, but unrecognized. It uplifts the soul and enlarges views of life, and leads to a fuller appreciation of the power and love of God. May the blessing of the Father rest on the leaders and workers of the C. L. S. C.

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_Massachusetts._—The mails, which bring my own memoranda, etc., from your office are also bringing similar copies to the address of my dear sister, Lucy L. Bullock. With a heart full of sorrow I have to tell you her name must be placed upon your starred list. She has passed on before us. In a drawer, near her diploma and packages of examination papers, I find a slip with these words, in her handwriting: “_Blessings on the C. L. S. C._”

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_Rhode Island._—I like the C. L. S. C. very much, and wish to join it. I am sixteen years of age, a spinner in a woolen mill. I promise if possible to complete the four years’ course, and also to give four hours a week to study, if nothing should prevent. I hope to give three hours a day more than the time specified.

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_Maryland._—Although I have been much discouraged by last year’s work overlapping this so much, I do not intend to give up. I teach at a distance from home, and have little time except at night, and then am often too tired for real study. Still, I have derived benefit from the work so far, and hope next year to send more creditable memoranda.

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_Ohio._—Continued ill-health and reading at night has so injured my eyes that I can now only read what my business absolutely requires—I find this a great affliction. The knowledge gained by the studies during the four years is a source of great comfort and satisfaction to me. The encouragement received from the addresses sent to students from time to time carried me through places where I might have failed.

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_Minnesota._—I did not begin my course of study for 1881-1882 until about the last of April. It is rather hard work for a student to “catch up” at any time; and if that student be a mother of four little children, and at the head of a household, it is almost discouraging. Still I have done it, and at the present time can say there is no back study. I have thought several times I should like to write to the C. L. S. C., but have hardly seen the time in which to do so. I was the first to join the C. L. S. C. in this part of the country, it having been recommended to me by a friend. Now there are several members. So you see how your members are increasing. It is a grand work you are doing, and you have many heart wishes for still greater success.

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_Texas._—I am more and more pleased with the C. L. S. C. I do not have as much time to study as I would like, but think I will catch up by October. I am afraid that I will not be able to stand as good an examination as I wish, but will do the best I can. I aim to start with the reading next fall. I think the prospect is very good for a local circle here. I shall do all I can for the C. L. S. C. cause.

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_Micronesia._—I have decided to engage in a course of study with the C. L. S. C., though the land of Micronesia is so far away I shall not be able to obtain all the advantages of the school as I should at home. But in this far away land we need something to incite to effort, or our literary knowledge is likely to fall behind.

A LETTER FROM ENGLAND.

The following very interesting letter was received by the Arthington C. L. S. C., of East End, Pittsburgh, Pa., from Robert Arthington, Esq., a wealthy gentleman of Leeds, England, noted for his interest in popular education, and especially for his methodical missionary work. The letter was written in reply to a letter by the secretary, informing him of the choice of “Arthington” as a name for their branch of the C. L. S. C.

LEEDS, ENGLAND, January 20, 1883.

DEAR SIR:—On behalf of your association, accept the expression of my interest as I peruse your letter and enclosures. I am glad to know your circle is making progress. The serious study of events in the history of mankind, taken in their course and connection, in parts of the world best known at various seasons, or synoptically in successive periods of the past, the course of every series traced to its present, the panorama surveyed and examined, must be an exercise exceedingly fruitful in the most instructive and delightful contemplations, interesting and solemnizing to the moral sense, yea, to the Christian heart. And the pictures of natural scenery, simple or mingled with art, in life or in ruins, in the various landscapes drawn from different parts of the earth and presented to the eye of the mind as in thought, we stand in the midst of them as they arise, admiring them in their own grandeur and loveliness, or finding in them a fit place for reflection and prayerful meditation, are well worth beholding, recalling, and gazing upon with quickened and cultured powers and imagination, extracting, combining and storing. I much admire the picture of the academic grove and structure which the engraving frontispiece of your pamphlets set forth. And I am very much pleased with the choice of expression observable in Dr. Vincent’s address, featured as it is in the excellence and particularity of the advice given to the students. I shall treasure your letter and its enclosures. Whilst studying the soberest facts of man’s history, and the creation of the earth and the world, and great principles of physical creation and natural science in their developments or capabilities, let me hope ardently that you will be led to give your most enjoyed and devoted thoughts and resolves, always depending on the spirit of the Lord, to the need of man in his heathen state, and command of Christ our Lord, taking care that all the dark places of the globe, each one carefully sought out, shall be illuminated with the light of the Christian Scriptures, and the Word of God. Some or many of you know the Lord. May the joy of the Lord in faith of the Father and of Jesus be your supporting power. To all I say: “Ask and ye shall receive, seek and ye shall find, knock and it shall be opened.” Yours faithfully,

ROBERT ARTHINGTON.

LOCAL CIRCLES.

[We request the president or secretary of every local circle to send us reports of your work, or ask the circle to elect a member to write up your method of conducting the circle, together with reports of lectures, concerts, entertainments, etc.—Editor THE CHAUTAUQUAN, Meadville, Pa.]

=Maine (Norway).=—We have twenty members, sixteen of whom are regular members of the C. L. S. C. We meet once in three weeks at the homes of the members. The method of conducting our meetings varies. At our next meeting we are to take up the questions on “Astronomy” in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. We are behind in our reading, as we did not organize till November, but hope to make it up before the end of the year.

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=Vermont (Milton).=—Our local circle was organized in November last, and at present we have a membership of nine. We meet weekly at the homes of the members, and have several times met at the homes of those (not members) interested in the C. L. S. C. Thus far a teacher has been appointed weekly for each subject under consideration; but at our last meeting a change was made, so that now, each member brings three or four questions on each of the subjects read. At nearly every meeting we have in addition to our regular work, abstracts, essays, select readings, music and Chautauqua games; and these combined with our solid work make our meetings very interesting and pleasing to our members.

