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THE 
 
 BERKELEYAN 
 
 VOLUME XXIII 
 
 March to yune, i88j 
 
 A. C. MILLER, Editor 
 
 ASSOCIATES : 
 
 Mary L. White W. C. Gregory 
 
 Catherine E. Wilson J. Sutton 
 
 G. R. LuKENS, Business Manager 
 
 Hugh Howell E. Von Adelung, Jr 
 
 C. R. Thompson G. C. Freman 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 BERKELEY 
 
 1887 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 VOLUME XXIII, 
 MARCH TO TUNB, 188 7. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 I. ^SCHYLEAN MORALITY, Frank Fischer 115 
 
 II. At a German University, Prof. G. H. Howison 192 
 
 III. Beecher as a Reform Leader, Frank K. Lane 131 
 
 IV, Conservatory of Music for San Francisco, J. Sutton 64 
 
 V. Confessions of St. Augustine, W. W. Sanderson 185 
 
 VI. Etching Contrasted with Engraving, Laussat R. Rogers 7 
 
 VII. Goethe, Prof. Aliin Putzker 41 
 
 VIII. Ideals of Pope and Wordsworth, T. B. Sullivan. 83 
 
 IX. Matthew Arnold on American Faults, .£■//« C. iMiA^^/j' 138 
 
 X. Poetry of Form, Mary L. White 16 
 
 XI. Preparation for Public Speaking, Prof. Martin Kellogg 70 
 
 XII. Problem of Europe, Dr. Charles H. Levermore 74 
 
 XIII. Relation of Biology to Sociology, Prof. Jos. Le Conte 123 
 
 XIV. Sonnet in America, /. C. Rowell 167 
 
 XV. Two Moral Teachers, M. E. Blanchard 214 
 
 XVI. Vacation Inquiries, Prof. Bernard Moses 107 
 
 XVII. Why I Love Burns, Rev. Robt. Mackenzie i 
 
 Poetry:— FluminaItaliae,£.iV., 220; Immortality , i^r^rf 71/. Willis, 184; The Viking's 
 Boat Song, J. L. Stiffens, 191 ; To the University of California, Anna Morrison 
 Reed, 137. 
 
 Editorial : —Denominational Schools, 221; The Berkeleyan, 29, 221; Classical Instruc- 
 tion, 32, 146 ; American School of Psychical Research, 222; The Elective System, 91; 
 Junius Redivivus, 152; The Lack of Student Candor, 145 ; Method of Political 
 Study, 92 ; New School of Economics, 93 ; The Proposed Young Men's National 
 Review, 146; The Pursuit of Books, 30 ; Robert Burns, 33 ; San Francisco and the 
 Problem of Municipal Reform, 147 ; Shall We Publish Themes, 91 ; Some Recent 
 Literary Tendencies, 150. 
 
 Notes and Comments : — Anniversaries of Harvard and Columbia, 156 ; Communica- 
 tion, 155; Edwin Booth's Visit, 97 ;, Friendships, 1 57 ; Higher Education of 
 Women, 36 ; History of the College of California, 155 ; Jubilees of Germany and 
 England, 95 ; The Late Professor Sill, 95 . 
 
 Reviews : — Begg's Development of Taste, 224 ; Browning's Parleyings with Certain 
 People, 100; Higginson's Monarch of Dreams, 104; Mrs. Lane's Letters of 
 Travel, 230 ; Minchin's Growth of Freedom in the Balkan Peninsula, 103 ; The 
 Phillips Exeter Lectures, 227 ; Dr. Plumptre's Dante, 229 ; Parry's Ministry of Fine 
 Art, 162 ; Mrs. Potter's Recitations, 165 ; New Books, 39, 106 ; Radestock's Habit 
 in Education, 164; Recent Browning Literature, 102; Richardson's American Lit- 
 erature, 163; Royce's California, 230 ; Royce's Feud of Oakfield Creek, 226 ; Ras- 
 kin's Autobiography, 99 ; Victor Hugo's William Shakespeare, 159. 
 
 Special Correspondence : — Edward Rowland Sill, 34. 
 
The B erke leyan 
 
 Vol. XXIII. BERKELEY, JUNE, 18S7. No. 4 
 
 ^THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 
 
 The sonnet had been so often and so variously defined (Byron called it 
 "the most puling, petrifying, stupidly Platonic composition" — and com- 
 posed seven) that in ironical reply to some unusually perverse conception 
 printed in the London Times of 1832, Coleridge declared, with grim humor, 
 that " a copy of verses consisting of exactly fourteen lines is an English son- 
 net j the rhymes being the . ordinary, but not necessary accompaniment." 
 Criticism, as Stedman has recently said, "is the art and practice of de- 
 claring in what degree any word, character, or action conforms to the 
 right." What, then, is the correct standard by which we may 'measure re- 
 dundances, or point out deficiencies of sonnet writers ? It is the Italian 
 sonnet as perfected by Dante and Petrarca, and of which a brief descrip- 
 tion, condensed from the best authorities, is herewith given. 
 
 In purpose, it is confined to one dominant, poetical thought, so ade- 
 quately treated as to leave in the mind no sense of insufficiency, and 
 the subordinate related thoughts must not distract, but must heighten the 
 effect of its presentation. 
 
 In form it is a stanza of fourteen lines of rhyming iambic pentame- 
 ters, consisting of a major portion called the octave, subdivided into two 
 quatrains, and of a minor, called the sestet, subdivided into two tercets. 
 The rhymes must not exceed five in number — two in the octave, not 
 more than three in the sestet ; they must be perfect, not forced, and prop- 
 erly varied. 
 
 In execution, there must not be a' speck of obscurity, not a superfluous, 
 nor weak, nor misplaced word. It must open with significance, progress 
 with power, and close impressively. It must, furthermore, as it is a true 
 lyric, be musical throughout. ^ 
 
 Truly a complex mechanism, but one which under the hands of a mas- 
 ter poet able to perfectly control and modulate its parts is capable of 
 producing on the cultivated mind a certain poetic effect realized by no 
 bther instrument. Other forms of verse may gratify, even if defects are 
 
1 68 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 apparent in structure and finish, but the student of the sonnet, while ac- 
 cepting any new thought, or new variation on an old thought, expressed in 
 a fourteen-line stanza, will insist as necessary to his complete gratification 
 upon the most skillful and delicate adjustment of language possible. He 
 desires something more than the simple, pure emotion awakened by the 
 song ; more than the neat wit of rhymed quatrains ; more than the pon- 
 derous elegance, natural or finical, of blank verse. He demands that the 
 sonnet shall exemplify the excellencies common to all true poetry of the 
 higher range, but as it were condensed into a drop of essence or sublimed 
 into an intoxicating aroma, thrilling, pervading. 
 
 When an era of social quiescence is rudely ended by the heart-stirring 
 clarion of war, intellectual activities are wakened by the same pul- 
 sation that arouses in the breast emotions of self-preservation and patri- 
 otism. The Homeric epic sprang to light in a period probably chronolog- 
 ically identical with the events it depicts. The " Divine Comedy " was 
 produced when Italy was writhing in the throes of internal dissension and 
 foreign aggression. The " Paradise Lost " may well be considered an alle- 
 gory of the combative democratic principle rampant during the struggles 
 of the Commonwealth. So when the British Jason drove his furrows and 
 sowed his iron shot on the slopes of Bunker Hill, a harvest of statesmen 
 as well as heroes, orators as well as soldiers, sprang up, and what the sword 
 wrote 'in lurid red, the pen nimbly commemorated. And here, once 
 again, a not inglorious epic was written. Epic poetry, therefore, is con- 
 temporaneous with great national emotion, and then also lyric poetry 
 bursts its chrysalis and expands its wings. Excitement may not be true 
 inspiration, but it certainly is the occasion for its advent. The literature 
 immediately preceding and succeeding the American civil war is a further 
 illustration of this truth. 
 
 The sonnet likewise shares the vicissitudes of other forms of poetry. 
 Cultivated in England with the most favorable results up to Milton's time, 
 it bloomed no more until the stimulating days of Bowles and Words- 
 worth, which may be said to mark also the true beginnings of an original 
 or independent American literature. 
 
 English critics of the past have slightingly alluded to colonial pedantry 
 and servile imitation as characteristics of earlier American literature. But 
 in cutting loose from the maternal apron strings the colonists achieved an 
 independence of more than a single kind or degree. The delicious 
 odor of the English hawthorne was lost amid the more diffusive, pungent 
 perfume of the New England azaleas. The poetic eye at last perceived 
 the stately grandeur of his pines when the overshadowing foliage of the 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. i6g 
 
 broad-spreading English oak was hewn down. And at length the forest 
 ambuscades, the mountain massacres, the midnight conflagrations of former 
 years were kindly veiled by beneficent time under a poetic haze of legend. 
 So our Longfellow and Whittier, our Irving, and Cooper, and Simms found 
 themes worthy of their labor, at the same time congenial to the taste of 
 their audience, and thus began to remove the slur of uniformity. The 
 blood-stained Modoc lava-beds, and the atrocious deeds of an Apache 
 raid possess for our eyes no feature of poetic interest; but when the red man 
 has finally vanished from our sight a certain glamor shall conceal his mis- 
 deeds, and his lore shall become cherished when the ordinary conceits of 
 poetry have become trite and insipid, and shall help to mark still more 
 deeply the growing individuality of American prose and verse. 
 
 With regard, however, to any specific individuality of American sonnets 
 not much can be said. In other forms of literature and of art, the per- 
 ceptiveness, lightness, agility, predominance of nervous force, and other 
 characteristics of our people may be significantly present. But aside from 
 changes of theme dependent upon events and local scenery, and institu- 
 tions accidental to our country, the American sonnet may in no other 
 sense differ from the English. 
 
 The mass of American sonnets are irregular in form, trifling in subject, 
 expositions of surface emotional experiences, or descriptions of not un- 
 common delights in the beauties displayed in the natural world. Very 
 few exhibit not merely mastery of the laws governing this species of verse, 
 and of the secret alchemy of meter and melody in general, but in addi- 
 tion those qualities distinctive of the highest kind of poetry — breadth and 
 purity of conception, depth of sympathy, clearness of analysis, and am- 
 plitude combined with exquisiteness of treatment. This is more espe- 
 cially true of the earlier sonnets, from which most of their original savor 
 has evaporated, and for this cause, no doubt, the task of critically reading 
 them (like Leigh Hunt's going to church) had something " compulsory " 
 about it. Take, for example, what is supposed to be the first American 
 sonnet, by Col. David Humphreys, entitled — 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 My heaven-born soul! by body unconfined, 
 
 Leave that low tenement and roam abroad; 
 
 Forerjall the time, when, left each clog behind, 
 Thy flight shall mount where never mortal trod. 
 Even now, methinks, upborne in tranced dreams. 
 
 The disencumbered essence tries its wings, 
 
 Sees better planets, basks in brighter beams, 
 To purer sight mysterious symbols brings, 
 Of unconceived, unutterable things. 
 
I70 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 Though dust returned to dust the worms d;vour, 
 Thee can dread Death annihilate or bind ? 
 There, King of Terrors ! stops thy dreaded power; 
 The bright assurgent, from all dross refined, 
 High o er the immense of space regains the world of mind. 
 
 Certainly a worthy theme well adapted to treatment in sonnet form. 
 Yet, while wrought out with care, and closing with a certain impressive- 
 ness, it leaves no defined, exalted idea in our minds. One reason is, there 
 is no logical development of thought pervading the whole composition. 
 The indefiniteness of the whole is contributed to by indistinct images con- 
 veyed by such antediluvian and tautological epithets as " trancbd dreams," 
 " disencumbered essence," " bright assurgent," " the immense of space.'' 
 As to form, the sonnet is but fairly executed. It ends in a couplet, and 
 with a " needless alexandrine," and, further, a rhyme of the first quatrain 
 is repeated in the sestet. Compare the sonnet quoted, with a recent one 
 dwelling on much the same theme, by Edgar Fawcett, called — 
 
 OTHER WORLDS. 
 
 I sometimes muse, when my adventurous gaze 
 ', Has roamed the starry arches of the night, 
 
 ' That were I dowered with strong angelic sight, 
 
 All would look changed in those pale heavenly ways. 
 
 What wheeling worlds my vision would amaze ! , 
 
 What chasms of gloom would thrill me and affright ! 
 
 What rhythmic equipoise would rouse delight ! 
 
 What moons would beam on me, what suns would blaze! 
 
 Then through my awed soul sweeps the larger thought 
 
 Of how creation's edict may have set 
 
 Vast human multitudes on those far spheres, 
 
 With towering passions to which mine mean naught, 
 
 With majesties of happiness, or yet 
 
 With agonies of unconjectured tears ! 
 
 We perceive in the first place a distinct division into octave and sestet. 
 The first quatrain states a proposition — "all would look changed;" the 
 second exemplifies the changes; the sestet powerfully presents a fine 
 thought distinctly following from that of the octave and confirms and en- 
 larges the impression made by it. The rhymes are perfect, the meter nearly 
 so, the epithets happy. 
 
 Certain writers have emphasized the necessity of a logical development 
 of the various parts of the sonnet (one has called it a " syllogism in verse "); 
 that the first quatrain should contain the proposition, the second quatrain 
 the proof, the sestet the conclusion or inference; or otherwise stated, first 
 presentation, second exposition, third application. The finest sonnets of 
 Dante are composed on such basis. The test, therefore, of a good sonnet, 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 171 
 
 may be made in this manner: paraphrase into prose, examine whether or 
 not the sentiment in ipso is a poetical one when stripped of the fictitious 
 values the author may have imposed by his word-gilding or " horticultural 
 rhetoric," and see if the thought is fairly stated and fully developed. 
 
 Naturally little attention was paid by our earlier sonnet writers to the 
 exigencies of structure and rhyme; thus many of even Wordsworth's com- 
 positions are merely short poems. While we admire the stateliness of 
 Washington AUston's sonnets, corresponding to the sincere esteem he felt 
 towards those masters of the brush whom he addressed, we critically see 
 many imperfections that mar our pleasure. Thus in his " Rembrandt," 
 unfortunate is the comparison of the painter's "visionary scenes" to the 
 " rambling of an idiot's speech," wherein, however, he evidently wished to ex- 
 press the ancient concept of supernatural power in the demoniac. Again his 
 " On the Death of Coleridge " is faulty in style, the only distinct pauses at 
 the ends of his lines being in the first and twelfth lines, precisely just where 
 there should be none, and yet no lover of the seer of Rydal Mount could 
 wish it unwritten. 
 
 Park Benjamin was a writer prolific . in what for want of a better name 
 we must call sonnets, beautiful, clever. His best is " The Stars." Among 
 the earlier sonneteers we number James Dixon, Jedediah Vincent Hunt- 
 ington, Rev. Norman Pinney, Judge Robert T. Conrad, George Hill, 
 George Lunt, Charles Fenno Hoffman, William Motherwell, Theodore 
 Parker, and John Howard Bryant, best seen in his " Autumn,'' and his 
 " There is a magic in the moon's mild ray.'' In all of these we note a 
 profuseness of rhymes, amounting to eight, nine, or even ten; and the al- 
 most invariable use of a rhyming couplet in the two concluding lines. The 
 rhyming couplet is used with best effect in humorous epigrammatic and 
 satirical poetry, as Butler's " Hudibras," or Pope's " Dunciad." It has a 
 sharp snap, like the banging of a spring gate, and in a poem like the son- 
 net it diverts the attention from the main thought that should have been 
 fully stated in the second quatrain. If we consider the sonnet as a piece 
 of music, as it should be, the musical effect of such a close, resembles the 
 introduction of deep base notes at the end of a song for tenor voices. 
 These two characteristics, metrical and musical, sufficiently condemn its 
 use in the sonnet, and impair our delight in William Cullen Bryant's pic- 
 turesque verse. 
 
 Bryant's sonnets number only six, all irregular. His "William Tell," 
 is a strain worthy the subject, and we remark that nothing seems so inspir- 
 ing like great personal valor or virtue, and that greatest of human virtues — 
 self-sacrifice on the altar of friendship or patriotism. Bryant's " October " 
 
172 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 and " November,'' take a high rank among irregular sonnets. In his 
 " Midsummer " we really feel — 
 
 " As if the Day of Fire had dawned, and sent 
 Its deadly breath into the firmament." 
 
 A memorial, more noble than the few sonnets of Richard Henry Wilde, 
 shall be his discovery of Giotto's portrait on the walls of the Bargello. He 
 is at his best in the sonnet " To Lord Byron,'' quite regular in form, and 
 remarkable for its perfect double rhymes. 
 
 With most of our poets whose efforts in lines of narrative, imaginative, 
 or didactic verse have been crowned with success, the sonnet has been a 
 diversion rather than a serious study. Of such are : — 
 
 Josiah Gilbert Holland, whose " Two Homes," published a year before 
 his death, is worthy of mention. 
 
 James Gates Percival, who himself says that his verse does not " bear the 
 marks of the file and burnisher," that he likes to see "poetry in the full 
 ebullition of fancy and feeling, foaming up with the spirit of life, and 
 glowing with the rainbows of a glad inspiration," — a remark embodying 
 the very criticism to which his sonnets are open. His most pleasing son- 
 net is " If on the clustering curls of thy dark hair." 
 
 Thomas Buchanan Read, whose " Indian Summer " is a good specimen 
 of word-painting. 
 
 William W. Story, whose "Be of good cheer ye firm and dauntless 
 few," is probably an apostrophe to Garrison, Phillips, and their fellow- 
 workers in the cause of abolition. 
 
 Henry Theodore Tuckerman, whose "Love Sonnets" are pleasing 
 enough to disarm criticism. 
 
 Nathaniel Parker Willis, whose " I care not that the world when I 
 am dead " is only remarkable from the fact that a young man in the 
 glory of graduation from college troubled his mind on such a subject. 
 
 Edgar Allen Poe, whose iconoclastic "Rationale of Verse " shows his 
 familiarity with the principles and technique of the poetic art, has failed in 
 his few sonnets of anything worthy a place in an anthology — except it be 
 one of " Eccentricities of Poetry." 
 
 A certain sincerity of purpose, verging on didacticism, is visible in what- 
 ever Whittier writes. He does not soar into the empyrean whither the 
 flaming genius of a Shelley takes his flight; the sentiments of his "' home- 
 taught songs" (as he calls them in his sonnet " Response," written in 1877), 
 are those of "plain people," lacking the finer metrical quality and sparkling 
 brilliancy. Thus his " Leggett's Monument," the theme of one of Bryant's 
 shorter poems, impresses into us a hatred of hyprocrisy and sham ; it has 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 173 
 
 the force of a direct appeal to our love of truth. The other sonnets 
 "Help," " Requirement," "Forgiveness," etc., of the Quaker poet, are 
 little more than " fourteen line homilies." 
 
 The numerous sonnets of Jones Very are imbued, almost saddened, with 
 the religious mysticism that clouded his mind in later years, and read like 
 a series of chants in quiet monotone. Now and again, as if the ascetic 
 had glanced for a moment beyond the door of his cell, the somber tint is 
 enlivened by flashes of natural color, as in his " Nature." 
 
 The same joylessness characterizes the few sonnets of Robert Kelley 
 Weekes, as if written by one over whom hangs the gloom of a foreshad- 
 owed premature death, against whose — 
 
 " Past my Present seems to lie 
 As bare and black as yonder barren trees 
 Against the brightness of the morning sky, 
 Whose golden expectation puts to shame i 
 The lurking hopes to which they still lay claim." 
 
 The exceeding scarcity of the humoroiis sonnet, like the song, " oftener 
 put on as a robe of sacrifice than as a festal garment," was at first a cause 
 of surprise. Upon reflection, however, the reason is not obscure. Leigh 
 Hunt remarks in one of his delightful essays, " Our imagination cannot 
 take kindly to a yard of wit or to thirty inches of moral observation." 
 Brevity decidedly is one of the subtle essences that make wit so delicious, 
 and the sonnet, although a short poem, is metrically quite long. Cork up 
 wit in this vessel of fourteen drachms, and like the sparkle of some effer- 
 vescent drink poured out slowly — it vanishes in the open glass of contem- 
 plation. I have not found one witty, and at the same time legitimate, 
 sonnet written by an American writer. Park Benjamin's " Sport," is drear- 
 ily humorous, William Gibson's "To the Comet," 1874, slightly so, and of 
 the eight productions of the American Hood, John G. Saxe, not one is in 
 the true form. 
 
 With all his fun, he has, nevertheless, well illustrated the near kinship 
 of humor and pathos. While we enjoy the genial fun and pointed puns 
 of his "The Proud Miss Macbride" and the malicious wit of his "Progress," 
 his sonnet " Bereavement " — awakens in the heart a sweet, sad mood. 
 Though couched in the lowliest language,- in everything but the profu- 
 sion of rhymes and catenation of lines it is a fairly good sonnet. This 
 with his later "Compensation," " Parting," and " Mnemosyne," written sub- 
 sequently to the rapidly succeeding deaths of his family (whom he has 
 just now gone to join) raise him from the level of the mere humorist and 
 versifier to that of the true poet. 
 
174 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 If humor were inherent in the sonnet, we should be sure to find exam- 
 ples of it in the sonnet of Oliver Wendell Holmes — an American Swift, 
 devoid of coarseness and bitter inhuman malice. But we look in vain. 
 " Nearing the Snowline " contains a saddened feeling quite foreign to his 
 usual frolicsomeness. His earnest "Joseph Warren" stimulates the patri- 
 otic feeling in the most sluggish breast; for such an epitaph one might 
 willingly die; and the close of "Veritas," the second of two sonnets 
 addressed to Harvard, 1878, sounds like a trumpet-blast. The spirit of 
 Longfellow himself lingers in his three sonnets to " Our Dead Singer." 
 
 " Oh, for our vanished Orpheus once again! 
 The shadowy silence hears us call in vain! 
 His lips are hushed; his song can never die." 
 
 — Atlantic, June, 1882. 
 
