The Chautauquan, Vol. 03, February 1883 / A Monthly Magazine Devoted to the Promotion of True Culture. / Organ of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.

by Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle; Chautauqua Institution

V.—THE BATTLE OF PANCAKE CREEK.

“Decisive battles of history” are such because of long trains of events that lead up to them and explode there. Those events form one of the most interesting studies of historical philosophy; an understanding of them is necessary to an intelligent reading of subsequent changes. One of these culminating points and turning points was the Battle of Bannockburn, fought June 24, 1314, between the Scotch under King Robert, “the Bruce,” and the English under the ill-starred King Edward II.

Edward I had been a great fighter. He fought the Scotch so persistently that his tomb bears the vain-glorious inscription, “Here lies the Hammer of the Scots.” He died, worn out, in a Scotch campaign (1307), enjoining on his son, it is said, the pleasant duty of boiling all the flesh off his father’s bones and carrying them at the head of the army until Scotland should be crushed. Then he might celebrate at once the funeral of Scotland’s freedom and of its “Hammer.” Edward II very wisely disregarded this barbarous dying request. He at once abandoned the Scotch war.

Seven years of peace followed, during which Scotland was drilling and gathering strength under Bruce, while England was torn and weakened by internal quarrels between the king and his dissolute favorites on one side, and the lawless and tyrannical barons on the other. By the fall of 1313 the Scotch had cleared the English garrisons out of all their castles save Stirling, and that, the key to the borders, they besieged. “Its danger roused England out of its civil strife to a vast effort for the recovery of its prey.” The army gathered to this task comprised thirty thousand horsemen, and seventy thousand English, Welsh, and Irish footmen, raw, undisciplined, disorderly; while Bruce’s army numbered only thirty thousand, nearly all on foot, but they were inured to war and reckless fighters, those wild clansmen.

The little burne (brook) of Bannock (pancake) runs through a swamp near the rock on which Sterling Castle stands. Bruce chose his position, as he fought the battle, with a genius for arms which showed him to be the first soldier of his age. On his right flank was the creek and marsh, on the left the ledge of rocks and castle, in the rear a wooded hill. The ground in front was cut up by patches of forest and undergrowth and swamp-holes, so that no large body of the enemy at once could come at him. This robbed the English of much of their advantage of numbers. Other precautions, it will appear, took away also the superiority of his enemy in the matter of cavalry.

The battle which took place here has been much written and sung about, but rational explanations of its surprising outcome are hard to find. We may seek them in the disorganization and disaffection of the English army and the incapacity of its command; in the contrary circumstances on the Scotch side; and in four striking reverses which befell the English. But as these reverses were due to superior generalship and better fighting on the Scotch side, we may as well put the credit where it belongs, with Bruce and his compatriots.

The first of these four reverses took place the night before the general engagement. Edward had sent ahead a detachment of eight hundred knights to relieve the besieged English in Sterling Castle, and hold it as a base of operations. To send so weak a force upon so important a task marked the incapacity of the English generalship at the outset. But the movement was well executed, for the first Bruce knew the squadron was on his flank and between him and Sterling. Riding up to Earl Randolph, his nephew, who had been cautioned against this very manœuvre, he cried, “Randolph, you are flanked. A rose has fallen from your chaplet.”

Randolph was an English settler in Scotland and was distrusted by the Scotch; but he made a brave stand against the English. He formed in the order of Hastings—a hollow square—the front rank kneeling, the next stooping, the inside line erect, their spears a perpendicular wall of bristling steel. Around this square and on these points the English cavalry circled and broke and were used up. Lord Douglas, though a personal enemy of Randolph, when he saw him sore beset, chivalrously asked leave to go to his assistance. “No,” declared Bruce, “I’ll not break my lines. Let him redeem his own fault.” He did—and a few defeated horsemen galloped away to King Edward to report the first English repulse. Bruce’s stern decision not to break his order of battle, even at the risk of a defeat of Randolph, is the key to his successful control of the undisciplined Scotch, and to his victory.

Early in the day of the 24th the English host came in sight. Edward rode out with his body-guard to reconnoitre. The first sight that met his eyes was an aged priest, bare-footed, walking along the Scotch lines and all the rough soldiers on their knees.

“See,” said the confident king, “They kneel, they cry for mercy.”

“Yea,” said Sir Ingeltram de Umfraville, “they cry for mercy, but it is to God, not to you.”

Presently came Bruce riding a little Scotch pony along the lines, giving his men their last directions and words of cheer. English chivalry, in the person of Sir Henry de Bohun, thought this an opportunity for cheap glory. Chivalry, with all its pretense of fairness, took odds when it could, and de Bohun in full armor, on a heavy Flanders steed, thundered down on Bruce. Dextrously dodging Bohun’s spear, Bruce rose in his stirrups and, as his enemy careered past with a great circle in the air he brought his axe down full on Bohun’s head. The axe was shattered by the tremendous blow, while helmet and skull were cleft and the brilliant knight rolled in the dust. A great shout from the Scotch hailed this feat; a damp silence among the English hailed this defeat No. 2. “The Englishmen had great abasing,” says old Barbour. As for Bruce, when his chiefs reproached him for the risk he had taken, he only looked ruefully at the fragment of the axe-handle in his hand and muttered, “I have broken my good axe.”

It is at this moment, just before the battle, that Burns puts into the mouth of Bruce the most inspiring battle-hymn ever written:

Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,

Scots wham Bruce hae often led,

Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victory.

Now’s the day and now’s the hour;

See the front o’ battle lour.

See approach proud Edward’s power,

Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave,

Wha can fill a coward’s grave,

Wha sae base as be a slave,

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland’s king and law

Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,

Freeman stand or freeman fa’

Let him follow me.

By oppression’s woes and pains,

By your sons in servile chains,

We will drain our dearest veins

But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurper low!

Tyrants fall in every foe!

Liberty’s in every blow!

Let us do or die!

In the battle which now began, the wisdom of Bruce’s plans appeared. His small cavalry force he placed in hiding at the right for flank operations on the dreaded English archers. To cope with the more dreaded English men-at-arms he had dug all the solid ground along his line full of pits, set them full of sharp stakes, and covered all fairly with boughs and turf. His baggage, horses and camp impediments were parked behind the hill in his rear; the wagoners and servants (“Gillies”) there secreted were destined to play an important part in this singular battle—a part so signal that the hill has ever since been known as Gillies Hill.

The English attack began, as expected, in the assault of archers. It made havoc among the Scotch with their bull’s-hide bucklers for their only protection. “Now we’ll cut their bow-strings!” cried Edward Bruce to the Scotch horsemen in cover, and forthwith they were hewing and sabering among the English yeomen, who, having no small arms wherewith to fight hand to hand, were helpless to resist this attack. They were stampeded and hurled back a confused mass upon the English army. Defeat No. 3.

The appearance of Scotch horse in the engagement was a surprise to the English. To meet it they ordered a charge of their own cavalry. Down the narrow passages they thundered, a galling fire of Scotch arrows in their faces.

Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came,

With spears in rest and hearts on flame,

That panted for the shock;

Down, down in headlong overthrow,

Horseman and horse the foremost go,

Wild floundering on the field.

Loud from the mass confused the cry

Of dying warriors swells on high,

And steeds that shriek in agony.

They came like mountain torrent red,

That thunders o’er its rocky bed;

They broke like that same torrent’s wave

When swallowed by a darksome cave,

Billow on billow rushing on

Follows the path the first has gone.[E]

“Some of the horses that stickit were,” says Barbour, “rushed and reeled right rudely.” The fall of the horse in the pits was complete with hardly a blow from the Scotch. As yet Bruce’s line had not been touched; Bruce’s brain more than Scotch brawn had won thus far.

The grand charge of Edward’s body-guard, three thousand steel-clad knights, the pick of English chivalry, was now ordered to redeem the day. They charged the line of Scotch spearmen and axmen with great fury and effect—“Sae that mony fell down all dead; the grass waxed with the blude all red.”

The Scotch knights, until now held in reserve, were led by Bruce himself, and a most desperate struggle took place, all the forces left on both sides being engaged. “And slaughter revelled round.”

Just at the moment when the victory hung trembling in the balance, a strange apparition turned the English pause into a panic. The Scotch wagoners and camp-followers, impatient of inactivity, had hastily armed themselves with such knives, clubs, and rejected weapons as were at hand, improvised banners of tent cloth and plaids, and came marching over the hill, fifteen thousand strong. They made a “splurge” and a racket, in inverse ratio to their real formidableness; but coming directly after the staggering attack of Bruce’s reserves, they had all the appearance to the English of large reinforcements.

“When they marked the seeming show

Of fresh, and fierce, and marshaled foe,

The boldest broke away.”

Thus the cooks and hostlers precipitated the English defeat and panic. Edward would have thrown himself away in a personal effort to turn the defeat, but Sir Giles de Argentine seized his horse’s bridle and led him out of the fight. Having despatched him and a few faithful comrades toward the coast, De Argentine said, “As for me, retreating is not part of my business;” and plunging into the fight, hopelessly and uselessly, was slain. The king by hard riding reached Dunbar and escaped by sea to London.

The retreat was more disastrous to the English than the battle. The bare-legged, bare-headed, bare-armed Scotch, with their long knives, drove their enemies in large numbers into the river Forth; and Barbour says the Bannock creek was so choked up that one might walk dry-shod from bank to bank on the drowned horses and men. The English loss was ten thousand; among them twenty-seven nobles, two hundred knights and seven hundred esquires, while twenty-two nobles and sixty knights were made prisoners. The pursuit continued for miles, every step marked by blood and booty. Those old knights went soldiering in great style; their military establishments were enormous and rich. The English camp was taken, with great booty in treasure, jewels, rich robes, fine horses, herds of cattle, droves of sheep and hogs (great eaters, those old English!), machines for the siege of towns, wagon loads of grain and portable mills; the train of wagons which carried the treasure into Scotland was sixty miles long. The king’s tent and treasure were captured, including the royal signet-ring. One prisoner was a talented Carmelite friar whom Edward had brought along to celebrate his anticipated victory in verse; but Bruce compelled him to buy his own release by writing a poem glorifying the Scotch victory instead.

But a greater spoil than all this was found in the ransom of captive knights and nobles. While the common soldiers were ruthlessly put to death, the wealthy were carefully spared and well treated. This was not done so much from the spirit of chivalry as from a spirit of speculation; wealthy prisoners were the prize for which many great battles were fought. An explanation of the large number of prisoners of this class is found in this fact, and in the additional one that a heavily-armored knight, if once dismounted, could not run away; if once thrown to the ground he was about as helpless as a turtle turned on his back. If a poor Scotchman stumbled over one of these dismounted ironclads his fortune was made—provided the prisoner or his friends had one. All to do was to cut the strings of his helmet, set your knife against his throat, and make a good bargain for taking it away again.

The victory of Bannockburn, besides enriching Scotland, forever secured her independence. It confirmed the fighting qualities of the Scots, in pitched battle, before the world. It got them the permanent alliance of France against England, out of which grew those long double wars which cost England so dearly, and prevented her finally conquering either country. Ever England was in the situation of the bear which, when she attacks the French hunter, finds his Scotch mastiff on her haunches. It gave Scotchmen a new respect among the English, and it no longer was said an English yeoman carried twelve Scots under his green jacket; so that to war on Scotland became less a pastime with English soldiers. For three hundred years, under the influence of the independence thus sturdily maintained, Scotch character grew as strong and self-respecting as that of England, so that the union between the two countries finally took place as a partnership of equals, rather than upon the conditions under which the lion and lamb are sometimes said to lie down together—the lamb inside the lion. A different relation existed between England and Ireland, with all the consequences of shame to one and suffering to the other that the world has for centuries seen.