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=Massachusetts (Hyde Park).=—We have a flourishing circle. Hold meetings once a fortnight. At our last meeting we had a delightful and instructive talk from Prof. J. E. Shorpe, of Dorchester, on “Gravitation, and the Wonders of the Pendulum;” also a paper on “The Moon,” by one of our young ladies, forcibly illustrated. We follow our honored Dr. Vincent’s advice, to move around and secure all the local talent we can to help us. The high school principal gave us an evening on “Geology,” and one of our school board promises us still further aid in astronomy, and with the use of his telescope we hope to become better acquainted with our neighbor, the moon, who has grown wonderfully in our affections this last quarter. We can not refrain from speaking of a visit last evening to the South Boston circle, with a membership of 200. The exercises consisted of a blackboard review lesson in astronomy by Mr. Oldham, of Boston University, and a chapter in English history, conducted by the president, Rev. R. R. Meredith, with his accustomed clearness and definiteness. Select music helped to fill up the measure of a very enjoyable hour.

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=Massachusetts (New Bedford).=—On October 6, 1882, a circle of members and friends of the Pleasant Street M. E. Church was formed with thirty-seven regular and twenty-nine local members, the organization to be known as the New Bedford Pioneer Local C. L. S. C. It was voted that a regular meeting be held at the church the last Thursday of every month, at which some entertainment shall be provided for by a committee chosen from the circle. We have had five lectures on Geology and two on Astronomy by Rev. E. F. Clarke, pastor of the church, and a number of evenings of Greek History, with readings and essays by members of the club. The average attendance has been from one hundred to one hundred and fifty.

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=Massachusetts (Saxonville).=—A local circle of the C. L. S. C. was organized in Saxonville, Monday evening, October 16. We have six local members, and we hope to add many more to our list. Our method of conducting our meetings, which we hold once in two weeks, is as follows: Each member is requested to bring in six or more questions covering points of difficulty met with in his or her reading; these questions to constitute a question drawer to be conducted by the Committee of Instruction; by the time these questions are answered the required reading has been pretty thoroughly gone over and picked to pieces.

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=Rhode Island (Providence).=—Wayland Branch of the C. L. S. C. was organized in October, 1882, and has a membership of sixteen, thirteen of whom belong to the general circle and all of the Class of ’86. The president appoints a committee of three to prepare the programme for the succeeding meeting, and the exercises, like those of many other local circles, consist of questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, or prepared, short essays, abstracts and readings. We were very much interested in Dr. Vincent’s “How to Conduct Local Circles,” given in the February CHAUTAUQUAN. Glad to read his approval of _small_ circles. We are few in number, but to express it as he does, we “take to” each other, and spend our time very pleasantly and profitably.

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=Connecticut (East Lyme).=—We, the Pleiades Circle, are enjoying our third year. Are quite few in numbers but great in zeal. We have a membership of twelve, seven of whom are members of the national class. Our practice has been to read and discuss the lesson assigned for the evening, always including a portion of questions and answers from THE CHAUTAUQUAN, but we have now adopted the admirable plan suggested by Dr. Vincent, viz: the reading aloud by one of the members of a page or two of the required reading, the others listening; then each one in turn repeating all he or she remembers of what has been read, and that, we were surprised to find, would be nearly every thing of importance. We think it an excellent discipline for our minds to learn to listen attentively, and when this habit is acquired it is surprising to see how much the mind readily retains. We have tried many plans, but none that pleases and benefits us like this, and we heartily recommend it to all Chautauquans. One of our rules is, for each member to come prepared to state some important fact, either relative to the lesson or not; these are stated the last thing before the meeting closes. We probably shall never be able to report any great increase in numbers, as our village is small and not a growing one, but we are fully conscious that our individual improvement does not depend upon the greatness of numbers, and so we struggle on, realizing a continued improvement of our minds, and a constant pleasure derived from our labors.

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=New York (Silver Creek).=—A local circle was organized here in October, 1882, and we now have twenty-two members. We have a very good attendance each evening. All seem very much interested, and the interest seems to increase at each meeting. Our reading is done at home, and we meet to review, recite, suggest, and encourage each other.

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=New York (Brooklyn).=—The first meeting of this circle was held Thursday evening, October 19, 1882, in the chapel of the New York Avenue Methodist Episcopal Church. There were thirty-two persons present. Our circle meets on the first and third Thursday evenings of each month, in the chapel of the church mentioned. The C. L. S. C. is not confined to the New York Avenue Church, but is representative of at least seven different churches. We have now seventy-five members, besides a large transient attendance. Great interest has been expressed throughout. One large addition to our numbers—some ten names—comes from the union of the Bedford local circle with ours.

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=New York (Chili Station).=—The Bryant Circle is now in its third year, and numbers thirteen regular and six local members. We endeavor to meet twice a month, at the home of some member, but, owing to the large territory over which our circle is scattered, the attendance is often small. The homes of some of our members are nearly ten miles distant from each other. It would be difficult to give any “order of exercises” as followed in our meetings, for we try to profit by the many good hints given in the reports of other local circles, and our plan usually varies with the receipt of each number of THE CHAUTAUQUAN. Indeed, I think our meetings would compare favorably with Dr. Vincent’s idea of a “model class-meeting.” We observed Milton’s day and Longfellow’s. We think THE CHAUTAUQUAN better than ever, and all have been interested in the study of astronomy. It seems as though the stars were brighter than ever before, and twinkled especial encouragement to each C. L. S. C.

