Drawchill app Apps

It is twenty years since I first determined to attemptthetranslation of Faust, in the original metres. At thattime,although more than a score of English translations of theFirstPart, and three or four of the Second Part, were in existence,theexperiment had not yet been made. The prose version ofHaywardseemed to have been accepted as the standard, in defaultofanything more satisfactory: the English critics,generallysustaining the translator in his views concerning thesecondaryimportance of form in Poetry, practically discouraged anyfurtherattempt; and no one, familiar with rhythmical expressionthroughthe needs of his own nature, had devoted the necessary loveandpatience to an adequate reproduction of the great work ofGoethe'slife.

These days past, when sending Your Excellency my plays, that hadappeared in print before being shown on the stage, I said, if Iremember well, that Don Quixote was putting on his spurs to go andrender homage to Your Excellency. Now I say that "with his spurs,he is on his way." Should he reach destination methinks I shallhave rendered some service to Your Excellency, as from many parts Iam urged to send him off, so as to dispel the loathing and disgustcaused by another Don Quixote who, under the name of Second Part,has run masquerading through the whole world. And he who has shownthe greatest longing for him has been the great Emperor of China,who wrote me a letter in Chinese a month ago and sent it by aspecial courier. He asked me, or to be truthful, he begged me tosend him Don Quixote, for he intended to found a college where theSpanish tongue would be taught, and it was his wish that the bookto be read should be the History of Don Quixote. He also added thatI should go and be the rector of this college. I asked the bearerif His Majesty had afforded a sum in aid of my travel expenses. Heanswered, "No, not even in thought."

The present book is intended, as far as possible, to give an exactinsight into the theory of Relativity to those readers who, from ageneral scientific and philosophical point of view, are interestedin the theory, but who are not conversant with the mathematicalapparatus of theoretical physics. The work presumes a standard ofeducation corresponding to that of a university matriculationexamination, and, despite the shortness of the book, a fair amountof patience and force of will on the part of the reader. The authorhas spared himself no pains in his endeavour to present the mainideas in the simplest and most intelligible form, and on the whole,in the sequence and connection in which they actually originated.In the interest of clearness, it appeared to me inevitable that Ishould repeat myself frequently, without paying the slightestattention to the elegance of the presentation. I adheredscrupulously to the precept of that brilliant theoretical physicistL. Boltzmann, according to whom matters of elegance ought to beleft to the tailor and to the cobbler. I make no pretence of havingwithheld from the reader difficulties which are inherent to thesubject. On the other hand, I have purposely treated the empiricalphysical foundations of the theory in a "step-motherly" fashion, sothat readers unfamiliar with physics may not feel like the wandererwho was unable to see the forest for the trees. May the book bringsome one a few happy hours of suggestive thought!

I confess that when first I made acquaintance withCharlesStrickland I never for a moment discerned that there was inhimanything out of the ordinary. Yet now few will be found to denyhisgreatness. I do not speak of that greatness which is achievedbythe fortunate politician or the successful soldier; that isaquality which belongs to the place he occupies rather than totheman; and a change of circumstances reduces it to verydiscreetproportions. The Prime Minister out of office is seen, toooften,to have been but a pompous rhetorician, and the Generalwithout anarmy is but the tame hero of a market town. The greatnessofCharles Strickland was authentic. It may be that you do notlikehis art, but at all events you can hardly refuse it the tributeofyour interest. He disturbs and arrests. The time has passed whenhewas an object of ridicule, and it is no longer a markofeccentricity to defend or of perversity to extol him. Hisfaultsare accepted as the necessary complement to his merits. It isstillpossible to discuss his place in art, and the adulation ofhisadmirers is perhaps no less capricious than the disparagementofhis detractors; but one thing can never be doubtful, and thatisthat he had genius. To my mind the most interesting thing in artisthe personality of the artist; and if that is singular, Iamwilling to excuse a thousand faults. I suppose Velasquez wasabetter painter than El Greco, but custom stales one'sadmirationfor him: the Cretan, sensual and tragic, proffers themystery ofhis soul like a standing sacrifice. The artist, painter,poet, ormusician, by his decoration, sublime or beautiful,satisfies theaesthetic sense; but that is akin to the sexualinstinct, andshares its barbarity: he lays before you also thegreater gift ofhimself. To pursue his secret has something of thefascination of adetective story. It is a riddle which shares withthe universe themerit of having no answer. The most insignificantof Strickland'sworks suggests a personality which is strange,tormented, andcomplex; and it is this surely which prevents eventhose who do notlike his pictures from being indifferent to them;it is this whichhas excited so curious an interest in his life andcharacter.

Dark spruce forest frowned on either side thefrozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind oftheir white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean towards eachother, black and ominous, in the fading light. A vast silencereigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless,without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was noteven that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of alaughter more terrible than any sadness—a laughter that wasmirthless as the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frostand partaking of the grimness of infallibility. It was themasterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at thefutility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, thesavage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild.

They, who to states and governors of the Commonwealth direct theirspeech, High Court of Parliament, or, wanting such access in aprivate condition, write that which they foresee may advance thepublic good; I suppose them, as at the beginning of no meanendeavour, not a little altered and moved inwardly in their minds:some with doubt of what will be the success, others with fear ofwhat will be the censure; some with hope, others with confidence ofwhat they have to speak. And me perhaps each of these dispositions,as the subject was whereon I entered, may have at other timesvariously affected; and likely might in these foremost expressionsnow also disclose which of them swayed most, but that the veryattempt of this address thus made, and the thought of whom it hathrecourse to, hath got the power within me to a passion, far morewelcome than incidental to a preface.

It is a sin to write this. It is a sin tothink words no others think and to put them down upon a paper noothers are to see. It is base and evil. It is as if we werespeaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know well that thereis no transgression blacker than to do or think alone. We havebroken the laws. The laws say that men may not write unless theCouncil of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!But this is not the only sin upon us. We have committed a greatercrime, and for this crime there is no name. What punishment awaitsus if it be discovered we know not, for no such crime has come inthe memory of men and there are no laws to provide for it.

