LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Shelf ...©A. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. FLIP-FLHP-TRTTOO -OF- DADDY DEyiLTHRESHER'S FLffilL-FLINGS. % , ^^ V ■ nn''J HEW YORK, 1889. > Enterofl acconling tp Act of CoiiL'ress, in the year 18^!', by R. F. J. BOSTELMANN ill the Office of the Libraiiaii of Congress, at '\Vasliiii','tou, D. C. L. BISWURM & CO., PHiKTEnS; i?f & 127 Park Row. N- Y. 4 CONTENTS. Page I'leaiuble ......... 7 Common Tenets of all Chiistiivn (lommunities . . 8 Lord's Prayer ........ 13 Commandments ....... 14 Truth 16 Work 21 Crod 26 Love . . . . . . . , . . 30 Mun 32 Knowledge and Faith 38 Evolution. Realism the base and goal of Materialism and Idealism . . . . . ... 40 Freedom 43 Daisies, Pansies and Heatberbells. Brotherlove 49 My Sanctuary 50 Peace . .51 I'AGK Autumnal Parting 52 Kaiubow ......... 53 Spring ......... 53 Maylily and Daisy 54' Violet 5.1 Broken Ring 55 Good Night 5H To Meet again 57 Huntsman's Farewell 58 My Heart afloat SU Jolly Fiddler 60 Boozer's Precaution . 62 Banner-Guard 63 Brave Old Trooper to his Cloak 64 Thirty Three Maxims in Minims . . . 65—71 Cheer for incipient little Scholar 72 Hobby-Horse 72 English Drummer-Boy 73 Sun of Austerlit z 73 Portsmouth 75 On the Fly-Leaf of Thom!i.s Moore's Irish Melodies . 77 Aunt Betsey 77 Death 79 Lines of Comfort 80 Exile . 80 Farewell 81 Laird Duncan Rosse . 82 Vagk Godfrey 81 (Jradle of EnglancVs Royalty 98 A Memorable Fight . . . • . . . .123 Concerning Strikes 135 Cure of Uncle Sam's Chronic Ailments .... 130 Letters 1-iS The Cruel Mugwump's Campaign-Song 1888 . . 166 Epitaph IBS Nobody will dispnle that the only real blessings o civilization spring from Eeligion and that all the manifold grievances that daily disturb the peaceful enjoyment of civilization's blessings, are the natural consequence of absolute or pretended irreligion. If we sincerely wish to secure oiir own happiness, as well as the happin&ss of all our near and dear ones around us, we have to foster in their hearts the divine inborn germ of religion. Love. Love and religion are one ; without love there is no religion, without religion no love. These two are one like spirit and body, one like thought and speech. Does wealth secure happiness ? Does health secure itV Happiness and welfare cannot be secured without religion. Why, then, disregard, despise and slander religion? Let every man cherish the religious Creed he was born and bred to, as long as he feels that it is the source of his own happiness and the hai^piness of all fellow-beings around him. Of all religious creeds Christianity pure and simple is the only one that is nothing but love and, therefore, has proven to be not only the most jjowerful promoter of civilization, but also the surest means for securing thy own happiness as well as the happiness of every-body else. All the contents of this collection of stray leaves sprang from that conviction, and having been trusty land-marks of my self -education never failed to preserve my equanimity and perfect happiness even under most trying vicissitudes of an eventful though humble life. How coiild I fail to shape my course in the ediacation of my own children by these land-marks, and why should'nt I wish that they may serve the same purpose to others who fain would fortify themselves or their children against the direst trials and miseries of life? Tliere is a God : thus ^iraising round about, The works of Thy (aeation ever shout, And in Thy Holy Scriptures hast Thou, Lord, Eeveal'd to us Thy own pure sacred word. God is a spirit and, through earth and sky, Of all the spirit-beings the most-high. There only is one God, whose unity In trinity reveals itself to thee. Therefore, worshiji, adore and praise alone God Father, Son, and Holy Ghost as one. Coiupaie: Hebrews III, 4.— Romans I, 19, 20.-- John IV, 24.— Psalm CXLV, 3, 10.— Deuteronomy VI, 4.-1 Corinthians VIII, 4.— Matthew XXVIII, 19. By God the universe was made withal. Angels as well as matter's atoms small, God rules supreme and doth preserve the course And very existence of the universe. This government, active without susjtense, We call God's everlasting Providence. Compare: llelrews I, 14.— Genesis 1,1. — Hebrews I, 3. — 1 ChronicloH XXX, 11, 12. In His own image God created man, In God's own image mankind's course began. Into the lifeless form of dust God blew His breath of Life as breathing spirit too. Eternal bliss and immortality Were to be man's by God's loving decree. But man, alas ! was soon beguil'd to sin Against the fountain of bis origin, Thus to forego the joys of innocence, His Eden, for the pangs of Death's dire dens. Alas ! We are, since our tirst parents' fall. Born to be sin's vile slaves and subjects all. Say, who can boast that never he did break The laws that God ordain'd for man's own sake? The sin that thou involuntarily Inheritedst, is multiplied by thee. Though honestly we may strive to commit No sin, we may omit what should be done, And if we evil doings do permit, It's just as sinful as if self-begun. But God's sure punishments will never miss The sinner's future life as well as this. Ci.iiipttiv; Genesis I, J?. 11,7. Ill — 1. Jolin 111, 4, (i.— Koinai.s VII, IS, III, -.(I. rsalm LI, 5.— James IV. 17.— KdiiKius I, IS. Thus man fell into crime and misery — Say, who can save him from sin's drowning sea? Say, who but God's own true-begotten son Can free the slaves of sin ? — and it is done : Behold ! Christ Jesus left His Father's throne And comes to call us brothers of His own; So man as God in veriest union, He liedeems Sin's bonded slaves to liberty. By direst sufferings, yea, by Death's worst pang He frees us from our debt and clears our wrong. Thus for our numberless iniquities He gives His own life as sacrifice ; He lights the dar^iuess of our erring mind By teachings with His spirit's gift combined, 10 And shows, by His example, lis the road To godliness and Eden's lost abode, When we have truly born ourselves anew Into God's image and God's presence too. • onipare: 1 Timothy 1, 15.— Jolin I, 2it.— 2 Corinth. V, Ui.— -lohii Xl! 4(J, and XV, 26, and III, H. The Holy Ghost acts through the powers lent By God's own word, and through the Sacrament As well as through the fate in man's own life. Man's Avill that cannot by itself arrive To godliness, is ripen'd evermost For true repentance by the Holy Ghost. As soon as truly we repent our sin, We surely may God's grace and mercy win, If we believe in Christ, as for His sake Repentant sinners shall forgiveness wake, And thus redeem'd to grace, and justified, Holy and blest behold God's sacred light. Compare: Philipp. II, 13,— Acts III, 19.— Mark 1, 15.— Gnlat. V, 6.- Ephee. II. 8, 9. After our body hath to death declin'd. We're surely for another life destin'd ; Immortal is our spirit that God gave. The body, too, shall once from it's dark grave By Christ be rais'd on that grand day when He Will, for all mankind's judgment, take His see, To separate the wicked from the freed. These He will take into His loving heed Adorn'd with heavenly crown -and those will be Banish 'd into eternal misery. Compare: Ecclesiast. XII, '.—John V, 28, 2!l.— 2 Coriiitli. \', UK- Luke XVI, 2t).— Matthew, XXV, 4«. 11 Litve, true love be the fountain to supply Thy duties toward God, tlie Lord most-high, Towards thyself and towards thy neighbor too. Love to thy Maker gives thee trust that true, Gives reverence, holy fear and the desire By prayers to keep aglow thy heart's pure fire ; Love to thy neighbor makes thee just and true, Meek, lowly, pitiful, tit to pursue The path of real virtues that adorn God's children when in Christ they're newly born. Compare: Matthew XXII, 37. 38, 39.— Psalm XXXVII, 5.— Geuesi.i XXXIX, 9.— 1 Corinth. XIII, 5, (i.— Philipp. II, 3.— Matthew XI, 29.— I Pct-ceiv'd, but must be conceiv'd, brought To Mind by our inliuite sense, by Thought. There's one connecting link betwen our mind Or ivfinile rowceiving sense and our Finite jsfrceiving senses. Thou wilt find Both more or less subject to thy Will-power. Our Will design'd to be their mutual page Too often does as their sole desj^ot rage. 17 To keep the power of Will under control And unrelenting mastery of our mind Should ever be man's all-important goal, Lest he renounce the privilege of his kind. This absolute control and mastery Of f>ur free will we call Morality. With unimpair'd morality alone We can seciire our happiness, that is Our unison with Truth and all its own Creative power and universal bliss. Then we behold the moral world unfurl'd Within the Sijirit-World and Matter's world. Oar human mind's worship of Truth we term lieligion; mind's search after unreveal'd Truth, and mind's contemplation — from its germ To its unbounded scope — of Truth reveal'd : Philosophy. No man should shun the duty To worship Truth and realize its beauty. Conscience we call the eternal tendency Of Mind to constant identification With Truth ; Mind's unimpairable fealty To Truth and to its perfect domination Virtue. Virtue and Honesty are one, Are the only essence qualifying man. Of countless hues we do behold the rays Of sun-like Truth. Virtues are Honesty Ting'd with one of these different displays Of light, children of Truth. Where ever we see Or think to see virtues without this one Main-spring of Virtue, Honesty, — there's none. Ask, and it shall l)e given you ; seek, and ye shall Hud ; knock, and it schall V)« opened unto yoii. Matthew VII. 7. 21 "In the sweat of tliy brow tliou sbalt eat thy bread all the clays of thy life" — this was God's incommutable sentence when man was banished from the Paradise Ihat he had forfeited and recklessly thrown-away for the mere satisfaction of his own free will. From Adam down to the youngest schoolboy of our days we human beings always have looked-up to this stern sentence of the Most-High as to a down-right curse — yea, as to the— next to death — worst curse oppressing mankind. Do not most people call Death, in comparison with the unavoidably ceaseless toil of this sublunar life, the lesser evil? Do not we, at the closing grave of some deceased friend, often devoutly listen to phrases uttered even bj^ men who pretend to be your teachers and only legitimate interpreters for the treasures of super-human wisdom — phrases like these: "Blest is our deceased brother being for ever delivered now from all earthly toil and trouble !" — or, "Death finally has pitied the poor forsaken and wornout pilgrim and has released him from the oppressive toil that by our forefather's sin life is cursed with !" — and any amount of suchlike necrological cant? Does not thus man, in his queer delusion, seem fully to forget that the almighty architect of the universe cannot be culpable of ciu'sing? His justice may compel him to punish — his love, not any less forcibly and unconditionally, compels him to bless — to bless even in and by his punish- ments. Absolute and boundless is not only the great prim- ordial spirit's justice, but likewise his charity and everlasting love. Oh ! Thou eternal Spirit of the Universe, thou canst not cui'se, canst — even where thou art bound to chastise — not curse ; thou canst but bless in all eternity ! And if man think the imaginary toil of this life be a curse, thy curse, all-loving father, he shamefully belies himself. Indeed ! It is not Thy 22 curse— it is the cm-se of his own blind delusion what makes him hate his day's-work as a curse. Just look for once, oh man ! on labor as on a bliss — for that's what in reality labor ever was and will be— and oh! do always teach thy children, too, from their very first days of uncomipted childhood, to look on labor and activity in that light and to call its inevitable necessity a bliss —and thou wilt soon be convinced that of all prejudices which darken the poor earthly pilgrim's path through life, this is the oldest, the widest spread and the deepest rooted, the most foolish de know God. But quite another thing is it to answer the question "Who is thy God?" and this question not only ought distinctlj', exhaustively and conscientiously be an- swered by everj' one of its to himself, but we even should heartily welcome every opportunity, by words and acts to testify "Who our God be". The plain and clear answer to this question "who is thy God?" — and indeed, nothing else— is just what coins every single human being with the stamp of his individuality. Whosoever cowardly shuns to answer this question "Who is thy God?" — though now-a-days the number of such cowards may be found to form an overwhelming majority — he represents among his fellow-men about the same part that among the genuine and lawful coins of civilized nations, would be represented by toy counters, brass-, or tin-tokens, yes, criminal counterfeit imitations which lack ail and eveiy kind of intrinsic value. But him who knows and rejoic- ingly professes his God in all his sayings and doings, — him thou mayest compare to some genuine, sterling gold-coin the nominal value whereof will be indicated by its inscrip- tion and never will be found out of proportion with its in- trinsic value. And dost thou question me, who my God be, I answer "The eternal Arch-power is my God to whom the Universe owes its existence as well as its preservation, my God is the primordial sphit who inhabits every particle of the Universe as its veriest life." Who dares to disavow the existence of such a spirit? Why dost thou deem the existence of such a spirit less com- 27 jirehensible, for instance, than the existence of thy own sjiirit ? Who ever dares to deny the existence of tliis universal prim- ordial spirit, of this eternal arch-power, he likewise denies the existence of his own si^irit. Even blind or deaf and dumb born human beings may find means to get aware of and re- alize the existence of their own spirit and in natiiral se- quence become conscions, too, of the existence of an al- mightj^ and all prevading spirit of the Universe. Here I cannot refrain to remind you of an abuse pre. vailing in all languages, and particularly in the Germanic, caused not ^o much by the phraseology of eminent thinkers as by the preaching of the Clergy and much of the rhyming of the hymn-poets. In using the word "spirit" I could not but mention the nonsentical confusion which with all, even with the better educated classes, for generations has pre- vailed in regard to the meaning and significance of such highly imj^ortant conceptions: as spirit, ghost, soul, mind, heart, reason, intellect, etc. Whenever some enraptured hymn-manufacturer has to rhyme "spirit" to "roll," "hole" or "pole," he unreservedly substitutes the word "soul" for "spirit," and in similar cases of emergency "mind, heart, mood" and many expressions, which all have a distinct and even contradictory definition. Owing to this worse than Babylonian confusion, and to pre- vent being misunderstood or misinterpreted, a definition of the word "spirit" may here not be found out of its proper place. Here, then, the word "spirit" may be understood to signify a being, gifted with self-cousciousnesa and free will, absolutely imcorporeal (bodiless), although revealing itself as substantially independent by power and effect of action and not only distinctly different from matter, but matter's direct antithesis. This definition of the word "spirit" will suffice not only to give us the right conception of the spirit of man, but, likewise, enable us to understand the answer that in the outset was given unto the question "who is thy God?" The eternal primordial power is my God whereto the Universe owes it's existence and preservation; my God is 28 the spirit who inhabits even' particle of the nniverse, as its vital essence — whether we call this spijit God, Lord, Allah, Providence, Father, or Jehovah, or Order, Right and Trtith, or Word. But never call Him chance, for the fool whose sole God is chance, will very soon by chance — by his own god chance- be brought to chance's dire grief. I prefer to ciill my God "Order, Right and Truth," primordial spirit, All-Father and Almighty Architect of the universe. Bat I, really, am not able to understand what kind of a being people may or can conceive, fear, love and worship as Chance. Fools even think they are wise Avben they imagine that they have learnt, in singular occurrences or passing events which either further or check the designs of their selfish- ness, to trace the relation between cause and effect: and for the wise man chance is a phantom or unknown something, because he, generally verj' soon, will apprehend this ever- present relation between cause and effect in most of the events which take place within the limits of his cognizance, and therefore will, even where he fails to disclose this relation at the first glance, nevertheless presuppose it as undispiitably existent. Where the wise man in witnessing remarkable effects traces out their causes, he officiates as investigator, but as prophet where in witnessing remarkable causes he foresees and foretells the effects which eminrieally are sure conse- quences of such causes. A similar relation as the prophet's to the investigator's, is the relation between belief and knowledge. The wisest of men must believe in many a thing that, even he, during his earthly existence, hampered by his material senses, never dare expect to expound and thus to know. Yea, he absolutely must believe in all mal ters the existence whei'eof he is convinced of, even if this existence is able to escape the perception by his sensuous faculties. Must not the fool "believe" in the existence of his own reason when he endeavours to refute the wise man's asser- tion maintaining the actiial existence of man's reason as an undisputable something? If the fool want to argue against the existence of such a thing as reason on the ground that 29 neither be nor anybody else ever bas seen, beard, smelt, tasted or felt sucb a tbing as reason, be by bis lack of sound judgment quite overlooks that even he himself by this vei-y argument proves the existence of reason, because to prove bis antithesis he must -even unconsciously — use syllogisms that, seemingly at least, are founded on and consistent with reason; and this would be impossible