miimiiiioBU aimsmmwa aa 
 
EDWIN S. METCALF 
 
A 
 
 V olume or 
 
 Essays and Poems 
 
 by 
 
 Edwin Styles Metcalf* 
 
 Author of 
 
 **A. Treatise on Melody,'^ "Olio of Isms and 
 Ologies/' Etc* 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 L*Ora Qaeta Publishing Co. 
 
 For sale by 
 
 A. C. McCIurg & Co. 
 
 215-221 Wabash Avenue, 
 
 Chicago. 
 
T5 3S-A r 
 
 LIBRARY of C0N*3KE3S 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 DEC 13 1907 
 
 CLASS/4 ' XXc. wO. 
 COPY B. 
 
 Copyright 
 
 by 
 
 E. S. Metcalf. 
 
 1907. 
 

 "O Reader! had you in your mind 
 
 Such stores as silent thought can bring, 
 
 O Gentle Reader! you woidd find 
 A Tale in everything." 
 
 "Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we 
 
 know. 
 Are a substantial world, both pure and good; 
 Bound these, with tendrils strong as flesh and 
 
 blood. 
 Our pastime and our happiness will grow." 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Virtues, Affirmative and Negative, Page 
 
 ! 
 
 7 
 
 He — the God — with name of Fate, 
 
 (( 
 
 34 
 
 The Five Senses and the Hierarchy 
 
 
 
 of Mind, 
 
 (( 
 
 37 
 
 The Supreme, 
 
 (( 
 
 65 
 
 An Idea, 
 
 (( 
 
 67 
 
 Life, 
 
 CI 
 
 98 
 
 Knowledge, Information, Belief, 
 
 te 
 
 101 
 
 The Man with the Hoe, 
 
 tt 
 
 107 
 
 Secrets of Melodic Failure, 
 
 « 
 
 109 
 
 My Dear Little Girl, 
 
 tt 
 
 114 
 
 A Tear from the Sky, 
 
 tt 
 
 116 
 
 The Melodic Germ, 
 
 it 
 
 117 
 
 Music, the 'Heavenly Maid," 
 
 tt 
 
 123 
 
 The Melodic Design, 
 
 tt 
 
 125 
 
 At Woodland Vespers, 
 
 tt 
 
 133 
 
Melodic Moods, Pa 
 
 gel35 
 
 The Flowers Still Bloom, 
 
 ' 146 
 
 The Angels Know, 
 
 ' 148 
 
 An Opportunity, ' 
 
 * 149 
 
 A Wreck, 
 
 ' 165 
 
 Anticipation, 
 
 ' 167 
 
 Fond Memory, 
 
 ' 175 
 
 Golden Pillars of Life's Temple 
 
 ' 177 
 
 Vermont, 
 
 ' 202 
 
 Talien, 
 
 ' 203 
 
 Play Saint or Sinner, 
 
 ' 204 
 
 The Ideal, 
 
 ' 205 
 
 Only a Tramp, 
 
 ' 216 
 
 The Speechless Voice and Waiting 
 
 
 Pen, 
 
 ' 219 
 
 A Hero, ' 
 
 ' 245 
 
 Cause and Effect, 
 
 ' 247 
 
 Ghristmastide, 
 
 " 255 
 
 States and Moods of the Mind, 
 
 ' 257 
 
 Suppose, ' 
 
 ' 261 
 
 Where the Eiver Ran Low, 
 
 4 
 
 ' 262 
 
The Accidents of Life, 
 
 Angelic Beauty, 
 
 The Soul, 
 
 The End Justifies the Means, 
 
 Thought, 
 
 Life's Paradox, 
 
 The Design and Butterfly Arguments, 
 
 Waiting, 
 
 Law, a Friend or Foe, 
 
 Pat and I, 
 
 The Final Hour, 
 
 Page 
 
 )263 
 
 
 267 
 
 
 268 
 
 
 269 
 
 
 277 
 
 
 278 
 
 
 279 
 
 
 286 
 
 
 289 
 
 
 304 
 
 
 307 
 
VIKTUES, 
 
 AFFIRM ATIYE AND NEGATIVE. 
 
 What a piece of work is man! how 
 noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 
 
 —Shakespeare, 
 
 As a preliminary, we ofPer that man is 
 certainly a curious, interesting, and wonderful 
 being. It is easily seen that he is the highest 
 form of known life. And it matters not 
 whether he evolved from a monkey, as Dar- 
 win says he did, or whether he sprang into 
 existence apart from and independent of all 
 other forms of life, at the behest of an intel- 
 ligent and Supreme Being. 
 
 Be that as it may, he is here in the pos- 
 session of reason, reflection, memory, discrim- 
 ination, ingenuity, and many other powers, 
 with a dominant will to subdue, and, in a 
 great measure, to control, adjust, and adapt 
 to his pleasure and service any and all other 
 
forms of life. He certainly is the highest 
 exponent or manifestation of divine power, 
 • whatever that may be. 
 
 It is not necessary here to cite all that 
 he has done, is doing, and probably will do. 
 The sciences and the arts reflect his power. 
 He has not only explored and investigated 
 the outer world, but has explored and in- 
 vestigated himself, with the result that he 
 finds himself a dual affair, with a head to 
 reason and a heart to feel. Yes, he is a 
 wonderful mixture of thought and feeling. 
 
 He has found himself to be the greatest 
 of all wonders — a riddle to himself. He has 
 also discovered that there are such things 
 as right and wrong; that the one affords 
 pleasure while the other yields wretchedness; 
 that the one is better than the other. That 
 order and peace are better than disorder and 
 war. That there is such a thing as law 
 in the physical world. That to be ignorant 
 of this or to violate it is to be in trouble, 
 while a knowledge of it with obedience and 
 
adjustment to it brings comfort and makes 
 life desirable. 
 
 Yes, he has done more. He has dis- 
 covered that the appetites and passions of 
 men are ever in conflict with one another 
 and need to be regulated or restrained by 
 established laws, even as the forces of nature. 
 
 In imitation thereof, and in his wisdom 
 born of experience and observation, he has 
 formulated standards, a set of rules, by which 
 he may measure his conduct and thereby 
 know when and how to act under different 
 circumstances. So it is that there are stand- 
 ards of conduct, even as there are standards 
 of weights and measures. 
 
 These standards or rules of conduct, man 
 thought out and man 'made, vary in different 
 places even as men differ in their opinions 
 in respect to the justice or propriety of their 
 acts. 
 
 Now a standard of conduct may be low 
 or high. A low standard of conduct permits 
 one to do many things without being cen- 
 
sured or punislied, whereas a high standard 
 operates the reverse. A low standard of 
 conduct or morals is easily complied with 
 and interferes but little with one's natural 
 liberties, while a high standard imposes on 
 him restraints which deprive him of some of 
 these. The more advanced a nation or com- 
 munity is in the arts and the sciences, and 
 especially the more refined it is, the higher 
 is its standard of morals, as may be observed 
 in the standards of different nations or com- 
 munities. 
 
 Now since conduct is practically action, 
 let us briefly and in a general way consider 
 some of the acts of human beings, especially 
 those that relate to man as a member of 
 civilized or organized society. As such it will 
 be observed that he has duties to perform 
 and restraints to suffer, according to his posi- 
 tion, occupation, or circumstances. He must 
 necessarily act, and in so doing must act 
 according to the prescribed rules of the com- 
 munity or society of which he happens to 
 
 10 
 
be a transient or permanent member, else 
 suffer its censure or penalties. 
 
 But every act that one commits is not 
 of such a nature or character as requires 
 regulation, restriction, or prohibition. There 
 are many acts that one is free to exercise 
 even in the most advanced state of society, 
 that are not properly subject to any civil or 
 moral code of conduct. These are more or 
 less harmless in their nature and may be 
 classified as acts of propriety, since they either 
 simply please or offend the wavering and 
 fluctuating tastes of individuals, and are mere- 
 ly subject to what are known as rules of 
 etiquette, designed to shape one's deportment 
 or manners on different occasions. 
 
 So it happens that we have what are 
 termed table, ball room, street, theatre, 
 social, or church manners. These are but 
 marks of civility, courtesy, politeness, or re- 
 finement, which may and frequently do serve 
 to distinguish the crude and the rude from 
 
 the more civil and refined. 
 11 
 
The only penalty attached to the non- 
 observance of any one of the rules govern- 
 ing this class of acts is either criticism, 
 censure, or ostracism. Either one of these, 
 however, is at times exceedingly painful and 
 often more disastrous in its effects than the 
 loss of things material. 
 
 The next and more important acts are 
 those that involve not only the material in- 
 terests and welfare of the individual acting, 
 but also those of others who are or may be 
 affected by his acts. This class embraces 
 all those acts that men perform in their 
 business relations with one another, and are 
 subject to rules that have the force of law, 
 and which if violated cause forfeitures and 
 penalties more or less severe, according to 
 the nature and character of the acts, the 
 circumstances attending them, or the natural 
 or usual consequences that are likely to flow 
 from them. 
 
 We will not undertake to specify these 
 acts and relations which should be better 
 
 12 
 
known and observed by all men. They are 
 considered and regulated in express terms by 
 the civil and criminal laws of every com- 
 munity, besides being defined and enforced 
 in its courts of justice. They may be regard- 
 ed as standards or rules of conduct. 
 
 But we will not consider this matter 
 further. The reader's attention has been 
 sufficiently called to the fact that the life of 
 man is one of action and relations, that what- 
 ever he does affects himself and others, either 
 directly or indirectly, giving pleasure or pain. 
 
 Thus it is that acts have been classified 
 as virtuous or vicious, according to their 
 effects. Since an act must have an actor, 
 he who performs such is regarded either as 
 being virtuous or vicious, according to the 
 nature, character, or effect of the act per- 
 formed. 
 
 Now virtue in its most general sense is 
 very extensive in its application; but as here 
 used it is limited in its meaning, and refers 
 simply to the habits, customs, or conduct of 
 
 13 
 
liuman beings in their individual and col- 
 lective life, and stands as the antithesis and 
 opponent of vice. 
 
 Virtue, however, can and does exist in 
 a potential, or passive state, as seen in many 
 cases, although its best manifestations are 
 to be observed in action. It is inclined to 
 be utilitarian in its nature. It loves to act 
 and loves to serve, not only the actor but 
 others. 
 
 Now since one has a will, and may vol- 
 untarily refrain from practicing or acquiring 
 a known vicious habit, or from doing or 
 participating in a known vicious act; and, 
 since he may do or participate in a known 
 virtuous act or undertaking, it is apparent 
 that there are what may be termed affirma- 
 tive and negative virtues. 
 
 AFFIEMATIVE VIETUES. 
 
 To make clear that which may seem some- 
 what obscure, let us more fully consider what 
 the term virtue signifies. Thus far it has 
 
 14 
 
been spoken of as though it were something 
 real to the sense of sight, and existing by 
 itself, capable of feeling and action. But 
 virtue is not a concrete something, nor is it 
 anything that can be abstracted or chemically 
 separated from any material thing. But it is 
 more than simply an idea of fancy set in a 
 word and sometimes personified. Yet it is 
 nothing that can manifest itself to any one of 
 the five animal senses, as do physical things 
 and their qualities or properties. So, then, 
 if it has an existence, such is rather meta- 
 physical in its character, and such it is. It 
 belongs to what may be called the inner circle 
 or group of senses, of which man is conscious, 
 and which seems to feel and direct as to the 
 right and wrong of things manifested in human 
 acts. 
 
 This sense seems to preside over man's 
 better nature and points- — with reason and 
 judgment — to what is good and best for him 
 in a moral sense. It may be thought of as 
 one of that group of finer senses, unseen, yet 
 
 15 
 
inherent in the heart and mind of man, and 
 emphatically distinct and superior in its char- 
 acter and operations to the five animal senses 
 which report the outward conditions and rela- 
 tions of the visible world. Yes, in this group 
 we find virtue, the moral sense of right and 
 wrong, which, hand in hand with reason, ad- 
 ministers justice and prompts benevolence. 
 
 MAN A FEEE MOKAL AGENT. 
 
 Now if there is one thing that is well 
 settled, it is the fact that man is a free moral 
 agent. It may be doubted or denied that 
 there is a God; that the Bible was inspired; 
 that Christ was more than a man; or, that 
 there is a life beyond the grave; but that man 
 by nature is free to choose what seems to him 
 to be right, and to reject what appears to be 
 wrong, and that he has a will power to act 
 hip 'hoice, no one sane and of ordinary intel- 
 ligence can logically deny. Were it otherwise 
 man would be but a machine, set up to do 
 solely the will of another, and being such, 
 
 16 
 
could not be held accountable and responsible, 
 as he now is, for his acts or conduct. Those 
 who believe him to be a mere tool or machine 
 rank with fatalists, entertaining and living 
 with an idea that mere intuition contradicts, 
 an idea that is degrading and demoralizing in 
 its effects, like many other similar ideas that 
 have appeared from time to time, but which, 
 when properly examined and tested by exper- 
 ience, reason, and logic, are thrown aside as 
 rubbish, being considered as but the dribblings 
 of a disordered intellect. 
 
 Now we have said that what are termed 
 moral virtues can and frequently do exist in 
 a potential state; that is, temperance, veracity, 
 justice, benevolence, etc., may be treasured in 
 the heart or mind even as rain is held in the 
 clouds, or as electricity may be at rest in a 
 storage battery. 
 
 So virtue is not attributed simply to those 
 who act, but also to those who possess it in a 
 quiescent state. A mind or heart in such a 
 state, entertaining feelings and thoughts of 
 
 17 
 
veracity, justice, benevolence, and chastity, has 
 afl&rmative virtues. Of such an one it can be 
 said that he is morally virtuous, although only 
 passively so. 
 
 But affirmative, quiescent virtues, although 
 admirable and commendable, are as nothing 
 when compared to the same in action. It is 
 virtue in action that commands respect and 
 applause. It is he who fights and wins on the 
 field of temptation that merits and wears the 
 wreath of moral approbation, not the recluse 
 who fears contamination and the possible loss 
 of his born innocence, and who takes refuge 
 in some cloister that he may escape the con- 
 flicts and temptations of life. 
 
 Thus affirmative moral virtues are of two 
 kinds, passive and active; and, as we have seen, 
 are characterized by their effects. One may 
 do nothing but eat, drink, sleep, move, and 
 have his being, and yet, according to rule, be 
 virtuous, simply retaining and preserving his 
 native innocence. He is in this sense affirm- 
 atively virtuous, though of little or no value 
 
 18 
 
to the world, eaye it be as a model of inactiye 
 excellence. Again one may act, do good and 
 be right, to the satisfaction of some moral 
 standard. So, then, the affirmative Tirtuea con- 
 sist in being morally good, or in so acting. 
 
 But this is not all. To merit the approval 
 of virtue, one must be morally good and right 
 from a desire so to be. His feelings, thoughts, 
 and motives (especially the latter) must agree 
 with virtue. And though these may lie hidden 
 from the eye within the recesses of the heart 
 and mind, even as the roots of a plant lie 
 concealed beneath the surface of the soil, yet 
 they are counted as the real source of moral 
 goodness; since they precede and start into life 
 acts or deeds intended to serve their purpose 
 and indicate their character; just as the rose 
 and the thistle show the nature of the seeds 
 from which they spring into the full light of 
 day. 
 
 It is thus that we reason from the known 
 to the unknown. We see the act or deed, and 
 from its character judge of its motive. Yet 
 
 19 
 
if the purpose of the act is good, though its 
 consequences may be unforseen and evil, the 
 actor is virtuous, for such were his intentions. 
 But if the purpose of the act is vicious, then 
 the actor is so, though the result of the act 
 is good. Thus it is that virtue, in the last 
 analysis, is fonnd to be synonymous with good 
 intentions or soul impulses. 
 
 NEGATIVB YIBTUES. 
 
 As we have seen, aflSrmative virtues are 
 of two kinds, the one passive or egoistic, the 
 other active or altruistic. The one acts for 
 the ego alone, the other for the alter. The 
 one looks first, last, and all the time, after the 
 interests, pleasures, and happiness of the self; 
 the other extends beyond the self, and is active 
 and on the alert for the good of others. In 
 the former, we see that one of the cardinal 
 virtues, namely, justice, is feeble and slow to 
 act, and that benevolence (the most sublime 
 of all the cardinal virtues) is absent or wholly 
 lacking. In the other kind, we see that jus- 
 
 £0 
 
tice and benevolence Bway and move the heart, 
 neglect the ego, and, moved by the divine spirit 
 of brotherly love, seek to promote the good 
 of all. Yes, so broad and extensive in their 
 operations and effects are these two named 
 virtues, that they may be said to form the 
 basis of all moral right, and to stand as the 
 antithesis of all moral wrong. 
 
 It will be observed, however, that a nega- 
 tive virtue is not so easily defined. It is much 
 easier and more natural to Bay what a thing 
 is than to say what it is not; because we see 
 the one and not the other; besides, it is what 
 a thing is rather than what it is not, that in- 
 terests us. 
 
 Life, with all its beautiful activities and 
 possibilities, excites us and appeals to us 
 in the affirmative. It is the live tree, 
 laden with rich ripe fruit, that attracts one's 
 attention, rather than the one that is dead or 
 fruitless. The bleak and barren waste has no 
 charm for us; it is the verdant and sweet 
 scented vales, hill-sides and mountains, whose 
 
 21 
 
beauties and blessings we see, enjoy and affirm, 
 that attract ns. 
 
 Still, moral, negative virtues do exist, with 
 their relative and comparative values. They 
 are generally found in those who refrain from 
 being or doing the things that virtue con- 
 demns, and that vice approves. These, like 
 the affirmative virtues, are of two kinds. The 
 first are nearly egoistic in their character, 
 since they tend to preserve and promote what- 
 ever there is of good in the individual possess- 
 ing them, and are termed his personal habits. 
 Such a person refrains from acquiring a certain 
 class of habits, withstands temptation, and 
 thus triumphs over vice. So far, he is a 
 negative virtue, in that he has not the vicious 
 habits that virtue condemns. 
 
 The second class of negative virtues are 
 vices known to him as such, but from which 
 he stands aloof and refuses to practice with 
 others; as, for instance, the vices of gambling, 
 drinking, stealing, swindling, etc. 
 
 As already stated, such are his negatire 
 
 22 
 
virtues, since he does not practice them but 
 voluntarily resists them. Were he to practice 
 them they would be some of his affirmative 
 vices, but since he does not, he is said to 
 have so many negative virtues; that is, the 
 virtue of not doing what is known to him to 
 be vicious. 
 
 We will not undertake to mention in de- 
 tail all the negative virtues, even though it 
 were possible, but will simply add that those 
 who curb their passions and appetites to 
 within the bounds of reason, and who, when 
 tempted, refrain from knowingly committing 
 acts of injustice towards themselves or any 
 of their fellow beings, either individually, or 
 in conjunction with others, may, so far, be 
 said to have negative virtues. 
 
 So, then, it is the moral wrongs that men 
 and women refrain from doing, that mark 
 them as having negative virtues, while, on the 
 other hand, it is what they do or are instru- 
 mental in having others do, that is good and 
 just either to themselves or others, that en- 
 
titles them to the credit of being counted as 
 having affirmative virtues. 
 
 However, there are no saints on earth. 
 Christ alone had all the affirmative and nega- 
 tive virtues. In Him alone we find the perfect 
 model of moral excellence. He was certainly 
 the spirit of virtue personified. Most men 
 and women hove some affirmative, and some 
 negative virtues, and, between the two, one or 
 more vices. In some, the affirmative seems to 
 predominate and actuate; in others, the nega- 
 tive; while, still in others, there is a mixture 
 of the two. The man or woman possessed of 
 the greatest number of affirmative and negative 
 virtues, occupies the place of honor at the 
 banquet of moral excellence. 
 
 But it may be asked, how is one to know 
 the right from the wrong? Is there such a 
 thing as absolute right, the antithesis of wrong? 
 If there is such a thing in morals, it would 
 seem that there should be but one standard 
 of moral conduct, to which all men could and 
 would of necessity subscribe; that instead of 
 
 24 
 
ethics or morality being as it is, the art of 
 conduct, it should be the science of such. 
 
 No, there is no such thing as absolute 
 right in ethics; consequently, ethics is not a 
 science in the sense of being supported by 
 uniform and unvarying laws or principles like 
 those in physics; and yet, it approximates a 
 science, since the rules and the reasons that 
 it gives for human conduct are founded upon 
 principles deduced from the nature of man 
 and things. 
 
 So, then, if it is not absolute in its nature, 
 it must be relative, and such it is. It takes 
 the ego — the self, and the alter — the other, 
 to make morality or moral conduct. It is the 
 ethical relation that these bear to each other 
 that forms the basis of ethics, the ground work 
 of right and wrong. 
 
 It is evident, for instance, that one 
 cannot tell himself a falsehood; or, strictly 
 speaking, be morally unjust or benevolent 
 to himself. If he were alone upon the earth, 
 there could be no such thing as moral con- 
 
 25 
 
duct; for his relations then would be simply 
 with the brutes of the field. 
 
 Thus, it takes at least two separate and 
 distinct persons, having different tastes, views, 
 inclinations, conflicting interests or relations, 
 to form moral conduct. If A would be 
 benevolent or just, B must exist as an 
 object of A's benevolence. Again, if A 
 would tell the truth, B must exist to hear it. 
 There must not only be the ego, but there 
 must also be the alter, otherwise there can 
 be no altruistic principle. 
 
 It is interesting to note the different views 
 of ethical writers upon the various topics here- 
 in touched upon; nay, profitable to note and 
 study the reasons they advance; and especially 
 the prineiples that they deduce as the ground- 
 work of their theories or systems. Our public 
 libraries contain copies of their works which 
 show the consonant and dissonant views of such 
 masterful Greek minds as Socrates, Plato, and 
 Ariitotle, and others who have sought to dis- 
 cover what is called virtue, or right and wrong 
 
 26 
 
in human conduct, and the natural principles 
 or ground- work of such; and having, as they 
 assert, found such, have formulated rules or 
 standards as guides or measurements of right 
 in action. Let us briefly note some of these. 
 
 Socrates (about 450 B. C.) maintains that 
 virtue is but wisdom in action; that right is 
 certain and as much a science as the truth, in 
 fact the same; that it has its foundation, its 
 birth and abiding place, in the nature of man, 
 and not in the mere opinions of men, how- 
 ever intellectually great they may be; since 
 they are prone to err, and their opinions, as 
 experience teaches, are liable to be influenced 
 by their appetites, passions, or prejudices; and 
 who, "may know the right and keep it too," 
 "may hate the wrong, yet the wrong pursue." 
 
 True it is, that nature, never subject to 
 such influences, stands forvever the same, 
 fixed, determined, and unchangeable in her 
 laws and purposes as well as in her phenom- 
 ena or manifestations. That she has no am- 
 bitions, vanities, nor jealousies, to gratify, is 
 
 27 
 
what slie is and seeks to be nothing else. She, 
 and she alone, in all her departments furnishes 
 and teaches the truth to those who seek it. 
 
 Therefore it is that the true philosopher 
 ever seeks to find in the nature of man some 
 general fact or principle upon which to ground 
 or base his theory or system, knowing that if 
 so founded it will and must stand up against 
 any and all assaults that doubt, denial, or 
 sophistry may bring. He knows that when 
 his theory or system is brought before the 
 tribunal of enlightened thought, reflection and 
 reason, the truth of such will not depend upon 
 mere opinion, but can be traced to nature, and 
 there found to be rooted and eternally fixed 
 in the absolute, the unconditioned, ready to 
 affirm his conclusions. Thus perceived the 
 astute mind of Socrates. 
 
 Plato, a pupil of Socrates, and more met- 
 aphysical in his nature, finds the ground-work 
 of his ethical virtue in the contemplation of 
 the true, the good, and the beautiful. With 
 him virtue and right exist in thought and 
 
 28 
 
lofty ideals, which are to be obtained, pre- 
 served, and promoted, by setting one's mind 
 upon such and contemplating them. 
 
 It would seem that both of these great 
 philosophers, master and pupil, were right, 
 having had the same end in view, namely, 
 the right road to pleasure and true happiness. 
 It is easily seen, however, that the philosophy 
 of Plato, finding virtue in thought alone, rather 
 than in thought and action, tends to lead to 
 the cloister rather than to the field of duty 
 and action. 
 
 Aristotle, a pupil of Plato, in his ethics 
 makes morality an active rather than a passive 
 virtue. He finds it in doing rather than in 
 knowing. Nor does he forget that the pas- 
 sions and the affections are important factors 
 in the scale of human conduct, and that 
 they should be under the control of reason. 
 Virtue with him is a mean between two ex- 
 tremes, it is moderation in all things. 
 
 While these famous philosophers of his- 
 toric Athens have given the world the results 
 
 29 
 
of their keen observations and speculations on the 
 topics above specified, others, of their day and 
 since, have made the same topics, ever alive and 
 of deep practical importance to man, a matter 
 of serious and scientific study, forming theories 
 or systems which agree and disagree in some 
 respects with the ideas evolved by those great 
 philosophers; and especially so as to the ground 
 and the true end of virtue, or the right in 
 action. So we find the Stoics at Athens and 
 elsewhere teaching that virtue consists in a 
 profound indifference to pain and pleasure; 
 thus making indifference and apathy a virtue. 
 
 Again, we find the Epicureans teaching 
 that pleasure is the chief good, the real object 
 of life, the test of what is proper in action, 
 and proclaiming that there is no immutable 
 law of right and wrong. 
 
 Again, coming down to the time of Crom- 
 well, we find Thomas Hobbes, in his Levia- 
 than, teaching that there is no natural distinc- 
 tion between right and wrong, and therein 
 laying down the principle that might makes 
 
 30 
 
right, and that conscience is only fear; that 
 virtue is obedience to the powers that be. 
 
 Others we find teaching that virtue is the 
 art of living well and happy. 
 
 Again, others holding that virtue and right 
 is conformity with the nature of things. 
 
 Then again, others holding and teaching 
 the idea that the principle of right is the 
 greatest good to the greatest number. 
 
 With Kant, the great German philoso- 
 pher, virtue is obedience to the law of duty 
 enjoined by the will against the allurements 
 of all outward and sensuous influences. 
 
 And thus we find, from the days of Socrates 
 to the present time, men differing and dis- 
 puting as to what is ethical virtue, and what 
 is right and wrong, and seeking to promul- 
 gate and establish their ideas and beliefs 
 concerning such. 
 
 But is there no moral pulsating principle 
 or rule denoting the very essence of moral 
 virtue and right, and which, like an axiom 
 in mathematics, is intuitively true in ethics? 
 
 81 
 
One that the universal heart approves and to 
 which reason and logic willingly give assent? 
 Is there not some such rule, infallible in 
 itself, and yet so simple, and easy of appli- 
 cation that even the most ignorant can apply 
 it with unerring certainty? Is there not 
 some rule that truly measures moral conduct 
 and that stands as a true and eternal base, 
 or as a beacon light in the ocean of ethics, 
 indicating the true and proper course of action 
 among the conflicting appetites and passions 
 of men? 
 
 Yes, there is such a rule, which is as 
 true and reliable as the beautiful sun that 
 swings in the blue vault of heaven like an 
 angel's lamp. Nor does it require a Socrates, 
 a Plato, nor an Aristotle to explain it. It is 
 a rule which, if all would but follow, this 
 earth would be well-nigh a paradise. You 
 know the rule — Christ in his Sermon on the 
 Mount taught it — it is the Golden Kule. 
 
 This rule, "Whatsoever ye would that men 
 should do to you, do ye even so to them," is 
 
most aptly and beautifully named — The Grolden 
 Euie. Virtue is proud of it, and reason readily 
 assents to it. Justice and benevolence, the 
 two principal cardinal virtues, could wish for 
 no better advocate. And if we add to it the 
 wise injunction of Shakespeare, "This to 
 thine ownself be true, and it must follow as 
 the night the day, thou cans' t not then be 
 false to any man," it would seem that nothing 
 more were wanting to make the law of personal 
 and social ethics complete. 
 
 88 
 
HE— THE QOD— WITH NAME OF 
 FATE. 
 
 I was dreaming, so I'm thinking, dreaming, 
 
 what I now relate, 
 And thus dreaming, wandering, peering — 
 
 'twas I met the god of Fate. 
 Well I knew him, when I saw him — by his 
 
 trappings and his gait. 
 Well I knew his name, his calling, sure I 
 
 was his name was Fate. 
 
 Oft I'd read of him in story, of his power 
 
 that mortals prate, 
 And I trembled thus to meet him at an hour 
 
 both dark and late. 
 On his trail from high Olympus, with a 
 
 grin becoming Fate; 
 He, so slouchy — sneaking — crouching — 
 
 thus he looked, I do relate, 
 He — the god — whose name is Fate. 
 
Face to face we stood, he grinning, ghastly 
 
 shone the lamp he bore; 
 Howled the winds an insane howling, roared 
 
 in terror — roar on roar; 
 There I stood, my soul affrighted — help! — 
 
 no help could I emplore. 
 Let the god himself relate it, mortal ne'er 
 
 met like before! 
 
 Soon the frowning god was speaking, while 
 
 his grin did not abate; 
 "You'er the man, methinks, I'm seeking — 
 
 tho' the hour is dread and late, 
 Here's a note for you, I'm thinking," in 
 
 deep gurgling tones he spake — 
 "Eead with care! scan well its meaning! 
 
 well you tremble! — know your fate!" 
 
 Then the slouchy, sneaking monster, slunk 
 
 away with dingy lamp — 
 While in horror terror bound me — as I 
 
 watched the monster tramp; 
 
Heard the fiend — grim, — hated monster, 
 howling like some beast of prey — 
 
 O, his howl out-roared the tempest! quaked 
 the mountain! — fierce — I say. — 
 
 Then the storm threw off its madness! 
 
 Morning came! The lark I heard! 
 Naught then seen of note or monster — ^fled 
 
 they from the morn and bird: — 
 
 How I hate that dream — that nightmare! 
 
 hate the vision that it brought ! 
 Oft I feel in storm and darkness all the 
 
 terror that it wrought! 
 
THE FIVE SENSES 
 
 AND 
 
 THE HIERAECHY OF MIND. 
 
 The five senses, servants of the mind and 
 immediately identified with it in its operations, 
 are indeed wonderful; not only in their struct- 
 ure, but also in their individual operations. 
 What were man, what were life, without them? 
 How nobly they serve him; and, sad to relate, 
 how often they deceive him! They, in this 
 respect, are human, like all servants, and need 
 watching; for they themselves are liable to be 
 deceived and, in turn, to betray or deceive 
 their master. Some of these are quite select 
 in their nature and tastes, although easily de- 
 moralized. 
 
 The eye, the chief and most refined and 
 efficient of the group, as it looks abroad 
 over the land and the sea upon the innum- 
 erable works of God and man, furnishes the 
 
 37 
 
mind with the beauties and glories of the 
 heavens and the earth, thus filling the heart 
 with admiration and the soul with awe. Then 
 again, under the influence of some evil spirit 
 concealed within its mysterious nature, it 
 frequently awakens vicious or insane emo- 
 tions, such as vanity, envy, jealousy, and their 
 kindred allies, thus prompting man to cruelty 
 or crime. 
 
 Yes, the eye, fond and cunning sense of 
 sight, is both a friend and a foe. It can 
 bring a smile, or a frown, — a laugh, or a tear. 
 It is the queen of the senses and the pride 
 of the mind. Ah, gem of gems! A sight- 
 less world is, indeed, a dead world. The 
 sun may rise and set in all its splendor; 
 the moon may throw her soft and loving 
 light on lover's path and wooing lake, on 
 vine clad hill and towering dome; all that is 
 mind engaging, beautiful and majestic in the 
 heavens and on the earth, may vie together 
 to captivate and charm the divine in man, 
 yet, without the sense of sight all these were 
 
 38 
 
lost, yes, dead to heart and soul. A Laura 
 Bridgeman, or a Helen Kellar, in an endless 
 night, may dream of these beautiful and won- 
 derful things, but then, ah then! 'tis but a 
 dream, — a dream of things never to be seen 
 in all their fascinating beauty and dazzling 
 splendor. 
 
 But we will not further outline the value 
 of this favorite sense; the mind of the reader will 
 readily trace its varied service and dual nature; 
 the pleasure it gives and the pain it inflicts. 
 
