经典随笔50首=50 CLASSIC ESSAYS：英文(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：[英]罗素等

出版社：天津人民出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

经典随笔50首=50 CLASSIC ESSAYS：英文试读：

01　ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS

THE city has been afficted for a short time by a curious eruption, a breaking out of jewelry stores with“large placards in their windows, inscribed，”“Take your Choice for One Dollar.”

It is all very well to tell a fellow to take his Choice, but there is, in these windows, nothing Choice to take.

Why should we, or any man, be anxious to possess various small fragments of brass, stamped in fantastic forms, and“of no value except to the loser?”

These storekeepers announce their wares at Rare bargains, but we believe—we know, in fact, that this sort of bargain is greatly Overdone.

SPUYTENTUYFEL, who is inclined to be metaphysical, says that the affair is based on a philosophical principle. Every man thinks that there are a few good articles and a great many bad ones in these One Dollar jewehly-mills：and Every man also thinks that he is shrewd enough to pick out the thing upon which the dealer makes no proft.Every man rushes in, then planks down his dollar, and carries off a-What-is-it?—a connecting link between brass and copper！

It is suggested, however, that there is some gold in the rings, pins, brooches, lockets, pencil-cases, etc. etc.，of the One Dollar shops.Oreide, the composition of which they are made, is said to give off, in vapor, when assayed, a faintly infnitesimal quantity of gold.That which remains, is infnitesimally less！

We know of a young lady, to whom some gentleman, more benevolent than judicious, presented a chain, bought as a“Rare Bargain”for one dollar. The maiden, having no rooted antipathy to ornaments of any kind, twined the chain about her neck.At night, when making her toilette de nuit, she observed a dark leadcolored ring about her snowy and swan-like throat, reminding her of ELSIE VENNER and some more of a young woman mentioned on page 55 of ALDRICH's last volumes of poems, who had—“a dark blue scar on her throat.”

The next day, this young lady of the chain told a friend that the gold had been polished with whiting or something, that blackened her neck. She was duly surprised to learn that it was only brass, and thundering poor brass at that.

The One Dollar jewels are, in fact, much inferior to the average of decent bell-pulls.

The result of this explosion of jewelry is painful. Of course, it plays the dickens with the legitimate business, and the consequence is, that all the respectable stores have to inaugurate a One Dollar department, in which they sell as bad jewelry as anybody.The metropolis is inundated with it.The East Side absolutely gleams, glitters, glows, glares, shines, shimmers and scintillates with it.Every bookbinderess and prentice boy possesses a mass of trinkets that, in size and number at least, rival the Crown Jewels of many a kingdom.

And they tell us that the country-the far and pleasing agricultural districts—swarm with similar shops！Woe！woe to the Arcadian loiterer of the coming Summer！AMARYLLIS will shine in tawdry bracelets, and DAPHNIS will sport a hideous locket. A monstrous mosaic will rise and fall upon the bosom of PHILLIS, and the sheep will gaze in wonder upon the gorgeous guard-chain of their formosum pastor CORYDON！

But when the Summer has come and gone-when the moist air and earthy exhalations of the country shall have done their work, AMARYLLIS will look with disgust upon a pile of greenish and odorous things, stained and blackened by verdigris, and say, with a regretful voice：“These are my jewels！”

02　AN ANSWER TO THE QUESTION：“WHAT IS ENLIGHTENMENT?”

Enlightenment is man's emergence from his self-incurred immaturity. Immaturity is the inability to use one's own understanding without the guidance of another.

This immaturity is self-incurred if its cause is not lack of understanding, but lack of resolution and courage to use it without the guidance of another. The motto of enlightenment is therefore：Sapere aude！Have courage to use your own understanding！

Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why such a large proportion of men, even when nature has long emancipated them from alien guidance（naturaliter maiorennes），nevertheless gladly remain immature for life. For the same reasons, it is all too easy for others to set themselves up as their guardians.

It is so convenient to be immature！If I have a book to have understanding in place of me, a spiritual adviser to have a conscience for me, a doctor to judge my diet for me, and so on, I need not make any efforts at all. I need not think, so long as I can pay；others will soon enough take the tiresome job over for me.

The guardians who have kindly taken upon themselves the work of supervision will soon see to it that by far the largest part of mankind（including the entire fair sex）should consider the step forward to maturity not only as diffcult but also as highly dangerous. Having frst infatuated their domesticated animals, and carefully prevented the docile creatures from daring to take a single step without the leading-strings to which they are tied, they next show them the danger which threatens them if they try to walk unaided.Now this danger is not in fact so very great, for they would certainly learn to walk eventually after a few falls.But an example of this kind is intimidating, and usually frightens them off from further attempts.

Thus it is diffcult for each separate individual to work his way out of the immaturity which has become almost second nature to him. He has even grown fond of it and is really incapable for the time being of using his own understanding, because he was never allowed to make the attempt.Dogmas and formulas, those mechanical instruments for rational use（or rather misuse）of his natural endowments, are the ball and chain of his permanent immaturity.And if anyone did throw them off, he would still be uncertain about jumping over even the narrowest of trenches, for he would be unaccustomed to free movement of this kind.Thus only a few, by cultivating their own minds, have succeeded in freeing themselves from immaturity and in continuing boldly on their way.

There is more chance of an entire public enlightening itself. This is indeed almost inevitable, if only the public concerned is left in freedom.For there will always be a few who think for themselves, even among those appointed as guardians of the common mass.Such guardians, once they have themselves thrown off the yoke of immaturity, will disseminate the spirit of rational respect for personal value and for the duty of all men to think for themselves.The remarkable thing about this is that if the public, which was previously put under this yoke by the guardians, is suitably stirred up by some of the latter who are incapable of enlightenment, it may subsequently compel the guardians themselves to remain under the yoke.For it is very harmful to propagate prejudices, because they finally avenge themselves on the very people who frst encouraged them（or whose predecessors did so）.Thus a public can only achieve enlightenment slowly.A revolution may well put an end to autocratic despotism and to rapacious or power-seeking oppression, but it will never produce a true reform in ways of thinking.Instead, new prejudices, like the ones they replaced, will serve as a leash to control the great unthinking mass.

For enlightenment of this kind, all that is needed is freedom. And the freedom in question is the most innocuous form of all—freedom to make public use of one's reason in all matters.But I hear on all sides the cry：Don't argue！The officer says：Don't argue, get on parade！The tax-official：Don't argue, pay！

The clergyman：Don't argue, believe！（Only one ruler in the world says：Argue as much as you like and about whatever you like, but obey！）. All this means restrictions on freedom everywhere.But which sort of restriction prevents enlightenment, and which, instead of hindering it, can actually promote it?I reply：The public use of man's reason must always be free, and it alone can bring about enlightenment among men；the private use of reason may quite often be very narrowly restricted, however, without undue hindrance to the progress of enlightenment.But by the public use of one's own reason I mean that use which anyone may make of it as a man of learning addressing the entire reading public.

What I term the private use of reason is that which a person may make of it in a particular civil post or office with which he is entrusted.

Now in some affairs which affect the interests of the commonwealth, we require a certain mechanism wherebysome members of the commonwealth must behave purely passively, so that they may, by an artificial common agreement, be employed by the government for public ends（or at least deterred from vitiating them）. It is, of course, impermissible to argue in such cases；obedience is imperative.But in so far as this or that individual who acts as part of the machine also considers himself as a member of a complete commonwealth or even of cosmopolitan society, and thence as a man of learning who may through his writings address a public in the truest sense of the word, he may indeed argue without harming the affairs in which he is employed for some of the time in a passive capacity.Thus it would be very harmful if an officer receiving an order from his superiors were to quibble openly, while on duty, about the appropriateness or usefulness of the order in question.He must simply obey.But he cannot reasonably be banned from making observations as a man of learning on the errors in the military service, and from submitting these to his public for judgement.The citizen cannot refuse to pay the taxes imposed upon him；presumptuous criticisms of such taxes, where someone is called upon to pay them, may be punished as an outrage which could lead to general insubordination.Nonetheless, the same citizen does not contravene his civil obligations if, as a learned individual, he publicly voices his thoughts on the impropriety or even injustice of such fiscal measures.In the same way, a clergyman is bound to instruct his pupils and his congregation in accordance with the doctrines of the church he serves, for he was employed by it on that condition.But as a scholar, he is completely free as well as obliged to impart to the public all his carefully considered, well-intentioned thoughts on the mistaken aspects of those doctrines, and to offer suggestions for a better arrangement of religious and ecclesiastical affairs.And there is nothingin this which need trouble the conscience.I；or what he teaches in pursuit of his duties as an active servant of the church is presented by him as something which he is not empowered to teach at his own discretion, but which he is employed to expound in a prescribed manner and in someone else's name.He will say：Our church teaches this or that, and these are the arguments it uses.He then extracts as much practical value as possible for his congregation from precepts to which he would not himself subscribe with full conviction, but which he can nevertheless undertake to expound, since it is not in fact wholly impossible that they may contain truth.At all events, nothing opposed to the essence of religion is present in such doctrines.For if the clergyman thought he could fnd anything of this sort in them, he would not be able to carry out his offcial duties in good conscience, and would have to resign.Thus the use which someone employed as a teacher makes of his reason in the presence of his congregation is purely private, since a congregation, however large it is, is never any more than a domestic gathering.In view of this, he is not and cannot be free as a priest, since he is acting on a commission imposed from outside.Conversely, as a scholar addressing the real public（i.e.the world at large）through his writings, the clergyman making public use of his reason enjoys unlimited freedom to use his own reason and to speak in his own person.For to maintain that the guardians of the people in spiritual matters should themselves be immature, is an absurdity which amounts to making absurdities permanent.

But should not a society of clergymen, for example an ecclesiastical synod or a venerable presbytery（as the Dutch call it），be entitled to commit itself by oath to a certain unalterable set of doctrines, in order to secure for all time a constant guardianship over each of its members, and through them over the people?I reply that this is quiteimpossible. A contract of this kind, concluded with a view to preventing all further enlightenment of mankind for ever, is absolutely null and void, even if it is ratifed by the supreme power, by Imperial Diets and the most solemn peace treaties.One age cannot enter into an alliance on oath to put the next age in a position where it would be impossible for it to extend and correct its knowledge, particularly on such important matters, or to make any progress whatsoever in enlightenment.This would be a crime against human nature, whose original destiny lies precisely in such progress.Later generations are thus perfectly entitled to dismiss these agreements as unauthorised and criminal.To test whether any particular measure can be agreed upon as a law for a people, we need only ask whether a people could well impose such a law upon itself.This might well be possible for a specified short period as a means of introducing a certain order, pending, as it were, a better solution.This would also mean that each citizen, particularly the clergyman, would be given a free hand as a scholar to comment publicly, i.e.in his writings, on the inadequacies of current institutions.Meanwhile, the newly established order would continue to exist, until public insight into the nature of such matters had progressed and proved itself to the point where, by general consent（if not unanimously），a proposal could be submitted to the crown.This would seek to protect the congregations who had, for instance, agreed to alter their religious establishment in accordance with their own notions of what higher insight is, but it would not try to obstruct those who wanted to let things remain as before.But it is absolutely impermissible to agree, even for a single lifetime, to a permanent religious constitution which no-one might publicly question.For this would virtually nullify a phase in man's upward progress, thus making it fruitless and even detrimental to subsequentgenerations.A man may for his own person, and even then only for a limited period, postpone enlightening himself in matters he ought to know about.

But to renounce such enlightenment completely, whether for his own person or even more so for later generations, means violating and trampling underfoot the sacred rights of mankind. But something which a people may not even impose upon itself can still less be imposed upon it by a monarch；for his legislative authority depends precisely upon his uniting the collective will of the people in his own.So long as he sees to it that all true or imagined improvements are compatible with the civil order, he can otherwise leave his subjects to do whatever they find necessary for their salvation, which is none of his business.

But it is his business to stop anyone forcibly hindering others from working as best they can to defne and promote their salvation. It indeed detracts from his majesty if he interferes in these affairs by subjecting the writings in which his subjects attempt to clarify their religious ideas to governmental supervision.This applies if he does so acting upon his own exalted opinions—in which case he exposes himself to the reproach：Caesar non est supra Grammaticos—but much more so if he demeans his high authority so far as to support the spiritual despotism of a few tyrants within his state against the rest of his subjects.

If it is now asked whether we at present live in an enlightened age, the answer is：No, but we do live in an age of enlightenment. As things are at present, we still have a long way to go before men as a whole can be in a position（or can ever be put into a position）of using their own understanding confidently and well in religious matters, without outside guidance.But we do have distinct indications that the way is now being cleared for them to work freely in this direction, and that the obstacles touniversal enlightenment, to man's emergence from his self-incurred immaturity, are gradually becoming fewer.In this respect our age is the age of enlightenment, the century of Frederick.

A prince who does not regard it as beneath him to say that he considers it his duty, in religious matters, not to prescribe anything to his people, but to allow them complete freedom, a prince who thus even declines to accept the presumptuous title of tolerant, is himself enlightened. He deserves to be praised by a grateful present and posterity as the man who first liberated mankind from immaturity（as far as government is concerned），and who left all men free to use their own reason in all matters of conscience.Under his rule, ecclesiastical dignitaries, notwithstanding their offcial duties, may in their capacity as scholars freely and publicly submit to the judgement of the world their verdicts and opinions, even if these deviate here Ind there from orthodox doctrine.This applies even more to all others who are not restricted by any offcial duties.This spirit of freedom is also spreading abroad, even where it has to struggle with outward obstacles imposed by governments which misunderstand their own function.For such governments an now witness a shining example of how freedom may exist without in the least jeopardising public concord and the unity of the commonwealth.Men will of their own accord gradually work their way out of barbarism so long as artifcial measures are not deliberately adopted to keep them in it.

I have portrayed matters of religion as the focal point of enlightenment, i. e.of man's emergence from his self-incurred immaturity.This is firstly because our rulers have no interest in assuming the role of guardians over their subjects so fr as the arts and sciences are concerned, and secondly, because religious immaturity is the most pernicious and dishonourable variety of all.

But the attitude of mind of a head of state who favours freedom in the arts and sciences extends even further, for he realises that there is no danger even to his legislation if he allows his subjects to make public use of their own reason and to put before the public their thoughts on better ways of drawing up laws, even if this entails forthright criticism of the current legislation. We have before us a brilliant example of this kind, in which no monarch has yet surpassed the one to whom we now pay tribute.

But only a ruler who is himself enlightened and has no far of phantoms, yet who likewise has at hand a well-disciplined and numerous army to guarantee public security, may say what no republic would dare to say：Argue as much as you like and about whatever you like, but obey！This reveals to us a strange and unexpected pattern in human affairs（such as we shall always fnd if we consider them in the widest sense, in which nearly everything is paradoxical）. A high degree of civil freedom seems advantageous to a people's intellectual freedom, yet it also sets up insuperable barriers to it.Conversely, a lesser degree of civil freedom gives intellectual freedom enough room to expand to its fullest extent.Thus once the germ on which nature has lavished most care—man's inclination and vocation to think freely—has developed within this hard shell, it gradually reacts upon the mentality of the people, who thus gradually become increasingly able to act freely.Eventually, it even influences the principles of governments, which find that they can themselves profit by treating man, who is more than a machine, in a manner appropriate to his dignity.

03　THE AWFUL GERMAN LANGUAGE

I went often to look at the collection of curiosities in Heidelberg Castle, and one day I surprised the keeper of it with my German. I spoke entirely in that language.He was greatly interested；and after I had talked a while he said my German was very rare, possibly a“unique”；and wanted to add it to his museum.

If he had known what it had cost me to acquire my art, he would also have known that it would break any collector to buy it. Harris and I had been hard at work on our German during several weeks at that time, and although we had made good progress, it had been accomplished under great diffculty and annoyance, for three of our teachers had died in the mean time.A person who has not studied German can form no idea of what a perplexing language it is.

Surely there is not another language that is so slipshod and systemless, and so slippery and elusive to the grasp. One is washed about in it, hither and thither, in the most helpless way；and when at last he thinks he has captured a rule which offers frm ground to take a rest on amid the general rage and turmoil of the ten parts of speech, he turns over the page and reads，“Let the pupil make careful note of the following exceptions.”He runs his eye down and fnds that there are more exceptions to the rule than instances of it.So overboard he goes again, to hunt for another Ararat and fnd another quicksand.Such has been, and continues to be, my experience.Every time I think I have got oneof these four confusing“cases”where I am master of it, a seemingly insignifcant preposition intrudes itself into my sentence, clothed with an awful and unsuspected power, and crumbles the ground from under me.For instance, my book inquires after a certain bird—（it is always inquiring after things which are of no sort of consequence to anybody）：“Where is the bird?”Now the answer to this question—according to the book—is that the bird is waiting in the blacksmith shop on account of the rain.Of course no bird would do that, but then you must stick to the book.Very well, I begin to cipher out the German for that answer.I begin at the wrong end, necessarily, for that is the German idea.I say to myself，“Regen（rain）is masculine—or maybe it is feminine—or possibly neuter—it is too much trouble to look now.Therefore, it is either der（the）Regen, or die（the）Regen, or das（the）Regen, according to which gender it may turn out to be when I look.In the interest of science, I will cipher it out on the hypothesis that it is masculine.Very well—then the rain is der Regen, if it is simply in the quiescent state of being mentioned, without enlargement or discussion—Nominative case；but if this rain is lying around, in a kind of a general way on the ground, it is then definitely located, it is doing something—that is, resting（which is one of the German grammar's ideas of doing something），and this throws the rain into the Dative case, and makes it dem Regen.However, this rain is not resting, but is doing something actively，—it is falling—to interfere with the bird, likely—and this indicates movement, which has the effect of sliding it into the Accusative case and changing dem Regen into den Regen.”Having completed the grammatical horoscope of this matter, I answer up confdently and state in German that the bird is staying in the blacksmith shop“wegen（on account of）den Regen.”Then the teacher lets me softly down with the remarkthat whenever the word“wegen”drops into a sentence, it always throws that subject into the Genitive case, regardless of consequences—and that therefore this bird stayed in the blacksmith shop“wegen des Regens.”

N. B.—I was informed, later, by a higher authority, that there was an“exception”which permits one to say“wegen den Regen”in certain peculiar and complex circumstances, but that this exception is not extended to anything but rain.

There are ten parts of speech, and they are all troublesome. An average sentence, in a German newspaper, is a sublime and impressive curiosity；it occupies a quarter of a column；it contains all the ten parts of speech—not in regular order, but mixed；it is built mainly of compound words constructed by the writer on the spot, and not to be found in any dictionary—six or seven words compacted into one, without joint or seam—that is, without hyphens；it treats of fourteen or ffteen different subjects, each inclosed in a parenthesis of its own, with here and there extra parentheses which reinclose three or four of the minor parentheses, making pens within pens：finally, all the parentheses and reparentheses are massed together between a couple of king-parentheses, one of which is placed in the first line of the majestic sentence and the other in the middle of the last line of it—after which comes the VERB, and you find out for the frst time what the man has been talking about；and after the verb—merely by way of ornament, as far as I can make out—the writer shovels in“haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden sein，”or words to that effect, and the monument is fnished.I suppose that this closing hurrah is in the nature of the flourish to a man's signature—not necessary, but pretty.German books are easy enough to read when you hold them before the looking-glass or stand on your head—so as to reverse the construction—but I think that to learn to read and understand a German newspaperis a thing which must always remain an impossibility to a foreigner.

Yet even the German books are not entirely free from attacks of the Parenthesis distemper—though they are usually so mild as to cover only a few lines, and therefore when you at last get down to the verb it carries some meaning to your mind because you are able to remember a good deal of what has gone before. Now here is a sentence from a popular and excellent German novel—which a slight parenthesis in it.I will make a perfectly literal translation, and throw in the parenthesis-marks and some hyphens for the assistance of the reader—though in the original there are no parenthesis-marks or hyphens, and the reader is left to founder through to the remote verb the best way he can：

“But when he, upon the street, the（in-satin-and-silk-covered-now-very-unconstrained-after-the-newest-fashioned-dressed）government [1]counselor's wife met，”etc.，etc.

That is from The Old Mamselle's Secret, by Mrs. Marlitt.And that sentence is constructed upon the most approved German model.You observe how far that verb is from the reader's base of operations；well, in a German newspaper they put their verb away over on the next page；and I have heard that sometimes after stringing along the exciting preliminaries and parentheses for a column or two, they get in a hurry and have to go to press without getting to the verb at all.Of course, then, the reader is left in a very exhausted and ignorant state.

