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THE PITTSBUBG- v DISPATCH SUNDAY; DECEMBER 1, 1889.
V
J-"
FIFE'S GREAT PLAY.
(Some
Scenes at Charing Cross, the
.Center of Christendom, and
..THE HEART OP THE WORLD'S LIFE.
Picturesque .Figures That Rise From the
Pages of History.
IHB BUST.BUSTL1NG CROWDS OP TO-DAI
rWTtlTTEX TOS THS PISrATCH.1
"Draw near, draw near!" cried" Ayesha,
with a voice of thrilling exultation. "Be
hold the very Fountain and Heart of Life
us it heats in the bosom of the Great
"World." And she showed them where the
great pulse beat and the great flame passed
by with an awe-inspiring sound. The flame
Arai like a rainbow, many colored, and in
spired Ayesha's companions with au
intellectual glow, standing there at the
center of things, "the very fount and seat of
Seine." But strange and startling as this
imaginary experience undoubtedly is, if
you give your fancy the free- rein which
"She" requires, its stirring suggestiveness
is weak when compared with the romance
of that true center of the real world's life,
which we call Charing Cross. The weird
sound of the revolving column of heat and
blaze, is a mere wind-box accompaniment to
a dance of theatrical sprites in rivalry with
the voice of London, as the mighty city
laughs and cries, and shouts and storms
about the sounding streets while ghosts
more impressive ;than any the prophetess
showed her new Killicrates stalk between
the serried hosts that come and go on daily
pilgrimages from West to East, from East
to West, or pause by Eleanor's monument
en ronte for the uttermost ends of the earth.
London is the world's lialf-way house
the island in the sea where travelers of every
hue and nation land, outward bound and
homeward. It is the center of the world's
trade and commerce, the headquarters of
money changers, the seat of judgment for
arts and craits. Whatever the national mer
its may be, however ill or good the native
art and work, London is the supreme jude;
it has been so -decreed by Europe, Asia, Af
rica, America and Bussia No art is com
plete without the indorsement ot London;
painter, poet, scientist, inventor, whatever
their conntry, they lay their troubles at the
foot of London's jndicial majesty. She is the
nrbiter, sometimes right, sometimes wrong.
Full of prejudices, she has none where gen
ius is in the question; she has decorated for
eigners with lavish honor; she has fostered
alien arts with unstinted liberality; she has
Sgiven strangers in blood and even foes at
tjieart and in action the best of her meal and
malt; her gates are ever open to all creation
-without tax, or bar. And thus it is that as
the counting house, the bank, and the club,
the drawing room of a great cmpjre, pil
grims come and go or remain aj will, and
they have made .London the center ot the
universe, the pivot upon which the most vi
tal incidents of lire's great play turn in the
development of its most stirring situations.
THE HEABT OF THE WORLD.
Taking London as the center of the world,
Charing Cross being as near as may be the
center of London, we stand here under the
Postal Telegraph Clock at the heart of the
world's life. The restored Eleanor Cross in
the railway courtyard over the way might
fairly be noted as marking mid-Christendom,
or let us say, mid-globe. Borne bad
once this place; Paris has an ambition in
that direction; Berlin dreams dreams; New
Tort looks forward; each and all may have
their turn; but to-day the chief scene in the
world's great drama, life's great play, is
here at Charing Cross. It is not architect
urally worthy of its fame, you say. Once
upon a time, however, London was as
picturesque as Bruges and as dirty
as Staples; bnt the gabled houses,
the bow windows, the diamond panes,
the overhanging balconies, the swinging
signs, the quaint costumes, the Sedan chairs,
the gilded chariots, belong to the ghosts of
the days when we were planting our flag
beyond the most distant seas and establish
ing an empire upon which the sun never
Bets. Here, where we stand, the recruiting
sergeants of Elizabeth collected sailors to
go forth against the Armada; at this very
Cross of Charingthe heralds have for cen
turies proclaimed the English wars; on this
ground has surged the waves of revolution;
Queen Mary's troops and "Wyatt's rebels
had here their brief passage ot arms; here
haseen spilled the blood of Boyalist and
Cromwellian; once a year, for hundreds of
years, the Lord Mayor, in his chariot, has
passed the Cross of Charing en route foi
"Westminster to assert the civic rights be
yond Temple Bar; these stones have echoed
to the tramp of troops carrying their swords
to battle in strange and distant lands; and
here have been seen the tattered flags of the
thinned but victorious regiments back from
red fields of conquest.
Charing Cross has seen pageants of war
and processions of peace, which have
changed the map of the world and altered
the politics of Christendom. Br. Johnson
eaid, "I think the full tide of existence is at
Charing Cross;" and withont a doubt the
antiquarian, the poet, the philosopher, the
traveler, the realist, the lover of fictitious
romance, and even the etymologist are each
and severally interested 'in this particular
scene of the mighty stage upon which we
all are players, some of us as supers, others
-with speaking parts, and a few as leading
characters. If w e could only pick them out
as they pass us near the Cross, the men and
-women who have been cast for great roles in
the futurel Our predecessors could not in
the past predict the men who should rule
the future, and some of them have only been
discovered after their deaths.
HEBOES Or HISTOBT.
Peter the Great must often have walked
hereabouts, for he lived close by in Norfolk
street. Strand, with the river flowing be
neath bfa -windows. He hated what is
called Society, could not endure to be stared
at. On the occasion of a ball, which he was
induced to attend at St. James', he insisted
upon having a small side room all to him
self, where he could see without being seen.
He ate enormously and drank brandy spiced
with red pepper. The ' Marquis of Caer
inarthen was his boon companion during his
Btayin London, and what Peter liked best
was to sail about all day in Caermarthen's
yacht and drink with him all night. But
be worked hard at Deptford, though not as
be did at Zaandam, where he labored like
an ordinary artisan, received a workman's
fiay and lived a workman's liie; yet on
eaving England he gave the King a ruby
worth 10,000, taking it out of his pocket,
where he carried it wrapped in a piece of
brown paper. A wonderful figure among
the ghosts of Charing Cross, this strong
ambitious founder, of the present Russian
Empire, which threaten our supremacy in
the East!
Think of all the heroes, native and for
eign, from his day to this, who have mixed.
Unheralded by lame, in the busy crowd, and
you would have a fine list of the dramatis
persons in life's great play. To come down
from heroes to the men who amuse and en
tertain both great and small, whose work
cheers the poor man's hearth, and brings
intellectual rest and comfort to the home of
luxury and wealth, Charles Dickens, when
a boy, was a. drudge in bis relative's black
ing manufactory on a salary of six shillings
a week, at the back of the Charing Cross
railway station. You will find all the grim
story in Poster's book set forth, one cannot
help feeling, with so much detail that it
.oust seem to some readers as if the
biographer gloated over the black misery
nd degradation of it. After Poster and
ronde as biographers of their friends,
Dickens and Carlyle, no wonder men are
tilling their own stories. All the heartache
and bitterness of that blacking factory is in
David Copperfield, and the cruel relative is
gibbeted or all time asMurdstoue.
