It is necessary for our consuls to verify in triplicate every invoice of goods sent to the United States. Not only is he obliged to take the oaths of the manufacturer or exporter, but he is expected to have a special knowledge of the trade of the place and of the actual value of the goods, so that he can control the statements made to him; for our system does not accept the valuations of goods always at the actual price paid for them, but at the market value of the place where they are manufactured or chiefly sold. Besides keeping a number of official records, registers, and fee books, carrying on his ordinary correspondence with the Department of State, and carefully prescribed forms relating to the business of his office, and of everything of interest of a commercial nature to the government, the consul is obliged to make quarterly, semi-annual and annual returns, both to the State Department and to the Treasury. He must, for instance, at the end of each quarter give a digest of the invoices verified by him during that period; of the arrivals and departures of American vessels, a return nowadays exceedingly simple; of deceased American citizens; a record of his notarial services, or unofficial fees; a summary of the whole consular business; and, in case the consul has extraterritorial jurisdiction, a return of the business of the consular coast, and also a record of his official fees.
Still other duties are the submitting of quarterly, semi-annual, and annual reports. The consul at Shanghai has such duties placed upon him as give him supervisory control over all consulates in China, vest him with semi-diplomatic powers, cause him to participate in the municipal government of the foreign settlement, make him a judge in civil causes, give him charge of the gaol in which American prisoners are confined, constitute him judge of a criminal court, of a court of probate and divorce, of an equity andnisi priuscourt, appoint him United States postmaster, give him the duties of a seaport consulate, and place under his control the protection of the revenue of his government.
Diplomats are agents of a higher class and with different functions. According to Caloo, who is now generally accepted as the best modern writer of international law, diplomacy is the science of the relations existing between different states, such as result from their reciprocal interests, the principles of international law, and the stipulations of treaties and conventions; or, more concisely, diplomacy is the science of relations, or simply the art of negotiations. According to Caloo, the essential nature of diplomacy is to assure the well-being of peoples, to maintain between them peace and good harmony, while guaranteeing the safety, the tranquility, and the dignity of each of them. The part played by diplomatic agents consists principally in conducting negotiations relative to these important objects, in watching over the execution of treaties which follow from them, in preventing anything which might injure the interests of their fellow-citizens in the countries where they reside, and in protecting those of them who may be obliged to ask for their assistance. According to rules adopted by the Congress in Vienna in 1815, diplomatic agents were divided into three classes: (1) Ambassadors, legates, or nuncios; these two latter being sent only by the Pope; (2) Envoys, ministers plenipotentiary, or other persons accredited to a sovereign or sovereign state; and, (3)Chargés d’Affaires, who are accredited only to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. According to the old custom, ambassadors represented the person of the sovereign, and accordingly enjoyed higher ceremonial honors than were paid to other diplomatic agents. They could also address themselves personally to the sovereign or chief magistrate of the country to which they were sent for matters of business, instead of having to negotiate with the Ministers of Foreign Affairs. Nowadays ambassadors differ from other diplomatic agents only in rank and precedence. The United States having no ambassadors, and but few envoys and ministers plenipotentiary, does not always receive equal privileges of rank with some other countries. Our interests certainly demand that in every country we should be represented by agents of the highest title known or accepted there. More questions are settled by a few informal words at a dinner table than by a formal process of correspondence, although, of course, when great principles are at stake a formal mode of procedure is necessary. It is therefore evidently to be desired that diplomatic agents in a given place should be of equal rank and on a friendly footing with each other.
There are several cases in which the Minister of the United States, if he had more official authority, could manage to have matters arranged which ultimately affect our interests. At Constantinople, for instance, where there is an effort to undermine the treaty rights of all foreigners, the ambassadors have of late adopted the habit of meeting one another in an unofficial way, and of laying down rules and taking action regarding extraterritorial matters, which are then proposed to the rest of the diplomatic body. In general, the representatives of the smaller states are asked for their approval or dissent, but given no chance to suggest or argue. Three years ago, indeed, our government found it necessary to protest against this course, for it was beginning to be tacitly understood that only the ambassadors of what were called the Signatory Powers—those who were represented at the Congress in Berlin in 1878—should have any voice in matters which affected the interests of all foreigners in Turkey. Our protest had the theoretical result of bringing about occasional conferences of all foreign representatives, but the practice remains much as before.
Foreign ministers of the United States should be enabled to live in a style suitable to their rank. Nor is this simply a question of display, but for a minister to be useful he must make acquaintance with the leading persons of the country, and entertain them at his house.
The necessary qualifications for employment in the diplomatic service are a knowledge of French, and generally at least of one other language; a good acquaintance with history, treaties and international law. It is also necessary that he be a gentleman:i. e., acquainted with the ways of the world, and the usages and manners of the best society in each capital in which he is expected to move. The word “gentleman” does not necessarily imply a man of good birth, or belonging to a well known family, although the son or grandson of the President of the United States would always have more credit and influence in the place to which he was sent than one of whom nothing was known.
