Part 12

The lecture course of the session just past was of a high order. It included three superb addresses from Dr. Lyman Abbott, full of vigorous thought, religious ardor, and primed and charged with suggestiveness—“Why I believe in God, in Christ, and in the Bible.” Prof. Cumnock gave two magnificent entertainments in the shape of readings and recitations. Prof. Young, of Princeton, delighted us with three illustrated astronomical lectures; and the Rev. Jesse Bowman Young gave three tours, illustrated also with the stereopticon: “The Marvels of Colorado,” “London and Paris,” and “From Dan to Beersheba.” Prof. Harris, on the “Wrong side of the Moon,” Dr. Huntley, on the “Amen Corner,” Bishop Andrews, on “The Method of the New Testament Law,” and Dr. Payne, with two lectures, all did their best work, and earned and received high appreciation.

The normal classes were under the instruction of Rev. J. B. Young, Rev. J. T. Judd, Rev. J. Vance, and Prof. Elliott of Baltimore. The lessons were chosen in part from Dr. Vincent’s “Normal Outlines,” and in part were prepared by Mr. Judd.

Rev. Mr. Young conducted two enthusiastic and interesting services during the closing days of the Assembly, developing the “Chautauqua Idea.” Drs. Frysinger, Van Meter, and Leech, Messrs. Judd, Vance, Baldwin, Lindsey, and others, made capital addresses, bringing out as phases of this “Idea” the following elements: home study, Bible study, normal work, study of the classics, of literature, of the sciences.

On the last night of the Assembly at Mountain Lake Park the C. L. S. C. was organized, with over fifty members, Rev. J. T. Judd, of Harrisburg, Pa., being elected president, and Miss Jennie M. Jones, of the same city, secretary.

Thus from the tip-top of the Alleghenies we send out greetings to other Chautauquans, and join in the glorious work which is in marvelous measure leavening the land.

NEW ENGLAND ASSEMBLY.

The “Chautauqua Idea” is taking deep root in the soil of New England. Four years ago the first Assembly was held on the grounds of the Framingham Campmeeting Association. There was a fair attendance, and considerable enthusiasm. Each year has been an improvement. The number in attendance has been greater, and the interest has been on the increase. This year has been the best of all. Almost from the first the lodging accommodations were taxed to their utmost in providing for the unexpectedly large numbers. The gentleman in charge of the dormitory stated to the writer that he had a greater rush the first day of the Assembly, this year, than he had the first week of last year. Thus it continued during the ten days. It is therefore safe to conclude, that in a financial way, the meeting was a success beyond its predecessors.

The work of the various departments was done efficiently by Dr. Vincent, in charge, assisted by Dr. Hurlbut, and Prof. Holmes, at the head of the normal classes; Prof. Sherwin at the front with a magnificent chorus of nearly two hundred voices; Frank Beard with a drawing class of one hundred and fifty; and the platform occupied by such men as Prof. Richards, Dr. Lyman Abbott, Dr. Angell, Wallace Bruce, Dr. Hull, Dr. J. B. Thomas, Dr. Tiffany, Prof. Young, A. O. Van Lennep, and others. A feast of good things was to be expected, and we were not disappointed.

One of the enjoyable features of the Assembly was Rev. O. S. Baketel’s lecture on “Sights and Insights at Chautauqua,” illustrated with eighty stereopticon views. They were shown with the calcium light, and an audience of four thousand people sat for an hour and three quarters, hearing and seeing. It created a great deal of interest, both with old Chautauquans and the many who have never seen Chautauqua.

Prof. Sherwin had several very excellent soloists, and his chorus was exceptionally fine.

One of the new buildings this year is the C. L. S. C. office. This is a very neat structure, and greatly appreciated by those having in charge the C. L. S. C. It was usually crowded during office hours. About five hundred members of the Circle were present during the Assembly. One hundred and sixty-five joined the Class of 1887. Thirty-eight members of the graduating class were present and received their diplomas from the hands of Dr. Vincent. The Class of 1884 are thoroughly organized, and are looking forward to a grand time when next year’s bells shall ring in their festal day.