"When Irvine's Macbeth in the banquet
scene came upon the ghost of Banquo, the
i.ctor-manager lowered the lights, for which
'the critics took him to task; but Irving'
idea was to show the mind of Macbeth.
'Sitting here with yon," he said to me and
a friend, "supposing I had committed a
murder aiid the ghost of my victim ap
peared to me on the other side of the table,
I should 6ee no morof you all would be
darkness except where the light would show
mc the ghost of him I had killed." It
seems to me from an imaginative point of
view, looking at it as the poet would and
that is the only way to look at such a scene
that Mr. Irving is right; and it you are
to see
THE GHOSTS OF CHABINO CBOSS,
the figures in the previous acts of the great
plav, you will see them in that same "dim
religious light," faintly surrounded with
their proper accessories. For instance, turn
your mind back some 220 years, and note
the scene ou your left, where the statue of
Charles dominates the head of Parliament
street Upon that spot originally stood the
Eleanor Cross, of which the handsomest
structure in front of the railwaystation be
fore vou is a memorial. There is a draped
block, and by it stands the headsman; there
are troops and drums and solemn music; the
sun shines on the glittering accoutrements
of King Charles the Second's officers; Gen
eral Harrison, a brave Englishman, whether
he deserved his fate iwe will not pause to
question, is here to die. They call him a
regicide; but Englishmen know how to die
for principle, for country, and for their flag,
upon,, whatever side they serve, for King or
Commonwealth, for Protestant Queen,
or Catholic King, for Church or Parlia
ment Citizen, soldier, statesman, General
Harrison is here to die. Ton hear the
warning drum: vou see the victim, the
headsman, the scoffing crowd. The statue
has disappeared, the traffic of 'bus and cab
is stilled, the railway station is no longer in
evidence; you see in their place the ancient
houses, the swinging signs, the overhanging
gables; yon see the Thames and "Whitehall,
where Charles was beheaded, and you pause
to think how bravely a weak King laid
down his life, while you note the shadow of
his death, how it fall's upon his execution
ers; how one wrong breeds another, how
blood-will have blood. "With a smiling
countenance" history records that General
Harrison said he was going to suffer for "the
most glorious canse that ever was in the
world." When about to die, having his
face toward the Banqueting House at
"Whitehall, one in derision called to him
and said, "Where is your good old cause?"
He smiled, and clapping his hand upon his
heart, said, "Here it is and I am going to
seal it with my blood.
How many other scenes will you call to
mind, standing here in the gaslight or at
noonday, that will assert themselves in your
fancy, wiping out for the time being sur
rounding things and the busy crowd! And
what a crowd it is, surging up from the
west to the city, making its way along the
Strand, into Fleet street, straight for St
Paul's, and spreading out into all the ad
jacent thoroughfares! The very sight of it
made (Juarles Xiamn oiten shea tears lor
fulness of joy at such multitude of life,"
though to Mr. Augustus Hare, who quotes
the line in his "London Walks," the Strand
is only "a vast thoroughfare crowded with
traffic and the place whither we go to find
Exeter Hall, or the Adclphi or Gaiety
Theaters, as our tastes may guide us." And
yet he tells us that for 300 years the Strand
was what the Corso is to Borne and the Via
Nuova to Genoa a street of palaces, occu
pied by illustrious persons whose names are
part of onr historv. The highway from the
Boyal Palace in Westminster to the Boyal
Palace in the Fleet, the Strand "could a
tale unfold."
CHARACTERS ON I-IFE'S STAGE.
Think of the characters who have trod
this section of life's great stage in gaiety
and sorrow, in splendor and in rags; von
will see them marching before you according
to your own reading; and you will not see
them in any order but such as yonr memory
chooses at the moment Coming "like
shadows to depart." we note Elizabeth and
her courtiers; Baleigh, full of the New
"World; Shakespeare, boy and man; Sir
Francis Bacon in his coach, going to York
House; Shakespeare and Ben Jonson chat
ting over the new prospects of the Globe
Theater; Cromwell, with solid tread and
slow, marching to his destiny; Evelyn, the
diarist, in his chair, en route for his house
in Villiers street; .Sir Bichard Steele busy
with his scheme lor a nursery of the stage,
and hurrying to keep an appointment with
Addison, who wrSte an epilogue for his first
entertainment You pause as you watch the
quaint, picturesque figure, to recall the story
Timbs relates of his theatrical enterprise.
"When the house was nearly finished, Sir
Bichard. anxions to test its acoustic proper
ties, placed himself at the back of the gal
lery, and requested the master carpenter to
speak up to him from the stage. The man
hesitated. Being pressed, he replied that
he did not know what to say. Steele de
sired him to say whatever was uppermost in
his mind, and to make a speech of it
"Sir Bichard Steele," said the carpenter,
in a voice that was perfectly audible, "for
three months me and my men have been
a-working in this theater, and we've never
seen the color of yonr honor's money. We
will be very much obliged if you'll pay it
directly; and until yon do we won't drive
another nail."
Sir Bichard, in reply, intimated that the
carpenter's elocution was perfect he could
hear him distinctly but he objected to the
subject of his discourse. Apropos to this
theatrical incident, it is believed that at
Charing Cross, "Punch" first made his bow
to England. In 1G66, an Italian Puffet
player pitched his tent in this haunted
ground, and for a year or more paid a rent
to the overseers of St Martin's as "Punchi
nelli." The two Napoleons are among the ghosts
of Charing Cross what actors they were in
life's great play! The father of Charles Mat
thews, the comedian, was a bookseller, lived
near Richardson's shop in the Strand, and
he remembered Napoleon Bonaparte resid
ing in London for five weeks in 1791 or 1792,
and saw him occasionally taking his cup of
chocolate at the Northumberland cofiee
house, opposite Northumberland House,
where the Grand Hotel now stands. Louis
Phillippe lodged in the Adelphi, and was
frequently seen at the Lowther Bazaar. Na
poleon the Third was a familiar figure in
London before and after his fall. After see
ing him at the height of his power in
France, I found myself one day a competi
tor for the same cab we had both hailed it
at Piccadilly Circns and when I turned to
waive my claim it was the exiled Emperor
who smiled his thanks to me and drove
away.
time's gbeat pageast.
Among the gay and romantic figures in
the shifting scenes we are contemplating are
the pioneers of the New World, Sir
Humphrey Gilbert, Sir Walter Baleigh,
and the rest, trooping by in gay apparel to
see the Queen about their perilous ventures;
before them comes Sebastian Cabott, up
from Bristol, dressed in silks and with cap
and feathers, to receive money and commis
sions from the King; and following on in
Time's great pageant there shall enter gal
lant crews of sailors fresh from adventures
in the Spanish main, soldiers from daring
exploits in the Lowlands, bronzed, strong
men in every kind of costume under the
sun, and with crowds of Londoners follow
ing in their train, men and boys offering
themselves as recruits for service on sea and
land. Contemplating the crowd in a gen
eral way, with the eye of imagination, and
yet under the influence of current experi
ence, the people look as if they were going
to or coming lrom some wonderful fancy
dress ball; the men in doubtlet and hose,
the women in farthingales and diamond
decked stomachers, troopers in fantastic
garb, servants in flashing liveries, gas
conading swash-bucklers, belted and
spurred a I'd with clanking swords, and
noblemen, in purple and fine linen, ogling
the professional beauties of the time. As I
said before, you will see your own ghosts of
Herri e England at Charing Cross; but I
hope these may be among them.