It is hard to create among a Christian people, enthusiasm for an infidel, however talented he may have been, or however much good he may have done; for his revelation to man, even if true, is an unwelcome and painful revelation, adding nothing to his happiness or comfort in life or in death; while the faith of the believer is an inspiring one, filling his life with the sunshine of hope, and surrounding it with a halo of imperishable glory. Most people have an instinctive dread of the man who with ruthless hand, attempts to destroy all those sacred hopes and fears which have been instilled into their minds by their nearest and dearest benefactor, their mother.—“How to Get On in the World,” by Robert Waters.
BY BISHOP JOHN F. HURST.
When I was buying my ticket at Tuticorin for Madura, the station agent was kind enough to say:
“Don’t you know there is cholera in Madura?”
“What, real Asiatic cholera?”
“It’s real Asiatic cholera, and nothing else,” he answered.
“I have not heard it before,” I replied. “I have only this moment landed from the steamer ‘Nerbudda,’ and have had no news of any kind. Many deaths?”
“Oh, no. Nothing compared with last year. Five thousand died during the season. Only about ten die a day just now, and we don’t consider that anything.”
I mused a moment on the mortality of ten cholera patients a day in a place of fifty thousand, and then asked: “Do you think it safe to go?”
“I can’t answer that. It all depends.”
Two facts now came to my relief. One was, that few people in India think cholera contagious. There are no separate hospitals for such cases. Cholera patients are put in the same wards with patients suffering from fever and other diseases. The other fact was, that two weeks before, when I was in Puna, there had been a cholera case in the native bazar, and yet I had a most pleasant ride through that part of the city, and had suffered no harm, and saw no alarm anywhere. The truth is, nobody thinks of cholera as any more likely to happen than any mild disease. Dr. Waugh told me only yesterday that cholera prevailed more or less in all Indian towns, but that nobody minded it. It might be next door, but it frightened no one. The only thing is to watch its beginning, and manage it, as you can, with care and caution. Another is, to take care of one’s diet. This must be said, however, that when cholera does come, and its first stage is neglected, the collapse is very sudden.
Taking all things together it did not seem much of a risk to spend my intervening day, before meeting an engagement at Bangelore, in the Mysore, in making a halt in Madura, and using my only opportunity to see the famous Pagoda there—the largest, not only in India, but in the world.
Long before reaching Madura one can see the great towers which rise above the Pagoda, and dominate not alone the city, but the whole surrounding country. In many of the Indian cities the temple is in the suburbs, and even completely alone, in the country, having been left by the drift of the population far out into other directions. But this is not the case in Madura. The Pagoda is in the very heart of the old city. The bazars lead directly toward it, and overflow into it. It is the city in miniature, with its dirt, ill odors, poverty, wealth, superstition, and infamous idolatry. All the surging tide of tradesmen drifts toward and about it. No adequate conception of an Indian temple can be formed from any European illustration of sacred places. Perhaps the Troitskoi Monastery in Russia, where many cathedrals are grouped around one central sacred place, making the whole a very Canterbury, is as near an approach to an Indian temple and its spaces as can be found anywhere west of Asia.
Madura has long been celebrated for this Pagoda. There are conflicting opinions as to its antiquity. It is probable that the place itself was regarded sacred, and was the site of a temple long before a city was built here. It is not unlikely that the temple was the first building, and that the city grew out of it, and all about it. The immense structure gives clear evidence of its own antiquity. It was built in the third century before the Christian era, by King Kula Shekhara. It is evidently a case where the city has sprung into life from religious associations, and become the capital of a large territory. Some parts of the Pagoda are modern, and were built by Nurmala Nark, in the former half of the seventeenth century, but one can easily distinguish the newer from the older. The effect, throughout, is one of great and undisturbed antiquity.
The Pagoda space is an immense parallelogram, extending 744 feet from east to west, and 847 feet from north to south. This area is enclosed by a light wall, and is flanked, at various points, by nine colossal towers. These towers are of peculiar structure, all after the same model, and so disposed toward each other as to form a symmetrical combination. Each constitutes a kind of gateway, for entrance from different sides of the wall. As you enter you find yourself passing through a great open corridor. Thegopurais shaped like a tent, and on every side is ornamented with carvings. These represent the fabulous doings of the god Shiva and his wife, Minakshi, and ascend in lessening rows, or stories, until the apex is reached, which is sharp and curved, and reminds one of the general form of an old Roman gallery. The colors of thesegopurasare very rich, and, in the case of several, shine like fine tiling, or even gay enamel. The blue is especially rich, and is fairly dazzling in the bright sunlight. While Shiva is the god to whom the temple is supposed to have been dedicated, the more frequent representations of his wife Minakshi prove her to be the favorite of the people.