without the existence of Reason. Just his being, by his own powers of reason — though weak they are - seemingly enabled to demonstrate the non- existence of said powers of reason, he himself, just by his own "smart" demonstration, renders the most decisive proof "ad oculos" of their existence even in a fool. And just so, the Atbei&t, perhaps, may with the fool's dialectical dexterity not less vaingloriously think to prove the non-existence of God, when he demonstrates that for him there is no God existent. He never will be able to prove that there is no Order in Nature, no eternal Eight and Truth in the life of man and the march of History. And the supreme rule of these eternally immutable Three, the rule of Order, Eight and Truth is one rule, is the rule of God, is God's everlasting work. All of us witness this perpetual rule in the imiverse and we call it, according to the object it reveals itself by, in nature Order, in the human life and in the history of man- kind Eight and Truth. We, therefore, have to acknowledge the existence of His rule and kingdom and, nevertheless, would try to deny His own existence, the existence of a most-high God and Master, the existence of an eternal arch- spirit, of an omnipotent and omnipresent Architect of the Universe? Who would be able to do it? Thus I rejoicingly profess: Order, Eight and Truth are One and the identifying manifestation of this vei'itable omni- potent Architect and Conservator of the Universe, are to me like my God, until I shall be convinced of some better truth when once I shall be given more — perbajis full light. "There is a God!" Thus shout for evermore the count- less creations of his activity throughout the universe. The traces of his rule cannot but be acknowledged by us wherever 30 our eye scarchingly may turn, (rod is a spirit, and God is of all spirits the sole fountain, the supreme master, the most-high. Riglit, Truth and Order, you are one — you are one vdth the All-Spirit, you iire God in all eternity! And as Wisdom always is tracing Truth, and as true Strength always is foun- ded on and leading to Right, and as Order alone reveals us real Beauty — thus Wisdom, Strenght and Beauty — these sacred principles of our masonic work are the very means for the right ends and surely and safely will lead us on with the purest light of clear knowledge to the most-high Master, the Spirit of Order, Right and Truth. The contemplation of the life, strife and teaching of two god-sent heroes serve us as the principal rules in the erection of that grand temple the area whereof will, ui)on the day of fulfilment, fraternally embrace the large common heai-tof all mankind and whose towering apex with it's keystone will reach-up into the father-heart of the eternal primordial Spirit and All-Being, into the ever-loving heart of the supreme Architect of the Universe. The great admonisher to repentance, John the Baptist, shows us the keen line of discipline and righteousness of conduct, in stern austerity never so little relenting against ourselves and against— not our brother, but our brother's acts. John, the Evangelist, the Apostle of Love, unfolds to us the other, none the less, keen rule, the rule of enlighten- ing revelation and of love. St. John, the Evangelist's theorj' does not disagree with a single one of all the different philo- sophical systems. In St. John's doctrine thou wilt find, in- deed, the reconciliation, solution and fulfilment of the seemingly most irreconcilable doctrines of all prominent thinkers. St. John's revelation of God as the primordial sijirit, as the one great raler of the universe, is for all man- kind the true revelation and the veriest Gospel. His love is such a truly genuine ray of the One central sun which by its mildly fostering warmth gives universal life — that even the debility of the poor old nonagenarian, yea, even the grave 31 itself conld not extinguish it; hislast words were: "Children, love one another!" The tiue key to St. Johns doctrine consists in the words which form the beginning of his Gospel: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made by him, and without him was not anything made that was made." The expression "Word" in the ti'anslation renders the Greek original's expression ^' Logos", and just as the ger- manic expression "word" in its etymological relation has the same root with the expression "Order", just so order is like- wise the most essential and principal meaning of the Greek expression "Logos". If this definition of the expression '"Logos" be considered correct, St. John's above introduc- tion to his Gospel would read: "In the beginning were Order, Right and Truth, and Order, Eight and Truth were with God, and Order, Right and Truth are God. All things were made by Order, Eight and Truth, and without Order, Right and Truth was not anything made that was made. " St. John's sentence thus clearly and plainly says: "God was Order, Eight and Truth" — yea, Order, Right and Truth were the primordial spirit of the universe, are still to-day the same, and will be the same for ever and ever. And thus by this quintessence of St. John's veriest doctrine we directly arrive at his revelation of God as the Almighty Architect of the Universe, the eternal primordial Spnit, whose bodily rayment we daily afresh admire in the immen- surable compass of the World. And is the existence of such an All-Spirit really incom- prehensible to thee.'' Thou doest not contest the existence of a spirit in every living human body, and when a human being died, thou ownest that, then, spirit and matter be separated — well, all the Universe is likewise matter, likewise a body the perpetual vital activity whereof is unmistakably manifest at the slightest glance — and this huge body of mat- ter should live without being, like ourselves, the habitation of a spirit? No, just as the body of man, of individual man, is a mi- croscopic image of the universe — just so, even if likewise 32 on (liminutivelj- reduced scale, man's spirit presumably cannot but be an image of that primordial spirit who, be- yond all reasonable doubts, as vivifying agens inhabits and pervades every atom of the dead matter of the universe. And besides the recognition of this primordial spirit as Order, Eight and Truth we owe to St. John the aublimest example, to him all of whose long life was nothing but pure love even with its last feeble gasp breathed love. To him, and verily, we owe our grandest example, as for our ma- sonic endeavors, too, Virtue's victory and the ennobling establishment of a general brotherhood among men is the final aim and goal. Oh ! If St. John's last words only would be re-echoed by every human heart ! "Children, love one another !" With- out this love life is desolate and dreary, our doings vain — without love mankind would ever lack the first condition and fundamentary base of its very existence. Therefore, may we, every-one, acknowledge every fellow-man as brother; strive to further the brother's weal. Nobody may seek to serve exclusively his own interest, neither in regard to honor and influence, nor in regard to wealth and afflu- ence, nor in regard to stubbornly upholding his opinions and individual views. True brotherlove does not know anything like selfish- ness, if even of the slightest shade, and he only whose heart is replete with true love, is able to do his share of work in the erection of the invisible temple of Virtue, our true Sanctuary for Order, Eight and Truth. Henceforth, then, let us banish all emotions of selfish- ness from our hearts, let us adopt as rule this, St. John's, grand bequest, let us like brothers share in the treasure he left us, in his jjarting salutation and farewell from the very brinks of life: "Children, love one another !" From all the rest of Creation, man whom the ancient thinkers of dark ages already acknowledged to be its bloom and pinnacle, is perhaps by nothing distinguished more clearly and unmistakably than by the free will which from 33 the first dawn of his individual existence by every man is owned as bis inalienable innate inheritance. This free will of the individual man is the sole genitor of his power of contradiction; this power of contradiction develops into propensity to contradiction and generates in further evolution Scepticism and Criticism. The endlessness of the universe in regard to space and time, however incomprehensilile the thought of infinity in itself may be considered to be, cannot be doi;bted. The in- finite endlessness of the universe, nevertheless, is easily proven and still never to be comprehended To the Sceptic the endlessness of the universe is no doubt the hardest nut to crack, because he refuses to beluve, but merely wants to knon\ and therefore, as he pretends, merely doubts for the purposes of his knowledge. But the Scepticism of these lamentable martyrs of their own insatiable desire for knowl- edge is not less infinite than all the universe itself too, and the wider extent be given to their knowledge by their end- less doubting, the more importunate grows their conviction that, in proi:)ortion to matters they do not yet know any- thing about, all their acquired knowledge still amounts to a mere pittance, and thus their doubts must increase at the same ratio with the increase of their knowledge. The absolute endlessness of doubt is not less settled than the endlessness of the universe. We are able to prove both, but we can neither cure, nor even comprehend them — yea, we must own that we are fully aware of their endless- ness, but still would not be able to believe in it. If thus we know matters that we are not able to comprehend, but on the other hand comprehend matters that we never shall be able to know, how much more fully are we entitled, nay, in duty bound, to believe in matters that we must own to com- prehend though we for ever be unable to know them. Our knowledge is limited and hemmed in by certain precise and unsurmountable barriers, but not so oiir belief. Our belief is endless — as much so as our scepticism. There- fore we must drop as hopeless all endeavors to conquer by knowledge, a finite, limited power, our scepticism which is an endless unlimited power. On the contrary, we are sure 34 that belief will always suecessfnlly battle against scepticism, because both are endless alike; and under the presupposition thatbelief and scepticism as two endless powers must be equal to each other in intensity, both must counterbalance and annihilate each other on account of the one being positive and the other negative in their muttial relation. Now then, the annihilation of doubt being the sole mpletely than concisely been condensed into those few plain words of our : "Love thy God above all and thy neighbor as thyself." Oh ! This short sentence, surely, is something superior than the laws given by some philosopher or founder of a new religious Creed ; this sublime word is pure natural law, and if the individual only lacked the freedom of will, there would be no necessity 37 for this law of laws, man would act according to its behest unconsciously and spontaneously. Therefore, the conquering of our own free will is to be recognized as our principal task and first duty. And to such a perfect mastering of our own free will we exclusively can owe it, if we feel ourselves to be in closest unison with all other individuals of the human race and not less with the pHniordial arch-spirit, too. The perfect onehood of the single man with the arch-sj^irit as well as with all other in- dividuals is the state of perfect innocence, righteousness and felicity wjiich has been promised us as God's kingdom by the founders of Christianity and which we have to strive to attain-at and, by more or less perfect mastership over our free will shall more or less successfully acquire. Man is a spirit emanated from the i^rimordial arch- spirit, diffused into the numberless individuals formed of matter, but gifted with free will and self-consciousness, finally going home to the arch-spirit and merging into one- ness with him. Wfio dares to disown that the most manifest analogy exists between the matter forming the universe and the ubiquitous arch-spirit living in it, on the one hand — and on the other hand, man's body which likewise by chemical analysis is }Droven to consist of all the same elements of matter that form the universe, and the spirit that lives in this body, too ? Oh ! This marvelous and unmistakable co-incidence entitles, yea, compels us to the belief that such must needs be the true task as well as the final destiny of man : to strive for and to acquire the re-instatement of his unison with the arch-spirit by conquering his free will. And as this final goal of all the human race, likewise, forms the cardinal point of our masonic work, we freely and joyfully may profess that everj' true man is a true brother mazon, and every true brother mazon a true man, too, and that our royal craft, mazonrj', this perfect ashlar which mere wicked hatred only attempts to repudiate and throw aside, shall and will be the true corner-stone, the one very rock of wisdom. 38 In the satisfaction of your Lunger for knowledge j'ou seek your salvation, and you refuse to take notice of and discuss, yea, you even flatly repudiate everything l)ut what you expect to be able to know? Then, of course, you cut-off and, from the very outset, cut-ott' yoiu'selves all possibility of an interchange of thoughts. Has not Socrates already, have not, since his times, quite a respectable cohort of prominent men who for their wisdom are praised by all generations as heroes of thought — have they not ever been prone to profess that, surely, the only thing they really knew was the truth that they actually knew nothing and even could not expect ever to know any- thing? Decidedly, every single one of the many cases where by your own experience yoii must have been taught, how soon and how easily convictions that for ages had been adhered- to and believed in as unimpeachable truths, have often ex- ploded as prejudices and bare delusious — every one of these single cases ought to have served yoii as satisfactory proof that this renowned and often by fools sneered at declaration of Socrates about the absolute nullity of all human knowl- edge was, surely, not a mere dialectic pun or amusing para- doxon, but in reality the only true starting point of wis- dom — wisdom's beginning. For, who would be able to vouch-for and warrant thee that all what but yesterday thou feltest perfectl}' sure to know, to-day — yea, this very miniate, perhaps, may not all of a sudden reveal itself to thee as pre- judice and counterfeit or superstition? It has quite unmistakably by experience been proven that it never can be man's task to seek his happiness ex- clusively in knowledge, for knowledge will— even if, like Titans, it could tower Mount Ossa on Mount Pelion — never be able to succeed in upsetting the Moimt Olympos "Truth." Do not i^resume that on this account I boldly want to abrogate all man's perfect title to his truly innate and ever- owned hunger for knowledge, so to do I did not foster the shadow of a thought. What I take leave to blame and to contend against is not man's hunger for knowledge this truest foster-mother • 39 ami faithful nurse of Civilization, but is the delusion that this hunger for knowledge, here on earth already, ever could attain its end ; is the stubborn and blind rage of fanatical intolerance which prompts all — isms, and Materialism particularly, ever to attack the just title of belief and faith, although all its own claimed imaginary knowl- edge, if anything, at the bettom is nothing but belief and almost always mere delusion and superstition only. The only thing we are able to know with absolute cer- tainty is this: that we do not and can not know anything, and all other knowledge that goes beyond this only one, is for as long as it lasts, nevertheless, nothing but belief and will be ridiculed and set aside as mere delusion, as soon as it ceases to hold jDroof or at least, as soon as it has been superseded by newer or more powerful would-be knowl- edge. And thou whose whole knowledge, for the most, is mere belief only— thoii darest to claim and declare that thou couldst do without any belief— darest to preach and tyran- nically pretendest that belief ought to be butchered uj^on the altar of civilization and progress as the first and most indispensible with sacritice? Oh ! Thou unblest fellow who puttest on the airs of being the sole hereditary lease-holder of all Misdom— thou appearest as sacrileging the holiest sanctuary of humanity, the shrine of true civilization, the eternal throne of the most-high Master Order, Eight and Truth. For if ever thoxi shouldst succeed to unroot and put-out mankind's belief, to rob man of his Faith, whilst hoodwinked and longing for light in his wretchedness he straggles towards the eternal East — to rob him of his Faith, this his first leading-star — thou, at the same time, wouldst darken and cause to set for ever the other two sister-stars of Faith — Love and Hope with their showers of bliss. And "what all this ado for" thou sneeringly askest me — it is merely for and on account of thy hunting for antitheses where there are none, on account of thy own boldly creating artificial contrasts as game which thou huntest in vain for as there are no real ones. Either thou — as before 40 we linve seen and slio\vn-up as an illusory experiment — en- listest thy knowledge as n contrast against doubt or thou triest to enlist thy knowledge as the contrast against belief, though thou never canst disjjrove that thy nuich boasted-of knowledge either is mere mistake and vain illusion or, for the best, nothing but sheer belief which, thus and then, would have to be its own antithesis. A brisk activity to' satisfy the desire for knowledge will never hurt the true belief and faith, but absolutely can merely foster, invigorate, purify and ennoble them. And just on that account, in brotherly love, I would like to take and heartily shake the hand of every man whose honest energies tend to satisfy the desire for knowledge. And though some of these workers perhaps imagine that they battle against belief and faith as the dreaded arch-fiends of all progress, I plainly conceive that, surely, from every victory they maj' boast-of, not only new blossoms for my faith spring forth, but for themselves, too, a step is won towards the great day's final dawn, when they, too, will perceive and acknowledge that all their true knowledge is mere belief and faith and that they have, themselves, contributed to settle faith from whose hated tyranny they strove to free mankind, on its glorious throne that boldly withstands all shocks and radiantly shines forth in its iinshakable surety of final victory. Wouldst thou deem it to be as little fair as cheap to ridicule and sneer-at systems which we owe to the sagacity and life-long perseverance of eminent thinkers and success- ful investigators? Wouldst thou feel inclined to blame me for the boldness not fully to chime-in with the boundless applause that welcomed the gospel of the modern worshiji- pers of Nature : the monkey-theory of their great apostle Darwin, if I, without reserve, dared to contend point blank: •'Man is neither Plato's callow biped, nor ought man to be counterfeited into a nephew or even son of Jack-an-Apes" ? I too, joyfully admire the great investigator's merits which mankind clearly owes him for his having proven, in 41 a poiDiilar und easily to be imdersioocl way, the tnitli of the theory of Evolution which, ninny years before, by Kant and some other German philosophers always had bravely been battled-for. Darwin has the undispvitable merit that he made this theory < that you precede In Spring-time every floweret In garden, wold and mead V It is because I'm but so small, That I with May-day nigh — If crowded by the flowers all, You'ld, siirely, pass me by. The broken Ring-. The busy mill is turning Its wheel in its cool ground — My love without returning Has left and can't be found. She once vow'd love — as token She gave this ring to me — The tiny ring is broken, Her vows has broken she. I'd wish to spur my catch-fire Steed to hot battle-showr's, To camp around the watch-tire In dreary midnight-hoiars. A harp I'd like to borrow And through the wide world roam, And sing my lay of sorrow Wand'ring from home to home. When I some wheel hear plying My sore heart feels oppress'd. I wish that I were dying. Then all woiiid be at rest. (VolksHed.) 