The romance of fiction and of history will
be sure to conjure up for you Lady Jane
Grey making lor Tower Hill; and what a
host of others follow in the royal footsteps!
But here are De!oe, taking "Robinson Cru
soe" to the printer; Milton, cogitating his
"Anglise Defensio," which he wrote at his
lodgings next door to the Bull's Bead; But
ler, obscure and unknown pCobbet, Dryden,
Goldsmith, Johnson, Hood, . Thackeray,
Dictcens, the Utter on his way to drop the
first contribution into the editor's box:
Pepys making a detour to pass Nell
Gwinne's house in Drury Lane; Guy Faux,
with his dark lantern, creeping toward
Westminster; Wat Tyler and his friends ,
marching to the Tower, lighted by the
flames of the Surrey palace; and
one gets glimpses down the side
streets of the i silent highway, with
its ghosts of gilded barges worthy of the
Grand Canal, its gay water parties, and its
prisoners for the Tower, with exciting mem
ories of escapes thence on dark and favoring
nights; and a thousand other incidents of
truth and fable; Dick Whittington, not In
one's fancy the least real of them all, though
it was the bells of distant Highgate that
rang so persuasively in his ear.
JEBBOLD'S impbessions of london.
Do you remember Dore's frontispiece to
"London"? It is Dick himself; the most
poetical of all the Frenchman's illustrations
of metropolitan life and fanoy, and I may
be permitted to record the fact that I ac
companied Dore and Blanchard Jerrold on
one of their London pilgrimages, which
ended in a night at Evan's, a stone's throw
from Charing Cross. Perhaps the younger
Jerrold wrote too much; he was never suffi
ciently appreciated; his "Christian Vaga
bond" is a lavorite book of mine, and his
letterpress accompaniments to Dore's pict
ures were delightful both in style and mat
ter. "We are pilgrims, wanderers, gipsy
loiterers in the great world of London," he
wrote of himself and Dore both, alas, only
memories now "not historians of the an
cient port and capital, to which the Dinant
ers of Dinant, on the Meuse, carried their
renowned brass vessels 600 years ago. Upon
the bosom of old Thames, now churned with
paddle and screw, cargoes were borne to the
ancestors of Chancer. It is. indeed, an an
cient tide of business and pleasure; ancient
in the iabled days of the boy Whittington,
listening to the bells at Highgate. And we
approach London by the main artery that
feeds its unflinching vigor. We have seen
the Titan awake and asleep at work and at
play. We have paid our court to him in his
brightest and his happiest gnises; when
he stands solemn and erect in the dignity of
his quaint and ancient state; when his
steadfastness to the old is illustrated by the
dress of the 'Yeoman of the Guard,' or his
passion for the new is shown in the hun
dred changes of every passing hour." To
day their desires are complex they are for
the new and the old; the new in science,
the old in dress and architecture. Under
the clock.at the Postal Telegraph office we
are within electric touch of the Antipodes.
There are public servants at hand through
whom we can communicate lightning mes
sages to China and Peru, to Cairo and St
Petersburg, to Paris and New York; and
close by we can talk by telephone to Brigh
ton. All that is new in luxury of rapid
transit, in sensuous delights of taste and
smell, of silks and satins, in music and
mimicry, in railway cars and steam yachts,
is in fashion; bnt in the matter of decorative
design and colors we are harking back to
the days before iron and steel and modern
stucco took the place of brass and copper
and oaken beams. The pillar of fiery' life
and change ot revivifying power revolves
as hotly and with as fierce a life at Charing
Cross as at that imaginary scene ot the
world's heart-beat which Haggard saw in
his dream of "She."
PAST AND PBKSENT.
Fifty ears ago the Golden Cross was one
of the great coaching houses of the Metropo
lis. It was here that Mr. Pickwick and his
friends met and commenced those travels
which have given delight to English-speaking
peoples all over the world. It was on
his way from Goswell street to the Golden
Cross that Mr. Pickwick took a note of those
remarkable incidents in 'natural history,
which were made to him by the cabman,
leading up to the assault from which Mr.
Alfred Jingle rescned Pickwick and his
fellow-clubmen. The usnal arched entrance
and conrt-yard of the period have long since
disappeared, but many a traveler must have
stood here and endeavored to realize the
situation and Mr. Jingle's warning. "Ter
rible place dangerous work other day
five children mother tall lady cut in
sandwiches forgot the arch crash," etc.
Who does not remember Jingle's opening
speech to the members of the club,
whose adventures have delighted all
manner of people! Dickens was
evidently fond of the old tavern, for he
brought David Copperfield here by the
i;auteroury coacn. Xiora juobnn is a con
spicuous character in "Esmond," and the
duels of the period are graphically illus
trated in that historio romance. Poor
Dickens! he had humbler recollections of
Charing Cross and Leicester Fields than
Thackeray, whose muse soared into higher
altitudes; but Pickwick and Peggotty, Mi
cawber and Dombey, belong to the creative
power of genius' while Esmond, Philip,
Becky Sharp and Colonel Newcombo are the
oflspring ot an educated observer. Both
will live, to hannt the regions of Charing
Cross with engrossing memories. The
links that bind the present with the
past are many and varied at this cen
ter of romance and utility. Even the mod
ern newsboy has his predecessors in the
first hawkers of the daily journals. Disraeli
tells us that the Mercuries and 'Diurnalt of
the civil wars were hawked in the streets,
and to spur curiosity every paper had on
the front the leading items of its contents.
Observe the hawkers of to-day; they exhibit
placards of the attractions the great news
sheets ofier to the town, and you note with
regretjiow much of tragedy and horror, of
war and murder, of harrowing revelations
fill the modern bill; but do not make the
mistake of thinking London is more wicked,
the world more cruel, than it was in the
past. There is no scandal so bad, no crime
so awful in these days that has not its fel
low in history; and no deed so noble, no act
of heroism so heroic that it has not its match
on the modern "roll of honor."
And so the great play goes on from day
to day, reaching back into the centuries,
the shadow of its scenes going forward upon
"the coming years; the whole one vast re
hearsal lor that future state, which is the
mystery of mysteries.
Joseph Hatton.
His Fortune.
Mr. Bittso (reading card which the bird
has picked out "Walk down two blocks,
take first turn to the left, enter alley at the
right and await developments." Hidden
treasure, I'll bet my suspenders.