About ten years ago, while spending a few days under the hospitableroof of the distinguished Belgian jurist, the lamented M. deLaveleye, our conversation turned, during one of our rambles, tothe subject of religion. "Do you mean to say," asked the venerableprofessor, "that you have no religious instruction in yourschools?" On my replying in the negative he suddenly halted inastonishment, and in a voice which I shall not easily forget, herepeated "No religion! How do you impart moral education?" Thequestion stunned me at the time. I could give no ready answer, forthe moral precepts I learned in my childhood days, were not givenin schools; and not until I began to analyze the different elementsthat formed my notions of right and wrong, did I find that it wasBushido that breathed them into my nostrils.

A considerable number of hunting parties were out that year withoutfinding so much as a fresh trail; for the moose were uncommonlyshy, and the various Nimrods returned to the bosoms of theirrespective families with the best excuses the facts of theirimaginations could suggest. Dr. Cathcart, among others, came backwithout a trophy; but he brought instead the memory of anexperience which he declares was worth all the bull moose that hadever been shot. But then Cathcart, of Aberdeen, was interested inother things besides moose—amongst them the vagaries of the humanmind. This particular story, however, found no mention in his bookon Collective Hallucination for the simple reason (so he confidedonce to a fellow colleague) that he himself played too intimate apart in it to form a competent judgment of the affair as awhole....

Once upon a time there was an old Sow with three little Pigs, andasshe had not enough to keep them, she sent them out to seektheirfortune.The first that went off met a Man with a bundle ofstraw,and said to him, "Please, Man, give me that straw to build meahouse"; which the Man did, and the little Pig built a housewithit. Presently came along a Wolf, and knocked at the door, andsaid,"Little Pig, little Pig, let me come in."

A Little Red Hen lived in a barnyard. She spent almost all ofhertime walking about the barnyard in her picketty-peckettyfashion,scratching everywhere for worms.

CHORUS. Not marching now in fields ofThrasymene,Where Mars did mate1 the Carthaginians;Nor sporting in the dalliance of love,In courts of kings where state is overturn'd;Nor in the pomp of proud audacious deeds,Intends our Muse to vaunt2 her3 heavenly verse:Only this, gentlemen,—we must performThe form of Faustus' fortunes, good or bad:To patient judgments we appeal our plaud,And speak for Faustus in his infancy.Now is he born, his parents base of stock,In Germany, within a town call'd Rhodes:Of riper years, to Wertenberg he went,Whereas4 his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.So soon he profits in divinity,The fruitful plot of scholarism grac'd,That shortly he was grac'd with doctor's name,Excelling all whose sweet delight disputesIn heavenly matters of theology;Till swoln with cunning,5 of a self-conceit,His waxen wings did mount above his reach,And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow;For, falling to a devilish exercise,And glutted now6 with learning's golden gifts,He surfeits upon cursed necromancy;Nothing so sweet as magic is to him,Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss:And this the man that in his study sits.

THE country of the Greedy, well known inhistory, was ruled by a king who had much trouble. His subjectswere well behaved, but they had one sad fault: they were too fondof pies and tarts. It was as disagreeable to them to swallow aspoonful of soup as if it were so much sea water, and it would takea policeman to make them open their mouths for a bit of meat,either boiled or roasted. This deplorable taste made the fortunesof the pastry cooks, but also of the apothecaries. Families ruinedthemselves in pills and powders; camomile, rhubarb, and pepperminttrebled in price, as well as other disagreeable remedies, such ascastor——which I will not name.

It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John andmyselfsecure ancestral halls for the summer.A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say ahauntedhouse, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but thatwould beasking too much of fate!Still I will proudly declare that there is something queeraboutit.Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood solonguntenanted?John laughs at me, of course, but one expects thatinmarriage.John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith,anintense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talkofthings not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.

I returned from the City about three o'clock on that Mayafternoonpretty well disgusted with life. I had been three monthsin the OldCountry, and was fed up with it. If anyone had told me ayear agothat I would have been feeling like that I should havelaughed athim; but there was the fact. The weather made meliverish, the talkof the ordinary Englishman made me sick. Icouldn't get enoughexercise, and the amusements of London seemed asflat as soda-waterthat has been standing in the sun. 'RichardHannay,' I kept tellingmyself, 'you have got into the wrong ditch,my friend, and you hadbetter climb out.'

In the internal decoration, if not in theexternal architecture of their residences, the English are supreme.The Italians have but little sentiment beyond marbles and colours.In France, meliora probant, deteriora sequuntur—the people are toomuch a race of gadabouts to maintain those household proprieties ofwhich, indeed, they have a delicate appreciation, or at least theelements of a proper sense. The Chinese and most of the easternraces have a warm but inappropriate fancy. The Scotch are poordecorists. The Dutch have, perhaps, an indeterminate idea that acurtain is not a cabbage. In Spain they are all curtains—a nationof hangmen. The Russians do not furnish. The Hottentots andKickapoos are very well in their way. The Yankees alone arepreposterous.

As compared with the great religions of theworld, Shinto, the old Kami cult of Japan, is decidedly rudimentaryin its character. Its polytheism, the want of a Supreme Deity, thecomparative absence of images and of a moral code, its feeblepersonifications and hesitating grasp of the conception of spirit,the practical non-recognition of a future state, and the generalabsence of a deep, earnest faith--all stamp it as perhaps the leastdeveloped of religions which have an adequate literary record.Still, it is not a primitive cult. It had an organized priesthoodand an elaborate ritual. The general civilization of the Japanesewhen Shinto assumed the form in which we know it had left theprimitive stage far behind. They were already an agriculturalnation, a circumstance by which Shinto has been deeply influenced.They had a settled government, and possessed the arts of brewing,making pottery, building ships and bridges, and working in metals.It is not among such surroundings that we can expect to find aprimitive form of religion.