56 To meet a»:aiii. It is ordain'd in God's decree, That from our most beloved we Must part; Although there's nothing half so sad As those dire moments when we had To part. Was some j'oung rose-bud given thee, Thou putt'st in water it to see It grow; And does it to a full-blown rose Develop — soon it fading goes To woe ! And has God granted thee thy love. And does thj' god-sent love well prove Thy own; It won't be long and she'll be gone, And sighing thou art left alone To moan. But then let hope soothe thy sore heart. For, always when two lovers part They say, we part to meet again, To meet again ! (Feuchtersleben. ) 67 GOOD-XIGHT. Ovrod-night, fiirewell, my love, to thee ! A thousand times good-uight ! How Lave I e'er through grief and glee Remember 'd thy fair sight, Thou'rt far, but still thou art mv dream. My star in night's dark shade That sparkles from wild clouds' black seam Ev love and sorrow spread. Of thee there's nothing left to me But this pure ray alone, And should I ne'er again meet thee — Thy image still I own, I see thy true heart in thine eyes Like Heaven's hue in the sea — Good-night, farewell, my only price ! My heart remains with thee. (W. Miiller.) Hunt Lilian's Fare^vel I . Who has, oh ! ye forest-bow'i-s Built you high upon the hill there V Well we praise the Master B\iilder, While our voice its accents show'rs: "Fare ye well, oh forest-bow'rs !" Low the world's confusion cow'rs. On the hill-top deer are starting. And we sound the bugle parting That we waken Echo's i^ow'rs: ' 'Fare ye well, oh f orest-bow'rs ! From our vows in forest-bow'i-s Nothing outside e'er shall move us — Ever true the old ones prove us. Till aloft the last lay show'rs: "Fare ye well, oh forest-bow'rs — "Father, bless our forest-bow'rs !" (Eichendort.) 59 my heart afloat. When the green reeds ■whisper, When the waves curl crisper, M'hen my heart is cast fi-ee And from the bosom's quiet pillow Flees to the rollicking biilow, Diving in joy's and woe's deep sea. Fisher-maid, when gone Boating, don't steer alone Out t^tiii of Austerlitz. The dauntless conqueror halts upon steep hill, Hi.s marble visage pale and motionless Does stare, as though with his keen eye he will, Piercing through clouds and smoke, secure success. Does he rely on Fortune's constancy, Tii-day where he is battling two Cjesars By grace of God — self-made third Csesar, he Who fram'd his empire on the luck of wars? 74 He star's— an fiid-cIe-Ccamp gcalloping niglis- And sbouts : "The day is yours !" — A sian-bnrst spSts The clouds of smoke and dust and verifies The news - "JJehold the sixn of Austerhtz?" BoTindless vhite phain all over — saT)le dwells Night's wing on it, more sable almost rest On it the legions of the West like Hell's- Dark army : Moscow's ill-received guest. Down-cast they were; how- could they fail to long For their own sunny home's with-holden share V From many an eye, once sprightly beaming, spi-ang The ghastly ice-cold glare now of despair. Though morning scarcely dawns, their Emperoi' Already nighs, and as blood-red now flits The sun's first ray, salntes the young day-star With his : "Behold our sun of Ansterlitz !" On vock-bonnd clifii in Ocean's desert realm With folded arms behold Napoleon — But lately ruler of Europa's helm Now captive, powerless, all but undone. Britannia, sacrileged Liberty's Ready avenger, grasp'd the fallen star And wafted -^ to secure the dear-bought peace — Into the sea its glowing embers fax. Behold the captive ! Towards the setting suu He lifts his eagle-eyes' care-drooping lids. Then knits his brows and with the evening-gun Inwardly groans : "Gone, sun of Austerlitz!" 75 PORTSMOtTH. If thou wilt fnllj' realize the power Of the island Kingdom in its veriest splendors, Go doM'n to Portsmouth— nowhere see we tower Its wonders' rivals, nowhere such defenders As Albion's proud wooden walls, and nowhere Such armameiits and stores and busy tenders. Sciircelj arrived thou triest in vain to go where Thou lik'ot, for crowds of blue-ey'd boys surrounding Thj' path. All tender boats and boast to show where A stranger ought to look for with astounding Sensation, they know best. And thus politely They lift their bats from brawny fronts abounding In golden curls, and modestly though sprightly Ask: *'Boat, sirV" till at last thou hast selected Yonder blue-jacket who blush'd up so brightly As if afraid, lest he might be neglected For lack of impudence. Thou foUowst musing The lad down to his boat that soon projected By his bold oar-strokes, merrily is cruising Through lines of giant-hulks, the veriest trophies Of England's Navy. His bold talk excusing Thy artless guide relates— though sometimes rough he's In scoffing foes — his vivid tales of battles Where they were taken, that with philosophy's Deceits thou dreamst to hear the thund'riug rattles Of full broadsides — splinters of oak, their sequel, Crash all around — then he winds up his jirattles: "Behold the Victory !" Where is her equal? Ascend the ladder there and moirnt saluting The quarter-deck whence once to Valor's peak well Nelson as leader drew — once more disputing The sea's supremacy — his boys to glory. This sombre plank here was the hero's footing Whereon he fell, when bold and jjeremptory He fann'd into wild flames their glowing valor, When, lo ! his seadogs saw their idol's gory 76 Frame droop, his face enwrapp'd in deadly pallor: But still they heard his voice its cheers renewing. For Victory, his faithful bride, now shall her Nuptials pi-epare to crown his ardent wooing And celebrate her groom's day on the ocean With thund'ring music and unrival'd doinjj;. Tears till thy eyes, thy heart throbs with euiotiou — Thou follows-t some old pensioner descending The hatchways, and witho\it much heed or notion At once thou'rt left in darkess —there's no wending Thy way for safe return— darkness comijlete, oh I Darkness all over, darkness nowhere ending — When, lo ! All of a sudden does thee gieet, oh I — Is it reality or art thou dreaming ? — A radiant apparition — dire to meet, oh !— The hero's own indubitably seeming Himself. It's him: so says the scintillation Of stars that from his breast their rays ai-e beaming: It's him . says his left eye's black decoration — 'T is him : too, says his left sleeve's empty flying. The cherish'd hero of the proudest nation ! Speechless at first thou starest — then applying At last for explanation, just as sudden As it appear' d — it's gone — despite thy pr* ing Gone — vanish'd and in endless darkness hidden. But hark ! What yonder stern voice is proclaiming: "Stranger, the sacred planks that thou hast trodden Once were the hallow'd death-bed where his flaming Dear patriot-heart its last faint sighs was spending. Look ! Here did rest his head, this bare wood-framing Did bear his maimed form, here he was ending His hero-life, so wave-as battle-braving, And, thus, thou surely sawst himself ascending. In favor of a Nelson Death is waiving His claims !" Then, in the breadbin's twilight risk it — A boy vrill modestly relieve thy craving 77 For a memorial, by some navy-biscuit. Hand him a "Bob" or two, and no more bother — Retinu'd on deck, don't miss the place where brisk it Adorns the wheel of this brave vessel's rvidder, What every sailor calls the top of beauty, Nelson's last signal: "Old England, our mother, Experts that every man will do his duty ! IMPROMPTU on the fly-leaf of a Copy of Thomas Mooi'e*^ Irish ]?leloc1ies. Of all the pearls from Fancy's blissful shore. Of all the gems in Music's sacred shrine Is none whose splendor I admire like thine Nor whose pure charms I equally adore; Of all the magic lays of ancient lore And all the intoxicating si^arkling wine Of modern Poetry's luxuriant line Is none that ever I could relish more. Than thy sweet numbers that like home's dear chimes Peal over Memory's waves their accords pure, And with the record of oiar own fresh times Do Melancholy's darkest sorrows cure — Than those gay, tender, radiant, thrilling rhymes Of thj' true heart and harp, oh Thomas Moore ! AUNT BETSY. Aunt Betsy, once, in brown curls was Of lovely beauty and so blithe; Now, since her sunny youth did pass, She's snowy white. 78 All young ones are great pets M'itli annt And ever try, at dusk, to scale Up to her lap to make her grant A fairy-tale. Her basket always yields some sweets And charming toy-things from the fair, And all the little wee world meets Around her chair. At night-time she makes them repair To bed and tells them of Bo-Peep. Aunt Betsy's 'round them here and there Until they sleep. And has Aunt Betsy left for town, All children soon seem doom'd to gloom. But, sure, ere long their cheers will own: "Aunt has come home !" Once Auntie had a husband, yes, A bold sea-captain, kind and brave. He found his rest, as you may guess. In waterj' grave. An only son with curls like gold And cheeks like roses cheer'd her still. He, too, was drown'd, as I was told. Near neighbor's mill. Aunt Betsy, once, in brown curls was iSo lovely beauteous and so gay — Then, long before her youth did pass. She has turn'd gray. But still all children are her cheer. Whereever one is born, or where Death overtook some little dear — Aunt Betsy's near. (F. Weber.) 79 DEATH. Life bore her joys and woes as well, She never was known to fret. Although she was past ninety — still Her frame was nimble yet. Yestre'en she took her iisnal stroll Through garden-beds and bowers And brought her son a fragrant toll Collected from sweet flowers. After her supper to her bed Retiring down she lay. The dewy morning found her dead With day's first sunny ray. That ray stole o'er her peaceful face And left its roses there. Death, I should think, is in such ways Of gloom and terror bare. Death, like the sun, with roses came To conquer night's dark sway. Slipp'd through the bliuds and struck his aim Where Mother slumbering lay. Death, smiling like the young daj^ came From Heav'ns bright canopies, And Mothei-, too, lies all the same Smiling in joy and peace. (F. Weber.) 80 Lines of CoiiifoH. Defith ! — What is death ? — A sleep, And happy who lays down to it. From all that made us wail and weep We find our rest in this last sleep — Thus happy who lays down to it. What brings this sleep us ? — Rest. Oh ! Happy who this rest has found. Who shuts his eyes cheerfixl and blest Is safe from trouble in this rest — Thiis happy who this rest has found. Who will arouse us? — God. Oh ! Blest whose eyes shall see the Lord. For he is safe from care's dark flood Who is awaken'd to hail God — Thus blest whose eyes shall see our Lord. EXILE. Who lonesome roams through foreign lands Longing for his sweet home in vain, His merciless dark fate it is, Affliction's bitterest cup to drain. Though welcom'd by the sunniest days And many a dewy moon-lit night — Far from his home he does not feel The moon's sweet charms, the sun's gay light. What whilom did engage his mind — The landmarks of times long gone by, Of glory, science, and of art The Monuments raise but a sigh. And even of the living tribes The busy din can't make him feel Cheerful , with jealousy he scorns The grounds where strangers' revels peal. 81 He won't be cheer'd by forest-bowers Nor fields adorn'd by lavish May, Hope's veriest emblem, meadows' green For him seems chang'd to sorrow's gray. The memory even of past bliss Will resignation's sigh but start — His only consolation is To soothe some other jjining heart. FARE^VELL. So fare ye well, oh ! Children dear, If we shan't meet again In this frail life so poor in cheer And love, so rich in pain. Once this world was a paradise, Till selfishness arose To smother brotherlove in lies- Then bliss was turn'd to woes. But love, and ye'll charm homeward yet The paradise that's gone. Love is the only way to get It back — the only one. Therefore, love one another warm And love God's Universe. On true love's rock shall wrong and harm, Envy and hate disperse. And does this world's covetuousness From you withhold her prize. You are the richest nevertheless-r- Yours is God's paradise. 82 Laird Duncan Rosse. Laird Dtincan Kosse A bold knight was Kenown'd for manly bravery, Loyal and true And pions, too, Devoid of tricks or knavery. Whenever he rode From his abode Or homeward to his craig did trot. He always passed A grave-yard vast A spectre-hunted dinmal spot. In days of yore On yonder moor They burnt the corpses of their squires. Before some Saint Had built that quaint Old chapel there with its blunt spires. Then all around In sacred gionnd They buried all their ancestry As well as all Who once did fall In battles fought around this see. So you may vow, There was some row Of spectres, goblins, ghosts and ghouls- But our brave Laird Was ne'er too-much scar'd To say his pray'rs for their poor souls. sa E'en when mid-night With moon-light bright Shed its queer lustre o'er the place, He would not shun To ride straight on And halt within to say his grace. When thiis he had Once done, a squad Of traitors who had lain in wait For him to pass, Sprang from the grass And pounc'd upon him at the gate. Then on his mare He shouts his pray'r. The **De profundis" Psalm — and lo ! From every mound All o'er the ground Ghosts of "the Deep" oppose his foe. Giants of old In bear-skin-fold With clumsy club and javelin sharp, And warriors grey, Mail'd cap-a-pie, And Minstrels, too, with sword and harp. And left and right Were put to flight Laird Duncan's foes, forever scar'd. And ne'er again Did hostile men Attempt to waylay our brave Laird. 84 GODFREY. Of torch and bonfire beaming The imperial castle on the Rhine, Resounds of Music's gayest strains, Of songs and games 'mid flowing wine. All vassals of the re.alm were Assembled by King Conrad's call. To celebrate Avith royal pomp His daughter's wedding festival. Blandly they were invited The Primate's high-mass to attend And to enjoy banquet and l)all As well as tilt and tournament. And what does sparkle yonder ■ ' Emerging from the wolds of pine Gilt by the brightest sunset-flash? 'T is with his clan Count Falkenstein. And at his left in knightly Array a gallant youth does ride A tierj^ steed of Arab blood : Ulric, his noble father's pride. He yearns to show his mettle, He yearns to earn at tilt and joust His knighting from the Emperor By his own sacred hand's sword-thrust. 85 He dreams of fierce encounters, He dreams of nothing but success. His father's loving glances tell : He does approve his boy's bold guess. The youth quests from his parent What knighthoods sacred duties were. His sire instructs him willingly Though not without some hidden care. The boy's dreams roam through Future's Bland prospects, but the graver man's Thoughts turn to memories of the Past With all its ne'er accomplish'd plans. II. A blast of trumi^ets opens The lists. We see, with arms at rest, Enter of Christian Chivalry's Chieftains the proudest and the best. The gracious Emperor beckons, The King of arms does call the name Of ev'ry stalwart knight who sought To win the Champion's prize and fame. He shakes the golden beaker And draws the lots, and lo ! what sight. With many a clash and thundering blow. This fight like lightning flashes bright. And when at last the storm ends. The ground is clear'd and put to rights For fresh prize-tilts between young squires Aspii-ing to be dubbed knights. 