Chapter 20

When a soldier ran crying to Pelopidas, “We are fallen among the enemies, and are lost!” “How are we fallen among them any more than they among us?” replied the undaunted spirit. And when the soldiers of Marius complained of thirst, being encamped where there was no water, he pointed to a river running close to the enemy’s trenches, and bade them take the drink which valor could give them in that direction.—James T. Fields.

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“Evils faced are half-conquered.” Such seems to be the purport of this poem by John Finley:

I’d have the driving rain upon my face—Not pelting its blunt arrows on my back,Goading with blame along its ruthless track,But flinging me defiance in the race.And I would go at such an eager gaitThat whatsoe’er may fall from heaven of woShall not pursue me as some coward foe,But challenge me—that I may face my fate.(Text.)—Harper’s Magazine.

I’d have the driving rain upon my face—Not pelting its blunt arrows on my back,Goading with blame along its ruthless track,But flinging me defiance in the race.

I’d have the driving rain upon my face—

Not pelting its blunt arrows on my back,

Goading with blame along its ruthless track,

But flinging me defiance in the race.

And I would go at such an eager gaitThat whatsoe’er may fall from heaven of woShall not pursue me as some coward foe,But challenge me—that I may face my fate.(Text.)—Harper’s Magazine.

And I would go at such an eager gait

That whatsoe’er may fall from heaven of wo

Shall not pursue me as some coward foe,

But challenge me—that I may face my fate.

(Text.)—Harper’s Magazine.

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I have walked on the Mount of Gladness, I have wept in the Vale of Tears,And my feet have stumbled ofttimes as I trod through the path of the years;Yet my heart has ever lifted its song of thankful praiseTo the God of all eternity, who has kept me in my ways,Tho alone I tread the wine-press, or kneel in Gethsemane,I know He has never forsaken, and that He leadeth me.Tho I “walk through the Valley of Shadow,” my soul shall not be dismayed,For my God is the God of the fathers, the God of the unafraid!—Northwestern Christian Advocate.

I have walked on the Mount of Gladness, I have wept in the Vale of Tears,

And my feet have stumbled ofttimes as I trod through the path of the years;

Yet my heart has ever lifted its song of thankful praise

To the God of all eternity, who has kept me in my ways,

Tho alone I tread the wine-press, or kneel in Gethsemane,

I know He has never forsaken, and that He leadeth me.

Tho I “walk through the Valley of Shadow,” my soul shall not be dismayed,

For my God is the God of the fathers, the God of the unafraid!

—Northwestern Christian Advocate.

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It is easy to be courageous when backed by the crowd. It is different when one stands alone against the crowd.

At the beginning of the eighteenth century Professor Simson, of Glasgow, was on trial in the General Assembly for dangerousheresy. He was convicted, and suspended from preaching and teaching. There were some who thought the sentence inadequate. Boston, of Ettrick, was one of them. He was a shy man. But no one else offering to rise, he rose, overcoming his timidity, to enter his dissent against the inadequate condemnation of Simson—to enter his dissent in his own name and in the names of all who would adhere to him, adding, amid solemn silence on the part of the assembly, “And for myself if nobody shall adhere.”

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SeeAchievement;Fitness.

Courage, Calm—SeeFaithfulness.

COURAGE, CHRISTIAN

During the Boxer rebellion the railroad tracks laid by the Russians in Manchuria were torn up, and the Russian troops were sent on an expedition to punish the Chinese insurgents. The Russians marched from city to city destroying and looting, meeting with practically no resistance. But at one place something unexpected happened, as told by Mr. H. J. Whigham inV.C.(London):

The Russians marched up to the gates and were just about to enter when the Boxers opened fire upon them. The army was withdrawn, the batteries were got out, and the general was just going to smash up the city when the Scotch missionary, Doctor Westwater (acting as interpreter) approached him and asked for a moment’s truce.“I undertake,” he said, “to enter the city and to induce it to surrender without a shot being fired on one condition.”“Which is?”“That there shall be no destruction and no looting; none whatever.”The general yielded, and mounting his pony, Doctor Westwater rode forward to the city alone.Now, when you consider that the city was full of Boxers, you will realize that it was a pretty considerable act of courage for a minister, of all men, to ride unarmed through those seething streets. This was what Westwater did. The city was a roaring hive of armed Boxers, muskets peeping from roof and window, and the streets ringing with the noise of arms. At the missionary quarters Doctor Westwater was fortunate enough to find a Christian convert, who conducted him to a place where the merchant gild were holding a sort of cabinet council.Westwater explained matters, appealed to the citizens to avoid bloodshed, and pledged his word that neither destruction nor looting should mark the Russian occupation of their city. The appeal was successful, and he rode quietly back to the Russian general.The general was an awful brute, as bad as he could be, but Westwater’s action seemed to impress him, and his orders were very exact. During his occupation of the city there was no single instance of crime. Westwater’s gallant action, too, imprest even the Boxers. They named him the savior of the town, and when, some months later, he took his departure for home, he was made the honored guest of extraordinary banquets, and was accompanied to the railway station by all the grateful citizens, half of them waving flags and half of them banging musical instruments.