THE subject of the supernatural in modernEnglish fiction has been found difficult to deal with because ofits wealth of material. While there has been no previous book onthe topic, and none related to it, save Mr. C. E. Whitmore’s workon The Supernatural in Tragedy, the mass of fiction itselfintroducing ghostly or psychic motifs is simply enormous. It ismanifestly impossible to discuss, or even to mention, all of it.Even in my bibliography which numbers over three thousand titles, Ihave made no effort to list all the available examples of the type.The bibliography, which I at first intended to publish inconnection with this volume, is far too voluminous to be includedhere, so will probably be brought out later by itself.It would have been impossible for me to prosecute the research workor to write the book save for the assistance generously given bymany persons. I am indebted to the various officials of thelibraries of Columbia University and of New York City, particularlyto Miss Isadore Mudge, Reference Librarian of Columbia, and to theauthorities of the New York Society Library for permission to usetheir priceless out-of-print novels in the Kennedy Collection. Myinterest in English fiction was increased during my attendance onsome courses in the history of the English novel, given by Dr. A.J. Carlyle, in Oxford University, England, several years ago. Ihave received helpful bibliographical suggestions from ProfessorBlanche Colton Williams, Dr. Dorothy Brewster, Professor NelsonGlenn McCrea, Professor John Cunliffe, and Dean Talcott Williams,of Columbia, and Professor G. L. Kittredge, of Harvard. ProfessorsWilliam P. Trent, George Philip Krapp, and Ernest Hunter Wrightvery kindly read the book in manuscript and gave valuable adviceconcerning it, Professor Wright going over the material with me indetail. But my chief debt of gratitude is to Professor Ashley H.Thorndike, Head of the Department of English and ComparativeLiterature in Columbia, whose stimulating criticism and kindlyencouragement have made the book possible. To all of these—andothers—who have aided me, I am deeply grateful, and I only wishthat the published volume were more worthy of theirassistance.

The secret of a poem, no less than a jest'sprosperity, lies in the ear of him that hears it. Yield to itsspell, accept the poet's mood: this, after all, is what the sagesanswer when you ask them of its value. Even though the poethimself, in his other mood, tell you that his art is but sleight ofhand, his food enchanter's food, and offer to show you the trick ofit,—believe him not. Wait for his prophetic hour; then giveyourself to his passion, his joy or pain. "We are in Love's handto-day!" sings Gautier, in Swinburne's buoyant paraphrase,—and frommorn to sunset we are wafted on the violent sea: there is but onelove, one May, one flowery strand. Love is eternal, all else unrealand put aside. The vision has an end, the scene changes; but wehave gained something, the memory of a charm. As many poets, somany charms. There is the charm of Evanescence, that which lends tosupreme beauty and grace an aureole of Pathos. Share with Landorhis one "night of memories and of sighs" for Rose Aylmer, and youhave this to the full.

The object of this work is to give an accountof the outward life of the Franciscans. This might be fairly takento include the whole activity of the friars with the exception oftheir contribution to scholastic philosophy; for that clearly formsa subject by itself. But even with this limitation the account heregiven of the Franciscans’ work does not pretend to be complete. Thedocuments which remain to us do not by any means cover the whole ofthe active life of the Franciscans. While for the thirteenthcentury and the Dissolution the records are fairly numerous, thematerials for the intervening period are very scanty. Thus anyattempt at a chronological narrative was out of the question. Andthe almost total absence of all Franciscan records (properly socalled) in England, has proved an effectual bar to any completenessof treatment at all. The arrangement here adopted, both in thechoice of subjects and in the relative prominence given to each ofthem, is due simply to the exigencies of the available materialsrelating to the Oxford Convent. The topographical informationderived from records and other sources has been neither full enoughnor accurate enough to enable me to supply a map or plan of theproperty and buildings of the Grey Friars.

This book aims to give in brief space theprincipal requirements of plain English style. It aims to lightenthe task of instructor and student by concentrating attention (inChapters II and III) on a few essentials, the rules of usage andprinciples of composition most commonly violated. In accordancewith this plan it lays down three rules for the use of the comma,instead of a score or more, and one for the use of the semicolon,in the belief that these four rules provide for all the internalpunctuation that is required by nineteen sentences out of twenty.Similarly, it gives in Chapter III only those principles of theparagraph and the sentence which are of the widest application. Thebook thus covers only a small portion of the field of Englishstyle. The experience of its writer has been that once past theessentials, students profit most by individual instruction based onthe problems of their own work, and that each instructor has hisown body of theory, which he may prefer to that offered by anytextbook.

The Learner, who wishes to try the questionfairly, whether this little book does, or does not, supply thematerials for a most interesting mental recreation, is earnestlyadvised to adopt the following Rules:—(1) Begin at the beginning, and do not allow yourself to gratifya mere idle curiosity by dipping into the book, here and there.This would very likely lead to your throwing it aside, with theremark “This is much too hard for me!”, and thus losing the chanceof adding a very large item to your stock of mental delights. ThisRule (of not dipping) is very desirable with other kinds ofbooks——such as novels, for instance, where you may easily spoilmuch of the enjoyment you would otherwise get from the story, bydipping into it further on, so that what the author meant to be apleasant surprise comes to you as a matter of course. Some people,I know, make a practice of looking into Vol. III first, just to seehow the story ends: and perhaps it is as well just to know that allends happily——that the much-persecuted lovers do marry after all,that he is proved to be quite innocent of the murder, that thewicked cousin is completely foiled in his plot and gets thepunishment he deserves, and that the rich uncle in India (Qu. Whyin India? Ans. Because, somehow, uncles never can get rich anywhereelse) dies at exactly the right moment——before taking the troubleto read Vol. I. pg_xiiThis, I say, is just permissible with anovel, where Vol. III has a meaning, even for those who have notread the earlier part of the story; but, with a scientific book, itis sheer insanity: you will find the latter part hopelesslyunintelligible, if you read it before reaching it in regularcourse.