 As by general acclaim, Longfellow shines in the zenith of the firmament 
 of American poets— -a galaxy steadily increasing in brilliance, so high a 
 position must be claimed also for his sonnets, lovely in artistic symmetry, 
 gorgeous yet harmonious in color, musically and rhythmically sweet. In 
 them likewise appears to full advantage his apt use of striking, graphic, 
 realistic language, whose vividness is impressed on the memory. Added 
 to this, as a student and translator of that 
 
 " bringer of the light, whose splendor shines 
 Above the darkness of the Apennines " 
 
 he possesses a correct idea of the capabilities and structure of the sonnet. 
 Best of all, and perhaps choicest of all American sonnets, is his oft-quoted 
 " Nature," which with quiet, unpretending, simple, large-souled earnestness 
 deals with that great mysterious change inevitable to all humanity. It has 
 the gentle, pure charm which the nun's head-dress lends to an even austere 
 countenance. 
 
 As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, 
 
 Leads by the hand her little child to bed, 
 
 Half willing, half reluctant to be led, 
 And leave his broken playthings on the floor, 
 Still gazing at them through the open door, 
 
 Nor wholly reassured and comforted 
 
 By promises of others in their stead, 
 Which, though more splendid may not please him more; 
 So Nature deals with us and takes away 
 
 Our playthings, one by one, and by the hand 
 
 Leads us to rest so gently, that we go 
 Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay. 
 
 Being too full of sleep to understand 
 
 How far the unknown transcends the what we know. 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 175 
 
 His sonnet " On Milton " has the sonorous movement, the full-toned 
 melody of the stern old Puritan. That "On Venice," on the other hand, is 
 a fine example of opulent epithet making up a magnificent word picture. 
 The ocean — vast, unbounded, full of mystery, the symbol of infinite 
 space, of infinite power, beautiful in its deceitful calms, terrorful in its 
 tempests — possesses all elements of poetical inspiration to which every 
 poet from Homer to Byron has opened his soul, whispering " Aura, veni! " 
 Longfellow has made it the theme of several fine sonnets — "Sound of the 
 Sea," "The Tides," "Summer Day by the Sea." A slightly defective 
 sonnet, "My Cathedral," contains a fine thought, appreciated by each of 
 us who has wandered through the fragrant dimness of a California forest, 
 or, low pillowed on the matted needle carpet, has watched the bright stars 
 untwinkling shine amid the sky-reaching foliage of the giant redwoods. 
 
 The criticism passed by Bayard Taylor on the poetical work of Lowell, 
 the last of the Cambridge trio, seems more nearly applicable to his earlier 
 than to his later sonnets. " Whatever form his music may select, it is the 
 individuality of an intellect rather than that of a literary artist which she 
 represents. The reader is never beguiled by studied graces of rhythm. . . 
 He seems to shrink from the cooler-blooded labor of revision and the 
 adjustment of the rhythmical expression to the informing thought." The 
 twenty-seven sonnets written over forty years ago are full of thought nobly 
 expressed. " Our love is not a fading, earthly flower," and some others, 
 breathe the domestic peace and happiness that enveloped that period of 
 his life. In his, " I ask not for the thoughts that sudden leap," the thought is 
 carried to a fine climax, but the meter is somewhat defective and the end- 
 ing is a rhymed couplet. " To the Spirit of Keats " is a fine stanza with 
 meter also slightly defective. And hypercriticism might ask how it happens 
 that a " soul" can have " vast, quiet eyes " that may " uplift " one ; or how 
 " thy large heart " can " shake down '' a '■ few words." Appreciation alone 
 is not true criticism; and, /i?r «;«/«?, destructive criticism often merely 
 implies the appreciation really felt. The cultured allusions, the happy 
 pointed illustrations with which Lowell's prose work is so replete, are not 
 wanting in his sonnets, although generally condensed into sucfi epithets as 
 "life's iron diadem," " moonled pulse of ocean," "a Fame whose silent 
 trump makes cheap," the " mornward steps of time " likened to " miser's 
 gold." 
 
 After a lapse of more than thirty years Lowell again writes a few more 
 perfect sonnets, " Night Watches," " Mercedes," etc., and of his " Sonnets 
 from over Sea," that entitled "English Border" seems especially worthy of 
 a hearing, although the style is very subdued and the sentiment one which 
 
176 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 any poet of " respectable mediocrity " might have laid like a foundling at 
 the door of some magazine and sighed to have seen it rejected. 
 
 There is a quartet of American singers, who by the interchange of a 
 mutual esteem (if we may so judge from their sonnets) have encouraged 
 each other in their flights. These are George Henry Boker, Bayard Tay- 
 lor, Richard Henry Stoddard, and Edmund Clarence Stedman. We 
 should have loved much to have lain down with them all in some open-air 
 symposium at " Green Cedarcroft," where together they felt the fragrant 
 summer breezes and delighted in the " red lawn-roses." 
 
 In each of Boker's seventy-eight sonnets the thought is a continuous one, 
 and is not wrought out into logical divisions, distinct in proposition and 
 proof. Otherwise regular they have a wide range. Some relate to events 
 of national interest and importance, best exemplified in his vigorous war- 
 cry, "What! Cringe to Europe";— a veritable "trumpet in his hands," as 
 Wordsworth would say; others exhibit an ethical or didactic tendency, 
 direct and unobscure; and still others, culled from the lands and borders 
 of that domain of emotion — human love, the ager coinmunis of all poets, 
 lack none of the freshness and sincere Bayardesque qualities so admired 
 in the gallant Sidney and the courtly Surrey. His sonnet, " Not when the 
 buxom form which nature wears," is the finest example I can cite of the 
 periodic sentence in verse. 
 
 Bayard Taylor, traveler, poet, essayist, critic, journalist, and translator, 
 is one of those voluminous writers, who, while producing much that shall 
 continue a valued portion of our national literature, consider the practice 
 of the poetic art their true vocation, in which whatever success they 
 attain outweighs in sterling merit their other achievements. Not one of 
 his sonnets can be read without pleasure. In his " To a Persian Boy" he 
 happily weds a western energy to oriental luxuriousness of expression. 
 The choicest of the others seems to be that in which he delineates his own 
 restless, active life. 
 
 Quite contrary to expectation, based on the memory of the felicito'us 
 spontaneity of his simpler poems, the grace and even grandeur of language of 
 his more powerful "History" and "Guests of the State " (1876), evoked dur- 
 ing unworried leisure in the dusty recesses of the New York custom house, or 
 the undisturbed solitude of the municipal library, the sonnets of Stoddard are 
 few, and not particularly noteworthy- Had he written any sonnet com- 
 parable with "On looking into Chapman's Homer," or " Bright star, would 
 I were steadfast as thou art," willingly would we concur in crowning him 
 the American Keats, whom he addresses as " master of my soul." 
 
 Stedman causes a similar disappointment. His sonnets are not alto- 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 177 
 
 gather regular, but as to style and language are finished exactingly, as might 
 be expected from his close, critical application to the study of older poets. 
 They are few, not exceeding, I believe, five in number. Of these, " A 
 Mother's Picture '' is the best, unconsciously reflecting in quieter shades an 
 agnate theme of Milton's. 
 
 The sonnet is a form of composition that offers fair opportunities to the 
 minor poets- — " the silvery minor of earth's perfect song," conscious of in- 
 ability to compose longer poems of sustained power and impressive grand- 
 eur, whose conceptions are yet entitled to presentation, and whose un- 
 doubted talent insures a hearing. Perchance they may leap, dolphin-like, 
 for a moment above the flapping waves of mediocrity, and mid a daz- 
 zling, silvery spray, burst upon the enraptured vision like some transformed 
 sprite whose beauty shall linger long after the enchanting shape has disap- 
 peared again, perhaps forever, in the deep. In truth the most popular, 
 best remembered pieces of the major poets are generally brief, and the 
 very adaptability of the sonnet to the exposition of any mood, grave or 
 gay, any experience, profound or trivial, accounts for the almost number- 
 less sonnets with which our later poetical literature abounds. The critic 
 apparently wanders through an immense conservatory filled with the most 
 lovely of Flora's treasures. One charms by its curious form or graceful 
 shape, another by its agreeable perfume, a third by its magnificent display 
 of color and blending of tints. The profusion bewilders, vv^hile the mind 
 contemplates some finesse, of thought in one, the brilliant beauties of an- 
 other are dazzling the eye, and the tendrils of emotion of a third are gently, 
 yet fixedly, entwining the heart. 
 
 An increasing number of contemporary sonneteers are distinguished 
 by a delicate refinement and smooth technical finish. Perhaps no one 
 possesses a more fastidious taste and exhibits more painstaking care than 
 Thomas Bailey Aldrich. The penetrating,. sad sweetness of " Baby Bell," 
 the heroic, triumphant self-negation of " Judith " are familiar beloved 
 specimens of his work. And among his sonnets that are particularly 
 pleasing to the cultivated mind may be mentioned his " Sleep," his 
 sprightly " The Colonel," his lively " Enamored Architect of Airy Rhyme," 
 and his word-picture " Barberries." 
 
 Edgar Fawcett lightly passes " from rich sunshine to dew-haunted 
 shade," and embodies in his sonnets many a fine thought or noble senti- 
 ment well wrought out in choicest phrases, and enriched with felicitous epi- 
 thets that give point and emphasis. A willow he terms an " incomparable 
 Niobe of trees." In broader dashes of color he equals Aldrich's power 
 of natural description, best seen in his " Maples," "Asters," " Indian Sum- 
 
178 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 mer." He strikes a deeper chord in " Betrothal," " Grant Dying," and 
 "Anger." The metrical movement is truly lyrical, but too full and free, 
 especially in the introduction of feet other than iambic. Thus every line 
 of his " Asters " contains a dactyl. 
 
 In some of the earlier sonnets of Richard Watson Gilder there is an 
 unpleasant mannerism, consisting of such an imbecile repetition of words as 
 
 ' ' Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way 
 To tell his love, his noble love to tell." 
 
 Or again, in "The Dark Room," 
 
 " So early had she yearned from yearning sleep;'' 
 And while in other poems his " excellent technical qualities " may be 
 apparent, they certainly do not comprehend a recognition of the impera- 
 tive laws of the sonnet. His two sonnets " Undying Light " are good, 
 although ending in couplets ; his " Charleston," written after the earthquake 
 of 1886, is worthy of mention, and his tribute to " H. H." might be 
 quoted if space sufificed. 
 
 The sonnets of James Berry Bensel are of a somber, reflective cast, as 
 their titles, " Failure," " Patience;" " To be Dead," " The Passing of Sum- 
 mer" [these two last are very good) indicate. In " A Portrait" the lus- 
 cious description of beautiful, full-blooming maidenhood, unconscious of 
 misfortune, ends with dramatic contrast — 
 
 "The while her thoughts like carrier-doves have fled 
 To that far land, where armies clash and shout, 
 And where, beyond love's reach, a soldier tall 
 With staring eyes and broken sword lies dead." 
 
 Another poet, whose loss was deplored last year, is Paul Hamilton Hayne, 
 than whom none sang more sweetly in our Southern airs. The South has 
 not lacked her Simms, her Lanier, her Timrods, her Mrs. Preston, her 
 John Esten Cooke, but the poet of Copse Hill surpasses them all in both 
 the amount and the quality of his verse. Endowed with artistic insight 
 into the wonders of the visible world, and a happy faculty of surprising 
 nature in her more secret haunts, .he has also the power of finely material- 
 izing upon paper what he sees and what he feels. His descriptive sonnets 
 " November," two on " Sunset," " Cloud Phantasies," " March Morning in 
 the Woods," "Japonicas," are true to nature, and his well chosen, highly- 
 colored epithets are yet not of the gaudiness that makes the poetry of the 
 eighteenth century seem so vapid and artificial. Of equal merit are his 
 graver sonnets, "I Fear Thee not, O Death!" "Fate, or God?" "As 
 one who strays from out some shadowy glade," and "Guatama." His 
 ' Apostrophe to Alexander H. Stephens " should be compared with Sted- 
 man's " Abraham Lincoln." 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 179 
 
 A sonneteer of promise is O. C. Auringer, the farmer-poet of Lake 
 George, a John Burroughs in verse, whose "Winter," "Confession," and 
 " Fading Days," have a charm of freshness, despite triteness of topic, 
 which no mere echoer of time-honored sentiments could impart, but 
 which springs from an uncommon reverence for the powers and admira- 
 tion of the beauties of nature. Compare his " Flight of the War Eagle," 
 [Grant] with H. C. Bunner's " Dead in Bohemia." Auringer's sonnets 
 are irregular, and miss the desired smoothness of versification. Bryant's 
 metaphor, " The rivulet is made musical by the obstructions in its channel," 
 is not applicable to the music of the sonnet, which more resembles the 
 rhythmic dashing of waters over a series of equidistant terraces. 
 
 Clinton Scollard has achieved a certain success in his " Aurora Bore- 
 alis" and " The Portent," and his " Wild Coreopsis '' is a bewitching day- 
 dream. 
 
 "A sea of blossoms, golden as the glow 
 
 Of morning sunlight on a wind-rocked bay, 
 
 Beneath the breeze of this rare autumn day 
 Heaves in soft undulation to and fro; 
 Like incense, floating o'er the marsh below, 
 
 Come fragrant odors of the late-mown hay; 
 
 Beyond, in harmony of green and gray, ^ 
 
 The stately tamaracks tower in stately row. 
 And wading through the shimmering waves with song 
 
 Upon his lips, a fair-haired youth I see, 
 
 Who swinges off the saffron blossom-bells : 
 Back roll the years — a melancholy throng — 
 
 And I behold in sea-girt Sicily 
 
 Theocritus amid the asphodels." 
 
 Of the forty sonnets of Maurice F. Egan, "Theocritus," "At the End 
 of Autumn," and " Of Flowers," may be mentioned as his best. Some of 
 Oscar Fay Adams' work in his late " Post-Laureate Idyls" is tender and 
 exquisite ; and the strain of H. H. Boyesen invigorates like a bracing 
 breeze from the pine forests of Norway. 
 
 " College Verses" is the title of a collection of poems written by under- 
 graduates of the University of California that embraces thirteen sonnets, 
 of which certainly nine are worthy a place in an anthology of choice 
 American sonnets. Most of them betray imperfections m meter and 
 rhyme which more practiced ears would have detected and amended ; but 
 mainly reflective in character they exhibit originality and an unexpected 
 maturity of thought. "A Lost Guide," by Edmund C. Sanford, is the 
 most powerful of the three sonnets he contributes. The threefold repeti- 
 tion of the line " No more the prophet speaks the words of life ! " — a 
 species of refrain, causes inadmissible rhymes m the tercets. " O Patient, 
 Noble Heart," by Alice E. Pratt, is well treated. " Through Rose of 
 
i8o THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 Dawn," by Seddie E. Anderson, embodies one of those pretty sentiments 
 to which she elsewhere gave expression in "The Nest in the Oak," '• In the 
 Shade," " Under the Sands." "Lone Spirit of the Autumn," by F. L. 
 Foster, barring its final hexameter, is very good; and Charles S. Greene's 
 " Nirvana," seems preferable to any of his later sonnets. Certain vowel 
 rhymes in the tercets of Charles H. Shinn's "The gray clouds weighted 
 all the air," proscribed by the laws of the sonnet, mar a very beautiful 
 stanza. 
 
 If there is a province peculiarly belonging to woman, who sings at earth's 
 cradle, it certainly should be that of music and poetry. But while her 
 touch is nimbly tender and daintily true, the strings she vibrates are faint 
 and few, and the mellow, dulcet harmonies she evokes in her green, flowery 
 glades, are oft inaudible amid the resounding clangors of the heedless 
 hunters on the mountains. Yet, while the world is not a Midas in respect 
 of ears, the celestial ear intently listening to that grand symphony of song 
 ever pealing upward has caught the re-echoing swell of some triumphant 
 Miriam, and the thrilling note of the passionate Lesbian, and the plangent 
 lament of some uncomforted Rachel are not unheard. Embodied in her 
 more delicate frame are a nervous susceptibility, an acute perceptiveness, a 
 capacity for keen feeling, qualities that mingled with purity, gentleness, and 
 grace, should make her the singer of all that is sweet and bright in spite of 
 the tragedy of motherhood and the arrowy sorrows of domestic existence. 
 
 One of those souls "of fire within a woman's clay" was Mrs. Helen 
 Maria Jackson, whose sonnets often are the reflections of the brightness 
 and sweetness of character that made her society so charming, or on the 
 other hknd echoes from the depths of despairing grief, into which such 
 impulsive spirits sometimes descend. Their whole beauty is not spread on 
 the surface to be fully gathered by one who skims hurriedly along. The 
 full meaning of her sonnet " Thought " (Emerson's favorite) is not per- 
 ceived at first reading. Her love of nature — 
 
 " Thus I love nature, and can find no fit, 
 Safe words to praise her, lest I should commit 
 Spite of my reverence, a blasphemy " — 
 
 And her powers of description find utterance in her sonnets on the months 
 (that on " September " is especially fine). " On Two Pictures by Vedder '' 
 are two sonnets of striking contrast ; one — " The Young Marsyas," breathes 
 the sweetness of an idyl of the Golden Age; the other — "The Cumsean 
 Sibyl," the fiery fury of a disdained Cassandra. But her best achievements 
 are in the direction of contemplative thought. In " Burnt Ships,'' and in 
 " Tidal Waves "— 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. i8i 
 
 " On which are borne brave women's souls 
 To barren islands, where, too strong to die, 
 Even of tliirst, and loneliness, and scorn, 
 Like ghastly, stranded wrecks, long years they lie ! " 
 
 The passionate emotion that fills her heaving breast wells forth through 
 trembling lips. " Danger," exhibiting a philosophic fatalism, " The Victory 
 of Patience," " Fealty," — her last sonnet, are noble poems, dignified and 
 stately. The irregularities of structure and rhyme, slight matter to her 
 whose " spirit smote with its own sword," we omit to notice, as we gladly 
 do in enjoying the sonnets of Shakespeare and of Mrs. Browning, and we 
 thankfully accept her sonnets as frank utterances of a seeress and reliqua- 
 ries of a true poet. 
 
 The numerous sonnets of Edith M. Thomas are delightfully pervaded 
 by a delicate feminine fragrance not altogether impersonal. "Ephemera," 
 " Delay," " A Revenge," " Frost," " Music," are a few of her many — 
 
 "golden songs that keep the gleam 
 Of early sunlight through the darkened wood'. " 
 
 EPHEMERA.- 
 
 Midges and moths — ay, all you restless things 
 That dance and tourney in the fields of air, 
 You, Psyche's post -man, trim and debonair^. 
 
 With eye-like freckles on your bronzed wings; 
 
 You, candle-elves, whose strange' emblazonings 
 With sign of death our ancient gossips scare. 
 Or who, when sleeps the humming-bird, repair. 
 
 With stealthy beaks to drain the honey-springs: — 
 
 Your secret's out ! I know you for the souls 
 Of all light loves that ever caused heartache, 
 ' Still dancing suit, as some new beauty toles ! 
 
 Nor can you e'er your flitting ways forsake 
 Till the just winds strip off your painted stoles. 
 And seer leaves follow in your downward wake. 
 
 Womanly purity and kindliness fill the sonnets of the late Mary Clemmer, 
 characteristically shown in her " Inadequacy." 
 
 "The Magic Flute," of Mrs. Frances L. Mace, well conveys the singular 
 impressiveness of music heard at a distance on the water, and in the hush 
 of a moonlight evening : — " 
 
 " O happy player ! drifting down the tide, 
 
 Half of thy music's charm thou hast not known; 
 
 With me alone its magic shall abide, 
 
 For fairy lips with thine the strain have blown. 
 
 And love's lost whisper in the echo sighed. " 
 
 The varied feelings aroused by music are further skillfully depicted in 
 Helen Gray Cone's " Bach's St. Mathew Passion Music," Celia Thaxter's 
 
1 82 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 " Beethoven," which should be read in conjunction with the earlier " Bee- 
 thoven," by Margaret Fuller. The delicious flavor of Miss Cone's sonnets 
 may be tasted best in her " Ellen Terry's Beatrice." 
 
 Genuine feeling permeates Julia C. R. Dorr's " To-day," " Darkness," 
 " Silence," and with her touching " Mercedes,'' compare Effie Dunreith 
 Gliick's " Alfonso." We are permitted to mention a few only of the best 
 sonnets of a few other female poets, such as Mary Christine Kipp's 
 "Clematis;" Caroline A. Mason's "May" and "Reconciliation;" Maria 
 Mason's " Nature's Lover " (John Muir) ; Louise Chandler Moulton's 
 "Before the Shrine," "Love's Empty House," "The Oldest Friend;" 
 Margaret J. Preston's "At St. Oswald's;" Susan Marr Spaulding's " Dear 
 Hands," an old thought, in a new dress, and " Death's First Lesson ;" and 
 finally, Caroline R. Wilkinson's " Out of the Depths," earnest as a prayer. 
 
 Poets are fond of opening the same old book of nature at the same old 
 pages, and with tiresome iteration dress up the same old idols of sentiment 
 and affection in whatever fragments of finery they can lay hands upon. 
 Then, too, they build their sonnets on such trifling bases, — kisses, blushes, 
 fans, curls, crickets, — that though finished with skill, these resemble some 
 genre paintings of the Flemish school, interesting as bits of color or as 
 faultless specimens of imitative art, yet not to be ranged with the higher 
 products of imaginative, creative work. And in the somewhat monotonous 
 task of reading over hundreds of sonnets, the critical sense is rescued from 
 a Nirvana-like sleep only by being interruptedly revived and sharpened by 
 other forms of poetry, as wine-tasters use chestnuts and crackers. The 
 mere number of sonneteers is growing so large that Stedman, in his " Poets 
 of America,''' evidently shrinks from the mention of their names. He 
 speaks of the "mob of gentlemen who write with ease and curious labor" 
 (a bone adroitly heaved into the midst of the unnamed, who must be ap- 
 peased somewhat), and thinks it " questionable, considering the accumulated 
 results of English poetry, whether more sonnets [etc.] are a real addition 
 to it." Most of our poets write as a " diversion," to perchance gain a 
 contemporary reputation doomed to fade like the ink on old manuscripts, 
 but more likely to be buried beyond resurrection beneath the mountain of 
 song which each generation heaps higher and higher. Their sonnets are 
 read as a diversion, and forgotten. The enrapturing song of yesterday is 
 like the flitting dream of yesternight; its echoes like the shadowy forms 
 that fade away as the morning-star rises. 
 