Bannockburn was one of the most decisive battles of the world.

[To be continued.]

[SUNDAY READINGS.]

SELECTED BY THE REV. J. H. VINCENT, D. D.

[February 4.]

SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS LIFE OF THE ISRAELITES FROM SAUL TO CHRIST.

By W. F. COLLIER, LL.D.

During this period the state of social life among the Jewish people underwent a very great change. An immense flow of wealth into the country took place. Through intercourse with other countries, many new habits and fashions were introduced. The people lost not a little of their early simplicity of character and life. A splendid court had been set up, and a splendid capital built. Commercial relations had been established with remote parts of the world. A great stride had been taken in the direction of luxury and refinement.

There was now a standing army, a large staff of civil officers, and a vast number of menial servants in the country. Besides the ass, the horse and the mule were now introduced as beasts of burden; chariots and splendid equipages were set up; and many persons assumed the style and bearing of princes. Private dwellings underwent a corresponding change, and all the luxuries of Egypt and Nineveh became familiar to the Hebrews.

But was all this for good? It appears as if the nation, or its leaders, now struck out a new path for themselves, in which God rather followed than preceded them, giving them, indeed, at first, a large measure of prosperity, but leaving them more to their own ways and to the fruits of these ways than before. This, at least, was plainly the case under Solomon. The vast wealth circulated in his time over the country did not bring any proportional addition, either to the material comfort, or to the moral beauty, or to the spiritual riches of the nation. There can be no doubt that “haste to be rich” brought all the evils and sins which always flow from it in an age of progress toward worldly show and magnificence.

It appears from the Proverbs that many new vices were introduced. Many of the counsels of that book would have been quite inapplicable to a simple, patriarchal, agricultural people; but they were eminently adapted to a people surrounded by the snares of wealth and the temptations of commerce, and very liable to forget or despise the good old ways and counsels of their fathers. The Proverbs will be read with far greater interest, if it be borne in mind that this change had just taken place among the Hebrews, and that, as Solomon had been instrumental in giving the nation its wealth, so, perhaps, he was led by the Spirit to write this book, and that of Ecclesiastes, to guard against the fatal abuse of his own gift.

The practice of soothsaying, or fortune-telling, was common among the Jews at the beginning of this period. The prevalence of such a practice indicates a low standard of intellectual attainment. It seems to have had its headquarters among the Philistines (Isa. ii:6); and very probably, when Saul drove all who practised it from the land, he did so more from enmity to the Philistines than from dislike to the practice itself. It continued, as Saul himself knew, to lurk in the country, even after all the royal efforts to exterminate it. (I Sam. xxviii:7.) Probably it never altogether died out. In New Testament times it was evidently a flourishing trade. (Acts viii:9; xiii:6.) All over the East it was practised to a large extent, and the Jewish sorcerers had the reputation of being the most skillful of any. It was the counterfeit of that wonderful privilege of knowing God’s mind and will, which the Jew enjoyed through the Urim and Thummim of the high-priest. Those who would not seek, or could not obtain, the genuine coin, resorted to the counterfeit.

In literary and scientific culture the nation made a great advance during this period. In a merely literary point of view, the Psalms of David and the writings of Solomon possess extraordinary merits; and we can not doubt that two literary kings, whose reigns embraced eighty years, or nearly three generations, would exercise a very great influence, and have their example very largely followed among their people. David’s talents as a musician, and the extraordinary pains he took to improve the musical services of the sanctuary, must have greatly stimulated the cultivation of that delightful art.

What David did for music, Solomon did for natural history. It need not surprise us that all the uninspired literary compositions of that period have perished. If Homer flourished (according to the account of Herodotus) 884 years before Christ, Solomon must have been a century in his tomb before the “Iliad” was written. And if it be considered what difficulty there was in preserving the “Iliad,” and how uncertain it is whether we have it as Homer wrote it, it can not be surprising that all the Hebrew poems and writings of this period have been lost, except such as were contained in the inspired canon of Scripture.

There were, also, great religious changes during this period of the history. Evidently, under Samuel, a great revival of true religion took place; and the schools of the prophets which he established seem to have been attended with a marked blessing from heaven. Under David the change was confirmed. In the first place, the coming Messiah was more clearly revealed. It was expressly announced to David, as has been already remarked, that the great Deliverer was to be a member of his race. David, too, as a type of Christ, conveyed a more full and clear idea of the person and character of Christ than any typical person that had gone before him.

It is interesting to inquire how far a religious spirit pervaded the people at large. The question can not receive a very satisfactory answer. It is plain that even in David’s time the mass of the people were not truly godly. The success of Absalom’s movement is a proof of this. Had there been a large number of really godly persons in the tribe of Judah, they would not only not have joined the insurrection, but their influence would have had a great effect in hindering its success. The real state of matters seems to have been, that both in good times and in bad there were some persons, more or less numerous, of earnest piety and spiritual feeling, who worshipped God in spirit, not only because it was their duty, but also because it was their delight; while the mass of the people either worshipped idols, or worshipped God according to the will, example, or command of their rulers.

But the constant tendency was to idolatry; and the intercourse with foreign nations which Solomon maintained, as well as his own example, greatly increased the tendency. Under Solomon, indeed, idolatry struck its roots so deep, that all the zeal of the reforming kings that followed him failed to eradicate them. It was not till the seventy years’ captivity of Babylon that the soil of Palestine was thoroughly purged of the roots of that noxious weed.

During six hundred years that constituted the kingdom of Israel from the close of Solomon’s reign to the total captivity, the same spirit of luxury and taste for display prevailed.

In regard to wealth and property, the moderation and equality of earlier days were now widely departed from. Isaiah denounces those who “join house to house, and lay field to field, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth.” Notwithstanding, some men, like Naboth, stood up bravely for their paternal rights; and even in Jeremiah’s time, the old practice of redeeming possessions survived. (xxxii:7.) Many of the people lived in elegant houses “of hewn stone” (Amos v:11), which they adorned with the greatest care. There were winter-houses, summer-houses, and houses of ivory. (iii:15.) Jeremiah describes the houses as “ceiled with cedar and painted with vermilion” (xxii:14); and Amos speaks of the “beds of ivory” and luxurious “couches” on which the inmates “stretched themselves.” (vi:4.)

Sumptuous and protracted feasts were given in these houses. Lambs out of the flock and calves from the stall had now become ordinary fare. (vi:4.) At feasts, the person was annointed with “chief ointments;” wine was drunk from bowls; sometimes the drinking was continued from early morning, to the sound of the harp, the viol, the tabret, and the pipe. (Isa. v:11, 12.) The dress, especially of the ladies, was often most luxurious and highly ornamented. Isaiah has given us an elaborate picture of the ornaments of the fine ladies of Jerusalem. He foretells a day when “the Lord would take away the bravery of the ankle-bands, and the caps of net-work, and the crescents; the pendants, and the bracelets, and the veils; the turbans, and the ankle-chains, and the girdles, and the smelling-bottles, and the amulets; the signet-rings, and the nose-jewels; the holiday dresses and the mantles, and the robes, and the purses; the mirrors, and the tunics, and the head-dresses, and the large veils.” (Isa. iii:18-23.—Alexander’s Translation.)

A plain, unaffected gait would have been far too simple for ladies carrying such a load of artificial ornament: the neck stretched out, the eyes rolling wantonly, and a mincing or tripping step completed the picture, and showed to what a depth of folly woman may sink through love of finery. Splendid equipages were also an object of ambition. Chariots were to be seen drawn by horses, camels, or asses, with elegant caparisons (Isa. xxi:7); the patriarchal mode of riding on an ass being now confined to the poor.

There are some traces, but not many, of high intellectual culture. Isaiah speaks of “the counselor, and the cunning artificer, and the eloquent orator,” as if these were representatives of classes. We have seen that one of the kings of Judah (Uzziah) was remarkable for mechanical and engineering skill. Amos refers to “the seven stars and Orion,” as if the elements of astronomy had been generally familiar to the people. On the other hand, there are pretty frequent references to soothsayers and sorcerers, indicating a low intellectual condition. The prevalence of idolatry could not fail to debase the intellect as well as corrupt the morals and disorder society.

Very deplorable, for the most part, are the allusions of the prophets to the abounding immorality. There is scarcely a vice that is not repeatedly denounced and wept over. The oppression of the poor was one of the most flagrant. Amos declares that the righteous were sold for silver, and the poor for a pair of shoes. From Hosea it appears that wives were bought and sold. The princes and rulers were specially blamed for their covetousness, their venality, their oppressions, their murders. (Isa. i:23; x:1. Hosea ix:15.) Impurity and sensuality flourished under the shade of idolatry. In large towns there was a class that pandered to the vices of the licentious. (Amos vii:17.) Robbery, lies, deceitful balances, were found everywhere. Even genuine grief, under affliction and bereavement, had become rare and difficult; and persons “skillful of lamentation” had to be hired to weep for the dead!

The revivals under the pious kings of Judah, as far as the masses were concerned, were rather galvanic impulses than kindlings of spiritual life. Yet it can not be doubted that during these movements many hearts were truly turned to God. The new proofs that were daily occurring of God’s dreadful abhorrence of sin, would lead many to cry more earnestly for deliverance from its punishment and its power.

In the disorganized and divided state into which the kingdom fell, rendering it difficult and even impossible for the annual festivals to be observed, the writings of the prophets, as well as the earlier portions of the written word, would contribute greatly to the nourishment of true piety. The 119th Psalm, with all its praises of the word and statutes of the Lord, is a memorable proof of the ardor with which the godly were now drinking from these wells of salvation. Increased study of the word would lead to enlarged knowledge of the Messiah, though even the prophets themselves had to “search what, or what manner of time the Spirit of Christ which was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand the sufferings of Christ and the glory that, should follow.” One great result of the training of this period was, to carry forward the minds of the faithful beyond the present to the future. In the immediate foreground of prophecy all was dark and gloomy, and hope could find no rest but in the distant future. The shades of a dark night were gathering; its long weary hours had to pass before the day should break and the shadows flee away.

---

[February 11.]

CHRIST AND THE APOSTLES.

The great central event in all history is the death of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. The centuries circle round the cross. Hundreds of stately figures—some in dazzling lustre, some in deepest gloom—crowd upon our gaze, as the story of the world unrolls before us; but infinitely nobler than the grandest of these is the pale form of Jesus, hanging on the rough and reddened wood at Calvary—dead, but victorious even in dying—stronger in that marble sleep than the mightiest of the world’s living actors, or than all the marshalled hosts of sin and death. Not the greatest sight only, but the strangest ever seen; for there, at the foot of the cross, lie Death, slain with his own dart, and Hell vanquished at his very gate.

All that have ever lived—all living now—all who shall come after us, till time shall be no more, must feel the power of the cross. To those who look upon their dying Lord with loving trust, it brings life and joy, but death and woe to all who proudly reject that great salvation, or pass it unheeding by.

The details of that stupendous history—his lowly, yet royal birth—his pure, stainless life—his path of mystery and miracle—his wondrous works, and still more wondrous words—his agony—his cross—his glorious resurrection and ascension—all form a theme too sacred to be placed here with a record of mere common time, or blended with the dark, sad tale of human follies and crimes. Rather let us read it as they tell it who were themselves “eye-witnesses of his majesty”—who traced the very footsteps, and heard the very voice, and beheld the very living face of incarnate love. And remember, as you read, that history is false to her noblest trust if she fails to teach that it is the power of the cross of Christ which alone preserves the world from hopeless corruption, and redeems from utter vanity the whole life of man on earth.