 But the eye, the telescope and microscope 
 of the mind, has a delicately organized and 
 bright associate, one that is ever sensitive and 
 acute in its operations; and which, like the eye, 
 being dual in its nature, now furnishes the 
 mind with things that are true, beautiful, and 
 good; and then, again, led astray by curiosity 
 or some evil spirit therein lurking, conveys to 
 it evil in the form of some idle gossip or 
 loathsome slander, thereby causing excitement 
 within the corridors of the heart and disturb- 
 ing the peace of the soul. 
 
Let us note some of its service. Now it 
 bears to the waiting heart and trusting soul 
 sweet accents of love and promise. Soft 
 zephyrs, laden with the aroma of the native 
 wild flower from the paradise of affection, are 
 sighing through cypress boughs and blending 
 with notes of the plaintive harp, while Komeo 
 and Juliet, seated within the arbor of love in 
 the pale of the moon, are whispering to each 
 other vows of eternal bliss. This message 
 alone, spark divine, borne by the ear to the 
 heart of love, were enough to make its service 
 immortal and entitle it to endless homage. 
 
 But listen, it serves again. Hark! A 
 mother's cooing, soothing voice is heard in 
 some sweet lullaby; and now an infant sleeps 
 in sweet repose. Yes, in love's bower, at the 
 cradle, at the altar, and at the grave, it waits 
 on the heart or soothes the soul. The eye might 
 well be jealous of its boon companion, that 
 animates the heart and the mind with "Home 
 Sweet Home," and quiets the soul with "Near- 
 er My God To Thee," while the eye looks on 
 
 40 
 
and weeps. What a useful servant! What 
 were life without it! What were the 
 
 songs of the robin and the nightingale; the 
 voice in the choir and the notes of the organ; 
 the heart and soul inspiring symphony; the 
 heaven born oratorio; the accents of prayer; 
 indeed, a thousand things that reveal to the 
 heart and the soul the divine in life; yes, what 
 were they but for the ear. 
 
 But the mind, in considering and estimat- 
 ing the value of these two seemingly twin 
 servants upon which it so much depends for 
 its supply of thought material, is not only 
 pleased with them, but is astonished at the 
 ingenious manner in which they have been 
 constructed and operate, and the fidelity with 
 which they report the facts and phenomena 
 of the outer world; and looks upon them 
 with as much mystery as it does upon itself. 
 However, it often distrusts them and requires 
 them to review their reports; thus signifying 
 that they are not always accurate, but, being 
 
 human, are liable to err or be deceived. 
 11 
 
The three remaining senses, those of smell, 
 touch, and taste, are quite different in their 
 nature from those above described, and may 
 be regarded as menial servants, since they 
 serve the body, while the eye and the ear wait 
 on the heart, mind, and soul. And although 
 they perhaps in their detective capacity are 
 quite equal to their sister senses of sight and 
 sound, yet the character of the service which 
 they perform is of a type lower and less re- 
 fined. The most delicate of these is possibly 
 that sense which detects the fragrance of the 
 rose, the lily, the violet, or warns the mind 
 of lurking dangers unseen by the eye and un- 
 heard by the ear. 
 
 Similar in service is that of the remain- 
 ing two senses. They directly serve the 
 body in its struggle for existence, and indi- 
 rectly, the mind. The intellect is pleased 
 with them and appreciates the pleasures that 
 the body derives from their service, besides 
 realizing that were it not for them the house 
 of flesh that it inhabits and animates for so 
 
 42 
 
brief a time would be unworthy of its tenant. 
 It is also to be observed that while these 
 servants have their own individual service to 
 perform, they now and then assist one an- 
 other by acting as confirmatory agents. The 
 eye frequently appears before the mind to 
 confirm the truth of what the ear declares; 
 then again, the ear helps to identify what the 
 eye claims to have seen. And so it is that 
 these servants aid one another by furnishing 
 confirmatory evidence in matters in doubt be- 
 fore the mind. Thus it will be seen that the 
 five senses, each of which is a wonder in it- 
 self, are not co-ordinate in rank or efficiency, 
 but that they differ in this respect even as the 
 members or factors of the Hierarchy of Mind 
 upon which they wait. 
 
 THE HIEEAEOHY OF MIND, 
 
 But if the five senses of man are thus 
 wonderful, how infinitely more so is that grand 
 combination of faculties that are here named 
 the Hierarchy of Mind, the study of which 
 
 43 
 
has engaged the attention and baffled the com- 
 prehension of the most astute and learned 
 investigators and philosophers that the world 
 has ever known. That such a mysterious 
 and curiously organized something exists 
 and operates within the human brain, se- 
 curely at home within the skull, we know; 
 but what that mysterious, acting combination 
 or something is, yet remains a defying secret. 
 Think of it, think of the mind hunting for 
 itself and trying to identify itself, but never 
 finding itself, although the conscious ego — 
 thought to be other than mind — knows that 
 it exists. What a mystery! How the head 
 reels in contemplation of it! 
 
 Anatomy reveals to the eye and the un- 
 derstanding the lobes of the brain, its convo- 
 lutions, its white and grey matter, its cells, 
 its blood vessels, its nerves, and their connec- 
 tions with the five senses; but then, what and 
 where is mind, that mysterious, that invisible 
 something, that secret and subtle force that 
 seems to abide and operate within its sensitive 
 
 44 
 
and curiously constructed medium — the brain? 
 This is a secret that even mind itself has not 
 as yet revealed to man, or his conscious ego; 
 for conscious ego seems to be other than mind 
 and seated on its throne somewhere in the 
 dome of the intellect, free from labor of any 
 kind except it be that implied in conscious 
 cognition. 
 
 Let us pause and reflect a moment. Think 
 of it; yes, think of it, the mind! A thing so 
 constituted that it can think even of itself, as 
 we are now doing, can examine itself, and its 
 operations; nay, can turn itself into a veritable 
 workshop, a council chamber, a legislative, or 
 a judicial body; and yet, this marvelous some- 
 thing cannot identify itself save in the mani- 
 festations of its acts. 
 
 Yes, the greatest wonder in this world is 
 the phenomena of mind. But let us take a 
 further view of the mind, let us consider its 
 working capacity, its organized and functional 
 life. We find that it consists of several dis- 
 tinct powers or faculties, that it is well organ- 
 
 45 
 
ized for business, resembling in this respect 
 some of its own creations, as, for instance, a 
 corporate body, with officers and servants, 
 chartered to do almost anything, good, bad, 
 or indifferent, that it may undertake. 
 
 We further find that the faculties of this 
 wonderful Hierarchy are not co-ordinate in 
 rank; that, like the senses, some of these are 
 superior to the other members, and that each has 
 its own or appointed work to do, and can do 
 no other. We find that the will faculty, which 
 seems to preside over all the other faculties, 
 is the highest in rank, and decides not what 
 ought to be done, or when, how, or where 
 anything shall be done; but, on the contrary, 
 whether it shall be done at all: that it is the 
 enjoining power. 
 
 Again, that the faculty of Reason, chief 
 advocate to the Will, is second in rank, and 
 in conjunction with Judgment, its aid and 
 third in rank, performs the fine and difficult 
 work of drawing conclusions from judgments 
 already formed and presented to it by its as- 
 
 46 
 
sociate — Judgment; that througli these three 
 principal members of the Hierarchy, the mind 
 performs its chief acts and is held responsible 
 to Truth and Justice for any and all errors 
 that it makes. 
 
 But these do not constitute the entire 
 faculty. The mind has other powers, without 
 which these already spoken of would be of 
 little or no use. They are Memory, Com- 
 parison, Discrimination, Abstraction, General- 
 ization, Reflection, and Imagination. Let us 
 briefly suggest the duties or functions of these 
 subordinate but important members of this 
 Hierarchy 
 
 The first of these, Memory, keeps 
 the records of the past, and when called 
 upon supplies Judgment and reason with 
 whatever data they may require for their 
 conclusions or deductions. Were it not 
 for this member the past would be a 
 blank, all its achievements, joys and sor- 
 rows were buried in oblivion. It is im- 
 possible to over estimate the value of this 
 
 47 
 
faculty or power of the mind. It is the pet 
 of the Ego, admired by Imagination, and loved 
 by Eeflection. It lives in the past and takes 
 no interest in the future. To it, what has been 
 is everything, what may be is nothing. It is 
 the light and delight of each member of the 
 Hierarchy. When it is absent there is seen 
 in its place only the dim, pale light of the 
 present, flickering in the darkness of distrac- 
 tion. Reason and Judgment, upon which 
 it waits with its various experiences and ob- 
 servations, etc., are helpless without it. They 
 have no light in which to work but that of 
 Memory. In it they read that from the 
 known they are to ascertain the unknown; 
 that in the light of the dead but living 
 past, they are to predict the immediate or re- 
 mote future. Thus it is that Memory that 
 keeps the records of the past and holds the 
 key to the store-house of experience and ob- 
 servation — so essential to the grand Hierarchy 
 of Mind in its observations — is a pet of the 
 Ego. 
 
 48 
 
We further find that Comparison and Dis- 
 crimination are also two valuable members of 
 this faculty, and although their work is not of 
 so high an order as that performed by those 
 already mentioned, yet, without their aid. Judg- 
 ment can do nothing, and consequently Reason 
 must sit idle. 
 
 The first of these. Comparison, perceives 
 wherein two or more things are alike and 
 notes their resemblances; while the second, 
 Discrimination, points out wherein they differ 
 from one another and indicates their distin- 
 guishing characteristics. These two members 
 are seldom idle. Their work is delicate in its 
 character and often very exacting. Whenever 
 they make a mistake. Judgment, which relies 
 upon them, necessarily follows in error. They 
 seem to be almost as indispensible to the rest 
 of the faculty as Memory itself. It is only by 
 comparison that beauty exists; that vice is not 
 virtue; that poverty is not riches; that pain is 
 not pleasure; that the present is better than 
 the past; and that heaven is the desideratum. 
 
 49 
 
Two very important members of the 
 Hierarchy are Abstraction and Generaliza- 
 tion. The work performed by the former 
 is of a texture fine and delicate. It abstracts 
 or withdraws from an object any one of its 
 qualities or properties, and then presents it 
 to the consideration of Judgment for its ex- 
 amination and approval. It is the only mem- 
 ber of the Hierarchy that has the power to 
 abstract an attribute from the object to which 
 it belongs or in which it is found. This is 
 a wonderful power and marks this member 
 a genius. 
 
 When Abstraction has completed its work 
 Generalization takes the results of its labor 
 and with Comparison places all those ab- 
 stractions that are alike into a class by them- 
 selves, and then gives them a name, regard- 
 less of the fact that they may come from, 
 or are found to exist in different objects 
 By the power and aid of these two members, 
 wonderful compounds or combinations, useful 
 or beautiful, are formed. 
 
 60 
 
But there is a member of this wonder- 
 ful Hierarchy that is restless and unreliable, 
 and that is never allowed to perform any 
 serious work. Judgment and Reason, always 
 so grave in their nature, regard it with sus- 
 picion, and scan its productions and sug- 
 gestions with distrust. This member is 
 Imagination, and, unlike Memory, delights 
 not only in the past, but has a special fond- 
 ness for the future. It is a great dreamer 
 and a gay deceiver, and not unfrequently 
 disturbs the dignity and calculations of the 
 hierarchal body. It is exceedingly romantic 
 and poetical in its nature, and fond of ex- 
 citing and tantalizing its more prosaic asso- 
 ciates with its own creations rather than those 
 gathered by the senses from the objective 
 world. This it frequently does so adroitly 
 that even Reason — ^the most reliable and re- 
 vered figure of the Hierarchy — is led, in 
 an unguarded moment, to regard them as 
 genuine, and use them as factors in some 
 of its serious calculations and solutions. This 
 
 51 
 
wild and romantic member, which is usually 
 ignored by Keason, is often seen in the com- 
 pany of Abstraction by which it is much 
 admired and assisted. 
 
 But Imagination, ever dreaming and 
 scheming, has a wonderful and brilliant record 
 on the pages of Memory, a record that is 
 frequently read with laughter and astonish- 
 ment by Judgment and Reason, as they refer 
 to its mythological, astronomical, moral, or 
 theological effusions, and their wild and dis- 
 tracting effects upon the general heart and 
 mind of the world. 
 
 Yet, not withstanding the flighty and- 
 unreliable character of this member, its ser- 
 vice in many respects is very acceptable. 
 With its romantic and ideal effusions it not 
 only serves to refresh the spirits of the other 
 members of the Hierarchy, but it frequently 
 makes excursions into the future and brings 
 back with it suggestions and predictions which 
 even Beason is bound to respect and take 
 under consideration. Thus, Imagination, while 
 
 52 
 
a great dreamer and a gay deceiver, performs, at 
 times, valuable service as a pioneer to thought 
 and Reason. To it may be traced many a valu- 
 able suggestion, many a smile, and many a tear. 
 At times it seems to have no conscience, and 
 although often severely rebuked by sober 
 Reason, it will persist in weaving tales of 
 fancy, flirting with fairies on Utopian shores, 
 and in suggesting the impossible and farcical. 
 But there is yet another member of this 
 joint faculty by the name of Reflection which 
 serves in the dignified capacity of learned 
 secretary to Judgment and Reason, and which, 
 with its keen eye of review, frequently dis- 
 covers mistakes that have been made by its 
 superiors and approved by the Will. Some 
 of these mistakes are comical, while others 
 are serious and tend to eause even Reason 
 to be suspicious of its own wonderful and 
 supreme importance. As a result of these 
 errors, discovered by its secretary. Reason is 
 frequently compelled to appear before its 
 waiting chief, the Will, and urge that the 
 
 53 
 
decrees that the chief has signed be modi- 
 fied, or cancelled, and that new or corrected 
 ones be issued in their place. Hence it is 
 that a feeling of charity exists between the 
 members of the Hierarchy and its servants, 
 the five senses, and that there hangs upon 
 the walls of its council chamber the motto: 
 "To err is human." 
 
 All nature ie but art, unknown to thee; 
 
 All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; 
 
 All discord, harmony not understood; 
 
 All partial evil, universal good; 
 
 And spite of pride, in erring reason's epite, 
 
 One truth is clear: Whatever is, is right. 
 
 Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; 
 The proper study of mankind is man. 
 
 — Pope. 
 
 U 
 
THE SUPREME. 
 
 What is that mysterious something, 
 
 Universal in space and in time; 
 That formless — unseen — acting something, 
 
 That sages have sought to define; 
 That something, that permeates Nature 
 
 With life and design — never dies; 
 That soi»ething, that rules with such order, 
 
 That commands here and there in the 
 skies. 
 
 That something, with power to give motion. 
 That something, with power to give Life; 
 
 That something, involving the notion 
 Of Death — as a solvent for strife; 
 
That something, that's more than mere 
 Nature, 
 That baffles proud Science — its creature, 
 That something, all mystery — fools dare to 
 define. 
 That something essential — all soul — the 
 Divine. 
 
 That power that gave form to Creation, 
 
 Set the spheres in their orbits to rhyme. 
 That power that gave Earth vegetation, 
 
 Ordered Light! and made Darkness 
 sublime! 
 That something, to man so mysterious. 
 
 Yet felt in his soul all the while; 
 That something he feels — when most 
 serious — 
 
 The Supreme! — the Eternal! — Divine! 
 
AN IDEA. 
 
 In its most restricted or philosophic sense, 
 this little word, the sight and sound of which 
 is so familiar to all, is entitled to more con- 
 sideration than it ordinarily receives. In 
 dignity and importance it ranks with such 
 words as life, love, truth, and justice. It rep- 
 resents an act of the mind. And as mind is 
 superior to matter, even as an electric current 
 is superior to the battery that generates and 
 discharges it, so are the products of the mind 
 superior to the material from which it em- 
 anates, or which serves as its medium. But 
 what is an idea? It is evidently not a material 
 product, like an orange, a peach, or a rose. 
 Its nature is neither vegetable, animal, nor 
 mineral. No, it is of a higher order, it is a 
 metaphysical product. 
 
 Yes, an idea of the class spoken of here 
 is a product of the mind pure and simple. 
 
 67 
 
It is conceived in and of the mind, hence it 
 is a mind product. It is, as it were, a spark 
 from the mysterious and hidden operations of 
 the mind; a product, the birth of which is 
 witnessed by that very subtle and mysterious 
 something back of it called consciousness. 
 Yes, in the mind, within the confines of the 
 brain, in some mysterious way, an idea, true 
 or false, trivial or important, springs forth in 
 the form of a mental image. Wonderful in- 
 deed is this function of the human mind! 
 Within the presence of this mysterious force, 
 this divine in man, mind itself looks upon 
 itself — contemplates itself — and its operations. 
 Think of it! How wonderful! 
 
 But every mind is not productive of ideas. 
 A mind that does not evolve such is said to 
 be barren of ideas, resembling in this respect 
 an unproductive kind of soil, while other minds, 
 more highly endowed, are more or less prolific 
 in ideas. Yes, but how is one to know when 
 an idea appears upon the horizon of the 
 mind? Are there no manifestations of such? 
 
 58 
 
Are there no certain sensations attending 
 such evolutions within the brain that serve 
 to announce the arrival or birth of an idea? 
 Is there no sound, no pain, no sensations of 
 any kind? No. One is simply conscious 
 of the appearance of such. It may be un- 
 fortunate, but beyond consciousness neither 
 an idea nor a sensation can be traced. This 
 seems to be the last known point; for when 
 one is in a state of unconsciousness he is 
 practically dead, not only so to himself, but 
 to the world, to all things subjective and 
 objective. Such then, it would seem, is the 
 source, the birthplace, and the nature of an 
 idea. Let us trace its life and character 
 into the objective world. 
 
 In so doing we observe that some ideas, 
 when they have passed from the mind into 
 the outer world, are so puny or senseless as 
 to be hardly noticeable; they live as it were 
 only a moment and then pass into oblivion, 
 while others, because of their worth, meet 
 with hearty reception, are adopted and enter 
 
 59 
 
into active service. Some of these are of 
 secondary importance, while others are of a 
 more primary character, and serve as roots 
 or fundamentals upon which theories, or sys- 
 tems, or institutions are built; and that rule 
 or revolutionize the world of human affairs. 
 Thus an idea is as it were a thing of life 
 and force; something that can be cultivated, 
 organized, developed, and made to blossom 
 and bear fruit like a plant. 
 
 But an idea is of little or no value, no 
 matter what its character may be, so long 
 as it remains dormant or unexpressed within 
 the dome of the intellect. As an acorn needs 
 the soil to become an oak, so an idea needs 
 the world of friction and conflict for its life 
 and development. It must be set in motion 
 and sent into the world of affairs for work 
 and recognition, otherwise its value will never 
 be known, but it will die or remain as use- 
 less as an acorn on an iceberg, or as a pearl 
 upon the floor of the sea, that might grace 
 some fair hand of charity. 
 
 60 
 
PEEOBPTS AND CONCEPTS. 
 
 Thus, the mind has not only the power 
 to perceive, but the power to conceive. It 
 perceives the objects and phenomena of the 
 outer world, and conceives the things which 
 arise within itself — ideas. Yes, it is not only 
 a perceiver, but also a oonceiver. It is this 
 power of conception that produces the ideas 
 to which we here refer. When one sees a 
 bird or any sensible object with the physical 
 eye, and is so conscious of it in his mind, he 
 is not seeing a concept of the mind, an idea, 
 a mental image born in the mind, but a per- 
 cept, a sensible object, having an existence 
 outside of the mind, the form of which is 
 brought to and presented to the mind. Hence 
 the difference between a percept and a concept. 
 Both of these form images in the mind for 
 consciousness to observe, but the images that 
 percepts form are things seen with the phys- 
 ical eye; while those of concepts arise within 
 the mind or imagination, and hence are called 
 mental images, which the physical eye does 
 
 Bl 
 
not see. This, then, is the difference between 
 the so called mind's eye and the physical eye. 
 Hence, one seeing with his mind's eye a new 
 way of doing anything — new combinations — 
 new formations — with their logical results or 
 consequences, has an idea; — an idea that is 
 new or original if it has not previously ap- 
 peared in any other mind, otherwise it is not 
 original. This new idea, appearing as an 
 image or concept within the mind, may have 
 been evolved from thinking, or from contem- 
 plating some subject, object, or question; yet, 
 it is an idea, a new concept, for it was not 
 before known. 
 
 When an idea leaves its birthplace, the 
 mind, it becomes, as it were, the child or 
 property of the world, a sort of cosmopolitan. 
 And so it is that to-day the world is full of 
 ideas, cosmopolitan ideas, so to speak, here- 
 tofore evolved by the human mind. There 
 was a time, however, when they were not, 
 until some mind produced them and sent them 
 forth into the objective world of life, for recog- 
 
 68 
 
nition, adoption, practice, place, and power. 
 
 Let us consider further this little word, 
 this divine spark, this world power. Let us 
 consider some of the great ideas, dominant 
 ideas, evolutions of great minds, ancient and 
 modern, that have come into the world and 
 revolutionized or modified the feelings, views, 
 and actions of men; and that have wrought 
 great transformations in the intellectual, moral, 
 religious, and civil life of those who have 
 come under their power and influence. 
 
 In running over the pages of history, one 
 finds that different minds have evolved and 
 entertained different and conflicting ideas. 
 Some of these pertain to the origin and nature 
 of the universe; others to the life of man here 
 and hereafter, his duties, obligations, and re- 
 sponsibilities. Some of these are purely spec- 
 ulative in their character, while others are 
 practical or scientific. Yes, the entire range 
 of the material or objective world has received, 
 it would seem, attention, thought, and invest- 
 igation; and different minds have evolved 
 
concerning such various ideas. From these 
 different views, it will be observed that the 
 simple fact that an idea evolves from the 
 mind, that mysterious and most divine part of 
 man — is no assurance that it is true or exact, 
 for it is but a human product; in fact an idea 
 may be absolutely false, or not plumb to the 
 truth; hence it is subject to examination for 
 approval or rejection. 
 
 Let us briefly note some of these ideas. 
 For centuries the physical eye looked upon 
 the heavens and the earth, and from the ap- 
 pearance of things declared to the mind that 
 the earth was flat; that it was the centre of 
 the universe. It further declared that the sun 
 rose in the east and traveled up and over this 
 sphere in the blue dome of the heavens; and 
 that so on it went down and under it and up 
 again in the east; thus making the same trip 
 day after day, and so on century after century, 
 without cessation. Thus it positively seemed 
 to the physical eye of the world; and the un- 
 lettered mind, trusting this sense, believed 
 
 64 
 
wliat appeared to be absolutely true; nor would 
 it tolerate any opinion to the contrary. 
 
 But there came a time when the mind 
 grew suspicious that its servant, the eye, was 
 being deceived; for it had learned that even 
 in nature things are not always what they 
 Beem. So, suspicion created doubt in the 
 mind, a doubt that grew strong and defiant, 
 which, with an array of contradictory facts, 
 battled with blind belief, thereby causing a 
 disturbance in the now wide-awake and think- 
 ing mind, setting in action skeptical but honest 
 investigation, judgment, and reason, with the 
 result that a conflicting and revolutionary idea 
 was born; an idea which grew with time and 
 dethroned the Ptolemaic or Geocentric idea, 
 and in its place established, not what seemed 
 to the naked eye as truth, but the real, the 
 truth, the Copernian or Heliocentric idea; an 
 idea not born of blind belief and having for 
 its sole support simple and trusting observa- 
 tion, but one confirmed by science, an expert 
 of the mind, with its telescope and other 
 
 65 
 
demonstrative instruments inspired by truth. 
 
 Thus we see, in this one great historical 
 case, that a false idea may be born in the 
 mind; that it may find its way into the world, 
 and there, finding favor, may become a ruling 
 and defiant spirit for centuries. Again, that 
 the same idea, in the course of time, may 
 become an object of ridicule, or be discarded 
 with contempt, when the mind, ceasing simply 
 to observe, sets itself to thinking and testing 
 the accuracy of its observations and conclusions, 
 and so gives birth to a new and true idea. 
 
 So then, as we have stated, an idea is a 
 thing of life, something that can grow and 
 bear fruit, true or false, bitter or sweet, ac- 
 cording to its nature; that it is a thing of 
 force; that when it once takes firm root in the 
 mind and heart it is not easily displaced, but 
 may, like the one above stated, live for cen- 
 turies and flourish in all its falsity, defying 
 even truth herself to remove it. 
 
 This suggests the reflection that one should 
 be on the alert that he may not entertain an 
 
 66 
 
idea of importance, no matter how seemingly 
 beautiful and plausible it may be, before giv- 
 ing it a suspicious and critical examination. 
 
 So too, from the above celebrated case 
 of delusion, it will be observed that ideas that 
 are born of observation alone may be false, and 
 that any system or theory built upon them 
 must necessarily carry the same uncertainty, 
 and may not withstand the scrutiny or assaults 
 of truth when it attacks such with its weapons 
 of demonstration. But such ideas, however, 
 are not without value. They serve to sug- 
 gest to the mind what may be true, and what, 
 upon proper examination, may thus be found. 
 This prompts us incidentally to remark, that 
 a mind which simply observes is not apt to 
 produce ideas of any kind, that if it harbors 
 or entertains such they are but echoes from 
 other minds. In fact, one may observe or 
 enjoy for a life time what the senses yield, 
 without ever having an idea. 
 
 But let us return to our subject. There 
 are ideas that appear in the mind which are 
 
 67 
 
not suggested simply by observation as was 
 the Ptolemaic theory, but which are evolved 
 from observation and experience supplement- 
 ed by methodical thinking; ideas which invite 
 inspection and furnish demonstration. Ideas 
 of this variety were not native to the prim- 
 itive mind. Methodical and scientific think- 
 ing was not a flower of the Nile, the Tigris, 
 or the Euphrates. True, the human mind 
 was there, star-gazing, earth surveying, meas- 
 uring shadows, and proudly guessing, and 
 sometimes hitting the truth; but then from 
 mere observation with crude instruments the 
 mind could evolve little more than what the 
 senses furnished. Correct ideas may, it is 
 true, arise intuitively, as it were, in the un- 
 tutored mind; yet, they are of but little service 
 until organized and developed by science, 
 their friend and demonstrator. It was by 
 methodical and scientific thinking that Co- 
 pernicus and his successors evolved and dem- 
 onstrated the truth of his theory and the 
 falsity of its predecessor, the Ptolemaic theory. 
 
 68 
 
It was by such thinking that Sir Isaac New- 
 ton discovered to the world the laws that 
 govern the movements of the planetary system. 
 It is nothing uncommon to see an apple 
 fall from a tree to the ground; but from this 
 observation, in Newton's mind there sprang up 
 an inquiry which he subjected to methodical 
 thinking and reflection, with the result that 
 his disciplined mind evolved an idea that solved 
 a great problem, a mystery of the planets. 
 
 And so it is that this class of ideas 
 has revolutionized the thoughts, actions, and 
 beliefs of men. It is due largely to such ideas, 
 products of skepticism and honest inquiry, that 
 superstition, the bane of the world, has dwin- 
 dled from a giant to a pigmy. It is due to 
 such that imagination, the playful dreamer 
 and gay deceiver of the world, has been un- 
 masked and made to bend the knee to rea- 
 son, as she sits on her throne in the purple 
 robes of science wearing the crown of demon- 
 stration. 
 
 It will be seen by reference to history 
 
 69 
 
that it was not merely the observing mind, 
 but the thinking, experimental, and demon- 
 strative mind, that evolved and developed the 
 idea of the alphabet, as it did later the print- 
 ing press. And this, too, when science was 
 yet young or in its embryonic state. These 
 two inventions, products of ideas evolved from 
 thinking and reflection based upon observation, 
 are, perhaps, the greatest that the human mind 
 has ever evolved for the improvement of man 
 and the advancement of civilization. 
 
 In fact, every invention or the improvement 
 of such in the different arts and sciences since 
 the days of Archimedes, when the screw, the 
 wheel, the lever, and the pulley were invent- 
 ed, may be traced to some mind that evolved 
 the idea of such from the exercise of its higher 
 faculties, termed the discursive faculties of the 
 mind, and not merely from thoughtless obser- 
 vation, one of its perceptive faculties. True, 
 some of these may have been suggested or 
 started by common observation, as was the 
 steam engine, when Watt, upon seeing the 
 
 70 
 
cover of a tea-kettle lifted by the force of the 
 steam that boiling water generated. 
 
 The sight of this common occurrence 
 forcibly suggested to Watt's inquiring and 
 thinking mind the valuable power of steam, 
 and that this force might be produced in 
 larger quantities and satisfactorily applied 
 to practical purposes. This suggestion he 
 submitted to the higher faculties of his mind, 
 to its discursive faculties, that is — to judg- 
 ment, reason, and reflection, with the result 
 that in due course of time his mind evolved 
 a concept, an idea that suggested other ideas, 
 thus forming a chain of ideas, which finally 
 led to and terminated in an improved steam- 
 engine, which put to flight the steam-pump 
 and gave to commerce a mighty impulse. 
 
 To such, to ideas suggested by observa- 
 tion and experiment, as well as to ideas that 
 spring up in the mind independent of these, 
 (if such can be) all the inventions in the 
 arts and sciences may be traced. Again we 
 say, how wonderful is mind! how wonderful 
 
 71 
 
its intuitive faculties! how marvelous its dis- 
 cursive faculties! 
 
 But not only has the material, the ob- 
 jective world received the attention, the in- 
 vestigation and the consideration of great 
 reflective and reasoning minds, which have 
 evolved ideas concerning its nature and phe- 
 nomena, but similar minds have passed be- 
 yond the objective world and made excursions 
 into the metaphysical, into realms which lie 
 beyond the limits of the five senses; and in 
 so doing, have evolved with more or less of 
 reason, various metaphysical ideas; and with 
 these ideas as a basis have formed doctrines, 
 or theories; and for their promulgation, growth, 
 and preservation, institutions have been es- 
 tablished. 
 
 But, as already stated, with these meta- 
 physical ideas the five senses have nothing 
 to do. How so? Because their powers are 
 limited to the physical, the objective or mate- 
 rial world. They were never designed to 
 reach beyond these objective boundaries; 
 
 72 
 
therefore they are left behind, as it were, 
 when the imagination in its excursions with 
 speculation and assumption travels outside or 
 beyond these boundaries. 
 
 Yes, the eye, though aided by the telescope 
 and the microscope, can not reach beyond 
 matter in any form. Its powers are limited, 
 which is true of each of the five senses. 
 Yet, man is conscious, and his reason tells 
 him, that something does exist that is not 
 physical; that there are existences that none 
 of the five senses can discern; existences, 
 the nature and character of which are known 
 (if at all) only through the discursive faculties 
 of the mind; faculties which speculate with 
 them and give them a philosophical or meta- 
 physical classification. And, as we have said, 
 such existences do not make themselves known 
 directly to the mind through any one of the 
 five senses, therefore, these cannot prove that 
 such exist or inform the mind of their nature 
 or character. 
 
 Besides, these existences are so fine or 
 
 73 
 
subtle in their nature, that no faculty of the 
 intellect, other than reason, can account for 
 them. Reason, and reason alone, the deity 
 of the human intellect, is the only member 
 of the hierarchy of mind that even attempts 
 to define them; and when it fails so to do, 
 they are set aside and classified with things 
 mysterious, just as mind itself is, and thus 
 remain for crude or refined speculation. 
 
 Some of these existences lie hidden, 
 though active, in things within the boundary 
 lines of the phenomenal or material world, 
 and there, as forces, act within concrete sub- 
 stances known to the five senses. Yet, as 
 they are concealed from the cognition of the 
 five senses, they should be classified with 
 general metaphysical ideas, since all that exists 
 beyond the knowledge of the five senses and 
 that acts within the physical may be termed 
 metaphysical. This classification would agree 
 with the meaning of the Greek prefix meia, 
 which signifies beyond, and which, when it 
 is placed before and combined with the 
 
 74 
 
word physical, forms the word metaphysical. 
 
 So then, when reason realizes that some- 
 thing is, and that it lies beyond the reach 
 or knowledge of any one of the five senses, 
 but which something is referred to the mind 
 to determine its nature, this something should 
 be classified with things called metaphysical. 
 
 True, if the term metaphysical be taken 
 in its most exclusive or restricted sense, it 
 should exclude everything but Absolute Being 
 and Mind; that is, all but pure abstract ex- 
 istence and mind. 
 