Twogopurasconstitute the great entrances. Through one of these I went, with a crowd of about fifty ill-clad beggars following me. They held high carnival as they passed around and against me, and called for alms. I noticed many sleepers in the darker corners, in various parts of the temple spaces. They lie in every position. It seems a habit of the Maduran when he gets thoroughly tired in his tent, or in the bazar, to drop into this temple and fall down for a good nap at the feet of Shiva, or some other idol, for Madura is a spot which for ages has been held strangely sacred by the Hindoo worshiper. Having passed through thegopura, and completed the passage of the great corridor, you see the beginnings only of this wonderful temple. There stretch out before you great reaches of passages, and halls, and still farther corridors, in all possible directions. But for my safe guide, who added to his other duties the good one of keeping off the crowd of ragged and starving and ill-smelling beggars with a stout bamboo rod, I should have lost my way at once. At your right you see an immense hall, the Hall of One Thousand Columns, which extends far away until it is lost in such dark and distant spaces as I cared not to explore. But, beyond it—for I came back that way—there is a special temple sacred to the ruling god, Shiva. At your left are venders of images, sweetmeats, toys, and various other articles, which, for some reason, are permitted to be sold within the sacred walls. The men who sell them are squatted over the floor, on mats of palm, and their wares lie about them. Think of a seller of small wares, in a temple, sitting or standing, with his goods arranged on a counter or row of shelves! Such a thing would be preposterous beyond measure. The drift is downward. No Hindoo will stand if he can possibly drop on the floor. He doubles up his legs under him. That is his normal position. He may be talking with you this moment, and as much interested in standing or walking as any one. But a sudden change comes over him. Down he drops, and no boy ever closed the two bladesof a jack-knife more quickly than the Hindoo doubles himself up, either on the temple floor, or at the side of the street, or in his own doorway. And there he can sit by the hour, nay, the whole day, and be as calm as the serene face of Buddha himself.
Perhaps these sellers in the Madura Pagoda have some ancestral claim on the favors of the authorities, by which they receive the privilege of spreading out their wares in the holy place. Over your head there flies about a flock of doves. They are sacred, and woe to the hand that would hurt a feather on their sweet heads! The worshipers feed them. It is a sacred privilege. Yonder, to your left, three sacred elephants are feeding and frisking their trunks about as if they really knew that they were picking up great wisps of straw and hay within the most holy place in all this region. Come, I must hasten, or their priestly keepers will loosen the chains of one of them in a trice, and have the mammoth dropping down on all fours, and pulling me up on his back, to take an elephant ride through this labyrinth of marvels. Imagine the absurdity of an elephant ride on a temple floor! Yet that is what you can do here, and take a long promenade, and never have him repeat his pathway. I have had two elephant rides, and want no more for a decade, at least. But by going through this first doorway I get away from the venders, and the elephants, and pass out of sight of the Hall of a Thousand Columns, and its great, interminable spaces. Here one is in a corridor nearly two hundred feet long, with pillars groaning beneath a wealth of sculptured images. Now comes a brazen door. The frame is vast and heavy, and is entirely surrounded with brazen lamps, all of which are lighted during a festive season, perhaps theTailotsava, “the oil festival.”
Monier Williams happened to visit the Madura Pagoda at the time of the “oil festival,” and thus describes the wretched scene: “A coarse image of the goddess (Minakshi), profusely decorated with jewels, and having a high head-dress of hair, was carried in the center of a long procession, on a canopied throne, borne by eight Brahmans, to a platform in the magnificent hall, opposite the temple. There the ceremony of undressing the idol, removing its ornaments, anointing its head with oil, bathing, redecorating and redressing it was gone through, and shouting, singing, beating of tom-toms, waving of lights and cowries, ringing of bells, and deafening discord from forty or fifty so-called musical instruments, each played by a man who did his best to overpower the sound of all the others combined. At the head of the procession was borne an image of Ganesa. Then followed three elephants, a long line of priests, musicians, attendants bearing cowries and umbrellas, with a troop of dancing girls bringing up the rear.
“No sight I witnessed in India made me more sick at heart than this. It presented a sad example of the utterly debasing character of the idolatry which, notwithstanding the counteracting influences of education and Christianity, still enslaves the masses of the population, deadening their intellects, corrupting their imaginations, warping their affections, perverting their consciences, and disfiguring the fair soil of a beautiful country with hideous usages and practices unsanctioned by even their own minds and works.”—“Religious Thought and Life in India.” Part I, pp. 442-443.
