Part 5

For Prayer is a Conversing with God, The Key of Heaven, The Flower of Paradise, A Free Access to God, A Familiarity with God, The Searcher of His Secrets, The Opener of His Mysteries, The Purchaser of His Gifts, A Spiritual Banquet, A Heavenly Enjoyment, The Honey-comb of the Spirit, Honey Flowing from the Lips, The Nurse of Virtues, The Conqueror of Vices, The Medicine of the Soul, A Remedy against Infirmities, An Antidote against Sin, The Pillar of the World, The Salve of Mankind, The Seed of Blessing, The Garden of Happiness, The Tree of Pleasure, The Increase of Faith, The Support of Hope, The Mother of Charity, The Path of Righteousness, The Preserver of Perseverance, The Mirror of Prudence, The Mistress of Temperance, The Strength of Chastity, The Beauty of Holiness, The Fire of Devotion, The Light of Knowledge, The Repository of Wisdom, The Strength of the Soul, The Remedy against Faint-heartedness, The Foundation of Peace, The Joy of the Heart, The Jubilee of the Mind, A Faithful Companion in this Earthly Pilgrimage, The Shield of a Christian Soldier, The Rule of Humility, The Forerunner of Honor, The Nurse of Patience, The Guardian of Obedience, The Fountain of Quietness, The Imitator of Angels, The Conquest of Devils, The Comfort of the Sorrowful, The Triumph of the Just, The Joy of the Saints, The Helper of the Oppressed, The Ease of the Afflicted, The Rest of the Weary, The Ornament of the Conscience, The Advancement of Graces, The Odor of an Acceptable Sacrifice, The Encourager of Mutual Good-will, The Refreshment of this Miserable Life, The Sweetening of Death, The Foretaste of the Heavenly Life.—_Arndt._

[_Sunday, July 26._]

SERMON ON LUKE iv, 1-13.—The _weapons_ of Jesus?—say we rather _the weapon_—for he has but one, it is the _Word of God_. Three times tempted, three times he repels the temptation by a simple quotation from the Scriptures, without explanation or comment. “_It is written_”—this one expression tells upon the tempter like a tremendous discharge upon an assaulting battalion. “It is written”—the devil withdraws for the first time. “It is written”—the devil withdraws for the second time. “It is written”—the devil gives up the contest. God’s word is the weapon which Satan most dreads—a weapon before which he has never been able to do aught but succumb. Most justly does Paul call it the “Sword of the Spirit;”[A] and John describes it, in the Revelation, as “a sharp, two-edged sword, proceeding out of the mouth of the Son of man.” With that “Sword of the Spirit” in our hands, our cause becomes that of the Holy Spirit himself, and we shall be as superior in strength to our adversary, as is the Spirit of God to the spirit of darkness. Without it, on the contrary, left to ourselves, we shall be as much below him as is man’s nature below that of angels. Adam fell, only because he allowed this sword to drop. Jesus triumphs, because no one can wrest it from his hand. But why is it that the Son of God, instead of meeting the enemy with some new sword brought from the heavens whence he came, took up only our own weapon, from that very earth where Adam had, with such cowardice, left it? This is for our example. From what that weapon accomplished in his hand, we must learn what it can do in ours. Let us, then, take it up in our turn; or, rather, let us receive it from him, resharpened as it were, by his victory, and we shall have nothing to fear. To all the adversary’s attacks let us oppose a simple “_It is written_,” and we shall render vain his every endeavor.… If after having heard him on the theater of temptation, scoffing at the word of God, we could (allow me the expression) follow him behind the scenes, and hear him confess to his accomplices that he is lost if he can not succeed in wresting from our hands this irresistible weapon! If we did but know all this, and if, like the valiant Eleazar, “we could keep hold of our sword till our hand clove unto it”—oh, then we should be invincible, yea, _invincible_!—_Monod._

[A] Revelation i:16; ii:16; xix:15-21; Hebrews iv:12, “The word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joint and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”

“WE SALUTE THEE, AND LIVE.”