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=New York (Accord).=—We can scarcely call ours a “local circle,” as we are but a “triangle,” still we meet Friday afternoons, alternately at each of our homes, and our meetings are most enjoyable as well as profitable. In our home readings we follow the outline of C. L. S. C. studies marked out in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and underline certain passages which particularly interest each, and at our weekly meetings we review or talk over. All questions, discussions, or expressions of opinion are always in order, as we are not at all formal. We learn the answers to the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN and text-books, and if puzzled or can not clearly understand subjects of study, why we ask questions about it, of our minister, school teacher, or any one we think can help us. We have found this a most excellent means of gaining information. We think often of our class mottoes, and strive to “keep our Heavenly Father in our midst.”

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=New York (Gasport).=—We organized a local circle at Orangeport the first week in October, 1882. We have a membership of nine. We meet twice each month, using the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN at our meetings. Each member also brings original questions, which are answered during the meetings. We are much interested, and intend to complete the course.

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=New York (Danby).=—Last summer some six members of the Congregational Church, including the pastor and his wife, visited Chautauqua. Some took the Normal Course under Dr. Hurlbut, while others attended the lectures and took a general view of things. All returned to their homes delighted and profited. They were enthusiastic over the advantages presented at Chautauqua. The pastor organized a class in the C. L. S. C. Fourteen joined in the regular course and sixteen united as local members. Thirty copies of THE CHAUTAUQUAN are taken in the congregation. The meetings have been well attended during the year, and the interest seems to increase. The circle meets every Tuesday evening, and a round-table session is held on Friday evening. We are now reviewing and preparing for the examination papers. We expect to send a larger delegation to Chautauqua this year than last.

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=New York (Darien).=—Our local circle was organized at the beginning of the year, and now numbers twenty members. The chief studies, like history, preparatory Greek, geology and astronomy, are reserved for circle work, and are taken up in such a way that each one can readily do a part. Each book is thoroughly discussed by topics in the form of abstracts of the subject matter. For convenience the circle is divided into three divisions. Each division is responsible for the topic of its evening. Four or five of one division discuss a subject previously assigned, while the remaining members of the division are appointed as questioners. After they have completed their work the whole circle have the privilege to ply questions and discuss. The diagrams have made the study of geology of much interest, and afforded pleasure. The Chautauqua game of Grecian history, together with the question-box, have been auxiliaries of general interest, and helped to develop the Chautauqua Idea.

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=New York (Granville).=—We have seen no mention in THE CHAUTAUQUAN of the circle formed in this place. A word from us may not be without interest to your readers. About the first of October last the attention of Dr. Tenny, one of our most skillful physicians, was called to the Chautauqua course of reading. He, with a few other interested persons, sent for the necessary documents, and soon had the pleasure of seeing the Chautauqua Idea taking strong root in the community. Our circle now numbers upward of thirty, including in its membership the Baptist and Methodist pastors. Our president, Dr. Tenny, has greatly added to the interest of our meetings by a series of reviews, assisted by our geological charts. Regular meetings are held monthly, but of late we have found it necessary to meet once in two weeks. Our circle takes its name from the beautiful stream flowing through the village. The Mettowee C. L. S. C. salutes sister circles and fellow-Chautauquans.

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=New York (Troy).=—The Troy local circle sends us the following interesting programme, neatly printed and, we infer, sent to the members of the circle:

C. L. S. C.

Our sixth monthly meeting will be held in the North Second Street Methodist Church, Thursday evening, April 5, 1883.

PROGRAM.

1. The Stellar System Miss Ida L. Miles 2. The Worlds and the Word Miss Mary A. Chilson 3. Telescopes—How Made. (Illustrated) R. D. Comstock 4. Questions on page 353 in March CHAUTAUQUAN. 5. Round Table. 6. Shakspere-a _conversazione_.

Our program is still astronomical. The importance of the subject is our only apology. Astronomy is a vast science. We master vast things by patient and persistent work. Page after page, book after book, is the method; “never be discouraged,” is the spirit. Come to this monthly meeting. Bring something and get something, and so be enriched. Read a little every day. Work hard along your wisely adopted plan.

Prof. H. P. Judson of the High School, has kindly consented to be present and answer all the astronomical questions the circle may be pleased to ask. Use your liberty.

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=New York (Chautauqua).=—We have in this beautiful Chautauqua an organized circle of the C. L. S. C. We meet on Tuesday evening of each week. Open our meetings with Scripture quotations and prayer; close by appropriate singing. We have an essay on each character and every point of interest in each lesson. By so doing each one has something to do, and thereby we get a rehearsal of our lessons with various views.

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=Pennsylvania (Catasauqua).=—Our local circle was organized September 15, 1882, and numbers twenty-seven regular and twenty-five local members. We have had two very interesting lectures so far, one upon astronomy, by Bishop Warren, and another upon chemistry, by Prof. Gayley, of Birdsboro, Pa. Several of our teachers take an active part in our regular meetings, giving lectures upon the subjects of the preceding month. We have the geological charts and find them very useful in the study of geology. Our President, Rev. S. O. Garrison, was the originator of the circle here, and throughout the winter has done his best to make the meetings interesting and instructive. In addition to the regular officers, we have a librarian. Our circle is undenominational. All are welcome. Success attend all Chautauquans, is the wish of our circle.

