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 ON'S

PETERS

INE.

MAGAZ

PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY , 1869.

No. 1.

VOL. LV. " GOD'S

ACRE ."

BY THE AUTHOR OF " COBWEBS ," ETC., ETC.

the elder sister hung the wreath upon it. By this time both were crying bitterly. "Mother ," I heard the younger one say, why did you die ? Oh, mother ! dear mother ! 66 come back to your Gretchen !" And she wept as if her little heart would break. "Hush, darling !" said her sister , hardly able herself to speak. " Mother is happy now : she is literally God's acre. We never had this feeling so forcibly im- is with father ; and both are with the good God." pressed upon us, as when in Germany, in the I waited awhile, till the emotion of the orphans winter that followed the battle of Sadowa . It had partially subsided , and then , led by an irrehad been a wild day, with sleet and snow , and sistible sympathy , addressed them. though the snow had ceased , the wind still blew Their story was a simple one ; nor, alas ! was keen and fierce . Business had called us from it uncommon . Their father had served his time our hotel, and that we might make a short cut, in the army, as all Prussians are compelled to, we passed through the grave -yard attached to been dismissed into the reserve , had married , the old Kloster church . The edifice had been and settled . Neither he, nor any one else, had built in the middle ages , and was hoary with supposed he would be required to serve again ; But it was now occupied by a Protestant for fifty years had passed since the reserves had age.gregation, for the people in that part of But when the war with Auscon n calleed outh. Germany had, at the time of the Reformation, bee , bot the first and second reserves tria cam He was almost disadopted the Lutheran faith. were put into the field. As we crossed the burial -ground, our atten- tracted ; nor was his wife less so. They had tion was attracted by two children, apparently two children , these little girls , and had not yet sisters, very poorly , yet neatly , clad in mourn- been able to save anything. Their whole deing garments. The younger were a faded hood ; pendence was on the labor of the father, for the but the elder had no covering whatever for her mother was weakly, and half the time sick. If head. They struggled on, both holding an old, he went, starvation was imminent. When he tattered umbrella, which was stiff with sleet answered the summons , his wife and children and snow, and which the gale every moment went with him, in the wild hope that they might threatened to tear from their hands. On the persuade the officer to let him off. It was in arm of the elder hung a wreath, which was evi- vain. The officer, indeed, had no discretion .. dently destined to decorate some grave ; for it Thousands of other families were in the same was the custom here, as in most parts of contiSo the father marched erable condition .t nental Europe, thus to testify affection for the mis men ach h , and the mother, taking wit his det

Ir was a beautiful custom with our Saxon ancestors to call the church-yard "God's Acre ;" and it is a custom still observed in many parts of Germany. It seems to say that the little bit of land is holily set apart, not only to the dead , but to Him to whose bosom they have gone. It

dead. r orphans ," I said to myself, "they must " Poo have gone without a meal, perhaps, to buy the wreath . It is for a father or mother , it may be both." And sympathetically I followed them. They soon came to a lonely grave, without head -stone, or any other monument , except a little wooden cross ; and here , kneeling down ,

VOL. LV.- 2

her little ones, went home to die. The mother went home to die. The blow was too much for her. She struggled on till after Sadowa, all the time hearing no word from her husband, and hence fearing that he was already dead, but hoping against hope. But when the news of the great battle came, when the lists of 29

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 170

OUR NEW

COOK- BOOK. - FASHIONS.

To Make Crumpets.-Set two pounds of flour, with a little { Beef-Tea for Infants.-Take one pound and a half of the salt, before the fire till quite warm. Then mix it with best beef-steak, cut it into very small pieces, and put them warm milk and water till it is as stiff as it can be stirred ; into an earthenware jar, with enough cold water to cover the let the milk be as warm as it can be borne with the finger ; meat ; tie the top of the jar on, and put it into a sauce-pan put a cupful of this with three eggs well beaten and mixed full of hot water ; place the sauce-pan on the fire, and allow with three spoonfuls of very thick yeast ; then put this to the it to boil for three hours, by which time all the goodness of batter and beat them all together in a large pan or bowl; the meat will be extracted. This is the pure essence ofbeef. add as much milk and water as will make it into a thick No vegetables, or seasoning of any kind, should be used for batter; cover it close, and put it before the fire to rise ; put babies ; a little salt only should be added. a bit of butter in a piece of thin muslin, tie it up and rub To Make a Candle Burn all Night.-When, as in case of it lightly over the frying-pan ; pour on a sufficient quantity sickness, a dull light is wished, or when matches are misof batter at a time to make one crumpet ; let it do slowly, laid, put finely-powdered salt on the candle, till it reaches and it will be very light. Bake them all the same way. the black part of the wick. In this way a mild and steady They should not be brown, but of a fine yellow color. light may be kept through the night by a small piece of a Ormskirk Gingerbread.-Two and a half pounds of flour, candle. one pound of butter, one pound of molasses, one pound of Hiccup.-It is not generally known that taking a teasugar, a quarter of a pound of candied lemon, cut fine ; spoonful of vinegar will often cure hiccup. ground ginger to taste ; a very little required. It is an improvement to sprinkle a little flour and sugar, mixed dry, over the surface of the paste before cutting out the cakes, FASHIONS FOR FEBRUARY. as it gives them a roughness on the top when baked. They should be baked in a moderate oven. Keep in a tin canister. FIG. 1.- EVENING-DRESS OF GOLD-COLORED SILK, with a Cream Biscuits.-Rub one pound of fresh butter into one white organdy over-dress opening in front, trimmed with pound of flour, make a hole in the center, into which put black velvet, and looped back with tabs of the organdy, half a pound of powdered sugar, upon which the rind of a trimmed with black velvet and blond lace. Body of spotted lemon was rubbed previously to pounding, and three whole net, cut square in the neck, trimmed with black velvet, eggs ; mix the eggs well with the sugar, and then mix all and a band of falling jets around the waist. Long, puffed together, forming a flexible paste ; cut it into round pieces, sleeves. FIG. II.- WALKING OR HOUSE-DRESS.-The under-skirt is of each nearly as large as a walnut, stamp them flat with a black silk, trimmed with fine ruffles of the same ; the upperbutter-stamp, and bake them in a slack oven. Dough-Nuts.-Take three pounds of flour, one pound of skirt is of rich brown poplin, perfectly plain ; over this is a butter, one pound and a half of sugar ; cut the butter fine polonaise, trimmed with a pleating of poplin, made deep into the flour ; beat six eggs light, and put them in ; add enough in front to reach to the black ruffles, having a full two wineglasses of yeast, one pint of milk, some cinna- panier at the back, and looped at the sides with bows of mon, mace, and nutmeg ; make it up into a light dough, and ribbon. Marie Antoinette sleeves. FIG. III.-EVENING-DRESS OF WHITE ORGANDY.-The lowerput it to rise. When it is light enough, roll out the paste, cut it in small pieces, and boil them in lard. skirt has a deep flounce headed by two puffings ; the skirt is Rice Pound-Cake.-One pound of butter, one pound of quite plain, and looped up at each side by bunches of pink powdered loaf-sugar, twelve ounces of flour, half a pound of roses. From the neck, at the back, depends a princess or ground rice, and twelve eggs. Mix as Italian bread, and court train ; this is a straight piece of organdy, fastened by bake it in a papered hoop. If it is required with fruit, put rows at each plait at the neck, and when allowed to fall two pounds of currants, three-quarters of a pound of peel, down, reaches to the bottom of the dress. FIG. IV.- HOUSE OR CARRIAGE-DRESS OF BLUE SILK.- The one nutmeg, grated, and a little pounded mace. Biscuit Cakes.-One pound of flour, five eggs, beaten and long, lower-skirt is perfectly plain ; the upper-skirt is cut strained, eight ounces of sugar, a little rose or orange-flower in a point at the back, and trimmed with a narrow puffing water; beat the whole well together, and bake it one hour. of black satin, edged with yellow. The " Petit Versailles" casaque is also confined by a similar trimming, and is caught together on the back by two butterfly bows. SANITARY. FIG. V.- WALKING-DRESS OF BLACK SILK, looped up quite To Avoid Catching Cold.-Accustom yourselfto the use of sponging with cold water every morning on first getting out high at the sides over a striped petticoat of crimson and striped silk. Low, square neck over a red silk underof bed. It should be followed with a good deal of rubbing black waist. with a wet towel. It has considerable effect in giving tone FIG. VI.-WALKING-DRESS.-The under-skirt is of rich to the skin, and maintaining a proper action in it, and thus proves a safeguard to the injurious influence of cold and sud- fawn-colored silk, with a deep plaited flounce ; the second den changes of temperature. Sir Astley Cooper said, " The skirt is deep in front, slopes up at the back, and is trimmed methods by which I have preserved my own health are- with two puffings of silk, headed by pipings of satin ; the upper-dress is of brown velvet, cut in points, looped up with temperance, early rising, and sponging the body every velvet bows, and trimmed with black lace. morning with cold water immediately after getting out of FIG. VII.-WALKING-DRESS.-The under-skirt is made of bed-a practice which I have adopted thirty years without blue and gray striped poplin ; the upper-skirt is of gray ever catching cold." with an apron front, and ornamented with blue ribFor Chapped Hands.-A wash of bran-water is very sim- poplin, ple and good. Place about a quart of bran în a large basin ; bons. VIII.- HOUSE-DRESS OF GREEN AND BLUE WOOLEN FIG. pour on it half a gallon of boiling rain-water ; when lukewarm, or nearly so, soak the hands in it half an hour before PLAID. This dress is buttoned down the front, and ornagoing to bed, or when they will not immediately be exposed mented with bias bands of the material, edged with narrow to external air. This must be repeated every alternate black velvet. FIG. IX.-CARRIAGE-DRESS OF BLACK SILK, trimmed with night. To Strengthen Vinegar.-Freeze it, and remove the ice bands of fur. GENERAL REMARKS.-In addition to the hats, collars, fichus, which forms on the surface. The water of the vinegar alone freezes, leaving the acetic acid in solution in the re- etc., we give two very pretty full-dress hats, either of which { is suitable for wedding receptions, opera, or any other occamaining water.