As usual, Mrs. Rosie M. Baketel had charge of the C. L. S. C. office. This is her third year in this position. She is one of the hardest workers on the grounds.

The presence of Dr. Vincent is always an inspiration to a Framingham audience. Though compelled to return to Chautauqua after the opening, he gave us a grand “send-off,” and his presence and labors when he returned again were greatly enjoyed.

ONE OF 1882.

HOW WE CAME TOGETHER.

[The following poem, from Counselor W. C. Wilkinson’s volume, recently published by Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons, tells the story of the author’s first meeting with a friend of his, who is also a friend of every reader of THE CHAUTAUQUAN—the Rev. John H. Vincent, D.D. The friendship thus formed, not less than twenty years ago, endures yet between the two as vivid as ever. It is bearing fruit not then anticipated in the associated labors which they perform for the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.]

Thorwaldsen’s Lion, gray and grim, Rock in his rocky lair, On who would rend his lily from him, Glowered out with dying glare.

I mused awhile the sculptured stone, My pilgrim staff in hand; Then turned to hold my way alone, And lone, from land to land.

But God had other hap in store: Even as I turned I met A manly eye ne’er seen before— I seem to see it yet!

Vanish the changeful years between, Like morning-smitten rack; As, morning-like, that crescent scene Comes dawning swiftly back.

Again, above, that mellow noon And soft Swiss heaven doth yearn; Frowns still on us in pilgrim shoon The Lion of Lucerne.

Once more each other’s hands we take, The pass-words fly betwixt; Though slack the speed that speech may make, When heart with heart is mixed.

I see the green Swiss lake asleep With Righi in her dream; We cross the lake, we climb the steep To watch the world agleam.

The paths are many up the slope, And many of the mind, We catch the flying clue of hope, And wander where they wind.

The paths are fresh, the pastures green, In walk or talk traversed; The Alpland meadow’s grassy sheen With many a streamlet nursed,

And the fair meadows of the soul Forever fresh with streams From the long heights of youth that roll, The Righi-Culm of dreams.

We speak of summits hard to gain, And, gained, still hard to keep; Of pleasure bought with glorious pain, Of tears ’twas heaven to weep;

And of a blessed Heavenly Friend Who, struggling with us still, Would break the blows else like to bend The lonely human will;

Or with some sudden vital touch, At pinch of sorest need, Would lift our little strength to much, And energize our deed.

Our talk flows on, through strain or rest, As up the steep we go; Each untried track of thought seems best In hope’s prelusive glow.

We loiter while the sun makes haste, But we shall yet sit down To watch the gleams of sunset chased From mountain crown to crown.

Too long, too late—the splendor went Or e’er we reached the goal; But a splendor had dawned that will never be spent That day on either soul.

VEGETABLE VILLAINS.

By R. TURNER.

THE PLANT COMMUNITY AND ITS VILLAINS.