“I undertake,” he said, “to enter the city and to induce it to surrender without a shot being fired on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“That there shall be no destruction and no looting; none whatever.”

The general yielded, and mounting his pony, Doctor Westwater rode forward to the city alone.

Now, when you consider that the city was full of Boxers, you will realize that it was a pretty considerable act of courage for a minister, of all men, to ride unarmed through those seething streets. This was what Westwater did. The city was a roaring hive of armed Boxers, muskets peeping from roof and window, and the streets ringing with the noise of arms. At the missionary quarters Doctor Westwater was fortunate enough to find a Christian convert, who conducted him to a place where the merchant gild were holding a sort of cabinet council.

Westwater explained matters, appealed to the citizens to avoid bloodshed, and pledged his word that neither destruction nor looting should mark the Russian occupation of their city. The appeal was successful, and he rode quietly back to the Russian general.

The general was an awful brute, as bad as he could be, but Westwater’s action seemed to impress him, and his orders were very exact. During his occupation of the city there was no single instance of crime. Westwater’s gallant action, too, imprest even the Boxers. They named him the savior of the town, and when, some months later, he took his departure for home, he was made the honored guest of extraordinary banquets, and was accompanied to the railway station by all the grateful citizens, half of them waving flags and half of them banging musical instruments.

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SeeTrouble Bravely Met.

COURAGE CONTAGIOUS

Charles Wagner, in “The Gospel of Life,” says:

You are struggling with difficulties, your look is troubled and your good will as well. One of those painful moments of strife and discouragement, when man is no longer anything but the shadow of himself, is passing over. In these circumstances a newspaper falls into your hands. In it you read that, on such and such a day, in the heart of Africa, surprized by an ambuscade, surrounded by enemies in superior numbers, an officer, who does not speak your language and who is not fighting for your cause, has kept calm; that, the better to show his tranquil resolution, he has, at a moment like that, before his troops, hemmed in, lost, lighted his cigar, recalled in few words the memory of the fatherland and the duty of a soldier; and then marched toward the enemy and to certain death. It is all told in three lines. And when you have read it, you arise, you come out of your depression, you organize your resistance; you look your trouble in the face, you feel high spirits, virility, a certain generous ardor for the strife. And all this life, this precious elasticity of courage that animates you, you owe to those who are unknown to you, to the vanquished, and to the dead lying out yonder without burial andwithout name. What a proof of what we can do for each other?

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COURAGE IN LIFE

This poem has been printed as anonymous and it has also been attributed to Edmund Vance Cook:

Did you tackle the trouble that came your wayWith a resolute heart and cheerfulOr hide your face from the light of dayWith a craven heart, and fearful?Oh, a trouble’s a ton or a trouble’s an ounce,Or a trouble is what you make it;And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,But only how did you take it.You’re beaten to earth. Well, well, what’s that?Come up with a smiling face.It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,But to lie there—that’s disgrace.The harder you’re thrown, why, the higher you bounce;Be proud of your blackened eye.It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts,It’s how did you fight, and why.And tho you be done to death, what then?If you battled the best you could;If you played your part in the world of men,Why, the critic will call it good.Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce,And whether he’s slow or spry,It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,But only how did you die.

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful

Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven heart, and fearful?

Oh, a trouble’s a ton or a trouble’s an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it;

And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,

But only how did you take it.

You’re beaten to earth. Well, well, what’s that?Come up with a smiling face.It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,But to lie there—that’s disgrace.The harder you’re thrown, why, the higher you bounce;Be proud of your blackened eye.It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts,It’s how did you fight, and why.

You’re beaten to earth. Well, well, what’s that?

Come up with a smiling face.

It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there—that’s disgrace.

The harder you’re thrown, why, the higher you bounce;

Be proud of your blackened eye.

It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts,

It’s how did you fight, and why.

And tho you be done to death, what then?If you battled the best you could;If you played your part in the world of men,Why, the critic will call it good.Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce,And whether he’s slow or spry,It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,But only how did you die.

And tho you be done to death, what then?

If you battled the best you could;

If you played your part in the world of men,

Why, the critic will call it good.

Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce,

And whether he’s slow or spry,

It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,

But only how did you die.

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COURAGE, MORAL

Mrs. George E. Pickett, wife of General Pickett, who led the fatal charge the last day at Gettysburg against the Union forces, writes of the tender memories she had of Grant. She called upon him with her husband while he was President. Grant knew that his old comrade of West Point had been made a poor man by the war, and he offered him the marshalship of Virginia. While sorely needing help, he appreciated the heavy draft made upon the President by office-seekers, and said: “You can’t afford to do this for me now, and I can’t afford to take it”; but Grant instantly replied with firmness, “I can afford to do anything I please that is right.”—Col.Nicholas Smith, “Grant, the Man of Mystery.”