We have the Parenthesis disease in our literature, too；and one may see cases of it every day in our books and newspapers：but with us it is the mark and sign of an unpracticed writer or a cloudy intellect, whereas with the Germans it is doubtless the mark and sign of a practiced pen and of the presence of that sort of luminous intellectual fog which stands for clearness among these people. For surely it is not clearness—it necessarily can't be clearness.Even a jury would have penetration enough to discover that.A writer's ideas must be a good deal confused, a good deal out of line and sequence, when he starts out to say that a man met a counselor's wife in the street, and then right in the midst of this so simple undertaking halts these approaching people and makes them stand still until he jots down an inventory of the woman's dress.That is manifestly absurd.It reminds a person of those dentists who secure your instant and breathless interest in a tooth by taking a grip on it with the forceps, and then stand there and drawl through a tedious anecdote before they give the dreaded jerk.Parentheses in literature and dentistry are in bad taste.

The Germans have another kind of parenthesis, which they make by splitting a verb in two and putting half of it at the beginning of an exciting chapter and the other half at the end of it. Can any one conceive of anything more confusing than that?These things are called“separable verbs.”The German grammar is blistered all over with separable verbs；and the wider the two portions of one of them are spread apart, the better the author of the crime is pleased with his performance.A favorite one is reiste ab—which means departed.Here is an example which I culled from a novel and reduced to English：

“The trunks being now ready, he DE-after kissing his mother and sisters, and once more pressing to his bosom his adored Gretchen, who, dressed in simple white muslin, with a single tuberose in the ample folds of her rich brown hair, had tottered feebly down the stairs, still pale from the terror and excitement of the past evening, but longing to layher poor aching head yet once again upon the breast of him whom she loved more dearly than life itself, PARTED.”

However, it is not well to dwell too much on the separable verbs. One is sure to lose his temper early；and if he sticks to the subject, and will not be warned, it will at last either soften his brain or petrify it.Personal pronouns and adjectives are a fruitful nuisance in this language, and should have been left out.For instance, the same sound, sie, means you, and it means she, and it means her, and it means it, and it means they, and it means them.Think of the ragged poverty of a language which has to make one word do the work of six—and a poor little weak thing of only three letters at that.But mainly, think of the exasperation of never knowing which of these meanings the speaker is trying to convey.This explains why, whenever a person says sie to me, I generally try to kill him, if a stranger.

Now observe the Adjective. Here was a case where simplicity would have been an advantage；therefore, for no other reason, the inventor of this language complicated it all he could.When we wish to speak of our“good friend or friends，”in our enlightened tongue, we stick to the one form and have no trouble or hard feeling about it；but with the German tongue it is different.When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it.It is as bad as Latin.He says, for instance：

SINGULAR

Nominative—Mein guter Freund, my good friend.

Genitives—Meines guten Freundes, of my good friend.

Dative—Meinem guten Freund, to my good friend.

Accusative—Meinen guten Freund, my good friend.

PLURAL

N.—Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.

G.—Meiner guten Freunde, of my good friends.

D.—Meinen guten Freunden, to my good friends.

A.—Meine guten Freunde, my good friends.

Now let the candidate for the asylum try to memorize those variations, and see how soon he will be elected. One might better go without friends in Germany than take all this trouble about them.I have shown what a bother it is to decline a good（male）friend；well this is only a third of the work, for there is a variety of new distortions of the adjective to be learned when the object is feminine, and still another when the object is neuter.Now there are more adjectives in this language than there are black cats in Switzerland, and they must all be as elaborately declined as the examples above suggested.Diffcult?—troublesome?—these words cannot describe it.I heard a Californian student in Heidelberg say, in one of his calmest moods, that he would rather decline two drinks than one German adjective.

The inventor of the language seems to have taken pleasure in complicating it in every way he could think of. For instance, if one is casually referring to a house, Haus, or a horse, Pferd, or a dog, Hund, he spells these words as I have indicated；but if he is referring to them in the Dative case, he sticks on a foolish and unnecessary e and spells them Hause, Pferde, Hunde.So, as an added e often signifes the plural, as the s does with us, the new student is likely to go on for a month making twins out of a Dative dog before he discovers his mistake；and on the other hand, many a new student who could ill afford loss, has bought and paid for two dogs and only got one of them, because he ignorantly bought that dog in the Dative singular when he really supposed he was talking plural—which left the law on the seller's side, of course, by the strict rules of grammar, and therefore a suit for recovery could not lie.

In German, all the Nouns begin with a capital letter. Now that is a good idea；and a good idea, in this language, isnecessarily conspicuous from its lonesomeness.I consider this capitalizing of nouns a good idea, because by reason of it you are almost always able to tell a noun the minute you see it.You fall into error occasionally, because you mistake the name of a person for the name of a thing, and waste a good deal of time trying to dig a meaning out of it.German names almost always do mean something, and this helps to deceive the student.I translated a passage one day, which said that“the infuriated tigress broke loose and utterly ate up the unfortunate fir forest”（Tannenwald）.When I was girding up my loins to doubt this, I found out that Tannenwald in this instance was a man's name.

Every noun has a gender, and there is no sense or system in the distribution；so the gender of each must be learned separately and by heart. There is no other way.To do this one has to have a memory like a memorandum-book.In German, a young lady has no sex, while a turnip has.Think what overwrought reverence that shows for the turnip, and what callous disrespect for the girl.See how it looks in print—I translate this from a conversation in one of the best of the German Sunday-school books：

“Gretchen.

Wilhelm, where is the turnip?

Wilhelm.

She has gone to the kitchen.

Gretchen.

Where is the accomplished and beautiful English maiden?

Wilhelm.

It has gone to the opera.”

To continue with the German genders：a tree is male, its buds are female, its leaves are neuter；horses are sexless, dogs are male, cats are female—tomcats included, of course；a person's mouth, neck, bosom, elbows, fingers, nails, feet, and body are of the male sex, and his head ismale or neuter according to the word selected to signify it, and not according to the sex of the individual who wears it—for in Germany all the women either male heads or sexless ones；a person's nose, lips, shoulders, breast, hands, and toes are of the female sex；and his hair, ears, eyes, chin, legs, knees, heart, and conscience haven't any sex at all. The inventor of the language probably got what he knew about a conscience from hearsay.

Now, by the above dissection, the reader will see that in Germany a man may think he is a man, but when he comes to look into the matter closely, he is bound to have his doubts；he fnds that in sober truth he is a most ridiculous mixture；and if he ends by trying to comfort himself with the thought that he can at least depend on a third of this mess as being manly and masculine, the humiliating second thought will quickly remind him that in this respect he is no better off than any woman or cow in the land.

In the German it is true that by some oversight of the inventor of the language, a Woman is a female；but a Wife（Weib）is not—which is unfortunate. A Wife, here, has no sex；she is neuter；so, according to the grammar, a fish is he, his scales are she, but a fshwife is neither.To describe a wife as sexless may be called under-description；that is bad enough, but over-description is surely worse.A German speaks of an Englishman as the Engländer；to change the sex, he adds inn, and that stands for Englishwoman—Engländerinn.That seems descriptive enough, but still it is not exact enough for a German；so he precedes the word with that article which indicates that the creature to follow is feminine, and writes it down thus：“die Engländerinn，”—which means“the she-Englishwoman.”I consider that that person is over-described.

Well, after the student has learned the sex of a great number of nouns, he is still in a diffculty, because he fndsit impossible to persuade his tongue to refer to things as“he”and“she，”and“him”and“her，”which it has been always accustomed to refer to it as“it.”When he even frames a German sentence in his mind, with the hims and hers in the right places, and then works up his courage to the utterance-point, it is no use—the moment he begins to speak his tongue fies the track and all those labored males and females come out as“its.”And even when he is reading German to himself, he always calls those things“it，”where as he ought to read in this way.[2]

TALE OF THE FISHWIFE AND ITS SAD FATE

It is a bleak Day. Hear the Rain, how he pours, and the Hail, how he rattles；and see the Snow, how he drifts along, and of the Mud, how deep he is！Ah the poor Fishwife, it is stuck fast in the Mire；it has dropped its Basket of Fishes；and its Hands have been cut by the Scales as it seized some of the falling Creatures；and one Scale has even got into its Eye, and it cannot get her out.It opens its Mouth to cry for Help；but if any Sound comes out of him, alas he is drowned by the raging of the Storm.And now a Tomcat has got one of the Fishes and she will surely escape with him.No, she bites off a Fin, she holds her in her Mouth—will she swallow her?No, the Fishwife's brave Mother-dog deserts his Puppies and rescues the Fin—which he eats, himself, as his Reward.O, horror, the Lightning has struck the Fish-basket；he sets him on Fire；see the Flame, how she licks the doomed Utensil with her red and angry Tongue；now she attacks the helpless Fishwife's Foot—she burns him up, all but the big Toe, and even she is partly consumed；and still she spreads, still she waves her fery Tongues；she attacks the Fishwife's Leg and destroys it；she attacks its Hand and destroys her also；she attacks the Fishwife's Leg and destroys her also；she attacks its Body and consumes him；she wreathes herself about its Heart and it is consumed；next about its Breast, and in a Moment she is a Cinder；now she reaches its Neck—he goes；now its Chin—it goes；now its Nose—she goes.In another Moment, except Help come, the Fishwife will be no more.Time presses—is there none to succor and save?Yes！Joy, joy, with fying Feet the she-Englishwoman comes！But alas, the generous she-Female is too late：where now is the fated Fishwife?It has ceased from its Sufferings, it has gone to a better Land；all that is left of it for its loved Ones to lament over, is this poor smoldering Ash-heap.Ah, woeful, woeful Ash-heap！Let us take him up tenderly, reverently, upon the lowly Shovel, and bear him to his long Rest, with the Prayer that when he rises again it will be a Realm where he will have one good square responsible Sex, and have it all to himself, instead of having a mangy lot of assorted Sexes scattered all over him in Spots.

There, now, the reader can see for himself that this pronoun business is a very awkward thing for the unaccustomed tongue. I suppose that in all languages the similarities of look and sound between words which have no similarity in meaning are a fruitful source of perplexity to the foreigner.It is so in our tongue, and it is notably the case in the German.Now there is that troublesome word vermählt：to me it has so close a resemblance—either real or fancied—to three or four other words, that I never know whether it means despised, painted, suspected, or married；until I look in the dictionary, and then I find it means the latter.There are lots of such words and they are a great torment.To increase the difficulty there are words which seem to resemble each other, and yet do not；but they make just as much trouble as if they did.For instance, there is theword vermiethen（to let, to lease, to hire）；and the word verheirathen（another way of saying to marry）.I heard of an Englishman who knocked at a man’s door in Heidelberg and proposed, in the best German he could command, to“verheirathen”that house.Then there are some words which mean one thing when you emphasize the first syllable, but mean something very different if you throw the emphasis on the last syllable.For instance, there is a word which means a runaway, or the act of glancing through a book, according to the placing of the emphasis；and another word which signifies to associate with a man, or to avoid him, according to where you put the emphasis—and you can generally depend on putting it in the wrong place and getting into trouble.

There are some exceedingly useful words in this language. Schlag, for example；and Zug.There are three-quarters of a column of Schlags in the dictionary, and a column and a half of Zugs.The word Schlag means Blow, Stroke, Dash, Hit, Shock, Clap, Slap, Time, Bar, Coin, Stamp, Kind, Sort, Manner, Way, Apoplexy, Wood-cutting, Enclosure, Field, Forest-clearing.This is its simple and exact meaning—that is to say, its restricted, its fettered meaning；but there are ways by which you can set it free, so that it can soar away, as on the wings of the morning, and never be at rest.You can hang any word you please to its tail, and make it mean anything you want to.You can begin with Schlag-ader, which means artery, and you can hang on the whole dictionary, word by word, clear through the alphabet to Schlag-wasser, which means bilge-water—and including Schlag-mutter, which means mother-in-law.

Just the same with Zug. Strictly speaking, Zug means Pull, Tug, Draught, Procession, March, Progress, Flight, Direction, Expedition, Train, Caravan, Passage, Stroke, Touch, Line, Flourish, Trait of Character, Feature, Lineament, Chess-move, Organ-stop, Team, Whiff, Bias, Drawer, Propensity, Inhalation, Disposition：but that thing which it does not mean—when all its legitimate pennants have been hung on, has not been discovered yet.

One cannot overestimate the usefulness of Schlag and Zug. Armed just with these two, and the word also, what cannot the foreigner on German soil accomplish?The German word also is the equivalent of the English phrase“You know，”and does not mean anything at all—in talk, though it sometimes does in print.Every time a German opens his mouth an also falls out；and every time he shuts it he bites one in two that was trying to get out.

Now, the foreigner, equipped with these three noble words, is master of the situation. Let him talk right along, fearlessly；let him pour his indifferent German forth, and when he lacks for a word, let him heave a Schlag into the vacuum；all the chances are that it fits it like a plug, but if it doesn't let him promptly heave a Zug after it；the two together can hardly fail to bung the hole；but if, by a miracle, they should fail, let him simply say also！and this will give him a moment's chance to think of the needful word.In Germany, when you load your conversational gun it is always best to throw in a Schlag or two and a Zug or two, because it doesn't make any difference how much the rest of the charge may scatter, you are bound to bag something with them.Then you blandly say also, and load up again.Nothing gives such an air of grace and elegance and unconstraint to a German or an English conversation as to scatter it full of“Also's”or“You knows.”

In my note-book I fnd this entry：

July 1.—In the hospital yesterday, a word of thirteen syllables was successfully removed from a patient—a North German from near Hamburg；but as most unfortunately the surgeons had opened him in the wrong place, under theimpression that he contained a panorama, he died. The sad event has cast a gloom over the whole community.

That paragraph furnishes a text for a few remarks about one of the most curious and notable features of my subject—the length of German words. Some German words are so long that they have a perspective.Observe these examples：Freundschaftsbezeigungen.Dilettantenaufdringlichkeiten.Stadtverordnetenversammlungen.

These things are not words, they are alphabetical processions. And they are not rare；one can open a German newspaper at any time and see them marching majestically across the page—and if he has any imagination he can see the banners and hear the music, too.They impart a martial thrill to the meekest subject.I take a great interest in these curiosities.Whenever I come across a good one, I stuff it and put it in my museum.In this way I have made quite a valuable collection.When I get duplicates, I exchange with other collectors, and thus increase the variety of my stock.Here rare some specimens which I lately bought at an auction sale of the effects of a bankrupt bric-a-brac hunter：Generalstaatsverordnetenversammlungen.Alterthumswissenschaften.Kinderbewahrungsanstalten.Unabhängigkeitserklärungen.Wiedererstellungbestrebungen.Waffenstillstandsunterhandlungen.

Of course when one of these grand mountain ranges goes stretching across the printed page, it adorns and ennobles that literary landscape—but at the same time it is a great distress to the new student, for it blocks up his way；he cannot crawl under it, or climb over it, or tunnel through it. So he resorts to the dictionary for help, but there is no help there.The dictionary must draw the linesomewhere—so it leaves this sort of words out.And it is right, because these long things are hardly legitimate words, but are rather combinations of words, and the inventor of them ought to have been killed.They are compound words with the hyphens left out.The various words used in building them are in the dictionary, but in a very scattered condition；so you can hunt the materials out, one by one, and get at the meaning at last, but it is a tedious and harassing business.I have tried this process upon some of the above examples.“Freundschaftsbezeigungen”seems to be“Friendship demonstrations，”which is only a foolish and clumsy way of saying“demonstrations of friendship.”“Unabhängigkeitserklärungen”seems to be“Independence declarations，”which is no improvement upon“Declarations of Independence，”so far as I can see.“General staatsverordnetenversammlungen”seems to be“General-statesrepresentativesmeetings，”as nearly as I can get at it—a mere rhythmical, gushy euphuism for“meetings of the legislature，”I judge.We used to have a good deal of this sort of crime in our literature, but it has gone out now.We used to speak of a things as a“never-to-be-forgotten”circumstance, instead of cramping it into the simple and suffcient word“memorable”and then going calmly about our business as if nothing had happened.In those days we were not content to embalm the thing and bury it decently, we wanted to build a monument over it.

But in our newspapers the compounding-disease lingers a little to the present day, but with the hyphens left out, in the German fashion. This is the shape it takes：instead of saying“Mr.Simmons, clerk of the county and district courts, was in town yesterday，”the new form put it thus：“Clerk of the County and District Courts Simmons was in town yesterday.”This saves neither time nor ink, and has an awkward sound besides.One often sees a remark like thisin our papers：“Mrs.Assistant District Attorney Johnson returned to her city residence yesterday for the season.”That is a case of really unjustifable compounding；because it not only saves no time or trouble, but confers a title on Mrs.Johnson which she has no right to.But these little instances are trifes indeed, contrasted with the ponderous and dismal German system of piling jumbled compounds together.I wish to submit the following local item, from a Mannheim journal, by way of illustration：

“In the day before yesterday shortly after eleven o'clock Night, the in this town standing tavern called'The Wagoner'was down burnt. When the fre to the on the down burning house resting Stork's Nest reached, few the parent Storks away.But when the by the raging, fire surrounded Nest itself caught Fire, straightway plunged the quick returning Mother-stork into the Flames and died, her Wings over her young ones outspread.”

Even the cumbersome German construction is not able to take the pathos out of that picture—indeed, it somehow seems to strengthen it. This item is dated away back yonder months ago.I could have used it sooner, but I was waiting to hear from the Father-stork.I am still waiting.

“Also！”If I had not shown that the German is a diffcult language, I have at least intended to do so. I have heard of an American student who was asked how he was getting along with his German, and who answered promptly：“I am not getting along at all.I have worked at it hard for three level months, and all I have got to show for it is one solitary German phrase—‘Zwei Glas'”（two glasses of beer）.He paused for a moment, refectively；then added with feeling：“But I've got that solid！”

And if I have not also shown that German is a harassing and infuriating study, my execution has been at fault, and not my intent. I heard lately of a worn and sorely triedAmerican student who used to fy to a certain German word for relief when he could bear up under his aggravations no longer—the only word whose sound was sweet and precious to his ear and healing to his lacerated spirit.This was the word Damit.It was only the sound that helped him, not the meaning；and so, at last, when he learned that the emphasis was not on the first syllable, his only stay and support was gone, and he faded away and died.

I think that a description of any loud, stirring, tumultuous episode must be tamer in German than in English. Our descriptive words of this character have such a deep, strong, resonant sound, while their German equivalents do seem so thin and mild and energyless.Boom, burst, crash, roar, storm, bellow, blow, thunder, explosion；howl, cry, shout, yell, groan；battle, hell.These are magnificent words；the have a force and magnitude of sound befitting the things which they describe.But their German equivalents would be ever so nice to sing the children to sleep with, or else my awe-inspiring ears were made for display and not for superior usefulness in analyzing sounds.Would any man want to die in a battle which was called by so tame a term as a Schlacht?Or would not a consumptive feel too much bundled up, who was about to go out, in a shirt-collar and a seal-ring, into a storm which the bird-song word Gewitter was employed to describe?And observe the strongest of the several German equivalents for explosion—Ausbruch.Our word Toothbrush is more powerful than that.It seems to me that the Germans could do worse than import it into their language to describe particularly tremendous explosions with.The German word for hell—Hölle—sounds more like helly than anything else；therefore, how necessary chipper, frivolous, and unimpressive it is.If a man were told in German to go there, could he really rise to thee dignity of feeling insulted?

Having pointed out, in detail, the several vices of this language, I now come to the brief and pleasant task of pointing out its virtues. The capitalizing of the nouns I have already mentioned.But far before this virtue stands another—that of spelling a word according to the sound of it.After one short lesson in the alphabet, the student can tell how any German word is pronounced without having to ask；whereas in our language if a student should inquire of us，“What does B, O，W, spell?”we should be obliged to reply，“Nobody can tell what it spells when you set if off by itself；you can only tell by referring to the context and fnding out what it signifes—whether it is a thing to shoot arrows with, or a nod of one's head, or the forward end of a boat.”