Pietro (thebandit) You grabba ze watch,
Beppo! I snaka ze pocketto-book ! Judge.
Ernest L. Biggs, of Bridgeport, Conn.,
has sent a Thanksgiving turkey to each newly
elected Democratic Governor. Abbett, Boles
and Campbell will dine well on Thanksgiving
Day.
PocJj WMt
"t? Wan Iili I '
CHAINED TO THE OAR.
Fearful Fate of the Unfortunate
Wretches Condemned to the
AWFUL LIFE OF A GALLEY SLAVE.
Shackled to Benches Upon Which They
Worked and Slept.
ABUSED UNTIL DEATH WAS A BELIEF
fWBITTEIf VOB THE DISPATCH. 1
"Man's inhumanity to man" reached its
culmination in the case of those miserable
persons who were compelled, during thp
four centuries preceding our own, to row
in the galleys of Christian France or of the
piratical Barbery States. The peaceful
Huguenots who were comdemned to burn,
aye, even those Camisards or Albigeses who
were tortured to death experienced a less
cruel demise than those condemned to the
living death of the galleys, finally to suffer
from the enemy's shot, or to succumb to the
lash of the mate or to the pangs of starva
tion. These celebrated vessels, the steamers of
the middle ages, were long, low, narrow
craft, constructed for speed, carrying a
quota of soldiers, and, after the introduction
of ordnance, having also a limited number
of guns. They were generally rigged, hay.
ing from one to three masts, each carrying a
long, low. lateen sail. The deck was but
two or three feet above the water, which at
times swept its entire length. Sometimes
there was another deck, with a second tier of
rowers, but never were there more rows of
oarsmen, such as propelled the Grecian and
Roman galleys. The deck sloped from the
middle to the walls, in order that the incom
ing seas might easily find egress. Small
ports were cut in the walls of these vessels,
through which protruded the long oars
which served to propel these structures with
astonishing swiftness.
In the center ot the ship ran an elevated
passage, proceeding from stem to stern, and
from this, on each side, the benches of the
rowers extended to the walls of the vessel.
These oars were arranged in two ways, by
the usnal arrangement, but one oar was used
to each bench, and this was propelled by
from one to six men. Sometimes, however,
there were two or three oars to a bench, each
man pulling bis own or. In both cases,
the benches were placed obliquely to the
keel, the angle being very acute where there
were several oars. In front of each bench,
and a foot above the deck, was a footrest,
under which the water ran when the deck
was awash. Under the usual arrangement,
the single oar was some CO feet iu length,
so balanced that half its weight was in
board. Handles were fastened to the lower,
or inner end, so that it might easily be
grasped by the rowers. These oars were
never taken in at sea, being "cock-billed"
when not in use. The poop of the vessel
was usually high and castellated, and a sort
of breastwork across the' forecastle pro
tected the bow gnns, and served as a lodge
ment for the soldiers, who also could be
distributed along the walls upon benches
placed there.
To these benches were chained the miser
able living engines of these huge centipede
like vessels. The crews of these galleys
were divided into three classes. Service in
the ancient galleys had been honorable, but
in the middle ages it became disgraceful.
The only volunteers among the rowers were
such criminals, vagrantsjand ne'er-do-weels
as chose to sell their bodies for gain, in or
der to gratify their passions. Captives
taken in war formed the next class. Those
in the French and Italian galleys, were
either Turks, Moors or negroes. The Moors
were the best rowers, but were treacherous
and vindictive. The Turks were only use
ful when taken lrom the crews of Turkish
vessels. The negroes were of little value.
"The greater part of them," says an old
author, "die of melancholy and obstinacy."
A LIVING DEATH..
All these, even the volunteers, were
chained to their benches. Many of these
latter were condemned"" criminals, whose
times had expired, but who could only pay
the additional lines imposed upon them by
longer service at the oar. They were al
lowed to wear clothing while at work, and
were distinguished by their mustaches. The
captured slaves wore a tuft of hair on the
crown of the head, otherwise bare; and the
forcuts or condemed criminals, were clean
shaven, head and face. This latter class,
which interests us the most, comprised those
sentenced to the oar for the vilest crimes, as
well as Protestants, often of rank and edu
cation, and political prisoners. Condemned
to this death in life, they were chained to
gether upon these bare benches the vilest
criminals, next to the simple "Vandois peas
ant or Camisard mountaineer, and thes
chains were never removed while the galley
was at sea. That the punishment of the
galleys was estimated as equal to capital
punishment, is seen from the tact that Henry
II. of France hanged all the slaves when the
galleys were tied up, while Bicheheu sent
those condemned to be hanged to the galleys.
Denonville sent captured Indians to
France, to be used as galley rowers, but it
caused so much trouble that they were
speedily sent back to America.
These unfortunate creatures were but half
fed. The allowance was three ounces of
bread per diem, water to drink, soup made
of three ounces of beans and a quarter of an
ounce of oil, and a ration of meat and wine
four times a year. The ration of soup was
given only every other day at sea, because
of the difficulty of cooking.
On the poop stood the captain, and near
him was the mate, or comite, who was the
tyrant set over the crew. He was assisted
by two others, stationed on the gallery that
ran along the middle of the galley. These
three, armed with whips, and provided with
silver whistles, incessantly plied the miser
able slaves with blows and abuse, making
no distinction between the strong and the
weak.
Sometimes a gay striped awning was
spread over the deck, but this was the only
protection ever given against the weather.
The rowers had also the duty of sewing the
sails, aiding in their maneuvers, and, when
in port of loading the vessel with supplies.
Two tall and vigorous men were selected to
pull the stroke oar. At the signal given by
the whistles, each man grasped his oar,
launched his body forward, and the blades
descended into the water at the same in
stant. It was a matter of necessity that the
stroke should be perfect, for in case anyone
lost the time, it would strike those on the
b 'n'ch in front, in the head or back.
T.ie labor of the galley slave was so
severe, that it passed into a proverb. An
excellent authority of the time says that no
ordinary man cbuld row more than an hour
at a time. But it was frequently the case
that the oars were kept going without ceas
ing for 10 or 12 hours. The mates, on such
occasions, plied their whips upon the naked
bodies of the rowers, now and then thrnsting
into their months a morsel of bread soaked
in wine. Any flogging at the oar, was
followed by increased cries and blows, until
the miserable forcut dropped from the bench,
when he was immediately unshackled and
thrown overboard, without any pains being
taken to ascertain whether newas really
dead.
THE SONG OP THE GALLEY.
A song current in France during the
seventeenth century portrays the suffering
of the voung man who wrote it, he having
been condemned to the galleys for life.
Without preserving the spirit of the orig
inal verse, the sense is conveyed in the
following close translation:
Naked, fainting. In my shirt,
Must I ever row,
. Night and day, or weU or hurt,
On this stormy sea?
Ceaselessly with rawhide thong,
Beaten well am I,
Ever friendless In this throng.
No one cares for me.
Bread ot oats and coarsest rye
Eat I ever must;
Vilest water only they supply
While I labor so.