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COURAGE OF HOPE

These lines from an unidentified source point a New Year’s lesson:

As a dead year is clasped in a dead December,So let your dead sins with your dead days lie.A new life is yours and a new hope. RememberWe build our own ladders to climb to the sky.Stand out in the sunlight of promise, forgettingWhatever the past held of sorrow or wrong.We waste half our strength in a useless regretting;We sit by old tombs in the dark too long.Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining.Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next.Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining.Were you tempted and fell? Let it serve as a text.It is never too late to begin rebuildingTho all into ruins your life has been hurled,For see how the light of the New Year is gildingThe wan, worn face of the bruised old world. (Text.)

As a dead year is clasped in a dead December,So let your dead sins with your dead days lie.A new life is yours and a new hope. RememberWe build our own ladders to climb to the sky.

As a dead year is clasped in a dead December,

So let your dead sins with your dead days lie.

A new life is yours and a new hope. Remember

We build our own ladders to climb to the sky.

Stand out in the sunlight of promise, forgettingWhatever the past held of sorrow or wrong.We waste half our strength in a useless regretting;We sit by old tombs in the dark too long.

Stand out in the sunlight of promise, forgetting

Whatever the past held of sorrow or wrong.

We waste half our strength in a useless regretting;

We sit by old tombs in the dark too long.

Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining.Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next.Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining.Were you tempted and fell? Let it serve as a text.

Have you missed in your aim? Well, the mark is still shining.

Did you faint in the race? Well, take breath for the next.

Did the clouds drive you back? But see yonder their lining.

Were you tempted and fell? Let it serve as a text.

It is never too late to begin rebuildingTho all into ruins your life has been hurled,For see how the light of the New Year is gildingThe wan, worn face of the bruised old world. (Text.)

It is never too late to begin rebuilding

Tho all into ruins your life has been hurled,

For see how the light of the New Year is gilding

The wan, worn face of the bruised old world. (Text.)

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COURAGE OF UTTERANCE

James Oppenheim, in a poem, “The Cry of Men,” writes this verse inciting to boldness in uttering our truth:

Then put off the coward—live with the Vision!Let me go to my work in the morningWith fire of God, let me strike in the open, let me cry, cry aloud the age dawning—Let my life be real—faith in my heart! My eternity hangs on this day—God in me dies or leaps godward as I thunder my yea or my nay!

Then put off the coward—live with the Vision!

Let me go to my work in the morning

With fire of God, let me strike in the open, let me cry, cry aloud the age dawning—

Let my life be real—faith in my heart! My eternity hangs on this day—

God in me dies or leaps godward as I thunder my yea or my nay!

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COURAGE VERSUS ETIQUETTE

Here is a story of Gen. Leonard Wood, told by a Boston physician in the New YorkTimes:

One day an infant was brought in suffering from membranous croup. The case was so far advanced that any delay would almost certainly result in death for the little one. Dr. Wood did not hesitate a moment. He began to work at once, carefully, fearlessly, promptly, and successfully. Five minutes later, and while both mother and patient were still in the room, the surgeon who should have had the case according to rule, walked in. The young doctor (Wood) explained, but would not apologize, as he was asked to do. He had done right, and he was not going to tell any man he was sorry for it, he said. The result was that he was first suspended, and then dismissed. And I call that courage. (Text.)

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COURTESY

Charles W. Eliot introduced [at Harvard] a system of discipline based upon personal loyalty to college interests. It is related that at a faculty meeting shortly after he had been inducted into office, one of the faculty asked him with considerable severity the reason for this doing away with time-honored rules of discipline, when the young president replied, with great sweetness and courtesy, “The reason is, we have a new president.”—James T. White, “Character Lessons.”

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SeeKindness.

The BrooklynEaglehas an office boy whose name, let us say, is Joe. The other day Joe was present when the wife of a member of the staff called to see her husband. The latter, having just returned from lunch, deferentially greeted the lady by raising his hat. Joe contemplated this act of courtesy with that fine scorn which office boys feel for all obligations that are not compulsory. “Huh!” he remarked to a companion. “You’d think them two was strangers!”

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Courtesy Imitated—SeeSymbols, The Value of.

COURTESY IN TRAVELING

Probably few people know it, but the institution of the bell-cord, by which the engineman is signaled to stop his train, was due to the courtesy of a conductor. A general passenger agent told the story the other day. Back in the fifties, when wood was still used for fuel in locomotives, the conductor on a local train rigged up a bell-cord so that he could let passengers off at will. The stop signal was given too often for the engineman, who finally became so annoyed that he cut the rope. At the next stop the conductor went forward to the engine cab.“Jim,” he said, “I’m going to treat my passengers right. You tie up that bell-cord, and if you cut it again I’ll punch your head.”The engineman cut the cord again, and the conductor, who valued his reputation for courtesy to passengers, went forward and delivered the promised thrashing. Conductors nowadays, tho, are not quite so primitive in their methods, and are not obliged to administer personal discipline to fellow employés.—BuffaloEvening News.

