{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3209", "width": "1882", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\nChap. Copyright No._.:i:::\\nShelf...ilOO\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "^oofefi! bp \u00c2\u00a9UtuarU Eotolau^ ^ill\\nPOEMS. i6mo, $i.oo; illuminated parchment\\npaper, ;^i.oo.\\nTHE HERMITAGE, and Later Poems. With\\nPortrait. i6mo, Ji.oo; illuminated parchment\\npaper, $i.oo.\\nHERMIONE, and Other Poems. i6mo, $i.oo.\\nTHE PROSE OF EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.\\nWith an Introduction comprising some Familiar\\nLetters. i6mo, $1.25.\\nHOUGHTON, MIFFLIN COMPANY,\\nBoston and New York.", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "THE PROSE\\nOF\\nEDWARD ROWLAND SILL", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "THE PROSE\\nOF\\nEDWARD ROWLAND SILL\\nWITH\\nAN INTRODUCTION COMPRISING\\nSOME FAMILIAR\\nLETTERS\\n^si^smssm.\\nBOSTON AND NEW YORK\\nHOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY\\n1900", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "TWO COPIES RECElVfiO,\\nLibrary of Cor3grai%\\ntlfflcu \u00c2\u00a9r the\\nMil?i291900\\nKesltter of Copyrigltfc\\n57077\\nCOPYRIGHT, 1900, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN CO.\\nALL RIGHTS RESERVED\\nSECOND COPY,", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "TABLE OF CONTENTS\\nPAGR\\nIntroduction vii\\nJBiatttre\\nOur Tame Hummingbirds i\\nA Rhapsody of Clouds 25\\nCheerfulness of Birds 37\\nThe Red Leaves on the Snow 41\\nThe Earth-Spirit s Voices 46\\nHuman Nature in Chickens 51\\nA New Earth in the Old Earth s Arms 54\\nliterature anH Crittctfiim\\nShakespeare s Prose 61\\nAn Impression of Balzac\\nThree Sonnets\\nThe Charms of Similitude\\nBooks of Refuge\\nThe Most Pathetic Figure in Story\\nGerman Lyric Poetry vs. French\\nThe Clang-Tint of Words\\nThe Objections to Spelling Reform\\nPrinciples of Criticism\\n86\\n93\\n99\\n103\\n109\\n117\\n123\\nT29\\n132\\nA Private Letter 164", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "vi Table of Contents\\nManagement of the Mind while hearing\\nMusic 179\\nCan Tunes be inherited? 186\\nIndividual Continuity 190\\nWhat do we mean by Right and Ought 201\\nThe Psychology of Interruptions 235\\nThe Bread-and-Butter Moments of the Mind 238\\nThe Slipperiness of Certain Words 242\\nThe Ethics of the Plank at Sea 246\\nThe Mind as a Bad Portrait Painter 250\\nThe Felt Location of the I 254\\nWhat is the Oldest Thing in the World? 257\\nThe Free Will of the Bonfire 263\\nThe Invisible Part of this World we live\\nin 270\\nd lmcatiDn\\nShould a College educate? .285\\nlife\\nWanted a Friend 310\\nRomantic Dispositions 318\\nThe Good Things of our Friend as his\\nCompensations 3^4\\nChoosing a Class of People for Extermina-\\ntion 329\\nThe Left-Over Expression of Countenance 336\\nThe Nouveau Cultiv]6 33^\\nThe Keeper-In and the Blurter-Out 342\\nOld Morton 34^", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "INTRODUCTION\\nHE poetry of Edward Rowland Sill\\nhas been collected under three sepa-\\nrate titles, Poems, The Hermitage and\\nLater Poems, and Hermione and Other Poems.\\nAlthough he wrote poetry with ease, and chose\\nthe form often for the expression of a mood, a\\npassing fancy, a sudden thought, there was in\\nhis nature such a demand for expression that\\nit was impossible for him not to use, and with\\nthe greatest abundance, the more facile form\\nof prose. His prose ranged from the direct\\nspeech of letters to the careful structure of an\\nelaborate essay; but whether he was writing\\ninformally or formally, there was little attempt\\nto suppress that eager personality which made\\nhim one of the most animated of men of letters.\\nNot that he betrayed the least bit of egotism\\nthe charming quality of his nature was his\\nfriendliness, which led him to give unceasingly\\nto others and to take the keenest delight in\\ncomrades. It was this spirit of sharing his\\ngoods which made him examine himself as he\\nexamined nature and literature and music, and", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "viii Introduction\\nunhesitatingly deliver the result in terms of\\nwhimsical, earnest, and unreserved confession.\\nHe had an unquenchable curiosity, but it was\\nso utterly devoid of envy, hatred, malice, and\\nall uncharitableness, that it never excited these\\nelements in others, and made him a sort of lay-\\nconfessor to many souls. And when he came\\nto announce freely the results of his scrutiny,\\nhe made them so impersonal that the most\\nprying neighbor could not have detected their\\norigin, yet so graphic and shrewd that they\\nwere not lost in vague generalities.\\nHis habit of mind and his hatred of petty\\npersonality led him to prefer in most cases\\neither a pseudonym or the still more grateful\\nshelter of anonymity. He enjoyed especially\\nthe hospitality of the Contributors Club in The\\nAtlantic Monthly. The method of this table-\\ntalk especially pleased him, for it exactly suited\\nhis own way of dashing off impromptus of\\nprose, mingled sometimes with ready verse,\\nand the shortness of the essays permitted in it\\nwas adapted to the little flights of fancy and\\nfun in which he delighted. He was therefore\\na very frequent contributor, sometimes having\\nthree or four diverse bits in a single number,\\nand provoking by his light, incisive attacks\\nmore responses probably than any other mem-\\nber of that game of blindman s buff.", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "Introduction ix\\nIt is largely from the Contributors Club that\\nthe contents of this book are derived. That is\\nto say, the greater number of papers is drawn\\nfrom it the longer ones are sometimes from\\nThe Atlantic, sometimes from papers printed\\non the Pacific coast, and sometimes from\\npapers read but not printed. The division\\nunder different headings is intended merely to\\nclassify rudely the mass of his prose writing.\\nThe distinctions between the parts must not\\nbe looked for too narrowly. Sill was so ver-\\nsatile and his mind ran so readily from one\\naspect of a subject to another, that it would be\\nidle to ask for any very hard and fast division,\\nbut the grouping will serve to show something\\nof the range which his mind took. No attempt\\nhas been made to indicate the sources of the\\nseveral papers, nor to arrange the contents in\\nany exact chronological order. These things\\nare of little consequence in the case of so free\\na giver as Sill. One might nearly as well\\nexpect to date and locate a good talker s con-\\nversation.\\nFor the sake of those who may be making\\nthrough this book their first acquaintance with\\nMr. Sill, a brief account of his short life is\\nreproduced here from the Note to the first col-\\nlection of his Poems. He was born in Wind-\\nsor, Connecticut, in 1841, and graduated at", "height": "3120", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "X Introduction\\nYale College with the class of 1861. He went\\nto California not long after graduation, and at\\nfirst engaged in business, but in 1867 returned\\nEast with the expectation of entering the min-\\nistry, and studied for a few months at the\\nDivinity School of Harvard University. He\\ngave up the purpose, however, married, and\\noccupied himself with literary work, translat-\\ning Rau s Mozart, holding an editorial position\\non the JVew York Evening Mail, and bringing\\nout a volume of poems. His peculiar power\\nin stimulating the minds of others drew him\\ninto the work of teaching, and he became\\nprincipal of an academy in Ohio. His Cali-\\nfornia life, however, had given him a strong\\nattachment to the Pacific coast and a sense\\nthat his health would be better there, and\\naccordingly, on receiving an invitation to a\\nposition in the Oakland High School, he\\nremoved to California in 187 1, remaining there\\ntill 1883. In 1874 he accepted the chair of\\nEnglish Literature in the University of Cali-\\nfornia, and identified himself closely with the\\nliterary life which found its expression in maga-\\nzines and social organization. Upon his return\\nto the East with the intention of devoting him-\\nself more exclusively to literary work, he be-\\ngan that abundant production which has been\\nhinted at, and which, anonymous for the most", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "Introduction xi\\npart, was rapidly giving him facility of execu-\\ntion and drawing attention to the versatility,\\nthe insight, the sympathetic power, the inspir-\\ning force which had always marked his teach-\\ning, and bade fair to bring a large and appre-\\nciative audience about him. He lived remote\\nfrom the press of active life, always close to\\nthe centre of current intellectual and spiritual\\nmovements, in the village of Cuyahoga Falls,\\nOhio, where he died after a brief illness, Feb-\\nruary 27, 1887.\\nSome of the details of this uneventful life,\\nand some of the characteristics of a very\\nlovable nature, may be gathered from the fol-\\nlowing extracts from his familiar correspond-\\nence. His letters were jotted down more\\nhastily than his most casual writing for an\\nopen public, and suffer thus less from a frag-\\nmentary use than would be the case had he\\nrelied much upon this form of writing but he\\nwas always, as it were, writing to his friends\\nwhen he wrote his papers and brief articles\\nthese bits from his letters therefore should be\\ntaken as little more than notes. The effort\\nhas been made in the selection to trace some-\\nthing of Mr. Sill s thought about himself in the\\nsuccessive changes of his outward life most\\nattention thus has been given to the formative\\nperiod, though indeed that term might well be", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "xii Introduction\\napplied to his entire life, so open did he keep\\nall the inlets into his mind and heart. Some\\nof the letters or parts of letters are taken from\\nthe Memorial i^riYditely printed in 1887.\\nTO H. H.\\nSacramento, April 2, 1862.\\nDear Henry, Arrived so soon safe\\nand well oughtn t I to be thankful, after\\nsuch a voyage We landed in San Francisco\\nlast week Tuesday, March 25, as to Shears,\\nglad to get ashore as to me, rather sorry, for\\nI enjoyed the voyage exceedingly, and dreaded\\nto meet my dubious prospects on shore. Not\\nthat Shears didii^t enjoy it for he did^ hugely,\\nbut he s got a home, you know, in San\\nFrancisco, and has something to do viz.,\\nthe law. By the way, he s got a very pleasant\\nhome there, too father, brother, brother s\\nwife and brother s baby the latter being the\\nprettiest extant.\\nThe life at sea just suited me giving me a\\nsound digestion, a deliciously pure atmosphere\\nto see the stars through, and that utter seclu-\\nsion which has always been my longing\\nsecure, too, from any haunting restlessness to\\nbe doi?ig something that relentless feeling,\\nyou know, which is always jogging your elbow\\nwhenever you get fixed comfortably in a self-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "Introduction xiii\\nish, idle seclusion, whispering, Get up and\\ngo to work fellow-men fellow-men go\\nto work go to work But out there I\\ncould rJtdiO anything, nor have anything to do\\nwith anybody, if I tried so I took my ease\\nwith a good conscience. Well, we had a good\\ntime, and it did us good is n t that a pretty\\nsatisfactory report\\nWe did n t write the book, for we concluded\\n(not without serious talks on it) that we had n t\\nenough worthy material for a book. You say\\nPshaw at that I can hear you with great\\ndistinctness, way off here but though there\\nwere specious and tempting considerations in\\nfavor of it, the sober and reasonable course\\nwas 7iot to and so we did n t. I kept a\\npretty full journal, which you may read if\\nyou 11 come out here. I wish I had you here\\nI d tell you everything I saw and did and\\nthought on the way but as that can t be, I 11\\nscribble this sheet full and wait till I see you\\nwhich won t be many years for you will\\nbe in New England I hope, and I shall be\\nback in two years or less. Well, we got off, as\\nyou know, December 9, into a fogbank out\\nof which came forth a roaring gale, which did\\nmake us seasick oh, it did I hope Shears\\nwill write you about it I m not equal to the\\noccasion. After the first fortnight, though, we", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "xiv Introduction\\nmounted our sea legs and never got off them.\\nWonder if you d look out our course on a map\\nif I gave it to you Here t is, anyway.\\nFrank K. writes that you are class poet. I\\nam very glad it s a very pleasant thing to\\nhave, and I am glad they had the sense to do\\nit. Don t put off now mind you don t.\\nI hope that you will do a better thing than I\\ndid something that will have a good influ-\\nence. Don t say anything you are not sure is\\ntrue for there is enough certain truth. God\\nbless you in that as in everything.\\nTO THE SAME\\nJuly 24.\\nDear Henry, I wrote you a long letter\\nwhen I first arrived here, which perhaps never\\nhas reached you for I sent a good many\\nabout that time by the overland route, some of\\nwhich I know were not received. Your letter\\nto Sex and me came in due season but I\\nhave been hoping that mine would at last get\\nto you, and that I should hear from you again\\nby this time. I don t think it s best to wait\\nany longer, though. I have no idea where you\\nwill be by the time this has reached the States,\\nbut I shall inclose it to Frank, trusting to his\\nknowing of your whereabouts. I want to hear", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "Introduction xv\\nall about the winding up of your College life\\nand about the Poem and the Poem\\nHave n t you sent me one If you have n t\\nsent several to me, you deserve stripes for\\nprivate distribution you know, as well as\\nthe one for public reading. And after all our\\nponderings, what are you going to do and\\nwhere Study law at Harvard, I rather hope.\\nAs for me, I have come to it finally, like all\\nthe rest of em I am to study law. And\\nwhat a lawyer I shall make I suppose I am\\none of the first, though, who ever determined\\non that profession for the benefit it would be\\nto himself spiritually. Yet that s my crotchet.\\nWe are (some people don t seem to be but\\nyou and I and a few of us certainly are)\\nplanted down in the midst of a great snarl and\\ntangle of interrogation points. We want to find\\nwe must find some fixed truth. Either we\\nare wrong and the vast majority of thinkers\\nright, or they are wrong, and we right and\\nthat, too, not on one point, but a thousand\\npoints of the vastest scope and importance.\\nAs Kingsley puts it, we are set down before\\nthat greatest world-problem Given Self, to\\nfind God. So, considering that for such tasks\\nthe mind needs every preparation, skill and\\npractice in drawing close distinctions, subtile-\\nness in detecting sophistry, strength and pa-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "xvi Introduction\\ntience to work at a train of thought continu-\\nously long enough to follow its consequences\\nclear oict, and some systematized memory (if\\nfor nothing but holding and duly furnishing\\nyour own thoughts when needed) I say,\\nseeing no better or rather, no other way\\nto gain these but by entering the law, thither-\\nwards I have set my face. I have sifted it all\\ndown to this conclusion that in teaching, or\\nin Literature, or even in following up some\\nchosen science (much less some chosen art,\\nas Poetry), the mind would not get fitted for\\nthat serious work which is before it. In them,\\nit might become cultivated, stored with know-\\nledge, in some sense developed but not dis\\nciplined. Now just take that one question\\nalone Is Christianity true? What impu-\\ndence it would be in us to consider that settled\\nin the negative, until we felt that our intellects\\nwere as strong, as capable of close, protracted\\nreasoning, as little liable to be misled by\\nsophistry, as all those greatest men who have\\ntime after time settled it for themselves in the\\naffirmative. I for my part can see no way in\\nwhich I can at the same time earn a living,\\nand get the active Powers of my mind thor-\\noughly disciplined, except by studying law.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "Introduction xvii\\nTO THE SAME\\nMarch 26, 1864. Saturday night.\\nDear Hen, It is only one of many disad-\\nvantages of letters, as a voice between friends,\\nthat each letter can be merely the representa-\\ntion of one particular mood. And if it so hap-\\npens, by an accidental trick of circumstances,\\nthat all one s letters are written at the same\\nhour of the day, and therefore under the influ-\\nence of one and the same mood, he will get\\nonly one little aspect of himself conveyed to\\nhis friend. Such seems to be my fate. I\\nwrite always in the evenings (unless occasion-\\nally I happen to wedge in an hour Sunday\\nsomewhere) after being wearied by the doings\\n(and getting-done-to s) of the day. Conse-\\nquently I suppose I always seem to you to be\\ntired and depressed. Which result is unde-\\nsirable. Because it is always must be dis-\\nagreeable to an honest person, the idea of ob-\\ntaming commiseration under false pretenses,\\nand partly because, next to fully knowing\\nunderstanding my Beloveds, I like to have\\nthem understand the whole of me 2ind to\\nbe always thought of as a broken reed one\\ndoes n t like. Now this is not pride which I\\nam trying to express not the kind of feeling\\nwhich made us when little chaps hold in under", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "xviii Introduction\\nindignities, and swear we did n t care a bit,\\nand go behind the door to snivel unseen but\\nit is only just as I said a fervid desire to be\\nknown by, as I would know, the few nearest.\\nI wonder if it ever is actually to happen\\nthat our broken threads of relationship shall\\nbe joined again. It is just like the faults\\nthey come to in mining the strata run\\nalong, you know, side by side till plump\\nthey come up against a wall of partition and\\nthe question is then, do they go on again to-\\ngether on the other side, beyond? and if so,\\nhow far must we go before coming to the junc-\\ntion again\\nNext month I am going to move shall\\nquit the Post Office, and go up to a little town\\nsome twenty miles north of Sac. Folsom\\n{Foolsom in the barbarous dialect of the\\nnatives here I don t know but the name is\\na fearful augury of my wisdom in going there.)\\nGoes I there into a Bank changing my de-\\nlightful employment of peddling postage-stamps\\n{stomps they call em here) for that of buying\\ngold dust from Mexicans, Digger Indians, and\\nChinamen, who are all great at the surface-\\nmining in that vicinity.\\nCalifornia (so far as that means the natural\\nand not the human aspect thereof) is inexpres-\\nsibly beautiful just now. The trees are all", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "Introduction xix\\njust out, in their spring vesture the fields\\nfull of flowers nobody has any right to talk\\nabout fields carpeted with flowers, till he has\\nseen them here, or, I suppose, in the still\\nmore Tropical climates. Great gorgeous fel-\\nlows, you know like all the conservatories\\nyou ever saw broken loose and romping over\\nthe wild plains here, exulting and irrepressible.\\nAnd not only these superb sorts, but come to\\nstoop down and look closer you find multitudes\\nof the least wee blossoms little stars, scarcely\\nbigger than a pin s head, blue, and pure white,\\nperfect as gems. Only so for a couple of\\nmonths or three months then the parching,\\nrainless summer bakes the ground, and browns\\nthe dry grass to a monotonous tint that makes\\none hot and thirsty even to look at it.\\nAnd as with the vegetation, so with the chil-\\ndren born here. Little human blossoms, such\\nas one rarely sees in the cold Atlantic States.\\nMites of girls, with complexions like porcelain\\nwhich you look at the light through and soft,\\nbeautiful eyes. And little boys, fair and deli-\\ncate as girls bright and gentle, but so fragile\\nlooking that it seems as though to speak sud-\\ndenly to them would shock them out of exist-\\nence. They come around to my Post Oflice\\nwindows, toddling bits of creatures, asking for\\nletters as sedate and grave as old men and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "XX Introduction\\ntrotting off with them in their little hands, the\\nletter almost as big as the sprite that carries it.\\nWhereat the clerk, Sill, pokes his head con-\\ntemplatively through the window, and marvels\\nat the climate which produces such things.\\nSo and now you owe me two letters.\\nGood-night to both of you.\\nTO THE SAME\\nFebruary 28, 1865.\\nDear Henry, I ve been reading Theology\\nlately. You spoke of the legion of things\\nwhich claim our attention verily, verily. But\\nmoral philosophy stands first then meta-\\nphysics then down, to medicine, literature,\\nsociology, KaAology, history, etc. I keep a\\nlittle fountain babbling and plashing in my\\nbrain, by reading, nearly every day, a word of\\nTennyson or Browning (Mrs. I mean) or\\nRuskin or Bible or somebody. I would like\\nto take your arm and start on a trip through\\nmoral philosophy, by evenings. How I want\\nto see you and your pearl.\\nI 11 leave this as just a note for reminder.\\nI want to learn the organ when I come East.\\nWhat will it cost me, besides time It is in\\nme if I do not get too old before it can come\\nout.\\nLove to vos Yours.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxi\\nTO THE SAME\\nSan Francisco, August 6, 1865.\\nPeople think that a thinking man s specula-\\ntions about religion, etc., interfere with his\\ndaily life very little but how certain conclu-\\nsions do take the shine out of one s existence\\nThese Spencer chaps may be very excellent\\nbut to me there is an apple of Sodom smack\\nabout it all Little pigmies what kind of\\nbabbling is this for worm-meat to emit For\\nman (not even with a capital m) is not as\\nGod. And I more than suspect that the said\\nworms lick their chaps over the brain, as over\\nthe common tidbits of the grave.\\nI send a pamphlet containing a pome by me.\\nIt is only the drippings of some very few and\\nlean weeks, when I had too much dragging\\nbusiness work to do for any poetry to come\\nout of it. They thought it extraordinary out\\nhere though.\\nTO THE same\\nOakland, June 17, 1866.\\nSunday, P. M.\\nDear Henry, Steamer sails to-morrow,\\nand I want to send one of my usual unsatis-\\nfactory and hasty scrawls as a mere sprawl to\\nshow that I m still alive, and that however", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "xxii Introduction\\nlittle else there may be in my mind at any\\ngiven time, you at least are in it. I have been\\nloafing all the afternoon so far, and feel ex-\\nceedingly idle and good for nothing. Have\\nbeen lying on my back and talking with Shears\\non all the subjects in the Universe one after\\nthe other, as the tide of two lazy minds drifted\\nus not enough headway on to steer by, and\\nso floated through politics, religion, education,\\nsocial progress, etc. Wish you could have been\\nhere to take the stroke oar. I ve been writ-\\ning a lot of poetry. Shall want to consult with\\nyou about it when I see you. Have got one\\npoem of about a thousand lines and a lot of\\nshort ones, about as much more, enough to\\nmake a gay little vol. if illustrated a little, and\\ngot out nicely but as to the inside, don t\\nknow the more I write the less satisfied I\\nam with any of my doings in poetry verily,\\nart is different from handicraft as Grimm says\\nonly the perfect works ought to be given to\\nthe public a bad boot or a tolerable article\\nof cloth may be worth offering for sale, but\\nwhen it comes to offering tolerable art after\\nTennyson and the Brownings t won t do\\na poor devil ought to be hung for doing it,\\nunless he be very poor, when his punishment\\nmight be commuted into imprisonment for life\\nwith only Tupper and the Country Parson for", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxiii\\nfood and drink in the way of stale toast\\nor so.\\nI m reading Marx s Musical Composition.\\nEver read it and do you cultivate music any\\nnow You ask (by the way, you have persist-\\nently, and without the least provocation on my\\npart, written uniformly jolly and good letters\\nmay your reward be great some day though\\nI don t see how it s to come) what I we\\nwant to do when we get on there, with the\\nview of cultivating the ground a little for us\\ntwo old seeds to plant ourselves in.\\nI can t tell at all till I have got there, found\\nhow my health is going to be, how much chance\\nof literary success there is for me, how much\\nof musical, and more than all, till I have been\\nout to Ohio and seen my friends there.\\nI can t ever preach that has slowly settled\\nitself in spite of my reluctant hanging on to\\nthe doubt. I can t solve the problems only\\nthe great schoolmaster Death will ever take\\nme through these higher mathematics of the\\nreligious principia this side of his schooling,\\nin these primary grades, I never can preach.\\nI shall teach school, I suppose.\\nHow gay it will be to see you How we\\nwill enjoy renewing all the past except the\\nnonsense and absurdities of it.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "xxiv Introduction\\nI will leave the rest of this blank for the\\nsquire to add on to-night.\\nVale, old soul. Yrs.\\nTO THE SAME\\nCambridge, April 12, 1867.\\nFriday morning.\\nDear Henry, There seems to be a gap,\\njust in here, after reading the quantum of Plu-\\ntarch, when there is nothing that must be did\\nso I 11 employ it to keep up our acquaint-\\nance.\\nI got a note from Taintor yesterday with\\nhis card 229 Broadway calling for songs.