BY MARY MATHEWS-SMITH.

Soldiers brave, in days of old, Facing dangers manifold, Looked unto their king to cry— “Thee we do salute, and die.”

Service for an earthly king Other ending can not bring; Whatso’er thy record be, Death is all it gives to thee.

Christian brave, where’er thy way, Thine it is with joy to say— “King, to whom our hearts we give, Thee we do salute, and live.”

Service for the heavenly King, Love and life eternal bring; He alone true life can give, Him we may salute, and live.

A GROUP OF MUMMIES.

BY OTIS T. MASON.

Whenever the word mummy is mentioned almost everybody thinks of Egypt and the ancient embalmers, with their tedious processes and costly ceremonials. The term does include the Egyptian prepared bodies, but it does not exclude some found elsewhere. Indeed, in Washington, there will be seen in close proximity, in the Smithsonian building, an exceedingly dry company, made up of individuals from Alaska, Arizona, Mexico, Kentucky, Peru, and Egypt.

Whoever has marked the tender solicitude with which the things around us seem to beckon us in this way or in that will understand that even the disposal of the dead has been influenced by such suggestions. Passing through a dense forest one seems to hear the branches and undergrowth say: “Come this way, pass along here, we are opening to make way for you.” Well, it is so in every human art; natural objects supply the materials, the tools, and suggest the simplest forms. There can be no potters where there is no clay, no chipped arrow heads where there is no stone to flake, no wood carving in the arctic regions where grows no timber. Yet the good people in all these places have arts, they make excellent baskets in which they carry water and boil their meat, polished spearheads and axes of volcanic stone, and most delicate carvings in ivory or antler.

As to the disposal of the dead in different regions and ages, all we have space to say is that the voices of nature around each people have told them how to perform this sad rite. In the frozen regions, where the ground is never thawed, no graves are dug. By the seaside the primitive fisherman is launched upon the wide expanse in his own canoe. In rocky regions cairns and cists conceal the wasting form. On the soft prairie mounds cover the dead out of sight. In those arid regions where the rainfall does not affect the atmosphere to any extent the process of desiccation takes place more rapidly than chemical changes. The water, which forms the greater part of the human body, soon removes and leaves but a few pounds of bones, dried flesh and skin. This may be called natural mummification, the process of which is aided either by extreme cold, extreme aridity, or preservative elements in the soil.

In the National Museum there is the body of a little boy, lying on his back, his feet drawn up, and all sorts of curious relics hanging in the case with him. The body was discovered in one of the cliff ruins of the Cañon de Chelly, Arizona. The particular ruin referred to is on a benched recess, seventy-five feet above the cañon, and extends backward about thirty feet. The ancient Pueblo people, driven by some invading force, constructed their cliff houses along only a part of this bench. About fifty feet from the walls Mr. Thomas Kearn found a little oven-like cist composed of angular bowlders laid in clay. The rooflet consisted of sticks supporting stones and clay. At the bottom lay the little child, and the remains of other burials, together with grave deposits. Here, in this last resting place, the waters escaped so quickly and so quietly from the body that even the form of life was not disturbed nor any chemical changes awakened. So perfectly dried is this little fellow that even the coatings of the eye remain. This is natural embalmment by desiccation simply. In the Peabody Museum, at Cambridge, are dried bodies from Mexico, preserved in the same manner. Around them were their clothing and utensils, silent and patient watchers, waiting all these centuries to give in evidence as to how those dead people dressed, ate, drank, worked, and warred.

In the palmy days of our grandparents there was a desiccated body discovered in Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. This, also, has had the good fortune, after many peregrinations, to find its way into the Smithsonian. Now, Mammoth Cave is a damp place, but the earth accumulated on the floor is in places full of nitrous and other preservative salts. Indeed, the Kentucky cave subject may be called a natural pickle.