You are now introduced into a darker corridor, and then again into a broad and pillared space, where the columns are sculptured, being cut through and through into figures of dancing gods, like Shiva when he played his flute to the shepherds. You now look out upon a little sheet of water with a miniature temple in the middle of it. This is the Lake of the Golden Lilies. Near by it is the little chapel where Queen Mangammal’s subjects starved her to death in 1706, having placed food so near that she could see and smell it, but not taste it. We now enter another department of the temple; above there are stone images, up around the pillars, in all corners, and hanging down over you wherever you go, near walls or archways. These images are not grave and majestic, but, in the main, grotesque, bacchanalian, in fantastic attitudes, and often combining the bodies of man and beast. They represent, for the most part, the escapades of Shiva. Every now and then one comes to a shrine, where worshipers lie prostrate before it, and remain motionless for a long time. No one knows how long it has taken these poor dusty pilgrims to reach this sacred place. Perhaps they have been three months on the journey. They come from the very base of the Himalayas, or the borders of Thibet, and now that they have reached the end of their pilgrimage, would die with a happy heart. There are several gold plated images, veiled from view, which represent the god Shiva, or his wife, in some part of their marvelous career. The representations in stone, both of men and the brute world, are frequent everywhere. Elephants, horses, cattle, and every kind of animal held sacred in the Hindoo mythology, are cut out of stone, and made to portray the supposed divine attributes of Shiva and his wife. Here, too, are the veryvehanas, or great chariots, plated with gold, in which the god and his wife are taken out on special days in the year, to ride. Beside these there are silver litters, which serve the same divine purpose on other days.
One grows weary of the procession of splendid but gross images and idols in this vast space. Now you are out for a time in the open air, where a vacancy has been left in the roof, and the beautiful sky throws down its blessed sunlight upon this terrible picture of idolatry. But very soon you are brought again under the shadowing and lofty ceiling, and before you are aware of it, you are almost lost in a dark labyrinth of sculptured pillars, black idols in gold wrappings, dusty and absorbed pilgrims, cheerful doves, and the constant crowd of men and boys, who follow you, either to sell you their sweets, or beg for your loose coppers. All at once you come out from a corridor to the marble steps of a miniature lake. Be careful now. Only the real Hindoo dares to step down into its waters. For every drop is sacred, and must touch only the skin of Shiva’s children. Over the calm surface the towers stand as gay sentinels, from century to century. Turning again, you must look carefully, or you will tread upon a sleeping form, which has dropped in from the hot air, and let fall its burden, and eaten its crust, and now rests an hour. There is a mother, with a nose-ring so large that it hangs down over her mouth, and she must eat through it, or starve. Her ankles are encircled by heavy silver anklets, cut like serpents. Her toes are glittering with jeweled rings. She has led her child up before an image of Shiva’s wife, and is explaining what it all means. Poor woman! Little she knows the truth. The One Name above all others she has never once heard. Here is a dwarf, who stands beside a shrine, and holds out his withered hand for ananna. Here, in a place where the statuary has given way to the wear of ages, are workmen in stone, who are making new pillars, with sculptured flutings, to take the place of the old. All the work, every stroke of mallet and chisel, must be done right here, where everything is holy, and Shiva smiles down upon the labor.
Anecdote of Jerrold.—His heart was as kindly a one as ever beat in a human bosom; and his hand most liberal, and often far more liberal than his means might have justified. He was once asked by a literary acquaintance, whether he had the courage to lend him a guinea. “Oh, yes,” he replied, “I’ve got the courage; but I haven’t got the guinea.” He had always the courage to do a kind action, and when he had the guinea it was always at the command of the suffering, especially if the sufferer was an honest laborer in the field of literature.—“Personal Traits of British Authors.”
BY PROF. M. B. GOFF,Western University of Pennsylvania.
Although at the time these lines are written the sun has not in his northern course reached the equator, and with us here in the north the ground is covered with snow, yet by the time our readers see these words in print a great change will have taken place in the face of nature; the beautiful green of the winter wheat will cover the fields, the tulips and hyacinths exhibit their brilliant colors, and our forests begin to display their refreshing foliage, and “Old Sol” himself will have completed half his journey to the tropics and have measured for us many days of the “little span” allotted to the life of man.
“Men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.”
“Men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.”
“Men may come and men may go,But I go on forever.”
“Men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.”
And thus are we ever reminded of the “flight of time.” The days grow longer and the shadows shorter; but “all too soon” the shadows begin again to lengthen and the nights increase. Of this, perhaps, we should not complain; for the many long days of summer give us ample opportunity to perform our duties during the “noble sunlight,” and we shall probably be glad of the rest that comes with the “shortening hours.”
During May our time is slow, the sun coming to the meridian about three minutes before noon, as indicated by our clocks. Sunrise occurs at 4:58, 4:42, and 4:32 a. m., on the 1st, 16th, and 30th, respectively, while sunset is at 6:55, 7:10, and 7:22 p. m. on the corresponding days. Day breaks on the 16th at 2:43 a. m., and twilight ends at 9:09 p. m., giving eighteen hours and twenty-seven minutes from “early dawn to dewy eve.” The length of day varies from thirteen hours fifty-seven minutes to fourteen hours fifty minutes. Increase in right ascension, north 6° 36′.
Phases occur as follows: last quarter, on 7th, at 3:35 a. m.; new moon, 14th, at 10:09 a. m.; first quarter, 21st, 12:37 a. m.; full moon, 28th, 3:22 p. m. Rises on the 1st, at 9:16 p. m.; sets on the 16th at 9:29 p. m.; rises on the 30th at 8:49 p. m. Farthest from the earth (in apogee) on the 4th, at 5:18 a. m., and again on the 31st, at 6:54 p. m. Nearest to earth (in perigee) on the 16th, at 4:54 a. m. In latitude 41° 30′, least elevation on the 3d, amounting to 30° 11′ 56″, and again on the 30th, amounting to 30° 5′. Greatest elevation on the 17th, equal to 66° 51′ 38″.