Naturally, there are chapters of myautobiography which cannot now be written.It seems to me that, for the nation as for the individual, what ismost important is to insist on the vital need of combining certainsets of qualities, which separately are common enough, and, alas,useless enough. Practical efficiency is common, and lofty idealismnot uncommon; it is the combination which is necessary, and thecombination is rare. Love of peace is common among weak,short-sighted, timid, and lazy persons; and on the other handcourage is found among many men of evil temper and bad character.Neither quality shall by itself avail. Justice among the nations ofmankind, and the uplifting of humanity, can be brought about onlyby those strong and daring men who with wisdom love peace, but wholove righteousness more than peace. Facing the immense complexityof modern social and industrial conditions, there is need to usefreely and unhesitatingly the collective power of all of us; andyet no exercise of collective power will ever avail if the averageindividual does not keep his or her sense of personal duty,initiative, and responsibility. There is need to develop all thevirtues that have the state for their sphere of action; but thesevirtues are as dust in a windy street unless back of them lie thestrong and tender virtues of a family life based on the love of theone man for the one woman and on their joyous and fearlessacceptance of their common obligation to the children that aretheirs. There must be the keenest sense of duty, and with it mustgo the joy of living; there must be shame at the thought ofshirking the hard work of the world, and at the same time delightin the many-sided beauty of life. With soul of flame and temper ofsteel we must act as our coolest judgment bids us. We must exercisethe largest charity towards the wrong-doer that is compatible withrelentless war against the wrong-doing. We must be just to others,generous to others, and yet we must realize that it is a shamefuland a wicked thing not to withstand oppression with high heart andready hand. With gentleness and tenderness there must go dauntlessbravery and grim acceptance of labor and hardship and peril. Allfor each, and each for all, is a good motto; but only on conditionthat each works with might and main to so maintain himself as notto be a burden to others.

After an interval of some months or years, andat Phlius, a town of Peloponnesus, the tale of the last hours ofSocrates is narrated to Echecrates and other Phliasians by Phaedothe 'beloved disciple.' The Dialogue necessarily takes the form ofa narrative, because Socrates has to be described acting as well asspeaking. The minutest particulars of the event are interesting todistant friends, and the narrator has an equal interest in them.During the voyage of the sacred ship to and from Delos, whichhas occupied thirty days, the execution of Socrates has beendeferred. (Compare Xen. Mem.) The time has been passed by him inconversation with a select company of disciples. But now the holyseason is over, and the disciples meet earlier than usual in orderthat they may converse with Socrates for the last time. Those whowere present, and those who might have been expected to be present,are mentioned by name. There are Simmias and Cebes (Crito), twodisciples of Philolaus whom Socrates 'by his enchantments hasattracted from Thebes' (Mem.), Crito the aged friend, the attendantof the prison, who is as good as a friend—these take part in theconversation. There are present also, Hermogenes, from whomXenophon derived his information about the trial of Socrates(Mem.), the 'madman' Apollodorus (Symp.), Euclid and Terpsion fromMegara (compare Theaet.), Ctesippus, Antisthenes, Menexenus, andsome other less-known members of the Socratic circle, all of whomare silent auditors. Aristippus, Cleombrotus, and Plato are notedas absent. Almost as soon as the friends of Socrates enter theprison Xanthippe and her children are sent home in the care of oneof Crito's servants. Socrates himself has just been released fromchains, and is led by this circumstance to make the natural remarkthat 'pleasure follows pain.' (Observe that Plato is preparing theway for his doctrine of the alternation of opposites.) 'Aesop wouldhave represented them in a fable as a two-headed creature of thegods.' The mention of Aesop reminds Cebes of a question which hadbeen asked by Evenus the poet (compare Apol.): 'Why Socrates, whowas not a poet, while in prison had been putting Aesop intoverse?'—'Because several times in his life he had been warned indreams that he should practise music; and as he was about to dieand was not certain of what was meant, he wished to fulfil theadmonition in the letter as well as in the spirit, by writingverses as well as by cultivating philosophy. Tell this to Evenus;and say that I would have him follow me in death.' 'He is not atall the sort of man to comply with your request, Socrates.' 'Why,is he not a philosopher?' 'Yes.' 'Then he will be willing to die,although he will not take his own life, for that is held to beunlawful.'

The little book by Epictetus calledEnchiridion or “manual” has played a disproportionately large rolein the rise of modern attitudes and modern philosophy. As soon asit had been translated into the vernacular languages, it became abestseller among independent intellectuals, among anti-Christianthinkers, and among philosophers of a subjective cast. Montaignehad a copy of the Enchiridion among his books. Pascal violentlyrejected the megalomaniac pride of the Stoic philosopher. Frederickthe Great carried the book with him on all campaigns. It was asource of inspiration and encouragement to Anthony, Earl ofShaftesbury, in the serious illness which ended only in his death;many pages of his diaries contain passages copied from theEnchiridion. It has been studied and widely quoted by Scottishphilosophers like Francis Hutcheson, Adam Smith, and Adam Fergusonwho valued Stoic moral philosophy for its reconciliation of socialdependency and personal independence.That there was a rebirth of Stoicism in the centuries of rebirthwhich marked the emergence of the modern age was not mere chance.Philosophical, moral, and social conditions of the time united tocause it. Roman Stoicism had been developed in times of despotismas a philosophy of lonely and courageous souls who had recognizedthe redeeming power of philosophical reason in all the moral andsocial purposes of life. Philosophy as a way of life makes menfree. It is the last ditch stand of liberty in a world ofservitude. Many elements in the new age led to thought which hadstructural affinity with Roman Stoicism. Modern times had createdthe independent thinker, the free intellectual in a secularcivilization. Modern times had destroyed medieval liberties and hadestablished the new despotism of the absolute state supported byecclesiastical authority. Modern philosophies continued the basictrend in Stoicism in making the subjective consciousness thefoundation of philosophy. The Stoic emphasis on moral problems wasalso appealing in an era of rapid transition when all the valueswhich had previously been taken for granted were questioned andreconsidered.