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=Pennsylvania (Philadelphia).=—We are but seven in number, all much interested and have been organized since November 28, 1882. But one of our number is connected with the regular Circle. She is delighted, and endeavors to persuade all others to join. Finding we could not complete the entire course with any degree of thoroughness, we confined our studies to two branches, geology and history of Greece. One member made for our use a map of Greece. It is done with ink on muslin, and is about 36×24 inches. We find our lesson much clearer and more enchanting since we have had it. Altogether the winter has been very profitably employed. Each member reads in turn, or as the teacher of the evening may direct, and when we come to anything uncertain, we look it up in dictionary or encyclopædia. All bad grammar and incorrect pronunciation are immediately corrected, so that it is really a benefit to us.

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=Pennsylvania (Berwick).=—Our circle was formed September 22, 1882, with ten members. We have now twenty-eight members, and we meet semi-monthly. Our exercises are exceedingly interesting, as we have some live students among us. No subject is passed over without thorough investigation and research. We are following the plan laid down for the monthly studies, and will complete the course in the required time. We can recommend the C. L. S. C. to those who are outside of its benign and ennobling influence.

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=Maryland (Cambridge).=—Last October we formed a C. L. S. Circle of seven members. We call our circle “The Bird’s Nest Circle,” owing to our place of meeting. We have members from sixteen to over seventy years of age in our circle. We are all warm, personal friends, and gather around our “round table” each month with earnest hearts and words, each one feeling free to express his or her opinion, or to ask any question. The good seed that has been sown here is springing up in our hearts and minds.

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=North Carolina (Charlotte).=—This vigorous young circle is not only living but active. It embraces over twenty members, who are making good progress, and are full of enthusiasm. The circle meets semi-monthly. In addition to this it celebrated the centennial of the birth of Washington Irving, on the evening of April 3. The exercises were full of interest. They consisted of an original poem on Irving; a sketch of the life and literary career of Irving; a fine rendering of “Ichabod Crane.” Quotations from Irving’s works were called for, and many beautiful thoughts and sentiments drawn from the writings of the great author.

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=Missouri (Carthage).=—Our twelve Chautauquans are still on the advance, for we know all retrogression is considered treason in C. L. S. C. eyes. The program of our weekly meetings is as follows: Roll call; responses of select quotations; current events; papers by half the circle on questions discussed in our work; the class exercise in which all reading for the week is discussed. On last Wednesday evening we observed the Shakspere and Addison memorial days. Mrs. Ruffin’s spacious mansion was placed at our disposal. The life of Shakspere and a most scholarly biography of Addison were read. After supper, music, readings and recitations were given by members and visitors. The evening closed leaving us all desirous of many such “memorials.”

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=Ohio (Delta).=—This is the fourth year of the C. L. S. C. of Delta. When we first started we had a large and enthusiastic circle of seventeen members, regular and local. Death has taken two. A half dozen or more have moved away. There are a faithful few left. We have quietly read and studied, meeting once a week and discussing matter read. We intend to finish the course and read for seals.

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=Ohio (Springfield).=—The Seminary Circle of the C. L. S. C. was organized in 1878. It is composed of six ladies, all members of “The Hall in the Grove.” Our method of conducting the work has been varied somewhat in reference to the subject presented, and has included recitations, essays, papers, readings, CHAUTAUQUAN questions, and annual reviews of memoranda, while conversations on the Greek history are a marked feature of this year’s meetings. The memorial days are especially interesting, Longfellow day having been observed with increased interest. Our fifth “Shakspere” meeting was held on the 23d of April. The program was full of interest.

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=Ohio (Toledo).=—The Vincent local circle meets at the residences of the members every two weeks regularly, and sometimes in special meetings every week. Generally the questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN are asked, that being regarded as a good review of the studies taken, but the answers go beyond those published with the questions. There are frequently papers prepared and read on history or some part of the course of study. Readings are found to be very interesting and profitable. At one time, the same passage will be read by different persons, and comparison made of their styles of reading; at another time a story will be read, or sketch of history, or statement of science, and all will recall as much as they can remember of what was just read. At the meetings we usually sing the songs published in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and a brief prayer is offered, or all unite in repeating the Lord’s Prayer. Conversation is free on all topics. Frequently the roll is called and members respond to their names by quoting a sentence from the author or literature then under consideration. Visitors frequently meet with the circle and often take some part. Additional members are received from time to time. Only one member has fallen out by the way, while others have been saved from doing so by a faithful urging of the motto, “Never be discouraged.” The three mottoes are frequently repeated in concert. The Circle and THE CHAUTAUQUAN have been a great blessing to many.

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=Ohio (Wauseon).=—Our method of conducting our circle changes with the presiding officer. Our president is also our instructor. In Greek history chapters were given to certain members and they gave a brief synopsis. This proved so interesting it was continued through geology. We had the charts. We have about twenty members who are reading the whole course, and about half as many more that take THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

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=Ohio (Ravenna).=—Our circle numbers thirteen members, meeting weekly at the homes of the members, and includes persons belonging to the classes of ’82, ’84, ’85 and ’86. After opening exercises of short Scripture reading and prayer, we have a review of the week’s reading. In geology this review was conducted by means of questions given to each member the week previous. These questions were numbered, covering the reading in regular order. No. 1 was read and answered by its holder, then No. 2, and so on. Generally, however, all read the lesson assigned, and it is divided into thirteen parts, longer or shorter, according to the subject; one part is then given to each member, and it is his duty to report that part to the circle, expressing the thoughts in his own language. In this way the entire lesson is reviewed, and each one has had a share in it. After this we discuss the current events of the week, each person reporting something that has interested him. Then mispronounced words are reported by any member, and we try to have about three biographical sketches (limited to three or four minutes each) of persons whose names have been mentioned in the reading. To many this may seem a long program, but we are prompt in reciting and have no side issues, and our sessions are usually only an hour and a half long, except on “memorial days,” when we extend time to two hours. Questions may be asked at any time, usually asked in a general way, so that the one speaking may not be embarrassed.