“Jim,” he said, “I’m going to treat my passengers right. You tie up that bell-cord, and if you cut it again I’ll punch your head.”

The engineman cut the cord again, and the conductor, who valued his reputation for courtesy to passengers, went forward and delivered the promised thrashing. Conductors nowadays, tho, are not quite so primitive in their methods, and are not obliged to administer personal discipline to fellow employés.—BuffaloEvening News.

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COURTS OF JUSTICE AMONG BIRDS

Dr. Edmondson describes regular assemblies of crows of the hooded species—“crow courts,” they are called—which are held at certain intervals in the Shetland Isles. A particular hill or field suitable for the business is selected, but nothing is done till all are ready, and consequently the earlier comers have sometimes to wait for a day or two till the others arrive. When all have come, the court opens in a formal manner and the presumed criminals are arraigned at the bar. A general croaking and clamor are raised by the assembly and judgment is delivered, apparently, by the whole court. As soon as the execution is over, the court breaks up and all its members disperse quietly. An Alpine tourist relates that, during an excursion in the Swiss mountains, he accidently came upon a small secluded glen, which was surrounded by trees, and became the unexpected witness of a singular spectacle. About sixty or seventy ravens were ranged in a ring around one of their fellows, evidently reputed a culprit, and with much clatter of tongues and wings, were engaged in discussing his alleged delinquencies. At intervals they paused in their debate in order to permit the accused to reply, which he did most vociferously and with intense energy, but all his expostulations were speedily drowned in a deafening chorus of dissent. Eventually the court appears to have arrived at the unanimous conclusion that the felon had utterly failed to exculpate himself, and they suddenly flew at him from all sides and tore him to pieces, with their powerfulbeaks. Having executed their sentence, they speedily disappeared.—The Popular Science Monthly.

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Covenant—SeeBlood, The Tie of.

COWARDICE

We see by the following account of English sparrows that any coward may seem brave when he is with the majority:

The English sparrow has been called pugnacious. He is nothing of the kind. He does not love a fight. Bird to bird, there is nothing too small to whip him. I have seen a chipping sparrow, which is the least among the pasture sparrows, send the poltroon scurrying to shelter with all his feathers standing on end. A cock bluebird, fighting like a gentleman, and like a gentleman fighting only when he must, will drive a half-dozen of them. The English sparrow has the true instincts of the browbeating coward, and loves to fight only when in overwhelming numbers he may attack a lone pasture bird without danger to himself.—Winthrop Packard, “Wild Pastures.”

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Craziness Indicated—SeeConcert, Lack of.

Crazy Spells—SeeAbsent-mindedness.

CREATION, A WITNESS OF

Ruskin finds God’s witness in creation in contemplating a leaf:

If you ask an ordinary botanist the reason of the form of a leaf, he will tell you it is a “developed tubercle,” and that its ultimate form “is owing to the directions of its vascular threads.” But what directs its vascular threads? “They are seeking for something they want,” he will probably answer. What made them want that? What made them seek for it thus? Seek for it, in five fibers or in three? Seek for it, in serration, or in sweeping curves? Seek for it in servile tendrils, or impetuous spray? Seek for it in woolen wrinkles rough with stings, or in glossy surfaces, green with pure strength and winterless delight? It is Mr. Ruskin who asks these questions: and it is Mr. Ruskin who adds, “There is no answer.”

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Creation, Intelligence in—SeeDesign in Nature.

CREATION, JOY IN

God’s heart must laugh a mighty laugh of joy every spring and summer time. Oh, man! don’t you think you would laugh if you could make a leaf—not a great big green oak or maple-leaf, but just a wee, modest, unpretentious leaf, and yet a real leaf? Now, wouldn’t you thrill with joy to the ends of your finger-tips if you could make just one leaf? And well you might, for never yet was born the man who could make a leaf without God doing the major part of the work.And yet every spring God grows a million leaves and flowers out in the corn-fields, back in the forests, down in the meadows of earth. Why, truly God is right down here among us watching things grow, going through the corn-fields and laughing to the rustling music of the green blades of silken corn.—F. F. Shannon.

And yet every spring God grows a million leaves and flowers out in the corn-fields, back in the forests, down in the meadows of earth. Why, truly God is right down here among us watching things grow, going through the corn-fields and laughing to the rustling music of the green blades of silken corn.—F. F. Shannon.

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Creatorship—SeeLife, Source of Man’s.

CREATURE, A NEW

The author of that noble hymn, “The God of Abraham praise,” was Thomas Olivers, the Welsh Methodist evangelist, popularly known as “the cobbler of Tregonan,” but who became a signal instance of the power of grace to change the heart and to quicken genius. Left an orphan early in life, he grew up neglected in learning and morals, and became known as the worst character in all the country round. But a sermon by George Whitefield, at Bristol, entirely changed the character of the young man, and the current of his life. Of that change he himself said: “When that sermon began, I was one of the most abandoned and profligate young men living; before it ended I was a new creature. The world was all changed for Tom Olivers.”

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Credentials, Negative—SeeRealism, Refraining from.