No paradise could be complete for us without a pervading freshness of green in wood and field. In lazy moods and calm sunshiny weather there are few men who will not condescend to stretch out their limbs under a spreading beech, or at least to envy one who is taking life easily for a time in the shade. We all know what a pleasant faint rustle of leaves there is above, and what a flickering of mellowed sunlight comes over the eyes, and how these steal into the heart with a sense of soft content, till we are apt to become like little children, enjoying without much thought, yielding ourselves up to the delight of the mere living, letting our consciousness float along lazily on the current of being. But if we can in such circumstances nerve ourselves to reflect just a little, we shall—if we possess even a very slight knowledge of the processes of nature—become conscious that there are great silent energies and activities at work around us in every blade of grass, and above us in the cool green foliage. The leaves have myriads of invisible little mouths eagerly drinking in the unseen air, and the minute grains that give the green color to these leaves are all the while laying hold of the infinitesimal percentage of carbonic acid impurity in that air, and, invigorated by the quickening sunlight, are able to tear this gaseous impurity to pieces, to wrench the two elements that form it asunder, making the one into nutriment for themselves, and letting the other go free in its purity into the wide atmosphere. What man—with all his sound and fury, his hammering and clanking—has never achieved, is thus quietly done in summer days by every green leaf in God’s world, and inorganic matter is forced to live. While the sun shines these honest workers are striving with all their might to lay hold of every atom of this gas that fouls the atmosphere for animals, and thus, while finding food for themselves, they are keeping the air sweet and pure for other living things. The necessity is laid on them to maintain themselves by honest work; and it is interesting to reflect how massive are the material results that gather round their task. We are apt to forget that by far the greater part of the solid matter of vegetation—of the giant trees of California as well as of the tiniest grasses and green herbs—is thus gathered atom by atom from the atmosphere. One eats his potato thankfully, usually without bothering himself much as to how it came to be a potato; how the green leaves labored away, seizing the scanty atoms of an invisible gas and making them into starch; how this insoluble starch became a soluble thing, and melting away into the sap flowed through the stem to the tubers, there to form again into little grains and be laid up for future use. The rest of the nourishment of such honest plants is usually derived from the soil. The more stimulating food—within certain limits—that crops, for instance, take up by the roots, the harder do their green parts work in the sunlight, making starch and kindred substances out of what they can snatch from the atmosphere. Hence the value of manures; they are stimulants to increased endeavor. Such honest, hard-working plants form by far the greater bulk of vegetation, and of those that grow on land nearly all are conspicuously green. Sometimes—but rarely—the green is disguised a little by another color associated with it, or some tint that is but skin-deep. Take a leaf of the copper beech, for instance, scratch the surface, and you will find the honest green beneath. Even the despised field-weeds, that come up wherever man digs or plows, and linger lovingly about his agriculture, so be it that they are green, are honest in their way, and only take hold of what earth they can find to root in, that they may participate with their fellows in the blessings to be got and given by keeping the atmosphere pure. Man wants to grow grain, or something of the kind, where they prefer to grow, and so, as they foul his husbandry, he ruthlessly roots them out, or tries at least. It is their misfortune that man does not wish them there; but still, contemned creatures as they are, they have honest ways about them, and every green grain in their being is struggling hard to do something genuinely useful. It is only an earnest striving to hold their own against man and brute, that makes humble nettles clothe themselves with stings full of formic acid and fury, and rude thistles bristle with a sharp _nemo me impune lacessit_ at every prickle point. They are armed for defense, not aggression. It is not of stuff such as this that vegetable villains are made.

Since there is so much honesty, however, in the plant world, rogues, and thieves, and pilferers must abound. Consider the animal kingdom. Where herds of deer roam in the wilds there beasts of prey are on the prowl, or sportsmen stalk with murderous guns in hand. Where herrings and pilchards crowd in shoals clouds of gulls and gannets hover, and porpoises with rapacious maws tumble and roll about. Where earthworms abound there moles with ravenous appetite are furiously driving mines, or birds that have sharp, quick bills keep watch with keen eyes. And so in this honest plant community, preying on it and pilfering from it, live and flourish hosts of vegetable villains; some without a trace of green in their whole being, living by theftuous practices alone; some with just the faintest suspicion of green and the slightest indications of a true nature; others with a good deal of the better color about them, but still only indifferently honest. There is something of marvel and mystery about these plant pilferers—of strange peculiarities in their modes of life, and in their adaptations for plundering and preying, which can hardly fail to interest intelligent minds, even when brought before them in a sketch such as this, which does not profess to take in more than the outermost fringe of a wide field. Without terms and technicalities and a strange jargon of crabbed words that would be dry as dust, and meaningless to most readers, little professing to be thorough can be done; yet, after all, something more generally comprehensive may ooze through in comparatively plain English.