86 Of all the brave young fellows Not one could Ulric's prospects harm— They, all, were sent into the dust By Ulric's lance and nervy arm. Now, when his last opponent Succumbs before young Ulric's lance, The Emperor from his throne proclaims His well-won championship at once. And graciously he beckons For the young victor to draw-nigh— He draws his blade already — now, Thou brave young champion, thither fly ! Alack ! While he's dismounting His frenzied steed does rise and throw Head-foremost him aground, and turn'd Were all his bland bright hopes to woe. His clanking mail did sound him His death-knell. In its beauty lies His lifeless form to fade-away — For ever Death has dimm'd these eyes. III. Since her liege-lord and son were Gone to attend their sovereign's court, Of countess Agnes jjleasures was For once the better part cut short. To while-away her lonesome Long days, she plies with thread of gold Her needle on a bandoleer Of velvet for her darling bold. 87 And after she to-day had Finish'd her lonesome dinner, she Does try from dreariness and care To dream-land's blissful shores to flee. So when in soothing slumbers At last she lay, her loving mind Was for its cares rewarded soon By visions of most wondrous kind. In all the throng of courtiers She saw no manly cavalier Who would outshine in honor and In beauty fair her darling dear. How modestly he's kneeling Before his sovereign's holy might, And now the Emperor-King does lift His sacred blade to dub him knight- Hark ! Suddenly from dream-land Her trusty maid does call her home : "Hark, noble mistress, hark ! I hear The watch-man's bugle from the dome." "From his look-out he's sounding The signal all rejoice to hear ; He must have seen them where the road Does to the river-ford draw near." " "And can it be," " the lady Exclaims, ""that they so soon may bring Our joys back? Hasten and prepare For their reception everything !" " " "And don't forget to air well Their rooms and decorate the hall. And season well with spice their baths, And place fresh dressing gowns withal !" " 88 IV. On carpet of black velvet Witbin tbe cbapel's cboir a dais Of black broad-cloth and crape has been Erected at the altar's base. Within its dim enclosure Yoii see two coffins — he whose all Lies here enshrin'd, does kneeling hide His wesping eyes into the pall. The loss of its sole treasure Did break the mother-heart, and oh ! Count Baldwin, what m all this world Will ever heal or soothe thy woe? W^ith one fell stroke Death shatter'd All joys of thy declining day; Will ever be thy path through life Ilhimin'd by one sunny ray ? Hadst thou foreseen what burden By Heav'ns decree woiald be laid on — Thou, hardly, unforgiving wouldst Have cast adrift thy elder son. Thyself, thou hast exil'd from Thy heart and hearth thy first-born boy- Who has turn'd back on thee thy curse Wherewith thou bad'st Godfrey to fly ? Thou hast accurs'd him, thou hast Banish'd from home thy lawfnl heir To wilderness — and wilderness , Star's in thy face now everywhere. 89 "Almighty God, forgive me My l)ase iniquity and change A cruel father's curse for him To Heav'n's pure bliss of boundless range. " ^'I did not dream that, when I JVLide Godfrey as an exile roam, 1 should exile with him as well Thy heav'nly peace from this wreck'd home. ' "Forgive my sins, God Father! 8usi.)end a rueful sinner's doom. Till as a penitent he kneel A pilgrim at Christ's holy tomb." V. When with the rising sun's ray I go to work in field or mead The sky-lark's carols warble : "Work Is man's most sacred bliss indeed." Whose arm is strong, whose hand is Industrious, he will succeeJways tenders Sweet recreation though it need Pick-axe and piUning-knife, yet : "Work Is man's most sacred bliss indeed." Do I but think how soon my , Dear ones at home shall press and bleeil The jiiicy grapes I vow that : "Work Is man's most sacred bliss indeed.": Now sunset lights me homeward Within our nest to scatter seed Of love, and praise the Lord that "Work Is man's most sacred bliss indeed.". VI. "Come, Agnes, let to day us Go for the fragrant strawberries 'That round our Lady's holy shrine Abound beneath the sheltering trees. 91 *' '"I faiu would, brother Ulrip, • pinings last. V. What do the loud rejoicings, What do the gay cheers mean That do redound from hill-tops And from the meadows green V Proud England's Queen is coming. For once, to visit Wales; And old and yoiing folks welcome Her there from hills and dales. 114 Who plann'fl snch bold adventure-. Who dar'd lo counsel her To visit her new subjects Who scarcely conquer'd were? Soon after her first child-birth Her King in Death reclin'd. So tender love she bore him — She wept her bright eyes V)}ind. And when all science failed To save her sight, some wise Old monk conimends the foxintain In Wales, to cure her eyes. She hardly heard such tidings When she with fervent mood Vow'd that her court should joumey Towards Oswald's solitude. The pilgrimage was hasteu'd. She soon arrives in Wales, And all along the highways A joyful nation hails: "But lately did us sever A bloody war's wild strife — ■ Thy coming stills all hatred And calls our love to life !" And Owen Tudor hearkens To these right welcome news. Exulting that his mistress Such remedy should choose. In his grief -stricken bosom Dawn'd sudden hojje's bright ray. And for the Queen's receptioii He smoothed every way. 115 He clean'd the old worn-out steps Th t led down to the jjond ' And l)leach'd the Saint's white robe, now For his love to l>e donn'd. And having everything thus Prepar'd, he's keeping qniet, With many a sly glance scanning The road by day and night. VI. "Alas ! Ye trusty Vassals, Our gracious Queen is lost !" Thus fright'ned shriek'd her lady And wild her arms she toss'd. "While she, to bathe her eye-lids, Down to the water bent, She vanish'd from my eye-sight — T saw not where she went !" Kous'd from their leisure, frantic, The Knights run to the pond. Closely to r,ike its bottom Was no exertion shunn'd. But all their pains and labors Were fruitless and in vain. Back to the camp turns hopeless The mourning courtiers' train. Owen has, mean-time, brought tt> His hermitage his prize, His fainted mistress who still Seemingly lifeless lies. 116 'Faith ! Not in vain he saw her Within his holy groves - The skilful diver— fearless He robs her whom he loves. And yet ere she recover'd Her senses from the cramp. As hermit gravely looking He walks towards the c imp. When of the dire disaster Appris'd, he bold exclaims : "This is a blissful miracle, A sign of Heaven's aims !" "Our Queen abides in Heaven — St. Oswald took her there — Siich wonder did for ages Not happen anywhere !" ''Yon say ycnir evening-prayers And then lay down in peace, Yonr Queen enjoys in Heaven's High spheres true bliss and ease !" "In Heaven she will witness Her late King's radiant airs, And soon she will return here Reliev'd of .ill her cares." He spends his benediction And turns towards his dark gro\€!. So lonesome once, so bright now Through his fair Queen's trwe love. She soon reclines, awaking, Into the fond embrace Of her dear page who never Lost in her heart his place. 117 Love's sweet rewards enligliten'd Their gloomy days at last ; They hope for future blessings And never blame their past. Thus, too, they planu'd to-morrow's Adventure arm-in-arm, With lirosjDects consecrated By triTe love's fairest charm. VIL At last they sank in slumbers, And Owen's dream reveals His offspring's fate and glory From Future's secret seals. He saw two wither'd Roses Thrown-down, one white, one red. With many a bud and many A stream of purple shed. A youth, his own true image, Pick'd-up the last live bud Of yonder with'nng red rose Out of the pool of blood. This youth's kiss chang'd the roseliud Into a princess fair, And both soon fondled loving A boy of true royal air. This boy slew some crown'd viper That crept through all the gore Of yonder roses, and from Its head the crown he tore. 118 This offspring of the last live Red rose-bud kiss'd the last Alive white rose-bud changing Thus to his Queen her fast. Their prince look'd stern and crafty, And from an open book Shed light that his young sainted Son never once forsook. But of his two bold daughters The second one outshone The glories of her father's And her successor's throne. The next King's noble features Dimm'd suddenly away And left a cloud of darkness, Of horror and dismay. Then follow'd his two princes And then of bolder mien A true-born Queen's royal Consort And then another Queen. And still five more Kings follow'd, Until at last appear'd A Queen in radiant glory By Virtue's grace endear'd ; A Queen as wise as ever A loving nation saw, A model-wife and-mother : England's Victoria. 119 VIII. "Awake, ye lords and vassals, And listen to my lay. The wonders which I witness'd Have chas'd my cares away." "My sight is clear; St. Oswald Transported me into The heav'nly realms where all the Deceaseds' spirits go." "What there I saw, no earthly Tongue could reveal to you, But hear what dear King Henry Commanded me to do." "When joyful I expected To share his heav'nly berth, He said : Thou art for these realms Not ripe yet, child of Earth !" "But to console thee, go to St. Oswald's Chapel where Thou'lt find another husband. In virtues my true peer. " "Prepare the celebration, Fialfil the Saint's commands And in the Chapel witness Your Queen's new nuptial bonds." Thus bade the Queen, the knights, all Deceived by her lay, Awe-stricken by the wonder Obey'd without delay. 120 They form in proud processiou Of lords in duty bound And of the fairest ladies That bloom'd on Albion's ground. But fairer than the fairest Does Catherina lead The wedding-party's onmarch, A rosy bride indeed ! Her widow's weeds are chang'd now For pvirple robe and gem, And from her rich ciirls Hashes Its rays the diadem. Now the procession enters The Chapel's open gate; Before the altar Owen Waits festively array' d. The lords are wonder-stricken To find a bridegroom there, Unknown to all, but surely Their true-born, faultless peer. He bows and takes the Queen's hand. An aged priest does seal The bonds, and all the lords do In due allegiance kneel. When praise and benediction Is sung, they rise and their Three fervent cheers ring : "Amen ! Hail, hail, thou worthy pair !" A MEMORABLE FIGHT. 123 The sturdy inhabitants of the independent Duchies of Slesvic-Holstein had for four hundred years been united with the Kingdom of Denmark by personal union only. The Danish Government undertook to transform these Duchies into Danish provinces and integral parts of the Kingdom and provoked the rising of 1848. A provisionary Government was instituted, a small army raised and with the assistance of German auxiliaries the Danish soldiery soon pushed from the territory they occupied as usurpers. But the sea-board of the Duchies and the vast extent of Germany's north-coast were defenceless and as helpless against Denmark's little navy as a bull is against the sting of a wasp. And little Denmark knew how to use its sting. With half a dozen of fleet frigates and sloops-of-war she blockaded the 800 miles of Germany's sea-board and her- metically closed the ports of Hamburg and Bremen as well as of Stettin find Dantzig and scores of minor sea-ports with a flourishing traffic. The east-coast of Slesvic was especially exposed, being within hardly a day's sail from the Danish naval base and a welcome incitation to renewed invasions. This year's 5th of April has been the fortieth anniver- sary of a naval battle that hardly has had its et^ual in His- tory. Ninety nine men, all told, manning two batteries hastily thrown up on a sandy beach, for418poundguns each, were at daybreak assaulted by a naval squadron consisting of one 84 gun ship of the line, one 4G gun frigate and two steam-ships of 8 and 6 guns respectively, conveying three unarmed coasting vessels deeply laden with a considerable force of land-troops. At sim-set the proud line-of -battle ship "Christian the Eight" was blown out of existence, the fine frigate "Gefion" taken a prize and the two steamers sorely crippled but still alile to sneak off with the transport vessels in tow. After 124 the loss of hundreds of hauds, 700 officers and men had to surrender to the surviving 71 defenders of an almost iude- lensible position. The 28 missing comrades of the victorious little cohort were not killed diiring the fight, not a soul of the trusty fellows having been even hurt at the time of the surrender. The gallant 28 men who failed to answer the roll-call, lay down their i^recious lives in the heroic attempt to save the hundreds of maimed foemen from the gory cock- l^it of the burning "Christian the Eight.'" In the diagram I and II mark the position of the two batteries, E the town-precinct of Eckernforde, B the suburb ]>orbye, P between the two the inner port, C, C the posi- tions of the ship-of-the-line Christian VIII before and after the truce; G the position of the frigate Gefion, S, S the two war-steam-ships Geiser and Hecliy, C, V the 3 coasting ves- sels with land-troops, and SW the Schnellmark Woods whence in the latter jjart of the engagement a batteiy of field 6 pounders participated in the fight. The soiithernmost of the numerous fine bays that indent the East-coast of Slesvic is the Frith of Eckernforde. About 20 miles in width at its moiith and with an average depth of more than 7 fathoms of water, clear as crystal, it cuts intcj the hilly coast crowned by venerable oak- and beach-forests, in west-south-westerly direction to a distance of about 30 miles, gradually tapering in width to a diameter of about 3 miles at its semi-circular termination marked by a narrow 125 strip of sandy beach with the ancient little seaport-town Eckernforde slightly to the northward of its apex. The uniform depth of this magnificent sheet of water and the easy access of its shores make this bay the very point a naval invader would select to disbark the vanguard of his landforces. However, the only coast-defences con- structed by the newly constituted Provisionary Government of Slesvic-Holstein were the two hurriedly thrown up bat- teries above alluded to which, though properly constructed, lacked the necessary covered connection with a support to back them and were, literally spoken, a forelorn position. At sun-rise of April the 5th, — the "Maundy Thursday" of the year 1849 — the surface of the peaceful bay of Eckern- forde was livelj' rijipled by a fine E. N. E. breeze. The charming view from the hills at the back of Battery II near the south-end of the town was enhanced by the golden hues of the rising sun, playing on the wavelets. The look-out on the crest of the hills controlled the full length of the bay and at that time served as coast-guard station. The sky was but slightly sprinkled with downy clouds. With the first dawn of morning already the flag-stafi: of this point look-out advised the crews of the two batteries of two distinct streaks of smoke -in the ofiing of the bay by the signal : "Attention, danger." Hardly a minute or two after, the bugle-call "all hands" roused the brisk bustle of a half-hundred of sprightly young fellows within the low earth-walls of each battery, clearing their 4 long ISpounders for action. They were no veteran soldiers — they had but a few men among them whose mili- tary record extended to a year's army-service. Everyone of the lads was a volunteer for the defence of their homes ; they mostly were sons of wealthy farmers hailing from Angeln, the very soil which prouds itself of having been the cradle of the Anglo-Saxon race. Before sun-rise both batteries were in splendid trim for action when, lo ! the dauntless crew of Battery I discovered two formidable vessels of war nighing and almost within gun-shot range already, heavily surging and onward pressing through the peaceful billows of the bay. Presently they come right 126 abreast of the little work and begin to show their tull lenghts with the grim rows of heavy guns run out unnnizzled and the famous blood-red ensign, the battle-flag of a long line of havighty pirate-kings waving from bowsprit and gaff. Look ! Just now the leading bigger vessel displays a string of four small flags from her mizzen-top. Quick boys, stoop- down into the safety-pits between the guns-" — Bo— o— cm — Crash — "Do not stir just yet, boys"— Boom — Crash — roars the frigate's broad-side, too. "Quick, man the guns now- not a soul hurt? — Ail-right — l)oint well and fire as soon as you are sure of your aim. Alas ! But a single one of our little spitfires is left in trim to answer their thundering challenge? — The other three dis- mounted, completely up-set? — Ply the only piece left, the more carefully then to best advantage while we shall try to remount its wrecked sisters." '•The two big vessels with their courses clewed-up, under bare top sails and jib have passed to the westward and ap- proach our brothers in Battery II, to smother them with their broadsides. — Boom — Hurrah ! Our boys yonder don't wait for the enemy to begin the duel. Don't you hear the well-known tune of their l8pounders?— Boom— Well done, Pete, I see the splinters of the frigate's bulwarks flying. Keep steady at it, fire whenever you are sure of your mark. Put-up your flag-staff again, Hans, they have upset that too — we miist show them that we are not quite done-with yet." ,, There they haid close, clew-down their topsails and r-r- r-r-r — down rattle their anchors. Boom — Now they salute oiir brothers yonder with crashing broadsides. Will they, too, be cripi»led ? No, thank God :-I see four distinct flashes of lightning respond from their green ramjiarts and hark ! Our boys return the yells of the enemy with a defiant hurrah !" ,,Havn't you one of the guns in trim again?