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=Ohio (Felicity).=—The Pleiades C. L. S. C., now in its fourth year, still continues to thrive with unabated interest and zeal. Though we can not record entertainments and lectures, of which some of our more fortunate “local” sisters boast, yet we manage to derive a great deal of benefit and pleasure as we trudge along, and our “circle day,” as we call one Saturday in every three, the one on which our little band meets, is as refreshing and invigorating to us as the oasis to the traveler in the far east.

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=Indiana (Baker’s Corners).=—December 11, 1882, a local circle was organized here, known as the “Jolly Toilers Local Circle.” The regular meetings are to be held every two weeks. Exercises to consist of recitations, essays, songs, &c.

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=Indiana (Pendleton).=—On the evening of December 28, 1881, thirteen ladies and gentlemen met for the purpose of organizing a local circle. Although two months behind in our studies, there was a general spirit of encouragement. This year the class is composed of fourteen members, and a great deal of enthusiasm and interest is manifested. We meet every Monday evening, and in this way bring nearly all our studies into the circle meetings. We follow the outline of study as laid out in THE CHAUTAUQUAN. The president appoints two teachers for two months’ reading, and they conduct the recitations by the Socratic method.

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=Indiana (Danville).=—The C. L. S. C. is composed of twenty-seven members. The circle meets the first and third Friday evenings of each month; at present at the homes of the members, though we expect in the near future to secure a C. L. S. C. hall, or regular place of meeting, this becoming necessary on account of the increase in number of members and visitors; the latter, we notice, most generally becoming the former. We are happy in having as one of our number Prof. Joseph Tingley, well known among the Chautauqua Assembly workers, also several professors of science and history from our normal school, ministers, teachers, lawyers, doctors, etc. We are not without young people, and those more advanced in years, who never had the advantage of much “book learning,” all adding what we can to the interest of the meetings, and all gaining much therefrom. Subjects are assigned at one session and brought up at the next. An author is also selected, from whose writings quotations are given at roll-call. The question box, and critic’s report, are important features of the evening.

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=Indiana (Terre Haute).=—The C. L. S. C. of Terre Haute, Ind., has been organized about three years. As a local circle it is doing good work. Between twenty-five and thirty are taking THE CHAUTAUQUAN and the books. Of this number sixteen are active members of the circle, but only four are members of the general circle. At times we have met at the homes of the members, but this year we meet at the church every two weeks, on Friday evenings, spending an hour and one-half. Sometimes we assign the work individually, and at other times we have general recitations on all; this depends on the character of the lesson. We devote the whole time to the lesson, except the opening exercises, secretary’s and critic’s reports.

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=Illinois (Lacon).=—We have a flourishing circle of twenty-two regular and seven local members, organized in February.

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=Illinois (Aurora).=—An interesting class of sixteen ladies, ten of whom are regular members of the C. L. S. C., the ages ranging from nineteen to sixty-three, has been organized in Aurora, Illinois. Prof. Wilber, ex-State Geologist of Illinois, gives the class the benefit of his large and choice collection of specimens.

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=Wisconsin (Milwaukee.)=—The course of study this year has been most delightful, especially enjoyable were those fascinating books by Prof. Wilkinson and Bishop Warren. The East Side local circle devoted one evening to star-gazing from the Signal Service station, aided by a telescope, sailor’s glass and several opera glasses.

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=Minnesota (St. Paul).=—Our local circle numbers sixteen members, twelve of them regular members. We take the lessons as given in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, sometimes using the questions given there, at others asking questions from the book. Occasionally we have essays by different members, on subjects selected by our president. Four of our members complete the course this year.

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=Minnesota (Rochester).=—In October last a class was formed in this place, composed of twelve married ladies. There were misgivings on the part of some of the number, lest on account of a multitude of home and other duties, they might not be able to accomplish what they were undertaking in as thorough and satisfactory a manner as they wished. For that reason only about half of the number became regular members of the C. L. S. C., although all are equally interested in the course. Our meetings are held semi-monthly, in the afternoon, at the residences of the members. We carry out the plan of study suggested in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, appointing ladies to take charge of the different subjects, making the recitations conversational, as far as may be. Short essays upon the different characters studied in history are frequently given, and these, with now and then one of our games or songs, furnish abundant variety. The interest seems to increase, rather than diminish, and we are persuaded better things of ourselves than we had dared to hope.

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=Minnesota (Mantorville).=—A local circle was organized here September 26, 1882. All are glad that they began such a course of study. We have twelve members, with a promise of accessions next year.

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=Iowa (Fonda).=—On Tuesday evening, March 20, 1883, we organized a local circle of the C. L. S. C. It is composed of eight members of Class of 1886; others are expected to unite with us. The members all pronounce our meetings a success. Our lessons have been Greek history, using questions in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, and thoroughly arguing all points brought out by them. Much good is being accomplished by this circle, and others in our midst are anxious to join us.

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=Iowa (Boone).=—We have heretofore had no local circle in Boone, as the triangle, who have been the only Chautauquans, have pursued their studies alone. They will graduate this year and have concluded that it is “too good to keep,” so they have organized a local circle of ten young people, who meet every Saturday evening at the home of the leader. We have had six very interesting meetings, and we hope the welfare of the circle is assured. Our leaders have been teachers for many years, and they vary the exercises to our needs, so that, although we are behind in our studies by commencing late, we are making up the work fast, and hope to belong to the Class of ’86.

