ENDYMIONA thing of beauty is a joy for ever:Its loveliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.Therefore, on every morrow, we are wreathingA flowery band to bind us to the earth,Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearthOf noble natures, of the gloomy days,Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened waysMade for our searching: yes, in spite of all,Some shape of beauty moves away the pallFrom our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep; and such are daffodilsWith the green world they live in; and clear rillsThat for themselves a cooling covert make’Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:And such too is the grandeur of the doomsWe have imagined for the mighty dead;All lovely tales that we have heard or read:An endless fountain of immortal drink,Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.John Keats.←Contents
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:Its loveliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.Therefore, on every morrow, we are wreathingA flowery band to bind us to the earth,Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearthOf noble natures, of the gloomy days,Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened waysMade for our searching: yes, in spite of all,Some shape of beauty moves away the pallFrom our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boonFor simple sheep; and such are daffodilsWith the green world they live in; and clear rillsThat for themselves a cooling covert make’Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:And such too is the grandeur of the doomsWe have imagined for the mighty dead;All lovely tales that we have heard or read:An endless fountain of immortal drink,Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.
John Keats.←Contents
“Words are like leaves, and where they most aboundMuch fruit of sense beneath is seldom found.”Pope.
“Words are like leaves, and where they most aboundMuch fruit of sense beneath is seldom found.”
Pope.
Reporta speech, lecture, or sermon in two hundred words.
It is easy to obtain the material for this assignment because one has only to attend, listen, and take notes. Indeed, in some instances, speakers are ready and willing to furnish reporters with copies of what they intend to say. The part of the task which requires skill is what is known as boiling down, condensing, or reducing the report to the dimensions required by editors. This involves: first and foremost, a determination not to misrepresent in any way what is said; second, the ability to select the essential points; third, an eye for such detail as may be used to spice the report without making it too long. Too many reporters, in their anxiety to make a good story, observe only the last of these requirements, and in consequence are unjust to speakers. In the arrangement of the material, it is well to begin with a statement of the main point of the speech and to follow it with such details as space permits.
Every good speech, however long, has only one main point. Its details serve only to illustrate and enforce this central theme. The reporter needs to bear this in mind. He must discover the central point, or thesis, before he can write a good report. A knowledge of the principles underlying speech construction is therefore of great value to him, even if not essential. Fortunately, these are comparatively simple. Nearly every good speech, fromDemosthenesdown, has consisted of the following parts in the following order:
Sermons and political speeches are usually argumentative and hence of this type. Sometimes, however, an orator and his theme are so well known that he omits all except 3 and 4; occasionally all except 4 disappear. Lectures often contain only 3, as their purpose is only to convey information. Usually, however, a speech without an argument is like a gas engine without gas; it has no “go.” The speech thatdoes not aim to get people to do something is usually flat, stale, and unprofitable.
ILondon, March22, 1775.—Conciliation as a means of allaying the present discontent in the American colonies was advocated in the House of Commons to-day by Mr. Edmund Burke. He proposed that Parliament abandon the idea of taxing the colonies, and instead place on the statute book an act acknowledging that the various colonial legislative bodies have the power to grant or refuse aids to the crown. Though his speech, which lasted over three hours, was heard with respect, the measures which he proposed were defeated by a strict party vote, 270 to 78.Mr. Burke spoke with a dignity and power which have not been surpassed even by the Earl of Chatham. His mastery of the subject was so complete and the form of his speech so perfect that competent judges pronounce it a classic. His speech is to be printed at once as a pamphlet.In outline Mr. Burke said: “As I have studied this American question for years, have held fixed opinions on it since 1766, and have nothing to gain except disgrace if I suggest a foolish solution of the problem, I believe that you will hear me with patience. My speech will consist of the discussion of two questions: (1) Should we attempt to conciliate the Americans? (2) If so, how? America is already powerful by virtue of population, commerce, and agriculture. The chief characteristic of the American people is their fierce love of freedom. There are only three ways to deal with this spirit: (1) To remove it by removing its causes; (2) to punish it as criminal; (3) to comply with it as necessary. Its causes are irremovable, being the love of independence which caused their ancestors to leave England; their religion in the North, which is the Protestantism of the Protestant religion; the fact that in the South they hold slaves; the general diffusion among them of education; the circumstance that they speak English and that an Englishman is the unfittest man on earth to argue another Englishman into being a slave; andthe 3000 miles of ocean, between us and them. It cannot be treated as criminal, there being no way to draw up an indictment against a whole nation. Indeed, you have already tried to do this and failed. There remains no way of treating the American spirit except to comply with it as necessary. I propose, therefore, to erect a Temple of British Concord with six massive pillars by granting to America in six propositions the identical rights which for generations have been by acts of Parliament secured to Ireland, Wales, Chester, and Durham, except that, owing to the distance of America from England, each colony, instead of sending members to Parliament, shall have the power, through its own legislature, to grant or refuse aids to the Crown. If adopted, these measures, I believe, will substitute an immediate and lasting peace for the disorders which Lord North’s measures have created. The unbought loyalty of a free people, thus secured, will give us more revenue than any coercive measure. Indeed, it is the only cement that can hold together the British Empire.”
London, March22, 1775.—Conciliation as a means of allaying the present discontent in the American colonies was advocated in the House of Commons to-day by Mr. Edmund Burke. He proposed that Parliament abandon the idea of taxing the colonies, and instead place on the statute book an act acknowledging that the various colonial legislative bodies have the power to grant or refuse aids to the crown. Though his speech, which lasted over three hours, was heard with respect, the measures which he proposed were defeated by a strict party vote, 270 to 78.
Mr. Burke spoke with a dignity and power which have not been surpassed even by the Earl of Chatham. His mastery of the subject was so complete and the form of his speech so perfect that competent judges pronounce it a classic. His speech is to be printed at once as a pamphlet.
In outline Mr. Burke said: “As I have studied this American question for years, have held fixed opinions on it since 1766, and have nothing to gain except disgrace if I suggest a foolish solution of the problem, I believe that you will hear me with patience. My speech will consist of the discussion of two questions: (1) Should we attempt to conciliate the Americans? (2) If so, how? America is already powerful by virtue of population, commerce, and agriculture. The chief characteristic of the American people is their fierce love of freedom. There are only three ways to deal with this spirit: (1) To remove it by removing its causes; (2) to punish it as criminal; (3) to comply with it as necessary. Its causes are irremovable, being the love of independence which caused their ancestors to leave England; their religion in the North, which is the Protestantism of the Protestant religion; the fact that in the South they hold slaves; the general diffusion among them of education; the circumstance that they speak English and that an Englishman is the unfittest man on earth to argue another Englishman into being a slave; andthe 3000 miles of ocean, between us and them. It cannot be treated as criminal, there being no way to draw up an indictment against a whole nation. Indeed, you have already tried to do this and failed. There remains no way of treating the American spirit except to comply with it as necessary. I propose, therefore, to erect a Temple of British Concord with six massive pillars by granting to America in six propositions the identical rights which for generations have been by acts of Parliament secured to Ireland, Wales, Chester, and Durham, except that, owing to the distance of America from England, each colony, instead of sending members to Parliament, shall have the power, through its own legislature, to grant or refuse aids to the Crown. If adopted, these measures, I believe, will substitute an immediate and lasting peace for the disorders which Lord North’s measures have created. The unbought loyalty of a free people, thus secured, will give us more revenue than any coercive measure. Indeed, it is the only cement that can hold together the British Empire.”