To Mr. William H. Dall we are indebted for bringing to light mummies from the frozen regions. At the time of their discovery by the Russians, the Aleuts of Unalashka had a process of mummification peculiar to themselves. Mr. Dall informs us that they eviscerated the bodies of those held in honor, removed the fatty matter, placed them for some time in running water, and then lashed them into as compact a bundle as possible. A line was placed around the neck and under the knees, to draw them up to the chin. If any part stuck out, the bones were broken so as to facilitate the consolidation. After this the body was thoroughly dried and packed in a wooden crate, wrapped round and round with seal, sea-otter, and other precious furs, enough to make a fashionable belle’s head swim. Over these were wrapped coarser skins, waterproof cloth of intestines, and fine grass mats. This crate was slung to upright poles, or hung, like a wall-pocket, to a peg driven into a crevice in some cave. In 1874 Captain E. Hennig, of the Alaska Commercial Company’s service, found in a cave on the island of Kagamil, near Unalashka, a number of these framed mummies, all but two of which the company presented to the Smithsonian Institution.

The Egypt of America for mummies is Peru. Scarcely a museum in the world is without its dried dogs, guinea pigs, parrots, and human beings wrapped in costly cloths, and the last mentioned wearing the greatest profusion of gold and silver jewelry. Along with these bodies are found corn, beans, peanuts; pottery, gourds, and silver vases; pillows, haversacks and masks; knives, war clubs and spearheads; needles, distaffs, spindles, work-baskets and musical cradles. Thousands and thousands of the most interesting things turn up, almost as expressive of ancient Peruvian life as was the library of Sennacherib, exhumed by Layard at Kouyunjik, of Assyrian life.

Beyond the care of the Peruvians and Bolivians in the clothing and encysting of the dead, it is almost certain that they left them to the atmosphere to manipulate. The work was done most effectually. Nothing can be dryer than a Peruvian mummy. It is perfectly useless to dust the cases containing them, and those who handle them are in a steady sneeze, as though invisible spirits, filled with indignation, held impalpable snuff-boxes to the nose. It is still more wonderful that insects have not done their destructive work upon these bodies. The wrappings doubtless were so securely made as to prevent their inroads, and must have contained some substance to keep them away.

In the National Museum, finally, are two Egyptian mummies. It is hard to tell how they got into such outlandish boxes and mountings. There they stand, nailed and screwed into narrow, white boxes, side by side, with mouths open, as if Pompeian convulsions had seized and embalmed them by instantaneous mummification just as the curtain was falling on a grand duet. Now, these two bodies were really embalmed (embalsamed); all the other mummies were simply dried up.

The Egyptians, Peruvians, and perhaps the Alaskans preserved the bodies as integral parts of the individual, that would be needed again. The others simply dried up, their depositors cherishing no belief in the resurrection of the body.

A TRIP TO MT. SHASTA.

Report of a lecture delivered in the National Museum of Washington, D. C., by Prof. J. S. Diller, of the U. S. Geological Survey.

The Great Basin Country is bounded to the westward by the Cascade Range in Oregon and the Sierra Nevada Mountains in eastern California. The axes of these two mountain ranges make an angle of over 140° with each other, and at their point of intersection in northern California rises Mt. Shasta, one of the most conspicuous and imposing topographical features of the Pacific coast, above which it rises 14,440 feet. Early in the days of western exploration its summit was declared to be inaccessible, but whether this assertion was made to inspire greater respect for the abode of the Indian gods, or to excuse a disinclination to physical exertion, must ever remain a matter of conjecture. Certain it is that the ascent, frequently made within the last few years by ladies is not a remarkable feat of mountaineering. Under the direction of Captain Dutton of the Geological Survey, a detailed exploration of the mountain has been accomplished.

The belt of territory bordering upon the Pacific embraces two parallel mountain chains, the Sierra Nevada and Cascade Range on the east, and the illy-defined Coast Range on the west. Between these lies the valley region of the Willamette and Sacramento rivers, whose headwaters are among that complex group of mountains through which the Klamath River, in a deep cañon, finds its way to the sea.