There are some German words which are singularly and powerfully effective. For instance, those which describe lowly, peaceful, and affectionate home life；those which deal with love, in any and all forms, from mere kindly feeling and honest good will toward the passing stranger, clear up to courtship；those which deal with outdoor Nature, in its softest and loveliest aspects—with meadows and forests, and birds and flowers, the fragrance and sunshine of summer, and the moonlight of peaceful winter nights；in a word, those which deal with any and all forms of rest, repose, and peace；those also which deal with the creatures and marvels of fairyland；and lastly and chiefly, in those words which express pathos, is the language surpassingly rich and affective.There are German songs which can make a stranger to the language cry.That shows that the sound of the words is correct—it interprets the meanings with truth and with exactness；and so the ear is informed, and through the ear, the heart.

The Germans do not seem to be afraid to repeat a word when it is the right one. they repeat it several times, if theychoose.That is wise.But in English, when we have used a word a couple of times in a paragraph, we imagine we are growing tautological, and so we are weak enough to exchange it for some other word which only approximates exactness, to escape what we wrongly fancy is a greater blemish.Repetition may be bad, but surely inexactness is worse.

There are people in the world who will take a great deal of trouble to point out the faults in a religion or a language, and then go blandly about their business without suggesting any remedy. I am not that kind of person.I have shown that the German language needs reforming.Very well, I am ready to reform it.At least I am ready to make the proper suggestions.Such a course as this might be immodest in another；but I have devoted upward of nine full weeks, frst and last, to a careful and critical study of this tongue, and thus have acquired a confidence in my ability to reform it which no mere superficial culture could have conferred upon me.

In the first place, I would leave out the Dative case. It confuses the plurals；and, besides, nobody ever knows when he is in the Dative case, except he discover it by accident—and then he does not know when or where it was that he got into it, or how long he has been in it, or how he is going to get out of it again.The Dative case is but an ornamental folly—it is better to discard it.

In the next place, I would move the Verb further up to the front. You may load up with ever so good a Verb, but I notice that you never really bring down a subject with it at the present German range—you only cripple it.So I insist that this important part of speech should be brought forward to a position where it may be easily seen with the naked eye.

Thirdly, I would import some strong words from the English tongue—to swear with, and also to use in describing all sorts of vigorous [3]things in a vigorous ways.

Fourthly, I would reorganizes the sexes, and distribute them accordingly to the will of the creator. This as a tribute of respect, if nothing else.

Fifthly, I would do away with those great long compounded words；or require the speaker to deliver them in sections, with intermissions for refreshments. To wholly do away with them would be best, for ideas are more easily received and digested when they come one at a time than when they come in bulk.Intellectual food is like any other；it is pleasanter and more benefcial to take it with a spoon than with a shovel.

Sixthly, I would require a speaker to stop when he is done, and not hang a string of those useless“haben sind gewesen gehabt haben geworden seins”to the end of his oration. This sort of gewgaws undignify a speech, instead of adding a grace.They are, therefore, an offense, and should be discarded.

Seventhly, I would discard the Parenthesis. Also the reparenthesis, the re-reparenthesis, and the re-re-re-re-re-reparentheses, and likewise the final wide-reaching all-inclosing king-parenthesis.I would require every individual, be he high or low, to unfold a plain straightforward tale, or else coil it and sit on it and hold his peace.Infractions of this law should be punishable with death.

And eighthly, and last, I would retain Zug and Schlag, with their pendants, and discard the rest of the vocabulary. This would simplify the language.

I have now named what I regard as the most necessary and important changes. These are perhaps all I could be expected to name for nothing；but there are other suggestions which I can and will make in case my proposed application shall result in my being formally employed by the government in the work of reforming the language.

My philological studies have satisfied me that a gifted person ought to learn English（barring spelling and pronouncing）in thirty hours, French in thirty days, and German in thirty years. It seems manifest, then, that the latter tongue ought to be trimmed down and repaired.If it is to remain as it is, it ought to be gently and reverently set aside among the dead languages, for only the dead have time to learn it.

A Fourth of July Oration in the German Tongue, Delivered at a Banquet of the Anglo-American Club of Students by the Author of This Book.

Gentlemen：Since I arrived, a month ago, in this old wonderland, this vast garden of Germany, my English tongue has so often proved a useless piece of baggage to me, and so troublesome to carry around, in a country where they haven't the checking system for luggage, that I finally set to work, and learned the German language. Also！Es freut mich dass dies so ist, denn es muss, in ein hauptsächlich degree, höflich sein, dass man auf ein occasion like this, sein Rede in die Sprache des Landes worin he boards, aussprechen soll.Dafür habe ich, ausreinische Verlegenheit—no, Vergangenheit—no, I mean Höflichkeit—aus reinische Höflichkeit habe ich resolved to tackle this business in the German language, um Gottes willen！Also！Sie müssen so freundlich sein, und verzeih mich die interlarding von ein oder zwei Englischer Worte, hie und da, denn ich fnde dass die deutsche is not a very copious language, and so when you’ve really got anything to say, you’ve got to draw on a language that can stand the strain.

Wenn aber man kann nicht meinem Rede Verstehen, so werde ich ihm später dasselbe übersetz, wenn er solche Dienst verlangen wollen haben werden sollen sein hätte.（I don’t know what“wollen haben werden sollen sein hätte”means, but I notice they always put it at the end of a German sentence—merely for general literary gorgeousness, I suppose.）

This is a great and justly honored day—a day which is worthy of the veneration in which it is held by the true patriots of all climes and nationalities—a day which offers a fruitful theme for thought and speech；und meinem Freunde—no, meinen Freunden—meines Freundes—well, take your choice, they're all the same price；I don't know which one is right—also！ich habe gehabt haben worden gewesen sein, as Goethe says in his Paradise Lost—ich—ich—that is to say—ich—but let us change cars.

Also！Die Anblick so viele Grossbrittanischer und Amerikanischer hier zusammengetroffen in Bruderliche concord, ist zwar a welcome and inspiriting spectacle. And what has moved you to it?Can the terse German tongue rise to the expression of this impulse?Is it Freundschafts bezeigungenstadtverordnetenversammlungenfamilieneig enthümlichkeiten?Nein, o nein！This is a crisp and noble word, but it fails to pierce the marrow of the impulse which has gathered this friendly meeting and produceddiese Anblick—eine Anblich welche ist gut zu sehen—gut für die Augen in a foreign land and a far country—eine Anblick solche als in die gewöhnliche Heidelberger phrase nennt man ein“schönes Aussicht！”Ja, freilich natürlich wahrscheinlich ebensowohl！Also！Die Aussicht auf dem Königsstuhl mehr grösser ist, aber geistlische sprechend nicht so schön, lob’Gott！Because sie sind hier zusammengetroffen, in Bruderlichem concord, ein grossen Tag zu feirn, whose high benefits were not for one land and one locality, but have conferred a measure of good upon all lands that know liberty today, and love it.Hundert Jahre vorüber, waren die Engländer und die Amerikaner Feinde；aber heute sind sie herzlichen Freunde, Gott sei Dank！May this good-fellowship endure；may these banners here blended in amity so remain；may they never any more wave over opposing hosts, or be stained with blood which was kindred, is kindred, and always will be kindred, until a line drawn upon a map shall be able to say：“This bars the ancestral blood from flowing in the veins of the descendant！”[1]Wenn er aber auf der Strasse der in Sammt und Seide gehüllten jetzt sehr ungenirt nach der neusten Mode gekleideten Regierungsräthin begegnet.[2]I capitalize the nouns, in the German（and ancient English）fashion.[3]“Verdammt，”and its variations and enlargements, are words which have plenty of meaning, but the sounds are so mild and ineffectual that German ladies can use them without sin.German ladies who could not be induced to commit a sin by any persuasion or compulsion, promptly rip out one of these harmless little words when they tear their dresses or don’t like the soup.It sounds about as wicked as our“My gracious.”German ladies are constantly saying，“Ach！Gott！”“Mein Gott！”“Gott in Himmel！”“Herr Gott”“Der Herr Jesus！”etc.They think our ladies have the same custom, perhaps；for I once heard a gentle and lovely old German lady say to a sweet young American girl：“The two languages are so alike—how pleasant that is；we say’Ach！Gott！’you say’Goddamn.’”

04　BEFORE THE DIET OF WORMS

MOST SERENE EMPEROR, AND YOU ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCES AND GRACIOUS LORDS：—I this day appear before you in all humility, according to your command, and I implore your majesty and your august highnesses, by the mercies of God, to listen with favor to the defense of a cause which I am well assured is just and right. I ask pardon, if by reason of my ignorance, I am wanting in the manners that beft a court；for I have not been brought up in king's palaces, but in the seclusion of a cloister.

Two questions were yesterday put to me by his imperial majesty；the first, whether I was the author of the books whose titles were read；the second, whether I wished to revoke or defend the doctrine I have taught. I answered the frst, and I adhere to that answer.

As to the second, I have composed writings on very different subjects. In some I have discussed Faith and Good Works, in a spirit at once so pure, clear, and Christian, that even my adversaries themselves, far from fnding anything to censure, confess that these writings are profitable, and deserve to be perused by devout persons.The pope's bull, violent as it is, acknowledges this.What, then, should I be doing if I were now to retract these writings?Wretched man！I alone, of all men living, should be abandoning truths approved by the unanimous voice of friends and enemies, and opposing doctrines that the whole world glories in confessing！

I have composed, secondly, certain works against popery, wherein I have attacked such as by false doctrines, irregular lives, and scandalous examples, afflict the Christian world, and ruin the bodies and souls of men. And is not this confirmed by the grief of all who fear God?Is it not manifest that the laws and human doctrines of the popes entangle, vex, and distress the consciences of the faithful, while the crying and endless extortions of Rome engulf the property and wealth of Christendom, and more particularly of this illustrious nation?

If I were to revoke what I have written on that subject, what should I do……. but strengthen this tyranny, and open a wider door to so many and flagrant impieties?Bearing down all resistance with fresh fury, we should behold these proud men swell, foam, and rage more than ever！And not merely would the yoke which now weighs down Christians be made more grinding by my retractation—it would thereby become, so to speak, lawful，—for, by my retractation, it would receive confrmation from your most serene majesty, and all the States of the Empire.Great God！I should thus be like to an infamous cloak, used to hid and cover over every kind of malice and tyranny.

In the third and last place, I have written some books against private individuals, who had undertaken to defend the tyranny of Rome by destroying the faith. I freely confess that I may have attacked such persons with more violence than was consistent with my profession as an ecclesiastic：I do not think of myself as a saint；but neither can I retract these books.because I should, by so doing, sanction the impieties of my opponents, and they would thence take occasion to crush God's people with still more cruelty.

Yet, as I am a mere man, and not God, I will defend myself after the example of Jesus Christ, who said：“If I have spoken evil, bear witness against me”（John xviii：23）. How much more should I, who am but dust and ashes, and so prone to error, desire that every one should bring forward what he can against my doctrine.

Therefore, most serene emperor, and you illustrious princes, and all, whether high or low, who hear me, I implore you by the mercies of God to prove to me by the writings of the prophets and apostles that I am in error. As soon as I shall be convinced, I will instantly retract all my errors, and will myself be the frst to seize my writings, and commit them to the fames.

What I have just said I think will clearly show that I have well considered and weighed the dangers to which I am exposing myself；but far from being dismayed by them, I rejoice exceedingly to see the Gospel this day, as of old, a cause of disturbance and disagreement. It is the character and destiny of God's word.“I came not to send peace unto the earth, but a sword，”said Jesus Christ.God is wonderful and awful in His counsels.Let us have a care, lest in our endeavors to arrest discords, we be bound to fght against the holy word of God and bring down upon our heads a frightful deluge of inextricable dangers, present disaster, and everlasting desolations…….Let us have a care lest the reign of the young and noble prince, the Emperor Charles, on whom, next to God, we build so many hopes, should not only commence, but continue and terminate its course under the most fatal auspices.I might cite examples drawn from the oracles of God.I might speak of Pharaohs, of kings of Babylon, or of Israel, who were never more contributing to their own ruin than when, by measures in appearances most prudent, they thought to establish their authority！“God removeth the mountains and they know not”（Job ix：5）.

In speaking thus, I do not suppose that such noble princes have need of my poor judgment；but I wish to acquit myself of a duty that Germany has a right to expect fromher children. And so commending myself to your august majesty, and your most serene highnesses, I beseech you in all humility, not to permit the hatred of my enemies to rain upon me an indignation I have not deserved.

Since your most serene majesty and your high mightinesses require of me a simple, clear and direct answer, I will give one, and it is this：I can not submit my faith either to the pope or to the council, because it is as clear as noonday that they have fallen into error and even into glaring inconsistency with themselves. If, then, I am not convinced by proof from Holy Scripture, or by cogent reasons, if I am not satisfied by the very text I have cited, and if my judgment is not in this way brought into subjection to God's word, I neither can nor will retract anything；for it can not be right for a Christian to speak against his country.I stand here and can say no more.God help me.Amen.

05　CATS

The Champion Cat Show has been held at the Crystal Palace, but the champion cat was not there. One could not possibly allow him to appear in public.He is for show, but not in a cage.He does not compete, because he is above competition.You know this as well as I.Probably you possess him.I certainly do.That is the supreme test of a cat's excellence—the test of possession.One does not say：“You should see Brailsford's cat”or“You should see Adcock's cat”or“You should see Sharp's cat，”but“You should see our cat.”There is nothing we are more egoistic about—not even children—than about cats.I have heard a man, for lack of anything better to boast about, boasting that his cat eats cheese.In anyone else's cat it would have seemed an inferior habit and only worth mentioning to the servant as a warning.But because the cat happens to be his cat, this man talks about its vice excitedly among women as though it were an accomplishment.It is seldom that we hear a cat publicly reproached with guilt by anyone above a cook.He is not permitted to steal from our own larder.But if he visits the next-door house by stealth and returns over the wall with a Dover sole in his jaws, we really cannot help laughing.We are a little nervous at frst, and our mirth is tinged with pity at the thought of the probably elderly and dyspeptic gentleman who has had his luncheon flched away almost from under his nose.If we were quite sure that it was from No.14，and not from No.9 or No.11，that thefish had been stolen, we might—conceivably—call round and offer to pay for it.But with a cat one is never quite sure.And we cannot call round on all the neighbours and make a general announcement that our cat is a thief.In any case the next move lies with the wronged neighbour.As day follows day, and there is no sign of his irate and murder-bent fgure advancing up the path, we recover our mental balance and begin to see the cat’s exploit in a new light.We do not yet extol it on moral grounds, but undoubtedly, the more we think of it, the deeper becomes our admiration.Of the two great heroes of the Greeks we admire one for his valour and one for his cunning.The epic of the cat is the epic of Odysseus.The old gentleman with the Dover sole gradually assumes the aspect of a Polyphemus outwitted—outwitted and humiliated to the point of not even being able to throw things after his tormentor.Clever cat！Nobody else’s cat could have done such a thing.We should like to celebrate the Rape of the Dover Sole in Latin verse.

As for the Achillean sort of prowess, we do not demand it of a cat, but we are proud of it when it exists. There is a pleasure in seeing strange cats fy at his approach, either in single fle over the wall or in the scattered aimlessness of a bursting bomb.Theoretically, we hate him to fght, but, if he does fght and comes home with a torn ear, we have to summon up all the resources of our fner nature in order not to rejoice on noticing that the cat next door looks as though it had been through a railway accident.I am sorry for the cat next door.I hate him so, and it must be horrible to be hated.But he should not sit on my wall and look at me with yellow eyes.If his eyes were any other colour—even the blue that is now said to be the mark of the runaway husband—I feel certain I could just manage to endure him.But they are the sort of yellow eyes that you expect to see looking out at you from a hole in the panelling in a novel byMr Sax Rohmer.The only reason why I am not frightened of them is that the cat is so obviously frightened of me.I never did him any injury unless to hate is to injure.But he lowers his head when I appear as though he expected to be guillotined.He does not run away：he merely crouches like a guilty thing.Perhaps he remembers how often he has stepped delicately over my seed-beds, but not so delicately as to leave no mark of ruin among the infant lettuces and the less-than-infant autumn-sprouting broccoli.These things I could forgive him, but it is not easy to forgive him the look in his eyes when he watches a bird at its song.They are ablaze with evil.He becomes a sort of Jack the Ripper at the opera.People tell us that we should not blame cats for this sort of thing—that it is their nature and so forth.They even suggest that a cat is no more cruel in eating robin than we are cruel ourselves in eating chicken.This seems to me to be quibbling.In the frst place, there is an immense difference between a robin and a chicken.In the second place, we are willing to share our chicken with the cat—at least, we are willing to share the skin and such of the bones as are not required for soup.Besides, a cat has not the same need of delicacies as a human being.It can eat, and even digest, anything.It can eat the black skin of filleted plaice.It can eat the bits of gristle that people leave on the side of their plates.It can eat boiled cod.It can eat New Zealand mutton.There is no reason why an animal with so undiscriminating a palate should demand song-birds for its food, when even human beings, who are fairly unscrupulous eaters, have agreed in some measure to abstain from them.On refection, however, I doubt if it is his appetite for birds that makes the cat with the yellow eyes feel guilty.If you were able to talk to him in his own language, and formulate your accusations against him as a bird-eater, he would probably be merely puzzled and look on you as a crank.Ifyou pursued the argument and compelled him to moralise his position, he would, I fancy, explain that the birds were very wicked creatures and that their cruelties to the worms and the insects were more than fesh and blood could stand.He would work himself up into a generous idealisation of himself as the guardian of law and order amid the bloody strife of the cabbage-patch—the preserver of the balance of nature.If cats were as clever as we, they would compile an atrocities blue-book about worms.Alas, poor thrush, with how bedraggled a reputation you would come through such an exposure！With how Hunnish a tread you would be depicted treading the lawn, sparing neither age nor sex, seizing the infant worm as it puts out its head to take its frst bewildered peep at the rolling sun！Cats could write sonnets on such a theme…….Then there is that other beautiful potential poem, The Cry of the Snail…….How tender-hearted cats are！Their sympathy seems to be all but universal, always on the look out for an object, ready to extend itself anywhere where it is needed, except, as is but human, to their victims.Yellow eyes or not, I begin to be persuaded that the cat next door is a noble fellow.It may well be that his look as I pass is a look not of fear but of repulsion.He has seen me going out among the worms with a sharp—no, not a very sharp—spade, and regards me as no better than an ogre.If I could only explain to him！But I shall never be able to do so.He could no more appreciate my point of view about worms than I can appreciate his about robins.Luckily, we both eat chicken.This may ultimately help us to understand one another.

On the other hand, part of the fascination of cats may be due to the fact that it is so difficult to come to an understanding with them. A man talks to a horse or a dog as to an equal.To a cat he has to be deferential as though it had some Sphinx-like quality that baffed him.He cannot ordera cat about with the certainty of being obeyed.He cannot be sure that, if he speaks to it, it will even raise its eyes.If it is perfectly comfortable, it will not.A cat is obedient only when it is hungry or when it takes the fancy.It may be a parasite, but it is never a servant.The dog does your bidding, but you do the cat's.At the same time, the contrast between the cat and the dog has often been exaggerated by dog-lovers.They tell you stories of dogs that remained with their dead masters, as though there were no fdelity in cats.It was only the other day, however, that the newspapers gave an account of a cat that remained with the body of its murdered mistress in the most faithful tradition of the dogs.I know, again, of cats that will go out for a walk with a human fellow-creature, as dogs do.I have frequently seen a lady walking across Hampstead Heath with a cat in train.When you go for a walk with a dog, however, the dog protects you：when you go for a walk with a cat, you feel that you are protecting the cat.It is strange that the cat should have imposed the myth of its helplessness on us.It is an animal with an almost boundless capacity for self-help.It can jump up walls.It can climb trees.It can run, as the proverb says, like“greased lightning.”It is armed like an African chief.Yet it has contrived to make itself a pampered pet, so that we are alarmed if it attempts to follow us out of the gate into a world of dogs, and only feel happy when it is purring—rolling on its back and purring as we rub its Adam's apple—by the freside.There is nothing that gives a greater sense of comfort than the purring of a cat.It is the most fattering music in nature.One feels, as one listens, like a humble lover in a bad novel, who says：“You do, then, like me—a little—after all?”The fact that a cat is not utterly miserable in our presence always comes with the freshness and delight of a surprise.The happiness of a crowing baby, newly introduced to us, may be stillmore fattering, but a cat will get round people who cannot tolerate babies.