Wildly, and blindly, and very far, have the nations often drifted from the right course—there seemed to be no star in heaven, and no lamp on earth; but through every change an unseen omnipotent hand was guiding all things for the best: soul after soul was drawn by love’s mighty attraction to the cross; light arose out of darkness; a new life breathed over the world; and the wilderness, where Satan seemed alone to dwell, blossomed anew into the garden of God.[F]

********

After Christ—the apostles. “On the fifteenth day after his death, beginning in Jerusalem, the very furnace of persecution, they first set up their banner in the midst of those who had been first in the crucifixion of Jesus, and were all elate with the triumphs of that tragedy. But what ensued? Three thousand souls were that day added to the infant Church. In a few days the number was increased to five thousand, and in the space of about a year and a half, though the gospel was preached only in Jerusalem and its vicinity, ‘multitudes both of men and women,’ and ‘a great company of the priests, were obedient to the faith.’ Now, the converts being driven, by a fierce persecution, from Jerusalem, ‘went everywhere preaching the Word;’ and in less than three years churches were gathered ‘throughout all Judea, Galilee, and Samaria, and were multiplied.’ About two years after this, or seven from the beginning of the work, the gospel was first preached to the Gentiles; and such was the success, that before thirty years had elapsed from the death of Christ, it spread throughout Judea, Galilee, and Samaria; through almost all the numerous districts of the lesser Asia; through Greece and the islands of the Ægean Sea, the seacoast of Africa, and even into Italy and Rome. The number of converts in the several cities respectively, is described by the expressions, ‘a great number,’ ‘great multitudes,’ ‘much people.’ Jerusalem, the chief seat of Jewish rancor, continued the metropolis of the gospel, having in it many tens of thousands of believers. These accounts are taken from the book of the Acts of the Apostles; but as this book is almost confined to the labors of Paul and his immediate companions, saying very little of the other apostles, it is very certain that the view we have given of the propagation of the gospel, during the first thirty years, is very incomplete. In the thirtieth year after the beginning of the work, the terrible persecution under Nero kindled its fires; then Christians had become so numerous at Rome, that, by the testimony of Tacitus, ‘a great multitude’ were seized. In forty years more, as we are told in a celebrated letter from Pliny, the Roman governor of Pontus and Bythinia, Christianity had long subsisted in these provinces, though so remote from Judea. ‘Many of all ages, and of every rank, of both sexes likewise,’ were accused to Pliny of being Christians. What he calls ‘the contagion of this superstition’ (thus forcibly describing the irresistible and rapid spread of Christianity), had ‘seized not cities only, but the less towns also, and the open country,’ so that the heathen temples ‘were almost forsaken,’ few victims were purchased for sacrifice, and ‘a long intermission of the sacred solemnities had taken place.’ Justin Martyr, who wrote about thirty years after Pliny, and one hundred after the gospel was first preached to the Gentiles, thus describes the extent of Christianity in his time: ‘There is not a nation, either Greek or barbarian, or of any other name, even of those who wander in tribes and live in tents, among whom prayers and thanksgivings are not offered to the Father and Creator of the Universe by the name of the crucified Jesus.’ Clemens Alexandrinus, a few years after, thus writes: ‘The philosophers were confined to Greece, and to their particular retainers; but the doctrine of the Master of Christianity did not remain in Judea, but is spread throughout the whole world, in every nation, and village, and city, converting both whole houses and separate individuals, having already brought over to the truth not a few of the philosophers themselves. If the Greek philosophy be prohibited, it immediately vanishes; whereas, from the first preaching of our doctrine, kings and tyrants, governors and presidents, with their whole train and with the populace on their side, have endeavored, with their whole might, to exterminate it; yet doth it flourish more and more.’... In connection with the moral power and vast extent of this work, it should be considered, that among those who were brought to the obedience of Christ were men of all classes, from the most obscure and ignorant to the most elevated and learned. In the New Testament we read of an eminent counselor, and of a chief ruler, and of a great company of priests, and of two centurions of the Roman army, and of a proconsul of Cyprus, and of a member of the Areopagus at Athens, and even of certain of the household of the Emperor Nero, as having been converted to the faith. Many of the converts were highly esteemed for talents and attainments. Such was Justin Martyr, who, while a heathen, was conversant with all the schools of philosophy. Such was Pantænus, who, before his conversion was a philosopher of the school of the Stoics, and whose instructions in human learning at Alexandria, after he became a Christian, were much frequented by students of various characters. Such also was Origen, whose reputation for learning was so great that not only Christians, but philosophers, flocked to his lectures upon mathematics and philosophy, as well as on the Scriptures. Even the noted Porphyry did not refrain from a high eulogium upon the learning of Origen. It may help to convey some notion of the character and quality of many early Christians—of their learning and their labors—to notice the Christian writers who flourished in these ages. Saint Jerome’s catalogue contains one hundred and twenty writers previous to the year 360 from the death of Christ. The catalogue is thus introduced: ‘Let those who say the Church has had no philosophers, nor eloquent and learned men, observe who and what they were who founded, established, and adorned it.’ Pliny, in his celebrated letter to Trajan, written about sixty-three years after the gospel began to be preached to the Gentiles, expressly states that in the provinces of Pontus and Bythinia many of all ranks were accused to him of the crime of being Christians. We have now prepared the several facts that constitute the materials of our argument. Here is an unquestionable historical event: the rapid and extensive spread of Christianity over the whole Roman empire in less than seventy years from the outset of its preaching. Has anything else of a like kind been known in the world? Did the learning and popularity of the ancient philosophers, powerfully aided by the favor of the great and the peculiar character of the age, accomplish anything in the least resembling the success of the apostles? It is a notorious fact that only one of them ‘ever dared to attack the base religion of the nation, and substitute better representations of God in its stead, although its absurdity was apparent to many of them. An attempt of this kind having cost the bold Socrates his life, no others had resolution enough to offer such a sacrifice for the general good. To excuse their timidity in this respect, and give it the appearance of profound wisdom, they called to their aid the general principle that it is imprudent and injurious to let people see the whole truth at once; that it is not only necessary to spare sacred prejudices, but, in particular circumstances, an act of benevolence to deceive the great mass of the people. This was the unanimous opinion of almost all the ancient philosophical schools.’ No further proof is needed that such men were incapable of effecting anything approximating to the great moral revolution produced in the world by the power of the gospel. How different the apostles! boldly attacking all vice, superstition, and error, at all hazards, in all places, not counting their lives dear unto them so that they might ‘testify the gospel of the grace of God.’ But where else shall we turn for a parallel to the work we have described? What efforts, independently of the gospel, were ever successful in the moral regeneration of whole communities of the superstitious and licentious?” (McIlvaine’s Evid., Lect. IX.) This excellent writer adds, in a note: “The early advocates of Christianity, in controversy with the heathen of Greece and Rome, were accustomed to dwell with great stress upon the argument from its propagation. Chrysostom, of the fourth century, writes: ‘The apostles of Christ were twelve; and they gained the whole world.’ ‘Zeno, Plato, Socrates, and many others, endeavored to introduce a new course of life, but in vain; whereas Jesus Christ not only taught, but settled, a new polity, or way of living, all over the world.’ ‘The doctrines and writings of fishermen, who were beaten and driven from society, and always lived in the midst of dangers, have been readily embraced by learned and unlearned, bondmen and free, kings and soldiers, Greeks and barbarians.’ ‘Though kings and tyrants and people strove to extinguish the spark of faith, such a flame of true religion arose as filled the whole world. If you go to India and Scythia, and the utmost ends of the earth, you will everywhere find the doctrine of Christ enlightening the souls of men.’ Augustine, of the same century, speaking of the heathen philosophers, says: ‘If they were to live again, and should see the churches crowded, the temples forsaken, and men called from the love of temporal, fleeting things, to the hope of eternal life and the possession of spiritual and heavenly blessings, and readily embracing them, provided they were really such as they are said to have been, perhaps they would say, ”These are things which we did not dare to say to the people; we rather gave way to their custom than endeavored to draw them over to our best thoughts and apprehensions.“’”

“After the death of Jesus Christ, twelve poor fishermen and mechanics undertook to teach and convert the world. Their success was prodigious. All the Christians rushed to martyrdom, all the people to baptism: the history of these early times was a continual prodigy.”—Rousseau.

Now what explanation can be given of this impressive fact,—the rapid conquest of Christianity over ancient religions, priests, magistrates, and all the passions and prejudices of the people? There is but one explanation: the spirit of God influenced the hearts which he had made to embrace his truth. To establish Christianity on the earth, he was pleased to exert a power which, to the same extent, future ages have not witnessed. Christianity in her strength, with so many earthly advantages in her favor, accomplishes far less than Christianity in her infancy, with every worldly influence against her. “There is reason to think that there were more Jews converted by the apostles in one day, than have since been won over in the last thousand years.” (Jacob Bryant, 1792.) Compare the results of modern missionary efforts (which, indeed, have accomplished enough to stimulate to greater exertions) with the fruits of the preaching of the Apostle to the Gentiles! When more energy, more prayer, and greater faith shall be devoted to the conversion of the world—both Jews and Gentiles—we may confidently look to the Lord of the harvest for more abundant fruit.[G]

---

[February 18.]

THE BIBLE AND OTHER RELIGIOUS BOOKS.

By Rev. GEO. F. PENTECOST, D. D.

The most casual reader of the Bible, if he have any serious thoughtfulness of mind, must remark its unique and extraordinary character, differing as it does in its structure and matter, its spirit and style, from all other books. Side by side, the best and most celebrated of them, its incomparable superiority is almost instantly recognized. Here and there there have been found passages from other books that have been thought to compare favorably with some of the sublime teachings of the Bible. But it has been remarked that even when the precepts and moral teachings of both early and later ancients are found in the Bible, especially in the teachings of Jesus, they “receive a different setting, and a more heavenly light is in them. A diamond in a dark or dimly lighted room is not the same thing as a diamond in the track of a sunbeam.”[H] The simplicity and naturalness of the Bible are most striking. Where else can be found such graphic pictures of paternal and domestic life? The straightforward delineation of its most conspicuous characters; its record of the sins of God’s people with the same impartial pen as is used for the setting forth of their virtues; its lofty moral tone; its sublimity of thought; as well as its superhuman authority, all bespeak its unique character. For like the Master, of whom it is the constant and consistent witness, its words are with authority. It never speculates or halts in its teaching, but drives straight to the mark in its ever recurring “Thus saith the Lord,” in the Old Testament, and in the “Verily, verily, I say unto you” of the Master.