Of all the volcanic regions of the world, the one to which Mt. Shasta belongs is the largest. It extends from Lassen’s Peak, in California, north through Oregon to Mt. Rainier in Washington Territory, and eastward far into Idaho, covering an area larger than that of France and Great Britain combined. Within this wide expanse are extensive plains, whose broad surfaces indicate that the basaltic lava beneath at the time of its eruption possessed such a high degree of fluidity that it spread out far and wide like the waters of a lake. Upon the western border the more viscous lavas built up the Cascade Range, whose mammoth arch is surmounted by numerous mighty volcanoes, among which Mt. Shasta is one of the most prominent.

Seen from all sides Mt. Shasta presents a remarkably regular outline, and its beautiful conoidal form has excited the admiration of many observers. Its slopes are exceptional for the high angle and graceful curves of their inclination. The upper 3,000 feet of the mountain, where cliffs are most abundant, dips away toward all points of the compass at an average angle of 37°. Further down the mountain the slope gradually decreases in inclination to 20°, then to 15°, 10°, and finally the long, gentle slope about the base of the mountain deviates but 5° from a horizontal plane. In all directions from the summit of Mt. Shasta its flanks increase in length as they decrease in angle of inclination, presenting a curved mountain side concave upwards, and has the greatest curvature near the top. Mr. Gilbert, in his excellent monograph of the Henry Mountains, shows that such a curve is the natural result of erosion. In the case of some volcanic mountains, however, an important coöperative cause may be found in the fact that at each successive eruption the lava decreased in quantity and became more viscous. The grandest approach to Mt. Shasta is from the north, in the broad valley of the same name, where it is presented to full view, and the deepest impression of its colossal dimensions is experienced. It stands at the head of Shasta valley, above which it rises 11,000 feet, with a volume of over 224 cubic miles, and presents, in strange contrast with the sterility of the valley, the luxuriant vegetation of the forest belt. The timbered slopes lie between the altitudes 4,000 and 7,000 feet above the sea, and belong to the most magnificent forest regions of the world. Above the forest belt the mountain rises more than a mile into the heights of eternal snow, and its brilliant white slopes present an imposing contrast to the deep green of the pines beneath. Viewed from the southeast, Mt. Shasta appears to be surmounted by a single peak, but seen from the north, the upper portion is found to be double. The smaller of the two cones, broad topped and crater shaped, has been designated Shastina, to distinguish it from the other acute cone, which rises 2,000 feet higher and forms the summit of Shasta proper.

The influence of temperature upon precipitation, and the limits which it throws about arboreal vegetation, are here most forcibly illustrated. In Shasta valley, at an elevation of about 3,000 feet above the sea, where the average temperature is high as compared with that upon the mountain itself, the precipitation is always in the form of rain, but not sufficient in quantity, especially on account of its unequal distribution throughout the year, to support more than a scanty growth of stunted trees. In the autumn storm clouds gather about the summit, and showers become frequent, spreading over the land in copious rains. Before the spring eight ninths of all the annual rain has fallen and the country is brilliant with living green. As summer advances the refreshing showers disappear and the cloudless sky affords no protection from the burning sun; the bright green fades away and the earth gradually assumes that uninviting seared aspect which pervades all nature in the season of drought. Upon the lower slopes of the mountain, by its cooling influence upon the atmosphere, the rainfall is greatly increased, and the vegetation is luxuriant. The vegetation is almost wholly coniferous. Among nearly a score of species the sugar-pine is monarch, frequently attaining a diameter of twelve and a height of over two hundred feet. Farther up the mountain these gradually give way to the firs, whose tall, graceful forms are in perfect keeping with the majestic mountain behind them. Their black and yellow spotted trunks and branches, draped in long pendant moss, present a weird, almost dismal aspect, making a fit promenade for the mythical deities supposed by the aborigines to inhabit the mountains. To assume that in the timber belt the slopes of the mountain are everywhere covered with majestic trees, would certainly be wide of the truth, for within the forests are large treeless tracts, sometimes hundreds of acres in extent. From a distance these green, velvety acres appear to be very inviting pastures, and present the most desirable path of ascent. A closer examination, however, discovers to the observer that instead of grass these green fields are clothed in such a dense shrubbery of manzanita, ceanothus, and other bushy plants, as to be almost impassable. One attempt to cross a patch of chaparral, or “Devil’s acre,” as it is sometimes appropriately called in western vernacular, will convince the traveler that his best path lies in the forest.