It is all the more to be wondered at that a cat, which is such a master of this conversational sort of music, should ever attempt any other. There never was an animal less fit to be a singer.Someone—was it Cowper?—has said that there are no really ugly voices in nature, and that he could imagine that there was something to be said even for the donkey's bray.I should have thought that the beautiful voices in nature were few, and that most of them could be defended only on the ground of some pleasant association.Humanity, at least, has been unanimous in its condemnation of the cat as part of nature's chorus.Poems have been written in praise of the corncrake as a singer, but never of the cat.All the associations we have with cats have not accustomed us to that discordant howl.It converts love itself into a torment such as can be found only in the pages of a twentieth-century novel.In it we hear the jungle decadent—the beast in dissolution, but not yet civilised.When it rises at night outside the window, we always explain to visitors：“No；that's not Peter.That's the cat next door with the yellow eyes.”The man who will not defend the honour of his cat cannot be trusted to defend anything.

06　CHEESE

My forthcoming work in five volumes，“The Neglect of Cheese in European Literature”is a work of such unprecedented and laborious detail that it is doubtful if I shall live to finish it. Some overflowings from such a fountain of information may therefore be permitted to springle these pages.I cannot yet wholly explain the neglect to which I refer.Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.Virgil, if I remember right, refers to it several times, but with too much Roman restraint.He does not let himself go on cheese.The only other poet I can think of just now who seems to have had some sensibility on the point was the nameless author of the nursery rhyme which says：“If all the trees were bread and cheese”—which is, indeed a rich and gigantic vision of the higher gluttony.If all the trees were bread and cheese there would be considerable deforestation in any part of England where I was living.Wild and wide woodlands would reel and fade before me as rapidly as they ran after Orpheus.Except Virgil and this anonymous rhymer, I can recall no verse about cheese.Yet it has every quality which we require in exalted poetry.It is a short, strong word；it rhymes to“breeze”and“seas”（an essential point）；that it is emphatic in sound is admitted even by the civilization of the modern cities.For their citizens, with no apparent intention except emphasis, will often say，“Cheese it！”or even“Quite the cheese.”The substance itself is imaginative.It isancient—sometimes in the individual case, always in the type and custom.It is simple, being directly derived from milk, which is one of the ancestral drinks, not lightly to be corrupted with soda-water.You know, I hope（though I myself have only just thought of it），that the four rivers of Eden were milk, water, wine, and ale.Aerated waters only appeared after the Fall.

But cheese has another quality, which is also the very soul of song. Once in endeavouring to lecture in several places at once, I made an eccentric journey across England, a journey of so irregular and even illogical shape that it necessitated my having lunch on four successive days in four roadside inns in four different counties.In each inn they had nothing but bread and cheese；nor can I imagine why a man should want more than bread and cheese, if he can get enough of it.In each inn the cheese was good；and in each inn it was different.There was a noble Wensleydale cheese in Yorkshire, a Cheshire cheese in Cheshire, and so on.Now, it is just here that true poetic civilization differs from that paltry and mechanical civilization which holds us all in bondage.Bad customs are universal and rigid, like modern militarism.Good customs are universal and varied, like native chivalry and self-defence.Both the good and bad civilization cover us as with a canopy, and protect us from all that is outside.But a good civilization spreads over us freely like a tree, varying and yielding because it is alive.A bad civilization stands up and sticks out above us like an umbrella—artifcial, mathematical in shape；not merely universal, but uniform.So it is with the contrast between the substances that vary and the substances that are the same wherever they penetrate.By a wise doom of heaven men were commanded to eat cheese, but not the same cheese.Being really universal it varies from valley to valley.But if, let us say, we compare cheese with soap（that vastly inferior substance），we shall see that soap tends more and more to be merely Smith's Soap or Brown's Soap, sent automatically all over the world.If the Red Indians have soap it is Smith's Soap.If the Grand Lama has soap it is Brown's soap.There is nothing subtly and strangely Buddhist, nothing tenderly Tibetan, about his soap.I fancy the Grand Lama does not eat cheese（he is not worthy），but if he does it is probably a local cheese, having some real relation to his life and outlook.Safety matches, tinned foods, patent medicines are sent all over the world；but they are not produced all over the world.Therefore there is in them a mere dead identity, never that soft play of slight variation which exists in things produced everywhere out of the soil, in the milk of the kine, or the fruits of the orchard.You can get a whisky and soda at every outpost of the Empire：that is why so many Empire-builders go mad.But you are not tasting or touching any environment, as in the cider of Devonshire or the grapes of the Rhine.You are not approaching Nature in one of her myriad tints of mood, as in the holy act of eating cheese.

When I had done my pilgrimage in the four wayside public-houses I reached one of the great northern cities, and there I proceeded, with great rapidity and complete inconsistency, to a large and elaborate restaurant, where I knew I could get many other things besides bread and cheese. I could get that also, however；or at least I expected to get it；but I was sharply reminded that I had entered Babylon, and left England behind.The waiter brought me cheese, indeed, but cheese cut up into contemptibly small pieces；and it is the awful fact that, instead of Christian bread, he brought me biscuits.Biscuits—to one who had eaten the cheese of four great countrysides！Biscuits—to one who had proved anew for himself the sanctity of the ancient wedding between cheese and bread！I addressedthe waiter in warm and moving terms.I asked him who he was that he should put asunder those whom Humanity had joined.I asked him if he did not feel, as an artist, that a solid but yielding substance like cheese went naturally with a solid, yielding substance like bread；to eat it off biscuits is like eating it off slates.I asked him if, when he said his prayers, he was so supercilious as to pray for his daily biscuits.He gave me generally to understand that he was only obeying a custom of Modern Society.I have therefore resolved to raise my voice, not against the waiter, but against Modern Society, for this huge and unparalleled modern wrong.

07　DARWIN’S VOYAGE OF THE BEAGLE

HAD Charles Darwin never published more than“The Voyage of the Beagle，”his reputation as a naturalist of the first rank would have been fully assured. Even before the close of that eventful circumnavigation of the globe, the English geologist Sedgwick, who had probably seen some of the letters sent by the young naturalist to friends in England, predicted to Dr.Darwin, Charles Darwin's father, that his son would take a place among the leading scientifc men of the day.As it afterward proved, the voyage of the Beagle was the foundation stone on which rested that monument of work and industry which, as a matter of fact, made Charles Darwin one of the distinguished scientists not only of his generation but of all time.

The conventional school and university training had very little attraction for Darwin. From boyhood his real interests were to be found in collecting natural objects；minerals, plants, insects, and birds were the materials that excited his mind to full activity.But it was not till his Cambridge days, when he was supposedly studying for the clergy, that the encouragement of Henslow changed this pastime into a serious occupation.THE OCCASION OF THE VOYAGE

About 1831 the British Admiralty decided to fit out the Beagle, a ten-gun brig, to complete the survey of Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego begun some years before, to survey theshores of Chili, Peru, and some of the islands of the Pacifc, and to carry a chain of chronometrical measurements round the world. It seemed important to all concerned that a naturalist should accompany this expedition；and Captain Fitz-Roy, through the mediation of Professor Henslow, eventually induced Charles Darwin to become his cabin companion and naturalist for the voyage.Henslow recommended Darwin not as a finished naturalist but as one amply qualified for collecting, observing, and noting anything worthy to be noted in natural history.

The Beagle, after two unsuccessful attempts to get away, finally set sail from Devonport, England, December 27，1831；and, after a cruise of almost fve years, she returned to Falmouth, England, October 2，1836. Her course had lain across the Atlantic to the Brazilian coast, thence southward along the east coast of South America to Tierra del Fuego, whence she turned northward skirting the seaboard of Chili and Peru.Near the equator a westerly course was taken and she then crossed the Pacific to Australia whence she traversed the Indian Ocean, and, rounding the Cape of Good Hope, headed across the South Atlantic for Brazil.Here she completed the circumnavigation of the globe and, picking up her former course, she retraced her way to England.

When Darwin left England on the Beagle, he was twenty-two years old. The five-year voyage, therefore, occupied in his life the period of maturing manhood.What it was to mean to him he only partly saw.Before leaving England he declared that the day of sailing would mark the beginning of his second life, a new birthday to him.All through his boyhood he had dreamed of seeing the tropics；and now his dream was to be realized.His letters and his account of the voyage are full of the exuberance of youth.To his friend Fox he wrote from Brazil：“My mind has been, since leaving England, in a perfect hurricane of delightand astonishment.”To Henslow he sent word from Rio as follows：“Here I frst saw a tropical forest in all its sublime grandeur—nothing but the reality can give you any idea how wonderful, how magnificent the scene is.”And to another correspondent he wrote：“When I first entered on and beheld the luxuriant vegetation of Brazil, it was realizing the visions in the‘Arabian Nights.'The brilliancy of the scenery throws one into a delirium of delight, and a beetle hunter is not likely soon to awaken from it when, whichever way he turns, fresh treasures meet his eye.”Such expressions could spring only from the enthusiasm of the born naturalist.THE TRAINING OF A NATURALIST

But the voyage of the Beagle meant more to Darwin than the mere opportunity to see the world；it trained him to be a naturalist. During his fve years at sea he learned to work, and to work under conditions that were often almost intolerable.The Beagle was small and cramped, and the collections of a naturalist were not always easily cared for.The frst lieutenant, who is described by Darwin in terms of the highest admiration, was responsible for the appearance of the ship, and strongly objected to having such a litter on deck as Darwin often made.To this man specimens were“d—d beastly devilment，”and he is said to have added，“If I were skipper, I would soon have you and all your d—d mess out of the place.”Darwin is quoted as saying that the absolute necessity of tidiness in the cramped space of the Beagle gave him his methodical habits of work.On the Beagle, too, he learned what he considered the golden rule for saving time, i.e.，take care of the minutes, a rule that gives signifcance to an expression he has somewhere used, that all life is made of a succession of fve-minute periods.

Darwin, however, not only learned on the Beagle howto work against time and under conditions of material inconvenience, but he also acquired the habit of carrying on his occupations under considerable physical discomfort. Although he was probably not seriously ill after the first three weeks of the voyage, he was constantly uncomfortable when the vessel pitched at all heavily, and his sensitiveness to this trouble is well shown in a letter dated June 3，1836，from the Cape of Good Hope, in which he said：“It is lucky for me that the voyage is drawing to a close, for I positively suffer more from seasickness now than three years ago.”Yet he always kept busily at work, and notwithstanding the more or less continuous nature of this discomfort, he was not inclined to attribute the digestive disturbances of his later life to these early experiences.

The return voyage found his spirits somewhat subdued. Writing to his sister from Bahia in Brazil where the Beagle crossed her outward course, he said：“It has been almost painful to fnd how much good enthusiasm has been evaporated in the last four years.I can now walk soberly through a Brazilian forest.”Yet years after in rehearsing the voyage in his autobiography he declared：“The glories of the vegetation of the Tropics rise before my mind at the present time more vividly than anything else.”PRACTICAL RESULTS OF THE VOYAGE

Darwin's opinion of the value of the voyage to him can scarcely be expressed better than in his own words. In his later years he wrote：“The voyage of the Beagle has been by far the most important event of my life，”and again：“I have always felt that I owe to the voyage the first real training or education of my mind；I was led to attend closely to several branches of natural history, and thus my powers of observation were improved, though they were always fairly developed.”And finally in a letter to Captain Fitz-Royhe said：“However others may look back on the Beagle's voyage, now that the small disagreeable parts are well nigh forgotten, I think it far the most fortunate circumstance in my life that the chance afforded by your offer of taking a naturalist fell on me.I often have the most vivid and delightful pictures of what I saw on board the Beagle pass before my eyes.These recollections, and what I learned on natural history, I would not exchange for twice ten thousand a year.”

But the voyage of the Beagle was not only training for Darwin, it was the means of gathering together a large and valuable collection of specimens that kept naturalists busy for some years to come, and added greatly to our knowledge of these distant lands and seas. In the work of arranging and describing these collections, Darwin was fnally obliged to take an active part himself, for, to quote from his“Life and Letters，”it seemed“only gradually to have occurred to him that he would ever be more than a collector of specimens and facts, of which the great men were to make use.And even of the value of his collections he seems to have had much doubt, for he wrote to Henslow in 1834：‘I really began to think that my collections were so poor that you were puzzled what to say；the case is now quite on the opposite tack, for you are guilty of exciting all my vain feelings to a most comfortable pitch；if hard work will atone for these thoughts I vow it shall not be spared.”'Thus the collections made on theBeagle served to confrm Darwin in the occupation of a naturalist and brought him into contact with many of the working scientists of his day.SPECULATIVE RESULTS OF THE VOYAGE

Darwin, however, not only brought back, as a result of his work on the Beagle, large collections of interesting specimens, but he came home with a mind richly storedwith new ideas, and one of these he put into shape so rapidly that it forms no small part of“The Voyage of the Beagle.”During much of the latter part of the journey he was occupied with a study of coral islands and his theory of the method of formation of these remarkable deposits was the first to gain general acceptance in the scientific world. In fact, his views gained so frm a foothold that they are to-day more generally accepted than those of any other naturalist.But coral islands were not the only objects of his speculations.Without doubt he spent much time refecting on that problem of problems, the origin of species, for, though there is not much reference to this subject either in the“Voyage”itself or in his letters of that period, he states in his autobiography that in July，1837，less than a year after his return, he opened his frst notebook for facts in relation to the origin of species about which, as he remarks, he had long reflected.Thus the years spent on theBeagle were years rich in speculation as well as in observation and feld work.

Doubtless the direct results of the voyage of the Beagle were acceptable to the British Admiralty and justified in their eyes the necessary expenditure of money and energy. But the great accomplishment of that voyage was not the charting of distant shore lines nor the carrying of a chain of chronometrical measurements round the world；it was the training and education of Charles Darwin as a naturalist, and no greater tribute can be paid to the voyage than what Darwin himself has said：“I feel sure that it was this training which has enabled me to do whatever I have done in science.”

08　THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

IN CONGRESS, July 4，1776

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume, among the Powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed forlight and transient causes；and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed.But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies；and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government.The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States.To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most wholesome and necessary for the public good.

He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should be obtained；and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.

He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature, a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.

He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of their Public Records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them into compliance with his measures.

He has dissolved Representative Houses repeatedly, for opposing with manly frmness his invasions on the rights of the people.

He has refused for a long time, after such dissolutions, to cause others to be elected；whereby the Legislative Powers, incapable of Annihilation, have returned to the People at large for their exercise；the State remaining in the mean time exposed to all the dangers of invasion from without, and convulsions within.

He has endeavoured to prevent the population of these States；for that purpose obstructing the Laws of Naturalization of Foreigners；refusing to pass others to encourage their migration hither, and raising the conditions of new Appropriations of Lands.

He has obstructed the Administration of Justice, by refusing his Assent to Laws for establishing Judiciary Powers.

He has made judges dependent on his Will alone, for the tenure of their offces, and the amount and payment of their salaries.

He has erected a multitude of New Offices, and sent hither swarms of Offcers to harass our People, and eat out their substance.

He has kept among us, in times of peace, Standing Armies without the Consent of our legislatures.

He has affected to render the Military independent of and superior to the Civil Power.

He has combined with others to subject us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution, and unacknowledged by our laws；giving his Assent to their Acts of pretended legislation：

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among us：

For protecting them, by a mock Trial, from Punishment for any Murders which they should commit on the Inhabitants of these States：

For cutting off our Trade with all parts of the world：

For imposing taxes on us without our Consent：

For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefts of Trial by Jury：

For transporting us beyond Seas to be tried for pretended offences：

For abolishing the free System of English Laws in a neighbouring Province, establishing therein an Arbitrary government, and enlarging its Boundaries so as to render it at once an example and ft instrument for introducing the same absolute rule into these Colonies：

For taking away our Charters, abolishing our most valuable Laws, and altering fundamentally the Forms of our Governments：

For suspending our own Legislatures, and declaring themselves invested with Power to legislate for us in all cases whatsoever.

He has abdicated Government here, by declaring us out of his Protection and waging War against us.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people.

He is at this time transporting large armies of foreign mercenaries to compleat the works of death, desolation and tyranny, already begun with circumstances of Cruelty＆perfdy scarcely paralleled in the most barbarous ages, and totally unworthy of the Head of a civilized nation.

He has constrained our fellow Citizens taken Captive on the high Seas to bear Arms against their Country, to become the executioners of their friends and Brethren, or to fall themselves by their Hands.

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us, and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of our frontiers, the merciless Indian Savages, whose known rule of warfare, is an undistinguished destruction of all ages, sexes and conditions.

In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms：Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. APrince, whose character is thus marked by every act which may defne a Tyrant, is unft to be the ruler of a free People.

Nor have We been wanting in attention to our Brittish brethren. We have warned them from time to time of attempts by their legislature to extend an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us.We have reminded them of the circumstances of our emigration and settlement here.We have appealed to their native justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured them by the ties of our common kindred to disavow these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our connections and correspondence.They too have been deaf to the voice of justice and of consanguinity.We must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which denounces our Separation, and hold them, as we hold the rest of mankind, Enemies in War, in Peace Friends.

We, therefore, the Representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by the Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States；that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved；and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a frm reliance on the Protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

09　THE DIFFERENT DEGREES OF ENJOYMENT PRESENTED BY THE CONTEMPLATION OF NATURE

In reflecting upon the different degrees of enjoyment presented to us in the contemplation of nature, we find that the frst place must be assigned to a sensation, which is wholly independent of an intimate acquaintance with the physical phenomena presented to our view, or of the peculiar character of the region surrounding us. In the uniform plain bounded only by a distant horizon, where the lowly heather, the cistus, or waving grasses, deck the soil；on the ocean shore, where the waves, softly rippling over the beach, leave a track, green with the weeds of the sea；every where, the mind is penetrated by the same sense of the grandeur and vast expanse of nature, revealing to the soul, by a mysterious inspiration, the existence of laws that regulate the forces of the universe.Mere communion with nature, mere contact with the free air, exercise a soothing yet strengthening influence on the wearied spirit, calm the storm of passion, and soften the heart when shaken by sorrow to its inmost depths.Every where, in every region of the globe, in every stage of intellectual culture, the same sources of enjoyment are alike vouchsafed to man.The earnest and solemn thoughts awakened by a communion with nature intuitively arise from a presentiment of the order and harmony pervading the whole universe, and from the contrast we draw between the narrow limits of our ownexistence and the image of infnity revealed on every side, whether we look upward to the starry vault of heaven, scan the far-stretching plain before us, or seek to trace the dim horizon across the vast expanse of ocean.

The contemplation of the individual characteristics of the landscape, and of the conformation of the land in any defnite region of the earth, gives rise to a different source of enjoyment, awakening impressions that are more vivid, better defined, and more congenial to certain phases of the mind, than those of which we have already spoken. At one time the heart is stirred by a sense of the grandeur of the face of nature, by the strife of the elements, or, as in Northern Asia by the aspect of the dreary barrenness of the far-stretching steppes；at another time, softer emotions are excited by the contemplation of rich harvests wrested by the hand of man from the wild fertility of nature, or by the sight of human habitations raised beside some wild and foaming torrent.Here I regard less the degree of intensity than the difference existing in the various sensations that derive their charm and permanence from the peculiar character of the scene.

If I might be allowed to abandon myself to the recollections of my own distant travels, I would instance, among the most striking scenes of nature, the calm sublimity of a tropical night, when the stars, not sparkling, as in our northern skies, shed their soft and planetary light over the gently-heaving ocean；or I would recall the deep valleys of the Cordilleras, where the tall and slender palms pierce the leafy vail around them, and waving on high their feathery and arrow-like [1]branches for, as it were，“a forest above a forest；”or I would describe the summit of the Peak of Teneriffe， when a horizontal layer of clouds, dazzling in whiteness, has separated the cone of cinders from the plain below, and suddenly the ascending current pierces the cloudy vail, so that the eye of the traveler may range from the brink of the crater, along the vine-clad slopes of Orotava, to the orange gardens and banana groves that skirt the shore.In scenes like these, it is not the peaceful charm uniformly spread over the face of nature that moves the heart, but rather the peculiar physiognomy and conformation of the land, the features of the landscape, the ever varying outline of the clouds, and their blending with the horizon of the sea, whether it lies spread before us like a smooth and shining mirror, or is dimly seen through the morning mist.All that the senses can but imperfectly comprehend, all that is most awful in such romantic scenes of nature, may become a source of enjoyment to man, by opening a wide feld to the creative powers of his imagination.Impressions change with the varying movements of the mind, and we are led by a happy illusion to believe that we receive from the external world that with which we have ourselves invested it.[1]This expression is taken from a beautiful description of tropical forest scenery in‘Paul and Virginia，’by Bernardia de Saint Pierre.