Credentials of Merit—SeeAppreciation of Character.

Credit Refused—SeeNeed, Refused in the Hour of.

CREEDS, INSECURITY OF

It is natural to desire a few firm and unshakable beliefs. If we can only formulate the eternal verities and tuck them away in pigeon-holes ready to our hand when wanted, we feel a certain sense of security. To runthe fundamental principles into molds and have them forever after in cast-iron rigidity and indestructibility is surely, we imagine, a consummation devoutly to be wished.But soon we encounter unexpected and vexatious and puzzling difficulties. Truth has a way of losing its trueness by the very act of being exprest. Exprest, or squeezed out, it does, indeed, too often become; and nothing but an empty husk, a hollow form, remains. How often one has the vaguely haunting and curiously baffling sense that, if one were to say a certain thing, that thing would immediately cease to be so; and, that if one had only refrained from a certain other utterance, the thought intended would not have lost, so unaccountably, its quality of truth! In other words, how many times does truth show itself to be of a nature quite too shy to be caught and tamed, too slippery to be grasped, too elusive to be held fast! To take a homely illustration, Mrs. Smith says to Mrs. Brown, “I am more polite than you,” and straightway an assertion that might have been true, if unuttered, becomes glaringly false. An able lawyer was once arguing a case in court when the judge interrupted him by declaring, “That is not the law.” “It was the law, your Honor, until your Honor spoke,” was the two-edged rejoinder. Some such ironical retort is constantly being flung back at us by the inscrutabilities that we attempt to fathom. We know not well (tho we are learning) the subtle ways they “keep, and pass, and turn again.”“Outworn creeds” is a phrase familiar to all. But why have we so abundant a heritage of these cast-off garments? Is not their undurability owing to the fact that truth is dynamic rather than static? We must believe that at every instant of time something is true; but that the same thing, stated just so and no otherwise, is true for all time, is not so certain, and he who depends on a fixt creed, of elaborate pattern, to bear him up through all the stormy seas, is likely to find himself clinging to a very poor life-preserver.—The Christian Register.

But soon we encounter unexpected and vexatious and puzzling difficulties. Truth has a way of losing its trueness by the very act of being exprest. Exprest, or squeezed out, it does, indeed, too often become; and nothing but an empty husk, a hollow form, remains. How often one has the vaguely haunting and curiously baffling sense that, if one were to say a certain thing, that thing would immediately cease to be so; and, that if one had only refrained from a certain other utterance, the thought intended would not have lost, so unaccountably, its quality of truth! In other words, how many times does truth show itself to be of a nature quite too shy to be caught and tamed, too slippery to be grasped, too elusive to be held fast! To take a homely illustration, Mrs. Smith says to Mrs. Brown, “I am more polite than you,” and straightway an assertion that might have been true, if unuttered, becomes glaringly false. An able lawyer was once arguing a case in court when the judge interrupted him by declaring, “That is not the law.” “It was the law, your Honor, until your Honor spoke,” was the two-edged rejoinder. Some such ironical retort is constantly being flung back at us by the inscrutabilities that we attempt to fathom. We know not well (tho we are learning) the subtle ways they “keep, and pass, and turn again.”

“Outworn creeds” is a phrase familiar to all. But why have we so abundant a heritage of these cast-off garments? Is not their undurability owing to the fact that truth is dynamic rather than static? We must believe that at every instant of time something is true; but that the same thing, stated just so and no otherwise, is true for all time, is not so certain, and he who depends on a fixt creed, of elaborate pattern, to bear him up through all the stormy seas, is likely to find himself clinging to a very poor life-preserver.—The Christian Register.

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Crime and Playgrounds—SeePlay and Morals.

CRIME, EPIDEMICS OF

In the days of bank burglaries—now much less frequent, owing to the protections that science has provided for money vaults—it was not often that a single robbery was reported; they “came in battalions.” This was not because the same gangs engaged in many different enterprises, but because a universal similar impulse permeated the minds of the criminal class devoted to these forms of guilt. A curious study might be made of the causes of epidemics of crime. In superstitious times all evils were attributed to the influence of adverse stars. This may have been an approach to scientific truth, or its advanced shadow. The causes of meteorological change must be the causes lying back of the pervading disposition at times witnessed to commit peculiar classes of crime. A suicidal atmosphere must have its origin in some of the secret springs of nature. Advanced speculation has recently attributed cyclones, earthquakes, and other terrestrial disturbances to great changes in the surface of the sun or in the superheated ether surrounding it. A theory quite as plausible as this might attribute epidemics of crime to similar influences, by which weak reasons are overthrown and murderous intents are kindled in excitable minds with destructive tendencies. There are causes for all things in life and nature, and no study of such causes is in vain.—ChicagoJournal.