— Do j'our level best, boys, to remount them, piece after piece, lest Pete's little roaring sweetheart do not feel like a bride with- out bridesmaids. — But doesn't Pete know how to handle her? He's her worthy groom, but eke our best man as well — Just now he has pepper'd the frigate again — Keep at it, lads, — 127 Lead my swift little Tit from the trench, Jack, the poor animal stands like stupefied — I must needs run her 'round the bay to see how our brothers yonder are getting on. Since the vessels have cast anchor they begin to neglect us and hurl broadsides after broadsides against the ramparts of Battery II. Eemind the enemy that they must not con- sider us done with- Ta—ta, lads ! Do your duty fair and square — honest weight — with a will for a liberal make-weight. Now race along, little nag — we soon shall have cleared the North-beach, pass through the village— over the bridge into town with its streets all along deserted — out again into another rest for you in the snug trench. Helloh, boys, all unhurt V The guns all right, too? You have the vessels in point-V)lank range, I see — that's a treat. Quick, start your forge, move it over to that nook, away from the cartridge-tanks. Get up a smart blaze and have your shot red-hot before you send them off. With their wild broadsides they have .saved us the trouble to cut sods for red-hot shot practice. Pile a good heap of solid sods between the guns and jjlace there, too, extra-pails of water to i)ut in the wads at once, and don't waste the water lest our scant siijjply might give out too soon. 8top using full-charge cartridges. A quarter degree elevation at your sights with reduced charge will serve as well, will enable us to keep up the fire so much longer and give our shot a chance to lodge in their timbers. Work the bellows with a will, my lad, and report as soon as the shot begin to look like the rising sun of this glorious daj^-break. — One shot well aglow ! — Now, Fred, let me have a chance to handle your gun — Attention ! ^jonge well — cartridge— dry wad— sod next — wet wad and another peep for one more aim to make sure — lift in the hot iiill — ram home the sparkling jewel — stand aside — Boom— Now, friend Hanneman, how do you relish such a dose ? Beware of haste; act coolly and deliberate! j'^ and never ram home yoiir shot till you are sure of your aim. Our scant stock of ammunition forbids us to waste a single charge. Give the guns an extra-wet sponging after every 128 discharge, — One shot every three minutes will give twelve minutes to each gun. Now keep your time steadily along and never mind the loads of iron thej' pour into our ramparts merely to strength- en them. The long slope of oiir front must by this time have become one solid wall of iron, and whenever thej' point their guns a little higher, the storm of whoop-howling shot roars past over our heads into the sandhills far behind us. Won't our great-grand-children here-abouts still have a chance to work a rich iron-mine to sure advantage ? Steady, boys, steady — don't waste our precious ammu- nition. Whatever forces may have been despatched to our support, they cannot replenish our waning stock of powder and pills. Our mates on the north-bank— God bless them — still are plying but the one piece left standing, but they work it well and no mistake ! How the time flies in this infernal roar, almost with more than gun-shot rapidity. You wouldn't believe our dinner-hotu- has gone by for some time. Give your guns some longer intervals between shot to cool off, that will give you a chance to take an off-hand bite from your knap-sacks flavoured by the dense smoke of St. Saltpetre with a taste of our mothers' choicest hams and sausages. What's that? They have stopped firing — let the smoke clear off — I fancj', I see a white flag displayed from the fore- topmast-head of either vessel. Eest your guns lest we be blamed of flying into the face of universal international Law — is it that our little pills begin to work? There's a boat nighing— hark ! — That's the regular clang of oars — sure, here they come, they are just landing an officer and a sailor flying a white flag from a boat-hook — they ask for a j^arley ? •'Well sir, what's your message?" " "The Admiral projjoses an armistice till sun-set — "" "To sneak off in the dark, hey?" " "No — to tend to our many wounded sailors and give you a rest, too." " "Armistice cannot be granted. Please retvu-n and haul down that white rag with or without your national ensign." 129 *• "But the Admiral swore that unless the armistice be agreed to, he shouldn't spare the town any longer from a bombardment ; instead of wasting the King's ammunition on youi jjaltry works, he would shell and burn the town." " "The town is an open and peaceful place. Moral as well as international Law forbid and will find means to avenge such infamy, if j^erpetrated. " '"•What does our Admiral care as long as he secures his object to effect a landing and dislodge you from these rab- bit-holes. The strictures of international Law never bind the hand of authoi'ity dealing with rebels who have out- lawed themselves." " "Not another word ! — Will you accompany me into town to consult its citizens about an answer to your message?" ""AH right!"" "Chris, you are from Eckernforde and know the Burgo- master's house. Mcfunt my swift little mare and hurry thither at full gallop, request him to siammon his council- men and all citizens to the market-place. — W^e shall follow, sir, on foot if you please— 't is but a ten minutes' walk." The market-jjlace is soon reached. From all its approaches bewildered citizens rush thither to swell the crowd in front of the ancient Town-Hall. The Burgomaster having been fully apprised of the enemy's threats addresses the crowd and points out in brief that the Admiral in command of the vessels intends to shell the town unless the two bat- teries be evacuated or, at least, stopped from hampering the retreat of his vessels. The vast majority of steadfast burghers express their feelings by growls of indignation. A few timid voices in the crowd ventilate the advice to let the firebrands withdraw and end the terrors of the bombardment. A stout little fiery alderman tries to silence such cowardly utterances. Before a resolution can be passed a motley troop of excited women elbow their way into the crowd of assembled burgh- ers. "Let them go for our sake? Don't think of it! If our boys will do their best to punish the enemy for his das- tardly insolence, if our boys will duly uphold the flag of tU eir land, — never mind our homes, never mind our lives. 130 We shall willingly sacrifice both for the honor and glory of our Cause. " A deafening hurrah and many a fond embrace was the response all around, and a speedy return to the South-Bat- tery the immediate sequence of this spontaneous outburst of noble enthusiasm. "But here, sir, what's that? The two steamers are nearing the battle-ground? — Hark ! Don't the vessels begin to shorten cable ?- Mark, sir, — if they shall commence to move under the fraudulent pretence of the white flag, we shall send them our pills and avenge the dastardly attempt and cowardly breach of international law." "Man the gims, boys. — stand by — work the bellows — gun 1, 2, and 3 first round cold shot — gun 4 blank cartridge, full charge !" The parley.boat has effected its return on board ; the line-of-battle-shijj's anchor is almost weighed, the larger of the two deft steamers pays out a tow-line to be hauled in on board by the big ship. "Gun 4, fire '. — Haul down the white flag. Take a sure aim at the centre of the steamer's paddle-box for a bull's-eye and fire away, as soon as j'ou have made sure of a true hit." Boom — boom — boom — Weldone, boys, — the steamer has been crippled and sneaks off for safety — the big ship is drifting toward us. There, boys, she has grounded broad- side on and never will get off if you answer her furious broadsides with leisurely but steady fire of red-hot shot till you see her strike her humbled Dannebrog. But mark, over there the frigate in tow of the other steamer is fast making good her escape and is almost abreast of our North-Battery already, pity 't is — Huzza, boys ! Our brothers over there must have hit her tow-line — I see the steamer rushing out into the oft'ing and the frigate cut loose and helplessly heading the smart breeze drift towards her former position. And over yonder, to our right, from the Schnellmark Woods I hear the report of light field-guns. — Sure, you can see the flash of each gvm and the effect of their shot rattling 131 through both vessels' rigging.— Now you, boys, keep on sending red-hot shot into the big ship's hull and you soon will see her ablaze. The fury of their roaring bi-oadsides slackens — don't you notice a queer change in the smell of the smoke the breeze wafts towards usV That's the smell of burning wood and oakum. The sun is nearing the crest of the hills behind us — They seem to take a long gasp. The smoke of their last broadside has cleared off — the big vessel's ensign has been struck — the frigate's too ! — Stop firing — Three cheers for our Cause and you, Ted, with 27 men hurry into town, rouse the fishermen — they won't require it much — I hear their cheers — man their boats and make speed to board the two fair prizes to take possession. You'll find the stalwart boat-builder who didn't shun the raging fire and came twice out of town to us and returned to keep i;p the spirits of his fellow-townsmen — you'll find him eager to start with his good boats and all hands. Let him row two boats over to the North-Battery and convey 20 men to the frigate. You take charge of the big prize with your men. Not a hand of her vanquished crew could be spared for lawless resistance ; it will be more than a match for them to keep the fire under. In several places it is tonguing out already in flaring sheets from her big hull's timbers." "Here comes an Orderly from head-quarters, gasping for breath. Our Commander-in-chief is speedily approaching with his Staff, closely followed by a small flying coluriin of mounted troops for our support. While the battle was raging not a soul could have expected to reach us over the turnpike and its byroads from over the bills. Was not the ground all around for miles fully exposed to the clean sweep of the enemy's fire? Look, boys, Ted has started some boats already. Three are fast nearing the big vessel and two our other work. Some more are in their "w ake with others to follow. The brave fishermen know the two vessels' boats cannot be expected to float. Now Ted ascends the gangway-ladder. Thank God ! I see, he has taken charge of the prize. The Admiral and his 132 StafE step down into the boats — shove off— oars -they rovr towards us. Now I see our boys lead helping down wounded men to the boats — sound men who want to crowd down, too, are pushed back by our lads and their own officers. Here our General (Duke Ernest of Saxe-Coburg) dis- mounts at the beach just m time with his StaJBt" to meet the party disbarking from the lirst boat landing. They collect the swords of old Admiral Paludan and his downcast Staff. Load after load of wounded men is brought ashore, since more fishermen have come out of port with their boats to the rescue and with alacrity fen-y load after load of panic- stricken captives ashore. With the Duke's permission the Admiral's Flag-Lieute- nant returns on board to expedite the disbarcation and bring •off his commander's official papers. Within a few minutes after this officer's arrival on board yon see him leap from the hind-most lower-deck-port, swim to the southward and dive, as suddenly, with a deafening crash and the blinding Hash of a thousand simultaneous lightnings the giant mrsts, spars and timbers shoot up into the air and dart down again to the splashing and sizzing waves of the bay, all ablaze from the ghastly flames of the burning wreck. More than two hundred of the surrendered vessels' crew perished in the explosion. Of our brave 28 comrades on board the doomed vessel, too, not one escaped. But the memory of their heroic devotion to duty and their self-sacri- ficing charity towards vanquished foomen will outlive the last of their surviving brothers in arms, will forever form one of the brightest pages of History's records. People, in their greed for sensation, generally care btit little for the "What" constituting a noteworthy fact. They mostly center their interest in the '"Who" connected with acts and facts, sayings and doings. The engagement of April Sth, 1849 fills one of History's brightest pages. However, to name only the gallant com- 133 mander of the victorious little band whose voice we just have listened to, would be desecrating the memory of every single participant in this day's glory. Every one of the fearless young cannoneers, the stead- fast majority of the stalwart burghers of the ancient little town threatened with fiendish destruction, their heroic wives and daughters even who were ready to sacrifice their homes and their lives for the caiise of their Coiintry — they all would be entitled to have their names recorded quite as fully as the officer in command of the Batteries' crews or the gallant young leader of the small band who, rather than forsake their helpless conquered foemen, sacrificed their lives in the praiseworthy discharge of their duty as brave soldiers and as true men. The stalwart commander of the two batteries has not enjoyed his well-earned fame for many years. He died long before father Time succeeded to silver his hair. Still, whenever the recollection of that gloiious day awakes, his voice above the noise and din of battle cannot but resov;nd from heart and tongue of every single one of his surviving comrades with a ring of vivid accuracy far surpassing the wonders of an Edison's Phonograph. Wax cylinders may break to pieces— Man's memory will last forever. Whoever cares for names and documentary evidence, may refer to Prof. Dr. K. Jansen's "Der Tag und die Manner von Eckernforde. " 135 I On Strikes. Man's free will blossoms into disobedience against the laws of nature and logic, and brings evil for fruit. All poli- tical and social disturbances of the welfare of communities are consequence of mostly spontaneous conspiracies against the rule of Logic. Erroneous reasoning as often as wlful perverseness leads to social calamities. Logic teaches that, what is best for a community is best for every individual forming part of it. Logic teaches that selfishness far deeper hurts him who fosters it, than all his fellow-beings whom he fain would prey on. All through a long and most eventful life, with frequent sudden changes (commonly called "ups and downs") ever since the days of my earliest boyhood I have been daily con- vinced that the rankest selfishness of almost all individuals surrounding me, could not for a minute make me half as miserable as they felt. But in a few cases of my young days where I thought it to be my duty to retaliate, it gave me pain though I always succeeded to see mj^self all-right and hold my ground. Still, since I discarded the principle of retaliation and never cared about seeing myself righted against every single case where I was wronged, I have always in due time been avenged much more thoroughly than I ever could have avenged myself. I have grown old, have been wealthy and poor in turn, siTCcessful in business never for myself, for others always, ever ready and intent to be usefal to the fellow-beings around me— and, for all that, I hardly believe that the para- dise yielded Adam a purer bliss than I have found where- ever I have been roaming through all the climes of our 136 planet— might I not feel justified to say a word or two about strikes, these rank blossoms of mutual selfishness? Strikes always remind me of the poor boy on the skating-pond who was crying when having his hands all but frozen, but found consolation in yelling : " Doesn't it serve my mother quite right, why didn't she knit me mittens !" I fain would draw my fellow-workingman's attention to a few facts, and let him take his moral from them himself. The average standard of the working-man's wages will fix the market-value and price for all the necessaries of life and even for a good many of its luxuries. Landlords, bakers butchers,grocers,dry-goods-men, etc., particularly the hungry middleman, this modernization of the romantic highway- man, dont thrive on the custom of the capitalists and coupon-cutting members of a would-be aristocracy, but on the custom of the working-man. Thus a rise or decline in the working-man's average wages will instantly send-up the price of all necessaries of life. Before the late war the average M'ages for all clas.ses of workingmen here in New York were considerably less than a Dollar per day. Then, however, every honest and sober workingman was able to live at ease and bring-up a family in comfort. As a rule, then, the workingman of a few years standing either owned a snug little cottage up-town or in the suburbs, or held a savingsbank-book with a substantial balance to his credit. After the outbreak of the rebellion wages soon rose to three and four Dollars per day and, for a time, to more than that. In 1864 the average workingman was little better than poverty-stricken, and ever since, a passing sickness, a wife's confinement or even a strike of a few weeks duration puts the average workingman to the brink of stal•^'ation not because they earn too little but rather because they earned too much and became recklessly improvident. At the same time that in New York City the workingmen were impoverished by the sudden extravagant rise in wages, the workingmen in the State of Maine enjoyed all their wonted comfort and independence at an unchanged or but slightly enlianced rate of wages. 137 Tliiiringm in Germany derives mf)st of its supplies froni \n- via Hamburg and other seajjorts about SOU miles distant Tlie grain for its daily bread is imi^orted from here or Russia «nd Egyjit via Hamburg ; live beeves come up there from Yutland via Hamburg ; their groceries, their drygoods are mostly purveyed by or via Hamburg. The average wages for workingmen at Hamburg are from four to five times as high as the wages in Thuringia. Still, the thuringian workingman lives in comfort aud ease and in pleasant fellowshiiJ with his employer, may-be one of the wealthiest factory-owners, while tlie Hamburg workingman has to tight hard to keep the wolf from his door and crawls in iibject servility around the heels of his employer not only, but his employer's clerks. In both places they have to fulfil and defray about the same duties towards their common fatherland. In England strikes are almost unheard of in such localities where wages are below the average rate but periodically i-avage especially the districts where the rate of wages is highest. Workingmen, do you really think that you would be left without a roof over your head, without proper clothing .