BY HELEN CAMPBELL.
No form of charitable work undertaken in this busy century holds more perplexity and uncertainty than that for women, who, whether for great or small offenses, have come under the ban of the law, and who pass from the shadow of the prison to confront a public feeling which is, in the main, so absolutely antagonistic as to leave small chance for reform, or hope of making new and better place.
It is certain that there is much justification for such feeling. There are few in whom the missionary spirit is strong enough to enable them to accept undaunted, the possibilities involved in receiving as a member of the family, a woman whose desire for reform may be outweighed a thousand times by the power of her appetites, and whose influence may bring contamination to all within its reach. Even in less dangerous cases, where youth and ignorance are the excuses for the violation of law, there is always the fear that association with older offenders has given a knowledge of evil that will work equal disaster, and thus the door is as effectually closed against the slight as against the confirmed transgressor. It is part of the popular conviction that work for women is far less productive of results than work for men, a conviction that has a certain foundation of truth. Even in the Water Street Mission of New York, in which the most apparently hopeless class was reached and held, McAuley was constantly baffled by this fact, and in time accepted it as inevitable. He did not question, more than other workers have done, why this was so, or how far the world was responsible for the state of things he bewailed, but came at last, by almost unconscious steps, to the conclusion given in a talk with the writer.
“You’ve wondered, at times, that we didn’t have more women here,” he said, a year or two before his death. “Don’t you know that you can haul in a hundred men to one woman? What it means, the good Lord only knows, but they don’t stay put. They cry an’ promise, an’ promise an’ cry, an’ you do for ’em with all your might, an’ all at once they’re off, an’ may be you never see ’em again.… When a girl’s once down, it isn’t once in five hundred times that you can pull her out. Take that very one you was so sorry for. She’s been to every meeting ’round here, an’ cried an’ begged to be helped. She’s been taken first to one ‘Home’ an’ then to another, an’ she’s run from every one back to her old life. The system’s wrong. That’s my opinion. You take a ‘Home’ where a lot are in together, an’ the devil’s let loose. They chew tobacco an’ chew snuff, an’ get drunk on the sly, an’ the old ones tell the young ones all their lives, an’ the last end is worse than the first, for they learn a lot of deviltry to add to their own. There ain’t but one way, as I can see, to save ’em. Keep ’em apart. Let Christian families that can, make up their minds to take one at a time; hedge her round; give her enough to do, an’ get her interested, an’ pray night an’ day she may be kept. That will save a good many, for it’s mostly worked where it’s been tried. But there ain’t anything in our work so discouragin’ as this very thing. What you going to do? These girls comin’ out of homes where a dozen, may be, has herded in one room, what do they know of decency or cleanliness? What can they know, I’d like to know? No, I tell you; the work’s got to begin at the beginning. Get hold of the children. Send them off. Do anything that’ll train them differently. They’re born in sin and born to sin, and the Lord only knows what’ll come if good men and women don’t wake up and take hold.”
Admitting the serious nature of the difficulties involved, it is quite certain that many of them have been born of an utterly false estimate of the relative degrees of guilt in men and women. Neither time nor space allows discussion of this point beyond the suggestion that in the present White Cross movement, and the questions that at once arise as the first necessity in any understanding of its nature or need, may be found the secret of much that has made against women. Simple justice, the last acquired and, it would seem, the hardest won of all virtues, makes chastity as binding an obligation upon man as upon woman, and gives to both, when repentant, the same pardon and the same hope for a future. Thus far, charity has ignored the woman, forcing her to bear not only the pain and sorrow of unblessed motherhood, but the sentence of perpetual banishment from the society whose laws she has defied.
It is at this stage that workers among the poor most often find her, hopeless, and in the large proportion of cases driven back to crime as her only resort. They form a great proportion of the inmates of any prison for women. Every town and village has its quota of candidates for reformatory or jail, and mourns, collectively and individually, over the terrible tendencies of this class, with small thought that prevention may be easier than cure, and that if children born to such conditions come into the world, society is bound to see that their training shall, as far as possible, neutralize the results of such inheritance. Society has no time for prevention. It proposes to pay for prisons rather than for industrial schools; to labor with full fledged criminals, rather than to crush out vice while still in embryo, and congratulates itself on the magnificent liberality of its provision for the criminal, and the remarkable success of the prison system as a whole.
Women are supposed to be merely occasional offenders, and that there are, in every state, hundreds outside of the prison who are habitual law breakers, and an equally large proportion within its walls, is a proposition received as incredible. Yet it was not till Massachusetts found herself forced to deal with eight hundred per year of such cases, that the first reformatory was organized, in 1865, and the number has increased steadily with the increase in population. County prisons, of which there were twenty-one, were, too often, simply nests for propagating vice. In a few of the larger ones great order and system prevailed. In the smaller ones there was next to none, and male and female prisoners, dirty, ragged and obscene, mingled together and interchanged lessons in new forms of vice. In all of them three classes of offenses were to be found, women convicts being sentenced usually for drunkenness, unchastity, or larceny; the relative prevalence of the three being indicated by the order in which they are given. The first class, wherever found, are most often Irish women, at, or past, the middle age. They are not criminals, though at times, in some cases, dishonest or unchaste. Often they are eager to reform, and yield to the temptation to drink as many men yield, for the momentary relief from grinding care and anxiety. Many of them become accustomed to the short sentences usually given by magistrates for this offense, and there are countless women who have had thirty, forty, and even fifty short imprisonments. A long term, or, in aggravated cases, imprisonment for life, affords the only security, the mere smell of liquor being often enough to awaken appetite and bring on a wild debauch. The three crimes can in almost every case be traced back to a neglected childhood.
“My mother died whan I was a bit of a child, an’ my father drank and beat me,” is the story of nine tenths of these cases, and will remain the story. The life of a single great tenementhouse, if told in full, as it has recently been done, shows how the seed is sown, and what harvest we may expect, and prison systems, however admirable, can touch but the smallest proportion of those who come within their walls. And even here, in this system, which deserves all the eulogy it receives, women have had but the most meager share of the benefit intended. It is only here and there that, spurred on by some great souled woman, wrought to white heat of indignation at the suffering and ignominy heaped upon these weak and most miserable sisters, there has grown up a better system of treatment, or a refuge in which reform has been made possible. Even to-day, in cities where reform is supposed to have perfected itself, there are Houses of Detention, at the mention of which compassionate judges shake their heads, and use any and every pretext to avoid condemning, for even a week, a young girl guilty of some first and slight offense, to their unspeakably infamous walls. Who enters there leaves hope behind, and life in any real sense, is over, once for all, for the sad soul that has learned what awaits it there.
In a little town of Massachusetts, many phases of this question have long since been answered. The work is so quietly carried forward that few save those interested in philanthropic problems have any knowledge of its nature or scope. In the belief that its story will awaken, not only interest, but stronger faith in the possibilities of reform, its outlines are given here. From its success grew the greater work which makes the title of the present article, a work which would have seemed well nigh impossible had not such demonstration first been made of its entire feasibility.
Practically, its foundation was laid in Dedham, thirty years or more ago, where a temporary asylum was afforded to women just discharged from prison, and much the same methods were adopted in the Springfield “Home for Friendless Women.” But as one of the most efficient workers wrote at the time: “The more thoughtful saw from the first that they were working only at the top of the tree, and must go to the root to accomplish real good in large measure. The necessity of making the term of imprisonment one also of instruction, was apparent; also the vital need of purifying the corrupted by personal contact with pure and good women, laboring among them in a spirit of love and sympathy.”