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CRIME EXPOSED

Marshall P. Wilder describes a punishment common in China:

The cangue is a large square board that fits about the neck, and besides being very heavy and uncomfortable, is considered a great disgrace, for it has the prisoner’s name and crime pasted on it. In order to make the punishment more severe, the prisoner is often condemned to be taken to the place where the crime was committed and made to stand near the store or house where the nature of his crime, as well as his name, is plainly to be read by every passer-by. This is a terrible punishment, for the Chinese are very sensitive about being publicly shamed.—“Smiling ‘Round the World.”

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SeeEvidence, Providential.

CRIME IN FORMER DAYS

Every week a host of young lads were hanged for theft, and the spectacle of a criminal riding through the streets to Tyburn, and getting as drunk as he conveniently could upon the way, was too common to attract attention. London was called the City of the Gallows, for from whatever joint you entered it, by land or water, you passed between a lane of gibbets, where thecorpses of felons hung, rotting and bleaching in the light. Nor was crime supprest by this stringency of the law. Highwaymen rode into town at nightfall, coolly tying their horses to the palings of Hyde Park, and executed their plans of robbery in the very presence of the impotent protectors of the public peace. London was infested by gangs of youths, whose nightly pastime was to bludgeon inoffensive watchmen, and to gouge out the eyes of chance travelers. Dean Swift dared not go out after dark, and Johnson wrote:

Prepare for death, if here at night you roam,And sign your will before you sup from home.

Prepare for death, if here at night you roam,

And sign your will before you sup from home.

Ludgate Hill swarmed with mock parsons, and thousands of spurious marriages were celebrated every year.—W. J. Dawson, “The Makers of English Prose.”

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Crime Prevented—SeeScience Preventing Crime.

Crime Traced—SeeMisery an Educator.

CRIME UNPROFITABLE

“I have talked with murderers, train and stage robbers, burglars, pickpockets, hobos, yeggmen and others guilty of nearly every crime known,” says Griffith J. Griffith, “yet I never found a prisoner but could easily be convinced that a criminal career does not pay. A sane young man so convinced can be reformed.”

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Criminal Energy—SeeDishonesty.

Criminals Deficient in Conscience—SeeConscience Benumbed.

CRIMINALS, GAIT OF

All evil traits probably carry with them some bodily signs. Soul and body are intimately related.

Dr. Parrachia has made a curious study of the differences between criminals and law-abiding citizens, as exhibited by their walk. He not only has shown how we may distinguish criminals in general, but has laid the beginning of the differential diagnosis between various evil-doers. He found that in criminals in general (obtained from the study of forty criminals) the left pace was longer than the right, the lateral deviation of the right foot was greater than that of the left, and the angle formed by the axis of the foot with the straight line was greater on the left side than on the right. It would thus seem that, in general, the gait of a criminal betrays a marked preponderance of power of the left foot over the right—a true sinistrality. This also agrees with the discovery of Marro that criminals are often left-handed.—Public Opinion.

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CRIMINALS, TRACING

The tracing of counterfeit bills back to the persons responsible for their issue is a curious and exciting employment. The experts assigned by the Government to this work are among the most skilful members of the Secret Service.A bank clerk in Cleveland had detected a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill in the deposit of a small retail grocer. An expert was sent for and undertook the case.He found that the grocer had received the bill from a shoe-dealer, who had it from a dentist, who had it from somebody else, and so on, until the Secret Service man finally traced the bad note to an invalid woman who had used it to pay her physician. When questioned, this woman said that the money had been sent her by her brother, who lived in New Orleans.The sleuth looked up the brother’s antecedents, and soon became convinced that he was the man wanted. The brother, however, soon proved to the satisfaction of the Secret Service man that his suspicions were unfounded. Indeed, it appeared that the money had been received by the New Orleans man in part payment of rent of a house he owned in Pittsburg. While the sleuth was a bit discouraged, he couldn’t give over the case when he had gone so far, so he took the next train for Pittsburg.The tenant of the house in Pittsburg proved to be a traveling oculist, who spent most of his time in the Middle West. The Secret Service man had the good luck, however, to catch him just as he had returned from a trip; and the man at once recognized the bad bill as one that had been given him by a patient in Cleveland, the very point whence the sleuth had started.The patient was a boss carpenter. The Secret Service man got his address from the oculist and went right after the new clue. At this point he had a premonition that something was going to happen, and he wasn’t disappointed.The carpenter, an honest old fellow, said that he had received the bill from a certainParker. The said Parker was the small grocer in whose bank deposit the counterfeit had turned up. The expert flew to the grocer’s as quickly as a cab would take him, and found it closed. He had left town.Afterward it was shown beyond question that the grocer was the agent of an organized band of counterfeiters. His shop was a mere blind. That the bill which he gave the carpenter should get back into his own funds after traveling all over the continent was one of those miracles of chance for which there is no explanation.—Harper’s Weekly.

A bank clerk in Cleveland had detected a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill in the deposit of a small retail grocer. An expert was sent for and undertook the case.

He found that the grocer had received the bill from a shoe-dealer, who had it from a dentist, who had it from somebody else, and so on, until the Secret Service man finally traced the bad note to an invalid woman who had used it to pay her physician. When questioned, this woman said that the money had been sent her by her brother, who lived in New Orleans.