The value of Yogananda's Autobiography isgreatly enhanced by the fact that it is one of the few books inEnglish about the wise men of India which has been written, not bya journalist or foreigner, but by one of their own race andtraining--in short, a book about yogis by a yogi. As an eyewitnessrecountal of the extraordinary lives and powers of modern Hindusaints, the book has importance both timely and timeless. To itsillustrious author, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing both inIndia and America, may every reader render due appreciation andgratitude. His unusual life-document is certainly one of the mostrevealing of the depths of the Hindu mind and heart, and of thespiritual wealth of India, ever to be published in the West.

The valleys of Pennsylvania were dotted withlog cabins in the days of the French and Indian wars. Sometimes anumber of the little houses stood close together for protection,but often they were built far apart. Wherever the pioneer saw goodfarm land he settled. It was a new sensation for men to be able togo into the country and take whatever land attracted them. Gentlerolling fields, with wide views of distant country through thenotches of the hills, shining rivers, splendid uncut forests, andrich pasturage were to be found not far from the growing village ofPhiladelphia, and were free to any who wished to take them. Such aland would have been a paradise, but for one shadow that hung overit. In the background always lurked the Indians, who might at anytime, without rhyme or reason, steal down upon the lonely hamlet orcabin, and lay it waste. The pioneer looked across the broad acresof central Pennsylvania and found them beautiful. Only when he hadbuilt his home and planted his fields did he fully realize theconstant peril that lurked in the wooded mountains.

Where can the Anglo-German rivalry ofarmaments end?—Why peace advocacy fails—Why it deserves to fail—Theattitude of the peace advocate—The presumption that the prosperityof nations depends upon their political power, and consequentnecessity of protection against aggression of other nations whowould diminish our power to their advantage—These the universalaxioms of international politics.It is generally admitted that the present rivalry in armamentsin Europe—notably such as that now in progress between England andGermany—cannot go on in its present form indefinitely. The netresult of each side meeting the efforts of the other with similarefforts is that at the end of a given period the relative positionof each is what it was originally, and the enormous sacrifices ofboth have gone for nothing. If as between England and Germany it isclaimed that England is in a position to maintain the lead becauseshe has the money, Germany can retort that she is in a position tomaintain the lead because she has the population, which must, inthe case of a highly organized European nation, in the end meanmoney. Meanwhile, neither side can yield to the other, as the oneso doing would, it is felt, be placed at the mercy of the other, asituation which neither will accept.

During the last years of his life, ProfessorMorgan had devoted much time and energy to the preparation of atranslation of Vitruvius, which he proposed to supplement with arevised text, illustrations, and notes. He had completed thetranslation, with the exception of the last four chapters of thetenth book, and had discussed, with Professor Warren, theillustrations intended for the first six books of the work; thenotes had not been arranged or completed, though many of them wereoutlined in the manuscript, or the intention to insert themindicated. The several books of the translation, so far as it wascompleted, had been read to a little group of friends, consistingof Professors Sheldon and Kittredge, and myself, and had receivedour criticism, which had, at times, been utilized in the revisionof the work.

Of making many English grammars there is noend; nor should there be till theoretical scholarship and actualpractice are more happily wedded. In this field much valuable workhas already been accomplished; but it has been done largely byworkers accustomed to take the scholar's point of view, and theirwritings are addressed rather to trained minds than to immaturelearners. To find an advanced grammar unencumbered with hard words,abstruse thoughts, and difficult principles, is not altogether aneasy matter. These things enhance the difficulty which an ordinaryyouth experiences in grasping and assimilating the facts ofgrammar, and create a distaste for the study. It is therefore theleading object of this book to be both as scholarly and aspractical as possible. In it there is an attempt to presentgrammatical facts as simply, and to lead the student to assimilatethem as thoroughly, as possible, and at the same time to do awaywith confusing difficulties as far as may be.

From early days when the ancients showed theirappreciation of fine pottery and old glassware by burying “thesemost esteemed possessions” with the dead, fine china has beensynonymous with culture and breeding. With our ancestors forgenerations we share the tradition that, just as first editionsgive prestige to one’s book shelves, old china or the finest workof the modern kilns express readily that good taste anddiscrimination that is characteristic of our old families.

The description of the "ancien regime" inFrance, "a despotism tempered by epigrams," like most epigrammaticsentences, contains some truth, with much fiction. The society ofthe last half of the seventeenth, and the whole of the eighteenthcenturies, was doubtless greatly influenced by the precise andterse mode in which the popular writers of that date expressedtheir thoughts. To a people naturally inclined to think that everypossible view, every conceivable argument, upon a question isincluded in a short aphorism, a shrug, and the word "voilà," truthsexpressed in condensed sentences must always have a peculiar charm.It is, perhaps, from this love of epigram, that we find so manyeminent French writers of maxims. Pascal, De Retz, LaRochefoucauld, La Bruyère, Montesquieu, and Vauvenargues, eachcontributed to the rich stock of French epigrams. No other countrycan show such a list of brilliant writers—in England certainly wecannot. Our most celebrated, Lord Bacon, has, by his other works,so surpassed his maxims, that their fame is, to a great measure,obscured. The only Englishman who could have rivalled LaRochefoucauld or La Bruyère was the Earl of Chesterfield, and heonly could have done so from his very intimate connexion withFrance; but unfortunately his brilliant genius was spent in theimpossible task of trying to refine a boorish young Briton, in"cutting blocks with a razor."

THE story of our world is a story that isstill very imperfectly known. A couple of hundred years ago menpossessed the history of little more than the last three thousandyears. What happened before that time was a matter of legend andspeculation. Over a large part of the civilized world it wasbelieved and taught that the world had been created suddenly in4004 B.C., though authorities differed as to whether this hadoccurred in the spring or autumn of that year. This fantasticallyprecise misconception was based upon a too literal interpretationof the Hebrew Bible, and upon rather arbitrary theologicalassumptions connected therewith. Such ideas have long since beenabandoned by religious teachers, and it is universally recognizedthat the universe in which we live has to all appearances existedfor an enormous period of time and possibly for endless time. Ofcourse there may be deception in these appearances, as a room maybe made to seem endless by putting mirrors facing each other ateither end. But that the universe in which we live has existed onlyfor six or seven thousand years may be regarded as an altogetherexploded idea.