As the timber gradually dwindles away from the foot of the mountain to almost nothing in Shasta valley, so also it diminishes in stature, from an altitude of 7,000 feet upwards to the snow region, where the precipitation is generally, if not always, in a solid form of snow in winter and sleet in summer.

Of the tree-like vegetation, one of the pines reaches farthest up the slopes. Its stem grows shorter and the top flattens until, at an elevation of about 9,000 feet, the branches are spread upon the ground, so that not unfrequently the pedestrian finds his best path upon the tree-tops. Beyond these, on the snowless slopes, are found only scattered blades of grass, and the welcome little hulsea, the edelweiss of our Alpine regions, with its bright flowers to alleviate the arctic desolation of the place. The red and yellow lichens cling to the rocks and the tiny prolococcus flourishes in the snow, so that one is frequently surprised, upon looking back, to see his bloody footsteps.

In the Alps, between the forests and the snow, are often found extensive pastures where the herds which furnish milk for the celebrated Swiss cheese are grazed during the milder seasons of the year. In northern California similar pastures do not occur about the snow-capped summits, probably on account of the unequal distribution of the annual rainfall.

To those who are fond of novelty, the greatest interest of the upper portion of Mt. Shasta attaches to its glaciers. They are five in number, and all are found side by side upon its northern half, forming an almost continuous covering above 10,000 feet for that portion of the mountain point. Upon the northern and western slope of the mountain is the Whitney glacier, with its prominent terminal moraines. Next to the eastward is the Bulam glacier, with the large pile of debris at the lower end. Then comes the broad Hottums glacier and the Wintum. The Konwakitong, which is the smallest of the group, lies upon the southeast side of the mountain. Whitney glacier is more like those of the Alps than any other one of the group. Its snow-field lies upon the northwestern slope of the mountains, from whence the icy mass moves down a shallow depression between Shasta and Shastina. Mr. Ricksecker, who has made a careful topographical survey of the mountain, has measured the dimensions of all its glaciers. The limits of the Whitney glacier are well defined; its width varies from 1,000 to 2,000 feet, with a length of about two and one-fifth miles, reaching from the summit of the mountain down to an altitude of 9,500 feet above the sea. It is but little more than a decade since the first glaciers were discovered within the United States, and we should not be disappointed to learn that the largest of them, about the culminating point of the Cascade Range, would appear Liliputian beside the great glacier of the Bernese Oberland, and yet the former are as truly glaciers as the latter. In the upper portion of its course, passing over prominent irregularities in its bed, the Whitney glacier becomes deeply fractured, producing the extremely jagged surface, corresponding to the surfaces of the Alpine glaciers. Lower down the crevasses develop, and these, with the great fissure which separates it from the steep slopes of Shastina, attest the motion of the icy mass. They frequently open and become yawning chasms, reaching 100 feet into the clear, green ice beneath. Near its middle, upon the eastern margin, the Whitney glacier receives large contributions of sand, gravel and bowlders, from the vertical cliffs around which it turns to move in a more northerly direction. In this way a prominent lateral moraine is developed. From the very steep slopes of Shastina, upon the western side, the glacier receives additions in the form of avalanches. Here the snow clings to its rocky bed until the strain resulting from accumulation is great enough to break it from its moorings and precipitate it upon the glacier below. The most striking feature of the Whitney glacier, and that which is of greatest interest from a geological point of view, is its terminal moraine, which appears to be fully a mile in length. Its apparent length is much greater than the real, from the fact that the glacial ice extends far down beneath the covering of detritus. It is so huge a pile of light colored debris, just above the timber line, that it is plainly visible from afar off.