The sleuth looked up the brother’s antecedents, and soon became convinced that he was the man wanted. The brother, however, soon proved to the satisfaction of the Secret Service man that his suspicions were unfounded. Indeed, it appeared that the money had been received by the New Orleans man in part payment of rent of a house he owned in Pittsburg. While the sleuth was a bit discouraged, he couldn’t give over the case when he had gone so far, so he took the next train for Pittsburg.

The tenant of the house in Pittsburg proved to be a traveling oculist, who spent most of his time in the Middle West. The Secret Service man had the good luck, however, to catch him just as he had returned from a trip; and the man at once recognized the bad bill as one that had been given him by a patient in Cleveland, the very point whence the sleuth had started.

The patient was a boss carpenter. The Secret Service man got his address from the oculist and went right after the new clue. At this point he had a premonition that something was going to happen, and he wasn’t disappointed.

The carpenter, an honest old fellow, said that he had received the bill from a certainParker. The said Parker was the small grocer in whose bank deposit the counterfeit had turned up. The expert flew to the grocer’s as quickly as a cab would take him, and found it closed. He had left town.

Afterward it was shown beyond question that the grocer was the agent of an organized band of counterfeiters. His shop was a mere blind. That the bill which he gave the carpenter should get back into his own funds after traveling all over the continent was one of those miracles of chance for which there is no explanation.—Harper’s Weekly.

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CRISES, PREPARATION FOR

Let it not be imagined that the great souls who have made history by their heroic action and their momentous decisions in moments of critical exigency were unprepared, or that they played their grand parts at random. The hour of destiny comes, and the man comes with it, but he has always been in training for it. He has had his forty days in the wilderness.

On the ridge of Leuthen, far up above the plain, Frederick the Great through his glass watched the gathering of the enemy’s hosts in overwhelming numbers. He only gazed on the terrible spectacle five minutes, and then he had thought out the magnificent combinations which arranged his plan of battle. Ruin fell on the foe and a new era in history was inaugurated; but this was only because Frederick had trained himself for years for the crisis.

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CRITIC RIDICULED

A teacher of elocution from New Jersey went to hear Mr. Beecher, and when the sermon was closed he crowded himself up to the front and said, “Mr. Beecher, I am an elocution teacher from the State of New Jersey. I came over to hear the greatest American preacher, but I am disappointed, disappointed.” “What is the matter now?” said Beecher. “Well, sir, I counted eighty grammatical mistakes in your sermon.” Beecher replied, “Is that all? I would have wagered this old hat there were over eight hundred if you had not told me.” That is a philosophical way of looking at it, and treating deservedly a self-inflated and imposing upstart of a critic. Beecher could at times read human nature intuitively.

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Critical Faculty, The—SeeOriginality.

CRITICISM

It is not necessary for a child to know all about the lenses of the eye in order to see its mother’s face, or to understand gravity in order to enjoy the summer’s day. We use, enjoy and are saved by food and drink and sun long years before we know anything about their laws. It is one thing to pick to pieces your faith, and another thing to reconstruct it. A thousand boys can take a watch to pieces, and not one can put the wheels together again.—N. D. Hillis.

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SeeCynic Rebuked;Judging, Care in.

CRITICISM, CARPING

If he is poor, he is a bad manager. If he is rich, he is dishonest.If he needs credit, he can’t get it. If he is prosperous, every one wants to do him a favor.If he’s in politics, it’s for pie. If he is out of politics, you can’t place him, and he’s no good for his country.If he doesn’t give to charity, he’s stingy. If he does, it’s for show.If he is actively religious, he is a hypocrite. If he takes no interest in religion, he’s a hardened sinner.If he shows affection, he’s a soft specimen. If he seems to care for no one, he is cold-blooded.If he dies young, there was a great future ahead of him. If he lives to an old age, he has missed his calling.—Christian Guardian.

If he is poor, he is a bad manager. If he is rich, he is dishonest.

If he needs credit, he can’t get it. If he is prosperous, every one wants to do him a favor.

If he’s in politics, it’s for pie. If he is out of politics, you can’t place him, and he’s no good for his country.

If he doesn’t give to charity, he’s stingy. If he does, it’s for show.

If he is actively religious, he is a hypocrite. If he takes no interest in religion, he’s a hardened sinner.

If he shows affection, he’s a soft specimen. If he seems to care for no one, he is cold-blooded.

If he dies young, there was a great future ahead of him. If he lives to an old age, he has missed his calling.—Christian Guardian.

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Criticism, Ignorant—SeeMeaning, Logical.