It was not until 1870 that, after a preliminary meeting in Boston, officered by some of her most earnest citizens, a memorial was presented to the legislature, in which the need was set forth of better prisons for women, and of a reformatory discipline for all criminals. This was called “The Memorial of the Temporary Asylum for Discharged Female Prisoners in Dedham, and of the Springfield Home for Friendless Women and Children, and of others concurring with them.” The names of Whittier, Henry Wilson, Bishop Eastburn, and many others equally noble, were affixed, and the almost immediate result was the establishment of the Prison Commission of the state, and a few years later, the building of the separate prison for women at Sherborn. Thirty acres of land were purchased here, and the prison was placed upon a knoll, from which one of the finest views in the county may be had, a neighboring pond giving a full supply of pure water, and the facilities for drainage being excellent. The form chosen for building was a cross, with two more transverse sections, one at the front, and one for hospital purposes, at the rear. But forty-eight strong cells for the more refractory class were built, the majority occupying small, separate rooms, divided by brick partitions, and each owning a window. The basement has two large laundries, one for prison, the other for outside use, the latter bringing in a comfortable income toward the support of the prison. Over this laundry is the prison kitchen and bakery, the work in both being done by the prisoners, under supervision. Above this, in the third story, is the large hall used as a chapel, and a library adjoining it, while the second story contains two large work rooms, one for sewing, and the other for making chair bottoms. Sewing machines are in the first one, and here all the clothing for the prison is made, as well as a good deal for another institution. A school room is also on this floor, occupied six hours a day, the women going to it in classes, each class having an hour’s instruction a day. Here many take their first lessons in reading and writing; easy arithmetic and geography are also taught.
The prison has four divisions, for the classification of convicts, the three higher ones each containing what is known as a “privilege room,” the prisoners who have obeyed the rules being allowed to spend an hour each evening under the supervision of the matrons, before they are locked in for the night. Four cheerful dining rooms are provided, and unlike the county jails, where prisoners eat alone from a tin pan, the women gather, under the supervision of matrons, each with neat plate and basin, learning order and decorum, and in many cases having their first experience of clean and palatable food. The matrons have comfortable rooms, commanding a view of the corridors, and a private dining room and kitchen in the basement. A parlor on the second floor is also at their disposal, thirty matrons and assistants using it in such intervals of leisure as come.
The chief officers may be either men or women, at the pleasure of the Governor, these being superintendent, steward and treasurer, the remainder being all women, and including a deputy superintendent, a chaplain, a physician, school mistress, and clerk. The wishes of the founders were carried out in making the superintendent a woman, Mrs. Edna C. Atkinson’s name having become the synonym for patient and most faithful labor in this untried field. There are others as worthy, but with her, they shrink from any public recognition, content to have laid silently the foundation of a work which is copied in detail wherever the same results are desired.
The hospital is a model of its kind, three stories in height, and thirty-two feet wide by seventy-seven long. The dispensary and wash room, the doctor’s sitting room and some small wards for special cases are on the first floor. The second one has a large ward, sunny and airy, with space for twenty beds, and at one side bath rooms, and a small room where the dead are laid until burial. The convalescent ward is on the third floor, and in each and all, is the exquisite neatness which is a revelation to every occupant. Of the physical misery that finds alleviation here, one can hardly speak. “Intemperance, unchastity, abuse from male companions, neglected childbirth, hereditary taints, poor food and clothing,” have all done their work, and demand all the skill the physician can bring to bear. The work is hard and often repulsive, but the sick prisoner is especially susceptible to influence, and often, when all means have been tried in vain, yields at last under the pressure of pain and gratitude for its relief, and goes out from the ward a new creature spiritually as well as physically.
From the beginning they are made to feel that here is one spot where love and sympathy are certain. There is no convict dress branding them at once as infamous. Each division has its own; blue check of different patterns being chosen to distinguish the different grades. The upper ones have neat white aprons for Sundays. Night dresses and pocket handkerchiefs are provided to teach neatness, and every woman is required to have smooth hair and a well-cared-for person. In the nursery, an essential department of a woman’s prison, the babies show well fed, happy faces, and are as neatly and warmly clothed as the mothers. This department has sixty rooms, each ten by twelve, with a bed and crib for mothers with infants, while above it is a lying-in ward, with all necessary appliances. Often there is not the slightest hint of maternal instinct, and the mother must be watched to prevent the destruction of the child, but more often it is strong, and desire for reform is first awakened with the longing that the child should know a better life. The bright, clean quarters, the regular employment, the sympathy and encouragement, onwhich, no matter how skeptical or scoffing in the beginning, they come to depend, all foster this desire. Indifferent even to common decency in the beginning, unknown instincts awaken, and here is one answer to the argument sometimes made, that criminals have no right to attractive quarters. Here, again, the same worker already quoted may speak: “In the first place, the loss of liberty is a terrible privation, especially when the term of confinement is long. Most persons will bear any hardship rather than be confined, even in a pleasant place. The depraved women of our prisons are indifferent, at first, to the things which please a higher taste. The dark and filthy slums of Boston are far more charming to them than the clean and sunny prison. The work is hateful to their idle habits, and being unpaid, it has no motive to incite them to performance. The silent, separate rooms, the quiet work room, try them inexpressibly. There is no danger that the prison will be too tempting. They long for the intoxicating drink, the low carousals of their usual life, and when discharged from an ordinary prison, with no reformatory influence, eagerly rush into the old haunts, and begin anew the foul life.… Ferocious, indeed, are they, when long habits of intoxication, joined to ignorance and strong passions, are subjected to the restraints of a prison.”
“No woman can govern a ferocious woman,” was asserted in the beginning, by a well known Senator; but that point settled itself years since, women having proved better able to control women, no matter how brutalized, than any man has ever been. In one case a woman was sent from a neighboring prison, who came determined to create disturbance. Insurrection seemed inevitable, such passion of revolt had she communicated to many, but wise management quelled it at once. Three strong men were necessary to convey her from the yard to the punishment cell, but this was done under the personal direction of the superintendent, and the men were allowed no violence or abuse. For days she remained unsubdued; then quieted, and at the end of ten was conquered and transformed into a quiet, orderly, obedient worker.
“She was that patient and kind she did all she could for me,” was her comment on the superintendent, and her case is illustrative of dozens of the same nature. Nothing impresses them more than the unselfish nature of the care bestowed, and as their skill in manual labor develops, their interest grows with it, and they begin to take pride in what may be accomplished. They are ready, when the term of confinement ends, to lead decent lives, but they must be shielded for a time, else ruin is inevitable.
Here, then, comes in the mission of a “Wayside Home.” The thought of such shelter came many years ago, to the man who gave all his life to making paths plainer for sinning and suffering souls, and who in the “Isaac Hopper Home,” as often called the “Father Hopper Home,” solved the problem in a degree. Even here, however, admission was conditioned on a letter or word of endorsement, and there was no spot in all the great city in which a homeless and friendless woman, without such word, could find temporary refuge. It remained for Brooklyn to offer such a possibility, and the quiet home that in the early spring of 1880 opened its doors, asked but three questions:
“Do you need help?”
“Are you homeless?”
“If taken in, will you remain a month, keep the necessary rules of the house, and do your share of its work?”
These question are “the hinge on which the door swings, and when once a woman crosses its threshold she stands on her honor, and is trusted just as far as she will allow.”
Cramped for room, dependent upon voluntary contributions for furnishing, provisions, and all the running expenses of such an undertaking, the first year found them without debt, and with ninety-nine women sheltered and protected, sixty-two of whom found places, and, with but few exceptions, proved faithful and worthy of trust. During the second year two hundred and twenty-four were helped, cramped quarters forcing the managers to refuse many applications. Half of the income for that year was earned by the inmates, in laundry, sewing room, and days’ work outside. A larger house was taken, but the same principle of free admission continued. Many who left the Home voluntarily, and some even who had been expelled, returned, penitent and sorrowful, and were received again, and given another chance, the only bar to return being in the discovery that the influence of a woman in some cases did more harm than could be counteracted in the Home, in which case there is written across her name, “Not to be admitted again.”
A matron and two assistant matrons are employed, the matron having general charge of the house, keys, and work; the first assistant, of sewing room and laundry; and the second of the kitchen and all household supplies. But thirty women can be accommodated at any one time, and it is hoped that a building especially for the purpose may soon give the added facilities so imperatively demanded. The work holds little poetry, and the expression of some of its subjects is so debased and apparently hopeless, that one gentleman, accustomed to give freely, remarked: “I see nothing better to do than to tie a rope round their necks and pitch them into the river.”