 But the reading public demands poetry, in small doses, at least, and in 
 the current magazine the poet finds his opportunity to address audiences 
 never to be reached by verses enshrined in purple silk and glossy vellum. 
 
THE SONNET IN AMERICA. 183 
 
 Indeed, many of the sonnets above referred to in the first instance appeared 
 in monthly magazines and weekly papers; and I take pleasure in men- 
 tioning a few others of especial value, that have not been met elsewhere in 
 print: A.B.Boyle's "Widowed," " Beware," and "Mount Blanc;" Herbert 
 E.Clarke's "The Singer," " The Question;" Thomas S. Collier's "Love 
 Deathless," metrically fine; Samuel V. Cole's " Hesperides ; " Charles T. 
 Dazey's "The Poet's Art;" Maybury Flemming's "To Sleep;" W. P. 
 Foster's " In November; " Wilbur Larremore's " Gone," marred by a slight 
 grammatical slip; George P. Lathrop's "A Face in the Street," powerfully 
 sad; W. C. Richard's " Beyond Recall " (a reminiscence of Petrarca's 
 sonnet " CCCXIII ") ; Andrew B. Saxton's " Indian Summer;" Milicent 
 W. Shinn's " Two Sonnets of Lost Love ; " John T. Trowbridge's " Three 
 Sonnets;" and Edward Rowland Sill's " Quem Metui Moritura," from 
 Dido's lament in the ^neid. Book IV., in which the ictus is carefully made 
 to fall upon important words. 
 
 Worthy of quotation is the regular, melodious sonnet by an anonymous 
 author, entitled — 
 
 AT MORN. 
 
 O patient soul that throbs with bitter pain, 
 And finds denied the boon of eyelids stirred 
 By touch of tears; that hears no helpful word. 
 
 Or bleeds anew to find it lost again; 
 
 That sees the laurel long pursued in vain 
 
 Withered and dropped to dust through hope deferred, 
 And every vision of fair living blurred 
 
 By blind unreason of the clouded brain. 
 
 It will not all thy days be dark with thee. 
 
 His pale-leafed wreath of poppies Time will bind 
 About thy bruised brow's pathetic scars; 
 And quietude of peace shall on thee be . 
 
 Nay, more; at morn thou wilt look back and find 
 It was but dark that thou might'st see the stars . 
 
 Over Charles de Kay's irregular sonnet " The' Blush," there glows a 
 tinge of fancy like the rosy flush which a clear spring sunrise sheds over a 
 bare and frosty landscape. 
 
 If the future sonneteer is really desirous of a fame not evanescent let 
 him take full heed of the injunction of Camilla K. von K. expressed in 
 her — 
 
 RED LILIES. 
 
 Strike fuller chords, or let the music rest ! 
 
 Of tender songs the world has yet no dearth, 
 
 Which scarce survive the moment of their birth. 
 Be thine in passionate cadences expressed, 
 And banish morning-glories from thy breast ! 
 
 A purple dream-flower of the woods is worth 
 
 So little in the gardens of the earth; 
 
1 84 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 If gift thou givest, give what we love best. 
 
 Since life is wild with tears, and red with wrongs, 
 
 Let these red lilies typify thy songs, 
 If with full fame thou wouldst be comforted. 
 
 Since life is red with wrongs, and wild with tears, 
 
 Oh, move us, haunt us, kill our souls with fears. 
 And we will praise thee, — after thou art dead ! 
 
 The successful, the perfect sonnets are exceedingly few in number. On 
 the one hand the thought may be striking, valuable, but its structural ex- 
 pression faulty; or, on the other hand, nearly perfect form, rhythm, mel- 
 ody may be the husk of but a shabby sentiment, a mere fly in amber. 
 
 " Not from a vain or shallow thought, 
 His awful Jove young Phidias brought. " 
 
 A sonnet successful simply in technique will invariably seem a tour de 
 force; whereas one likewise structurally perfect, but in which further is 
 embalmed some noble idea, properly developed and enforced, will impress 
 with the power of a true lyric, and only when we seek to discover the rea- 
 son for the emotion awakened, and the serene satisfaction bestowed, do we 
 note that a certain effect is the result of artistic form. While, then, the 
 sonnet is not native among us, there seems no valid reason why, like some 
 exotic plant, it may not with due care and cultivation be made to blossom 
 and bloom, and in the conservatory of genius attain strength of growth, 
 brilliant splendor, and an exquisiteness of the perfume which it breathed 
 during those sunnier days that first smiled upon it. 
 J. C. RowELL. U. C, '74. 
 
 Note. — This article will be followed in the next number of the Berkeleyan by 
 an index of the American Sonnets in magazines, which Mr. Rowell has very carefully 
 compiled. — Ed. 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 Go search our many-peopled earth around. 
 
 From East to setting sun, from Pole. to Pole, 
 
 And thou wilt find there lies in every soul, 
 
 Though it may lurk within soul-depths profound, 
 A thought of Heav'n or happy hunting-ground; 
 
 For e'en when Atheism has neared its goal. 
 
 It falters — of itself does lose control — 
 
 With parting breath declares its creed unsound. 
 
 Our earthly minds by heav'nly hope inspired 
 Anticipate with joy a future state 
 
 Where we shall lay aside the care acquired 
 On earth, and find ourselves regenerate. 
 
 Man's life is but an. amaranthine flow'r 
 In bud — 'twill bloom at dissolution's hour. 
 
 Frf.d M. Willis, U. C, '90, 
 
THE CONFESSIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 
 
 This paper is mainly an apology for its own subject. It is not an elab- 
 orate and detailed account of the interesting book known as " St. Augus- 
 tine's Confessions.'' It is merely an attempt to explain why it is deemed 
 advisable in this age to call attention to such a book, and to set down some 
 of the benefits that the modern reader may expect to derive from its pe- 
 rusal. This implies that it is a work of the present day, neither in spirit lior 
 matter. For when it becomes necessary to point out the value of a book 
 written so many years ago, it means that that value has been questioned, 
 or, perhaps, that the book has dropped out of public notice altogether. 
 To explain the beauties of a production that is confessedly a classic, no 
 matter how many centuries have rolled around since it was written, is a 
 task that calls into activity the power of close observation coupled with a 
 keen appreciation, and the ability to write cleverly and sympathetically. 
 The skill of the special pleader is not required, because it is only the mak- 
 ing clear and well-defined of excellencies that all perceive though dimly. 
 But far more difficult is the support of a book that has been pushed aside 
 as useless, — relegated to an upper shelf with a tenderness born of respect for 
 the fame and sanctity of its author, and the widespread influence it exer- 
 cised in its own proper day. In this case, not only are the good points to 
 be made clear, but they are to be forced up against the wall of modern in- 
 difference and stolidity with all the power of an advocate. 
 
 Such it is with the " Confessions of Augustine." The radical Protest- 
 antism of the Nineteenth Century has placed it in a class of books with 
 which it will have nothing to do. It is a part of the patristic literature. 
 This is enough. With that literature we have nothing in common. 
 Though born in honesty and trained in trial and righteousness, it matured 
 in corruption. The patristic became the scholastic. The errors of the 
 fathers were grafted upon the pure and vigorous life of the early church, 
 and the result was the ecclesiasticism with whose incubus we struggled 
 for centuries. Our modern life began only when we shook it off. This 
 literature is the remains of an age whose ashes should be cast to the winds 
 — an age of inaction, of ignorance, of oppression. The church found us 
 outcast children ; although she gave us shelter and protection, she refused 
 all else. When the time of manhood came, and we sought to free our- 
 selves from a control suited only to our childhood, and an empty and bar- 
 
1 86 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 ren childhood at that, it was not the gentle, regretful restraint of a mother 
 that held us back, but the strong, binding arms of a tyrant. The chains 
 she had forged for us were heavy and strong, but we tore ourselves loose, 
 not, however, without a tremendous struggle, the very recalhng of which 
 stirs up within us, to all their old fierceness, the fires of a perpetual hatred. 
 The church has not yet ceased to execrate us and our fathers who first 
 went astray. We have cast her off in our striving for a higher goal. It 
 is true, the life is still in her, but it is an existence without purpose and 
 without consciousness, the reflex fluttering of a decapitated fowl. It is 
 the mere postulate of negation, a living death. In her life of conscious 
 activity, as well as her death of groping indecision, there can be nothing 
 for us. Her record is a stain, a contamination, and we would have it 
 effaced. 
 
 Such a spirit is short-sighted, if not bigoted. It may be true that the 
 Latin Church has outlived her time of usefulness, but she is here as a liv- 
 ing and potent force, and should be met as an element in modern life. 
 For many ages she controlled the destinies of the race. Like the air- 
 cushion at the base of an elevator shaft, she eased the down-rushmg fall of 
 the Roman Empire. She is the true connecting link between the modern 
 and the ancient, and during the intervening centuries she held in her lap 
 the good and the bad, the wisdom and the unwisdom, the broadness and 
 the narrowness that is in humanity. Her history was the world's history. 
 It is in this light, as the central figure of a transition age, that she is de- 
 serving of a place in men's thoughts. She came along in the course of 
 events, and, historically, affords a rich field whence may be drawn valuable 
 lessons for our own time. 
 
 Her literature, however, if we are to turn to scholasticism for it, can 
 make no such claim. It was ephemeral, barren ; the work of intellects 
 bound up in the ever-tightening ligaments of a jealous ecclesiasticism. 
 Inspiration was not wanting, but freedom was ; and it made little differ- 
 ence whether the trammels were imposed from without or self-imposed ; 
 the latter only makes the repression the more evident. The scholastic is 
 the true literature of the church as we know her, and it may be seriously 
 questioned whether it is a literature at all ; nor may the church as a 
 church hope ever to have a better or even another, for the requisite free- 
 dom is not there. But different it is with that earlier literature, the writ- 
 ings of the fathers. They were not followers but leaders. They put their 
 personal stamp upon the Scripture and the church was compelled to con- 
 form. Nonjinally Catholics, they were in fact disputants whose cause has 
 finally prevailed in the councils of the church, thus throwing about them 
 
CONFESSIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 187 
 
 the sanctity of orthodoxy instead of the curse of heresy. What they ac- 
 complished, though appropriated by the Roman Church, is in great part 
 the heritage of the Christian world. 
 
 Augustine was the greatest of these, " the prince of the'ologians." He 
 was in the true sense a father of the church — he was a founder. He 
 hewed out his own path, traveling whither truth led. Hence it is that 
 Augustinism is something more than Latinism ; and the proof of this lies 
 in the fact that all sects alike find in him an expounder of the faith. Lu- 
 ther was his disciple, and another of the great reformers was closely allied 
 to him, as appears from the statement of Gibbon: "The Church of Rome 
 has canonized Augustine and reprobated Calvin. Yet the real difference 
 between them is invisible even to a theological microscope." He was a 
 strong man, and, in his day, before the church, like a case-worm, had spun 
 for herself an unyielding shell out of the pebbles of dogma, the influence of 
 such a man yet had weight. While he could not alter the gospel, he could 
 affect the form of his religion, for we all are aware how flexible is the in- 
 terpretation of Scripture. It is his interpretation that has been accepted, and 
 he stands pre-eminent among the teachers of Christianity. Since his day 
 it has been, "There is one church, the only church, and Augustine is her 
 prophet.'' Here again comes Gibbon, who always has something to say, 
 and to the point : " The rigid system of Christianity which he framed or 
 restored, has been entertained with public applause and secret reluctance 
 by the Latin Church." 
 
 This is Augustine as a theologian. But it is not his theology that makes 
 him so valuable to us. What draws us to him and will continue to draw 
 all ages to him is the human qualities that shine forth in him. Of course, 
 these qualities appear in all his writings. But it is in his "Confessions" 
 that the man comes out blended with the divine. They make up the self- 
 inscribed record of his inner life — the restive groping of his human soul 
 through the darkness of uncertainty to rest in the divine light. His nature 
 was, from childhood, passionate and earnest, but indolent. The reading 
 of his early years was of adesultory character. He seemed incapable of 
 steady, determined effort. His mind flitted about from flower to flower, 
 alighting only long enough to gather the sweetness or bitterness contained 
 in each. All the isms of his day (and they were many) engaged his 
 thought, and to one after another he gave his earnest allegiance. The 
 one redeeming quality of his early youth was his inborn love for the truth. 
 His was a nature insatiable in its longing for mental rest, and filled with 
 the fire of genius. It was not strange that long ere his mind had attained 
 the solidity and calmness of maturity, he should have been led into all the 
 
i88 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 excesses of body as well as of mind. He walked deliberately into the 
 depths of licentiousness, and found there neither delight nor solace, but 
 abject and self-condemning wretchedness. He did not revel in his vice, 
 but seemed to accept it as a part of his material nature. " O Lord, thy 
 heavy wrath had overtaken me and I knew it not; and being deafened with 
 the noise of the chain of my mortality, I wandered still farther from thee, 
 and thou lettest me alone. . . . I departed far from thee, in a constant 
 pursuance of more and more barren and fruitless seeds of sorrows, with an 
 aspiring downfall and an untired weariness." Only kindred souls can 
 know the full meaning of that " untired weariness." It seems to be the 
 special attribute of genius — the weariness of the soul struggling against its 
 barriers of flesh. Says Newman, "Augustine's misery was that of a mind 
 imprisoned, solitary, and wild with spiritual thirst." 
 
 Then came his conversion to Christianity, the most marvelous in all his- 
 tory save that of Paul alone. Like Paul before him and Luther after him 
 he had long known the truth. Although he had become a disciple, succes- 
 sively, of many of the crude philosophies of that age, yet when he read the 
 truth-loving words of Cicero and the spiritual doctrines of Plato, the scales 
 fell from his eyes and he saw that the ancient world had come nearer the 
 truth than the false systems of philosophy that prevailed in his day, mere 
 straws caught at by the drowning hope of the world. After his wander- 
 ings through skepticism, Manicheism, and pantheism, he found in Plato 
 comfort but not satisfaction. His work had freed him from his gross ma- 
 terialism, and lifted him to the contemplation of the ideal, but it gave 
 nothing upon which his ardent spirit could rest. He had been long before 
 brought into contact with Christians. His mother was a devout Catholic, 
 and never ceased to pray for her son's conversion. He had connected him- 
 self with a small Christian community in Milan, but had never been bap- 
 tized. The truth of the matter is, as he has confessed, that he was loth to 
 give up his evil ways and devote his life to the service of God. He wanted 
 the courage of his convictions. " I drew my chain still after me, fearing to 
 be loosed from it." How like the Augustinian, Luther ! Both needed a 
 sudden revelation of the iniquity of living a lie, and to both it came; to the 
 wretched, doubting Luther, as he was diligently thumbing his beads upon 
 the holy staircase at Rome, it came as a shouting of the memorable words, 
 "The just shall live by faith;" the soft chanting of a boy or girl fell upon 
 the ear of Augustine, as he was pouring out his anguish of soul beneath the 
 attentive stars, " Take up and read, take up and read." A volume of St. 
 Paul's Epistles lay upon a table in his dwelling not far distant, and, to uSe 
 his own words: " I returned thither, seized it, opened it, and read in 
 
CONFESSIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 189 
 
 silence the following passage, -which first met my eyes, ' Not in rioting and 
 drunkenness, not in chambering and impurities, not in contention and 
 envy, but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the 
 flesh in its concupiscences.' I had not desire or need to read farther. As 
 I finished the sentence, as though the light of peace had been poured into 
 my heart, all the shadows of doubt dispersed." 
 
 It is easy to imagine the results of such a conversion. All his great 
 power he devoted to the cause of the church. Having now found an oc- 
 cupation in which his heart rejoiced, his habitual inertness vanished, and 
 he made himself so busy that he did not even have time to revise and em- 
 bellish his manuscripts, much as he had loved the study of rhetoric. He 
 became the great disputant of his age, battling with error wherever it raised 
 its head, entering boldly into discussions of the most mystic and puzzling 
 questions, original sin, grace, the Trinity and baptism, and, with no excep- 
 tion, his solutions have since become the accepted doctrines of his church. 
 Withal, he presided over an extensive bishopric with fidelity and loving 
 care. In his old age and death there is little to remind one of the stormy 
 passion of his youth. A sainted bishop, living an ascetic life, giving him- 
 self up to his devotions and his flock, bore little resemblance to that wild 
 rake of Carthage, that pseudo-philosopher we read about in his "Con- 
 fessions." 
 
 His conversion was the great crisis in his life, and very properly it has 
 been made th e central point of his " Confessions," which, as has been well 
 said, "illustrate forcibly and beautifully the work of the Spirit in the 
 awful mystery of conversion." The whole story is told with such rigid 
 self-examination, with such abandonment of all pride, with such humility, 
 that we could not imagine a like production in these days except, possibly, 
 under the momentary excitement of a prayer-meeting. 
 
 Augustine's earnestness, however, is beyond question. The stamp of 
 truth is upon his work. He has been charged with a desire for effect ; but 
 when we take into consideration the whole tenor of his life, and the ex- 
 travagant fanaticism of his time, we can see how absurd such a charge is. 
 His. "Confessions," as arose from his understanding of the meaning of the 
 word, had two objects in view, the debasement of self before the Creator, 
 and the glorification of God ; but above all they are eminently and solely 
 devotional. Hence it is that much of the extravagant expression with 
 which the b 00k abounds is to be regarded not as a striving after effect, but 
 as the words of a lowly and pious soul relieving itself before its Maker of 
 its heavy burden of sin. It is in this characteristic that the " Confessions " 
 lias an especial value for us. The almost child-like piety of a truly great 
 
190 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 man is there unveiled, something that nowadays, it is to be feared, would 
 be sneered at as a sign of weakness. The extreme phase that we meet 
 with in Augustine, perhaps, is a sign of weakness, but we must remember 
 that with Augustine it is mostly a song of thankfulness that his troubled 
 soul had at last found a haven of rest. It is true that at times His impas- 
 sioned depreciation of self and of humanity leads him into an exaggera- 
 tion of the wrong doings of his youth and childhood, but this is a fault 
 very common to the extreme humility of the mind of an aged ascetic. 
 
 This work has been compared with Rousseau's " Confessions," inasmuch 
 as both bring to the light the transgressions of youth. But this compari- 
 son is so unjust that one is almost inclined to believe that it was Rousseau 
 that Byron had in his mind when he penned those bitter lines, — 
 
 " As Saint Augustine in his fine ' Confessions,' 
 Which makes the reader envy his transgressions." 
 
 For in Augustine those " transgressions " are only touched upon, and then 
 with evident disgust. He had grown to see them in their proper light. 
 " Out of love of thy love, O my God, do I this, and review thou my most 
 wicked ways in the bitterness of my remembrance, to make Thee grow 
 more sweet unto me." Rousseau, however, glories in the misconduct of 
 his youth with all the delight of his grossly sensuous nature. 
 
 Had Augustine lived at another time, he might have been a Bruno or a 
 Luther. His great genius, spurred to its best by his earnestness, his cour- 
 age and his love for the truth, would have broken with the church, of the 
 fifteenth century, for the same reason that it allied itself with that of the 
 fourth. As it was, his restless spirit sought and found peace in the secu- 
 rity of the church — not the church triumphant, but the church persecuted. 
 The same unsatisfied longing for something better and higher would, a 
 thousand years later, have led him apart from that soulless paganism that 
 masked itself behind the forms of Christianity. In our own day the same 
 spirit might have carried him further still. The fatalistic tendency inherent 
 in such natures as Augustine's would throw him back upon himself, forcing 
 him to rely solely upon his strength as an individual. For such as Augus- 
 tine there is no peace save in the acceptance of a religious form and a life 
 of ceaseless activity under its shadows. Remove that and we have Augus- 
 tine as he was before his conversion, and as he would be to-day — a time 
 whose key-note has been struck by Germany's poet, in "Faust," — "he 
 sought the bright day, and with an ardent longing for truth, went miserably 
 astray in the twilight " — and by Byron, — 
 
 " Sorrow is linowledge; they who know the most 
 Must sorrow the deeppst o'er the fatal truth. 
 The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life.'' 
 
CONFESSIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 191 
 
 Wherein, then, is the value of the " Confessions " for us summed up in 
 a few words ? 
 
 First, its theological lessons are worth attention. It shows the relations 
 of Christianity to the various forms of philosophy that surrounded its early 
 life, and lays down many doctrines that have since become the foundation 
 rocks of tlie church. Secondly, it inculcates a vigorous love of the truth. 
 It breathes an atmosphere of humble and wholesome piety. It evinces 
 an earnestness and a moral courage worthy of' emulation. Thirdly, it 
 shows, in a personal aspect, the difference between the age of Augustine 
 and our own. The fatalism of Augustine found its correction in the 
 severity of Romanism, then in the vigor and hope of youth. But the 
 walls of this city of refuge are now down. Hence the fatalism of to-day 
 must face despair in the open plain and with its Only weapon — the un- 
 yielding hope that is in every one of us. 
 
 W. W. Sanderson, U. C, '87. 
 
 THE VIKING'S BOAT SONG. 
 
 Swift through the salt, speed! 
 Press we our winged steed. 
 On to the fight fly- 
 Where we our arms try. 
 
 The blood of our foes shall be wine for our feast. 
 
 By plunder our riches at home is increased, 
 
 Our wives will rejoice of our valor to know. 
 
 To kemps doth the love of the maiden o'erflow. 
 
 On to the strife, row! 
 
 Ours be the first blow. 
 
 Speed let our strength yield. 
 
 Soon it shall swords wield. 
 Our victory long in our land will be sung, 
 Dire vengeance for death from our foes will be wrung ; 
 And death is the predestined fate of us all. 
 The slain feast to-night in fierce Odin's great hall. 
 