\\nSent him one batch thro you, and a batch and\\nbotch of one this morning. I hope the Tain-\\ntorian brain is not shrewd enough to detect\\nthe fact that they are trash of the first water\\n(or as Sex says on a late occasion, of the first\\nmilk-and-water). By the way, vide Galaxy\\nof April 15 Translation by Sex of Lessing s\\nRing good thing. Good joke on me that I\\nsend to the Galaxy and get kicked, and my\\nchum gets accepted. If I c d lick him I w d, but\\nhe boxes me out of time hitherto. I can beat\\nhim at Base Ball tho and mildly whopped\\nhim yesterday at quoits. He officiated at\\nPrayers yesterday evening for the first time\\nand did it first-rate. My turn comes to-night.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxv\\nI am enjoying my opportunities here hugely.\\nThey give me books and let me alone what\\nmore could a man ask Besides some good\\nlectures outside Agassiz, etc. I went to a\\nsacred concert last Sunday night in Music\\nHall. It was very fine. I don t know that I\\never enjoyed music so much. Didn t hear the\\ngreat organ though, so I am going over to hear\\nthat in an orchestral concert this p. m. Sun-\\nday night there was glorious orchestra music,\\nand Arbuckle had a cornet arrangement of\\nAdelaide with orchestra which nearly drew my\\nheart out of my body. I have always raved\\nabout that song, but never heard it perfectly\\ngiven before. What a splendor brass is when\\nexquisitely played. How it winds and winds\\ninto one s very Ego, and tangles itself up with\\nthe emotions and passions and soars up with\\nthem. The wood sings all around one the\\nstrings wail and implore to us but the brass\\nenters in and carries one off bodily. Do you\\nconcur i I want to hear that great organ it\\nwas music only to look at it a great, dark,\\nshadowy cathedral looming up at the end of\\nthe immense Hall Apollo Belvidere up in a\\nniche opposite, looking scornful, as if to say\\nthat all that solemn, shadowy, bitter-sweet mu-\\nsic the heart-broken triumph the fire of\\ntears is poor by the side of his memories of", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "xxvi Introduction\\nthe Greek health and energy, and music that\\nwas sunshine dissolved in wine. But one looks\\nback to the statue of the Master in front of the\\norgan, and thinks the man is truer than the\\nfalse god.\\nDelightful spring weather trees coming\\nout grass green. Nature is all under good\\nsubjection though about here not even a\\nTutor s Lane to refresh the wild part of a\\nman.\\nWisconsin gone for Woman Suffrage It s\\ngay, is n t it Massachusetts must hang her\\nhead and be second chop hereafter.\\nYours ever,\\nE. R. Sill.\\nI think pomes must be anonymous. Are\\nyou going to arrange for summer\\nTO THE SAME\\nCuyahoga Falls, August, 1867.\\nSunday, P. m.\\nDear Henry, I wonder how and where\\nthis hot afternoon finds you. It is too hot\\nhere to do anything, yet I am moved to write\\nyou a sweltering word or two.\\nI have determined not to return to Cam-\\nbridge. There could be no pulpit for me after\\ngoing through there, except as an independent\\nself-supported minister, which of course is open", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxvii\\nto any one with a purse. I came reluctantly\\nto that conclusion. Another person, even with\\nmy opinions in Theology, might have judged\\ndifferently. It is no sentimentalism with me\\nit is simply a solemn conviction that a man\\nmust speak the truth as fast and as far as he\\nknows it truth to hi7n. I may be in error\\nbut what I believe is my sacred truth, and must\\nnot be diluted. When I get money enough to\\nlive on I mean to preach religion as I believe\\nin it. Emerson could not preach, and now I\\nunderstand why.\\nSo, the alternatives.\\nSchool-teaching always has stood first. No\\ndecent salaries in this country. No freedom\\nto follow my own way. No position available\\nso far as I know. Hence, California.\\nTO c. T. H. p.\\n[Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio,]\\nJanuary 23, 1870.\\nDear Chief, I am very glad to have you\\nwriting to me again about the Oakland matter,\\nchiefly because it continues to let me know\\nthat you would like to have me come back\\nthere among you. I am queer, I m afraid,\\nabout my way of looking (or not looking) at\\nfuture plans. Whether it springs most from\\nfaith, or a Mussulman sort of fatality de-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "xxviii Introduction\\nspair of individual planning and trying, I let\\nthe future alone more than most seem to per-\\nhaps too much. Except as it affects the con-\\nvenience of others who may hinge more or\\nless on our edges, I don t see much advantage\\nin taking thought far ahead, especially as to\\ndetails.\\nWherever I am, and hovi^ever, I mean to try\\nto do and be certain things (especially the do-\\ning for I find, looking at my life a week at a\\ntime, that has been the core, nowadays) but\\nthe where and how I leave till the last minute.\\nSo I know I am to be here till July next, and\\nbeyond that I don t look, except that your\\nwords about Oakland bring to mind vividly\\nthat t would be very pleasant to be there.\\nI m not fitting very fast to be good in any\\none department of teaching. I am scattered\\nall over my school here, and with 128 scholars,\\nand. all manner of branches, Lat, Gk., German,\\nChemistry, Hist., Geog., Arith., Astron. and\\nthe beginnings of everything else a most, you\\nsee how good a chance I have to be anything\\nin particular. I am a miserable smatterer, and\\nlikely to be getting my lessons for each day\\nahead, and not making any very profitable ac-\\nquisitions, except perhaps about boy and girl\\nnature in general.\\nI would like to have a window opened", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxix\\nthrough which I might get a draft of fresh\\ncommunion with the lives of you folks there.\\nCan t you appoint some one of the crowd as\\nsec y to write me what you do and what it is\\nall about, from week to week And when I\\nsay crowd I remember that after all there\\nare but few of you.\\nStrange that on such a great planet, alive\\nwith us, our thoughts and loves and sympathies\\nshould just cluster a half-dozen here and a\\nhalf-dozen there, and count all the world,\\nso far as we care, on our fingers.\\nI suppose we are reading the same tele-\\ngraphic news, every day, and hearing the same\\ntopics talked, and the wives are playing the\\nidentical pieces on the pretty-much-identical\\npianos (only ours is out of tune at present) and\\nso on. Yours,\\nE. R. Sill.\\nTO H. H.\\nBerkeley, Cal., February 13, 1880.\\nDear Henry, Yours just rec d. Thank\\nyou for the information for my inquiring stu-\\ndent, about the book-man. I knew about the\\nSocial Science Associations, but my point was\\ntljat they don t go to the bottom difficulty viz.,\\nwhat end are we after And secondly, is it the\\nend we had better be after. My notion is that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "XXX Introduction\\nSpencer is the only man that has begun to\\nanswer that question namely in the Data\\nand in previous hints which he that did n t\\nrun too fast might read, and that the Associa-\\ntions have been puttering about Contagious\\nDiseases, Drainage, Prison Reform, and other\\nsuch excellent matters to work at, but the per-\\nfection of which would leave us very little\\nbetter off than at present. The best thing you\\ncan do with such people as we have now is to\\nlet the contagious diseases thin em out a little,\\nperhaps.\\nAs to your thought that I have scattered,\\nand ought to make myself favorably known.\\nMy dear fellow, I like your caring for me\\nenough to say this and wish this, but if you\\nknew about my life of late years and my ideas\\nof life, you would see. I am not and have n t\\nbeen trying to make myself favorably known.\\nThe devil take any one that is trying for it. I\\nhave been working to educate, in some high\\nsense, successive classes of young people and\\nmeanwhile to know more about education, and\\nespecially literature as a means of it, and about\\neducation in its relation to society and life. I\\nam contented to die unknown, if I can arrive\\nat the truth about certain great matters, and\\ncan put others in the way thereof. If there is\\nanything which utterly disgusts me and makes", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxxi\\nme howl aloud and swear, it is these infernal\\nfools who are fighting to get their names\\nabroad, and care for no other work. That a\\nman like Spencer should be well known is a\\nmatter of course and all right but he has not\\ncared for that. Let a man work his work in\\npeace, and the devil take his name the less\\nlikely to get anything more of him than that.\\nBut I am ever yours.\\nTO M. w. s.\\nAmbleside, Westmoreland,\\nSeptember, 1881.\\nThis violet is a descendant of the one\\nWordsworth is always writing about. At least\\nI picked it to-day on the side of the path where\\nhe must have walked many times, between his\\nhouse and Stock Ghyll Force. It is a beauti-\\nful region, this of the English Lakes but one\\ndoes n t see, after all, why poetry should not\\nbe thought and felt and written as well at\\nNiles or Berkeley as in Westmoreland. The\\nAlps and this region you must see some day.\\nIn haste, with regards to you all, from both\\nof us. Yours,\\nE. R. Sill.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "xxxii Introduction\\nTO THE SAME\\nCuYA. Falls,\\nTuesday morning, May 15, 1883.\\nYour so large a letter with your own hand\\nwas rec d last evening, in the midst of some\\npetty personal bothers and obscure mental\\ngeneralizations not favorable to the scheme of\\nthings so that it served admirably the pur-\\npose of foreign travel and new scenes to the\\ninvalid, and I went to bed much refreshed and\\nlightened up.\\nAll our ordinary bothers only need an out-\\nside point of view to let the sawdust out of\\nthem (rapid change of figure Shaksperian),\\nand to get into another person s world gives us\\na big parallax for proper estimates of our own\\norbits. What fairy mythology is there, of a\\nman who shifts from one life to another and\\nback all the time so when I read your letters\\nI am a Californian out and out or in and in.\\nBy the way, I sent the volume (it needs\\na name what shall I call it Little Piecrusty)\\nto Matthew Arnold, and he was so gracious as\\nto send me a letter expressing his pleasure at\\nsome things in it briefly and, by the way,\\nhis much agreement with my H. Spencer arti-\\ncle in the Atlantic. They tell me, by the way\\nto the third power, that Youmans has made a", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxxiii\\nfurious assault on it but I shan t look at it\\ntill I want to write again on the subject.\\nTO A PUPIL\\nJune 6, 1881.\\nDear Lucy, Your question of 26th May\\nwas too good a one to leave so long unan-\\nswered. It was not left as being too hard to\\nanswer, but I have been very busy, and really\\ncould not find time to settle myself to say any-\\nthing on so important a question till to-night,\\nand now it must be a brief note. The real\\nvalue of being well read seems to me to be\\nin the wider and truer life it gives us. By\\nwider I mean that our thoughts and feel-\\nings and purposes are more complex and more\\nconsonant with the complexity and manifold-\\nness of the universe we live in the microcosm\\ngets a little even if a very little nearer in\\nquality and quantity to the macrocosm. The\\ncrystal leads such a narrow life just along\\none little line a single law of facet and\\nangle the plant a little wider the fish a little\\nwider and the different sorts of people widen-\\ning and widening out in their inner activities\\nand much according to their reading (since\\nliving human contact is not possible, except\\nwith the few relatives and neighbors).\\nAnd by truer life, I mean truer to nature", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "xxxiv Introduction\\nmore as we were meant to be the inner rela-\\ntions, between ideas, corresponding closer to\\nthe outer relations or real relations\\nbetween things. These real thing-relations are\\nin fact very complex and vastly inclusive so\\nmust the thoughts and feelings be, if true,\\nor truly correspondent or mirror-like to them.\\nI don t see that culture (unless you spell it\\nwrong) needs or tends at all to cut one\\noff from human warmth. Are not some of the\\nbest read people you know or hear of, some\\nof the broadest-hearted also The very es-\\nsence of culture is shaking off the nightmare\\nof self-consciousness and self-absorption and\\nattaining a sort of Christian Nirvana lost in\\nthe great whole of humanity thinking of\\nothers, caring for others, admiring and loving\\nothers.\\nI should like to have you write me more\\nfully about it some time.\\nYours sincerely.\\nTO E. B.\\nFebruary 2, 1883.\\nDear Miss B. It s a bad time to take up\\ntrees in the winter ground is frozen roots\\ncan t go down. This is a parable. If it were\\nsummer here, no doubt I should be taking\\nlong walks and going fishing, and mooning", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxxv\\nabout, nights and keeping my old environ-\\nment out of my head as thoroughly as pos-\\nsible. But it s winter the dead vast and\\nmiddle of it (as Howell quotes of the summer)\\nand my roots are all in the air as yet, and\\nI feel extremely queer. We are supposed to\\nhave got settled. I have established a writ-\\ning-table with the birds contiguous (as near a\\nwindow as I dare put em for fear of freezing\\ntheir noses off you remember how the cold air\\npierces in between the sashes of a window like\\na long thin knife Mr. Kellogg s Berkeley\\nbucket of last Xmas stands on the table with\\nsome rather timid-looking greenhouse pinks\\nand geraniums in it. They manage to have\\nsome green leaves and posies under a glass\\nbut what looking gardens They were spaded\\nin the fall, so that when not mercifully veiled\\nwith snow they look all lumpy mud, frozen.\\nGracious what a looking world.\\nI am supposed to be entered on a mad\\ncareer of literary work. Have so far only\\nwritten some very mild verses suitable for\\nnursery use in some amiable but weak-minded\\nfamily. But then I ve been skating twice\\nThink of that real ice, too. You can make\\nMr. Metcalf feel bad about that, if you tell him\\nand make him think he d like to be here\\nbut he would n t.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "xxxvi Introduction\\nIt s a curious illusion of yours out there,\\nthat you can go out and pick flowers and hear\\nleaves rustle and see grass grow and feel\\nthorough-going sunshine. You can t, you\\nknow, cause it s winter everywhere snow\\nand ice, or frozen slush and mud it must be.\\nI used to have that same hallucination when I\\nwas out there. Queer. Effect of the climate,\\nI s pose.\\nDid you like the sea Then you would like\\nRussell s Lady Maud (and his other books).\\nWonderful descriptions of the sea and life in\\nships and storms.\\nYou are going to write, you know.\\nWith love to you all, yours faithfully.\\nE. R. Sill.\\nTO\\n[Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio,]\\nMarch 29, 1883.\\nMy Dear Ed, You are getting on toward\\nthe close of the Second Act the college\\ndays and no doubt the management of the\\nThird Act begins to occupy your mind a good\\ndeal and perhaps to vex it a little. What\\nto do with one s life gets to be a large question\\ntoward the close of Senior Year. In my own,\\nI was saved a part of the question, for my\\nhealth was frail and threatened me a little, so", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxxvii\\nthat the hnmediate duty was plain enough to\\ncut and run which I did, on a long sea voy-\\nage it was a toss-up which way it should be,\\namong all the oceans and continents, but it\\nhappened to be to California. I had pretty\\nmuch determined that I would try to get a\\nbetter aim than the common ones. I could\\nnot hide that some had striven, at least, what-\\never they had attained. Egoism, pure and\\nsimple, had somehow always struck me theo-\\nretically as mighty paltry for a grown-up\\nman a kind of permanent r/^//^-condition.\\nAnd I cast about for some way of combining\\nservice with bread and butter. The ministry,\\nor teaching, I finally settled it must be for me.\\nIt was a little narrow, and conceited, too, to\\nconfine the choice to those two. I can see\\nnow that there are lots of ways to serve\\nmore even than ways to get bread and butter.\\nA sort of desperate self-distrust made me\\nchoose teaching, of the two but before I got\\nat it, this same morbid notion made me skulk\\nfrom that. I said, in a kind of ridiculous\\nnightmare of diffidence, I never can do it\\nnever. So I clerked in a P. O. and then in a\\nbank. At last I went to a Theological Semi-\\nnary (in Cambridge, because there you did not\\nhave to subscribe to a creed, definitely, on the\\nstart) and thought I would try the preliminary", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "xxxviii Introduction\\nsteps, anyway, toward the ministry. But here\\nI finally found I did not believe in the things\\nto be preached, as churches went, as historical\\nfacts. So I desperately tried teaching.\\nI set my teeth together, took a saddle-horse,\\nrode about the country and hunted up a locality\\nI liked the looks of, with a clean little school-\\nhouse and wholesome looking farm people\\nabout it, and taught that country school. I\\nfound there was no difficulty in doijtg it, after\\na fashion at least so I kept on, up to the\\ndate of my leaving you in California. Toward\\nthe last I kept on, not so much because I still\\nfelt that this was the only altruistic-egoistic\\noccupation for a man my view had broad-\\nened from that but rather because it was\\nthe thing I had learned to do. One can t\\nswitch off after a certain age. Besides, it was\\none thing, certainly, among others, worth doing.\\nThere are few men that find after forty that\\nthere are more things than one that they know\\nhow to do even decently well.\\nOne thing is clear a year or two of teach-\\ning is good honest work for any one an ad-\\nvantage to others, and to self (for others in the\\nfuture), as well. But if you knew you should\\nthen go into medicine, I think I should not\\nwait but go into it at once. You may think\\nmedicine ministers only to the body but,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "Introduction xxxix\\nI. the body is a necessary condition of higher\\nthings, and 2. a good physician finds himself\\nin one of the most influential positions in the\\ncommunity for good. Nor need his work be\\nconfined to his lancet and pill-boxes (though\\nthere s a nobleness about those, when you\\nthink of the relations of mind and body), but\\nthere is an endless range of studies, and per-\\nhaps of writing, possible to such a profession.\\nOne thing we must try to realize. Our in-\\ndividual drop of force is only one in a great\\nsea. Perhaps, even if we saw just what par-\\nticular piece of work the world most needed,\\nwe should not be the man for it. I see a num-\\nber of things that need tremendously to be\\ndone but /can t do them. I was n t properly\\nendowed, or I had n t, and could n t have got,\\nthe training for it. Meantime I do what my\\nhand finds to do and try not to fret. For ex-\\nample, I have just effected the organization\\nof a Library Association in this little manufac-\\nturing town which very likely will prove to\\nbe the most valuable piece of work I have ever\\ndone, or shall ever do. May be one ought to\\nsay for who knows tendencies and subtle-\\nties of outcome the least harmful piece of\\nwork. Anyway, the thing is not to spoil too\\nmuch time and brains trying to be sure of the\\nabsolutely best work but to use all reason-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "xl Introduction\\nable effort to see, and then even if in vexa-\\ntious doubt to strike into the most probably\\nsensible course, and work like a locomotive.\\nOne can at least fix his course for a year\\nahead, and agree with his conscience to let\\nhim alone to work at that for the year. And\\nso year by year, if no other way is possible to\\none s temperament, one can get through a fine\\nstent of work in a lifetime.\\nFaithfully yours, E. R. Sill.\\nTO E. B.\\nWindsor, June i6, 1883.\\nMy dear Neighbor, I have been making\\na pilgrimage to Ellington to-day. I wish you\\ncould have gone with me. It has been, to be-\\ngin with, a perfect June day, and you remember\\nthe look of it in these regions the blue sky\\nwith white dapples in it, the lustrous leaves\\nnot yet long enough out of their sheaths to\\nhave lost their tender new green, the fields full\\nof daisies (too full, the honest farmer would\\nsay but not too full for the passing vaga-\\nbones to enjoy), the laurel glimmering in the\\nwoods (remember it the roads as they run\\nthrough thickety places full of the smell of\\nwild grape blossoms (remember em the rye\\nsoft and wavy (nothing but rye in the sandy\\nplains betwixt here and Ellington), or a little\\ntobacco and spindly corn plain living and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "Introduction xli\\nhigh thinking must be the rule out around\\nthere among the farmers. The soil looks bet-\\nter in Vernon.\\nEllington is beautiful. It might be just a\\nlittle qitiet in the winter, for gay people like\\nyou, but at this season it is great. There s a\\nglorious silence there. I saw a man, and a boy\\nwith a toy wagon, and another man, all on the\\nstreet at once. But they went into dooryards\\nand were seen no more. What a dignity and\\nplacid reserve about the place The houses\\nall look like the country-seats of persons of\\ngreat respectability who had retired on a com-\\npetence and retired a great ways while they\\nwere about it. And what big houses they used\\nto build. Used to, I say, because there is n t\\na house over there that looks less than a thou-\\nsand years old not that they look old as\\nseeming worn or rickety at all, but old as being\\nvery stately and wise and imperturbable. I am\\nstruck, all about here in Connecticut, with the\\nwell-kept-up look of the houses. Paint must\\nbe cheap no, t is n t that. Paint is probably\\npretty dear but they believe in keeping every-\\nthing slicked up. Yet there are a few oldest of\\nthe old houses that came out of the ark I know.\\nOne on the road to Rockville. right hand side,\\nmay be half a mile or less from your house,\\nnever painted, all collapsed, door frames and\\nwindow frames slumped down on one side,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "xlii Introduction\\neverything leaning, ready to tumble in a heap\\nthe next high wind.\\nI gazed west at the green and east at the\\nhills, and south at the fields and Rockville in\\nthe distance, and reflected that you had done\\nthe same on similar days a great many times.\\nOh, I had quite a sentimental day of it, I assure\\nyou. I quite entered into your point of view,\\nand it was almost as if you were there if you\\nonly had been aware of it.\\nYours, E. R. Sill.\\nTO C. T. H. P.\\nJuly 1 6, 1883.\\nI am just back from a summering in the an-\\ncient and somnolent pastures of New England\\nsome weeks at my old home, Windsor, in the\\nConnecticut River valley you remember how\\ngreen and peaceful that region is, cornfields and\\nhayfields, and elm-shaded streets and maple-\\nshaded houses (with green blinds, mostly shut\\ntight), and patches of their pretty woods the\\ntrees only shrubs to a Californian eye, but\\never so fresh and graceful, and lustrous with\\nrain or dew a week in the White Mts. they,\\ntoo, dwarf varieties, but capable of good color-\\ning and various picturesque effects and a\\nfew days on the Maine seashore.\\nYours, E. R. Sill.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "Introduction xliii\\nJanuary 4, 1884.\\nYou would like this winter weather. Re-\\nmember how the snow creaks under foot, in\\nzero-cold and the good smell of frozen oxygen,\\nand how your mustache freezes up, and how\\nthe fields of blue-white snow stretch away every-\\nwhere, and Pan retires all his passions and\\nemotions from the landscape, and leaves only\\npure intellect cold and white and clear\\nOne ought to have, tho a house about seven\\nmiles square, full of open fires and open friends\\nboth kept well replenished 2ir\\\\d poked up. I\\nshould like to see some of these winter scenes,\\nand some of these sunsets, out of yotcr west\\nwindow. I wish you a very happy rest-of-the-\\nyear. Write when you can.\\nYours, E. R. Sill.\\nTO M. K.\\nAugust II, 1883.\\nDear Mr. K. Yours of 4th was received\\nyesterday, and papers containing the same sad\\nnews of Mr. Crane s death. I had heard that\\nhe was seriously ill, but afterward that he was\\nsupposed to be out of danger so that I was\\ngreatly surprised when the news came. Some-\\nhow he seemed a man that would not die\\nthere seemed such an amount of quick, active\\nlife in him. I always thought of him as so", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "xliv Introduction\\nthoroughly alive. He always came to my re-\\ncollection as he looked when speaking in the\\nClub perfectly quiet in manner and tone,\\nbut every fibre of his brain evidently electric.\\nI had written him a letter a few weeks ago,\\nfrom an impulse to tell him how well I appre-\\nciated him and liked him. I am specially glad\\nnow that I did. Another evidence that a man\\nhad better always follow his first impulse.\\nAnd it was kept clear and reinforced all the\\ntime by an integrity of intellect that made him\\nlook first of all to see what was true. Other\\nmen were after the right sound, or the prudent\\nword, or the polite one, or the amiable one, or\\none that would stop a gap when ideas were\\nwanting. He was after the exact and unadul-\\nterated fact. And my brain was actually in\\nlove with his, ever since I first knew him.\\nPersonally he never in the least warmed\\ntoward me but I never in the least looked\\nfor that. One of the things that made me like\\nhim was that I seemed to see that he divined\\nmy own limitations, and weighed me pretty ac-\\ncurately. I admired him the more from the\\nfact that he did not at all admire me,^ and I\\nliked him the more from the fact that his intel-\\nlectual honesty seemed to do justice to mine\\n1 In fact, Mr. Crane cherished a peculiar admiration\\nfor Professor Sill.