•md am2Jle food for yourselves and for your dear ones, if the rate of wages should, within a day's notice, be reduced to vue half of its present standard? The laws that govern society ix^e nothing but the laws iif nature under another point of view. People, whatever work they have to perform, should jjay no heed to personal interest, should never care about the "who" but merely about the "what." Here is the piece of work to be done, see to do it as quick, as thoroughly and as cheap as pos.sible, and you will but serve your own interests as well as the interests of the community withal. Workingmen, not a few dozens of millionaires nor the sundry classes of upper ten thousands constitute the Nation. You, Workingmen, and nobody but you are the Nation. It is merely your own fault, if you do not make every do- nothing Dives pull his hat for you as his master. It is your own fault if you degrade yourselves into boot-licking slavery. 138 It ie your own fanlt if they dare to nssnme the airs of T)eing yoMT masterfi. As long as the hnman race has existed, tyrants have never made slaves, but slaves at all times have found or, themselves, made their tyrants. Yon, workingmen, can sooner do without the mammon of the capital, th.in the capital can do without the work of your hands. If you want to participate in workingmens'-unions and suchlike co-operative efforts to improve your welfare, make .it your principal object to bring about a gradual and steady reduction of the rate of wages. Whatever you work at, be anxious fully to deserve what you earn, be carefxil to spend less than you earn, be mindful of getting your task done at as little cost, in money and time, as possible. The workingman who will act by this rule and loyally uphold it as his supreme law, will be perfectly justified to consider himself and will l^e considered by everybody else the master of his employer, if the hitter should not deserve .to be considered his fellow-niau in social e»iuality. 139 WiMBLKDON, Surrey, Sept. 1st, 1877. Dear Son, you want me to compete for the Thompson prize? Have you not, for all your lifetime, every day had my lessons taught in sayings and doings, to know how little I am able and likely to join in any competition for money or fame? That is just what I am and ever have been proud of that by natiu'e as well as by an eventful life's education, I am utterly devoid of greediness and ambition. Conse- yuently my mental powers are in due course deservedly par^ alyzed when and wbexever they are piped on deck for the shabby sake of material advantages. But to prove before you my sincere appreciation of that excellent lady's practical patriotism and generous liberality; but to fully realize, nay, to double the gratifying sensation of due admiration by its exjaression and conimunication; but to show you how intense- ly, though far from home, I too have been alarmed by our dear Uncle Sam's protracted affliction — but for these motives I do not refrain from takiug part in the noble strife, in my own way though; that is without leaving the grounds of strict privacy by me ever cherished. Thus only to you, dear boy, and such friends of yours as know sufficient about my maxims and views in geuerul to understand and not to misinterprete what perfect strangers at tirst sight probably would sneer at as utojiical paradoxa — I address my answer to Mrs. Thompson's call. "In the beginning was (he word, and the word was with God. All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made (hat was made." This grand key-note of St. John's Gospel is, in its concise form, its undisputable truth and its wonderfully perfect generality, the true peer of our Saviour's "Love thy Master above all and thy neigh- bor as thyself." Just as these latter few words encompass 140 to the minntest particle all religious and moral command- ments that ever were proruulgatecl bj' the wisest of rulers : the laws of a Moses no more nor less than the laws of a Solon, a Numa or a Con-Fu-Tse, just so, in regard to Philos- ophy, St. John's grand key-word is not only the key to his Gospel, hut at the same time the only general key to every single one of all philosophical systems that ever by the wisest of men were or will be conceived and disclosed to mankind. However diverging and even each other mutually con-> tradicting they at first sight may appear in their revelation of truth, all philosophical systems may pretend to be road« toward truth. To the one grand centre Truth clearly is leading a selection of roads as inniimerable as the rays of light that issue from it. St. John's keyword does not merely lead to or along one of these innumerable roads to truth, but covers all the ground surrounding truth, and thus obviously covers and embraces the whole great variety of genuine philo- sophical systems. But what is St. John's "Word"? St. John's "Logo.s does not require any artificial, tropical or other definition. It simply means Legos and nothing but logos : that is the ubiquitous and eternal relation between Cause and Effect, the eternal Order that rules the Univer^, the neverfailing source of the laws of nature that govern not only the world of matter or physical world but, likewise, the psychical or spirit-world. Contempt or attempted violation of the "Logos" have hurled more than one Napoleon from their thrones, slain many Caesars and ruined whole nations while they were supposed to be on the very highway of prospei-ity and power. The quack who hits upon the cause of his patients disease may succeed to cure him ; fhe most accomplished physician who fails to discover the cause of his patient's disease and thiis failing to respect the relation between cause and effect, fights the symptoms of a case which, for the best though occasionally only, are mere effects, but which he is 141 but too likely to mistake for the cause — he will most jn'obably fail to o\ire and often kill his patient. When in due time you will attentivel_y peruse some of the most noted and, no doubt numerous noteworthy papei's written in answer to Mrs. Thompson's call, always mind to sound what you are reading, as to whether its author is merely doctoring symptoms, or whether the remedies he jjrescribes actually face and are likely to reach the cause. Sometimes, however, the symptoms of a case have a close and direct relation to the final cause, sometimes they even co-incide with it or at least form the visible or discernible part of it. Thus many of the doctors participating in the general consultation summoned to the bed-side of our beloved Uncle Sam, will no doiibt jirescribe a wholesome dose of Free-Trade, the gradual or radical abolition of protection or, at least, a thorough revision of the Tariff. Eight they are. Some others, perhaps, sounding a little deeper will point out the general morbid tendency of to-day's dec.iyed generation to crowd into large cities and prefer the sickening dainties of scheming professions and barefaced vice to the honestly earned hard crust of the toiling farmer. Right, too, and the more right they are. Mankind has but one goal: Humanity, and the only rond to this one goal we call civilization. All vocations and pursuits of men are bypaths leading toward this one highway or away from it if people persist to travel in the reversed direction. But, for all that, there is but one legitimate vocation for man — Agriculture. Agriculture is not only the initial starting-^iost on the track to civilization, but may be considered the pavement of this highway to humanity. All other callings, the "soi-disant" learned professions (Philosophy, Theology, Law, Medicine, Politics, &c.) parti- cularly if made a business of, are in comparison to trade and commerce, perhaps, a less barefaced but, just on that account, the more pernicious swindle. "Oh, Pa!" — I hear you say — "how dare vou call a 142 Washington, a Franklin, a Lincoln, a Greeley, a Grinell, a Stewart or a Peter Cooper swindlers? !" I do not call any man a swindler, my boy, even not a risk, a Morrissey or a Tweed. No man is privileged to cast a stone at bis brother. You know very well, I cherish the friendship of good Biany a really reverend clergyman, admirably faithful lawyer, nobly self-sacriticing ijhysician, truly wise philosopher or strictly upright politician ; of good many an honest merchant or useful manufacturer of sterling worth. I, certainly, do not call them nor any of their to me unknown fellows in trade or calling swindlers, yet I call every one of all their diverse callings a swindle and nothing but a swindle. A profession that makes it a business and duty, to design, plan and scheme how, without falling into the meshes of the laws, to acquire as much as possible of your neighbor's own ; to gain a living of ease at the expense of the communitj' or some private party under pretence of ren- dering valuable (!) services meant to cost j'ou as little money and exertion as possible -may not we call every such-like profession — in however revered or glittering plumage it may strut the barn-yard society — a down-right swindle? Man's only legitimate calling is Agriculture. The far- mer, in reality, is the only producer, all other people are consumers, mere parasites. By no means do think it would hurt a community's welfare or check the steady progress of civilization, if on a certain day the whole gang of these drones would strike. They would soon starve, no doubt, tho' nobody but themselves. Let all of them turn farmers and producers, and lo ! what a mine of wealth, material as well as moral would be created. The valley of the single river Mississipj^i alone offers sufficient arable surface to grant an acre of ground to every soul this day breathing on our planet. And an acre of ave- rage Mississippi valley soil will, at any time, yield an ample sustenance for a creature worth of being styled a member of mankind. I never did and I never shall consider him a man who only manages to lay hold of his daily bread or even a 143 big fortune out of his brother's sweat, and does not know or does know but shun to produce it by his own hands' toil. I should have considered it an unpardonable neglect if I had not given the true finishing stroke to your and your three brothers' education by training you for farm-work of every descrij^tion. You have had your education as liberally bestowed as other boys of well-to-do people, and might have had more if you had more cheerfully embraced all opportun- ities I offered you. Since you have grown men and had to look-out for yourselves, you prefer to earn j^our living in town. But even if every one of you should succeed to amass the wealth of a Croesus, you never will have the sat- isfaction—if satisfaction it were to you— to entice me that I, like your mother, should join you and share your town-life. Envied husband and father as I am, I ever shall prefer living in the country the privation-life of a hermit, even far-away from all that is near and dear to my heart, to finy comfort and ease and the blooming circle of my own family, if I should have to tbank town-life for such amenities. And -well I know, there will be a day, and I may l)e spared to see it, when one or the other of you boys, too, will turn his back to the imaginary advantages and mock-comforts of town-life, and like myself, find true felicity and real bless^ ings in Nature's sanctuary. Man born from the soil, for his preservation and develojiment dejoending on the soil and, in fact, only part of the soil he treads, at no stage of civiliza- tion is able or justified to sever the natural link a loving All- Father has bound him with to the mother-earth. Man only can sever these natural ties under penalty of crippling body and mind by slavery and disease. Could a nation of farmers ever fall victim to a tyrant, or to super- stition and enervation ? The destinies of nations and the lives of individuals are ruled by the very same laws. The calamities of stagnation, prostration and starvation are a nation's penalty for flocking into town and swelling the flood of swindle-worshippers to a disastrous deluge, and for shirking the healthy toil of tilling the soil man was born from and for. "But is there no remedy against this ever growing evil T' 144 you will ask. Well the gouty old epicurean must yield up liis port iind bis turtle, or put-up with the gout. All civil- ized nations finally will have to disfrauchise every inhabi- tant who does not, by tilling his own piece of ground (the land he is living on and dying "seized in," as our Saxon forefathers most appropriately said) actually produce and thus contribute his due share to the national wealth and safoty of existence. No man should ever have a vote, no man should ever be elected or eligible, unless he be a farmer thriving by the toil of his own hands. Would Washington have become the fatlier of his country, if he had not been a farmer? Was it the lawyer Lincoln, or the rail-splitting sqvaUer Lincoln, wJio saved the Union ? Was it King David— who betrayed Uriah the Hittite, or the shepherd-boy David who slew Golinh, that was revered as Deliverer of his people? Were King Alfred or King Gustaf I. (Vasa) of Sweden, two more liberators of their down-trodden cotmtries, anything but farmers? Think of Cincinnatus, of Cicero, of Joseph the worthy- son of Maria Theresia, of Prince Albert who jealously restricted from power and influence, every inch a farmer, did more for the domestication and humauization of that uncouth beast, the British Lion, than all the long line of proud and crafty lulers. Was Bismark ever trained fi r anything but farming, and was not the gamest of gamblers, Louis Napoleon, for a long time the spell-bound prey of the rude farmer Bismark even on the slippery ground and at the trumpery green- table of Diplomacy? Did not the boor Bismark, beyond expectation, realize the millennial dreams of the nation that a Charlemagne, a Barbarossa, a Luther and a Frederick the "philosopher" if not the "great", failed to arouse and had to leave behind as a nation of dreamers? And do you think that Bismark even Avhile he was at the elbow of his campaigning warrior-King, ever neglected his farm at Varzin? President Hayes, Secretary Sherman and every member of the public service might do their duty none the 145 worse for every one of tbeiii attending to the management of a snug little farm, even while in office. And however, the neglect of Agriculture and the crowd- ing into town is but a symjjtom of the present infirmity of all, would be, civilized nations and of the alarming state of things in our own great country, once the jiride and hope of ailing Humanity; though a symptom in closest relation to the real cause, the suicidal rebellion against Idealism and blind worship of the golden calf Matter — the contempt of Ideals and the worship of Idols. Your elder brothers will tell you how closely, ever since the restoration of the Union, I have watched the germ of the weeds that to-day threaten to smother the noblest croj) in civilization's garden ; will tell you that I have been eager to imbue you with solid principles, brisk sense for the requirements of true manhood and a keen eye for the only way to secure worth and happiness. If you heed me you cannot fail to realize the causes not only of the misery at present intensely felt in the United States, but of the misery of all ages. Keep your heart free from selfishness and let me refresh your recollection by the concluding sentences of one of those little heeded lessons that for all your life-time will prove you the steady growth but sure maturing, the sincerity and unshakable strength of my convictions : "Man principally and in first instance always is spirit, spirit emanated from the primordial Arch-Spirit dif- fused into the innumerable individuals formed of matter but gifted with free will and self-consciousness, finally going home to the Arch-Spirit and melting into one with Him. And though by this plain definition the veiled root of man's descent may boldly have been placed into higher and nobler regions than the boundaries of monkeydom, truly — ^just as little does this definition contend against Darwin's new and not less imi^regnable supposition that the substance whereof all bodies of individuals belonging to the human race, apparently are formed, may welcome as its ancestors the Orang-Outan, Gorilla or Chimpanzee. The contest— if anj- contest here be— does merely spring from the stiibborn 146 partiality and blind fanaticism wherewith the absolute Materialism repudiates the existence of the ideal spirit- world." "Whosoever is not able to see in man something more than a beast of higher development or order, may, surely, comfort himself with the ready reflex of his monkey-theory and, api^earantly, will even succeed to borrow from it many a handy point for the proof and illustration of his pi-oblem. Who, on the other hand, iipholds the grand Trinity Order, Eight and Truth — I even won't say as his God, as supreme master, as Creator and Preserver of the Universe -but merely as mental conception, and to whomsoever the existence of powers and conceptions like activity, virtue, liberty, like faith, love and hope is not less conceivable and manifest than the existence of his own dear ape-shape, if not ape-born, body, or the existence of our mother-earth, yea, the whole world as far as it is tangible for our five senses, he needs must give himself the lie if he disown the existencis of an ideal spirit-world. " "Tlie world of matter, subject to incessant change, far from being the only truly existent world, is the world that is transmutiiting itself and evaporating continuously and, just on that account, is in reality the world of merely seeming existence, the world of perpetvial decay and dissohition, of inevitable death. The ideal world, on the other hand, is immutable forever, is of eternal youth and life, and just on that account, of absolute existence." "And much alike, as the science and knowledge of these blind worshippers of Matter, for the best, is mere belief, and as the belief and faith of the idealist victoriously bursts the cloud-veil of doubt — just so, at closer test and examination, Matter discloses itself to thee as mere evanescent and meteoric, fleeting vision, while the Ideal Avill reveal itself to thee in Truth's full splendor as the eternal ceutral-sun creating light and life. " "To me Ideal is the absolute. Matter only the imagi- nary and seeming Eeality, and as little as Belief and Know- ledge, just