 J. L. Steffens, U. C, '89. 
 
AT A GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 
 
 It was with a strange sense of long-cherished hopes at length fulfilled, a 
 sense thrilling yet difficult to realize, that the writer of the present sketch 
 and his companions in travel found themselves actually within the father- 
 land of Lessing and Goethe and Schiller, of Leibnitz and Kant and Fichte 
 and Hegel. Hitherto these impressive masters of the " thoughts that 
 breathe and words that burn " had of necessity seemed voices rather than 
 real persons belonging to this common world of everyday ; but now we 
 were veritably standing on the soil where they had stood, and our eyes 
 were "unquestionably beholding the very scenes that they had looked on; 
 our former world of half-mysterious romance was turning into visible fact. 
 Soon, in the course of the surely advancing days, we were to stand in the 
 presence of teachers, themselves already long famous, and listen to their 
 living words, who had actually seen and heard some of these great men, 
 and had even enjoyed their habitual companionship. 
 
 The passage over the German frontier had been marked for us by new 
 impressions; the change from France and Belgium had been sudden, sig- 
 nal, unmistakably characteristic. For the first time in our lives, we had 
 come, all at once, face to face with the signs, both spiritual and external, 
 of the living power of a central law, penetrating the whole organism of a vast 
 nation to its outer confines. We could not set foot within the boundaries, 
 we could not open our eyes upon the outermost scenes they held, without 
 becoming at once aware of this great power. Suddenly, unconcern, inat- 
 tention, caprice, air of laggard irresponsibility, had given way to their most 
 striking opposites. Obligation, concentration, regulated precision, serious 
 attention to assigned duty, met the gaze on every hand and pervaded the 
 very air. It was as if the whole country were an enormous camp, and all 
 the citizens on military service; not indeed because of visible uniforms or 
 other trappings of army life, but by the attention, the definitely directed 
 diligence, the temper of prompt and convinced obedience. People, build- 
 ings, railways, railway-coaches, farms, towns, the rolling cultivated land- 
 scape, all bore the same impress. We seemed to have passed from the in- 
 organic to the organic realm of human life ; to have escaped from the un- 
 stable sea of human society, and landed on its term firma. 
 
 We were on the way to the University of Berlin. For we had said to 
 each other, " Let us go directly to the intellectual centre." Our period of 
 university life, by stress of circumstances, was to be all too brief ; our 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 193 
 
 secret of success in it must therefore lie in getting at its type forthwith ; and 
 our Plato, our Aristotle and our Hegel had taught us that the type, in all 
 things, is to be looked for in the most developed example. So to Berlin 
 we were hastening, with its acknowledged pre-eminence, with its two 
 hundred and forty teachers, and its six thousand students. 
 
 Our road to the German capital carried us through much that was most 
 distinctive of the national genius and history. We had entered by Aix 
 and Cologne, and had caught some of our first impressions from the mem- 
 orable places where the imperial spirit, reigning and then declining under 
 Rome, had risen again under the vigorous hand of Charlemagne. In the 
 Cologne cathedral we had seen, almost in the moment of completion, the 
 progressive monumental record of six hundred years-of national effort, long 
 baffled but at length victorious. We had looked from the summits of its 
 enormous towers, upward along the winding course of the castle-crowned 
 and legend-haunted Rhine. We had afterwards made our way up the 
 historic stream itself, to halt for a brief stay among the quaint streets and 
 buildings of Maintz, where Faust and Gutenberg and their companions had 
 set up their first printing-press and opened a new era in human develop- 
 ment ; with half-unrealizing eyes, we had looked upon the very building, 
 in its narrow, dilapidated court, and the identical up-stairs room, with its 
 small dusky window-panes and low heavy-timbered ceiling, where these 
 heralds of the new age had set the first types. Later we had wandered 
 over the streets of Frankfort, seeking out the spots most intimately con- 
 nected with the early life of Goethe, and seeming to pass through them in 
 a dream; though there before our eyes was the house where he was born, 
 and the old square of the Electoral Hall, and the richly traced tower of the 
 cathedral, just as the poet has himself so vividly described them. On the 
 way thence northward, we had turned aside for a glimpse at ancient Mar- 
 burg, seated picturesquely on the hill sloping steep above its river-bow, and 
 renowned for its University, small, to be sure, but always possessed of emi- 
 nent men. There we had first, come upon the footsteps of Luther. In 
 the rich old hall of the Castle, situated on the summit of the hill, we stood 
 in the very place where the great reformer had held his famous dispute 
 with Zwingli over the Eucharist. We could almost hear his ringing tones, 
 sounding out the words, to him unanswerable, " This is my body," which 
 he had chalked upon the wall, to confute his opponent with the voice of his 
 Lord made visible. 
 
 Gottingen, the second mount of light on our northward way, we had been 
 obliged to hurry past ; but its name and red-roofed houses had made us 
 mindful of its thousand intellectual associations as we swept by, borne by 
 
194 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 the flying train toward that other and more romantic place of Luther's so- 
 journ, Eisenach. Here we had not only stood in the little chamber where 
 he had plied his pen upon the translation of the Gospels, but we had peered, 
 as every visitor does and must, at the deep scar and stain on. the wall, 
 which the devout exhibitor assures the gazer is the mark of the Reformer's 
 ink-horn, hurled at the assailing Devil. Even in the company of 
 the founder of Protestant illumination and rationalism, we there felt 
 the spell of the elder, pagan sense of the supernatural that has always 
 haunted Eisenach and its "Wartburg ; and we dipped into the mystical ele- 
 ment which is so intimately inwrought in the German genius and life, and 
 which gathered around that famous height, the rendezvous of bard and 
 hero, in the middle ages. Then, soon again, we had been immersed in the 
 later and fuller spirit of Goethe and all his associations at Weimar, that 
 place so pervaded with the blended tones of Grecian and Gothic, of classic 
 and romantic genius. Another university seat had next arrested our steps 
 for a brief period — sombre and studious Halle, with its huge bell-tower 
 soaring dusky and massive into the twilight sky above its wide stone-paved 
 market-place. At length, after a final monotonous pull over long reaches 
 of alternate sand and meadow, flat and inexpressive, we rolled at night 
 under the great arches of the Anhalt station, flaring with a thousand lights, 
 and were actually in the Prussian and imperial capital. 
 
 Having been duly 'inspected, approved and recorded by the Argus-eyed 
 police, and being at length settled and "at home," we cast about for the 
 information needed to guide us most surely and directly to the goal of all 
 our aims — entrance to the University. We pick up at a convenient book- 
 store a copy of the Verzeichnisz der Vorksungen (list of lectures) for 
 the coming semester. We find in this pamphlet, printed in quarto, plain 
 and homely and without even a paper cover, the titles of all the courses of 
 lectures to be delivered from November to March ensuing. To each is 
 appended the more or less distinguished lecturer's name and official rank, 
 • — professor, extraordinary professor or privat-docent, as the case may be; 
 and also the number of times a week that the lecture will occur, with the 
 day and hour assigned to it. There is a note, likewise, showing 
 whether the course is giwtn publice, privatun ox privatissime. The distinc- 
 tion at first confuses us a little; but by comparison and some inquiry we 
 at length discover that a lecture publice means one open to all members of 
 the University without fee; that a course given privatim means one to 
 which admission can be had only after personal application to the lecturer, 
 and upon payment of a fee, unless the latter is waived by specific notice; 
 and that privatissime- signihes a most intimate selection of a few candidates 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 195 
 
 ? by the lecturer, to be instructed in a manner at o'nce informal and minute, 
 in some topic for which they have superior preparation ; the instruction 
 may be gratis, and usually is so, though sometimes a fee is charged. The 
 \ect\ixti privatim, with fee, usually number from four to five a week; those 
 publice vary from one to three or four in the same period; those privaHs- 
 sime are of frequency to suit the wishes of the lecturer. 
 
 From the Verzeichnisz, supplemented by inquiries, we learn that the 
 privilege of attending lectures, except merely by way of a visit or so, be- 
 longs only to persons who have been duly matriculated ag members of the 
 University in some one of its four Faculties — of Theology, Law, Medicine 
 and Philosophy. To be matriculated, the applicant if not so lucky as to 
 be a foreigner, especially an American, must be in possession of Abituri- 
 enten-papieren (departure papers) from the gymnasium through whose cur- 
 riculum, covering nine years, he has successfully passed ; or, if he has al- 
 ready entered some other university, from that ; showing how long a period 
 he has spent there, and that he left in good standing. For the lucky (or, 
 perhaps it should be more truly said, the unlucky) American who has not 
 had this gymnasial training, entrance is possible by simply presenting a 
 passport from his national Government. The German Universitdtswesen is 
 nowise responsible for him, as he is to have no career in the Vaterland — 
 no position in the theological, legal or medical profession, no station in the 
 military or the civil service; if his own nation does riot care, and if he is 
 content to pay his money and get such benefits as he can from attending 
 the exercises, it is nothing to the Rector magnificus and his Herren Profes- 
 soren, or to the higher magnates above them in the Staatsministerium for 
 education and public worship. All which arrangement works, on the 
 whole, most happily and beneficially for the Sfudirende aus Amerika. As 
 a rule, none of us go except college graduates ; and those find themselves 
 tolerably well equipped for the university work that they undertake. 
 
 Our inquiries, and searching of the Verzeichnisz, have at length made 
 us aware that, to be matriculated, we must find our way to the office of the 
 Ober-Pedell (Top Beadle) of the University, and learn what he has to say 
 to us in the way of directions. We accordingly proceed to a wing of the 
 University buildings, and, on the ground floor, first door to the right from 
 the entrance, we find his official sign. Knocking, we are admitted to a 
 large, low-ceiled room, in comfortable confusion, where sits before a fire- 
 place, smoking a long-stemmed, porcelain-bowled pipe, of the pattern 
 German prints have made us so familiar with, a long-limbed, iron-gray, 
 beardy man, who proves to be the officer with-the resounding title. His 
 majesty is all in the title, however, and he welcomes us kindly and heartily, 
 
196 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 and promptly gives us the very simple information that all we need to do 
 is to present ourselves any day after the tenth of October, at the office of 
 the Herr Registrar just opposite his own, where we shall learn what is the 
 next step. 
 
 On the tenth of October, then, as aforesaid, we are punctually present at 
 the opposite door. On entering, we find ourselves the solitary applicants. 
 Nobody else is in any hurry, for the matriculation and lectures are not to 
 come for five weeks more. The Herr Registrar takes matters with com- 
 fortable composure, only being careful, when we think to inquire whether 
 perhaps there is not some less formal way for mature persons like us to 
 get to the lectures than by matriculating and paying, to say, courteously 
 but firmly, " Thoroughly not ! " So we pay our eighteen marks apiece, 
 and he furnishes us with a stiff, dull-blue card, which will enable us to pass 
 the sacred precincts of the Aula, when the time comes, and get into the 
 presence of the Academic Senate. We go about our business, take Qur ease 
 in our inn, amuse ourselves with sight-seeing, visit the galleries of art and 
 the great museums, increase our power to communicate in German, polish 
 up our studies, and cheerfully abide the flood of time until the actual be- 
 ginning of the winter semester shall arrive. 
 
 At length the long-expected fourteenth of November is come. We push 
 aside the curtains of our chamber in the early morning, with ardent ex- 
 pectancy. We are not disappointed. Though the season for rains is well 
 advanced, fate is propitious, and it is a glorious autumn day. At nine in 
 the morning, we set out on the happy walk to the University buildings. 
 We are not less than two miles distant from them, and our way leads along 
 the fairest and stateliest streets in the city. The sunlight sparkles in the 
 autumn air, and on the freshly watered vines and flowering plants that are 
 still growing unharmed out of doors, twining about the porticos or crowd- 
 ing the window-sills of the houses past which we go. We pass along the 
 great thoroughfare that at once joins and separates the old central Berlin 
 and the new lordly suburb stretching southwest in the direction of royal 
 Potsdam. Its long and wide and winding course is thronged with remind- 
 ers of Prussian and German national glory. Its name — the Koniggrdizer- 
 strasse — commemorates the establishment of Prussian hegemony and Ger- 
 man unity by the victory over Austria at the battle of Koniggratz, better 
 known to us by the name of Sadowa. Its stately curve of magnificently 
 paved roadway connects the two proud squares that tell of German vic- 
 tories over either Napoleon — the Belle- Allianceplaiz at the south, and the 
 Konigsplatz at the north ; the one the monument of Waterloo, and the 
 other of Sedan ; both expressive tokens of the rescue of nationality and 
 
•GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 197 
 
 law from the assaults of usurping personal ambition. As we walk north- 
 erly along its pavement, we pass in succession the vast stations of the Anhalt 
 and Potsdam railways, two of the great architectural ornaments of the 
 city; the former, especially, holding the stranger's gaze by th e majesty of its 
 proportions and the singular originality and- fitness of its design; we pause in 
 front of it involuntarily, and find an effort necessary to keep on our 
 way, against the spell cast by its soaring arches and its colossal mass. 
 Somewhat further up, we pass on our right the newly-completed Gewerbe- 
 museum, the heavy but rich building of the Berlin Industrial Association. 
 Further still, we come, at our left, upon the easterly border of the Thier- 
 garten, that literal forest in the heart of the city, spreading for more than 
 two miles westward to the suburb of Charlottenburg, over a width of more 
 than a mile from north to south. Its shaded verdure, its moss-grown boles 
 of immemorial trees, invite us temptingly to wander in its deep recesses 
 and through its many-winding paths; but the hour of the coming matricula- 
 tion summons us, and we merely turn through the outermost crescent, to 
 pass by the statue of Goethe recently set there. From the transient mood 
 of poetic idealism which the form of the great Frankfurter irresistibly 
 casts on us, we flit with hastening steps into the sturdier element of na- 
 tional spirit again, as we cross the roadway and turn full in front of the 
 lofty Brandenburger Thor, with its five high and wide arches, supported by 
 their heavy Doric columns, forming the portal of the regal street known as 
 Unter den Linden. Our eyes rise spontaneously toward the level wall 
 above the arches, to the statue of Victory with her chariot and steeds — 
 that group which has had such an eventful history, so symbolic of the 
 vicissitudes of the nation who set it up. Torn from its place by the order 
 of the first Napoleon, and dragged away to Paris to deck his triumph ; set 
 up there as a monument of the subjugation of a great people ; it had in 
 the due course of his downfall been brought back and restored to its own 
 seat, amid national acclamations. The scene of its re-entrance through the 
 gate that it adorns is depicted on the face of the huge pillars. The sight 
 fills our hearts with a glow of sympathy in the patriotic spirit that per- 
 vades the place and speaks with such force from all its surroundings. We 
 pass on into the wide and straight avenue borrowing its name from the fine 
 linden trees that in earlier days decked it in two parallel lines of luxuriant 
 foliage, and served to divide it into three parallel roadways. Time and 
 unfavorable season have despoiled them ; from the stunted and now al- 
 most sterile trunks, feebly branching, that stand in their places, we take 
 refuge in imagination of their bygone day of vigor, and fancy the mottled 
 shadows over which we, too, might have trod, mingling with the throng of 
 
198 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 gay and informal citizens, in the days when Varnaghen von Ense had the 
 high fortune to meet there his incomparable Rahel. 
 
 Amid these crowding thoughts, mixed of war and diplomacy and letters, 
 colored with poetry and romance, we pass on eastward nearly a mile, to 
 where, fronting the Opernplatz and the unpretending palace of Kaiser Wil- 
 helm and the superb equestrian statue of his great ancestor Frederick, rises 
 the principal building of the University. We take in its good and simple 
 proportions, its severe and sparing decorations in the most restrained man- 
 ner of the Renaissance style. Over a somewhat low basement rises a lofty 
 upper story, the whole forming three sides of a quadrangle open at the 
 street front; or a long rectangular main-building, running east and west, 
 with two projecting wings extending southward to the line of the sidewalk, 
 one at either end. A court, with fountains, occupies the recess between 
 these wings. Behind it rises the main facade, adorned only with lofty 
 arched windows filling the interspaces between plain but well-proportioned 
 pilasters. The entablature above is decorated with five statues, marking 
 the places corresponding to the pilasters below. The whole structure is of 
 brick, covered with a heavy and strong plaster of cement, in the manage- 
 ment of which, both as regards durability and plasticity to decoration, the 
 German builders exhibit notable skill; It is the almost universal material 
 of their work, a building of wrought stone being exeedingly rare with 
 them. The University building, we thus notice, is quite as well off as the 
 royal palaces. Indeed, it was originally the palace of one of the royal blood ; 
 and its free gift by its owner, for the use of the noble institution which, in 
 1808, the nation founded in the assured conviction that it would prove 
 the certain means of national regeneration, is a new reminder to us, as we 
 pass across the wide street to enter its precincts, of the all-permeating pres- 
 ence in German life, even in the interior of thought and letters, of the po- 
 litical and civil spirit. The University, we reflect, is a national and royal 
 institution ; an integral and elementary constituent, by law, of the govern- 
 mental organism. 
 
 We enter the iron gateway, and become part of the throng of young 
 men that is now crowding the space of the court, so vacant when we came 
 a month before. We do not stop for any very accurate impression of them 
 now ; we only notice their multitude, the extreme plainness or even coarse- 
 ness of their ordinary attire, their rather plebeian look, and their unex- 
 pected youthfulness ; we had forgotten, you see, that they come up from 
 the gymnasia and other preparatory schools at the age of eighteen, or a 
 little later ; nor had we realized how much more youthful-looking the Ger- 
 man is at that age than our young Americans. 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. igq 
 
 We make our way across the court, taking slight note of its mosaic 
 pavements of vari colored bits of porphyry and marble, wrought into rich 
 geometric patterns, only glancing at its turf and flowers, and pass into the 
 low doorway. We find ourselves in a low-vaulted hall, supported by four 
 thick and short Doric columns. It is thronged with students and with the 
 new candidates for matriculation. Through the throng we get glimpses 
 of the walls covered all about with the time-honored blackboards plastered 
 over with various written or printed notices, and of the staircase in the 
 rear, leading to the consecrated Aula above. We notice the young candi- 
 dates' hands, full of their Abiturientenpapieren, and we feel in our pockets 
 for our Government passports, which have now suddenly acquired for us so 
 important a value. Armed with these, we wait for the signal to ascend. It 
 soon comes, and we are borne along with the column that ,goes resist- 
 lessly up the stairs. We debouch with the rest upon the upper hall, 
 and in our proper turn come at length in front of the tall double doors 
 that let into the Aula. Each candidate is admitted separately, exhibiting 
 his papers to the doorkeeper, who takes and passes them in to the authori- 
 ties in waiting. Entering, we cast a glance upward at the high walls and 
 ceilings, finished in plaster, and tinted in a rather commonplace way. Our 
 eyes naturally return, and seek the faces of the academic magnates who 
 are sitting there at the upper end of the long rectangular room, ready to 
 decide our fate. They are a very unobtrusive and, at the first glance, un- 
 distinguished-looking group. Ranged along the farther side of a very long 
 table, covered, of course, with green baize, are the Rector and his Deans 
 with their Secretaries. The Rector is at the centre ; his ruddy, English- 
 looking face, crowned with abundant gray locks, and fringed with a full 
 white beard, is attractive ; soon it becomes impressive, as his attention is 
 fixed on the assemblage before him, and the light of his strong intelligence 
 passes forth from his clear blue eyes. It is Professor August Wilhelm Hof- 
 mann. Doctor of Medicine, Doctoir of Laws, Doctor of Philosophy; a 
 graduate, therefore, in honors, of all the Faculties of the University, ex- 
 cepting only the theological; he is, moreover, privy-counselor of the Gov- 
 ernment, is decorated, and, highest of all, is world-famous as standing in 
 the front rank of his favorite science of chemistry. 
 
 The anxious crowd of some four hundred or five hundred young men 
 being seated on the wooden settees ranged in stiff parallel lines across the 
 room, order is called, and the solemnity of matriculation opens. It pro- 
 ceeds in a most matter-of-fact and unceremonious fashion. It consists, as 
 appears, in merely calling up each youthful Herr, as his pile of Papieren 
 comes to the top of the heap lying before the stout iron-gray Chief Secfe- 
 
200 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 tary, who somehow identifies the applicant, takes his full name, residence, 
 academic antecedents, etc., etc., certifies his papers as correct, and passes 
 him along to the Rector magnificus. That kindly magnate receives him 
 with a homely and assuring smile, transcribes his name from the Secre- 
 tary's certificate, duly Latinizing it, into a long, largely-printed diploma, to 
 which, after properly inserting latine the branch of learning of which the 
 new-comer is studiosus, he affixes his own Latin signature ; then he gra- 
 ciously waves the young man past him to a new Regisirarius of some sort 
 or other, who searches certain records diligently, and having found the 
 ■desired verification, passes the candidate on to the Dean of the Faculty in 
 whose jurisdiction the y'aewzw (?r«a2'OT/;««j- belongs. From him the youth 
 receives the final accipiatur in the shape of a printed certificate bearing the 
 Dean's signature, and of a card, stiff and durable, on which is the seal of the 
 university, rite impressum, covering and sanctioning certain highly valued 
 words. For these words inform the outer world, and whom it may con- 
 cern, that the fortunate bearer is a member of the University, privileged 
 from arrest and trial by any court except that of his Alma Mater ; priv- 
 ileged also to a half-price ticket at theatrical entertainments — that is, if he 
 chooses to stand up in the dim back-districts behind the parquet and under 
 the low galleries. Taking these desired testimonia from the Dean's hand 
 with a respectful bow, the novice returns to his seat. This mild ceremonial 
 is now repeated and repeated on successive yz<«^e Herren, with an increas- 
 ingly soothing effect upon the apprehensions of the remaining assemblage. 
 We Americans look on with a patient contentment, and presently our 
 virtue is rewarded by the unusual but welcome sound of "Mister Blank,'' 
 which the affable Chief Secretary seems to manifest an excusable pride in 
 being able to utter with an intelligible accuracy. Our summoned com- 
 panion rises with alacrity, and with an answering speed is marshaled through 
 the gentle routine, to be rewarded at its end with the usual tokens. The 
 present writer goes up in his turn, and on arriving in the presence of the 
 Rectorial Majesty is greeted with the due question, " jn welchem Zweigf 
 The expected reply in German not falling from his lips with incalculable 
 rapidity, the benignant Rector swiftly and blandly translates, with good ac- 
 cent, "In whe-ich brahnch?" Upon this additional inducement, the 
 German answer stumbles out, the diploma is duly filled and signed, and 
 presently the Dean of the Philosophical Faculty is reached, who duly but 
 wearily signs the certificate with the name Zupitza. It is the regular 
 public professor of English — a great and deservedly famous master of our 
 vernacular ; one of the greatest, in fact. We are downright glad to stand so 
 near him and to look into his face ; and we wish that he would unbend a 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 201 
 
 bit, and be as gracious as the genial Rector. We are all soon back in our 
 places, and watch the unvarying scene till the last man for the day is called. 
 Then the Rector rises from his seat, and all his colleagues rise after him. 
 He comes to the front of the table ; says in a full, resonant voice, with a 
 most agreeable accent, a few words of congratulation and welcome ; tells 
 us that we may omit the oath formerly exacted of candidates as the seal of 
 matriculation, and may, instead, testify our allegiance by advancing one by 
 by one and giving him the right hand. We all file past him and comply 
 with the requirement ; then we pass out of the hall, down the stone stair- 
 way, through the low-vaulted lobby below, and out into the street, where 
 the great Frederick, with his bronze arm a-kimbo, and his tasseled cane in 
 hand, seems to look down on us from hjs horseback perch on his lofty 
 pedestal- with an ironical and Mephistophelian smile, as if he were saying,' 
 " I hare you now, meine Herren ! See that you behave yourselves, or look 
 out for whacks "! 
 