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "Introduction xlv\\na thing which from boyhood has been a\\npermanent craving with me. Well, I didn t\\nexpect him to die, and I am mighty sorry to\\nlose him from this world. Yes, he is one of\\nthe men that help one to believe in the immor-\\ntality of the soul. I think Crane the real\\nman must be, somewhere, to-day, just as\\ntruly as he was a month ago.\\nI am very much indebted to you for your\\nletters. I don t at all mean to have life all slip\\naway without seeing you again in the flesh.\\nFaithfully yours, E. R. Sill.\\nTO M. W. S.\\nCuY. Falls, October 25, 1883.\\nDid you know Kant wrote some poems when\\nyoung (I don t know but later than young)?\\nThis is one\\nWas auf das Leben folgt, deckt tief e Finsterniss\\nWas uns zu thun gebuhrt, des [sic] sind wir nur gewiss,\\nDem kann, wie Lilienthal, kein Tod die Hoffnung\\nrauben,\\nDer glaubt, urn recht zu thun, recht thut, um froh zu\\nglauben.\\nHave you read Daudet s bit of reminiscence\\nof Turgenieff in Century And the por-\\ntrait\\nIf only men did n t die just as they are get-\\nting ripe and great Death is fi t a gentle", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "xlvi Introduction\\nangel. The old view is the true view. No\\nflowers can hide the skull. It is not only\\nawful it is horrible that people should die.\\nNo don t print that poem of mine, The\\nMorning Thought not now.\\nDo you happen to know whatever has be-\\ncome of C I have an old interest in\\nhim, and wish he might be what he was meant\\nto be by his over-sanguine maker.\\nSomehow I pity everybody lately. Do you\\nknow anybody one could envy, say for\\na change\\nSilence is not golden, but leaden or earthen.\\nArgal, write\\nYrs. E. R. S.\\nTO E. B.\\n[Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio,]\\nMay 12, 1884.\\nDear Miss B. You recollect old Geo.\\nHerbert after a season of dumps congratu-\\nlates himself that once more he doth relish\\nversing So there are faint symptoms that\\nnow that the apple-trees are at last in blossom\\nI may relish writing to my friends. Alack, I\\nhave not so many to whom I ever write, or\\nfrom whom I am ever written to (I no longer\\nteach the English language) that I need wait\\nso long to write at least a brief scratch. Yet", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "Introduction xlvii\\nyou know one will delay a long time, thinking\\nthat by and by he will ho. just in the mood and\\ntense. The truth is I desire to hear from you.\\nOtherwise there are hardly enough apple-trees\\nout to move me, even this May morning. Is\\nit any wonder people talk about the weather\\nFor what is there that plays the deuce with us\\nlike that. I confess I am completely under it\\nhalf the time and more than half under, the\\nbalance. Rejoice, O young woman, in thy\\nBerkeley Why don t you come on and visit\\nConnecticut and stop here on the way It s\\nvery pretty now, I assure you. Treacherous,\\na little, but full of greenery and blossoms. In\\nNew England no doubt it is still prettier. In\\nthe past week the sky even in Ohio has\\nbeen summer blue. You remember what that\\nis, between big round pearly white clouds\\nBut for six months previously it was a dome\\nof lead, or dirty white. Now and then, of a\\nrare day, the color of a black and blue spot\\non a boy s knee. Once or twice in a month,\\nwhen the sun tried to shine, the hue of very\\npoor skim milk. The gods economizing, no\\ndoubt, and taking that mild drink in place of\\nnectar or slopping it around feeding their\\ncats or the Skye terriers. If I recollect\\naright you have midsummer in May, there.\\nHot forenoons and bootiful fog in the evening", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "xlviii Introduction\\nI would like to help you dig your garden. We\\nhave now apple, pear, and cherry trees in blos-\\nsom, yellow currant, white and purple lilacs,\\nflowering cherry: pansies, tulips, lily of the\\nvalley, and genuine solid green turf sprinkled\\nwith gold buttons of dandelions. The air is\\nfull of fragrance. The robins, bluebirds, wrens,\\nand orioles are building wonderful nests all\\nover the place. Three red and black game\\nbantams are parading on the lawn, and seven\\nbaby bantams about as big as the end of my\\nthumb are skittering around under the laylocs.\\nAre you all well, and good as ever My\\nlove to all of both your houses. Don t wait\\nlong before writing.\\nYours, E. R. Sill.\\nTO M. w. s.\\nCuY. Falls, August i6, 1884.\\nSaturday.\\nI sent you yesterday a pretty long screed\\nabout Emerson, telling you to use the whole of\\nit, or part of it, or very little of it, or none at\\nall of it. I should be equally well suited either\\nway.\\nI don t think other people feel the way I do\\nabout that. When a thing is written they have\\na trembling hope, at least, that it is good, and\\nanyhow wish to have it used. But you should", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "Introduction xlix\\nsee the equanimity with which I write thing\\nafter thing both prose and verse and stow\\nthem away, never sending them anywhere, or\\nthinking of printing any book of them, at pre-\\nsent, if ever. Sometimes I do think I will leave\\na lot of stuff for some one to pick out a post-\\nhumous volume from but more and more my\\nsober judgment tells me that other people have\\nseen or will see all that I have, and will state\\nit better.\\nIt is very strange, though, the difference be-\\ntween my positiveness of judgment as to other\\npeople s writings, and my lack of any power to\\njudge at all of my own. It would perhaps be\\nan interesting psychological study for you if I\\ncould make you see my mind about this. I\\njudge swiftly and positively of literature in\\ngeneral. For one thing, the consciousness has\\nmore and more been ground into me that my\\nwhole point of view is hopelessly different from\\nthat of people in general I mean educated\\nand intelligent people. Nor do I have the\\ncompensation of feeling this difference a supe-\\nriority. I should have made an excellent citi-\\nzen of some other planet, may be, and they got\\nme on the wrong one.\\nI don t feel the least fitness for a writer.\\nWhen anything of mine is to be printed I have\\noften a horrid sense now the fingers of the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "1 Introduction\\nwhole universe will be pointing at this fellow\\nas an example of a wretch that has mistaken\\nhis vocation. When it is once printed, I feel in-\\nstantly relieved, in the knowledge that nobody\\nreads things after all or cares whether\\nthey are good or not. The fingers I perceive\\nto be all pointing at more conspicuous objects,\\nor being harmlessly sucked in the mouth so\\nI don t care a bit till the next thing is about\\nto be printed. The Century has had some\\ntime a sonnet of mine. You would not believe\\nhow I have actually shuddered internally each\\nmonth with fear that now I am going to be\\nstuck up on a post without a rag on me at last,\\nand my nightmare was to come true.\\nI don t believe I ever shall write a thing\\nthat is really good. Yet, with it all, I have\\nunbounded conceit of my o^n judg7?ient zbowt\\nthe things I feel I see clearly.\\nQueer, queer fellows we all are. Must be\\nfun for the bigger fellows that hide in the\\nclouds and watch us.\\nYours and I d like to hear how you are.\\nE. R. S.\\nTO\\nC. F., November i. Monday.\\nThe trouble about signing one s name to\\npoems is, that stupid people (and we are all", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "Introduction li\\npretty stupid sometimes) persist in thinking\\nevery word literally autobiographical. I have\\nhad enough annoyance from that to sicken any\\none of ever writing verse again, or anything\\nelse but arithmetics and geographies. Even\\nthen somebody would hate you for your view of\\nthe Indian Ocean, or fear the worst about your\\ncharacter because of your treatment of the\\nLeast Common Multiple. People are getting\\nto write anon3^mously now and then. (You\\ndid n t write The Breadwinners, did you\\nPerhaps the Janitor at the University did\\nor Bacon the printer, or Hy. Ward Beecher.)\\nAs to French poetry, I know there s another\\nside. I believe as I used to, about the mass\\nof French waiters. It s only here and there a\\nGeo. Sand, or a delicate poet. As to German\\nHeine was a Jew of the Jews. You might\\nas well instance Job as a German. A friend\\nof mine calls certain graceful verse unsub-\\nstantial. It s true much of the French is so.\\nYour test is the best one what sticks in the\\nmind. Or as some one puts it, as a test of\\ngreat writers, whose work has most entered\\ninto the world s intellectual life i\\nYours, E. R. S.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "lii Introduction\\nTO H. H.\\nCuY. Falls, January 23, 1885.\\nDear Henry, Yours of 21st rec d.\\nThank you for answer to my question.\\nAs to whether I would accept a certain offer,\\nif made there would be two very serious\\nobstacles. First, that I am not the man, in\\nseveral important respects, to fill the place\\nwell. I know the sort of man it requires, and\\nthat I am not the one. Second, that I could\\nnot leave here at present. My plain duty is\\nright here, and it would never do to run away\\nfrom it.\\nVery good of you to think of such a thing.\\nBut a man for that place should be picked out\\nby his enemies, not his friends. There is a\\ngreat opportunity there.\\nAs ever, yours.\\nTO THE SAME\\nNeither ought I to give you the impression\\nthat the religious question is my only reason\\nfor not encouraging any effort to have me\\nselected at Yale for that vacant chair. There\\nare reasons arising from my own personal dis-\\nabilities, into which it is no use to go.\\nAgain, I should be sorry if I had made you\\nsuppose that I am one of those bull-headed", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "Introduction liii\\nenthusiasts who wishes to foist his own hobby\\ninto every company. I remember one of my\\nstudents, since graduating, giving me warm\\npraise for the delicacy I had seemed to show\\nin respecting the religious points of view of\\nmy classes, always.\\nBut, on the other hand, you cannot, of course,\\nrealize (till you have come to teach the subject)\\nhow all our best literature in this century\\nand a good deal of it in the last century\\ndips continually into this underlying stream of\\nphilosophical thought, and ethical feeling. In\\nMemoriam, for example, is one of the poems\\nI read with my Senior classes. You may dis-\\ncuss its rhythms, its epithets, its metaphors,\\nits felicities and infelicities as Art, you are\\nstill on the surface of it. The fact is that a\\nthinking man put a good lot of his views of\\nthings in general into it and those views and\\nhis feelings about them are precisely the lit-\\nerature there is in the thing. And the study\\nof it, as literature, should transfer these views\\nand feelings straight and clear to the brain of\\nthe student. So of Middlemarch, or Ro-\\nmola, or Hume s Essays, or Faust, or\\nManfred, or Kenan s Souvenirs de I en-\\nfance.\\nThe more you think of it the more you will\\ncome to see that the moment you drive the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "liv Introduction\\nstudy of literature away from the virile thought\\nof modern men and women, you drive it into\\nthe puerilities of word-study, and mousing\\nabout end-stopt lines and all that.\\nI hope we old friends, if we must get fewer,\\nwill at least come to understand each other\\nbetter and better. That is one pleasure that\\nremains after youth, and indeed increases the\\nlonger we live, I believe.\\nMost truly yours.\\nTO C. T. H. P.\\nDecember 21, 1885,\\nThat peculiarity of which I spoke to you\\nof my forgetting what I have written on a given\\noccasion will play me some bad trick some\\nday, I expect. It has been my case, always,\\nthat a thing once written is dismissed from my\\nmind with a kind of cold dislike. I never\\nliked my children, so to speak. It has hap-\\npened several times that I have been accused\\nof writing a certain verse or line, and I have\\ndenied it and found I had after all, and\\nprinted it, too. It comes, I should n t wonder\\nif, from a kind of self-love, or egotistic pride\\nmingled with 3. perception of high things beyond\\nthe power to accomplish them. I hate every\\nbit of verse I write, as soon as it is printed,\\nand would gladly never see it again. I do not", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "Introduction Iv\\nforget other people s writings in this way\\ntho I have by no means a good memory for lit-\\nerature in general but it s not so disgrace-\\nfully bad a one. (I expect to get caught in\\nsome unconscious plagiarism some day for\\nI do sometimes read things rapidly and forget\\nthem. I only wonder that writers are not\\ncaught every day of their lives that way.) I\\nhave strong impulses to write, as in the case\\nof letters but immediately a thing is mailed,\\nI fall to thinking What the devil was the\\nuse of writing that and then sometimes to\\nthinking I wonder if I have n t said all that\\nonce or twice before\\nWhen a man sits down in the same old\\nchair, and summons before his mind s eye the\\nsame old set of faces and circumstances and\\nrecollections, why does he Jiot write, to any\\nfriend, the same old letter over and over again\\nI wonder if we all do\\nYours, E. R. Sill.\\nTO THE SAME\\nJanuary i, 1887.\\nI don t like the years to go so. I was not\\nhalf done with 86.\\nI read this in Turgenieff s Raufbold last\\nnight\\nEr hatte viel gelesen und so bildete er", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "Ivi Introduction\\nsich ein er besitze Erfahrung und Klugheit er\\nlegte nicht den leisesten Zweifel dass alle seine\\nVoraussetzungen richtig seien er ahnte nicht\\ndass das Leben unendlich mannigfaltig ist, und\\nsich niemals wiederholt.\\nSo, to live is more than to read, and one\\nmight know all things and miss of everything.\\nAnd so, if life is endlessly manifold, we may\\nhope for good and great things, here or here-\\nafter.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "OUR TAME HUMMINGBIRDS\\nHY is it that everybody is interested\\nin birds You may sit on a fence in\\nthe fields, or on a fallen tree-trunk in\\nthe forest, and find all nature weary, stale,\\nflat, and unprofitable, till some bit of a bird\\nlights near you. Instantly the scene is ani-\\nmated. You watch him plume his wing, or flit\\nabout with one bright eye on you, and you see\\nnothing else as long as he is there. Is it one\\nchief element of the interest he excites that you\\nnever know what he will do next\\nIt is a curious fact, too, that our interest in\\nthe feathered creatures is in inverse ratio to\\ntheir size. Except, perhaps, in the case of the\\npeacock, which belongs to the guild of aes-\\nthetes, and enjoys an ephemeral eminence on\\nthat account, we do not seem to care much for\\nbig birds. Nobody keeps a pet ostrich. The\\nAmerican eagle is not found in a tame state\\nexcept in oratory. Even the dodo is only in-\\nteresting because extinct. Nobody is so weak", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "2 Nature\\nas to feel flattered by the confidence of a goose\\nor a parrot. But it really seems an attention\\nwhen a chipping-bird lingers near us. And\\nwe are very proud that the chattering wren\\nslips in and out of its box in our presence,\\njust as if we were a mere tree.\\nSomebody explains our fondness for birds\\nby their being so perpetually happy and in-\\nstances our interest in seeing children play\\nabout us as a case of the same kind. But I\\nthink there must be some deeper cause. There\\nare more subtile sympathies between us than\\nthrough happiness merely. The birds, for that\\nmatter, are fiot always happy. Some of them\\nsing a minor strain. We cannot understand\\nthe words always (my wife says the catbirds\\nsing in French), but the tone certainly some-\\ntimes has tears in it: unshed tears, for I\\nthink the birds never cry, but the sadder\\nfor that. Of course I understand that the\\nsadness is often only of our bringing; and\\nthat we find the song sad just because it is so\\nglad. As Burns hath it\\nThou It break my heart, thou bonnie bird,\\nThat sings upon the bough\\nThou minds me o the happy days\\nWhen my fause luve was true.\\nThou It break my heart, thou bonnie bird,\\nThat sings beside thy mate", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Humminghirds 3\\nFor sae I sat, and sae I sang,\\nAn wist na o my fate.\\nBut sometimes the sadness is in the song it-\\nself. I have heard genuine threnodies when\\nthe bird s mate has been slain. Our interest\\nin children comes from the fact, rather, that\\nwe ourselves were children, not long ago. And\\nI incline to think it may be so with regard to\\nthe birds. It is possible that after coming up\\nthe line of evolution through fishes, reptiles,\\nand birds, we skipped the lower mammals, and\\ncame at once to Man. The birds, in this way,\\nare a reminiscence to us. That is where we\\nwere, last. jPars quorum fui, we feel, as we\\nwatch their social and domestic life. Does not\\nevery child try to fly And do we not depict\\nthe angels with feathered wings as the little\\ngirl said, with fedders like a hen Not\\nonly does the play of birds seem very human\\nand childlike to us, their chasing each other\\nabout for pure fun, their frolicking at the bath-\\ntub instead of settling down to the serious busi-\\nness of the hour, their sham fights, their gym-\\nnastics, their playing tag till dark, their sense\\nof humor as shown in various pranks, like\\nthe blue jay s plugging pebbles into the acorn-\\nholes to fool the woodpeckers (as a genial\\nscientist suggests) but their habits of work,\\ntoo, are much more like our human lot than", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "4 Nature\\nthose of other animals. There is no house-\\nbuilder and housekeeper, short of the genus\\nhomo^ like a bird. And no mothers do so much\\nfor their babies, in feeding them or fighting\\nfor them, as human and bird mothers do. In\\nno other walk of life, either, will the male par-\\nent take the place of the female, when she is\\ngone, with such solicitude and perfect care for\\nthe offspring. Indeed, the human male only\\nhumbly imitates the feathered one here, and at\\na considerable distance.\\nThe hummingbird, among all the feathered\\ncreation, seems a creature by itself. One may\\neasily live a lifetime, even in our latitude,\\nwhere they are common enough, nesting and\\nrearing their young here, and staying with us\\nthe whole summer, without ever making close\\nacquaintance with this least of birds. I even\\nsaw, not long ago, and in a scientific journal of\\nrepute, the assertion made confidently as if\\nit were one of the facts that every schoolboy\\nknows that the hummingbird has no song!\\nOne might as well assert that the canary or the\\nnightingale has no song or the hen. Brilliant\\nand conspicuous as are its colors, and close as\\nit constantly comes to human beings in sharing\\nwith them their intimacies with the garden\\nflowers, its restlessness and swiftness of flight\\nenable it to elude all ordinary observation. Its", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 5\\nwings, indeed, might be said to be actually-\\ninvisible. They vanish from sight and fade\\ninto thin air, except when the bird is at rest\\nand it is almost never at rest. And who ever\\nsaw the feet of a hummingbird It does not\\nseem an earth inhabitant at all. It flashes\\ndown upon a flower-bed, like a mere reflection\\nof light thrown by a restless mirror, and\\nflashes off again. It is a sprite, an elfin of\\nthe elements. Few persons ever find its nest\\nor see its eggs or young. People do not see it\\nat work or at play, or engaged in any of the\\nordinary business of human or bird life. It\\ndashes on the scene and away, and has done\\nnothing but dip a rapid bill into a flower-cup\\nor two. It is the shooting star of the garden\\nfirmament. It has no known orbits, and the\\nmost conspicuous thing it ever does is to vanish.\\nAccordingly, it was not so much because of\\nits beauty, in its burnished mail of golden green,\\nor its elfin symmetry and loveliness of tiny out-\\nlines, as because of this spritelike, unapproach-\\nable character, that I always had longed to\\nhave a tame hummingbird. This coy, evanes-\\ncent, ethereal sprite, owning no kinship with\\nordinary things of earth, this glint of ani-\\nmated sunshine, this star gleam, this fleck of\\nflying rainbow, I wanted to call him mine;\\nto have personal relations with him to wink", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "6 Nature\\nat him and have him respond as one who per-\\nceives the point to have him perch on my\\nfinger, and perhaps after a long time and\\nafter infinite proofs of reHable friendship on\\nmy part to have him permit me very hghtly\\nto stroke those wonderful metallic feathers\\nadown his little iridescent breast.\\nMoreover, they are so small. I wanted to\\npossess to have and to hold this least bit\\nof a wee speck of an intellectual being, the\\ntiniest mite of a body in which soul seems able\\nto lodge securely, real soul, by the test of\\nbeing capable of mutual communication with\\nthe soul of man. I never wanted one to cage\\nit up, as people sometimes cruelly do, and see\\nit beat its poor little life out against the bars\\nbut to take one young, and tame it, and make\\nfriends with it as one does with a horse, or a\\ndog, that would be different.\\nSo when, one June morning, I discovered\\nthe nest on the limb of the old apple-tree by\\nthe greenhouse, and had got the step-ladder\\nand clambered up quietly, and set eyes on the\\ntwo little white sugar-plums of eggs, I instantly\\nperceived the possibilities they contained, and\\nnodded knowingly to them, as who should say,\\nAt last I have you\\nThe nest was about as large externally as\\nthe half of an average-sized hen s egg a little", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds y\\nsoft, cottony cup of downy texture, glued to-\\ngether with what the books declare to be the\\nbird s saliva, but what seems more like cob-\\nweb, gathered and used while fresh and gluti-\\nnous. All the outside was shingled over with\\nirregular bits of lichen. It was built on a\\nsmooth apple-tree bough less than half an inch\\nin diameter the bottom set firmly down over\\nthe bough, and the line of lichen-bits running\\nall the way round underneath, apparently with\\nthe mere purpose of making it all seem a part\\nof the tree. The result was, at any rate, that\\nthe nest looked like only a little gray knot,\\nwhich no one in the world would have noticed,\\nunless specially searching for it. In the small,\\nsoft interior lay the two eggs, each about\\nthree eighths of an inch long, cylindrical, with\\nrounded ends, instead of ovate like ordinary\\neggs, and quite like two little clumsy mites\\nof sugar-plums. The bough on which rested\\nthis tiny flower-cup of a nest hung some ten\\nfeet from the ground, and directly over a fre-\\nquented garden walk a singular choice of po-\\nsition, but the builder no doubt trusted to the\\ninvisibility both of itself and its habitation.\\nRound the trunk of the old apple-tree was a\\nrustic bench, where my wife and I passed many\\nan hour, w^atching our fairy and her hchen-\\nthatched home. For the first day or two of", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "8 Nature\\nour observation, the little body was rather im-\\npatient of our close proximity and we used\\nto drop our voices to a whisper, and keep our\\nposture of the moment unmoved, however in-\\nconvenient this might happen to be, when we\\nheard the low humming that announced her\\napproach. She would fly nearly to the nest,\\nthen suddenly stop and hold herself poised in\\nthe air, putting her head on one side, and fix-\\ning one bright little black eye on us then she\\nwould dart down and inspect us more closely.\\nApparently detecting by some subtle sixth\\nsense our friendly intentions, she would flash\\nback to the nest, pause an instant above it,\\nthen drop suddenly and softly in, leaving no-\\nthing visible but a bit of tail slanted up at one\\nside, and the rigid little bill, elevated at an\\nangle of forty-five degrees, at the other.\\nSuch inefficient setting one never saw. The\\nlongest time I ever knew her to stay on the\\nnest, in the daytime, was fifteen minutes.\\nOftener it was but three or four. After such\\na terribly wearisome and monotonous stay as\\nthis, she would be off like a bullet across the\\ngarden, or in through the upper windows of\\nthe greenhouse. In good bright weather she\\nwould be away from five to fifteen minutes,\\nleaving the sunshine to brood her twin trea-\\nsures.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 9\\nFor my own part, I gave up all hopes that\\nsuch shiftless conduct would ever hatch out\\nanything. It looked like the merest playing\\nat sitting, as children play with dolls and doll\\ncradles. All day long she would be off and\\non in this way, sometimes remaining but thirty\\nseconds on the nest. Of course nothing could\\never come of it. But my wife had more confi-\\ndence in the maternal instinct, even the minute\\nthimbleful of it for which there was room in\\nthat small bird-breast. Depend upon it (she\\nwould say), the little creature knows what she\\nis about.\\nIn fact, she did. One morning, on making\\nmy regular excursion to the top of the step-\\nladder, I saw that a miraculous transformation\\nhad taken place a metamorphosis as wonder-\\nful as any that Ovid sang. The white sugar-\\nplums had turned into two ugly little dark\\nbugs, soft, sparsely thatched with black fuzz,\\neyes unopened, tailless, and with no other sign\\nof a bill than a horny point on that end which\\none was, from this circumstance, led to sup-\\npose the head. Moreover, the minute black\\nmonsters were palpitating, in a lumpy sort of\\nway, with life.