Thus God has willedThat man when fully skilledStill gropes in twilight dim,Encompassed all his hoursBy fearfullest powersInflexible to him.That so he may discernHis feebleness,And e’en for earth’s successTo Him in wisdom turn,Who holds for us the keys of either home,Earth and the world to come.—Cardinal Newman.
Thus God has willedThat man when fully skilledStill gropes in twilight dim,Encompassed all his hoursBy fearfullest powersInflexible to him.That so he may discernHis feebleness,And e’en for earth’s successTo Him in wisdom turn,Who holds for us the keys of either home,Earth and the world to come.—Cardinal Newman.
Thus God has willedThat man when fully skilledStill gropes in twilight dim,Encompassed all his hoursBy fearfullest powersInflexible to him.That so he may discernHis feebleness,And e’en for earth’s successTo Him in wisdom turn,Who holds for us the keys of either home,Earth and the world to come.
Thus God has willed
That man when fully skilled
Still gropes in twilight dim,
Encompassed all his hours
By fearfullest powers
Inflexible to him.
That so he may discern
His feebleness,
And e’en for earth’s success
To Him in wisdom turn,
Who holds for us the keys of either home,
Earth and the world to come.
—Cardinal Newman.
—Cardinal Newman.
ByProf. M. B. GOFF.
We now enter upon what is usually called the “heated term,” in earnest. The “Dog Days” are upon us, that is, we say they are; but the statement is a somewhat doubtful one. We have the story that the ancients regarded the Dog Star,Sirius, in the constellationCanis Major, as the source of “unnumbered woes,” because it rose a short time before the sun about the season of their year that the hot weather set in, and diseases incident to their climate more than usually prevailed. It is said that they estimated this period as continuing for the space of forty consecutive days, beginning twenty days before, and continuing twenty days after what was called the heliacal (that is, rising just long enough before the sun to be visible) rising of the Dog Star. Now, the difficulty we moderns find in fixing the limits of these days is this: The heliacal rising of the star for any one place can readily be found; but when determined for one place, it would not suit for another in a different latitude. Besides, the right ascension of Sirius, on account of the precession of the equinoxes, is constantly increasing, and hence for the same place these days fall later each year, in the course of time occurring even in mid-winter. Almanac makers, when they notice them at all, seem to take the liberty of treating them to suit their own convenience. For example, one of this year’s publications announces that “Dog Days” begin on the 21st of July, and end on the 30th of August, making, as we see by including one extreme date, altogether the forty days claimed by the ancients. But in this latitude, on the former date, the star rises at 5:43 a. m., one hour and five minutesafter, and on the latter date at 3:06 a. m., two hours and twenty minutesbeforesunrise. Others fix the time from July 3rd to August 11th (forty days), without any respect to the rising ofSirius, which on the former date appears above our horizon at 6:51 a. m., or two hours and seventeen minutes after, and on the latter date at 4:18 a. m., forty-nine minutes before sunrise. Others, again, making an effort, we presume, to adapt them to our climate, regard them as continuing only thirty-two days, namely, from July 24th to August 24th. Taking it all in all, we may as well leave them to the Egyptians and Ethiopians, among whom the ideas in regard to them seem to have originated, as a superstition of the past ages, taking our “heated term” at its usual time, July and August, and throwing our “Dog Days,” as some do physic, “to the dogs.”
Whether we account for it by the extreme heat or not, it is nevertheless a fact that the sun lags along behind our clocks during this entire month; on the 1st, not reaching the meridian till 12:03:41 p. m.; on the 15th till 12:05:44 p. m., and on the 30th till six minutes and nine seconds after noon. The time of the sun’s rising on the 1st, 15th and 30th, is 4:33, 4:43 and 4:56 a. m.; and the time of setting on the same dates is 7:34, 7:29 and 7:17 p. m., respectively. The 30th day of this month will be about forty minutes shorter than the 1st, the latter being fifteen hours one minute, and the former fourteen hours and twenty-one minutes in length. The time from daybreak to the end of twilight is, on the 1st, 19 hours 24 minutes. Sun is due west on the 30th at 5:29 p. m. Its greatest elevation above the horizon in latitude 41° 30′, is 71° 33⅔′.
Exhibits the following phases: Full moon, 5:02 a. m. on the 8th; last quarter, 4:30 p. m. on the 15th; new moon, 7:46 a. m. on the 22nd; first quarter on the 29th, at 4:53 p. m. On the 1st it sets at 12:11 a. m., and on the 30th, at 11:51 p. m. On the 15th, rises at 11:32 p. m. On the 4th, at 7:54 a. m., and again on the 31st at 11:00 p. m. it is at its maximum distance from the earth. On the 20th, at 1:36 a. m. is nearest the earth. Its greatest elevation, equal 67° 13⅔′, occurs on the 19th; and its least elevation, amounting to 29° 42⅔′ on the 5th.
This planet will be morning star till the 13th, after which it will be evening star till the end of the month. It rises on the 1st at 3:41 a. m.; sets on the 15th at 7:41 p. m., and on the 30th at 8:07 p. m., on which latter date it is possibly visible to the naked eye. Its motion during the month is direct, and amounts to 62° 30′ 31.5″. On the 17th at 6:00 a. m. it is nearest the sun; on the 12th at 1:00 a. m., 6° 20′ north of Venus; on the same date, at midnight, is in superior conjunction with the sun; that is, it is in a line with the earth and sun, and in the order, Earth, Sun, Mercury; on the 23rd, at 3:00 a. m., 1° 10′ north of Jupiter; and on the 23rd, at 7:05 a. m., 6° 30′ north of the moon. Diameter decreases from 5.6″ to 5.4″.