 The scene of which we have just been a part will now be repeated from 
 day to day with other candidates, until the great total of eighteen hundred 
 matriculates for this single semester is made up. There are sixty-six 
 Americans among them — more, by nearly a fourth, than from any other 
 country outside of the Empire. Russia comes next, with fifty-four; then 
 Austria, with thirty-nine; then Switzerland, with thirty. Great Britain, 
 from all her three kingdoms, musters only eleven. 
 
 Together with our diplomas, at whose top line of mystical initials, solid, 
 square, jet black, running — 
 
 Q. S. F. F. Q. S., 
 
 we gaze fixedly and with a justifiable pride — for are they not an enigmatical 
 "settler" for the uninitiated, and are we not in the secret? — together 
 with our diplomas, we have each received a couple of Hefte, got up in 
 that Spartan disregard of luxury which characterizes all the University 
 publications. Of these homely pamphlets in quarto, one is the brief col- 
 lection of University regulations; the other is the Anmeldungsbuch. We 
 make our way leisurely homeward, and, arrived at our quarters, fall dili- 
 gently to the business of finding out from the Hefte what our duties, as 
 approved Herren Studirende, studiosi philos., are now to be. The Anmel- 
 dungsbuch, we discover, is the intended register of our engagements with 
 the various teachers — professors or privat-docenten — whose exercises we 
 expect to frequent. It is our business, with the help of the Verzeichniss 
 der Vorlesungen, to decide what lecturers we will hear, and in what subjects, 
 and then to seek out the chosen dignitaries at their homes, make our 
 
202 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 Anmeldung, or announcement of presence, to them, receive their signa- 
 tures in the appropriated blank spaces of the Anmeldungsbuch, and have 
 our seats assigned us. We soon select our subjects and lecturers, and in 
 a contented mind give ourselves up for the remainder of the evening to 
 the sober pleasures of Fritz der Grosse's city. 
 
 Day after day we now begin to frequent the lobby of the University, 
 and to search among the scraps of manuscript that are crowded on its 
 blackboards, for the announcements by our lecturers of the places where 
 they will lecture, of the day when they will begin, and of the times when 
 they will receive the Atimeldungen of their intending Zuhorer. The de- 
 sired notices make their appearance at irregular intervals, but by the end 
 of a fortnight we have found all we seek. We have learned from the 
 Regulations that our seats will be assigned in the order of application, so 
 that he who would have any choice must report himself early; moreover, 
 he must go with the signature of the University Quaestor (treasurer) to 
 each course listed in his Anmeldungsbuch, certifying that the fee has been 
 paid. To fulfill this last requirement we must get from the head janitor 
 a Belegenskarte, or pay-ticket, assigning the day and hour when the Quaestor 
 will receive us. Such is the precaution necessary, in so great a throng of 
 students, in order to prevent intolerable crowding and confusion. In the 
 attempt to obey the latter provision, we experience our first, and also our 
 last, discomfort from the greatness of the numbers. On arriving in the 
 lobby, at the time assigned by the janitor for the first distribution, we find 
 a heaving, swaying mob, of which we soon become a helpless part. With 
 a roar of moving feet, not unaccompanied with hoarse notes of alternate 
 cheering and complaint, the hustling crowd surges slowly forward to the 
 western side of the low room, the four thick columns of which render the 
 advance more compressed and difificult. Hats and caps are pushed off 
 in the eager confusion, arms sway above the heads, each man wrestles and 
 pushes to get to the front. Vainly the gray-bearded janitor waves his 
 excited and deprecating arms. With the help of a half-dozen assistants, 
 he passes out the cards from behind the guard of a hinged shelf that drops 
 across the open door of his room. These are snatched by hands so in- 
 termixed that he cannot trace the bodies to which they severally belong. 
 The charge upon his doorway grows heavier and fiercer. At length his 
 barricade gives way, and the head of the assaulting column falls prone and 
 broken in pieces upon the stone floor of his stronghold. The scattered 
 members writhe awhile, till at length, in some inscrutable fashion, the 
 snarl is disentangled, and order begins to reappear. With various repe- 
 titions of the charge and its break-down, the sore labor of distribution is 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY 203 
 
 at last accomplished, and each lame and weary studiosus gets home as 
 best he can, with the precious plunder of the hour. 
 
 The hard-won Belegenskarte having on the day appointed unfailingly 
 performed its Open Sesame upon the Quaestor's door, the present writer 
 sets out for the residences of his lecturers in due succession. Arrived at 
 the first, which is in a right stately house in a wide street of the new and 
 ton-\%\y suburb known as the Potsdam quarter, he is ushered up a long 
 staircase to a suite of apartments on the third floor (the fourth from the 
 street level), which is reckoned '' about the correct thing " for a professor 
 in comfortable circumstances. Entering the room nearest in front, he 
 sees, standing at a high desk, industriously consulting books, and writing, 
 a slender, tall and venerable figure. The face is spare, the complexion 
 parchment-like, the forehead high and full, the dome of the skull high- 
 arched, the crown completely bald; scattered gray locks curl about the 
 sides and back of the head. " Herr Professor, ich habe die Ehre Sie zu 
 besuchen, um micJi anzumelden." Then Professor Zeller turns from his 
 work graciously toward his visitor, greets him a good-morning, reads the 
 name upon his card, asks him to a seat, exchanges with him a few sen- 
 tences about acquaintances in the United States, and ends by taking the 
 Anmeldungsbuch and signing it opposite the title of his own course of 
 lectures. A kind inquiry as to where the Zuhorer would like to sit, and 
 the assigning of a seat on the front row of benches, as nearly as possible 
 in front of the lecturer^ closes the interview. The visitor takes his leave, 
 thinking, as he descends to the street, how very simple and unpretending 
 the greatest living master of Greek philosophy can be. 
 
 For the next few days scenes quite similar are repeated, save that the 
 lecturers, in every instance but one, are young men. That single excep- 
 is the venerable Michelet, now in his eightieth year, but announcing a 
 course of lectures publics this semester, after a silence of five years. Great 
 interest is felt to hear him by a small circle of men interested in idealism, 
 and in Hegel as the greatest modern expounder of it ; for Michelet was a 
 favorite pupil of Hegel's ; so that it seems almost like coming into Hegel's 
 personal presence, to see and listen to the man who enjoyed his instruction 
 and his confidential acquaintance so long. We find him in the same 
 quarter of the city as Professor Zeller, as, indeed, we have found all the 
 lecturers that we happen to have chosen to hear — only a long distance 
 farther to the southwest. In a sunny room we see a short figure, much 
 bowed, but with a ruddy and smiling face, sitting by the window. On the 
 wall at his right, we recognize instantly the original marble medallion from 
 which the well-known and noble profile of Hegel is made, that renders the 
 
204 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 frontispiece of Rosenkranz's life of the great philosopher forever memorable. 
 About the room are various other mementoes of its owner's famous teacher. 
 The venerable disciple listens, pleased, to the announcement of our errand; 
 and, as he learns of the especial interest of his visitors in Hegel, he rises 
 with great animation and vivacity to emphasize his welcome. The short 
 ceremony of signing the Anmeldungsbuch and appointing seats is soon 
 over, and we go on our way, wondering at the persistence of faculties so 
 undimmed amid the encroachments of age. We are soon to find, on en- 
 tering Michelet's lecture-room, still more astonishing evidences of the un- 
 quenched fire of his intelligence. 
 
 The preliminary duties now all performed, we find ourselves on the ap- 
 pointed day actually entering the Auditorium in which we are to hear, or 
 attempt to hear, our first lecture in a German university ; — the distant dream 
 of ouryouth has come true. It is Zeller we are to hear first, and it is the 
 Garten- Auditorium we are entering; for that is the only one large enough 
 to hold the considerable body of students who feel that a residence at 
 Berlin would be seriously incomplete that did not include the hearing of 
 the illustrious author of the Philosophie der Griechen. This Garten-Audi- 
 torium stands in the grove of chestnuts that fills the city square behind 
 the university buildings. It is a cheap and slight structure, reminding 
 one not a little of the wooden sheds extemporized, with some trashy 
 show of outside architecture, for our American industrial expositions and 
 mechanics' fairs. The interior is bare and bald. Two narrow doors ad- 
 mit to contracted vestibules, between which is a small room for the use of 
 the lecturers. From these, two narrow doors admit to the auditorium 
 proper. Between the entrances is a rough platform, at the front of which 
 is a sort of pulpit, paneled in plain carpenter work. At the rear is a small 
 blackboard. An arm-chair, of the plainest and most commonplace make 
 in wood, is placed behind the paneled desk. Such is the ensemble, ga7iz 
 praktisch undgering, of that tribune of letters, the world-renowned Katheder 
 in the greatest university of Europe. 
 
 As we enter the contracted doorway, though we have arrived early, we 
 see a great number of the hearers already seated. They have taken their 
 assigned and numbered places on the stiff, straight-backed wooden benches 
 which cover the floor space of the large room in parallel transverse rows, 
 extremely close together; so close, that it is difficult to squeeze past the 
 sitters, to get to one's place in the middle of a row. In fact, as the seats 
 get filled up, this method of transit becomes entirely impracticable; and 
 one of the sights of the occasion is noticing how the deft hdbituh of the 
 place manage this difficult matter. As the line of late comers throng in. 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 205 
 
 each aims for a point on the front row, most nearly opposite the place in 
 the rear which he wishes to reach. With a high-stepping stride that noth- 
 ing but long practice can render successful at the first effort, he mounts 
 to the top of the front partition, and deliberately walks in mid-air between 
 the heads of the earlier occupants, stepping from one to another of the 
 narrow ledges placed at the backs of the rows to support the note-books. 
 One learns from this manoeuvre an unexpected use of the close arrange- 
 ment of the rows ; it materially aids in preventing a fall, in the c6urse of 
 this elevated march. This method of travel to the desired goal, over these 
 lofty stepping-blocks, has the merit of brevity and directness, indeed; but 
 we soon notice that it has the drawback of abundantly miring the note- 
 book ledges. But the German student adapts himself handily to this 
 source of discomfort, the sleeve of his rough coat, or even the palm of his 
 hand, brushin,' away the encumbering soil and making room for his book. 
 He usually has to make at each lecture two applications of this primitive 
 method of broom-work; for the majority of the auditors at the preceding 
 exercise have been obliged to leave their places by a similar march over 
 the book ledges ; so that he inaugurates his seat-taking by a comprehensive 
 cleaning-up, which, after the subsequent arrivals, he repeats on a reduced 
 scale. 
 
 The hour at which we have come is eleven in the forenoon. We are at 
 first surprised at the apparent want of punctuality, particularly in the case 
 of the lecturing professor; for full twenty minutes past the hour elapses 
 before all the seats are occupied and the lecturer ascends the Katheder. 
 We learn presently that this is the regular thing, and that the professor will 
 make his appearance at the exact close of the twenty minutes, with the 
 certainty and the promptitude of fate. U'e learn also that this twenty 
 minutes' Frist, in the case of this particular morning hour of eleven at 
 least, has its homely uses other than getting the auditors duly seated and 
 the ledges in front of them endurably brushed. It is the hour of the 
 German's usual Fruhstilck — his second breakfast, as he has learned to call 
 it in deference to the customs and possible misapprehension of his En- 
 glish-speaking visitors — and from most of the side-pockets now comes forth 
 the parcel containing his Spartan fare. Unabashed, with the unconscious 
 mutual confidence of brothers round the household table, all munch their 
 piece of bread and slice of cold meat or roll of sausage, taking the opera- 
 tion as entirely matter-of-course. The stress of duty to learning compels 
 them to forego the mug of beer which would be the grateful accompani- 
 ment of the frugal meal in more favorable circumstances; but each has 
 learned from his earliest boyhood that Pflicht und Fleiss, duty and dili- 
 
2o6 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 gence, are the student's lot and virtue ; so they bear their thirst, and all 
 eat away in uncomplaining contentment, keeping up much friendly chatter 
 in the process. 
 
 Meanwhile the lecture-room has gradually been filled to its entire ca- 
 pacity of some seven hundred j-oung men. They are clad in rough and 
 coarse ill-fitting garments, for the most part; they are homely, and uncouth 
 in carriage; a good half of them wear Brillen, to correct their myopic 
 vision ; but they have an unmistakable intelligence, and a great consider- 
 ateness of each other, and will presently prove, at their note-taking, how 
 thorough and extensive their training in letters is despite all outward signs, 
 to the contrary. As the twenty minutes' Frist approaches its end, silence 
 falls for an instant on the assembly; the door opens, and the benign figure 
 tall and impressive, of Professor Zeller appears. He steps swiftly to the 
 Katheder; a slight buzz of applause greets him as he takes his stand behind 
 the rudely paneled Kanzel. He begins without ado, speaking in an easy 
 and fluent manner, without notes, unless such may possibly be recorded on 
 a paper that he crumples in his left hand during the whole' of his lecture- 
 His accent is gutteral and perceptibly Suabian, but distinct, commanding, 
 and agreeable. The American new-comers are delighted to find that they 
 understand his sentences without difficulty, and at once fall-to upon their 
 note-taking, at the furious pace which all their neighbors keep up. The 
 lecturer sweeps straight on, borne by the strong current of his thoughts; 
 the hearers follow with might and main, writing as if for dear life. The 
 swifter and more skillful note-takers even run ahead of his pauses, and 
 often hasten them by a simultaneous scraping of feet on the floor which 
 sounds like a muffled avalanche. To this the slow writers respond 
 by a collective hiss, like a suppressed whirlwind^. From the begin- 
 ning to the end of the lecture these sounds alternate, from time to 
 time, till the stranger wonders how the lecturer keeps his course of 
 thought undisturbed. But the professor's gracious bearing remains 
 unmoved, and the serene flow of his sentences continues unbroken. 
 It is evidently all a matter of course, and a traditional habit of the 
 place. For forty minutes our ears gather in, amid it all, the lecturer's 
 comprehensive views concerning the independent originality of Greek 
 philosophy, and his argument against the theory of its derivation from the. 
 Orient. At its close, he steps quickly down from his place and passes out 
 at the door. No student rises until he is gone. Then comes a simulta- 
 neous charge; the sitters at the ends of the rows crowd along the narrow 
 aisles; the others mount upon the ledges, and stalk over them to the front 
 of the room. There is a short, sharp struggle towards the wall, against 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. . 207 
 
 which hang^ the hats and overcoats ; there is a brief whirling of tangled 
 arms in the air, as the owners wrestle into their garments ; then the throng 
 rolls through the doorways, throwing a long and straggling line into the 
 open air. 
 
 Quite contrasted, in many ways, we afterwards find the scene at our other 
 lecture-rooms, where the numbers are comparatively few. Space forbids 
 dwelling with any detail on most of these ; let it be enough merely to 
 make remembrance of the various little Audiforieti, low-ceiled, dim-lighted, 
 close-benched, bare-plastered, and cobweb-hung, in which we listened to 
 Gizycki or Lasson or Ebbinghaus. Through the lapse of years the pallid 
 face of the first of these gifted men comes back upon the memory as on 
 the days when it fronted his slender but attentive audience, leaning dili- 
 gently forward to catch the half-heard words that he reads, patiently and 
 with difficulty, in a low and feeble voice, from his closely-followed manu- 
 script; and with the image of the face, returns also, and always, the sense of 
 reverence for that courageous love of letters which has carried its owner, 
 a cripple from the cradle, to a victorious career as a university teacher. As 
 clearly, too, returns upon the memory the face and voice of Lasson, as he 
 sits with such unpretending informality in the chair behind the Kanzel, 
 his arms leaned forward upon the desk, and speaks in that low and medita- 
 tive tone, talking rather with himself than to his auditors. And the words 
 of Ebbinghaus still linger in the ear, with their delightful accent and me- 
 lodious titnbre, their sharp-cut yet flowing emphasis, their lucid and exquis- 
 ite style; making him, for all in all, the ideal university lecturer, so far as 
 form is concerned ; again he seems standing there, of presence young, 
 lithe and vigorous, his amiable yet foi'ceful face marked crosswise with the 
 two broadsword scars t];iat tell of sturdy battle for his Corps, in the youth- 
 ful days when he belonged to the Bursckenschaft; again his swift, extempo- 
 raneous utterance sounds along, with its sentences faultless for mould and 
 for clearness, with its exposition so thorough and trustworthy, its criticism 
 so searching and pertinent. From the small, dingy rooms where we heard 
 him and his compeers, the recollection turns again to the large Garten- 
 Auditorium; but in the evening now, and by gas-light. Again, in imag- 
 ination, we stand with the suffocating crowd that has thronged into the 
 place to listen to Du Bois-Reymond, the greatest of living physiologists, 
 who, like so many of his fellow-craftsmen, cannot let philosophy alone, 
 but must once a week harangue the students of the philosophical Faculty 
 — though he belongs to the medical — on the agnostic implications which 
 he finds in his science. The signs of the Zeitgeist are strong in the scene; 
 not even standing-room is left ; the eager crowd overflow the building. 
 
2o8 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 and hang upon each other's shoulders about the doorways, with necks 
 craned forward in the hope of catching the words inside. Wedged in 
 among those standing close by the Katheder, we listen to the ironical voice 
 as it pours its eloquent sentences from the snarling mouth, the hands 
 leaned hard upon the desk, the shoulders high-lifted and stooping, the 
 head thrown down and forward, the eyes gleaming with a fierce light. 
 Very different is the appearance of the same place on certain other even- 
 ings, when we gather with some four hundred companions to listen to 
 Friedrich Paulsen's Einleitung in die Philosophic. In the Katheder sits a 
 young man, whose face might easily be fancied as that of Luther mixed 
 with that of Renan. His manner is utterly unassuming, half bashful and 
 shy. His tones are low, but distinct. His style begins simple and clear; 
 presently, as he rises to the interest of his subject, his sentences become 
 epigrammatic and aphoristic. He speaks with a strangely fascinating 
 fervor of sentiment, though without demonstrative manner : he is intense, 
 not expansive. Him, too, his audience accompany with that grotesque 
 alternation of floor-scraping and hissing which we hear daily at the lect- 
 ures of Zeller. One evening it annoys him beyond endurance ; he stops, 
 speaks abruptly and hotly to the students ; then takes his hat and 
 leaves the room. As the throng follows, at the appropriately respectful 
 distance, we wonder if he will ever come back ; we inquire the opinions 
 of our next neighbors ; these smile, and think it best to come next time 
 and see. Arrived at the appointed hour, we await with the rest the lapse 
 of the preliminary twenty minutes. At its close, promptly, the lecturer 
 appears. He is received with respectful silence. His course goes on 
 thenceforward without any further episodes, and closes as if nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 But it is in the lecture-room of Michelet that our little company find 
 their greatest delight. His two dozen or thirty hearers are full of enthusi- 
 • asm for him and their subject. Twice a week the little old man comes 
 cheerily into the dingy old auditorium where, before him, Fichte and 
 Hegel and Solger lectured in the days that are now historic. We are all 
 there, eagerly awaiting his arrival. Promptly on the minute, like the 
 youngest and sturdiest of the new generation, he opens the door. As he 
 enters, every man rises; we stand, facing him, as he moves to his seat. A 
 favorite young pupil attends him to the chair, and removes for him his 
 overcoat, takes it, and his hat and cane, and places them in the proper 
 corner. With smiling face and beaming blue eye, the bowed figure 
 looks out upon his hearers, who now seat themselves attentively before 
 him. He draws his completely-written lecture from the breast-pocket of 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 209 
 
 his coat, and with a swift and hearty, "Meine Jlerren!" hegvas to re.a.di. 
 We know that he has in great part lost his eyesight, and we wonder how 
 it is that he travels so surely along the manuscript. Whether he has it all 
 by heart, we know notj but, somehow or other, either for that reason or 
 by power of new inspiration that enables him to extemporize from his great 
 stores of knowledge, he soon, to all appearance, ceases to consult the 
 paper, and goes on in exposition and criticism, clear, forcible, eloquent, 
 brilliant, leaning over the desk and talking straight at us. Thought, with 
 him, is no cold contemplation of abstract and dead relations, merely log- 
 ical; it is a vivid life, full of the organizing power of real existence, and ih- 
 wrought into the very being of practical affairs. He addresses his hearers 
 as if his message were of the utmost human concern; he feels it to be so, 
 and imbues the auditors with the like serious conviction. Yet there is no 
 sombreness in any of it; for him and his thinking, human life, as Mattheft' 
 Arnold says, " moves to joy and to beauty." His countenance is irradi- 
 ated with a renewed youth; hand and arm move in unison with the 
 glowing thought; his hearers lean forward in the fervid interest which he 
 stirs in them ; nobody takes any notes; the impression is too vivid to per- 
 mit that, or, indeed, to leave it necessary. We are all sure that we can 
 reproduce the outline of the doctrine when we get to the quiet of our 
 private rooms. And so we indeed find the case to be; we have been on 
 each day of lecture in the hands of the philosophic orator, who not only 
 has the' magician's power to rouse our convicted hearts, but the instructor's 
 clearness also, to convey by thorough and comprehensive intelligible con- 
 nection the permanent possession of systems in their interdependent his- 
 torical or logical development. His course is on " The Career and 
 Character of German Philosophy from and after Kant," and he illumi- 
 nates his subject with that all-embracing insight which surely must be 
 accredited to the school of Hegel, and in like degree to no other. He 
 has been known, to be sure, in his earlier teaching, as an adherent of the 
 radical " Left Wing " of that school, perhaps over-ardent; but years have 
 sobered his thinking; they have taught him the larger meaning of his great 
 master's own view, and he plants himself now on the reconciling and truly 
 explanatory "Center," expounding the "Absolute Idea" as a Reason 
 eternally personal, and the ground and source of the personality in man, 
 instead of a mere bond of Logical Energy, coming first to consciousness in 
 human nature. This great thought, first adequately stated to the modern 
 mind by Hegel, he develops through the history of the revolutionary 
 epoch which forms the subject of his course. Striking is the contrast be- 
 tween the teaching in his lecture-room, and that in the others devoted to 
 
210 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 philosophy; for, distinguished as the latter everywhere has been by learn- 
 ing and acumen and varied power, it has still all suffered deeply from tha^ 
 sense of confusion, of paralyzed uncertainty, in the presence of the most 
 absorbing problems of life, which characterizes the present generation of 
 German thinkers. These have not attained the point of view of the 
 mighty leaders who closed the last century and introduced the present; 
 and, for lack of it, they grope about among the crowding thoughts pre- 
 sented or suggested by the recent developments in the natural sciences, 
 with the distrustful anxiety of wayfarers who have lost their path in the 
 tangled forest; or, in some cases, swagger with the over-confidence of those 
 who are sure they can prove that there is no way out of the forest at all. 
 