With regard to their pilfering habits, such plants are usually proportioned off into two great groups. They either attach themselves to other beings and absorb their juices, in which case they form a mighty host of plants of prey usually known as _parasites_; or they seek their nurtriment, and find it, in dead and decaying organisms, and are then known as _saprophytes_, a somewhat hard word to begin with, for which I can not find a popular equivalent, but which merely signifies plants that grow on decomposing matter. All land plants that are not blessed with a true green color belong to one or other of these groups, and are villains in their various degrees. They make no effort to free the air from the gaseous impurity that haunts it, but, like animals, they keep fouling it instead. With a very few exceptions, all of them subsist on organic matter in some form, and this they usually draw from the plants, living or dead, on which they grow, or from decaying matter in the soil. But many of these vegetable villains run into half-honest vagaries, and succeed in raising themselves slightly above the common ruck. If they can not seize and break up carbonic acid gas, they may do a little toward atmospheric purification of a kind by laying fast hold on such organic particles as are floating in the air or brought to them in falling moisture. Plants such as these are sometimes found growing on barren sand, on hard gravel, on parapets of bridges, on leaden cisterns, on plastered walls, on slag, and in like inhospitable places, where they are compelled to turn mainly to the atmosphere and trickling moisture for food. Some such haunt mines like phosphorescent ghosts, others make themselves at home on places like the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. In a mass two feet in length, similar strange plants were one morning long ago found by a smith on a piece of iron that he had taken, on the previous night, red-hot from his fire, and laid on his water trough. Many similar vagaries they run into that would in the telling sound almost incredible. Indeed, the whole group of the saprophytes is not to be accounted so utterly abandoned as that of the parasites. To these they are certainly nearly related, but there is more of the useful scavenger about them than of the useless thief. No sooner has death overtaken any plant than a host of them set to work to clear away the now useless organism from the world, breaking down herbaceousness into putrescence, timber into touchwood, and all at last into vegetable mould. Their mission is to seize upon decaying matter and endow it with life in a new form; and thus out of rottenness often comes wholesomeness, decay moulding itself into pleasant mushrooms, or into things unfit for human food perhaps, but that may bring the blessings of abundance to many little living creatures. If such as are edible are to be considered villains, then people of delicate palate who smack their lips over some of them have a right to insist that these should be specially classed as dainty little rogues.

Still this useful scavengering habit is nearly allied to the pilfering one. Decay attacks part of a tree, for instance, and saprophytes set to work at the dead branch, but they are apt to extend their operations to the adjoining living tissues, which die, too, and decay, till in the end the tree may be entirely destroyed. The scavenger, we can thus understand, is apt on occasion to relapse into the thief and the out-and-out villain.

To one or other of these two great groups, or occasionally to both, belong, besides a few flowering plants, the whole extensive division of the fungi, and it is to be noted that none of this curious class of plants is ever blessed with leaf-green or starch in any part of its substance. Whether minute even under powerful microscopes or measuring several feet across; whether hard as wood or a mere mass of jelly; whether horny, fleshy, or leathery; whether resisting the action of the elements for years or hardly able to outlive a puff of wind; whether beautiful, commonplace, or ugly; whether sweet-scented or otherwise, in this they agree, that in all of them is wanting that greenness which makes honest work possible, and those little grains of starch that come from honest work done.—_Good Words._

* * * * *

I AM afraid that a lightsome disposition and a relish for humor are not so common in those whose benevolence takes an active turn as in people of sentiment, who are always ready with their tears and abounding in passionate expressions of sympathy. Working philanthropy is a practical specialty, requiring not a mere impulse, but a talent, with a peculiar sagacity for finding its objects, a tact for selecting its agencies, an organizing and arranging faculty, a steady set of nerves, and a constitution such as Sallust describes in Catiline, patient of cold, of hunger, and of watching. Philanthropists are commonly grave, occasionally grim, and not very rarely morose. Their expansive social force is imprisoned as a working power, to show itself only through its legitimate pistons and cranks. The tighter the boiler, the less it whistles and sings at its work.—_Oliver Wendell Holmes._

SLAVONIC MYTHOLOGY.[B]

By ADLEY H. CUMMINGS.

The mythology of various tribes and races has of late attracted much attention, while that of our own ancestors of the North has been studied with the greatest care.