I met a young man some months ago in the inquiry-room in Hartford, and I said to him, as to others whom I met there nightly, “Well, my young friend, are you a Christian?” He replied, “I am not; but I am an inquirer after truth.” “What is your trouble?” I asked. “Why,” said he, “I do not know which Bible to believe, or whether they are all alike to be believed, each one for what it is worth.” “What do you mean?” I replied. “I do not understand you; there is but one Bible.” “Oh, yes, there are many Bibles. There are the Vedas and the Zend-Avesta and the Koran, but I do not count much upon the Koran; the others, however, are very ancient books, and contain the religion of the larger part of the inhabitants of the earth.” I found he had been reading Mr. Max Müller’s studies in comparative religions, and was much taken up with the idea that the Bible, especially the Old Testament scriptures, was only a Jewish version of the “more ancient” religions of Aryan races. I was at first disposed to ignore his difficulties and pass him by, but on second thought I felt it to be my duty to try and meet them. And since then I have found a great many persons who, while they are in no sense students or scholars, have read some book or magazine article by which they have been innoculated with the thought that the Bible is only one of many equally ancient and equally trustworthy religious books. And so it may be well just here to have our attention called to the difference between the Bible and these two of the more famous books. The Vedas are a very ancient collection of sacred hymns addressed to the fancied gods of nature, and make no pretension to be in any sense a revelation. They are the outpourings of the natural religious sentiment. The Zend-Avesta is an ancient speculation into the origin of things. It does not pretend to be a revelation of the truth, but only a human effort to account for and explain things that are seen. But the Bible differs from both in a most marked manner. The Bible is the revelation of God and the history of creation, the origin of things and of man, showing God to be the creator and author of all, and our relation, not to nature, but to him. Now the difference between a speculation and a revelation is this: One is an effort of the human mind to account for things seen, and so make discovery of the things that are not seen; an effort to leap from the earth outward and upward into the presence and mystery of the unseen and eternal. The other is a positive statement of the truth out and downward from God to man. We notice that the Bible, when speaking of God, never gives an opinion, never speculates. It always, in simple and majestic measure declares, as in the opening sentence of the Bible, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.” That is so utterly different, both in matter and manner, from any sentence ever framed by philosopher or religious speculator, that it almost goes without saying that these could not have been the words of man, they are the words of God spoken by man as he was moved of God to speak, in order that man might have the truth, and have it at once and simply, in a single breath.

The majestic sweep of the first chapter of Genesis is so great, packing away in a small compass the entire account of the creation of the world and all things therein, that on its face it bears the stamp of God rather than man. Think, if you can, of any human philosopher dashing off with a few bold strokes of his pen such an account of creation. If you want to read the finest specimen of human speculation and argumentation on record, turn to the divinely preserved debate between Job and his three friends recorded in the Book of Job, II, xi to xxxii. How the battle between Job and his three friends rages through those thirty chapters, until, weary with the conflict, they give over their arguments, drawn from observation, tradition and law. Nothing was settled, until, exhausted, they all sat face to face defiant and unconvinced each by the other. Then it was that Elihu (xxxii: 7), moved by inspiration, set the truth before them all. The result was that they were dumb (15), for they had but “darkened counsel by words without knowledge” (xxxviii:2); and Job was humbled before God, saying, “Behold I am vile, what shall I say unto thee? I will lay my hand upon my mouth. Once have I spoken; but I will not answer; yea, twice; but I will proceed no further” (xl:4, 5). This book is a striking and remarkable illustration of the difference between speculation and revelation. And as it is supposed that the Book of Job is the most ancient book in the Bible, if not in the world, this fact alone would go far to clear up the perplexity that exists in the minds of some as to their comparative worth and the true relation existing between ancient writings and the Bible.

---

[February 25.]

THE BIBLE AND SCIENCE.

By Rev. GEORGE F. PENTECOST, D. D.

Many, especially among the younger and partly educated portions of every community, are troubled with what they term the scientific difficulties of the Bible. We can only hint at this point. Because the Bible is not a speculation as to the origin of things, but an authoritative statement of the truth from God to man, it does not follow that its revealed truth is unphilosophical. And so, because the Bible does not contain a scientific account of creation, and is not written in the terms of the modern scientists it does not follow that the Bible is scientifically inaccurate in its statements. It must be borne in mind that the Bible was written ages before the birth of the modern sciences. And had it been written in scientific language it would have been to the people then living, and even to the great mass of people now living, an utterly unintelligible book—as most scientific books are unintelligible except to the educated few.

There can be no greater mistake than to suppose, for an instant, that any well ascertained fact of science has yet been shown to be in conflict with the Scriptural account of creation. We are aware that the assertion to this effect is often made; but such assertions have never been proved. Indeed, it is becoming more evident every day that science and revelation are drawing nearer together; that is, drawing nearer, in her domain to the truth as revealed in the Word of God. But were this not so, and were it shown that there was a real and thoroughly demonstrated error in the Bible account of creation, so that we must needs honestly give up Moses and the Bible, to whom should we go for the truth? We might adapt the words of Joshua and say (xiv: 15), “And if it seem evil unto you to believe the Bible, choose ye this day whom ye will believe, whether the pantheistic or materialistic philosophers who speculated before the rise of modern science, or the atheistic, theistic, or agnostic scientists;” for there be some who say science teaches there is no God, and some who say there must be God, and others who say we can not know if there be a God. Certainly science is at present on a wide sea of discovery in many boats, guided, each boat, by the theory of its particular occupant. Two things are certain: (1) Neither philosophy nor science has succeeded thus far in impeaching the accuracy of the Bible statement; (2) they have as yet reached no common ground of agreement among themselves. So that the Christian need not, as yet, (and I am sure he never will) be in any fear from the assaults of the students of science. It is indeed no new experience for the Bible to meet the shock of skepticism. For centuries it has been the object of attack, always fierce and relentless, and for centuries it has endured and beaten back its assailants. As a granite rock in the sea meets and hurls back into the ocean the fierce waves that roll in upon it, so the Bible has met and beaten back by the power of its immovable and eternal truth all its assailants. Like a rock in the sea rooted in a great submarine but unseen formation, it has sometimes seemed to be overwhelmed by the surging fury of the waves, but it has ever emerged unshaken and triumphant; the only effect has been to sweep away some human theological structure or false system of interpretation built upon it, but not growing out of it.

In this connection it is well to bear in mind that skeptical scientists have of late become far less haughty in their criticisms of the Bible, and far more humble in their estimate of their own knowledge (as it becomes every student, whether of science or theology, to be); for says an eminent scientific writer on the rights and duties of science: “It becomes science to confess with much humility how far it falls short of the full comprehension of nature, and to abstain conscientiously from premature conclusions. The rapid progress of discovery in recent times only makes more plain to us the fact that the extension of our knowledge implies the extension of our ignorance, that everywhere the progress of our knowledge leads us to unsolvable mysteries. It would be easy to furnish illustrations from every branch of science; but geology and biology are very fertile in them.” It has seemed due to many honest but uninformed minds, especially among the young, to say so much by way of recognition of their new-found difficulties, and also by way of indicating the outline of answer.

The Bible is not a scientific, but a religious book, intended not to inform the scientific and philosophic understanding, but to instruct the religious intelligence of man in those things that make for the life that now is, and that which is to come (I Tim., iv:8). What a blessed fact it is that we thirsty mortals can drink a glass of pure water and quench our burning thirst without having to know the chemical analysis of water, or how it was originally created. We are thirsty beings, and if our thirst is not slaked we shall die. Meantime we find water is provided; it is offered to us, and we are told it will slake our thirst, that it was provided in nature for that very purpose, and without stopping to have it analyzed, we drink it and live. We thus experimentally prove it to be water, and that all that was claimed for it is true. We likewise are religious beings, and if we do not find truth, and love, and happiness, and regeneration, and eternal life, and resurrection, we shall die and perish. God’s word is brought to us; it contains truths, or at least statements and promises that stand over against these spiritual hungerings and thirstings just as food and drink stand over against the hunger and thirst of the body. We take hold by faith of these promises, and the hunger and thirst of our souls are satisfied. We know the truth of the Bible, therefore, not by metaphysical or intellectual demonstration, but by experimental proof, as real in the sphere of our religious nature as scientific demonstration is real in the realm of matter. Two and two make four, that is mathematics; hydrogen and oxygen in certain proportions make water, that is science; Christ and him crucified is the power and wisdom of God for salvation, that is revelation. But how do you know? Put two and two together, and you have four; count and see. Put hydrogen and oxygen together, and you have water; taste and prove. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved. Believe and thou shalt know. The last is as clear a demonstration as the others.

As a practical necessity we do not have to know the mysteries involved in our own being, and in all the provisions of nature made for our well-being on the earth. It is well to understand the chemistry of food and drink; but it would not only be unwise but might be fatal for us to postpone eating and drinking until we had mastered the chemistry. And so again we may derive great satisfaction and benefit in discovering a philosophical and scientific adjustment of revelation; but we would be consummately foolish if we refused to believe—and thus practically to demonstrate, by believing—the truth of God’s word, until we had found the philosophical and scientific adjustment of it.

Our Lord said when he was in the world, “I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes” (Matt. xi:25). God does not reveal himself and his truth to the wisdom of the philosopher or to the prudence of the scientist, but he is easily found by child-like faith. “For after that, in the wisdom of God the world by wisdom knew not God, it pleased God, by the foolishness of preaching, to save them that believe. For the Jews (the scientists) require a sign, and the Greeks (the philosophers) seek after wisdom; but we preach Christ and him crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called (believers), both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God.... Not in enticing words of man’s wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power: that your faith should not stand in the wisdom of men, but in the power of God” (I Cor., i:21-24; ii:4, 5, et seq.). While philosophers and scientists have been disputing and treading over and over again the dreary paths of pantheism and materialism, trying to put God in a crucible or under a microscope, millions of souls in the ages past, and thousands in the daily present, have been and are finding God and Christ and salvation, to the joy and rejoicing of their souls; living in the power of an endless life even here; some meeting death triumphantly even at the stake, and others peacefully passing into the presence of him whom, having not seen on earth, they have yet known by faith and the power of his presence in them.

The engineers who directed the work of the Hoosac Tunnel started two gangs of men from opposite sides of the mountain. So accurate was their survey that when they met midway in the mountain, the walls of the excavations approaching from the different starting points joined within less than an inch. The practical working of the bore proved the scientific accuracy of the survey. Man, starting from the side of his human spiritual need reaching out and upward toward God, is met by the revelation in Christ coming out and downward from God, a revelation which exactly fits and covers his need. This perfect match between the human need and the heavenly supply is the perfect proof of the Divine origin of the Bible. Just as color is intuitive to sight, harmony to the musical sense, beauty to the sense of the beautiful, so is God’s word intuitive to the spiritual consciousness. Coleridge was wont to say: “I know the Bible is true because it finds me.”

[End of Required Reading for February.]

[GRACE.]

By B. W.

There is grace in the leaves of the unfolding rose,

In the calm of the floating swan,

In the bend of a river that swiftly flows,

And the bridge of a single span.

There is grace in the sweep of a midnight sky,

In the bounds of a wild gazelle,

In the measures of music rolling by,

And the tale which the poets tell.

There is grace in the round of that baby’s arm;

In the form that is bending to kiss;

There is grace in all ways that quietly charm

And that silently waken bliss.

But the grace which most deeply enamors my heart

Is the bearing of Jesus to me;

—How quietly he with all riches could part,

A man and a Savior to be.

In him is more fulness of all I call grace,

Than the eye or the heart e’er possessed.

His knowledge is heaven, wherever the place;

His beauty, my quietest rest.

[WHAT GENIUS IS.]

By JAMES KERR. M. A.

We will now consider what genius is, and, more particularly, whether it is an inborn or an acquired power.

On this much debated question there are, so to speak, two schools of thought, diametrically opposed to one another, and each pushing its views to an extreme, as if there were no middle way in which the truth may be found.

On the one hand, genius is held to be a kind of inspiration, which accomplishes its object without training or effort. No culture is needed; no special education whatever. Shakspere warbled “his native wood-notes wild” spontaneously. The songs of Burns are the outpourings of untaught genius; and no culture or education could have improved them in the slightest degree. They are like the song of the lark, free and spontaneous. But all this, we know, is an ideal dream. Shakspere, besides reading the volume of human nature which lay open before him, and which he made all his own, read many books, and took much pains with his writings. And as for Burns, he received a training of no ordinary kind. To say nothing of the volume of human nature spread out before him, from his youth upward, and which, like Shakspere, he read with penetrating glance, he perused with critical care the literary compositions of others, by which his mind was disciplined and his taste refined.