 It is in the occupations and experiences above described that we pass the 
 portions of the day which call us to the University buildings. It is in the 
 libraries or the reading-rooms or our own apartments that we spend the re- 
 maining hours, aside from the few which we allot to the streets, the parks, 
 the museums of art, the theatres and other amusements. We have access 
 by right of our Studentenstand to both the great book-collections connected 
 ■with the University — the vast Royal Library and the Vniversitdts-Bibliothek; 
 for a trifling fee, we can make use of the plain but comfortable and abund- 
 antly supplied Academische Lesehalle. The method of using the libraries 
 is new to us, and interesting. There is rio catalogue, either printed or on 
 card, open to users. The applicant, properly provided with a surety paper, 
 signed by himself and by some one of the professors as his voucher, simply 
 presents himself at the delivery window on one side of the rather con- 
 tracted vestibule of the library building, and purchases for ten pfennigs 
 (two-and-a-half cents) a package of Bestellzettel, or order slips. Upon one 
 of these, as occasion arises, he writes the title, edition and author's name 
 of any book soever that he may want, adding the place and date of publi- 
 cation, all with as great exactness as he can. One of the numerous as- 
 sistants of the librarian takes this, or any number of like slips, and informs 
 the applicant that he may call for the books at a certain hour next day. 
 At the appointed time he goes, and receives either the books or a written 
 explanation of their non-appearance; either some earlier applicant has them, 
 or the library does not contain them; the latter case, however, rarely hap- 
 pens, so great are the resources of the admirable collections. The writer, 
 though occupied with out-of-the-way books, usually reckoned rare, never 
 failed to find what he asked for, in the course of a long and busy semester. 
 The same provision, of a day's notice, is required when books are to be 
 used in the reading-room of the> library. Here each reader takes a little 
 table assigned him, on which are writing materials; thither the books re- 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. zi\ 
 
 served for him are brought, and there he sits, reads and makes notes at 
 his leisure, amid the profoundest quiet, though the room is thronged with 
 workers. . Absolute silence is prescribed, and nobody is ever heard to violate 
 it. At the close of his work, the reader leaves his books upon the table, 
 affixing a note to each that he wishes to use the next day, with mention of 
 any others wanted, and takes his departure in the same still and subdued 
 manner that has marked his whole demeanor in the place. If he wishes 
 books for home use, he obtains them at the proper window, in response to 
 the notice of the day before. He is not restricted as to number, and he 
 may retain any work four weeks ; he may also- renew it, without return to 
 the library, at the end of that time, if nobody else has called for it ; and so 
 on, again and again, under the same condition, until the end of the sem- 
 ester. Then he must return all, and receive a certificate that his accounts 
 are cl ear, properly attested by the signature of the responsible officer. 
 This certificate he will be careful to forward to the professor who favored 
 him by becoming his voucher, accompanying it with his best thanks. 
 
 Besides these engagements in the lecture-room, the libraries, or one's 
 study, which may be called the obligatory occupations of the student, we 
 find that there are various others of a volunteer sort, which the Herren 
 Studirende carry out on their own account. They run the gamut " from 
 grave to gay, from lively to severe," but none of them fails to have an im- 
 portant element of Unterhaltungund Kneipen — amusement and conviviality. 
 The usual field of these volunteer relations is some one or other of the 
 multitudinous Vereinigimgen (associations) with which every German uni- 
 versity overflows, Berlin naturally the most of all. They are of all sorts, with 
 all leading purposes, from the wissenschaftliche (among which it is amusing 
 to find the Chess-Clubs set down) to those which have to be described as 
 " Verbindungen nicht mii wissenschaftlicher Tendenz.'^ Among them, of 
 course, are the world-famous Burschenschaften, in their various Corps, such 
 as the "Arminia," the " Franconia," the " Germania," the " Hevellia," the 
 "Alemannia," the " Guestphalia," the " Teutonia," or the " Vandalia." 
 Each of these has its colors and its quasi uniform, and it is among their 
 members that the broadsword dueling goes on, as well as various other 
 habits of disorder. 
 
 It is one of our agreeable surprises, however, to find that, numerous as 
 these Corps are, the membership is small ; in comparison with the whole 
 body of students, astonishingly small. Among the six thousand men at Ber- 
 lin, for instance, scarce two hundred could be counted in the Corps. It is 
 the industry of these few in their vocation of idleness and dissipation, 
 that makes the disproportionate impression of student worthlessness 
 
212 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 upon the outside world. Conspicuous by their bright baldries and absurd 
 little caps, which, with gay tricolored bands and destitute of vizors, stick like 
 tiny sieves on the very peaks of the wearers' heads, these idlers stroll 
 about the streets or drive through them in open carriages, forming the 
 only noticeable class unquestionably to be identified as belonging to the 
 university. But they really make but a very small and insignificant part of 
 its life. They are responsible for nearly all of its discredit, and contribute 
 next to nothing towards its honorable performance. To the great mass of 
 the students they are as if they were not ; and it is not too much to say 
 that, taken as a whole, the German students are the most industrious, 
 steadfast and correct body of literary youth in the world. There are 
 "bad fellows'' among them, of course, as there are among every body of 
 students, or of young men engaged in other occupations ; but their pre- 
 vailing character is the opposite of that which the superficial observer, 
 misled by the street and purlieu performances of the obstreperous Corps- 
 men, too frequently attributes to them. 
 
 Besides the Corps, however, there are the other social organizations, 
 whose assemblies, beginning with intellectual interchanges, in the way of 
 addresses, essays and discussions, always end with some convivial cheer. 
 Here the genial beer-mug wakens to song and story-telling, and the even- 
 ing, begun at a good early hour, say half-past six or seven o'clock, runs 
 far on to midnight or to one in the morning. But this is only once or 
 so a week; and let it always be remembered that drinking beer, with the 
 young German in his Vaterland, does not mean drunkenness. This, in 
 the associations outside the Corps at least, and even in many of these, 
 would be regarded as a breach of decency, not to be tolerated among men 
 of good breeding. The beer-mug is a sort of national Palladium, and belongs 
 to the home and the hearth-stone. 'Tis as innocent as, with us, the tea- 
 cup or the coffee-pot; and is as much a matter of course and of daily house- 
 hold use. To the well-regulated German mind, the man who abstains 
 from beer is like the vegetarian " crank" to the average sensible American; 
 he is offcolof, "queer," and "fit for treason, strategems and spoils." It 
 is of the established German code to take one's beer in moderation; and 
 sp, indeed, it is taken, in the settled home and by the fireside. But the 
 moderation has an expansible standard, ascending with the capacity; and 
 it is astonishing what a capacity for absorption the German student occa- 
 sionally develops, without any apparent loss of sobriety or wits. And let 
 it always be said, as the ordinary facts surely deserve, that the Kneipe of 
 the German students' Verbindungen is not at all a scene of dissoluteness 
 and moral abandon, but, on the contrary, a season of moderated and con- 
 
GERMAN UNIVERSITY. 213 
 
 trolled hilarity, where bestiality or indecency would cost the perpetrator his 
 social standing. 
 
 In the crowding occupations, serious or light, described but too imper- 
 fectly in the foregoing pages, our semester soon sped away, and the writer 
 took his leave of the glorious intellectual centre, glad to have had even a 
 single season's share in its great life, though regretful to know that he 
 could not share in it longer. In parting from these memories of Berlin 
 University, it seems pertinent to spur our own ambition here in America, 
 as also here in our home by the Pacific, by pointing out a signal and most 
 significant difference between an institution of. that title in Germany, 
 and the same with .us. All its students are "mature,'' i.e., graduates 
 of a Gymnasium or, in certain cases, of a Realschule of the first class. 
 This means that when they begin their university career, the enormous 
 majority of them have a general and liberal culture about equivalent to 
 that of American students who have won their B. A. degree at good in- 
 stitutions in which Greek, as well as the other liberal subjects, is a required 
 condition. What a literary force, what a scientific force, what an intelli- 
 gent moral force, must a body of thirty thousand young men at this level 
 of preparation be! What a breadth of conceptions the lecturer may take 
 for granted when he addresses them! And from them alone, by German 
 imperial law, can the ranks of the three leading professions be recruited. 
 No German can enter holy orders, or practice medicine or law, except a 
 university course of at least three years, following upon a liberal discipline 
 very nearly equivalent to that of our best colleges, have preceded his 
 rigorous examination for his profession by a Commission of the State. 
 Let us ponder upon the immense import of such a system of qualifica- 
 tions. Let us learn from it a lesson, not of discouragement, but of reso- 
 lute aspiration — of diligent national self-criticism, to end in courageous 
 and discriminating national action. G. H. HowisON. 
 
TWO MORAL TEACHERS. 
 
 The important postulate with which the political theorists start is that 
 man is by nature a political being. Though this be true, no one will pre- 
 tend that in that statement we have summed man's e-ssence. Man is no 
 less by nature a moral being ; indeed, is not his nature more essentially 
 moral than political ? — is he not a political being only in order that he may 
 become a moral one ? is he not, in short, a political being because his real 
 nature, his destiny, that is, is a moral one ? 
 
 Now, though our nature be such, since we have not yet realized it, we 
 are bound to make of our lives a continuous, judiciously-ordered striving 
 towards it. And this striving cannot be done in individual isolation ; we 
 must live in, and form a part of, society, for only by our free fulfillment of 
 the complicated relationships there entered, and there only, can we accom- 
 plish for ourselves a complete moral instruction. These relations involv- 
 ing a reciprocity of action with others, it is evident that in society we in- 
 struct and are instructed by others. We both teach and are taught— the 
 latter much more than the former. No man is self-sufficing, and we daily 
 feel our dependence on one another. " It is not good that man should be 
 alone" is importantly true in more than one reference. Let us consider 
 for a little what help has been given their fellow-men by two of the fore- 
 most of this century's teachers, Carlyle and Ruskin ; first having regard to 
 their more important teachings, and then to their presentation as adapted 
 to produce their desired effect. 
 
 The central doctrine of Carlyle's teaching is that of sincerity, earnest 
 truthfulness. Reality, fact, substance, are everywhere strenuously in- 
 sisted on, and their opposites, unreality, cant, show, everywhere unspar- 
 ingly denounced; and in denunciation Carlyle is a master. Indeed, could 
 any habit be more deservedly denounced than that of insincerity, the cer- 
 tain duller of both moral and intellectual perception? As Carlyle says, 
 "How can there be clear vision in head without first clear vision in heart? " 
 In the thought of deception we deceive ourselves — put ourselves in utter 
 discord with the heart of nature, which is fact, truth ; and so raise what 
 is not only a bar to our moral progress, but also a positive agent tending 
 to our destruction. 
 
 The duty of work-action is urged with almost equal emphasis. Idleness, 
 Carlyle especially hates; anything, he thinks, is better than that. "All 
 true work is sacred ; in all true work, were it but true hand-labor, there is 
 
TWO MORAL TEACHERS. 215 
 
 something of divineness." The laborer puts into tangible shape ideas 
 that before lay in him unseen; thus God created the world. He who has 
 work has life and religion; he who does work asserts the superiority of 
 himself over his task, and carries with him a consciousness of conquest 
 that is a continual incentive to new activity. 
 
 Another of the cardinal doctrines of Carlyle is that comprehensively 
 called by him hero-worship — transcendant admiration for great men as the 
 God-given guides and benefactors of humanity. They are a revelation of 
 the divine in human form ; they, and they alone; are truly admirable, and 
 the admiration that we feel for them should lead to utter self-prostration 
 before them. Complete submission and obedience to their precepts is our 
 duty ; their lives and works are to be to us an inspiration. This is hero- 
 worship ; it means reverence for, and imitation of. Divinity as manifested 
 on this earth in human persons. 
 
 Two of the more important objects of the bitterest denunciation of Car- 
 lyle are dilettanteism and mammonism — trifling frivolity and slavery to lust 
 for gain. His scathing animadversions on these evils are well calculated 
 to bring the reader to a hearty detestation of them. 
 
 Sincerity, work, hero-worship, including reverence and obedience, are, 
 then, by Carlyle recommended ; sham, cant, idleness, dilettanteism and 
 mammonism are denounced. Several of these have been considered by 
 others to a greater or less extent ; some, as hero-worship, scarcely at all. 
 In estimating the value of Carlyle's teaching, however, we shall find that 
 much, if not most, depends not merely on the uniqueness of some of his 
 doctrines, but rather on his presentation of them all. 
 
 The pervasive characteristic of Carlyle's style may be well termed forci- 
 bleness. The whole style bears clearly the impress of the great power that 
 is in him. Carlyle is a man of very strong feeling — so strong that his pen- 
 etrative vision is ordinarily directed to attain not the theoretic grounds of 
 proof or refutation, but rather those aspects of his subject that are best 
 adapted to arouse sympathy or hatred. He is thus too frequently led to 
 lose sight of the rational aspect of his topic and take up with the recom- 
 mendation of mere prejudice. Thus we are told, on one occasion, that 
 the way a man would fight can be judged from the way he sings. But he 
 is by no means always carried by his strong feeling to injudicious extremes; 
 and the strength of his feeling and forcibleness of his utterances are in the 
 main highly invigorating, and ofttimes quite inspiring. Here is one of 
 many passages that might be quoted : " nature, universe, destiny, how- 
 soever we name this grand unnamable fact in the midst of which we live 
 and' struggle, is as a heavenly bride and conquest to the wise and brave, to 
 
2i6 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 them who can discern her behests and do them ; a destroying fiend to them 
 who cannot." It is not certain whether his influence as a teacher is not 
 lessened at times by the ruggedness of his style and his harsh, didactic, 
 often cynical manner, repelling those whom he would instruct and per- 
 suade. Thus, to the clamorer for " the liberty of not being oppressed by 
 your fellow-man," he says: "No man oppresses thee, O free and independ- 
 ent franchiser ; but does not this stupid porter-pot oppress thee ? Thou 
 art the thrall, not of Cedria the Saxon, but of thy own brutal appetites, 
 and this scoured dish of liquor. And thou pratest of thy liberty ? Thou en- 
 tire blockhead ! " Now, though this were true, no person or class of persons 
 relishes denunciation of that abusive sort. Most people like to be ap- 
 pealed to as rational beings, capable of weighing all arguments that are of- 
 fered them, not relishing imperious invectives from dictatorial preachers ; 
 and not finding the manner of address to their taste, are likely to turn in 
 displeasure from what, couched in gentler terms, they would have read to 
 their profit. 
 
 "It is a man's sincerity and depth of vision that make him a poet," says 
 our author ; and these qualities are none the less necessary to the teacher 
 of morals. Subsidiary to the power shown by Carlyle in the utterance of 
 his beliefs are his penetrative insight and earnest sincerity. The latter 
 quality in particular lights up every page of his writings with a brightness 
 that is sometimes transfiguring. The first requisites of a teacher are in- 
 deed sincerity and earnestness ; these lacking, no influence will attend him; 
 the human spirit revolts at insincerity and levity in him whom it takes as its 
 guide. 
 
 The influence of Carlyle is greatly enhanced by the intense, ardent sym- 
 pathy that he felt with his fellow-men, and the concern he had for their 
 moral welfare, leading him to lend eagerly all his energies to the cause of 
 their improvement. Critical, denunciatory, cynical often, though he was, 
 at bottom he was far from pessimistic — for does he not tell us that " in. 
 justice will not and cannot get harbor for itself, or continue to have footing 
 in this universe, which was made by other than one unjust " ? and more 
 pointedly, in the passage quoted above, that " nature is as a heavenly bride 
 and conquest to the wise and brave, to them who can discern her behests 
 and do them " ? No, Carlyle was not a pessimist; with all his thunderous 
 diatribes against human follies and vices, he saw that there was hope for 
 man ; he had else been a poor teacher and helper of them. 
 
 In his address on " War," to the students of the Royal Military Acad- 
 emy, at Woolwich, Ruskin said: "All the duties of her children to En- 
 gland may be summed in two words, — industry and honor." Of industry 
 
TWO MORAL TEACHERS. 217 
 
 he says : " Neither days nor Uves can be made holy or noble by doing 
 nothing in them; the best prayer at the beginning of a day is that we may 
 not lose its moments; and the best grace before meat, the consciousness 
 that we have justly earned our dinner." Insistence on truth is as pervasive 
 of Ruskin's writings as of Carlyle's. Not a principle is established, not a 
 single work of art criticised, without distinct reference to truth of concep- 
 tion and execution. It is insisted on, that as this has or has not been the 
 guiding motive of the artist, so will his work, cater is paribus, have or lack 
 beauty and permanence. Wise work must be, first honest, then useful and 
 cheerful. In his letters and lectures to workingmen, Ruskin especially in- 
 sists on conscientiousness of work, and purity of article produced: "Give 
 me short measure of food, and I only lose by you; but give me adulterated 
 food, and I die by you." In these, as in most other important doctrines, 
 even to the spirit — a most laudable one — that gives rise to his indignant 
 tirades at what he believes to be the teachings of political economy, Rus- 
 kin agrees with Carlyle ; so far as moral views are concerned, then, they 
 stand on nearly the same ground. In one respect, at least, however, they 
 differ, in that Ruskin thinks Carlyle proclaims too encouragingly the ulti- 
 mate prevalence of good, and does not enough " insist on the inevitable 
 power and infectiousness of all evil, and the easy and utter extinguishable- 
 ness of good." Does Ruskin's optimism waver here ? 
 
 In the main, then, there is identity in the doctrines of the two men; but 
 how different are their ways of urging them ! Carlyle struck at all that is 
 dishonest, unduly pretentious, false in any way, under such single names 
 as Hypocrisy, Quackery, Puffery, Cant; while Ruskin, equally earnest in 
 his battle against this form of immorality, declaims less at the actions of 
 men, seeking rather to reach their consciences by patient, though often 
 impassioned, persuasion. Carlyle feels strongly; his sympathy, or more 
 commonly his indignation, is all aroused; he takes fire and the intense 
 flame of his wrath consumes whatever stands in its way, with little pause 
 for argument or expostulation ; Ruskin, too, feels deeply; his not less strong 
 sympathy or indignation is equally excited; but, proceeding in his earnest 
 desire to help men — there is " no true ambition, but ambition to save," he 
 himself has said — he argues and remonstrates with them with great ear- 
 nestness and self-possession. 
 
 The sight of evil affects Ruskin to intense sorrow, and his grief shows 
 itself in his earnest expostulations with those whom he would save; Car- 
 lyle, by similar evidences of depravity, is, by his bitter hatred of the evil 
 acts, affected rather to uncontrollable indignation, which vents itself in 
 merciless denunciation of the practices, and demolition of all the advan- 
 
2i8; THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 tage that seems to flow from them. Thus Carlyle seems ever to be pulling 
 down, destroying. But Carlyle is not destructive in the sense, for instance^ 
 that the Russian nihilists are — desirous of tearing down indiscriminately, 
 with no settled plan of rebuilding ; the very energy with which he combats 
 existing evils, springs from the fact that he is at heart constructive, with 
 definite, systematic views of what men ought to do after they have been 
 recalled from their errors and started on the right path. Yet at the first 
 blush Carlyle seems energetically destructive, and his brusque manner is 
 likely to be repellant to the reader, who may not see the end he has in 
 view. 
 