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 171 FOR FEBRUARY. there will be any change in that respect ; round waists are sion when more than the ordinary toilet is demanded, and stilBow g uld e. are common additions to housel the makers prevai s on thelin sho when it may be advisable to wear something on the head , g-dress, when two skirts are worn, the The first is a tiny fanchon of white tulle, with a blond veil dresses. For evenin edged with blond, fastened under the chin with a cluster of upper is freedquently looped upus at the back in three puffs , green leaves ; a long branch of fern -leaves, with a pink rose each fasten with an enormo rosette of satin of the color and graceful way to loop up a long at one side, forms the diadem. The second hat is of black of the edress. A simple s ee velvet, with a crimson velvet coronet ; the full, black lace casaqu is as sfollow : Thr loops of braid are sewn at veil is caught together at the neck by a crimson bow ; a equal distance, and all three are looped over a single butplaced on the hips. This style of looping up causes the. small bird, with a long, curling plume, ornaments the front. ton,aqu e to fall in very graceful folds ; above this, or rather We also give two skating -caps ; the first is a blue velvet cas hood, with a large bow covering the crown, and trimmed over the button , a bow, partly made of silk, and partly of g up. The casaque with Chinchilla fur. The other is made in the hat shape, is satin, ised fastened to kconceal the loopin is rais at the bac as far as the waist, and festooned as a ofblack velvet, and trimmed with white eider down. ier. The sleeves are very close fitting, and are Our accounts of the new styles were so full last month, double pan mmed with a revers of poult de soie lined with satin. that we have nothing absolutely new to record, though we triule ts also added, trimmed with a ruche ; small silk might fill volumes if we gave accurate descriptions of all Epa ar are with satin ; the buttons are silk. At the back the new toilets that we daily see on the street. Short coll linedaqu the cas e there are loops edged with satin and wide dresses are deservedly more in favor than ever, the long of ends. If this casaque is made in cloth, it is likewise skirts being reserved entirely for the house and visits silk mme d h ge ve the fringe there are three of ceremony. The tournure is worn very large by some tris witck frinste, dand abo braid. The petticoat is made either persons, but a more moderate -sized one is considered better row of bla wor e, headed by three rows of braid, or else withby people of good taste. The materials and colors of the with a flounc out a flounce, and with five or seven rows of braid. This dress goods are innumerable ; plain materials of all imagin braid is made of very fine alpaca wool, and is most brilliantable colors ; stripes , plaids , and changeables , are all fashionable; and velvets , satins , silks, reps, poplins woolen plaids , The kinglar . ge waistbands, trimmed with either fringe or lace, and a thousand varieties of worsted goods are seen. No one loo called the Almees, are very much worn. This waistband material nor color can strictly be said to be the fashion. and s not reach high up the body, but the fringe or lace falls But the most elegant material worn is the colibris velours, doe down below the waist. When the dress is trimmed with or shot velvets of bright, dazzling colors, is the material flowers, they are either scattered over the entire skirt , or chosen for their composition. Some are exact imitations of else the train is covered with a trellis -work of them, thus the plumage of the humming -bird. There are green velvets transforming a ball-dress into a veritable bouquet offlowers. shot with violet, blue velvets shot with gold , brown velvets We have seen some charming white tulle dresses arranged shot with flame color ; in fact, every variety and contrast in this style. Upon a myriad of narrow tulle frills there imaginable. Black velvets, shot with colors, are also charm- was a trellis -work of white lilac and bouquets of roses fasting; black and emerald green, black and ruby, black and ened down with black velvet bows. A large veil or tunic sapphire, black and topaz, are all most effective ; jewels of white tulle, laminated with silver , fell lightly over this thrown upon the soft, rich grouud could not be more dazcatehav cerg ynew flor . deli tra e alnot hin We to record with regard to either ng. all these velvet costumes are made in the Louis XV. bonnets or mantles ; the styles are as innumerable as the zliAnd s style. The Empres has worn a black velvet, shot with tastes of the wearers , only the former must be very small green, made au Petit Versailles. The make called the " Petit Versailles" is a sort of a casaque, fitting the figure in front, andPOW ing h DERinisfro hig agantin. appear at the French court, and someand loose at the back. It is very like a Watteau, the chief times in our own republican places of amusement we occats ; instead of one large flat plai t sio difference being in the plai ly nal nts ed n orn tents. The plai, itt, has theind and two at the is fas satipass it ; but it is by no means general. The hair esame in waiThe stband beh plai satside. under continuessee to be dressed very high with a profusion of little s lets on the top of the head ; but few ornaments and puff ring used for decorating these costumes are shot, like the hum- are worn ; a pretty addition to the coiffure are satin bows of d s re is g-bir d velv The butetsone min . rule, for the street the dress must be the color ofthe dres, studde here and there in the hair. short, looped up, or with two skirts, and being a full tournure ; for evening wear, a long train ; these may be CHILDREN'S FASHIONS. modified in any way to suit the taste of the wearer. Modi'S SUIT-BLACK VELVET KNICKERBOCKERS, trim1.-BOY FIG. es are becoming popufications of various historical costumabl t fav ht.med with buttons down the side ; loose velvet sacque, fastthese it loo so in remisark brilhlian at or nig g -dres sesks nin, as y ymuc lar eveses fordres Sat . ver in for The mixture of blue and green is adopted not only for plaid, ened with a belt at the waist , and buttoned crosswise from ngsSS ulderLIT cki-DRE theFIG. shoII.. TLE RedGIR mer stoEET . OF GREEN AND BLUE L'SinoSTR but also for shot or striped tissues. They even speak of WOOLEN PLAID.-The skirt is made bias ; the cloak consists ball-dresses, which are to be of blue satin, covered with oftwo capes , one very deep, and both looped up with rosettes green tulle ; this will look very soft, but will not be very in the back in the style known as the Colleen Bawn. becoming, however, one must possess a dazzlingly fair comFIG. m .-HOUSE-DRESS FOR A YOUNG GIRL .-The costume plexion to be able to wear this mixture of blue and green. is of blue poplin ; the under-skirt has a deep plaited ruffle. SASHES with immense bows, but with very short ends , The upper-skirt opens in front, has a narrower ruffle, and is are worn, both with street and house-dresses. h ped are waist, and es ws FOR HOME-DRESS there are many fashions ; but these de- loo up by bo at the sid. Hig, squ pend principally on the material. Woolen materials should S E FIG IV.-LITTLE CHILD' DRESS OF WHIT PIQUE, braided be very simply trimmed, rather long, though less so than long sleeves. ng s last year; a trimmi down the front of button, and a band, SS OF CRIMSON POPLIN FOR A GIRL .-Over -dress is sufficient. When the dress is of silk, nearly all are trim- in FIG. blackV.-DRE . of black velvet, looped up slightly at the sides by small se h hes nce ded h med wit a " Duc " flou, hea wit one or two rows of ribbon. The bodies should be trimmed to imitate a bows ; a puff falls below the waist, and a pointed hood, trimround, square, or pointed pelerine. There has been a talk med with bows, is at the back. of making them pointed, but there is no appearance that

FASHIONS

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BESIDE THE STREAM.

arrive. Neale Ashburton worked with the bravest of them. How they watched and listened, how they prayed and cried, I cannot stop to tell. To perish there, so near to safety! Cecil was very calm, Ashburton's smile had inspired her with a sense of security. Now she had the fullest faith in him. The storm lulled a little, and the vessel no longer pitched with every sea, but that horrible creaking sound, as if she suffered from the cruel wound the rocks had made, still filled their ears. Mrs. Gage was quiet too, now ; but it was only outwardly. She was thinking what a fool she had been, to place her life in jeopardy when it stretched out so fair before her. She had wealth, station, youth, and beauty—what madness to peril it all! She would not give five years of her life for twenty Ashburtons ; and yet it was for his sake she had come. She almost hated him now. Would the morning never dawn ! In this darkness a signal of distress would be of no avail. And how far were they from land ? After what appeared an age, the clouds in the east took a gray tinge, and presently, through the lowering air, that seemed all sea or sky, Capt. Brown descried a strip of shore. They had decided, that as soon as daylight made it practicable, they would fill the small boat with the women, and row ashore, if no other assistance came ; so the plan was put into execution. { The sea had become comparatively smooth, and the distance was not great. They all crowded in, Mrs. Gage taking the lead ; and then they went skimming over the waves, exultant with a sense of safety. Something soft brushed past Ashburton-a woman's dress ! He turned and caught both her hands. "Good heavens !" he exclaimed ; and then his own trembled with the fiercest throe his manhood's passion had ever given him. " Why did you not go ? It's worse than Capt. Brown confessed, for we are filling fast." There was not room for all ; my life is of