\\nThe mother-bird now became a little less in-\\nefficient. Indeed, she showed signs of excite-\\nment; darting about, perhaps, a thought more", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "10 Nature\\nnervously and swiftly, always lighting on some\\ntwig close by the nest, or upon its edge, in-\\nstead of stopping to plume her feathers at\\nsome distant point in her apple-tree. She de-\\nveloped now, too, a ferocity toward other birds\\nthat kept the immediate neighborhood of the\\nnest free of all such feathered tramps and\\nbrigands. Not a robin or catbird, especially,\\ncould approach that side of the tree without\\nencountering a meteoric descent upon him,\\nand a sharp little war-cry. Nor could we go\\nup the steps and peep into the nest, at first,\\nwithout hearing a high-keyed humming about\\nour ears, and finding a threatening bill angrily\\naimed at our faces.\\nBut, now that my birds were in the bush,\\nhow was I to have them actually in the hand,\\nas tamed and domestic fowls If I waited till\\nthey were fledged, they would be off, and leave\\nme only the empty nest. If I took them be-\\nfore they were fledged and weaned, they would\\ninfallibly die on my hands for how could I,\\na big, blundering, featherless mammal, hope\\nto take any effectual care of two such delicate\\nsprites t Plainly there was but one way to\\nsucceed the mother-bird must somehow be\\nemployed to nurse them for me. But if I were\\nto cage her, as I could now easily have done,\\nso much accustomed to our presence had she", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 1 1\\nbecome, the result would be what it always is\\nwhen people try to cage grown hummingbirds\\nshe would straightway die, and leave her babies\\nto starve. No, the mother must be free, and\\nthe young ones caged. That was the problem.\\nSo I set about caging the nest and young\\nones. Taking a hemispherical wire-gauze dish-\\ncover, which I purloined from the pantry, I\\nfixed a wire-gauze bottom to it, in such a way\\nthat I could at first leave it open, and shut it\\nday by day, by degrees. After hanging this in\\nthe tree near the nest for a couple of days, to\\nbecome a familiar sight, I hung it, bottom-side\\nupward, up around the nest. Then, little by\\nlittle, I closed the door, till the mother could\\nreach her charges only through a round hole\\njust over the nest. All this she accepted so\\nquietly, and learned so readily to use, that\\n(noticing some fluttering motions in the baby\\nsprites, and knowing they would soon be fol-\\nlowing their mother through the hole in their\\nroof, I now substituted a roomy cage, some\\ntwo and a half feet long, made of wire gauze,\\nwith a sliding wooden bottom, in which, gradu-\\nally as before, I inclosed the nest from below.\\nThe mother-bird accepted this also as some\\nharmless new freak of the great, homely ani-\\nmal that had so long been bothering about her\\npremises, something for which he was prob-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "12 Nature\\nably not to blame, and which it was her duty\\nnot to make a fuss about. She quickly learned\\nto go in through the two-inch aperture that I\\nhad left in the sliding roof but she had diffi-\\nculty in finding her way out. Did it need all\\nthe stimulus of seeing the little ones below\\nto bring her whole microscopic mind to bear\\non the question At all events, such was the\\ncase. Facilis descensus Averni but in order\\nto her emerging again it became necessary for\\nme to stand an intermittent guard over my\\ncontrivance, all day long, pulling the string to\\nlet her out, then shutting the cage after her\\n(all but her necessary doorway for entrance\\nagain), since the young ones now began to\\ntake short trial flights within the cage.\\nAnd now came a tragical chapter of the\\nstory. The poor little mother flew in, one\\nmorning very early, before any one was on\\nguard to let her out. Finding no outlet, and\\nimagining, perhaps, that her babies would go\\nhungry too long, or, it may be, frightened by\\nsome outside bird that had glared in on them,\\nshe had apparently flown round and round the\\ncage till exhausted for I found her, when I\\npaid my customary visit to the tree, lying dead\\nin a corner, as if heartbroken with hope de-\\nferred. Most cordially then I wished that I\\nhad left the wee birdies alone and I made", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 13\\nbitter reflections bitter with the bitterness of\\nbeing too late, as reflections on our sins are apt\\nto be about the invariable evils of man s in-\\nterference with nature. Bring back (I said,\\ntaking myself metaphorically by the ear),\\nbring back, if you can, that bright little life\\nyou have wantonly destroyed.\\nBut the orphans were now fairly on my\\nhands, and it was the time for action, not for\\nuseless remorse. Do you ask, Where was the\\nother parent Alas, there was none. Either\\nthe male had been killed caught by a cat,\\nperhaps, for that does sometimes happen (and\\nis a wonderful instance of the instantaneous\\ncorrelation of mind and muscle on the part of\\nthe cat tribe), or else he was a very bad father\\nindeed. For the only sign of a male bird I\\never saw about the nest was one morning when\\na male darted up to the cage with his fiery\\nthroat flashing, shot a fierce glance in at the\\nyoung ones, then vanished for good.\\nI accepted the situation, took the infants in\\ncharge, and did nothing else for a week, to\\nspeak of, but feed them with syrup and watch\\ntheir development. It was the third of July\\nwhen the mother-bird died, and my Independ-\\nence Day was devoted to dipping one finger\\ninto loaf-sugar-and-water, every fifteen minutes,\\nand holding the drop to my birds to sip.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "14 Nature\\nIt was now my wife s turn to show a lack of\\nfaith naturally, since it was this time faith\\nin her husband that was required, not faith in\\nnature. It was preposterous, she said, to sup-\\npose that I could raise them on nothing but\\nsugar-and-water for did not all the latest or-\\nnithological treatises say that hummingbirds\\nfeed mainly on insects, seeking flowers for this\\nanimal food, and not for honey? And did not\\nEvery Schoolboy know that nitrogenous food\\nwas necessary for the growth of tissue and the\\nsupport of animal life\\nNevertheless, I persevered, and so did the\\nbirds. Daily their down developed into won-\\nderful feathers, and daily their flights about\\nthe roomy cage were stronger and longer, and\\ntheir pulls deeper at the cup of sugar-and-\\nwater. The result is (I may as well say now)\\nthat here are the two small gnomes, at this\\nvery hour, a month and a half after I under-\\ntook their weaning, flying about the room,\\nlighting indifferently on my hair, my ink bottle,\\nor my penholder, living refutations of the\\nfood theories of the ornithologist and his cele-\\nbrated fellow pundit, Every Schoolboy. Where\\nthey get their nitrogen I cannot say but what\\nthey feed on is plain sugar-and-water and they\\nseem to have made a wonderful deal of blood,\\nbone, and preternaturally active nerve and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hiimminghirds 1 5\\nmuscular tissue out of it. It is not their fault\\nthey have never been taught their letters.\\nIf they had read the standard scientific works\\non the subject, they would doubtless have done\\ntheir best to regulate their digestion and assimi-\\nlation more in accordance therewith.\\nFor the first two weeks of their orphanage I\\nam certain they had no other nourishment but\\nthe syrup, for they only fed as I offered this to\\nthem, on my finger, or on a flower which I\\nsometimes would dip in it, to give it, if pos-\\nsible, some tang of the natural garden flavor.\\nOf late I have occasionally fed to them, in the\\nway of confectionery, newly hatched spiders,\\nsuspended on a thread of cobweb. It is not\\nso easy for them to take an insect. Their\\nnatural method of doing so, I am convinced,\\nis by flying at them with bill wide open (some\\nthree-quarters of an inch, at the tip), and so\\nliterally putting themselves outside of their\\nprey. They seem incapable of seizing an\\ninsect by the bill point and working it back-\\nward into the gullet. Their tongue is a softish,\\nflexible double tube, very perfectly adapted for\\nsucking honey-dew from the flower-tubes, but\\n(it appears to me) not at all adapted to work\\nmorsels backward the whole length of the bill.\\nFor this reason I doubt the statement of the\\nbooks that their object in thrusting the bill into", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "16 Nature\\nflowers is to capture insects, rather than honey-\\ndew. At least, I am certain that my two bant-\\nlings never take an insect except by thrusting\\nthe mouth, open far back, forward around it.\\nNor did I ever see any signs of the mother s\\ncatching an insect to feed her young. Her\\nmethod of feeding was to join bills with one of\\nthem for some fifteen seconds at a time, evi-\\ndently feeding it bird-/ 7/, or food already par-\\ntially digested for them. I might add, as to\\nthis point, that I never could detect a hum-\\nmingbird in the act of opening its bill in a\\nflower, in any such way as to be able to take in\\nan insect. The action of the bill and head, on\\nthe contrary, seems precisely that of my pets\\nwhen sipping syrup from their cup. Yet they\\nare fond of little spiders, and such small deer,\\nand no doubt capture many of them while on\\nthe wing.\\nThrough the warm weeks of July, I kept the\\ncage still in the tree where the babes were\\nborn, lowering it by a cord and pulley to feed\\nthem, and hoisting it again to sway among the\\ndancing apple leaves. When the nights be-\\ncame cool, they were carried into the green-\\nhouse to sleep, staying out through the day.\\nBut now that autumn weather has set in, with\\nfrequent clouds, and thinner sunshine, they\\nlive altogether with their foster parents in the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 1 7\\nhouse, where they are carried from room to\\nroom to follow the sun, for the sunshine is\\ntheir life. Nothing ever so impressed me with\\nthe absolute dependence of all living things on\\nthe great source of light, heat, electricity, and\\nof whatever as yet unknown forces are inter-\\nmingled in the mysterious movements of vital-\\nity, as the sight of the hummingbirds and their\\nrelations to the sun. When a sudden thick\\ncloud obscures the warm beams, they feel the\\nchange instantly. In ten seconds their vivacity\\nhas vanished. They become quiet, the wings\\ndroop a little, the sparkle of the eye is dulled,\\nthe feathers are puffed up. When the sun\\nbreaks out again, it is as if the ray struck them\\noff the perch into mid-flight, kindling all their\\nvivid intensity of life at once. Decidedly, the\\nsun-worshipers of old had some reason on\\ntheir side.\\nEvery day they have an hour or two of free\\nflight about the rooms, and this is their great\\nplay spell. School is out, and they chase each\\nother with all manner of pretty antics from one\\nextemporized perch to another. One of their\\nfavorite resting-places is the window-seat, where\\nthey hover about the glass, recognizing it for\\nglass as well as any grown folks, and never\\nbumping against it, to hurt themselves, gaz-\\ning out upon the great world, and sometimes", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "18 Nature\\ncatching a minute fly. This capture, however,\\nseems to be more for fun than food for no\\nmatter how few or how many they find, every\\nten minutes or so they buzz back to the cage,\\ndrop dexterously through the small scuttle-\\nhole in its roof, and seek their syrup-cup for\\nluncheon.\\nOf course the babes were christened while\\nstill very young. The male is yclept Peasblos-\\nsom the female, Cobweb. It will suggest\\nitself as an obvious objection that the Mid-\\nsummer Night s Cobweb was addressed as\\nMaster, not Miss. And again as Mon-\\nsieur, as where the transmogrified weaver\\nexclaims\\nMonsieur Cobweb, good monsieur, get\\nyour weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-\\nhipped humble-bee on the top of a thistle\\nand, good monsieur, bring me the honey-bag.\\nDo not fret yourself too much in the action,\\nmonsieur and, good monsieur, have a care\\nthe honey-bag break not I would be loath to\\nhave you overflown with the honey-bag, sei-\\ngnior. But it may well be doubted whether\\nthe speaker was in a state of mind favorable to\\naccurate observation, or whether the respective\\nstyles of dress of gentleman and lady fairies\\nwere familiar to him. And then, too, he was\\nonly a donkey, after all.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 19\\nCobweb has been true to the enterprising\\nnature of her sex in twice getting away, while\\nout of doors. On both occasions she made\\nstraight for their old home, the apple-tree.\\nThe first time, I climbed up into the tree,\\ngently put my hand over her, and brought\\nher back, unresisting, but not without some\\nsqueaks of protest. The second time, she\\nreturned of her own accord, after a few min-\\nutes flight, induced thereto partly by a fright-\\nful catbird, who made up faces at her and\\ncalled her names, and from whose harsh voice\\nshe fled home squeaking with fear.\\nEvery morning they enjoy a dainty bath in a\\nshallow sea-shell. It is no noisy splash, such\\nas big, clumsy canaries or chipping-birds make\\nbut floating softly an instant over the water,\\nhalf supported by its surface and half in the\\nair, they drop their little folded feet delicately\\nin till they touch the pearly bottom then for\\na second the wing-tips and the tail just graze\\nthe water, and they are off again to the rim of\\nthe shell, perhaps to repeat the performance\\nafter a moment s fluttering, and dressing of\\ntheir elfin plumage.\\nTheir most comical aspect is at night when\\nasleep. As soon as it begins to grow dusk,\\nthey perch close together on an ivory knitting\\nneedle in an upper corner of the cage, which is", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "20 Nature\\ntheir favorite bedchamber, and sleep snuggled\\nup to each other as tight as two kittens. On\\none occasion only they had a quarrel {taiitcem\\nirce. in animis cxlestibus T) and that night they\\nwent to sleep as far apart as they could pos-\\nsibly get, at the two ends of their perch. Of\\ncourse it is out of the question for them to get\\ntheir heads under their absurd little wings, so\\nthey content themselves with ruffling up their\\nfeathers till each bird is but a little fluffy ball,\\nthe size of a walnut, closing up their eyes as\\ntight as possible, and slanting their rigid,\\nneedle-like bills upward at a steep angle.\\nThere they sit bunched up together till broad\\ndaylight. The lighting of the gas does not\\nawaken them, but we can see sometimes that\\nthey are having dreams. Their small heads\\nquiver slightly, and their bills vibrate, and my\\nwife avers that the motions of Cobweb s bill\\nindicate that she is dreaming of nestlings and\\nof giving them food but for this I will not\\nvouch.\\nPeasblossom is by far the saucier of the two.\\nIf one holds out a finger to him when he is\\nhumming about the room, he will dart down\\nand perch on it, swinging his head rhythmically\\nfrom side to side, and seeming to inspect one\\ncuriously, as if with dim reminiscences of Bot-\\ntom the weaver, and wonder where the fair", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 21\\nlarge ears and amiable cheeks are gone.\\nSometimes he will feel, or feign, sudden mis-\\ngivings of you, and will ruffle his crest and\\nflash his black eyes, as much as to say, I ve\\na mind to tear you limb from limb, you big,\\nunfeathered monster\\nFor the most part the little creatures have\\nvery happy lives. They are safe from shrikes\\nand cats and boys nor do they suffer, so far\\nas one can see, from any of those vague ances-\\ntral terrors that human beings know as super-\\nstitions and nightmare fears. They want but\\nlittle here below namely, their small glass\\ncup occasionally replenished with sufficiently\\nliquid and pellucid sugar-water and from\\nabove they ask only sunshine. If, besides,\\nthey have a taste of midget or infant spider,\\nthat is clear gain, like candy tq the schoolboy.\\nYet they have not been wholly without mis-\\nhaps. Once they were left out too long in a\\nsuddenly falling temperature, and when I went\\nfor them. Cobweb lay apparently lifeless on the\\nfloor in a corner of the cage. I laid her softly\\non the palm of my hand, and she showed no\\nsigns of life except a scarcely perceptible\\nbreathing. But after five minutes of indoor\\nsunshine, combined with the heat (and who\\nknows if some more subtile stimulus, imparted\\nfrom the human vitality) of my hand, her breath", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "22 Nature\\ncame more quickly, her eyes opened, and she\\nsipped a drop of syrup, and was immediately as\\nwide awake as ever.\\nHow they are to be kept warm and (what is\\nmore) sun-bathed in the long, dark winter of\\nour euphemistically termed temperate zone,\\nis a question of much interest in our household.\\nMy wife suggests a red flannel jacket for each\\nbird. Something in the way of a pocket fur-\\nnace, with a small electric light for daytimes,\\nperhaps could be devised. In any kind of\\nfairness we ought to migrate with them to\\nMexico. Very likely we ourselves should find\\nsuch an annual flitting beneficial. Indeed, has\\nnot man made a mistake in supposing himself\\nto be by nature a hibernating, instead of a\\nmigratory creature Will not the coming man\\ndiscover that, at any given season of the year,\\nit is the best place for him where it is the best\\nplace for the hummingbird\\nIf we fail to keep them in our coming dark\\nand cold weather, and they peak and pine and\\ndie, the old question will recur with a remorse-\\nful sting to it, whether it is not always and\\nintrinsically cruel to cage a wild bird. There\\nare obviously two sides to it. One may con-\\ntend, with at least some plausibility, that to\\ncage a wild bird is only to introduce it to a\\nhigher plane of existence. Is not all civiliza-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "Our Tame Hummingbirds 23\\ntion a kind of caging process We take the\\nsa7is culotte and happy savage, button him into\\nthose fetters of a falser Hfe clothes, crib\\nand confine his wayward freedom with rules of\\netiquette, rules of politeness, rules of morality,\\nartificial restrictions of all sorts. Whereas\\nhe was savage, now we call him civilized but\\nwhereas he was free, is he not now caged In\\nthe case of man, to speak honestly, we know\\nvery well that in reality we have enlarged his\\ntrue liberty by this apparently restrictive pro-\\ncess. We have really freed him from a thou-\\nsand dangers, and slaveries to brute nature\\nthat belong to all barbarous existence, and\\ngiven him as many new powers and possibili-\\nties. And yet the mind still doubts\\nand in the summer vacations, when we dash\\naway from civilized employments to the savage\\ndelights of slaying trout and deer and mos-\\nquitoes, the doubt rises to a kind of wild asser-\\ntion that freedom^ after all, is the best thing,\\neven if we have to go to the woods to find it.\\nAnd so, even more surely, of the birds\\nthose very incarnations of blithe, sweet liberty.\\nCapture them, wise reader, only with the im-\\nagination. Enjoy my hummingbird, with me,\\nas I sit here one representative of a certain\\novergrown, conceited, bungling, wingless spe-\\ncies of the animal kingdom trying to under-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "24 Nature\\nstand better my world not realized for the\\npresence of these other two little vertebrates\\nwho sit with me both put together not so big\\nas my thumb one of them pluming his emer-\\nald breast as he surmounts a crease of my\\ncoat-sleeve, the other perched on my ink-stand,\\ntrying to look wise, yet too obviously thinking\\nonly of victuals and drink. But if you are\\nindeed what the old-fashioned writers always\\nappealed to my gentle reader do not\\nfollow my rash example. Let the birds go\\nfree. Do with them as Goethe said we do\\nwith the stars admire them, love them, but\\nnot desire them for our own.\\nFor I must needs, to be wholly truthful, add\\nhere a tragic postscript. The dark fall days\\ncame there was a whole week without a\\ngleam of good sunshine and in spite of all\\nour contrivances and our cares, the two bright\\nand beautiful little lives slipped out of their\\ncage and fled away.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "A RHAPSODY OF CLOUDS\\nO ETHER divine cried Prometheus but\\nhe was chained supine on the rock, and forced\\nto see the sky. We who walk erect at will are\\napt to confine our attention to the things of\\nearth. There are two landscapes, two firma-\\nments, always visible to us but it is as if, by\\nsome secret compact, the upper and finer one\\nwere reserved apart for birds and poets, or for\\nthe forlorn face that here and there turns up-\\nward in search of some better justice or fairer\\nhope than has been found on earth. Now and\\nthen we find a person who has the habit of\\nlooking at the night skies, and mayhap knows\\nthe constellations, so that the stars are not\\naccidental sparks to him any longer, but old\\nfriends, any one of whose faces would be missed\\nif it were withdrawn. But who looks upward\\nby day and sees the clouds 1\\nThere are ways of enticing people, or re-\\nminding ourselves, to appreciate this neglected\\nside (the upper side) of landscape. It is no\\nsin to improve upon Nature, or at least upon\\nour physical endowments for apprehending her", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "26 Nature\\nbeauty. The camera obscura is one such con-\\ntrivance. Fix a suitable lens in the front of\\nany old box, with a dark curtain under which\\nto thrust the head, and the divine ether,\\nwith its cloud-cuckoo-town of shifting scenery,\\nwill stoop to our infirmity, and mimic itself in\\nlittle but with all its glorious light and color\\nbelow our face. The Claude Lorraine glass\\nis another simple instrument of magical effect.\\nThe great landscape that seemed too vast to\\nlook at, in its sweep of valley and woods and\\nhills and sky, comes into the compass of the\\nhand, with the lights and shades and hues all\\nthere, but mellowed and softened it is beau-\\ntiful as ever, but it all floats on the facet of a\\ncrystal the big giant has eaten of Alice s cake\\nin Wonderland, and becomes a heavenly child\\nthe finite eye has captured the infinite distance\\nby a pretty trick. The poet Gray, it is said,\\nused always to carry a common lens in his\\npocket when he walked abroad, in whose\\nsurface to see the landscape imaged thus, we\\nmay suppose, to bring it nearer the compass of\\nan elegy or an ode.\\nBut this present screed was entered upon in\\norder to recommend to all lovers of nature the\\nuse of still another bit of artifice for aiding the\\nnatural eye to see the supernatural beauties and\\nwonders of sky-and-cloud scenery. I mean the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "A Rhapsody of Clouds 27\\nordinary smoked glasses of the optician s shop.\\nThey should not be colored glasses at all, but\\njust sufficiently clouded with a colorless smoke-\\ntint to tone down the intensity of the brightest\\nlight. The test should be that one can gaze\\nfixedly at a bright, sunlit white cloud floating\\nin noonday blue, without trying the eye. I\\ndo not believe (though I am no optician) that\\nthe ordinary habitual use of such glasses is to\\nbe recommended, except where the eye impera-\\ntively demands protection. They are rather\\nfor special emergencies, such as a dusty wind-\\nstorm in the city, to keep the awning-posts and\\npaving-blocks out of one s eyes or on the\\nsnow slopes of a mountain, to blunt the intol-\\nerable glare or in a railroad car, to fend off\\ncinders blundering in through an open window\\nand especially for this aesthetical use of which\\nI speak. One feels, on using them for the first\\ntime, that he never before has properly seen a\\ncloud, for the reason that never before has he\\nbeen able to look steadily right into the face\\nand eyes of a brilliant noonday sky.\\nIn this way, with the shield of the soft-toned\\nglasses before the eyes, one no longer gives a\\ngeneral look at the heavens now and then, with\\na hasty glance, as to know whether it is neces-\\nsary to take an umbrella, but he seats himself\\nbefore it, as before the surf, or before a play", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "28 Nature\\nat the theatre, to watch deliberately what goes\\non. Nor does he any longer look at an indi-\\nvidual cloud that is pointed out for some\\ngrotesque shape or some remarkable color but\\nhe sees the whole field, the complex groupings\\nof forms and tints, the marchings and counter-\\nmarchings of the sky battalions. One might\\nas well suppose he knew the wonders of forest\\nscenery when he had only looked at single\\ntrees, as to imagine he had seen the clouds\\nwhen he had only glanced hastily at an occa-\\nsional cloud. There are wonderful mountains\\namong them, with sheer precipices, and shad-\\nowy caves, and Alpine crags dark towers,\\nsuch as Childe Roland blew his blast before\\nminarets and domes, with mysterious ara-\\nbesque of Oriental tracery serene ocean shores\\nwhere the gray sand glimmers through shoal-\\ning blue, and the round-breasted galleons sail\\nsmoothly over.\\nIt is great to sit in a lawn-chair, of a summer\\nSunday afternoon, and gaze undazzled into the\\nupper sky. A light breeze taps the pear-tree\\nleaves softly, as a mother might pat together\\nthe palms of her child. The organ snores\\nsleepily in the distant church even the choir\\nsounds musical, heard faintly and occasionally,\\nas if it were a far-off memory of better music.