Affords sharp-eyed early risers before and after the 25th, a few days’ opportunity to get a glimpse of his countenance, as he reaches his greatest western elongation at 7:00 a. m. of the above named date. On the 11th, at 4:00 a. m., he is farthest from the sun; same date, at 2:00 p. m., stationary; on the 12th, at 10:59 p. m., 22′ south of the moon; on 13th, at 3:00 a. m., 2° 27′ south of Mars, and again on the 30th, at 4:00 p. m., 2° 56′ south of same planet. Motion 2° 27′ 12″ retrograde up to the 11th; and from 11th to end of the month, 14° 54′ 35″ direct. Diameter diminishes from 12″ on the 1st to 7.4″ on the 31st. The times of his rising are as follows: On the 1st, 4:49 a. m.; on the 16th, 3:59 a. m.; and on the 30th, 3:36 a. m.
During the month the beauty of this planet is quite overshadowed by the superior light of the sun. Her times of rising and setting are nearly his own, and her diameter ranges from 9.8″ to 10″. On the 4th, about noon, the sun is between her and the earth (in superior conjunction). On the 11th, at 6:00 p. m., she is 1° 15′ north of Neptune; on the 14th, at 1:17 p. m., 3° 47′ north of the moon; motion direct, amounting to 39° 15′ 47″. On the 1st, she rises at 5:05 a. m., and sets at 6:45 p. m.; and on the 16th, rises at 4:59 a. m., sets at 7:21 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at 5:03 a. m., sets at 7:53 p. m.
Like Venus, keeps near the sun during the entire month, rising on the 1st at 4:24 a. m.; on the 16th, at 3:43 a. m., and on the 30th, at 3:25 a. m., and setting on the corresponding days at 5:22, 5:21, and 5:19 p. m. respectively. His diameter is 4.4″, and his motion 22° 14′ 33.6″ eastwardly (direct). On the 12th, at 10:55 p. m., he is 2° 3′ north of the moon; on the 30th, at 4:00 p. m., 2° 56′ north of Mercury.
Now that Venus “hides her diminished head,” “does himself proud,” attracting the eye of the most casual observer. His proximity to the starAlpha Leonis(Regulus), particularly on the 30th, when he is about two thirds of a degree north of the latter, detracts nothing from his prominence; but on the other hand, rather renders him more conspicuous. On the 17th, at 10:00 a. m., he is just 90° east of the sun; and on the 20th, at 9:37 p. m., 4° 17′ north of the moon. His diameter decreases during the month from 37.2″ to 34.2″ and he makes a direct advance of 2° 3′ 51″. On the 1st, he rises at 12:25 p. m., and sets next morning at 2:03; on the 16th, he rises at 11:30 a. m., and sets on the 17th at 1:04 a. m.; on the 30th, rises at 10:42 a. m., and sets at 12:14 a. m. on the 31st.
Those who wish to see in all his grandeur this planet with his rings, must not longer delay. Each day brings him nearer the sun, so that by the close of the month his time of setting is only about one hour after sunset. His diameter decreases four tenths of a second of arc, and his motion is 3° 44′ direct. On the 16th, at 9:35 a. m., he is 4° 2′ north of the moon. He rises on the 1st at 7:23 a. m. and sets at 10:05 p. m.; on the 16th, rises at 6:31 a. m., sets at 9:15 p. m.; on the 30th, rises at 5:44 a. m., sets at 8:28 p. m.
This planet will be an evening star, and afford a fine opportunity for observation to those who have the means at hand profitably to view it. Our limited knowledge of its physical properties make it, to the ordinary observer, a matter of little interest. It rises on the 1st at 3:15 p. m., and sets on the 2nd at 3:21 a. m.; on the 16th, it rises at 2:15 p. m., and sets at 2:21 the next morning; on the 30th, it rises at 1:18 p. m. and sets on the 31st at 1:26 a. m. It maintains the same diameter, 3.8″, throughout the month, and makes a direct motion of 2° 13′ 45″. On the 23d, at 4:38 a. m., will be 1° 11′ north of the moon.