 These two elements, Absolute Being and 
 Mind, when set aside from all else and con- 
 sidered by themselves in the abstract, (if such 
 be possible,) independent of everything with 
 which they are or may be connected or in 
 which they are found to exist, constitute pure 
 metaphysics. But even then, the human mind, 
 the only mind that man has or is conscious 
 of, operates through the brain, a physical 
 substance, a substance that the human eye 
 can see. So then, if the mind and all its 
 
 75 
 
operations is a metaphysical subject-object, 
 then whatever we realize or are conscious of, 
 and that is not matter in any form, and 
 whose effects we note, and which we name 
 force, energy, or life, etc.; and which lies 
 concealed though active or able to act within 
 the things of the world of matter, ought to be 
 regarded, it would seem, also metaphysical; 
 just as we regard the mind that acts in and 
 through that material or concrete substance 
 which we call the brain. 
 
 We know that we study the objective world 
 by beginning with the phenomena of things, 
 as they present themselves to the sense of 
 sight, or as we realize their existence, effects 
 and character through the senses; that we 
 next proceed to inquire as to the causes of 
 said phenomena or effects; and that so on 
 we move through nature up to the human mind, 
 and so on in imagination up to pure, abstract, 
 or Absolute Intelligence, that we say created 
 and permeates the causes, effects and phe- 
 nomena of the physical, and beyond which 
 
there is nothing conceivable but unlimited 
 time and space. But then, this intelligent 
 something, absolute in its nature and independ- 
 ent of any matter or concrete substance con- 
 taining it, seems to be beyond the power of 
 the mind to comprehend; and all that mortal 
 mind can do is to give it a name and speculate 
 as to its nature and character. 
 
 So, as stated, it would seem that every- 
 thing that no one of the five senses can 
 realize or verify might be classified as meta- 
 physical, even though such operates through 
 or is connected with the physical, and thus 
 simplify knowledge. But, on the contrary, we 
 have three classifications, namely, one called 
 Science; one termed Philosophy, and one 
 named Metaphysics. The meaning of these 
 technical terms and their distinctions, the 
 popular or common mind does but vaguely, if 
 at all, comprehend; hence they fall upon the 
 common ear of the world with an obscurity 
 and a weight that tends to produce within 
 the mind a feeling of apprehension and 
 
 77 
 
awG. Let us linger here for a moment. 
 
 We study and acquire a knowledge of the 
 material world, and then classify this knowl- 
 edge and call it science. Again, we study 
 and ascertain the causes and reasons of the 
 phenomena and the effects of this same material 
 world, and then call this knowledge with its 
 explanations, Philosophy. Then we pass on 
 beyond the physical up to mind, up to mys- 
 tery; and there, at the beginning of things, 
 minus the five senses, in solitude and darkness, 
 begin to speculate and guess as to what Being 
 or Mind is, and then arrogantly and pomp^ 
 ously name our guesses and speculations — 
 metaphysics. Yet, there, minus the demon- 
 strations that the five senses afford, reason 
 itself becomes dizzy and unsteady, and soon 
 longs to leave the lonesome field of airy ab- 
 stractions and distractions and return to 
 its natural plane, to enjoy things physical and 
 metaphysical in the concrete, in company with 
 the five senses. 
 
 But the imagination is of such a nature 
 
 78 
 
that it can soar to altitudes and revel in an 
 atmosphere more rarified than can human 
 reason. Yes, imagination even claims to have 
 eyes and ears. It claims to see things that 
 reason cannot trace; nay, to visit places un- 
 known to time and space. It is a sort of free 
 lance or sport in the hands of speculation. 
 And so it is, that in the field of metaphysics 
 we find imagination supplying even reason 
 with fiction, without fear of being detected by 
 any one of the five senses; with fiction cun- 
 ningly mixed with a subtle element of truth, 
 without any satisfactory means of separating 
 the two. Again, even reason, when at work 
 in pure metaphysics, seems to take kindly to 
 the aid of imagination, notwithstanding the 
 latter's bad reputation for fiction rather than 
 fact. 
 
 But science, in contradistinction to meta- 
 physics, confines itself to what the five senses 
 can verify or confirm. It uses reason only in 
 conjunction with the five senses, and never 
 speculates as to what is or may be beyond 
 
 79 
 
the physical world. Philosophy, on the con- 
 trary, seems not averse to speculation, but 
 rather delights in it, and often presumes to 
 extend its conclusions beyond physical causes 
 and sober reason into the realm of meta- 
 physics; and from that lofty region heralds to 
 the world its assumed discoveries and explan- 
 ations. 
 
 Hence it is, that the dividing line be- 
 tween Philosophy and Metaphysics is to the 
 popular mind so obscure or vague; that the 
 scientific, the philosophic, and the metaphys- 
 ical, fall upon the common ear in such con- 
 fusion and are so little comprehended. 
 
 Hence it is, that these three so-called 
 sciences sit as a sort of triumvirate or tri- 
 unity, and properly, or improperly, rule the 
 hearts and minds of men. Hence it is, that 
 in such we find dogmatism and assumption, 
 especially in matters of philosophy and meta- 
 physics. Science, however, and Science only, 
 swings free from the charge of dogmatism, 
 and uses assumption or hypothesis only for 
 
 80 
 
the purpose of ascertaining the truth, and 
 is so true to herself that she will not stop 
 short of confirmation by the five senses. 
 
 Now let us note some of the ideas that 
 the mind has evolved in matters that lie be- 
 yond the ken of the five senses, and which 
 therefore, are subject to honest doubt or 
 unbelief. These ideas all relate to the be- 
 ginning or the end of things; to the First 
 Great Cause. They are purely metaphysical, 
 since they originate in the human mind, and 
 there only, and because they cannot be verified 
 by any one of the five senses; yes, even reason, 
 deity of the mind, hesitates to endorse them, 
 although implored so to do by curiosity, de- 
 sire, or faith. 
 
 Now the mind of man is so constituted, 
 that in its cultivated state it can trace 
 everything in the natural world from its 
 phenomena or effects back to its first cause, 
 back to the origin or the beginning of all 
 things; yes, up to mind, that seeks the Abso- 
 lute, which is greater than the human mind. 
 
 81 
 
But there the mind of man is compelled to 
 halt; there it meets the very soul of mystery, 
 yes, mystery wrapped in mystery, that neither 
 the mind's philosophy, its science, nor its long- 
 ings can solve.. There it is forced to halt, 
 on the border land of Mystery, and wonder, 
 and speculate, and guess; and in so doing, 
 the mind, to relieve the tension of curiosity, 
 or the throbbing of the heart's desire to 
 know the eternal, evolves an idea, which may 
 or may not be true. Then again, fearful of 
 death, the thoughts of man turn to the end 
 of things, and there repeats the process of 
 speculation, until his mind, urged by his 
 heart of burning desire to live on in some 
 form forever, evolves an idea, to satisfy his 
 hopes and his fears. 
 
 Here, again, mystery defies and coolly 
 denies his proud philosophy and tearful re- 
 quests, and forces him to take consolation 
 from inference and faith. 
 
 Now, ideas that promise man a future 
 after death, that excite his hopes and his 
 
 82 
 
fears in that direction, naturally, and in fact 
 do, interest and concern him more than do 
 ideas that speculate as to the origin of him- 
 self or the universe. And since death is 
 inevitable and parting with those we love 
 painful, there is ever a longing in the gen- 
 eral heart and mind to know beyond a doubt, 
 what, if anything, awaits the ego when death 
 overtakes it. Hence, the most important and 
 prominent idea that the human mind has 
 ever evolved, is the one that proclaims the 
 existence of a Supreme Being. A Being who, 
 it is claimed, orders man into the world and 
 out of it. A Being who controls his destiny 
 here and dictates what shall be done with 
 him after death. So, we find that on this 
 subject different minds throughout the cen- 
 turies have evolved different and conflicting 
 ideas. 
 
 Now since an idea, when it is formed, 
 must have a name to preserve and identify 
 itself, a name by which it may be recognized 
 and discussed, so it is that the idea that we 
 
 83 
 
in our language call God or the Deity, has 
 
 received in different tongues different names, 
 while the general idea thus evolved has been 
 marked, as a doctrine — Theism; and those who 
 adopt and believe in it are called Theists, 
 in contradistinction to those who do not be- 
 lieve in it, and whom we call, Atheists. 
 
 Be it remembered, however, that Atheism 
 is a term that does not represent an idea; 
 because it is a negative term, which denies 
 Theism, a belief in the existence of a 
 Supreme Intelligence. An idea is always 
 expressed in the affirmative. Whatever is, is 
 affirmative, while its negative, like darkness, 
 (which is but the absence of light) is nothing 
 — not even empty space. It simply denies 
 the existence or the truth of what is affirmed, 
 and then attacks the proof by which the 
 affirmative seeks to establish itself. 
 
 Now, since different minds, great minds, 
 evolve different and conflicting ideas as to 
 the same identical matter, especially in mat- 
 ters of metaphysics, which lie beyond the 
 
 84 
 
reach of Science or the five senses, so, too, 
 it is that we have different and conflicting 
 ideas as to the nature and truth of the things 
 now under consideration. Some minds have 
 evolved the idea that there is but one God, 
 and this idea has been named Monotheism, 
 mono, as a prefix, meaning one. Other minds 
 have evolved the idea that there are two gods, 
 an idea termed Bitheisna or Ditheism, Bi or 
 Di, signifying two. 
 
 Again, other minds have evolved the idea 
 that there are three gods, hence the name, 
 Tritheism, tri, signifying three. Other minds 
 have evolved the idea that each of the forces 
 of Nature has a god of its own that pre- 
 sides over it; hence the name Polytheism, 
 poly, signifying as a prefix, many. Finally, 
 other minds, studying Nature and meditating 
 about her, have evolved the idea that God 
 is only the combined forces of Nature, an 
 idea that has received the name Pantheism or 
 Oosmotheism; the prefix pan, signifying all, or 
 plurality in totality. 
 
 85 
 
So, we observe that when one notes the isms 
 of metaphysics, he sees that a large number 
 of conflicting and contradictory ideas have 
 been evolved in different minds in regard to 
 the first, the ultimate, or the Absolute Cause 
 of all existences. He finds that the human 
 mind, in regard to Theism, has evolved ideas 
 of one God; yes, and a plurality of gods; 
 that according to some minds, the heavens and 
 the earth are metaphorically full of gods; that 
 some of these gods are superior while others 
 are inferior in power and rank; that some 
 preside over and control the individual forces 
 of Nature, while others, living in the air or 
 somewhere in spirit form, are more especially 
 interested in the affairs of man, and have 
 the power to aid or defeat his plans or hopes; 
 that they stand ready to reward or punish 
 him, according to his devotion or neglect of 
 them, etc. 
 
 Yes, this medley of ideas, the human, sane 
 mind has evolved; ideas that seem to deny 
 that the Ego, either innately, intutitively, or 
 
 86 
 
consciously, knows or can find its God, the 
 Absolute. Then, again, other minds, like that 
 of Zoroaster, an ancient Persian philosopher, 
 have evolved the idea that there are two prin- 
 cipal gods, adopting the idea or principle 
 generally held by the ancients; namely, that 
 from nothing, nothing can be produced. The 
 idea entertained in Zoroaster's mind from 
 observation and reflection was, that spirit and 
 matter, light and darkness, are emanations 
 from on© eternal source; that the former is 
 good; the latter, evil; but that, through the 
 intervention of the Supreme Being, the con- 
 test would at last terminate in favor of the 
 good principle. He also conceived the idea 
 that various orders of spiritual beings, gods, 
 or demons, have proceeded from the Deity, 
 and are more or less perfect; that the human 
 soul is a particle of divine light, and that it 
 will return to its source and partake of its 
 immortality, etc. Thus the ancient, Oriental 
 mind conceived, and endeavored to explain 
 the origin of all things by the principle of 
 
 87 
 
emanations from an eternal fountain of be- 
 ing. Again, other minds have evolved the 
 idea that there is but one God, but one 
 Absolute Being. That this one God is eternal, 
 and the Author of everything that ever was, 
 is, or ever will be. That man is, because God 
 is. That the fate or future destiny of man, 
 this one God orders and controls, etc. 
 
 Thus, as to these metaphysical problems, 
 we observe that reason, the deity of the mind, 
 has evolved ideas; "ideas of reason" on the 
 border land of speculation. And yet, they 
 cannot be termed purely metaphysical, for 
 they have as a basis, ideas drawn from the 
 physical world and confirmed by the five 
 senses. Many of these ideas are based upon 
 what is termed analogy; ideas which are 
 practical and warrant legitimate assumptions 
 or inferences in physical or worldly matters, 
 and whose truth or falsity, time sooner or 
 later confirm. But such ideas, are inadequate 
 to solve the mighty problems of the origin 
 and the ultimate of all things. 
 
It is, therefore, curious to note tlie antics 
 that the reason of some brilliant minds has 
 performed when prodded by desire in its 
 holy of holies in order to gratify curiosity, 
 or the longings of the human heart. True, 
 from the known we ascertain the unknown; 
 but then, when we ascend into the dome of 
 metaphysics, the problems there presented are 
 too serious and subtle for even reason to solve, 
 and all that it can honestly do is to furnish 
 the understanding with questionable inferences, 
 and send the waiting, persistent, and unsatis- 
 fied heart to Hope and Faith for further 
 assurance. Some philosopher has said: 
 "Nature conceals God; man reveals God." 
 Well, if mystery is God, these propo- 
 sitions are true; for Nature has revealed to 
 man that the Alpha and the Omega of all 
 Creation, which lies concealed within her 
 dominions, is Mystery; a mystery that man 
 cannot find or comprehend. 
 
 Thus we see, that ever since man was, 
 the human mind, from its observations of 
 
 89 
 
the objective world, and from its investiga- 
 tions in matters metaphysical, has conjectured, 
 speculated, inferred, and finally evolved differ- 
 ent and conflicting ideas as to mysteries that 
 lie beyond the limits of the five senses. 
 
 So, then, in the midst of so many con- 
 flicting and contradictory ideas as to how 
 things began and how things will end; and 
 in the absence of any truth furnished by 
 the senses; and, finally, because of the inabil- 
 ity of reason to satisfy the curiosity and long- 
 ings of the general heart and mind of the 
 world as to what exists, again we say, is it 
 any wonder that doubt prevails? that some 
 philosopher and doubting Thomas has said 
 that, "The world grew light-headed, and forth 
 came a spawn of isms which no man can 
 number?" Is it any wonder that there have 
 been and are so many different doctrines, 
 creeds, sects, and schools of thought or 
 philosophy, more or less in conflict with 
 one another ? 
 
 Is it at all surprising that the voice of 
 go 
 
doubt is heard in matters not confirmed by 
 the five senses and an unbiased logical rea- 
 son? Is it not clear that the doctrine of in- 
 fallibility and the voice of dogmatism deserves 
 but open contempt and rebuke, while honest 
 skepticism and serious agnosticism are worthy 
 of respectful and thoughtful attention? Does 
 not history and tradition maintain what is 
 here suggested? 
 
 Now we know that an idea is only a 
 product of the human intellect; that it should 
 never be regarded as a fact, notwithstanding 
 it may have sprung up in the mind from 
 the observation of a fact or facts and become 
 the germ of an inference or a deduction. 
 We know that it is only a mental image 
 thrown upon the canvas of the mind for 
 reason to consider. We know, too, from ex- 
 perience, that it may or may not be true; 
 that it is subject to the critical examination of 
 reason and reflection, which time may or 
 may not approve. Again, that when found 
 to be true in fact, it is then pronounced gen- 
 
 91 
 
uine, and is no longer called an idea but a 
 fad, and is tlien classified with facts or truths. 
 Furthermore, that there is no man, dogma, or 
 creed on earth, that can convert, ridicule, or 
 brow-beat a false idea into a fact, although 
 the voice of doubt or unbelief may be silenced. 
 That a fact always weighs more than an idea. 
 That an idea only assumes the weight of logic 
 when it has reached a point of fact, or has 
 blossomed into truth. Again, that a fact or 
 truth outweighs all the possible fiction that 
 sophistry or rhetoric can produce. Not that 
 the mind in an intuitive or imaginative mood 
 or state is incapable of conceiving some un- 
 known fact or truth, but that until an idea 
 has been proved to be a fact, it is not en- 
 titled to change its name from idea to fact 
 and lay aside its swaddling infant garb. 
 
 It might be interesting and profitable to 
 consider the force of an idea when it has 
 taken a firm root in the human heart and 
 become a dictating or controlling spirit. Were 
 we to do this it would lead us into painful 
 
 92 
 
as well as pleasant paths of thought and emo- 
 tion. We would see the bloody hand of 
 ignorance and passion obeying that hydra- 
 monster, superstition. We would see human 
 beings meekly bowing and worshiping idols 
 of wood or stone; fanatical mothers throwing 
 beloved and innocent babes into the river 
 Ganges; others being crushed by the Jug- 
 gernaut. We would see men fearing and 
 worshiping supposed demons. We would 
 visit heathen temples and oracles and see 
 beautiful and innocent young lives offered as 
 sacrifices to the gods of myth. We would 
 hear the fervent prayer of Jesus in the Garden 
 of Gethsemane; witness Him nailed and mur- 
 dered upon a cross at Mt. Calvary. We would 
 behold the horrors of the Crusades; of the 
 Spanish Inquisition; of Saint Bartholomew, 
 etc. We would see men and women burnt 
 at the stake, or thrown into dark and loath- 
 some dungeons to suffer torture and long for 
 death. These and many other superstitious, 
 fanatical, cruel, and heart rendering scenes 
 
 93 
 
we would witness, until in shame and horror 
 we would cry out with Pope, "Alas! man's 
 inhumanity to man, makes countless millions 
 mourn." We would also see individuals and 
 nations rise to heights of might and splendor, 
 and then fall with a terrible crash, never to 
 rise again. 
 
 Ay, the force of an idea, whether true 
 or false, is fearful, wonderful to contem- 
 plate ! 
 
 But all the ideas that the mind has put 
 forth have not emanated from minds of cruel- 
 ty, superstition, or fanaticism. When Christ 
 came into the world, He brought with Him 
 ideas that tuned the distracted heart aright 
 and pointed reason to its false assumptions 
 and cruel deductions; ideas that battled with 
 that monster, superstition, and left it bleed- 
 ing and dying in its lair. Since His agoniz- 
 ing voice was heard upon the cross of fanati- 
 cism, the ideas that He proclaimed to the 
 world have blossomed and ripened into many 
 a noble and humane institution; yes, where 
 
 91 
 
once was heard the voice of despair and 
 lamentation, now is heard the voice of praise 
 and thanksgiving. Since then, the Q-olden Eule 
 has become more of an active reality, so that 
 there is less gloom in the world and more 
 
 joy- 
 Thus we have feebly and imperfectly 
 defined and illustrated the nature and char- 
 acter of an idea; traced it to its birth-place, 
 and from there into the outer world of human 
 affairs. We have seen that it may or may 
 not be true to fact; that even in physical 
 matters it is wont to be in error, even as 
 the five senses are; that it is subject to exam- 
 ination by reason in the light of known facts, 
 and may be cast aside as unimportant or 
 false. We have seen that even in physical 
 matters it has shamefully imposed upon hu- 
 manity. 
 
 Again, we have seen that in metaphysical 
 matters, where the passions of the heart and 
 the soul are especially interested, it has fre- 
 quently played the part of a villain, wrecking 
 
 95 
 
the hopes and lives of individuals and shat- 
 tering society and nations. 
 
 Thus we have seen the force of an idea. 
 We have also observed that an idea has its 
 moods and tenses, like a verb; that one idea 
 may be cold aud mathematical^ that another 
 may be dripping with passion, as observed 
 in the Crusades and other religious move- 
 ments; while yet another may be the offspring 
 of lofty purpose and alive with ethical love 
 and spiritual thought. 
 
 So, then, it is seen that metaphysical ideas 
 may be ethical, logical, psychological, or the- 
 ological; that in ethical, or theological mat- 
 ters, ideas are frequently but germs of passion, 
 or sparks from an insane or disordered mind. 
 
 True, then, an idea that suggests serious 
 changes, or which, if acted upon, may serious- 
 ly effect the life or happiness of an individual 
 or the world at large, should be examined 
 with suspicion, and should not be approved; 
 nay, not even entertained, until cool and enlight- 
 ened reason and reflection have placed upon 
 
 96 
 
it their seal of approval. And even then, be- 
 neath this seal should be conspicuously written 
 in bold letters: Without prejudice and 
 
 SUBJECT TO EEVIEW. 
 
 "One truth is clear— What erer is, is right." 
 
 "In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; 
 All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. 
 Pride still is aiming at the blessed abodes. 
 Men would be angels, angels would be gods." 
 
 "All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
 Whose body Nature is, and God the soul." 
 
 "Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night, 
 God said, 'Let Newton be!' and all was light." 
 
 ***** 
 
 "Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate." 
 
 — Pope. 
 
 97 
 
LIFE. 
 
 Oh! great — little word, with a content 
 
 divine, 
 Why wait ye yet longer, thyself to define? 
 The secret thy heart holds, still running 
 
 with time, 
 We pray thee surrender that secret 
 
 sublime. 
 
 Since time was, ye've kept it — why longer 
 
 withhold 
 Its meaning, its purpose, yet only half told? 
 'Tis time to end conflict — thy secret unfold, 
 We long for its meaning, with a longing 
 
 that's bold. 
 
We look down the ages, our sight meets 
 
 but strife. 
 Lo! now there is combat, the battle is rife! 
 No sign in the heavens — tho' radiant with 
 
 light, 
 Life still is a riddle — or short is our sight. 
 
 Then why yet delay while we grope and 
 
 we pray — 
 For a light that should turn life's gloom 
 
 into day — 
 We beg in our flight to the region of light— 
 For a sign that shall give us thy secret — 
 
 aright. 
 
 Half-hearted we pray, and half-hearted we 
 
 sing. 
 Doubt clangs on the ear while cathedral 
 
 bells ring. 
 
Today we are right, — and tomorrow we're 
 
 wrong — 
 Our creeds ever changing with prayer and 
 
 with song. 
 
 We point to the cross — as the "Light of 
 
 the World." 
 Then march our battalions with banners 
 
 unfurled, 
 To ravish and plunder — our greed to 
 
 appease. 
 Then praise we the Father — our conscience 
 
 to ease. 
 
 Ah! something is wrong with the prayer 
 
 and the song, 
 Else why are things mixed so — the right 
 
 with the wrong, 
 Perhaps we might say, right and wrong is 
 
 the way. 
 Ordained thus it seems — since both here 
 
 hold sway. 
 
KNOWLEDGE— INFOEMATION— 
 BELIEF. 
 
 What a difference there is in the meaning 
 of these three words ! How the first represents 
 that which radiates light and assurance! How 
 proudly confident and satisfied is he who knows, 
 and knows that he knows! To be in the 
 possession of truth verified by one's own 
 senses, is certainly a satisfaction not easily 
 over estimated. Yes, there is beauty and 
 force in the Spanish proverb that runs: "He 
 who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise, 
 seek him." 
 
 How much weaker is the second term, 
 information, a substitute for the first; mixed 
 as it is with more or less of the element of 
 doubt. Information, forces an appeal to reason 
 and reflection, which can only return an opin- 
 ion that may terminate either in belief, doubt 
 or unbelief. Thus it is that we have what is 
 
 101 
 
termed direct and indirect knowledge, with 
 their relative forces. What one sees or hears, 
 or what any one of his five senses in their 
 normal condition makes known to him, affords 
 him direct knowledge. What others tell him, 
 or what he reads, is indirect knowledge, only 
 information, which he, upon personal investi- 
 gation or research, may find to be true, or 
 false. Hence, the difference in value, other 
 things being equal, between knowledge direct 
 and knowledge indirect. 
 
 Again, if what one reads or what is said 
 to him, he considers as being true, then, such 
 information forms in his mind what is called 
 belief. To be ignorant, is to be without knowl- 
 edge, directly received through some one of our 
 senses or from information derived from other 
 sources. No one, however, is totally ignorant, 
 though he may be very illiterate. All human 
 beings possess some degree of actual personal 
 knowledge. Who is so ignorant that he does 
 not know that food satisfies hunger, or that 
 water quenches thirst? But one's actual 
 
 102 
 
personal knowledge of a subject or thing may 
 be either very limited or very extensive; or, 
 again, one's information concerning the same 
 may be very extensive while his actual per- 
 sonal knowledge of it may be nothing. Yet, 
 for various reasons, the information thus 
 given may strike one as being true, and may 
 excite in his mind belief. So, in the one 
 case, we have personal sense knowledge, while 
 in the other case, we have simply informa- 
 tion, though it may be sufficiently strong to 
 induce belief. Thus the reflective reader will 
 note how important it is to discriminate be- 
 tween knowledge that comes through one's 
 own senses, i. e. personal experience or ob- 
 servation, and that which, although termed 
 and counted as knowledge, is, in reality, noth- 
 ing more nor less than information, though 
 it may induce and be worthy of belief. But, 
 it will be said, most of us act upon in- 
 formation and belief, that it were well nigh 
 impossible for us to live and transact the 
 affairs of life independent of such. 
 
 103 
 
Yes, no doubt, the majority of mankind 
 act upon information and belief, since it is 
 impossible for any one to see, or bear, or 
 experience, everything, even though he might 
 be able to comprehend such. Thus it is, 
 that one's personal knowledge of things is 
 very limited, while his information and be- 
 lief may be almost unlimited. But this does 
 not make the two terms equal in sense or 
 importance, nor does it impair or strengthen 
 the term faith or belief, that must attend 
 or succeed information to make it as convinc- 
 ing as actual knowledge. True, one's senses 
 may deceive him, even as appearances are 
 often deceiving, but other things being equal, 
 it cannot be justly said that information, oral 
 or written, or supported by an oath, is equiv- 
 alent, in fact, to knowledge that comes to one 
 directly through his own senses. 
 
 Nor is it any rejQiection against one that 
 he, in matters of grave importance, demands 
 to see with his own eyes; nay, at times, to 
 confirm his sense of sight by some one of his 
 
 104 
 
other senses, when possible, even as did the 
 disciple, known as doubting Thomas, when he 
 was in doubt as to whether the person before 
 him and speaking was, indeed, the risen Christ. 
 Yes, in matters of great or serious importance, 
 it is far better to wait in honest doubt, than 
 to rush into the arms of blind belief, to be 
 spirited away to some fold of insane fanaticism, 
 or bigotry. Aye, there is truth in the follow- 
 ing words of an eminent poet: "Faith, fanatic 
 Faith, once wedded fast to some dear false- 
 hood, hugs it to the last." 
 
 Those who are easily convinced, who on 
 slight evidence believe a thing to be true or 
 false, are called credulous. Now, credulity is 
 one of the most facinating features of child- 
 hood. Then it is, that one knows little or 
 nothing, in the true sense of the word, but is 
 ready to believe all. Then, the mind is in an 
 inquisitive and receptive state, and is unable to 
 investigate, analyze, deduce and form opinions 
 true to fact. Then it is that error in the 
 form of information easily takes root in the 
 
 105 
 
heart and the mind; error that blossoms into 
 belief, to which the heart and the mind later 
 cling with deadly tenacity; even though the 
 mind may have so developed as to discern for 
 itself truth from falsehood. We need not 
 recite any of the multitude of instances there 
 are to prove what is a matter of common 
 knowledge. 
 
 It is neither the child nor the adolescent 
 mind that can appreciate the value and meaning 
 of the three terms here considered. The only 
 purpose of this essay is to impress upon 
 those capable of reflection, the necessity of 
 giving to each of these terms its due weight 
 and influence in matters of grave importance, 
 if they would be just to themselves as well 
 as to others, and would live in the light of 
 facts rather than dwell in the obscurity of 
 doubt, as a slave or tool for fancy, or super- 
 stition. 
 
 lOS 
 
THE MAN WITH THE HOE. 
 
 The man with the hoe, honest labor, we 
 
 know, 
 Firm his step, strong his arm, as he goes 
 
 forth to sow; 
 Aye, better is he with hands calloused and 
 
 brown, 
 Than the knave, or the snob, or effete, of 
 
 the town. 
 
 For his wife and his babes in the oot on 
 the hill, 
 
 In the fair fields of Nature he toils with a 
 will; 
 
 There, the lark and the robin and nightin- 
 gale sing, 
 
 In the sweet scented airs that the morn and 
 eve bring. 
 
So the man with ideas, and invention we 
 
 know, 
 Who Boars like the lark, with his brain all 
 
 aglow; 
 'Twas he made the hoe and invented the 
 
 letter, 
 That his brother might use them, and make 
 
 his lot better. 
 
 Then honor to both, — honest hoe, mighty 
 
 letter, 
 When weighed in the balance, — which one 
 
 is the better? 
 The answer is simple, when honest the 
 
 test. 
 Better he who serves Grod and humanity 
 
 best. 
 
SEOKET OF MELODIC EAILUEE. 
 
 Why is it that so few of the thousands 
 who study harmony in our schools of music, 
 term after term, with a desire to compose, 
 ever find themselves able or qualified to write 
 even a simple melody that has a meaning all 
 its own, and that, in a musical sense, is gram- 
 matically and rhetorically correct; a melody 
 that bears the marks of design, of unity, of 
 variety, of symmetry, and proportion, of order, 
 with points of repose ; and above all, a melody 
 that tells a story, that engages the head and 
 the heart? Why is it that the student, after 
 he has familiarized himself with the nature of 
 the scales, the intervals, the chords, in their 
 various positions and inversions, the manner 
 in which they agreeably succeed one anoth- 
 er, the preparation, and resolution of discord- 
 ant elements, cadences, modulations, etc., finds 
 himself with a mass of musical material, and 
 
 109 
 
with a strong desire to compose, and yet, is 
 powerless to write, in any methodical way, 
 so much as a sentence of melody? We find 
 him at the piano endeavoring to woo from 
 the keyboard any sort of melody that it may 
 yield to the touch of his aimlessly wander- 
 ing fingers. He sits there waiting for some 
 sparks of inspiration to fly forth that may 
 please his fancy; and if, perchance, a few 
 notes appear, he hurriedly jots them down, 
 and then returns in pursuit of additional ones, 
 and so on until he finds that he has linked 
 together enough of them, to make, what seems 
 to his undisciplined-melodic sense, a melody, 
 which upon examination shows neither design 
 nor method. As his mind sought for noth- 
 ing in particular, so whatever presented itself 
 was indefinite and accidental, and, when heard 
 in succession, was vague, and contradictory. 
 He feels that something is wrong, and is in- 
 clined to think that he is not gifted, and so 
 finally gives up in despair. 
 
 Now what is the reason of all this? Is 
 
 110 
 
it because he is not an Italian? Would it 
 have been otherwise had he been born in 
 the land of song, poetry and romance, be- 
 neath the skies known to a Rossini and a 
 Verdi? Is his failure due to birth, and en- 
 vironment, or is it because the spirit of mel- 
 ody, native to all hearts, has been neglected, 
 left undisciplined and undeveloped, while all at- 
 tention has been given to the study of harmony, 
 which is but an attendant and subordinate force 
 to melody? Indeed, herein lies the secret of his 
 failure. He has been constructing, analyzing 
 and parsing chords, instead of devoting a 
 part of his time to the construction of mel- 
 odies without reference to harmony, except 
 in so far as it might have been necessary in 
 making melodic cadences, and in modulating 
 from one key to another. 
 
 It will be admitted, by those who are 
 at all familiar with the matter herein pre- 
 sented, that what I have said is true. It 
 will also be conceded that the manner in 
 
 which musical composition is taught at the 
 
 111 
 
present time in most of our schools of music 
 does not lead to composition, and is radical- 
 ly defective; that these antiquated methods 
 should be set aside and better ones formu- 
 lated and adopted. A method should be 
 adopted that will give the pupil, in conjunc- 
 tion "with his study of harmony (a knowledge 
 of which is not to be ignored and which, of 
 course, is essential, in order to compose well), 
 abundant exercise in the art of forming mel- 
 odies. Glasses distinctively melodic should be 
 formed, wherein every species of melodic 
 structure should be taught. In such a class, 
 it should be shown how to form melodic de- 
 signs, phrases, sections, periods, and also how 
 these may be properly joined together, so as 
 to form the series into a perfect melodic chain. 
 In this way the pupil will learn how to de- 
 velop the spirit rather than the body of the 
 composition, so that the soul rather than the 
 matter thereof will stand forth in bold relief, 
 as it should. Then, the student will find that 
 American skies are as friendly and inspiring 
 
 112 
 
as those of Italy; that the spirit of melody 
 has its technic, and is not averse to being 
 ruled and regulated by the laws of unity, 
 variety, symmetry, and proportion, and that 
 it makes its best appearance when so intel- 
 ligently ruled and regulated. 
 