\\nThe blue of the zenith is intense with light that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "A Rhapsody of Clouds 29\\nwould be unbearable to the unshielded eye, and\\nas the Cleopatra s barges of slow clouds sail\\nsoftly across, with their round, bellying sails\\nof snow and pearl, it only makes the azure\\nmore deeply and darkly blue. By and by\\nthe color, or the very depth and boundlessness\\nof it, seems to inundate one s brain, as the\\nblue, deep sea-tide Hfts through a coral reef,\\nand all the little ocean-creatures stretch out\\ntheir delicate hands and feed confidingly in the\\nlucid clearness. So do delicate brain-fancies\\nfloat and feed tranquilly in this inflooding tide\\nof the blue heavens.\\nNor is all this without its possibility of solid\\nscientific usefulness. O dear specialist, that\\ninclinest to flout such skyey contemplations\\nWhy do those clouds float there so buoyantly\\nand what makes the cirrus take on those feath-\\nery forms Do not tell me it is the wind, un-\\nless I am to believe there be winds celestial,\\nvery different from winds terrestrial. Those\\nfilmy tufts, those lightest dabs, drawn out in\\nwavy brush-lines, as if with a pencil dipped in\\nsublimated wool, or in the quintessence of dis-\\nsolved cobweb, is it by electricity or mag-\\nnetism Or have some of those puffy-cheeked\\ncherubs, seen so commonly tilting about the\\nmediaeval skies by the old masters, but not any\\nmore seen with the naked eye, have some of", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "30 Nature\\nthese bodiless baby-heads blown them at one\\nanother, for a game\\nEven thou, O dear Gradgrindling, canst find\\nthine account in this sky-gazing It is even\\nof use, practically. For there is no better\\nbarometer, or prophet of the weather, than\\nsuch a film of cloud as one sees yonder. If it\\ngrows and grows, as we watch it (not that we\\ncan see it grow, cloud prophets are too sub-\\ntle for that but if we see from moment to mo-\\nment that it has grown), then we may know it\\nwill pretty surely rain. While if it fade and\\nfade, and suddenly we find ourselves only re-\\nmembering what was, for it is not any more,\\nthen we may pretty safely leave the unbrella\\nat home.\\nSome days the outlines of the clouds are all\\nmaking faces at each other merry faces, if one\\nfeels in that mood, and therefore unconsciously\\ncompels the eye to that selection of forms\\nsolemn faces, if that be the masterful feeling.\\nWhy should the profiles generally be looking\\nfrom right to left.? Or is that only an idio-\\nsyncrasy of my own With me it is so on\\nwall-paper, it is so in the cloud-tapestry of the\\nsky; my mind, if for the moment idle, perpet-\\nually sees faces, nearly always profiles, and\\nnearly always looking to the left. Is it because\\none sketches a profile on paper with the right", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "A Rhapsody of Clouds 31\\nhand, and so with the projecting points toward\\nthe left, away from the hand, which otherwise\\nwould hide them Some poet may say, if he\\nchooses to, that it is with all the faces and\\naspects of this universe as with those of the\\nclouds, that all look smiling and benevolent\\nto us, or grim and forbidding, according to\\nour own voluntary state of heart; but I will\\nnot say it, for I am not perfectly sure it is true.\\nThe poet will probably say it if he only hopes\\nit is true.\\nWhen presently we are able to sail the air\\nin the coming balloon, it will be pleasant to\\nmake afternoon excursions among the summer\\nclouds. We shall rendezvous here and there in\\ntheir recesses. Come one will say to his\\nfriend let us talk it over on the rosy south-\\nwest corner of that mother-of-pearl mountain\\nin the sky. Or we shall bid John unpack the\\nluncheon basket in the shade of yonder floating\\nshelf of foamy ivory or we shall agree to meet,\\nat half past two, just under the billowy chin\\nof what seems an aerial Martha Washington.\\nHow can so soft and fluffy a texture, an airy\\npile of bird s breasts and gossamer, hold so\\nfirm an outline against the blue, and catch such\\na splendor of intense light t As it comes float-\\ning and toppling across the sky, one would like\\nto shoot a feather-bed up through it, and let", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "32 Nature\\nthe azure through the soft hole. Or one would\\nlike to see an angel out of Paradise Lost, or,\\nbetter, out of Dante s Paradiso, push the\\nyielding curtains of it aside, and for an awed\\nand heart-beating moment look earnestly, half\\nsmiling, down upon the earth.\\nIt is a dead enough world, if people merely\\nglance at it with the rambling, unsteady eye of\\na preoccupied mind. Water, for example,\\nwhat is it but drinkable fluid, or oxygen and\\nhydrogen, to the average mortal The prim-\\nrose by the river s brim and the river by its\\nown brim are equally stale, flat, and unprofit-\\nable. But let a man look close, say, at the\\ntense muscle of the running stream, or the\\nbubble-shadows on the sands in the eddy, each\\nwith a yellow star in its centre then the water\\nis a living wonder. And these clouds an\\nevery-day affair, no doubt, a useful trouble,\\nto most apprehensions but if we look dose we\\ncannot but take in the unimagined beauty of\\nthem. Changeful as the sea, over which they\\nhave sailed so many leagues that they have\\ntaken on a certain mimicry of the intricate\\nforms of ocean-waves, they are without the\\nquick, criss-cross fret and restlessness of the\\nsea for the clouds are nearly always calm\\nover its restlessness, their rest. Yet they\\nare never still the gossamer tracery, if you", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "A Rhapsody of Clouds 33\\nwatch it, is all alive, as if the films and veins\\nof agate should come to life, and begin to\\nweave and unweave their interchanging fibres.\\nThere is another odd and interesting effect\\nof the dark glasses. When one takes them off,\\nafter a prolonged gaze through them, the whole\\nworld gains suddenly a new splendor. It is\\nlike a sforzando chord in a symphony of\\nRubinstein s. Or it is like a sudden bracing\\nup of the spirit when one concludes to fling off\\na dusky mood, and enters the sunshine of some\\nhearty action.\\nIt is not often that we can watch, near by,\\nthe rapid formation of cloud but it once hap-\\npened to me, in climbing among the Ameri-\\ncan Alps, the Sierra Nevada, to find my-\\nself on a crag precisely underneath the line of\\nlow cloud formation. Leaning back to rest\\nagainst the rock, and looking upward, I saw\\nthe mountain drapery weaving, itself out of\\nnothing, as it appeared blue air on one side\\nof the line dark slaty films (nearest it), then\\nshreds, then masses of flying cloud, on the\\nother. Clear across the sky extended the dis-\\ntinct edge of this swift and incessant weaving.\\nIt was like nothing but a great shadowy banner\\nstreaming out in the gale from an invisible\\ncord strained tight across the sky. It was the\\nwork of the Earth Spirit in Faust", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "34 Nature\\nAt the roaring loom of Time I ply,\\nAnd weave for God the garment thou seest Him by.\\nSometimes, with the eyes shielded by their\\nsmoke-tint armor against the blinding splendor\\nof the summer blue contrasting with its dark\\ncloud scenery, we may attend a thunder-storm\\nsymphony in the air. Solemnly the curtain\\nbegins to rise the wind carries it, for there is\\na wild w4nd far up in the heavens, though as\\nyet all is still below. There is a deep hush\\nupon us all, the trees, and birds, and the\\nrest of us in the audience, for we are full of\\nexpectancy. It grows insensibly darker and\\ndarker in the hall of the firmament. There\\nare rolls of distant thunder, it is the orches-\\ntra, and the instruments are being tuned you\\nhear the contra-basses trying a chromatic pas-\\nsage in hesitating touches. There is some\\ntrilogy of Wagner s toward for the stage is\\npreparing, and the scenes are slowly shifting,\\nlofty walls of cloud that move silently to\\none side and the other but no celestial actors\\nemerge, and the azure floor remains empty.\\nOr possibly they are there, but invisible as\\nmost of the orchestral harmonies are still\\ninaudible,\\nWhilst this muddy vesture of decay\\nDoth grossly close us in,\\nall but those louder and bolder double-basses.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "A Rhapsody of Clouds 35\\nand the rolling and rattling crescendo of the\\ndrums. By and by a flash of keen lightning\\nblazes out, like the crash of brazen cymbals\\nthreaded with the shrilling piccolo.\\nAt such times you may occasionally catch\\na strange effect. You are looking through a\\ndeep cleft in the black clouds, cut down across\\nthe sky, at the brilliant blue between. Sud-\\ndenly a lightning flash completely reverses, for\\njust an instant, the light and shade the\\ngloomy cloud-walls gleam out intensely lumi-\\nnous, while the towering shaft of intervening\\nsky is dark by contrast, and so starts forward\\ntangibly from the distance, like a momentary\\nincarnation of some black genie of the Arabian\\nNights.\\nOn some more tranquil August afternoon,\\nwhen the sky-dome is lifted to its serenest\\nheight, and only pearly cirrus, so far up as\\nalmost to be motionless, bars it from being\\ninfinite, we may recline in our couch-chair and\\ngaze upward so long and steadily that we\\ndrowse a little. Or, if still awake, we seem to\\nlose ourselves in space. It is as if there were\\na second sort of sleep possible to us not the\\nwithdrawal of the consciousness back into the\\ninner brain, as in night slumber, but the expan-\\nsion or floating out of the consciousness into\\nthe deeps of outer existence. Is it any wonder", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "36 Nature\\nif sometimes, then, the methodical reason gives\\nway to flitting fancies, and, while the clouds\\nflow slowly and smoothly across the upper\\nworld, our reveries run into rhythm, and such\\nthings get themselves written as this with which\\nwe close?\\nCLOUD TRACERY\\nWhat wind from what celestial wood hath sown\\nSuch delicate seed as springs in air, and turns\\nThe blue heaven-garden to a bed of ferns\\nIn feathery cloud They are not tossed, or blown\\nTo such wild shapes, but motionless they ride,\\nLike a celestial frost-work on the pane\\nOf our sky-window, where the breath has lain\\nOf the pure cold upon the thither side.\\nThey are but pencil touches, soft and light.\\nTraced faintly under some magnetic spell\\nBy an entranced spirit, that would write\\nHints of heaven-language ere the soul s release,\\nDim outlines of the syllables that tell\\nOf words like faith, and confidence, and peace.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "CHEERFULNESS OF BIRDS\\nWe are, at our house, I confess, a rather\\nsombre family. There are no young children\\namong us. The elderly people are silent by\\ntemperament, and grow more silent as age\\ncomes on. There is never any ill-temper in\\nthe house, never any bickering or nagging,\\nno spiteful epigrams or sidelong sarcasms.\\nWe seem really to like each other, although\\nwe are all blood-relations. We get on,\\ntherefore, from year to year. No doubt we\\nseem to others a happy family, and perhaps\\nwe are but we are never a merry family. The\\nhouse is so built that the rooms where the sun\\nshines liberally are not the rooms most used\\nnot the rooms, for example, that we are accus-\\ntomed to use together. The heating apparatus\\nis that most successful and most lugubrious\\none, steam. The radiators are large black\\nsurfaces, with just enough of gilt at edge and\\ncorner to make the black hopelessly conspicu-\\nous, flattening themselves against the wall as if\\nthey were aware of their ugliness. No blazing\\nand sparkling and cheerily snapping open fire", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "38 Nature\\nilluminates any of the living rooms. (The\\nkitchen is the most cheerful place in the house,\\nas I have occasionally seen it, empty and\\ndeserted, after the cook and the maid had\\nretired at night, with the rich hot coals still\\nsending out their rays merrily through chink\\nand crevice of the range, for the sole benefit of\\nthe house-cat, stretched out vi^ith full abandon\\non the toasting-hot hearth.) Our deplorable\\nhabit, at meals, is to attend to the business in\\nhand with grave decorum, very decently and\\nin order, no doubt, but for the most part\\nsilently. I have known some one of us, ap-\\nparently for the moment sensible of something\\noppressive in this gravity, to venture on a\\nfrivolous remark, and to have it received in\\nsilence, as a thing not congruous with the roast\\nmeat, especially during the solemn action\\nof its being carved and distributed. We come\\ndown to breakfast not at all out of humor\\n(we are not invalids), but disposed to a very\\ncalm and peaceful demeanor. We wish each\\nother good-morning with a genuine affection,\\nbut the remark, having been responded to, is\\nnot followed up. An observation concerning\\nthe weather does not usually lead anywhere.\\nWhen we have a more lively visitor, we easily\\nfall in with his mood, and are capable of a\\ngood deal of sprightliness on such an occasion,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "Cheerfulness of Birds 39\\nnot in the least labored or affected, either\\nbut by ourselves we are habitually silent, and\\noccupied with our own sedate reflections.\\nAll this makes I cannot but see it and\\nfeel it, much as I myself share in the responsi-\\nbility a sombre house.\\nBut there is one bright spot, and that fur-\\nnishes the text of my utterances now upon the\\nsubject. It is the tame canary, Johnny-quil.\\nNot only is he himself always cheerful (and\\nwho ever saw a well canary depressed but\\nhe is the cause of cheerfulness in others. In\\nthe midst of one of our long silences we hear\\nhis little pipe ringing out from his sunny eyrie\\nin the porch or the sitting-room, and some\\none remarks, Just hear Johnny-quil Our\\nbarometers all go up ten degrees. Besides,\\neverybody chirrups to him. It is not only,\\ntherefore, what he says to us, but what we say\\nto him, that makes him the enlivener of the\\nfamily. You can t exactly chirrup to a grown-\\nup human being, especially if he is carving\\na fowl, or reading a religious newspaper. But\\nit is always possible, and apparently always in-\\nevitable, to say something chipper and chirpy\\nto the bird, as we pass his cage. I have no-\\nticed this odd thing: that when Rhodora or\\nPenelope or Cassandra stops at the cage, and\\nsays some little nonsensical thing to the small", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "40 Nature\\nyellow songster, or half whistles to him in pass-\\ning, not only does he pipe up, but pretty soon\\nyou hear her own voice, from a distant room,\\nhumming a bit of some gay waltz or madrigal.\\nThe unconscious lifting of one s own more\\nsober mood to the higher level of the bird s\\nirrepressible good spirits lasts on a little be-\\nyond the instant. I recommend him and his\\nmerry kind to other silent houses. He is worth\\nhis weight in sunshine.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "THE RED LEAVES ON THE SNOW\\nThe years monotonous The same old sea-\\nsons, and weathers, and aspects of nature\\nNever anything new to admire or wonder at\\nThe monotony is in our eyesight, which goes\\non seeing nothing but the common and invari-\\nable things simply because, from long famil-\\niarity, these are the easy things to see. But\\nthese are only the frame of the picture the\\npicture itself is never twice alike.\\nSuppose, to test it, we should open a ledger\\naccount with Nature. It should be headed.\\nThe Face of Nature in Account with an Ex-\\nacting Mind. On the left-hand page should be\\nentered the Dr, side of the account namely,\\nto all the phenomena of the year that we could\\nfairly stigmatize as the same everlasting old\\nthing. On the right-hand page should go the\\nCr. namely, by all the aspects of land or sea\\nor sky that in any candor we must confess\\nnever before to have been noticed by us.\\nFor example, February 3d. Dr. To a pale\\nsunrise, going into a low-spirited forenoon of\\nleaden cloud. Have seen this hundreds of", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "42 Nature\\ntimes before. Or, August 20th. Dr. To\\na hot afternoon. Sleepy. Palm -leaf fans.\\nShower at five o clock. Bumbles and boom-\\nbles of approaching thunder. Scalding water.\\nOne sharp flash and crack. Three rolling\\npeals, going r, r, r, bang; r, r, r, boong br, r,\\nbo Jig, BANG, br, r, m, m, m. Same old thunder-\\nshower.\\nOf the Cr. side of the account, the items\\nwhich led me to begin this paper, and which\\nI am about to mention, will furnish a good\\nexample.\\nIt is the 7th of November. The first snow\\ncame in the night, and this morning we had\\nthat annual experience of drawing the curtain,\\nand looking out a little shiveringly, and say-\\ning, A white world Winter has come, sure\\nenough. Ten inches of snow; and, all day,\\nmore powdered down in successive puffs and\\nsqualls. One minute, all blue sky, and the sun\\nflashing on everything the next, you see the\\nnorthwest obscured, and the dun cloud rapidly\\ncovering the whole heavens, its upper edge\\nfringed with light snow-scud brushed out be-\\nfore it in wisps and flying locks. Suddenly\\nthe air is thick with the falhng and whirling\\nflakes. It is like the glass toy box we had\\nwhen children, which we turned upside down,\\nand scattered a thick white shower on the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "The Red Leaves on the Snow 43\\nwooden trees and the whittled c/ia/e^ and herds-\\nmen.\\nThese gusty squalls have brought down the\\nlast flying gold of the autumn trees. Yester-\\nday the maples and oaks and the great round-\\ntopped linden on the lawn were still full of\\ntheir wealth of color. There it lies now on\\nthe snow, smouldering reds and yellows,\\nburning with dusky blushes on (not in, as ordi-\\nnarily) the level floor of the white cold. This\\nis what I meant I had not seen before the\\nautumn lying in this literal fashion on the win-\\nter s breast. Commonly the carpet of the\\nfallen leaves is all down before the cold white\\nfeet of the snowstorms come to dance upon it.\\n(If these metaphors seem to tread on each\\nother s heels a little, a squall or two may be\\nsupposed to have intervened.)\\nThe prettiest thing, however, in this particu-\\nlar case of the first snow, is the way its soft-\\nness, early in the night, caused it to stick fast,\\nsilvering the windward side of every object.\\nNot only are the firs deep loaded, the lower\\nboughs weighted and banked till each tree is,\\nfrom the ground up, a continuous tent of snow,\\nbut the trunks and every round limb and fork-\\ning twig of the elms and oaks are puffed with\\nfleckless white. It makes of them a vivid kind\\nof crayon sketch every bough has its dark", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "44 Nature\\nshadow away from the sun, and its white high-\\nlight toward the wind. The gate-posts are\\ncapped high with the rounded ermine. In the\\nside of one of these snowcaps I carefully\\nscooped out a little cave then, removing my\\nglove, I cautiously (so as not to dismantle the\\nfluffy entrance) thrust in my bare hand and\\nheld it there. Almost instantly I could feel\\nthe warmth reflected from the translucent walls.\\nFor the first time (another item on the Cr. side\\nof our account-book), I not only could under-\\nstand, but sejise, how the prairie-hens and over-\\ntaken travelers can, like cunning children with\\ntheir mothers, escape the castigation of the\\nsnow by fleeing to the snow s own bosom.\\nThe little wren-house on the stub of the\\ndead pear-tree is piled thick to windward, and\\nfringed with icicles on the eaves to leeward,\\nlike the abodes of all the rest of us. Across\\nthe river, on the crown of the slope, stands a\\nstraight high wall of woods. It is a reversed\\ndrawing in charcoal all the tops, the soft mass\\nof bare boughs and twigs, being shaded dark,\\nwhile the stems of the tall hickories and oaks\\nstand forth white as marble columns.\\nOn the smooth snow of the lawn stands a\\nslender upright wand, left solitary in the de-\\nserted tennis-court, where it supported the net\\nin the middle. The adhering fleece has made", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "77?^ Red Leaves on the Snow 45\\nof it only a delicate rapier-blade of snow.\\nShining there in the sun, scarcely more tan-\\ngible than its faint blue shadow, a slim white\\nline, pure, cold, still, what a beautiful baton\\nfor conducting some symphony of Mendels-\\nsohn or a stylus for tracing the icy music of\\ns poetry; or a gnomon for some frosty\\nmoon-dial, whereon to mark the saintly hours\\nof s life.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "THE EARTH-SPIRIT S VOICES\\nSometimes it is difficult to keep from be-\\nlieving that the earth has voices, mystic,\\nwonderful, whose weird message continually\\ntries to get itself delivered to our ear.\\nEvery one has had the experience of stand-\\ning in the midst of the woods, some still sum-\\nmer day, when the leaves and sprays hung\\nmotionless, and the silence was profound.\\nPresently you are aware of a stir in the tree-\\ntops. It is not so much an audible sound, at\\nfirst, as an invisible movement, apprehended\\nonly by the most delicate tentacles of the sense\\nof hearing. Then it rises to a soft murmur,\\nand dies away. Again you hear it, farther off\\nthis time, but approaching. It is the Voice of\\nthe woods. But this is not all. I have fancied\\nthat beneath this murmurous surf-sound there\\nlurks a still more mysterious undertone as if\\nthere were other Voices, never daring to speak\\nwith each other except when the wind is blow-\\ning to mask their presence. With each other\\nor is it not rather that they are trying to\\ncommunicate with our human spirit As I", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "The Earth-Spirit s Voices 47\\nhear them, I imagine troops of little eager\\nfaces, pressing as near me as they dare, or as\\nthey are permitted, watching for the swelling\\nof the wind, and hushing each other as it falls\\nto silence.\\nBut the message, if indeed there be one that\\nthe earth-spirit is thus trying to deliver, will\\nhardly be conveyed by these delicate elves of\\nthe wood. They are too timid, too fearful of\\nthe quiet, and conditioned upon other sounds\\nwhich mask but confuse their burden.\\nI think that the message will ultimately be\\nconveyed by the Voices of the river. Their\\nmusic, for one thing, is nearest that of human\\nspeech. I remember one night when we were\\ncamped by the McCloud River, deep in the\\nheart of the redwood forest in northern Cali-\\nfornia. There was no moon. Far above us\\nthe great plumy tops of the redwoods, own kin\\nto the giant trees of the Sierras, rose like ca-\\nthedral roof and towers, and hid the starlight.\\nThe aisles below were empty and silent, and\\nmysterious with that soul of shadow that haunts\\nthe solitary woods at night. The aisles were\\nsilent, but not the choir. For, a stone s-throw\\nto the right, the Voices of the clear, deep river\\nwere talking and laughing all night long. They\\nwere perfectly human tones. There would run\\non for a few moments an even, continuous", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "48 Nature\\nbabble then out of it would rise a mingled\\npeal of musical laughter, like bells, or clear\\npebbles striking together, or tinkling of ice,\\nyet all the time human. Then there would\\nrun merry chucklings up and down the river\\nand then a shout would arise, away down\\nstream, and another and then all the hurry-\\ning Voices would talk loudly together and\\nthen a moment s quiet and then, again, inex-\\ntinguishable laughter.\\nIf I had lain there alone, perhaps I might\\nhave understood some fragment of this inar-\\nticulate music, or speech. But perhaps, too, I\\nmight have paid for it by never hearing mortal\\naccents more j so weirdly this tumult of elfin\\nsyllables wrought upon me, even well com-\\npanioned as I was, there in the dimness and\\nunearthly solitude of the starlit forest.\\nI never heard these Voices of the river again\\ntill one night they rose from the orchestra, in\\nthe Rhine Nymphs song. I do not think\\nWagner understood them, any more than I\\nhe merely transcribed them from the river.\\nIt was strange to think that there they were,\\nin uncomprehended echo, again appealing to\\nmortal spirits across the barrier of the limited\\nhuman intelligence.\\nAt sea, also, I once heard this unavailing\\ncry. It was a hundred miles, and more, from", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "T1)e Earth-Spirit s J^oices 49\\nthe coast of Brazil. The night was clear star-\\nlight, the breeze light and steady, so that we\\nwere sailing silently. The stillness, indeed,\\nwas so unusual that we were all leaning at the\\nweather rail, listening to it, and peering far off\\ninto the vanishing waste of waves. Suddenly\\na distant cry arose from the night; no one\\ncould say where, or how. Then it was twice\\nrepeated not a human cry, that is certain\\nperhaps a sea-bird s, but not like that of any\\nbird or beast I ever heard. If it expressed\\nanything, it was not pain nor fear, but some\\nintense, infinitely lonely desire.\\nIt is no wonder the Greeks felt the earth to\\nbe a spirit. If we are not all pantheists, the\\nwonder is that we are not all mythologists, at\\nleast. Sometimes it has seemed to me as these\\nfollowing lines endeavor to express\\nNATURE AND HER CHILD\\nAs some poor child whose soul is windowless,\\nHaving not hearing, speech, nor sight, sits lone\\nIn her dark, silent life, till cometh one\\nWith a most patient heart, who tries to guess\\nSome hidden way to help her helplessness\\nAnd, yearning for that spirit shut in stone,\\nA crystal that has never seen the sun,\\nSmooths now the hair, and now the hand will press,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "50 Nature\\nOr gives a key to touch, then letters raised,\\nIts symbol then an apple, or a ring.