A view of Venus during this month through a telescope of moderate power would be an interesting sight, since she now presents the appearance of our moon in its first or last quarter, and thus seems quite different from the simple star that is visible to the naked eye. She will be evening star till the 11th, at which time she reaches her inferior conjunction, that is, reaches a point directly between the earth and the sun; after which she will be morning star, not only to the end of this month, but for several successive months. Of course, for a number of days both before and after conjunction, she will, on account of her proximity to the sun, be invisible. We shall miss her “beaming countenance,” but we know that she will appear again. On the 1st she sets at 8:14 p. m., and rises on the 15th at 4:38 a. m., and on the 30th at 3:17 a. m. On the 21st at 6:28 a. m. she is 1° 11′ south of the moon; and on the 29th at 11:00 a. m., farthest from the sun.
Has from the 1st to 30th a direct motion of 15° 36′ 32″, and although much reduced in apparent diameter, is still quite a prominent object in the evening sky, following westward in the wake of Jupiter. His diameter decreases from 5.6″ to 5.2″. He rises in the forenoon, and sets as follows, in the evening: On the 1st at 10:47; on the 15th at 10:11; and on the 30th at 9:31. On the 26th at 5:04 p. m. he is 2° 5′ north of the moon.
Will be evening star throughout the entire month, though at its close approaching so near the sun as to be scarcely visible. He sets at the following times: On the 1st at 9:08; on the 15th at 8:22; and on the 30th at 7:33 p. m. His motion is direct, and amounts from the 1st to the 30th, to 6° 17′ 55″. Diameter decreases from 30.2″ to 29.6″. On the 23rd, at 3:00 a. m. is 1° 10′ south of Mercury; and on the same day at 6:34 a. m. is 5° 21′ north of the moon.
This planet is now one of our morning stars, rising on the 1st at 3:06, on the 15th at 2:17, and on the 30th at 1:25 a. m. Motion direct, amounting to 3° 32′ 30¾″. Diameter increases from 15.6″ to 16.2″. On the 19th, at 1:01 p. m. is 3° 2′ north of the moon.
Whose direct motion during the month is estimated at 1° 3′ 26″, continues itsroleas evening star, setting at the following times: On the 1st at 11:10; on the 15th at 10:16; and on the 30th at 9:17 p. m. On the date last named,Beta Virginiswill be only two minutes south of and will set at the same time as the planet. On the 19th, at 2:00 p. m., Uranus will be eleven minutes north of Mars; and on the 26th, at 9:57 a. m. will be 2° 43′ north of the moon.
Scarcely affords this month material for comment. Its diameter at present appears to be 2.6″. Its motion is 40′ 35″, and is direct. On the 1st it rises at 1:44 a. m.; on the 15th at 12:49a. m.; and on the 30th at 11:45 p. m. At 5:27 p. m., on the 17th, it will be 1° 11′ north of the moon.
The mid-day shadows lengthening northward indicate to us northern folks that “Old Sol” has departed on his annual southern tour. He now cuts off the day at both ends, on the 1st rising 25 minutes later and setting 20 minutes earlier than on the 1st of July. His change in declination since June 20th, beginning of summer, till August 31st, will be a little over 15°, and the decrease in the length of the day for the same time, will be a trifle less than two hours. He will come to the meridian on the 1st, at six minutes and two seconds after 12:00; on the 15th at four minutes and eight seconds after 12:00; and on the 30th at sixteen seconds after 12:00. On the same dates he will rise at 4:58, 5:11, and 5:26 a. m., and set at 7:14, 6:57, and 6:35 p. m. Daybreak will occur at 3:05, 3:23, and 3:44 a. m., and twilight will end at 9:07, 8:45, and 8:16 p. m. Greatest elevation in latitude 41° 30′ will be 66° 18⅔′.
Phases occur in the following order and time: Full moon on the 6th, at 5:58 p. m.; last quarter on the 13th, at 10:00 p. m.; new moon on the 20th, at 4:46 p. m.; and first quarter on the 28th, at 10:34 a. m. The moon rises on the 15th at 12:39 a. m.; and sets on the 1st and 31st at 12:30 and 12:43 a. m., respectively. On the 16th at 11:00 a. m., nearest the earth; on the 28th, at 5:30 p. m., farthest from the earth. Its greatest elevation, 67° 4′, occurs on the 15th, and its least, 29° 50.8′ on the second day of the month.
Reaches its greatest elongation east (27° 21′), very nearly its maximum distance from the sun; yet the opportunity for observation is not so favorable as on many occasions when the elongation is several degrees less. And the reason is, that the planet is now moving southward, is in fact on the 23rd, the date of its greatest eastern elongation, 1° 16′ south, while the sun is still 11° 9′ north of the equator, and sets, therefore, only about fifty minutes later than the sun. The time of the planet’s setting is for the 1st, 8:07 p. m.; 15th, 7:53 p. m.; 30th, 7:16 p. m. It has a direct motion of 32° 49′ 39″. Its diameter increases 2.6″, namely, from 5.6″ to 8.2″. It is farthest from the sun on the 20th, at 6:00 a. m. On the 23d, at 8:00 a. m., 3° 5′ south of Uranus.
Again reaches a position of greatest brilliancy on the 17th, and during the entire month will be an object of interest to early risers. On the 2nd she will appear stationary; and on the 17th at 4:37 p. m. will be 23 minutes south of the moon. Her diameter will decrease from 49″ on the 1st to 31.8″ on the 30th. Her time of rising will be as follows: On the 1st, at 3:08; on the 15th, at 2:23; and on the 30th, at 2:01 a. m.
Seems to grow “small by degrees and beautifully less,” his diameter at the close of the month being only 4.8″. He sets at 9:25 on the evening of the 1st; at 8:51 p. m. on the 15th, and at 8:13 p. m. on the 30th. On the 24th, at 10:29 a. m. he is only 10′ south of the moon.