And now we come to the “last but not least,” by any means, of our planets—a planet, however, that interests us but very little, as we can only see it through a quite powerful telescope, and then only as a small, pale disk. Yet its movements are ascertained and recorded just as those are of other planets, and so far as we know them, we are just as confident of the obtained results. As much so as we are of the some two hundred and twenty small bodies that are so much nearer to us, whose orbits lie between that of Mars and that of Jupiter; more confident than we are of the orbits of those erratic bodies we callcomets,which seem to come and go at pleasure, and were formerly the terror of all who beheld them; and of those other bodies known asmeteors,meteorites, oraerolites, which not only terrify those who behold them, but frequently injure and destroy the beings with which they come in contact. In fact, we know that Neptune, although apparently so small, is a globe 34,500 miles in diameter, and so far away as to do us no harm, while theremaybe thousands of little invisible globes flying around our earth waiting for some favorable opportunity to break away from their restraints and hurl themselves, as those did at Stannern in 1812, or at Orgueil, in France, in 1864, upon our devoted heads or our cherished treasures. Let us, then, respect our obscure and distant friend, with whom we are definitely acquainted, and record his acts as follows: For the first part of the month he will be an evening star; from the 13th, on which date he will be in conjunction with the sun, he will be a morning star; and on the 14th, at 7:47 a. m., will be 2° 15′ north of the moon. His motion will be direct, and amount to 1° 10′; his diameter 2.5″. On the 11th, at 6:00 p. m., he will be 1° 15′ south of Venus. On the 1st he will rise at 5:44 a. m. and set at 7:42 p. m.; on the 16th, rise at 4:48 a. m., set at 6:48 p. m.; on the 30th, rise at 3:54 a. m., set at 5:34 p. m.
BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.
“The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber whose windows opened towards the sunrising; the name of the chamber was Peace, where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang.”—John Bunyan.
“The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber whose windows opened towards the sunrising; the name of the chamber was Peace, where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang.”—John Bunyan.
It is impossible to treat of house furnishing and decoration without some allusion to what hygiene requires of the house builder. In the properly constructed house the bedroom will be light, airy, and if possible, sunny, like the pilgrim’s chamber. The bedroom windows should not be so heavily hung with curtains as to obstruct the free passage of air. Thin curtains of chintz or muslin are better for sleeping rooms than heavily lined damask or cretonne, as sunlight and pure air are bedroom essentials.
The cheapest and most convenient treatment for the wall is paper hanging; but Dr. Richardson, the well known English writer of house and health papers, inveighs against wall paper upon bedroom walls, and specially against the practice of papering one layer over another, on the ground that germs of disease are liable to be cased up behind wall paper, and to remain a source of danger in after years. No doubt a painted or washable surface is best from a hygienic point of view, but with proper care paper can be risked.
Light, airy patterns are preferable, of varying tints, but the same general color as the ground, for the bedroom should never be gloomy, and the less sunshine it gets from without the more sunny should be the paper that decks its walls. Violent contrasts in color, and spotty or staring designs are a source of irritating annoyance to the sick. Let the purchaser, in selecting wall paper, stand at a distance of a dozen feet or so and look with half closed eyes, and he will get much more of the general effect, and will see more as the invalid will who may occupy the room when the paper is hung.
Then, in the matter of drainage and plumbing, there has been a great overturning in the past few years. People began to discover, about ten years ago, that their modern improvements were followed by a long train of sore throats, diphtheria, and typhoid fevers, and the wise householder was led to study the various systems of pipes and drains. Thanks to our boards of health, and to the efforts and writings of such men as Col. Waring, much has been done to improve and perfect the drainage of city houses, but in spite of the advance that has been made in this direction, modern conveniences often prove in the end to be inconvenient, if not pernicious, and the fewer set washbowls and water closets with which our houses are furnished the safer we may feel. With faucets for hot and cold water on each floor from which to replenish the water jugs, no reasonable servant could complain of the extra drudgery, much less the sensible woman who “does her own work,” and all could sleep sounder at night without fear of being haunted by any of those frightful demons of the drain pipe which were represented in a number ofHarper’s Weeklysome years ago, as issuing from a set washbowl and hovering over the innocent slumberer.
Upon this point all the writers upon house decoration are as one, and Mr. Cook, in his “House Beautiful” says: “Seeing no certain way to prevent the evil so long as drain pipes are allowed in bedrooms, many people nowadays are giving up fixed washstands altogether, and substituting the old fashioned arrangement of a movable piece of furniture, with movable apparatus, the water brought in pitchers, and the slops carried away in their native slop jars.” Whether healthier or not, I think there can be no doubt that the old way is more comfortable by far.
Setting both health and comfort to one side for a moment, there can be no doubt that the movable washstand, with its paraphernalia of bowls and pitchers, is a more sightly and decorative object in the bedroom than any set washbowl arrangement that has yet been contrived. Of course I am referring to the introduction of waste pipes into the bedroom proper, not to toilet or bath-rooms outside its walls.
In cold weather the bedroom air should be a little cooler, perhaps, than that of the living rooms of the house, but not many degrees lower.
Our fathers and mothers, when boys and girls, slept in rooms freezing cold, and broke the ice in their water pitchers in the morning; but they lived in spite of this, not because of it. There is a deal of loose thinking on this subject. Cold air is no healthier than warm. It is impure air, warm or cold, that is unhealthy, the cold being specially pernicious; witness the church influenza, that most obstinate and unconquerable of all colds, because contracted by sitting in a chilling atmosphere after the body’s vitality has been reduced through breathing air that has not been renewed since the last service held in the room.