In offering to the public a new History of theUnited States,—for such the three volumes of the Epochs of AmericanHistory, taken together, are designed to form,—the aim is not toassemble all the important facts, or to discuss all the importantquestions that have arisen. There seems to be a place for a seriesof brief works which shall show the main causes for the foundationof the colonies, for the formation of the Union, and for thetriumph of that Union over disintegrating tendencies. To make clearthe development of ideas and institutions from epoch to epoch,—thisis the aim of the authors and the editor.

The early Greek epic—that is, poetry as anatural and popular, and not (as it became later) an artificial andacademic literary form—passed through the usual three phases, ofdevelopment, of maturity, and of decline.No fragments which can be identified as belonging to the firstperiod survive to give us even a general idea of the history of theearliest epic, and we are therefore thrown back upon the evidenceof analogy from other forms of literature and of inference from thetwo great epics which have come down to us. So reconstructed, theearliest period appears to us as a time of slow development inwhich the characteristic epic metre, diction, and structure grew upslowly from crude elements and were improved until the verge ofmaturity was reached.The second period, which produced the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey",needs no description here: but it is very important to observe theeffect of these poems on the course of post-Homeric epic. As thesupreme perfection and universality of the "Iliad" and the"Odyssey" cast into oblivion whatever pre-Homeric poets hadessayed, so these same qualities exercised a paralysing influenceover the successors of Homer. If they continued to sing like theirgreat predecessor of romantic themes, they were drawn as by a kindof magnetic attraction into the Homeric style and manner oftreatment, and became mere echoes of the Homeric voice: in a word,Homer had so completely exhausted the epic genre, that after himfurther efforts were doomed to be merely conventional. Only therare and exceptional genius of Vergil and Milton could use theHomeric medium without loss of individuality: and this quality noneof the later epic poets seem to have possessed. Freedom from thedomination of the great tradition could only be found by seekingnew subjects, and such freedom was really only illusionary, sinceromantic subjects alone are suitable for epic treatment.In its third period, therefore, epic poetry shows two divergenttendencies. In Ionia and the islands the epic poets followed theHomeric tradition, singing of romantic subjects in the nowstereotyped heroic style, and showing originality only in theirchoice of legends hitherto neglected or summarily and imperfectlytreated. In continental Greece 1101, on the other hand, butespecially in Boeotia, a new form of epic sprang up, which for theromance and PATHOS of the Ionian School substituted the practicaland matter-of-fact. It dealt in moral and practical maxims, ininformation on technical subjects which are of service in dailylife—agriculture, astronomy, augury, and the calendar—in matters ofreligion and in tracing the genealogies of men. Its attitude issummed up in the words of the Muses to the writer of the"Theogony": `We can tell many a feigned tale to look like truth,but we can, when we will, utter the truth' ("Theogony" 26-27). Sucha poetry could not be permanently successful, because the subjectsof which it treats—if susceptible of poetic treatment at all—werecertainly not suited for epic treatment, where unity of actionwhich will sustain interest, and to which each part shouldcontribute, is absolutely necessary. While, therefore, an epic likethe "Odyssey" is an organism and dramatic in structure, a work suchas the "Theogony" is a merely artificial collocation of facts, and,at best, a pageant. It is not surprising, therefore, to find thatfrom the first the Boeotian school is forced to season its matterwith romantic episodes, and that later it tends more and more torevert (as in the "Shield of Heracles") to the Homerictradition.

As a novel-writer and a dramatist, Gogolappears to me to deserve a minute study, and if the knowledge ofRussian were more widely spread, he could not fail to obtain inEurope a reputation equal to that of the best English humorists.A delicate and close observer, quick to detect the absurd, boldin exposing, but inclined to push his fun too far, Gogol is in thefirst place a very lively satirist. He is merciless towards foolsand rascals, but he has only one weapon at his disposal—irony. Thisis a weapon which is too severe to use against the merely absurd,and on the other hand it is not sharp enough for the punishment ofcrime; and it is against crime that Gogol too often uses it. Hiscomic vein is always too near the farcical, and his mirth is hardlycontagious. If sometimes he makes his reader laugh, he still leavesin his mind a feeling of bitterness and indignation; his satires donot avenge society, they only make it angry.

IN WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THIS SINGULAR WORKINFORMS THE READER HOW HE ACQUIRED THE CERTAINTY THAT THE OPERAGHOST REALLY EXISTEDThe Opera ghost really existed. He was not, as was longbelieved, a creature of the imagination of the artists, thesuperstition of the managers, or a product of the absurd andimpressionable brains of the young ladies of the ballet, theirmothers, the box-keepers, the cloak-room attendants or theconcierge. Yes, he existed in flesh and blood, although he assumedthe complete appearance of a real phantom; that is to say, of aspectral shade.

1. Sun Tzu said: The art of war is of vitalimportance to the State.2. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety orto ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no accountbe neglected.3. The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors,to be taken into account in one's deliberations, when seeking todetermine the conditions obtaining in the field.4. These are: (1) The Moral Law; (2) Heaven; (3) Earth; (4) TheCommander; (5) Method and discipline.

This history of woodworking hand tools fromthe 17th to the 20th century is one of a very gradual evolution oftools through generations of craftsmen. As a result, the sources ofchanges in design are almost impossible to ascertain. Publishedsources, moreover, have been concerned primarily with the objectshaped by the tool rather than the tool itself. The resultingscarcity of information is somewhat compensated for by collectionsin museums and restorations.In this paper, the author spans three centuries in discussingthe specialization, configuration, and change of woodworking toolsin the United States.