Vermin foul upon my body creep.
My poor flesh detour.
Ah! I loudly groan! 1 vainly weept
Comfort have I none.
Bound by iron chains of cruel weight
To this wooden bench,
A thousand pains they bring me straight
'Without release, alas!
Hundreds of Huguenots were sent to the
galleys during the reigns of Louis XIV.
and Louis XV. The story of one of these
was woven into a celebrated drama, which
the celebrated Talma rendered famons.
His name was Jean Fabre, and he substi
tuted himself for bis aged father, arrested
at a conventicle. He was finally pardoned.
Our best information concerning life on
board the galleys is derived from the
"Memoires d'un Protestant Condamne aux
Galeres de France," by Jean Marteilhe,
translated by Goldsmith into English.
Marteilhe suffered from 1700 to 1713, and
his memoir gives us a vivid picture of the
life of the galley slave. He was condemned
to this terrible life at the age of 18, and
seems to have been afforded better treatment
than the rest, because of his youth and
strength. Policy Induced the Captains of
these galleys to foster the strength of these
human engines, and frequently caused them
to be better fed and treated. The Captain
of one of the galleys in which Marteilhe
was chained hated the Huguenots, and bade
his "comite" never to spare the whip upon
them, and said mate was noted as being the
most cruel man afloat
As human endurance is not capable of all
things, the crew were divided into fojjr
parts, each of which rowed in turn, but
rest and sleep were only obtained in chairs
and on the bare benches.
On one occasion, the galley to which Mar
teilhe was attached, engaged in a running
fight with an English frigate, 'which ran
alongside, grappled the galley and peppered
her with shot and hand grenades. The un
fortunate slaves, chained to their oars, were
mowed down like sheep, and a frightful
carnage resulted. To Marteilhe's bench were
chained five convicts and a Turkish slave,
and one of the guns was just abreast of
them. All lay down except the Huguenot,
who alone survived the discharge of the
piece. He was wounded, and remained
unconscious for some hours, and when he
came to, upon taking the Turk
by the hand to arouse him, the arm came
off. and remained in his grasp! He was the
only survivor out of 18 who were chained on
the three benches nearest him. He fainted
again, and was near being thrown overboard
for dead, when aroused by the striking off
of his irons. He was then, with the other
wounded, thrown in upon the coiled cables
below, where they remained three days
without treatment, ana loaded witn vermin.
Gangrene set in on many, and they "died
like flies." Even when they were trans
ferred to the hospital, upon their arrival at
Dunkirk, they were chained to their beds by
the neck! No wonder three-fourths of them
died. The horrors of a slave ship alone can
equal this scene of cruelty and barbarity.
A VICEBOY'S BUSE.
An old seventeenth century author relates
a singular expedient employed by a Sicilian
viceroy in order to obtain crews for bis gal
leys. Seeing that there were many beggars
and Bham cripples, he instituted public
games during the carnival, promising cer
tain rewards to those who should jnmp to a
certain height, and a greater sum to those
who should touch a higher mark. Many of
those wholiad had grievous sores and ail
ments suddenly recovered, and some gained
a prize, bnt in so doing exposed themselves
as shams, and were at once sent to the gal
leys for ten years. Louis XIV. of France
was guilty ot similar outrages. He, through
his Minister, Colbert, enjoined the Judges
"to condemn to the galleys the greatest
number of criminals possible." Many
were subservient to him, and those indicted
were seldom freed. A public prosecutor, in
announcing the condemnation ot 44 to the
galleys: "We should be ashamed of serving
the King so poorly in this quarter, seeing
the necessity he expresses for galley-slaves."
In 1676 there were 4,710 of these miserable
beings in the French galleys. Laws were
afterward made, by which beggars and
smugglers were condemned to labor at the
oar. An oppressive tax caused a revolt
in fioulonnais, which was vigorously re
pressed, and more than 400 unfortunates
were sent to the galleys. As rowers were
still wanted, the King directed that all those
sent ts the galleys, if only sentenced to two
years, should be retained six years, and this
was afterward increased to 15!"
Marteilhe saw the bastinado applied on
his first day on board a galley. The victim
was held down over a bench while a muscu
lar Turk beat him with a rope. Few could
bear 12 strokes and retain their senses, but
they were continued until 30, 40 or even 100
blows had been inflicted upon the senseless
body. Vinegar and salt were then rubbed
into the wounds to restore the circdlation
and prevent gangrene.
Punishment was inflicted upon these un
fortunates in no gentle spirit. The venial
offense of blasphemy subjected the galley
slave, in the fifteenth centnry, to a whip
ping, while other sea-faring men only paid
a fine. In some places his tongue was cut
out for the second offense. Don Juan, of
Austria, condemned them to death in the
next century, and by the laws framed by
Colbert, in France, during the seventeenth
century, the tongue of the blasphemer was
pierced for a second offense. Decapitation
or burning alive awaited the subject of Peter
the Great who should blaspheme, profess
the black art, or practice idolatry.
The penalty of the bowline, orducking and
dragging the victim under the keel, was one
of those instituted by Bichard L, of En
gland, in the twellth century. It was only
requisite, in order to undergo this severe
punishment, that one of the crew should
strike another. So freely was this terrible
penalty used in the Turkish galleys in the
seventeenth century that he who smoked
after Bunset was three times dragged under
the keel ! As war vessels, the galleys were
very efficient, out were much exposed to
damage and slaughter. Being furnished
with beaks, or prows, they were formidable
as rams dashing into tlie smaller vessels
then used in the fleets of Europe. The
galley slaves were not compelled, or ex
pected, to fight, but were, as we have seen,
chained during the combat The volunteers,
however, frequently had their chains loosed
and arms were given to them. When the
onset came the whole crew of naked shaven
men, often as many as 300 in number, arose
with frightful yells, sufficient ot themselves
to terrify any but a resolute foe. Charles
Kingsley, in "Westward Hoi" gives a
stirring picture of a galley engaged in battle.
Life on board of the galleys of the Bar
barv piratical States was worse even than
that in the marines of Europe. This was
especially true when a renegade Christian
mate was set over the miserable captive. In
a captured Turkish galley the renegade
mate was thrown among the chained cap
tives, and passed from bench to bench by
the infuriated men until scarcely a sem
blance of humanity remained. At the bat
tle of Lepanto 6,000 ot these unfortunate
Christians were liberated from their horrible
situation! It is to the everlasting shame of
the nations of Europe that captives were
used in the Barbary galleys until the victo
ries of our own gallant fleets rendered it no
longer possible. It is not impossible that
some Americans may have suffered under
the lash of the cruel Tripoli tan mate, but
such cases have not been numerous, we may
be sure.
Public opinion, aroused by the horrible
stories told of them, finally caused the abo
lition of service on board the galleys, just
as the usefulness of that form of vessel was
gone, but it was half a century before En
gland abolished her odious and oppressive
press system. J. S. Bassett.
A GEATEFOL PUPIL.