BESIDE

less value than that of happy women. " Cecil Durant's voice was low and trembled a little. "You are brave, " he said ; "and yet it is just what I should expect from you. Was there nothing else ?" Through all the morning's gloom his eyes found hers. She felt that they were looking into her soul. "Cecil!" The first time he had ever called her by that name. " There is something else. I wanted to come back to you. I wanted to tell you, if it is not too late- " and her voice failed her. "It is not too late !" softly and reassuringly ; and drawing her nearer to him, until his subtle magnetism seemed to infuse new strength into her throbbing pulses. "That I love you, " she went on to say. ..I would rather remain here and perish with you, than take my life on any other terms." "We shall not perish ; somewhere we shall come to anchor. Cecil, I have been adrift since that night. " They waited in the silence of the gray morning until help arrived. The storm had died away, but the sun was still veiled behind the sullen clouds. What did it matter to Cecil, since the brighter sky of love shone upon her! "There wasn't any real danger, " Neale Ashburton said, with his gay laugh, as they were taking dinner at a fisherman's cottage. " The Firefly is safe enough there, wedged between two rocks, and if we had only known, we might have taken it calmly. But I don't believe we can wait for repairs-so our voyage has ended." Mrs. Gage looked sharply at him. There was a light in his eyes that she had never seen before. Had Cecil Durant's remaining behind anything to do with it ? Sometime in the autumn her doubts were settled by a marriage. Cecil Ashburton makes a very compliant wife. She has learned the true strength and power of a man's soul.

THE

STREAM.

BY CATHARINE ALLAN. BESIDE the stream we wandered, When leaves were green in June, And birds sang out of Heaven, And waters flowed in tune. But now the snow is lying On slope, and bank, and stream, And all that happy Summer Has vanished like a dream.

Beside the stream we wandered, You sketched the mossy mill ; The gnarled old trees about it, The pathway to the hill. The mem'ry floats before me Like some delicious strain; Oh! Winter maybe dreary, But Summer comes again!

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 HIS

LITTLE

ERROR.

BY FRANK LEE BENEDICT.

THE old brown house stood on the slope of It was late in May, one year, when the apple-. the hill, a long way back from the road, and in trees were in their fullest blossom, and the the very center of the great orchard, much to old house like a bower, that Forey Elwyn came the indignation of all the neighbors, who set back to it to die. their houses in the road, and could imagine no He was not forty years old yet, but he had other reason for old Squire Elwyn's putting his worn life thread -bare, and life had worn him where he had, " half a mile from nowhere, " out completely ; so he had returned to the old than that he was " allers a cross - grained critterhouse, that he had not seen for almost twenty that wanted to be different from other folks. " years, to sit on the porch in the pleasant spring But the old man had been many years gone light and listen to the songs of the birds, and too far away to hear their complaints ; and his enjoy the fragrance of the apple-blossoms, as he widowed daughter, who owned the place now, had done in his childish days. was not of a disposition to trouble herself much "I used to dream about them," he said to his more about their opinions than her father had sister. "I could not die till I had seen it all done before her. She was not fond of company, once more." And Mrs. Forrest looked very grim in her and, perhaps, was glad the steep hill stretched between her domain and the little attempt at a effort to hide how shocked she was by the village, which had no more dignified appellation changes in him, and said only that she'd no than the " Corners." doubt he'd be better there-nothing like native Probably, no lover of the beautiful would have air for people that were not strong. found fault with Squire Elwyn's choice. The Verily, he had never been strong physically great orchard could be seen for miles, for he or mentally, this poor Forey Elwyn ; yet it would had taken possession of the loftiest hill in the have been difficult to tell exactly what was valley region ; and whether spring made it look wanting. in the distance like a white cloud settling slowly His life, like many another life that never is down, or in summer it stretched out in a long, written, had been a failure ; yet at no stage of green sweep, like the graceful swell of billows, it would Solomon himself have known exactly it was always a picturesque feature in the land- how to bid him set it right ; nor had it been such from indolence or vice. We say certain scape. Forty years before, the old man had planted people are born to ill luck, or under an evil his first trees, and laid the foundation of his star ; it was said, long before our time, of past house ; and though the dwelling was an ordi- and gone unfortunates, and will be said in time nary affair enough originally, age had invested to come ; and nobody means the phrase to sound it with certain charms, though scarcely of the either atheistical or paganish, and yet it has sort to appeal loudly to the practical people of both significations if we were to analyze it. the neighborhood. There was a long porch But it matters little-Forey Elwyn's life had covered with woodbine and bitter-sweet ; stout, been a failure, or seemed such ; though, I supold running roses clambered up the windows ; pose, when we reach a higher sphere of existviolets and flowering almonds, and white and ence, somewhere away off, up among the endless yellow lilies, and wild geraniums and pinks, cycles, we shall be able to understand the things and hosts of other common flowers-the com- which have perplexed us here, and comprehend monest and the most beautiful in the world- the meaning of each of these incomplete lives, grew in luxuriance about the lawn-not that it and see how, in spite of their imperfections and was ever called that ; and the robins and cat- their incompleteness, they served their purpose birds, and even the shy, brown thrushes, loved in the perfect fullness ofthe plan of the Almighty to make their nests in the trees ; and all sum- Father. And Forey had come back to the old house to mer long golden orioles flitted about the porch, and wrens, and bobolinks, and song sparrows, die-it was well. In spite of our tears and our haunted the garden ; so that, from the first peep lamentations, it is always well when tired men of dawn till sunset, the air was vocal with music and women go away from this world. It is that meanest sort of sin, weakness, when we mean that could not be surpassed. 137

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BESIDE THE STREAM.

arrive. Neale Ashburton worked with the less value than that of happy women. " Cecil bravest of them. How they watched and list- Durant's voice was low and trembled a little. "You are brave, " he said ; "and yet it is just ened, how they prayed and cried, I cannot stop what I should expect from you. Was there to tell. To perish there, so near to safety! Cecil was very calm, Ashburton's smile had nothing else ?" Through all the morning's gloom his eyes inspired her with a sense of security. Now she had the fullest faith in him. The storm lulled found hers. She felt that they were looking a little, and the vessel no longer pitched with into her soul. "Cecil!" The first time he had ever called every sea, but that horrible creaking sound, as if she suffered from the cruel wound the rocks her by that name. "There is something else. I wanted to come had made, still filled their ears. Mrs. Gage was quiet too, now ; but it was back to you. I wanted to tell you, if it is not only outwardly. She was thinking what a fool too late " and her voice failed her. "It is not too late !" softly and reassuringly ; she had been, to place her life in jeopardy when it stretched out so fair before her. She had and drawing her nearer to him, until his subile wealth, station, youth, and beauty-what mad- magnetism seemed to infuse new strength into ness to peril it all ! She would not give five her throbbing pulses. " That I love you," she went on to say. "I years of her life for twenty Ashburtons ; and yet it was for his sake she had come. She almost would rather remain here and perish with you, hated him now. than take my life on any other terms." "We shall not perish ; somewhere we shall Would the morning never dawn ! In this darkness a signal of distress would be of no avail. come to anchor. Cecil, I have been adrift since that night." And how far were they from land? They waited in the silence of the gray mornAfter what appeared an age, the clouds in the east took a gray tinge, and presently, throughing until help arrived. The storm had died the lowering air, that seemed all sea or sky, away, but the sun was still veiled behind the Capt. Brown descried a strip of shore. They sullen clouds. What did it matter to Cecil, since had decided, that as soon as daylight made it the brighter sky of love shone upon her ! practicable, they would fill the small boat with "There wasn't any real danger, " Neale Ashthe women, and row ashore, if no other assist- burton said, with his gay laugh, as they were ance came ; so the plan was put into execution . taking dinner at a fisherman's cottage. "The The sea had become comparatively smooth, and Firefly is safe enough there, wedged between the distance was not great. two rocks, and if we had only known, we might They all crowded in, Mrs. Gage taking the have taken it calmly. But I don't believe lead; and then they went skimming over the we can wait for repairs-so our voyage has ended." waves, exultant with a sense of safety. Mrs. Gage looked sharply at him . There was Something soft brushed past Ashburton - a woman's dress ! He turned and caught both a light in his eyes that she had never seen beher hands. fore. Had Cecil Durant's remaining behind any"Good heavens !" he exclaimed ; and then thing to do with it ? Sometime in the autumn her doubts were his own trembled with the fiercest throe his manhood's passion had ever given him. "Why settled by a marriage. Cecil Ashburton makes a very compliant wife. did you not go? It's worse than Capt. Brown She has learned the true strength and power of confessed, for we are filling fast." There was not room for all ; my life is of a man's soul.

BESIDE

THE

STREAM.

BY CATHARINE ALLAN. BESIDE the stream we wandered, When leaves were green in June, And birds sang out of Heaven, And waters flowed in tune. But now the snow is lying On slope, and bank, and stream, And all that happy Summer Has vanished like a dream.

Beside the stream we wandered, You sketched the mossy mill; The gnarled old trees about it, The pathway to the hill. The mem'ry floats before me Like some delicious strain; Oh! Winter may be dreary, But Summer comes again!

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 HIS

LITTLE

ERROR.