\\nAnd again letters, so, all blind and dumb.\\nWe wait the kindly smiles of summer come,\\nAnd soft winds touch our cheek, and thrushes sing\\nThe world-heart yearns, but we stand dull and dazed.\\nAt another time the relation of the world to\\nthe human spirit has seemed to be more truth-\\nfully hinted at in lines like these\\nTHE FOSTER-MOTHER\\nAs some poor Indian woman\\nA captive child receives.\\nAnd warms it in her bosom,\\nAnd o er its weeping grieves\\nAnd comforts it with kisses.\\nAnd strives to understand\\nIts eager, lonely babble,\\nFondling the little hand,\\nSo Earth, our foster-mother.\\nYearns for us, with her great\\nWild heart, and croons in murmurs\\nLow, inarticulate.\\nShe knows we are white captives,\\nHer dusky race above,\\nBut the deep, childless bosom\\nThrobs with its brooding love.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "HUMAN NATURE IN CHICKENS\\nI AM convinced that one important way to\\nacquire a profound knowledge of human na-\\nture is to study it in chickens. The difference\\nbetween the mental characteristics of the two\\nsexes, for example the hen is very peaceable,\\nchanticleer very irascible the hen is an indus-\\ntrious scratcher, while chanticleer is naturally\\nan idler, and thinks that if he crows and fights,\\nthat is enough the hen takes care of the\\nchicks all day, chanticleer only occasionally\\ngiving them a bug, and oftener a dig the hen\\ntakes care of them all night also, chanticleer\\nelbowing them off the perch to get the best\\nplace for himself the hen, having seized an-\\nother hen about the head, never lets go till\\nthe feathers come out, and never stops fighting\\ntill nearly dead, while chanticleer fights only\\nfor glory, and gives up long before he is hurt\\nmuch when they are fed, the hen attends\\nstrictly to business and gets all she can, while\\nchanticleer will pick up a morsel, and wave it\\nup and down with frantic eagerness to be seen\\nof the hen, and values the flattery of having\\nher take it from him more than the food.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "52 Nature\\nThese, so far, are well-known observations\\nbut I wish to put on record one that is per-\\nhaps new, and, if new, important to the scien-\\ntific world. It has been commonly supposed\\nby evolutionists that the development of altru-\\nism and the benevolent sentiments in the lower\\nanimals reaches no farther than to the parental\\nand sex points of view. But I have seen one\\nof my roosters call his fellow and feed a bug to\\nhim. It may have been a bug that he did not\\nspecially want, himself, but this would only be\\na counterpart of much of our higher human\\nbenevolence. Does not most of our charity\\nconsist in giving away something for which we\\nhave no earthly use ourselves (By the way,\\nI have known this altruistic rooster to crow\\nwith great pride and pleasure when the object\\nof his alms-giving had humbly swallowed the\\nscratchy morsel.) I have seen a mother hen,\\nalso, when another brood of little chicks had\\ngot mixed up with her own for the moment,\\nmaking a great pretense of pecking the aliens\\non the head, to teach them the difference be-\\ntween families in this world, but taking great\\npains not to hurt the fluffy little strangers.\\nFurthermore, I have noticed that certain other\\nhens, not mothers (but whether any who have\\nnever been mothers I have not yet observed),\\nwill peck all little chicks with self-restraint,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "Human Nature in Chickens 53\\ngiving them as much salutary discipline as pos-\\nsible without bodily harm.\\nIt may be said that these phenomena occur\\nonly among domestic animals, who have caught\\nsome morals and manners from their betters\\nby contagion. But I think this is a subtlety,\\nand that we may as well admit that the devel-\\nopment of the moral sentiments begins farther\\nback than we have been inclined to put it.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "A NEW EARTH IN THE OLD EARTH S\\nARMS\\nI HAVE made the discovery of new heavens\\nand a new earth. Who has not felt the need\\nof them Who has not said to himself, I\\nhave seen this whole thing over and over\\nagain. This world, which is round like an\\norange, has, like an orange, now been effectu-\\nally squeezed. Give me new worlds, not to\\nconquer, but to live in. When the impulse\\nto turn over a new leaf, to break with the past,\\nto begin life all over again, is strong upon us,\\nwe look around in vain for fresh woods and\\npastures new in which to begin it. How put\\na new soul of existence into an old body of\\ncircumstances But we are no longer driven\\nto this dilemma. I do not mind making pub-\\nlic, at least to all those choice spirits who read\\na Certain Magazine, the chart of my newly dis-\\ncovered world.\\nIt is the world of the dawn. Oh, that P\\ncries my young friend scornfully, and is about\\nto turn away. But let me ask you, in confi-\\ndence, When have you seen the dawn, the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "A New Earth in the Old Earth s Arms 5 5\\nwhole of it, from silvery beginning to golden\\nend It was not long ago that an ingenuous\\nmaid asked me, looking up from her favorite\\npoet, Is the sunrise so much, any way\\nNo, I might have said not if you burst in on\\nit rudely, jumping out of bed, or sleepily fum-\\nbling aside a curtain. You only get, in that\\ncase, the flash of an angry glare. But go\\nquietly at very daybreak, steal to some rock,\\nor hill, or only to some housetop, and lie in\\nwait for its delicate first footsteps in the east-\\nern sky. You must stalk your sunrise.\\nHow often do we hear somebody say, I had\\nto get up early this morning, and I wondered\\nwhy we don t always do it But the chances\\nare it was a very inadequate experience. There\\nwas some invalid to be tended, or some owl-\\ntrain to be caught. Taken deliberately, and\\nprovided for beforehand by a full night s sleep,\\nthe wonder why we do not always do it would\\nbe vastly increased. Why we do not, how-\\never, is plain enough. It is because we can-\\nnot afford to burn our candle at both ends.\\nEarly to bed aiid early to rise, the whole\\nprescription reads. It does not do to take\\nhalf of it alone. If we are to see the mornins:-\\nstar properly, the evening-star must draw on\\nour night-cap with its own.\\nThe dawn, then, is protected from the throng", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "56 Nature\\nof sacrilegious sight-seers by a great barrier.\\nThat barrier is the difficulty of going to bed.\\nOur civilization has become a gaslight civiliza-\\ntion. We try to turn night into day, and only\\nsucceed in turning night wrong side out; get-\\nting the harsh and wiry side that rasps the\\njaded nerves, in place of the gentle touches of\\nthe welcome, the thrice prayed for mantle\\nof peaceful dreams.\\nIt is diverting, to say the least, to take now\\nand then a point of view outside of all our\\nmost cherished customs, even those that seem\\nto us most natural, because our patient na-\\ntures have been so completely twisted into\\nthem, as the jar to the jar-bred Chinese dwarf.\\nCasting such a glance from outside at our gas-\\nlight habits, we suddenly see something absurd\\nin them. Standing in a crowded and bril-\\nliantly glaring room, half deafened by the hor-\\nrid discord of a hundred jabbering tongues,\\nwe find it a relic of barbarism. We see the\\ndancing rings of savages, yelling and beating\\ntom-toms around a blazing fire. How much\\nbetter off all these people would be, we think\\n(supposing the din and confusion permit us to\\nhear ourselves think), if they were all comfort-\\nably in bed, preparing their nervous machinery\\nfor a sane and energetic day to-morrow For\\nmy part, I should be glad if I could go back", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "A New Earth in the Old Earth s Arms 57\\nand cut away from my life all that ever oc-\\ncurred in it beyond early bedtime, as the cook\\ngoes round a pie-plate and shears off the out-\\nlying dough. Mere ragged and formless shreds\\nof existence those gaslight hours have been,\\ncontaining, on the whole, far more evil than\\ngood far more yawns, and the dreadful pangs\\nof yawns suppressed, than refreshing eye-beams\\nand voices.\\nThen there is another thing could not the\\nact of going to bed be made, from childhood\\nup, a less depressing operation The one daily\\ntorture of my own otherwise kindly handled\\nchildhood was the going to bed in the dark.\\nI hated the dark, and have always hated it.\\nWhy could not some softly shaded light have\\nbeen left for me to go to sleep by, and then\\nwithdrawn, instead of crashing down on my\\nvi^ide-awake eyes that horrible club of black-\\nness Or how much better to have cuddled\\ndoon in the still faintly glimmering twilight,\\nand let the slowly coming starlight draw the\\nchild to sleepiness, and softly kiss his eyehds\\ndown\\nAnd why must one assume a garb for the\\nnight that even the child feels to be ridicu-\\nlously unsuitable To take off one s warm\\nand comfortably fitting garments, and barely\\ncover the shrinking pudency of the limbs with", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "58 Nature\\nsome brief apology of flapping inadequateness,\\nit is an insult to the Angel of Sleep. They\\ndo this better, I am told, in Japan. There the\\nman has a night-suit of entire and comely gar-\\nments. He does not unclothe and then half\\nclothe himself, and sneak in mortified helpless-\\nness underneath a weight of vein-compressing\\nsheets and blankets and uncomfortable com-\\nfortables, squeezing him out as if he had\\ncovered himself with the cellar-door. He lies\\ndown in his complete warm suit, and throws\\nover him some light affair of gossamer silk. It\\nonly needs a sudden cry of fire in the house\\nto make us realize the preposterous condition\\nwe are every one of us in.\\nThe time of Going to Bed ought in some\\nway to be made the pleasantest, and most de-\\ncorous, and most dignified, even if you like\\nthe most picturesque, and certainly the most\\ncomfortable hour of the whole twenty-four.\\nThen it would need no polite euphemism of\\nretiring to veil its horrors. Then the child\\nwould no longer hold back from it, as if he\\nwere being thrust into a hideous cave of dark-\\nness, to be seized by all the nightmares of\\nDreamdom.\\nAnd then, best of all, we should be ready to\\nrise at the whistle of the first chirping bird,\\nperfectly rested, thoroughly refreshed, with the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "A New Earth in the Old Earth s Arms 59\\nbrain vocal only with light echoes of the whole-\\nsome day before, instead of still jangling with\\nthe cultured rumpus of a social evening, or\\nan evening of amusement, or the uncanny,\\nfevered visions which are only such evenings\\ngone to seed. We should see the heavens at\\ntheir purest, on earth peace, the big white\\nstars at their best, unconfused by the haze of\\nsmaller stars and star-dust, and shining alone\\nin the faintly illumined sky. We should know\\nhow our earth and its robe of ambient air ap-\\npear to other planets, a morning-star to the\\nmorning-stars. For the whole east, as it pales\\nthe planets in its growing light, is itself of pure\\nand starry brightness. But if I am going to\\nwrite of the dawn, I may as well do it in verse,\\nand have done with it\\nAT EARLY MORN\\nWalk who will at deep of noon,\\nOr stroll fantastic in the moon\\nI would take the morning earth,\\nNew as at creation s birth,\\nAir unbreathed, and grass untrod\\nWhere I cross the dawn-lit sod,-\\nMaking green paths in the gray\\nOf the dew that s brushed away.\\nWould some depth of holy night,\\nSacred with its starry light,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "60 Nature\\nOver all my breast might roll,\\nBringing dawn unto my soul,\\nThat its consecrated dew\\nMight refresh and make me new\\nThen that thou and I might pace\\nSome far planet, poised in space,\\nFresh as children innocent,\\nIn each other s love content\\nThere our feet should recommence,\\nLightened of experience,\\nMorning ways on dewy slope,\\nWinged with wonder and with hope\\nAll the things we d thought, or done.\\nOr felt before, forgot save one", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "literature ana Criticijsm\\nSHAKESPEARE S PROSE\\nUT did Shakespeare write any prose\\nthe ingenuous reader may inquire.\\nIndeed he did, a good deal of it. We\\nalways think of him, to be sure, as a poet. In\\nfact, hardly any other name in literature seems\\nso far removed from any association with prose\\nas this of the world s greatest dramatist. His\\nplays, however, constantly show that he was a\\nmaster not of verse only. The Merry Wives\\nof Windsor is, with trifling exceptions, writ-\\nten in prose so is nearly the whole of Much\\nAdo About Nothing. Not only in the lighter\\nplays, but in the tragedies, also, a considerable\\namount of prose exists. For instance, about\\nhalf of Henry IV., Part I., is prose, and\\nabout a quarter of Hamlet. This feature of\\nShakespeare s writings has been generally over-\\nlooked. For many reasons it is well worth\\ncareful study. But first a preliminary word as\\nto his verse.\\nExcept for scattered bits of lyrical verse in", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "62 Literature and Criticism\\nlight rhyming measures, the metre of Shake-\\nspeare s dramas, wherever he employs metre,\\nis what is commonly known as blank verse.\\nThis, to speak technically, is iambic pentameter\\nwithout rhyme. That is to say, each line con-\\nsists of five feet, each foot being an iambus\\nthat is, an accented syllable following an unac-\\ncented one. Any other metre might be used\\nwithout rhyme, and be properly called blank\\n(for example, Hiawatha is written in blank\\ntrochaic tetrameter, Evangeline in blank\\nhexameter) but the blank iambic pentameter\\nhas proved so much more serviceable in Eng-\\nlish verse than any other, as to have appropri-\\nated to itself the name of blank verse.\\nThis measure, though it is so familiar to us\\nat the present day, as the form in which we\\nhave read Shakespeare and Milton and Words-\\nworth and the Idylls of the King (as well as,\\nunfortunately, much of the feeblest verse ex-\\ntant, since so many pens have a fearful facility\\nin producing it), was an unpopular innovation\\nin Shakespeare s early days. Until about the\\nyear 1590, when Marlowe s mighty line first\\nresounded in Tamberlaine, the drama (so\\nfar as it existed at all) was confined to prose\\nor to rhymed measures. Blank verse had been\\nintroduced into England by Surrey s transla-\\ntion of the ^neid half a century before, and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 63\\nSackville had made the first experiment of its\\nfitness for the drama in his tragedy of Gor-\\nboduc, produced in 1561 but in his hands it\\nwas stiff and unwieldy. Marlowe s manage-\\nment of it was easier and more powerful but\\nShakespeare was the first to develop the real\\ncapabilities of its majestic rhythm.\\nNot only was Shakespeare the first to use\\nwith complete success the much abused blank\\niambics, but he was the first (and the last) to\\nmingle with masterful skill his verse with prose.\\nBen Jonson, as well as Beaumont and Fletcher,\\nwrote some of their dramas in verse and some\\nin prose, and occasionally made use of both in\\nthe same play, but never mingled the two\\nthroughout, as did Shakespeare, with exqui-\\nsitely perfect art. It is to this prose that the\\nreader s attention is invited, with the special\\nview of asking and making some suggestions\\ntoward answering the question, Why did Shake-\\nspeare use prose, in the passages where he did\\nso, instead of verse\\nWe maybe sure that the master poet did not\\nwrite prose at certain times by accident, or\\nbecause he was tired of rhythm, or because it\\nwas the easiest way. His choice was certainly\\nin every case deliberate, or (what comes to the\\nsame thing) was based on an instinctive sense\\nof certain underlying laws of expression. When", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "64 Literature and Criticism\\nhe wrote verse it was because prose, in that\\nparticular place, would not serve his turn and\\nwhen he changed from verse, as he so con-\\ntinually did, to prose, it was from his sense of a\\nsimilar limitation in the capabilities of rhythm.\\nA complete answer to our inquiry, then,\\nwould at the same time go far toward answer-\\ning the deeper question as to the respective\\npossibilities of prose and verse as forms of\\nhuman expression. Perhaps, indeed, there\\ncould be no better way of investigating that\\ngreat problem of literary art than by searching\\nfor the principles which guided this master\\nartist in his choice of these two forms of ex-\\npression, both of which he used so perfectly,\\nchanging from one to the other as constantly\\nand easily as the sea-bird from its home in the\\nair to its home on the wave.\\nLet us look at the prose of Hamlet, as\\nbeing, perhaps (thanks especially to Mr. Mc-\\nCullough), as familiar as any to most readers,\\nand as furnishing examples of all that is best\\nin Shakespeare. The first departure from the\\nblank verse occurs in Act II., Scene 2, where\\nPolonius reads Hamlet s letters\\nPol. [Reads] To the celestial and my soul s idol, the\\nmost beautified Ophelia, That s an ill phrase, a vile\\nphrase beautified is a vile phrase but you shall hear.\\nIt is noteworthy that in Shakespeare letters", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 65\\nare thrown into the form of prose. The pur-\\npose seems to be to indicate that they are\\nbrought in from without. The natural speech\\nof the dialogue being blank verse, anything\\nwhich breaks in on it from outside must be\\neither in some different metre or in prose. In\\ncertain cases, as in the play within the play,\\nin Hamlet, the former device is chosen\\nin the case of letters, the latter. In the play\\nwithin the play, the effect of a more artificial\\nform of verse with rhymes is to throw the\\naction one step farther back, away from the\\nactual life of the spectator. In letters, on the\\ncontrary, the effect of the prose, breaking in on\\nthe blank verse, is usually to bring before us\\nthe world of real life and affairs, if not outside\\nof the play, at least outside of the present\\nscene.\\nShortly after the reading of the letter (the\\ndialogue, meanwhile, proceeding in verse),\\nHamlet enters, reading. Being boarded\\nby Polonius, he at once begins answering him\\nin prose, affecting madness, though with\\nmethod in it.\\nPol. Away, I do beseech you, both away\\n1 For a notable instance of Shakespeare s power to\\nshift the spectator s point of view and wholly change\\nhis atmosphere, see the essay of De Quincey upon The\\nKnocking at the Gate, in Macbeth.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "Literature and Criticism\\nI 11 board him presently.\\n\\\\Exeunt Kiitg, Queen, and Attendants,\\nO, give me leave.\\nHow does my good Lord Hamlet\\nHam. Well, God-a-mercy.\\nPol. Do you know me, my lord\\nHam. Excellent well you re a fishmonger.\\nPol. Not I, my lord.\\nHam. Then I would you were so honest a man.\\nPol. Honest, my lord\\nHam. Ay, sir to be honest, as this world goes, is to\\nbe one man picked out of ten thousand.\\nPol. My honourable lord, I will most humbly take\\nmy leave of you.\\nHa?n. You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I\\nwill more willingly part withal [Aside] except my\\nlife, except my life, except my life.\\nThis scene is written in prose evidently for\\nthe reason that there is no earnest feeling in\\nit. As for Polonius, he is going about to\\nrecover the wind of the prince and Ham-\\nlet himself has put an antic disposition on,\\nas he warned his friends that he would some-\\ntimes do.\\nThe essential function of poetry is to express\\nfeeling. A scene, then, which is only an intel-\\nlectual sparring match between a would-be\\ncourtier and an assumed madman, could find\\nno fitting expression in verse.\\nMoreover, verse is by its very structure or-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 67\\nderly and regulated. Its rhythm consists in a\\nconstant subjection to a ruling law. Accord-\\ningly it is the natural expression for that feel-\\ning only which is under the control of reason.\\nMadness of every form must necessarily break\\nthrough its laws into irregular prose. Hence\\nHamlet, when speaking in his character of a\\nmadman, always uses prose. So does the really\\nmad Ophelia, except when her utter lunacy\\ngoes beyond prose into incoherent snatches of\\nfantastic song. So does King Lear when mad,\\nexcept where the coherence and earnestness of\\nhis thoughts bring them for the moment into\\nverse. So does Edgar, when affecting mad-\\nness.\\nAt the end of the scene quoted above, in the\\nmidst of his last reply to Polonius, Hamlet\\nsuddenly turns away and utters to himself his\\nown sad thought, which clothes itself in rhythm\\n(though the words are always printed in the\\nform of prose), thus\\nexcept my life, except my life, except my life.\\nThen enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.\\nWith them, too, Hamlet speaks in prose. He\\ndoes not affect madness, as with Polonius, but\\nhe is suspicious of them, and so gives them\\nnone of his sincere thoughts, holding them at\\narm s length in his bantering prose. Midway", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "6S Literature and Criticism\\nin the conversation, Hamlet betrays them into\\nconfessing that they were sent for by the King.\\nHam. [Aside.] Nay, then, I have an eye of you. If\\nyou love me, hold not off.\\nGml. My lord, we were sent for.\\nJ7am. I will tell you why so shall my anticipation\\nprevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the King\\nand Queen moult no feather. I have of late (but where-\\nfore I know not) lost all my mirth, forgone all custom\\nof exercises and indeed it goes so heavily with my\\ndisposition, that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to\\nme a sterile promontory this most excellent canopy, the\\nair, look you this brave, o erhanging firmament, this\\nmajestical roof fretted with golden fire why, it ap-\\npears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent con-\\ngregation of vapours. What a piece of work is a man\\nhow noble in reason how infinite in faculty in form\\nand moving how express and admirable in action how\\nlike an angel in apprehension how like a god the\\nbeauty of the world the paragon of animals And yet,\\nto me, what is this quintessence of dust Man delights\\nnot me no, nor woman, neither, though by your smiling\\nyou seem to say so.\\nThis passage is always quoted as if it were\\none of Hamlet s sincere and earnest utterances.\\nIt would not have been spoken in prose if it\\nwere so. When he says I have of late (but\\nwherefore I know not) lost all my mirth, etc.,\\nhe is by no means speaking from his heart. In\\nreality, he knows very well wherefore. These,\\nremember, are the false friends of whom he", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 69\\nafterward says (speaking now sincerely in\\nverse)\\nmy two school-fellows.\\nWhom I will trust as I will adders fang d.\\nHe is putting them off their guard as spies\\nby attributing his mood to such melancholy as\\nany man might be liable to, when for the time\\nhe is sick of life, love, all things, or when, in\\nother words, he has an ordinary attack of the\\nblues. It is not such friends as these that he\\nwill suffer to look into his very soul, and so, in\\nprose, he parries their advances.\\nHis mockery of Polonius by the same test is\\nonly put on to serve his purpose. It is notice-\\nable that he will not have him mocked by oth-\\ners, for he says to the players as they are\\ngoing out together (and his words by their\\nearnestness fall out of the prose in the midst\\nof which they occur into metre)\\nFollow that lord, and look you mock him not.\\nAt the end of the scene Hamlet dismisses\\nhis two school-fellows, still in prose. As soon\\nas they are gone, however, and he is once more\\nalone, dropping the twofold mask of jesting\\nmadness (worn before Polonius) and causeless\\ndepression (before Rosencrantz and Guilden-\\nstern) he communes with his own heart in sor-\\nrowful verse", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "70 Literature and Criticism\\nHam. My good friends, I 11 leave you till night:\\nyou are welcome to Elsinore.\\nJ^os. Good my lord\\n//am. Ay, so, God b wi ye. [Exeunt Ros. and Guild.\\nNow I am alone.\\nO, what a rogue and peasant slave am I\\nIs it not monstrous, that this player here.\\nBut in a fiction, in a dream of passion,\\nCould force his soul so to his own conceit,\\nThat from her working all his visage wann d\\nTears in his eyes, distraction in s aspect,\\nA broken voice, and his whole function suiting\\nWith forms to his conceit and all for nothing I\\nFor Hecuba\\nWhat s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,\\nThat he should weep for her What would he do,\\nHad he the motive and the cue for passion\\nThat I have\\nThe spirit that I have seen\\nMay be the Devil and the Devil hath power\\nT assume a pleasing shape yea, and perhaps,\\nOut of my weakness and my melancholy,\\nAs he is very potent with such spirits.\\nAbuses me to damn me I 11 have grounds\\nMore relative than this the play s the thing\\nWherein I 11 catch the conscience of the King. \\\\^Exit,\\nThe last lines of the soliloquy are quoted\\nto illustrate the habit of closing a passage of\\nblank verse with rhyme. For this there is a\\ngood reason. It is because the rhythm of the\\nverse finds some difficulty in stopping. Its\\nvery movement suggests continuance. Its\\nstately flow^ free from rhyme, can scarcely", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 71\\ncome to a full close, any more than a wave,\\nrolling in from ocean, could pause in full ca-\\nreer. It must break in order to stop, either\\nby a hemistich (or half-line), which is abrupt at\\nthe best, as if the wave shattered against a\\nrock or by a smooth rhyme, which is like the\\nwave s slipping up the beach in spent ripples.