He Confounds His Dinner by Thanking Him
Tor a Thrashing,
Lewlstoirn Journal.
It is related of an old-time Bath school
boy that after the master had given him a
good stiff waling, one day, the youngster
said to the teacher in a melancholy'and se
rious tone of voice:
'I thank you sir."
"Thank met what are you thanking me
for, you young rascal?" replied old Master
Whetstone.
"I thonght you did it for my good, sir,"
replied Joshua.
The tone, manner and the words made the
school roar; while the stern old pedagogue
could take no exceptions to the retortand
had to. acknowledge its righteousness as
wen as its wife
J
A HISTORIC BREWERY
A Former Michigan University Pro
fessor Descants on the
MUNICH CODfiT'S FAMOUS BEEW.
General Grant's Admiration for the Beer
of Bavaria.
SOME FAE-FA1IED GEE1TAK BETEEAUES
ICOBUZSPOITDINCZ or THE dispatch. J
Munich, November 20. When General
Grant on his famous tour round the world,
arrived In Munich the American Consul in
obedience to instructions from the Depart
ment of State, received him at the station,
accompanied him to the hotel, and placed
himself at the disposal of the ex-President
during his stay in theBavariancapital. As
a conscientious cicerone, the Consul first
proposed a visit to the galleries of painting
and sculpture and the treasures of the Na
tional Museum, but the General declared
that he had been already sufficiently bored
by the works of the dead and living masters
and had, since landing, become tolerably
familiar with the contents of old curiosity
shops in England and on the Continent, and
would much prefer a change of programme.
The Consul then suggested that if he wished
to confine his observations to things of a dis
tinctively local character, they would do
well to begin with the Court Brewery. A
two minutes' walk brought them to this
Mecca of all thirsty Munichers.
After having selected and rinsed their
mugs (the tapster would disdain to fill a
smallenmeasnre) they took their places in
a long file of equally ardent devotees of the
goddess Cerevisia, and in due time were
able to retire with their portion of the
brown foaming beverage to such seats as
they were fortunate enongh to find vacant
The General lifted the stone mug to his lips,
and having drawn off about half its con
tents at a single draught, sat it down again
with the laconic remark, "That's good."
Tradition is silent as to the number of
hours they tarried over their beer, and no
injudicious chronicler has kept an exact
tale of the mugs tbey quaffea, but it is on
record that when the Consul called at the
hotel the next day and inquired what the
General wished to do, the latter replied:
"Well, suppose we go to that place again."
What is here related of General Grant is
the common experience of tourists. Not long
since the correspondent of an Australian
newspaper visited Munich and devoted sev
eral letters to a description of the city and
his impressions .of the same. He was evi
dently in a bad mood and nothing pleased
him. The so-called Athens on the Iser
seemed to him to have been greatly over
rated as an art center and not to be entitled
to any consideration whatever as an em
porium of trade. He described the archi
tectural creations of Kirfg Ludwig I. as
clumsy imitations bordering on caricatures
of famous edifices and the public monu
ments as poor efforts to immortalize provin
cial celebrities, whose names' were never
heard of outside of Bavaria.
a change of heaet.
By a
happy chance our Australian
rifted into the precincts of the
finally drifte
court .Brewery, which struct him at first
sight as a very nasty and disgusting place;
but no sooner had he taken a good swig of
the famous brewage than he turned to his
fair spouse and exclaimed with enthusiasm:
"Sally, this stuff is genuine, in fact it is
about the only genuine thing that I have as
yet found in Munich." From that moment
a complete change came over the spirits of
the man. Baw winds, rainy weather, rude
shopkeepers, sham architecture, weary pil
grimages to worthless works of art, and the
like inamenities of the tourist's life were all
forgotten in the intense enjoyment of this
most exquisite of conceivable extracts of
malt and hops.
Last summer an American professor visit
ed Munich for the first time. He- arrived
with his family late in the afternoon, suffer
ing from the fatigue of along railroad jour
ney, and took furnished rooms for two
weeks. As he sat down to the frugal sup
per which had been prepared in anticipation
of his arrival and tasted the delicious beer
which his landlady had placed before him,
he turned to her and said: "I'll take the
rooms lor a month."
After another and still deeper draught he
suggested to his wife that there was really
no reason why they shonld not stay six
weeks. As a matter of fact be remained in
Munich over two months, and it was not the
desire to extend his knowledge of the fine
arts by a diligent frequentation of the gal
leries of painting and sculpture that kept
him here.
Beer is the solace of the Bavarian from
the cradle to the grave. The Munich infant
has the sucking bottle filled with it instead
of milk, and the dying octogenarian passes
away with its foam on his lips. The late
Archbishop of the diocese, Dr. Von Steichel,
asked his attendants in his last moments for
a glass of beer, and after drinking it and ex
pressing his thanks for it, turned his face to
the wall and gave up the ghost He could
not wish for a more refreshing and soul
strengthening viaticum.
It is now 300 years since ihe establishment
of the institution from which all there bless
ings flow. Beer has been brewed in Bavaria
from time immemorial, and was, at least
as early as. the ninth century, an important
and auitc indispensable article of consump
tion. It is recorded that Hitto, Bishop of
Freising, received in 815 from Huvezzi, dea
con in Oberfoehring, the customary annual
tribute of one goat, two hens, one goose, and
a cartload of beer. According to all ac
counts, Munich beer was even as late as the
sixteenth century rather poor stuff, and is
described as muddy, insipid and sour.
EINBECK'S FAMOUS BBEW.
Duke AIbrechtV.,surnamed the Magnan
imous, imported his beer fram Einbeck, in
Hanover, and his son Wilhelm V., the
Pious, followed the paternal example in this
respect. In the Boyal Archives at Munich
there is still preserved an official document
issued by the Court Chamberlain of Al
brecht V., and dated March 2, 1553, author
izing Cornelius Gotwalt, of Erlurt, to pro
cure "two wagon loads of Einbeck beer,
such as the Nurembergers were wont to
bring to His Grace." Usually it was sup
plied by Nuremberg merchants, who were
the great commission agents of that time,
and purveyors, to ruling families. Einbeck
beer was then famous throughout all Ger
many. As Luther was about to enter the hall in
which the Diet of Worms was held on Jan
uary 28, 1521, one of the common people
who thronged the streets, offered him a glass
of Einbeck beer, saying: "Drink that, it
will give you courage and strength." The
reformer quaffed it and went forward with
renewed vigor' to meet his assembled ad
versaries. Perhaps, but for the refreshment
of that timely draught, he might have
proved faint-hearted and recanted, instead
of uttering the grand historic words: "Here
I stand. I cannot do otherwise. Gold help
me. Amen."