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=Kansas (Osage City).=—Our circle was organized last October with twelve members, who were the teachers of the public schools. Soon afterward five more were added, and several local members. We meet every Friday evening at our respective homes. We open the meeting with roll call, which is responded to by a quotation from each member. We then have the different branches, conducted by a leader or teacher, appointed the preceding meeting—a social class, where discussions, expression of opinions, as well as questions are in order. We have enjoyed all the reading and meetings. We have enjoyed all the reading and meetings, and they have proved most profitable and interesting.

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=Utah (Salt Lake City).=—We have organized a Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle in our city, with a membership of twelve.

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=California (Sacramento).=—The only local circle in our city, the beautiful capital of the State, is the Sacramento Circle, numbering thirty-four members, principally ladies. This is our third year, and our interest is still increasing. We meet every Monday evening at the home of some member, and twenty is our average attendance. Contrary to the expectation of some, we all found the “Preparatory Greek Course” wonderfully interesting. Packard’s “Geology,” illustrated by the charts, aroused our enthusiasm on that subject, while Warren’s “Astronomy” has given us fresh zeal in the glorious study of the heavens. Our method for work is as follows: Committees are appointed to arrange questions on each study. These are numbered and distributed at one meeting, and, with their answers, are read at the next, then placed in the hands of another member, who prepares a paper from them, with such additional data as may be obtained from other sources. This third reading is to the students a final review of the subject, and is particularly profitable to the compiler. Sixteen papers have been read before the circle since October last. Oral exercises consist of readings from THE CHAUTAUQUAN, the poetic quotations, and unusually fine passages which frequently occur in our studies. To the text-books we endeavor to give due attention, memorizing as much as possible. A critic appointed for each month, reports all errors in pronunciation at the close of the evening, and there is usually some time for conversational discussion. Our only public entertainment, as yet, this year, was a highly interesting and instructive lecture on “The History of a Dead World,” by Prof. H. B. Norton, of the State Normal School, San Jose, California. The lecture was a study and illustration of those phenomena which seem to teach the nebular hypothesis of creation. All the successive phases of development, including the nebulæ, stars and sun, planets, and finally the moon, the “dead world,” were illustrated and described. The lecturer’s novel description of a “lunar day” was such as to charm the large audience present, and he closed with an appropriate recitation, “A Flight Through Space,” by Jean Paul Richter. Having just completed the astronomy, the illustrations, and explicit information given throughout the lecture, were doubly appreciated. The C. L. S. C. has also been brought into prominence here by two recent lectures by Rev. H. H. Rice, on “Books and Reading,” with special reference to the Chautauqua course.

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=Sandwich Islands (Honolulu).=—We wish to express the very great pleasure and profit with which we have perused the Chautauqua studies during our last missionary voyage. It seems to have been the very thing necessary to fill some of the spare hours at sea with pleasure and profit. We call ourselves “The Floating Circle,” and are often joined by our missionary passengers. We desire to continue these interesting and instructive readings. Miss Jennie Fletcher, at the Island of Ponape, in the Caroline Group, is a missionary of the A. B. C. F. M. She desires to commence the studies for 1883, and to prosecute the four years’ course, promising to give the required hours of study, and expecting to give even more time to it.

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Eloquence is a painting of the thoughts; and thus those who, after having made the sketch, still add to it, make a picture instead of a portrait.—_Pascal._

LOCAL CIRCLE LECTURES.

=Ohio (Cincinnati).=—Through the courtesy of the C. L. S. C. of Grace M. P. Church, the fourth lecture of the third course of free lectures, given by the Cincinnati circle, was delivered at that church on March 29. The lecture was by Col. John A. Johnson, a member of the Class of ’85. His theme was “English Literature,” and the lecture was replete with apt quotations from the masters of our language. In the course of his remarks the lecturer recalled the old plan to free Ireland. After drawing a vivid word-picture of the condition of Ireland in the early centuries—the “Island of the Saints”—a country of colleges and learning, sending the first missionaries to convert the Britons in its sister island—he added:

“Would Ireland know the solution of her vexed question? Then let history repeat itself; and instead of the torch of the incendiary, or the knife of the assassin, let the Irish tenantry take in their hands, as did their ancestors thirteen hundred years ago, the Bible of the blessed Savior, and convert again the English land-owners to the doctrines of him who taught, ‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ They have tried sullen submission, careless indifference, crafty counsels, and armed rebellion, none of which have been successful. Now let them try Christian forbearance and fortitude. Let once the fires of a pure and enlightened Christianity burn on the altars of Ireland’s homes, and the God who watched over the destiny of ancient Israel when in bondage, will in his own good time speak as he did then, saying: ‘Let my people go.’” The lecture, which occupied nearly an hour in its delivery, closed with these words: “The edifice whose building we have watched is not yet completed, and the work is still going on. We have not looked into the interior but have only glanced hastily at the outside. We have not commemorated the army of faithful workmen; we have not even named all of the master builders. Our object has been suggestive, rather than descriptive, and instructive rather than amusing, and we may not have proved even interesting, but our chief desire has been to so present the subject as to awaken within the breasts of some a desire to know more of that literature of which the world is justly proud.”

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=Maryland (Cambridge).=—At a recent meeting of the “Bird’s Nest Circle,” in Cambridge, Maryland, an enthusiastic address was given by one of the members, Mr. R. Christie, a gentleman seventy-four years of age. We copy extracts from it. It has the ring of a genuine Chautauquan—a man whose heart remains young though his head be gray: “If I were a poet whose ‘hallowed lips were touched with fire,’ I would sing the praises of the C. L. S. C. As it is I can only very briefly speak a few prosy words in its favor. The C. L. S. C. is by many regarded as the grandest conception and its establishment the greatest achievement of the Nineteenth century. However this may be, it is unquestionably the largest university in the world; for in what other institution of learning do we find forty thousand students, or two thousand circles with twenty members each pursuing voluntarily, eagerly and persistently the same studies, the same _curriculum_. As members of this great school we may without the imputation of egotism be allowed to speak of a course of studies by which we have already been enlightened and benefited, and of which, but for the fertile brain of Dr. Vincent we, some of us at least, would have remained in profound ignorance. * * * But thanks to Chautauqua the watch-fires of forty thousand sentinels are burning, the world moves and the giant Prometheus is unchained. Let no cry of superficiality from Jack Butlers or Dolly Vardens deter us from pursuing the even tenor of our way. Let us then as true Chautauquans go on our way rejoicing.”