How far the greatest writers are from being perfect in themselves, and how much they are indebted to other aids, let one say who is entitled to speak with authority on such a subject. The great German writer Goethe thus speaks: “How little are we by ourselves, and how little can we call our own! We must all accept and learn from those that went before us, and from those that live with us. Even the greatest genius would make but little way if he were to create and construct everything out of his own mind. The world influences us at each step. The artist who merely walks through a room and casts a glance at the pictures, goes away a wiser man, and has learnt something from others. My works spring not from my own wisdom alone, but from hundreds of things and persons that gave the matter for them. There were fools and sages, long-headed men and narrow-minded men, children, and young and old men and women, that told me how they felt and what they thought. I had but to hold out my hands and reap a harvest which others had sown for me.... Many a time I am told that such and such an artist owes all to himself. Sometimes I put up with it; but sometimes, too, I tell them that he has little reason to be proud of his master.”

But though the slightest reflection suffices to show that there can be no inborn genius which accomplishes its ends in full perfection without education or training of any kind, there will still remain among most of us a vague belief to the contrary. It is more congenial to the popular taste to imagine that genius is an immediate gift from heaven, owing all to its divine source, than that it requires in any degree to be aided and supplemented by less sublime means.

On the other hand, many contend that genius is wholly an acquired power, using such arguments as the following: It is constantly found that the habit of taking pains ever accompanies what we call genius. In actual fact the two are ever found united. Where the one is present the other is present also. Where the one is absent the other also is absent. May not the one be the cause of the other? Then look at the effect of education in improving our intellectual powers. Look at the effect of education and constant practice in making the mind alert, and capable of doing well whatever it does often! Nor must it be forgotten that it is not one part only of man’s education that is to be considered, but every part. Everything that happens to us, everything that affects us, from the first dawn of our existence, is part of our education. When the Queen and Prince Albert were taking counsel together about the education of their children, a sagacious friend whom they consulted, to their surprise insisted strongly on this point, that a child’s education begins “the first day of his life.” Impressions are made on the infant mind going farther back than we can trace them. All these impressions, all the influences that surround us, from our first entrance into life, are a part of our education.

All this may be true; but there is perhaps some danger of our attributing too much importance to education. There are natural differences of intellectual power among men altogether apart from the education they receive. Some minds are strong by nature and in their very organization, while others are uncommonly weak.

Some are naturally so stupid and weak in the head that nothing can be made of them, let their education be continued ever so long. One day, when calling at the Bank of Scotland in Edinburgh, I stood beside a man, who was depositing some money, whose intellect was of this low type. The teller asked him if he wished to lift the interest of the money lying to his credit for the past year. He just answered, “Let it lie.” Then the teller handed him a paper to sign. He said, “I canna do’t.” Feeling interested in the man, I advised him to go to a night school, at least to learn to sign his name. He replied, “I hae been at it four years, and I canna do’t.” Of course, of such a man nothing could be made. No amount of education could ever make him a genius, or even raise him above mediocrity in any branch of learning.

But if we take minds of a higher order, is it not possible that education acting upon them may be attended with happier results, and may ultimately produce that beautiful, that rich and rare type of mind which we call genius? Such was the opinion of Dr. Johnson. In his “Life of Cowley,” and with reference to the boyhood of the poet, Dr. Johnson says: “In the window of his mother’s apartment lay Spenser’s ‘Fairy Queen,’ in which he very early took delight to read, till, by feeling the charms of verse, he became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. Such are the accidents which, sometimes remembered, and perhaps sometimes forgotten, produce that particular designation of mind, and propensity for some certain science or employment, which is commonly called genius. The true genius is a mind of large general powers accidentally determined to some particular direction.”

Nor was this a mere passing thought with the great moralist; it was his confirmed belief. More than once we find the same idea repeated in his conversations. Thus, on one occasion, he is reported to have said: “No, sir, people are not born with a particular genius for particular employments or studies, for it would be like saying that a man could see a great way east, but could not west. It is good sense applied with diligence to what was at first a mere accident, and which by great application grew to be called by the generality of mankind a particular genius.”

If Dr. Johnson’s view is correct, we ought surely to meet with far more men of genius in the world than we do! There is no want of such as possess “large general powers,” and yet men of genius are rare. They are like angel’s visits, few and far between.

Dr. Johnson’s argument has been repeated in every variety of form. One says genius is untiring patience. Another says it is a great capacity for taking trouble. Another says it is simply hard work. But again we may ask, If genius is what such writers represent it to be, why are not men of genius more frequently met with?

Nor can it be said their lot forbids or that opportunities are wanting. What with the multiplication of books, and the general extension of education among all classes, knowledge now unrolls her “ample page” to every eye, and yet our embryo Miltons remain mute and inglorious, and the fairest flowers of genius, with rare exceptions, are still born to blush unseen, and waste their sweetness on the desert air.

Such being the case, may we not reasonably suppose that something more is needed for the production of genius than “large general powers, accidentally determined to some particular direction?”

In one sense, indeed, Dr. Johnson’s views may be not far from the truth. If by the word genius we mean transcendent genius, such as is found in our Shaksperes and Miltons, his definition can not be considered as otherwise than defective. But we do not always confine the word to this strict meaning. In a looser sense there are various types of genius. One star differeth from another in glory. If only a few occupy the higher places, and reach, so to speak, the topmost round of the ladder, a vastly greater number—a multitude which no man can number—may occupy lower places, and cluster on the lower rounds, sighing in vain to reach the highest. If Dr. Johnson had only in view this lower type of genius, his definition may be considered as fairly correct. To attain this station little more may be needed than “large general powers,” supplemented by persevering effort.

But in order to reach the highest rank of transcendent genius something more is needed, and that something we may call aptness of nature. Bacon, after giving some examples of extraordinary skill acquired in bodily exercises, says: “All which examples do demonstrate how variously, and to how high points and degrees, the body of man may be, as it were, moulded and wrought. And if any man conceive that it is some secret propriety of nature that hath been in these persons which have attained to those points, and that it is not open for every man to do the like, though he had been put to it; for which cause such things come but very rarely to pass; it is true, no doubt, that some persons are apter than others; but so as the more aptness causeth perfection, but the less aptness doth not disable.”

Bacon here hits the exact point. And what he says applies not to the physical powers only, but to the intellectual powers also. A greater degree of “aptness” is necessary to “perfection,” to the highest excellence in any study or pursuit, though less “aptness” may lead to eminence of a high though less perfect kind.

We speak of Napoleon’s military tact or aptness which he had from nature, and which he so greatly improved by practice. He combined aptness of nature with persevering study, and it was the two combined which for so many years chained victory to his chariot wheels.

In like manner the great writer has a literary tact or aptness, the gift of nature, and which he greatly improves by study and practice. The two qualities of aptness and persevering study go hand in hand, and the one is as indispensable as the other in order to reach the highest excellence.

This leads us to what appears to be the best definition of genius that can be given. Genius of the highest type may be defined to be “a special aptitude developed by special culture.” Special aptitude is the germ of genius, and is the gift of nature. Special culture is the means by which this natural gift is fully developed and so vastly improved.

May we not suppose that the poet Burns had this definition in his eye when he said: “I have not a doubt but the knack, the aptitude to learn the muse’s trade, is a gift bestowed by him who forms the secret bias of the soul; but I as firmly believe that excellence in the profession is the fruit of industry, labor, attention, and pains!”

[ARIZONA.]

By Rev. SHELDON JACKSON, D. D.

Arizona is a land of constant surprises. In its natural phenomena it is the paradise of the scientist, antiquarian, and tourist. Its deep cañons are the open book of geology; its vast prehistoric ruins alike stimulate and baffle the antiquarian, and its marvelous scenery, its flora, remnants of a strange people, and ancient architecture, will attract thousands of tourists.

The first portion of the United States to be settled by Europeans, it is the last developed of all our territories save Alaska.

Possessing the oldest civilization, it is just coming into contact with the new. Railway trains rattle and palace cars glide past prehistoric ruins.

With scarcely a place in history, it has been the theatre of many stirring events for three centuries: the battleground of races and civilizations.

It is preëminently the land of romance. It breaks upon the world and is connected with the waning of the great empire of the Montezumas.

In the early enthusiasm of American exploration it is linked with fabulous stores of silver. When questioned as to the source of all his great wealth, Montezuma was accustomed to point to the north. Rumors were rife of the northern cities of Civola (cities of the bull) and Chichiticala, with their fabulous wealth; of wonderful rivers, with their banks three or four leagues in the air; of races of highly “civilized Indians, and beautiful women, fair as alabaster.”

The very name “Arizona” (silver land) fired the avarice of the Spanish heart. The spark to set this enthusiasm on fire was supplied by the arrival in 1536 at Culican, in Sinaloa, of Alvar Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, with three companions, all that were left of the ill-fated expedition of Narvaez and his three hundred followers.

During nine years of untold hardship and adventure, without compass or chart, through an unknown wilderness of woods, swamps, and arid plains, and hostile tribes, they crossed the continent from Florida to California, and made known a new region and people.

His description of the “seven cities of Civola,” excited alike the warrior and the priest. New conquests and fabulous wealth, and new fields for the Church started into existence expeditions of discovery and conquest. On the 7th of March, 1539, Padre Marcos de Nizza, a Franciscan monk, accompanied by Estevanico, a negro attendant, started in search of the “seven cities.” They passed through the land of the Papagoes and Pimas, traversed the valley of Santa Cruz, and finally came in sight of one of the pueblos (probably Zuñi). The negro having gone in advance with a party of Indians and been murdered, the monk did not enter the pueblo, but returned to Culican.

The viceroy, Mendoza, then projected two expeditions, one by sea, under Fernando de Alarcon, and the other by land, under Vasquez de Coronado. This latter expedition started in April, 1540, with a thousand men, mainly Indians. The expedition penetrated through Arizona to the Pueblo villages on the Rio Grande, and northward to the fortieth degree of latitude.

In 1582, Antonio de Espejo explored the valleys of Little Colorado, the Verde and Rio Grande, discovering valuable mines of silver.

On September 28, 1595, Juan de Ornate asked for permission and assistance in establishing a Spanish colony in the new country, which was granted, and many flourishing missions and settlements sprang up. In 1680 the pueblos of New Mexico, and the Apaches, of Arizona, arose in rebellion and drove the Spanish from the country.

In 1698 a Jesuit missionary, Eusebius Francis Kino, left his station at Dolores, and journeying northward, commenced missions among the Cocopahs and Yuma Indians. Previous to this the Jesuit fathers seem to have established the missions of St. Gertrude de Tubac, San Xavier del Bac, Joseph de Tumacacori, San Miguel Sonoita, Guavavi, Calabassus, Arivica, and Santa Ana. The cupidity and cruelty of the priests seemed so great, that in 1757 the Indians rebelled, destroying the missions and killing most of the priests.

In 1764 an unknown Jesuit priest (probably Jacobi Sedalman) visited the country, penetrating as far north as the Verde.

In 1769 the Marquis de Croix had fourteen priests sent out to replace those killed by the Indians.

On the 20th of April, 1773, two priests, Pedro Font and Francisco Garcia, left Central Mexico, and the following spring explored the Gila River from Florence to its mouth.

In 1776-7 two Franciscan priests, Sylvester Velez Escalente, and Francisco Atanaco Dominguez, traversed Arizona, Utah, Nevada, and California. In 1776 there were eighteen missions in Arizona. At this time religious exploration seems to have largely ceased.