10　DREAM-CHILDREN

Children love to listen to stories about their elders, when they were children；to stretch their imagination to the conception of a traditionary great-uncle, or grandame, whom they never saw. It was in this spirit that my little ones crept about me the other evening to hear about their great-grandmother Field, who lived in a great house in Norfolk（a hundred times bigger than that in which they and papa lived）which had been the scene—so at least it was generally believed in that part of the country—of the tragic incidents which they had lately become familiar with from the ballad of the Children in the Wood.Certain it is that the whole story of the children and their cruel uncle was to be seen fairly carved out in wood upon the chimney-piece of the great hall, the whole story down to the Robin Redbreasts, till a foolish rich person pulled it down to set up a marble one of modern invention in its stead, with no story upon it.Here Alice put out one of her dear mother's looks, too tender to be called upbraiding.Then I went on to say, how religious and how good their great-grandmother Field was, how beloved and respected by every body, though she was not indeed the mistress of this great house, but had only the charge of it（and yet in some respects she might be said to be the mistress of it too）committed to her by the owner, who preferred living in a newer and morefashionable mansion which he had purchased somewhere in the adjoining county；but still she lived in it in a manner as if it had been her own, and kept up the dignity of the great house in a sort while she lived, which afterwards came to decay, and was nearly pulled down, and all its old ornaments stripped and carried away to the owner's other house, where they were set up, and looked as awkward as if some one were to carry away the old tombs they had seen lately at the Abbey, and stick them up in Lady C.'s tawdry gilt drawing-room.Here John smiled, as much as to say，“that would be foolish indeed.”And then I told how, when she came to die, her funeral was attended by a concourse of all the poor, and some of the gentry too, of the neighbourhood for many miles round, to show their respect for her memory, because she had been such a good and religious woman；so good indeed that she knew all the Psaltery by heart, ay, and a great part of the Testament besides.Here little Alice spread her hands.Then I told what a tall, upright, graceful person their great-grandmother Field once was；and how in her youth she was esteemed the best dancer—here Alice's little right foot played an involuntary movement, till, upon my looking grave, it desisted—the best dancer, I was saying, in the county, till a cruel disease, called a cancer, came, and bowed her down with pain；but it could never bend her good spirits, or make them stoop, but they were still upright, because she was so good and religious.Then I told how she was used to sleep by herself in a lone chamber of the great lone house；and how she believed that an apparition of two infants was to be seen at midnight gliding up and down the great staircase near where she slept, but she said，“those innocents would do her no harm；”and how frightened I used to be, though in those days I had my maid to sleep with me, because I was never half so good or religious as she—and yet I never saw theinfants.Here John expanded all his eye-brows and tried to look courageous.Then I told how good she was to all her grand-children, having us to the great-house in the holydays, where I in particular used to spend many hours by myself, in gazing upon the old busts of the Twelve Cæsars, that had been Emperors of Rome, till the old marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into marble with them；how I never could be tired with roaming about that huge mansion, with its vast empty rooms, with their worn-out hangings, futtering tapestry, and carved oaken pannels, with the gilding almost rubbed out—sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned gardens, which I had almost to myself, unless when now and then a solitary gardening man would cross me—and how the nectarines and peaches hung upon the walls, without my ever offering to pluck them, because they were forbidden fruit, unless now and then，—and because I had more pleasure in strolling about among the old melancholy-looking yew trees, or the frs, and picking up the red berries, and the fr apples, which were good for nothing but to look at—or in lying about upon the fresh grass, with all the fine garden smells around me—or basking in the orangery, till I could almost fancy myself ripening too along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful warmth—or in watching the dace that darted to and fro in the fsh-pond, at the bottom of the garden, with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state, as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings，—I had more pleasure in these busy-idle diversions than in all the sweet flavours of peaches, nectarines, oranges, and such like common baits of children.Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes, which, not unobserved by Alice, he had meditated dividing with her, and both seemed willing to relinquish them for the present as irrelevant.Then insomewhat a more heightened tone, I told how, though their great-grandmother Field loved all her grand-children, yet in an especial manner she might be said to love their uncle, John L—，because he was so handsome and spirited a youth, and a king to the rest of us；and, instead of moping about in solitary corners, like some of us, he would mount the most mettlesome horse he could get, when but an imp no bigger than themselves, and make it carry him half over the county in a morning, and join the hunters when there were any out—and yet he loved the old great house and gardens too, but had too much spirit to be always pent up within their boundaries—and how their uncle grew up to man’s estate as brave as he was handsome, to the admiration of every body, but of their great-grandmother Field most especially；and how he used to carry me upon his back when I was a lame-footed boy—for he was a good bit older than me—many a mile when I could not walk for pain；—and how in after life he became lame-footed too, and I did not always（I fear）make allowances enough for him when he was impatient, and in pain, nor remember sufficiently how considerate he had been to me when I was lame-footed；and how when he died, though he had not been dead an hour, it seemed as if he had died a great while ago, such a distance there is betwixt life and death；and how I bore his death as I thought pretty well at first, but afterwards it haunted and haunted me；and though I did not cry or take it to heart as some do, and as I think he would have done if I had died, yet I missed him all day long, and knew not till then how much I had loved him.I missed his kindness, and I missed his crossness, and wished him to be alive again, to be quarrelling with him（for we quarreled sometimes），rather than not have him again, and was as uneasy without him, as he their poor uncle must have been when the doctor took off his limb.Here the children fell a crying, and askedif their little mourning which they had on was not for uncle John, and they looked up, and prayed me not to go on about their uncle, but to tell them some stories about their pretty dead mother.Then I told how for seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the fair Alice W—n；and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens—when suddenly, turning to Alice, the soul of the frst Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose that bright hair was；and while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew fainter to my view, receding, and still receding till nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost distance, which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects of speech；“We are not of Alice, nor of thee, nor are we children at all.The children of Alice called Bartrum father.We are nothing；less than nothing, and dreams.We are only what might have been, and must wait upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name”—and immediately awaking, I found myself quietly seated in my bachelor arm-chair, where I had fallen asleep, with the faithful Bridget unchanged by my side—but John L.（or James Elia）was gone for ever.

11　THE EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION

A PROCLAMATION

Whereas on the 22nd day of September, A. D.1862，a proclamation was issued by the President of the United States, containing, among other things, the following, to wit：

“That on the 1st day of January, A. D.1863，all persons held as slaves within any State or designated part of a State the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free；and the executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

“That the executive will on the 1st day of January aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the States and parts of States, if any, in which the people thereof, respectively, shall then be in rebellion against the United States；and the fact that any State or the people thereof shall on that day be in good faith represented in the Congress of the United States by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such States shall have participated shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such State and the people thereof are not then in rebellion against the United States.”

Now, therefore, I，Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as Commander-In-Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States in time of actual armed rebellion against the authority and government of the United States, and as a fit and necessary war measure for supressing said rebellion, do, on this 1st day of January, A. D.1863，and in accordance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaimed for the full period of one hundred days from the first day above mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of States wherein the people thereof, respectively, are this day in rebellion against the United States the following, to wit：

Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana（except the parishes of St. Bernard, Palquemines, Jefferson, St.John, St.Charles, St.James, Ascension, Assumption, Terrebone, Lafourche, St.Mary, St.Martin, and Orleans, including the city of New Orleans），Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia（except the forty-eight counties designated as West Virginia, and also the counties of Berkeley, Accomac, Morthhampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princess Anne, and Norfolk, including the cities of Norfolk and Portsmouth），and which excepted parts are for the present left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued.

And by virtue of the power and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated States and parts of States are, and henceforward shall be, free；and that the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defence；and I recommend to them that, in all case when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

And I further declare and make known that such persons of suitable condition will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of Almighty God.

12　A FREE MAN’S WORSHIP

TO Dr. Faustus in his study Mephistopheles told the history of the Creation, saying：

“The endless praises of the choirs of angels had begun to grow wearisome；for, after all, did he not deserve their praise?Had he not given them endless joy?Would it not be more amusing to obtain undeserved praise, to be worshiped by beings whom he tortured?He smiled inwardly, and resolved that the great drama should be performed.

“For countless ages the hot nebula whirled aimlessly through space. At length it began to take shape, the central mass threw off planets, the planets cooled, boiling seas and burning mountains heaved and tossed, from black masses of cloud hot sheets of rain deluged the barely solid crust.And now the frst germ of life grew in the depths of the ocean, and developed rapidly in the fructifying warmth into vast forest trees, huge ferns springing from the damp mould, sea monsters breeding, fighting, devouring, and passing away.And from the monsters, as the play unfolded itself, Man was born, with the power of thought, the knowledge of good and evil, and the cruel thirst for worship.And Man saw that all is passing in this mad, monstrous world, that all is struggling to snatch, at any cost, a few brief moments of life before Death's inexorable decree.And Man said：‘There is a hidden purpose, could we but fathom it, and the purpose is good；for we must reverence something, and in the visible world there is nothing worthy of reverence.'AndMan stood aside from the struggle, resolving that God intended harmony to come out of chaos by human efforts.And when he followed the instincts which God had transmitted to him from his ancestry of beasts of prey, he called it Sin, and asked God to forgive him.But he doubted whether he could be justly forgiven, until he invented a divine Plan by which God's wrath was to have been appeased.And seeing the present was bad, he made it yet worse, that thereby the future might be better.And he gave God thanks for the strength that enabled him to forgo even the joys that were possible.And God smiled：and when he saw that Man had become perfect in renunciation and worship, he sent another sun through the sky, which crashed into Man's sun；and all returned again to nebula.

“‘Yes，'he murmured，‘it was a good play；I will have it performed again.”'

Such, in outline, but even more purposeless, more void of meaning, is the world which Science presents for our belief. Amid such a world, if anywhere, our ideals henceforward must fnd a home.That Man is the product of causes which had no prevision of the end they were achieving；that his origin, his growth, his hopes and fears, his loves and his beliefs, are but the outcome of accidental collocations of atoms；that no fre, no heroism, no intensity of thought and feeling, can preserve an individual life beyond the grave；that all the labors of the ages, all the devotion, all the inspiration, all the noonday brightness of human genius, are destined to extinction in the vast death of the solar system, and that the whole temple of Man's achievement must inevitably be buried beneath the debris of a universe in ruins—all these things, if not quite beyond dispute, are yet so nearly certain, that no philosophy which rejects them can hope to stand.Only within the scaffolding of these truths, only on the frm foundation of unyielding despair, can the soul's habitation henceforth be safely built.

How, in such an alien and inhuman world, can so powerless a creature as Man preserve his aspirations untarnished?A strange mystery it is that Nature, omnipotent but blind, in the revolutions of her secular hurryings through the abysses of space, has brought forth at last a child, subject still to her power, but gifted with sight, with knowledge of good and evil, with the capacity of judging all the works of his unthinking Mother. In spite of Death, the mark and seal of the parental control, Man is yet free, during his brief years, to examine, to criticize, to know, and in imagination to create.To him alone, in the world with which he is acquainted, this freedom belongs；and in this lies his superiority to the resistless forces that control his outward life.

The savage, like ourselves, feels the oppression of his impotence before the powers of Nature；but having in himself nothing that he respects more than Power, he is willing to prostrate himself before his gods, without inquiring whether they are worthy of his worship. Pathetic and very terrible is the long history of cruelty and torture, of degradation and human sacrifce, endured in the hope of placating the jealous gods：surely, the trembling believer thinks, when what is most precious has been freely given, their lust for blood must be appeased, and more will not be required.The religion of Moloch—as such creeds may be generically called—is in essence the cringing submission of the slave, who dare not, even in his heart, allow the thought that his master deserves no adulation.Since the independence of ideals is not yet acknowledged, Power may be freely worshiped, and receive an unlimited respect, despite its wanton infiction of pain.

But gradually, as morality grows bolder, the claim of the ideal world begins to be felt；and worship, if it is not to cease, must be given to gods of another kind than thosecreated by the savage. Some, though they feel the demands of the ideal, will still consciously reject them, still urging that naked Power is worthy of worship.Such is the attitude inculcated in God's answer to Job out of the whirlwind：the divine power and knowledge are paraded, but of the divine goodness there is no hint.Such also is the attitude of those who, in our own day, base their morality upon the struggle for survival, maintaining that the survivors are necessarily the fittest.But others, not content with an answer so repugnant to the moral sense, will adopt the position which we have become accustomed to regard as specially religious, maintaining that, in some hidden manner, the world of fact is really harmonious with the world of ideals.Thus Man creates God, all-powerful and all-good, the mystic unity of what is and what should be.

But the world of fact, after all, is not good；and, in submitting our judgment to it, there is an element of slavishness from which our thoughts must be purged. For in all things it is well to exalt the dignity of Man, by freeing him as far as possible from the tyranny of non-human Power.When we have realized that Power is largely bad, that man, with his knowledge of good and evil, is but a helpless atom in a world which has no such knowledge, the choice is again presented to us：Shall we worship Force, or shall we worship Goodness?Shall our God exist and be evil, or shall he be recognized as the creation of our own conscience?

The answer to this question is very momentous, and affects profoundly our whole morality. The worship of Force, to which Carlyle and Nietzsche and the creed of Militarism have accustomed us, is the result of failure to maintain our own ideals against a hostile universe：it is itself a prostrate submission to evil, a sacrifce of our best to Moloch.If strength indeed is to be respected, let us respectrather the strength of those who refuse that false“recognition of facts”which fails to recognize that facts are often bad.Let us admit that, in the world we know there are many things that would be better otherwise, and that the ideals to which we do and must adhere are not realized in the realm of matter.Let us preserve our respect for truth, for beauty, for the ideal of perfection which life does not permit us to attain, though none of these things meet with the approval of the unconscious universe.If Power is bad, as it seems to be, let us reject it from our hearts.In this lies Man's true freedom：in determination to worship only the God created by our own love of the good, to respect only the heaven which inspires the insight of our best moments.In action, in desire, we must submit perpetually to the tyranny of outside forces；but in thought, in aspiration, we are free, free from our fellowmen, free from the petty planet on which our bodies impotently crawl, free even, while we live, from the tyranny of death.Let us learn, then, that energy of faith which enables us to live constantly in the vision of the good；and let us descend, in action, into the world of fact, with that vision always before us.

When first the opposition of fact and ideal grows fully visible, a spirit of fery revolt, of ferce hatred of the gods, seems necessary to the assertion of freedom. To defy with Promethean constancy a hostile universe, to keep its evil always in view, always actively hated, to refuse no pain that the malice of Power can invent, appears to be the duty of all who will not bow before the inevitable.But indignation is still a bondage, for it compels our thoughts to be occupied with an evil world；and in the fierceness of desire from which rebellion springs there is a kind of self-assertion which it is necessary for the wise to overcome.Indignation is a submission of our thoughts, but not of our desires；the Stoic freedom in which wisdom consists is found in thesubmission of our desires, but not of our thoughts.From the submission of our desires springs the virtue of resignation；from the freedom of our thoughts springs the whole world of art and philosophy, and the vision of beauty by which, at last, we half reconquer the reluctant world.But the vision of beauty is possible only to unfettered contemplation, to thoughts not weighted by the load of eager wishes；and thus Freedom comes only to those who no longer ask of life that it shall yield them any of those personal goods that are subject to the mutations of Time.

Although the necessity of renunciation is evidence of the existence of evil, yet Christianity, in preaching it, has shown a wisdom exceeding that of the Promethean philosophy of rebellion. It must be admitted that, of the things we desire, some, though they prove impossible, are yet real goods；others, however, as ardently longed for, do not form part of a fully purifed ideal.The belief that what must be renounced is bad, though sometimes false, is far less often false than untamed passion supposes；and the creed of religion, by providing a reason for proving that it is never false, has been the means of purifying our hopes by the discovery of many austere truths.

But there is in resignation a further good element：even real goods, when they are unattainable, ought not to be fretfully desired. To every man comes, sooner or later, the great renunciation.For the young, there is nothing unattainable；a good thing desired with the whole force of a passionate will, and yet impossible, is to them not credible.Yet, by death, by illness, by poverty, or by the voice of duty, we must learn, each one of us, that the world was not made for us, and that, however beautiful may be the things we crave for, Fate may nevertheless forbid them.It is the part of courage, when misfortune comes, to bear without repining the ruin of our hopes, to turn away our thoughtsfrom vain regrets.This degree of submission to Power is not only just and right：it is the very gate of wisdom.

But passive renunciation is not the whole wisdom；for not by renunciation alone can we build a temple for the worship of our own ideals. Haunting foreshadowings of the temple appear in the realm of imagination, in music, in architecture, in the untroubled kingdom reason, and in the golden sunset magic of lyrics, where beauty shines and glows, remote from the touch of sorrow, remote from the fear of change, remote from the failures and disenchantments of the world of fact.In the contemplation of these things the vision of heaven will shape itself in our hearts, giving at once a touchstone to judge the world about us, and an inspiration by which to fashion to our needs whatever is not incapable of serving as a stone in the sacred temple.

Except for those rare spirits that are born without sin, there is a cavern of darkness to be traversed before that temple can be entered. The gate of the cavern is despair, and its floor is paved with the gravestones of abandoned hopes.There Self must die；there the eagerness, the greed of untamed desire must be slain, for only so can the soul be freed from the empire of Fate.But out of the cavern the Gate of Renunciation leads again to the daylight of wisdom, by whose radiance a new insight, a new joy, a new tenderness, shine forth to gladden the pilgrim's heart.

When, without the bitterness of impotent rebellion, we have learnt both to resign ourselves to the outward rule of Fate and to recognize that the non-human world is unworthy of our worship, it becomes possible at last so to transform and refashion the unconscious universe, so to transmute it in the crucible of imagination, that a new image of shining gold replaces the old idol of clay. In all the multiform facts of the world—in the visual shapes of trees and mountains and clouds, in the events of the life of man, even in the veryomnipotence of Death—the insight of creative idealism can fnd the refection of a beauty which its own thoughts frst made.In this way mind asserts its subtle mastery over the thoughtless forces of Nature.The more evil the material with which it deals, the more thwarting to untrained desire, the greater is its achievement in inducing the reluctant rock to yield up its hidden treasures, the prouder its victory in compelling the opposing forces to swell the pageant of its triumph.Of all the arts, Tragedy is the proudest, the most triumphant；for it builds its shining citadel in the very center of the enemy's country, on the very summit of his highest mountain；from its impregnable watch-towers, his camps and arsenals, his columns and forts, are all revealed；within its walls the free life continues, while the legions of Death and Pain and Despair, and all the servile captains of tyrant Fate, afford the burghers of that dauntless city new spectacles of beauty.Happy those sacred ramparts, thrice happy the dwellers on that all-seeing eminence.Honor to those brave warriors who, through countless ages of warfare, have preserved for us the priceless heritage of liberty, and have kept undefled by sacrilegious invaders the home of the unsubdued.

But the beauty of Tragedy does but make visible a quality which, in more or less obvious shapes, is present always and everywhere in life. In the spectacle of Death, in the endurance of intolerable pain, and in the irrevocableness of a vanished past, there is a sacredness, an overpowering awe, a feeling of the vastness, the depth, the inexhaustible mystery of existence, in which, as by some strange marriage of pain, the sufferer is bound to the world by bonds of sorrow.In these moments of insight, we lose all eagerness of temporary desire, all struggling and striving for petty ends, all care for the little trivial things that, to a superficial view, make up the common life of day byday；we see, surrounding the narrow raft illumined by the flickering light of human comradeship, the dark ocean on whose rolling waves we toss for a brief hour；from the great night without, a chill blast breaks in upon our refuge；all the loneliness of humanity amid hostile forces is concentrated upon the individual soul, which must struggle alone, with what of courage it can command, against the whole weight of a universe that cares nothing for its hopes and fears.Victory, in this struggle with the powers of darkness, is the true baptism into the glorious company of heroes, the true initiation into the overmastering beauty of human existence.From that awful encounter of the soul with the outer world, renunciation, wisdom, and charity are born；and with their birth a new life begins.To take into the inmost shrine of the soul the irresistible forces whose puppets we seem to be—Death and change, the irrevocableness of the past, and the powerlessness of man before the blind hurry of the universe from vanity to vanity—to feel these things and know them is to conquer them.