as little can Idealism and Kealism ever be con- trasted. Genuine Realism comprises and embraces with even 147 power the sister-spheres of Idealism and Materialism. He, onl}', who feels at home and knows to secure his citizenship in the realms of either of them— of Idealism and Material- ism — he, only, will begin to understand his own nature, and acknowledge Order, Right and Truth as the eternal ruling power and primordial source of all Being." To brother-love alive By constant labor thrive. Guided by Faith thou'lt know and see, Master thyself and thou'lt be free. Farewell ! At all times mind to keep your hand at work, your head clear, your heart pure, and you will ever be a true man, will where-ever you settle, be a welcome neighbor, the comfort of your mother and the pride of your father, D. D. 148 London, Jan. 22d, 1877. Dear Madam, the kind lines you added to Mr. H. — 's letter of 9th inst. were duly received and with hill satisfaction appreciated as best proof of your welcome recovery from the trouble that the arrival of Master Francis must have given you. But as such young people generally disown all knowl- edge of what upsets they create, I plainly see that I have to intercede for my dear grandson and hei-ewith, in due form, beg to apologize on his liehalf, though it somehow strikes me that the yoimg gentleman so far must have behaved pretty decently, as neither your nor Mr. H. — 's letter prefer any specified charges or even complaints against him. Your future letters, I sincerely hope, will always report about the dear little fellow's getting-on and deserving lots? of praise for his daily increasing appetite, correspondingly good night's rests, ruddy appearance, &c. Your as well as Mr. H. — 's letters failing to mention him another time in any of your future, always much longed for communications, would cause me much uneasiness and serious doubts whether I ought not unexpectedly come over to take him away with me. So you better don't wish too fervently for my return to America which, by the bye, might create disturbance and disappointment in sundry quarters. Your mother-in-law, for instance, insists with highly appreciable frankness that she feels much happier since there is nobody to bother, to overrule and to insult her. This may be a lesson to you, as it has been for me, to comprehend and perceive that a married lady has but one resort to care for, that is, her love towards her husband. A lady who loves her husband, will never be bothered, tyran. .149 nized nor insulted by him, even if the brute should fail to reciprocate in her love. But mark this, and never forget that a lady who does not love her husband may be an angel of sweetest temper and unquestionable perfection and, nevertheless, is doomed and cannot but be bothered, tyrannized and insulted by a husband, and even a husband who is an incarnation of loving kindness and who loves the poor creature, his amiable, sweet-tempered and in every respect perfect, but, alas ! lack-love wife more than all creation and more than himself. Whenever you should be bothered, tyrannized and insulted by your husband, don't blame him, but blame your own fading love towards him and hurry, with Heaven's own God-speed, to rekindle it by cheerful sulimission and a fer- vent appeal to his heart for forgiveness. Your unconditional surrender will always disperse clouds and squalls, and never fail to welcome in all its heavenly lustre and warmth the only sun of a married lady's days — her own dear husband's love. Besides your mother-in-law's disastrous failing to see this, it is not a little her own as well as her grown boys' improvidence, what prevents my return. It is, indeed, not so very long since one of them who but lately had the praise- worthy notion to establish, under Love's guidance, a nest of his own, serenaded me to the tune of "A jolly carouscr and cheery Kill-Blues Does frequently want a pair of new shoes," another one with his fiddle takes up the accompaniment ; a third one with occasional still-born speculations joins as chorus; the younger ones hardly can help chiming-in, and their restless dame, as leader, beats time with daily discov- eries of irrepressibly necessary expenditures and certain solemn oaths to break former, more natural, more sacred and more binding vows — would'nt there be a fearful break- down or smash-iip if ever I should interrupt this serenade by a return to my old home and old habits of bidding people hold their tongues and calling lovely angels nasty names ? 150 No, my dear madam, do not wish for mj- return— you really cannot form an idea of what incorrigible and dis- graceful a brute has the bare-facad audacity to call himself yours with due respect, D. D. London, July 24th, 1878. Dear Son ! Your letter of 1 1th inst. was duly received and gives me much jjain. Everything seems to go wrong with you and, certainly, not altogether without your own fault. My business, likewise, is still awful slack, and the disapi^ointment I have to give my young friends, adds to my anxiety. But I don't let the worry get the best of me although my present circumstances are as bad or worse, you may say, than two or three years ago when everything was gone to the dogs and I did owe my friend S — just about as much as now, on youi" behalf, I owe my young friends. The whole calamity over again with the aggravation of my being so much older and less fit to weather the storm. And all this merely in consequence of your impatience to see me and a bit of the Avorld. But I don't despair and trust I shall pull through and .may be, shall live to see better days or at least a change for the better in due time. You dont require fifty Pounds to dare and come here again. Ten or fifteen Pounds will do. But mind, dont bring any of your blessed glittering jirospects along— merely some alacrity and sincere eagerness to work at somewhat. Whenever everything should go wrong with you in New York and you will come here — b\it mind, without your prospects^you will be welcome from all my heart, and just 151 so Ma and Billy, too, although it may happen that j'ou and little Billy as M'ell as myself, shall have to work hard to keep our canoe atioat. If your senior brothers ever let their mother and brother starve, there M-ill be some little peas-pudding for them here in London although it is nobody's fault but Mama's that all of us are reduced to our present straights. Still, unless she will force it out herself by her wonted wanton challenges, I shall never reproach her for having blighted and wrecked all her husband's and her children's harvests, as well as her own haj)piness by her incessantly having conspired with her own mother and everj'body else against her husband, yea, the kindest and best of husbands. To see the bitter fruits of her own doings ripen around her, that is what ails her, that is what broke down her health, that is what is her self- made hell and the blight of her children's existence. "Why could not she be as happy as I am, if she did not know it herself? She, surrounded by all our children — strong and brave boys all of them — and in possession of all her own as well as my earthly property and estate, lives in a constant hell, as she herself terms it, and I, bereft of all my children and whatever was sacred and dear to me in life, never miss the true heaven of heart-ease and unperturbable content. That is one of the many cogent reasons I have for not writing her, because "tu I'as vonlu comme 9a toi-meme" would be the only answer she never fails to provoke. She well enough knows there is but one way and but one soul on earth to save her from Jierself, but she is too proud to own it, and for the mere satisfaction of her vanity and egotism prefers to worry herself to death. Her answer to the last letter I ever wrote her on occa- sion of her birthday last year, i^roved but to plainly the truth of my sad conclusions and the utter uselessness of entertaining any more hope to see her redeemed from her own self. I know I might do what I can to please her, it would be the same old game. But rather than see her exposed to the ingratitude of her children I would put-up with her sad infatuation and let her share in the last crust and crumb of my poverty. 152 The loss of my books and valuable collections does affect me little for my own sake. I have enjoyed all the good things long enough and, thank Heaven, to some advantage. It is for your sake and your brethren's sake as well us for your children's and children's-childi'eu's sake that I lament the wanton waste of so much irredeemable treasure. Since I could survive the loss of all my children, should I fret for the loss of what I laid-up and did my best to preserve for them ? You are a great deal too heavy-mooded to have success in life, nor should you ever be discouraged but rather stimu- lated by adversities. With your despondency and your lack of energy I never should have acquired one tenth part of my knowledge of languages and other useful matter. I never should have been able to correspond with you in oui- friend Munson's blest mode of catching the sound with the eye and instanta- neously fix it with the hand. Before you rot in despondency, see whether you have altogether forgot all your farming and gardening, segar- making and other secondary country-life achievements. You might teach little Billy, too, that glorious art and I shall give you credit for tobacco to any amount. That, perhaps, would be better than amateur-printing that you now dally with, and pay better too in the long end. London, August 21st, 1878. My dear son ! Your kind letter of 9th inst. is just at hand. Take my best thanks for it and in particular for the highly interesting enclosures Once for ever, my boy, never say: This is coiTect and that is not coiTect. The difference between you and me is 153 this: You tliink to see other people's mistakes and never tuink of nor see your own, just like your mother who always Jinds fault wiih all creation in general .and with her husband ill particular but, for God's sake, never with herself. Don't yoti see the difference V I have twice as many opportunities to gather experience and embrace right and truth, and you have almost as little chance to improve your qualifications, as your mother has to improve her state from misery to happiness, because she scorns to acknowledge her ftinlts and repent - the only way to find relief from all wretchedness — Sept. 3d, 1878. Do not despond about the circumstances compelling yoii to disappoint me yet awhile. My life was made up of disappointments and I can wheather them better than most people. Cheer-up, work-on, and when you feel lauguinhing refresh yourself by the recollection of sunny hours in your past. Give my love to dear little Billy and tell him to give you l^ack a full share of it. Farewell ! Sept. 7th, 1878. My dear son ! In my last letter I forgot to enclose the (•o])y of our account which I had i^romised to send you. I shall forward it with these lines which will be mailed after I shall have received your next communication. I hope it may 154 be a phonograi^hic one again and contain good news in every respect, especially reassuring me of your being in fine spir- its, at least better si)irits than your last letters did breathe. As long as I have something to study or some other work — the harder the better~Iam always in excellent spirits, and at your age a man has as much knowledge to gather as should prevent him from ever losing his spirits. Despondency at your age is a sure sign of indolence, that is lack of proper activitj" and interest for the great many things which now-a- days a man requires information on that, by study only, can be acquired. It is the study of useful and scientific matter that keeps you in buoyant spirits and renders your con- versation charming and even fascinating for everybody and thus, more than anything else, will help you to get on in the world. The reading of novels, for instance, even of the best standard works of fiction, assuredly, will make the brightest young fellow dull and dreary, a perfect bore his conversa- tion second-handed, stale and disgusting and, therefore, himself soon a plague to others as much as to himself. Don't you think, a hard-working stinking nigger would be better company than such a bloat and therefore, indeed, wotild have a better chance to get on in the world, too, a thousandfold better cViance than all the scented young dudes, blase bores and would-be novel-heroes? Work hard, my boy, with brain and hand - not for the sake of money, but for the sake of keeping your spirits buoyant and preserving the health of body and mind. For say, what is money but dross? The dollar you pocket, somebody else must miss, and the fortune some people wal- low in, renders perhaps thousands of fellow-creatures mis- erable and helplessly beggared. Money cannot multiply like work, for instance, that always will have its sweet fruit and a manifold harvest either for the worker himself, or his fellow-creatures. The greater wonders still reveal themselves with true divine splendor if, in this respect, we compare the power of money in society as well as for mankind in general, with the power of love and its wonderful superhuman nature which 155 always secures to its seeds a thousandfold crop, yea, a har- vest of never countable multiplicity. The dollar you hand over to somebody, diminishes your own power of purchase exactly as much as it increases his. The love you bestow, will enrich you in every respect — will enrich giver and receiver (why not lover and lovee) alike— it it do not, you may rest assured, it is not love what you give. The chiklren of Jack-an-Apes, these millions of misera- ble worshipjjers of moneydom and monkeydom, call love merely (he state of demoniac wretchedness which inevitably follows whenever the animal, or as the clergy say the devil, but in reality only Darwin's monkey has got the best of the God in man —the poor frail vessel man — and has thrown his God, its good old pilot helter-skelter over board. Splash ! The good old pilot is gone — oh, dear me, not he ! He has got accustomed to such treatment long ago. He outswims torpedo and dolphin and soon gambols aboard .some other frail craft that has nothing but a cast-away mon- key on deck who has been longing for the i^ilot to get aboard and make him a man. For he was aware of his monkeyhood and thus eagerly had prepared a hearty welcome for the pilot. The other monkey who had ridded himself of his pilot, turned pirate, murdered, robbed, stole and amassed heaps and heaps of money, although he lavished without restraint large sums on sweatmeats and wine, on Havana Cigars and foppish toggery, on fancy horses and she-monkeys. At last he died, lay in state, had a grand funeral and all his riches fell a prey to other monkeys. He, of course, had a glorifying necrologue, too, in all the dailies, weeklies and monthlies, and in them it is stated that he never was married though several times hopelessly love-sick. "Love-sick" — oh ! Rank debauchery of speech. It is a genuine yell of the monkey-language. Love, thou true pan- acea of all sickness, how art thou blasphemed by the infa- mous monkey-bred dirt that has wantonly forfeited every claim to the holiest heirloom of mankind, mercifully granted by an all-loving father ! How blest are you two boys, little Wil- 15€ liain and you, to have s\ich a father! I could almost begrudge you your father, if I could not ever cherish the memory of a loving father and the record of a long line of worthy ancestors guiding my steps — if I had not you two loving boys to make me even with you. Good-night, you two, God bless you ! Sept. 13th, 1878. Dear Son ! That I want you to wake-up is, indeed, not on account of my troubles an,d bother — I know how to fight the devil— it is for your own sake, that I want you to wake- up and be a man. All my letters, especially the last one, must prove you that much. A long one that I wrote jou. several days ago, would prove it still more clearly. I cannot send it with this because I have not ^-ot it with me and do not regret the delay; you don't deserve such a one in reply of youi- communications of Aug. 27th and 29th. Indeed, sir, you don't deserve that letter, not to-day, but I hope you may deserve and have it soon. You are ashamed of yourself ! There would be no harm in that— biit to make me ashamed of you, that is too bad ! The belief in fate makes you the sure victim of fate, just as the belief in danger makes j'ou a victim of danger, that is a coward and ready prey ; just as the belief in any other humbug— your Fate and Danger are nothing but arch-, humbugs — makes you the victim of that humbug, a con- temptible, silly dupe. Fate, danger, humbug in all its checkered kind and the; whole lot of similar imaginary spooks and superstitions, halluccinations of an unsound, sicklj', half-developed or self-neglected brain, are all nothing but the devil and arch- deceiver in different disguises. 