BY FRANK LEE BENEDICT. THE old brown house stood on the slope of the hill, a long way back from the road, and in the very center of the great orchard, much to the indignation of all the neighbors, who set their houses in the road, and could imagine no other reason for old Squire Elwyn's putting his where he had, " half a mile from nowhere," than that he was " allers a cross-grained critter that wanted to be different from other folks." But the old man had been many years gone too far away to hear their complaints ; and his widowed daughter, who owned the place now, was not of a disposition to trouble herself much more about their opinions than her father had done before her. She was not fond of company, and, perhaps, was glad the steep hill stretched between her domain and the little attempt at a village, which had no more dignified appellation than the 66 Corners." Probably, no lover of the beautiful would have found fault with Squire Elwyn's choice. The great orchard could be seen for miles, for he had taken possession of the loftiest hill in the valley region ; and whether spring made it look in the distance like a white cloud settling slowly down, or in summer it stretched out in a long, green sweep, like the graceful swell of billows, it was always a picturesque feature in the landscape. Forty years before, the old man had planted his first trees, and laid the foundation of his house ; and though the dwelling was an ordinary affair enough originally, age had invested it with certain charms, though scarcely of the sort to appeal loudly to the practical people of the neighborhood. There was a long porch covered with woodbine and bitter-sweet ; stout, old running roses clambered up the windows ; violets and flowering almonds, and white and yellow lilies, and wild geraniums and pinks, and hosts of other common flowers-the commonest and the most beautiful in the worldgrew in luxuriance about the lawn- not that it was ever called that ; and the robins and catbirds, and even the shy, brown thrushes, loved to make their nests in the trees ; and all summer long golden orioles flitted about the porch, and wrens, and bobolinks, and song sparrows, haunted the garden ; so that, from the first peep of dawn till sunset, the air was vocal with music that could not be surpassed.

It was late in May, one year, when the apple-. trees were in their fullest blossom, and the old house like a bower, that Forey Elwyn came back to it to die. He was not forty years old yet, but he had worn life thread-bare, and life had worn him out completely ; so he had returned to the old house, that he had not seen for almost twenty years, to sit on the porch in the pleasant spring light and listen to the songs of the birds, and enjoy the fragrance of the apple-blossoms, as he had done in his childish days. "I used to dream about them, " he said to his sister. " I could not die till I had seen it all once more." And Mrs. Forrest looked very grim in her effort to hide how shocked she was by the changes in him, and said only that she'd no doubt he'd be better there- nothing like native air for people that were not strong. Verily, he had never been strong physically or mentally, this poor Forey Elwyn ; yet it would have been difficult to tell exactly what was wanting. His life, like many another life that never is written, had been a failure ; yet at no stage of it would Solomon himself have known exactly how to bid him set it right ; nor had it been such from indolence or vice. We say certain people are born to ill luck, or under an evil star ; it was said, long before our time, of past and gone unfortunates, and will be said in time to come ; and nobody means the phrase to sound either atheistical or paganish, and yet it has both significations if we were to analyze it. But it matters little- Forey Elwyn's life had been a failure, or seemed such ; though, I suppose, when we reach a higher sphere of existence, somewhere away off, up among the endless cycles, we shall be able to understand the things which have perplexed us here, and comprehend the meaning of each of these incomplete lives, and see how, in spite of their imperfections and their incompleteness, they served their purpose in the perfect fullness of the plan of the Almighty Father. And Forey had come back to the old house to die-it was well. In spite of our tears and our lamentations, it is always well when tired men and women go away from this world. It is that meanest sort of sin, weakness, when we mean 137

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 KUWA

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• E

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 PETERSON'S MAGAZINE - MARCH, 1869.

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 FOR MARCH FASHIONS CHILDREN'S

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 Bertha

NAME FOR MARKING.

WALKING-DRESS.

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 Cecile NAME FOR MARKING.

WALKING-DRESS.

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 HEAD-DRESS. BONNET AND HATS.

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 NEW STYLE OF DRESSING THE HAIR. HAT. COLLAR. FICHU. BODY.

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 Cl

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NAMES FOR MARKING. INITIALS. HANDKERCHIEF CORNERS.

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03419

HANDKERCHIEF CORNER. DESIGN FOR FLANNEL EMBROIDERY. INITIALS.

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 MARRIOTT

POLKA.

Composed and Arranged for the Piano-Forte.

BY

M.

A.

ASAY.

Published by permission of SEP. WINNER, 926 Spring Garden St., Philadelphia.

Moderato.

PIANO.

P

cres.

O2 64

Fine.

f

D.C.

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 MARRIOTT

POLKA.

6

P dolce.

TRIO. 6

f

D. C. AL FINE.

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Rh

yellowish when illuminated by the sun. The column was of a cylindrical form, rather encreasing in width towards the upper extremity. These columns moved forward on the surface of the sea, and the clouds not following them with equal rapidity, they assumed a bent or incurvated shape, and frequently appeared crossing each other, evidently proceeding in different directions; from whence we concluded, that it being calm, each of these water-spouts caused a wind of its own. At last they broke one after another, being probably too much distended by the difference between their motion and that of the clouds. In proportion as the clouds came nearer to us, the sea appeared more and more covered with short broken waves, and the wind continually veered all round the compass, without fixing in any point. We soon saw a spot on the sea, within two hundred fathom of us, in a violent agitation. The water, in a space of fifty or sixty fathoms, moved towards the centre, and there rising into vapour, by the force of the whirling motion, ascended in a spiral form towards the clouds. Some hailstones fell on board about this time, and the clouds looked exceedingly black and louring above us. Directly over the whirl-pool, if I may so call the agitated spot on the sea, a cloud gradually tapered into a long slender tube, which seemed to descend to meet the rising spiral, and soon united with it into a strait column of a cylindrical form. We could distinctly observe the


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 such work of comparison. The question of fact is raised by the previous article commending the so-called New Education: How does it work? What better way to answer the question thus raised than to compare the tabulated results (so far as such results can be tabulated) of the new method with those reached by a somewhat different method? I select Yale to compare with Harvard, as a matter of course, for I am a teacher at Yale, and can most easily obtain trustworthy statistics concerning educational affairs in my own college. Moreover, there is a certain fitness in comparing these two great institutions. Harvard is avowedly the only thorough representative of what Professor Palmer calls the New Education; Yale is certainly the leading representative of those more conservative tendencies in education to which what is called "new" is understood to be opposed. I shall, therefore, follow his argument from experience, point by point, showing how the results of experience here compare with those obtained at Harvard under its new method.

Before bringing forward statistics, and thus putting myself into the attitude of an antagonist or carping critic toward Professor Palmer, I crave the opportunity of expressing my sympathy and agreement with him on several important points. It is true that the world of science and learning has changed and enlarged with wonderful rapidity of


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310 For several years Mahomet continued to preach with little apparent success. His converts were, with rare exceptions, persons of a low class or even foreign slaves, such as Bilāl the Abyssinian. Some members of his own family, in particular his uncle 'Abd-al-'Uzzā, nicknamed Abū Lahab, bitterly opposed him; even his protector Abū Ṭālib remained to the last an unbeliever. It would be a mistake to suppose that the enemies of the new faith were actuated by religious fanaticism. They were, for the most part, simply men of the world who, proud of their social position, objected to recognising the claims of an upstart and dreaded any sweeping change as likely to endanger the material advantages which they derived from the traditional cult. To the majority of the citizens Mahomet appeared a madman; some called him a "poet," an accusation which gave him great pain, for, as the Koran shews, he regarded the poets with peculiar aversion. That he had to endure many affronts was quite natural, but actual violence could not have been employed against him without risk of a blood-feud, which the Meccans were always most anxious to avoid. Those of his disciples, however, who had no relatives to protect them were occasionally treated with cruelty. At length the majority of the converts, finding their position intolerable, fled for refuge to Abyssinia, with the full consent, if not at the express command, of the Prophet. He himself remained at Mecca with a mere handful of followers.

When it became known that the emigrants had been kindly received by the Christian king of Abyssinia, considerable alarm prevailed among the chiefs of the Ḳuraish, lest the Abyssinians, whose devastating invasions were still vividly remembered, should be tempted to intervene on behalf of the persecuted Muslims. Accordingly a deputation was sent from Mecca for the purpose of persuading the king to hand over the fugitives as prisoners; the king, however, refused, whereupon the indignation of Mahomet's enemies was still further excited. The Prophet, reduced to extremities, fell into the error of attempting to overcome opposition by means of a compromise. He went so far as to publish a revelation in which the three principal goddesses of Mecca were recognised as "highly exalted beings whose intercession may be hoped for." For a while the polytheists appeared to be satisfied, and a report that the persecution was at an end caused some of the emigrants to come back from Abyssinia. In the meanwhile the Prophet repented of the concession he had made, and declared that the verse in question had been put into his mouth by Satan. The feud thereupon broke out afresh. To the heathen Meccans Mahomet's conduct on this occasion naturally seemed to convict him of imposture; since, however, he had long been accustomed to regard all his impulses as due to some


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Rh supernatural cause, it is by no means certain that he did not sincerely believe himself to be acting by divine command both when he made the concession and when he withdrew it.