This is the reason why the Past has such magical power. The beauty of its motionless and silent pictures is like the enchanted purity of late autumn, when the leaves, though one breath would make them fall, still glow against the sky in golden glory.The Past does not change or strive；like Duncan, after life's fitful fever it sleeps well；what was eager and grasping, what was petty and transitory, has faded away, the things that were beautiful and eternal shine out of it like stars in the night.Its beauty, to a soul not worthy of it, is unendurable；but to a soul which has conquered Fate it is the key of religion.

The life of Man, viewed outwardly, is but a small thing in comparison with the forces of Nature. The slave is doomed to worship Time and Fate and Death, because they are greater than anything he finds in himself, and because allhis thoughts are of things which they devour.But, great as they are, to think of them greatly, to feel their passionless splendor, is greater still.And such thought makes us free men；we no longer bow before the inevitable in Oriental subjection, but we absorb it, and make it a part of ourselves.To abandon the struggle for private happiness, to expel all eagerness of temporary desire, to burn with passion for eternal things—this is emancipation, and this is the free man's worship.And this liberation is effected by a contemplation of Fate；for Fate itself is subdued by the mind which leaves nothing to be purged by the purifying fre of Time.

United with his fellow-men by the strongest of all ties, the tie of a common doom, the free man finds that a new vision is with him always, shedding over every daily task the light of love. The life of Man is a long march through the night, surrounded by invisible foes, tortured by weariness and pain, towards a goal that few can hope to reach, and where none may tarry long.One by one, as they march, our comrades vanish from our sight, seized by the silent orders of omnipotent Death.Very brief is the time in which we can help them, in which their happiness or misery is decided.Be it ours to shed sunshine on their path, to lighten their sorrows by the balm of sympathy, to give them the pure joy of a never-tiring affection, to strengthen failing courage, to instil faith in hours of despair.Let us not weigh in grudging scales their merits and demerits, but let us think only of their need—of the sorrows, the difficulties, perhaps the blindnesses, that make the misery of their lives；let us remember that they are fellow-sufferers in the same darkness, actors in the same tragedy with ourselves.And so, when their day is over, when their good and their evil have become eternal by the immortality of the past, be it ours to feel that, where they suffered, where they failed, no deed ofours was the cause；but wherever a spark of the divine fre kindled in their hearts, we were ready with encouragement, with sympathy, with brave words in which high courage glowed.

Brief and powerless is Man's life；on him and all his race the slow, sure doom falls pitiless and dark. Blind to good and evil, reckless of destruction, omnipotent matter rolls on its relentless way；for Man, condemned to-day to lose his dearest, to-morrow himself to pass through the gate of darkness, it remains only to cherish, ere yet the blow falls, the lofty thoughts that ennoble his little day；disdaining the coward terrors of the slave of Fate, to worship at the shrine that his own hands have built；undismayed by the empire of chance, to preserve a mind free from the wanton tyranny that rules his outward life；proudly defant of the irresistible forces that tolerate, for a moment, his knowledge and his condemnation, to sustain alone, a weary but unyielding Atlas, the world that his own ideals have fashioned despite the trampling march of unconscious power.

13　THE FUTURE OF ASTRONOMY

It is claimed by astronomers that their science is not only the oldest, but that it is the most highly developed of the sciences. Indeed it should be so, since no other science has ever received such support from royalty, from the state and from the private individual.However this may be, there is no doubt that in recent years astronomers have had granted to them greater opportunities for carrying on large pieces of work than have been entrusted to men in any other department of pure science.One might expect that the practical results of a science like physics would appeal to the man who has made a vast fortune through some of its applications.The telephone, the electric transmission of power, wireless telegraphy and the submarine cable are instances of immense financial returns derived from the most abstruse principles of physics.Yet there are scarcely any physical laboratories devoted to research, or endowed with independent funds for this object, except those supported by the government.The endowment of astronomical observatories devoted to research, and not including that given for teaching, is estimated to amount to half a million dollars annually.Several of the larger observatories have an annual income of fifty thousand dollars.

I once asked the wisest man I know, what was the reason for this difference. He said that it was probably because astronomy appealed to the imagination.A practical man, who has spent all his life in his counting room or mill, is sometimes deeply impressed with the vast distances and grandeur of the problems of astronomy, and the very remoteness and diffculty of studying the stars attract him.

My object in calling your attention to this matter is the hope that what I have to say of the organization of astronomy may prove of use to those interested in other branches of science, and that it may lead to placing them on the footing they should hold. My arguments apply with almost equal force to physics, to chemistry, and in fact to almost every branch of physical or natural science, in which knowledge may be advanced by observation or experiment.

The practical value of astronomy in the past is easily established. Without it, international commerce on a large scale would have been impossible.Without the aid of astronomy, accurate boundaries of large tracts of land could not have been defned and standard time would have been impossible.The work of the early astronomers was eminently practical, and appealed at once to every one.This work has now been fnished.We can compute the positions of the stars for years, almost for centuries, with all the accuracy needed for navigation, for determining time or for approximate boundaries of countries.The investigations now in progress at the greatest observatories have little, if any, value in dollars and cents.They appeal, however, to the far higher sense, the desire of the intellectual human being to determine the laws of nature, the construction of the material universe, and the properties of the heavenly bodies of which those known to exist far outnumber those that can be seen.

Three great advances have been made in astronomy. First, the invention of the telescope, with which we commonly associate the name of Galileo, from the wonderful results he obtained with it.At that time there was practically noscience in America, and for more than two centuries we failed to add materially to this invention.Half a century ago the genius of the members of one family, Alvan Clark and his two sons, placed America in the front rank not only in the construction, but in the possession, of the largest and most perfect telescopes ever made.It is not easy to secure the world's record in any subject.The Clarks constructed successively, the 18-inch lens for Chicago, the 26-inch for Washington, the 30-inch for Pulkowa, the 36-inch for Lick and the 40-inch for Yerkes.Each in turn was the largest yet made, and each time the Clarks were called upon to surpass the world's record, which they themselves had already established.Have we at length reached the limit in size?If we include reflectors, no, since we have mirrors of 60 inches aperture at Mt.Wilson and Cambridge, and a still larger one of 100 inches has been undertaken.It is more than doubtful, however, whether a further increase in size is a great advantage.Much more depends on other conditions, especially those of climate, the kind of work to be done and, more than all, the man behind the gun.The case is not unlike that of a battleship.Would a ship a thousand feet long always sink one of five hundred feet?It seems as if we had nearly reached the limit of size of telescopes, and as if we must hope for the next improvement in some other direction.

The second great advance in astronomy originated in America, and was in an entirely different direction, the application of photography to the study of the stars. The frst photographic image of a star was obtained in 1850，by George P.Bond, with the assistance of Mr.J.A.Whipple, at the Harvard College Observatory.A daguerreotype plate was placed at the focus of the 15-inch equatorial, at that time one of the two largest refracting telescopes in the world.An image ofαLyræ was thus obtained, and for thisMr.Bond received a gold medal at the first international exhibition, that at the Crystal Palace, in London, in 1851.In 1857，Mr.Bond, then Professor Bond, director of the Harvard Observatory, again took up the matter with collodion wet plates, and in three masterly papers showed the advantages of photography in many ways.The lack of sensitiveness of the wet plate was perhaps the only reason why its use progressed but slowly.Quarter of a century later, with the introduction of the dry plate and the gelatine film, a new start was made.These photographic plates were very sensitive, were easily handled, and indefinitely long exposures could be made with them.As a result, photography has superseded visual observations, in many departments of astronomy, and is now carrying them far beyond the limits that would have been deemed possible a few years ago.

The third great advance in astronomy is in photographing the spectra of the stars. The first photograph showing the lines in a stellar spectrum was obtained by Dr.Henry Draper, of New York, in 1872.Sir William Huggins in 1863 had obtained an image of the spectrum of Sirius, on a photographic plate, but no lines were visible in it.In 1876 he again took up the subject, and, by an early publication, preceded Dr.Draper.When we consider the attention the photography of stellar spectra is receiving at the present time, in nearly all the great observatories in the world, it may well be regarded as the third great advance in astronomy.

What will be the fourth advance, and how will it be brought about?To answer this question we must consider the various ways in which astronomy, and for that matter any other science, may be advanced.

First, by educating astronomers. There are many observatories where excellent instruction in astronomy isgiven, either to the general student or to one who wishes to make it his profession.At almost any active observatory a student would be received as a volunteer assistant.Unfortunately, few young men can afford to accept an unpaid position, and the establishment of a number of fellowships each offering a small salary suffcient to support the student would enable him to acquire the necessary knowledge to fill a permanent position.The number of these scholarships should not be large, lest more students should undertake the work than would be required to fll the permanent paying positions in astronomy, as they become vacant.

In Europe, a favorite method of aiding science is to offer a prize for the best memoir on a specified subject. On theoretical grounds this is extremely objectionable.Since the papers presented are anonymous and confidential, no one but the judges know how great is the effort wasted in duplication.The larger the prize, the greater the injury to science, since the greater will be the energy diverted from untried felds.It would be much wiser to invite applications, select the man most likely to produce a useful memoir, and award the prize to him if he achieved success.

The award of a medal, if of great intrinsic value, would be an unwise expenditure. The Victoria Cross is an example of a successful foundation, highly prized, but of small intrinsic value.If made of gold, it would carry no greater honor, and would be more liable to be stolen, melted down or pawned.

Honorary membership in a famous society, or honorary degrees, have great value if wisely awarded. Both are highly prized, form an excellent stimulus to continued work, and as they are both priceless, and without price, they in no way diminish the capacity for work.I recently had occasion to compare the progress in various sciences of different countries, and found that the number of persons elected asforeign associates of the seven great national societies of the world was an excellent test.Eighty-seven persons were members of two or more of these societies.Only six are residents of the United States, while an equal number come from Saxony, which has only a twentieth of the population.Of the six residents here, only three were born in the United States.Not a single mathematician, or doctor, from this country appears on the list.Only in astronomy are we well represented.Out of a total of ten astronomers, four come from England, and three from the United States.Comparing the results for the last one hundred and ffty years, we fnd an extraordinary growth for the German races, an equally surprising diminution for the French and other Latin races, while the proportion of Englishmen has remained unchanged.

A popular method of expending money, both by countries and by individuals, is in sending expeditions to observe solar eclipses. These appeal both to donors and recipients.The former believe that they are making a great contribution to science, while the latter enjoy a long voyage to a distant country, and in case of clouds they are not expected to make any scientific return.If the sky is clear at the time of the eclipse, the newspapers of the next day report that great results have been secured, and after that nothing further is ever heard.Exceptions should be made of the English Eclipse Committee and the Lick Observatory, which, by long continued study and observation, are gradually solving the diffcult problems which can be reached in this way only.

The gift of a large telescope to a university is of very doubtful value, unless it is accompanied, first, by a sum much greater than its cost, necessary to keep it employed in useful work, and secondly, to require that it shall be erected, not on the university grounds, but in some region, probably mountainous or desert, where results of real value can be obtained.

Having thus considered, among others, some of the ways in which astronomy is not likely to be much advanced, we proceed to those which will secure the greatest scientific return for the outlay. One of the best of these is to create a fund to be used in advancing research, subject only to the condition that results of the greatest possible value to science shall be secured.One advantage of this method is that excellent results may be obtained at once from a sum, either large or small.Whatever is at first given may later be increased indefinitely, if the results justify it.One of the wisest as well as the greatest of donors has said：“Find the particular man，”but unfortunately, this plan has been actually tried only with some of the smaller funds.Any one who will read the list of researches aided by the Rumford Fund, the Elizabeth Thompson Fund or the Bruce Fund of 1890 will see that the returns are out of all proportion to the money expended.The trustees of such a fund as is here proposed should not regard themselves as patrons conferring a favor on those to whom grants are made, but as men seeking for the means of securing large scientific returns for the money entrusted to them.An astronomer who would aid them in this work, by properly expending a grant, would confer rather than receive a favor.They should search for astronomical bargains, and should try to purchase results where the money could be expended to the best advantage.They should make it their business to learn of the work of every astronomer engaged in original research.A young man who presented a paper of unusual importance at a scientific meeting, or published it in an astronomical journal, would receive a letter inviting him to submit plans to the trustees, if he desired aid in extending his work.In many cases, it would be found that, after working for years under most unfavorable conditions, he had developed a method of great value and had applied it to a few stars, butmust now stop for want of means.A small appropriation would enable him to employ an assistant who, in a short time, could do equally good work.The application of this method to a hundred or a thousand stars would then be only a matter of time and money.

The American Astronomical Society met last August at a summer resort on Lake Erie. About thirty astronomers read papers, and in a large portion of the cases the appropriation of a few hundred dollars would have permitted a great extension in these researches.A sad case is that of a brilliant student who may graduate at a college, take a doctor's degree in astronomy, and perhaps pass a year or two in study at a foreign observatory.He then returns to this country, enthusiastic and full of ideas, and considers himself fortunate in securing a position as astronomer in a little country college.He now fnds himself overwhelmed with work as a teacher, without time or appliances for original work.What is worse, no one sympathizes with him in his aspirations, and after a few years he abandons hope and settles down to the dull routine of lectures, recitations and examinations.A little encouragement at the right time, aid by offering to pay for an assistant, for a suitable instrument, or for publishing results, and perhaps a word to the president of his college if the man showed real genius, might make a great astronomer, instead of a poor teacher.For several years, a small fund, yielding a few hundred dollars annually, has been disbursed at Harvard in this way, with very encouraging results.

A second method of aiding astronomy is through the large observatories. These institutions, if properly managed, have after years of careful study and trial developed elaborate systems of solving the great problems of the celestial universe.They are like great factories, which by taking elaborate precautions to save waste at every point, and by improving in every detail both processes and products, areat length obtaining results on a large scale with a perfection and economy far greater than is possible by individuals, or smaller institutions.The expenses of such an observatory are very large, and it has no pecuniary return, since astronomical products are not salable.A great portion of the original endowment has been spent on the plant, expensive buildings and instruments.Current expenditures, like library expenses, heating, lighting, etc.，are independent of the output.It is like a man swimming up stream.He may struggle desperately, and yet make no progress.Any gain in power effects a real advance.This is the condition of nearly all the larger observatories.Their income is mainly used for current expenses, which would be nearly the same whatever their output.A relatively small increase in income can thus be spent to great advantage.The principal instruments are rarely used to their full capacities, and the methods employed could be greatly extended without any addition to the executive or other similar expenses.A man superintending the work of several assistants can often have their number doubled, and his output increased in nearly the same proportion, with no additional expense except the moderate one of their salaries.A single observatory could thus easily do double the work that could be accomplished if its resources were divided between two of half the size.

A third, and perhaps the best, method of making a real advance in astronomy is by securing the united work of the leading astronomers of the world. The best example of this is the work undertaken in 1870 by the Astronomische Gesellschaft, the great astronomical society of the world.The sky was divided into zones, and astronomers were invited to measure the positions of all the stars in these zones.The observation of two of the northern and two of the southern zones were undertaken by American observatories.The zone from+1°to+5°was undertaken by the Chicago Observatory, but was abandoned owing to thegreat fre of 1871，and the work was assumed and carried to completion by the Dudley Observatory at Albany.The zone from+50°to+55°was undertaken by Harvard.An observer and corps of assistants worked on this problem for a quarter of a century.The completed results now fll seven quarto volumes of our annals.Of the southern zones, that from-14°to-18°was undertaken by the Naval Observatory at Washington, and is now finished.The zone from-10°to-14°was undertaken at Harvard, and a second observer and corps of assistants have been working on it for twenty years.It is now nearly completed, and we hope to begin its publication this year.The other zones were taken by European astronomers.As a result of the whole, we have the precise positions of nearly a hundred and ffty thousand stars, which serve as a basis for the places of all the objects in the sky.

Another example of cooperative work is a plan proposed by the writer in 1906，at the celebration of the two-hundredth anniversary of the birth of Franklin. It was proposed, first to find the best place in the world for an astronomical observatory, which would probably be in South Africa, to erect there a telescope of the largest size, a reflector of seven feet aperture.This instrument should be kept at work throughout every clear night, taking photographs according to a plan recommended by an international committee of astronomers.The resulting plates should not be regarded as belonging to a single institution, but should be at the service of whoever could make the best use of them.Copies of any, or all, would be furnished at cost to any one who wished for them.As an example of their use, suppose that an astronomer at a little German University should discover a law regulating the stars in clusters.Perhaps he has only a small telescope, near the smoke and haze of a large city, and has no means of securing the photographs he needs.He would apply tothe committee, and they would vote that ten photographs of twenty clusters, each with an exposure of an hour, should be taken with the large telescope.This would occupy about a tenth part of the time of the telescope for a year.After making copies, the photographs would be sent to the astronomer who would perhaps spend ten years in studying and measuring them.The committee would have funds at their disposal to furnish him, if necessary, with suitable measuring instruments, assistants for reducing the results, and means for publication.They would thus obtain the services of the most skilful living astronomers, each in his own special line of work, and the latter would obtain in their own homes material for study, the best that the world could supply.Undoubtedly, by such a combination if properly organized, results could be obtained far better than is now possible by the best individual work, and at a relatively small expense.Many years of preparation will evidently be needed to carry out such a plan, and to save time we have taken the frst step and have sent a skilful and experienced observer to South Africa to study its climate and compare it with the experience he has gained during the last twenty years from a similar study of the climate of South America and the western portion of the United States.

The next question to be considered is in what direction we may expect the greatest advance in astronomy will be made. Fortunate indeed would be the astronomer who could answer this question correctly.When Ptolemy made the frst catalogue of the stars, he little expected that his observations would have any value nearly two thousand years later.The alchemists had no reason to doubt that their results were as important as those of the chemists.The astrologers were respected as much as the astronomers.Although there is a certain amount of fashion in astronomy, yet perhaps the best test is the judgment of those who have devoted their lives to that science.Thirty years ago the feld was narrow.It was the era of big telescopes.Every astronomer wanted a larger telescope than his neighbors, with which to measure double stars.If he could not get such an instrument, he measured the positions of the stars with a transit circle.Then came astrophysics, including photography, spectroscopy and photometry.The study of the motion of the stars along the line of sight, by means of photographs of their spectra, is now the favorite investigation at nearly all the great observatories of the world.The study of the surfaces of the planets, while the favorite subject with the public, next to the destruction of the earth by a comet, does not seem to appeal to astronomers.Undoubtedly, the only way to advance our knowledge in this direction is by the most powerful instruments, mounted in the best possible locations.Great astronomers are very conservative, and any sensational story in the newspapers is likely to have but little support from them.Instead of aiding, it greatly injures real progress in science.

There is no doubt that, during the next half century, much time and energy will be devoted to the study of the fxed stars. The study of their motions as indicated by their change in position was pursued with great care by the older astronomers.The apparent motions were so small that a long series of years was required and, in general, for want of early observations of the precise positions of the faint stars, this work was confined mainly to the bright stars.Photography is yearly adding a vast amount of material available for this study, but the minuteness of the quantities to be measured renders an accurate determination of their laws very diffcult.Moreover, we can thus only determine the motions at right angles to the line of sight, the motion towards us or from us being entirely insensible in this way.Then came the discovery of the change in the spectrum when a body was in motion, but still this change was so small that visual observations of it proved of but littlevalue.Attaching a carefully constructed spectroscope to one of the great telescopes of the world, photographing the spectrum of a star, and measuring it with the greatest care, provided a tool of wonderful effciency.The motion, which sometimes amounts to several hundreds of miles a second could thus be measured to within a fraction of a mile.The discovery that the motion was variable, owing to the star's revolving around a great dark planet sometimes larger than the star, added greatly not only to the interest of these researches, but also to the labor involved.Instead of a single measure for each star, in the case of the so-called spectroscopic binaries, we must make enough measures to determine the dimensions of the orbit, its form and the period of revolution.