The poor souls were themselves much of his mind, but a month or two gave a very different aspect to affairs, work and the certainty of sympathy bringing new life. Undisciplined and weak, in the power of appetite both inherited and acquired, they have fought battles whose terror the untempted can never know; fought and won, the roll now holding hundreds of names. Working against perpetual obstacle and disadvantage, the story of the five years is one of triumph for managers as well as managed. “We began,” said one of the workers, “holding in one hand the key to an empty house, for which the rent was paid for one month, and in the other hand all our worldly possessions—five dollars—and since that time we have bought our present home, and furnished it comfortably for our work. It accommodates thirty-five women, and three matrons, and we have paid on it $5,000, carrying a mortgage of $9,000. None of these things are the ultimate of our work. They are but means to an end, and that end the saving of the lives and souls of these women.”
Effort of as extended a nature is possible only for a body of earnest workers, but this mere hint of its nature and results may perhaps convince some who have doubted its possibility, and serve as the clue to companion methods in country towns. Faith in possibilities, both human and divine, has been the condition of success for what is already accomplished, and the village may test these no less than the city. Reports filled with every practical detail may be had by addressing a note to “The Wayside Home, 352 Bridge Street, Brooklyn, N. Y.,” and the writer stands ready, at any time, to answer questions as to methods, assuring all doubters that, for all patient workers, success is certain.
The finest pleasures of reading come unbidden. In the twilight alcove of a library, with a time-mellowed chair yielding luxuriously to your pressure, a June wind floating in at the windows, and in your hand some rambling old author, good humored and quaint, one would think the Spirit could scarce fail to be conjured. Yet often, after spending a morning hour restlessly there … I have strolled off with a book in my pocket to the woods; and, as I live, the mood has descended upon me under some chance tree, with a crooked root under my head, and I have lain there reading and sleeping by turns till the letters were blurred in the dimness of twilight.—From Prose Writings of N. P. Willis.
SELECTED BY CHANCELLOR J. H. VINCENT, D.D.
The Influence of Jesus.—(I note again, as a characteristic of the morality of sonship, the way in which it secures humility by aspiration, and not by depression.) How to secure humility is the hard problem of all systems of duty. He who does work, just in proportion to the faithfulness with which he does it, is always in danger of self-conceit. Very often men seem to have given up the problem in despair, and they lavish unstinted praise upon the vigorous, effective worker, without any qualifying blame of the arrogance with which he flaunts the duty that he does in the world’s face. “The only way to make him humble,” they would seem to say, “would be to make him idle. Let him stop doing duty and then, indeed, he might stop boasting. His arrogance is only the necessary price that the world and he pay for his faithfulness.” To such a problem the Christian morality brings its vast conception of the universe. Above each man it sets the infinite life. The identity of nature between that life and his, while it enables him to emulate that life, compels him, also, to compare himself with it. The more zealously he aspires to imitate it, the more clearly he must encounter the comparison. The higher he climbs the mountain, the more he learns how the high mountain is past his climbing. It is the oneness of the soul’s life with God’s life that at once makes us try to be like him, and brings forth our unlikeness to him. It is the source at once of aspiration and humility. The more aspiration, the more humility. Humility comes by aspiration. If, in all Christian history, it has been the souls which most looked up that were the humblest souls; if to-day the rescue of a soul from foolish pride must be not by a depreciation of present attainment, but by opening more and more the vastness of the future possibility; if the Christian man keeps his soul full of the sense of littleness, even in all his hardest work for Christ, not by denying his own stature, but by standing up at his whole height, and then looking up in love and awe and seeing God tower into infinitude above him—certainly all this stamps the morality which is wrought out within the idea of Jesus with this singular excellence, that it has solved the problem of faithfulness and pride, and made possible humility by aspiration.
And yet, once more, the morality of Jesus involves the only true secret of courage and of the freedom that comes of courage. More and more we come to see that courage is a positive thing. It is not simply the absence of fear. To be brave is not merely not to be afraid. Courage is that compactness and clear coherence of all a man’s faculties and powers which makes his manhood a single operative unit in the world. That is the reason why narrowness of thought and life often brings a kind of courage, and why, as men’s range of thought enlarges and their relations with their fellowmen increase, there often comes a strange timidity. The bigot is often very brave. He is held fast unto a unit, and possesses himself completely in his own selfishness. For such a bravery as that the man and the world pay very dear. But when the grasp that holds a man and his powers is not his self-consciousness, but his obedience to his Father, when loyalty to him surrounds and aggregates the man’s capacities, so that, held in his hand, the man feels his distinctiveness, his distinctive duty, his distinctive privilege, then you have reached the truth of which the bigot’s courage was the imitation. Then you have secured courage, not by the limitation, but by the enlargement of the life. Then the dependence upon God makes the independence of man in which are liberty and courage. The man’s own personality is found only in the household of his Father, and only in the finding of his personality does he come to absolute freedom and perfect fearlessness.—Phillips Brooks.
True Christianity.—Lord Jesus Christ, thou eternal and only Prince of Peace! Thou most blessed and truest rest of faithful souls! Thou hast said, Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and ye shall find rest to your souls. In the world ye shall have tribulation, but in me ye shall have peace.
Alas! how often have I sought for rest in this world, but have not found it! For my soul, being immortal, can not rest or be satisfied with anything but thee alone; O immortal God, thou and thou alone art the rest of our souls. The world and all that is in it is hastening to decay; they all wax old as doth a garment, and as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be changed; but thou art the same, and thy years shall not fail. How then shall my soul find rest in such fleeting and changeable things?… O God, my soul can not be satisfied but in thee, the supreme good. My soul hungereth and thirsteth after thee, and can not rest till it possess thee.…
O thou rock of my salvation! in which my soul trusteth and is at rest.…
O Lord Jesus, how ardent is thy charity! how pure, how free from deceit! how perfect! how spotless! how great! how exalted! how profound! In a word, how sincere and hearty is thy love! Suffer, I beseech thee, my soul to rest in this thy love.… Here let my poor soul rest free from fear of danger or disquiet. In thee let all my senses rest, that I may hear thee sweetly speaking, O thou highest love! Let my eyes behold thee, O thou celestial beauty! Let my ears hear thee, thou most harmonious music! Let my mouth taste, thou incomparable sweetness! Let the refreshing odors of life breathe upon me from thee, thou most noble flower of paradise!… Let my heart rejoice in thee, my true joy! Let my will desire thee alone, thou only joy of my heart! Let my understanding know thee alone, O eternal wisdom! Lastly, let all my desires, all my affections rest in thee alone, O blessed Jesus, who art my love, my peace, and my joy!
Take out of my heart everything that is not thyself. Thou art my riches in poverty; thou art my honor in contempt; my praise and glory against reproaches; my strength in infirmity; and in a word, my life in death. And how, then, should I not rest in thee, who art my all in all? My righteousness against sin; my wisdom against folly; redemption from condemnation; sanctification from my uncleanness.…
Let me, I beseech thee, surrender my whole heart to thee, since thou hast given me all thine. Let me go out of myself, that I may enter into thee. Let me cleanse my heart and empty it of the world, that thou mayest fill it with thy celestial gifts, O Jesus, the rest of my heart, the Sabbath of my soul! Lead me into the rest of a blessed eternity, where there are pleasures at thy right hand for evermore. Amen.—Arndt, “A prayer for obtaining true rest and tranquility of soul.”