\\nThe next prose passage in Hamlet is the\\nnunnery scene. It is just after the great soHl-\\noquy, To be, or not to be, etc., which ends\\nthus\\nHam. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all\\nAnd thus the native hue of resolution\\nIs sicklied o er with the pale cast of thought;\\nAnd enterprises of great pith and moment\\nWith this regard their currents turn awry,\\nAnd lose the name of action. Soft you now\\nThe fair Ophelia Nymph, in thy orisons\\nBe all my sins remembered.\\nOph. Good my lord,\\nHow does your honour this many a day\\nHam. I humbly thank you well, well, well.\\nOph. My lord, I have remembrances of yours,\\nThat I have longed long to re-deliver\\nI pray you, now receive them.\\nHam. No, not I\\nI never gave you aught.\\nOph. My honour d lord, you know right well you did;\\nAnd, with them, words of so sweet breath composed,\\nAs made the things more rich their perfume lost.\\nTake these again for to the noble mind\\nRich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.\\nThere, my lord.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "72 Literature and Criticism\\nHam. Ha, ha Are you honest\\nOph. My lord\\nHam. Are you fan-?\\nOph. What means your lordship\\nHam. That, if you be honest and fair, your honesty\\nshould admit no discourse to your beauty. I did\\nlove you once.\\nOph. Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so.\\nHai7i. You should not have believed me for virtue\\ncannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of\\nit I loved you not.\\nOph. I was the more deceived.\\nHam. Get thee to a nunnery why wouldst thou be a\\nbreeder of sinners I am myself indifferent honest\\nbut yet I could accuse me of such things that it were\\nbetter my mother had not borne me.\\nIn this scene, whether because he suspects\\nthat the King and Queen are listening, or for\\nsome other reason, Hamlet rails at Ophelia in\\na coarse, hard fashion. He has on his mask\\nof madness, and whatever comes through that\\nmust be spoken in prose. Observe, however,\\nthat his first utterances to her, being sincere,\\nare rhythmical\\nThe fair Ophelia Nymph, in thy orisons\\nBe all my sins remembered.\\nAnd\\nI humbly thank you well, well, well.\\nThis last is a complete pentameter line, pro-\\nvided we allow the pause between the last\\nwords, each to take one beat of the rhythm (a", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 73\\ndevice which is often to be found in Shake-\\nspeare. For instance, in the line quoted above,\\nbeginning, For Hecuba the natural pause\\nafter the exclamation fills out the line). That\\nis to say, wherever the real heart of Hamlet\\nspeaks to her, or of her (as in the scene at the\\ngrave), it expresses itself in rhythm wherever\\nhe speaks through the mask of madness, his\\nwords are prose.\\nScene 2 opens with Hamlet s instructions to\\nthe players\\nSpeak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to\\nyou, trippingly on the tongue but if you mouth it, as\\nmany of your players do, I had as lief the town-crier\\nspoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with\\nyour hand, thus, but use all gently, etc.\\nThis is in the prose form because it is prac-\\ntical, business-like, professional advice. It is\\nnot the real Hamlet the Prince of Denmark\\nthat speaks it or, if it be, it is not from\\nthe storm-brooding deeps of his breast that it\\ncomes, but from the surface of his mind.\\nWhen the players have gone out, and he has\\nsent away the others, he calls to him his true\\nfriend, Horatio. With him, as before, he im-\\nmediately begins to speak in verse, for now\\nthe real Hamlet is uttering the sincerity of his\\nsoul.\\nThen follows the scene of the poisoning", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "74 Literature and Criticism\\nplay. Twice only, during this, does Hamlet\\ndrop his mask and speak in rhythm. Both in-\\nstances are spoken aside to Ophelia, and both\\nare but fragments of lines. The first is after\\nthe prologue has been recited\\nOph. T is brief, my lord.\\nHam. As woman s love.\\nThe second is where the play-queen makes\\na vow never, once a widow, to be a wife\\nHam. [To Ophelid\\\\ If she should break it now i\\nAfter the King has broken off the play and\\nHamlet is left alone with Horatio, it might be\\nexpected that he would express his exultation\\nto his friend in verse. But it is like a real\\nmadman that he now speaks. Half frenzied\\nwith excitement by the suspense, and then by\\nthe success of his plot, he breaks out into\\nhysterical gayety, in scraps of rhyme, mingled\\nwith disjointed prose. Just so, afterward, does\\nthe crazed Ophelia.\\nThen with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern he\\ntalks again, at first bantering, then sharply re-\\nproving them but both moods are of the cool\\nmind, not of the earnest heart, and are there-\\nfore expressed in prose\\nRe-enter Players with recorders.\\nHam. O, the recorders let me see one. To with-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 75\\ndraw with you why do you go about to recover the\\nwind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil\\nGuil. O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is\\ntoo unmannerly.\\nHam, I do not well understand that. Will you play\\nupon this pipe\\nGiiil. My lord, I cannot.\\nHam. I pray you.\\nGuil. Believe me, I cannot.\\nHam. I do beseech you.\\nGuil. I know no touch of it, my lord.\\nHam. Tis as easy as lying; govern these ventages\\nwith your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your\\nmouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look\\nyou, these are the stops.\\nGuil. But these cannot I command to any utterance\\nof harmony I have not the skill.\\nHam. Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you\\nmake of me You would play upon me you would\\nseem to know my stops you would pluck out the heart\\nof my mystery you would sound me from my lowest\\nnote to the top of my compass and there is much mu-\\nsic, excellent voice, in this little organ yet cannot you\\nmake it speak. Sblood, do you think I am easier to be\\nplayed on than a pipe Call me what instrument you\\nwill, though you can fret me, yet you pannot play upon\\nme.\\nWhen Polonius comes in to summon him to\\nthe Queen, Hamlet plays upon him in this\\nwise\\nHam. Do you see yonder cloud that s almost in shape\\nof a camel\\nPol. By the mass, and it s like a camel, indeed.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "16 Literature and Criticism\\nHam. Methinks it is like a weasel.\\nPol. It is backed like a weasel.\\nHam. Or like a whale\\nPol. Very like a whale.\\nHam. Then I will come to my mother by and by.\\n[Aside] They fool me to the top of my bent. I will\\ncome by and by.\\nBut, in every other case, when he has said,\\nLeave me, friends, and he is left alone, his\\nown thought expresses itself in rhythm.\\nThere is no more prose till Scene 3 of Act\\nIV. Here, in his character of madman, he\\nspeaks concerning the body of Polonius, whom\\nhe has slain by mistake for the King. So in\\nthe next scene\\nJTzng-. Now, Hamlet, where s Polonius\\nHam. At supper.\\nJ^ing. At supper Where\\nHam. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten a\\ncertain convocation of politic worms are e en at him.\\nKing. Where is Polonius\\nHam. In heaven send thither to see if your messen-\\nger find him not there, seek him i the other place your-\\nself. But indeed, if you find him not within this month,\\nyou shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.\\nKing. Go seek him there. ]_To some Attendants.\\nHam. He will stay till ye come.\\nIn Act IV., Scene 5, occurs the most piteous\\npassage in all Shakespeare, that of Ophelia s\\nmadness yet it is in prose", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 77\\nQueen. Nay, but, Ophelia,\\nOph. Pray you, mark.\\n\\\\_Sings\\\\ White his shroud as the mountain snow,\\nQueett. Alas, look here, my lord.\\nOph. [Smgs] Larded with sweet flowers\\nWhich bewept to the grave did go\\nWith true-love showers.\\nKmg. How do you, pretty lady\\nOph. Well, God ild you They say the owl was\\na baker s daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but\\nknow not what we may be. God be at your table\\nKing. Conceit upon her father.\\nOph. Pray you, let s have no words of this but\\nwhen they ask you what it means, say you this\\n\\\\Sings\\\\ To-morrow is Saint Valentine s day.\\nAll in the morning betime,\\nAnd I a maid at your window,\\nTo be your Valentine.\\nKing. How long hath she been thus\\nOph. I hope all will be well. We must be patient\\nbut I cannot choose but weep, to think they should lay\\nhim i the cold ground. My brother shall know of it\\nand so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my\\ncoach Good-night, ladies good-night, sweet ladies\\ngood-night, good-night.\\nIn such scenes as this there is no place for\\nthe steady beat of verse, the essential nature\\nof which is regulated and orderly rhythm,\\nwhereas the very characteristic of the crazed\\nbrain is its unregulated, disjointed action\\nlike sweet bells jangled, out of tune and\\nharsh. Chaotic scraps of prose, obeying no", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "7S Literature and Criticism\\norder but a haphazard surface association,\\nmust now be its mode of expression. The bits\\nof lyrical verse, breaking in at random with\\ntheir mock suggestion of light-hearted gayety,\\nstill further deepen the effect by most pathetic\\ncontrast.\\nAct V. opens with the churchyard scene, and\\nthe making ready of Ophelia s grave\\nEnter two Clowns, with spades and pickaxes.\\n2 Clo. Will you ha the truth on t If this had not\\nbeen a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out\\no Christian burial.\\n1 Clo. Why, there thou say st and the more pity that\\ngreat folk should have countenance in this world to\\ndrown or hang themselves, more than their even Chris-\\ntian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen\\nbut gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers they hold up\\nAdam s profession.\\n2 Clo. Was he a gentleman\\n1 Clo. He was the first that ever bore arms.\\n2 Clo. Why, he had none.\\n1 Clo. What, art a heathen How dost thou under-\\nstand the Scripture The Scripture says Adam\\ndigged could he dig without arms I 11 put an-\\nother question to thee if thou answerest me not to\\nthe purpose, confess thyself\\n2 Clo. Go to.\\n1 Clo. What is he that builds stronger than either the\\nmason, the shipwright, or the carpenter\\n2 Clo. The gallows-maker for that frame outlives a\\nthousand tenants.\\nI Clo. I like thy wit well, in good faith the gallows", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 79\\ndoes well but how does it well it does well to those\\nthat do ill now thou dost ill to say the gallows is built\\nstronger than the church argal, the gallows may do\\nwell to thee. To t again, come.\\n2 Clo. Who builds stronger than a mason, a ship-\\nwright, or a carpenter\\n1 Clo. Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.\\n2 Clo. Marry, now I can tell.\\n1 Clo. To t.\\n2 Clo. Mass, I cannot tell.\\nEnter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance.\\nI Clo. Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your\\ndull ass will not mend his pace with beating and when\\nyou are asked this question next, say a grave-maker\\nthe houses that he makes last till doomsday.\\n\\\\_Digs and sings.\\nThrows tip another skull.\\nHam. There s another why may not that be the\\nskull of a lawyer t Where be his quiddities now, his quil-\\nlets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks t why does\\nhe suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the\\nsconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his\\naction of battery Humph This fellow might be in s\\ntime a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recog-\\nnizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries\\nis this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his re-\\ncoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt The\\nvery conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box\\nand must the inheritor himself have no more, ha\\nBut soft but soft aside here comes the King.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "80 Literature and Criticism\\nE lifer Vx iests, etc., in procession the Corpse ^Ophelia,\\nLaertes and Mourners following King, Queen,\\ntheir trains, etc.\\nThe Queen, the courtiers who is that they follow\\nAnd with such maimed rites This doth betoken\\nThe corse they follow did with desperate hand\\nFordo it own life.\\nAnd thus the scene goes on in solemn verse.\\nIt is easy here to see why the grave-diggers\\ntalk in prose. Their absurd burlesque of logic\\nand wit is almost as far removed from the\\nsphere of ordinary verse as lunacy would be.\\nBut why does Hamlet use prose One reason\\nmay be that what he says is thrown into the\\nmidst of a scene which is already going on in\\nprose. At least it is very likely that a part of\\nwhat he says, if occurring in a versified scene,\\nwould have taken on the prevailing form of\\nrhythm. Yet Shakespeare does not hesitate\\nto change the form, even several times in the\\nmidst of a scene, where the different moods\\nseem to require it. The real reason for Ham-\\nlet s prose here is, I believe, that it is his mind\\nthat is speaking, not his heart. There is no\\ndeep feeling or earnestness of purpose in what\\nhe says. It is rather the idle, speculative, half-\\nhumorous play of a mind that is merely wait-\\ning between more important events. Not until\\nthe stately funeral procession comes suddenly", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 81\\nin sight, solemnly moving toward Ophelia s\\ngrave, does he rouse himself from this transient\\nmood, and the deep current of his real thought\\nand feeling set forward again. Then he imme-\\ndiately begins, as we have seen above, to speak\\nin verse.\\nBut the end of the play draws on apace.\\nThe mood deepens more and more. There is\\nno longer any prose, or any room for prose,\\nwith one exception. In the middle of Scene 2\\nof the last act, Osric enters, and, in order to\\nbring himself to the level of this pert coxcomb,\\nHamlet drops from the sad and stately rhythm\\nof his thought once more and for the last time.\\nBrought into this lighter mood by the pre-\\nsence of Osric, he continues in it for a moment\\nafter his exit, and goes on speaking in prose to\\nHoratio\\nUor. You will lose this wager, my lord.\\nHam. I do not think so; since he went into France,\\nI have been in continual practice; I shall win at the\\nodds.\\nSo much of his reply is in prose, because he\\nis speaking merely his surface thought about\\nthe wager. But in the midst of his answer his\\nvoice falls into rhythmical flow; the heart is\\nspeaking now. Sea was it, yet working after\\nstorm, and its waves beat on in measured rise\\nand fall", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "82 Literature and Criticism\\nBut thou wouldst\\nNot think how ill all s here about my heart.\\nThen stopping abruptly, he breaks the rhythm\\nwith a phrase in prose, just as the idea breaks\\nthe flow of his feeling\\nBut it is no matter.\\nI/br. Nay, good my lord,\\nThen Hamlet replies, trying to turn it lightly,\\nand so not allowing his words to be rhythmical\\nand earnest\\nIt is but foolery but it is such a kind of gain-giving\\nas would perhaps trouble a woman.\\nHor. If your mind dislike anything, obey it I will\\nforestall their repair hither, and say you are not fit.\\nHam. Not a whit we defy augury there s a special\\nprovidence in the fall of a sparrow.\\nThen his words fall into verse again, as the\\nfeeling deepens in the shadowy presage of\\ndeath\\nIf it be now, t is not to come if it\\nBe not to come, it will be now if it\\nBe not now, yet it will come the readiness\\nIs all. Since no man has aught of what he leaves,\\nWhat is t to leave betimes\\nThis last passage is always printed in the\\nform of prose. I have given it as above, to\\nshow how rhythmical it is. In the third line\\nfrom the end if it will be read twill,\\nand in the next line man has be read", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 83\\nman s, the passage makes perfect metre.\\nThe lines might be broken differently, as fol-\\nlows\\nIf it be now, t is not to come\\nIf it be not to come, it will be now\\nIf it be not now yet it will come\\nThe readiness is all. Since no man (ha)s aught\\nOf what he leaves, what is t to leave betimes\\nThere is no further prose in Hamlet. Sad\\nand strong, the current of the verse flows on to\\nthe close.\\nLet us, in conclusion, gather up some of the\\npoints which such a study gives us. Verse dif-\\nfers from prose in being, in the broadest sense\\nof the word, musical or harmonious. It is\\ntherefore the natural form of expression for\\nemotion. Wherever a scene is occupied with\\nmere ideas, it is in prose, changing to verse,\\nif at all, where the ideas merge into feelings.\\nOn the other hand, any entire play or any de-\\ntached scene which is full of intense feeling is\\nin verse, changing to prose only where emo-\\ntions give way to ideas, whether logical, practi-\\ncal, or jocular. Again, verse, and especially\\nso-called blank verse, is essentially orderly\\nand coherent. It is therefore fitted to express\\nonly emotion which is under the control of\\nthe reason. Whenever it passes beyond, into\\nfrenzy or madness, it must cease to express it-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "84 Literature and Criticism\\nself in regular verse, just as music has no voice\\nfor passion that has broken its banks and be-\\ncome a destroying deluge. That can only find\\n(or fail in seeking to find) utterance in unmu-\\nsical wailing or screams. Rhythmical harmony\\nof any high sort, whether that of Beethoven or\\nthat of Shakespeare, is majestic and noble, like\\nthe orderly sweep of planets in their spheres,\\nstill quiring to the young-eyed cherubim. It\\ncan only well express, therefore, feeling that is\\nnoble, or that, at least, through its power, has\\nsome element of nobility, or thought that is\\ndeep and strong enough to carry feeling with\\nit. Clowns and jesters and drunken men and\\nthe trivial business of every-day life get ex-\\npressed in prose. So does wit, however refined.\\nSo does pleasure, unless it be the deep joy of\\nlove or death, that lies so close to pain.\\nDoubtless prose scenes are often thrown into\\nthe drama for the sake of relieving the strain\\non the feelings which the tragical action or\\npassion has caused. The capacity for deep\\nfeeling must be renewed at intervals by breath-\\ning spaces of a hghter tone. But the nature\\nof the scene is what is chosen for this purpose,\\nnot the prose or verse form of its expression\\nthis is always self-determined and never open\\nto choice.\\nShakespeare s prose is wonderfully natural.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "Shakespeare s Prose 85\\nThough written for the stage, it seems real life\\nnot like the modern novelist s real-life prose,\\nwhich always seems written for the stage.\\nWhat novels he would have written, with what\\ndelicious subtlety of humor, with what shrewd\\ninsight of observation he would have portrayed\\nthe lower world of ideas and characteristics,\\nhad he not chosen to depict that higher world\\nof passion and character. His prose would\\nhave given us, beyond any of the novelists or\\nhistorians, charming pictures of what men think\\nand do but it is fortunate for us that he chose\\nrather to give us in verse, beyond any of the\\nother poets, the perfect expression of what men\\nfeel and are.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "AN IMPRESSION OF BALZAC\\nWhen a man comes into the world endowed\\nwith vigorous perception, a retentive memory,\\nand that species of imagination which is only a\\npotpourri of memories, made grotesque and\\nfantastic by their incongruous intermixture, it\\nis a matter of the merest accident what he will\\nwrite or whether he will write on paper, or on\\ncanvas with a brush. Dickens might have been\\nDore, and Dord Dickens. It is even true of\\nthe greatest artists to a certain extent. Michael\\nAngelo relished versing Dante was inter-\\nrupted at the easel by his persons of impor-\\ntance; Milton might never have returned to\\npoetry but for the failure of the Good Old\\nCause; and Shakespeare would have written\\ngreat novels if any such invention had been\\nknown in his day. When a powerfully en-\\ndowed man, such as Balzac certainly was, with\\nall his limitations, does chance to spend a life-\\ntime in writing fiction, and, moreover, without\\nthe accident of any immediate popularity of\\none volume or another to determine the par-\\nticular form or quality of his work, so that he", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "An Impression of Balzac 8y\\ncontinues to pour out a flood of all manner of\\nfiction, good, bad, and indifferent, clean and\\nunclean, romantic and realistic, it is like char-\\nacterizing the surface of the globe to charac-\\nterize his productions. His mind was a great\\nmirror, not without its cracks and blurs,\\nand it imaged the whole phantasmagoria of\\nsuperficially seen objects and events. The\\nforty volumes of his Comedie Humaine he\\nwell denominates Scenes; they are scenes in\\nprovincial life, in Parisian life, in military life,\\nin political life, everywhere, except in the\\nreal and true human life universal. Balzac is\\nat the other extreme of evolution from those\\ncreatures over whose whole surface some dim,\\nundifferentiated sense of sight is diffused. In\\nhim the visual sense has not only become con-\\ncentrated and distinct, but it has absorbed all\\nthe other powers. He is all eye. Penser,\\nc est voir r^ he makes Louis Lambert exclaim.\\nThe phrase explains all the excellence of Bal-\\nzac s method, at the same time that it pro-\\nnounces its sentence of final inadequacy. To\\nthink is indeed to see only there must\\nbe not only sight, but insight. Merely to\\nwatch,\\nWhen Observation is not sympathy,\\nmay give apprehension, but not comprehen-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "88 Literature and Criticism\\nsion. The great retinas of the ox and owl see,\\nand do not see. Louis Lambert itself illus-\\ntrates Balzac s greatness and his weakness. It\\nbegins as a vivid photograph, and ends in\\ngrandiloquent fog. His longer stories remind\\none of the advertisement of some modern play\\nin five acts and nineteen tableaux. They are\\nall in one act and a thousand tableaux. Some-\\ntimes they show a temporary grasp of true con-\\nstructive genius, but oftener it is a tedious be-\\nwilderment of jostling forms. A rapid survey\\nof his works in memory gives us the impression\\nof a great theatre seen behind the curtain after\\nthe ruin and confusion of a partial conflagra-\\ntion. A multitude of dramatic effects are\\npiled together, shreds of costume, tinsel but\\nvividly glittering, broken clumps of highly col-\\nored wooden landscape, comic and tragic ap-\\npurtenances, stage swords and stage blood-\\nclots, a whole imaginative world gone back to\\nchaos, but nothing consecutive or true to\\nreality.\\nLe Pere Goriot is a novel of caricature.\\nIts characters are no more possible than those\\nof Dickens, and yet not less probable. No\\nmere puppets, constructed by inexperience and\\nlack of observation, they all move and speak\\nmost humanly, for every separate trait is a\\nquick transcript of some detached bit of ob-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "An Impression of Balzac 89\\nserved life. Yet they are not real. It is not\\nlikely that any one ever finds himself, with\\nsudden dismay of conscience, in Balzac s mir-\\nror, as he constantly does in that of Thackeray\\nor George Eliot. His characters are full of\\nvisible human mechanism, but they lack those\\nmainsprings of motive such as we find in our-\\nselves. Le Pere Goriot is a painful story.\\nIt has that test of a fundamentally worthless\\nbook, it leaves a man sadder without leaving\\nhim wiser. The hero is a vulgar King Lear.\\nFeeble-mindedness in him replaces madness,\\nand the disagreeable replaces the sublime.\\nBalzac is, however, as different from those few\\nmerely brutal Parisians of to-day who unfortu-\\nnately represent French literature to the igno-\\nrance of so many Americans, as soul is from\\nflesh. He differs from them as being a man of\\nintellect. But, like them, he seems to paint\\npain not because he pities it but because he is\\ncoolly interested in it. The reader sits as at a\\nbull-fight or a Christian martyrdom and if he\\nis entertained, he may as well confess to him-\\nself that it is because civilization has not yet\\nsucceeded in completely extirpating the nerve\\nof ferocious enjoyment of pain. The whole-\\nsouled admirer of Balzac may find the psycho-\\nlogical explanation of his interest in certain\\npassages not far off from that of the audience", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "90 Literature and Criticism\\nwhich likes those war lectures and articles best\\nthat describe the most mowing down of\\nranks and general preparation for surgery. It\\nis, in either case, a poignant and brutal enjoy-\\nment, however popular an one, and vulgar\\nenough, if we venture to subject it to cold\\nanalysis.\\nThe Duchesse de Langeais is a tedious\\ntale, as if told after dinner by a guest who for\\nthe most part drowses, but occasionally rouses\\nhimself to startling power. Few things of\\nBalzac s illustrate better how his narrative\\nfacility gets the better of him. It runs on and\\nruns on. It is with him as Henry Taylor said\\nof Macaulay, his memory swamps his mind.