What has been said of the motions of the stars applies also, in general, to the determination of their distances. A vast amount of labor has been expended on this problem.When at length the distance of a single star was finally determined, the quantity to be measured was so small as to be nearly concealed by the unavoidable errors of measurement.The parallax, or one half of the change in the apparent position of the stars as the earth moves around the sun, has its largest value for the nearest stars.No case has yet been found in which this quantity is as large as a foot rule seen at a distance of ffty miles, and for comparatively few stars is it certainly appreciable.An extraordinary degree of precision has been attained in recent measures of this quantity, but for a really satisfactory solution of this problem, we must probably devise some new method, like the use of the spectroscope for determining motions.Two or three illustrations of the kind of methods which might be used to solve this problem may be of interest.There are certain indications of the presence of a selective absorbing medium in space.That is, a medium like red glass, for instance, which would cut off the blue light more than thered light.Such a medium would render the blue end of the spectrum of a distant star much fainter, as compared with the red end, than in the case of a near star.A measure of the relative intensity of the two rays would servo to measure the distance, or thickness of the absorbing medium.The effect would be the same for all stars of the same class of spectrum.It could be tested by the stars forming a cluster, like the Pleiades, which are doubtless all at nearly the same distance from us.The spectra of stars of the tenth magnitude, or fainter, can be photographed well enough to be measured in this way, so that the relative distances of nearly a million stars could be thus determined.

Another method which would have a more limited application, would depend on the velocity of light. It has been maintained that the velocity of light in space is not the same for different colors.Certain stars, called Algol stars, vary in light at regular intervals when partially eclipsed by the interposition of a large dark satellite.Recent observations of these eclipses, through glass of different colors, show variations in the time of obscuration.Apparently, some of the rays reach the earth sooner than others, although all leave the star at the same time.As the entire time may amount to several centuries, an excessively small difference in velocity would be recognizable.A more delicate test would be to measure the intensity of different portions of the spectrum at a time when the light is changing most rapidly.The effect should be opposite according as the light is increasing or diminishing.It should also show itself in the measures of all spectroscopic binaries.

A third method of great promise depends on a remarkable investigation carried on in the physical laboratory of the Case School of Applied Science. According to the undulatory theory of light, all space is filled with a medium called ether, like air, but as much more tenuous than air as air is more tenuous than the densest metals.Asthe earth is moving through space at the rate of several miles a second, we should expect to feel a breeze as we rush through the ether, like that of the air when in an automobile we are moving with but one thousandth part of this velocity.The problem is one of the greatest delicacy, but a former officer of the Case School, one of the most eminent of living physicists, devised a method of solving it.The extraordinary result was reached that no breeze was perceptible.This result appeared to be so improbable that it has been tested again and again, but every time, the more delicate the instrument employed, the more certainly is the law established.If we could determine our motion with reference to the ether, we should have a fxed line of reference to which all other motions could be referred.This would give us a line of ever-increasing length from which to measure stellar distances.

Still another method depends on the motion of the sun in space. There is some evidence that this motion is not straight, but along a curved line.We see the stars, not as they are now, but as they were when the light left them.In the case of the distant stars this may have occurred centuries ago.Accordingly, if we measure the motion of the sun from them, and from near stars, a comparison with its actual motion will give us a clue to their distances.Unfortunately, all the stars appear to have large motions whose law we do not know, and therefore we have no defnite starting point unless we can refer all to the ether which may be assumed to be at rest.

If the views expressed to you this morning are correct, we may expect that the future of astronomy will take the following form：There will be at least one very large observatory employing one or two hundred assistants, and maintaining three stations. Two of these will be observing stations, one in the western part of the United States, not far from latitude+30°，the other similarly situated in thesouthern hemisphere, probably in South Africa, in latitude-30°.The locations will be selected wholly from their climatic conditions.They will be moderately high, from fve to ten thousand feet, and in desert regions.The altitude will prevent extreme heat, and clouds or rain will be rare.The range of temperature and unsteadiness of the air will be diminished by placing them on hills a few hundred feet above the surrounding country.The equipment and work of the two stations will be substantially the same.Each will have telescopes and other instruments of the largest size, which will be kept at work throughout the whole of every clear night.The observers will do but little work in the daytime, except perhaps on the sun, and will not undertake much of the computation or reductions.This last work will be carried on at a third station, which will be near a large city where the cost of living and of intellectual labor is low.The photographs will be measured and stored at this station, and all the results will be prepared for publication, and printed there.The work of all three stations will be carefully organized so as to obtain the greatest result for a given expenditure.Every inducement will be offered to visiting astronomers who wish to do serious work at either of the stations and also to students who intend to make astronomy their profession.In the case of photographic investigations it will be best to send the photographs so that astronomers desiring them can work at home.The work of the young astronomers throughout the world will be watched carefully and large appropriations made to them if it appears that they can spend them to advantage.Similar aid will be rendered to astronomers engaged in teaching, and to any one, professional or amateur, capable of doing work of the highest grade.As a fundamental condition for success, no restrictions will be made that will interfere with the greatest scientifc effciency, and no personal or local prejudices that will restrict the work.

These plans may seem to you visionary, and too Utopian for the twentieth century. But they may be nearer fulflment than we anticipate.The true astronomer of to-day is eminently a practical man.He does not accept plans of a sensational character.The same qualities are needed in directing a great observatory successfully, as in managing a railroad, or factory.Any one can propose a gigantic expenditure, but to prove to a shrewd man of affairs that it is feasible and advisable is a very different matter.It is much more difficult to give away money wisely than to earn it.Many men have made great fortunes, but few have learned how to expend money wisely in advancing science, or to give it away judiciously.Many persons have given large sums to astronomy, and some day we shall find the man with broad views who will decide to have the advice and aid of the astronomers of the world, in his plans for promoting science, and who will thus expend his money, as he made it, taking the greatest care that not one dollar is wasted.Again, let us consider the next great advance, which perhaps will be a method of determining the distances of the stars.Many of us are working on this problem, the solution of which may come to some one any day.The present feld is a wide one, the prospects are now very bright, and we may look forward to as great an advance in the twentieth century, as in the nineteenth.May a portion of this come to the Case School and, with your support, may its enviable record, in the past, be surpassed by its future achievements.

14　A GENERAL VIEW OF THEOSOPHY

Now that the Theosophical movement is becoming more widely known, there seems to be danger lest misconception should arise concerning it. Many people talk vaguely of Theosophy, with only the faintest, most meagre idea of what Theosophy really is, of its motives and designs.

It is a fact that cannot be disputed that, at the present time, there is a growing revolt against what has been well named“Churchianity.”The priests have lost their power, their words are but idly listened to, and are practically disregarded. Christianity is acknowledged to be beautiful in theory, but utterly impossible in practice.And yet humanity must have religion—that binding force cannot be dispensed with.

If it be granted that the various forms of religion at present extant fail to satisfy this pressing need, the question that presents itself is, where shall we look for a substitute?Christianity, both Catholic and Anglican, has had its day. The dreary creed of the Positivists will never satisfy struggling humanity.Those among us whose path is strewn with roses, may be content to think that with death there comes annihilation, may feel no desire for justice and compensation hereafter；but the suffering, the sorrowful, cry out against the cruel hopelessness of such teachings.

It is the part of religion to comfort and soothe, to elevate and ennoble, and when we are forced sadly to own that no extant form of religion is able to satisfy us, where shall welook for help?I reply, To Theosophy. And if asked why, I say, Because it is wide, deep, grand, and all-embracing；“it is not a religion but religion itself”—the soul and pith of all religions.

There is in Theosophy no formalism, no narrowness, all its conceptions are wide and lofty, and, therefore, satisfying. Unlike Christianity it does not depend on written testimony；Theosophy is philosophical in its nature.And Theosophists believe and assert that“There is no religion higher than Truth”.

We do not say, with the Christians：“Believe as we do, or you will be damned”. We ask you to join us in the search for Truth, which is higher, far higher than empty faith.Faith is a word often on the lips of a Christian；but if we look into this so-called faith, what do we fnd?—in nine cases out of ten nothing but credulity.To the man of stagnant mind belief is easy.And to all of us, of course, it is more comfortable to believe what we are told, than it is to search for what is true.

There is an Italian proverb which says：“We believe what we can, not what we will”. This is profoundly true；many of us would willingly believe, and honestly endeavour to do so；but doubts and misgivings crowd upon our minds, and we find ourselves submerged in Agnosticism against our will.

Theosophy steps forward and says：“Do not look outside for help, look into yourselves, cultivate your inner vision, increase your Intuition.”Some may ask：What is this Intuition?I should call it the voice of God speaking to, and encouraging the human entity. There is in each one of us a spark of the Divine, though in many of us, alas！it is obscured and clouded, existing only as a latent potentiality.Is it not a comforting and exalting thought—that each entity is spiritually a part of God, thrown off from the Infnite—placed here for progress, to increase the spirituality bydiscipline, and, fnally, after successive re-incarnations, to return to the Infnite whence it came.

Let this divine spark, this hidden gem, shine about our path with a steady light, driving before it the phantoms of error, superstition, and bigotry. True knowledge can only be obtained through intuition, and those who earnestly cultivate this vision of the soul will fnd truth, and help, and guidance, in the battle of life.

St. George Mivart says of intuitive perception：“The greatest certainty to which the human intellect can attain is the certainty of intuition—the certainty of things which require no proof, because they are self-evident.Such intuitional certainty is that of our existence and present feelings, thoughts and volitions；the certainty of things directly perceived by several of our senses at once, and, above all, the certainty of universal and necessary truths, such as that things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other, and that nothing can simultaneously both be and not be.”

The whole scheme of Theosophy is, as I have said before, so large and grand, that those who go deeply into it, who really follow it, cannot but realize that their own individual troubles are small and insignificant. For example, if, when trouble encompasses me, I turn from my sorrow, and contemplate the far greater misery of many around me, and further than that, of numbers whom I know not of, how can I selfshly dwell and brood upon my trials.Rather should the knowledge that there are but a few infinitesimal drops in the great sea of human misery, make me resolve to endure bravely, and help others to endure.

The true Theosophist throws off sorrow, he refuses to dwell in an atmosphere of depression. He does not allow his mind to be engrossed by ephemeral cares.He has glorious hopes for the future of his race：how can he thensuffer himself to be cast down by petty personal cares in the present?

Frequently has the thought occurred to me when unhappy：What does it signify if this little ego of mine suffers?many whom I know are happy；the happiness is not mine, it is true, but it is there, the happiness truly exists, though not for me.“Progress, not happiness, is the law of this world”—and Theosophy holds out a helping hand to all who wish for progress. Theosophy appeals to the dissatisfied, to those who feel that their religion, with its forms and ceremonies, is not enough；it appeals to the active-minded, to those who long for knowledge for its own sake；it appeals to the solitary, to these it offers a spiritual Brotherhood, whose members counsel, and advise, and support each other.The members of this fraternity are of all classes, all creeds, all nationalities：the bigoted and the exclusive find no other great religion.It proves the necessity of an absolute divine principle in nature.It denies Deity no more than it does the sun.Esoteric philosophy has never rejected God in Nature, nor Deity as the absolute and abstract eus.It only refuses to accept any of the gods of the so-called monotheistic religions—gods created by man in his own image and likeness.

15　GIFTS

IT is said that the world is in a state of bankruptcy, that the world owes the world more than the world can pay, and ought to go into chancery, and be sold. I do not think this general insolvency, which involves in some sort all the population, to be the reason of the difficulty experienced at Christman and New Year, and other times, in bestowing gifts；since it is always so pleasant to be generous, though very vexatious to pay debts.But the impediment lies in the choosing.If, at any time, it comes into my head that a present is due from me to somebody, I am puzzled what to give until the opportunity is gone.Flowers and fruits are always fit presents；flowers, because they are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.These gay natures contrast with the somewhat stern countenance of ordinary nature；they are like music heard out of a workhouse.Nature does not cocker us：we are children, not pets：she is not fond：everything is dealt to us without fear or favor, after severe universal laws.Yet these delicate fowers look like the frolic and interference of love and beauty.Men used to tell us that we love fattery, even though we are not deceived by it, because it showsthat we are of importance enough to be courted.Something like that pleasure the fowers give us：what am I to whom these sweet hints are addressed?Fruits are acceptable gifts because they are the fower of commodities, and admit of fantastic values being attached to them.If a man should send to me to come a hundred miles to visit him, and should set before me a basket of fne summer fruit, I should think there was some proportion between the labor and the reward.

For common gifts, necessity makes pertinences and beauty every day, and one is glad when an imperative leaves him no option, since if the man at the door have no shoes, you have not to consider whether you could procure him a paint-box. And as it is always pleasing to see a man eat bread, or drink water, in the house or out of doors, so it is always a great satisfaction to supply these first wants.Necessity does everything well.In our condition of universal dependence, it seems heroic to let the petitioner be the judge of his necessity, and to give all that is asked, though at great inconvenience.If it be a fantastic desire, it is better to leave to others the offce of punishing him.I can think of many parts I should prefer playing to that of the Furies.Next to things of necessity, the rule for a gift which one of my friends prescribed is, that we might convey to some person that which properly belonged to his character, and was easily associated with him in thought.But our tokens of compliment and love are for the most part barbarous.Rings and other jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts.The only gift is a portion of thyself.Thou must bleed for me.Therefore the poet brings his poem；the shepherd, his lamb；the farmer, corn；the miner, a gem；the sailor, coral and shells；the painter, his picture；the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing.This is right and pleasing, for it restores society in so far to theprimary basis, when a man's biography is conveyed in his gift, and every man's wealth is an index of his merit.But it is a cold, lifeless business when you go to the shops to buy me something, which does not represent your life and talent, but a goldsmith's.This is ft for kings, and rich men who represent kings, and a false state of property, to make presents of gold and silver stuffs, as a kind of symbolical sin-offering, or payment of blackmail.

The law of benefts is a diffcult channel, which requires careful sailing, or rude boats. It is not the offce of a man to receive gifts.How dare you give them?We wish to be self-sustained.We do not quite forgive a giver.The hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten.We can receive anything from love, for that is a way of receiving it from ourselves；but not from anyone who assumes to bestow.We sometimes hate the meat which we eat, because there seems something of degrading dependence in living by it.

“Brother, if Jove to thee a present make，

Take heed that from his hands thou nothing take.”

We ask the whole. Nothing less will content us.We arraign society if it do not give us besides earth, and fre, and water, opportunity, love, reverence, and objects of veneration.

He is a good man who can receive a gift well. We are either glad or sorry at a gift, and both emotions are unbecoming.Some violence, I think, is done, some degradation borne, when I rejoice or grieve at a gift.I am sorry when my independence is invaded, or when a gift comes from such as do not know my spirit, and so the act is not supported；and if the gift pleases me overmuch, then I should be ashamed that the donor should read my heart, and see that I love his commodity, and not him.The gift, to be true, must be the fowing of the giver unto me, correspondent to my fowingunto him.When the waters are at level, then my goods pass to him, and his to me.All his are mine, all mine his.I say to him, How can you give me this pot of oil, or this fagon of wine, when all your oil and wine is mine, which belief of mine this gift seems to deny?Hence the ftness of beautiful, not useful things for gifts.This giving is flat usurpation, and therefore when the beneficiary is ungrateful, as all beneficiaries hate all Timons, not at all considering the value of the gift, but looking back to the greater store it was taken from, I rather sympathize with the beneficiary than with the anger of my lord Timon.For, the expectation of gratitude is mean, and is continually punished by the total insensibility of the obliged person.It is a great happiness to get off without injury and heart-burning, from one who has had the ill-luck to be served by you.It is a very onerous business, this of being served, and the debtor naturally wishes to give you a slap.A golden text for these gentlemen is that which I so admire in the Buddhist, who never thanks, and who says，“Do not fatter your benefactors.”

The reason for these discords I conceive to be that there is no commensurability between a man and any gift. You cannot give anything to a magnanimous person.After you have served him he at once puts you in debt by his magnanimity.The service a man renders his friend is trivial and selfsh, compared with the service he knows his friend stood in readiness to yield him, alike before he had begun to serve his friend, and now also.Compared with that good-will I bear my friend, the beneft it is in my power to render him seems small.Besides, our action on each other, good as well as evil, is so incidental and at random, that we can seldom hear the acknowledgments of any person who would thank us for a beneft, without some shame and humiliation.We can rarely strike a direct stroke, but must be content with an oblique one；we seldom have the satisfaction ofyielding a direct benefit, which is directly received.But rectitude scatters favors on every side without knowing it, and receives with wonder the thanks of all people.

I fear to breathe any treason against the majesty of love, which is the genius and god of gifts, and to whom we must not affect to prescribe. Let him give kingdoms or flower-leaves indifferently.There are persons from whom we always expect fairy-tokens；let us not cease to expect them.This is prerogative, and not to be limited by our municipal rules.For the rest, I like to see that we cannot be bought and sold.The best of hospitality and of generosity is also not in the will, but in fate.I fnd that I am not much to you；you do not need me；you do not feel me；then am I thrust out of doors, though you proffer me house and lands.No services are of any value, but only likeness.When I have attempted to join myself to others by services, it proved an intellectual trick，—no more.They eat your service like apples, and leave you out.But love them, and they feel you, and delight in you all the time.

16　HOW PAIN LEADS TO KNOWLEDGE AND POWER

Suffering leads to perfection through successive stages of knowledge-not knowledge from books, but knowledge of life-and each step in knowledge means that some form of suffering has been transmuted and transcended. A particular kind of pain, experienced innumerable times, at last leads to knowledge of the cause of that pain, and when the cause is discovered, removed, and not again entertained, the pain is forever transcended.

This principle is applicable both to physical pain, which caused by disease, and to mental suffering caused by wrong thinking. When the cause of a disease is known, it can be avoided, and the disease and its pain can never attack us.The cause of certain forms of disease is known, and the prudent avoid the cause and so escape the disease.The causes of many bodily disorders, however, still await discovery, and until such discovery is effected, the disorders will continue.

In all forms of mental suffering, the cause can be more readily discovered, and when discovered, removed and avoided, because the mind comes more under our immediate control. We cannot eliminate the bodily sensation of pain.The pain caused by direct injury to the body is different from that caused by disease.Thus a perfect man-perfect both in mind and health-would feel pain from a cut or wound, just as a very imperfect man would；and it is necessary for the protection of his body that he should doso, but his bodily pain would be modified by his attitude of mind towards it.It would not cause him any mental suffering and he would retain his happiness and peace of mind.The imperfect man would, however, become disturbed mentally-would be aroused to fear, or agitation, or anger-and so would add mental pain to physical, so that even the physical pain would appear greater.

Not one of the Great Teachers has taught men how to overcome bodily pain or annul the bodily sensation of pain. This is highly significant in view of the fact that certain schools of thought aim at this end.This studying and striving to render one's body insensible to pain is no new thing.It was taught and practiced in the East thousands of years ago, and is known in India as Hatha Yoga, or physical Yoga.If accounts speak truly, there are still Yogis in India who can cut and wound their bodies, and not experience pain, and while this is an accomplishment of its kind, it is a bad one, and is no indication of spiritual advancement.Indeed this Hatha Yoga was condemned as Black Yoga, or False Yoga by the Great Teachers of India, who declared that it led to bodily disease and spiritual ignorance, and not to health and Truth.The practice taught by the spiritually enlightened was, and is, know as Raja Yoga, meaning kingly Yoga.This kingly or true Yoga consisted in purifying the heart, and gaining control of the mind, and the method is embodied in their precepts.The precepts of Jesus outline this practice with great clearness.

It is clear, then, that we should not strive to become insensible to physical pain, first because it is unnatural；and second, because we should thereby deprive ourselves of the warning and protection to our body which such pain affords；but we should Endeavour to heal the pain, when caused by injury；or fnd and remove the cause, when it is the result of disease.

Nor should we try to render ourselves insensible to mental pain by any process of hardening. Unnatural as this is, it can be done successfully up to a certain, point, just as insensibility to physical pain can be accomplished in a degree, for as the latter ultimately leads to wreckage of the body, so the former leads to mental disaster, leads one further and further away from Truth, until at last he has to begin all over again.

Nevertheless mental pain can be transcended, yet not by hardening the heart, but by softening it, by practicing oneself in all thoughts and deeds that are good and kind and just, until at last the cause of the mind's suffering is clearly seen and is removed and avoided.

Once the cause of any particular kind of mental pain is seen, its elimination from the mind becomes comparatively easy. The thought which originated the deed which produced the pain, is gradually reduced in strength, and in the frequency of its recurrence, until it at last disappears entirely from the mind and life.And with each mental pain thus transcended, there is a great advance in knowledge, and it is a divine knowledge which is accompanied with steadfastness, happiness, and power, lifting on able those fluctuations between happiness and misery in which the majority live.

