The twenty-six novels and five poems of Sir Walter, therefore, unite the two greatest events of Europe—the wars of the Crusades, and the exploits of Napoleon and the French Revolution. In “Count Robert of Paris” we see Constantinople in her glory, under the rule of the crafty Alexius. We hear the tread of armed hosts passing and repassing along the great highway of the world. In “The Betrothed” we see England aroused by the voice of her eloquent Archbishop. In “The Talisman” we see the craft of Saladin opposed to the discordant army of Richard the Lion-hearted. In “Ivanhoe” we find Saxon and Jew pressed down under the heel of the Norman. We see Scotland rescued from the oppression of England in “Castle Dangerous” and the “Lord of the Isles.” We note the state of the Highlands in 1402 in the “Fair Maid of Perth,” and trace the wiles and craft of the French Emperor in “Louis the Eleventh,” and in “Anne of Geierstein.” We visit with “Marmion” the Battle-field of Flodden, we see the light glimmer in the Chancel of Melrose as we turn the pages of “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” and wander with James the Fifth in disguise through the wild passes of the Trosachs. In the “Monastery” and “Abbot” we read the history of the Catholic and Protestant struggle in Scotland, we weep with the unfortunate Mary, and glory in the triumph of Knox. In “Kenilworth” we see the power and weakness of the Virgin Queen, and look into the sad eyes of Amy Robsart sacrificed upon the altar of ambition.
We see the London of James the First in the “Fortunes of Nigel;” we hear in “Rokeby” the echo of the battle of Marston Moor; we follow the struggle of Argyle and Montrose in the “Legend;” and talk with the young exile, Charles the Second, in the groves of “Woodstock.” In “Peveril of the Peak” we find the King upon his throne, surrounded by Buckingham and the most desolate court of Europe. In “Old Mortality” we sympathize with the Covenanters, a people devout and sincere in their character, as they were unpractical in their conduct. In “The Pirate” we note some of the surviving customs of old Scandinavia. In the “Bride of Lammermoor” we see the decay of a noble House. “The Black Dwarf” is related to the fierce discussion in Scotland at the time of the national Union. “Rob Roy” introduces us to the Pretender in the Affair of 1715. “The Heart of Midlothian” gives us a picture of Edinburgh; and so our historic chain, composed of poetic links, brings us down to the beginning of our own century. No wonder that Scott has been styled the Great Magician, when, by the lifting of his wand, he was able to make the heroes of neglected history burst their cerements.
I sat one evening on the banks of the Tweed amid the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, by a plain monument in St. Mary’s Aisle; the soft moonlight, streaming through broken casements, added solemnity and beauty to the peaceful sylvan scene. I recalled the ruins of Kenilworth Castle, far off on another poetic stream, and the pageant of history which there passed before England’s Elizabeth; and I thought how much grander the procession of Eight Hundred Years, which passed in long review before the mental vision of the great novelist and poet, now resting beneath the quiet stars. The ivy still rustles in the breeze; the gray ruins again gleam in the moonlight, and, reader, the years can never lift their furrows of care between me and that twilight picture hallowed by the poetic memory of a noble man.
ALASKA—ITS MISSIONS.
By the Rev. WM. H. LEWIS.
No one familiar with the spiritual obstacles that missionaries encounter expects that characters that shall be Christian from highest principle, and through and through, will be formed in the first, or even the second generation of converts, as a rule, though every mission field furnishes shining exceptions to this rule. We shall not be disheartened, then, when we come to look into the history of Alaska, if the present state of society there is found to be slightly savage still.
Dall, in his work, “Alaska and its Resources,” speaking of the Indian character, says: “They are hospitable, good humored, but not always trustworthy. They will steal, and have sometimes attacked small vessels in the straits.… They sometimes have as many as five wives, though one or two is the usual number. Drunkenness is a common vice among them. They have an uncontrollable passion for alcohol, which is plentifully supplied them by the whalers and traders. They hate the Russians, and will not trade with them.… Their customs in regard to the treatment of the old and infirm are, from a civilized point of view, brutal and inhuman.… When an old person was sick for more than seven days the others put a rope around his body and dragged him by it around the house over the stones. If this did not kill or cure, the sick person was taken to the place of the dead.… Here the individual was stoned or speared, and the body left for the dogs to devour, the latter being themselves eaten by the natives.” Of the Aleuts proper he says: “Since the time of their first intercourse with the Russians, their character, habits, mode of life, and even their very name, have been totally changed. Originally they were active, sprightly, and fond of dances and festivals. Their mode of worship partook more of the character of religion than that of any of the tribes, which still remain unchanged. Ground into the very dust by the oppression of ruthless invaders, their religious rights, gay festivals and determined character have all passed away. A shade of melancholy is now one of their national characteristics. All speak some Russian, and many of them can converse fluently in that language. The Aleuts are light, and nearly the same color as the Innuits of the Northwest. Their features, perhaps from the great admixture of Russian blood, are more intelligent and pleasing. They are all nominally Greek Catholics, but there is very little knowledge of the principles of true Christianity amongst them. While further advanced than any other native American tribe, they are far from civilized, except in dress, and require careful guardianship and improved methods of education to preserve them from the rapacity of the traders. The reality of their devotion to a religion which they do not comprehend may well be doubted.” He then quotes Veniamínoff’s description of the native character, with the comment that it is marked by partiality confessed, and that it is mainly due to his goodness of heart and love for the people.… In another place, speaking of mission work not Russian, he says; “In the evening, the Indians, old and young, gathered in the fort yard and sang several hymns with excellent effect. Altogether, it was a scene which would have delighted the hearts of many very good people who know nothing of Indian character, and as such will doubtless figure in some missionary report. To any one who at all understood the situation, however, the absurdity of the proceeding was so palpable that it appeared almost like blasphemy. Old Sakhuiti, who has at least eighteen wives, whose hands are bloody with repeated and most atrocious murders, who knows nothing of what we understand by right and wrong, by a future state of rewards and punishments, or by a Supreme Being—this old heathen was singing as sweetly as his voice would allow, and with quite as much comprehension of the hymn as the dogs in the yard. Indians are fond of singing; they are also fond of tobacco; and, for a pipeful apiece you may baptize a whole tribe of them. Why will intelligent men still go on, talking three or four times a year to Indians on doctrinal subjects by means of a jargon which can not express an abstract idea, and the use of which only throws ridicule on sacred things, and still call such work spreading the truths of Christianity? When the missionary will leave the trading posts, strike out into the wilderness, live with the Indians, teach them cleanliness first, morality next, and by slow and simple teaching lead their thoughts above the hunt or the camp—then, and not until then, will they be competent to comprehend the simplest principles of right and wrong.”