INTRODUCTIONThe religions of ancient Greece and Rome are extinct. The so-called divinities of Olympus have not a single worshipper amongliving men. They belong now not to the department of theology, butto those of literature and taste. There they still hold theirplace, and will continue to hold it, for they are too closelyconnected with the finest productions of poetry and art, bothancient and modern, to pass into oblivion.We propose to tell the stories relating to them which have comedown to us from the ancients, and which are alluded to by modernpoets, essayists, and orators. Our readers may thus at the sametime be entertained by the most charming fictions which fancy hasever created, and put in possession of information indispensable toevery one who would read with intelligence the elegant literatureof his own day.In order to understand these stories, it will be necessary toacquaint ourselves with the ideas of the structure of the universewhich prevailed among the Greeks—the people from whom the Romans,and other nations through them, received their science andreligion.

I shall have no hope of conveying to thereader, within the narrow limits of a preface, any fuller idea ofthe purport of this work than its title expresses; and as thechapters are necessarily interdependent, I can indicate noshort-cut in the perusal by which this information can be obtained.I venture to think that those who are interested in the specialmatters referred to will find something in these pages which mayattract on account of its novelty—and some other things, new atleast in their application—e.g. the comparison of Boulanger’stheory with the narratives of Captain R. Burton and Catlin.The frequent introduction and the length of the notes, must, Iam aware, give to these pages a repellent aspect, but the necessityof bringing various points under comparison has compelled thisarrangement; and I regret to say that the argument runs through thewhole, and that almost as much matter requiring consideration willbe found in the notes and appendices as in the text.I trust that these imperfections may not be so great as toestrange the few, among whom only I can hope to find much sympathy,who wish to see the true foundations of peace and orderre-established in the world, and who may therefore to some extentbe indulgent towards efforts which have for their aim and motivethe attempt to erect barriers which would render the recurrence ofthe evils which have lately deluged mankind difficult, if notimpossible.

All divisions of history into periods areartificial in proportion as they are precise. In history there is,strictly speaking, no end and no beginning. Each event is theproduct of an infinite series of causes, the starting-point of aninfinite series of effects. Language and thought, government andmanners, transform themselves by imperceptible degrees; with theresult that every age is an age of transition, not fullyintelligible unless regarded as the child of a past and the parentof a future. Even so the species of the animal and vegetablekingdoms shade off one into another until, if we only observe themarginal cases, we are inclined to doubt whether the species ismore than a figment of the mind. Yet the biologist is prepared todefend the idea of species; and in like manner the historian holdsthat the distinction between one phase of culture and another isreal enough to justify, and, indeed, to demand, the use ofdistinguishing names. In the development of single communities andgroups of communities there occurs now and again a moment ofequilibrium, when institutions are stable and adapted to the needsof those who live under them; when the minds of men are filled withideas which they find completely satisfying; when the statesman,the artist, and the poet feel that they are best fulfilling theirseveral missions if they express in deed and work and language theaspirations common to the whole society. Then for a while manappears to be the master of his fate; and then the prevailingtemper is one of reasoned optimism, of noble exaltation, of contentallied with hope. The spectator feels that he is face to face withthe maturity of a social system and a creed. These moments are rareindeed; but it is for the sake of understanding them that we readhistory. All the rest of human fortunes is in the nature of anintroduction or an epilogue. Now by a period of history we mean thetract of years in which this balance of harmonious activities, thisreconciliation of the real with the ideal, is in course ofpreparing, is actually subsisting, and is vanishing away.

Brightly written; there is not a dull orunnecessary line from beginning to end. The amount of informationis surprising, and it is sure to be popular.”—Catholic Educator.“This careful summary of English History is intended for pupilsin the middle forms of public and private schools; it is welladapted for this purpose.”—Educational Times.

THE history, the features, and the most famousexamples of European architecture, during a period extending fromthe rise of the Gothic, or pointed, style in the twelfth century tothe general depression which overtook the Renaissance style at theclose of the eighteenth, form the subject of this little volume. Ihave endeavoured to adopt as free and simple a mode of treatment asis compatible with the accurate statement of at least the outlinesof so very technical a subject.

The dramatic power of the dialogues of Platoappears to diminish as the metaphysical interest of them increases(compare Introd. to the Philebus). There are no descriptions oftime, place or persons, in the Sophist and Statesman, but we areplunged at once into philosophical discussions; the poetical charmhas disappeared, and those who have no taste for abstrusemetaphysics will greatly prefer the earlier dialogues to the laterones. Plato is conscious of the change, and in the Statesmanexpressly accuses himself of a tediousness in the two dialogues,which he ascribes to his desire of developing the dialecticalmethod. On the other hand, the kindred spirit of Hegel seemed tofind in the Sophist the crown and summit of the Platonicphilosophy—here is the place at which Plato most nearly approachesto the Hegelian identity of Being and Not-being. Nor will the greatimportance of the two dialogues be doubted by any one who forms aconception of the state of mind and opinion which they are intendedto meet. The sophisms of the day were undermining philosophy; thedenial of the existence of Not-being, and of the connexion ofideas, was making truth and falsehood equally impossible. It hasbeen said that Plato would have written differently, if he had beenacquainted with the Organon of Aristotle. But could the Organon ofAristotle ever have been written unless the Sophist and Statesmanhad preceded? The swarm of fallacies which arose in the infancy ofmental science, and which was born and bred in the decay of thepre-Socratic philosophies, was not dispelled by Aristotle, but bySocrates and Plato. The summa genera of thought, the nature of theproposition, of definition, of generalization, of synthesis andanalysis, of division and cross-division, are clearly described,and the processes of induction and deduction are constantlyemployed in the dialogues of Plato. The 'slippery' nature ofcomparison, the danger of putting words in the place of things, thefallacy of arguing 'a dicto secundum,' and in a circle, arefrequently indicated by him. To all these processes of truth anderror, Aristotle, in the next generation, gave distinctness; hebrought them together in a separate science. But he is not to beregarded as the original inventor of any of the great logicalforms, with the exception of the syllogism.