In 1773 the Spanish held the country south of Tucson, then called Tulquson. Unwilling to leave the rich silver mines, that brought such treasure to the Church, the priests and Spanish settlers gathered around them in their half religious and half military missions; again and again returned to the country, only to be again driven out by the Apaches, so that more than half the priests sent to Arizona were killed by the Indians. And yet the missions, through the fidelity of the Pima and Papagoes, held their own until the revolution for Mexican independence. From that time forward they languished, until suppressed by a decree of the Mexican government in 1827.

In 1824 Sylvester and James Pattie, father and son, from Bardstown, Kentucky, made up a party of one hundred adventurous frontiersmen to trap on the headwaters of the Arkansas. After many adventures in New Mexico the party broke up, and a few of them attempted to cross Arizona to the Pacific. Upon reaching San Diego they were imprisoned, and the father died in prison.

Pauline Weaver, of White County, Tennessee, penetrated Arizona as early as 1832.

As one of the results of the Mexican War, the portion of Arizona north of the Gila River was ceded to the United States February 2, 1848, and the southern portion acquired by the Gadsen purchase of December 30, 1853.

The discovery of gold in California in 1849 made Arizona a highway for the adventurous spirits that pressed across the continent to establish an empire on the Pacific coast. In 1855 the boundary survey was completed by Major Emory and Lieutenant Michler.

In August, 1857, a semi-monthly line of stages was put on between San Antonio, Texas, and San Diego, California. This was followed in August, 1858, by the celebrated Butterfield Overland Express, making semi-weekly trips between St. Louis and San Francisco—time twenty-two days. This was run with great regularity until the rebellion in 1861.

By act of Congress in 1854 Arizona was attached to New Mexico, and a commissioner appointed to survey the boundary.

In 1854 Yuma was laid out under the name of Arizona City. In 1857 a few mining settlements began to spring up in the Mohave country. In 1859 a newspaper was published for a short time at Tubac. The country was nominally a portion of New Mexico, but Santa Fe was far away and the Apaches ruled the land.

In 1857 and again in 1860 efforts were made in Congress to secure the establishment of a separate territorial organization.

On the 27th of February, 1862, Captain Hunter with a band of one hundred guerrillas reached Tucson and took possession of Arizona for the Confederate government. The miners fled the country. The Apaches fell upon them, murdering many of them by the way. The Mexicans rushed across the border and stripped the mines of their machinery and improvements, and the country was deserted.

Spurred by the necessities of the case Congress organized the Territory of Arizona, February 24, 1863. From that time to 1874 the history of the Territory was one of fierce struggle with the Apaches, whose power was finally broken by General Crook, when scarcely a warrior capable of bearing arms was left living.

And yet the wild career of the fierce Apache was not an unmingled evil. He kept back the Spanish settlements and thus prevented the land from being covered with large Spanish grants, which are proving so injurious to the adjoining countries of New Mexico and California.

Since the settlement of the Apache the progress of the country has been steady and uninterrupted, and especially rapid since the advent of the Southern Pacific Railroad, in 1878-9. By the census of 1880 it has 40,400 population as against 9,658 in 1870, besides some of the semi-civilized tribes of Moquis, Pima, Papago and Maricopa Indians. These tribes have from the beginning been the friend of the white man, and in many critical periods the white man’s only protection from the incursions of the wild Apache.

During the earlier days of California emigration many a man lost and perishing on their plains was taken to their homes, nourished into strength and sent on his way rejoicing—for all of which they have never received any adequate return from the American people or government. Schools have lately been established among them by the Presbyterian Church.

The Indian population in the Territory numbers 20,800. In 1880 there were six banks and nineteen newspapers—six of which were dailies. The Roman Catholics had five churches and seven priests. The Mormons thirty-five churches, one hundred and seventy-eight high priests and five thousand members. The Presbyterians two churches and two ministers. Protestant Episcopal one church and one minister.

In 1882 the Protestant working force in the Territory consisted of half-a-dozen Methodist ministers, two or three Baptists, two Episcopalians and three Presbyterians.

In 1880 there were 3,089 school children, and the school expenditures amounted to $21,396. The production of gold and silver in 1880 was $4,500,000. In the same year there were 145,000 head of cattle and 1,326,000 head of sheep in the country.

Arizona has an area of 114,000 square miles—about as large as all New England and New York combined. The unbroken ranges of mountains that sweep down between California and Nevada and through Utah and Colorado, in Arizona are broken up into detached ranges. Among the more remarkable of these ranges are the Peloncillo, Pinaleno, Santa Catarina, Santa Rita, Dragoon, Chiricahuas, Mogollon, White, San Francisco, Peacock, Cervat, and Hualapais. They generally have a northwest and southeast course, with long narrow valleys between them.

The two great rivers are the Gila and Colorado, with their principal tributaries, the San Juan, Little Colorado, Bill Williams, Rio Verde, and Salt rivers. The Colorado has the most remarkable cañon formation in the known world. The valleys of the San Juan, Little Colorado, Salt, and Gila rivers are agricultural valleys, with millions of acres of great fertility, producing wheat, barley, oats, cotton, tobacco, lemons, oranges, grapes, figs, etc., of which over two hundred thousand acres are now under cultivation. Portions of the valleys of Santa Crux and Gila are cultivated by the Indians. Upon the Little Colorado are many settlements of Mormons.

In the western and southwestern sections are large areas of desert land, intensely warm in summer. The northern and eastern sections are at a higher altitude, and possess a delightful climate. The climate is remarkably healthy, and with the coming of railways will be greatly sought by invalids. The Southern Pacific Railroad crosses the southern section of the Territory from west to east, and the Atlantic and Pacific the northern portion from east to west, while a branch line of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe connects the southern portion with the Gulf of California at Guymas.

The great industry of the country is silver mining, building up flourishing districts at Tombstone, Globe, Prescott, and other places. Gold, copper, and lead also abound.

[THE SIX FOLLIES OF SCIENCE.]

By I. D’ISRAELI.

Nothing is so capable of disordering the intellects as an intense application to any one of these six things: the Quadrature of the Circle; the Multiplication of the Cube; the Perpetual Motion; the Philosophical Stone; Magic; and Judicial Astrology. In youth we may exercise our imagination on these curious topics, merely to convince us of their impossibility; but it shows a great defect in judgment to be occupied on them in an advanced age. “It is proper, however,” Fontenelle remarks, “to apply one’s self to these inquiries; because we find, as we proceed, many valuable discoveries of which we were before ignorant.” The same thought Cowley has applied, in an address to his mistress, thus:

“Although I think thou never wilt be found,

Yet I’m resolved to search for thee:

The search itself rewards the pains.

So though the chymist his great secret miss,

(For neither it in art or nature is)

Yet things well worth his toil he gains;

And does his charge and labor pay

With good unsought experiments by the way.”

The same thought is in Donne. Perhaps Cowley did not suspect that he was an imitator. Fontenelle could not have read either; he struck out the thought by his own reflection. It is very just. Glauber searched long and deeply for the philosopher’s stone, which though he did not find, yet in his researches he discovered a very useful purging salt, which bears his name.

Maupertuis, in a little volume of his letters, observes on the “Philosophical Stone,” that we can not prove the impossibility of obtaining it, but we can easily see the folly of those who employ their time and money in seeking for it. This price is too great to counterbalance the little probability of succeeding in it. However it is still a bantling of modern chemistry, who has nodded very affectionately on it. Of the “Perpetual Motion,” he shows the impossibility, at least in the sense in which it is generally received. On the “Quadrature of the Circle,” he says he can not decide if this problem be resolvable or not; but he observes, that it is very useless to search for it any more; since we have arrived by approximation to such a point of accuracy, that on a large circle, such as the orbit which the earth describes round the sun, the geometrician will not mistake by the thickness of a hair. The quadrature of the circle is still, however, a favorite game of some visionaries, and several are still imagining that they have discovered the perpetual motion; the Italians nick-name them matto perpetuo; and Bekker tells us of the fate of one Hartmann, of Leipsic, who was in such despair at having passed his life so vainly in studying the perpetual motion, that at length he hanged himself.

[THE CO-RELATED FORCES.]

By RICHARD BUDD PAINTER.

I will give a short account of some forces which influence matter in a very powerful degree.

These are Heat, Light, Electricity, Magnetism, Chemical Affinity (or chemical change), and Motion.

Of these forces, as of those of attraction and repulsion, we again can only judge by their effects. God alone knows their cause and real quality.

Until a few years ago they were supposed to be quite different things essentially, but Grove, Joule, and others have now shown them to be so co-related as to be convertible the one into the other, and hence the brilliant theory of the “Correlation of the Physical Forces.”

To show this co-relation and capacity for transformation I will give a few examples. Rub a piece of iron briskly, or repeatedly strike it with a hammer, and it will become warm. We know from this, therefore, that motion will produce heat. Or strike a lucifer match against the box, and the rapid motion of the match against the hard surface will produce sufficient heat to cause the sensitive chemical substance at the end of the match to inflame, and so to give out heat and light. Or watch a horse trotting on a hard road at night, and sparks will every now and then fly from his feet.

This is because by the rapid forcible motion of his legs the iron of his shoes every now and then comes in contact with a stone, and a minute particle of steel being struck off with great force and rapidity it becomes red-hot, and thus presents another example of how motion can be converted into heat.

These are instances of heat and light being produced by the motion of friction. But now let us look at the converse case, of heat producing motion.

Light a piece of coal, and set a kettle of water on it. The flames resulting from chemical change soon leap out, and flicker, and flare, and presently the water too becomes agitated, and boils with energetic motion, and steam rushes up into the air.

Place water in a proper machine, and the force you get from the chemical change of the coal causing the water to form steam, can make a railway train weighing hundreds of tons rush along the rails at a mile a minute.

These are familiar examples of how man may set in action the correlative forces, but instances abound universally in all creation where the correlative forces are constantly producing each other by mutual conversion, and affecting thereby all sorts of natural changes.

By the stimulus of heat and light, etc., received from the sun, motion and chemical change are compelled throughout nature, both animate and inanimate. As an example of the latter take the case of water.

The water of the seas and lakes, etc., being affected by heat moves by evaporation into the air, and afterward descends as rain or dew to perform the well-known and indispensable uses pertaining thereto.

Then as to the way in which light and heat produce movement and chemical change in plants and animals, I will also cite one example, selecting plants as being the most ready of illustration.

It is under the stimulation of light and heat that the plant grows and performs its functions; and astonishing to say, the rays, both of light and heat, which fall on the plant are absorbed into it and fixed there.

That is to say, the chemical changes necessitated in the plant by the light and heat, result in these factors of change being themselves incorporated with the new wood, etc., in such a way as to be retained there in union with the atoms of carbon and other constituents of the tissue and products of the plant. Thus fixed they may remain for ages, until the wood, etc., is itself subjected to change, and then either as wood or as coal (if turned into such) it will—if burnt—again give out that light and heat which it received and appropriated during growth.

Hitherto I have spoken of chemical decomposition only as produced by motion, and heat, and light, but now I must give a familiar instance in which you can produce great chemical change and movement amongst atoms by simply mixing two chemicals together. Add tartaric acid to a solution of carbonate of soda and a great commotion ensues, owing to the superior affinity of the tartaric acid for the soda; and which acid displaces the carbonic acid in previous union with the soda, and the latter acid is turned out and escapes by violent effervescence.

This instance is but a typical example of chemical decomposition in general, and may occur in thousands of different ways in different chemicals, and producing not only chemical transformation, but the manifestation in many cases of heat, and light, and electricity, etc.