Thus the wise man sees that everything is good, even the presence of pain, and he uses that pain to enable him to reach higher regions of knowledge. Regarding his pain as a sure indication that he has done wrong somewhere, he searches for his mistake, and, having found it, he ever after avoids it.

So in the crucible of pain is the dross of ignorance burnt away from us. Thus are we purifed in the fre of knowledge.

17　THE KNOWLEDGE OF SELF

KNOWLEDGE of self is the key to the knowledge of God, according to the saying：“He who knows himself knows God，”and, as it is Written in the Koran，“We will show them Our signs in the world and in themselves, that the truth may be manifest to them.”Now nothing is nearer to thee than thyself, and if thou knowest not thyself how canst thou know anything else?If thou sayest“I know myself，”meaning thy outward shape, body, face, limbs, and so forth, such knowledge can never be a key to the knowledge of God. Nor, if thy knowledge as to that which is within only extends so far, that when thou art hungry thou eatest, and when thou art angry thou attackest some one, wilt thou progress any further in this path, for the beasts are thy partners in this?But real self-knowledge consists in knowing the following things：What art thou in thyself, and from whence hast thou come?Whither art thou going, and for what purpose hast thou come to tarry here awhile, and in what does thy real happiness and misery consist?Some of thy attributes are those of animals, some of devils, and some of angels, and thou hast to fnd out which of these attributes are accidental and which essential.Till thou knowest this, thou canst not fnd out where thy real happiness lies.The occupation of animals is eating, sleeping, and fighting；therefore, if thou art an animal, busy thyself in these things.Devils are busy in stirring up mischief, and in guile and deceit；if thou belongest to them, do their work.Angelscontemplate the beauty of God, and are entirely free from animal qualities；if thou art of angelic nature, then strive towards thine origin, that thou mayest know and contemplate the Most High, and be delivered from the thraldom of lust and anger.Thou shouldest also discover why thou hast been created with these two animal instincts：whether that they should subdue and lead thee captive, or whether that thou shouldest subdue them, and, in thy upward progress, make of one thy steed and of the other thy weapon.

The frst step to self-knowledge is to know that thou art composed of an outward shape, called the body, and an inward entity called the heart, or soul. By“heart”I do not mean the piece of fesh situated in the left of our bodies, but that which uses all the other faculties as its instruments and servants.In truth it does not belong to the visible world, but to the invisible, and has come into this world as a traveller visits a foreign country for the sake of merchandise, and will presently return to its native land.It is the knowledge of this entity and its attributes which is the key to the knowledge of God.

Some idea of the reality of the heart, or spirit, may be obtained by a man closing his eves and forgetting everything around except his individuality. He will thus also obtain a glimpse of the unending nature of that individuality.Too close inquiry, however, into the essence of spirit is forbidden by the Law.In the Koran it is written：“They will question thee concerning the spirit.Say：‘The Spirit comes by the command of my Lord.'”Thus much is known of it that it is an indivisible essence belonging to the world of decrees, and that it is not from everlasting, but created.An exact philosophical knowledge of the spirit is not a necessary preliminary to walking in the path of religion, but comes rather as the result of self-discipline and perseverance in that path, as it is said in the Koran：“Those who strive in Our way, verily We will guide them to the right paths.”

For the carrying on of this spiritual warfare by which the knowledge of oneself and of God is to be obtained, the body may be fgured as a kingdom, the soul as its king, and the different senses and faculties as constituting an army. Reason may be called the vizier, or prime minister, passion the revenue-collector, and anger the police-officer.Under the guise of collecting revenue, passion is continually prone to plunder on its own account, while resentment is always inclined to harshness and extreme severity.Both of these, the revenue-collector and the police-offcer, have to be kept in due subordination to the king, but not killed or expelled, as they have their own proper functions to fulfl.But if passion and resentment master reason, the ruin of the soul infallibly ensues.A soul which allows its lower faculties to dominate the higher is as one who should hand over an angel to the power of a dog or a Mussalman to the tyranny of an unbeliever.The cultivation of demonic, animal, or angelic qualities results in the production of corresponding characters, which in the Day of Judgment will be manifested in visible shapes, the sensual appearing as swine, the ferocious as dogs and wolves, and the pure as angels.The aim of moral discipline is to purify the heart from the rust of passion and resentment, till, like a clear mirror, it refects the light of God.

Some one may here object，“But if man has been created with animal and demonic qualities as well as angelic, how are we to know that the latter constitute his real essence, while the former are merely accidental and transitory?”To this I answer that the essence of each creature is to be sought in that which is highest in it and peculiar to it. Thus the horse and the ass are both burden-bearing animals, but the superiority of the horse to the ass consists in its being adapted for use in battle.If it fails in this, it becomes degraded to the rank of burden-bearing animals.Similarly with man：the highest faculty in him is reason, which fitshim for the contemplation of God.If this.predominates in him, when he dies, he leaves behind him all tendencies to passion and resentment, and becomes capable of association with angels.As regards his mere animal qualities, man is inferior to many animals, but reason makes him superior to them, as it is written in the Koran：“To man We have subjected all things in the earth.”But if his lower tendencies have triumphed, after death he will ever be looking towards the earth and longing for earthly delights.

Now the rational soul in man abounds in, marvels, both of knowledge and power. By means of it he masters arts and sciences, can pass in a fash from earth to heaven and back again, can map out the skies and measure the distances between the stars.By it also he can draw the fsh from the sea and the birds from the air, and can subdue to his service animals, like the elephant, the camel, and the horse.His fve senses are like five doors opening on the external world；but, more wonderful than this, his heart has a window which opens on the unseen world of spirits.In the state of sleep, when the avenues of the senses are closed, this window is opened and man receives impressions from the unseen world and sometimes foreshadowings of the future.His heart is then like a mirror which refects what is pictured in the Tablet of Fate.But, even in sleep, thoughts of worldly things dull this mirror, so, that the impressions it receives are not clear.After death, however, such thoughts vanish and things are seen in their naked reality, and the saying in the Koran is fulflled：“We have stripped the veil from off thee and thy sight today is keen.”

This opening of a window in the heart towards the unseen also takes place in conditions. approaching those of prophetic inspiration, when intuitions spring up in the mind unconveyed through any sense-channel.The more a man purifes himself from feshly lusts and concentrates his mind on God, the more conscious will he be of such intuitions.Those who are not conscious of them have no right to deny their reality.

Nor are such intuitions confned only to those of prophetic rank. Just as iron, by suffcient polishing, can be made into a mirror, so any mind by due discipline can be rendered receptive of such impressions.It was at this truth the Prophet hinted when he said，“Every child is born with a predisposition towards Islam；then his parents make a Jew, or a, Christian, or a star-worshipper of him.”Every human being has in the depths of his consciousness heard the question“Am I not your Lord?”and answered“Yes”to it.But some hearts are like mirrors so befouled with rust and dirt that they give no clear reflections, while those of the prophets and saints, though they are men“of like passions with us，”are extremely sensitive to all divine impressions.

Nor is it only by reason of knowledge acquired and intuitive that the soul of man holds the first rank among created things, but also by reason of power. Just as angels preside over the elements, so does the soul rule the members of the body.Those souls which attain a special degree of power not only rule their own body but those of others also.If they wish a sick man to recover he recovers, or a person in health to fall ill he becomes ill, or if they will the presence of a person he comes to them.According as the effects produced by these powerful souls are good or bad they are termed miracles or sorceries.These souls differ from common folk in three ways：（1）what others only see in dreams they see in their waking moments.（2）While others'wills only affect their own bodies, these, by will-power, can move bodies extraneous to themselves.（3）The knowledge which others acquire by laborious learning comes to them by intuition.

These three, of course, are not the only marks which differentiate them from common people, but the only ones that come within our cognisance. Just as no one knowsthe real nature of God but God Himself, so no one knows the real nature of a prophet but a prophet.Nor is this to be wondered at, as in everyday matters we see that it is impossible to explain the charm of poetry to one whose ear is insusceptible of cadence and rhythm, or the glories of colour to one who is stone-blind.Besides mere incapacity, there are other hindrances to the attainment of spiritual truth.One of these is externally acquired knowledge.To use a fgure, the heart may be represented as a well, and the fve senses as fve streams which are continually conveying water to it.In order to fnd out the real contents of the heart these streams must be stopped for a time, at any rate, and the refuse they have brought with them must be cleared out of the well.In other words, if we are to arrive at pure spiritual truth, we must put away, for the time, knowledge which has been acquired by, external processes and which too often hardens into dogmatic prejudice.

A mistake of an opposite kind is made by shallow people who, echoing some phrases which they have caught from Suf teachers, go about decrying all knowledge. This is as if a person who was not an adept in alchemy were to go about saying，“Alchemy is better than in gold，”and were to refuse gold when it was offered to him.Alchemy is better than gold, but real alchemists are very rare, and so are real Sufs.He who has a mere smattering of Sufism is not superior to a learned main, any more than he who has tried a few experiments in alchemy has ground for despising a rich man.

Any one who will look into the matter will see that happiness is necessarily linked with the knowledge of God. Each faculty of ours delights in that for which it was created：lust delights in accomplishing desire, anger in taking vengeance, the eye in seeing beautiful objects, and the ear in hearing harmonious sounds.The highest function of the soul of man is the perception of truth；in this accordingly it fnds its special delight.Even in trifingmatters, such, as learning chess, this holds good, and the higher the subject-matter of the knowledge obtained the greater the delight.A man would be pleased at being admitted into the confdence of a prime minister, but how much more if the king makes an intimate of him and discloses state secrets to him！

An astronomer who, by his knowledge, can map the stars and describe their courses, derives more pleasure from his knowledge than the chess-player from his. Seeing, then, that nothing is higher than God, how great must be the delight which springs from the true knowledge of Him！

A person in whom the desire for this knowledge has disappeared is like one who has lost his appetite for healthy food, or who prefers feeding on clay to eating bread. All bodily appetites perish at death with the organs they use, but the soul dies not, and retains whatever knowledge of God it possesses；nay, increases it.

An important part of our knowledge of God arises from the study and contemplation of our own bodies, which reveal to us the power, wisdom, and love of the Creator. His power, in that from a mere drop He has built up the wonderful frame of man；His wisdom is revealed in its intricacies and the mutual adaptability of its parts；and His love is shown by His not only supplying such organs as are absolutely necessary for existence, as the liver, the heart, and the brain, but those which are not absolutely necessary, as the hand, the foot, the tongue, and the eye.To these He has added, as ornaments, the blackness of the hair, the redness of lips, and the curve of the eyebrows.

Man has been truly termed a“microcosm，”or little world in himself, and the structure of his body should be studied not only by those who wish to become doctors, but by those who wish to attain to a more intimate knowledge of God, just as close study of the niceties and shades of language in a great poem reveals to us more and more of the genius of its author. But, when all is said, the knowledge of the soul plays a more important part in leading to the knowledge of God than the knowledge of our body and its functions.The body may be compared to a steed and the soul to its rider；the body was created for the soul, the soul for the body.If a man knows not his own soul, which is the nearest thing to him, what is the use of his claiming to know others?It is as if a beggar who has not the wherewithal for a meal should claim to be able to, feed a town.

In this chapter we have attempted, in some degree, to expound, the greatness of man's soul. He who neglects it and suffers its capacities to rust or to degenerate must necessarily be the loser in this world and the next.The true greatness；of man lies in his capacity for eternal progress, otherwise in this temporal sphere he is the weakest of all things, being subject to hunger, thirst, heat, cold, and sorrow.Those things he takes most delight in are often the most injurious to him, and those things which beneft him are not to be obtained without toil and trouble.As to his intellect, a slight disarrangement of matter in his brain is suffcient to destroy or madden him；as to his power, the sting of a wasp is suffcient to rob him of ease and sleep；as to his temper, he is upset by the loss of a sixpence；as to his beauty, he is little more than nauseous matter covered with a fair skin.Without frequent washing he becomes utterly repulsive and disgraceful.

In truth, man in this world is extremely weak and contemptible；it is only in the next that he will be of value, if by means of the“alchemy of happiness”he rises from the rank of beasts to that of angels. Otherwise his condition will be worse than the brutes, which perish and turn to dust.It is necessary for him, at the same time that he is conscious of his superiority as the climax of created things, to learn to know also his helplessness, as that too is one of the keys to the knowledge of God.

18　LINCOLN’S LAST HOURS

Commander and Companions of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States：

At the historic pageant in Washington, when the remains of President Lincoln were being taken from the White House to the Capitol, a carriage immediately preceding the catafalque was assigned to me. Outside were the crowds, the martial music, but inside the carriage I was plunged in deep self-communion, until aroused by a gentle tap at the window of my carriage door.An offcer of high rank put his head inside and exclaimed：“Dr.Leale, I would rather have done what you did to prolong the life of the President than to have accomplished my duties during the entire war.”I shrank back at what he said, and for the frst time realized the importance of it all.As soon as I returned to my private office in the hospital, I drew down the window-shade, locked the door, threw myself prostrate on the bare wood foor and asked for advice.The answer came as distinctly as if spoken by a human being present：“Forget it all.”I visited our Surgeon General, Joseph K.Barnes, and asked his advice；he also said：“Cast it from your memory.”

On April 17，1865，a New York newspaper reporter called at my army tent. I invited him in, and expressed my desire to forget all the recent sad events, and to occupy my mind with the exacting present and plans for the future.

Recently, several of our Companions expressed the conviction, that history now demands, and that it is myduty to give the detailed facts of President Lincoln's death as I know them, and in compliance with their request, I this evening for the first time will read a paper on the subject.Lincoln's Last Hours

One of the most cruel wars in the history of the world had nearly closed.

The people of the United States were rejoicing at the prospect of peace and returning happiness. President Lincoln, after the surrender of General Robert E.Lee, visited Richmond, Virginia, exposing himself to great danger, and on his return delivered an address from the balcony of the White House.

I was then a Commissioned Officer in the Medical Department of the United States Army, having been appointed from my native State, New York, and was on duty as Surgeon in charge of the Wounded Commissioned Offcers'Ward at the United States Army General Hospital, Armory Square, Washington, District of Columbia, where my professional duties were of the greatest importance and required constant and arduous attention. For a brief relief and a few moments in the fresh air I started one evening for a short walk on Pennsylvania Avenue.There were crowds walking toward the President's residence.These I followed and arrived just at the commencement of President Lincoln's last public address to his people.From where I stood I could distinctly hear every word he uttered and I was profoundly impressed with his divine appearance as he stood in the rays of light, which penetrated the windows of the White House.

The influence thus produced gave me an intense desire again to behold his face and study the characteristics of the“Savior of his Country.”Therefore on the evening of April14，1865，after the completion of my daily hospital duties, I told my Ward Master that I would be absent for a short time. As a very large number from the Army stationed near Washington frequently visited the city, a general order was in force that none should be there without a special pass and all wearing uniform and out at night were subject to frequent challenge.To avoid this inconvenience officers stationed in Washington generally removed all signs of their calling when off duty.I changed to civilian's dress and hurried to Ford's Theatre, where I had been told President Lincoln, General Grant, and Members of the Cabinet were to be present to see the play，“Our American Cousin.”I arrived late at the theatre，8.15 p.m.，and requested a seat in the orchestra, whence I could view the occupants of the President's box, which on looking into the theatre, I saw had been beautifully decorated with American fags in honor of the occasion.As the building was crowded the last place vacant was in the dress circle.I was greatly disappointed, but accepted this seat, which was near the front on the same side and about 40 feet from the President's box, and soon became interested in the pleasing play.

Suddenly there was a cheering welcome, the acting ceased temporarily out of respect to the entering Presidential party. Many in the audience rose to their feet in enthusiasm and vociferously cheered, while looking around.Turning, I saw in the aisle a few feet behind me, President Lincoln, Mrs.Lincoln, Major Rathbone and Miss Harris.Mrs.Lincoln smiled very happily in acknowledgment of the loyal greeting, gracefully curtsied several times and seemed to be overflowing with good cheer and thankfulness.I had the best opportunity to distinctly see the full face of the President, as the light shone directly upon him.After he had walked a few feet he stopped for a moment, looked upon the people he loved and acknowledged their salutationswith a solemn bow.His face was perfectly stoical, his deep set eyes gave him a pathetically sad appearance.The audience seemed to be enthusiastically cheerful, but he alone looked peculiarly sorrowful, as he slowly walked with bowed head and drooping shoulders toward the box.I was looking at him as he took his last walk.The memory of that scene has never been effaced.The party was preceded by a special usher, who opened the door of the box, stood to one side, and after all had entered closed the door and took a seat outside, where he could guard the entrance to the box.The play was resumed and my attention was concentrated on the stage until I heard a disturbance at the door of the President's box.With many others I looked in that direction, and saw a man endeavoring to persuade the reluctant usher to admit him.At last he succeeded in gaining an entrance, after which the door was closed and the usher resumed his place.

For a few moments all was quiet, and the play again held my attention until, suddenly, the report of a pistol was heard, and a short time after I saw a man in mid-air leaping from the President's box to the stage, brandishing in his hand a drawn dagger. His spur caught in the American fag festooned in front of the box, causing him to stumble when he struck the stage, and he fell on his hands and knees.He quickly regained the erect posture and hopped across the stage, fourishing his dagger, clearing the stage before him and dragging the foot of the leg, which was subsequently found to be broken, he disappeared[Pg 4]behind the scene on the opposite side of the stage.Then followed cries that the President had been murdered, interspersed with cries of“Kill the murderer！”“Shoot him！”etc.，from different parts of the building.The lights had been turned down, a general gloom was over all, and the panic-stricken audience were rushing toward the doors for exit and safety.

I instantly arose and in response to cries for help and for a surgeon, I crossed the aisle and vaulted over the seats in a direct line to the President's box, forcing my way through the excited crowd. The door of the box had been securely fastened on the inside to prevent anyone following the assassin before he had accomplished his cruel object and made his escape.The obstruction was with difficulty removed and I was the frst to be admitted to the box.

The usher having been told that I was an army surgeon, had lifted up his arm and had permitted me alone to enter.

I passed in, not in the slightest degree knowing what I had to encounter. At this moment, while in self-communion, the military command：“Halt！”came to me, and in obedience to it I stood still in the box, having a full view of the four other occupants.Then came the advice：“Be calm！”and with the calmest deliberation and force of will I brought all my senses to their greatest activity and walked forward to my duty.

Major Rathbone had bravely fought the assassin；his arm had been severely wounded and was bleeding. He came to me holding his wounded arm in the hand of the other, beseeching me to attend to his wound.I placed my hand under his chin, looking into his eyes an almost instantaneous glance revealed the fact that he was in no immediate danger, and in response to appeals from Mrs.Lincoln and Miss Harris, who were standing by the high-backed armchair in which President Lincoln sat, I went immediately to their assistance, saying I was a United States army surgeon.I grasped Mrs.Lincoln's outstretched hand in mine, while she cried piteously to me，“Oh, Doctor！Is he dead?Can he recover?Will you take charge of him?Do what you can for him.Oh, my dear husband！”etc.，etc.I soothingly answered that we would do all that possibly could be done.While approaching the President, I asked agentleman, who was at the door of the box, to procure some brandy and another to get some water.

As I looked at the President, he appeared to be dead. His eyes were closed and his head had fallen forward.He was being held upright in his chair by Mrs.Lincoln, who was weeping bitterly.From his crouched down sitting posture it was evident that Mrs.Lincoln had instantly sprung to his aid after he had been wounded and had kept him from tumbling to the foor.By Mrs.Lincoln's courage, strength and energy the President was maintained in this upright position during all the time that elapsed while Major Rathbone had bravely fought the assassin and removed the obstruction from the door of the box.

I placed my finger on the President's right radial pulse but could perceive no movement of the artery. For the purpose of reviving him, if possible, we removed him from his chair to a recumbent position on the floor of the box, and as I held his head and shoulders while doing this, my hand came in contact with a clot of blood near his left shoulder.Remembering the flashing dagger in the hand of the assassin, and the severely bleeding wound of Major Rathbone, I supposed the President had been stabbed, and while kneeling on the floor over his head, with my eyes continuously watching the President's face, I asked a gentleman to cut the coat and shirt open

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