 Of these things the writer speaks advis- 
 edly, for he was a student at Boston, and 
 at Leipsic, under the above criticised meth- 
 ods. With a proper system, the student should 
 find it easy to write correct and expressive 
 melodies. 
 
 Qenxbaij Gbant (at Banoeoe in Siam.) 
 "A guard of honor presented arms, the band played 
 the 'Star-Spangled Banner,' which was the first time 
 they had heard that air in the East, all the other bands 
 they had encountered laboring under the delusion that 
 our national air was 'Hail Columbia.' As the General 
 does not know one tune from another, it never made 
 much difference so far as he was concerned." 
 
 — General Grant's Travels, P. 364. 
 
 113 
 
"MY DEAR LITTLE QIRL." 
 
 Have you Been my dear little girl, 
 Dear to me ae the sea to the pearl, 
 With ways soft and dainty, eyes drooping 
 
 with love, 
 With movements and voice like a young 
 
 cooing dove? 
 
 Well, she's mine, that dear little girl, 
 Who makes pretty and modest the curl 
 With her shapely and dainty, artistic-like 
 
 fingers; 
 How dear is the time and the place where 
 
 she lingers! 
 
There are many quite like her you say, 
 Who resemble her much in their way, 
 With her yoioe and its notes and her loving 
 
 caresses, 
 With her sweet, pretty ways, bright eyes 
 
 and fair tresses. 
 
 Oh, yes, but my thought runs this way, 
 To what lies far beneath the wild spray; 
 The pearl is not seen on the wave or the 
 
 crest; 
 The sea keeps its worth hid away in its 
 
 breast. 
 
 Thus it is with my dear little girl, 
 Whom I love as the sea loves the pearl; 
 Her ways that so charm are the wild spray 
 
 and crest. 
 But the pearl so admired you'll find deep 
 
 in her breast. 
 
A TEAR FROn THE SKY. 
 
 I caught a tear as it fell from tlie sky, 
 Whence came it but from an angel's eye? 
 I felt its heart beat, heard it sigh, 
 These words it breathed: "Forgotten, 
 why?" 
 
 I dropped the tear, from it would fly — 
 When lo ! a spirit form drew nigh, 
 And with a sad, grieved look and sigh, 
 Complaining said: "Forgotten, why? 
 
 I stood reproached, on spirit gazed, 
 As from the earth the tear it raised, 
 Then, with the same grieved look, amazed, 
 The spirit left me, speechless — dazed. 
 
 Still throb those words upon mine ear. 
 Yet follow me the sigh, the tear; 
 The face I saw in spirit dear 
 Was one I knew and loved once here. 
 
THE MELODIO GEEM. 
 
 On looking into the different departments 
 of the physical world, our curiosity is excited 
 by the discovery that all things therein, which 
 present such varied, bewildering, and bewitch- 
 ing phenomena, can be reduced either to their 
 constituent parts, and so on infinito to atoms; 
 or, they can be traced with unerring certainty 
 to their respective germs, wherein the life 
 principle from which they spring lies wrapped 
 in mystery, before which, face to face with 
 its God, the finite mind of man stands 
 amazed and dazed. With haughty mien, these 
 tiny atoms, energized with gravity and motion, 
 proudly point to the universe with all its 
 potency, as their great unit — their supreme 
 resultant. So, too, with pride excessive, points 
 the mystic germs to mighty life, with all its 
 developments, and achievements, its inherited 
 
 117 
 
and inheritable glory, as its marvelous issue 
 and incomprehensible ultimate. One of the 
 leading attributes of this sublime unit, the 
 physical world, is that known by the term 
 acoustics; which is of such extension and so 
 universal in its laws as to form a distinct 
 department in the science of physics. As 
 sound, under certain conditions, has the power 
 to generate or awaken emotions, we are pleased 
 to ascribe to it an element of life, harboring 
 invisible germs, so to speak, as varied in 
 their character as the affections of the human 
 heart. 
 
 Now, all tone- material is of the acoustic 
 world and subject to its laws. It may be 
 said that every melodic idea, or melody, as 
 well as every musical production of whatever 
 kind or form, has its melodic germ or germs, 
 which the ear easily identifies, and which, by 
 repetition, variation, or evolution, multiply, 
 and develope into tone-creations of greater or 
 less magnitude, until we have the Sonata, the 
 Symphony, or the Oratorio — rivaling even the 
 
 118 
 
music of the spheres, and transporting us in 
 delirious joy. 
 
 If it be true that these emanate from what 
 we are pleased to term the melodic germ, with 
 what interest and tender affection should such 
 be sought for and considered. Of all the 
 great masters of composition, none, perhaps, 
 appreciated this more than did Beethoven, 
 in whose works we find this germ or these 
 germs quite pronounced and highly developed. 
 
 HOW IDENTIFIED. 
 
 Whenever two or more notes equal or un- 
 equal in value, one of which has an accent 
 to indicate its life, immediately succeed each 
 other, and are melodically connected and de- 
 pendent one upon the other for the melodic 
 sense they express, — there, is exhibited a melo- 
 dic germ. This, however, is not the parent 
 germ from which all melodic germs spring. 
 This parent germ is represented by the whole 
 note, the unit of all melodic germs. By 
 dividing and subdividing this unit — the whole 
 
 119 
 
note — there is evolved a variety of melodic 
 germs, affording material for the formation of 
 a great variety of melodic designs. Thus, the 
 whole note equally divided gives us two half 
 notes, the first evolved germ. The second 
 division gives us four quarter notes, the sec- 
 ond evolved germ. By continuing this process 
 up to what is denominated the sixty-fourth 
 note, still other germs are evolved, until, as a 
 result, there lies spread out before us an equal 
 and progressive division of the whole note — 
 the parent germ, with its family of melodic 
 germs. It will be observed that this act is 
 easily performed, that even a child, knowing 
 how to divide, can do it. The next and ad- 
 vanced step in this process of development is 
 a trifle more di^cult, but still quite as mechan- 
 ical as the first, as it requires no genius to 
 perform it. It is the act of selecting and 
 joining together two or more of the germs 
 evolved by the division of the whole note, and 
 thus forming a melodic link or design. This 
 will be longer or shorter according to the 
 
 120 
 
number of germs or notes consecutively con- 
 nected to form such, without reference to the 
 measure or the time in which they are to be 
 executed. When this act is performed it will 
 be noticed that the emotional character of the 
 links or designs thus formed, that is, whether 
 pleasing or otherwise — whether serious or gay, 
 depend upon the character of the fragments 
 or subdivisions of the whole note that have 
 been chosen and joined together, as well as 
 upon whether they move skipping about much 
 or little upon the stafp, and also upon the 
 rapidity of the motion used in executing 
 them. 
 
 There is much more, in connection with 
 illustrations, that might be said upon the mat- 
 ters herein presented, that might prove to 
 be of profit and interest; but we will conclude 
 with a simple reminder of the time-worn truth 
 and adage that: "Oaks from little acorns, grow," 
 — a maxim with a warning voice ever heard 
 in clarion tones at the gates and within the 
 corridors of the temple of universal art. Who- 
 
 121 
 
ever, then, would secure the key that shall 
 pass him beyond the gates and into the tem- 
 ple of worthy achievements, must be content 
 to linger long enough among the germs or 
 first principles of his art to acquire and use 
 them with efficiency. 
 
 "There's not the BmaUest orb which thou behold'st 
 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself. 
 
 Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 
 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils: 
 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night. 
 
 And his affections dark as Erebus. 
 
 Let no such man be trusted." 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 It2 
 
MUSIC, 
 THE ««HEAVENLY MAID." 
 
 How strange is thy mission, thy dual life 
 
 here, 
 With a song at the cradle and one at the 
 
 bier, 
 With a song for vile Bacchus as he reels at 
 
 the feast, 
 And one for the saint, as he prays with 
 
 the priest! 
 
 We find thee disporting with evil and 
 
 good! 
 How strange! — "Heavenly Maid" — How 
 
 misunderstood! 
 The tyrant, brute hearted, finds joy in the 
 
 lyre! 
 Lo! Nero he fiddles while Rome is on 
 
 fire! 
 
Thy strains on the air the fierce battle 
 urge! 
 
 Then mingle thy notes with the sobs of the 
 dirge; 
 
 The battle now over, thy notes did in- 
 spire — 
 
 The orphan now hears thy sweet voice in 
 the choir. 
 
 Pray tell us, Sweet Maid, from thy home 
 
 in the sky — 
 What place have brute Nero and Bacchus 
 
 on high ? 
 Do their voices there blend with the harp 
 
 or the lyre? 
 Or have they no place in the Angelic 
 
 Choir? 
 
THE MELODIC DESIGN. 
 
 In the preceding essay, entitled ''The 
 Melodic Germ," I considered, by way of 
 analogy, the whole note as the parent germ 
 of all musical germs, and sought to show 
 that from a division and subdivision of it, 
 there would evolve a variety of material for 
 the formation of melodic designs. We now 
 drop this analogy, which has served our 
 purpose, and observe that the whole note, 
 in and of itself, as well as its fractional parts, 
 is as lifeless and devoid of content, as are 
 figures or words. 
 
 The whole note only represents a unit 
 of time, as do notes of lessor value, fractions 
 of shorter duration; it and they being only 
 characters used to indicate the length of time 
 that the sounds which they represent occupy 
 or engage the attention of the ear, and nof 
 
 125 
 
the eye. This they do and nothing more. 
 And although they do but this, their value 
 and meaning to the musician are as living 
 realities. To him the sight of them is sufl&c- 
 ient to start into life and motion about his 
 disciplined ear, the melodies or harmonies 
 they represent, just as the sight of words, 
 when formed into sentences and placed before 
 the sight of those who understand their mean- 
 ing, brings before their vision, scenes, situa- 
 tions and events, identical with or similar to 
 those they have experienced. 
 
 Apparent as this is, worthless indeed are 
 notes or words to one who would compose, 
 but who has no ideas of his own or another 
 to express. But how, it may be asked, are 
 these ideas obtained? From whence do they 
 come? Are they to be found by wistfully 
 looking into the face of nature; or rambling 
 among its romantic and beauty-bedecked fields 
 and hills; or visiting its inspiring haunts? 
 No, no! These may excite and serve to in- 
 spire, but will not create. 
 
 126 
 
Sound is not a visible object, like a bird, 
 a deer, a flower, or a bee, whose size, form, 
 color, and habits, the eye can see, and the 
 pen with words set forth in verse or prose. 
 It has no external marks. The eye cannot 
 perceive it, hence it cannot describe it; be- 
 ing, as it is, a hidden property of creation, 
 something felt but not seen; a sort of ab- 
 straction, akin to what is termed a concept. 
 It is, however, capable of organization; and 
 its divine attributes can be made to delight 
 the ear and inspire the heart, as effectually 
 as can that invisible and subtle something 
 called electricity be organized for the service 
 of man. 
 
 To effect this organization, sound is sub- 
 jected to certain, fixed, vibratory laws of a 
 musical character, and then regulated by those 
 of rhythm, so as to pass in review before the 
 melodic or harmonic ear and meet its ap- 
 proval. But enough of this. We now pro- 
 ceed to show what a melodic idea is and 
 how it is formed or created. 
 
 127 
 
HOW TO FOEM DESIGNS. 
 
 The smallest possible, melodic fragment, 
 is termed a design. It requires at least two 
 notes, heard in succession, to form it, al- 
 though it may consist of more than two. 
 These can occur on one and the same or 
 different degrees of the staff. When they 
 occur on different degrees, the design that 
 they form is more marked, since it is made 
 of notes differing in pitch. Again, these 
 notes may or may not be of the same de- 
 nomination. If they are not, the design will 
 be more striking, and still more so, if it 
 moves up or down, or skips about upon the 
 staff. This is the way to start into being 
 a melodic idea. In this manner we find it, 
 and in this way we form it. This feature 
 of the work is purely mechanical. So far 
 it requires not the mind of a genius. Note 
 what a variety of designs these little melodic 
 links can form by combining notes of different 
 denominations and arranging them differently 
 each time. 
 
 128 
 
But these little designs, divine sparks of 
 melody, interesting though they be, cannot 
 alone form a melody, no more than can two 
 or three words tell a story; they simply start 
 it, suggest it, and form a link of it. 
 
 Having formed a design, the next thing 
 in order, is to know how to develop it, so 
 as to form a melody. 
 
 DEVELOPMENT OF DESIGNS. 
 
 The only way to develop a musical de- 
 sign so it will form a melodic idea — a small 
 section of melody, or a complete one — is by 
 repeating it in its own or other keys. In 
 this way, and this way only, does melodic 
 development take place. In a musical compo- 
 sition, to develop is to repeat in various 
 ways that which has already been set forth. 
 
 MELODIC IDEAS. 
 
 A melodic idea can be formed of either 
 a single design, or of two or more designs 
 combined, if they be short ones. The dis- 
 tinction between a design and a melodic 
 
 129 
 
idea is found in the fact that the latter must 
 have, at least, a one-forth cadence, a repose 
 point; equivalent to a comma, whereas a design, 
 being, as it were, but a single word, and not a 
 phrase, cannot express enough to demand a 
 cadence. Herein lies the distinction between 
 these two fragments of melody. 
 
 In many instances, however, a design, in 
 and of itself, is of sufficient length to form 
 a melodic idea — a small section of melody — 
 and ends in a one-fourth cadence, the small- 
 est point of melodic repose. Sometimes this 
 point of repose is a one-half cadence, like a 
 semi-colon, but such is not the law or rule 
 of a design proper. 
 
 VARIETY OF DESIGNS 
 
 It will be noticed that a variety of these 
 designs can be formed, just as a variety of 
 designs or patterns for wall paper or other 
 things can be formed, and which are some- 
 times called figures. Designing, then, it will 
 be observed, involves invention, and calls into 
 
 130 
 
action a creative imagination, which becomes 
 stronger and more efficient, ready and rapid, 
 if constantly exercised. 
 
 Be it remembered, then, that a melody 
 is composed of designs — melodic fragments — 
 complete in themselves — even as the earth is 
 composed of atoms; and by the repetition — 
 the development of these designs — a short or 
 long melody is produced; whose beauty or 
 striking qualities are to be traced to and 
 found in the one or more designs that have 
 been linked together in repetition. 
 
 Thus we see the beginning and the end 
 of a melody; where to find and how to form 
 a variety of melodic ideas. 
 
 COMMON-PLACE ID1A8. 
 
 When we hear a melody that is common- 
 place, it is because its designs are so. Some 
 designs are striking and fascinating, like some 
 faces, or bits of landscape. These, when 
 properly selected and developed, with their 
 cadences and modulations, make a striking 
 
 131 
 
or fascinating tone-picture; one recognized, ap- 
 preciated and sought by lovers of music. 
 
 When I studied with the well known 
 author and theorist, Prof. Eichter, at the 
 Leipsic Conservatory of Music, in 1870, I 
 noticed that he had a little book in which he 
 had written a great variety of designs for 
 ready use as occasion might require. He 
 said to me: "These are my gems." 
 
 In conclusion, let me say to those who 
 would improve themselves in the art of writ- 
 ing melodies: Make designs! Make as many 
 as you can! Play them! Sing them! Note 
 their weak and strong points; why some have 
 greater individuality than others, etc. 
 
 Then link one or more of the homogeneous 
 ones together, and repeat them — thus stretch- 
 ing them out — into a complete melody. In 
 this way, sure as day follows night, melodies 
 will come forth in great profusion and variety; 
 success will follow earnest and well directed 
 efforts. 
 
 isa 
 
AT WOODLAND VESPERS. 
 
 I strolled and mused through weird fres- 
 
 cades, 
 Among wild grottoes and cascades; 
 Where perfumed air and singing bird 
 My spirit soothed — reflection stirred. 
 
 While gazing on a thought that sprang 
 From memory's youthful bower and sang; 
 An angel came, as an angel could, 
 And reigned o'er Solitude — there in the 
 wood. 
 
 Then, holy the place and holy the scene, 
 As day was declining in twilight serene^ 
 The angel presided in sweetness supreme, 
 O'er woodland and bird and fading sun- 
 beam. 
 
A note now of reverence, from trumpet is 
 
 heard, 
 The angel calls "Vespers" to woodland and 
 
 bird; 
 Now silent, quiescent, — bird, insect and bee, 
 Now quiet the breezes in leaf covered tree. 
 
 Now, softly and sweetly on summer eve's air. 
 
 Where spirits abide in abodes that are fair; 
 
 Sweet music transporting floats up every- 
 where, 
 
 A mingling of praise with a breathing of 
 prayer. 
 
 Dear Talien, some of heaven and its rapture 
 was there. 
 
 Ah ! might you have iDeen there a blessing 
 to share; 
 
 Away from the rude of the world and its 
 glare 
 
 At Vespers — with Nature — our souls whisp- 
 ering prayer. 
 
MELODIC MOODS. 
 
 By way of introduction, it may be said 
 that the life of man is one of sunshine and 
 shadow. His passage from the cradle to the 
 grave is one of variant moods. Now his heart 
 beats quick in joyous anticipation; later it 
 quivers in grief or apprehension. His lot is 
 a day of the sweet and a night of the bitter: 
 a mixture of moods. He is a smile, a laugh, 
 a song; a sigh, a tear, a wail, a groan. 
 
 These emotions of a brighter or a darker 
 hue have their analogies in color and sound, 
 and may be classified and termed the lights 
 and shades of his earthly existence. And as 
 the artist of color, with brush and pigments, 
 can these awaken, excite, disperse, or depict; 
 so, also, can the tone-artist, though to an in- 
 finitely higher degree, set in vibration, with 
 voice or instrument, each and every shade of 
 
 135 
 
emotion known to the human heart. Such is 
 the subtle power of melody and harmony. 
 Eecognizing this truth, Martin Luther, the 
 great reformer, said, "Next to theology, it is 
 to music, that I give the highest place and 
 the greatest honor:" And, although not quite 
 so lofty in terms, yet more touching and 
 abiding, sang the charming poet, Keats, in 
 the following spirit- woven strain: "Let me 
 have music dying, and I ask no more de- 
 lights." Within its divine domain, he found 
 lights and shades to blend and vibrate with 
 those of the heart in its darkest as well as 
 in its brightest hour; strains divine, to waft 
 the soul, wreathed in smiles, beyond the 
 clouds to its eternal home. These pleasing 
 realities and analogies lead us to seek the 
 origin of melodic moods, and to study their 
 formation. 
 
 MOOD OF SCALES. 
 
 The two main sources of melodic light 
 and shade, lie slumbering within the major 
 
 136 
 
and the minor scales. In these the tone- 
 artist finds his material for designs of divers 
 moods. In the major scales — light predomi- 
 nates; in those of the minor — shade is supreme. 
 The former correspond to the lighter and 
 happier emotions; while the latter answer to 
 those of an opposite character. 
 
 These analogies are apparent to every 
 discriminating ear. A melody set in a major 
 scale is more cheerful than one set in a 
 minor. True, melodies of a pensive kind are 
 found and can be formed in the major scales; 
 but the shade or sadness of such melodies 
 does not arise from the general character or 
 mood of these scales, but rather from the sym- 
 pathetic nature of the intervals selected and 
 the manner of their succession in the form- 
 ation of such melodies, as well as from the 
 slow, wavy, and dreamy movement assigned 
 to them. As evidence of the correctness of 
 this impression, we refer to those fireside 
 and devotional melodies, so universally known; 
 as, "Home, Sweet Home;" and, "Nearer, My 
 
 137 
 
God, to Thee." The same may be said of 
 nearly all diatonic and winding melodies of 
 hypnotic motion. 
 
 MOOD OP INTERVALS. 
 
 As the scales have their moods, so, like- 
 wise, have the intervals. Some of these are 
 very pronounced; especially is this true of the 
 minor, the diminished, and the augmented in- 
 tervals. How sad and sympathetic, the minor 
 third; also the minor sixth. How beseeching 
 and full of pathos, the minor seventh; and 
 how especially true is this of the diminished 
 seventh. And who can hear the augmented 
 fifth, or the augmented sixth, without a feel- 
 ing of solicitude akin to pity? Melodies into 
 which these are woven, play directly upon the 
 heart. They set in motion its chords of sym- 
 pathy, and cause it to respond to the general 
 mood diffused and vibrating through the mel- 
 odic designs that have been so united as to 
 blend in a melodic whole. 
 
 138 
 
The moods of the remaining intervals of 
 the scales do not seem to appeal so much to 
 the heart as they do to the intellect. This 
 is particularly true of the perfect intervals; 
 namely, the fourth, the fifth, and the octave, 
 which seem to be of a thoughtful or reason- 
 ing character. This is their speculative or 
 meditative mood. 
 
 We recognize them by their strong, posi- 
 tive, or negative character. They are stoical, 
 neutral, and unsympathetic; they impart to 
 melody strength and vitality. 
 
 As to the major intervals, they may be 
 said to occupy a middle ground. They abide 
 in neither the heart nor the head, but stand 
 between, with their neutral moods, ready for 
 service on either side. They sympathize, how- 
 ever, more readily with the moods of the minor 
 intervals. 
 
 Thus, it will be noticed that there are 
 four distinct classes of intervals; that each 
 class has an individuality, or mood, of its own; 
 that they are rich in variety and beautifully 
 
 139 
 
adapted to the formation of every species of 
 melody. 
 
 MOOD OF MELODIC MOTION. 
 
 The entire mood of a melody, however, is 
 not to be found in the scale or scales in 
 which the melody is written, nor in the in- 
 tervals used in its formation, but, in a degree, 
 in its motion and the course of its movements 
 upon the staff. Therein we find not only its 
 life, but also its total or joint mood. One 
 realizes this as a melody marches or glides 
 along more or less rapidly in a direct, zigzag, 
 or meandering manner and rhythmical order 
 through measured space upon the staff, stim- 
 ulated by accent and refreshed by candences. 
 
 Thus moving, it bears on the wings of its- 
 motion, not only the moods of its scales and 
 intervals, but also the mood of its motion. 
 Yes, there is such a thing as mood in melodic 
 motion. And, as there is a variety of move- 
 ments, and as each variety has its own par- 
 ticular mood, it is clear that in different mel- 
 
 140 
 
odic motions, there are several distinct moods, 
 which, correspond, in a general way, to the 
 different moods already mentioned. 
 
 Sentiments and emotions of happy life, 
 are light of heart and light of step. Hence, 
 melodic movements expressive of such ought 
 to be of a corresponding character. To picture 
 such emotions in melodic designs sluggish at 
 heart, and in motion funereal in step, would 
 be to express them in a mood of design and 
 one of motion better suited to the grave, the 
 stern, or the gloom of life. In such a case, 
 there would be a conflict of moods — a cross 
 relation— which would result in an effect quite 
 other than that desired or anticipated by the 
 composer; and would tend to neutralize or 
 destroy much of the merit that his melody 
 might otherwise possess. 
 
 The inner life, the spirit of a melody, 
 
 reports itself to the ear in the speed and 
 
 path-way of its motion. It carries with it 
 
 two distinct moods; namely, one of motion, 
 
 and one of direction. By the former term 
 141 
 
we mean the mood of its degree of motion ; 
 by the latter, the line of march that it pur- 
 sues in its onward movement upon the staff, 
 independent of its speed. As it proceeds, 
 it may ascend or descend upon the staff; or 
 it may move straight aheadj or, again, it may 
 take a roving, or zigzag line, like a meadow 
 or mountain brook. Each of these movements 
 has its personal mood. What a variety of 
 scales, intervals, designs, path-ways and de- 
 grees of motion, with their respective moods, 
 at the composer's command! 
 
 The melody of a heart joyous from love, 
 plenty, and leisure, expresses its melodic mood 
 in waltzing, or skipping to and fro upon 
 the staff; while one laden with the sorrows, 
 disappointments, and lamentations of life, finds 
 its echo in a melody whose course is diatonic 
 or undulating, with a degree of motion that 
 is sluggish, weary, or despondent. 
 
 Thus, it will be seen that the character 
 of a melody depends much upon the path 
 it takes in making its way upon the staff, 
 
 142 
 
Again, that the mood of its path- way can be 
 lost or smothered by giving to it a degree of 
 motion whose mood is averse or foreign to 
 that of the former. True, then, moods have 
 tempo; and it is also true that moods of 
 motion and those of direction ought to blend, 
 otherwise, there is a cross relation, detri- 
 mental, if not destructive, to melodic merit. 
 
 MOOD OF PEEIODS. 
 
 As is well known, a melody can be of 
 a length sufficient to require in its formation 
 several distinct, yet related, periods. Through 
 each and all of these there may run but 
 one sentiment or prevailing mood. As an 
 example of such we refer to Sullivan's "Sweet 
 and Low," whose hypnotic movements and 
 tempo are quite uniform throughout, and 
 exquisitely suited to its verse or text. An- 
 other perfect example is Schubert's "Serenade," 
 in which the heart sings but one mood or 
 passion, that of love; and whose only varia- 
 tion from beginning to end is that of in- 
 
 143 
 
tensity. The same is true of Gottschalk's 
 "Last Hope," wherein is to be found tlie 
 spirit of but one mood, breathing through 
 all its periods, with a degree of motion but 
 slightly varied. Such pieces, true to nature, 
 live forever, 
 
 But from what we have said it must 
 not be inferred that each and all of the 
 periods of a melody must invariably have 
 but one and the same mood. The text or 
 verse before the composer may contain a 
 variety of moods, in which case, the melodic 
 mood of one period ought, of necessity, to 
 diflPer from that of each of the other or re- 
 maining periods representing different moods 
 of verse. This would be true to nature, true 
 to life; for individuals are not always in the 
 same mood of heart or frame of mind, nor 
 are all scenes or events; hence, the necessity 
 of varying a melody on its way through a 
 series of periods so as to make it conform 
 to the different moods expressed in the verse 
 or text of which it is the exponent. For 
 
 144 
 
instance, in a melody of three periods, the 
 first of these might represent the heart in 
 its gayety; the second, might express it in 
 a state of despair; while the third, might rep- 
 resent its return to hope and fruition, in ac- 
 cordance with the moods as they may occur 
 in the verse or text controlling it. The 
 same is true in ideal composition, where 
 there is no text or verse with fixed moods 
 to govern; but where the composer is fancy 
 free to select his own moods and pass from 
 one to another adlihitum, as his genius and 
 the laws of affinity, or contrast, may direct; 
 thus weaving the divine threads of his celes- 
 tial art into songs without words — symphon- 
 ies — sonatas — and like productions. 
 
 Finally, we would add, that the psycholog- 
 ical and esthetical views herein so imperfectly 
 represented, cannot be regarded with indiffer- 
 ence or ignored by those who aspire to real merit 
 or fame in musical composition. To disregard 
 these underlying principles and their affinities, is 
 to meet with failure by ignoring the divine in art. 
 
 145 
 
THE FLOWERS STILL BLOOM. 
 
 Tlie flowers still bloom as when we met, 
 Where silver brook runs laughing yet; 
 There still the soft, sweet zephyrs play, 
 And nightingale sings her sweet lay; 
 There stars yet shine bright o'er the way, 
 Where forth we strolled in twilight gray; 
 And echoes answering echoes tell 
 Words that our hearts remember well. 
 
 There, as the dew drops gently fell, 
 My proud heart dared its love to tell; 
 I loved thee then, I love thee now — 
 A love more pure ne'er heart did vow. 
 
I still in dreams admiring trace 
 A Paradise in thy sweet face; 
 Thy tender voice and queenly grace, 
 Still haunt my soul, naught can efface. 
 
 Oh cruel Fate! that did us part! 
 That would invade and wreck my heart! 
 Yet deigned no recompense to give 
 Save only this: it bade me live 
 To sigh, and weep, and long, and grieve, 
 For what I lost, beyond retrieve ! 
 Perhaps 'tis best — but angela know, 
 That thee I love as years ago. 
 
THE ANGELS KNOW. 
 
 The angels see — the angels know 
 Why mamma loves her baby so; 
 A sense so pure, so all divine, 
 One cannot reason — nor define. 
 
 Yet, mothers know 'tis not the same 
 That lovers feel when they it name; 
 A mother's love lies deep beneath 
 The love that weaves the bridal wreath. 
 
 The nightingale sings sweet her song, 
 As lovers stroll the woods along; 
 But morning stars and angels sing 
 When they pure natal bells hear ring. 
 
 O, baby mine! — treasure divine! 
 My heart is full — my life is thine; 
 May angels be thy guide and mine, 
 Let me the oak be — thou the vine. 
 
AN OPPOETUNITY. 
 
 How often we hear it said, that when an 
 opportunity presents itself, this, that, or some- 
 thing, will or should be said or done concern- 
 ing some particular person or thing. Yet, it 
 is quite likely that few who use the term 
 fully realize what it means. This, perhaps, 
 is due to the fact that the word opportunity 
 denotes what is largely abstract and invisible 
 in its nature, that no particular object cor- 
 responding to it appears, or can be made to 
 appear to the physical eye. If it were the 
 name of some sensible object, as a tree or 
 a rose; in short, if it were a concrete term, 
 denoting some individual thing with well de- 
 fined qualities or properties, the mind would 
 more readily grasp its meaning and recog- 
 nize its appearance. Still, it may be ob- 
 served that though, like many other terms. 
 
 149 
 
it denotes that which is neither wholly con- 
 crete nor abstract in its nature, yet there are 
 what may be termed several elements or factors 
 which combine to form it, and which render 
 it susceptible of being analyzed, examined, 
 and defined. 
 
 These elements, or factors, as one may 
 choose to call them, are time, place, and 
 circumstances, though, strictly speaking, time 
 and place are circumstances, since they form 
 no part of anything, they being simply at- 
 tendants. However, they seem to the mind 
 like realities, like distinct elements, accom- 
 panying every event or thing, and are so 
 regarded, recognized, and valued in the life 
 and affairs of men. Hence, we so regard 
 and distinguish them. 
 
 Yes, everything that is or happens, seems 
 to be at liberty in space, and afloat upon the 
 current of time. In fact, the mind cannot 
 well conceive of anything as being or happen- 
 ing without these two attending elements. 
 They are essential and universal conditions, 
 
 150 
 
attending, as already stated, every oppor- 
 tunity. They, of course, are not so in the 
 sense of being visible, concrete things, or 
 attributes, but so in a sense more subtle, of 
 which one is conscious but cannot well de- 
 fine. Again, they are divided, and sub-divid- 
 ed, and act as two chief regulators in the 
 transactions of human affairs. Were it not 
 for them chaos would abound, and the mind 
 of man would be but little more than a mad- 
 house. We need not dwell upon this thought; 
 it requires no vivid imagination to picture 
 the consequences that would flow from the 
 loss of them. Wipe out these two a priori 
 elements, and away goes mathematics, language, 
 history, and tradition, and man is left a 
 wandering idiot in the wilds of chaos. 
 
 But let us look at the above assumed 
 qualities of these two elements. We hear 
 it said that there is a time and a place for 
 everything; that there is a time to sow and 
 a time to reap; a time to speak and a time to 
 remain silent; a proper time and '^lace to 
 
 151 
 
do this or that. That this is true, experience 
 teaches. Certain times and places are more 
 appropriate or favorable than others for the 
 success of some undertakings. Hence, time 
 and place may be said to be, in respect to 
 quality, either good, or bad; better, or best; 
 according to the nature or character of an 
 occasion or undertaking. 
 
 History supplies many examples of failure 
 due to the fact that certain things were not 
 undertaken when they should have been; or 
 were undertaken at a wrong point of time, too 
 soon or too late for success. Striking ex- 
 amples of such are to be found in the lives 
 of many individuals as well as in those of 
 nations. We will not undertake to recite 
 them. The student of history and biography 
 will easily recall such. They are to be found 
 on the battle-field, in the halls of legisla- 
 tion, and in the life-time of every individual. 
 Shakespeare realized the truth of this when 
 he said, "There is a tide in the affairs of 
 men which, taken at the flood, leads on to 
 
 153 
 
fortune." Here, "at the flood," is the time 
 element. And as "time and tide wait for 
 no man," he who is not ready or fails to 
 avail himself of these while they are passing, 
 misses an opportunity which may never re- 
 turn to him; because an opportunity is brief 
 in its existence and has its own time and 
 tide. But if time is a positive element of 
 an opportunity, ever attending and essential 
 to it, so also is place. Both of these are, 
 as it were, dictatorial in their nature, and 
 mark an opportunity as being favorable or 
 unfavorable for the doing or undertaking of 
 a thing. Therefore it is that we assign to 
 them the qualities above mentioned and use 
 such in speaking of these two factors, ac- 
 cording to the nature of the circumstances 
 of the thing undertaken. In nature, these 
 time and place elements are a priori and 
 usually unmistakably fixed, and so denote 
 themselves. And although they may vary a 
 little now and then, yet they are so certain 
 that even the scientist relies on them. 
 
 153 
 
These twin elements, time and space, are 
 to be noticed in the movements of the heav- 
 enly bodies as they rotate through the cen- 
 turies in their appointed orbits with a regu- 
 larity that is as admirable as it is astonish- 
 ing. Were it otherwise naught but chaos 
 would prevail, and there could be no such 
 thing as the science of astronomy. 
 
 Again, the seasons, spring, summer, au- 
 tumn, and winter, regularly come and go, 
 marking not only the time but the place for 
 man to sow, and to reap. In fact, everywhere 
 in nature, everything manifests itself at cer- 
 tain times and places, occurring and recurring 
 with a regularity that gives to man a scien- 
 tific basis to work upon, thus enabling him 
 to predict results with a certainty that is 
 sublimely marvelous. Were it not for these 
 friendly certainties in nature, there could be 
 no moral certainties, since upon the former, 
 the latter, in a great degree, are based. 
 
 But we not only find these a priori ele- 
 ments in the heavens and on the earth dic- 
 
 154 
 
tating the time and the place for physical 
 occurences, but we find that man is governed 
 by them in his business and social affairs, 
 recognizing them as distinct elements. Again, 
 there is the infant, the adolescent, the adult, 
 and more mature periods of his existence, 
 each furnishing its own appropriate and cor- 
 responding opportunities. 
 
 But the character of the place element 
 is often more important in the formation of 
 a friendly opportunity, than the attending 
 time element. The time for action may be 
 propitious, while the place may not. It may 
 be spring, the time to sow, if one would reap, 
 yet it would be out of place to sow seeds 
 upon a rock, upon an ocean wave, or upon 
 the sands of a desert. Here then we see that 
 the time and the place are not in harmony 
 with the nature of things. Hence it is that 
 the words when and ivhere are so full of sig- 
 nificance and so intimately connected. How 
 often we hear it said that this is neither the 
 time nor the place to say or do a certain 
 
 155 
 
thing; or, again, this is the time, but not 
 the place. So, an opportunity may present 
 itself, but be defective in the one or the 
 other of these particulars. 
 
 But it takes more than these elements, 
 essential though they be, to form a good 
 opportunity. It requires a suitable combina- 
 tion of conditions or circumstances. Such a 
 set of conditions or circumstances, including 
 suitable time and place, make a good oppor- 
 tunity. Of these there are many. Life is 
 full of them, small and great, scattered here 
 and there. Some of these are appropriate 
 and adapted to the successful undertaking of 
 some one thing; and some, to another. But 
 it frequently happens that a set of circum- 
 stances, at first sight, appears to be suitable, 
 but which, upon close examination, proves de- 
 fective in some one of its constituent parts. 
 Yes, these combinations, like some other 
 things in life, are not always what they seem 
 to be. In fact, they are frequently very de- 
 ceptive and require the close and intelligent 
 
 156 
 
inspection of an honest expert, which often 
 results in finding the examined set broken or 
 defective. Again, while a set or combination 
 of conditions or circumstances may contain 
 each constituent part, some one or more of 
 these parts may be out of. due proportion 
 with the other parts, thus making the set, 
 as a whole, imperfect and unworthy for the 
 purpose in view. Therefore it is that in a 
 suitable combination, affording a good oppor- 
 tunity, there must not only be the required 
 number of parts, but a reasonable proportion 
 must exist among the parts. 
 
 So, then, if something is lacking that 
 expert experience and reason requires, the 
 absence of such impairs the opportunity, so 
 far making it defective; and, if used, this 
 defect may be the cause of but partial suc- 
 cess, if not total failure. 
 
 Again, an opportunity, like an individual, 
 lives and dies. Some of these are very fleet- 
 ing in their nature, coming and going with 
 their own particular brief tide of events. They 
 
 157 
 
must be seized, if at all, upon the wing, as it 
 were, for if allowed to pass without notice, 
 they are forever lost. Hence it is that the 
 wise man is ever on the alert and ready to 
 seize his passing opportunity. 
 
 But, it may be asted, what are the marks 
 of a good opportunity? Has it marks by 
 which it can be distinguished from other 
 things that are passing, as one might distin- 
 guish a friend or an acquaintance from strang- 
 ers whom he meets here and there? Yes, 
 but not with the same ease or degree of 
 certainty, as will appear. Now, as stated, 
 one set or combination of circumstaDces may 
 be favorable to some one particular undertak- 
 ing, while another sot may be so to some 
 other and different undertaking. 
 
 Therefore, it is very apparent that before 
 one can say that this or that set of circum- 
 stances or conditions is suited to the attain- 
 ment of a desired end or object, the end or 
 object in view must first be definitely de- 
 termined, and not lie in the mind in general 
 
 158 
 
desire; just as one must know definitely what 
 point of the compass he would reach before 
 he can intelligently select from a number of 
 routes the proper one running in that direc- 
 tion; or, again, as an artist must know the 
 object to be painted before he can select for 
 his palette suitable colors. The object or 
 end, when determined, should and usually 
 does, suggest the means or conditions suitable 
 for its attainment. These objects, or ends 
 in life, are as numerous and various as the 
 tastes, views, and abilities, of different in- 
 dividuals. Each of them has its one or more 
 appropriate opportunities. 
 
 This leads us in passing to remark that 
 there are natural and artificial opportunities. 
 Nature in her various domains supplies the 
 former, while the ingenuity of man makes the 
 latter. Lord Bacon says, "a wise man will 
 make more opportunities than he finds." And 
 true it is. If one has a particular talent that 
 he would display, or some object he would 
 accomplish, he will generally seek an oppor- 
 
 159 
 
tunity for it, and not finding it, he will try 
 to create or bring about a condition of things 
 that will call that talent into exercise, or ob- 
 tain that object. He will do so by getting 
 others interested in some subject or object 
 that demands organization for its growth and 
 development, and thereby create an oppor- 
 tunity for the use or display of his said 
 talent. In this sense, the wise man makes 
 more opportunities than he finds. 
 
 The ambitious man is always seeking an 
 opportunity for the use, display, and fruition 
 of his talents. If he be an orator, he seeks 
 the opportunities that will enable him to dis- 
 play his genius. If he is warlike in his 
 nature, with like abilities, he seeks the hos- 
 tile camp or the battle-field. 
 
 But opportunities, or certain situations 
 or conditions in the affairs of men, invite 
 men ready and equipped to cope with them, 
 even as men seek them for the exploitations 
 of their desires and ambitions. Then it is 
 that the statesman — the patriot — the warrior 
 
 160 
 
— or the hero — is discovered, or makes him- 
 self known. Then it is that new names are 
 written on the scroll of honor and fame. 
 Then it is that "the die is cast," that a 
 Caesar; a Washington; a Napoleon; a Well- 
 ington; a Lincoln; a Grant; or a Dewey, be- 
 comes famous and historical. Again, circum- 
 stances created by others, frequently make 
 men; circumstances that are not found in the 
 ordinary walks of life nor in the lifetime of 
 every individual. When these rare occasions 
 do appear, they serve as a tide to bear those 
 prepared and able to ride thereon to fame 
 or fortune. 
 
 But let it be observed that talents with- 
 out opportunities are worthless; both are 
 essential to the aspiring mind. Ambition 
 and a will to do or die, can achieve noth- 
 ing without them. And these must not only 
 exist, but both must meet and work together, 
 otherwise they might as well not be. But 
 where they exist, and jointly work with a 
 
 spirit of determination, mighty deeds may be 
 
 ici 
 
expected as a result. Then tyranny and op- 
 pression may be dethroned, and in their place 
 justice and liberty appear; then the earth, 
 ever friendly, smiles in abundance, and the 
 sweet voice of freedom fills the air with 
 music and gladness. 
 
 But opportunities do not always seek men, 
 they are sought by the ambitious. This is es- 
 pecially true of those opportunities that nature 
 offers in her every domain. The natural re- 
 sources of a country, with a beautiful climate, 
 may possess opportunities for the acquisition 
 of wealth; here and there within its boundaries 
 may be established for the acquisition and dis- 
 tribution of knowledge the best of institutions, 
 where truth, civil, moral, and religious, is taught; 
 and yet, each and every one of these will be to 
 those who neglect to seek or use them, as though 
 they did not exist, as lost or unimproved oppor- 
 tunities. So, then, to be of practical value 
 to one, either natural or made opportunities 
 must be sought or seized by him who would 
 enjoy their benefits. 
 
 162 
 
Again, opportunities, other than those 
 that the natural resources of a country offer, 
 are chiefly the products of liberty; such as 
 freedom of speech — freedom of press — freedom 
 of conscience — each and all of these develope 
 the man and permit him to make the most 
 of th© best within him. Hence it is, that a 
 country where these God-given rights exist, 
 where they are recognized and exercised — and 
 where nature is bountiful, such a country 
 offers the largest and the best number of 
 opportunities for the growth, development, 
 and happiness of man. True, some of these 
 may not be used; or, again, they may be 
 used — but abused. But such neglect or abuse 
 cannot impair their virtue; they will firmly 
 and serenely stand to accuse and shame those 
 who spurn or fail to use them, as well as 
 those who use but abuse them. 
 
 Yes, these opportunities are found where- 
 ever the spirit of man is free to exercise 
 itself within the limits of justice cultivated 
 and approved by reason. There he is to 
 
 163 
 
be found in his best estate. But where 
 Liberty is shakled, there ever lurks the spirit 
 of revolt and revenge, ready and waiting its 
 opportunity to use the dagger or the torch. 
 Well, is there such a country where ideal 
 opportunities abound? Yes, America! She 
 is certainly a sweet land of liberty! "the 
 home of the brave and the free!" A oountry 
 where head — heart — and conscience is free! 
 A country that tolerates neither king — oaste 
 — priest-craft — nor imperial craft! A country 
 with a government of the people — by the 
 people — for the people — and whose motto 
 is — Liberty and Excelsior! 
 
 "Master of human destinies am I. 
 Fame — love — and fortune on my footsteps wait, 
 Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate 
 Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by 
 Hovel, and mart, and palace, soon or late 
 I knook unbidden once at every gate! 
 If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise before 
 I turn away. It is the hour of fate." 
 
 — John J. Ingalls 
 
 164 
 
A WRECK. 
 
 So slouchy, so shabby, and slothful he 
 
 came, 
 He looked like a storm beaten wreck off 
 
 the main; 
 A friend, once so proud, now so broken, so 
 
 tame, 
 Just a speck of the past, an object of 
 
 shame. 
 
 Yes, well I remember the time of his youth, 
 His pride and ambition, his research for 
 
 truth; 
 How oft he "Excelsior" wrote for his name, 
 And sounded the key note of honor and 
 
 fame. 
 
His eye then was true, and his voice then 
 
 was sweet, 
 Then walked he erect, and looked well on 
 
 the street, 
 The best then did think him an honor to 
 
 meet. 
 And sought his resort as a classic retreat, 
 
 Now, bent is his form and halting his gait, 
 His spirit is broken, his motto is — "Wait!" 
 His future, once bright, stubborn folly did 
 
 blight, 
 A wreck is he now, one sad, sorry sight. 
 
 Alas ! there is many a wreck on the shore, 
 That would with sin sail, and life's evils 
 
 explore, 
 Alas ! there is many a heart that is sore, 
 Lamenting, "what might have been," now, 
 
 as of yore. 
 
ANTICIPATION. 
 
 It is a familiar saying that anticipation 
 yields more pleasure than participation; that 
 what the head and the heart desire and ex- 
 pect affords greater pleasure than that derived 
 from its actual possession; that in waiting 
 for what one desires, or being in pursuit of 
 it, the anticipated pleasure thus experienced, 
 is far in excess of that which comes from the 
 sense of being in possession. That this is 
 true in many cases, one's own experience and 
 observation attest. Yet, it is not true in all 
 cases, for it often happens that the pleasure 
 actually derived from a thing in possession, 
 far exceeds that which comes from anticipa- 
 tion, or the pursuit of it. The reason of this 
 may be found either in the nature or charac- 
 ter of that which is desired and sought, or in 
 the character of those who pursue and antici- 
 pate, or possibly in both. 
 
 167 
 
Some things are as fickle and fleeting as 
 the butterfly days of youth, while others are 
 of a more substantial and permanent char- 
 acter. 
 
 In youth, the heart's chief occupation is 
 to dream and anticipate. Then it is that 
 bright pictures in the distant light not only 
 captivate, but excite desire and hot pursuit. 
 Then it is that the will-o- the- wisps of life 
 successfully invite; that the fields of Utopia 
 are alive with bewitching, alluring and delu- 
 sive fantasies. Then it is, that the heart and 
 the mind are most intense in desire, the hap- 
 piest in anticipation, and the most restless, 
 zealous, and fickle. In this season of one's 
 life, all is novelty. Then, curiosity is ever 
 on the alert and seldom satisfied. Then, the 
 spirit of adventure and change is ever ram- 
 pant. Then, things are pursued and won to 
 be later rudely tossed aside or abandoned 
 when something new and seemingly better 
 presents itself. Yes, such are surely butter- 
 fly days. Again, it is the season of plan- 
 
 168 
 
ning and sowing to the happy song of prom- 
 ise and the buoyant thought of sweet fruition. 
 Then it is, in early manhood or womanhood, 
 when the heart is young and gay, that air 
 castles are built, that the happiness which 
 comes from the possession of things is apt 
 to be over estimated by feverish anticipation. 
 It is well, perhaps, that it is so. But later 
 in life, when disappointment has tempered 
 the love of novelty and the spirit of advent- 
 ure; when one has learned in loss or in 
 tears that all is not gold that glitters; that 
 "there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and 
 the lip," and that to have and retain that 
 which gives moderate and sane pleasure with 
 a reasonable assurance that it will be per- 
 manent is the better; then it is that the 
 heart is not so easily captivated, or led astray. 
 Then it is that one is not so prone to part 
 with or abandon the tried and the true, — 
 and rush in hot pursuit after the strange 
 and fascinating in anticipation of deriving 
 from such pleasures fresh and more satisfy- 
 
 169 
 
ing than those enjoyed in things already 
 possessed. Hence, the saying, that one should 
 live two lives in order to know how to live 
 one well. If this could be, many, no doubt, 
 would be able to write success and happiness 
 where now they write but failure and misery. 
 
 However, in one sense, the entire life of 
 every individual is one of anticipation. Yes, 
 every life has its springtime, its summer, its 
 autumn, and its winter, through each of 
 which is heard, in a degree more or less in- 
 tense, the rippling notes of glad anticipa- 
 tion. So, while it may be true that one 
 must look into the youthful heart to see this 
 maid of fancy in her most fascinating colors, 
 one can, nevertheless, find her in the heart 
 at all stages of life, more or less attractive- 
 ly, though less poetically attired. Yet,, it 
 will be observed that a very large proportion 
 of individual as well as social life, is found 
 roaming within the gay and fascinating fields 
 of anticipation. 
 
 But amidst pleasures anticipated, there 
 
 170 
 
runs an unseen path wherein often walks 
 the ghastly and sickly figure of disappoint- 
 ment. Sad, indeed, the time when this spirit 
 meets the gay and deceptive siren of the 
 heart. Especially is this true in the winter 
 of life, when the life line of hope is feeble 
 or broken and naught is heard within the 
 corridors of the heart save the voice of 
 despair, and the spirit of adventure sinks 
 forever into a consciousness of being a vic- 
 tim of fantastic anticipation. 
 
 But there are anticipations that carry 
 with them sweet and trustworthy assurances 
 of joys to be realized; that give elasticity 
 to the step, color to the cheek, and fill the 
 heart with music; that assure one that in 
 due time success and true enjoyment shall 
 surely emerge from an honest chase or a 
 patient wait. Underlying this kind of an- 
 ticipation, is the fixed law that as one sows 
 so shall he reap. Like produces like. This 
 is as true in matters of the heart and the head 
 and in all human affairs, as it is in the 
 
 171 
 
provinces of the animal or the botanical 
 world. There may be a few exceptions, but 
 the rule holds good. Kindness, friendship, 
 love, faithfulness to duty, veracity, justice, 
 and benevolence, in short and in fact, all of 
 the virtues when put into practice l)ring like 
 returns. None can ignore or violate the laws 
 of any one of these and reasonably anticipate 
 pleasures worth enjoying or abiding. And 
 this is as true in matters of national life as 
 it is in those of an individual. The laws 
 of nature and those of the human heart are 
 in this respect very similar. True, they may 
 be ignored by individuals, society, and nations, 
 but a penalty more or less severe usually 
 follows. As the years go by they furnish 
 unmistakable evidence of the truth of what 
 is here asserted. In the history of nations 
 it appears as well as in the lives of the 
 great departed. Imperial Rome avariciously 
 and licentiously anticipated, and, in her wild 
 and unjust pursuits for greater glory, lost 
 what glory she possessed and enjoyed. Na- 
 
 172 
 
poleou, in his selfish desire and anticipation 
 of extended power and additional glory, sought 
 the same with cruel fervor and at the wan- 
 ton sacrifice of the lives and rights of others, 
 to meet, finally, defeat and disappointment 
 and the ignominious death of a prisoner in 
 exile. 
 
 History, both ancient and modern, is re- 
 plete with instances of wanton effort inspired 
 by selfish anticipation. In them we see a 
 cruel and willful disregard of the rights and 
 happiness of others, a violation of the plain 
 virtues, that are always recognized and ap- 
 proved by the head and the heart in their 
 best estate. It requires but a little reflection 
 upon the part of the experienced and thought- 
 ful of mature years, to realize that there are 
 worthy and unworthy anticipations; that the 
 former, from an inevitable law of nature, yields 
 only pleasures true and abiding, while the 
 latter, at the best, afford pleasures that are 
 but fleeting, or that carry with them a sting 
 of regret. 
 
 173 
 
Anticipation, then, sweet siren of the 
 heart, so wild in youth, and in old age not 
 without her seductive influence, needs not 
 only watching, but the counsel of experience 
 and sober reason to check her faults and 
 foibles; that those who listen to her gay and 
 beguiling songs may not be led into the 
 shades of disappointment and regret. This 
 siren sings her captivating songs in every 
 heart. Life indeed were gloomy without her. 
 She paints the future in most fascinating 
 colors, while hope, her companion, ever sing- 
 ing in the human breast, smiles and ap- 
 plauds. They seem to be twin sisters, although 
 anticipation is the gayer of the two and 
 inclined to be reckless and treacherous. 
 
 174 
 
FOND MEMORY. 
 
 Within thy sacred precincts, 
 Where silence hath a throne, 
 
 Secure from all intrusion, 
 I wander oft alone. 
 
 And there my soul, enchanted, 
 Within thy holy bowers, 
 
 May read thy scroll of beauty 
 And gather rarest flowers. 
 
 Thy scroll of joys immortal. 
 Thy flowers that never die — 
 
 Those that the heart most cherished, 
 Bring they a laugh or sigh. 
 
Within thy sacred gardens, 
 The dew-drop is the tear; 
 
 The notes I hear are other days 
 Sweet echoes, doubly dear. 
 
 There oft I roam at twilight — 
 The precious hour of day; 
 
 And muse and hold communion 
 With loved ones passed away. 
 
 A mother's voice comes to me, 
 
 I press a loving hand; 
 I feel a kiss upon my brow. 
 
 As touch of magic wand. 
 
 O memory! fond memory — 
 The laughter and the tears 
 
 That live for e'er within thy haunts 
 Are but the vanished years. 
 
GOLDEN PILLARS OF LIFE'S 
 TEMPLE. 
 
 The building of temples has been a passion 
 of every age and of every people. The ancient 
 world points to these as among the monuments of 
 her past greatness, splendor, and triumphant lore. 
 
 They are the living, speaking voices of the 
 great-dead past. They testify to the ruling 
 passions of the ancient head, heart and soul, 
 Each dominant passion had its god, or god- 
 dess; and each of these had his or her temple 
 wherein there was the feast or worship. The 
 votaries of vice in all its hideous forms lav- 
 ished their skill and treasures on temples to 
 Bacchus, the god of wine and revelry, while 
 the lovers of virtue and wisdom erected tem- 
 ples to Vesta and Minerva. Thus, to vice or 
 virtue — ignorance or wisdom, were erected 
 temples. Many of these temples have been 
 destroyed by the bloody hand of war and 
 
 177 
 
the wasting elements; but the passions of 
 men remain and rule as of yore. 
 
 The heirs of Christian civilization are 
 adorning and glorifying the landscape every- 
 where with temples of learning, justice, and 
 worship. The mighty spirit of the great 
 dead past is here refined and emphasized in 
 the more Christianized and civilized present, 
 with a faith that builds beyond the stars 
 and a hope that bears the soul to Heaven. 
 
 These great works of art, fashioned by 
 the genius and skill of man, have their dis- 
 tinctive features, and vie with one another 
 in their marked importance and architectural 
 beauty. In the construction of them there 
 are certain well defined laws that demand 
 severe obedience, any violation of which con- 
 demns or renders defective the entire structure. 
 The laws of unity, variety, symmetry and 
 proportion must be obeyed or defect follows, 
 nature herself is offended and hastens to 
 condemn. To the architect who plans such no- 
 ble structures, certain questions present them- 
 
 178 
 
selves, such as the purpose to which the 
 temple is to be dedicated, the height, the 
 breadth, and the depth of its super-structure; 
 the character and the weight of the material 
 that is to be employed. Until these questions 
 have been fully and well determined, nothing 
 can be properly done. 
 
 Experience has taught that the founda- 
 tion is of paramount importance, since the 
 stability and permanency of the super-struct- 
 ure depend upon it. Hence the utmost care 
 is urged that the foundation be laid to cor- 
 respond with the purpose and weight of the 
 super-structure. Many a fine temple has fallen 
 during the process of its erection, or proved 
 disappointing afterwards, from the want of 
 sufficient care and skill at the inception or 
 during its construction. 
 
 It might be entertaining and instructive 
 were we to consider in detail the different 
 architectural features of these material, soul- 
 less temples, and in so doing call upon Egypt, 
 Athens, Home, and other ancient cities for 
 
 179 
 
inspiration and illustrations. But it is suflS.- 
 cient for our purpose to notice simply the 
 pillars of such. 
 
 That which imparts beauty, grandeur, 
 and character to a temple are its pillars, while 
 at the same time they serve as a support, 
 and guarantee security against the violent 
 assaults of the reckless and cruel elements. 
 In the ancient temples, these pillars were 
 numerous and costly, and imparted an air 
 of stateliness and authority to their structures. 
 
 But these attractive and imposing monu- 
 ments are as dreams of fancy when compared 
 to the real temple of life, which we denom- 
 inate character; that which cannot perish 
 with fleeting time, and whose golden pillars 
 are the physical, the moral, the intellectual, 
 and the spiritual parts of our being. Now, 
 every individual is here upon earth to build 
 a temple, which, when completed, shall be to 
 himself or herself a source of genuine pride 
 and pleasure — to society an ornament, and 
 unto God eternal glory. Various indeed are 
 
 180 
 
its component parts, but when finished, its 
 sum total is character. In its perfected 
 state, it may be likened to the beautiful sun 
 that swings in the blue vault of heaven like 
 an angel's lamp, lighting and warming and 
 gladdening the earth. Many are they who 
 attempt to build this temple, but few, in fact, 
 succeed. The vast majority worship at the 
 feet of the gods of appetite and passion; 
 build temples to Bacchus; court dissipation; 
 jeer at virtue and scofp at rectitude. 
 
 As the material temple has its founda- 
 tion, so, also, has Life's Temple. It has its 
 beginning in your arms, fond mother; in 
 your tender and holy caresses; in your sweet 
 and loving lullabies; in your smiles of ap- 
 proval; in your counsel and in your dispas- 
 sionate chidings. You may be to it what 
 the morning sun and dew drop are to the 
 budding flower; or, you may be to it as an 
 early frost or a blighting wind. Yes, your 
 every word, look, and act, contribute to the 
 foundation of this beautiful, priceless temple, 
 
 181 
 
Character, The songs you sing, live therein 
 forever; the look you give, shall never dis- 
 appear; your every tear and your every foot- 
 fall shall be felt and be heard — echoed and 
 re-echoed in every chamber of the sublime 
 structure through all its temporal and celes- 
 tial existence. 
 
 Again, much of its foundation is mould- 
 ed in the school-room and in the house of 
 worship. And here we are to remember that 
 as the teacher is, so afterwards the pupil; 
 the one, a Socrates, then the other, a Plato; 
 the one, with a faith that looks with love 
 for life beyond the clouds; then the other, 
 buoyant with hope and the anticipations of 
 another clime: Thus, the foundation is laid. 
 
 The physical part of one's being may be 
 considered as one of the pillars of Life's 
 Temple. A sound or healthy body well pre- 
 served is essential to character building; 
 therefore, too much care cannot be taken 
 that the laws of health be strictly obeyed; that 
 the diet furnished be sufficient and whole- 
 
 182 
 
some; the water, pure and electrifying. These 
 with pure air and sunlight, proper exercise 
 and amusement, with regular and timely hours 
 of retirement, engender good blood in healthy 
 circulation, which in return produces an active 
 brain and a vigorous body. The laws of com- 
 pensation and reciprocity stand forth promi- 
 nently in all the works of nature. The flow- 
 ers, for sunshine and showers, compensate 
 with fragrance and beauty, while the rain-bow 
 of promise steps forth upon the balcony of the 
 heavens. Whoever would cultivate and preserve 
 these conditions of the brain and the body, 
 must not and cannot dissipate the night or 
 any part of it in vulgar dance-halls, grog-shops, 
 gambling-dens and other cesspools of crime 
 and iniquity. The laws of God are immut- 
 able; and the laws of health, are the laws of 
 God. "As ye sow, so shall ye reap," is a 
 fixed law, enacted by God. No man can 
 repeal it, nor operate in opposition to it and 
 reap otherwise. Hence it follows, that he who 
 waits on Bachus and pays tribute to the house- 
 
 183 
 
hold of vice, shall loose his physical beauty, 
 the pride of his manhood, one of the golden 
 pillars of Life's Temple. 
 
 One who aspires to nobility of charaot^r, 
 who would make the most of the best that is 
 within him, whose motto is — Excelsior — stands 
 aloof from such places; from their blighting 
 and destructive influences; finds pleasure and 
 strength in the elevating and invigorating 
 atmosphere of the church, wherein is worshiped 
 the true and living God. Places of learning, 
 also, have an attraction for him. His sports 
 are innocent and his walks are chaste. When 
 night comes, we find him in the circle of 
 home — sweet home — basking in the sunshine 
 of innocent childhood and devoted wifehood. 
 Lafayette, thou speakest well: Yes, where 
 can a man better be than in the bosom of 
 his family? There, is found the cradle and 
 the spinning-wheel, youth and old age; there, 
 hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, blend to- 
 gether. There we cherish, and there we 
 build. There we live, and there w© die — a 
 
 184 
 
happy unit. Yes, no matter how humble, 
 there is no place like home. Mother is there, 
 that's enough. Aye, true it is, "The hand 
 that rocks the cradle rules the world." A 
 mother's love and a mother's blessing, her 
 constant solicitude and devotion, her prayers 
 and holy efforts, make sacred the home circle; 
 gives to a nation a Washington, a Lincoln, or 
 a Grant. Home is honored, a nation made, 
 and a nation saved. No man can build well 
 without mother; and mother without God is 
 helpless. 
 
 The second golden pillar of Life's Temple 
 is that of morality, the heart. Feeling gen- 
 erates thought and action, and action is every- 
 thing. How important then that the heart 
 should be right. There is some of Heaven 
 and some of Hell in every man and woman; 
 such is our heritage. Let us be grateful for 
 the fall. Were it not so, where were the vic- 
 tory? The human heart is a reservoir of two 
 great forces. From the one side flows the 
 pure, sweet streams of sympathy, pity, charity, 
 
 185 
 
forgiveness, friendship and love; while from 
 the other side flows the inky, poisonous 
 streams of envy, jealousy, hatred, revenge 
 and murder. What a variety! What a mix- 
 ture! What a study, is man! What a mys- 
 tery to himself, and yet, what a sublime whole ! 
 The great master-piece of the Almighty! The 
 object of the Cross, and the only heir to Lif^ 
 Eternal! 
 
 But these various and seemingly oppos- 
 ing elements of the heart, can be harmonized 
 and regulated in their movements and opera- 
 tions, to the end that happiness and glory 
 shall follow, even as the planets are directed 
 and regulated in their movements by the 
 divine mind. 
 
 Another golden pillar of Life's Temple 
 is the intellect. There is nothing in the 
 world but mind and matter in some form or 
 other. Everything that is, may be classified 
 under the one or the other of these terms. 
 The one, superior; the other, inferior. The 
 one, master; the other, slave. The one, per- 
 
 186 
 
ishable; the other, imperishable; while back 
 of all — before all — beneath all — abore all — 
 about all — permeating all — superior to all — 
 directing and controlling all — and eternal to 
 all — is God, the Creator of all. Superior to 
 all but Grod, is mind. The intellect is king 
 in this world, and its companion, the heart, 
 is queen. The intellectual kingdom is supe- 
 rior to all other kingdoms — and the moral, 
 the heart kingdom, is only second to it. Yet 
 there are those who seem, from their mode 
 of living, to regard appetite as king, and 
 passion as queen. How many neglect the 
 best part of their nature; spurn all efforts 
 at intellectual and esthetical improvement, 
 and waste their time in caring simply for 
 the body, or in riotous living. True, the 
 curse of God has made it necessary for man 
 to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow; 
 and labor thus performed is worthy of honor. 
 It is not necessary, however, that he should 
 spend all of his life in providing for the 
 body. Oaring solely for the physical part of 
 
 187 
 
our nature is the lowest occupation that can 
 engage man's attention. Were life's mission 
 only to feed, water, blanket, and shelter this 
 mortal mass of clay, life, then, were not worth 
 the living, and we might well sing, "I would 
 not live always." True, the body should be 
 well taken care of — because it is the outer 
 temple, the home of the head, the heart, 
 and the soul. But it should remain servant, 
 and should not be allowed to dictate, or 
 dethrone its king and queen, the head and 
 heart. We think too much of food, shelter 
 and raiment. We are too fond of the soci- 
 ety of Epicurus and Bacchus. The motto: 
 "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we 
 die," is false and unbecoming to the spirit 
 , of lofty aspirations. Few of the millions 
 that live ever reach the plane of true life. 
 The hourly and daily concern of most of us 
 is the palate and the looking-glass; something 
 good to eat and something nice to wear, 
 seasoned and ornamented with gossip or 
 slander. The intellectual part of life is 
 
 188 
 
neglected or ignored. The study of nature, 
 so elevating, refining and quieting in its in- 
 fluences, is set aside as if it were a matter 
 of no special importance to any except those 
 who desire to use the knowledge thereof in 
 the arts and for the purposes of barter and 
 trade. What a base conception of life. The 
 true, the beautiful and the wonderful in 
 nature is seen, heard and felt, but not un- 
 derstood. 
 
 The untutored mind sees the beauties and 
 wonders of the heavens; beholds the sun — 
 the moon — the stars, and the lightning on its 
 mad career through storm laden clouds, but 
 naught else than fear and wonder attend the 
 sight. But not so with the cultivated mind. 
 The sun to it is the center of the solar sys- 
 tem — a vast and wonderful body of light and 
 heat, rotating, but stationary, and at a distance 
 of ninety-one millions of miles from earth. A 
 knowledge of its size, distance, substances and 
 life-awakening and life sustaining qualities, 
 fills the heart and mind of its beholder with 
 
 189 
 
grand emotions and lofty thoughts. Fear 
 and wonder is lost in quiet adoration and sub- 
 lime contemplation of the Supreme Being. 
 To ■ such an one, things are not always what 
 they seem to be, but what they really are. The 
 nearest fixed stars to the informed mind are 
 not a few miles away in the heavens, but are 
 nineteen trillions of miles distant. The moon 
 is not distributing its own light, but is re- 
 flecting the light of its superior, the sun. 
 Thus the difference between the ignorant and 
 the informed mind. The vision of one is 
 short, superficial, misleading and full of error; 
 the vision of the other, is far-reaching, pene- 
 trating, deep and comprehensive. The igno- 
 rant vision beholds and trembles; the enlight- 
 ened vision beholds with admiration, adoration 
 and worship. 
 
 The five senses of the uncultivated man 
 afford him but little pleasure that the brute 
 does not enjoy. He eats without any knowl- 
 edge of the nature or properties of the food 
 before him, as does the brute. The air he 
 
 190 
 
breathes is simply air, and nothing more; so 
 with the brute. That it contains oxygen, 
 his life, is of no interest to him. He wants 
 air, wants to breathe, that is all; so with 
 the brute. To him all things of beauty, 
 grandeur, and sublimity, are of no consequence 
 aside from their gastronomic or sumptuary 
 value. The life of such an one is gross and 
 superficial. He lives and dies on the surface 
 of things. He sees but little and aspires to 
 nothing. He builds no temple, for he is 
 short of material. He is short-sighted, short- 
 eared, and short in spirit; yes, short in 
 everything, except appetite and passion. He 
 is a failure of his own volition. He is here 
 filling space, and that is all. A man or wo- 
 man who, in this, the twentieth century, sur- 
 rounded with unlimited means of knowledge, 
 shuffles along through life to the grave in 
 ignorance, deserves to be censured and ridi- 
 culed. Light is all about us. We may, if 
 we choose, look into the face of nature and 
 understand her secrets, for science has un- 
 
 191 
 
covered them. We live in an age of cer- 
 tainties. Most of the wonders of nature 
 lie exposed on the shelves of our libraries. 
 We may know if we will. There is a feast 
 for the hungry mind as well as for the body. 
 
 Let him who would accomplish the mission 
 of life, who would make the most of the best 
 within him, not fail to recognize the fact that 
 knowledge is power as well as pleasure; that 
 it is impossible to build anything of lasting 
 worth without it; that it is one of the prime 
 factors in real character; that without it the 
 real beauties and wonders of creation are to 
 him as a sealed book, as pearls to the swine; 
 that life without it is slavery, a life of 
 death. 
 
 Again, let the man and the woman of 
 advanced years remember that it is never 
 too late to improve; that history is their's 
 in which to read of the past conditions, 
 struggles, aspirations and achievements of the 
 human race; that in books of astronomy they 
 may read of the heavens; that in natural 
 
 192 
 
philosophy they may learn of the laws by 
 which nature operates. 
 
 Yes, every department of organic and 
 inorganic nature has been largely explored 
 and explained, and if one will, he may read, 
 know and enjoy, as he builds up the third 
 pillar of Life's Temple. 
 
 The spiritual part of man is the fourth 
 pillar of Life's Temple. Every finished and 
 truly sublime character recognizes the exist- 
 ence of a Supreme Being. The physical, the 
 moral, and the intellectual parts of our be- 
 ing, may be cultivated and developed well 
 nigh to the line of perfection; but if the 
 spiritual part is neglected, or remains unculti- 
 vated and undeveloped, the Temple will be 
 weak, temporal and material, and deficient in 
 that which gives to it the finishing touch, 
 that of life eternal. No spiritual pillar, — then 
 no grand character. 
 
 A soul without faith in it is empty, 
 cheerless, and running to waste. A belief 
 in the existence of a God fills it with a life 
 
 193 
 
and light, a hope and faith, that ends not 
 at the grave. One who believes not in a 
 God and eternal life, lives in a temple with- 
 out windows — one without light. He lives, 
 moves and has his being in a state of dis- 
 traction, in a prison without hope of redemp- 
 tion. To him all is temporal and selfish. 
 His doctrine is, every man for himself, the 
 grave for all, and nothing more. His life 
 is cold, selfish and remorseless. He would rob 
 June of her roses and Autumn of her mead- 
 ow larks. How like a haunted house is the 
 society of an atheist! How cold, clammy 
 and repulsive his touch! His insanity is of 
 the worst type. We cannot reason with 
 him. We just pity him and let him alone. 
 His life, without God in it, is like a des- 
 ert without an oasis, or a dungeon within 
 whose cold and slimy walls naught is heard 
 save the sullen and gurgling waters of des- 
 pair mingling with the moans and groans 
 of abandoned and frenzied spirits. 
 
 But how different, how delightful, con- 
 
 194 
 
genial and elevating is the man who recognizes 
 God in everything. What a halo of divine 
 light is about him. His temple is filled 
 with spiritual light. He builds on faith and 
 hope divine, ever taking counsel of the Su- 
 preme Architect. His temple is not for time 
 only, but for eternity. When it is finished, 
 we behold upon its majestic dome, in golden 
 letters, the words: Character and Happiness, 
 — the object and sum total of life. Inscribed 
 upon its pillars are the words, patience 
 — industry — perseverance — growth — develop- 
 ment — denial — self-sacrifice — virtue — knowl- 
 edge—justice — worship. When finished, it 
 represents the victory of years. He loves 
 his temple and delights to study the prec- 
 ious gems that decorate its pillars. With- 
 in its human arches and through its divine 
 recesses are heard the soft^ liquid notes of 
 friendship, love, charity, forgiveness and just- 
 ice. It is never night there, it is ever day. 
 To the soul that lives within such a temple, 
 there is no death — there is no grave — just a 
 
 195 
 
change; a long, pleasant visit, anticipated with 
 loved ones in a foreign land. Thus, Life's 
 Temple is built. 
 
 But as there are false gods, so there are 
 false temples. Nor is it always easy to de- 
 tect the false from the true. Both have 
 gilded domes and to all outward appearances 
 are one and the same. We often find the 
 stamp of the genuine upon the dome of the 
 spurious. The word character is written in- 
 stead of the word reputation. And what is 
 character? A man's character is what he 
 really, is, while a man's reputation is what 
 others say he is and what he seems to be. 
 Sometimes his character is better than his 
 reputation. Then again, his reputation is 
 sometimes better than his character. So, true 
 it is, that "all that glitters is not gold." 
 Appearances are, indeed, often deceiving. The 
 sun appears to be not larger than a good- 
 size pumpkin, whereas, in fact, it is one 
 million two hundred and ninety times as large 
 as the earth. The nearest fixed stars are 
 
 196 
 
nineteen trillions of miles away, although they 
 seem to be only a few hours ride away into the 
 heavens. Again, the smallest stars visible to 
 the naked eye are five hundred and seventy 
 trillions of miles above the clouds; so far 
 away that their light, traveling as all light 
 travels— 183,000 miles a second — has been 
 thousands of years reaching us. How de- 
 ceptive, how great the difference between the 
 apparent and the real. Life is real; we are 
 here on earth a reality, with stern, inflexible 
 realities all about us, and he who would 
 build well and for eternity, must build his 
 temple out of realities. It will be a temple 
 of real acts and of like memories. And 
 the builder thereof must live, eat, drink, 
 work, walk, sleep, and exist in it — forever. 
 When it is once built he cannot get out 
 of it, for it is himself, his character. We 
 cannot get away from ourselves. Our past 
 life is always the larger part of our present. 
 Today, making ready for tomorrow, is all of 
 yesterday. Our memories are always with 
 
 197 
 
us whether they be sweet or bitter. They 
 are ever present to censure or praise. Thus 
 if is that justice and virtue have their re- 
 ward. How full of springtime and gratifi- 
 cation must have been the memories of Wash- 
 ington, Lafayette, Lincoln, Grrant, and Gar- 
 field. How gloomy and full of remorse that 
 of Lord Woolsey. Hear him in his old age 
 and in the anguish of his soul cry out, "Had 
 I but served my God as well as I have served 
 my king, He now, in my old age, would not 
 have forsaken me." What a bitter memory, 
 reminiscences of empty honors and ephemeral 
 glory. Lord Woolsey, once a prince — a lord 
 — almost a king, with unlimited wealth and 
 surrounded by dazzling splendor, courted by 
 princes and potentates; equipped with power 
 to create or crush, now a beggar full of re- 
 morse and cringing at the feet of a despot. 
 How upon his ear ring the words, "Fling 
 away ambition — 'twas by that the angel fell." 
 Aye, thrice true it is that any ambition de- 
 void of God, humanity and justice, had bet- 
 
 198 
 
ter be thrown away, for, sooner or later, it 
 will fill the soul with remorse and crush the 
 temple. 
 
 Finally, recognizing these four great, 
 grand forces of our being — the physical, the 
 moral, the intellectual, and the spiritual, and 
 adjusting them to the laws of nature while 
 developing them in harmony therewith and 
 Grod's will, one can build the grand temple 
 of life. Upon its walls there will be hung 
 the precious and unquestionable sentiments: 
 Do unto others as ye would that they should 
 do unto you. "This, to thine own self be 
 true; and it must follow as the night the day, 
 thou can'st not then be false to any man." 
 "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, 
 the evidence of things unseen." "Lord, I 
 believe, help thou mine unbelief." "Just as 
 I am without one plea, but that Thy blood 
 was shed for me." Within this temple, we 
 find the solution to life's problem; namely, 
 be true to self, to others, and to God. Such 
 is all of Life — subjectively and objectively. 
 
 199 
 
It is the centre and the circumference of life. 
 And surely life is worth living. 
 
 This is a beautiful world, the glorious herit- 
 age of prince and peasant. He is a millionaire 
 who lives and builds to enjoy it. God has made 
 the whole earth vocal with sweet sounds. The 
 untraveled forests echo the notes of the wild bird 
 and the habitations of men are made glad by the 
 sweet songs of domesticated feathered minstrels. 
 From groves, gardens, and deep tangled wild 
 woods, come to us zephyrs laden with the aroma 
 of the native wild flower and the fragrance of 
 the cherished exotic. The bird of beauty with 
 its radiant, fascinating plumage, passes in 
 proud review before us, captivating and exciting 
 our admiration. The bold eagle soars away 
 above the defiant crags and lofty peaks of its 
 majestic mountain home, inspiring our souls in 
 its flight with the spirit of Excelsior. Again, 
 'tis night, and the roar of the cataract and the 
 chanting of distant waters fall upon the ear 
 awakening meditation and calling us to Grod 
 and vespers. 
 
 200 
 
Yes, monotony nowhere, variety every- 
 where; beauty, grandeur, sublimity, divinity 
 all about us, illuminated by the lights of the 
 twentieth century. The beauties, wonders, 
 and glories of this world are a ceaseless round 
 of pleasure to those who are engaged in build- 
 ing Life's Temple. To such, life is ever rosy, 
 and never a cloud appears without its silver 
 lining. The notes of the last grand anthem 
 heard on earth within the temple walls of 
 Character is, "Thy Will be done: Praise God 
 from whom all blessings flow." Then let it 
 be recorded and burnt into the memory, that 
 he builds best who builds not only for time, 
 but also for eternity. 
 
 Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids; 
 
 Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall. 
 
 — Young » 
 
 201 
 
VERMONT. 
 
 A song to thee — my native State, 
 Thy shepherd hills, thy mountains great, 
 Thy rivers, glens, and silver lakes, 
 Where Freedom's voice the Eagle wakes. 
 
 Grod's works I've seen across the sea. 
 Free Switzerland! Fair Italy! 
 Where Nature oft held captive me. 
 But naught inspired my soul like thee. 
 
 Proud State! thy star in the field of blue, 
 We hail and admire, so constant and true; 
 Thy sons are heroes, well known to fame. 
 The pride of his country — brave Dewey — 
 we name. 
 
 Yet more of glory, fond State, is thy share, 
 Thy daughters excel! How lovely! How 
 
 fair! 
 With voices as sweet as their virtues are 
 
 rare, 
 They life give and zest to the Green 
 
 Mountain air. 
 
TO TALIEN. 
 
 The stars begem the azure blue, 
 And watch the night the flowers bedew; 
 Their genial light o'er tired earth strew, 
 There silent sitting — constant — true, 
 
 The flowers blossom, bud and bloom. 
 In charming colors — form — perfume; 
 The angels shape them, we assume, 
 The blushing rose for bride and groom. 
 
 The robin, happy bird, doth sing 
 Its liquid, joyous notes in spring; 
 Now meadow lark sings on the wing. 
 Hark! hear the ambient welkin ring. 
 
 The heart is touched by harp and song. 
 And would cathedral chimes prolong; 
 They gently chide a thought of wrong, 
 And bid the soul be brave and strong. 
 
 Love makes us feel the charm of life, 
 Its tender throbs, its noble strife; 
 The heart is full where it is rife, 
 No evil there for pruning knife. 
 
PLAY SAINT, OR SINNER. 
 
 Make no choice — play saint or sinner, 
 Either part is best if winner; 
 Blush no shame! — Time doth attest 
 That saints and sinners both are blest. 
 
 Kight or wrong— care not — if winner, 
 He who fails is counted sinner; 
 Never mind the course you take, 
 Run, — run wild! — but reach the stake! 
 
 If the while some dare you censure — 
 For your heartless, vile adventure. 
 Run undaunted, — praise awaits you — 
 Wealth and fashion will embrace you. 
 
 Lo! you'll share the pomp and splendor, 
 That both saints and sinners render, 
 Fawning at your feet and grinning, 
 Fair ones will false praise be spinning. 
 
 Be ye great! — yes, — be a hero! 
 Such an one as he was, — Nero! 
 But so sure as God's Eternal, 
 Ye shall bide with the Infernal! 
 
THE IDEAL. 
 
 What is that which we call the ideal? 
 What does it look like? Where is it to be 
 found or seen? Is it a myth, or is it a real 
 thing? Is it a physical something occupying 
 space, like a solid, a liquid, a fluid, or a gas? 
 or is it a metaphysical something, just an 
 idea born of the imagination, and having no 
 existence except in the mind? Well, yes, it 
 is rather the latter; it is metaphysical in its 
 nature, a product of the mind. But it is 
 not a myth nor a mystery. It can be real- 
 ized by the senses, or defined and made clear 
 to the understanding. 
 
 One speaks of an ideal place, — sunset, — 
 day; an ideal piece of architecture or paint- 
 ing; an ideal form, — character, — father, — moth- 
 er, — son, — daughter; an ideal condition, — situ- 
 ation, — or state of things, etc. 
 
 205 
 
Yes, the term ideal can apply to many 
 things that are abstract, physical or concrete 
 in their nature, as well as to things purely 
 imaginative or mythical; it can apply to per- 
 sons or things realized by some one of the 
 senses as well as to persons and things and 
 places existing only in the clouds of the 
 imagination. But what is it? Tell us about 
 it. Well, according to Fleming, "The ideal 
 is that which is attained by selecting and 
 assembling in one whole the beauties and 
 perfections which are usually seen in different 
 individuals, (or things), excluding everything 
 defective or unseemly, so as to form a type 
 or model of the species. Thus, the Apollo 
 Belvidere is the ideal of the beauty and 
 proportion of the human frame." The ideal, 
 then, is an imaginary standard of excellence; 
 a mental conception portrayed in words or 
 set up in works of art, as a model of what 
 some mind or minds consider perfection. Let 
 us consider for a moment the meaning of 
 some of the terms used in the above defini- 
 
 206 
 
tion. A thing is considered perfect when 
 it is finished and faultless in all its parts, 
 and, as a whole, a thing of perfection. But 
 it can be all this, and yet not be ideal. How 
 so? Because, in addition to being finished 
 and faultless in and of itself, it must, in 
 order to be an ideal, have another qualifica- 
 tion, without which it should not be called 
 ideal; namely, it must excel, surpass all others 
 of its kind; in other words, it must have 
 the exceptional or peculiar property of ex- 
 cellence. Nay, it must not only be finished, 
 faultless, and excel, but it must be so per- 
 fect in its character that no mind pre-emi- 
 nently great can conceive of how a thing of 
 its kind can be made more nearly perfect. 
 
 But, it will be said, one mind may con- 
 ceive what it regards worthy of being a 
 standard of excellence in some special thing 
 while another mind may entertain and set 
 forth a different one. Now, when this is the 
 case, who shall decide or decree which of 
 these two so-called ideals is the true one, or 
 
 207 
 
the more nearly perfect? Well, that must 
 depend npon the nature or character of that 
 which is presented as an ideal. The ideal, 
 in a lofty sense of the term, is usually the 
 product of a lofty, superior mind, schooled 
 and pre-eminent in some thought, science, or 
 art. It was evidently such a great mind 
 that conceived (about the third century B. 
 C.) the marble statue of Apollo Belvidere, 
 as an ideal of the beauty and propojtion of the 
 human form. This statue could not have 
 been the emanations of a common, ignorant, 
 or gross mind. So, then, we would not think 
 of submitting the question of choice or supe- 
 riority between two ideals, to minds of the 
 latter type, but to a mind or group of lofty 
 minds refined and versed in the things which 
 the ideals presented represent, and which are 
 set forth as perfect types, models, or stand- 
 ards, for imitation or emulation. The choice', 
 then, should be submitted to minds that are 
 acquainted with the rules, yes, the principles 
 of perfection, or excellence; to minds that 
 
 208 
 
can note the presence as well as the absence 
 of these principles in any conception ad- 
 vanced as an ideal. Nor are these principles 
 the whims of man; but, on the contrary, are 
 as real and fixed in the nature of things as 
 the motions of the celestial orbs. Two of 
 these principles are laws of symmetry and 
 proportion, which are out-ranked only by that 
 of unity. If either of these be absent from 
 anything set forth as an ideal, it is then so 
 far defective, and not worthy to be called an 
 ideal. And while this is especially and em- 
 phatically true in works of architecture, draw- 
 ing and painting, as well as in all forms of 
 art, it is generally true in all matters capa- 
 ble and worthy of having an ideal type, model, 
 or standard. This, then, signifies that some 
 of the objects of any kind may be superior 
 to some of the others of the same kind, while 
 some one of the whole number may be supe- 
 rior to all others of the group, or class. 
 And yet, this superior one may not be per- 
 fect, but may be defective in some one or 
 
 209 
 
more particulars, which defect or defects may 
 cause it to be so far short of answering 
 the requirements of a standard set up as a 
 model of excellence, or as an ideal of what 
 the mind has conceived to be a type of per- 
 fection. Thus, it will be observed that a 
 thing may be superior in some respects, and 
 yet not be, as a whole, an ideal. 
 
 HOW THE IDEAL IS FORMED. 
 
 We know that there are many classes of 
 objects in the world. We know, too, that 
 these classes not only differ from one another, 
 but that the individuals of each class usually 
 differ among themselves in respect to the 
 qualities, attributes, or properties that com- 
 pose each. We know that, as a rule, the 
 attributes or properties of any two of these 
 objects are not equal in all respects, that 
 any one of them usually has too much or 
 too little of this or that quality or property 
 to form an ideal specimen; while, at the same 
 time, it may have what the mind considers 
 
 210 
 
as being a proper amount of some one qual- 
 ity. In this case it stands before the mind 
 as ideal or perfect in some particulars, and 
 imperfect in others. So, the mind forms an 
 idea that if an object were made up of only 
 the perfect qualities or attributes perceived 
 in these different objects, the combination 
 would form an object that would be ideal; 
 one that would satisfy the master mind as 
 being ideal in every particular. 
 
 Now, this act of the mind involves judg- 
 ment and reason in selection. He who per- 
 forms it excludes everything that tends to 
 make Ms ideal defective. He selects and 
 combines into a perfect whole those individual 
 qualities or properties necessary to form his 
 ideal. In this way an ideal is formed. So, 
 then, the process consists in wisely selecting 
 and combining qualities or properties that will 
 make a symmetrical, proportionate, and beauti- 
 ful whole; not only in works of art, but in any- 
 thing worthy of an ideal. In such a case every- 
 thing is present in perfect proportion. For 
 
 211 
 
instance, if the ideal object has eyes, one 
 will not be small and the other large, for 
 this would offend the law of proportion. If 
 there be but one eye, then the law of sym- 
 metry is offended, which requires one on the 
 opposite side to balance. A man with two 
 legs is symmetrical in legs, one with two 
 arms is symmetrical in arms; two eyes, two 
 ears, two hands, and two feet, make one 
 symmetrical in these particulars. It is a 
 crime, in art, to offend either of these two 
 laws. 
 
 Proportion requires that the eyes, ears, 
 legs, etc., shall be of the same size; yes, 
 more, that the law of proportion shall extend 
 and apply to every part of the body; that 
 the legs shall be neither too small nor too 
 large, neither too long nor too short for the arms, 
 nor vice versa. That the eyes shall be neither 
 too large nor too small for the mouth, the nose, 
 or the ears; and so on, each part must be 
 considered and made to correspond in these 
 particulars to each and every other part, so 
 
 212 
 
that there shall be a symmetrical and pro- 
 portional whole, a beautiful unity. 
 
 As previously stated, these principles or 
 rules not only apply to the human form, but 
 are equally applicable to everything ideal; 
 for if either of these requirements be ignored, 
 that which is presented as an ideal, is not 
 worthy of the name. For instance, there 
 have been and are different forms of govern- 
 ment; some of these, in many respects, seem 
 to be more defective in form and char- 
 acter than others; while it is possible that 
 no one of them measures up to the standard 
 or model set forth by Plato in his Ideal 
 Republic. But then, the mere fact that 
 human nature is such that it is seemingly 
 impossible to put in full practice a standard 
 set up as an ideal, does not prove that the 
 ideas therein set forth are not such as a 
 lofty, just, and pre-eminently great mind might 
 or should approve. 
 
 The ideal, in human affairs, is not easily 
 attained. Experience proves that it is much 
 
 213 
 
easier to preach and draft beautiful theories 
 than it is to practice them; much easier to 
 form and set up ideals than it is to attain 
 or maintain them. So, then, it is possible 
 for a lofty and Christ-like mind with corres- 
 ponding appetites and passions to form ideals 
 of life and conduct too high or lofty in their 
 character for the majority of the most civil- 
 ized individuals or nations to reach and main- 
 tain. 
 
 But this fact should not be charged against 
 the ideal, or model. What ought to be, to 
 satisfy the ideal, is quite other from what 
 is usually found in practice. The ideal, in 
 the affairs of life, sets forth what is seemingly 
 best and ought to be, thus forming a standard 
 or model; an ideal, which when examined and 
 approved by the head and heart of the world in 
 their best estate, is considered as an object of 
 excellence and worthy of attainment. 
 
 An ideal, then — being a model of approved 
 or pronounced excellence or perfection — is 
 something that lies above the ordinary or 
 
 214 
 
even the best in its particular line or class 
 of tilings. Something that one may proudly 
 strive to reach; something to be attained, if 
 possible, and maintained for its intrinsic 
 value. 
 
 As we have already stated, l;here are, or 
 may be, a great many different ideals. But 
 of all ideals, the most difficult to attain and 
 maintain, is Ideal Character. And if one 
 would seek a perfect model of such — he will 
 find it, as is generally conceded — in Jesus of 
 Nazareth. 
 
 215 
 
ONLY A TRAHP. 
 
 "Only a tramp," so they say, "notMng 
 
 more," 
 Lying there dead where the surf beats the 
 
 shore, 
 There where the horned owl was seen in 
 
 the tree. 
 There where stern solitude looks on the 
 
 sea. 
 
 There where the brown bluffs their solemn 
 
 forms rear. 
 There where all night, where all day is so 
 
 drear. 
 There where the soul shrinks away as in 
 
 fear, 
 There, lies an unknown, — to somebody 
 
 dear. 
 
Only a tramp, who was once but a babe, 
 Sinless and thoughtless as wind, storm, or 
 
 wave; 
 Petted and played with, and coaxed on to 
 
 creep, 
 Bathed, kissed and fondled, and oft lulled 
 
 to sleep. 
 
 Only a tramp — young the face — most a 
 
 man, 
 Stained are his cheeks, where sad tears 
 
 burning ran; 
 Brow of much beauty, the features well 
 
 planned, 
 What may his name be, — the dead on the 
 
 sand. 
 
 Where now the father — sister — or brother, 
 Has he a weeping, heart broken mother, 
 Fled he from crime as from hound flies 
 
 the deer. 
 Whence came he — who is he — why fell 
 
 the tear? 
 
Silence! no answer comes out of the sea, 
 Neither brings answer the wind from the 
 
 lea; 
 Myst'ry now holds and denies to set free 
 The life and the tear that ran out by the 
 
 sea. 
 
 We, too, are tramps; vain is he who claims 
 
 more, 
 Tramping, sin-scarred, to Eternity's shore; 
 There where life's myst'ry and tramp we 
 
 shall see, 
 The life and the tear that ran out by the 
 
 sea. 
 
THE SPEECHLESS VOICE AND 
 WAITING PEN. 
 
 I know it — I feel it — but cannot express 
 it. How often these words fall from the lips. 
 The heart is full — the head is full — but the 
 tongue is silent — the pen is mute. 
 
 The spirit says speak — write — but neither 
 the tongue nor the pen respond. The eye 
 hag seen — the ear has heard — the heart has 
 felt — the mind conceived. There is a strong 
 desire and even an attempt toward expression. 
 But, alas! all is confusion — the result, a fail- 
 ure. The eye is fixed upon a blank piece 
 of paper, while the pen hangs motionless over 
 the waiting page. Sometimes it moves — but 
 when the mind has read the written words, 
 it views in doubt or condemns; what has 
 been written is disappointing and cast aside, 
 while the effort is abandoned with a sigh 
 and feeling of discouragement. 
 
 219 
 
Now, why is this? What is the matter? 
 The various departments of knowledge have 
 been explored; the mind is stored with many 
 worthy ideas, gathered here and there from 
 observation and experience, and there is 
 a disposition to express or impart them to 
 others. Surely, there must be some good 
 reason for such inability. And so there 
 is, as there are those who can and do 
 express their thoughts and feelings — their ob- 
 servations and experiences — in an orderly and 
 clear manner, while there are others who 
 struggle in vain and give up in despair, be- 
 lieving that the former are more gifted than 
 they — a belief that may be true in some in- 
 stances — but which is apt to be false in most 
 cases. 
 
 Let us consider some of the obstacles 
 that lie in the path of those who fail, and 
 give attention to the guides and suggestions 
 that generally lead to success and place in 
 the ranks of those who can and do express 
 themselves in an orderly, correct, clear, and 
 
 220 
 
forcible manner; and who never say, I know 
 it — I feel it, but cannot express it. 
 
 SUBJECT MATTER. 
 
 One cannot speak or write of nothing. 
 Then, to speak or write, is to speak or write 
 of something. Again, this something, what- 
 ever it may be — ^whether a real object or an 
 attribute of such, is something that really ex- 
 sists and can be so demonstrated to one or 
 more of the five senses; or, it may be an 
 ideal something; that is, something that can- 
 not be shown to exist by any one of the 
 five senses. 
 
 Now this something, wherever it may be, 
 whether in the heavens, on the earth, or be- 
 neath its surface, or elsewhere, can be taken 
 as subject matter or material, and each and 
 every kind of a thing so existing can be 
 considered by itself, or in its connection with 
 other things that are more or less related to 
 it or connected with it. 
 
 So, the subject matter, or material that 
 
 221 
 
produces thoughts or ideas, or excites one's 
 emotions, is either of a simple, mixed, or 
 varied and complicated character; and these 
 ideas or emotions are related to one another 
 in a variety of ways. Therefore, what one 
 says or writes can be more or less simple, 
 complex, or compound, as may be the subject 
 that is furnished or selected. Yes, every 
 one knows that there are many difPerent ob- 
 jects in the world possessing a variety of at- 
 tributes that differ in number, kind, or degree, 
 and that bear a variety of relations to one an- 
 other. Consequently, there is an unlimited 
 supply and variety of material for expression 
 or composition. 
 
 Let us now proceed to note what may be 
 considered strictly real in opposition to ideal 
 material. 
 
 EEAL MATERIAL. 
 
 Under this head, anything that any one 
 of the five senses can realize or cognize — 
 anything that depends upon any one of these 
 
 222 
 
senses in their normal condition for proof 
 of its existence, is regarded as real, in contra- 
 distinction to all else which lies or may exist 
 beyond the ken of the five senses, and which 
 we shall consider as being Ideal Material, 
 
 Now, when we speak or write of any of 
 this Eeal Material, we expect some one of 
 the five senses to be able to witness or cog- 
 nize the truth of what we say or write; or, 
 in other words, we expect that anyone having 
 the five senses, will attest (other things being 
 equal) whether what we have said or written 
 is true or false. And what we have just 
 said applies, not only to sensible objects, but, 
 of course, to their respective attributes, as 
 well as to space and time, which are reali- 
 ties to us since they surround and accompany 
 objects, but which realities, no one of man's 
 five senses can realize as visible objects. 
 
 IDEAL MATTEE. 
 
 Whatever lies or exists in any form, shape, 
 or manner, beyond the range or limit of 
 
 223 
 
any one of the five senses, is, strictly 
 speaking, ideal material, and may be so 
 called in contradistinction to that which 
 is usually termed real, which is anything 
 and everything that appeals in some form 
 or other directly to some one of the five 
 senses. 
 
 Upon a careful and thoughtful examina- 
 tion of any of the so-called ideal or imag- 
 inary matter, it is easily seen that the 
 same is based upon, or suggested by things 
 that are real in the sense of being material, 
 or an attribute of such. And since we have 
 the real or sensible, and the ideal or mental, 
 and since the two are so intimately connect- 
 ed, they afford us material for the creation 
 of a third and mixed class of ideas, which 
 gives us three distinct species of composition; 
 namely, the real, the ideal, and the mixed. 
 In the first of these, we look for reality; in 
 the second, for ideality; and in the third, for 
 an intermixture of the first two. More than 
 these three there cannot be; no matter how 
 
 224 
 
secular or sacred may be the nature or char- 
 acter of the composition. So, then, of real 
 and ideal material, there is an inexhaustible 
 supply for expression, oral or written. 
 
 SENTENCES. 
 
 Now every composition (which is only a 
 collection of thoughts, ideas, desires, or emo- 
 tions, produced by something and spread or 
 strung out before the mind in some form or 
 other) is formed of what is expressed in 
 words arranged into sentences. By adding 
 sentence to sentence, a string or structure 
 of expressed ideas, or emotions, which may 
 be real or ideal, or a mixture of both, is 
 produced. The length of such a structure 
 will depend, of course, upon the number 
 and length of the sentences that form it; and 
 these will depend for their length upon the 
 number of ideas, thoughts, or emotions that 
 are thus put into words, phrases, or clauses. 
 
 Now, since all kinds of composition are 
 made of sentences and depend much upon 
 
 225 
 
the character of the latter for their merits or 
 demerits, for their force, beauty or value, it is 
 of moment to those who would speak or write 
 well, that they study thoroughly the art of 
 constructing every kind of sentence, so as to 
 form the same according to the rules laid 
 down in the grammer of the language in 
 which they write or speak. 
 
 LENGTH OF SENTENCES. 
 
 A sentence can be short and simple, or 
 very long and intricate. Upon the examina- 
 tion of a long sentence, it will be found 
 that its length is occasioned by its modifiers; 
 that is, such words, phrases, or clauses as 
 represent attributes, or circumstances, the 
 latter being such as time, place, manner, 
 identity, cause, effect, purpose, or explanations, 
 or words of illustration. 
 
 Thus it will be seen that a sentence can 
 contain, at least, seven modifiers or modify- 
 ing elements, representing, as above, some 
 particular time, place, manner, cause, purpose, 
 
 226 
 
explanation, or attributes, besides illustra- 
 tions; or it may contain but one, or all of 
 these modifiers. 
 
 Again, each of these modifiers can be 
 long or short, that is, formed of few or 
 many words. So it will be seen that when a 
 sentence is made of few words it will be short; 
 that when it is made of many words, it will 
 be long; that the longer the sentences are, 
 the longer will be the paragraphs that they 
 together make. 
 
 HOW TO MAKE A LONG SENTENCE SHORT. 
 
 Now, if one has a long sentence, and it 
 be desirable to change it into a short one 
 without destroying its substance, such is easi- 
 ly accomplished by striking out any one, or 
 more, or all of the seven elements above 
 mentioned. One can strike out the time 
 phrases, clauses or words, and leave all the 
 rest; or, he can let the time element stand 
 and strike out any one or all of the others; or, 
 he can let the time element, or any one of 
 
 227 
 
the modifiers stand, and strike out any one, 
 or more, or all of the others, and the 
 sentence will be short and proper, with its 
 heart and soul intact, although it will not 
 say so much. Now, if a sentence can be 
 abreviated by striking out any one or more 
 of these elements or modifiers, it can, of 
 course, when short, be made longer, or very 
 long, by writing into the short sentence in 
 its proper place, what has been left out; 
 namely, any or all of the above mentioned 
 modifiers. 
 
 HEAD AND HEART OP A SENTENCE. 
 
 The head and heart of a sentence, its 
 substance, its two most important factors, that 
 which must be, or there is no sentence, are 
 the subject and its verb; that is, the name of 
 the thing spoken or written about, together 
 with its verb. What these two are is easily 
 ascertained by striking out the modifying 
 elements previously mentioned, leaving only 
 the subject and its verb; or, it may be ascer- 
 
 228 
 
tained by striking out simply the subject and 
 its verb, leaving all the other elements, which 
 will make no sense by themselves without the 
 subject and its verb to which the modifiers 
 relate. 
 
 WHEN TO ADD MODIFYING ELEMENTS. 
 
 If I am talking or writing about any- 
 thing, and I wish to tell where it is, I must, 
 of course, add or write the modifier, the 
 place. Again, if I wish to tell where I saw 
 it, or where it was seen, or when it was seen, 
 or how it acted, or anything connected with 
 or related to it, I must add or write into the 
 sentence corresponding or proper modifiers. 
 
 Again, if I want to tell why it is as it is, 
 or why it acted or acts as it did or does, I 
 must write into or add to the sentence the 
 why, — the cause element, — and so on, as to 
 each of its modifying elements. 
 
 But any one of these modifiers may be 
 expressed in a separate sentence by itself, 
 after the subject and its verb has been stated; 
 
 229 
 
as, for instance, John struck Henry. Now 
 then, the place element may stand by itself 
 in a separate sentence, thus: This act upon 
 the part of John was committed in Boston. 
 This separate sentence, expressing the place 
 of the act, might have been added to John 
 struck Henry as a modifier, and not have 
 been written as a separate sentence; as, John 
 struck Henry in Boston. 
 
 Again: It was done on the 4th day of 
 June, 1897. This is the time element, which 
 might have been written as a modifier in the 
 first sentence, so as to read: John struck 
 Henry in Boston, on the 4th day of June, 1897. 
 Again: The act was occasioned by ill will. 
 This is the why or cause element, following 
 in a separate sentence. It might have been 
 placed thus: John struck Henry in Boston, 
 on the 4th day of June, 1897, which act was 
 occasioned by ill will. 
 
 Again: The deed was done in a very 
 brutal manner. This is the manner element, 
 following in a separate sentence. It might 
 
 230 
 
have been expressed and placed thus: John 
 struck Henry in a very brutal manner in 
 Boston, on the 4th day of June, 1897, which 
 act was occasioned by ill will. 
 
 Thus, it will be seen that each modify- 
 ing or explanatory element can stand in a 
 separate sentence by itself. It will also be 
 seen that out of a long sentence, a number 
 of short ones can be formed. Again, that 
 out of a number of short sentences that serve 
 as modifiers to express the place, time, etc. 
 elements, a long sentence can be made by 
 using proper conjunctions, or relative links, 
 to bind or connect them to the principal 
 sentence to which they relate. 
 
 HOW TO CONSTRUOT BENTENCES. 
 
 Every subject or object has some place 
 and time in the world. It also exists or acts 
 in some manner, and is in some manner re- 
 lated to or affected by other objects. Now, 
 when one writes a very short sentence, its 
 subject is simply mentioned and followed by a 
 
 231 
 
verb-word that states what the subject is, or 
 what it does, or expresses some single thing 
 concerning it. But, as already stated, a short 
 sentence can be enlarged, strung out, de- 
 veloped, by the use of modifying words, phrases, 
 or clauses, placed before or after the subject 
 or its verb. These tell where the object is, 
 or was seen; is acting, or being acted upon; 
 or, they tell what the object or subject is, 
 was, or will be; or of what class it is. Or, 
 they may indicate how it is seen; or is act- 
 ing; or what it is acting for; or the cause 
 of it; or its effects, etc. So, many things 
 can be said of anything. 
 
 Each of these particulars can be stated, 
 as has been said, in one sentence, in a man- 
 ner that will not violate the rule of unity, 
 and so as to avoid confusion. But if any- 
 thing foreign to the subject is brought be- 
 fore the mind in the sentence — in its string 
 of words, phrases, or clauses — there will be 
 confusion due to a mixture of different sub- 
 jects or ideas that are not by nature con- 
 
 232 
 
nected with one another, and which will 
 thereby produce a violation of the rule. 
 However, it is to be borne in mind that the 
 modifiers of place, time, or manner of sub- 
 jects, thoughts, objects and acts, belong to 
 them, and for that reason can be mentioned 
 in the same sentence. 
 
 PAEAGEAPHS. 
 
 By adding sentence to sentence, long or 
 short, a paragraph is built. Sometimes only 
 one sentence forms a paragraph. In these 
 sentences all that can be said of a thing 
 may be expressed. So, too, by adding para- 
 graph to paragraph the chapter is built, after 
 the manner of building the sentence and the 
 paragraph; and in this way the book is made, 
 by adding chapter to chapter. Thus, there, 
 is spread out before the mind in sentences, 
 paragraphs, chapters, books, volumes, etc., in 
 a natural and orderly manner, all that there 
 is to, or in any way connected with a subject. 
 
 In this way the subject is brought be- 
 
 233 
 
fore the mind in pieces, and thus, all that 
 there is to it, or has to do with it, item 
 after item, is presented. So, it will be ob- 
 served, that the sentence, although but a 
 fraction, is the foundation of the paragraph; 
 that there can be no paragraph without one 
 or more sentences to form such, and that 
 of such the chapter is formed. It will also 
 be noticed that the rule of unity, which must 
 not be violated in building up the sentence, 
 must also be observed in making the para- 
 graph; that all that is said about any one 
 item, part, or branch of a subject, must stand 
 in a paragraph by itself. So, then, how 
 necessary it is that one should study to know 
 how to make any and all kinds of sentences; 
 also, to know what may be cut out of a 
 long sentence, so as to shorten it without 
 destroying or removing its substance; also, to 
 know what may be added or inserted, that 
 will not destroy its unity or its meaning. 
 Let one learn how to form sentences cor- 
 rectly and he will not find it difficult to 
 
 234 
 
build up the paragraph; for the same prin- 
 ciples or rules govern both. 
 
 MATERIAL. 
 
 There is no end to material. It is as 
 unlimited and varied as all creation. It is 
 all that one can experience or realize with 
 any one of his senses, or that the mind can 
 conceive or imagine in the real or the ideal 
 world. 
 
 Some of this material is animate while 
 some of it is not; some of it moves about 
 upon the earth or in the air, while some of 
 it is fixed in space without power in itself 
 to move. Again, some of it is large, and 
 some of it is small; some of it is of one 
 color and some of another; some of it is of 
 a lasting, and some of it of a perishable qual- 
 ity; some of it is agreeable and some dis- 
 agreeable to the senses; some of it is use- 
 ful, and some is seemingly of little or no 
 importance. Again, an examination of this 
 material reveals the fact that some of it stirs 
 
 235 
 
the emotions; that when it comes in contact 
 with the eye or the ear it awakens in the 
 heart feelings of sympathy and tenderness. 
 It is also noticeable that some things pass on 
 from the eye or the ear directly to the mind, 
 without reaching or stirring the heart. This 
 being true, it is quite important that the 
 student of composition should study to easi- 
 ly detect and select at will material that con- 
 tains heart touching attributes or properties, 
 whenever the purpose of his composition de- 
 mands it. 
 
 HEART MATERIAL. 
 
 In the natural world there are many things 
 that appeal first to the heart and next to the 
 understanding. The sight of these awaken 
 in the beholder tender and loving emotions. 
 Again, there are many things the sight or 
 sound of which causes inquiry only, that never 
 reach the heart and cause it to vibrate with 
 feelings of tenderness, sympathy, or affection. 
 Among the former objects are birds, flowers, 
 
 236 
 
animals, and human beings, and many other 
 objects that the fancy or imagination of the 
 reader may recall, while those things that 
 appeal mostly to the mind are of a mathemat- 
 ical or mechanical nature, 
 
 OBDEB. 
 
 Order in composition requires that some 
 one thing must be said first, and something else 
 last; that all else that is or can be said of 
 the subject under consideration, must be said 
 between these two points. So, it is clear that 
 all that is said, or thought, or felt, cannot 
 be said in one word or sentence; and that 
 if what ought to be spoken of last, because 
 it naturally and orderly comes last, should be 
 expressed first, or vice versa, or in the second, 
 third, or fourth place, and so on, should ap- 
 pear in the first place, or the last place, there 
 would be disorder, confusing to the speaker or 
 writer so that he would proceed, if at all, with 
 difficulty, besides being obscure and liable to 
 
 287 
 
be misunderstood by those with whom he 
 would communicate. 
 
 Again, we notice that why so many fail 
 in their attempts at expression is because of 
 the lack of order thus mentioned, which tends 
 to confuse and embarrass them in their ef- 
 forts, as well as to cause them to forget the 
 matter of which they would speak or write. 
 
 ORDER AND ARRANGEMENT. 
 
 The terms order and arrangement seem to 
 be at first thought identical, but they are not. 
 Things can be arranged in an orderly or dis- 
 orderly manner; so, it will be noticed that 
 the terms order and arrangement are not 
 identical in meaning. For example, when a 
 thing is placed in its regular or proper place, 
 it is in order; when a thing occurs at its 
 proper time, it does so in its order. Again, 
 when a thing is heard at its proper time, it 
 is heard in its order; likewise, when a thing 
 is taken up by the mind for consideration in 
 
 238 
 
its regular or allotted place or time, it is taken 
 up in its order. 
 
 When the question is asked, in what 
 order shall we proceed to arrange the words 
 of a sentence, and we are told to place the 
 noun or subject word first, and next, its 
 verb, and then, right after the verb its ob- 
 ject, if it has one, we are giving the order 
 in which the words should succeed one an- 
 other. Thus, it will be observed that order 
 in composition means more especially the 
 time or place in the sentence in which things 
 written about should succeed one another. 
 For instance, the numbers one, two, three, 
 etc., follow one another in a natural or numer- 
 ical order; but to place them as one, three, 
 two, etc., would be to place them in an ir- 
 regular or disorderly manner. 
 
 DIVISIONAL WORK. 
 
 As is well known, there is a multitude 
 of different objects, all of which are more or 
 less in some manner related to one another. 
 
 239 
 
Again, each object has been created for a 
 purpose. Some of these are living, breath- 
 ing things, others are not. Each occupies 
 space, or has a place, and a time of ex- 
 istence. Now, when we write or speak of 
 these, we use words which are supposed to 
 represent them, where they are, or why they 
 are, and anything else that can be said of 
 them. Now, all that can be said about them 
 is what they are, why they are, where they are, 
 when they are, and how they are; or what 
 relation they bear to one another, their use, 
 purpose, and how they affect mankind in all 
 their various relations. When all is said or 
 written of a subject or object that is known 
 or can be imagined of it, it is said to be ex- 
 hausted. Now, it frequently happens that 
 one would speak or write of the whole of a 
 subject and its relations to other things; then, 
 again, it is more desirable, proper, or sufficient, 
 to consider only a part or some particular 
 branch of the subject. Hence, divisional 
 work is of great importance in all species of 
 
 240 
 
composition. The whole of anything is capa- 
 ble of being analyzed or divided into the parts 
 of which it is composed. And as these parts 
 may be few or many, the first thing to do is 
 to ascertain how many parts the whole con- 
 tains. Secondly, to separate and place them 
 under an appropriate name or heading, in this 
 way making a list or division of them. This 
 having been done, they should then be ar- 
 ranged in an orderly manner. Some one of 
 the parts must occupy the first place. In de- 
 termining which of the parts shall or should 
 be placed first, and which in the second, or 
 third place, and so on, one should be guided 
 by the following rule : Write that first which 
 comes first in the nature of things, or in the 
 order of time, and upon which each of the 
 other parts of the subject depends or naturally 
 follows; and so on, until all the 'parts have 
 been disposed of. When this has been done, 
 the whole subject has been exhausted. Noth- 
 ing more can be said of it. But if all of it 
 is not wanted, or is inappropriate, or not to 
 
 211 
 
the purpose, take that part or branch of it 
 that satisfies the demand and let the rest go, 
 as was said of the modifiers in the sentences. 
 
 SPACE AND TIME ELEMENTS. 
 
 These so-called accidents attend all sub- 
 jects, but are not parts or qualities of them. 
 They serve only to fix, bound, or limit them, 
 so that the mind can contemplate the subject 
 or object without being confused or distract- 
 ed, as it would be by the consideration of 
 things in a vague or uncertain space, or time. 
 The mind, when active, is ever apt to wander, 
 and is stationary only when the object it 
 contemplates is located for its consideration. 
 Therefore, it is that these circumstances or 
 accidents of a subject or object are properly 
 considered first. We divide time or duration 
 into small and large pieces. Some things 
 happen or exist for a day, others for a century, 
 and so on. The life and development of some 
 things occupy the space of a hundred years; 
 others require more time for growth and de- 
 
 242 
 
velopment. So, we speak of the growth and 
 development of a thing, as the growth and de- 
 velopment of a country, its government; the 
 growth and development of an art, or a science. 
 We notice that there is a beginning and an 
 end to the life of certain plants; that they 
 have a longer or shorter period of life. Again, 
 that the same is true of animals, and likewise 
 as to the growth and development of things 
 in the natural as well as in the art world. 
 
 Thus, it will be noticed that space and 
 time remain after things have had their be- 
 ginning, growth, development, and death. 
 Hence, space and time are no parts of them, 
 but merely accidents. As we have said before, 
 they are unlimited realities within which all 
 things exist or take place. Therefore, in speak- 
 ing or writing of anything, it is necessary that 
 it be given a time and a locality. How often 
 do we hear one speak of some event, and 
 the inquiry comes, Where did this occur? 
 When did it occur? And so on. Thus, it 
 will be seen that by fixing in space and 
 
 243 
 
time the things that we speak or write about, 
 the mind is brought from its wanderings to 
 some definite place and to some particular 
 point of time, and thus made stationary to 
 contemplate the subject, object, or ideas that 
 engage its attention. 
 
 2U 
 
A HERO. 
 
 Hurrah! for the man with a purpose, 
 Who toils with the bee and the ant; 
 Who lives not to vice but to virtue, 
 Sees beauty in nature and art! 
 
 Who's up with the lark in the morning, 
 While the dew-drop is yet on the rose; 
 Who scorns to rob widow or orphan; 
 Lives and works by the great Golden Rule. 
 
 Who finds in the first law of Heaveri 
 That order is peace, born of love; 
 That trouble is bred by confusion, 
 A vagrant from Satan's abode. 
 
Who notes that his days here are numbered; 
 That things which are sought here and won, 
 Are soon like himself — soon forgotten, 
 Just a drop on a wheel in a whirl. 
 
 Whose purpose is noble — uplifting. 
 Lives for self, but for others as well; 
 And who carries his burdens and duties 
 With a heart light and brave to the end. 
 
 The angels await him, this Hero, 
 With harps, and with garlands to crown; 
 With honors that blossom in glory, 
 Where peace, joy, and love doth abound. 
 
 Then live we a life of such purpose; 
 Nor seek we the dross of a day; 
 Vain praises and honors, so fleeting, 
 That vanish as mist o'er the lea. 
 
CAUSE AND EFFECT. 
 
 Nothing IS more apparent than the fact 
 that this is a world of causes and effects. 
 Nothing is or happens without a sufficient 
 cause, something that precedes and acts to 
 produce an effect with which it directly or 
 indirectly connects. Nature is busy every- 
 where doing something. That which she ac- 
 complishes are termed effects. Nature, the 
 producer, is the agent or cause; so, we have 
 the producer and the effects produced. And 
 since the latter proceeds as a manifestation 
 from the former, comes out of it, as it were, 
 and would not appear or happen were it 
 not that the former existed and produced it, 
 so it is that the two are so intimately con- 
 nected or related. This connection or rela- 
 tion is termed the relation of cause and effect. 
 It is a most wonderful relation, one that is 
 
 247 
 
not always easily traced, one which compels 
 us often to say that the cause of this or that 
 is a mystery, simply meaning thereby that it 
 is unknown, yet not denying that a cause 
 exists, for that we cannot do without deny- 
 ing what is clearly a universal law, namely, 
 that every effect has (and must have) a cause. 
 That which we term phenomena or appear- 
 ances in nature are only effects proceeding 
 from some cause, some agency, whether known 
 or not, something acting to produce such. 
 This is true of the rainbow, the Aurora 
 Borealis, the earthquake, the volcano, the 
 lightning, the thunder, and all other phe- 
 nomena, more or less common to the knowl- 
 edge of man. In fact, when anything changes 
 its appearance or form it is because some 
 actire principle, cause or force has worked 
 or is working to produce the change or ap- 
 pearance. Many of these changes are so 
 wonderful and interesting that we are con- 
 stantly seeking the cause or causes of such. 
 If the change is not agreeable to us we seek 
 
 248 
 
the cause that has wrought it, and having 
 found it seek to prevent, neutralize, modify, 
 or divert its effects in the future. So it is 
 that some are ever busy hunting for causes 
 and seeking to reproduce desired effects, or 
 studying how to divert or prevent the re- 
 currence of those that are undesirable. Those 
 who are studying how to prolong life are 
 only seeking for that which will continue 
 an effect, namely. Life; or for that which will 
 delay or defeat the causes of death. Yes, 
 this world is one great complex unit of causes 
 and effects. But each department thereof 
 has its own special causes and effects, while 
 within each of these departments, or, as it 
 were, running through each and connecting 
 all of them, are certain fixed or universal 
 laws or principles, acting like so many rods 
 or wires that run from house to house or 
 from room to room. So, while there is a 
 connected series or chain of primary or 
 secondary causes and effects in each depart- 
 ment of nature, there is also the relation of 
 
 249 
 
interdependence or reciprosity existing between 
 these various departments that form this won- 
 derful unit, nature: the first great cause of 
 which is said to be God. Thus we have 
 discovered in nature what is scientifically 
 termed the correlation of forces. 
 
 But we are usually more interested in 
 effects than in causes. We live for the effect, 
 the enjoyment thereof. It is the rainbow, 
 its phenomenon, as an effect, that interest us; 
 and it is only now and then that a person 
 asks the why of it; nor do we often find 
 one who can tell the cause of it, he not hav- 
 ing taken sufficient interest to hold in re- 
 membrance the cause of such when advised 
 of it. The same is true of a thousand and 
 one effects that we witness or enjoy. We 
 strive for the effect, and worship it, if we 
 worship at all, throwing aside or disregard- 
 ing the cause so soon as the effect is ob- 
 tained. Hence, it is that man is more easily 
 interested in the present than in the past; 
 and if interested at all in the past it is in 
 
 250 
 
the immediate past, as he is in the immedi- 
 ate future, both of which seem to be a part 
 of the present. Few indeed, are they, com- 
 paratively speaking, who find delight in delv- 
 ing among the ancient ruins of the great — 
 dead past. There are comparatively few 
 archaeological or paleontological minds. It 
 is the now and the hereafter that interest 
 most of us, rather than what has been. Cu- 
 riosity, now and then, for a time, looks back- 
 ward, but only to borrow light from the 
 great historic past. 
 
 It is the color, form, and fragrance of 
 the rose that engage our senses and delight 
 us, rather than the cause or causes that 
 operated to produce such. When the former 
 disappears or ceases to exist, we cast the 
 rose aside; for it, as an effect of light, heat, 
 moisture, and the chemical properties of the 
 soil that caused it to be, and which as an 
 effect in time became a source of pleasure 
 to our senses, has ceased to exist. So it is 
 that the beautiful colors of the rainbow at- 
 
 251 
 
tract our attention. It is the charming effect 
 of such that captivates the eye and awakens 
 within the mind a sense of beauty. This 
 wonderful phenomenon may prompt the be- 
 holder, after somewhat recovering from its 
 captivating effect, to inquire for the cause 
 of it. But this knowledge, when given, will 
 and does soon fade away, while the effect 
 remains in the memory as a delight and a 
 charm. Again, we stand, gaze, admire, and 
 wonder at the brilliant, magnificent and spell- 
 binding display of the Aurora Borealis, as it 
 appears from time to time as though by 
 special magic. After viewing this wonder 
 awhile, and the mind has recovered somewhat 
 from its ravishing effects, the cause of such 
 awe inspiring manifestations is sought, and 
 if some accepted cause is offered as an ex- 
 planation, but little effort is made to retain 
 or remember it, so fascinating and engross- 
 ing was the effect that the cause thereof is 
 allowed to escape, or is but imperfectly re- 
 membered, if at all, while the effect is not 
 
 262 
 
forgotten and its return is awaited with in- 
 terest. What we have said of these wonder- 
 ful phenomena is true of the Mirage and other 
 beautiful, engaging, and wonderful appearances 
 in nature, that so appeal to the mind and 
 soul of man through the sense of sight. 
 
 But the phenomena here referred to form 
 but one class of effects; and although chaste, 
 beautiful and awe inspiring as most of them 
 are, exciting and appealing to the loftier and 
 more divine attributes of our nature, there are 
 other effects in nature that play upon the 
 mind of man in its various moods, and to 
 which he yields himself a willing captive. 
 These appeal to him through his sense of 
 hearing, and he is again lost in rapture and 
 wonder at nature's wonderful acoustics, as they 
 reach and delight his soul through his sense 
 of hearing. 
 
 So, like a divine rival, as it were, come 
 the music of the spheres, the roar of the cat- 
 aract, the ocean, the thunder, the mad tornado. 
 Then, more gently, come the sighing zephyrs, 
 
 253 
 
the warbling of birds, the hum of insects. 
 Again, he is moved by the whispers of love, 
 accompanied by the sympathizing and touch- 
 ing strains of the harp; or, at the altar, by 
 the majestic notes of the kingly organ, as it 
 pours forth its flood of praise and adoration. 
 From all these and many other sources, 
 his heart and soul is reached and stirred 
 through his sense of hearing. Aye, how 
 manifold and wonderful are the captivat- 
 ing and charming effects that are thus fur- 
 nished for the spirit of man through the eye 
 and the ear! 
 
 Is it strange, then, that the seeing, hear- 
 ing, and thus enjoying multitude, intoxicated 
 or charmed by such varied delights, finds 
 little time or inclination to seek for causes 
 in the midst of such a variety of bewitch- 
 ing and alluring phenomena and pleasures? 
 
 254 
 
CHRISTMAS TIDE. 
 
 Fill the goblet full of pleasure ! 
 Let each heart quaff its full measure! 
 Christ was born for prince and peasant; 
 Swell the waves of joy incessant! 
 
 List! — the bells from steeples ringing! 
 Little children carols singing, 
 Of that star the East adorning; 
 On that glorious birthday morning! 
 
 Strike the harp and sound the cymbal! 
 Wake the viol and the timbrel ! 
 Laugh — be merry — banish sorrow — 
 Lightly think thou on the morrow. 
 
 Hark! the music — dance ye after! 
 Glide ye on in mirth and laughter! 
 Whirl in grace and pretty costume! 
 Sparkling eyes and cheeks in full bloom I 
 
Ho! for lap robes, sleigh bells, prancersl 
 Dash away like brave young lancers! 
 Speed the moonlit snow-cloud way! 
 On! proud coursers, dark and bay! 
 
 Now to feasting — not to folly, 
 Under boughs of fir and holly, 
 Lo! the boards so bounteous laden, 
 Gifts for parents, brother, maiden. 
 
 Christmas Joys of all the brightest, 
 Hearts at Christmas tide the lightest, 
 Praise to thee — Almighty Giver, 
 For the birth of Christ forever. 
 
STATES AND MOODS OF THE MIND. 
 
 A great logician has said that in man 
 there is nothing great but mind. That this 
 is true, no one of ordinary intelligence will 
 deny. Not that all minds are by nature equally 
 great in their perceptive, conceptive, judicial, 
 and reasoning faculties, but that the most 
 important and valuable thing in man, is mind. 
 This is as true of the savage and the bar- 
 barian as it is of the most civilized and 
 enlightened. Some may choose to modify 
 this statement by saying that it is true with 
 the exception that the most valuable thing 
 in man is that which is said to be the eternal 
 principle, (the soul,) which, some affirm, is 
 something in man that is separate and dis- 
 tinct from his natural mind. However this 
 may be, it is clear that the view taken by 
 the logician is one psychological rather than 
 
 257 
 
psychical. It is in the former sense that the 
 mind is considered as being the greatest thing 
 in man, without assuming, admitting, or de- 
 nying, that there is or may be a psychic or 
 eternal principle of life within him. 
 
 But our purpose is to call the reader's 
 attention to certain facts that have been 
 observed and experienced concerning this 
 wonderful, this marvelous, this complex some- 
 thing that occupies the brain of man, that 
 differentiates and makes him superior to the 
 brutes of the field. 
 
 How often it is said of a person, and 
 even of a community, that he or it is in this 
 or that state or mood of mind; or that his or 
 its mental attitude toward this or that person 
 or thing is of this or that character. Now, 
 what does this imply, if not the fact that 
 the mind is not always in one and the same 
 state or mood? To illustrate, A number 
 of different states form the United States, 
 A person today may be in one of these, then 
 tomorrow in another: a change subjecting 
 
 258 
 
him to different laws and environments. So, 
 too, by way of analogy, tlie mind is found 
 sometimes in one and then again in another 
 of its various states or moods, according to 
 circumstances. These different states or moods 
 appear in different forms, namely: cheerful- 
 ness — despondency — enthusiasm — indifference 
 — benevolence — love — hatred — anger — anticipa- 
 tion — ^hopefulness — repentance, or faith, etc. 
 Hence it is that we frequently speak of one 
 as being in a state of wretchedness; or de- 
 spair; or despondency; or in some other state 
 of mind. Now some of these states or moods 
 are agreeable, while others are the reverse, 
 in this sense corresponding to a person's phys- 
 ical or mental condition or circumstances. 
 But there is a difference, fine though it may 
 be and not easily defined, between a state 
 and a mood of mind. A state of mind, it 
 seems, is more deeply seated and fixed, or 
 of a longer growth than one of mood. We 
 never speak of one as being in a mood of 
 despair, but rather in a state of despair. One 
 
 259 
 
may be, and frequently is, in a despondent 
 mood or frame of mind, without being in a 
 state of despondency. In such a case, one 
 may be said, as it were^ to be on the border 
 line of the state of such feeling rather than 
 settled within it. The distinction, then, seems 
 to be, that a mood is only a temporary con- 
 dition of the mind, while a state of mind 
 results from a long continuation of the cause 
 that produces the mood. So, then, a mood 
 may be characterized as semi-acute, while a 
 state may be termed chronic. 
 
 Some persons are constitutionally of a 
 moody disposition — as though born in a cloud 
 of gloom — while others are right the reverse 
 — come what will — as though born in a halo 
 of mirth and kissed by the morning sun. 
 
SUPPOSE. 
 
 Suppose thou wert a bee, and I were some 
 
 sweet flower; 
 That on my blushing petals thou hadst 
 
 lingered many an hour, 
 A-nestling, dreaming, sipping sweets — in 
 
 paradise — my bower, 
 All hidden from the rude without, thy 
 
 senses in my power; 
 That then, some other bee or bees should 
 
 seek those sweets to share. 
 And I should flirt and mix with them, a- 
 
 buzzing in the air, 
 Inviting them more free to be, on finding 
 
 thee elsewhere. 
 Lest thou might see, and seeing feel, thy 
 
 flower false, not fair — 
 Wouldst thou still sweet my honey find? 
 
 Sweeter than any flower? 
 Or, wouldst thou sicken in thy cell, thinking 
 
 my honey sour? 
 
WHERE THE RIVER RAN LOW. 
 
 Only a word — where the river ran low, 
 
 Slowly away to the meadows below, 
 
 But the word remained, and the speaker, 
 
 too, 
 As the stars looked on from their sea of 
 
 blue. 
 
 Only a touch, on a hand that hung limp, 
 While light zephyrs played with golden 
 
 locks crimp, 
 But that touch, so manly, so pure, so true, 
 Tinged lip and cheek — to my soul it flew. 
 
 Only a kiss — but I hasten to tell 
 The holy thrill of that bliss-bound spell, 
 How a bosom did fall, and rise, and swell 
 With joy and love that doth yet there 
 dwell. 
 
 Only a promise, made there in the dell, 
 Where but two hearts beat as the dewdrops 
 
 fell, 
 Yet, the word, the touch, kiss, and promise 
 
 true, 
 Are fixed in my heart, as stars in the blue. 
 
THE ACCIDENTS OF LIFE. 
 
 This phrase is full of meaning to a person 
 of years. He reflects but a moment to realize 
 that in many human affairs success or fail- 
 ure may be traced to what is termed, the 
 accidents of life. 
 
 How many things occur in one's lifetime 
 that he does not design and cannot foresee, 
 that defeat his hopes, aspirations, or expecta- 
 tions. How often it is said that "if nothing 
 happens," or, "barring all accidents," I shall 
 do this or that thing, or, that this or that 
 will be the result, etc. Thus it is from the 
 cradle to the grave that one of necessity runs 
 the gantlet of accidents. They lurk on either 
 side of one's pathway awaiting his coming 
 and going. He knows not the time nor the 
 place that he may be a victim of such. He 
 knows, however, that they have occurred in 
 
 263 
 
the past and that under like circumstances 
 or conditions they are likely again to happen. 
 So, all that he can do is to guard against 
 them or be prepared for them. The fact 
 that they do take place at times without be- 
 ing so designed by man, that they come un- 
 sought, unexpectedly, and without warning, 
 mark them as accidents. 
 
 We say that the laws of nature are con- 
 stant and uniform. And so they are. But 
 they frequently clash with one another, and 
 then the lesser force is compelled by the 
 greater one to halt in its tendency or turn 
 its course that the greater force may pass; 
 just as human beings or animals clash with 
 one another in their desires or opinions until 
 the one or the other yields or both are 
 neutralized, modified, or vanquished by con- 
 flict. 
 
 There is seemingly no force in the ob- 
 jective world that does not contribute its 
 share in the production of the accidents 
 of life. It is the operation or clashing of 
 
 264 
 
these forces that cause such. Yes, life is 
 full of accidents. They come not regularly* 
 at stated times, as do the sun and the seasons, 
 but rather like the thief in the night, with- 
 out warning. 
 
 To this or that accident may be traced 
 many a lost battle, many a lost opportunity; 
 nay, many a victory has been turned to de- 
 feat. To such may be traced many a suc- 
 cess as well as many a failure in the affairs 
 of life. By mere accident many a letter has 
 gone astray; many a fatal word has been spoken; 
 many a train has been wrecked or missed, re- 
 sulting in bittei: disappointment or serious loss. 
 To a mere accident may be traced many a 
 grave and many a sorrow; many a tear and 
 many a joy. Thus it is that one's life is not 
 only beset with trials and temptations, but 
 also by these hidden foes that lie in wait 
 for him and from which he cannot always 
 escape. 
 
 But it will be noticed that while nature 
 contributes her quota of accidents, the greater 
 
 265 
 
number of those that visit man may be traced 
 directly to his ignorance, negligence, or care- 
 lessness. Yes, the life of one here is never 
 free from some pending or awaiting evil or 
 misfortune. 
 
 Man is not only a victim of his own 
 ignorance and folly, but also of that of others. 
 Hence, all things considered, the man or woman 
 who has lived the three score years and ten, is a 
 wonder and deserves respectful attention and 
 tender, consideration from the young and 
 vigorous. 
 
 266 
 
ANGELIC BEAUTY. 
 
 There's a beauty divine, that the angels 
 
 admire, 
 The keynote of song in the angelic choir; 
 With a manner as sweet as the notes of a 
 
 lyre, 
 Unadorned by the diamond, the pearl, or 
 
 sapphire. 
 
 Cosmetics she spurns and vain gaudy attire, 
 
 She glows with a radium of holy desire; 
 
 All fadeless and deathless — angelic her 
 fire, — 
 
 The sphere of the pure is her sacred em- 
 pire. 
 
 This beauty, tho' rare, e'en the pauper may 
 
 share; 
 She loves either sex or age, homely or fair; 
 No artist can paint her complexion so rare. 
 She, Goddess of Purity, daughter of 
 
 prayer. 
 
THE SOUL. 
 
 Why think of the Soul as a pea in the 
 
 pod, 
 Or as pearl in the oyster that fishermen 
 
 rob; 
 Why speak of thine ego, an essence of 
 
 God, 
 As tho 'twere a solid rolled up in a sod? 
 
 Soul is Life; it is mind; it is feeling; aye, 
 
 and more; 
 It is something mysterious, — conscious 
 
 self, — not of lore; 
 It is something proud science fails to scan 
 
 or explore, 
 It is God, life eternal, sane mortals adore. 
 
THE END JUSTIFIES THE MEANS. 
 
 What is meant by this pompous, this 
 magisterial proposition that is frequently ut- 
 tered with great gusto, as though it were a 
 sacred maxim and worthy of respectful atten- 
 tion, even though it fails to sustain its high 
 sounding and pretentious character when ex- 
 amined in the light of cultivated reason? 
 
 It is not a commonplace, everyday propo- 
 sition, one of the lighter sort that one hears 
 in the ordinary affairs of life. It is an ab- 
 stract proposition seeking classification and 
 rank as a fundamental, one that would pose as a 
 maxim or principle upon which to build a 
 doctrine of moral conduct. Now, it is self 
 evident that such a doctrine can be no more 
 just or reasonable than the basic principles 
 upon which it rests. It is also logically 
 clear that there is no proposition greater or 
 
 269 
 
more extensive than one that proclaims a 
 universal fact or truth, whatever the character 
 of such a fact or truth may be, whether it be 
 in matters of science, art, or ethics. And 
 since the proposition that the end justifies 
 the means is set forth as a general one, with- 
 out exceptions, we must regard it as being 
 applicable to all cases of human conduct. 
 And if it be true, there is no human act 
 that cannot be justified by it. If the end 
 that one seeks is in itself worthy, and this 
 proposition is to be taken literally and with- 
 out limitation, he will be justified in employ- 
 ing, directly or indirectly, any means what- 
 ever for its attainment, no matter how vicious 
 or evil such means may be. There is no 
 crime that he may not commit with impunity 
 so long as that which he would accomplish, 
 when considered independently of the means 
 employed for its attainment, is worthy of ap- 
 proval. 
 
 Ah! it is apparent that this is a danger- 
 ous proposition to follow in all cases. It is 
 
 270 
 
like some other trite sayings that have as- 
 sumed rank in many a mind with common 
 axioms and approved maxims, and which, when 
 expressed with an air of authority, fall upon 
 the ear with a force and dignity that for the 
 time being silences doubt. But it is as false 
 as the proposition that "might makes right;" 
 a Machivellian doctrine that flourished during 
 those terrible days of the Spanish Inquisition, 
 to which it may be traced and in which it 
 was exercised with so much fury and cruelty. 
 It is purely Jesuitic and inhuman in its char- 
 acter. Its author and sponsors must have 
 been depraved in mind and tyrants «.t heart. 
 Any individual, society, state or nation, that 
 gives such a proposition an unqualified and 
 unlimited indorsement should be regarded as 
 barbarous and vicious. And while it may 
 carry with it a halo of right, might, and author- 
 ity, which may dazzle and confound the igno- 
 rant, encourage the vicious, and win their 
 active approval, yet, those capable of think- 
 ing justly and humanely will at once reject 
 
 271 
 
it. It has ever been condemned by the wisest 
 and best of men. The casuist may use and 
 approve of it on rare occasions, even as a 
 nation does in times of war, when it slaught- 
 ers by the wholesale and destroys property in 
 its might of arms that peace may follow. 
 On the same principle and for similar reasons, 
 the knife, the torch, the bomb, or any like 
 means may be used approvingly to remove 
 the tyrant or the oppressor in the name of 
 liberty or for those we love, for the sake of 
 humanity, God, or the Church. If the end justi- 
 fies the means, the Osier theory, that one 
 should be chloroformed at the age of 60, 
 is a just one. So, too, every idiotic or de- 
 formed child that is born should not be al- 
 lowed to live and suffer, and be a cause 
 of pain and mortification to others. 
 
 But are there no cases where the end 
 would seem to justify the means? cases where 
 the heart rebels and weeps while circumstances 
 assent and reason approves? Yes, there seems 
 to be such. But in such cases, one' will find 
 
 272 
 
that the means resorted to are not suggested 
 by any other than a loving or noble spirit, 
 and not then, until every other known and 
 available means has been employed and 
 failed. There are cases where even love, 
 mercy, and justice, seem to be cruel or 
 tyrannical. Many of these are to be found 
 in cases of surgery, where the surgeon is per- 
 mitted and encouraged to cut, bleed, probe, 
 or sever the members of the human body, 
 that the patient may continue to live or be 
 relieved from suffering. The dentist know- 
 ingly causes pain that relief may follow. In 
 these cases there is nothing selfish or cruel 
 in the motive, although the means employed 
 may cause suffering for a time. It is the 
 same spirit that prompts the parent to punish 
 the child. It is the same unselfish and un- 
 revengeful spirit that finds it necessary to 
 build the jail, the workhouse, the penitentiary, 
 and other places of confinement for the wrong- 
 doer that society may be preserved and its 
 morals maintained or improved. 
 
 273 
 
But when such are built from any other 
 motive than that prompted by justice, self- 
 preservation, or humanity, and when human 
 beings are confined therein to appease the 
 greed or lust of an individual, community, 
 or nation, then the end cannot possibly justi- 
 fy the means. To the Tower, to the Bastile, 
 to the block, to the scaffold, or into exile, 
 many an innocent person has been sent as 
 a means to gratify some passion or appe- 
 tite, or some opinion. In such cases, the 
 theory that the end justifies the means was 
 abused and not justly used, and deserved 
 to be condemned. The reader will readily 
 discriminate between a just and an unjust 
 application of this theory. It is a mooted 
 question whether there are not times when 
 a lie may be told as a means of saving the 
 life of an innocent person, or for the pur- 
 pose of preventing or diverting some great 
 and threatening wrong or evil; when, if the 
 truth were told the death of one innocent, 
 or some dire calamity would follow. In such 
 
 274 
 
cases the voice of casuistry is heard in the 
 heatt directing that the question of right or 
 wrong be referred to the conscience for a 
 decision, and by it to abide, even though 
 it be in violation of the laws of his country. 
 But the objection to this doctrine, like the 
 one under consideration, is, that it is so deli- 
 cate in its nature and so liable to be mis- 
 understood, abused, or misapplied, that it 
 cannot be safely employed or endorsed. I sup- 
 pose that when the disciples plucked the corn 
 to appease their hunger,, they knowingly took 
 that which did not belong to them, but did 
 so believing that the end justified the means; 
 that when Jesus drove the money-changers out 
 of the temple, He did what He knew was a 
 rude or illegal act, yet an act to be approved 
 on the same theory; also, when He healed on the 
 Sabbath day. His real excuse or plea being 
 that the end justified the means. And so case 
 after case of a similar nature can be cited. 
 However, although the doctrine that "the 
 end justifies the means," and its ally that 
 
 275 
 
"might makes right," as well as the doctrine 
 of casuistry, have been and are more or less ap- 
 proved and practiced by individuals and nations, 
 and although proof can be furnished from 
 sacred and secular history of the exercise and 
 approval of such by those whom the world 
 esteems as authority, yet, the truth is that 
 they are dangerous doctrines or propositions, 
 and should be allowed no place in the cur- 
 riculum of ethics. 
 
 The white lie, the society lie, and the 
 diplomatic lie, that pass current so flippant- 
 ly and without censure in our fashionable 
 and diplomatic circles, are as base and wanton 
 as any other lie, and are not to be justified 
 by any law of necessity. 
 
 276 
 
THOUGHT. 
 
 If thought is the product of thinking, 
 As one thinks so the product will be; 
 
 If the product with falsehood is reeking, 
 There a knave or a fool one may see. 
 
 But thought is not mere comprehension, 
 Nor the seeing or hearing of things; 
 
 It is more than dispute or contention, 
 From reflection and reason it springs. 
 
 When Newton the apple saw falling, 
 In thought straight the apple he caught; 
 
 His reflection on reason went calling, 
 So the law of the spheres to him brought. 
 
 But thought has a sister in feeling, 
 
 As oft in the product is seen, 
 With a passion so strong in appealing, 
 
 That reason uncrowned oft has been. 
 
 With her heart and her arts thus assailing 
 Stern reason and justice to sway, 
 
 Oft sits she in product availing, 
 With reason dethroned and at bay. 
 
LIFE'S PARADOX. 
 
 I think betimes as you have thought, 
 About grave things in books long taught; 
 About the why and the how of things, 
 How Life from Death, eternal springs. 
 
 How things began, how things will end. 
 And try to make cross reasons blend; 
 That heart and soul may find relief 
 From doubt that springs from blind belief. 
 
 Poor Heart! poor Soul! why searching go 
 In quest of what ye may not know? 
 How things began — how things will end — 
 God only knows, men but pretend. 
 
 Despairing doubt doth him involve, 
 Who seek's Life's Paradox to solve; 
 Far better then to hope and love, 
 And trust all else to him above. * 
 
THE DESIGN AND BUTTERFLY 
 ARGUMENTS. 
 
 Whether there is or not a Supreme Be- 
 ing, a God, who created all things — regulates 
 all things — knows all things — and who con- 
 trols the life and destiny of all things; and, 
 whether there is or not in man that which 
 lives forever, that which is termed his im- 
 mortal self, said to be his soul, are serious 
 questions. 
 
 With these two great questions, the most 
 learned and astute intellects that the world 
 has ever known have long and desperately 
 struggled. Some of these great minds have 
 concluded that there is such a Being. They 
 have also concluded that man is immortal, 
 that he has a life beyond the grave. Other 
 minds, equally great, after a candid and 
 thorough investigation and a sincere consider- 
 ation of both questions, have arrived at nega- 
 
 279 
 
tive conclusions. Both, the pros and the 
 cons to these vital questions, have pointed to 
 what they regard as being good and suffi- 
 cient proof and reason for the truth or prob- 
 ability of their opposing views. 
 
 Now, there is, or there is not, a God. 
 Man is, or he is not, immortal. If there is 
 no God, and if man is not immortal, neither 
 desire, assertion, nor argument, can create 
 such. Whatever is, is. Things are as they 
 are, whether we would have them so or not; 
 or whether we are able to recognize them as 
 being so, or not. 
 
 THE DESIGN ARGUMENT, 
 
 Now, as to the first proposition, it is 
 maintained on the one side, that there is 
 a Supreme, a self- existent Being — a God, re- 
 siding outside of nature and independent 
 thereof; that nature and all things created are 
 only manifestations of his power and wis- 
 dom. Again, it is maintained, aside from what 
 the Bible teaches, that nature furnishes suffi- 
 
 280 
 
cient proof to support and warrant a belief 
 in the truth of this proposition. It is claimed, 
 that in nature there is to be seen the evi- 
 dence of design, plan, purpose, which would 
 not and could not appear were it not the 
 result of a master mind, a Supreme In- 
 telligence, Yes, it is asserted, that every- 
 where in nature one finds evidence of de- 
 sign; that there, one sees order, regularity, 
 uniformity, and adaptation of means to an 
 end, which cannot be accounted for except 
 upon the ground that back of all, prior to all, 
 beneath all, above all, permeating all, subse- 
 quent to all, superior to all, supreme and 
 eternal to all, there was, and there is, a God. 
 Hence, it is held that this is not a world of 
 chance, but a world of design, a God made 
 world. So, in nature, is found what is termed 
 The Design Argument, which, it is asserted, 
 strongly reenforces and corroborates the teach- 
 ings of the Bible; namely, that there is a 
 God. The force and beauty of this argument 
 is to be found in Bishop Paley's work entitled, 
 
 281 
 
Paley's Natural Theology. This species of 
 argument is termed an a posteriori, one that 
 proceeds or reasons from an effect or effects 
 back to the cause or causes of such. 
 
 THE BUTTEEFLY AEGUMENT, 
 
 As to whether there is anything in man 
 that is immortal, anything that at the death 
 of the body parts company with it and takes 
 on here, or somewhere else above the clouds, 
 another and immortal form, is yet, in many 
 a bright, learned, well-balanced, and candid 
 mind, a mooted question. 
 
 Assuming that there is a God, some 
 ask: What assurance have we, other than that 
 of faith, that there is anything that lives on — 
 and on — and on — that never dies, that is im- 
 mortal? If with the death of the body, (which 
 we embalm, cremate, or lay away in the tomb,) 
 that which we call mind, or spirit, dies with 
 it, how is there anything left to live on, and 
 manifest itself, in any other form? 
 
 By our senses we know that things exist, 
 
 282 
 
and appear to us for a time, in this or that 
 form, and then, either by slow or rapid stages, 
 decline and decay, go to pieces and die, ceas- 
 ing, apparently, to exist. In our desire and 
 grief we turn to science or philosophy for 
 comfort. But science cannot go beyond the 
 reach of the five senses. Grief stricken, we 
 stand at the grave of departed love and ask 
 proud science, monarch of the 20th century, 
 to tell us whence came the life principle that 
 animated the clay, and, now that it has de- 
 parted, whither has it gone? To this ques- 
 tion, tearfully asked, science hangs her proud 
 and lofty head in silence, as she points to 
 mystery seated on her throne in the clouds 
 of faith. Emerson, America's proud philos- 
 opher, standing by and moved by pity to 
 give consolation, whispers to the weeping, half- 
 doubting, and longing heart, words of phi- 
 losophy from the cold and tearless throne 
 of reason. Hear him: "The fact that I 
 am, but know not how it is that I am, 
 causes me to believe that I may exist in some 
 
 283 
 
form or other beyond the grave." These words 
 remind the weeping heart of the words of St. 
 Paul, viz: "Faith is the substance of things 
 hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." 
 And so the grief stricken heart is left to 
 cling to hope and faith and look to the 
 cross for complete assurance and consolation. 
 
 However, learned and devout believers in 
 the doctrine of a future life, have sought to 
 find, outside of the teachings of Christ and 
 the Bible, corroborative evidence of the as- 
 surances therein taught of a higher life. 
 This they claim to have found in Nature. 
 Thus, the learned and renowned Bishop But- 
 ler, in his analogies, points to the evolution 
 of the butterfly. He notes that there is first 
 the egg, which hatches the worm or cater- 
 pillar, which afterwards finds death in the 
 form or tomb of the cocoon, from which 
 finally emerges the beautifully winged but- 
 terfly. So, by way of analogy, he infers and 
 argues that within the body of man there 
 is, somehow and somewhere, that which comes 
 
 284 
 
forth at the death of the body and manifests 
 itself in a higher and more beautiful life, 
 even as does the butterfly, from the crawl- 
 ing worm or caterpillar, buried for a time 
 in its tomb, the cocoon. 
 
 This is, perhaps, one of the most forci- 
 ble and beautiful arguments that has ever 
 been drawn from analogy in favor of a future 
 life. Oh! yes, it does seem, aside from de- 
 sire, or anything taught in holy writ, that 
 the greater weight of evidence and sound 
 argument points to the existence of a Supreme 
 Being, and a life of some sort, beyond the 
 tomb. 
 
 There are moments in our lives when angels 
 of light seem to visit us, and, lifting us above 
 the wild distractions of earth to a calmer 
 sphere, there whisper to us of a better, a holier 
 place, where the sordid passions of gain and 
 greed are not known, and where all is as one 
 endless, happy dream. 
 
 285 
 
WAITING. 
 
 Waiting, — still waiting, — 
 
 How many that wait, 
 Hoping, and longing, 
 As never too late; 
 Waiting and hoping and longing to be 
 Something — from doubting and care to be 
 free! 
 
 Waiting, and looking 
 To see the sun set; 
 Shadows are lengthening. 
 Why comes he not yet? 
 Thus thinks the maiden, and softly the sigh 
 Serves as an echo responsive to — "Why?" 
 
Waiting and trusting 
 
 His plans may mature; 
 Lavish with labor 
 Success to ensure; 
 Thus waits the youth as he looks with 
 
 delight 
 On the picture bright in the distant light. 
 
 Waiting and sighing 
 
 O'er life's bitter cup; 
 Hope, almost dying 
 While drinking it up; 
 Deeming the pleasures of earth but a dream 
 The weary are anxious to end the scene. 
 
 Waiting and anxious 
 
 From earth to be free, 
 Leaving to others 
 Life's mutable sea; 
 Vainly regretting the joys that are fled, 
 And longing for rest — with the quiet dead. 
 
Many, thus waiting, 
 Restlessly waiting 
 For Death's slow approach, 
 Life almost hating; 
 As, weeping for those who have gone 
 
 before, 
 They wait to pass to the opposite shore. — 
 
 We too are waiting — 
 Waiting for what? 
 Sunshine and shadow 
 Shall both be our lot; 
 So let us, enjoying the sunshine, wait 
 For shadows that never can come too late. 
 
LAW, 
 A FEIEND OR FOE. 
 
 This little word of only three letters 
 represents that which is supreme, that which 
 rules the universe. There is law, yes, im- 
 perious law, everywhere, unseen though it be, 
 save in its effects. And to it, man must 
 submit or suffer the consequences of his 
 ignorance or opposition. If he respects its 
 irresistible and irrepressible nature, if he acts 
 in harmony with it, then he finds in it a 
 friend; but if he ignores or heeds it not, 
 then it becomes at once his enemy, and in- 
 flicts upon him penalties that are more or 
 less severe. This certainty he learns from 
 observation and experience, a certainty that 
 commands his respect and confidence. Yes, 
 self important, haughty man, knows by ex- 
 perience that he cannot trifle with the laws 
 
 289 
 
of nature with impunity. He may fume 
 and spume, or revile, but this will avail 
 him naught, for the laws of nature will not 
 change nor adjust themselves to his plans or 
 wishes. He is born a subject, Nature is 
 ever his queen. He must adjust his life, 
 plans, and actions, so that they will not con- 
 flict with her laws, otherwise failure or pen- 
 alties are sure to follow. 
 
 But these are not the only laws to which 
 man is subject. Men make laws. So,' he 
 is not only subject to the laws of the uni- 
 verse but to those made by man. But how 
 imperfect and unreliable are the latter in 
 comparison with the former. Nature is hon- 
 est, sincere, impartial, constant, and uniform. 
 Her laws are practically the same yesterday, 
 today, and forever; while those of man, like 
 himself, are prone to be insincere, fickle, 
 partial, and inconstant. Hence, we find him 
 not only in conflict or trouble with the laws 
 of nature, but especially so with those of 
 his own making. 
 
 290 
 
But what is law? what is this something 
 that we are subject to, about which we read 
 and hear so much, and that so many of us 
 fear bmt know so little about? Well, this 
 something, this force in Nature that we call 
 law, but cannot see, is nothing more nor less 
 than the manner — the way — the mode — in 
 which she exists and acts in her various de- 
 partments. In the vegetable department, the 
 rigid forces or laws of heat, light, and moist- 
 ure, acting in conjunction with the chemical 
 properties of the soil, bring forth fruits, flow- 
 ers, and the different foods which nourish 
 and help to sustain animal life. In the 
 animal department we find other forces, or 
 a set of laws, producing bone, blood, brain, 
 and muscle, etc. In the mineral department, 
 still another set of laws, fashioning gems, 
 crystals, gold, silver, and ores of various kinds, 
 etc. Thus, in the three great, grand divi- 
 sions of nature, law is supreme. There, it 
 rules more absolutely than any monarch ever 
 ruled his subjects. There everything is definite, 
 
 291 
 
and ever at work according to fixed and ir- 
 reversible rules, whether man so comprehends 
 it or not. This being so, is it any wonder 
 that we respect and place implicit confidence 
 in her laws, and seek to know them? They, 
 unlike man made laws, are never subject to 
 repeal or modification ; there, they operate year 
 after year, and for all time, affecting all alike, 
 the rich and the poor, the high and the low. 
 Were it not so, were it not for this certain- 
 ty, this impartiality, uniformity, and constancy 
 of force and action in the material world, 
 of which man in a certain sense is a part, 
 and upon which his life depends, all would 
 be chaotic, and he would be well nigh crazy. 
 If at times water were to run up-hill and 
 then down, if it had a volition of its own, 
 and could and did run whichever way it 
 might choose; if corn when planted produced 
 potatoes; if heat did not always melt solids; 
 if it did not always expand and cold always 
 contract bodies, as is now the case, and ever 
 has been, and in all probability ever will 
 
 292 
 
be; in short, if like did not always produce 
 like, as it now does by a fixed law of nature, 
 and if nature's other laws were changeable, 
 what a chaotic, crazy world this would be. One 
 has only to pause and reflect for a moment 
 to appreciate the definite, permanent, and uni- 
 form manner in which nature operates. 
 
 Yes, by observation and experience we 
 know that every effect has and must have an 
 adequate cause; that this great relation be- 
 tween an effect and its cause has always been 
 its law; that upon this law man can and does 
 rely, that upon it he acts, plans, and operates 
 in the world of matter with an assurance 
 that never disappoints him. Again, we know 
 that light always moves from its source in a 
 straight line, that from this line it never 
 deviates, unless it be deflected therefrom by 
 some object or obstruction in its pathway; 
 we know that this is its law — a law of light. 
 Then, again, we know that there is the great 
 law of gravitation, and the one more general, 
 known as the law of attraction, both of 
 
 293 
 
which being of the same nature have kept the 
 planets or spheres in their appointed orbits 
 ever since their Creator set them in motion. 
 
 These laws, and their associates, so won- 
 derful in themselves, are beyond the com- 
 prehension of man. He only knows that 
 they exist and how they operate. These laws 
 or certainties in the domain of nature, have 
 made it possible for man to perform the 
 many wonders or achievements that mark his 
 past and present existence on earth. The 
 quantities, qualities, and properties of matter, 
 with their various affinities, were here long 
 before his advent with his mathematics and 
 instruments to measure them; long before he 
 came with his laboratories to analyze and 
 ascertain the various elements of matter and 
 their affinities for one another, a knowledge 
 that has enabled him to form so many com- 
 pounds for art, commercial, or medicinal 
 purposes. 
 
 Yes, as we have stated, the various laws 
 of nature are uniform and unchangeable; 
 
 294 
 
when once known they are known forever. 
 They are the same today in all parts of the 
 world as they were when first enacted or 
 created by the Great Unknown. The same 
 sixty or seventy distinct elements in nature 
 that man has discovered since his advent 
 upon the earth have always existed. Nature 
 is a great encyclopedia of rigid law — supreme 
 law; of laws not made by man, but for him 
 to discover. Man, as we know, cannot create 
 anything, he can only detect what has been 
 created by his Maker, and manipulate, use, 
 or combine the same for his benefit, amuse- 
 ment, or gratification. He perceives that 
 nature is neither moody nor tricky, that she 
 has neither appetites nor passions to gratify 
 or appease; that she is at all times reliable. 
 He perceives the beauty and regularity in 
 which come and go the seasons; with what 
 dignity, regularity, and uniformity, the sun, 
 king of the orbs and king of the day, pur- 
 sues his course and performs his benign work. 
 Ah! what a serene and varied unit is nature! 
 
 295 
 
How exact and true she is in all her different 
 operations! What a school! what a college! 
 what a university! what a teacher! True, 
 Nature evolutes, but then her evolutions are 
 gradual as well as regular, uniform, and 
 constant. In her we see the laws of life, devel- 
 opment, decay, and death, and the more won- 
 derful law of constant reproduction or re- 
 generation. This is her evolution. In this 
 sense, nature is one grand unit of evolution, 
 ever subject, however, to immutable laws or 
 forces. 
 
 But man, with his various appetites and 
 passions to gratify or appease, with his moody, 
 fickle, and tricky nature, makes laws. And 
 as he is, so are his laws. Some of these, 
 framed and passed in his wisdom and finer 
 sense of justice and the fitness of things, 
 receive the smile and approval of truth, while 
 others evoke her blush of shame, her cen- 
 sure and condemnation. Yes, in man made 
 laws we see his head and his heart, his sense 
 of right and wrong, his ignorance or wisdom, 
 
his sense of justice. Thus, as the laws of 
 nature and her wonderful and admirable man- 
 ifestations reflect the wisdom, goodness, power, 
 justice, and unchangeable character of the 
 First Great Cause, the Supreme Being, so, 
 too, the laws of man reflect his ignorance, 
 knowledge, moods, and his Dr. Jekyll and 
 Mr. Hyde nature. In them and the man- 
 ner in which they are enforced, we flnd 
 his place and rank in the scale of civiliza- 
 tion, progress, education and refinement, as 
 well as his views and attitude concerning the 
 great questions of theology and religion. 
 
 MAN-MADE LAWS. 
 
 Man is a great law-maker, and a great 
 law-breaker. Being a mixture of evil and 
 good, with appetites and passions that fluctu- 
 ate and decay, with affections and aspirations 
 for this or that, he is easily swayed by his 
 avarice, his love of power, place, praise, or 
 fortune; hence we find him sanctioning or 
 seeking to make laws or to change those 
 
 297 
 
already in operation, so that they may favor 
 his good or evil designs. He knows that 
 the laws of nature cannot be broken with 
 impunity, but that those of his own making 
 can be and frequently are so broken. Hence, 
 according to the nature of his moods, views, 
 or desires, his laws are ever a mixture of 
 good and evil. Some of them bear the 
 sanction and seal of justice, while others re- 
 flect his cunning, selfishness, or greed. Some 
 of them are enacted in the spirit of justice, 
 while others indicate the work of an evil 
 genius. Some are framed and enacted to be 
 actually enforced, while others are intention- 
 ally so framed as to be easily evaded, or 
 with loop-holes in them for the vicious to 
 escape from any sting that may be attached 
 to their violation. Too many laws have been 
 enacted on the principle that "might makes 
 right," rather than upon the eternal principles 
 of justice and equality. Hence it is, that 
 one often finds in man-made laws an ex- 
 emplification of the saying of Pope, that 
 
 298 
 
"Man's inhumanity to man makes 
 countless millions mourn." 
 
 But the evils here spoken of are not 
 always to be traced to those who enact laws, 
 but frequently to those who are appointed, 
 or elected by the people, to interpret, con- 
 strue, or enforce the same. 'Tis a pity, but 
 'tis true, that frequently incompetent or cor- 
 rupt individuals are placed upon the bench, 
 and there, from ignorance, prejudice or cor- 
 rupt motives, serve his satanic majesty rather 
 than the people and justice. Ancient as 
 well as modern history is replete with such 
 instances. Again, this incompetency, preju- 
 dice, partiality or corruption, so frequently 
 seen sitting on the bench, is often character- 
 istic of those whose executive duty it is to see 
 that the laws are observed or enforced with 
 impartiality. 
 
 To the three evils above mentioned, may 
 be traced, to a great extent, the beginning, 
 rise, and rapid growth of the organized spirit 
 of Socialism that seems today to have taken 
 
 299 
 
such a firm root in America and European 
 countries with its many bold and brilliant 
 crusaders. 
 
 It is to be observed that the laws of 
 nature are few compared to those made by 
 man; that she is not so moody or change- 
 . able, that conditions in the natural world 
 are more stable; while in human affairs con- 
 ditions are constantly changing, thus requir- 
 ing new adjustments; hence new laws or 
 rules of conduct are required to meet such. 
 It is therefore necessary that old laws or 
 rules of action be repealed, modified, or en- 
 tirely set aside, and that new ones, more 
 in harmony with new conditions or order 
 of things, be made to take the place of the 
 old. 
 
 From childhood to old age one hears it 
 said, "you must not do this, and you must 
 not do that;" or, "you must do this and you 
 must do that," etc. Or, again, "you may do 
 this or that thing, but you must do it in this or 
 that manner, or at such a time or place." 
 
 300 
 
Now the words may and must, in the 
 above sense, imply power or law. All that 
 law does or can do is to prohibit the doing 
 of an act, or command that certain acts shall 
 be done, or permit certain acts to be done 
 in a certain manner, or at a certain time 
 or place, with added penalties for disobedience. 
 This is law. This is what makes it possi- 
 ble for men and women to live together in 
 a state of society. So, the laws of man are 
 as numerous as are the different interests, 
 views, or conditions of society. 
 
 THE STING OP LAW. 
 
 That which is called the penalty of a 
 law is its sting. This is the only thing in 
 any law that man fears. Few indeed are 
 those who obey a law that interferes with 
 their pleasure or interests from any love for 
 it. Love and duty, when left alone with the 
 appetites and passions, are more prone to 
 yield to seductive influences than they 
 are when chided or threatened by a sense 
 
 301 
 
of law that springs from a knowledge of the 
 sting that may follow the breaking of it. 
 It is this fear of the sting that restrains 
 men and holds society together. 
 
 Take away the sting and the whole social 
 fabric falls. 
 
 This sting of the law has many forms. 
 Sometimes it manifests itself in taking from 
 the law-breaker his property, his liberty, or 
 his life. Again, we say, it is the sting of 
 the law, or the penalties attached thereto that 
 gives it its force or effect and causes man 
 to respect or fear it. Again, its sting or 
 penalty is just or unjust, as it is in 
 proportion to the injury inflicted by an act 
 to persons or society against whom such may 
 be committed. 
 
 But it is not the purpose of this essay 
 to enter the wide and intricate domains of 
 law and there point out particular instances 
 of the truths above stated. All that we 
 have attempted to do has been to call the 
 reader's attention to the net- work of law with- 
 
 302 
 
in whose folds he is, from birth to death, 
 a subject; and note in a general way the 
 stability of the laws of nature, and the un- 
 certain and fluctuating character of those 
 made by man. 
 
 Of Law, the learned Richard Hooker 
 fittingly says: 
 
 "There can be no lees acknowledged, than that her 
 seat is the bosom of God — her Toice the harmony of 
 the world: all things in heaven and earth do her 
 homage, the rery least as feeling her care and the 
 greatest as not exempted from her power." 
 
 803 
 
PAT AND I. 
 
 Then we loved eacli other much, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 When we worked upon the farm, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Then we loved the hoe and rake, 
 And the ax that drove the stake. 
 Loved our mother's pie and cake, 
 
 Pat and I. 
 
 Then we loved our sister Kate, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Loved the Christ that in her spake, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Oh! the songs she used to sing 
 Made the air about us ring, 
 To our eyes the tears did bring, 
 
 Pat and I. 
 
Then we heard our father's voice, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 And obeyed it out of choice, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 We were true and we were strong, 
 Sought to keep away from wrong, 
 And our honest lives prolong, 
 
 Pat and I. 
 
 But there came a time to us, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 When we thought the hoe a curse, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 For we'd heard or read in books, 
 That it didn't become our looks. 
 To work in fields or dig in brooks, 
 
 Pat and I. 
 
 So we left our mother dear, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Left her sobbing, all in tears, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 
Heard amid those sobs, a prayer, 
 Heard her whisper — "O God! spare 
 My dear boys from Satan's snare" — 
 Pat and I. 
 
 Now we live in Joliet, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Long's the time before us yet, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Mother's dead, and sister's dying, 
 Father's all the time a-crying, 
 And we both are always sighing, 
 
 Pat and I. 
 
 Oh! we would our lives renew, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 Better ways we would pursue, 
 
 Pat and I; 
 We would live as mother taught us, 
 Spurn the evil that here brought us. 
 Love the hoe, and Christ who sought us, 
 
 Pat and I. 
 
THE FINAL HOUR. 
 
 What pleasure is there in the final hour, 
 Those long — sad notes — that fall from 
 
 belfry tower? 
 Oft comes the thought that naught but 
 
 sadness brings, 
 That starts the tear, — the thought of dying 
 
 stings. 
 
 Sad thought, 'tis best not with thee long 
 
 to dwell, 
 Best not to listen long to tolling bell; 
 And yet, 'twere well to note the while, O 
 
 heart! 
 Yon bell shall toll for thee — all here must 
 
 part. 
 
 Oh final Hour ! sad, solemn hour of grief, 
 From which no power on earth can give 
 
 relief; 
 Few here, indeed, are glad to welcome thee, 
 From thy stern face, in vain, we seek to flee. 
 
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