IIEdinburgh,Sept. 20, 1887.—Edmund Burke was the theme of a lecture delivered last night before the Edinburgh Philosophical Society by Mr. Augustine Birrell. “Nobody is fit to govern this country who has not drunk deep at the springs of Burke,” said Mr. Birrell, and he backed up this contention with a wealth of wit and argument which delighted and convinced his audience.The following is a summary of his lecture: “To give a full account of Burke’s public life is no part of my plan. I propose merely to sketch his early career, to explain why he never obtained a seat in the cabinet, and to essay an analysis of the essential elements of his greatness. Born in 1729 in Dublin, he grew up with a brother who speculated and a sister of a type who never did any man any serious harm; acquired at school a brogue which death alone could silence; at Trinity College, Dublin, became an omnivorous reader; came in 1750 to London to study law, armed with a cultivated curiosity and no desperate determination to make his fortune; immediately, like the sensible Irishman he was, fellin love with Peg Woffington; for six years rambled everywhere his purse permitted, read everything he could lay his hands on, and talked everlastingly; in 1756 published an ‘Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful,’ and married Miss Jane Mary Nugent; in 1758 dared at David Garrick’s dinner table to contradict Dr. Johnson; in 1765 became a member of Parliament; and for the next sixteen years was the life and soul of the Whig party. When that party, in 1782, finally came into power, Burke’s only reward, however, was a minor office, a fact which, in view of his great merits, has amazed posterity. The explanation is that his contemporaries probably knew him, not as a commanding genius, but as an Irishman who was always in debt, whose relatives were rather disreputable, whose judgment was often wrong, and whose temper was violent. His significance for us grows from the fact that he applied the imagination of a poet of the first order to the business of life. He saw organized society steadily and saw it whole. Perceiving that only a thin crust of conventionality protects organized society from the volcanic heats of anarchy, he was afraid of reformers. He could not agree to dispense with the protection afforded by the huge mountains of prejudice and the ancient rivers of custom. He was the High Priest of Order. He loved justice and hated iniquity. The world needs his wisdom to-day.”Mr. Birrell’s lecture was full of good phrases. For instance:We have the spectacle of Burke in his old age, like another Laocoön, writhing and wrestling with the French Revolution.Lubricating religious differences with the sweet oil of the domestic affections.Quaint old landladies wonder maternally why he never gets drunk, and generally mistake him for an author until he pays his bill.I love him for letting me warm my hands at it (his wrath at Gerard Hamilton) after a lapse of a hundred and twenty years.His letters to Arthur Young on the subject of carrots still tremble with emotion.This is magnificent, but it is not farming.
Edinburgh,Sept. 20, 1887.—Edmund Burke was the theme of a lecture delivered last night before the Edinburgh Philosophical Society by Mr. Augustine Birrell. “Nobody is fit to govern this country who has not drunk deep at the springs of Burke,” said Mr. Birrell, and he backed up this contention with a wealth of wit and argument which delighted and convinced his audience.
The following is a summary of his lecture: “To give a full account of Burke’s public life is no part of my plan. I propose merely to sketch his early career, to explain why he never obtained a seat in the cabinet, and to essay an analysis of the essential elements of his greatness. Born in 1729 in Dublin, he grew up with a brother who speculated and a sister of a type who never did any man any serious harm; acquired at school a brogue which death alone could silence; at Trinity College, Dublin, became an omnivorous reader; came in 1750 to London to study law, armed with a cultivated curiosity and no desperate determination to make his fortune; immediately, like the sensible Irishman he was, fellin love with Peg Woffington; for six years rambled everywhere his purse permitted, read everything he could lay his hands on, and talked everlastingly; in 1756 published an ‘Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful,’ and married Miss Jane Mary Nugent; in 1758 dared at David Garrick’s dinner table to contradict Dr. Johnson; in 1765 became a member of Parliament; and for the next sixteen years was the life and soul of the Whig party. When that party, in 1782, finally came into power, Burke’s only reward, however, was a minor office, a fact which, in view of his great merits, has amazed posterity. The explanation is that his contemporaries probably knew him, not as a commanding genius, but as an Irishman who was always in debt, whose relatives were rather disreputable, whose judgment was often wrong, and whose temper was violent. His significance for us grows from the fact that he applied the imagination of a poet of the first order to the business of life. He saw organized society steadily and saw it whole. Perceiving that only a thin crust of conventionality protects organized society from the volcanic heats of anarchy, he was afraid of reformers. He could not agree to dispense with the protection afforded by the huge mountains of prejudice and the ancient rivers of custom. He was the High Priest of Order. He loved justice and hated iniquity. The world needs his wisdom to-day.”
Mr. Birrell’s lecture was full of good phrases. For instance:
Hear and report a speech. If this appears to be undesirable or impossible, the teacher may read one to the class. The following are suggested:
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIBThe Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen;Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blastAnd breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved and forever grew still!. . . . . . . . .And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentiles, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.Lord Byron.←Contents
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen;Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blastAnd breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved and forever grew still!
. . . . . . . . .
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentiles, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord.
Lord Byron.←Contents
“To hold the mirror up to Nature.”Shakespeare.
“To hold the mirror up to Nature.”
Shakespeare.
Writea notice of one of the plays now on the local stage.
To keep its readers informed of the character of the plays being presented at local theaters is one of the functions of the newspaper. If the play is a classic, only the quality of the acting need be discussed. If it is new, the notice should also include a description of the play and of its merit. Fortunately, this can always be determined by one simple test—a test suggested by no less a critic than William Shakespeare: Does it hold the mirror up to nature? Does it give, in other words, an accurate picture of life? The stage, it may be added, always has been and is now infested by many so-called plays which are not plays at all, but mere conglomerations of more or less (usually less) moral and amusing jokes and antics. The events which some of them depict could occur neither on the earth, in the sky above the earth, nor in the waters underneath the earth. From others it would be impossible to cut out any character or scene without improving the whole. They fill the theater with people and the manager’s pocket-book with money, but they are not plays.
IThe Melting Potcomes to New York with a Chicago indorsement and the authority lent by the name of Mr. Israel Zangwill, as author. Mr. Zangwill’s theme is that the United States is a crucible in which all the races and nationalities of the world are to be fused into one glorious people.As a playThe Melting Pothas the intellectual tone to be expected from Mr. Zangwill. It also has really poetic touches. In humor it is less successful. In dramatic construction it is faulty, as are so many of the contemporary plays which try to teach or preach something.The play brings back to New York after a long absence that excellent actor, Mr. Walker Whiteside.—MetcalfeinLife(abbreviated).7
The Melting Potcomes to New York with a Chicago indorsement and the authority lent by the name of Mr. Israel Zangwill, as author. Mr. Zangwill’s theme is that the United States is a crucible in which all the races and nationalities of the world are to be fused into one glorious people.
As a playThe Melting Pothas the intellectual tone to be expected from Mr. Zangwill. It also has really poetic touches. In humor it is less successful. In dramatic construction it is faulty, as are so many of the contemporary plays which try to teach or preach something.
The play brings back to New York after a long absence that excellent actor, Mr. Walker Whiteside.—MetcalfeinLife(abbreviated).7
IIOfDavid Copperfield, Dickens’s favorite among his own works, there have been dramatizations almost innumerable. The latest, called theHighway of Life, by Louis N. Parker, author ofPomander WalkandDisraeli, has been done with extreme reverence for the text and with an elaborate scenic investiture that would have made glad the heart of the novelist, enamored as he was of the theater.It was to have been the autumn offering at His Majesty’s in London, with Sir Herbert Tree doubling asMicawberandDan’l Peggotty. The war caused a change of plans, so the first performance on any stage took place at Wallack’s in New York. Lennox Pawle, Mr. Parker’s son-in-law, realized a long-cherished ambition to step forth asMicawber. Fresh from his multimillionaire ofThe Money Makers, came Emmet Corrigan forDan’l Peggotty.Betsey Trotwoodfell to Eva Vincent. The Lieblers were especially happy in their selection of aMrs. Micawberin the person of Maggie Holloway Fisher. She spent days digging out and fashioning the costume she wears, and no one ever murdered a song more successfully than she at David’s dinner-party. An astonishingly faithful imitation of her languishing airs is given by PhilipTonge, when, asTraddles, he readsMicawber’sletter. J. V. Bryant, theCopperfield, and Vernon Steele, theSteerforth, are both English. O. P. Heggie deserves more than a passing word of commendation for the things he refrains from doing asUriah Heep. He is not forever going through that waterless washing of the hands.There are ten different sets of scenery inThe Highway of Life, all charming or effective as the case may be. For the background of Mr. Wickfield’s garden at Canterbury we have a glimpse of the famous cathedral, and fromBetsey Trotwood’sdomain we get a view of the chalk cliffs and downs at Dover. A happy conceit throws shadow pictures of the principal characters upon a sheet as they cross the stage just before the first curtain rises.—Matthew White, Jr., inMunsey’s(abbreviated).8
OfDavid Copperfield, Dickens’s favorite among his own works, there have been dramatizations almost innumerable. The latest, called theHighway of Life, by Louis N. Parker, author ofPomander WalkandDisraeli, has been done with extreme reverence for the text and with an elaborate scenic investiture that would have made glad the heart of the novelist, enamored as he was of the theater.
It was to have been the autumn offering at His Majesty’s in London, with Sir Herbert Tree doubling asMicawberandDan’l Peggotty. The war caused a change of plans, so the first performance on any stage took place at Wallack’s in New York. Lennox Pawle, Mr. Parker’s son-in-law, realized a long-cherished ambition to step forth asMicawber. Fresh from his multimillionaire ofThe Money Makers, came Emmet Corrigan forDan’l Peggotty.Betsey Trotwoodfell to Eva Vincent. The Lieblers were especially happy in their selection of aMrs. Micawberin the person of Maggie Holloway Fisher. She spent days digging out and fashioning the costume she wears, and no one ever murdered a song more successfully than she at David’s dinner-party. An astonishingly faithful imitation of her languishing airs is given by PhilipTonge, when, asTraddles, he readsMicawber’sletter. J. V. Bryant, theCopperfield, and Vernon Steele, theSteerforth, are both English. O. P. Heggie deserves more than a passing word of commendation for the things he refrains from doing asUriah Heep. He is not forever going through that waterless washing of the hands.
There are ten different sets of scenery inThe Highway of Life, all charming or effective as the case may be. For the background of Mr. Wickfield’s garden at Canterbury we have a glimpse of the famous cathedral, and fromBetsey Trotwood’sdomain we get a view of the chalk cliffs and downs at Dover. A happy conceit throws shadow pictures of the principal characters upon a sheet as they cross the stage just before the first curtain rises.—Matthew White, Jr., inMunsey’s(abbreviated).8
Material for this exercise may be secured in three places:
From the following list of paragraph topics, select those which are best worth discussing in connection with the play which you desire to review.
Select those about which you can get the fullest information.
If the play is noteworthy for its poetry, its wit, or its philosophy, these should be illustrated by one or two quotations. If the chief interest is in the story, tell the story. If its strength is derived from the skill of the actors, from the setting, or from character portrayal, devote your attention to a clear exposition of these phases of the play. Do not permit your notice to be shorter thanInor longer thanII.
If, for any reason, it seems unwise to send pupils to a play, they might be requested (1) to present the following program, or some modification of it, as typical of Shakespeare’s best work, and (2) to write notices or critiques thereon. It is perhaps unnecessary to add that no more profitable or delightful exercise can be devised for a class.
THE ART OF ACTINGHamlet.Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but, if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-patedfellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.First Player.I warrant your honour.Hamlet.Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o’erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature’s journeymen had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.First Player.I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us, sir.Hamlet.O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them; for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.William Shakespeare,Hamlet,ActIII, Scene 2.←Contents
Hamlet.Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on the tongue: but, if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul to hear a robustious periwig-patedfellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows and noise: I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod: pray you, avoid it.
First Player.I warrant your honour.
Hamlet.Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, the word to the action; with this special observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature: for anything so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance o’erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some of nature’s journeymen had made men and not made them well, they imitated humanity so abominably.
First Player.I hope we have reformed that indifferently with us, sir.
Hamlet.O, reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no more than is set down for them; for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh too; though, in the mean time, some necessary question of the play be then to be considered: that’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it. Go, make you ready.
William Shakespeare,Hamlet,ActIII, Scene 2.←Contents
“To be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.”—Shakespeare.
“To be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.”—Shakespeare.
Formost of his material a reporter must rely upon his success as an interviewer. This, it has already been pointed out, requires courage, tact, persistence, and some knowledge of human nature. Its performance is beyond the powers of most boys and girls, and besides, if they tried it, they would annoy people. As a substitute, the exercises that follow have been devised. They involve interviews, it is true, but only with the members of a pupil’s own family.
There are two ways to manage an interview. One may go directly at it, which is sometimes the best method, or one may approach the subject cautiously. It depends on the disposition of the person interviewed. The direct method will probably work well with mother, who is never out of sorts, but as to father—well, the case may be different; while sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, and uncles present endless problems and opportunities.
Before interviewing anybody, it is a good plan always to write down the questions you wish to ask. But do not read them to the person interviewed. Get them so thoroughly into your own mind that you will forget none of them. As an exercise, make a set of questions such as you would need to ask in order tolearn the facts contained in the following paragraphs from Franklin’sAutobiography.
Write the opening paragraphs of your own biography, covering the topics suggested below:
MY ANCESTORSOne of my uncles furnished me with several particulars relating to our ancestors. From his notes I learned that the family had lived in the same village, Ecton, in Northamptonshire, for three hundred years, and how much longer he knew not (perhaps from the time when the name of Franklin, that before was the name of an order of people, was assumed by them as a surname when others took surnames all over the kingdom), on a freehold of about thirty acres, aided by the smith’s business, which had continued in the family until his time, the eldest son being always bred to that business, a custom which he and my father followed as to their eldest sons. When I searched the records of Ecton, I found an account of their births, marriages, and burials from the year 1555 only, there being no registers kept in that parish at any time preceding. By that register I perceived that I was the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations back. My grandfather Thomas, who was born in 1598, lived at Ecton till he grew too old to follow business longer, when he went to live with his son John, a dyer at Banbury, in Oxfordshire, with whom my father served an apprenticeship. There my grandfather died and lies buried. We saw his gravestone in 1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton, and left it with the land to his only child, a daughter. My grandfather had four sons that grew up, viz: Thomas, John, Benjamin, and Josiah. I will give you what account I can of them.
One of my uncles furnished me with several particulars relating to our ancestors. From his notes I learned that the family had lived in the same village, Ecton, in Northamptonshire, for three hundred years, and how much longer he knew not (perhaps from the time when the name of Franklin, that before was the name of an order of people, was assumed by them as a surname when others took surnames all over the kingdom), on a freehold of about thirty acres, aided by the smith’s business, which had continued in the family until his time, the eldest son being always bred to that business, a custom which he and my father followed as to their eldest sons. When I searched the records of Ecton, I found an account of their births, marriages, and burials from the year 1555 only, there being no registers kept in that parish at any time preceding. By that register I perceived that I was the youngest son of the youngest son for five generations back. My grandfather Thomas, who was born in 1598, lived at Ecton till he grew too old to follow business longer, when he went to live with his son John, a dyer at Banbury, in Oxfordshire, with whom my father served an apprenticeship. There my grandfather died and lies buried. We saw his gravestone in 1758. His eldest son Thomas lived in the house at Ecton, and left it with the land to his only child, a daughter. My grandfather had four sons that grew up, viz: Thomas, John, Benjamin, and Josiah. I will give you what account I can of them.
Write an account of your own ancestors, choosing either your father’s or your mother’s family. Let the length be about the same as that of the model. The topics discussed should include the following:
Your father, mother, uncles, aunts, grandfathers, and grandmothers will furnish you with the material for your composition; and their aid may be supplemented by the books of genealogy that you will find in the public library. Remember that the items listed above were suggested to Franklin by his material; if you have interesting facts or traditions that cannot be included under the heads which he uses, put them in none the less. Matter should determine form.
MY UNCLESThomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious, and encouraged in learning (as all my uncles were) by an Esquire, then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified himself for the business of scrivener; became a considerable man in the county; was a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings for the county or town of Northampton, and his own village, of which many instances were related of him, and much taken notice of and patronized by the then Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, January6, old style, just four years to a day before I was born. The account we received of his life and character from some old people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as something extraordinary. “Had he died on the same day,” you said, “one might have supposed a transmigration.”John was bred a dyer, I believe, of woolens. Benjamin was bred a silk dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man. I remember him well, for when he was a boy he came over to my father in Boston, and lived in the house with us for some years. He lived to a great age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston. He left behind him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting of little occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations. He had formed a shorthand of his own, which he taught me; but, never practicing it, I have now forgot it. I was named after this uncle, there being a particular affection between him and my father. He was very pious, a great attender of sermons of the best preachers, which he took down in his shorthand. He was also much of a politician.
Thomas was bred a smith under his father; but, being ingenious, and encouraged in learning (as all my uncles were) by an Esquire, then the principal gentleman in that parish, he qualified himself for the business of scrivener; became a considerable man in the county; was a chief mover of all public-spirited undertakings for the county or town of Northampton, and his own village, of which many instances were related of him, and much taken notice of and patronized by the then Lord Halifax. He died in 1702, January6, old style, just four years to a day before I was born. The account we received of his life and character from some old people at Ecton, I remember, struck you as something extraordinary. “Had he died on the same day,” you said, “one might have supposed a transmigration.”
John was bred a dyer, I believe, of woolens. Benjamin was bred a silk dyer, serving an apprenticeship at London. He was an ingenious man. I remember him well, for when he was a boy he came over to my father in Boston, and lived in the house with us for some years. He lived to a great age. His grandson, Samuel Franklin, now lives in Boston. He left behind him two quarto volumes, MS., of his own poetry, consisting of little occasional pieces addressed to his friends and relations. He had formed a shorthand of his own, which he taught me; but, never practicing it, I have now forgot it. I was named after this uncle, there being a particular affection between him and my father. He was very pious, a great attender of sermons of the best preachers, which he took down in his shorthand. He was also much of a politician.
Write an account of your uncles. Make it as rich as possible in concrete facts, for facts are the life and soul of composition. Let the length be about the same as that of the model. Note that Franklin discusses his uncles in an order determined by the principle that first and last places are the most conspicuous. He put the uncle about whom he knows most in last place, so as to have a strong ending, which grows, so to speak, to a climax; he puts the uncle who is entitled to second place first in order of discussion; and the uncle who is least important is mentioned in the middle.