With his huge form and accompanying satellites fare the fate of all “lights” terrestrial and celestial, and his “glory” sinks into insignificance beside that of his “ruling power,” as he on the 7th, at 1:00 p. m. comes in conjunction with the sun and changes his relation from that of an evening to that of a morning star. On the 1st he sets at 7:26 p. m.; on the 15th rises at 4:44 a. m.; and on the 30th rises at 4:02 a. m. Is in conjunction with and 5° 8′ north of the moon at 2:36 on the morning of the 20th.
Another of our morning stars, rises on the 1st and 15th at 1:18 and 12:28 a. m., respectively; and on the 29th, at 11:34 p. m. His diameter increases from 16.2″ to 16.8″. His motion is direct, amounting to about 2° 43′. He can be found a little north ofZeta, the star denoting the extremity of the northern horn of the constellationTaurus. On the 16th, at 12:41 a. m. will be 3° 17′ north of the moon.
Which on the 30th of last month was so nearBeta Virginis, has moved about 1° 35′ farther to the east; but can be more readily pointed out by its proximity to this than to that of any other star. Uranus is an evening star, setting at the following dates: 1st, at 9:10 p. m.; 15th, at 8:17 p. m.; 30th, at 7:20 p. m. Diameter, 3.6″. On the 22nd, at 9:35 p. m. is 2° 25′ north of the moon; and on the 23rd is 3° 5′ north of Mercury, at 8:00 a. m., an hour at which neither planet can be seen by the unaided eye.
Last, but by no means least of the heavenly bodies, gives us this month more than the usual variety, which, however, is not saying much for the spice it affords. But it has a direct motion of 10° 42′, and a retrograde motion of about 1′. On the 14th, at 11:00 p. m. it is in quadrature (90° west of the sun); on the 26th, at 5:00 a. m. it is stationary, and on the 14th is 1° 25′ north of the moon.
“Crosses the line” on the 22nd at 10:13 a. m.; in other words, enters the signLibra, giving us a clearly marked time for the beginning of another season—Autumn—which lasts 89 days, 18 hours, 29 minutes, nearly. His greatest elevation above the horizon in latitude 41° 30′ is about 56° 28′, an indication that his time above the horizon is decidedly shorter than it was last June, when his elevation was a little more than 71° 57′. And this also is confirmed by the times of his rising and setting, which are as follows: On the 1st, rises at 5:28 a. m., and sets at 6:32 p. m.; on the 15th, rises at 5:41 a. m., and sets at 6:09 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at 5:56 a. m., and sets at 5:43 p. m. Theoretically, on the 22nd, the day and night should each be exactly 12 hours long; but practically the daylight is longer than the darkness, on account of the refraction of light by the earth’s atmosphere, which has the effect of bringing into view the sun before it actually “rises,” and of detaining it in sight after it has “set.” Twilight also affords us so much additional light that we may safely assert that in any given place on the earth’s surface there is much more “daylight” than “night.” For example, on the 30th, daybreak occurs at 4:22 a. m., and twilight ends at 7:18 p. m., thus giving three hours and nine minutes in which to lengthen our daily toil, if we choose so to do. In the same latitude, and in different latitudes, as was shown inThe Chautauquanfor June, the length of twilight varies, so that in some instances the entire night is only twilight. Are these facts any indication that we should be awake longer than we sleep? or that we should labor more hours than we rest? Should we be always
“Up and doing,With a heart for any fate,Still achieving, still pursuing”?
“Up and doing,With a heart for any fate,Still achieving, still pursuing”?
“Up and doing,With a heart for any fate,Still achieving, still pursuing”?
“Up and doing,
With a heart for any fate,
Still achieving, still pursuing”?
The man who attends to his neighbor’s business generally has his hands full. So has the man who attends to the motions of his neighbor, the moon. By the time he investigates her parallax, diameter, distance, revolution on her axis, sidereal and synodic revolutions, the form of her orbit, her phases, discusses her physical properties, determines her heat, height of her mountains, size of her craters, describes her librations,decides upon the effect she exercises on the weather, and a thousand more or less of other things, he had better settle down and make it the business of his life. And if he does, he may be able to show some good results of his labors. It is well for us that not any single man, but many men, have given our satellite so much attention; for it is only by the uniting of the results of their researches that we are enabled with comparative ease to predict what business our neighbor has on hand, and when and how she will perform her duties. Thus, we find that she will this month present the following phases: On the 5th, at 5:47 a. m., full; on the 12th, at 3:08 a. m., last quarter; on the 19th, at 4:29 a. m., new moon; on the 27th, at 5:13 a. m., first quarter. She will rise on the 15th at 1:39 a. m., and set on the 1st and 30th at 1:36 a. m. and 1:18 a. m., respectively. At 12:54 p. m., on the 10th, will be nearest the earth (in perigee), and on the 25th, at 12:54 (exactly fifteen days later), farthest from the earth, or in apogee. Greatest elevation on the 12th, amounting to 66° 54⅔′; least elevation on the 26th, equaling 30° 8′.
Will be evening star till the time of its inferior conjunction on the 19th, after which it will be morning star. It appears stationary on the 6th, and also again on the 28th. On the 19th it is 1° 34′ south of the moon. Its apparent diameter increases from 8.4″ to 10.4″, and then diminishes to 7.4″ at the close of the month. It sets on the 1st at 7:08 p. m.; on the 15th at 6:05 p. m.; and rises on the 30th at 4:37 a. m.
Reaches her greatest distance east of the sun, 46° 6′, on the 29th, at 7:00 a. m. Her diameter decreases from 30.8″ to 22″; and her direct motion amounts to 27° 40′ 55.2″. On the 15th, at 1:08 p. m., she is 2° 26′ north of the moon. She rises on the 1st, 15th and 30th, at 2:00, 1:59, and 2:11 a. m., respectively.
Still retains his position as evening star, setting on the evening of the 1st, 15th and 30th in the same order, at 8:08, 7:36 and 7:11. His diameter decreases from 4.8″ to 4.6″. Direct motion amounts to about 18° 40′ 12″ of arc. He is 2° 20′ south of the moon on the 22nd, at 6:48 a. m.
Is morning star, rising at the following times: 1st, at 3:55 a. m.; 15th, at 3:16 a. m.; 30th, at 2:32 a. m. Its motion is direct, and equals about 5° 45′ 14″ of arc. Its diameter increases one second, being on the 30th 31″. On the 16th, at 8:30 p. m. is 4° 55′ north of the moon.
The satellites of Jupiter, four in number and designated as 1, 2, 3, 4, outwardly from the planet, are frequently used to find the longitude. To do this, however, requires the use of a telescope. By observing the time at which one of these satellites passes into or emerges from the shadow of its primary, and comparing this time with the recorded time of the same event in Washington City, for example, one can determine whether he is east or west of this city, and how many degrees. On the 14th No. 1 enters the shadow of Jupiter at 4:46 a. m., Washington mean time. Suppose the observer at Allegheny Observatory should note the same event as occurring at exactly 57 minutes 50.84 seconds after four, Allegheny Observatory time. He would find the difference of the two times to be 11 m. 50.84 s., which reduced to longitude by multiplying by 15 (since one hour of time equals 15° of arc) gives the difference of longitude 2° 57′ 40.3″. And since the ingress occurred at Allegheny Observatory at an earlier hour (by its local time) than by Washington local time, it follows that the latter place is 2° 57′ 40.3″ east of the former.
Continues as in the last two or three months among the morning stars, rising as follows: 1st, at 11:22 p. m.; 15th, at 10:30 p. m.; 30th, at 9:33 p. m. His diameter increases from 16.8″ to 17.8″. His motion is direct, and equal to 1° 7′ 25″. On the 12th, at 9:17 a. m. he is 3° 28′ north of the moon; and on the 16th, at 10:00 a. m. 90° west of the sun, that is, in quadrature.
Makes a direct motion of 1° 43′ 22″ during the month. Its diameter reaches its minimum for the year, 3.48″, on the 20th. On the 19th, at 4:13 a. m. it is 2° 14′ north of the moon. It begins the month as an evening, but closes it as a morning star. It is, however, most of the time above the horizon in daylight. On the 1st it rises at 6:54 a. m. and sets at 7:06 p. m.; on the 30th it rises at 5:24 a. m., and sets 5:30 p. m.
On the contrary, is above the horizon most of the month during the night, rising on the 1st at 9:37 p. m.; on the 15th at 8:43 p. m.; and on the 30th at 7:44 p. m. Its motion is about 20′ 52″ retrograde, and its diameter nearly constant at 2.6″. On the 10th, at 5:20 a. m., appears 1° 33′ north of the moon.
By HELEN G. HAWTHORNE.
Soul of mine,Would’st thou choose for life a motto half divine?Let this be thy guard and guideThrough the future, reaching wide;Whether good or ill betide,Rise higher!From the mireWhere the masses blindly grovel, rise higher!From the slavish love of gold,From the justice bought and sold,From the narrow rules of old,Rise higher!Art thou vexedBy the rasping world around thee, and perplexedBy the sin and sorrow rife,By the falsehood and the strife?To a larger, grander lifeRise higher!If thou findestThat the friends thy heart had counted truest, kindest,Have betrayed thee, why should’st thouWear for this a frowning brow?Leave their falsehood far behind;Rise higher!Let each careLift thee upward to a higher, purer air;Then let Fortune do her worst;Whether Fate has blessed or cursed;Little matter, if thou firstRise higher!And at last,When thy sorrows and temptations all are past,And the grand Death Angel bringsSummons from the King of Kings,Thou shalt still, on angels’ wingsRise higher.
Soul of mine,Would’st thou choose for life a motto half divine?Let this be thy guard and guideThrough the future, reaching wide;Whether good or ill betide,Rise higher!From the mireWhere the masses blindly grovel, rise higher!From the slavish love of gold,From the justice bought and sold,From the narrow rules of old,Rise higher!Art thou vexedBy the rasping world around thee, and perplexedBy the sin and sorrow rife,By the falsehood and the strife?To a larger, grander lifeRise higher!If thou findestThat the friends thy heart had counted truest, kindest,Have betrayed thee, why should’st thouWear for this a frowning brow?Leave their falsehood far behind;Rise higher!Let each careLift thee upward to a higher, purer air;Then let Fortune do her worst;Whether Fate has blessed or cursed;Little matter, if thou firstRise higher!And at last,When thy sorrows and temptations all are past,And the grand Death Angel bringsSummons from the King of Kings,Thou shalt still, on angels’ wingsRise higher.
Soul of mine,Would’st thou choose for life a motto half divine?Let this be thy guard and guideThrough the future, reaching wide;Whether good or ill betide,Rise higher!
Soul of mine,
Would’st thou choose for life a motto half divine?
Let this be thy guard and guide
Through the future, reaching wide;
Whether good or ill betide,
Rise higher!
From the mireWhere the masses blindly grovel, rise higher!From the slavish love of gold,From the justice bought and sold,From the narrow rules of old,Rise higher!
From the mire
Where the masses blindly grovel, rise higher!
From the slavish love of gold,
From the justice bought and sold,
From the narrow rules of old,
Rise higher!
Art thou vexedBy the rasping world around thee, and perplexedBy the sin and sorrow rife,By the falsehood and the strife?To a larger, grander lifeRise higher!
Art thou vexed
By the rasping world around thee, and perplexed
By the sin and sorrow rife,
By the falsehood and the strife?
To a larger, grander life
Rise higher!
If thou findestThat the friends thy heart had counted truest, kindest,Have betrayed thee, why should’st thouWear for this a frowning brow?Leave their falsehood far behind;Rise higher!
If thou findest
That the friends thy heart had counted truest, kindest,
Have betrayed thee, why should’st thou
Wear for this a frowning brow?
Leave their falsehood far behind;
Rise higher!
Let each careLift thee upward to a higher, purer air;Then let Fortune do her worst;Whether Fate has blessed or cursed;Little matter, if thou firstRise higher!
Let each care
Lift thee upward to a higher, purer air;
Then let Fortune do her worst;
Whether Fate has blessed or cursed;
Little matter, if thou first
Rise higher!
And at last,When thy sorrows and temptations all are past,And the grand Death Angel bringsSummons from the King of Kings,Thou shalt still, on angels’ wingsRise higher.
And at last,
When thy sorrows and temptations all are past,
And the grand Death Angel brings
Summons from the King of Kings,
Thou shalt still, on angels’ wings
Rise higher.
I have a friend who wishes me to see that to be right which I know to be wrong. But if friendship is to rob me of my eyes, if it is to darken the day, I will have none of it. It should be expansive and inconceivably liberalizing in its effects. True friendship can afford true knowledge. It does not depend on darkness and ignorance.—Thoreau.
By E. E. HALE.
“My dear Isabella!”
“My dearest Kate!”
And the two women threw their arms each around the other’s neck, and, so embracing, they kissed each other.
“And where are the children?”
The children appeared at once. That tall John, who looked little enough like a child, was lifting his sister Caroline from the carriage. Molly followed, and it was explained that the elder John, Isabella’s husband, had undertaken to bring Dick up from the train on foot and by the horse cars, that he might explain to him something of the geography of Boston, so that he might be a guide to the rest. Proper fears were expressed that they might be lost. But of course they were not lost, and, in due time, they also joined the jolly breakfast table, where they found the first comers seated.
The reader, if he be bright, already understands what if he be dull shall be now explained to him. Kate and Isabella are two mothers of families, tenderly attached in early life, who have been parted now in many years. Kate’s husband is a prosperous wool merchant in Boston, and she and her six children live in Roxbury, one of the pretty suburbs of that old town. Isabella and her husband are among the spirited and wise founders of Greeley, in Colorado. And, though they have not lived in that town now for some years, so that their names will not be found on its enlarging directory, all their four children were born there, and until this summer no one of the four has ever left Colorado. This summer all of them have come eastward, that boys and girls may practice their mountain swimming in the bath, well nigh matchless, of the beach well nigh perfect, at Narragansett Pier. And it has been arranged by great correspondence that, for a week before the hotels at the Pier are open, namely, for the second week of June, the whole family shall make a visit in Roxbury, so that they may come to know “Aunt Kate,” as Mrs. Dudley has always called herself, and Aunt Kate’s six children, who are to them all every whit as good as cousins.
All this, as has been said, the thoroughly intelligent reader understood as the different characters came forward. It has now been explained to readers less intelligent, so that we all start fairly together.
“George is so sorry to be away. But he had to take an early train to Providence, to be sure to be with you at dinner. He has left no end of love, and you are to do nothing but rest yourselves to-day.”
The young people of both clans looked amused at the idea of resting on a fine morning in June. And, in truth, the plans were soon made for a series of expeditions—which the reader will follow or not, just as he chooses—in which John Crehere, the father, with the practical assistance of Nathan Dudley, the oldest of Kate’s six children, laid out the seven days of their visit, so that all parties should, with due regard to the demands of pleasure, see in that time, all too narrow, the chief
LANDMARKS OF BOSTON.
“You see,” said Nathan, who was rather the historical member of the home crowd, and was at home somewhat distinguished for “poking about” in one and another corner—“you see, the absolute original landmarks of Boston are gone, or as much altered as they could be.”
“When the first people came here, old John Blackstone, and even Winthrop and Dudley, our Tom. Dudley, our ancestor, of course it was not called Boston. It was called Trimountain, or Tremont, I suppose by people in the fishing ships, because at the top of Beacon Hill there were three hummocks, like this,” and the boy cut a bit of bread into the shape he meant, two protuberances in the side of a hill a little higher.
“And these were Fort Hill, and Copp’s Hill, and Beacon Hill,” said his Aunt Isabella, as usual willing to show that she also knew something.
“Not quite yet, Aunt Isabella,” said the boy, modestly enough. “Most people think so. And I think most Boston people would tell you so, but they would be wrong. The three hummocks were all on Beacon Hill—that’s where the State House is now. Oddly enough they are all gone. They dug down the highest, where the Beacon was, part of it when they built the State House, and the rest afterward, to fill up the old mill pond. And the others were so steep that they had to be dug down for streets. But when I take you to the State House, and over Mt. Vernon and Somerset streets you will have tramped over them all.”
“I really think, mamma,” the boy added, “that at least the boys had better go to the top of the State House with me, first of all. You know Dean Stanley did.”
It is true that when Dr. Stanley came to Boston, true to the principles of Arnold’s school of history, he was eager first of all, to understand the precise topography of all he was to see. His first visit, therefore, was to the top of the State House, and his last, after his short stay, was to the same observatory, that he might be sure he had rightly placed all that he had seen.
In our case it need not be said that all the children ridiculed any doubts of their ability to climb two hundred and twenty stairs, more or less, and also ridiculed that other idea, that they were tired. Accordingly, though the two mothers took the morning to talk over the events of twenty years by themselves in Mrs. Dudley’s room, and while Mr. Crehere went down town to look up some business correspondents, Nathan was permitted, to his solid satisfaction, to take the young people to the top of the State House, to the Common, and anywhere else he chose. “And we will get our lunch where we do our work, mamma,” he said.
“Cousin Nathan,” said his new friend Caroline, who was no more his cousin than you are, “be sure that I see a ship, a real three-master, before we go away. Steamships I don’t care for.” And he promised.
This article is written in some hope that it may serve as a handy guide for visitors to Boston this summer, who may have time to make any of the excursions which these young people made during the week of their visit. We shall not, therefore, try so much to tell what they saw, as how they saw it, in the hope and wish that others may see the same. A street car brought the party to the head of Winter Street, and here Nathan brought them out of it upon what he called the Lower Mall, on the eastern side of Boston Common. Here he put all the girls upon a seat, while the boys grouped around him, and with his stick he drew a rough map on the ground.
“We may get parted from each other. But if any one is lost while you are in Boston, the streets are just as easy to understand as those of Philadelphia or Chicago, after you once know the law of the instrument.
“This hill we are on is the east slope of Beacon Hill. If we had followed in the car we could have ridden round it to Cambridge, in this open horse shoe which I draw.
“North of us, quite at the north of the town, is Copp’s Hill. We will see that another day. The streets around that are in curves also.
“Off here on the southeast was Fort Hill. The streets there bent to follow the curve. But that is all dug down.
“Then, of course, in a seaboard town, from every wharf or pier, there ran up streets into the town. If you took a fan, and put the center at the Postoffice Square, the sticks would be Water Street, Milk Street, Pearl Street, Federal Street, and so on. Now all this is just as much according to rule as if youmade a checker board. Only you must know what the rule is.”
“I think it is a great deal nicer,” said Caroline. And Nathan thanked her.
The rule in practice is said to be: “Find out where the place is to which you go, and take a horse car running the other way.”
“Now we will go up to the State House.” So they slowly pulled up the Park Street walk, up the high steps between the two bronze statues, stopped in the Doric Hall to see the statues and the battle flags, and then slowly mounted the long stairways which lead to the “lantern” above the dome. Fortunately the Legislature had adjourned. When the House is in session visits to the lantern are not permitted, lest the trampling on the stairs above the Representatives’ Hall might disturb the hearers.
When they had regained their breath, they looked round on the magnificent panorama which sweeps a circle of forty miles in diameter, and Nathan lectured. His lecture must not be reported here in detail. But the main points of it shall be stated, because they give the clew to the expeditions which the party made on succeeding days.
They were so high that all the rest of the city was quite below them. Nathan was able to point out—almost in a group, they seemed to his western friends, used to large distances—Faneuil Hall, the old State House, and the Old South Meeting House of Revolutionary times.
“We will do those,” he said, “to-morrow, and then you can see where the tea was thrown over, and the scene of the Boston Massacre. That will be a good Revolutionary day.”
To the north, with a strip of water between, so narrow, and bridged so often that it hardly seemed a deep river, half a mile wide, was the monument on Bunker Hill. The Summit was the only point near them as high as they were. “We will go there on Friday,” said Nathan, “day after to-morrow. And that same day we can see Copp’s Hill, which is the north headland of Old Boston, and we can go to the Navy Yard, and Carry shall see her ship with three masts.
“Saturday—I don’t know what papa will say—but I vote that we go down the harbor. We will see Nahant, which is a rocky peninsula ten miles northeast, or Hull, which is about as far southeast; they make the headlands of Boston Bay.” And he tried to make out both these points. He did show them the outer light-house and the great forts between. And all of the Westerners were delighted with their first view of the sea horizon.
“You do not feel the same at Chicago,” said John; “though you do not see the other side, you know it is there.”
“Then Sunday,” said Nathan, husbanding his days prudently, “some of us can go to Christ Church, where the sexton showed the lantern.”
“And can we not see the church with the cannon ball?
“‘Bears on her bosom as a bride might do,The iron breastpin that the rebels threw.’”
“‘Bears on her bosom as a bride might do,The iron breastpin that the rebels threw.’”
“‘Bears on her bosom as a bride might do,The iron breastpin that the rebels threw.’”
“‘Bears on her bosom as a bride might do,
The iron breastpin that the rebels threw.’”
This was Caroline’s question. She quoted Dr. Holmes.
“No,” said John, sadly. “We were barbarians, and pulled that church down.” And he added savagely, “and no good came to the society that did it.”
“That will leave Monday for a good tramp over Dorchester Heights, and Tuesday, if you are not tired, we will go to Cambridge, and see Harvard College.”
And he showed them how high the “Dorchester Heights,” now in South Boston, rose, and how completely they commanded the harbor; so that when Washington seized them the English army and navy had to go. He also showed them Cambridge and the college buildings, lying quite near them, westward, but on the other side of the Charles River. John looked with special interest, because he was to take his first examination there for Harvard College, before the month was over.
To this plan, substantially, the party adhered. And travelers who have more or less time than they, may find it worth while to consult this plan, as they lay out their excursions. For in those seven days the visitors did, in fact, have a chance to see all the more important landmarks of the history of Boston.
As Nathan took them home from the State House he led them down Beacon Street. This is a beautiful street, making the north side of Boston Common. Where the Common ends, Charles Street crosses Beacon Street nearly at right angles. Near this corner, on land now built upon, or perhaps crossed by some street, was the cottage of Blackstone, who lived in Boston for six or seven years before Governor Winthrop and the settlers of 1630 arrived.
They made their first settlement at Charlestown on the other side of the river. The records of Charlestown say: “Mr. Blackstone, dwelling on the other side of Charles River, alone, at a place called by the Indians, Shawmut, where he had a cottage at, or not far from the place called Blackstone Point, came and acquainted the Governor of an excellent spring, inviting and soliciting him thither.”
Blackstone’s house, or cottage, in which he lived, together with the nature of his improvements, was such as to authorize the belief that he had resided there some seven or eight years. How he became possessed of his lands here is not known; but it is certain he held a good title to them, which was acknowledged by the settlers under Winthrop, who, in course of time, bought his lands of him, and he removed out of the jurisdiction of Massachusetts to the valley of the Blackstone River.