The pious Duke Wilhelm V., of Bavaria,
was an arch-foe of the Beformation, but an
ardent friend of Einbeck beer. The. ex
penses of transportation were, however, very
great, and the heavy bills of the. Nurem
bergers never failed to cloud the otherwise
cheerful countenance of his Dukeship, and
to render hira for several days exceedingly
solemn and morose and incapable of being
moved to hilarity even by the most ap
pro ved jests of his court fool. Bnt the mer
chants and carriers of the Franconian free
city not only had long distances and bad
roads to traverse, but also ,bold robber
knights and highwaymen, like Eppelein
von Gailingen, to reckon with, and nothing
could be fairer than that they should insure
themselves against evernual loss by making
their patrons pay extra for the risks in
curred. Alter groaning and grumbling for ten
years over these constantly recurring
charges, the Duke resolved to relieve his ex-
chequer of tke burden once for all by erect-.
ing a brewery ot his own, in which should
be fabricated what he called an "ainpoefcisch
pier."' This resolution was carried Into ef
fect September 27, 1589; it was also prudent
ly ordered that the brewery should be placed
near the courts of justice, in order that the
brewer niigLt have thefear of the law ever
before his eyes, and be speedily brought to
punishment in case he should be tempted to
adulterate and deteriorate the brewage.
A MISTAKEN IDEA.
The popular notion, still prevailing in
Munich, that the Bavarian sovereigns be
gan the fabrication of beer for the purpose
of providing their dear subjects with a
cheap, palatable and wholesome beverage,
and that the same subjects should be eter
nally grateful for their paternal kindness
and foresight, has no foundation; in fact It
was with an eye single to his own stomach
that Duke Wilhelm established the brew
ery, and the beer was at first reserved for the
exclusive use of the court. It never oc
curred to the dukes and princes of that day
to do anything expressly for the pleasure or
welfare of the people. If they laid out
parks and gardens, it was for their own per
sonal gratification, and whatever advantages
the public derived from them were wholly
incidental, and amounted in the be
ginning to the enchantment which distance
is saia to leiiu iu me view oi oojecis. now
firmly rooted this idea isin the minds of rulers
is shown by the fact that when the Library
building was erected in Munich about 50
years ago, King Ludwig I. intended that the
magnificent staircase with marble columns
should be used solely by members of the
royal family and never desecrated by plebe
ian feet, which wire expected, no matter
how learned the head tbey carried, to go
roundabout through the court and climb up
some other way. Even under the present
Prince Besrent an attempt was made to ex
clude the publio from the royal park at
Nymphenburg-, bat was prevented by ener
getic protests of the people and the press. If
the subjects of European monarchies enjoy
these pleasure grounds of princes, the privi
lege is not due to" the kindness and com
placency of the monarebs themselves, but
to the irresistible progress of democratic
ideas.
It was not until 1610. mder Dnke Maxi
milian I that the Court Brewery was per
mitted to sen oeer "under the noop, J. e.,m
kegs, to innkeepers and private persons, and
this practice was continued, not as a favor
to the general public, but because it was a
source of revenue and put money into the
coffers of the. Duke. The net sum received
from this source in 1680 amounted to 210,000
florins, which would correspond in value
nowadays to as many millions. It was not
till 1806 that the brewery was provided with
the schenk, or taproom, in which the inhab
itants of Munich could get beer on draught
and drink it on ihe premises. This room was
enlarged in 1814 and again in 1828, and has
in late years been renovated and "beauti
fied," to the great disgust and intense anxi
ety of the old stammgaeste or habitual lre
quenters of the place, who were firmly con
vinced that any diminution of nastiness and
increase of fresh air would be "necessarily
followed by a deterioration in the quality of
the beverage. The work of purification and
beautification was, however, not sufficiently
radical to produce this much-feared result,
and the stranger would never suspect that
such a renovation had been effected, unless
the information were imparted to him by his
guide, and naturally wonder what must
have been its primitive condition.
OEIGIN 07 BOCK BEEB.
In Munich the attention of the tourist is
often called to the picture of a he-goat stand
ing on its hind legs and lapping beer out of
a foaming mng, to which is sometimes added
the statement that "fresh bock is to be had
here." Bock, which means he-goat, is the
name of a strong beer, drunk especially in
the spring of the year, and generally sup
posed to be so called on account of its but
ting qualities, two stiff horns being sufficient
to knock a man over. This use of the word,
which even an English author of the seven
teenth century favors when he speaks in a
Latin treatise of cerevisia cui ab ariete aut
Capricornio nomen, affords a fine example
of popular etymology, and illustrates, on a
fiUiajl OIMC, tuc utlliiu B11U fuwm Oi I
mythology. The he-goat is a fiction, and I
uvu& is uuiv a cuiiupuuu ui -Eiiiiueui or
e,t?T
or the
Ainbeck and Ainpeck. as the name
Hanoverian town was also spelled. The
Munichers, as we have already seen, called
this beer "einpeckisch" and "oinpockisch,"
and as Einbeck was gradually lorgotten,
and, indeed, has long since ceased to be
famous for its beer, the adjective was ab
breviated and transformed into the sub
stantive bock and the animal associated
with the beverage owing to the bntting or
heady character peculiar to both. This cor
ruption of the term must have taken place
quite early after the introduction of the
beer, lor in a Munich police regulation ot
1616 it is forbidden to "brew Bock-Meet
(buck-mead, the strongest kind of beer),
except for the needs of the sick." Curiously
enough, from this corruption of the word
another kind of beer derives its name: in the
Jesuit cloisters a milder beer was brewd
called galss (goat in general or she-goat)
and recommended as having less strongly
butting propensities (weniger stark anstos
sende Eigenschaiten) than bock.
The habitues of the court brewery are
representatives of all classes of society, and
among them are always some queer charac
ters. Authors, artists, scholars, professors,
officers of the army, officials of the civil
service, merchants, mechanics, peasants, day
laborers, are found here sitting together re
gardless of rank or riches. It is perhaps
the most democratic spot on the face of the
earth, where the meanest never thinks of
cowing, nor the greatest of condescending to
his associates. Here Prangerl, the court
fool of King Maximilian I., used to play
, his pranks; here Suizbeck, the court chamber-
musician, spent all bis leisure hours, and is
said to have been able to drink a bucket
full of beer at a single sitting; here the
favorite waitress, known as"thelairPcppi,"
who might have sat'as a model for Fritz von
Kaulbach's famous painting of the "Schul tz
enlirl," was wont to serve her gnzzling
guests with ever ready smiles and jokes and
24 foaming quart mugs in her hands at once.
Why is it that a beer possessing the same
qualities as that of Munich cannot be
brewed elsewhere? It is certain that every
attempt of the kind has hitherto failed. The
neaiest approach to it in any foreign city is
found perhaps in Milwaukee; but nowhere
do the same processes produce precisely the
same results. The difference is due in all
probability to local atmospheric influences
attecting the vizor and vitality or the barm
fungus (sacharomyces cerevisire) which
canses the fermentation of the wort or sweet
infnsion of malt, and converts it into beer.
The Munich climate seems to ba peculiarly
favorable to the development of this fungus,
so that the fermentation of the wort is more
complete and the beer more palatable and
digestible there than it would be under
other climatic conditions.