For Prayer is aConversing with God,The Key of Heaven,The Flower of Paradise,A Free Access to God,A Familiarity with God,The Searcher of His Secrets,The Opener of His Mysteries,The Purchaser of His Gifts,A Spiritual Banquet,A Heavenly Enjoyment,The Honey-comb of the Spirit,Honey Flowing from the Lips,The Nurse of Virtues,The Conqueror of Vices,The Medicine of the Soul,A Remedy against Infirmities,An Antidote against Sin,The Pillar of the World,The Salve of Mankind,The Seed of Blessing,The Garden of Happiness,The Tree of Pleasure,The Increase of Faith,The Support of Hope,The Mother of Charity,The Path of Righteousness,The Preserver of Perseverance,The Mirror of Prudence,The Mistress of Temperance,The Strength of Chastity,The Beauty of Holiness,The Fire of Devotion,The Light of Knowledge,The Repository of Wisdom,The Strength of the Soul,The Remedy against Faint-heartedness,The Foundation of Peace,The Joy of the Heart,The Jubilee of the Mind,A Faithful Companion in this Earthly Pilgrimage,The Shield of a Christian Soldier,The Rule of Humility,The Forerunner of Honor,The Nurse of Patience,The Guardian of Obedience,The Fountain of Quietness,The Imitator of Angels,The Conquest of Devils,The Comfort of the Sorrowful,The Triumph of the Just,The Joy of the Saints,The Helper of the Oppressed,The Ease of the Afflicted,The Rest of the Weary,The Ornament of the Conscience,The Advancement of Graces,The Odor of an Acceptable Sacrifice,The Encourager of Mutual Good-will,The Refreshment of this Miserable Life,The Sweetening of Death,The Foretaste of the Heavenly Life.—Arndt.
For Prayer is aConversing with God,The Key of Heaven,The Flower of Paradise,A Free Access to God,A Familiarity with God,The Searcher of His Secrets,The Opener of His Mysteries,The Purchaser of His Gifts,A Spiritual Banquet,A Heavenly Enjoyment,The Honey-comb of the Spirit,Honey Flowing from the Lips,The Nurse of Virtues,The Conqueror of Vices,The Medicine of the Soul,A Remedy against Infirmities,An Antidote against Sin,The Pillar of the World,The Salve of Mankind,The Seed of Blessing,The Garden of Happiness,The Tree of Pleasure,The Increase of Faith,The Support of Hope,The Mother of Charity,The Path of Righteousness,The Preserver of Perseverance,The Mirror of Prudence,The Mistress of Temperance,The Strength of Chastity,The Beauty of Holiness,The Fire of Devotion,The Light of Knowledge,The Repository of Wisdom,The Strength of the Soul,The Remedy against Faint-heartedness,The Foundation of Peace,The Joy of the Heart,The Jubilee of the Mind,A Faithful Companion in this Earthly Pilgrimage,The Shield of a Christian Soldier,The Rule of Humility,The Forerunner of Honor,The Nurse of Patience,The Guardian of Obedience,The Fountain of Quietness,The Imitator of Angels,The Conquest of Devils,The Comfort of the Sorrowful,The Triumph of the Just,The Joy of the Saints,The Helper of the Oppressed,The Ease of the Afflicted,The Rest of the Weary,The Ornament of the Conscience,The Advancement of Graces,The Odor of an Acceptable Sacrifice,The Encourager of Mutual Good-will,The Refreshment of this Miserable Life,The Sweetening of Death,The Foretaste of the Heavenly Life.—Arndt.
For Prayer is aConversing with God,The Key of Heaven,The Flower of Paradise,A Free Access to God,A Familiarity with God,The Searcher of His Secrets,The Opener of His Mysteries,The Purchaser of His Gifts,A Spiritual Banquet,A Heavenly Enjoyment,The Honey-comb of the Spirit,Honey Flowing from the Lips,The Nurse of Virtues,The Conqueror of Vices,The Medicine of the Soul,A Remedy against Infirmities,An Antidote against Sin,The Pillar of the World,The Salve of Mankind,The Seed of Blessing,The Garden of Happiness,The Tree of Pleasure,The Increase of Faith,The Support of Hope,The Mother of Charity,The Path of Righteousness,The Preserver of Perseverance,The Mirror of Prudence,The Mistress of Temperance,The Strength of Chastity,The Beauty of Holiness,The Fire of Devotion,The Light of Knowledge,The Repository of Wisdom,The Strength of the Soul,The Remedy against Faint-heartedness,The Foundation of Peace,The Joy of the Heart,The Jubilee of the Mind,A Faithful Companion in this Earthly Pilgrimage,The Shield of a Christian Soldier,The Rule of Humility,The Forerunner of Honor,The Nurse of Patience,The Guardian of Obedience,The Fountain of Quietness,The Imitator of Angels,The Conquest of Devils,The Comfort of the Sorrowful,The Triumph of the Just,The Joy of the Saints,The Helper of the Oppressed,The Ease of the Afflicted,The Rest of the Weary,The Ornament of the Conscience,The Advancement of Graces,The Odor of an Acceptable Sacrifice,The Encourager of Mutual Good-will,The Refreshment of this Miserable Life,The Sweetening of Death,The Foretaste of the Heavenly Life.—Arndt.
For Prayer is a
Conversing with God,
The Key of Heaven,
The Flower of Paradise,
A Free Access to God,
A Familiarity with God,
The Searcher of His Secrets,
The Opener of His Mysteries,
The Purchaser of His Gifts,
A Spiritual Banquet,
A Heavenly Enjoyment,
The Honey-comb of the Spirit,
Honey Flowing from the Lips,
The Nurse of Virtues,
The Conqueror of Vices,
The Medicine of the Soul,
A Remedy against Infirmities,
An Antidote against Sin,
The Pillar of the World,
The Salve of Mankind,
The Seed of Blessing,
The Garden of Happiness,
The Tree of Pleasure,
The Increase of Faith,
The Support of Hope,
The Mother of Charity,
The Path of Righteousness,
The Preserver of Perseverance,
The Mirror of Prudence,
The Mistress of Temperance,
The Strength of Chastity,
The Beauty of Holiness,
The Fire of Devotion,
The Light of Knowledge,
The Repository of Wisdom,
The Strength of the Soul,
The Remedy against Faint-heartedness,
The Foundation of Peace,
The Joy of the Heart,
The Jubilee of the Mind,
A Faithful Companion in this Earthly Pilgrimage,
The Shield of a Christian Soldier,
The Rule of Humility,
The Forerunner of Honor,
The Nurse of Patience,
The Guardian of Obedience,
The Fountain of Quietness,
The Imitator of Angels,
The Conquest of Devils,
The Comfort of the Sorrowful,
The Triumph of the Just,
The Joy of the Saints,
The Helper of the Oppressed,
The Ease of the Afflicted,
The Rest of the Weary,
The Ornament of the Conscience,
The Advancement of Graces,
The Odor of an Acceptable Sacrifice,
The Encourager of Mutual Good-will,
The Refreshment of this Miserable Life,
The Sweetening of Death,
The Foretaste of the Heavenly Life.—Arndt.
Sermon on Lukeiv, 1-13.—Theweaponsof Jesus?—say we ratherthe weapon—for he has but one, it is theWord of God. Three times tempted, three times he repels the temptation by a simple quotation from the Scriptures, without explanation or comment. “It is written”—this one expression tells upon the tempter like a tremendous discharge upon an assaulting battalion. “It is written”—the devil withdraws for the first time. “It is written”—the devil withdraws for the second time. “It is written”—the devil gives up the contest. God’s word is the weapon which Satan most dreads—a weapon before which he has never been able to do aught but succumb. Most justly does Paul call it the “Sword of the Spirit;”[A]and John describes it, in the Revelation, as “a sharp, two-edged sword, proceeding out of the mouth of the Son of man.” With that “Sword of the Spirit” in our hands, our cause becomes that of the Holy Spirit himself, and we shall be as superior in strength to our adversary, as is the Spirit of God to the spirit of darkness. Without it, on the contrary, left to ourselves, we shall be as much below him as is man’s nature below that of angels. Adam fell, only because he allowed this sword to drop. Jesus triumphs, because no one can wrest it from his hand. But why is it that the Son of God, instead of meeting the enemy with some new sword brought from the heavens whence he came, took up only our own weapon, from that very earth where Adam had, with such cowardice, left it? This is for our example. From what that weapon accomplished in his hand, we must learn what it can do in ours. Let us, then, take it up in our turn; or, rather, let us receive it from him, resharpened as it were, by his victory, and we shall have nothing to fear. To all the adversary’s attacks let us oppose a simple “It is written,” and we shall render vain his every endeavor.… If after having heard him on the theater of temptation, scoffing at the word of God, we could (allow me the expression) follow him behind the scenes, and hear him confess to his accomplices that he is lost if he can not succeed in wresting from our hands this irresistible weapon! If we did but know all this, and if, like the valiant Eleazar, “we could keep hold of our sword till our hand clove unto it”—oh, then we should be invincible, yea,invincible!—Monod.
[A]Revelation i:16; ii:16; xix:15-21; Hebrews iv:12, “The word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joint and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”
[A]Revelation i:16; ii:16; xix:15-21; Hebrews iv:12, “The word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joint and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”
[A]Revelation i:16; ii:16; xix:15-21; Hebrews iv:12, “The word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joint and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.”
BY MARY MATHEWS-SMITH.
Soldiers brave, in days of old,Facing dangers manifold,Looked unto their king to cry—“Thee we do salute, and die.”Service for an earthly kingOther ending can not bring;Whatso’er thy record be,Death is all it gives to thee.Christian brave, where’er thy way,Thine it is with joy to say—“King, to whom our hearts we give,Thee we do salute, and live.”Service for the heavenly King,Love and life eternal bring;He alone true life can give,Him we may salute, and live.
Soldiers brave, in days of old,Facing dangers manifold,Looked unto their king to cry—“Thee we do salute, and die.”Service for an earthly kingOther ending can not bring;Whatso’er thy record be,Death is all it gives to thee.Christian brave, where’er thy way,Thine it is with joy to say—“King, to whom our hearts we give,Thee we do salute, and live.”Service for the heavenly King,Love and life eternal bring;He alone true life can give,Him we may salute, and live.
Soldiers brave, in days of old,Facing dangers manifold,Looked unto their king to cry—“Thee we do salute, and die.”
Soldiers brave, in days of old,
Facing dangers manifold,
Looked unto their king to cry—
“Thee we do salute, and die.”
Service for an earthly kingOther ending can not bring;Whatso’er thy record be,Death is all it gives to thee.
Service for an earthly king
Other ending can not bring;
Whatso’er thy record be,
Death is all it gives to thee.
Christian brave, where’er thy way,Thine it is with joy to say—“King, to whom our hearts we give,Thee we do salute, and live.”
Christian brave, where’er thy way,
Thine it is with joy to say—
“King, to whom our hearts we give,
Thee we do salute, and live.”
Service for the heavenly King,Love and life eternal bring;He alone true life can give,Him we may salute, and live.
Service for the heavenly King,
Love and life eternal bring;
He alone true life can give,
Him we may salute, and live.
BY OTIS T. MASON.
Whenever the word mummy is mentioned almost everybody thinks of Egypt and the ancient embalmers, with their tedious processes and costly ceremonials. The term does include the Egyptian prepared bodies, but it does not exclude some found elsewhere. Indeed, in Washington, there will be seen in close proximity, in the Smithsonian building, an exceedingly dry company, made up of individuals from Alaska, Arizona, Mexico, Kentucky, Peru, and Egypt.
Whoever has marked the tender solicitude with which the things around us seem to beckon us in this way or in that will understand that even the disposal of the dead has been influenced by such suggestions. Passing through a dense forest one seems to hear the branches and undergrowth say: “Come this way, pass along here, we are opening to make way for you.” Well, it is so in every human art; natural objects supply the materials, the tools, and suggest the simplest forms. There can be no potters where there is no clay, no chipped arrow heads where there is no stone to flake, no wood carving in the arctic regions where grows no timber. Yet the good people in all these places have arts, they make excellent baskets in which they carry water and boil their meat, polished spearheads and axes of volcanic stone, and most delicate carvings in ivory or antler.
As to the disposal of the dead in different regions and ages, all we have space to say is that the voices of nature around each people have told them how to perform this sad rite. In the frozen regions, where the ground is never thawed, no graves are dug. By the seaside the primitive fisherman is launched upon the wide expanse in his own canoe. In rocky regions cairns and cists conceal the wasting form. On the soft prairie mounds cover the dead out of sight. In those arid regions where the rainfall does not affect the atmosphere to any extent the process of desiccation takes place more rapidly than chemical changes. The water, which forms the greater part of the human body, soon removes and leaves but a few pounds of bones, dried flesh and skin. This may be called natural mummification, the process of which is aided either by extreme cold, extreme aridity, or preservative elements in the soil.
In the National Museum there is the body of a little boy, lying on his back, his feet drawn up, and all sorts of curious relics hanging in the case with him. The body was discovered in one of the cliff ruins of the Cañon de Chelly, Arizona. The particular ruin referred to is on a benched recess, seventy-five feet above the cañon, and extends backward about thirty feet. The ancient Pueblo people, driven by some invading force, constructed their cliff houses along only a part of this bench. About fifty feet from the walls Mr. Thomas Kearn found a little oven-like cist composed of angular bowlders laid in clay. The rooflet consisted of sticks supporting stones and clay. At the bottom lay the little child, and the remains of other burials, together with grave deposits. Here, in this last resting place, the waters escaped so quickly and so quietly from the body that even the form of life was not disturbed nor any chemical changes awakened. So perfectly dried is this little fellow that even the coatings of the eye remain. This is natural embalmment by desiccation simply. In the Peabody Museum, at Cambridge, are dried bodies from Mexico, preserved in the same manner. Around them were their clothing and utensils, silent and patient watchers, waiting all these centuries to give in evidence as to how those dead people dressed, ate, drank, worked, and warred.
In the palmy days of our grandparents there was a desiccated body discovered in Mammoth Cave, Kentucky. This, also, has had the good fortune, after many peregrinations, to find its way into the Smithsonian. Now, Mammoth Cave is a damp place, but the earth accumulated on the floor is in places full of nitrous and other preservative salts. Indeed, the Kentucky cave subject may be called a natural pickle.
To Mr. William H. Dall we are indebted for bringing to light mummies from the frozen regions. At the time of their discovery by the Russians, the Aleuts of Unalashka had a process of mummification peculiar to themselves. Mr. Dall informs us that they eviscerated the bodies of those held in honor, removed the fatty matter, placed them for some time in running water, and then lashed them into as compact a bundle as possible. A line was placed around the neck and under the knees, to draw them up to the chin. If any part stuck out, the bones were broken so as to facilitate the consolidation. After this the body was thoroughly dried and packed in a wooden crate, wrapped round and round with seal, sea-otter, and other precious furs, enough to make a fashionable belle’s head swim. Over these were wrapped coarser skins, waterproof cloth of intestines, and fine grass mats. This crate was slung to upright poles, or hung, like a wall-pocket, to a peg driven into a crevice in some cave. In 1874 Captain E. Hennig, of the Alaska Commercial Company’s service, found in a cave on the island of Kagamil, near Unalashka, a number of these framed mummies, all but two of which the company presented to the Smithsonian Institution.
The Egypt of America for mummies is Peru. Scarcely a museum in the world is without its dried dogs, guinea pigs, parrots, and human beings wrapped in costly cloths, and the last mentioned wearing the greatest profusion of gold and silver jewelry. Along with these bodies are found corn, beans, peanuts; pottery, gourds, and silver vases; pillows, haversacks and masks; knives, war clubs and spearheads; needles, distaffs, spindles, work-baskets and musical cradles. Thousands and thousands of the most interesting things turn up, almost as expressive of ancient Peruvian life as was the library of Sennacherib, exhumed by Layard at Kouyunjik, of Assyrian life.
Beyond the care of the Peruvians and Bolivians in the clothing and encysting of the dead, it is almost certain that they left them to the atmosphere to manipulate. The work was done most effectually. Nothing can be dryer than a Peruvian mummy. It is perfectly useless to dust the cases containing them, and those who handle them are in a steady sneeze, as though invisible spirits, filled with indignation, held impalpable snuff-boxes to the nose. It is still more wonderful that insects have not done their destructive work upon these bodies. The wrappings doubtless were so securely made as to prevent their inroads, and must have contained some substance to keep them away.
In the National Museum, finally, are two Egyptian mummies. It is hard to tell how they got into such outlandish boxes and mountings. There they stand, nailed and screwed into narrow, white boxes, side by side, with mouths open, as if Pompeian convulsions had seized and embalmed them by instantaneous mummification just as the curtain was falling on a grand duet. Now, these two bodies were really embalmed (embalsamed); all the other mummies were simply dried up.
The Egyptians, Peruvians, and perhaps the Alaskans preserved the bodies as integral parts of the individual, that would be needed again. The others simply dried up, their depositors cherishing no belief in the resurrection of the body.
Report of a lecture delivered in the National Museum of Washington, D. C., by Prof. J. S. Diller, of the U. S. Geological Survey.
The Great Basin Country is bounded to the westward by the Cascade Range in Oregon and the Sierra Nevada Mountains in eastern California. The axes of these two mountain ranges make an angle of over 140° with each other, and at their point of intersection in northern California rises Mt. Shasta, one of the most conspicuous and imposing topographical features of the Pacific coast, above which it rises 14,440 feet. Early in the days of western exploration its summit was declared to be inaccessible, but whether this assertion was made to inspire greater respect for the abode of the Indian gods, or to excuse a disinclination to physical exertion, must ever remain a matter of conjecture. Certain it is that the ascent, frequently made within the last few years by ladies is not a remarkable feat of mountaineering. Under the direction of Captain Dutton of the Geological Survey, a detailed exploration of the mountain has been accomplished.
The belt of territory bordering upon the Pacific embraces two parallel mountain chains, the Sierra Nevada and Cascade Range on the east, and the illy-defined Coast Range on the west. Between these lies the valley region of the Willamette and Sacramento rivers, whose headwaters are among that complex group of mountains through which the Klamath River, in a deep cañon, finds its way to the sea.
Of all the volcanic regions of the world, the one to which Mt. Shasta belongs is the largest. It extends from Lassen’s Peak, in California, north through Oregon to Mt. Rainier in Washington Territory, and eastward far into Idaho, covering an area larger than that of France and Great Britain combined. Within this wide expanse are extensive plains, whose broad surfaces indicate that the basaltic lava beneath at the time of its eruption possessed such a high degree of fluidity that it spread out far and wide like the waters of a lake. Upon the western border the more viscous lavas built up the Cascade Range, whose mammoth arch is surmounted by numerous mighty volcanoes, among which Mt. Shasta is one of the most prominent.
Seen from all sides Mt. Shasta presents a remarkably regular outline, and its beautiful conoidal form has excited the admiration of many observers. Its slopes are exceptional for the high angle and graceful curves of their inclination. The upper 3,000 feet of the mountain, where cliffs are most abundant, dips away toward all points of the compass at an average angle of 37°. Further down the mountain the slope gradually decreases in inclination to 20°, then to 15°, 10°, and finally the long, gentle slope about the base of the mountain deviates but 5° from a horizontal plane. In all directions from the summit of Mt. Shasta its flanks increase in length as they decrease in angle of inclination, presenting a curved mountain side concave upwards, and has the greatest curvature near the top. Mr. Gilbert, in his excellent monograph of the Henry Mountains, shows that such a curve is the natural result of erosion. In the case of some volcanic mountains, however, an important coöperative cause may be found in the fact that at each successive eruption the lava decreased in quantity and became more viscous. The grandest approach to Mt. Shasta is from the north, in the broad valley of the same name, where it is presented to full view, and the deepest impression of its colossal dimensions is experienced. It stands at the head of Shasta valley, above which it rises 11,000 feet, with a volume of over 224 cubic miles, and presents, in strange contrast with the sterility of the valley, the luxuriant vegetation of the forest belt. The timbered slopes lie between the altitudes 4,000 and 7,000 feet above the sea, and belong to the most magnificent forest regions of the world. Above the forest belt the mountain rises more than a mile into the heights of eternal snow, and its brilliant white slopes present an imposing contrast to the deep green of the pines beneath. Viewed from the southeast, Mt. Shasta appears to be surmounted by a single peak, but seen from the north, the upper portion is found to be double. The smaller of the two cones, broad topped and crater shaped, has been designated Shastina, to distinguish it from the other acute cone, which rises 2,000 feet higher and forms the summit of Shasta proper.
The influence of temperature upon precipitation, and the limits which it throws about arboreal vegetation, are here most forcibly illustrated. In Shasta valley, at an elevation of about 3,000 feet above the sea, where the average temperature is high as compared with that upon the mountain itself, the precipitation is always in the form of rain, but not sufficient in quantity, especially on account of its unequal distribution throughout the year, to support more than a scanty growth of stunted trees. In the autumn storm clouds gather about the summit, and showers become frequent, spreading over the land in copious rains. Before the spring eight ninths of all the annual rain has fallen and the country is brilliant with living green. As summer advances the refreshing showers disappear and the cloudless sky affords no protection from the burning sun; the bright green fades away and the earth gradually assumes that uninviting seared aspect which pervades all nature in the season of drought. Upon the lower slopes of the mountain, by its cooling influence upon the atmosphere, the rainfall is greatly increased, and the vegetation is luxuriant. The vegetation is almost wholly coniferous. Among nearly a score of species the sugar-pine is monarch, frequently attaining a diameter of twelve and a height of over two hundred feet. Farther up the mountain these gradually give way to the firs, whose tall, graceful forms are in perfect keeping with the majestic mountain behind them. Their black and yellow spotted trunks and branches, draped in long pendant moss, present a weird, almost dismal aspect, making a fit promenade for the mythical deities supposed by the aborigines to inhabit the mountains. To assume that in the timber belt the slopes of the mountain are everywhere covered with majestic trees, would certainly be wide of the truth, for within the forests are large treeless tracts, sometimes hundreds of acres in extent. From a distance these green, velvety acres appear to be very inviting pastures, and present the most desirable path of ascent. A closer examination, however, discovers to the observer that instead of grass these green fields are clothed in such a dense shrubbery of manzanita, ceanothus, and other bushy plants, as to be almost impassable. One attempt to cross a patch of chaparral, or “Devil’s acre,” as it is sometimes appropriately called in western vernacular, will convince the traveler that his best path lies in the forest.
As the timber gradually dwindles away from the foot of the mountain to almost nothing in Shasta valley, so also it diminishes in stature, from an altitude of 7,000 feet upwards to the snow region, where the precipitation is generally, if not always, in a solid form of snow in winter and sleet in summer.
Of the tree-like vegetation, one of the pines reaches farthest up the slopes. Its stem grows shorter and the top flattens until, at an elevation of about 9,000 feet, the branches are spread upon the ground, so that not unfrequently the pedestrian finds his best path upon the tree-tops. Beyond these, on the snowless slopes, are found only scattered blades of grass, and the welcome little hulsea, the edelweiss of our Alpine regions, with its bright flowers to alleviate the arctic desolationof the place. The red and yellow lichens cling to the rocks and the tiny prolococcus flourishes in the snow, so that one is frequently surprised, upon looking back, to see his bloody footsteps.
In the Alps, between the forests and the snow, are often found extensive pastures where the herds which furnish milk for the celebrated Swiss cheese are grazed during the milder seasons of the year. In northern California similar pastures do not occur about the snow-capped summits, probably on account of the unequal distribution of the annual rainfall.
To those who are fond of novelty, the greatest interest of the upper portion of Mt. Shasta attaches to its glaciers. They are five in number, and all are found side by side upon its northern half, forming an almost continuous covering above 10,000 feet for that portion of the mountain point. Upon the northern and western slope of the mountain is the Whitney glacier, with its prominent terminal moraines. Next to the eastward is the Bulam glacier, with the large pile of debris at the lower end. Then comes the broad Hottums glacier and the Wintum. The Konwakitong, which is the smallest of the group, lies upon the southeast side of the mountain. Whitney glacier is more like those of the Alps than any other one of the group. Its snow-field lies upon the northwestern slope of the mountains, from whence the icy mass moves down a shallow depression between Shasta and Shastina. Mr. Ricksecker, who has made a careful topographical survey of the mountain, has measured the dimensions of all its glaciers. The limits of the Whitney glacier are well defined; its width varies from 1,000 to 2,000 feet, with a length of about two and one-fifth miles, reaching from the summit of the mountain down to an altitude of 9,500 feet above the sea. It is but little more than a decade since the first glaciers were discovered within the United States, and we should not be disappointed to learn that the largest of them, about the culminating point of the Cascade Range, would appear Liliputian beside the great glacier of the Bernese Oberland, and yet the former are as truly glaciers as the latter. In the upper portion of its course, passing over prominent irregularities in its bed, the Whitney glacier becomes deeply fractured, producing the extremely jagged surface, corresponding to the surfaces of the Alpine glaciers. Lower down the crevasses develop, and these, with the great fissure which separates it from the steep slopes of Shastina, attest the motion of the icy mass. They frequently open and become yawning chasms, reaching 100 feet into the clear, green ice beneath. Near its middle, upon the eastern margin, the Whitney glacier receives large contributions of sand, gravel and bowlders, from the vertical cliffs around which it turns to move in a more northerly direction. In this way a prominent lateral moraine is developed. From the very steep slopes of Shastina, upon the western side, the glacier receives additions in the form of avalanches. Here the snow clings to its rocky bed until the strain resulting from accumulation is great enough to break it from its moorings and precipitate it upon the glacier below. The most striking feature of the Whitney glacier, and that which is of greatest interest from a geological point of view, is its terminal moraine, which appears to be fully a mile in length. Its apparent length is much greater than the real, from the fact that the glacial ice extends far down beneath the covering of detritus. It is so huge a pile of light colored debris, just above the timber line, that it is plainly visible from afar off.
In comparing the morainal material about Mt. Shasta with that of Alpine glaciers, a feature that is particularly noticeable is the smallness of the bowlders. Upon Alpine glaciers they frequently have a diameter greater than ten feet, but about the Whitney and other glaciers of Mt. Shasta they are rarely as much as three feet in diameter. This is readily explained by the fact that the glaciers of Mt. Shasta do not move in deep valleys bounded by long, deep slopes, with many high cliffs which afford an opportunity for the formation of large bowlders. Although the Whitney glacier has its boundaries more clearly defined than any of the other glaciers about Mt. Shasta by the depression in which it moves, the valley is very shallow, and one looks in vain along its slopes for traces of polished rocks like those so magnificently displayed on the way from Meiningen to Grimsel, in the valley of the Aar. Below the terminal moraine the milky water of Whitney creek wends its way down the northern slope, plunges over a fall hundreds of feet high, into a deep cañon, and near the base of the mountain is swallowed up by the thirsty air and earth. The presence of marginal crevasses, lateral and terminal moraines, and the characteristic milky stream which issues from the lower end, are proofs that the Whitney glacier still moves, but the rate of motion has not yet been determined. The row of stakes planted last July were covered with snow before the party could reach them again in the latter part of October.
Upon the northwestern slope of the mountain, besides the Whitney glacier, there is the Bulam, differing chiefly in that it is contained in a broader, less definite valley, and forming an intermediate step toward the Hottum glacier, which is one of the most important and remarkable of the group. Unlike ordinary glaciers, it has no valley in which it is confined, but lies upon the convex surface of the mountain. Its upper surface, instead of being concave anywhere, is convex throughout from side to side, and its width (123 miles) is almost as great as its length (162 miles). At several places the surface of the glacier is made very rough by the inequalities of its bed. This is especially true of its southern portion, where prominent cliffs form the only medial moraine discovered upon Mt. Shasta. Throughout the greater part of its expanse the glacier is deeply crevassed, exposing the green ice occasionally to the depth of a hundred feet. The thickness of this glacier has been greatly overestimated. In reality, instead of being 1,800 to 2,500 feet thick, it does not appear where greatest to be more than a few hundred, for at a number of places it is so thin that its bed is exposed. Its terminal moraine is a huge pile, nearly half a mile in width, measured in the direction of glacial motion.
Next south of the Hottum glacier is the Wintum, which attains a length of over two miles, and ends with an abrupt front of ice in a cañon. Upon the southeastern slope of Mt. Shasta, at the head of a large cañon, is the Konwakitong glacier. Notwithstanding its diminutive size, its crevasses and the muddy stream it initiates indicate clearly that the ice mass continues to move. The amount of moraine material upon its borders is small, and yet, of all the glaciers about Mt. Shasta, it is the only one which has left a prominent record of important changes. The country adjacent to the west side of the Konwakitong cañon has been distinctly glaciated so as to leave no doubt that the Konwakitong glacier was once very much larger than it is at the present time. The rocks on which it moved have been deeply striated, and so abraded as to produce the smooth, rounded surfaces so common in glaciated regions. At the time of its greatest extension the glacier was 5.8 miles in length and occupied an area of at least seven square miles, being over twenty times its present size. Its limit is marked at several places by a prominent terminal moraine. The thickness of the glacier where greatest was not more than 200 feet, for several hills within the glaciated area were not covered. The striated surfaces and moraines do not extend up the slopes of those hills more than 200 feet above their bases. The thinness of the glacier is completely in harmony with the limited extent of its erosion, although the rocks are distinctly planed off, so that the low knobs and edges have regularly curved outlines. It is evident that a great thickness of rock has been removed by the ice, and that the period of ice erosion has been comparatively brief. During the lapse of time, however, there have been important climatic oscillations, embracing epochs of glacial advance and recession. None of the glaciers about Mt. Shasta, excepting the Wintum, terminate in cañons, but all of them give rise to muddy streams which flow in cañons to the mountain’s base. The cañons are purely theproduct of aqueous erosion, and contain numerous waterfalls, whence the streams in descending leap over the ends of old lava flows 50 to 300 feet in height.
In strong contrast with the arctic condition of Mt. Shasta to-day, are the circumstances attending its upbuilding, when it was an active volcano belching forth streams of fiery lava that flowed down the slopes now occupied by ice. It is the battlefield of the elements within the earth against those above it. In its early days the forces beneath were victorious, and built up the mountains in the face of wind and weather, but gradually the volcanic energy died away and the low temperature called into play those destructive agents which are now reversing the process and gradually reducing the mountain toward a general level. A microscopical examination of the rocks of Mt. Shasta reveals the fact that it is composed chiefly, if not wholly, of three kinds of lava. Several small areas of metamorphic rocks occur within its borders, but there is no evidence to show that they form any considerable portion of the mountain.
The range in mineralogical composition of the lavas is not extensive. There are only four minerals which deserved to be ranked as essential and characteristic constituents: they are plagioclase, feldspar, pyroxene, generally in the form of hypersthene hornblende, and olivine. The kind of lava which has by far the widest distribution upon the slopes of Mt. Shasta is composed essentially of plagioclase, feldspar and hypersthene, with some angite, and belongs to the variety of volcanic rocks which, on account of composition, and the place where first discovered, has been designated hypersthene andesite. Lava of this type has been shown by Messrs. Cross and Giddings of the Geological Survey to be widely distributed beyond the Mississippi. Upon the western slope of the mountain, especially in the vicinity of the prominent volcanic cone, the form of which suggests its name sugar loaf, the lava contains prominent crystals of hornblende instead of so much hypersthene and angite, and closely resembles the celebrated hornblende andesite lava from among the extinct volcanoes of central France. The third variety of lava which enters into the structure of Mt. Shasta is familiar to every one as basalt. It occurs in relatively small quantities, and has been extruded low down upon the slopes of the mountain. From the fact that there are three kinds of lava in the structure of Mt. Shasta, it must not be concluded that they all issued from the same volcanic vent, nor that they were effused from three separate and distinct openings. In reality, contributions to the upbuilding of Mt. Shasta have been made by over twenty volcanic orifices, of which two have been principal and far more prolific than all the parasitic events combined. This enumeration does not include those large fissures in the side of the cone, which are evidently attributable to the hydrostatic pressure of the molten mass within. The small number of parasitic cones on the slopes of Mt. Shasta is somewhat remarkable, especially when we compare it with the largest volcano in Europe. Although it is much higher than Etna, its base is less expansive, and its size about half that of the mighty monarch of the Mediterranean. Upon the irregular slopes of Etna there are 200 prominent subsidiary cones, beside over 400 of smaller size. On the contrary, Mt. Shasta has but a score of such accessories, and the remarkable regularity of its acute form forcibly expresses the highly concentrated type of volcanic energy which it represents.