The Theory of Economics does not furnish abody of settled conclusions immediately applicable to policy. It isa method rather than a doctrine, an apparatus of the mind, atechnique of thinking, which helps its possessor to draw correctconclusions. It is not difficult in the sense in which mathematicaland scientific techniques are difficult; but the fact that itsmodes of expression are much less precise than these, rendersdecidedly difficult the task of conveying it correctly to the mindsof learners.Before Adam Smith this apparatus of thought scarcely existed.Between his time and this it has been steadily enlarged andimproved. Nor is there any branch of knowledge in the formation ofwhich Englishmen can claim a more predominant part. It is notcomplete yet, but important improvements in its elements arebecoming rare. The main task of the professional economist nowconsists, either in obtaining a wide knowledge of relevant factsand exercising skill in the application of economic principles tothem, or in expounding the elements of his method in a lucid,accurate and illuminating way, so that, through his instruction,the number of those who can think for themselves may beincreased.

It was a wonderful night, such a night as isonly possible when we are young, dear reader. The sky was sostarry, so bright that, looking at it, one could not help askingoneself whether ill-humoured and capricious people could live undersuch a sky. That is a youthful question too, dear reader, veryyouthful, but may the Lord put it more frequently into yourheart!... Speaking of capricious and ill-humoured people, I cannothelp recalling my moral condition all that day. From early morningI had been oppressed by a strange despondency. It suddenly seemedto me that I was lonely, that every one was forsaking me and goingaway from me. Of course, any one is entitled to ask who "every one"was. For though I had been living almost eight years in PetersburgI had hardly an acquaintance. But what did I want withacquaintances? I was acquainted with all Petersburg as it was; thatwas why I felt as though they were all deserting me when allPetersburg packed up and went to its summer villa. I felt afraid ofbeing left alone, and for three whole days I wandered about thetown in profound dejection, not knowing what to do with myself.Whether I walked in the Nevsky, went to the Gardens or sauntered onthe embankment, there was not one face of those I had beenaccustomed to meet at the same time and place all the year. They,of course, do not know me, but I know them. I know them intimately,I have almost made a study of their faces, and am delighted whenthey are gay, and downcast when they are under a cloud. I havealmost struck up a friendship with one old man whom I meet everyblessed day, at the same hour in Fontanka. Such a grave, pensivecountenance; he is always whispering to himself and brandishing hisleft arm, while in his right hand he holds a long gnarled stickwith a gold knob. He even notices me and takes a warm interest inme. If I happen not to be at a certain time in the same spot inFontanka, I am certain he feels disappointed. That is how it isthat we almost bow to each other, especially when we are both ingood humour. The other day, when we had not seen each other for twodays and met on the third, we were actually touching our hats, but,realizing in time, dropped our hands and passed each other with alook of interest.

"And what of Peter the Ploughman? He was agood friend of mine.""Alack, Peter the Ploughman hath been hanged and his wife andlittle ones turned out of their home to beg."The father of young Robin Hood with his little son at his side, hadmet a man from his old home and was eagerly questioning him aboutthe welfare of his old neighbors. But much of the news was sad, forthe times were evil in England. The Normans had conquered thecountry and were the lords and officials in the land, and theycruelly oppressed the common people, who were Saxons. The fathersaid not a word although his face grew very sad, but the boy besidehim burst out indignantly."But why should such a thing be done? Peter the Ploughman was oneof the best men I ever knew and his wife was as good and kind as anangel. Why should such a dreadful thing be done to them?""Because he shot deer in the king's forest. But indeed he had anexcuse for breaking the law if ever a man did. His crops had beendestroyed by the huntsmen riding through them. The tax collectorhad taken all that he had, and his children were crying for hunger.He shot the deer that they might have food to eat; but the sheriffcaught him and hung him for it. As to the reason why his wife wasturned out from her home with her orphan children, the abbot wantedthat bit of ground for an extension to his garden, so out the poorfolks must go."

PREFACE.The following notes are by no means intended as a rule ofthought by which nurses can teach themselves to nurse, still lessas a manual to teach nurses to nurse. They are meant simply to givehints for thought to women who have personal charge of the healthof others. Every woman, or at least almost every woman, in Englandhas, at one time or another of her life, charge of the personalhealth of somebody, whether child or invalid,—in other words, everywoman is a nurse. Every day sanitary knowledge, or the knowledge ofnursing, or in other words, of how to put the constitution in sucha state as that it will have no disease, or that it can recoverfrom disease, takes a higher place. It is recognized as theknowledge which every one ought to have—distinct from medicalknowledge, which only a profession can have.If, then, every woman must at some time or other of her life,become a nurse, i.e., have charge of somebody's health, how immenseand how valuable would be the produce of her united experience ifevery woman would think how to nurse.I do not pretend to teach her how, I ask her to teach herself,and for this purpose I venture to give her some hints.

To the irreverent—and which of us will claimentire exemption from that comfortable classification?—there issomething very amusing in the attitude of the orthodox criticismtoward Bernard Shaw. He so obviously disregards all the canons andunities and other things which every well-bred dramatist is boundto respect that his work is really unworthy of serious criticism(orthodox). Indeed he knows no more about the dramatic art than,according to his own story in "The Man of Destiny," Napoleon atTavazzano knew of the Art of War. But both men were successes eachin his way—the latter won victories and the former gainedaudiences, in the very teeth of the accepted theories of war andthe theatre. Shaw does not know that it is unpardonable sin to havehis characters make long speeches at one another, apparentlythinking that this embargo applies only to long speeches whichconsist mainly of bombast and rhetoric. There never was an authorwho showed less predilection for a specific medium by which toaccomplish his results. He recognized, early in his days, manythings awry in the world and he assumed the task of mundanereformation with a confident spirit. It seems such a small job attwenty to set the times aright. He began as an Essayist, but whoreads essays now-a-days?—he then turned novelist with no bettersuccess, for no one would read such preposterous stuff as he choseto emit. He only succeeded in proving that absolutely rational menand women—although he has created few of the latter—can be mostextremely disagreeable to our conventional way of thinking.