It was probably about this time that an important conversion took place, that of Omar ('Umar) ibn al-Khaṭṭāb, a young man of no high social position but endowed with extraordinary ability and perseverance. He had at first been vehemently opposed to the new religion, so that his sudden conversion, of which there are several conflicting accounts, attracted all the more notice and doubtless inspired the Muslims with fresh courage. It is said that he set the example of praying publicly, in the neighbourhood of the Ka'ba; at all events from this time onwards the movement assumed a more open character. The chiefs of the Ḳuraish finally determined to adopt the only method of coercion known to them, short of positive violence; they offered to Mahomet's kinsmen, the Banū Hāshim, the choice of declaring him an outlaw or of being themselves excluded from intercourse with the other Meccan clans. Most of the Banū Hāshim were still unbelievers, but such was the sanctity attached to ties of blood that they all, with one or two exceptions, preferred to incur the penalty of social excommunication rather than deliver over Mahomet to his enemies. How long this breach lasted and by what means it was healed is uncertain; probably the manifold inconveniences which it caused to all parties soon brought about a change of public opinion.

Very soon after intercourse had been re-established between the Banū Hāshim and their fellow-townsmen, two serious calamities befell Mahomet, the death of his wife Khadīja and that of his protector Abū Ṭālib. There can be little doubt that this double bereavement rendered the Prophet's position at Mecca more precarious; henceforth he began to consider the possibility of finding a home elsewhere. His first attempt was made at a neighbouring town, called Ṭā'if, but he met with so unfavourable a reception that he speedily returned to Mecca, where he succeeded in obtaining a promise of protection from an influential heathen, Muṭ'im ibn 'Adī. For two or three years the Prophet remained in his native city, making, it would seem, scarcely any effort to gain fresh converts among the resident population. His attention was turned chiefly to the pilgrims who visited Mecca or the immediate neighbourhood on the occasion of the yearly festivals. To these motley crowds he used to preach his doctrines, generally encounter-


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Rh blessings of civilisation were derived, and whose inhabitants could enter into various relations, friendly and hostile, with those of this world. There are traces, too, of the conception of local other-worlds, to be found underneath lakes and parts of the sea, while, both in Irish and Welsh legend, there are vestiges of a belief in the blissful conditions of life on certain fabulous islands. In Welsh legend, too, it would appear that the wild country of Northern Britain was regarded as a haunted region. In some Welsh medieval poems there are echoes of a belief that the souls of the departed made their home in the Caledonian forest.

With regard to the priests of Britain and Ireland, we have little direct knowledge, but, though the Irish drui may conceivably be a borrowed word from the Gallo-Latin druida, it is most probable that it is a native word, and, in any case, the part played by the druids in Irish society as magicians and seers in the legends of Ireland would be their natural part in pre-Christian times. In Welsh society, too, the continuance into fairly recent times of the practice of having recourse to wizards in certain emergencies, points to the antiquity in Welsh life of the institution of the sorcerer. The best description that can be given of Britain and Ireland in the days of their heathendom, is that of countries whose inhabitants could have been seldom free by night or by day from a sense of being haunted, but whose gloom was relieved by visions of happy other-lands, into which the privileged might some day enter. Doubtless, in close conjunction with Keltic heathendom, there was at one time much oral mythology, the fragments of which can now only with difficulty be disentangled from the mass of Keltic medieval and modern folk-lore.

There is one problem upon which no light appears to be available, namely the religious organisation through which was maintained the worship of the major Keltic deities, whose names are found in the British Isles as well as on the Continent, and the distinction, if any, that was made between their worship and that of the minor local deities. All that we know is, from the survival of some of their names, that the tradition of their worship was not entirely lost. At Bath there are remains of a temple dedicated to Sulis, who was identified with Minerva. At Caerwent and Lydney there are also remains of temples, the latter dedicated to a Keltic god, Nodens or Nodons. Near Carrawburgh there was a temple belonging to the British water-goddess Coventina, and at Benwell in a small temple there were found two altars, one to Anociticus and the other to Antenociticus. For an account of these temples the reader is referred to Ward's Romano-British Buildings and Earthworks (London, Methuen & Co., 1911).


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 1898.] "Half an hour passed. Suddenly there was a frightful racket, rattle, clanking of chain, hiss of water, and millions of sparks flew up into the shivering column of smoke that stood leaning slightly above the ship. The cat-heads had burned away, and the two red-hot anchors had gone to the bottom, tearing out after them two hundred fathom of red-hot chain. The ship trembled, the mass of flame swayed as if ready to collapse, and the fore top-gallant-mast fell. It darted down like an arrow of fire, shot under, and instantly leaping up within an oar's-length of the boats, floated quietly, very black on the luminous sea. I hailed the deck again. After some time a man in an unexpectedly cheerful but also muffled tone, as though he had been trying to speak with his mouth shut, informed me, 'Coming directly, sir,' and vanished. For a long time I heard nothing but the whirr and roar of the fire. There were also whistling sounds. The boats jumped, tugged at the painters, ran at each other playfully, knocked their sides together, or, do what we would, swung in a bunch against the ship's side. I couldn't stand it any longer, and swarming up a rope, clambered aboard over the stern.

"It was as bright as day. Coming up like this, the sheet of fire facing me, was a terrifying sight, and the heat seemed hardly bearable at first. On a settee cushion dragged out of the cabin, Captain Beard, his legs drawn up and one arm under his head, slept with the light playing on him. Do you know what the rest were busy about? They were sitting on deck right aft, round an open case, eating bread and cheese and drinking bottled stout.

"On the background of flames twisting in fierce tongues above their heads they seemed at home like salamanders, and looked like a band of desperate pirates. The fire sparkled in the whites of their eyes, gleamed on patches of white skin seen through the torn shirts. Each had the marks as of a battle about him—bandaged heads, tied-up arms, a strip of dirty rag round a knee—and each man had a bottle between his legs and a chunk of cheese in his hand. Mahon rose. With his handsome and disreputable head, his hooked profile, his long white beard, and a pint bottle of stout in his hand, he resembled one of those reckless sea-robbers of old making merry amidst violence and disaster. 'The last meal on board,' he explained to me. 'We had nothing to eat all day, and it was no use leaving all this.' He flourished the bottle about, and indicated the sleeping skipper. 'He said he couldn't swallow anything, so I got him to lie down,' he went on; and as I stared, 'I don't know whether you are aware, young fellow, the man had no sleep to speak of for days—and there will be dam' little sleep in the boats.' 'There will be no boats by-and-by if you fool about much longer'’ I said, indignantly. I walked up to the skipper and shook him by the shoulder. At last he opened his eyes, but did not move. 'Time to leave her, sir,' I said, quietly.

"He got up painfully, looked at the flames, at the sea sparkling round the ship, and black, black as ink farther away; he looked at the stars shining dim through a thin veil of smoke in a sky black, black as Erebus.

Youngest first,' he said.

"And the ordinary seaman, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, got up, clambered over the taffrail, and vanished. Others followed. One, on the point of going over, stopped short to drain his bottle, and with a great swing of


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 He was clearly also not only the product but the master of his environment.

"Well, well, Mr. Quaritch, many's the time I've been thinking of the days we had with old Tom way up on the Roustik."

"They were good days, Joe, were n't they?"

"Sure, sure, they were!"

"I hope we shall have some more together."

"If it's hunting you want, I'm glad you're here, Mr. Quaritch. There's a fine buck using around by Widdeney Pond. Maybe we will get a look at him come sunset, for he 'most always moves out of the thick bush about dark." Then humour lit a spark in his splendid grey eyes as he looked up at me. "But we'll have a cup o' tea first."

November Joe's (by the way, I ought to mention that his birth in the month of November had given him his name), as I say, November Joe's weakness for tea had in the old days been a target upon which I had often exercised my faculty for irony and banter. The weakness was evidently still alive. I smiled; perhaps it was a relief to find a weak point in this alarmingly adequate young man.

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 "I had hoped to have a hunt with you, November," said I. "Indeed, that is what I came for, and there's nothing I'd like better than to try for your red-deer buck to-night, but while I was at Harding's there was a ring-up on the 'phone, and the Provincial Police sent through a message for you. It appears that a man named Henry Lyon has been shot in his camp at Big Tree Portage. A lumberman found him, and 'phoned the news into Quebec. The Chief of Police wants you to take on the case. He told me to say that success would mean fifty dollars."

"That's too bad," said Joe. "I'd sooner hunt a deer than a man any day. Makes a fellow feel less bad-like when he comes up with him. Well, Mr. Quaritch, I must be getting off, but you'll be wanting another guide. There's Charley Paul down to St. Amiel."

"Look here, November, I don't want Charley Paul or any other guide but you. The fact of the matter is, that Sir Andrew McLerrick, the great doctor who was out with you last fall, has told me that I have been overdoing it and must come into the woods for rest. I've three

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] from that of the domestic cock. The comb of the wild cock is not red, but of a whitish colour, with a slight tinge of violet, which grows somewhat deeper towards the edges. The greater part of the swamps in the neighbourhood of our dwelling were covered with very large leaves of the nymphea nelumbo, upon which we frequently observed a species of bird similar to that called parra sinensis; and admired the lightness with which it walked over the surface of the water, stepping with its long legs from one leaf to the other.

At a small distance westward of the village of Porou, we saw two colossal statues, called by the Javanese rectio, and in high veneration amongst them. They were both hewn out of blocks of stone eleven feet high; their drapery was very wide, and the physiognomy of the two heads bore a Moorish character. To me it appeared probable that these statues had been erected in honour of some of the Moorish conquerors of the Moluccas; but the natives could give us no information upon this head.

The Dutch serjeant who accompanied us was a passionate admirer of the music of the Javanese. Soon after our arrival at Porou, he sent for a female singer, whose shrill voice was accompanied by two musicians, who played every evening upon


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328 instruments, one of which resembled a dulcimer, and the other a mandolin. Whilst we were employed in preparing and describing our collections, we were obliged to hear, for several hours together, this discordant music, which, however, had always charms sufficient to attract a great concourse of the natives round the performers.

All the airs were sung in the Javanese language. They generally turned upon the subject of love, as our serjeant, who understood the Javanese language perfectly well, interpreted them to us. He told us that these airs were all impromptu as those sung by the singing-women of Java generally are. Ours accompanied her voice with a variety of gestures appropriate to the subject, and especially with certain movements of her fingers of very difficult execution, which were much applauded by the natives. If report does not do them injustice, these singing-women are not distinguished by any extraordinary rigidity of virtue.

On the 20th we returned to Sourabaya.

Citizen Riche and I had formed a plan of spending some time among the mountains of Passervan, to which we had approached very near during our last excursion. They are very high, and we had often heard their fertility much spoken of. Grain is cultivated there with great


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24 layers of blue ice' was a remarkable feature; one could imagine that these layers represent surfaces which have been transformed by regelation under hot sun and wind.

This point required investigation.

The second berg was distinguished by innumerable vertical cracks. These seemed to run criss-cross and to weaken the structure, so that the various seracs formed by them had bent to different angles and shapes, giving a very irregular surface to the berg, and a face scarred with immense vertical fissures.

One imagines that such a berg has come from a region of ice disturbance such as King Edward's Land.

We have seen a good many whales to-day, rorquals with high black spouts—Balænoptera Sibbaldi.

The birds with us: Antarctic and snow petrel—a fulmar—and this morning Cape pigeon.

We have pack ice farther north than expected, and it's impossible to interpret the fact. One hopes that we shall not have anything heavy, but I'm afraid there's not much to build upon. 10 —We have made good progress throughout the day, but the ice streams thicken as we advance, and on either side of us the pack now appears in considerable fields. We still pass quantities of bergs, perhaps nearly one-half the number tabular, but the rest worn and fantastic.

The sky has been wonderful, with every form of cloud in every condition of light and shade; the sun has continually appeared through breaks in the cloudy heavens from time to time, brilliantly illuminating some field of pack, some steep-walled berg, or some patch of bluest sea.


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576 At present our sledge and ski leave deeply ploughed tracks which can be seen winding for miles behind. It is distressing, but as usual trials are forgotten when we camp, and good food is our lot. Pray God we get better travelling as we are not so fit as we were, and the season is advancing apace.

Tuesday, February 21.—R. 35. Lunch Temp. −9½°; Supper Temp. −11°. Gloomy and overcast when we started; a good deal warmer. The marching almost as bad as yesterday. Heavy toiling all day, inspiring gloomiest thoughts at times. Rays of comfort when we picked up tracks and cairns. At lunch we seemed to have missed the way, but an hour or two after we passed the last pony walls, and since, we struck a tent ring, ending the march actually on our old pony-tracks. There is a critical spot here with a long stretch between cairns. If we can tide that over we get on the regular cairn route, and with luck should stick to it; but everything depends on the weather. We never won a march of 8½ miles with greater difficulty, but we can't go on like this. We are drawing away from the land and perhaps may get better things in a day or two. I devoutly hope so.

Wednesday, February 22.—R. 36. Supper Temp. −2°. There is little doubt we are in for a rotten critical time going home, and the lateness of the season may make it really serious. Shortly after starting to-day the wind grew very fresh from the S.E. with strong surface drift. We lost the faint track immediately, though covering ground fairly rapidly. Lunch came without sight of the cairn we had hoped to pass. In the afternoon, Bowers


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80

Must rectify our knowledge.

Pro. Sir, my liege,

Do not infest your mind with beating on

The strangeness of this business: at pick'd leisure

Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you,—

Which to you shall seem probable,—of every

These happen'd accidents; till when, be cheerful,

And think of each thing well.—

[Aside to Ari.] Come hither, spirit;

Set Caliban and his companions free;

Untie the spell. [Exit Ari.] How fares my gracious sir?

There are yet missing of your company

Some few odd lads that you remember not.

Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let

no man take care for himself, for all is but

fortune.—Coragio! bully-monster, Coragio!

Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in

my head, here's a goodly sight.

Cal. O Setebos! these be brave spirits, indeed.

How fine my master is! I am afraid

He will chastise me.

Seb. Ha, ha!

What things are these, my lord Antonio?

Will money buy them?

Ant. Very like; one of them

Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable.

Pro. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords,

Then say, if they be true—This mis-shapen knave,—

 246 infest: vex

247 pick'd: chosen

248 resolve: explain to

258 Coragio: courage

267 badges; cf. n.

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The Tempest, V. i

His mother was a witch; and one so strong

That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,

And deal in her command without her power.

These three have robb'd me; and this demi-devil,—

For he's a bastard one,—had plotted with them

To take my life: two of these fellows you

Must know and own; this thing of darkness I

Acknowledge mine.

Cal. I shall be pinch'd to death.

Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler?

Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine?

Alon. And Trinculo is reeling-ripe: where should they

Find this grand liquor that hath gilded them?

How cam'st thou in this pickle?

Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I

saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of

my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing.

Seb. Why, how now, Stephano!

Ste. O! touch me not: I am not Stephano, but a

cramp.

Pro. You'd be king of the isle, sirrah?

Ste. I should have been a sore one then.

Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on.

[Pointing to Cal.]

Pro. He is as disproportion'd in his manners

As in his shape.—Go, sirrah, to my cell;

Take with you your companions: as you look

To have my pardon, trim it handsomely.

Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter,

And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass

Was I, to take this drunkard for a god,

 271 Cf. n.

280 gilded: flushed

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 late. It is, of course, also true that both the matter and the method of education must change accordingly. The literary communication of nations is now such that no man can be the most successful student of any subject who is not able to use at least two or three of those languages in which the results of modern researches are chiefly recorded. The ancient classics can never again hold the same relatively great or exclusive place in the study of language, or as mental discipline. The new science, psychological and political, no less than physical, will certainly have its rights regarded. The subject-matter of education must change. It is also true that methods of education must change. The modern teacher stands in a different relation to his pupils from that held by the teacher of bygone days. He has a larger work than that of giving out tasks; he must rely on something more in his hearers than their reverence for his ex-officio dignity and their readiness to accept his ipse dixit. He must also stand in relations towards his pupils that are different from those which formerly obtained with respect to their discipline in manners and morals.

But it is simple matter of fact that all our most respectable educational institutions are recognizing the facts and truths to which I have just alluded, and are recognizing them in practical ways. Surely no most excessive admirer of Harvard and


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 its methods would think of denying that other colleges also have made a large place for the new sciences, are using improved ways of instruction with fresh enthusiasm on the part of both teachers and pupils, and have their eyes and hearts open to all that is going on in the wide world of science and learning. No one acquainted with Yale at present, as compared with Yale fifty or even twenty-five years since, could for a moment doubt that much of its education is worthy of being called "new."

With the ethical spirit of Professor Palmer's article I am also in the fullest accord; he meets a hearty response from the Yale method when he proposes to measure the success of education by standards that are strong and high in an ethical way. I, too, understand the end of education to be not merely information in certain subjects—few or many—of scientific or historical research, but, also and chiefly, control of the faculties, and vigorous, reasonable, symmetrical use of them for the attainment of worthy ideals. And if he will show me that the so-called New Education really does "uplift character as no other training can, and through influence on character ennoble all methods of teaching and discipline," I will not wait to be his ardent convert. It is precisely because of my fears that it will not accomplish this in the majority of cases that I am reluctant to accept the methods


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Rh

growth of art, and of poetic art especially, in antiquity was intimately associated with the development of national festivals. The extraordinary thanksgiving-festival of the Roman community which had been organized in the previous period mainly under Greek influence, the ludi maximi, or Romani (P. 235), acquired during the present epoch a longer duration, and greater variety in the amusements. Originally limited to one day, the festival was prolonged by an additional day after the happy termination of each of the three great revolutions of, , and , and thus at the close of this period it had already a duration of four days.

A still more important circumstance was, that, probably on the institution of the curule ædileship which was from


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 When the burst is close enough to the bottom, as in the BAKER shot of CROSSROADS, an underwater crater may be formed, and the material excavated from it will be radioactive and contribute to the residual radiation inventory.

The primary source of personnel exposure from the BAKER shot was not the radioactive pool of water, however, but from contact with the target ships, which had been bathed in the radioactively contaminated water, sand, and coral that rained down upon them from the cloud and from the radioactive mist (base surge) that rolled out from the base of the underwater explosion column.

A nuclear explosion produces three types of radiation that posed a potential hazard to CROSSROADS participants: alpha, beta, and gamma radiation. When any of these encounters living tissue, it transfers some of its energy to the target atoms, tearing off some or all of their electrons. This leaves the atoms with a positive electrical charge. This process is called ionization. This tearing off of the electrons destroys the bonds holding together the complex molecules making up living tissue and leaves the tissue damaged to some extent. At low levels of radiation, the damage is minor and probably does not adversely affect the individual's health or longevity. At higher levels, the reverse is true.

Gamma rays are electromagnetic radiation, differing from the more familiar radio waves and x-rays in that they have higher frequency and shorter wavelength. They are produced in great quantities and with very high energy during a nuclear explosion. They are also given off during the decay of the radioactive isotopes produced by a nuclear explosion. They can travel long distances and can readily penetrate clothing and skin. Because the personnel conducting Operation CROSSROADS were miles from the two detonations, the gamma hazard to them came from radioactive isotopes left in the target area or carried from it by wind or tide or on the participating ships or planes or even on the bodies of the personnel themselves. The radiation detection instruments used during CROSSROADS readily detected gamma rays.

Beta particles are electrons. Like gamma rays, they are given off by a nuclear explosion or by the radioactive isotopes produced by the explosion. Unlike gamma rays, however, beta particles do not travel far and, except at high energies, are stopped by clothing or the outer layers of skin. They are a greater hazard if isotopes emitting them are taken into the body or are left in contact with skin for a long period. Beta radiation was measured fairly well by several types of safety instruments used during CROSSROADS.

Alpha particles are made up of two protons and two neutrons. With the addition of two electrons, each becomes a helium atom. Alpha particles are given off by some radioactive isotopes created in a nuclear explosion and by unfissioned uranium or plutonium. Because alpha particles are relatively massive, they do not travel far, about 1 or 2 inches in air. The skin, clothing, or even a piece of paper will stop them. However, if the material emitting them enters the body and lodges there, the alpha particles can do great harm because they cause a high rate of ionization. The decay time of many alpha emitters is long. Plutonium only loses half of its alpha particles in 24,000 years! As described in detail in Chapter 2, the safety instruments available at CROSSROADS for detecting alpha particles directly were few in number and would not operate

26

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Chap. IX.] the first intrusted with the preparation and oversight of the festival (P. 306), it lost its extraordinary character and its reference to a special vow made by the general, and took its place in the series of the ordinary annual festivals. Nevertheless the government adhered to the rule of allowing the proper spectacle, namely the chariot-race which was its principal feature, to take place not more than once at the close of the festival. On the other days the multitude were probably left mainly to furnish amusement for themselves, although musicians, dancers, rope-walkers, jugglers, jesters and such like would not fail to make their appearance on the occasion, whether hired or not. But about the year an important change occurred, which must have been connected with the fixing and prolongation of the festival that took place shortly before. A scaffolding of boards was erected at the state's expense in the Circus for use during the first three days, and provision was made for suitable representations on it for the entertainment of the multitude. That matters might not be carried far however in this way, a fixed sum of 200,000 asses (£2055) was once for all appropriated from the exchequer for the expenses of the festival; and the sum was not augmented up to the period of the Punic wars. The ædiles, who had to expend this sum, were obliged to defray any additional expense out of their own pockets; and it is not probable that they contributed often or much from their own resources. That the new stage was generally under Greek influence, is proved by its very name (scaena, ). It was no doubt primarily designed for mere musicians and buffoons of all sorts, amongst whom the dancers to the flute, particularly those then so celebrated from Etruria, were probably the chief; but a public stage had now arisen in Rome and thereby became accessible to the Roman poets.

There was no want of such poets in Latium. Latin "strolling minstrels" or "ballad-singers \" (grassatores, spatiatores) went from town to town and from house to house, and recited their chants (saturæ, P. 29), gesticulating and dancing to the accompaniment of the lute. The measure was of course the only one that then existed, the so-called Saturnian (P. 233). No distinct plot lay at the basis of the chants, and as little do they appear to have been in the form of dialogue. We must conceive of them as resembling those monotonous, sometimes improvised sometimes recited, ballads and tarantelle, such as one may still at any time


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120 THE TWO NEW YEAR’S NIGHTS.

It struck eleven.

“One parting glass to the departing year!” exclaimed our host, “and to the many happy hours we have enjoyed therein.”

The glasses rang merrily, and every eye beamed with the remembrance of social pleasure past.

“There is certainly,” said Herrmann, “something awful—a contradictory feeling between mirth and sadness—connected with the moment which marks the change of the year. In point of fact, every succeeding instant is the beginning and end of a year—of a century—of a thousand years, if you will: and it is convention alone which makes us attach a degree of solemnity to the midnight hour between the last day of December and the first of January.”

“Exactly so,” replied Falk; “on religious grounds whole nations have attached importance to it, and what more do we require? In the life of man, periodical rejoicings concerning himself individually are much more apt to affect him, and, for my own part, I always gladly contribute my quota of cheerfulness to the celebration of them. But it must be owned, that when family anniversaries assume a shade of seriousness, they are apt to degenerate into mawkish sentimentality; for, however pleasingly the name of festival may strike upon the ear, it is, after all, but the commemoration of some circumstance that has contributed to our happiness. The pleasures of domestic life, however dear to the man of feeling, fall short of festival dignity. We all, indeed, rejoice to find ourselves again re-united in the same social intercourse of a twelvemonth since; and the old year smiles on us as benignly in its dying hour as though it had nothing to reproach us with. But it is a higher feeling than that of mirth alone, which consecrates this hour; and the received opinions of a large class of mankind confirm it. Even as the church has its All Saint’s and All Soul’s feasts, so must this hour prove a solemn festival of all joy or all sorrow to mankind at large. Where, then, mutual good wishes are exchanged for the welfare and happiness of all around us, there is far less of egotism than in the celebration of mere family anniversaries. The old year resembles a dignified matronly friend casting a last mournful smile upon us ere she leave the world for ever, and the new year greets us like a lovely, promising infant; while, between the bier of the one, and the cradle of the other, lie hidden presentiments which are sometimes unconsciously expressed by the lips of man in wishes of serious import.”

“Prithee let our good wishes rest until midnight,” interposed the host, “otherwise we may blend our New Year’s congratulations with half-embodied forebodings; for, as we sincerely wish each other well, it would be more agreeable to hope that our good wishes may, like true presentiments, be realised. But, alas! experience upsets your theory like that of many others.”

“Speak more circumspectly as regards experience,” replied Falk, “or else, weigh well what real experience you have had: suppose, for instance, a man be betrayed into unusual conviviality, and his slumbers thereby disturbed, he forthwith decides from experience that wine at night must disagree with him.”

“The example you give is applicable to men only,” observed the hostess; “we ladies are inclined to agree with you as regards the magic of a New Year’s wi-hwish [sic], so pray expound to us, but in a manner adapted to our feminine comprehensions, why so many aspirations remain unfulfilled?”

“Probably,” said Herrmann, “because Falk’s theory is only a prelude to what he will presently favour us with. The theme is almost worn out, so a dash of probability will give it an interest, like a good story-teller, who assures you his tale is ‘founded on fact.

Without seeming to notice Herr-


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 band’s woe. He retired to his cabinet, and for some hours lived only to the indulgence of his feelings. The following day his son—his Elisa’s son—was brought to him. The nurse related the last moments of his beloved wife—tears came to his relief—he took the unconscious babe in his arms, and whispered—

then kissed its soft cheek, and once more listened to the consoling accents of friendship.


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 in the bodie. Alſo it is the cauſe of ſléeping and of waking in beaſts. Alſo if the vertue thereof be gathered into the inner places of the bodie, it worketh the more ſtrongly. And when it is ſpread into the vtter offices, and occupied in many places, it worketh the more féeblye: For while it falleth heede to the ſight, it féebleſh and ſlaketh in the hearing, and ſo of other. Therefore it is ſayd.

That is to vnderſtand, the wit, that taketh heede to manye things, taketh the leſſe heed to euery therof. Alſo in the vttermoſt and in the more excellent féelings, the vertue thereof is dulled, but it hath liking in meane féelings. Alſo the vertue and working thereof is a let, ſo the ſpirit ſenſible, when his waye and paſſage is foretolde and warned by ſtopping of the wayes, poores, and ſmall holes in the bodie, as it falleth in them that haue the Palſie or Epilepſia, that is the falling Euill, or other ſuch diſeaſes. And the vertue thereof is diſſolued and vnlooſe, by too great heate, that diſſolueth and ſtretcheth the poores, or ſmall holes in the bodie: as by to great colde, conſtraining, ſhutting, or ſtopping the ſmall holes, it is let to ſpread it ſelfe into the partes of the bodie. Alſo by ſweete ſmelles, the vertue in a beaſt, that was loſt, is reſtored: as it is corrupt and grieued by ſtinking ſmells. But now of the vertue ſenſible this ſhall ſuffice.

¶Of the ſoule reaſonable. Chap. 13.
THe ſoule reaſonable, or the vertue of vnderſtanding that is called  in Latine, is ſeparated by two chiefe workinges, in one manner it is called , and in another manner it is called . In that it vſeth contemplation it is called . In that it worketh it is called . And by this roote mans lyfe is ſeparated a ſunder, that one is called , life of working, and that other is called , lyfe of contemplation. Then the reaſonable ſoule is euerlaſting, incorruptible, and may not die, Wherefore his principall act and déede, that is , to vnderſtand, is not dependaunt of the bodie. And it liueth perfectlye, and vnderſtandeth when it is departed from the bodye, yea, and the more it drowneth it ſelfe into the bodie, the more ſlowly and the leſſe perfectly it vnderſtandeth. And the more it withdraweth from the bonds and liking of the fleſh, the more eaſilye and cleerely it vnderſtandeth. Heere I call drowning, either by imagination of fantaſie, or by liking of the fleſh, or by loue of worldly alluring. Wherefore Gregorye ſaith. As a man is made in the middle betweene Angelles and beaſts to be lower then Angelles, and higher then other beaſtes: ſo hée hath ſomewhat that accordeth with the higheſt, and ſomewhat that agréeth with the loweſt. With Angell the ſpirt hath, that he maye not die: and with other beaſtes he hath a bodie, that muſt dye. And therefore if the ſoule by reaſon turneth toward God, it is adorned, illuminate, and amended, and made perfect. But if it tourne by affections towarde creatures, it is made darke, corrupte, and debaſed. Though the ſoule in it ſelfe be euerlaſting, and not deadlye, yet it is paſſible and muſt ſuffer through the bonde of the bodie, that it is ioyned to. Therefore in , Auſten ſayth, that ſoules that liue in bodies, by loue of ſenſible things they loue bodyly lykeneſſe and formes: and when they paſſe out of the body, in the ſame bodilye likneſſe, they ſuffer as it were bodily paines. And therefore there they may be holde in bodily paines: for that they were not héere cleanſed of the corruption of the bodie. Héereby it is knowne, that though the ſoule be cleane and pure in his owne kinde, it taketh vncleanneſſe of the fleſh, ſith it is originally infected. As wine and other licour taketh infection of a veſſel that is fuſtie. And therefore when it is departed from the bodie, it beareth with it ſelfe the bodies filths. Declaring that after this life there is no redemption, for in this lyfe all the penitent are cleanſed and newly reuived vnto God by grace.