CRITICISM, INCOMPETENT

It is an interesting study of human nature to watch a mixt crowd as they pass through a gallery of pictures. Some simply express admiration at everything; sure that they must be good, or they would not be there, they feel safe in giving indiscriminate praise. Others spice their approbation with occasional criticism. Some utter impulsively their first impressions; others, more timid, look silently upon all. The few who, being true artists themselves, are best qualified to judge, are usually the most reticent. Indeed, they seem more occupied in studying than injudging, and more anxious to understand what they see than either to criticize or to flatter. Doubtless, however, the majority of these spectators are secretly conscious of their real incapacity to pronounce judgment, and the wisest of them will refrain from doing so, however willingly they may express whatever pleasure or preference they feel. They know they are there for their own gratification or improvement, not to pass sentence upon works which they can only dimly fathom. Yet as they pass out of the gallery into the world of living men and women how quickly is this respectful diffidence removed! He who would not presume to criticize a picture, of which he knows but little, will not hesitate to criticize a man or woman of whom he knows far less. Willing to admit his inability to estimate the work of the painter, he yet feels competent, without study or experience, to estimate the noblest and most complex work of infinite wisdom.—PhiladelphiaLedger.

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SeeChristianity, Criticism of.

Criticism, Indifference to—SeeModesty.

Criticism of Christianity—SeeChristianity, Criticism of.

CRITICISM, UNHELPFUL

One of the most brilliant of our younger poets was descanting on the Chinook vocabulary, in which a Chinook calls an Englishman a Chinhog to this day, in memory of King George. And this writer says that when they have a young chief whose warpaint is very perfect, whose blanket is thoroughly embroidered, whose leggings are tied up with exactly the right colors, and who has the right kind of star upon his forehead and cheeks, but who never took a scalp, never fired an arrow, and never smelled powder, but was always found at home in the lodges whenever there was anything that scented of war—he says the Chinooks called that man by the name of “Boston Cultus.” You have seen these people, as I have seen them, as everybody has seen them—people who sat in Parker’s and discust every movement of the campaign in the late war, and told us that it was all wrong, that we were going to the bad, but who never shouldered a musket. They are people who tell us that the immigration, that the pope of Rome, or the German element, or the Irish element, is going to play the dogs with our social system, and yet they never met an immigrant on the wharf or had a word of comfort to say to a foreigner.—Edward Everett Hale.

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Cross Anticipated—SeeCalvary, Anticipating.

CROSS CENTRAL

It is said that two famous enemies of Christianity were once talking together of a plan for the reconstruction of religion. They believed only in the enjoyment of the life that now is. They talked of the building of a temple which would express the religious impulse and yet lay stress on the glory of the life that now is. And after they had talked of marvelous music, forever in the major key, they admitted that something was lacking in their scheme. “I know what it is,” finally declared one. “It is that hymn, ‘O Sacred Head Now Wounded.’ Without that there is a fatal lack of beauty and of power.” And this goes down pretty far toward the center. The compelling beauty of Christianity is in its doctrine of self-sacrifice. The cross sets the Christian teaching on high.—Francis J. McConnell.

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CROSS, CHARM OF THE

Rev. Edward Payson Scott, Baptist missionary in Assam, was strongly moved to visit a wild hill tribe—the Nagas—three days’ journey from his station, whereas yet he had made only a start in the Naga language and had to take a Naga teacher along. He was strongly urged by the British resident officer not to run such risk, but he could not be deterred; and, when an escort of soldiers was offered him, he firmly declined, as it would defeat the very end in view, which was to go as a messenger of peace. A military escort would give a false impression of his whole spirit and motive.So with a native companion he set out, and when they reached the base of the mountain ridge where the native village crowned the summit, and began the ascent, the alarmed villagers forming in battle-line, waved their spears in menace, the chief crying out, “Halt! we know you! You are the man of the British Queen, come to make us prisoners and carry off our children. Come no nearer!”The missionary drew out his violin, and began to sing in the native tongue, “Alas, and did my Savior bleed!” When he had sung one verse, the chief and his warriors had already thrust their spears into the ground and broken ranks. As Mr. Scott sangon, about the amazing pity, grace, love shown when the Maker died for the sin of the creature, the wild men began to creep down the hillside, nearer and nearer; and the chief cried out, “Where did you learn that? Sing us more; we never heard the like before.” The savages were subdued. The stranger was safe from their spears, and welcomed to their huts and best hospitality. The cross has never lost its charm. (Text.)—Missionary Review of the World.

So with a native companion he set out, and when they reached the base of the mountain ridge where the native village crowned the summit, and began the ascent, the alarmed villagers forming in battle-line, waved their spears in menace, the chief crying out, “Halt! we know you! You are the man of the British Queen, come to make us prisoners and carry off our children. Come no nearer!”

The missionary drew out his violin, and began to sing in the native tongue, “Alas, and did my Savior bleed!” When he had sung one verse, the chief and his warriors had already thrust their spears into the ground and broken ranks. As Mr. Scott sangon, about the amazing pity, grace, love shown when the Maker died for the sin of the creature, the wild men began to creep down the hillside, nearer and nearer; and the chief cried out, “Where did you learn that? Sing us more; we never heard the like before.” The savages were subdued. The stranger was safe from their spears, and welcomed to their huts and best hospitality. The cross has never lost its charm. (Text.)—Missionary Review of the World.

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CROSS GLORIOUS

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