Little attention, however, has been devoted to the religious belief of the ancient Slavonic race, and yet it is replete with interest for all who yield to the fascination of ancient myth.

We unfortunately possess no Slavic Edda, or Veda, to throw illumination upon the ancient creed of the tribes, but a few scattered facts have come down to modern times—principally contained in popular songs—but sufficient to enable us to observe the similarity between Slavonic mythology and that of the other members of the Indo-European stock—all pointing to that immensely ancient time when the ancestors of the combined race could have been gathered within the circuit of the same camp; when they passed the same lives and worshiped the same divinities; wept when the “serpents of the night” strangled the god appointed to preside over the day, and rejoiced together with an exceeding great joy when the day-god, victorious over his foes, gilded the hills again.

In Slavonic tradition Swarog is represented as the most ancient of their gods, as the one who was originally—before Perkunas—the supreme deity of those tribes, corresponding to Sanskrit Surya, like Helios in Greece, the dweller in the orb of the sun. Swarog was the pervading, irresistible luminary, the solar deity, _par excellence_, of the race, and vague recollections of him still exist. In some places Swarog seems to have yielded to another solar deity, Dazhbog, the god of fruitfulness, represented as the son of Swarog.

The etymological signification of Dazhbog is the “day-god.” With him, as a representative of the sun, was a god named Khors—probably, however, but another name of the day-god.

Ogon, answering closely to Sanskrit Agni, Latin, _ignis_ (fire), was the god of fire, brother of Dazhbog; his worship was principally connected with the domestic hearth.

But the deity who stands out most prominently, who became the supreme divinity of the race, though corresponding to the Scandinavian Thor, was Perkunas, or Perun, whose name, yielding to certain laws of phonetic change, may correspond to Greek Keraunos (thunder), but more closely to Sanskrit Parjanya, called in the Rig-Veda, “The thunderer, the showerer, the bountiful, who impregnates the plants with rain.” This god was forgotten by the Hellenic Aryans, who exalted Dyaus (Zeus, Jove) to the supreme position, but the Letto-Slavonic tribes bestowed upon him the endearing appellation of the “All-Father,” a title which they only conferred upon the creator of the lightnings. It is said that the Russians still say, when the thunder rolls, “_Perkuna gromena_;” in Lithuanian, “_Perkuns grumena_.”

The South-Slavic term for the rainbow is “Perunika,” “Perun’s flower,” or “beauty.”

“White-Russian traditions,” says Afanasief,[C] “describe Perun as tall and well shaped, with black hair and a long golden beard. He rides in a flaming car, grasping in his left hand a quiver full of arrows, and in his right a fiery bow.”

He is also represented as carrying a mace, answering to Thor’s hammer, mjolnir.

After the introduction of Christianity the prophet Elijah became credited with many of the honors and functions of Perkunas. He was termed, “Gromovit Ilija” (Thunder Elijah), and the origin of the notion, and the strange metamorphosis of that sweet spirit into a Boanerges, undoubtedly lie in his flight to heaven in a chariot of fire, and in his power, when on earth, of calling down fire from heaven, and of bringing the rain. Thus, II. Kings, i:10, he says, “If I be a man of God, then shall fire come down from heaven and consume thee and thy fifty.” Again, Kings, i., 18:41, “And Elijah said unto Ahab: Get thee up; eat and drink, for there is a sound of abundance of rain.”

The Slavs considered that the thunder and lightning were given into the prophet’s hands, and that he closed the gates of heaven, _i. e._, the clouds, to sinful men, who thus might not share in his blessed reign. There is evidence of the same belief among the Teutonic tribes, and in the old High-German poem, “Muspilli,” a form of that saga which prevailed throughout all the middle ages with regard to the appearance of anti-Christ shortly before the end of the world. Elijah takes the place which Thor assumes in Scandinavian myth at Ragnarok, and fights the evil one:

“Daz hôrtih rahhôn dia werol trehtwison, Daz sculi der anti-Christo mit Eliase pâgan.”

I have heard the very learned say, That anti-Christ shall with Elijah fight.