157 There are but two sviperhuman powers man has to deal with : God and the Devil. God must be awed and sought, the Devil must be fought. Thus the specter Fate that haunts you, must be fought, for it is onlj' the Devil in disguise. I thought for all the lessons taught you not only by me, biat by that true and wholesome Fate which is the chain of events in the life of man, that powerful and wonderfully beneticient bridle of the Holy Ghost by which he leads the gone-astray, bolting foals (don't read fools) of life's gay race-course to the right goal, the home of their heavenly master — did you altogether forget your "There is a God" Ac? — I thought, for all this, you ought to have known better than to talk such rubbish about fate as you have been venting in your last letter. If a little girl of 3 or 4 years of age or some silly old "Waschweib" would talk such stufE, I would not put-up with it — but if a boy - for a man cannot be called he who does it — talks such rubbish, let me kick him into pulp, let me pound and grind his fate to a powder, in hopes that I may succeed to mould the pulp aud thus transform the boy into a man, as well as his specter fate into a rock of Faith. Is not sound, solid faith better than your muddy imaginary fate? "Spiele nicht mit Schiessgewehr, mein Sohn, denn es fiihlt, wie Du, den Schmerz" — Dont you know this di-oll compound of two line old German "Sprichworter" ? — Never again attempt to argue in matters of logic, before you have mastered your ABC's. I shall kick you to a jelly and trans- form you into a man without such disgusting provocations from your side. Your fatherly advice about my dealings with my young friends, the leather-dressers, is another nice specimen of your logic. You know and have been told repeatedly, that they have not the means to pay a book-keeper, and you advise me to charge them for my little troublesome services a sum that would secure, here in London, half a dozen of book- keepers. What would be the benefit of charging them who have not got the money to satisfy your charges. If I would charge them anything I should get nothing by so doing, and 158 probably should lose the pittance which, in consequence of Your fonlishness, at present I cannot afford to refuse. At present more than ever, I need this little emolument. For lately I have often been reduced to a few pence and still felt as happy as a king in the consciousness that it was for the sake of my dear boy that I was in that state of destitution. But what especially makes me so happy, is that I fight the Devil and conquer him too. It is devilish, nay indeed, it is rather divine fun to fight the Devil and ccmquer his infernal Satanic Majesty. What will become of little William if you dont try to be a man ? Sept. 20th, 1878, Don't you grumble that, in my last letter, I have not given you as explicit an account about the fate of the other seafaring rover's afterlife as I gave you about the doings and end of the pirate-monkey who had thrown his pilot over- board. Don't you griimble, presently you shall have it, my boy. That the distressed mariner gave the good old pilot a hearty welcorue and bully reception, I need hardly say. You will not doubt that he made a strong cup of coffee, perhaps a stiff glass of grog, too, and did, surely , all he could to make the jolly old sea-dog comfortable. Instantly with his coming on board, the hurricanelike tempest that had been raging, abated ; the wild foaming and tremendously breaking sea had gone down, all troubles had given way to the jjeace of a holiday. So it continued without interi'uption. They roamed over the gentle ocean and enjoyed each other's company highly without any object whatever in view. They fully satisfied each other ; they had many an opportunity to direct stray sailors whom they met, how to gain their destination, but hardly ever thought of 159 entering a port themselves ; indeed, it was qiiite per adventure that, some fine day, their vessel ran foul of the hidden shoals in the romantic and picturesque, but fearfully deceitful harbor of Matrimony — or isitmadrimony— in most cases, I am afraid, the "d" would come nearer the mark, nor is it to be wondered at, that part of the word sounds like "money", for money, indeed, is generally suspected to have something to do with it. However, our stranded sailor paid willingly with punct- ual liberality the customary salvage dues consisting, as the word "customary" wistfully seems to hint on, in the custom to marr3^ I never found out whether it is anything but mere accident that the she-monkey's who pretend that this duty which they call "marry" was instituted merely for the pur- pose to provide for the fulfilment of all their whims, how- ever monkeylike they be, have a decided predilection to sport the name Mary or Maria or Marie (to make people believe they had not quite forgot yet their jiittance of board- ing-school French) though jolly He-Monkeys like to call them Poll or Polly, perhaps on account of their decided propensity and wonderful facility to chatter as if they were not monkeys but jiarrots or half one and half the other. The poor old pilot got the worst of it. But was not it his fault that our sailor got into that deuced fix of a scrape, or whatever else you may choo«e to call it? Why was he asleep at the critical moment when they were nearing the dangers of these dehisive shoals? The sailor ashore still kept-up most intimate terms with him, but it was not as it used to be. The smart she-monkey did all she could, to make it hot for them. When she scorned or insulted the dear old man, our sai- lor felt all the more bound to cheer him up by some genuine larks. If she wanted to make the pilot black the boots for the whole ship's crew, the sailor drove him off in a carriage and four to some spree; if she slighted her husband's better self and soon feigned to take no notice of his presence, even when-and whereever it was plain and obvious that he was her liege lord's sole true guide and support — our sailor made 160 up for it by Imaging his company closer than ever and by seemingly curing for nothing but him. Let me make it, short. The she-monkey had her revenge. They soon had quite a large family, a lot of tine boys, and she did her best to ruin every one of them, whether with perfect success, I never was told nor even could ascertain. But she had powerful allies not only in the natural propensi- ties and crotchets which the boys had inherited from her, not only in the prejudices and superstitions that all flesh is heir to, but principally in the crowds of monkey-pups sur- rounding them and in the glittering plunder that a few of them could make a show of. Novels with pirate-monkeys for heroes and utterly utter she-monkeys for heroines may have had their sway to poi- son the young ones' undeveloped mind and to m.ail it against all preaching and teaching of their father and his dear old friend. The poor boys ! What pets could and would they have been with both of them ! As they grew-up and approached the age of manhood, there was more than ample probability that they would be ready tools and willing helpmates in their mother's foul designs, and now, you better look-out shai-p, Mr. Sailor, with your fool of old jiilot to-boot ! The old pilot?- Three times three cheers and a bottle, nay nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine hogsheads of Olympic nectar for the jolly old Tar! In strict secrecy and closest retirement he made a splendid balloon, just big enough for two, and when it was done — off they went. Sailor and Pilot, without luggage, without provisions and victuals, without ballast, with nothing but irrepressible buoyancy. They flew straight up to the third heaven — by.the-bye the pilot's birth-place and home— and the dear old chap treated his chum every night to a penn- orth of peas-pndding and all the rest of real good things. And now, my boy, choose between the fate of the pir- ate-monkey and the faith of the sailor ! And the fate of the pirate-monkey is exceptional for all that. To one successful pirate-monkey there are always hundred-thousands of would-be pirate-monkeys who share 161 nothing of his fate but his dung-hill. I leave it to you to picture such a would-be pirate-monkey's feeling and fate ; you have had a taste of it and can describe it better than I could from mere observation and the perusal of your Oct. 6th, 1878. Dear son! Have my last letters still left you the miserable victim of your fatalism ? Fatalism is the superstitious belief in a fate that is nothing but chance. Don't you say ; "Is not there such a thing as chance in the world, why then could old man Webster give us a nice definition, j'ou might say, a verbal photography of the thing?"— Don't you say : "1 admit that you from our earliest childhood alwaj^s have tried to persuade us that there was not such a thing as chance, but did not you say yourself that he who only believes in chance and would worship chance as his God, must inexorably fall a victim to his own god Chance? How can that be true and dangerous if chance were not a something, yea, a powerful reality? Would Webster have been able to define the word, would he have given it so much as a place in his Dictionary if it was a mere nothing?" Oho, my boy, what is nothing ? — "Nothing is nothing", you answer. But don't you die of starvation if you venture to eat this powerfuUest destroyer "nothing"? Something may do harm, but nothing will and must do harm for sure. It is man's bounden duty to turn the somethings of life to account and best advantage, not only for his own hapiiiness, but for the happiness of his neighbor, that is "all present and future generations' ', and to conquer the nothings which are the creations of the devil, the great negating arch- power. By-the-bye, there is no bigger fun in the world than the constant fight with the devil. For if you fight him, you are 162 sure to conquer him, and if yon don't conquer him, yon render sure proof that you don't fight him. The two never failing weapons for this fight are the sword called "Work" and the shield called "Faith." Is it anything but proper and right that he who dis- regards, neglects or wastes the somethings of life which are the blessings of the loving All-Father, should fall into tlie Devil's clutches, a ready victim to his glittering nothings, and finally become his everlasting slave? I am very glad about your lots of disappointments that have made you so miseralily wretched ever since you left iiic, although I have suffered more than you \inder the f emi)orary inconveniences I'aised by your foolish actions. As it is, yon have a well deserved foretaste of hell's pangs, because you worshipped the glittering nothing "matter" and live still in the agonies of fear lest Fate or some other bugbear which, likewise, is a mere selfmade specter or fabrication of your feverish brain, might snap the enticing idol matter, this nothing which you piirsue so hotly, from your grasp and even devour yo\i from toj^ to toe. And now, look-up or down, whichever will suit yovi better, on me ; if your vanity otherwise would jarevent you from looking at all, yoii are quite welcome to look down on your father — and you will see me as hjipj^y as ever deriving inexhaustible delight from the same source your pangs spring from- — from the devil. That is you dread him and nibbling his bait carry his chains, while I prefer to tight him every day of my life and always have the highly gratifying satisfaction to rout him completely in whatever disguise he may try to get the best of me. Yes, endless are his disguises, and is not your tantalizing bugbear "fate" one of them? Every line of my lute letters must have given you the impression, yea, ample proof of the real and perfect happiness which I enjoy and which thousandfold indemnifies me for all the troubles your foolishness has brought-on, over nie rather thicker than over yourself. If my hapjiiness could Ije intensified, it would be by the hope that Fate — not your spook-fate, but my "Fate" or rather the only actual fate, the fate wherewith the Holy 103 Ghost never fails to guide us towards truth — may lead yon thither and briu'^ about what all my preaching and teaching has failed to convince you of as the one thing rei^uired before all other things. Prospects, " 'Aussichten, Luftschlosser ," our dutch uncle calls them, are one of the devil's pet-arrays, are one side-, you may say, are the first side of your specter-fate — misery is the other. Without i^rospects or misery you never would have come over here to see me. Love alone could not have sent you across the ocean's beamless billows. True love does not know of space or time. If you were as much with me in London, as I am always with you in New York, you never could have missed me, your love would not be affected or changed, neither by absence, nor even by death. With true filial love alone you would not have required to be in bodily presence with me. Mere affection is hardly strong enough to drive peojjle over mountains and seas, unless it find an ally in prospects of some kind. Yoii contended yourself at the time of your visit that you would not have come if it had not been for the excellent prospects dawning all around your horizon. While here all these elegant prospects, one by one, faded-away. They were only the first side of the fate that you now accuse of having been against you ever since you returned to New York. If it had not been for your precious prospects, you know that very well yourself, you might have laid a sound foundation to real prosperity and, perhaps, lasting compan- ionship with me. Still I am content you did not, because all my preaching and teaching never woiild have made you a man. Have not you had my "There is a God" in English and German V Have not you had quite a number of remarkably instructive letters for several years now that I never could make you copy for little William's future guidance, nor even C'luld make you read for your own? And you have the cheek to pretend that you ever wanted to have me near? You cannot have me nearer than by reading my letters and heeding my lessons and way-marks. Have not you had my example, your education, our farm-life and the experience 164 of my many failings and few siiccesses in life? If all this had made you a man, you would not have worshipped Fate under the flattering name of prospects, merely to fall victim to the same fate that now you curse, though it is nothing but your precious prospects turned sour, rank and nasty. Work, my boy, work hard and turn your back on pros- pects ! Then you will not fail to embrace the Fate of every triie man — the only actu.al Fate held out to man by the lov- iTig All-Father, which fate is the Kingdom of God, happiness even in direst distress, happiness in Love, Faith and Hope, Was it yoiir specter-fate or Faith that empowered Peter to walk on the waves to meet his Master? As soon as he gave up his faith for the specter fate — down he went. But the divine love of his Lord and Saviour stretched forth the hand of help and revived Peter's faith — Peter was saved. Let monkeys call t bis "all bosh," my boy; I hope yon may open your eyes to Truth and your heart to Faith and Love, and you will for all your life be as rich in poverty and as happy in trouble as your father Oct. 19th, 1878. Yes, my son, you treat me almost as bad as most people treat their heavenly father whom they most persistently avoid to appeal to when they most need him. How could I, then, claim the right to complain. If the countless millions of ingrates never could shake Him out of his eternal beati- tude and bliss, your neglect certainly shall not upset me, and most assuredly you would meet with the well-deserved coiinter-neglect, if it were not for your own sake that I still try to keep the almost extinct spark of hope to see you rise into manhood, alive with the oil of i^aternal love that you did not quite succeed yet to exhaust by carelessly spilling into the smoky embers of your superstition and the clouds :H J, 165 of dusty cobwebs your lack of energy and, in natural sequence, your indolence and despondency befog you with. But, my son, I have done preaching now. What you have had of it, was or, at least, ought to be more than suffi- cient to ciire whole generations of foot- and brain-sore maraud- ers on the winding highway of life — sufficient to knock- down five hundred thousand devils and their grandmother to-boot. Yes, my boy, the highway of life is not winding only but of wonderfully varying nature, too — there is the post- man's knock and, perhaps, a letter from yoia — yes, your let- ter of 7th inst. is at hand. I leave the highway of life and turn to your letter on a new sheet. iiu; Caiiipsiigrii - Hoiigr. Flip-flap, j'oung chap ! Don't tany, but rajj With ringing cheer the crop that is sjjreacl From door to door On the threshing floor Of this btisy life's short work-day ere it's tied. Flip-flap, thy flail May never fail To rap on all that 's mad or bad. Don't fear lest ye crack Sound grain nor the back Of the Ijrave, ever jolly, honest, manly young lad. Flip-flap, let fly And never be shy To thresh while stepping life's line along : There's but one way To redeem, I say, The grain from the chafi' and the right from the wrong. Flip-flap ! With a rap For the tempter's trap, For the trickster's cob-web and the sneaky sniffer's snare Flip-flap, thresh away ! At close of the day You're to winnow golden grain for your well-earu'd shai'e. 167 Flip-flai) ! 'T may bap, You'll deal a stunning rap On tlie shabby money-inonkey and office-grabbing crab, Or a spoil-soil'd crazy Eep. With a Bhiine-chilled — (beg pardon) — chill- blain'd step Or a Hill-Vjlam'd, swill-brain'd, still-stain'd, Snn-sfnu-li Demi-Crab. Flip-flap ! Here's a slap For the good-for-nothing snap ■Who would St 31 his Country's weal for his own benefit Or his party's dirty rags Or the boodler's money-bags Or whatever bait is offer'd by some shuffling hj^inicrits Flip-flap I Pull the wrap From the shoulders of the chap Who dissembles his foul schemes with a feather in his cap. There's a world-wide gap 'Twixt an office-hunter's snap And a Washington's devotit)n or a naj) in old Abe's lap. 168 EPITAPH. To you he was a riddle ? You never saw him fret, You never saw him revel, but ever blithesome yet. He never was despairing, but always full of hope ; His energy when wanted, compass'd the widest scope. Afraid he was of nothing. Toil, hardship, danger, death With even cheer he welcom'd. Who saw him lose his breath ? Where everyone did falter, we saw him stand erect ; What anyone coiild alter, he would try to perfect. His heart was fiall of kindness, of spite and envy l)are, He coiald not hate and ever would deem revenge unfair. His eye, a ready min-or, reflected every pure And innocent rejoicing and every grief as sure ; The only tear that ever would moisten it, was due To pity and compassion or bland emotion, too. His hand was ever open to grasp a brother-hand And drag a sinking swimmer through breakers safe to land. Who was the funny fellow? His name was soon forgot, Of his last home nobody will ever show the spot. Oh ! Don't disgrace his grave, pray, by monument or fence. Nor marble slab ; he never shamm'd worldly opulen(!e. But of the flowery meadow that once his light foot trod. Select for his last homestead the daisy-spangled sod. — LIBRARY OF CONGRESS lllillillllllllllilllil 016 115 805 7