There was a clever story called “Lizzie Wilson,” published inLittell’s Living Age, years ago, in which a clergyman’s poor widow is represented as bringing up satisfactorily, through many straits, a family of young children. As their bedrooms were not heated, they had a joint dressing room, where the boy of the household first lighted the fire, and then dressed himself, his mother and sisters occupying the room later, in turn. This indulgence in the way of comfort, which might have been deemed an extravagance by others as poor as themselves, was paid for by going without dessert three days of the week; and the children, when cosily warming their backs before the dressing room fire, were pleased to call it “taking a slice of pudding.” A wise household economy of this sort, less pudding and pie and more fires, would not be amiss in many American homes. To keep one room intolerably hot, and all others without any heat, is a wasteful retrenchment, which must be paid for in doctors’ bills and funerals.
The question of single or double beds is also one of somehygienic importance. When a room is to be occupied by more than one person, the European custom of placing two single beds side by side has great advantage over the English double bed fashion. I have known mothers to assert that they observed a marked improvement in the health and temper of nervous, irritable children, after the little ones had been removed to single beds, where they could rest without disturbance from a bedfellow; and no one doubts that sickly or delicate people should occupy single beds.
As to color, I confess to a stout prejudice against getting up rooms all in one hue. I would banish altogether the young-ladyish dainty pink or blue room, and confine the green room to the theater. It is very hard to so manage a symphony in blue, for example, that it shall be truly symphonious. The cretonne furniture covers are apt to contain some analine dyes that fade to forlorn and sickly hues in place of their original smartness. The blue of the wall paper will never agree with that of the carpet, and the cheap paper cambric or stouter jean that peeps through the muslin toilet cover grows paler with age, and each passing day increases the general discord.
White rooms with snowy and spotless walls, curtains and bedcovers, such as certain nun-like story-book young ladies affect, are chilling in the extreme. Their immaculate purity alone renders them endurable, and even then the obtrusiveness of their Dutch-like cleanliness is exasperating. A dingy white room is even more ugly than an ill-assorted blue one.
If the walls are plain, let the curtains be figured with various colors; if the walls are papered with figured polychrome hangings, let the curtains be plain, but harmonizing with some one color of the wall paper. That same color can be emphasized and repeated in carpet, rugs, and table or bureau cover, but no one color should be used to the exclusion of all others, as the eye wearies of neutral tints unrelieved by positive color without a large proportion of neutral tinted space.
A bedroom should look as if intended for the use of its occupants. Much millinery, quilled and ruffled muslin, and toilet tables in fine petticoats are only allowable in the room of a dainty young girl who has plenty of time to spend in renewing and freshening up her ephemeral finery, or in a guest chamber that is seldom used, and is thus made to look pretty at slight expense. Knick-knackeries of this sort provoke the righteous wrath of sturdy men, and they are quite out of taste in that most home-like of all gathering places, the mother’s room. For the name of that chamber should always be Peace and Comfort. It should be of all bedrooms the most commodious, the most convenient of access, with the largest of drawers, the roomiest of closets, the most restful of chairs, and a boundless welcome to all the household.
Closet room should be struggled for in the building of a house. This is a point where the masculine intellect shows its weakness and the feminine its strength. A quick-witted woman will suggest to her architect, nook after nook of waste space to be utilized as closet room which would altogether escape his notice. No bedroom should be unfurnished in this regard. When closets are not built in, portable wardrobes should be supplied.
There is fallacy in the supposition that the most attractive portion of the house should be reserved as a “spare room” for the casual guest. The family should first be made comfortable; when that has been done, if one would use hospitality without grudging, it will be necessary to imitate the great woman of Shunem, and at least furnish a little chamber with the necessary bed, table, stool and candlestick. Moving out of one’s own room and doubling up with another for a night or two does very well in the holiday season, when the spirit of hospitality and good nature is in the air; but, ordinarily speaking, it is quite a task to empty the upper drawer of one’s bureau, and leave one’s own comfortable quarters.
So far as health, neatness and style are concerned, brass bedsteads are the best. They are very simple in form and construction, and so are some of the iron bedsteads, which can be kept absolutely nice and clean in any climate, and are, unlike brass, quite inexpensive. The most objectionable of all bedsteads is that
“Contrived a double debt to pay,A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day,”
“Contrived a double debt to pay,A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day,”
“Contrived a double debt to pay,A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day,”
“Contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day,”
which is only to be tolerated where a parlor must serve temporarily as sleeping room. A well made bed is the essential piece of bedroom furniture, which may be hidden from view by a screen or curtains, but should not be slammed up and boxed in against the wall, or made to stand upon anything but its own merits.
Wire net springs are probably as good as can be got, and a feather bed under the mattress is an improvement to the best modern bed, if properly aired, turned and shaken daily. Mattresses should be remade and their contents pulled lightly apart before they grow matted or ridgy. Curled hair mattresses are, of course, the best, but English flock, excelsior, and straw, all make respectable beds, and can be made easier by covering them with thick comfortables or blankets, under the sheet. It is quite worth while to make slip covers for mattresses.