From none of the vents upon its slopes have all three kinds of lava escaped, but from the summits of Shasta and Shastina, which are the products of the two largest and most prolific vents, both hornblende and hypersthene andesite have been effused. All the other orifices were subordinate, and each furnished but one kind of lava; from seven of them came hypersthene andesite; eight, hornblende andesite; and the remaining five, basalt. The relative age of the cones which mark the position of the volcanic vents is indicated by the amount of degradation which each has suffered. Judged by this criterion, those of hornblende andesite are the oldest and those of basalt the youngest. The latter are for the most part made of lapilli, and are not crater-shaped as is usually the case in other portions of the Cascade Range, but are elliptical in form, with dome-shaped summits. The presence of considerable piles of ejectments about the subsidiary vents indicates that the eruptions from these orifices were often of a violent character. On the other hand there are some without a trace of lapilli, or anything else to indicate an interruption in the quiet flow of lava welling out of the depths.
Upon the eastern slope of the mountain the cañon, excavated by Mud creek, brings to light the oldest Shasta lavas now exposed, and they are seen under such circumstances that their succession can be readily understood. The oldest lava known is hornblende andesite, which is now in an advanced state of disintegration, and it seems probable that in the early stages of its development a large proportion of the lavas ejected from Mt. Shasta were of the same mineralogical constitution. These were succeeded by extensive effusions of hypersthene andesite. Later in its history, several small streams of hornblende andesite again burst forth from the northeastern side of the cone, but the final effort of the volcanic energy was spent in the ejection of hypersthene andesite. The conditions which determine the oscillation in mineralogical composition of the lavas are as yet conjectural, but when discovered, and their influence demonstrated, an important step forward will have been made in determining the relations of many volcanic rocks.
A striking feature in the structure of Mt. Shasta is the paucity of volcanic ashes, lapilli, and other ejected matter. Only one important deposit of the kind has been discovered. It clings about the summit of the mountain, and is evidently the product of its last eruption. The summit of Shastina is so regular in outline, and the shape of its crater so well preserved, that many have supposed it to be composed chiefly of scoria and ashes; but this is not the case, for its slopes are of angular fragments of compact lava.
Mt. Shasta is almost a pure lava cone, and its remarkably regular form is a matter of wonder. That it is so regular is a sequence of several favorable circumstances. Although a score of parasitic cones spring from the side of the mountain, and have contributed to its upbuilding, yet their additions have been so small compared with the vast effusions from the summit craters Shasta and Shastina, as not to greatly modify the outline of the mountain. More important circumstances are to be found in the non-explosive character of the eruptions and the successive changes in the physical properties of the erupted lava, as the development of the mountain progressed.
It is well known that among the volcanoes of the Hawaiian Islands the eruptions are quiet and effusive. The fiery streams of liquid lava course down the gentle slopes for many miles.
Although the mountain is 14,000 feet high, its lavas have such a high degree of liquidity, and retain their mobility so long after eruption, that the base of the mountain spread by them has a diameter of about seventy miles, and an average slope of 5° 1,800 feet below its summit. Mauna Loa is nearly twenty miles in diameter. On the contrary, at a corresponding position its greatest diameter is less than two miles, a very remarkable difference, which is due chiefly to the unequal fluency of the two lavas. The very oldest lavas of Mt. Shasta lie buried within its mass, and we know nothing of their physical properties, but from an examination of the oldest ones now visible, it is evident that at the time of their eruption they possessed a higher degree of fluidity, and were more voluminous than those of later date. The long, gentle slopes about the base of the mountain are formed by comparatively old lavas. Ascending the mountain, one goes up as if upon a giant staircase, with long, inclined steps rising abruptly over the ends of successive shorter and newer lava flows.
It is evident in comparing the older and newer lava flows of Mt. Shasta that there has been a more or less regular decrease in the quantity of lava extruded during successive eruptions, and this is exactly what we should expect when we consider that as the pipe is lengthened by successive effusions, the hydrostatic pressure of the columns of lava within is gradually augmented. The increased compress of the lava flows toward the summit of the mountain indicates that the lava of successive extrusions became more and more viscous until at last the eruptions became explosive, and gave rise to the ejectments now clinging upon the upper slopes of the mountain to evidence the character of the final outburst.
It is not only possible, but very probable that the increased viscosity of lava toward the closing scenes of the volcano is correllated to the diminution of temperature. Since the beginning of the historic period there have been no eruptions from Mt. Shasta, but the freshness of its lavas indicate that not many centuries ago, with other volcanoes of the Cascade Range, it was in a state of vigorous activity, and groups of hot springs and fumeroles about the summit still attest the presence of smouldering volcanic energy, which may perhaps some day break through its confining walls.
The upbuilding of Mt. Shasta is but a matter of yesterday, as compared with the lapse of ages, since the birth of some of its neighbors. The complex group of mountains to the westward, embracing the Scott, Trinity, Salmon and Siskiyou, are composed in large part, at least, of ancient crystalline rocks of both aqueous and igneous origin; through these the rivers have cut deep cañons, the Klamath, on its way to the Sacramento southward, from the very base of Mt. Shasta to its broad valley stretching from the Sierra Nevada to the Coast Range. The cañon of the Sacramento was cut down to nearly its present level, and the mountains sculptured into existing forms long before the eruptions of Mt. Shasta had ceased, for a fiery deluge escaping from the southern slope of Mt. Shasta entered the Sacramento cañon, and as a lava stream 200 feet deep followed its course for over fifty miles.
Towering more than a mile above its neighbors, perhaps the youngest of the group, Mt. Shasta is the end of a long series of volcanoes in the Cascade Range, stretching northwest to Mt. Tacoma. This range, composed chiefly of volcanic material, is cut across by the cañons of the Columbia and the Klamath rivers, in the former of which, beneath a thickness of 3,500 feet of lava, are found strata containing Tertiary fossils. At the southern base of Mt. Shasta, in the cañon of the McLoud River, similar beds of volcanic debris are found, but without fossils, nevertheless it is evident that the main mass of the Cascade Range and its volcanoes originated in recent geologic times, and from the fact that solfataras, fumeroles, and hot springs are still abundant upon their slopes, they can not be reckoned among those which are wholly extinct.
A frontiersman in Washington Territory tells of an outburst of Mt. St. Helens in the winter of 1841-2.
Upon somewhat more trustworthy authority it is said that to the southward of Mt. Shasta, about forty miles, a small cone which may be considered parasitic to Lassens Peak, has been in eruption as late as January, 1850, ejecting considerable ashes and cinders, and pouring forth a mass of lava, which gradually spread, attaining a circumference of over four miles, and presenting an abrupt embankment-like termination upon all sides eighty to ninety feet in height. Trees, blackened by the fiery stream, are still standing to furnish incontestable evidence of its recency.
The country is full of rumors of subterranean rumblings, and the people are prone to attribute them to the dying throes of volcanic energy.
One of the most striking features of the region is the strongly contrasted types of volcanic action in Mt. Shasta. Both have approximately the same area. In the valley there have been many scores of volcanic vents, among which the energy has been so widely diffused that none of them have furnished lava sufficient to form a hill more than a few hundred feet in height.
On the contrary, the mountain represents a small number of vents, and the volcanic was nearly all concentrated in one place, so that the extrusions were all piled up, one upon another, and resulted in the upbuilding of one majestic elevation.
Thus it has been from a small beginning, probably in early Tertiary times, that by successive boilings over, so to speak, additions have been made to the mountain until it attained a height beyond its present altitude. The constructive agents reached their limit, dissipated their energy, and gave way to destructive ones, which are gradually undoing the work.
Mt. Shasta must ever be one of the most popular mountains among tourists of the West. It is easily accessible from a main line of travel which passes by its base, at Berryvale, where comfortable quarters and necessary outfit for the ascent can be obtained.