Chapter 7

This decision of the birds of heaven was deemed sufficient evidence of the superiority of the Athenian painter, and the people clamored loudly for the crown of laurels and the branch of palm for Zeuxis. His competitor had not yet been seen, either in the crowd or with the judges; and Zeuxis gloried in the thought that his conscious inferiority had made him shrink from the trial. The branch of palm was placed in the Athenian's hand, and a virgin was about to place the crown of evergreen upon his head, when, from a small tent opposite the pavilion of the judges, stepped forth the "Ephesian boy," pale and trembling, and, with a tablet in his hand, approached the multitude. Not a single voice greeted him, for he was unknown to that vast concourse, and the silence weighed like lead upon his heart. There was, however, one heart there that beat in sympathy with his own. It was that of Cassandra. She, too, stood pale and trembling; and by her side was Thearchus, watching with intense anxiety for the result.

Parrhasius drew near to his rival. At first he would not deign to notice him; but a few faint voices crying out, "Victory for Parrhasius!" the judges demanded an exhibition of the picture of the Ephesian. Turning around, with ill-concealed rage, Zeuxis, with a bitter, scornful tone cried out, "Come, away with your curtain, that the assemblage may see what goodly affair you have beneath it!"

Parrhasius handed the tablet to his rival. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, he could not have been more astounded. The curtain was painted upon the tablet, and so exquisitely was it wrought that even the practised eye of the great painter did not till then detect the deception!

"I yield! I yield!" cried the Athenian; "Zeuxis beguiled poor birds, but Parrhasius hath deceived Zeuxis! Bring hither the laurel and also the palm: my hand, and mine alone, shall crown the young victor!"

"And thy promise!" exclaimed Cassandra, bounding forward and grasping the hand of her father.

"I here fulfil it," said he. "Parrhasius is indeed worthy of my Cassandra. Embrace and be happy!"

The laurel and the palm were brought--and there, in the presence of assembled thousands, Zeuxis crowned the young Ephesian. Then, mounting a pedestal, he addressed the assembled multitude. He recounted the pure love and constancy of Parrhasius and Cassandra, and told of his promise; he also tenderly related his engagement with Thearchus.

He was proceeding to vindicate himself from the imputation of treachery to Thearchus, when another deafening shout arose from the assembly, as a noble youth came from the pavilion with a branch of palm and placed it in the hands of Cassandra. It was Thearchus. He had before heard and now witnessed the devotion of the lovers, and his generous heart melted at the spectacle. He had tenderly loved the maiden, but he magnanimously resigned all.

"Laurels for Thearchus!" shouted the vast multitude--and Thearchus, too, was crowned victor, for he had conquered love.

Matrons and virgins strewed the path of Parrhasius and Cassandra with flowers, as they returned to the city; and on the following day their nuptials were celebrated with a splendor fully adequate to the wishes of the ambitious Zeuxis, for the city made the marriage a high festival in honor of Genius and Constancy.

The games ended; the city became quiet. A few years of happiness cast their sunlight around the footsteps of the great painter, and he went down into the tomb honored and mourned by a nation--by the world, wherever his fame was known. His mantle fell upon Parrhasius, who is revered by Genius as the greatest painter of antiquity.

=Ideals=. Every man has at times in his mind, the ideal of what he should be, but is not. The ideal may be high and complete, or it may be quite low and insufficient; yet in all men that really seek to improve, it is better than the actual character. Man never falls so low that he can see nothing higher than himself.--=Theodore Parker=. (1810-1860.)

LITTLE GEMS FROM TENNYSON.

Willow whiten, aspen quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Through the wave that runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls, and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle embowers The Lady of Shalott.

_From "The Lady of Shalott."_

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other's whispered speech; Eating the Lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; To muse and brood and live again in memory, With those old faces of our infancy Heaped over with a mound of grass-- Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!

_From "The Lotos-Eaters."_

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life Were all too little.

_From "Ulysses."_

The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow! Set the wild echoes flying! Blow, bugle; answer, echoes--dying, dying, dying.

_Song from "The Princess."_

Henceforth thou hast a helper, me, that know The woman's cause is man's; they rise or sink Together, dwarfed or godlike, bond or free: For she that out of Lethe scales with man The shining steps of Nature, shares with man His nights, his days, moves with him to one goal, Stays all the fair young planet in her hands-- If she be small, slight-natured, miserable, How shall men grow?

_From "The Princess."_

Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands: Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.

_From "Locksley Hall."_

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new, That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do.

_From "Locksley Hall."_

This is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.