Edwabd Payson Evans.
LEGENDS AB0DT THE KOBIX
The Iilttlo Bird na a Prophet How He Got
His Bed Breast.
Scottish American.!
A good manysuperstitious ideas are pre
valent in different localities with reference
to the robin. In some parts of Scotland
the song of this interesting little
bird is held to augur no good for the sick
person who hears it, and to those supersti
tiously inclined much anxiety is sometimes
caused when its notes are heard near a
house where anyone happens to be ill.
There is a legend connected with the robin
which I have somewhere seen. It is said
that far, far away there is a land of woe,
darkness, spirits of evil and fire.
Day by day does this little bird bear in
his bill a drop of water to quench the flame.
So near the burning stream does he fly that
his feathers are scorched, and hence he is
named bronphuddu (burnt breast). There
is also a legend which attributes his red
breast to his having tried to pluck a spike
from the crown of thorns with which our
Lord's head was encircled.
Flo Carrie One With Him.
Funxsntawncy Spirit.)
The truth of Lord Bacon's declaration
that "Nature abhors a vacuum" will not be
disputed by the average country editor,
where empty pockets are a source of con
stant anaovanee and iatosM dbKrnst
WE'KEWHATWEABE
TheWillingness of the Spirit and the
Weatnes3 of the Flesh.
HEED OF PERFECT SELF-MASTEET.
Buttle Differences Which Shade the Human
Character.
PEOPLE WHOM WE MEET ETEEI DAT
rWBITTXN TOE THS DISPATCH.1
Among the subtle differences which shada
off human qualities is that which divide
intellect from character, and divorces
thought from action. Superficial reasonen
wonder and blame when the two do not
harmonize together when the character
belies the intellect, and intellectual concep
tions have no force over the actions spring
ing from temperament and character. They
S3y that one who sees such and such a course
to be the wisest ought to follow it; as if
theory and practice, intellect and tempera
ment were identical. They forget that
pathetic cry, The spirit truly is willing,
but the flesh is weak." They forget that
other mournful, but so intensely human
admission, "For that which I do, I
allow not; for that I would, that do
I not; but what I hate, that I do."
They hold that knowing should be the same
as doing, and that spiritual insight should
fever control temperamental action. So it
would if we were all under the sway of rea
son, and had attained perfect self-mastery;
but however clearly we may see the better
thing to do the wiser way of restraint
with most of us the temperament conquers
the intellect, and character is more potent
than theory, as the shaper of our lives and
the director of our actions.
We often say we wish we could return to
life with our 'present experiences what a
much better thing we should make of itl
Yes, in certain specific actions of which we
now know the practical ultimate. But just
as we repeat the same class of action with
different protagonists, so long as the im
pelling temperament remains unchanged,
so, in spite of experience, should we repeat
our lives in their main directions, if wenad
the same character as now.
THE SANGUINE MAN,
Take, as an example, the evil of that nn-
'easy trnst which belongs to a sanguine tem
perament ana a character made up of affec
tion, unselfishness, sincerity and imagina
tion. Such a character is foredoomed to
such and such a course of action, as a bird
is made for flying in the air, or a crab for
walking sideways. The burnt child may
dread the fire, but the person with whom af
fectionateness and imagination, impulse and
sincerity act and react on each other, never
learns caution is never taught distrust or
the wisdom of waiting and proving before
giving, and never will be while the exciting
causes remain. Past experience is like)
those waves which
Ever mark, though they never Impress
Ths light sand which paves them, conscious-
ness.
One idol after another is shattered; but
there is always that other standing in the
place of the one which has fallen.
Conversely the suspicious temperament is
never taught trust. All past experience in
the truth and fidelity of onehas no influence
in teaching belief in another. That crooked
line can never be rnled straight in the mind
which is always looking round corners the
suspicious by temperament can never act
like the trustful and affectionate. The higher
law of nobleness and love whispers to the
suspicious sweet words of human trust, far
more sublime than its rasping, narrow-eyed
doubt; but it is in vain.
Take, too, a person temperamentally timid
and given up to superstitious fancies. How
much does reason helnhera in tha -ripinrv nf
I mind over-character, intellectover phantasy?
I The wind which howls thrnnch tht tr at
night appals the listener with its terrifying
sounds something as ghostly.weird and fore
telling coming disaster. The hooting of the
owls in the ivy presages sorrow, illness,
death. The scampering of the mice behind
the wainscot shake those quivering nerves
more than the roar of a lion shakes the
nerves of an ordinarily brave man, watch
ing over his sleeping companions by the
camp fire in an African forest The burglar
is always under the bed; the Unknown
Terror is always in the cupboard.
JEALOUSY AND ANGER.
What amount of intellectual reasoning
touches our self-made tortures of jealousy?
The passion is temperamental, and the evi
dences are as thick as motes in the sunbeam.
AU temperamental evidences are whatever
names we give them. The mind is influ
enced and happiness is destroyed by this
passion, over which reason and common
sense have no more control than a couple of
children over a runaway horse.
So of that easily excited anger of a pas
sionate temperament. In cool moments the
wrong and the folly of these outbursts are as
patent as the whirling of the dead leaves
caught by the autumn gale. But when the
conflict comes the hot blood mounts in
boiling floods, the eyes are darkened, the
fire is kindled and the furious flames burst
forth. Those big words are flung abroad
like the stones which an avalanche brings
down. The rebukes which the reason utters
are no more heard than would be the voice
of a preacher in the roar and din of a battle.
One of the most potent hindrances to our
spiritual advancement is this overwhelming
mastery of the temperament over the intel
lect. It is a thing with which we have to
deal rigidly in ourselves, but gently and
tenderly in our judgment of others.
"What's done, we partly may compute, but
not what is resisted." How true that is with
all ofms! We are conscious of it in our
selves, but we do not give it sufficient weight
when dealing with others. We all know
what we resist and how much we'eonquer,
and when we basely give way without re
sistance at all. But we can never measure
this last with others; and it is safer ground to
suppose that they have fonghtto the last inch
before letting themselves go, than that they
have struck the flag of their self-control be
fore the first rush of passion. Justice and
judgment demand this wide consideration
for others this large allowance for tempera
ment. Spiritual self-culture, on the other
hand, demands the restriction of this consid
eration for ourselves to the narrowest pos
sible limits. Where we failed to-day, we
must do our "lsvel best" to succeed to-morrow;
and as weak muscles can be strength
ened by judicious exercise, so can tempera
ment be restrained by endeavor, and in
tellectual self-mastery' increased by the
effort. No battle is lost till it is won; and
self-control the victory of reason over im
pulseis a battle that is never lost, but is
always being won by those who wish to try.
Mes. Lynn Lintos.
Ia Central Park
Snap Say, Brnno, are you game for a
rnn over to the Mall with me?
-RnnM rSivtimlvf .Tnt wait A mlnnt
-
until I take this thing over to the aspagtrta
ana lose . rww,
s t . . . -
J
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r fcv
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