MY PARENTSJosiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three children into New England about 1682. The conventicles having been forbidden by law and frequently disturbed induced some considerable men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy their mode of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four children more born there, and by a second wife ten more, in all seventeen, of whom I remember thirteen sitting at one time at his table, who all grew up to be men and women and married. I was the youngest son and the youngest child but two, and was born in Boston, New England. My mother, the second, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New England, of whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather, in his church history of that country, as “a godly, pious, learned Englishman.” I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional pieces, but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years since. It was written in 1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and people, and addressed to those then concerned in the government there. It was in favor of liberty of conscience and in behalf of the Baptists,Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution. The whole appeared to me to be written with a good deal of decent plainness and manly freedom. The six concluding lines I remember, though I have forgotten the two first of the stanza; but the purport of them was that his censures proceeded from good will and therefore he would be known to be the author:“Because to be a libellerI hate it with my heart.From Sherburne town, where now I dwell,My name I do put here;Without offence your real friend,It is Peter Folgier!”
Josiah, my father, married young, and carried his wife with three children into New England about 1682. The conventicles having been forbidden by law and frequently disturbed induced some considerable men of his acquaintance to remove to that country, and he was prevailed with to accompany them thither, where they expected to enjoy their mode of religion with freedom. By the same wife he had four children more born there, and by a second wife ten more, in all seventeen, of whom I remember thirteen sitting at one time at his table, who all grew up to be men and women and married. I was the youngest son and the youngest child but two, and was born in Boston, New England. My mother, the second, was Abiah Folger, daughter of Peter Folger, one of the first settlers of New England, of whom honorable mention is made by Cotton Mather, in his church history of that country, as “a godly, pious, learned Englishman.” I have heard that he wrote sundry small occasional pieces, but only one of them was printed, which I saw now many years since. It was written in 1675, in the home-spun verse of that time and people, and addressed to those then concerned in the government there. It was in favor of liberty of conscience and in behalf of the Baptists,Quakers, and other sectaries that had been under persecution. The whole appeared to me to be written with a good deal of decent plainness and manly freedom. The six concluding lines I remember, though I have forgotten the two first of the stanza; but the purport of them was that his censures proceeded from good will and therefore he would be known to be the author:
“Because to be a libellerI hate it with my heart.From Sherburne town, where now I dwell,My name I do put here;Without offence your real friend,It is Peter Folgier!”
“Because to be a libellerI hate it with my heart.From Sherburne town, where now I dwell,My name I do put here;Without offence your real friend,It is Peter Folgier!”
O. W. Holmes’sGrandmother’s Story of Bunker HillandDorothy Q.
PROCRASTINATIONBe wise to-day; ’tis madness to defer;Next day the fatal precedent will plead.Procrastination is the thief of time.At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;At fifty chides his infamous delay,Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve,In all the magnanimity of thoughtResolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.Edward Young.←Contents
Be wise to-day; ’tis madness to defer;Next day the fatal precedent will plead.Procrastination is the thief of time.At thirty, man suspects himself a fool;Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;At fifty chides his infamous delay,Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve,In all the magnanimity of thoughtResolves, and re-resolves; then dies the same.
Edward Young.←Contents
“’Tis not in mortals to command success.But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it.”Joseph Addison.
“’Tis not in mortals to command success.But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it.”
Joseph Addison.
The new suburban home of John Doe is located in a ten-acre tract on the northern side of the Seven-Mile Road, midway between Woodward Avenue and the Gratiot E. Turnpike. The material is reinforced concrete; the style, Colonial; the roof of green shingles; the size, 48 feet by 36 feet.From a front entrance porch a central hall 7 feet wide extends 29 feet to the rear of the house, terminating in a flight of stairs broken in the middle by a landing. Above this landing a circular window gives plenty of light and at the same time forms a decorative feature.On the right, as one enters the hall, is a room 9 feet by 14 feet, which may be used as a den or a reception room. Back of this is a living-room, 14 feet by 20 feet, with a fireplace at the rear end, and a French door that leads to a side piazza. This piazza, which is 20 feet by 7 feet, is covered and is equipped with sliding windows.On the other side of the hall, in front, is the dining-room, 16 feet by 14 feet. This room has a fireplace, which faces the street, and a French door, which leads to a side porch 8 feet by 10. The latter is enclosed with glass and is used as a breakfast porch. Directly behind this porch is a small sewing-room, and, partly behind the sewing-room and partly behind the dining-room, is the kitchen, which is 12 feet square. In the northwest corner of the house, directly north of the sewing-room and west of the kitchen, are a small back porch and an entry large enough for a refrigerator. East of the kitchen, between it and the main hall, are a passage and service stairways leading to the cellar and the upper floors. The kitchen is thus separated from the rest of the house, either way, by two doors, which prevents the odors of the cooking from escaping.The walls of the first floor are finished in oiled and waxed gumwood. The floors are oak, except in the kitchen, where hard pine is used.On the second floor the rear of the space above the main hall is occupied by a passage, the front by a bathroom. On the eastern side of this passage, above the den, is a bedroom 16 feet by 14 feet, and back of this, above the living-room, a bedroom 14 feet by 11 feet. The latter has a fireplace in the north wall. On the western side of the passage, in front, above the dining-room, is the owner’s chamber, 16 feet by 14 feet. From its southeast corner a door leads to the bathroom already mentioned; on its southwest side is a porch, and in its northern wall are two closets and a fireplace. In its rear a passage leads to a fourth chamber, 14 feet by 10 feet, which has an alcove, 9 feet by 8 feet. This alcove is directly above the sewing-room and the chamber is in the northwest corner of the house. Between it and the service stairway is a second bathroom.On the third floor are three large chambers, an unfinished room for storage, and a servants’ bath.The cellar contains a laundry, a vegetable closet, coal-bins, and a hot-water heating-plant.
The new suburban home of John Doe is located in a ten-acre tract on the northern side of the Seven-Mile Road, midway between Woodward Avenue and the Gratiot E. Turnpike. The material is reinforced concrete; the style, Colonial; the roof of green shingles; the size, 48 feet by 36 feet.
From a front entrance porch a central hall 7 feet wide extends 29 feet to the rear of the house, terminating in a flight of stairs broken in the middle by a landing. Above this landing a circular window gives plenty of light and at the same time forms a decorative feature.
On the right, as one enters the hall, is a room 9 feet by 14 feet, which may be used as a den or a reception room. Back of this is a living-room, 14 feet by 20 feet, with a fireplace at the rear end, and a French door that leads to a side piazza. This piazza, which is 20 feet by 7 feet, is covered and is equipped with sliding windows.
On the other side of the hall, in front, is the dining-room, 16 feet by 14 feet. This room has a fireplace, which faces the street, and a French door, which leads to a side porch 8 feet by 10. The latter is enclosed with glass and is used as a breakfast porch. Directly behind this porch is a small sewing-room, and, partly behind the sewing-room and partly behind the dining-room, is the kitchen, which is 12 feet square. In the northwest corner of the house, directly north of the sewing-room and west of the kitchen, are a small back porch and an entry large enough for a refrigerator. East of the kitchen, between it and the main hall, are a passage and service stairways leading to the cellar and the upper floors. The kitchen is thus separated from the rest of the house, either way, by two doors, which prevents the odors of the cooking from escaping.
The walls of the first floor are finished in oiled and waxed gumwood. The floors are oak, except in the kitchen, where hard pine is used.
On the second floor the rear of the space above the main hall is occupied by a passage, the front by a bathroom. On the eastern side of this passage, above the den, is a bedroom 16 feet by 14 feet, and back of this, above the living-room, a bedroom 14 feet by 11 feet. The latter has a fireplace in the north wall. On the western side of the passage, in front, above the dining-room, is the owner’s chamber, 16 feet by 14 feet. From its southeast corner a door leads to the bathroom already mentioned; on its southwest side is a porch, and in its northern wall are two closets and a fireplace. In its rear a passage leads to a fourth chamber, 14 feet by 10 feet, which has an alcove, 9 feet by 8 feet. This alcove is directly above the sewing-room and the chamber is in the northwest corner of the house. Between it and the service stairway is a second bathroom.
On the third floor are three large chambers, an unfinished room for storage, and a servants’ bath.
The cellar contains a laundry, a vegetable closet, coal-bins, and a hot-water heating-plant.
TheArizonais the latest and greatest addition to the battle fleet of the United States.Her displacement is 31,400 tons, her length over all 600 feet, her maximum breadth 97 feet, and her draft under normal conditions 28 feet, 10 inches. Parsons’s turbines of 29,000 horse-power give her a speed of 21 knots. Her fuelsupply is 2322 tons of oil. She carries a crew of 1000 men. Her cost was $16,000,000.Her armament consists of twelve fourteen-inch and twenty-two five-inch guns, four three-pounders for the launches, two three-inch guns for salutes, and four twenty-two-inch torpedo tubes. The big guns are mounted in four turrets, two forward and two aft, each containing three guns. The turrets nearer to the middle of the ship are enough higher than the forward and aft turrets to permit their guns to be fired directly ahead and astern respectively. This arrangement permits the concentration of six guns forward, six aft, and twelve on either broadside.This vessel is probably armored more heavily than any other warship afloat. Her main belt is sixteen inches thick, while theIron Duke, one of the latest British dreadnoughts, carries only twelve inches.
TheArizonais the latest and greatest addition to the battle fleet of the United States.
Her displacement is 31,400 tons, her length over all 600 feet, her maximum breadth 97 feet, and her draft under normal conditions 28 feet, 10 inches. Parsons’s turbines of 29,000 horse-power give her a speed of 21 knots. Her fuelsupply is 2322 tons of oil. She carries a crew of 1000 men. Her cost was $16,000,000.
Her armament consists of twelve fourteen-inch and twenty-two five-inch guns, four three-pounders for the launches, two three-inch guns for salutes, and four twenty-two-inch torpedo tubes. The big guns are mounted in four turrets, two forward and two aft, each containing three guns. The turrets nearer to the middle of the ship are enough higher than the forward and aft turrets to permit their guns to be fired directly ahead and astern respectively. This arrangement permits the concentration of six guns forward, six aft, and twelve on either broadside.
This vessel is probably armored more heavily than any other warship afloat. Her main belt is sixteen inches thick, while theIron Duke, one of the latest British dreadnoughts, carries only twelve inches.
Do not get your material from reading; get it from observation. Don’t steal it; earn it. Catch your fish; don’t buy a string of dead ones at the fish-market, and then lie about the way you obtained them. Few of us can be original, but we can all be honest and industrious.
Before you write, make a plan. It is as necessary in composition as in building. If the nature of your subject or the kind and quantity of your material render it desirable to deviate from the model, do not hesitate to do so. As a rule, however, it will be best to follow its plan rather closely. At all events, work from some plan. Don’t get the idea that you can dash off a finished exposition in a few minutes.
Exposition above everything else should be clear. Say what you mean and mean what you say.
The written expositions of house plans may be tested by having the pupils exchange papers, and asking the recipients to draw the plans from the compositions.
Rudyard Kipling’sThe Ship that Found Herself.
CHARITYThen gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman;Though they may gang a kennin’ wrang,To step aside is human.One point must still be greatly dark,The moving why they do it,And just as lamely can ye markHow far perhaps they rue it.Who made the heart ’tis he aloneDecidedly can try us;He knows each chord—its various tone,Each spring—its various bias.Then at the balance let’s be mute;We never can adjust it;What’s done we partly may compute,But know not what’s resisted.Robert Burns.←Contents
Then gently scan your brother man,Still gentler sister woman;Though they may gang a kennin’ wrang,To step aside is human.One point must still be greatly dark,The moving why they do it,And just as lamely can ye markHow far perhaps they rue it.
Who made the heart ’tis he aloneDecidedly can try us;He knows each chord—its various tone,Each spring—its various bias.Then at the balance let’s be mute;We never can adjust it;What’s done we partly may compute,But know not what’s resisted.
Robert Burns.←Contents
“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,Falling like dew upon a thought, producesThat which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.”Lord Byron.
“But words are things, and a small drop of ink,Falling like dew upon a thought, producesThat which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.”
Lord Byron.
Theexposition of ideas is difficult and important. It takes many forms, but only three can be noticed in this chapter: (1) Exposition through Narration; (2) Exposition through Condensation; (3) Exposition through Comparison. The three following models illustrate these three forms, respectively.
PUFFERSThe wise men of antiquity loved to convey instruction under the covering of apologue; and, though this practice is generally thought childish, we shall make no apology for adopting it on the present occasion. A generation which has bought eleven editions of a poem by Mr. Robert Montgomery may well condescend to listen to a fable of Pilpay.A pious Brahmin, it is written, made a vow that on a certain day he would sacrifice a sheep, and on the appointed morning he went forth to buy one. There lived in his neighborhood three rogues who knew of his vow, and laid a scheme for profiting by it. The first met him and said, “Oh Brahmin, wilt thou buy a sheep? I have one fit for sacrifice.” “It is for that very purpose,” said the holy man, “that I came forth this day.” Then the impostor opened a bag, and brought out of it an unclean beast, an ugly dog, lame and blind. Thereon the Brahmin cried out, “Wretch, who touchest things impure, and utterest things untrue,callest thou that cur a sheep?” “Truly,” answered the other, “it is a sheep of the finest fleece and of the sweetest flesh. O Brahmin, it will be an offering most acceptable to the gods.” “Friend,” said the Brahmin, “either thou or I must be blind.”Just then one of the accomplices came up. “Praised be the gods,” said this second rogue, “that I have been saved the trouble of going to the market for a sheep! This is such a sheep as I wanted. For how much wilt thou sell it?” When the Brahmin heard this his mind waved to and fro, like one swinging in the air at a holy festival. “Sir,” said he to the newcomer, “take heed what thou dost; this is no sheep, but an unclean cur.” “O Brahmin,” said the newcomer, “thou art drunk or mad!”At this time the third confederate drew near. “Let us ask this man,” said the Brahmin, “what the creature is, and I will stand by what he shall say.” To this the others agreed, and the Brahmin called out, “O stranger, what dost thou call this beast?” “Surely, O Brahmin,” said the knave, “it is a fine sheep.” Then the Brahmin said, “Surely the gods have taken away my senses”; and he asked pardon of him who carried the dog, and bought it for a measure of rice and a pot of ghee, and offered it up to the gods, who, being wroth at this unclean sacrifice, smote him with a sore disease in all his joints.Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrit Æsop. The moral, like the moral of every fable that is worth the telling, lies on the surface. The writer evidently means to caution us against the practices of puffers, a class of people who have more than once talked the public into the most absurd errors, but who surely never played a more curious or a more difficult trick than when they passed Mr. Robert Montgomery off upon the world as a great poet.—Thomas Babington Macaulay,Essay on Mr. Robert Montgomery’s Poems.
The wise men of antiquity loved to convey instruction under the covering of apologue; and, though this practice is generally thought childish, we shall make no apology for adopting it on the present occasion. A generation which has bought eleven editions of a poem by Mr. Robert Montgomery may well condescend to listen to a fable of Pilpay.
A pious Brahmin, it is written, made a vow that on a certain day he would sacrifice a sheep, and on the appointed morning he went forth to buy one. There lived in his neighborhood three rogues who knew of his vow, and laid a scheme for profiting by it. The first met him and said, “Oh Brahmin, wilt thou buy a sheep? I have one fit for sacrifice.” “It is for that very purpose,” said the holy man, “that I came forth this day.” Then the impostor opened a bag, and brought out of it an unclean beast, an ugly dog, lame and blind. Thereon the Brahmin cried out, “Wretch, who touchest things impure, and utterest things untrue,callest thou that cur a sheep?” “Truly,” answered the other, “it is a sheep of the finest fleece and of the sweetest flesh. O Brahmin, it will be an offering most acceptable to the gods.” “Friend,” said the Brahmin, “either thou or I must be blind.”
Just then one of the accomplices came up. “Praised be the gods,” said this second rogue, “that I have been saved the trouble of going to the market for a sheep! This is such a sheep as I wanted. For how much wilt thou sell it?” When the Brahmin heard this his mind waved to and fro, like one swinging in the air at a holy festival. “Sir,” said he to the newcomer, “take heed what thou dost; this is no sheep, but an unclean cur.” “O Brahmin,” said the newcomer, “thou art drunk or mad!”
At this time the third confederate drew near. “Let us ask this man,” said the Brahmin, “what the creature is, and I will stand by what he shall say.” To this the others agreed, and the Brahmin called out, “O stranger, what dost thou call this beast?” “Surely, O Brahmin,” said the knave, “it is a fine sheep.” Then the Brahmin said, “Surely the gods have taken away my senses”; and he asked pardon of him who carried the dog, and bought it for a measure of rice and a pot of ghee, and offered it up to the gods, who, being wroth at this unclean sacrifice, smote him with a sore disease in all his joints.
Thus, or nearly thus, if we remember rightly, runs the story of the Sanscrit Æsop. The moral, like the moral of every fable that is worth the telling, lies on the surface. The writer evidently means to caution us against the practices of puffers, a class of people who have more than once talked the public into the most absurd errors, but who surely never played a more curious or a more difficult trick than when they passed Mr. Robert Montgomery off upon the world as a great poet.—Thomas Babington Macaulay,Essay on Mr. Robert Montgomery’s Poems.
A Voltairean view of war may be of interest at this time. Some one has called attention to the illuminating discourse between Micromegas, gigantic dweller on one of the planets revolving about Sirius, and a company of our philosophers, as reported in the seventh chapter of the amusing fantasy bearing the name of the above-mentioned Sirian visitor. A free translation of a part of this conversation is here offered. After congratulating his terrestrial hearers on being so small and adding that, with so manifest a subordinationof matter to mind, they must pass their lives in the pleasures of intellectual pursuits and mutual love—a veritable spiritual existence—the stranger is thus answered by one of the philosophers: “We have more matter than we need for the accomplishment of much evil, if evil comes from matter, and more mind than we need if evil comes from mind. Do you know that at the present moment there are a hundred thousand fools of our species, wearing caps, who are killing a hundred thousand other animals wearing turbans, or who are themselves being massacred by the latter, and that almost everywhere on earth this is the immemorial usage?” The Sirian, properly shocked, demands the reason of these horrible encounters between creatures so puny. “It is all about a pile of dirt no bigger than your heel,” is the reply. “Not that any one of these millions of men marching to slaughter has the slightest claim to this pile of dirt; the only question is whether it shall belong to a certain man known as Sultan or to another having the title of Czar. Neither of the two has ever seen or ever will see the patch of ground in dispute, and hardly a single one of these animals engaged in killing one another has ever seen the animal for whom they are thus employed.” Again the stranger expresses his horror, and declares he has half a mind to annihilate with a kick or two the whole batch of ridiculous assassins. “Don’t give yourself the trouble,” is the rejoinder; “they will accomplish their own destruction fast enough. Know that ten years hence not a hundredth part of these miserable wretches will be left alive; and know, too, that even if they were not to draw the sword, hunger, exhaustion, or intemperance would make an end of most of them. Besides, they are not the ones to punish, but rather those sedentary barbarians who, from the ease and security of their private apartments, and while their dinner is digesting, order the massacre of a million men, and then solemnly return thanks to God for the achievement.” The visitor from Sirius is moved with pity for a race of beings presenting such astonishing contrasts.—The Dial, January1, 1915.9
A Voltairean view of war may be of interest at this time. Some one has called attention to the illuminating discourse between Micromegas, gigantic dweller on one of the planets revolving about Sirius, and a company of our philosophers, as reported in the seventh chapter of the amusing fantasy bearing the name of the above-mentioned Sirian visitor. A free translation of a part of this conversation is here offered. After congratulating his terrestrial hearers on being so small and adding that, with so manifest a subordinationof matter to mind, they must pass their lives in the pleasures of intellectual pursuits and mutual love—a veritable spiritual existence—the stranger is thus answered by one of the philosophers: “We have more matter than we need for the accomplishment of much evil, if evil comes from matter, and more mind than we need if evil comes from mind. Do you know that at the present moment there are a hundred thousand fools of our species, wearing caps, who are killing a hundred thousand other animals wearing turbans, or who are themselves being massacred by the latter, and that almost everywhere on earth this is the immemorial usage?” The Sirian, properly shocked, demands the reason of these horrible encounters between creatures so puny. “It is all about a pile of dirt no bigger than your heel,” is the reply. “Not that any one of these millions of men marching to slaughter has the slightest claim to this pile of dirt; the only question is whether it shall belong to a certain man known as Sultan or to another having the title of Czar. Neither of the two has ever seen or ever will see the patch of ground in dispute, and hardly a single one of these animals engaged in killing one another has ever seen the animal for whom they are thus employed.” Again the stranger expresses his horror, and declares he has half a mind to annihilate with a kick or two the whole batch of ridiculous assassins. “Don’t give yourself the trouble,” is the rejoinder; “they will accomplish their own destruction fast enough. Know that ten years hence not a hundredth part of these miserable wretches will be left alive; and know, too, that even if they were not to draw the sword, hunger, exhaustion, or intemperance would make an end of most of them. Besides, they are not the ones to punish, but rather those sedentary barbarians who, from the ease and security of their private apartments, and while their dinner is digesting, order the massacre of a million men, and then solemnly return thanks to God for the achievement.” The visitor from Sirius is moved with pity for a race of beings presenting such astonishing contrasts.—The Dial, January1, 1915.9
Theodor Mommsen’s “Law of National Expansion,” in view of the present war, is interesting. In hisHistory of Rome, which was published in 1857, he says in substance that a young nation which has both vigor and culture is sure to absorb older nations whose vigor is waning and younger nations whose civilization is undeveloped, just as an educated young man is sure to supplant an old man in his dotage and to get the better of a muscular ignoramus. That nations, as well as individuals, should do this is, in Mommsen’s opinion, not only inevitable but right.In ancient times the Romans were the only people in whom were combined a superior political organization and a superior civilization. The result was that they subdued the Greek states of the East, which were ripe for destruction, and dispossessed the people of lower grades of culture in the West. The union of Italy was accomplished through the overthrow of the Samnite and Etruscan civilizations. The Roman Empire was built upon the ruins of countless secondary nationalities which had long before been marked out for destruction by the levelling hand of civilization. WhenLatiumbecame too narrow for the Romans, they cured their political ills by conquering the rest of Italy. When Italy became too narrow, Cæsar crossed the Alps.So far Mommsen. The conclusions drawn from his “law”by some of his successors are ingenious. They amount to this: As Rome grew in power and culture, so Brandenburg, since the days of the Great Elector, has been expanding in spirit and in territory. That illustrious prince began by absorbing Prussia. Frederick the Great added Silesia and a slice of Poland.WilhelmIobtainedSchleswig, Holstein,Alsace, and Lorraine by war, and Saxony and Bavaria by benevolent assimilation. The present Kaiser has already acquired Belgium by the former and Austria by the latter process. Like the Rome of Cæsar, the German Empire is now at war on the one hand with decadent civilizations and on the other with a horde of barbarians. What Greece and Carthage were to Rome, France and England are to Germany, while Russia is the modern counterpart of the Gauls, Britons, and Germans of theCommentaries. Such at least is what certain writers think the Germans think.
Theodor Mommsen’s “Law of National Expansion,” in view of the present war, is interesting. In hisHistory of Rome, which was published in 1857, he says in substance that a young nation which has both vigor and culture is sure to absorb older nations whose vigor is waning and younger nations whose civilization is undeveloped, just as an educated young man is sure to supplant an old man in his dotage and to get the better of a muscular ignoramus. That nations, as well as individuals, should do this is, in Mommsen’s opinion, not only inevitable but right.
In ancient times the Romans were the only people in whom were combined a superior political organization and a superior civilization. The result was that they subdued the Greek states of the East, which were ripe for destruction, and dispossessed the people of lower grades of culture in the West. The union of Italy was accomplished through the overthrow of the Samnite and Etruscan civilizations. The Roman Empire was built upon the ruins of countless secondary nationalities which had long before been marked out for destruction by the levelling hand of civilization. WhenLatiumbecame too narrow for the Romans, they cured their political ills by conquering the rest of Italy. When Italy became too narrow, Cæsar crossed the Alps.
So far Mommsen. The conclusions drawn from his “law”by some of his successors are ingenious. They amount to this: As Rome grew in power and culture, so Brandenburg, since the days of the Great Elector, has been expanding in spirit and in territory. That illustrious prince began by absorbing Prussia. Frederick the Great added Silesia and a slice of Poland.WilhelmIobtainedSchleswig, Holstein,Alsace, and Lorraine by war, and Saxony and Bavaria by benevolent assimilation. The present Kaiser has already acquired Belgium by the former and Austria by the latter process. Like the Rome of Cæsar, the German Empire is now at war on the one hand with decadent civilizations and on the other with a horde of barbarians. What Greece and Carthage were to Rome, France and England are to Germany, while Russia is the modern counterpart of the Gauls, Britons, and Germans of theCommentaries. Such at least is what certain writers think the Germans think.
Cæsar’sCommentaries on the Gallic War. Macaulay’sFrederick the Great. Southey’sLife of Nelson. Parkman’sThe Conspiracy of Pontiac. Parkman’sMontcalm and Wolfe. Fiske’sThe Mississippi Valley in the Civil War.
HUMANITYI would not enter on my list of friends,Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility, the manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.An inadvertent step may crush the snailThat crawls at evening in the public path;But he that has humanity, forewarned,Will tread aside and let the reptile live.The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,A visitor unwelcome, into scenesSacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,The chamber, or refectory, may die;A necessary act incurs no blame.Not so when, held within their proper bounds,And guiltless of offence, they range the air,Or take their pastime in the spacious field.There they are privileged; and he that huntsOr harms them there is guilty of a wrong.The sum is this: If man’s convenience, health,Or safety interfere, his rights and claimsAre paramount, and must extinguish theirs.Else they are all—the meanest things that are—As free to live and to enjoy that life,As God was free to form them at the first,Who, in his sovereign wisdom, made them all.Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sonsTo love it too.William Cowper.←Contents
I would not enter on my list of friends,Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility, the manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.An inadvertent step may crush the snailThat crawls at evening in the public path;But he that has humanity, forewarned,Will tread aside and let the reptile live.The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,A visitor unwelcome, into scenesSacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,The chamber, or refectory, may die;A necessary act incurs no blame.Not so when, held within their proper bounds,And guiltless of offence, they range the air,Or take their pastime in the spacious field.There they are privileged; and he that huntsOr harms them there is guilty of a wrong.The sum is this: If man’s convenience, health,Or safety interfere, his rights and claimsAre paramount, and must extinguish theirs.Else they are all—the meanest things that are—As free to live and to enjoy that life,As God was free to form them at the first,Who, in his sovereign wisdom, made them all.Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sonsTo love it too.
William Cowper.←Contents