_From "Locksley Hall."_

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea.

* * * * *

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark.

_From "Crossing the Bar."_

O love! O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

_From "Fatima."_

God gives us love. Something to love He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone.

* * * * *

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace! Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul, While the stars burn, the moons increase, And the great ages onward roll.

_From poem "To J.S."_

That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

_From "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington."_

The old order changeth, yielding place to new; And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

_From "The Passing of Arthur."_

Howe'er it be, it seems to me 'T is only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

_From "Lady Clara Vere de Vere."_

A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies; A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright; But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

_From "The Grandmother."_

And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold, And far across the hills they went In that new world which is the old.

_From "The Day-Dream."_

There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.

_From "In Memoriam."_

HOW TO TELL A WOMAN'S AGE.

Two Ways of Securing Certain Valuable and Closely Guarded Information Which the Fair Sex Defies Even the Courts to Extract.

Few mysteries are at once so impenetrable and so irritating as that which surrounds a truthful woman who declines to take you into her confidence when the subject of her age is mentioned. But even women who are truthful and secretive are curious, and when a friend tells them that he can solve the mystery in spite of them they may easily fall into a certain mathematical snare.

Tell the young woman to put down the number of the month in which she was born, then to multiply it by 2, then add 5, then to multiply it by 50, then to add her age, then to add 115, then to subtract 365, and finally to tell you the amount that she has left.

The two figures to the right will tell her age, and the remainder the month of her birth. For example, the amount is 822; she is twenty-two years old, and was born in the eighth month (August).

Then there is another method.

Just hand this table to a young lady, and request her to tell you in which column or columns her age is contained, and add together the figures at the top of the columns in which her age is found, and you have the great secret. Thus, suppose her age to be seventeen, you will find that number in the first and fifth columns. Here is the magic table:

1 2 4 8 16 32 3 3 5 9 17 33 5 6 6 10 18 34 7 7 7 11 19 35 9 10 12 12 20 36 11 11 13 13 21 37 13 14 14 14 22 38 15 15 15 15 23 39 17 18 20 24 24 40 19 19 21 25 25 41 21 22 22 26 26 42 23 23 23 27 27 43 25 26 28 28 28 44 27 27 29 29 29 45 29 30 30 30 30 46 31 31 31 31 31 47 33 34 36 40 48 48 35 35 37 41 49 49 37 38 38 42 50 50 39 39 39 43 51 51 41 42 44 44 52 52 43 43 45 45 53 53 45 46 46 46 54 54 47 47 47 47 55 55 49 50 52 56 56 56 51 51 53 57 57 57 53 54 54 58 58 58 55 55 55 59 59 59 57 58 60 60 60 60 59 59 61 61 61 61 61 62 62 62 62 62 63 63 63 63 63 63

ODDITIES OF BIBLICAL LITERATURE.

Despite the veneration in which it has been held by mankind for the last nineteen hundred years, the Bible has fared almost as badly at the hands of translators and printers as books of far less importance. Errors made in the course of translating and printing have caused various nicknames to be applied to the editions. Some of the more extraordinary of these editions were described in a recently published catalogue as follows:

=The Gutenberg Bible= (1450)--The earliest book known. Printed from movable metal types, is the Latin Bible issued by Gutenberg, at Mayence.

=The Bug Bible= (1551)--Was so called from its rendering of the Psalms xci:5: "Afraid of bugs by night." Our present version reads: "Terror by night."

=The Breeches Bible=--The Geneva version is that popularly known as the Breeches Bible, from its rendering of Genesis iii:7: "Making themselves breeches out of fig-leaves." This translation of the Scriptures--the result of the labors of the English exiles at Geneva--was the English family Bible during the reign of Queen Elizabeth and till supplanted by the present authorized version of King James I.

=The Place-Makers' Bible= (1562)--From a remarkable typographical error which occurs in Matthew v:9: "Blessed are the place-makers," instead of "peace-makers."

=The Treacle Bible= (1568)--From its rendering of Jeremiah viii:22: "Is there no treacle [instead of balm] in Gilead?"

=The Rosin Bible= (1609)--From the same text, but translated "rosin."

=The Thumb Bible= (1670)--Being one inch square and half an inch thick; was published at Aberdeen.

=The Vinegar Bible= (1717)--So named from the head-line of the twentieth chapter of Luke, which reads: "The Parable of the Vinegar," instead of the "vineyard."