I will next speak of electricity and chemical affinity conjointly. The electrical spark will produce heat, light, chemical change, and movement.

Faraday showed also that electricity produces magnetism, and magnetism electricity—that indeed you can not produce the one without the other.

Again, electricity will set in motion chemical affinity or decomposition, and conversely chemical change will produce heat, light, electricity, motion, etc. To show this, place pieces of zinc and copper in an acid—that is, make a voltaic battery. The acid attracts the metal and sets up chemical action, and the result is that this chemical action by producing a change of state, sets free electricity, which being conducted by “the poles” or wires of the battery can there be made manifest in the following different ways:

Bring the poles together and heat, light, motion, etc., will be produced as witnessed in the dazzling electric light.

Or, to produce chemical change only, plunge the wires constituting “the poles” of the battery into water, and wonderful to say the molecules of water will have such motion imparted to them that they will be broken up into their constituent gases; and what is most marvelous, the oxygen will always be given off at one pole and the hydrogen at the other.

This is electrolysis or electro-chemical decomposition. Numbers of compounds in solution may have the molecular states of their atoms broken up thus, by the voltaic current, and curious to say of the atoms so dissevered, as above noted, those composing a given element will always be evolved by the same pole—the positive pole or the negative pole as the case may be. Some elements, that is to say, always appearing at the positive pole and others always at the negative.

Lastly I will say a few words specially as to motion.

We saw how the motion of striking the lucifer match produced chemical change, and light, and heat. We have seen also that chemical change—that is, the movement and change of place of the infinitely small atoms of matter—could be produced by heat, and light, and electricity; and that chemical change could also itself interchangeably produce all these.

We have seen, too, that motion can be produced by heat—as by the production of steam which drives the engine; also that light can cause motion, as in the growth and nutrition of plants; and it remains only in this brief summary of an immense subject, to remind the reader that electricity and magnetism can also both of them produce motion, not merely amongst atoms, but even in large masses, by means of their attractions and repulsions. Rub a piece of sealing-wax or glass with cloth or silk, and the friction will cause such a change of state in the glass or wax as to set free electricity, and this force, thus made evident by motion (rubbing), can itself produce motion by attracting pieces of paper, etc.; indeed, by using well-known methods you may lift hundreds of pounds’ weight.

So likewise as to magnetism; it can produce motion, as we see in the oscillation of the needle of the mariner’s compass—the attraction by a magnet of iron filings, etc.

From the above short survey of this marvelous subject, it can, I hope, be understood by the reader that in the co-related forces we have a most striking—nay! miraculous instance of “continuity”—that is to say, that the force, or essence, or energy, whatever it may be and whatever you may call it, that constitutes heat, light, etc., etc., is never lost, but merely changes from one form, or kind, or state, into another, in a perpetual series of everlasting transformations, each one form being capable of producing: or changing into one or more of the others—motion, for example, being readily transformed into heat, or heat into motion, etc.

My illustrations have necessarily been scanty, and my explanations brief, but I hope I have adduced sufficient to show the unscientific that in the six correlative powers we have a protean force which is able to assume the most astounding changes and varieties of form, according to some mechanical law we are totally unacquainted with.

But what is the real nature of this force or forces?

As to this I can say but little: it is one of the mysteries of creation. Experiment demonstrates that heat and light are kindred in their mechanical constitutions, and that they consist of vibrations of a “something” which is called ether, and it seems pretty certain that this “wave theory” is correct; but why they vibrate we do not know.

Then of the nature of magnetism and electricity we know even less, and can only say they are changes of the state of “something” which produces changes in the state of other things, both of matter and forces.

Some persons have thought that whereas light consists probably of the vibrations of “ether” in a particular manner, so, that electricity and magnetism may depend also on different kinds of strain or wave motion of this same “ether,”—either of that of space, or of the “ether” that permeates all substances. But, of course, this is all hypothesis.

So, too, of “chemical affinity,” we do not know exactly why it acts as it does, or what its force really consists in; we can only say that it depends on the different motions and appetencies or repulsions of the atoms of the various kinds of matter being made manifest, when such atoms are loosened from their previous condition by heat or what not, and so being rendered free, are able, through their inherent qualities and attractions, to arrange themselves afresh under the new conditions, in the order compelled by such endowed qualities and attractions.

We can only judge of motion, or force, or energy by witnessing its effects; and when we say that gunpowder or coal contain in them a store of potential energy, we only know that they do contain the capacity for producing movement and doing work. The gunpowder will, if inflamed, expand suddenly by the production of gases resulting from chemical changes induced by heat, and in such explosion will give liberty to enormous force.

And so likewise as to coal: on being subjected to chemical change by heat, it will, though in a less rapid way, give off its equivalent of force or energy; but as to what this acting force or energy really is, we know nothing more than that it is motion—and as to what potential force is, we know nothing more than that it is the capacity for movement in store.

[SOME GERMAN ART AND ARTISTS.]

If it is true, as Emerson affirmed, that “It never was in the power of any man or any community to call the arts into being,” that “they come to serve his natural wants, never to please his fancy,” then Berlin offers in her new National Gallery a fine illustration of this theory. In 1841 King Frederick William IV engaged the architect Stüler to draw a plan of a building, after the style of a Corinthian temple, which should inclose a fine room, serviceable as a lecture hall for the University, an exhibition hall for pictures, or a public audience room. They determined to locate this building just back of the Royal Museum, on the so called “Museum Island.” The king died before his plan was developed. In March, 1861, the Swedish consul, J. H. W. Wagener died in Berlin, leaving as a legacy to the state his collection of pictures, which was known in the city as the “Wagener Collection,” which occupied several rooms in the “Kunst Akademie.” In these same rooms every two years was held the exhibition for German artists, accompanied with the never ceasing regret that the accommodations were so poor. So necessity originated the idea of utilizing the “Corinthian Temple,” then about to be built, not for a “city hall,” according to the intention of Frederick William IV, but for an “art museum,” exclusively for German art. The thought of such a magnificent temple for their future works inspired all ambitious German artists, for it was understood that whenever anything superior was produced it should pass into the public possession, thus rendering the sale of great works possible, and establishing a connection between the artists and the State—a plan which was advocated years ago by Herman Grimm.

After it was decided to use this building for a gallery, Stüler occupied himself with the necessary architectural changes which he only completed a short time before his death. The corner stone was laid on the 2nd of December, 1867. The work advanced slowly, and was, of course, interrupted by the Franco-Prussian war. After the victories it was resumed, and grew as rapidly as all buildings did in that memorable year of 1871, when it was scarcely possible to secure a dwelling in the German capital.

It stands a grand monument to German taste and genius of the 19th century, and very appropriately contains on its proud front the simple inscription:

DER DEUTSCHEN KUNST, MDCCCLXXI.

It is said to be the finest modern gallery in Europe, and is one among the few buildings designed especially for a gallery, old palaces being utilized generally for this purpose. I doubt not, however (if European critics would believe it), that the Boston, New York and Philadelphia art museums or academies are in architectural design in many respects superior. The National Gallery in Berlin is built of the reddish Nebraer sandstone. The dimensions are 62 metres long by 31 wide. From the ground plan can be seen the extent of the flight of stairs outside, which lead to a portico. This portico is supported in the pseudo-peripteral Corinthian style. The columns extend around the entire second story of the building. Between each two is engraved the name of an architect or artist. There are four fine groups of statuary on this stairway. A door opens from the portico into the second floor of the building, which is not in keeping with the generous dimensions of the columns and stairs. The entrance adds 34 metres in length to the building.

The walls of the entrance hall or vestibule in the first floor are overlaid with red Pyrenean marble; the ceiling is metal made in the Cassetin pattern, so much used in the Dresden gallery, and is supported by four Ionic columns. On the left broad white marble stairs lead to the second floor. To the right is a large open space for statuary. The first hall runs obliquely, and rests upon twelve black Belgian marble pillars, with capital and base of gilded zinc. The walls are of a sombre yellow stucco, reflective as marble. Upon the arched ceiling is frescoed in grey the story of the “Niebelungen Lied,” which is exceedingly pretty, surrounded as it is by brilliant borders. Between the columns the wall rises in the form of arches, and in these arches the story of Siegfried is painted.

Leading from this first hall to the left is a room for statuary (II), two rooms beyond for pictures (III and IV), to the right four rooms (XIV, XIII, XII, XI,) for paintings. These again unite in an oblique hall for statuary which expands into five fan-like rooms for paintings. Ascending the stairs slowly, we can study a plaster frieze, extending around the wall from the first to the second story, representing the “Progress of Civilization in Germany.” All her great men are here, from St. Boniface and Charles the Great to Frederick William IV, and the distinguished men of his times, kings, princes, poets, scientists, philosophers, literateurs, philanthropists, historians, musicians, artists, architects, sculptors, all are here gracefully and ingeniously brought out with their own accessories, consciously or unconsciously working with their separate aims into one another’s hands. It is a succession of men one can well pause to study. Otho I, Ulrich von Hütten, Melancthon, Luther, Cranach, Holbein, Dürer, the great elector, Libnitz, Winkelmann, Mengs, Klopstock, Bach, Glück, Frederick the Great, Kant, Lessing, Schiller, Goethe, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Blücher, Stein, Schleiermacher, Hegel, the brothers Grimm, Humboldt, Weber, Schinkel, Tieck, Rauch, Overbeck, Kaulbach, Stüber, Cornelius, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn, Rietichel Kiss, Hildebrandt—are only selected from the long list. Among all are the names of but two women! Sophia Charlotte, and Queen Louise, who make prominent the two monarchs standing by their sides. Is it not almost dazzling to see this nation growing by “its own genius into a civilization of its own?”

We must not forget, however, in the distraction of thought caused by the encounter of the representative men of eleven centuries that we are ascending the stairs of a modern gallery in search of the works of a single man, who stood at the head of his own department, and revived art in Germany in a century when the equipoise between it and other interests had been lost.

There has been much dissatisfaction expressed by critical people that the two handsomest rooms in the National Gallery have been devoted to the shadowy old cartoons of Cornelius. But we intend to enter these rooms, not with the complaints of many fresh in our memory, but in the spirit of Hermann Grimm—he who says of himself that he “regards art as the noblest fruit of human activity,” and who writes in his “Life of Michael Angelo:” “Since Michael Angelo’s death, no one has presented such vast problems to art as Cornelius, whose noble conceptions have been more powerfully and grandly embodied with increasing years. He is a painter in the highest sense. Like Michael Angelo and Raphael, he touches the intellectual life of the people on all points, and endeavors to represent that which most deeply affects their minds. Yet in spite of all, how do his efforts, and all that has resulted from them, tell upon the people? and what has been the end of the mighty power waited for through centuries? With deep shame I write the fate awarded to this man in Prussia. He is not, indeed, allowed to suffer want; an honorable, brilliant old age has fallen to his lot. But, while for that which is called official art, the greatest sums are fixed and given, not only are there none finished of the paintings ordered of Cornelius—the cartoons of which, whenever they appear, eclipse everything else, unsightly as is their gray paper and charcoal strokes—but so much can not even be obtained in Berlin as a couple of simple walls for the cartoons of the paintings executed by him in Munich, which are kept shut up there, or go traveling around the world, appearing in Belgium, Austria and England, acquiring in these places the notoriety to which he owes his late fame. Engravings are taken from them. As photographs, they are in every hand; and in this way their influence will endure, until, perhaps, some day a museum worthy of them may be achieved, where they may find their true place, not as the ornament of a Camposants, but as the memorials of a great man.”