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The Latin proverb
The Latin proverb Pluribus intentus, minor est, ad singula sensus is usually given in that form. Batman renders it thus in our copy. But in my copy of the Latin text of Bartolomeus, it has Singulis intentus, minor est, ad singula sensus, reversing the meaning. It may be a scribal error in the Latin. Marnanel (talk) 01:47, 15 December 2023 (UTC)

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text: Index:Peterson's Magazine 1868A.pdf

title: Index:Peterson's Magazine 1868A.pdf


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Page:An introduction to Combinatory analysis (Percy MacMahon, 1920, IA Introductiontoco00macmrich).djvu/25

14. From the principles set forth in the concluding articles of Chapter we can realise a definite way of expressing the result of algebraical multiplication.

Suppose that we have to form the product of a number of algebraical expressions each of which involves (say) three terms. The expressions are supposed to be given in a definite order from left to right. This order will be determined, usually, by the circumstances.

Let the factors be $$n$$ in number, and, in the given definite order, denoted by $(a_1+b_1+c_1)(a_2+b_2+c_2)(a_3+b_3+c_3)\ldots$ $(a_{n-1}+b_{n-1}+c_{n-1})(a_n+b_n+c_n)$ where three terms are involved in each factor merely for the sake of simplicity.

To obtain a term of the product we select a term (any term) from each factor and place them in contact in the order in which they have been selected; the factors being dealt with in order from left to right. The term of the product, thus reached, may involve one, two or three of the symbols $$a$$, $$b$$, $$c$$ according to the way that the selection is carried out. To place the terms ($$3^n$$ in number) thus arrived at in a definite order we make our selections in such wise that the terms produced are in dictionary order. Thus the first three terms will be and the last three

15. As an example, consider the development of $$(\alpha+\beta)^n$$. Writing down the $$n$$ factors


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text: A Hundred Verses from Old Japan

title: A Hundred Verses from Old Japan


text:
Hyakunin Isshū

 * Hyak Nin Is'shiu, or Stanzas by a Century of Poets (1866), by F. V. Dickins
 * Hyaku-Nin-Isshu, or Stanzas by a Century of Poets (1892, with all notes removed and Japanese text reformatted)
 * “Hyakunin-Isshu (Single Songs of a Hundred Poets),” TASJ, 27(4), 1–152 (1899), by Clay MacCauley
 * “Hyaku Nin Isshu in English” (1907), by Yone Noguchi
 * See also “Some Uta Specimens,” from The Spirit of Japanese Poetry (1914)
 * A Hundred Verses from Old Japan (1909), by William Ninnis Porter

title: Hyakunin Isshū


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 326 his arm flung it at the fire. 'Take this!' he cried.

"The skipper lingered disconsolately, and we left him to commune alone for a time with his first command. Then I went up again and brought him away at last. It was time. The ironwork on the poop was hot to the touch.

"Then the painter of the long-boat was cut, and the three boats, tied together, drifted clear of the ship. It was just sixteen hours after the explosion when we abandoned her. Mahon had charge of the second boat, and I had the smallest—the 14-foot thing. The long-boat would have taken the lot of us; but the skipper said we must save as much property as we could—for the underwriters—and so I got my first command. I had two men with me, a bag of biscuits, a few tins of meat, and a breaker of water. I was ordered to keep close to the long-boat, that in case of bad weather we might be taken into her.

"And do you know what I thought? I thought I would part company as soon as I could. I wanted to have my first command all to myself. I wasn't going to sail in a squadron if there were a chance for independent cruising. I would make land by myself. I would beat the other boats. Youth! The silly, charming, beautiful youth.

"But we did not make a start at once. We must see the last of the ship. And so the boats drifted about that night, heaving and setting on the swell. The men dozed, waked, sighed, groaned. I looked at the burning ship.

"Between the darkness of earth and heaven she was burning fiercely upon a disc of purple sea shot by the blood-red play of gleams; upon a disc of water glittering and sinister. A high, clear flame, an immense and lonely flame, ascended from the ocean, and from its summit the black smoke poured continuously at the sky. She burned furiously, mournful and imposing like a funeral pile kindled in the night, surrounded by the sea, watched over by the stars. A magnificent death had come like a grace, like a gift, like a reward to that old ship at the end of her laborious days. The surrender of her weary ghost to the keeping of stars and sea was stirring like the sight of a glorious triumph. The masts fell just before daybreak, and for a moment there was a burst and turmoil of sparks that seemed to fill with flying fire the night patient and watchful, the vast night lying silent upon the sea. At daylight she was only a charred shell, floating still under a cloud of smoke and bearing a glowing mass of coal within.

"Then the oars were got out, and the boats forming in a line moved round her remains as if in procession—the long-boat leading. As we pulled across her stern a slim dart of fire shot out viciously at us, and suddenly she went down, head first, in a great hiss of steam. The unconsumed stern was the last to sink; but the paint had gone, had cracked, had peeled off, and there were no letters, there was no word, no stubborn device that was like her soul, to flash at the rising sun her creed and her name.

"We made our way north. A breeze sprang up, and about noon all the boats came together for the last time. I had no mast or sail in mine, but I made a mast out of a spare oar and hoisted a boat-awning for a sail, with a boat-hook for a yard. She was certainly over-masted, but I had the satisfaction of knowing that with the wind aft I could beat the other two. I had to wait for them. Then we all had a look at the captain's chart, and,


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 1898.] after a sociable meal of hard bread and water, got our last instructions. These were simple: steer north, and keep together as much as possible. 'Be careful with that jury-rig, Marlow,' said the captain; and Mahon, as I sailed proudly past his boat, wrinkled his curved nose and hailed,' You will sail that ship of yours under water, if you don't look out, young fellow.' He was a malicious old man—and may the deep sea where he sleeps now rock him gently, rock him tenderly to the end of time!

"Before sunset a thick rain-squall passed over the two boats, which were far astern, and that was the last I saw of them for a time. Next day I sat steering my cockle-shell—my first command—with nothing but water and sky around me. I did sight in the afternoon the upper sails of a ship far away, but said nothing, and my men did not notice her. You see I was afraid she might be homeward bound, and I had no mind to turn back from the portals of the East. I was steering for Java—another blessed name—like Bankok, you know. I steered many days.

"I need not tell you what it is to be knocking about for days in an open boat. I remember nights and days of calm when we pulled, we pulled, and the boat seemed to stand still, as if bewitched within the circle of the sea horizon. I remember the heat, the deluge of rain-squalls that kept us baling for dear life (but filled our water-cask), and I remember sixteen hours on end with as mouth dry as a cinder and a steering-oar over the stern to keep my first command head on to a breaking sea. I did not know how good a man I was till then. I remember the drawn faces, the dejected figures of my two men, and I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more—the feeling that I could last for ever, outlast the sea, the earth, and all men; the deceitful feeling that lures us on to joys, to perils, to love, to vain effort—to death; the triumphant conviction of strength, the heat of life in the handful of dust, the glow in the heart that with every year grows dim, grows cold, grows small, and expires—and expires, too soon, too soon—before life itself.

"And this is how I see the East. I have seen its secret places and have looked into its very soul; but now I see it always from a small boat, a high outline of mountains, blue and afar in the morning; like faint mist at noon; a jagged wall of purple at sunset. I have the feel of the oar in my hand, the vision of a scorching blue sea 1n my eyes. And I see a bay, a wide bay, smooth as glass and polished like ice, shimmering in the dark. A red light burns far off upon the gloom of the land, and the night is soft and warm. We pull with aching arms, and suddenly a puff of wind, a puff faint and tepid and laden with strange odours of blossoms, of aromatic wood, comes out of the still night—the first sigh of the East on my face. That I can never forget. It was impalpable and enslaving, like a charm, like a whispered promise of mysterious delight.

"We had been pulling this finishing spell for eleven hours. Two pulled, and he whose turn it was to rest steered. We had made out the red light in that bay and pulled at it, guessing it must mark some s8mall coasting port. We were right. As we pulled in we passed two vessels, outlandish and high-sterned, sleeping at anchor, and, approaching the light, now very dim, ran the boat's nose against the end of a jutting wharf. We were blind with fatigue. My


text: Education and Art in Soviet Russia/Document 5