Of Blackstone’s personal history Nathan afterward read them this note, by Mr. Charles F. Adams:
“He was in no respect an ordinary man. His presence in the peninsula of Shawmut, in 1630, was made additionally inexplicable from the fact that he was about the last person one would ever have expected to find there. He was not a fisherman, nor a trader, nor a refugee: he was a student, an observer, and a recluse. A graduate of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, he had received Episcopal ordination in England. In 1630 he was in his thirty-fifth year. All this is extremely suggestive, for it goes to make of him exactly the description of man who would naturally be found in company with the scholarly and unobtrusive Morell. Further, the probabilities would strongly point to him as Winthrop’s authority where Winthrop, in 1631, speaks of a species of weather record going back seven years since this bay was planted by Englishmen.”
“He was in no respect an ordinary man. His presence in the peninsula of Shawmut, in 1630, was made additionally inexplicable from the fact that he was about the last person one would ever have expected to find there. He was not a fisherman, nor a trader, nor a refugee: he was a student, an observer, and a recluse. A graduate of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, he had received Episcopal ordination in England. In 1630 he was in his thirty-fifth year. All this is extremely suggestive, for it goes to make of him exactly the description of man who would naturally be found in company with the scholarly and unobtrusive Morell. Further, the probabilities would strongly point to him as Winthrop’s authority where Winthrop, in 1631, speaks of a species of weather record going back seven years since this bay was planted by Englishmen.”
As the various travelers told their times that evening, a certain plan was laid out for the next day, in which the two ladies agreed to join. And it was finally agreed that they should lunch down town with the gentlemen, and should take the elevator at the “Equitable” Insurance Company, so that the two mothers might have something to substitute for the view the children had had from the State House.
This plan may be recommended to lady travelers. The view is not as sweeping on the west as that from the State House. But, on other sides, it is equally satisfactory. And you can go up by steam—a great matter when you have passed forty years.
But before lunch Nathan took them to the head of State Street, to the “Old State House.”
“This,” said he, “is what the Philadelphia girl called the State Street Meeting House.”
He had brought them in in a Norfolk horse car, so that they saw the building from the southern side. The lion on one side and the unicorn on the other dance on their hind legs at the top, with the roof to part them. Nathan was careful to show John and the rest that as they looked up on the beasts they stood themselves on the very ground of the “Boston Massacre” of March 5, 1770. The English troops were in a little semi-circle on the north side of the street. Attuchs, the mulatto, and the rest of the mob who stoned the troops and snowballedthem were in the street, or on the southern side. There were then no sidewalks.
The lower part of the “Old State House” is now used for public offices. But the upper chambers are restored to much the condition in which they were when Sam Adams defied the Governor there, and when Otis made his plea in the “Writs of Assistants cases.”
“Then and there,” said John Adams, afterward, “American independence was born.”
The “Bostonian Society” occupies these halls, simply that they may be open to all visitors, and here the party found many curious mementoes of Revolutionary and of older days, and were able to prepare themselves for their later excursions.
Before the “Town House” was built this spot was occupied as the market place, being the earliest in the town. The first town house was erected between 1657 and 1659, of wood. It was destroyed in the great fire of 1711. In the following year, 1712, a brick edifice was erected on the same spot. This the fire of 1747 consumed, and with it many valuable records were lost. The present Old State House was erected the following year, 1748, but it has undergone many interior changes, the exterior, however, presenting nearly the same appearance as when first erected. From 1750 to 1830 Faneuil Hall was used as a town house, and the first city government was organized there. In 1830 the city government removed to the Old State House, which was on September 17 dedicated as City Hall. But the City Hall has since been removed to School Street.
Leaving the old State House they passed down State Street, where they had a chance to see the merchants who were “on ’change,” and to look in at the Merchants’ Exchange, and by a short street leading north, came into the square between Faneuil Hall, “the cradle of liberty,” as Boston people like to call it, and Faneuil Hall Market.
Peter Faneuil, a rich merchant of Huguenot origin, told the town that he would build a market house on this spot if they would accept the gift for that purpose, and maintain it forever. “The town,” by which is meant the town meeting, looked a gift-horse in the mouth, and made some difficulty. At the end of a stormy meeting, his proposal was accepted by a majority of only seven votes in a vote of seven hundred and twenty-seven.
Mr. Faneuil set to work at once on the building, which, by the original plan, was to be but one-story high. But he added another story for the town hall, which has made his name famous to all New Englanders. The original hall accommodated only 1,000 persons, being but half the size of that now standing. He died, himself, just as the building was completed, on the third of March, 1743; and it was first opened to public use on the fourteenth of March of that year. The whole interior was destroyed by fire in January, 1763, and rebuilt by the town and state. In 1806 it was enlarged to its present size.
Nathan made them look at the grass-hopper which is the weather-cock which is selected in memory of the Athenian cicada. The Athenian people selected this as their emblem because they believed they sprang from the ground, and they supposed the grass-hoppers did.
The people of Boston long since provided themselves with a much larger market house than Peter Faneuil’s. When they did so, they gave up the market in Faneuil Hall, and used the basement for other purposes. But their lawyers, after a while, recollected that stirring town meeting, and the promise of the town to maintain the market “forever.” Clearly enough, if the town meant to keep the hall, it must maintain the market. So the butchers and fruit men were brought back again, and Mrs. Dudley bade John buy some bananas for the party, in the market, that they might keep Peter Faneuil well in their memory.
The Historic Hall is over the market, and always open to visitors, and here the party spent half an hour in looking at the pictures. Nathan told them of the last and only time when he heard Wendell Phillips there. It is not the largest hall in Boston, but it is still the favorite hall for any public meeting about some public interest, where people are not expecting to sit down.
The gentlemen joined the party by appointment here, and they all went to lunch together. They then went up the Equitable elevator and mounted the tower, so that the ladies might see the sea view. And they finished the day’s excursion by going into the Old South Meeting House.
This old meeting house was twice as big as Faneuil Hall of the Revolution, so that the crowded town meetings of those days often adjourned to the Old South. As the patriots called Faneuil Hall “the cradle of liberty,” Gov. Gage called the Old South the “nursery of rebellion.” The religious society which formerly occupied it built a few years ago a new church in the western part of Boston, and sold this meeting house to an association which wished to preserve it as a memorial of the history of Boston. The sellers did not wish to have any opposition church established in the old building; they therefore put a provision in the deed that for twenty years it should not be used for public religious purposes. It is probably the only spot in the United States, where, by the expressed wish of a church, public worship is forbidden.