Sheets should have an allowance of at least three quarters of a yard for tucking in. Three yards will not be found too long for comfortable home sheets. Blankets are apt to be too short. It is better to tear a pair of blankets apart, and finish the edge with a buttonhole stitch in worsted. The old fashioned “blanket stitch,” as it was called, a long and short stitch alternating, is very pretty. This finish is better than binding, which is apt to shrink and tear off.
It seems a waste of time to make cotton patchwork when pretty quilts can be bought so cheap. In the days when cotton cloth was costly, every scrap was worth saving, but now patchwork seems only serviceable in teaching little girls to sew overhand seams.
Hand-wrought spreads look well when pulled up over the pillows, covering the whole bed, and should be treated with respect and carefully folded and laid away at night.
Pillow shams are troublesome to keep in place, and can be discarded without regret, when a pretty covering of this sort conceals the whole bed. Of my own choice I would never make use of anything with so disreputable a name.
The fault of crazy quilts is their craziness. To be really pleasing they should have some design, like a Turkish rug which, though very irregular in detail, has yet a general plan, a distinct centerpiece, and a plainly defined border. One of the most objectionable features of the ordinary “crazy” quilt is the huddling together in the same piece of work of painting upon silk and embroidery, two widely differing sorts of decoration, which will not bear being brought heedlessly in juxtaposition.
Very pretty comfortables, to be folded like a silk quilt, and thrown over the foot of the bed, can be made of paper muslin, in dainty colors, or of cheese-cloth, lightly filled with cotton batting, and knotted with bright colored wools. Cotton comfortables are not so serviceable as blankets, but they are much cheaper, and it is well to keep a supply on hand for use in cold winter weather, or to make up an extra bed with in case of emergency. They can be folded under the sheet to soften a hard mattress, or white palliases filled with cotton can be made for the same purpose, but great care should be taken to air bedding of this sort very thoroughly.
A roomy lounge in a bed chamber is a great convenience. It affords an opportunity for an afternoon nap without disarranging the well made bed, and many a careworn woman would lie down for a few minutes upon a lounge in her bedroom who would not think of resting in the daytime upon the bed. A long, broad, pine box, with wooden castors attached, makes an admirable lounge frame, or a narrow cot bedstead could be cut down to be of suitable height for a lounge frame. This should be supplied with a good mattress, or a covering ofchintz or cretonne could be drawn over it, with a frill falling nearly to the floor. From one to three square pillows, similarly covered, would perfect this lounge, which could serve readily for a bed in time of need.
Bed hangings and canopies are pretty and unnecessary, except in mosquito countries, where lace net, gathered full upon a hoop suspended horizontally from the ceiling, and falling in ample folds to the floor, will serve to keep many out, and one or two teasing marauders in, the long night through. Bed hangings proper are prettiest when made in the form of a canopy over the bed head, and should be of a material that will bear washing.
An ample supply of choice bed linen and towels, all handsomely marked, is no less a subject of pride with housekeepers than dainty table damask, and people of wealth in these days spend lavishly upon hemstitched linen or silk sheets, elegant towels, and elaborately embroidered letterings.
This fondness for well stocked linen presses is a womanly and pardonable weakness, inherited from our far away ancestresses, who strewed stalks of lavender between the sheets in their chests and presses, a custom that has not gone altogether out of date among old fashioned European housekeepers.
Other comforts of the sleeping room where bath-rooms are not attached are plenty of water and bath towels, a washstand for each occupant of the room, generous bowls, a well filled pail with which to replenish the pitchers, foot tub, a portable bath tub, capacious slop jars, a rubber or enameled leather cloth to spread upon the floor, a screen for seclusion’s sake, and room to splash. If the bedroom china, pails and jars be pretty in shape and color, so much the better, but at any rate, let them be large enough.
A wooden topped washstand should be protected with a piece of enameled leather, over which a plain towel can be spread for look’s sake. Fanciful fringed and colored mats are out of place on the washstand, where water should be free to spatter.
Where “splashers” are used to protect the wall, they should be simple of design and easy to wash, and mottoes, if introduced, should be appropriate to the place. “Sweet Rest in Heaven,” which I have known used for this purpose, can hardly be considered suitable; nor yet the prophet’s command to the leprous Syrian captain, “Wash and be clean,” a too suggestive motto, wholly subversive of the theory that bathing is a luxury indulged in for refreshment’s sake; nor yet again a representation of birds dipping into a stream, with the scriptural allusion to the Good Samaritan’s washing and binding up of wounds, “Go and do thou likewise.” These sentences might be appropriate in the accident ward of a charity hospital, but hardly suit the wall decoration of a lady’s dainty bed-chamber.
Something more suggestive of the sparkling, limpid purity of the crystal spring would be in better taste—such as: