Part 16

In Hood’s remarkable poems of passion and imagination are to be found, perhaps, his patent of nobility in the realm of poetry. But, if it was made out there, it has had renewal in his later poems of humanity. It was in the last period of his great and restless toil that he flung off, like light fancies, some of his poems, whose stanzas will be echoed in the anthem of his undying fame. Of these are “The Lay of the Laborer,” “The Pauper’s Christmas Carol,” “The Song of the Shirt,” and “The Bridge of Sighs.” It was coincidently with the epoch of that comical and potential journal, _Punch_, (which has never failed to poke the heavy ribs of oppression, and to prick the great fat paunch of selfishness, in a very lively manner), that this new inspiration of brotherly kindness came to Hood. His troubled heart began to beat itself against the bars of its intellectual prison-house, and to wail out its resistless pleas for the poor, the friendless, and the desolate. “The Song of the Shirt” is one of the most extraordinary lyrics ever struck from the harp of poesy. Little thought he, however, that the lines—which, as they were written by his trembling fingers, were almost as spasmodic as if they had been literally convulsed out of his suffering frame,—little thought he that they would peal out on London’s ear, on England’s ear, and strike deep down into the national heart with a warrant for his immortality, more imperative and universal than any which his wit had framed, or his genius had wrought, from the beginning of his career down to the day on which he sang “The Song of the Shirt.”

“Now, mind, Hood, mark my words, this will tell wonderfully: it is the best thing you ever did,” said his wife, as she folded the manuscript for the pocket of _Punch_. And “tell” it did, for not only did England make it a household ballad, but France and Germany and Italy, even, engrafted it upon their popular anthology, while here, in the New World, we bear its odd burden,—

Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, Stitch, stitch, stitch, and Work, work, work,

not more in our memories than in our hearts. Let us not forget, moreover, that women,

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red,

sent their _shillings_ from their scanty earnings all over England to help sculpture the pale marble that covers poor Hood on Kensall Green.

Quite as remarkable as the song I have just dismissed is “The Bridge of Sighs.” It withstood the ponderous assaults of dull-headed and cold-hearted critics when it was builded, and now its somber arches will span the deep river of the popular feeling forever and ever. It is a marvelously tender ode, a rare carol of charity, warbled out fearlessly, where prudish philanthropy would have drawn down its hood and held its breath, lest, perchance, it should seem at the side of a fallen woman. Now may the world lift up its head and exult that sorrow, shame, and despair have found a champion, whose voice over the

One more unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death,

echoes the divine verdict of Jesus of Nazareth over the sinful woman brought to him for the stern judgment of Moses, “_Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone._”

* * * * *

Much remains unsaid that I would fain say. But it is time for me to close. And what words shall I choose for last words concerning my subject, who, if he were indeed my _subject_, would make me doubly royal, for was not he the crowned king of kindly wits?

He did not live to laugh, albeit he often laughed to live. There is, indeed, a marvel to us in his exterior mirthfulness, for he had a deep fount of sadness in his soul. The last lines of his magnificent “Ode to Melancholy” afford us the key to his inner nature:

There is no music in the life That sounds with idle laughter solely; There’s not a string attuned to mirth, But has its chord in melancholy.

Yet had he wept where he has laughed, had he poured forth bile instead of humor, had he exhaled dull vapors instead of fancies, he might have made a few miserable, but the many he has made glad would have missed the blessed sunshine of his song and spirit.

So, for his “Lays,” that yet lift us up; for his “Whims,” that we are but too happy to indulge; for his oddities that we even admire; for his “Own,” which is yet far more ours than his; for his “Designs,” which were never against any one’s piece but his own; for his “Pleas,” which pleased all classes of his clients; for his “Puns,” with which folly alone was punished; for his spirit, which was always of highest “proof” on trial; for his wit, which, witnessed of another’s, as Shakspere says, “it ambles, it goes easily;” for his worth, that had a morning and a noon tide, though it was never (k)nighted; for his heart, which in the chase of charity, was never be-_hind_; for his name, which is a covering of honor and a crown of bays;—for all these things, be blessings on the name and memory of Thomas Hood. [Great applause.]

* * * * *

Dr. Vincent said: I am surprised and delighted to learn that about seventy members of the C. L. S. C. went out after fossils with Colonel Daniels before breakfast this morning. I am very glad to learn that so many of our circle are interested in this department of study.

The members of the C. L. S. C. are most of them women, or a very large part of them women, and they hear on this ground a good many things said affecting woman’s sphere and work, and they hear in the course of the conversation a great many things said which may not be altogether true, in reference to the sentiments prevailing at Chautauqua concerning this question of woman’s work and woman’s sphere. I was very glad to know that opportunity was taken the other day to discuss one side of that question, and I am very glad that opportunity was given to discuss the other side this afternoon. We must remember in all this discussion, that the largest liberty is granted to all members of the C. L. S. C., that those who believe in woman’s suffrage, and those who are opposed to woman’s suffrage, may be equally loyal to the great objects of the Circle. One thing, however, must be said, that if woman is depreciated as to her relative social power, influence, or value by the managers of the Circle, they are not worthy of your confidence. For the Circle which proposes to exalt the home, and increase the intellectual power of woman as mother, and as a member of society, should certainly recognize as a fundamental doctrine woman’s equality in every legitimate respect with man. [Great applause.] And, if opportunity affords for the further discussion of this question, I hope we shall be able to avail ourselves of the opportunity, and have a thorough understanding among all members of the C. L. S. C. as to where those of us who are most devoted to its interests stand on these questions. I make these remarks, in as indefinite a way as I can, that through the mists you may catch the spirit of the hour, and not mistake the true sentiment of the Chautauqua Circle. [Applause.]

Adjourned.

* * * * *

DR. GODWIN’S “MAN IN THE MOON.”—This amusing little work was published in 1638, and written by Dr. Godwin, Bishop of Llandaff in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and collated to the see of Hereford by her successor, King James I. It was composed when the author was a young student at Christ Church College, Oxford, under the assumed name of Domingo Gonzales. One of the prints represents a man drawn up from the summit of a mountain, with an engine set in motion by birds, which was the mode in which the said Gonzales was supposed to have reached the moon. This curious and now scarce production [there is a copy of it in the British Museum] excited wonder and censure on its appearance, and is thought to have supplied hints to Dr. Wilkins, Bishop of Chester, in compiling his work called “A Discovery of a New World in the Moon.” Dr. Godwin is familiar to most clerical readers as author of “_Præsules Anglicani_,” a useful referential work, and his “_Nuntius Inanimatus_” is said to have contained the first hints of a telegraph, which useful invention was, however, not discovered till the end of the last century.

AN UNNOTED EVIDENCE

OF THE NECESSITY OF A REVEALED RELIGION.

By REV. R. H. HOWARD, A. M.

Do not the remarks of Timayenis, the author of our excellent history of Greece, relative to the effect upon the popular faith of Greece, of the progress of philosophic thought, or of intellectual inquiry, (see page 396), suggest a striking and forcible, not to say new, argument in favor of the necessity of a revealed religion—of a divinely inspired and attested, and hence absolutely _authentic_, revelation of God’s will? His language is as follows: “But perhaps the principal reason (for the persecution of Socrates) was, that his dialectic and searching system, though limited by him to human questions only, was finally _applied by his hearers_ to the _higher_ questions concerning the _creation of the universe_, and _tended to undermine the foundations of the prevailing religion_. The misfortune of ancient society was, that the popular religion was _never to be the subject of any philosophical debate_; either philosophy must _be left to destroy the religion, or society_, striving for the conservation of the latter, _must limit, as much as possible, free philosophical research_. Hence we see the most intelligent and most liberal of the Hellenic tribes continually persecuting, for religious reasons, the most prominent philosophers.”

Our author might have better said, it seems to me, that it was the misfortune of the popular religion in ancient Hellas to be of such a sort as not manifestly to be able successfully to abide searching scrutiny—the white light of scientific, or philosophic, investigation. Had theirs been a religion founded on _fact_, instead of the grossest absurdities, and embracing in their judgment only the highest, sublimest truth, instead of manifold and manifest errors, there would, clearly, have never been any occasion, on their part, to dread its becoming the theme of philosophical debate. Nay, the more severely it was subjected to this ordeal of intellectual inquiry the more clearly would its truth, evidently, be made to appear. Hence, to stand, as some people appear to, even in our day, in such mortal dread of rationalistic, or destructive, criticism, really evinces anything but a robust,—in fact, a very slender and tottering faith, or confidence in the divine, and hence immovable, foundations of their religion.

The line of argument suggested by the foregoing quotation may be stated somewhat as follows: Early in the historical development of a race certain religious beliefs at once spring up. These are born of instinct. Strangely, whatever their manifest absurdity, this feature seems at first to constitute no serious bar to their popular acceptance. Meanwhile, palpably erroneous and absurd as many of these beliefs may really be, they yet, in process of time, not only become deeply rooted, but come to serve certain important practical purposes. Meager and poor as they may be comparatively, they are yet, in point of fact, very much better than none. Without them, indeed, or deprived of the restraining, salutary influences of the same, society itself, perhaps, would be found to be quite impossible. Hence, as also doubtless from feelings of reverence therefor, a national faith, even if it is not all that could be desired, is always jealously guarded. The man who has the temerity to introduce any religious novelties, whatever the extent to which the latter may be really an improvement on the prevailing doctrines, will be likely to be looked upon, not only with suspicion, but as a public enemy, and hence, as one deserving of many stripes. “Strange gods” anciently received a no more hearty welcome or kindly hospitality than do “isms” and “heresies” generally at the present day.

Meantime, however bitter or determined may be the opposition thus developed against it, this antagonism is by no means going effectually to bar out the light of truth from men’s minds. Nay, this very persistent and determined effort to keep it out can naturally tend only to pique curiosity, awaken suspicion and scepticism, develop opposition, and stimulate inquiry. The light must come. Meanwhile, clearly, with this gradually progressive development of the intellectual life of a people, and the prevalence, hence, of a thoughtful, inquiring habit, on their part, of what, in modern times, is known as the “scientific spirit,” religion plainly, as well as everything else, must come in for its share of criticism and investigation. And woe to it if, in this its day of judgment, it be found wanting—if, in connection with this truly crucial ordeal, its foundations be found to consist only of “hay, wood, and stubble.” Nay, nor does it scarcely matter what interests besides may be involved, and must hence be sacrificed with it; it must all the same at once “step down and out.” The idea is that the development of brains is, in the long run, absolutely fatal to a religion founded in error—to all the fabrics of ignorance and superstition. True, these brains can never produce a religion specially worthy of being substituted for the one they have destroyed. But they can, and, in the very nature of the case, inevitably will, sooner or later, demolish and sweep utterly away any faith found to be fundamentally irrational and absurd.

Hence, now, in order to the stability of society, and a permanent and healthy national life,—in fact in order to all kinds of progress and of civilization, an absolutely perfect religion is necessary—one, to say the least, that can effectually, triumphantly, abide even the keenest search of man’s scientific ken. But, plainly, man’s unassisted genius—no merely finite understanding—is equal to the task of producing any such religion: this “one thing” thus so supremely “needful,” yet remains; therefore, if we are to have it at all, this faith must come from on high.

Divine interposition thus, by way of a revealed religion, is evidently absolutely indispensable to prevent nations, by virtue of their very intellectual activities, from undermining and subverting their own foundations, and ultimately destroying the very institutions that might otherwise be their pride and prove as enduring as time.

LOSS AND GAIN.

By MRS. EMILY J. BUGBEE.

All’s lost, do we say? When the stars of earthly hope go down, When the light fades out in shadows gray, When thorns grow sharp on the rugged ground, And the birds of the summer flee away?

What’s lost? Why, only our little throne of pride, Only the outward trappings of life, Only the friends that could not abide, When sunshine faded and storms were rife.

What’s left? Why God! and _His_ true Heaven above, The glory of earth, and sea and air, The deathless pulse in His heart of love, And we to His grand estate are heir.

Infinite gain: The riches that never more take wing, The gold wrought out in the furnace fire, The strength that is born of suffering, And the upward lift of the soul’s desire.

CHAUTAUQUA EMERGING FROM WINTER.

A LETTER FROM CHAUTAUQUA.

By the REV. VICTOR CORNELLE.

We enjoy this forest life; not only through the Assembly, but through the delightful autumn, when we scatter the pretty leaves in every path; through the cold, long winter and its deep and lasting snows; and through the sunny opening spring. To those who come and go, the Assembly is only a summer gathering for rest and instruction; but to us, who live here, it is like a large and stirring city passing through our woods, and bringing with it the world’s best attainments in every department of learning, the press, the telegraph, etc., and leaving behind saloons and their train of vices. In April our quiet is usually broken by a few scattered families who come before to prepare the way for the thousands who are soon to follow. These increase through June and July and reach the climax in August. Before September closes we can only hear the distant footsteps of a departing city; and when winter comes you can find but sixty small families sprinkled through the cottages. We had a long and pleasant fall, and work went on briskly while pleasant weather lasted. The Superintendent said the improvements this year would exceed any two previous years. The work was distributed over the grounds, but the most marked appears before the hotel, where the ground is worked into an easy undulating grade down to the lake. More cottages were built than usual, many enlarged and others repaired. The lake has been frozen over more than two months with ice from fourteen to sixteen inches thick, carrying sleighs all winter. The fishing-coops appeared in ordinary numbers, and the fishermen gazed long through the holes cut in the ice for the fish that would not come. A few were caught.

The fierceness of the winter is broken by the woods. The wind which sweeps the snow into immense drifts outside is heard here flowing over and among the tree-tops with a deep and constant roar; but is little felt. The memorial bell rings with a regularity and punctuality truly gratifying to those who are expected to hear it at a distance. We can inform all Chautauquans that it rings, and the imagination alone is required to convey its sound to every ear, and its inspiration to every heart. The Sabbath dawns upon us with such a peaceful quiet that it fills our hearts with reverence. Instead of being shocked by the vices of the city, we are charmed by the innocent beauties God has thrown around us in the works of his hands. The services held in the chapel are well attended, and the little society is gradually increasing. The five o’clock meetings for prayer and song in the grand and silent hall have continued without a single break. The attendance declined through the hardest of the winter, but is now increasing. Our C. L. S. C. has sustained a happy existence through the quiet winter. We number twenty, meet weekly to read essays, ask questions, and exchange opinions.

* * * * *

We find this noble precept often repeated in Plato: “Do thine own work, and know thyself.” Each member of this sentence comprehends the whole duty of man, and each includes the other. He who would do his own work aright will discover that his first lesson is to know himself and what is his duty; and he who rightly understands himself will never mistake another man’s work for his own, but will attend to himself, and above all improve the faculties of his mind, will refuse to engage in useless employments, and will get rid of all unprofitable thoughts and schemes. And as folly, even if it should succeed in obtaining all that it can possibly desire, will never be satisfied, so also wisdom, ever acquiescing in the present, is never dissatisfied with its existing state. Epicurus exempts the wise man from forethought and care for the future.—_Montaigne._

CHAUTAUQUA SCHOOL OF LANGUAGES.

ANGLO-SAXON PRIZES.

Last spring it was announced that during the session of the School of Languages in ’82 two prizes would be awarded for proficiency in Anglo-Saxon acquired during the session. Accordingly, after due announcements, the examination was held during the last days of the session. The papers were submitted to Dr. Cook, Professor of English in the University of California, well-known to old students at Chautauqua. He has lately decided upon the papers with the following result: The first prize was awarded _Miss Mary Parker_, Ogdensburg, N. Y.; the second to _Miss Mary A. Bryant_, Columbia, Tennessee. It is expected that similar prizes will be offered during the session of ’83.

HINTS TO BEGINNERS IN THE STUDY OF NEW TESTAMENT GREEK.

By REV. ALFRED A. WRIGHT, A.M.[O]

THE PURPOSES OF THIS COURSE OF STUDY.

It is one purpose of the study of New Testament Greek as conducted by the Dean of the Department of Greek and the New Testament in the Chautauqua School of Theology, to acquaint students with the best methods for obtaining an elementary knowledge of grammatical and philological principles lying at the basis of Bible Greek.

It is another purpose to acquaint students with the best methods of using the tools needed to mine the treasures of Greek ideas which are not always near the surface of things.

The supreme purpose of this course of study is to enable students to read for themselves the very _words_ which the blessed Master and his Apostles uttered, and to so enter into the mysteries of the language-forms and idioms as to behold the very _ideas_ which Christ and his Apostles had before their mental eyes.

He who attempts this is fascinated from the start with the anticipations of discovery and with the comforts of expected reward for every toil of endeavor. And, as he advances, whatever difficulties present themselves, appear only as the stepping-stones upon which he may plant his ascending footsteps, and from whose loftier elevations he may scan a wider scope of beauty.

Surely—if there are hidden secrets of divine truth phrased in the metaphor or in the thought tone of the Bible Greek, the student can afford to tightly gird his loins for the journey;—it shall prove to him indeed the “Quest of the Holy Grail.”

DIFFICULTIES—IN THE LANGUAGE.

1. “_It is all Greek to me_,” is often said with a quality of facetiousness in tone and manner which is evidently intended as a compliment to the exceeding difficulty of learning the language. Or, it may be a _quasi_ tribute to the very picturesqueness of the Greek letters and word-forms as they appear in the sentence. Or, it may be said by one who is overwhelmed at the erudition of some academic “Greek” flourishing a Greek Testament, and suggesting in manner a certain layman of Lynn, who once took from the parlor table a book printed in French, and asked his astonished hostess, “Is this Latin or French? For if it’s Latin I can read it.” Or it may be possible the superstition that the mysteries of religion are themselves in some manner connected with the very forms of Greek words, has its influence in producing the expression; however, it is a fact that the phrase is found on the lips of even cultured persons, “_It’s all Greek to me_.”

2. _Misapprehension._—The fact is, many people misapprehend the nature of the language and of the real difficulties in the way of mastering its secrets. For the new scholar will invariably assert that Greek, especially New Testament Greek, is _not_ a difficult study, because of the language forms or idioms. The _real_ difficulties are to be found in other places, than in the gardens of the text.

THE REAL DIFFICULTIES.