 A human being is a wondrous complex of intellect and feeling, judg- 
 ment and passion. That we should be such is a necessary consequence of 
 our (formally speaking) dual nature as created beings — beings, that is, 
 formed in the determination of the infinite divine nature, and thus knit 
 up of two fibers essentially irreconcilable, of two eternally antagonistic 
 natures. Thus equipped do we enter life's pilgrimage. Progress in mor- 
 ality is a process of subjecting the lower of these natures to the higher, 
 our proper nature. This involves a continual conflict, of which the turn 
 at any given moment is uncertain ; in our present stage of moral life, dis- 
 comfiture is, perhaps, more often the lot of the better nature ; but it will 
 not be repressed, for it is ultimately to prevail. By each victory of the 
 higher nature over the lower, the individual, advanced a grade in the moral 
 life, views relations in a changed light, and brings an altered personality 
 into action ; whence arises "inconsistency," which may thus be the sign, 
 as it is always a necessary consequence, of growth in morality. But, 
 aside from this, we are all aware of these two aspects of our being, for we 
 know that at times we rise above our every-day habit, and in the possession 
 of a divine light, think and act irreversibly. 
 
 Now it is evident that a moral teacher's power for good will be precisely 
 as his influence in the mortal conflict mentioned aids the better nature to 
 continue to speak in these terms — in the subjection of the worse. In so 
 far, then, as he aids his hearers to understand their eternal welfare and 
 stimulates them to work it out, in that degree does he offer them the exter- 
 nal conditions of moral growth. There is one condition, however, giving 
 value to all the rest — that of free internal impulse. It is to be feared — but 
 we ought not to make too much of this, for roused antagonism, even, is 
 better than somnolent apathy — that Carlyle would not always be successful 
 in his aim of effecting this internal prompting; that, forgetting that the 
 reader may not comprehend his motive and attitude, he neglects to secure 
 his sympathy, and his strong, declamatory style excites an antagonistic 
 
TWO MORAL TEACHERS. 219 
 
 spirit that is destructive of his end. Of Ruskin just the contrary is true ; 
 feeling that it is his object to bring his reader to look at matters from his 
 point of view, he approaches him considerately, winning first his sympathy 
 by words and tone, and then proceeds in a temper explanatory and remon- 
 strant, rather than aggressive and denunciatory. He takes great pains to 
 point out how an evil is such, and going at great length into analysis of 
 human faculties and motives, — Carlyle has no elaborate psychology — ex- 
 plains how character is by deception, idleness, and selfishness corrupted, 
 and, on the other hand, by truth, purity, industry, and humility, ennobled. 
 In fine, viewing generally the probable influence of both writers, Carlyle, 
 by virtue of his peculiarly energetic manner, is calculated to rouse the 
 lethargic spirit to a lively sense of its errors, and to give it a strong push 
 forward on the right path, equipped, moreover, with principles that will 
 act as correctives in case of a tendency to deviation ; a more valuable 
 service could not be rendered. Ruskin, on the other hand, while not so 
 helpful in these respects, with his more graceful style, might attract where 
 Carlyle would repel, and by his more elaborate consideration of moral 
 topics, would lead the reader to analyze his own moral states, and more 
 habitually to practice self-regulation. He would thus contribute much 
 toward the furtherance of what Carlyle had so well begun. 
 
 M. E. Blanchard, U. C, '87. 
 
FLUMINA ITALIAE. 
 
 QUAM juga, quam notas juvat hie exquirere silvas, 
 
 Edita qua celebri flumina fonte ruunt; 
 
 Naris ubi ingenti devolvitur unda tumuitu, 
 
 Clitumnus placidum qua tenet ortus iter; 
 
 Aut ubi, delabens infecto cana liquore, 
 
 Sulfure fumantes Albula lambit agros. 
 
 Levia nonnunquam repeto tua, Thybri, fluenta, 
 
 Nee mihi non amnis littus inane placet, 
 
 Qui, lieet e sterili deducat origine cursum 
 
 (Plenius et flumen parcior urna neget,) 
 
 Saepe poetarum deeoratus versibus audet 
 
 Danubium et fluvios spernere, Nile, tuos. 
 
 O mihi divino si circum pectora mota 
 
 Musa pari tantas concitet igne faees, 
 
 Protinus eniteant in earmine mille decores, 
 
 Cedat et Italiae Virgiliana meae. 
 
 RIVERS OF ITALY.' 
 
 How am I pleased to search the hills and woods 
 
 For rising springs and celebrated floods; 
 
 To see the Nar, tumultuous in his course. 
 
 And trace the smooth Clitumnus to his source; 
 
 View hoary Albula's infected tide 
 
 O'er the warm bed of smoking sulphur glide. 
 
 Sometimes to gentle Tiber I retire 
 
 And the famed river's empty shore admire, 
 
 That, destitute of strength, derives its course 
 
 From thrifty urns and an unfruitful source; 
 
 Yet, sung so often in poetic lays. 
 
 With scorn the Danube and the Nile surveys. 
 
 Oh, could the muse my ravished breast inspire 
 
 With equal warmth and raise an equal fire, 
 
 Unnumbered beauties in my verse should shine, 
 
 And Virgil's Italy should yield to mine. 
 
 *Translation of the above Latin verses. 
 
EDITORIAL, 
 
 The Berkeleyan has good reason to take part heartily in the festivities of the 
 Commencement season. The magazine, during the brief period since its establishment 
 in its new form, has met with words of encouragement and friendhness on every hand. 
 It has met with sympathetic co-operation among faculty, students, and alumni. This 
 sympathetic co-operation, constituting the very life and being of a journal such as ours, 
 has delighteH, if it has not surprised us, and we cannot let this commencement go by, 
 without open acknowledgement of its disinterested sincerity and helpfulness. 
 
 Next term we shall aim to give the magazine a stronger local flavor than heretofore. 
 This we shall do upon the advice of many alumni and former residents, who do not 
 find enough of reminiscence in our staid pages to make them as interesting as they 
 might be. But whatever additions or alterations we shall decide upon, will be made, 
 not to the sacrifice, but to the enlargement of those features which we have always 
 meant to be characteristic of the Berkeleyan. The professed ideal with which we 
 started out we see no reason to relinquish; all else must be subsidiary and incidental to 
 that ideal. 
 
 Under the title " Concio ad Clerum,'' a pamphlet has been published which calls 
 the attention of the people of the State of California to the proposed founding of a 
 college under the auspices of the Synod of the Pacific of the Presbyterian Church. 
 This institution is to be dignified by the name of the "College of California." A 
 Board of Trustees and a President have already been elected, and a curriculum has been 
 arranged and announced; the President of the Board of Trustees is presumably to be 
 the President of the college; TAe resources of the State University at Berkeley are to be 
 used so far as they may be needed. 
 
 It is necessary, according to the appeal of the President, to establish such a col- 
 lege, 
 
 1. Because the moral nature of the students is not looked after in other educational 
 institutions. 
 
 2. The subjects taught are not sufficient, Biblical teachings being neglected. 
 
 3. The methods employed are not well adapted in specific instances. 
 
 Now we wish to say concerning this whole scheme, that we have no objection if it 
 is to be an institution absolutely separate and independent from the University, and we 
 feel free to confess that we have no sympathy at all with the idea, if there is to be any 
 connection whatever, between this college and the University. Any affiliation, no mat- 
 ter what its nature or pretext, would have a deteriorating influence on our University and 
 its work, and would become a dangerous invasion of the spirit of free and unrestrained 
 inquiry which exists at the present time. To dissipate any feeling of doubt on the 
 probability of such a result, it is only necessary to refer for a brief examination, to 
 the curriculum proposed for the new College of California. 
 
222 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 With the value of religious teaching we are not here concerned. But if, as is reck- 
 lessly asserted, but not maintained, we need moral discipline and instruction, let it be 
 such in the widest sense of the word. There can be only one real morality, and not a 
 Presbyterian, a Methodist, or a Congregational code of ethics. If we must have more 
 direct divine learning, let it come through competent teachers of the science and prog- 
 ress of religious thought, eminent theologians, chosen by our Regents; but let us not be- 
 come the unsuspecting prey of bigots foisted upon us through association with any sec- 
 tarian institution. If needs be, let us have unbiased expounders, not prejudiced 
 advocates. 
 
 But is the University open to the charge of being a godless and irreligious institu- 
 tion? are the students immoral and corrupt? We regret very much that the calumny of 
 certain individuals and the thoughtlessness of others, make it necessary yearly to advert 
 to this periodic howl against the moral condition of the University. Such complaints 
 can certainly only be the offspring of malice or ignorance, or else of a very irrational 
 and novel conception of morality. So far from being the occasion for apology, or 
 lamentation, or accusation, the average moral conduct of the students of the University 
 of California should be a matter for merited commendation and honorable pride. It is 
 our well-grounded conviction that a comparison with any of the better colleges of the 
 East would throw no discredit on our University. The testimony and reports of East- 
 ern visitors and educators go directly to confirm this conclusion, and we believe that 
 the generality of the people of this State are coming to look upon these annual libels as 
 the work of ignoble persons actuated by ignoble motives. 
 
 No warm friend of this University could advocate or ever countenance an associa- 
 tion of the University with such a school as the one proposed, when it is quite apparent 
 that one of the main pleas for the creation of the new college is based upon derogation 
 of the University. Truest religion is not in conflict with the scientific aspirations of 
 the University, but narrow dogma is. Truest religion does not fear Darwin, but blind- 
 ness despises him. 
 
 If several such appendages as the one under discussion were attached to the Univer- 
 sity, we fear that much annoyance would follow. Not that the broad and truthful views 
 of the University would not in the long run prevail, but at first we should be compelled 
 to face and combat an immense amount of ignorance and prejudice among those siding 
 in any issue with their particular creed. ConsiderinE; all things, we believe it will be 
 wise to let the University preserve her complete independence, and let ecclesiastical 
 schools go their own way by themselves. We would furthermore suggest that the choice 
 of the name "College of California" is very unfortunate. This name is connected 
 with the early history of the University, and undesirable confusion may, therefore, arise 
 later on. The graduates of the old College of California may have some reason to com- 
 plain. Would it not be in closer keeping with the design and true nature of the new 
 institution to have the name changed to " Presbyterian College of California ?" 
 
 The council of the American Society for Psychical Research has recently sent out 
 a circular from Boston to the members and associates of the society in various parts of 
 the United States, requesting of them a heartier and more extensive co-operation. As 
 those interested in psychical phenomena probably will remember, the society was formeil 
 at the end of 1884, and was suggested by, and largely modeled upon, the English so- 
 ciety of the same name, which had then been in existence three years. Accompanying 
 
EDITORIAL. 223 
 
 the circular is a copy of the society's constitution, including a list of its officers and 
 members. Among the names of the members of the council, we notice that of Pro- 
 fessor Royce. The list of active members includes representatives from various Eastern 
 colleges and universities, also many prominent members of the medical profession, to- 
 gether with a number of well-known scientists. The names of Andrew D. White, of 
 Cornell University, Prof. Asa Gray, and Prof. William James will serve to indicate the 
 standard of membership. 
 
 The object of the society is described in the first article of its constitution as " the 
 systematic study of the laws of mental action." The society believes that there is in 
 existence a large body of facts that are inexplicable by the laws of any known science, 
 and that these facts indicate, or at least suggest, the possible existence of a science not 
 yet developed. The research work of the society has been divided between five com- 
 mittees: — 
 
 1. Committee on Thought Transference. 
 
 2. Committee on Apparitions and Haunted Houses. 
 
 3. Committee on Hypnotism (mesmerism). 
 
 4. Committee on Mediumistic Phenomena. 
 
 5. Committee on Experimental Psychology. 
 
 The circular contains directions for the execution of experiments in regard to phe- 
 nomena falling within either of the departments represented by the above committees, 
 and requests that members, or others interested in the object of the society, make these 
 experiments as often as convenient, and send the results to the secretary of the society. 
 
 As we know, the English society claims to have made considerable progress to- 
 ward the explanation of certain psychical phenomena, and no reason exists to prevent 
 similar progress being made by the society in America. The collection of well-authen- 
 ticated experiences, and the results of careful experiments, will at least enable the 
 society to reduce to facts some of that mass of material that rests now on hearsay 
 evidence, and to discard the rest as the product of imagination — a process which is the 
 first step in the development of a science. Whether the data that may be found will 
 prove full enough, and of such a nature as to warrant the belief in a new science, which 
 will explain from the material side the connection of mind and matter, and their rela- 
 tions to each other, is a question yet to be determined by the society. But in the in- 
 terests of human knowledge and general progress it is desirable that the question of the 
 existence of such a science should be settled in one way or the other, and no better 
 means could be taken for its determination than those the society has adopted. 
 
REVIEWS, 
 
 BEGG'S "DEVELOPMENT OF TASTE." 
 
 The title of this work we are inclined to consider as the deep device of a skilled 
 polemic. One reads the first hundred and fifty pages, believing the book to be what 
 its title indicates. One follows the author in his tracings of the appreciation of the beau- 
 tiful in nature from its faint beginnings in prehistoric man, through its expansion in the 
 Hebrews, the Greeks, and the Romans, to its latest and fullest development in the 
 modern individual. The author would now seem to be at the end of his subject, and 
 the reader, wonders what is to fill the remaining two-thirds of the book. On reading a 
 chapter or two in advance, however, he is enlightened as to what the real subject of the 
 book is, viz., an investigation of the nature of beauty, with reference to a decision on 
 the question of the possibility of a standard of taste. All of this writing on the devel- 
 opment of taste is seen to be a skillful device for preparing the gr ound of the argument, 
 as well as the mind of the reader, for the decision of the question which is the real 
 object of the book. This previous work brings out the fact that in spite of all the 
 variation in the EESthetic sense of different peoples and ages, there is yet an essential 
 unity; the variation is seen to be one of intensity and extent, rather than of direction. 
 Now this universality of taste as to what is beautiful, is just the point the author wished 
 to make, in order that it might serve as evidence in favor of the objectivity of beauty. 
 
 With this question of the nature of beauty in mind, the author inquires into the 
 origin of our perception of the beautiful. He reviews and discusses all the prominent 
 views regarding this subject, shows up the hoUowness and insufficiency of the associa- 
 tion theory, and shows that most writers on the question have confounded the beauty of 
 objects and the subjective sentiments which arise therefrom. 
 
 This confusion of other writers, together with the requirements of the question at 
 issue, impels the author into an inquiry concerning the residence of beauty. Is it ob- 
 jective, and inherent in objects, or is it a product of mind ? He answers that it is both; 
 it is the one because it is the other. This decision involves, of course, the idealistic 
 philosophy, the doctrine of the essential unity of mind and matter as its ground — the 
 only theory of the relation of mind and matter that can make beauty a reality, or any- 
 thing more than a subjective imagining, that may have, for aught we can know to the 
 contrary, no possible relation to " things in themselves." 
 
 Beauty, then, is the product of thought, though not of our thought. It is ob- 
 jective, and manifests itself in objects, and can be discerned by us, because we are 
 thinking beings. The beautiful, the author claims, cannot be disassociated from the 
 good; nor can iEsthetics in general be dissevered from conscious or unconscious re- 
 ligious thought or feeling. " Sublimity in its last analysis rests on our thoughts of 
 God." 
 
 But thS author is anxious to make out his case that beauty is a power inherent in 
 objects, and after saying all this, he is afraid he has lost his balance, and has leaned too 
 
REVIEWS. ' 225 
 
 far on that side of his theory which regards beauty as subjective as well as objective. 
 So, to recover himself, he makes an admission on the opposite side, which seems to us 
 not only incorrect, but inconsistent with the general position which he wishes to main- 
 tain. While admitting that all the deeper manifestations of beauty require thought and 
 reflection for their discernment, especially the thought or feeling of a great power work- 
 ing in and through nature, there is a beauty,he says, that can be discerned and ap- 
 preciated entirely without any such thought, even without thought, proper, at all. There 
 is a beauty that we perceive instantaneously the first time it is presented to us. No 
 thought about it, no reflection is needed, he thinks. Besides, children v/ho are incapable 
 of any thought about beauty, or of any thought of God in it, recognize some forms of 
 beauty instantly when presented to, them. 
 
 In thus claiming that some kinds of beauty require thought, and the thought of an 
 immanent God, for their discernment, while other kinds do not, the author admits a 
 dualistic principle in the nature of beauty and in our perceptions of it, which is fatal to 
 his own theory, and, indeed, to any theory whatever of beauty or taste, unless it be an 
 agnostic one. This argument of his for the objectivity of beauty reminds one much of 
 Locke's arguments against the existence of innate ideas, and involves a very simi lar fal- 
 lacy, viz., that of supposing that there is no thought or possession of an idea that may 
 nfluence action and perception, unless it is a thought or an idea more or less consciously 
 held. 
 
 If beauty is the product of universal thought — that thought which is also the con- 
 stitutive principle of our perception, and, therefore, of our taste — as the author claims 
 it is, it follows that the child's perception of beauty, or that perception of it which a 
 thoughtless person has, is regulated by the same principles, is the effect of the same 
 cause, as its perception by the philosopher or the poet who has the conscious thought of 
 God in every perception. If an object appears beautiful to the beholder, it is because 
 in some way his soul acknowledges it as akin to itself; the mind meets itself in external 
 manifestation. With some objects, with some kinds of beauty, the recognition is in- 
 stantaneous, intuitive; so rapid that the beholder is entirely unconscious of the process. 
 With other objects, other kinds of beauty, the recognition is slower, greater complexity 
 involving more or less conscious reflection before identification takes place. But in each 
 case the process is essentially the same in kind, and so, also, the beauty. 
 
 With the exception pointed out, the author's arguments for the objectivi ty of beauty 
 are sound, and his philosophical theory is the only one on which any rational system of 
 aesthetics is possible. 
 
 In thus establishing beauty as a real power inhering in objects, and in making the 
 relations of mind and matter siich that the real nature of material objects are cognizable 
 by mind, the author has already answered the question as to the existence of a standard 
 of taste. There is a unity and general agreement in matters of taste. What is beauti- 
 ful is not "a mere matter of taste, " or of individual opinion. But can a standard of 
 taste be formulated ? Can . the beautiful be defined ? No, not adequately and satis- 
 factorily, thinks the author. In attempting to define beauty we make it an abstraction , 
 which it is not. We can at best give only partial or formal definitions. In attempting 
 to retain the concreteness of beauty, we define it as it appears in a certain class of 
 objects, only. In trying to make a definition which shall be universal, the essence of 
 beauty escapes. And so with the question of a standard of taste, which is involved in 
 this question of the determination of beauty. There is a standard of taste, and we 
 practically recognize it and act upon it, but any expression of it in language fails to 
 satisfy us. Such is the conclusion of the author. 
 
226 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 The book has much to recommend it in being a very full and complete discussion 
 of the subject of taste, and one entered upon after a careful examination of all rival 
 theories. The subject was, as we learn from the preface, long and familiarly in the 
 author's mind, and the book shows some clear thinking on a subject about which much 
 nonsense has been written. As a fault of method and style, we would mention the dis- 
 position to follow out all the ramifications of the subordinate questions arising from a 
 widely-ramifying subject; and also the tendency of carrying out arguments to their 
 fullest expression, where short, suggestive arguments would serve the purpose better, 
 and would be, at the same time, less tiresome to the reader. 
 
 ROYCE'S "FEUD OF OAKFIELD CREEK."* 
 
 Mr. Royce's novel is far from being an artistic and finished production, but On the 
 other hand it is equally far from being flat or insipid. If its faults are glaring, there are 
 evidences of power here and there which almost compensate. Besides, it very evi- 
 dently does not belong to that class of novels which are nothing if not finished and ar- 
 tistic. It is decidedly a novel with a story, and a very realistic story too. One is in- 
 clined to say that there is almost too much story. The plot is very ingenious, but too 
 complex for the easy and artistic management of anyone not a Scott or a Bulwer. 
 
 The scene is laid near the foot-hills of East Oakland, 1878 being the time at which 
 the action of the story begins. The plot grows out pf the relations of various persons 
 who hold conflicting claims to a large land grant. It may be questioned whether a long 
 and complicated lawsuit is at all capable of artistic treatment. At any rate we must re- 
 gard it in the present case as an unwisely selected piece of mechanism. In the author's 
 hands it is an unwieldy and cumbersome piece of machinery, which hampers the prog- 
 ress and diminishes the interest of the real story. We lay it to the account of the land 
 suit also, that the author makes the first two-thirds of the book almost wholly retro- 
 spective. This part of the story is rather clumsily managed by endowing each of the 
 various characters with an inveterate habit of confidential story-telling, which cannot 
 but often prove tedious to the reader. 
 
 Throughout the first half of the book there is a lack of certainty, of directness, and 
 of clearness of outline. The law of selection could have been more severely followed with 
 much increase of dramatic force. Not until the story ceases to be retrospective and be- 
 gins to deal with the relations between Harold and Mrs. Eldon, does it become real and 
 alive. The vision becomes keener, the touch more accurate and delicate. The scenes 
 between these two characters are drawn with considerable clearness and power, arid with 
 perhaps one or two exceptions, are the best parts of the book. The story of the Indian 
 fight related by the senior Eldon is told with much sprightliness and humor, and is vivid 
 enough to have been a personal experience. After the somewhat indistinct and labored 
 description in the early part of the book, one is surprised to come upon such strong, clear 
 work as the description of the scene around Spofford's Hotel, on the morning before the 
 fight of the settlers. 
 
 The character-drawing, like the other work, is quite uneven in quality. The char- 
 acters of Escott and Eldon are f;\irly well drawn after considerable description and 
 other attention, while young Eldon remains shadowy to the last. Mrs. Eldon, the cen- 
 
 '^ The Fend o/OakJicld Creek. A novel of California Life. By Josiali Royce. 1887. Houghton, 
 Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. Price, $1.25. 
 
RE VIE WS. 227 
 
 tral character, is from the first real flesh and blood, but she gives us the strange impres- 
 sion of never having been completely understood by the author. Harold, though not 
 strongly dravfn, also rings true. But undoubtedly the most vigorously conceived charac- 
 ter is the journalist Boscowitz. The author takes comparatively little trouble with him, 
 but he asserts his own reality as soon as introduced, and keeps it without further atten- 
 tion. He is as typical and distinctive as one of Dickens' characters. 
 
 Though much of the story is tragical, and even suggestive of the fatalism of George 
 Eliot and Jourg^nieff, it is throughout lightened by a humor which is very genuine and 
 individual ; so genuine that one scarcely has the heart to remark that it sounds just a tri- 
 fle too much alike from the lips of the different characters. It is its humor, together 
 with the really good work of the latter portion of the book, that makes the story inter- 
 esting in spite of the tedious and inartistic story-telling of the early part . 
 
 We cannot forbear suggesting that if the work of the first two-thirds of the book 
 as it stands had been gone through with by the author merely as a preparatory exercise 
 for clarifying his conceptions ; if then the plot had been simplified and much Of the ma- 
 chinery dispensed with, the result would have been a novel more level with the power 
 and capabilities which appear here and there throughout the book. When Mr. Royce 
 learns to know just where his power as a novelist lies, and learns how to use it to the 
 most advantage, we will expect a novel from him that will deserve all the praise his 
 friends might wish to bestow upon this. As it is, the present one is more valuable for 
 its promise of power than for its execution. 
 
 THE PHILLIPS EXETER LECTURES.* 
 
 During the year 1885-86, a course of lectures was delivered to the students of 
 Phillips Exeter Academy. Eight of these lectures have been collected and pub- 
 lished under the above title, forming a volume of two hundred pages. Their authors 
 are Presidents McCosh, Walker, Bartlett, Robinson, Porter, and Carter, and Rev. Drs. 
 Hale and Brooks. In quality these lectures quite fultill the high expectations raised by 
 these names. It is scarcely necessary to say that none of them are high-flown efforts, 
 gotten up for occasions, but are simple, earnest, practical appeals to the young manhood 
 and womanhood to which they are addressed. As such, coming from men of wide 
 learning and much experience, they cannot fail to be both interesting and valuable for 
 students everywhere, and not only for students, but for all thoughtful men and women. 
 
 These lectures, with the exception of President Walker's, on " Socialism, " are all 
 alike in bearing more or less directly on education as a development of character. One 
 is at first surprised to find the burden of their lectures so much the same. True man- 
 hood and womanhood, they all reiterate, is the only real object and end of all our ed- 
 ucational devices. They are so earnest about this because they notice a widespread 
 tendency to forget the real end, and to substitute for it things which are only means. 
 It is not an accident that these men, the representatives of the learning and culture of 
 our coMntry, should write with such a unity of sentiment, both on this and' on other 
 matters, or that they should each unconsciously remind their readers of the teachings of 
 Emerson. This unity indicates— Matthew Arnold to the contrary notwithstanding— that 
 there exists in the United States a national culture, and a national sentiment regarding it. 
 
 *The Phillips Exeter Lectures. 1887. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Boston and New York. Price, 
 $1.50. 
 
228 THE BERKELEY AN. 
 
 The volume opens with the lecture of Edward Everett Hale on " Physical, Mental, 
 and Spiritual Exercises." Coniment is unnecessary. Everyone knows with what ear- 
 nest, practical sense he writes on such subjects. President McCosh follows on " Habit 
 and Its Influence in the Training "at School." It is significant of an increased interest 
 in, and attention to, educational methods, that within the last few months several books 
 or lectures on the subject of habit in education have been published by American 
 authors, also one or more foreign works on the same subject have been translated by 
 Americans. 
 
 The lecture by Dr. McCosh is entirely untechnical, and is confined to pointing out 
 effects of habit observed in a long experience with educational affairs. The author 
 shows how habit is an equally powerful instrumentality for good or for evil, according to 
 its use, and calls attention to the importance of a wise use of it by both teachers and 
 students. 
 
 President Bartlett has a pleasing, simple, and well-illustrated address on the " Spon- 
 taneous Element in Scholarship." By this he means the inner impulse and self-moved 
 activity of the student, and he has much to say on the importance, to the would-be 
 scholar, of keeping this impulse alive and active 
 
 President Carter, of Williams, has contributed a very heart-felt lecture on the 
 " Sentiment of Reverence. " He warns educators and students against a too exclusive 
 development of the coldly critical and intellectual side of their nature. Reverence and 
 admiration are the highest emotions of which we are capable, and they are able to draw 
 even the intellect to higher heights. He thinks the exclusively intellectual, or any other 
 one-sided education, will produce abnormal men, and its result will, sooner or later, be 
 apparent in ennui and discontent. Irreverence and the disposition to thoughtlessly 
 sweep away old institutions he thinks is the vice of our country. 
 
 It is well that these men, who stand aside from the strong, youthful current of 
 change, and hence are in a position to view things calmly, should warn us that that 
 current may carry us farther than we ourselves might wish, and it is well to listen to 
 such men. But it strikes us that President Carter is somewhat too much afraid of the 
 iconoclasm of youthful energy, and that he has too little faith in the ability of that 
 energy to construct as well as to destroy. 
 
 "The Ideal Scholar" is the theme of President Porter. With such a collection of 
 lectures, comparisons are perhaps odious. But there are degrees of excellence, and this 
 address is undoubtedly the "most comprehensive, and the best and most forcibly written 
 of the collection. Among other things, it contains a defense of Greek, as a necessary 
 and useful part of a scholar's equipment, which is not easily answered. 
 
 The two remaining lectures are by President Robinson, of Brown University, on 
 "Man: Made, Self-made, and Unmade," and Rev. Phillips Brooks, on "Biography." 
 The promise of President Robinson's rich and suggestive subject is fully realized by the 
 lecture. In the lecture on " Biography " it is the object of the lecturer to show the 
 value of biography for purposes of inspiration, and for the cultivation of character. 
 For these purposes it is, of all forms of literature, especially fitted, he thinks, since it is 
 pre-eminently the union of literature and life. 
 
 This volume of lectures will have much interest, not only for our students and edu- 
 cators, but for all those interested in culture and learning, either for themselves only, or 
 for others. 
 
REVIEWS.. 229 
 
 DR. PLUMPTRE'S "DANTE." 
 
 Dr. Plumptre's translation of the "Commedia" bases its claim to notice on an 
 attempted reproduction of the trite rhyme of the original. He has, to be sure, two or 
 three predecessors, who have translated Dante with spec ial reference to bringing out this 
 feature, but their work has never attracted any very extensive recognition. The present 
 translation recognizes the impossibility either of preserving absolute identity of form, or 
 of reproducing the liquid, mellow music of the ori ginal. But he thinks it the duty and 
 the wisdom of a translator to aim at the nearest possible analogue which the nature of 
 the English language admits. And a translation which is to succeed in this aim has 
 many difficulties to overcome, and if it attains a fair degree of success, as Dr. Plumptre's 
 seems to us to do, it is certainly deserving of great praise. It is to be expected, how- 
 ever, that a translation which is fettered by the design of following a difficult rhymed 
 form, will involve certain defects — such as deficiency in literalness arid force— that in the 
 freer blank verse might be obviated. Dr. ' Plumptre's translation falls far short of the 
 simple and literal forcefulness of Longfellow's translation, and though almost as literal 
 as Gary's, fails to reproduce the spirit of the original so well as Gary's does. Round- 
 about and less vivid expressions are frequently used instead of the simple, direct ones of 
 the original. The ear and the imagiiiation are often pleased by a certain grace and ele- 
 gance at the expense of the sharp and enduring impression made by the original. Thus 
 in the eighth line of the fourteenth c anto the original reads literally, " I say we reached 
 a plain which from its bed repels all plants." Longfellow has finely rendered it by the 
 two lines, — 
 
 "I say that we arrived upon a plain, 
 
 Which from its bed rejected every plant." 
 
 And Gary, — 
 
 "A plain we reached that from its sterile bed 
 Each plant repelled." 
 
 Dr. Plumptre renders it thus, — 
 
 ' ' I say we had reached a wide waste plain, 
 Where from its bed no plants their nurture draw." 
 
 The weakening of the passage by the substitution of the commonplace expression 
 for the poetic strength of the original is too evident to require comment. 
 
 Again, in canto twenty-four of the " Inferno," line seventy, the original reads, " I 
 had turned myself downward, but the living eyes could not reach the bottom for the 
 darkness." Dr. Plumptre has rendered it, — 
 
 " I stooped; no eye, with fullest life imbued, 
 Gould pierce the abysmal depth of that obscure.'' 
 
 This is not bad; in fact, the rhythm, and the imaginative suggestiveness of the phrase 
 "abysmal depth," go far toward blinding one to the loss of the simple, direct force of 
 the original. The celebrated passage introducing the story of Francisco in the fifth 
 canto of the "Inferno," Dr Plumptre renders thus: — 
 
 ' ' I now had reached a spot 
 
 Where smote mine ear loud wail and many a groan. 
 I came unto a place where light was not. 
 
 Which murmurs ever like a storm-vexed sea. 
 When strife of winds in conflict waxes hot. 
 
 That storm of hell, which rest doth never see, 
 
230 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 Bears on the spirits with its whirling blast, 
 
 And, hurling, dashing, pains exceedingly. 
 When they before the precipice have passed, 
 
 There pour they tears, and wailing, and lament." 
 
 The weakening of this passage is very evident on comparison with the following 
 rendering of Longfellow's, which is remarkably literal: — 
 
 " . . . now am I come 
 There where much lamentation strikes upon me. 
 I came into a place mute of all light, 
 Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest, 
 If by noisy winds 'tis combated. 
 The infernal hurricane that never rests, 
 Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine; 
 Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them . 
 When they arrive before the precipice, 
 There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments." 
 
 While Dr. Plumptre's translation cannot hope to become as popular as Longfellow's 
 or Gary's, it may supplement these, since, like any translation which aims at reproducing 
 a special feature, it has merits peculiar to itself. 
 
 LETTERS OF TRAVEL. 
 
 Among the charming books which have lately attracted our attention, one of the 
 most delightful is, " Letters of Travel," by Mrs. L. C. Lane, the cultured wife of San 
 Francisco's great surgeon. In forty-three letters, forming so many chapters, pen- 
 sketches of scenes, landscapes, and life in Europe and Egypt, from the personal obser- 
 vation of the authoress, and written, as it seems, on the spot visited, greet us with inviting 
 freshness. Our interest increases as we take our journey, in thought at least, with our 
 eloquent guide, and the time it takes us to wander through Ireland, England, Italy, 
 Switzerland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Russia, Germany, and Egypt, seems to have 
 live minutes to the hours, and live seconds to the minutes. The pictures presented are 
 independent of each other, being strung together like pearls upon a string, so that when 
 the reader has read the book through, he feels like turning the chapters backwards, and 
 enjoying the journey home upon familiar paths. 
 
 There is no philosophizing in the volume; on the contrary, we are simply made to 
 see what the writer herself observed, but the description is most vivid, full of warmth, 
 sometimes rising to brilliant coloring, tempered in many places by bits of charming 
 humor and irony. 
 
 So panoramic and objective are the pictures, that the reader must regret to be left 
 in the dark about the authoress, of whom, personally, we might like to learn something, 
 after traveling in her company so far. But with persistent modesty she keeps herself in 
 the background. 
 
 ROYCE'S "CALIFORNIA."* 
 
 California is as yet too young to have given birth to many sons who could have 
 already gained high places in the world of scholarship and letters. She has, as it were, 
 
 ^California, A study of American character. By Jos'ah Royce, A^sistant Professor of Philosophy 
 in Harvard College. 1886. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. Priue $1.25. 
 
REVIEWS. 231 
 
 adopted many who have immortalized her name by reflecting her spirit and portraying 
 the varying moods and currents of her life. Perhaps that native son who has already 
 gained highest place in the scholastic world, is Josiah Royce, a graduate of the Uni- 
 versity of California, now an honored member of Harvard's Faculty, and still just 
 turned the thirtieth page in his life-book. 
 
 Within three years, as many books have come from his hand. The first, on his 
 chosen subject, philosophy, "The Religious Aspect of Philosophy;'' his second, one 
 of the American Commonwealth Series, on "California," and within a few weeks has 
 come to hand his last, a novel, "The Feud of Oakfield Creek," of which a review will 
 be found in this number. 
 
 Why Mr. Royce should have descended from his philosophical aerie to mix with 
 barn-yard fowl, why he should cease to write on the deep problems of philosophy, with 
 which few can grapple, and where he was a young David, and come down to talking of 
 the ordinary men and things, which many can do as well, it is hard to conjecture. Some- 
 one tells us that Paganini, the greatest of violinists, and the most awkward of men, 
 actually felt prouder of the clumsy and ungainly bow which closed his performance, 
 than of the wonderful performance itself. 
 
 Coming in the Commonwealth Series, it would be supposed that "California" 
 could be classified as a history, yet this is only partially true. The author presents his 
 work a^ a study of American character exemplified in the conquest and development of 
 a State. Looked at as a history, the work cannot be called a success; considered as a 
 character study, founded on a skeleton of historical fact, "California" is a book of 
 much merit and considerable weight. It cannot be overlooked, however, that there is 
 much matter in the work which can in no sense be looked on as illustrating the character 
 study — matter which was evidently inserted to help out the other, the historical, side of 
 the book. There is this duality of purpose, which is confusing and unsatisfying to the 
 reader. 
 
 The introductory chapter, telling of the land and its people, is essential to th^ book, 
 no matter in what light it is viewed. Perhaps its best feature is the just appreciation 
 taken of the Spanish character. The next two chapters are chiefly historical. They 
 amount to little if we look upon the work as a study of American character, and as 
 history they reveal little that is new. Mr. Royce takes the view now generally accepted, 
 that Captain Fremont, far from aiding in the acquisition of California by the United 
 States, was a hindrance, but the tortuous pseudo-logical method by which that con- 
 clusion is arrived at, is the weakest part of the book, and, to say the least, is unworthy 
 of emulation as true historical method. 
 
 The author rejects the traditional idea that England was anxious to possess Cal- 
 ifornia, and that Seymour raced with Sloat for the possession, on the ground that he can 
 find no documentary evidence upholding such a theory. He does not claim to have had 
 access to all the papers on the subject, English as well as American, yet he peremptorily 
 overrides the popular tradition and the statements of several parties, noticeably that 
 of General Vallejo, who claims to know of the direct efforts put forth by the Britishers, 
 and of their chagrin at defeat. 
 
 These two matters, Fremont's campaign and the Sloat affair, take up nearly 250 
 pages, which had,, perhaps, as far as the real motive of the book is concerned, as well 
 have been left blank. 
 
 But we now come to chapters which are true, interesting, and in complete accord 
 with the author's own purpose, that the work should reveal American character under 
 
232 THE BERKELEYAN. 
 
 the guise of historical narrative. In relating the struggle for order and self-govern- 
 ment, Mr. Royce is happy and at home; his method is easy, and his appreciation of 
 people and events in the main correct and liberal. 
 
 Nothing could be more pleasing than the semi-philosophical way in which he treats 
 of the "pan and cradle as social agents." He shows the disorder that reigned when 
 the pan was the only means of mining, and how, as the cradle followed the pan, and 
 the " Long Tom " succeeded both, society became necessarily more inter-dependent, 
 responsibilities increased, duties became recognized, and order was evolved out of dis- 
 order. 
 
 Thus we see that wherever Mr. Royce has carried out his own idea as to the gen- 
 eral purpose of the work, he was happy, but wherever he felt that he was filling in a 
 volume of an historical series, he was decidedly infelicitous. 
 
 Those who years ago read the essays of Josiah Royce, the undergraduate and in- 
 structor, in the Berkeley Quarterly, and were delighted with their excellent English, 
 must feel grieved now to notice the disjointed, colloquial style of the Harvard professor. 
 His sentences show too plainly the influence of the rugged and uneven German; indeed, 
 one of the unhappy effects of the present German culture is that many of our best 
 writers are losing the elegance of their English style. 
 
 The history of California in the United States still remains to be written. 
 
 END OF VOLUME XXIIL 
 
1 
 
 ^IlK BEST BLASTING POWDER FOR EAkTU, ROCK OR WOOD, 
 
 CALIFORNIA VIGORIT POWDER CO., 
 
 El). G. LuKENs, Manager. 
 
 40 California .St., San Fr\\'i'is' o. 
 
 T AWN TENNIS 
 
 OR GYMNASIUM SHOES, 
 
 —AT — 
 H. ALEXANDER'S 
 
 Corner 7th and Washington Streets, Oakland. 
 
 for 
 
 $\. 
 
 25 
 
 /^REENHOOD & MORAN, 
 
 CLOTHiERS AND MERCHANT TAILORS, 
 
 GENTS' FURNISHING GOODS, 
 
 UNIVERSITY UNIFORMS, CAPS AND MORTARBOARDS. 
 
 COR. ELEVENTH AND BROADWAY, OAKLAND. 
 
 1 he Leading Pacitic Coa-st Portrait and View 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHER, 
 8 Montgomery St., San Francisco. 
 
 Opposite P.-iI.ace and Grand Hotels. 
 
 ASEBALI. & FOOTBALL SHOES, 
 
 Gymnasium Slippers^ Rnnning Skoes, 
 
 CHAMPLIN & WILLIAMSON, 
 
 T055 Broadway, bti. nth and 12th, Oakland, Cal. 
 Sicv ni THK Big Boot. 
 
 JOHN A. -MC IvINNON. 
 
 B 
 
 ROWN & McKINNON, 
 
 MERCHANT TAILORS, 
 
 1018 Broadway, - Oakland, Cal. 
 
 Between loth and nth Streets. 
 
 ""P LANCASTER. (Successor to J. Lan- 
 L caster & Co., Establislied in i865.) 
 
 — MERCHANT TAILOR, 
 
 No. 531 California Street, 
 Bet. Montgomery and Kearny, San Francisco. 
 
 JLITTOOY, 
 • MERCHANT TAILOR, 
 
 ALL WORK 
 Done Promptly ctnd Neatly 
 
 At Reasonable I^ates. 
 Seventh Stri-el, Between Washington and Clay, 
 Oakland, Cal. 
 
 TVr ORRIS & HARLOW, 
 
 Opposite [Berkeley Station, 
 
 Cigars and Tobacco, Smokers' Goods, 
 Canes, Etc. 
 
 BILLIAKD ROOM ATTACHED. 
 
 DUDLEY C. BROW\ 
 
 J 
 
 OHN TAYLOR & CO. 
 
 IMrORTERS AND DEALERS IN 
 
 Assayers' Materials, Mine and Mill .Sup- 
 plies and Chemical Glassware. 
 112, 114, lib, 118 and no Pine Street, S. F. 
 
 L 
 
 OUIS GREGOIRE & CO., 
 
 Printers and Blank Book Manufacturers^ 
 
 Foreign and Educational Booksellers. 
 Newspapers and Magazines. 
 
 No. 6 Post St., - San Francisc"*. 
 
 Two doors above Montgoin': r\' St. 
 
■ER PIMOS "^ Byron Maiizy,S « *j 
 
 PACIFIC PR5SS 
 ipiibUSillNG HOUSE, 
 
 titb («a!tP&MKt|-tits., t )akland. 
 
 Printeri, Efe^^typers, Slereotypeis, 
 
 Engravers, TJthographen, 
 
 Binders, Etc. 
 
 *^Orclfr< by Mail will re.tive PnHiipi Afli iiii,.ii. 
 Kine lUuslrat'.' Wurk a Specialt> . 
 
 INSTANTANEOUS PHOTOGk AIIIS 
 
 26 Montgomery Street, 
 lake Elevator. San Praiicuco. 
 
 piiRMTURK 
 
 OF Al.l, KINDS, 
 
 fVood Mantels, Carp.is, Paper Sanf^itigs 
 
 CHAS. 1„ TAYLO;:, 
 
 lors Bri>adwa.y, . O^land, iai. 
 
 w 
 
 ILIJAM D'lXKV, 
 
 IMPORTER OF 
 
 .NEW AND RARE BOOKS 
 
 — and Fine Stationery. — 
 631 Market St., - San Francisco 
 
 Under Palace Hotel. 
 
 CODA WATER, 
 Candy, Cigars, Tobacco, Etc. 
 AT H. B. LAMB'S, 
 
 IIOATE ST,, Terminus of Narrow Gauge. 
 Cheapest and Best Place in town. 
 
 s 
 
 I'RIXC AND SUMMER, 1887. 
 
 Our Kereiil Importationsi Kmbr.ice every Correct 
 and Desirable Style 
 
 in WOOLHNS, SUITINtiS, OVER- 
 
 COATrNCJS and TROWSERINGS. 
 
 HRA R Y MA YER. 
 
 109 Suiter Streel. MERCH.\NT TAILOR 
 
 TIVOLI CAFE, 
 1:AKKR\ ,1; KF. ( kl'.AM SALOON. 
 fS tddy Street. ,S,in h'rancisin 
 
 I'he most'-k ;:;m ( "Dli'te Hor-c in tbe City. Laj- 'e 
 
 Parlor lor l.;,rlie.s anil Privale Koorii^ 
 
 for FaTnilies. 
 
 Open all night. 
 
 f. LARSEX, I'lop. 
 
 r\ W. NOKDWEI.I.. 
 
 DRAPER A\D TAILOR, 
 
 218 Bush Street, . San Kiancisco. 
 
 Mercantile Library Ruilding. 
 
 Established iS'xi 
 "Tj'DWARl) DENNV .V CO. 
 
 Sni'l'l.lES FOK 
 
 SURVEYORS, CIVIL ENGINEERS, 
 
 ARCHITECTS, DRAUGHTS 
 
 MEN AND ARTISTS, 
 
 418 Montgomery Street, - San f rani isro. 
 
 Mathematical Instruments and Drawing 
 Materials our Great Specialties. 
 
 tS'Try tnir Ferro Prussiate or Blue 
 Process Paper used for copying tracings. 
 
 CK, CREAM SODA! 
 
 afC/t^ 
 
 JXHZ OPERA 
 
 ICE CREAM ! 
 •^ —FINE 
 
 ^^ corn 
 
 LU.VCffES. 
 
 KOUKTEENTll STREET Adioinini. Post-Oki-icp; OAKLAND, CAl. 
 
PS 309.S6R81 ""'"""'" ''""'^ 
 ,,]j|>e sonnet in America. 
 
 3 1924 022 032 910