=The Printers' Bible=--We are told by Cotton Mather that in a Bible printed prior to 1702 a blundering typographer made King David exclaim: "Printers [instead of princes] persecuted him without a cause." See Psalms cxix:161.

=The Murderers' Bible= (1801)--So called from an error in the sixteenth verse of the Epistle of Jude, the word "murderers" being used instead of "murmurers."

=The Caxton Memorial Bible= (1877)--Wholly printed and bound in twelve hours, but only one hundred copies struck off.

However much truth there may be in the stories of the dissolute conduct of Shakespeare, there is abundant proof of the fact that the Bible was one of his favorite books. Indeed, his admiration for the Scriptures carried him so far that he frequently incorporated Bible sentences in his plays. The following are examples:

_Bible_--"But though I be rude in speech."--2 Corinthians xi:6.

_Othello_--"Rude am I in speech."

_Bible_--"To consume thine eyes and to grieve thine heart."--1 Samuel ii:33.

_Macbeth_--"Shew his eyes and grieve his heart."

_Bible_--"Look not upon me because I am black; because the sun hath looked upon me."--Song of Solomon i:6.

_Merchant of Venice_--"Mislike me not for my complexion--the shadowed livery of the burnished sun."

_Bible_--"I caught him by his beard and smote him and slew him."--1 Samuel xvii:35.

_Othello_--"I took by the throat the circumcised dog, and smote him."

_Bible_--"Opened Job his mouth and cursed his day; let it not be joined unto the days of the year; let it not come into the number of months."--Job.

_Macbeth_--"May this accursed hour stand ay accursed in the calendar."

_Bible_--"What is man that Thou art mindful of him? Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor. Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of Thy hands."--Psalms viii:4; Hebrews ii:6.

_Hamlet_--"What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason; how infinite in faculties; in form and moving how express and admirable; in action how like an angel; in apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world--the paragon of animals."

_Bible_--"Nicanor lay dead in his harness."--Maccabees xvii:12.

_Macbeth_--"We'll die with harness on our backs."

The Prophecies of Bonaparte.

Remarkable Manuscript Found in the Exiled Emperor's Desk on the Island of Elba before Waterloo.

That the first Napoleon was exceedingly superstitious is well known. He was a devout believer in dream warnings, and he was a patron of palmists, clairvoyants, and astrologers. Like many another great man, the famous emperor sometimes was prone to indulge in prophetic utterances himself.

One of the most interesting of the compositions of Napoleon is a remarkable prophecy which, in the emperor's own handwriting, was found in his desk on the island of Elba. The document was discovered by Captain Campbell, in 1815. It is as follows:

The foundation of our political society is so defective and tottering that it threatens ruin; the fall will be terrible, and all the nations on the continent will be involved in it; no human force can arrest the course of events.

All civilized Europe will find itself in the position in which a part of Italy once was under the Cæsars.

The storm of the Revolution, some clouds of which will extend over France, will soon cover all that portion of the globe which we inhabit with a frightful darkness.

The world can be saved only by shedding torrents of blood; a terrible and violent hurricane can alone purge the poisonous air which envelops Europe.

I only could have saved the world, and no other.

I would have given it the chalice of suffering to empty at a single draft; instead of which it must now drink it drop by drop.

That which is now fermenting in Spain and at Rome will soon cause a general commotion. Then the crisis will be terrible.

I know men and the age; I would have hastened the advent of happiness on earth, if those with whom I had to deal had not been villains. They accuse me of having despised and enslaved them; their own groveling spirit and thirst for gold and distinction brought them to my feet. Could I take one step without crushing them? I did not need to spread snares in their path; it sufficed to present to them the cup of worldly riches and honors. Then, like a swarm of hungry flies, they precipitated themselves on their prey. The slaves needed a master, but I had no need of slaves.

What shall we think of forty millions of people who complain bitterly of the oppression of a single individual!

Cupidity, envy, vanity, false glory, pursue them like furies through this stormy life; they talk incessantly of virtue, generosity, and love, while, like an incurable cancer, envy, interest, and ambition are gnawing the inner folds of their hearts. They carefully conceal their wickedness, and feign a virtue which they do not possess; they reciprocally lavish flatteries on one another. Though no one of them believes in the honor of the rest, nevertheless, through weakness, they play together the parts they have learned, for want of courage to show themselves such as they are.

The best among them are those who are most condemned, because they do not know how to feign, and the false virtue of the rest gives more éclat to their crimes.

Nothing is more revolting to me than this mania for falsehood, to which I have sometimes been myself obliged to make sacrifices, that I might not expose others.