The day has arrived! The words of Hermann Grimm for his friend have not been lost, but like Ruskin’s praise of Turner, have fallen into good ground. Before reaching the Cornelius Halls, the Cupola room, which is the most gorgeous in ornamental work, must be entered. At the top of nine pillars are the sitting figures of the nine muses in light polychromatic tints—so exquisitely delicate the shells of the sea seem to have furnished the colors. Between these figures the roof forms into shells, above which and encircling the dome, are painted the signs of the zodiac in brilliant colors upon a gold background. This “Cupola Saal” has four doors, one from the vestibule, the other opening into the Cornelius Halls, and the other two on either side leading into the long picture halls. I have said doors—but fortunately there are no doors in this tasteful building; costly tapestry, caught back in bewitching folds alone indicate the entrance from one room to another. The portraits of the emperor and empress are the only pictures in the Cupola Hall. Unfortunately they are not from Angelo’s brush. The artist Plockhorst is comparatively unknown, and these portraits are very conventional in style.

The frescoes on the ceiling in the Cornelius Halls were done under the direction of Professor E. Bendemann, by Ernst, Fritz, Röber and William Beckmann. The Germans call it wax color, after the receipt of Prof. Andreas Müller, of Düsseldorf. The subjects are only the long catalogue of beautiful abstractions as Prophecy, Science, Genius, etc., but the color and execution show the high degree of perfection of modern frescoes. In the second hall is depicted the myths of Prometheus in this same wax color. The drawing of Prometheus’ figure taken from one of Cornelius’ cartoons, in Munich, is especially fine—so full of strength and fortitude. He looks a splendid type of vicarious suffering and strength of will, resisting oppression, almost ready to exclaim in Lowell’s lines:

“I am still Prometheus, and foreknow

In my wise heart the end and doom of all.”

In looking at this figure, and in studying carefully the cartoons, we tried to come to an impartial conclusion between the opinions of German and French writers in regard to the school of Cornelius, or the revival of German art. This began twenty years later than that of the French, under Louis David, and is said to have been undertaken in an entirely different spirit. A French author says in regard to the Germans that “instead of carrying art forward they turned back, and being not bold enough to go on to the discovery of a new future they took refuge in archaism.” Every one knows that after the death of Albert Dürer, art in Germany fell asleep, that it was aroused by the rumors of a revival in France. Also that the little German colony with Overbeck directing it, did go to Rome to study the antique, but to go further with the Frenchman and say that all subsequent heads of schools—Peter Cornelius included—followed to the letter the paradoxical advice of Lanzi, “that modern artists should study the artists of the times preceding Raphael, for Raphael, springing from these painters, is superior to them, whilst those who followed him have not equalled him”—we can not, inasmuch as the statement includes Cornelius. If it had not been for the interest of Niebuhr, who was German ambassador at Rome when Cornelius was studying there, in exerting himself to get the Prussian government to give Cornelius commissions at home, he might have remained in Italy, and, like Overbeck and others, renounced the religion of his fathers, as well as all style but that anterior to the reformation. But he did go back to Germany. He may have gone to Italy with Van Eyck, Holbein, and Dürer in his mind; he may have returned with Michael Angelo and Raphael as ideals, but he certainly worked as Cornelius.

While not disagreeing with the French altogether, we can not unite with the Germans entirely in believing that “he drew the human body as though he saw it for the first time, and had never seen it painted or drawn by others.” He certainly received many impressions, before going to Rome, from the old German and Netherland masters, and adding to all what he learned in Rome, this idea of total individualism seems preposterous. What one must feel in studying his works is, that he did not obliterate from his memory what he had studied from Grecian, Roman, and German Art, but he reconciled them in his own mind, and worked out in his own way results from this reconciliation, giving to Germany productions as faithful to her own instincts as ever Albert Dürer or Lucas Cranach did.

The Düsseldorf Academy was the first result. Of this school even Frenchmen have been willing to write: “The school of Düsseldorf, from Kaulbach and Lessing to Knaus, and the school of Munich, with Piloty, Adam, Horschelt, Lier, etc., by returning to picturesque truth have returned to their own times and to their own country.”

The “National Gallery,” as yet, has but two cartoons from Kaulbach; no painting. The fine old “Treppen Haus,” in the Royal Museum, should be in this modern gallery to make the collection chronological, for these frescoes belong essentially to modern art, and would be in their place, leading from the Cornelius Saals, as Kaulbach was one of his favorite pupils.

As the Düsseldorf Academy is the oldest of German schools, a glance at the first artists educated there will be proper. Schadow, who was born in 1789, and who succeeded Cornelius as director of this academy, is represented by two pictures, “The Walk to Emmaus,” and a female head. One discovers at once more poetical feeling than in the pictures of his master, who delighted, like Milton, in painting

“Dread horror plumed—

Dire tossings and deep groans.”

Schadow died in Düsseldorf in 1862, leaving such pupils as Hübner, Lessing, Bendemann, etc., the latter being appointed, in 1859, his successor. Bendemann carries many honors—and paints good pictures—the gold medal from the Paris Exposition of 1837, and the medal from Vienna in 1873. He is knight of the “Order of Merit,” Fellow of the Societies at Berlin, Vienna, Munich, Cassel, Antwerp, Brussels, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Philadelphia. He belongs intimately to that class of German artists who began to modify the rigid dignity and formal tendencies of historical pictures by freedom of style and warmth of color. In this sense his great picture (now in the National Gallery), “Jeremiah at the Fall of Jerusalem,” was said to produce an epoch in art. Bendemann resigned his position as director of the Düsseldorf Academy in 1867.

Of all the Düsseldorf artists, Karl Frederick Lessing (whose style lies between the old and new school), Ludwig Knaus, and the brothers Achenbach, are the best known in America. In Cincinnati some of the best pictures of Lessing, and Andreas and Oswald Achenbach can be seen in private galleries, while in Boston and New York “The Golden Wedding” and the “Holy Family,” Knaus’s chief-d´œuvres, can be found. The latter picture proved to be too valuable for the Empress of Russia (by whom it had been ordered) to take,[I] and so fell into the hands of a wealthy New York lady, who was attracted toward it when it was on exhibition in Berlin two years ago. Lessing’s original sketch of “The Martyrdom of Huss,” is in Cincinnati, as well as some of Andreas Achenbach’s best marine pictures. The names of Schräder, Schirmer, Hübner, Knille, Hoff, and Gelhardt, are not so well known outside of Germany. The German artists, with the exception of Makart, who, as an Austrian, does not class himself with the northern German school, left such an indescribably blank page in the Philadelphia Exposition, owing to their indifference and timidity, and want of energy in sending off their pictures, that the American mind is sadly prejudiced against German art. The French pictures have so long crowded the market that not until some young disciples of the Munich school returned to New York several years ago, would they believe that there was such a thing as German art. And now the impression is that it all concentrates in Munich. What is to be done with Knaus, Werner, Richter, Knille, Gussow, and the other distinguished names in northern Germany?

In Knaus, to whom we have already referred, and who has been recently called to Berlin as director of one of the newly-established “Meister Ateliers,” one finds that rare accordance of the character of the man with the peculiar excellencies of his productions. His genre pictures reflect his own spirit. He is as genuine, unaffected, and fresh in his feelings as the children he paints.

Werner, the director of the Royal Academy of Berlin, made the designs for the Column of Victory, and has a tremendous productive power, almost equal to Makart, but he is far from possessing the luxuriant imagination and oriental instinct for color that distinguishes the latter from the artists of his day.

Gentz paints with vigor and fine sentiment oriental pictures. He has spent much time in the East, and has innumerable treasures for his house, which is one of the most attractive in Berlin.

Gustave Richter is considered by many the greatest of the German artists. He is a favorite at court, and the National Gallery is indebted to the emperor for the most wonderful picture he ever painted, “The Raising of Jairus’ Daughter.” Richter married the daughter of Meyerbeer, the composer. He paints his wife as often as Rembrandt painted “Saskia,” and in much the same style. One of the best, although less known of these portraits, is that called by the artist “Revery.”

Knille’s well-known picture of “Tannhäuser and Venus,” with its superb half-defined drapery of silk and satin, from which the faultless Venus rises, and the pellucid streams of light flow, and the flowers invested with purpureal gleams, is in the possession of the National Gallery.

Carl Becker is well liked in America, but it is doubtful, however, if the talented dwarf Menzel is ever heard of outside Germany. His countrymen are too fond of his pictures to allow them to go beyond their reach. He can paint anything and everything, from the glittering rooms of Sanssouci to the forging and rolling machine works. He has a picture of this latter class in the Gallery, where the varied lights—daylight, firelight, reflected light from red-hot iron, all fall upon the faces of the men; a feat in painting but little less remarkable than that of Rembrandt’s “Ronde de Nuit,” at Amsterdam.

There remains but the “Schlachten-maler,” as the Germans call them, with Camphausen at the head, whose battle scenes are multiplying in times of peace as if they were still longing for

“The smoke of the conflict,

The cannon’s deep roar.”

If one regards works of art as the necessary products of their age, these artists are following with fidelity the direction of their own times. The emperor is a soldier at heart, and Camphausen as court painter only represents his sovereign’s taste on canvas. Steffeck, Dietz, Franz, Adam, belong to this same class. When Pascal said, “How vain is painting which excites our admiration for the likeness of things, the original of which we do not admire,” Louis Vierdot calls him a philosopher, and especially a Christian, but not an artist. In looking at these battle pictures and Gussow’s burly girls and toothless old men, we prefer not to be artistic. “Ah,” said a young Munich disciple, “we do not think much of Gussow here in Munich; he is like the ceramic sensation; he will soon wear out.” But the Berlinese laugh this jealousy to scorn. They have a genius among them in this very sensational Gussow. He is a young man not more than thirty, who was called to Berlin from Düsseldorf to take the ladies’ class in the Berlin Academy. He teaches these enthusiastic pupils as if they were strong, rough men, preparing themselves to encounter criticism; to banish everything that reminds them of an artificial world; that they may help him to restore nature to her simplicity, and in so doing absolve themselves from all laws by which perverted ideas seek security against themselves. He says, “Paint what you see! Art is not always to seek for the beautiful. A widow in her weeds is as fine a model as a bride in her orange blossoms. Lay on the color as nature has laid it on—rough and coarse if you find it so. Draw the figure large, gross, and rude, if in so doing you can emancipate yourself from conventionalism. By force of refinement art perishes, like society. It must be refreshed once in a while by a return to barbarism!” Gussow’s pictures are like bold statements and frank confessions, and a better teacher for shrinking, undecided talent, either in man or woman, is not to be found. He is the most wonderful colorist of the age in Germany.

In conclusion, we ask if the day has not arrived in Germany, and even in Northern Germany, when she has a national art? Rome claimed at the beginning of the last century, that she was the jail of the German and Netherland artists. Paris boastingly says the same to-day; but we believe just persons, after examining into the condition of the various German schools, will admit that they have much peculiar to themselves, even if many of their artists have studied in Paris. (In a catalogue of two hundred names I find twenty-five only who ever received instruction in Paris.)

The International Geological Congress, which met at Bologna last year, decided upon the preparation of a geological map of Europe, and appointed an international committee to superintend the work. The map is to be published in Berlin. It will include the whole basin of the Mediterranean and all of Europe to the eastern slope of the Ural mountains. The river systems, the principal towns, the more important mountain-ranges, and the curves indicating sea depths, will be some of its features. The object of the committee will be to give a clear representation of geological conditions.

“When you have found the master passion of a man, remember never to trust him where that passion is concerned.”—Lord Chesterfield.

[THE HISTORY OF EDUCATION.]

By W. T. HARRIS.