[_Not Required._]

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

FIFTY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS ON CHAUTAUQUA TEXT BOOK, NO. 34, ASIATIC HISTORY—CHINA, COREA, JAPAN.

By ALBERT M. MARTIN, GENERAL SECRETARY C. L. S. C.

1. Q. What is one of the important particulars in which China is unlike Africa, or aboriginal America, or even India? A. It is not a collection of diverse tribes or races, but is one great nation.

2. Q. What is the basis and conserver of Chinese civilization? A. Filial piety.

3. Q. What is China’s heritage from Confucius, her greatest sage? A. An arrested development and stunted civilization, low morals, not higher than Proverbs, but loftier than Franklin’s, yet vastly below the Sermon on the Mount.

4. Q. What does the Chinese Empire comprise? A. One-third of the Asian continent, and one-ninth of the dry land of the globe.

5. Q. What are the comparative areas of the five great landed governments of the world? A. China in area ranks third; the British and Russian exceeding, and the United States and Brazil falling short.

6. Q. What are the boundaries of China? A. On the north, the Altai Mountains and the Amoor River; on the east, Usuri and Yalu rivers, and the Yellow, Eastern and China seas; on the south, Annam, Burmah and the Himalaya Mountains; and on the west, Siberia, Turkestan and the Himalayas.

7. Q. What is the area and what the population of China proper? A. It is two million square miles in area, and has over four hundred millions of people, the most densely populated country in the world.

8. Q. What are the three great rivers of China? A. Ho-ang, Yang-tse, and Hang, or Se-King.

9. Q. What are three great divisions of China? A. Manchuria, Mongolia and Ili, or Eastern Turkestan.

10. Q. What is Tibet? A. It is the highest plateau in the world, surrounded by mountains, snows and glaciers, which are the cradles of the mighty rivers that irrigate India, Turkestan, Burmah and China.

11. Q. Into what three periods is the history of China divided? A. The legendary period, from 2356 to 1122 B. C.; the semi-historical, from 1122 to 770 B. C.; and the historic, from 770 B. C. to 1883 A. D.

12. Q. What are some of the things the Chinese had from very ancient times and for centuries alone? A. Tea, silk, paper, printing, the magnetic needle and gunpowder.

13. Q. At whose reign does Confucius begin his history? A. The reign of Tao, 2356 B. C., the beginning of the legendary period, when the golden age was ushered in.

14. Q. With the commencement of the semi-historical period, 1122 B. C., what system was begun for the government of China by Wu-Wang, the founder of the Chow dynasty? A. The feudal system under which China was governed for over nine hundred years.

15. Q. When was Confucius born? A. 551 B. C.

16. Q. What are the names of China’s three greatest sages, and how near to one another did they flourish? A. Lao Tsze, Confucius and Mencius. They flourished within about a century or two of one another, at about the time of the captivity of the Jews in Babylon.

17. Q. Of what did the primeval religion as taught by Confucius consist? A. Of the double worship of God and of ancestors.

18. Q. What is said of the writings of Confucius? A. They influence one-third of the human race, and are the basis of the Chinese social, political, moral and educational systems, and form the national Bible.

19. Q. Name three great conquerors who, with their empires, flourished during the Chow dynasty. A. Cyrus, Darius Hystaspes, and Alexander.

20. Q. In the following, or Tsin dynasty, what was done by Prince Cheng who took the title of first Universal Emperor? A. He abolished the feudal system, drove back the Hun Tatar hordes into the desert, built the great wall, and extended the empire to the limits of modern China.

21. Q. What colony entered China and settled in Honan province during the Han dynasties, between B. C. 209 and 190 A. D? A. A colony of Jews.

22. Q. About what time was the system of competitive examination of candidates for office founded, and civil service reform made an accomplished fact in China? A. About the commencement of the Christian era.

23. Q. When was Buddhism introduced into China? A. In A. D. 68.

24. Q. What great dynasty began its course in 618 and lasted until 905 A. D? A. The great Tang dynasty.

25. Q. During the Tang dynasty what forms of religion were introduced into China? A. A Nestorian Christianity flourished in a limited number of places during two centuries, until extirpated by persecution. Mohammedanism took root, and mosques were built in various cities.

26. Q. Under what emperor did China reach the acme of its glory? A. Under Kublai Khan, grandson of Genghis Khan.

27. Q. What has been one of the worst results of foreign intercourse with China? A. The introduction of opium, which began at the opening of this century.

28. Q. From what province have nearly all the Chinese in Australia, the East Indias and the United States come? A. The one province of Kwang-Tung, in which Canton is situated. Most of them are natives of a district not larger than Connecticut.

29. Q. About how many Christians are there now in China? A. There are now about 16,000 protestant church members, and a following in all of about 25,000 nominal Christians.

30. Q. At the rate of increase in the number of Christians since 1840 when will China be a Christian nation? A. During the next century.

31. Q. Into how many periods may Corean history be divided? A. Four.—Era of old chosen, era of the three kingdoms, united Corea, and modern chosen.