The travelers found a great deal to interest them in the meeting house, which those travelers will find who use this guide. The boys obtained leave to climb up the spire, from which, it is said, that the English governor, Gage, saw the embarkation of his troops for Bunker Hill, and what he could see of the battle.
The next day proved favorable for Nathan’s plans, which involved a visit to Bunker Hill monument and the navy yard.
“I had meant,” he said to the girls, “to begin by taking you out to Concord, that you might see the bridge over the Concord River, and the scene of what we call ‘Concord Fight.’ But, if the day prove hot, it would have been tiresome, as we have the monument to climb. For that expedition one needs half a day, or better, a day. You know you would want to see Mr. Emerson’s house and Mr. Hawthorne’s. We will try that next fall.”
They started later, therefore, than the Concord plan would have required. A transfer at Scollary Square, the very heart of active Boston, put them in a Charlestown car. In Scollary Square stands very properly a statue of Winthrop, the founder of Boston, and its first governor; as at the foot of the street stands Sam Adams.
Nathan explained to the girls, when they came to river and bridge, that at the time of Bunker Hill battle there was no bridge. The English army, when it attacked the hill, had to cross in boats, and he showed them on the east, the line the boats took, landing where the navy yard now is. The forces landed there and waited through a hot day before the attack. The battle was fought on a hot June afternoon.
After they came to Charlestown, a short walk brought them to the top of the hill, where a large green park takes in all the ground of the historic Redoubt. A bronze statue of Prescott seems to welcome the visitor.
By an ascent even longer than that they made at the State House, they climbed the monument, and earned their sight of the panorama from its top.
Mr. Dudley had given them a note to introduce them to the commander at the navy yard on their return. It proved that he was absent. But they needed no pass nor introduction. They were very courteously received; and, as there happened to be a ship fitting out with stores for the Mediterranean Station, Caroline had her chance to see “a three-masted ship” nearly ready for sea.
Another ship was in the “dry-dock” for some necessary repairs, and they walked about her with that strange feeling of being beneath the level of the sea, which they had seen above before they descended the stairway.
Saturday proved to be a warm day, and Mr. Dudley proposed at breakfast that they should carry out Nathan’s plan, and that all hands should go to Nahant, the rocky peninsula which bounds the outer harbor on the northeastern side. His wife put up a substantial luncheon, which was packed in two baskets and carried by the boys.
So equipped, they took the horse car and “transferred” at Sumner Street for the steamboat, which would take them to the Lynn Railroad. They could have taken the Easton Railroad, but the Lynn Road (so called) runs along the water’s edge, and the water sail is longer.
So the young people had their first sniff of sea air from the boat which crosses from Old Boston to East Boston, where the railroad begins. Caroline had chances enough to see “ships with three masts,” brigs, schooners, sloops, barks, brigantines and barkantines, all which the learned Nathan explained to her. After a voyage of a mile or two they took the narrow guage railway and flew along Chelsea Beach, which gave a fine ocean view, and more of the glory of the infinite sea, than the steamboat had done. At Lynn they found public carriages waiting for the drive to Nahant.
Mr. Willis, in his extravagant way, said that Nahant looked like the open hand of a giant who had been struck down in the sea, and that Nahant Beach was his arm. A very thin arm he had, a mere thread-paper arm, for a big hand. For the beach is only a strip of sand and gravel about two miles long, washed by the ocean on both sides. At the southern end, rise, abrupt and bold, the rocks of Nahant. They are mostly of trap-rock, which has been forced by some volcanic effect of the fiery times, up through the hissing sea. They have a reddish color, with stripes of black stone, even harder than the rest. And the perpetual washing of the sea has worn out clefts and chasms of every strange outline and form.
One of these is the Swallow’s Cave, a long passage through wet rocks, covered above by rocks, through which at low tides adventurers can clamber. One is the Spouting Horn, where at half-tide, a sea heavily thrown in by a stiff eastern gale, bounds back in spray and water, as if indeed a sea-god had thrown it up in a great fountain. But the glory of Nahant is not in any one of these sights. It is the glory of the infinite ocean. Southeast and west you have the sea, and it is no wonder that in this perfect sea-climate, so many people are glad to make a summer home.
Mr. Dudley met, by appointment, a Boston friend, after they had crossed the beach, who husbanded their time for them in visiting different points, and before the afternoon closed, asked them to come back to town in his yacht. Their plan had been to take the steamboat, which was waiting ready to take all such children of the public as they.
But in the “Sylph” they were able to vary their voyage. Mr. Cradock showed them from her deck that nearly south of them, a string of little islands shielded the harbor, in a measure, from eastern gales. Of these the three most important are the three Brewsters, on one of which is the outer light-house. The yacht first ran by these. Then she turned inland and he pointed out to them the village of Hull, which on the southeast protects the bay, as Nahant on the northeast. He bade the helmsman bring the vessel up at Fort Warren, and the young people had then a chance to see the arrangements which a great fort makes to repel an enemy. And then, as the sun went down they ran swiftly up to Boston, saw the State House and Bunker Hill monument against the evening glow, and landed after a day of thoroughly satisfactory variety.
Fortunately for the sight seers, as Mrs. Crehere thought, the next day was Sunday, so much chance was there for a day of rest. But she found at breakfast that there were one or two ecclesiastical landmarks which were to be counted in with the others, and that, with perfect gravity and reverence, the young people had arranged to unite their sight seeing with the religious services of the day. To this she made no exception, and in the end she and her husband joined the ten young people, and all together made an addition, not unacceptable as it proved, to summer congregations not crowded.
The first point was King’s Chapel.