Their private life is but a constant series of boasting, a disconnected conversation, the repetition of a part carefully studied.

As I saw everywhere that ambition and interest prevailed (taking from all and giving to none), that all wished to command and no one wished to obey, I resolved to terminate this insensate dispute, by taking from all what they desired so eagerly and could not possess; thus, the men who loudly demanded liberty were compelled to learn to know it, and appreciate it by a blind obedience.

It was in this manner that by a voluntary reciprocity each one recovered his due.

Renouncing all these frivolous manners, all these theatrical caricatures of our times, let us be more sincere; less of courtiers, more serious, more reflective, and less apish. This is a sure method, if there is one, of renewing the Golden Age.

For myself, I care very little what may be said, thought, or written of me. I have been accused of having done, and suffered to be done, much evil.

When the storm hovers over the surface of the earth, to purify the air and fertilize the mountains, ought we to complain if, in its course, it carries away roofs and loose tiles, or shakes off the fruits of trees? Even the sun, when he sheds his beneficent light upon the Arctic pole, kills and scorches all vital plants beneath his meridian.

With the amiable popularity of a Cæsar and of a Henry IV, I might not have found, it is true, a single Brutus, but a hundred Ravaillacs.

Although I care little for the people, because they are fickle, flattering, cruel, and capricious as children (for they are always such) and trample beneath their feet to-day those they idolized yesterday, nevertheless I would have promoted their welfare, more than those who have so basely betrayed them.

REJECTED BOOKS THAT WON FAME.

"Ben-Hur," "Vanity Fair," "Jane Eyre," and Scores of Other Masterpieces Were "Declined With Thanks" by Several Publishers.

There used to be an old superstition that a flash of lightning would turn milk sour. This is the sort of effect produced upon a young author by the rejection of a manuscript by a publisher. As the author becomes older, more successful, and more experienced, such incidents do not discourage him, and if he sighs at all, the sigh is one of commiseration for the publisher who cannot appreciate a really good thing when he sees it.

The owner of a rejected manuscript is in good company, for many of the more celebrated works of literature have been summarily returned to their authors by unappreciative publishers.

Few books published in the United States have yielded to their publishers and authors larger returns than "Ben-Hur," by the late Lew Wallace, and yet the manuscript had been rejected by nearly every first-class publisher in this country before it finally was accepted by the Harpers, to whom it was submitted for the second time.

"Rejected Addresses," by Horace and James Smith, was offered to Mr. Murray for twenty pounds, but refused. A publisher, however, purchased it, and, after sixteen editions, Mr. Murray gave a hundred and thirty pounds for the right to issue a new edition. The total amount received by the authors was more than a thousand pounds.

"Jane Eyre," by Charlotte Brontë, was, it is said, rejected by several publishers. This, however, is rather doubtful. We believe the manuscript was sent to Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co., in Cornhill, and there it remained for a long time, till a daughter of one of the publishers read it and recommended her father to publish it. The result is well known. It brought the author fame and money.

"Eöthen," by Mr. Kinglake, was offered to twenty different houses. All refused it. He then, in a fit of desperation, gave the manuscript to an obscure bookseller and found the expenses of publication himself. This also proved a success.

"Vanity Fair," that most famous work of Thackeray's, was written for _Colburn's Magazine_, but it was refused by the publishers as having no interest.

"The History of Ferdinand and Isabella," by Mr. Prescott, was rejected by two of the first publishers in London, and it ultimately appeared under the auspices of Mr. Bentley, who stated that it had more success than any book he had ever published.

The author of "The Diary of a Late Physician" for a long time sought a publisher, and unsuccessfully. At last he gave the manuscript to _Blackwood's Magazine_, where it first appeared and was very successful.

The first volume of Hans Andersen's "Fairy Tales" was rejected by every publisher in Copenhagen. Andersen had then neither name nor popularity, and published this exquisite book at his own expense, a proceeding which soon brought him into notoriety.

Miss Jane Austen's novels, models of writing at this day, at first met with no success. One of them, "Northanger Abbey," was purchased by a publisher in Bath for ten pounds. After paying this sum, he was afraid to risk any further money in its publication, and it remained many years in his possession before he ventured upon the speculation, which, to his surprise, turned out very profitable.

The poet Shelley had always to pay for the publication of his poems.

The "Ode on the Death of Sir John Moore at Corunna" was written by Rev. Charles Wolfe. It was rejected so scornfully by a leading periodical that the author gave it to an obscure Irish paper.

Con Cregan's Legacy.

BY CHARLES LEVER.