32. Q. What is said of the character of the early history of Corea possessed by the natives? A. It is of a confused and untrustworthy character down to the Han dynasty, 206 B. C., and until after the Christian era is drawn almost wholly from Chinese sources.

33. Q. During ten centuries after the opening of the Christian era what chiefly is the history of the three States which the independent tribes of the peninsula form? A. It is chiefly that of border wars, with alternating invasions or succor from China and Japan.

34. Q. What is said of the Corean alphabet? A. In the seventh century a Shinra statesman invented the Corean alphabet of fourteen consonants and eleven vowels, classified according to the organs of speech, and perhaps the most perfect in the world, which greatly promoted the spread of native literature.

35. Q. How was political unity first given to the peninsula in 960 A. D? A. Wu-Wang, of noble blood, arose out of Korai, and by talent and arms extinguished the rival states, and proclaimed united Corea under the name of Korai, fixing his capital at Sunto, a little north of the present capital.

36. Q. During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries to whom was Corea subject? A. To the Mongols.

37. Q. What occurred in 1392, on the fall of the Mongols and the rise of the Ming dynasty in China? A. A revolution in Corea overthrew the reigning family, when the present line of rulers and order of things were established.

38. Q. What were some of the provisions made to carry out the national policy of Corea, that of isolation? A. A coast guard along the sea to patrol by day and kindle signal fires at night, a line of pickets and custom-houses on the frontier, with a neutral strip of land unoccupied and devastated, seventeen leagues wide on the Manchurian side, and ten miles in width along the Tumen river.

39. Q. What was the result of a treaty of peace and commerce entered into in 1876 by the Japanese commander Kuroda with the Coreans? A. The ports of Fusan and Gensen on the east coast have been opened to Japanese trade.

40. Q. What field of missionary effort will Corea soon be? A. One of the missionary fields of reformed Christianity.

41. Q. What does the empire of Japan comprise? A. Four large islands, various outlying groups, and about 3,800 islets.

42. Q. What are the three imperial cities of Japan? A. Tokio, Kioto, and Ozaka.

43. Q. What is the state of things first revealed by the light of written history in Japan? A. The central and southwestern parts are inhabited by an agricultural people dwelling in villages, and governed by chiefs, under a rude species of feudalism. In the central region of Yamato, around Kioto, these communities are in allegiance to the royal family of the mikado.

44. Q. What radical change in government was made in 603? A. Simple feudalism was exchanged for centralized monarchy with boards of government.

45. Q. For five centuries, from the seventh to the twelfth, how may the political history of Japan be written? A. In the rise and rivalries of the Fujiwara, Taira, and Ninamoto families, all of them sprung from scions of imperial blood. The mikados were little more than puppets.

46. Q. In 1192 what office was created, which existed with intervals until 1868? A. The military ruler called Shogun, known to foreigners as Tycoon.

47. Q. What are the names of three of the greatest men in Japanese history? A. Nobunaga, Hideyoshi and Iyeyasu.

48. Q. For more than two centuries previous to 1868 what laws prevailed in Japan which made it a hermit nation? A. Japanese were forbidden to leave the country, boats had to be built on an unseaworthy model, and all foreigners, with a few exceptions, were banished.

49. Q. What have the recent revolutions in Japan effected? A. A profound change in the national policy toward foreigners; the restoration of the ancient centralized imperialism; and the abolition of the feudal system.

50. Q. When did protestant Christianity, founded upon the Bible and the preaching of Christ crucified, begin in Japan, and with what results has it been attended? A. It began in 1859, and in 1881 there were about seventy churches and over four thousand members in Japan.

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THE Summer Assembly of the Pacific branch of the C. L. S. C. will open on the evening of July 4, and continue nine days. This Assembly is held annually at Pacific Grove, two miles from the old historic town of Monterey, California. A very large attendance is expected, and all members of the C. L. S. C. are urgently invited to come to the richest intellectual feast yet spread for them at this western C. L. S. C. table. An able corps of lecturers and instructors has been secured for the session, and the exercises of the first graduating class of the Pacific Branch, which occur on Friday, July 13, will be the crowning feature of this Assembly. All members of this branch who hope to attend, will do well to notify the secretary, Miss M. E. Norton, and also J. O. Johnson, the manager of Pacific Grove, in time to secure good accommodations. The Assembly circular will soon be forwarded to all members of this branch.

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

JUNE.

For the month of June the required C. L. S. C. reading is Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 34, Asiatic History, by Rev. William Elliot Griffis, and the designated parts of THE CHAUTAUQUAN. The division according to weeks is as follows:

FIRST WEEK (ending June 8)—1. Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 34, Asiatic History—preface and introduction—to page 19, inclusive.

2. History of Russia, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday readings, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, selection for June 3.

SECOND WEEK (ending June 16)—1. Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 34, Asiatic History—China—from page 21 to page 50, inclusive.

2. Readings from the literature of China, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday readings, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, selection for June 10.

THIRD WEEK (ending June 23)—1. Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 34, Asiatic History—Corea—from page 52 to page 62, inclusive.

2. History and Literature of Scandinavia, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Pictures from English History, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

4. Sunday Readings, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, selection for June 17.

FOURTH WEEK (ending June 30)—1. Chautauqua Text-Book, No. 34, Asiatic History—Japan—from page 63 to page 87, inclusive.

2. Readings from the literature of Japan, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

3. Sunday readings, in THE CHAUTAUQUAN, selection for June 24.

C. L. S. C. READINGS FOR 1883-84.

HISTORY.

Readings in Roman, French, German, and American history in THE CHAUTAUQUAN.

History of Greece, by Timayenis, volume two, parts seventh, eighth, tenth, eleventh. (Students of the Class of 1887, not having read volume one of Timayenis’ History of Greece, will not be required to read