\\nThe story is, in reality, all told in the prelude\\nof the convent scene. A greater artist, with a\\nShakespearean sense of plot interest or a deeper\\nmind, with a more profound sense of the intol-\\nerableness of tears and wounds unrelieved by\\nsome onlooking hope, would never have gone\\nback from that beginning to gloat over the woes\\nthat lead up to the final woe. It is as if the\\nnovelist played with his characters doomed\\nand plainly declared to be doomed as a cat\\nplays with a half-dead mouse.\\nThe stories and sketches so far translated\\nare well enough chosen to give bits of all sorts\\nof Balzac s writing, all, at least, that would", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "An Impression of Balzac 91\\nbear this climate. They are never vicious, but\\nthere is a tolerably frank animalism in the\\npoint of view. The motives and qualities por-\\ntrayed are not such as interest the best of us\\nin each other. It is always man and woman\\nseen closely and depicted strenuously, but seen\\nonly skin-deep, and to that depth we are\\nstill the primitive animal. The sketch, A\\nPassion in the Desert, represents Balzac at\\nhis best. Nothing could be more perfect than\\nthese pictures.\\nThe sudden birth of an interest in Balzac in\\nthis country is symptomatic of several things.\\nIn the first place, like the recent interest in\\nRussian literature, it denotes a commendable\\naspiration to reach out beyond our own pro-\\nvincial horizon, and to learn what it is that\\nother races and temperaments admire. Fur-\\nthermore, It indicates a partial reaction from\\nthe too-easy accepted delusion that all French\\nliterature is highly objectionable, and espe-\\ncially all realistic French novels. But the in-\\nterest in Balzac, particularly, suggests above\\nall the suspicion that our civilization and\\nshall we say peculiarly that of the region from\\nwhich this series of translations emanates\\nhas reached the stage of profound ennui. The\\nmind that craves the endless narratives of Bal-\\nzac must be, if not individually entzuye, at least", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "92 Literature and Criticism\\nthe product of a society that is so. It is only\\nwhen one has lost the vigorous freshness of an\\ninterest in real life, as it actually lies throbbing\\nabout him, that such fiction can greatly prosper\\nwith him. Yet it is something gained if weari-\\nness with the near ends in aspiration for the\\ndistant and, once out of one s petty province,\\none may chance to go very far.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "THREE SONNETS\\nA LITERARY friend of mine, who is a little\\nirritable and subject to attacks of extreme\\nviews, has made a rather late discovery of the\\nfine qualities of modern French literature. Ac-\\ncordingly, in order to be well off with the old\\nlove before being* on with the new, he has taken\\nto reviling the German. How many people,\\nhe wants to know, have gone to the study of\\nGerman because of the alluring tradition that\\nCarlyle was to find what he wanted there\\nAnd of the number how many have come to\\nmake the reflection that if, indeed, he found it\\nhe must have taken it all away with him The\\ntrouble is, perhaps, that my friend went to the\\nGermans for imaginative literature. And now\\nhe finds their literature essentially unpoetic.\\nTheir fiction, he says, is diffuse and tedious. In\\nhis worst moments he insists that their poetry\\nis dull. At first attractive, the monotonous\\ncanter or jog-trot of its metres becomes weari-\\nsome, with the noisy click and clank of their\\nconsonant-encumbered rhymes. Moreover, it\\nis always Bltimen and Blumen^ and never any", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "94 Literature and Criticism\\nparticular species of flower always Duft and\\nLtifty Klagcn and Schlagen^ Herz and Sch77terz^\\nand never any specific variety of sound or color\\nor feeling. It is as if only the commonest as-\\npects of nature or life had ever been appre-\\nhended, and these few meagre properties\\nhad been handed on from one poet to another\\nas perpetual heirlooms. This is, no doubt, the\\nexaggerated view of a late convert to another\\ncultus. Yet it is no wonder that he is charmed\\nwith the recent school of French poets. How\\ndelicate, how subtile, how opalescent, with all\\nmanner of vanishing gleams of beauty, natural\\nand spiritual, seems this poetry, compared with\\nthat of their more heavily moulded neighbors\\nThe sonnets of Sully Prudhomme, for exam-\\nple, it is impossible to translate them tint\\nand perfume have vanished from the pressed\\nflower. But one is possessed to attempt it, as\\nin the three sonnets offered here\\nSIESTE\\nJe passerai I ete dans I herbe, sur le dos,\\nLa nuque dans les mains, les paupieres mi-closes,\\nSans meler un soupir a I haleine des roses,\\nNi troubler le sommeil leger des clairs echos\\nSans peur je livrerai mon sang, ma chair, mes os,\\nMon etre, au cours de I heure et des metamorphoses,\\nCalme, et laissant la f oule innombrable des causes\\nDans I ordre universel assurer mon repos", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "Three Sonnets 95\\nSous le pavilion d or que le soleil deploie,\\nMes yeux boiront I ether, dont I immuable joie\\nFiltrera dans mon ame au travers de mes cils,\\nEt je dirai, songeant aux hommes Que font-ils\\nEt le ressouvenir des amours et des hames\\nMe bercera, pareil au bruit des mers lointaines.\\nSIESTA\\nAll summer let me lie along the grass,\\nHands under head, and lids that almost close\\nNor mix a sigh with breathings of the rose,\\nNor vex light-sleeping echo with Alas\\nFearless, I will abandon blood, and limb.\\nAnd very soul to the all-changing hours\\nIn calmness letting the unnumbered powers\\nOf nature weave my rest into their hymn.\\nBeneath the sunshine s golden tent uplift\\nMine eyes shall watch the upper blue unfurled,\\nTill its deep joy into my heart shall sift\\nThrough lashes linked and, dreaming on the world,\\nIts love and hate, or memories far of these.\\nShall lull me like the sound of distant seas.\\nETHER\\nQuand on est sur la terre etendu sans bouger,\\nLe ciel parait plus haut, sa splendeur plus sereine\\nOn aime a voir, au gre d une insensible haleine,\\nDans I air sublime fuir un nuage leger j", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "96 Literature and Criticism\\nII est tout ce qu on veut la neige d un verger,\\nUn archange qui plane, une echarpe qui traine,\\nOu le lait bouillonnant d une coupe trop pleine\\nOn le voit different sans I avoir vu changer.\\nPuis un vague lambeau lentement s en detache,\\nS efface, puis un autre, et I azur luit sans tache,\\nPlus vif, comme I acier qu un souffle avait terni.\\nTel change incessament mon etre avec mon age\\nJe ne suis qu un soupir animant un nuage,\\nEt je vais disparaitre, epars dans Tinfini.\\nTHE CLOUD\\nCouched on the turf, and lying mute and still,\\nWhile the deep heaven lifts higher and more pure,\\nI love to watch, as if some hidden lure\\nIt followed, one light cloud above the hill.\\nThe flitting film takes many an aspect strange\\nAn orchard s snow; a far-off, sunlit sail;\\nA fleck of foam a seraph s floating veil.\\nWe see it altered, never see it change.\\nNow a soft shred detaches, fades from sight\\nAnother comes, melts, and the blue is clear\\nAnd clearer, as when breath has dimmed the steel.\\nSuch is my changeful spirit, year by year\\nA sigh, the soul of such a cloud, as light\\nAnd vanishing, lost in the infinite.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "Three Sonnets 97\\nDE LOIN\\nDu bonheur qu ils revaient toujours pur et nouveau\\nLes couples exauces ne jouissent qu une heure.\\nMoins emu leur baiser ne sourit ni ne pleure\\nLe nid de leur tendresse endevient le tombeau.\\nPuisque I oeil assouvi se fatigue du beau,\\nQue la levre en jurant un long culte se leurre,\\nQue des printemps d amour le lis des qu on I effleure,\\nOu vont les autres lis va lambeau par lambeau,\\nJ accepte le tourment de vivre eloigne d elle.\\nMon homage muet, mais aussi plus fidele,\\nD aucue lassitude en mon coeur n est puni\\nPosant sur sa beaute mon respect comme un voile\\nJe I aime sans desir, comme on aime une etoile,\\nAvec le sentiment qu elle est a I infini.\\nIN SEPARATION\\nThe bliss that happy lovers dream will bloom\\nForever new shall scarce outlast the year\\nTheir calmer kisses wake nor smile nor tear;\\nLove s nesting-place already is its tomb.\\nSince sated eyes grow weary of their prey,\\nAnd constant vows their own best hopes betray,\\nAnd love s June lily, marred but by a breath.\\nFalls where the other lilies lie in death.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "98 Literature and Criticism\\nTherefore the doom of land and sea that bar\\nMy life from hers I do accept. At least\\nNo passion will rise jaded from the feast,\\nMy pure respect no passing fires can stain\\nSo without hope I love her, without pain,\\nWithout desire, as one might love a star.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "THE CHARMS OF SIMILITUDE\\nIt is surprising what a pleasure we take in\\nan apt similitude. Not only does it enter\\nlargely into our enjoyment of poetry, but it\\ngives zest to all bright colloquial talk. The\\nvoluble centre of any group of listeners on\\nthe street or in the drawing-room is sure to\\nbe heard spicing his narration with the like\\nand as of the frequent simile. If I were a\\nnovelist (as I do not at all thank Heaven I am\\nnot) I would keep lists of good similitudes\\nnot only those of my own invention, which I\\nshould not expect to be prosperous, but\\nthose picked up by the wayside in actual\\nspeech. It is not so much that they adorn the\\nexpression of thought as that they illuminate\\nit. Or if they adorn, it is as the modern jew-\\nelry, set with the electric spark. It used to be\\nJ supposed that in poetry, for instance, figures of\\nspeech were for mere ornamentation. Now we\\nknow that in good poetry they are chiefly used\\nfor throwing light. So in colloquial speech the\\nreason we enjoy them seems to be that they hit\\nout the idea like a flash. There is nothing the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "100 Literature and Criticism\\nmind enjoys, after all, like getting an idea and\\ngetting it quick, which is only giving in a nut-\\nshell the gist of Herbert Spencer s admirable\\nessay on Style. A friend was telling me the\\nother day that he had a new cook. He said (he\\nis a small man), I am afraid of her. She is\\nas big as a bonded warehouse. I saw in the\\npaper lately that somebody expressed himself\\nas being dry as a covered bridge. And how\\ncan we declare the fineness of anything so\\nwell as by saying it is fine as a fiddle The\\nalliteration, no doubt, helps, but it does not\\ncount for very much. You could not substi-\\ntute Jish or feather or fife or fiainingo though\\neach is fine after a fashion. Nothing will\\nserve but the fiddle, with its preternatural\\nshine of varnish, its perky angles and curves,\\npointed like a saucy nose, with perhaps\\n(but this is venturing into deep psychological\\nwater) a suggestion, sub-conscious, of the jaunty\\nfiddler with his airs and graces, dressed as if\\njust out of a bandbox. Lively as a flea\\nseems good and lively, but an old sea-captain\\nof mine used to say he flew around like a flea\\nin a hot skillet. Like a bumblebee in a\\nbass drum describes the activity of a different\\nsort of temperament.\\nWhy would it not make a pleasant occupa-\\ntion for a rainy day wet-weather work, as Ik", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "The Charms of Similitude loi\\nMarvel would phrase it) to collect what seem\\nto us the most beautiful similitudes of our\\nfavorite poets If, for instance, we were quot-\\ning from Longfellow, perhaps it would be\\nWhen she had passed it seemed like the ceasing of\\nexquisite music.\\nIf from Shelley, it might be\\nAnd multitudes of dense, white, fleecy clouds\\nWere wandering in thick flocks along the mountains,\\nShepherded by the slow, unwilling wind.\\nIf from Matthew Arnold, it might be the close\\nof that beautiful ebb and flow of rhythmical\\nmeditation, Dover Beach\\nAnd we are here as on a darkling plain,\\nSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,\\nWhere ignorant armies clash by night.\\nIf Browning, would it be his Last Words,\\nwith their likening of the seen-unseen Beloved\\nto the thither side of the moon\\nI would like the liberty of imparting to the\\nContributors Club an odd thing that has hap-\\npened to me; though it may be, for aught I\\nknow, a common experience. I began, when\\na boy, to keep an tjidex rerum. It never got\\nfarther than a beautifully arranged table of\\ncontents, and a few scattering entries made\\nwhile the volume had the nutritious fragrance", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "102 Literature and Criticism\\nof the bindery still upon it. Among these\\nentries, on a page headed Similitudes, are two\\nsimiles, in very yellow ink. Now the interest-\\ning point is that I have totally forgotten whether\\nthey were original or selected. I hope they were\\nmy own but they sound more as if they might\\nhave come from Longfellow s Hyperion, or\\nfrom some Conversation of Landor s. It may\\nbe that every schoolboy (except myself) will re-\\ncognize and locate them, and that some lively\\ncontributor will treat me with cold sarcasm, at\\nsome future sitting of the Club, for my igno-\\nrance. Here they are\\nThis earthly life is like an album at an\\ninn we turn over its pages curiously or wearily,\\nand write a scrap of wisdom or of folly, and\\naway.\\nHe who has loved and served an art is like\\nthe child that was nursed by Persephone he is\\nnot subject to the woes of other men, for he\\nhas lain in the lap and on the bosom of a\\ngoddess.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "BOOKS OF REFUGE\\nUp to forty, says the adage, a man seeks\\npleasure after forty he shuns pain. How-\\never this may be as to exact ages, there can be\\nno doubt that, as we get on in life, we come to\\nvalue things not merely as they promise some\\nincrement of positive enjoyment, but as they\\nfortify the spirit against positive suffering. In\\none s relations to literature, for instance, cer-\\ntain books acquire a greater and greater value\\nin that they provide a harbor of refuge when\\nthe mind s barometer begins to fall, and one s\\nmoods are overcast and threatening.\\nThere really are three pretty distinct classes\\nof books having this peculiar value and it\\nbecomes, at times, a nice question of spiritual\\npractice which of the three sorts of remedy is\\nto be, as the old doctors used to say, exhib-\\nited.\\nTo begin with, there is a class of writings\\nthat are good for nothing else but pour passer\\nle temps. For this purpose, however (and it\\nmay happen to be, in certain crises, the most\\nimportant purpose in the world to us), they are", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "104 Literature and Criticism\\ninvaluable. They have precisely the opposite\\neffect to that which the author of Friends in\\nCouncil attributes to tobacco. The lighted\\npipe, he says, serves to arrest and make tan-\\ngible the passing moment. It applies the air-\\nbrake to the wheels of Time, and enables us to\\ndiscern the distinct outlines of that Present\\nwhich otherwise so rapidly and incessantly\\ndoes it rush from being Future to having be-\\ncome Past can scarcely be said to exist for\\nus at all. It does that which the Autocrat used\\nto imagine as being done to the whizzing mind-\\nmachinery, sticks a lever in among the cogs,\\nand brings them, for once, to a standstill.\\nNow the kind of literature of which I speak\\nhas, I say, the precisely opposite effect. It so\\nquickens the flight of time as to obliterate the\\npresent moment, with all its gain-giving, its\\nremorse, its too acute memory of personal mor-\\ntification, its thickening Brocken shadow of\\none s own unprofitableness, of whatever sort.\\nSuch books, as if to help us make doubly sure\\nof escaping the clutches of Faust s evil one, go\\nto the other extreme from the utterance that\\nwas to signal his diabolic seizure, Stay, fleet-\\ning moment, thou art so fair and say, in-\\nstead, Fly, lagging moments, ye are so foul\\nPerhaps no one is so constantly merry as not\\nto need, on occasion, such pass the times.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "Books of Refuge 105\\nEach will have his own volumes for such a\\npurpose, according to temperament and taste.\\nTo one, the book of travel will be the most\\neffective. To another, the chain of a plot in-\\nterest is necessary to hold the mind away from\\nits own infelicities and the novel of adven-\\nture, like Reade s or Black s or Clarke Rus-\\nsell s, or the novel of caricature, like Dickens s,\\nwill be best. To another, it will be some vol-\\nume of the old ballads or romances, or Chau-\\ncer, or the lighter plays of Shakespeare. To\\nstill another, the very best distraction will be\\nsome work of natural science, potent to draw\\nthe mind away not only from its own cares and\\nmoods, but from the whole region of human\\ncomplexities, into the colorless air of material\\nthings, that toil not, neither do they spin\\nthat neither marry nor are given in mar-\\nriage that are as remote from the pain of\\nexcessive joy as from that of excessive woe.\\nBut perhaps the best resource for the average\\nman is to be found in the light literature of the\\nFrench especially if one does not know the\\ntongue so perfectly as to destroy the additional\\ninterest that always comes from making one s\\nway in a foreign language, where a little ex-\\ncitement of conjecture attends the accurate\\nvaluation of here and there a word. The nov-\\nels of the elder Dumas, for example, hov/", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "106 Literature and Criticism\\nlightly they fillip the slow-jogging hours of a\\ndull evening, and with what abandon one may\\nlie back, so to speak, on the virile author s secure\\nmastery of the planetary and cometary orbits of\\nhis always impossible but never improbable\\ncharacters The Elizabethan dramatists are\\ngreat for this purpose of rescuing a man from\\nhimself. It is but to take five steps to the\\nbookcase, to single out and open a volume, and\\npresto, change We are in a w^orld that has\\nthis, among its other great advantages over our\\nown that the reader cannot possibly encoun-\\nter himself as one of its habitants. There are\\ntimes, after some exhausting mental effort, for\\ninstance, as the writing of three pages be-\\nyond our proper stent, or the delivery of a lec-\\nture in a hall where one could not be heard\\nback of about the third row of benches, or the\\nreception of a call from some Intellectual Young\\nPerson who became paralytically fastened to\\nthe door-knob, when one is left very much\\nin the condition of Grandfather Smallweed\\nafter his discharge of the pillow at his fireside\\ncompanion. At such times, all that one re-\\nquires is to be shaken up and taken out of\\nhimself for a change of view it hardly matters\\nin what direction. Then Shakespeare is one s\\nmost priceless friend.\\nA second species of books of refuge is that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "Books of Refuge 107\\nsort which fortify us against our bad quarter-\\nhours, by bracing up our own moral tone or\\nour philosophical heroism. They are not so\\nmuch remedies for the present attack, perhaps,\\nas preventives of such in the future. They are\\nthe books which make a man ashamed of car-\\ning too much whether he be happy or not\\nwhich present anew the higher aims and better\\nestimates of life. Such are the ruminations of\\nthe old Stoics, and Sartor Resartus, and the\\nConduct of Life, and Wordsworth, and the\\nlater poetry of Longfellow, and the great auto-\\nbiographies.\\nBut there is still a third class, in some re-\\nspects the most valuable of all. I mean the\\nbooks that by their mere largeness of scope\\nmake all our own haps and mishaps, and states\\nof mind or of fortune, dwindle to insignificance.\\nTheir voice appeals every case from die kleine\\nto die grosse welt. Their motives and judg-\\nments are no longer those of our lehrjahre, but\\nthose of our wanderjahre. If, in French litera-\\nture, Dumas represents the pass-the-time spe-\\ncies, George Sand may be taken as representa-\\ntive of this self-obliterating species. Such also\\nis Turgenieff, and such is Goethe. Of our\\nEnglish writers, George Eliot belongs to this\\nclass, and Landor, and the great historians,\\nand Browning, and, again, Shakespeare in his", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "108 Literature and Criticism\\ndeeper dramas. For all these are writers who\\nsee the world so large, and feel life so deep\\nand full, that from their plane we watch only\\nthe rolling globe, and see not at all our own\\nlittle diminished speck of a personality.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "THE MOST PATHETIC FIGURE IN\\nSTORY\\nThe inquiry has sometimes suggested itself\\nto me, What is the most pathetic figure in story\\nWhen I was a boy, the fate of Evangeline the\\nAcadian always seemed to me the most pit-\\neous of all that I had ever known. Not so\\nmuch at the end, the woefulness of that find-\\ning of her lover too late did not impress me so\\nmuch till those words had taken on their deeper\\nmeaning from the experience of life but the\\nperpetual disappointment, the hope, not crushed\\nand ended, but continually revived, only to be\\nthe hope deferred that maketh the heart\\nsick, this seemed to me the pity of it.\\nMost poignant of all appeared that moment in\\nthe story, when, as Longfellow tells it,\\nNearer, ever nearer, among the numberless islands,\\nDarted a light, swift boat, that sped away o er the\\nwater.\\nGabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy and\\nrestless.\\nSought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and of\\nsorrow.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "110 Literature and Criticism\\nSwiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the\\nisland,\\nBut by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of pal-\\nmettos,\\nSo that they saw not the boat, where it lay concealed\\nin the willows.\\nAll undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and unseen,\\nwere the sleepers\\nAngel of God, was there none to awaken the slumber-\\ning maiden\\nSwiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud on\\nthe prairie.\\nAfter the sound of their oars on the tholes had died\\nin the distance.\\nAs from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and the\\nmaiden\\nSaid with a sigh to the friendly priest, O Father\\nFelician\\nSomething says in my heart that near me Gabriel\\nwanders.\\nIs it a foolish dream, an idle and vague superstition\\nOr has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to my\\nspirit\\nIn after years, when this tale of the Acadian\\nexiles had lost something of its pathos through\\nmere familiarity, I read Chaucer s story of\\nPatient Griselde. What reader has it not\\nimpressed as a most piteous passage, where the\\npoor mother meekly suffers the supposed loss\\nof her children twain As it reads in the\\nGierke s Tale:", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "The Most Pathetic Figure in Story 111\\nThis ugly sergeant in the same wise\\nThat he hire doughter caughte, right so he\\n(Or werse, if men can any werse devise),\\nHath bent her sone, ful was of beautee\\nAnd ever in on so patient was she,\\nThat she no chere made of heavinesse,\\nBut kist her sone and after gan it blesse.\\nSave this she praied him, if that he might,\\nHire litel sone he wold in erthe grave,\\nHis tendre limmes, delicat to sight.\\nFro foules and fro bestes for to save.\\nAnd, again, when the children are brought\\nback to her alive and well\\nWhan she this herd aswoune doun she falleth.\\nFor pitous joye, and after hire swouning,\\nShe bothe hire yonge children to hire calleth,\\nAnd in hire armes, pitously weping,\\nEmbraceth hem, and tendrely kissing\\nFul like a moder with hire sake teres\\nShe bathed both his visage and his heres.\\nO tendre, o dere, o yonge children mine\\nYour woful moder wened steadfastly\\nThat cruel houndes or som foul vermine\\nHad eten you but God of his mercy.\\nAnd your benigne fader tendrely\\nHath don you kepe and in that same stound\\nAl sodenly she swapt adoun to ground.\\nStill later it seemed to me (and perhaps\\njustly) that the instant when Lear recognizes\\nCordelia should be accounted the most pathetic\\ninstant of all recorded human destiny. Let me", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "112 Literature and Criticism\\nhere, however, make the confession (and it\\ngoes toward showing that the drama of Shake-\\nspeare should be played as well as read, always\\nprovided it be played worthily) that it was not\\ntill I saw Edwin Booth portray the part that I\\nrealized its full power. It is where the old\\nking stretches out his arms, and cries\\nPray, do not mock me\\nI am a very foolish, fond old man,\\nFourscore and upward.\\nDo not laugh at me\\nFor as I am a man, I think this lady\\nTo be my child Cordelia\\nBut there is a pathos that moves the intel-\\nlect, rather than the source of tears. And to\\nthis faculty it has sometimes seemed, as I have\\nmeditated on the woeful possibilities of human\\nfate, that nothing can be more sorrowful than\\nthe destiny of Tithonus, the moon s aged and\\nimmortal lover\\nThe woods decay, the woods decay and fall,\\nThe vapors weep their burden to the ground,\\nMan comes and tills the field and lies beneath,\\nAnd after many a summer dies the swan.\\nThe only cruel immortality\\nConsumes I wither slowly in thine arms,\\nHere at the quiet limit of the world,\\nA white-hair d shadow roaming like a dream\\nThe ever silent spaces of the East,\\nFar-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "The Most Pathetic Figure in Story II3\\nI asked thee, Give me immortality.\\nThen did thou grant my asking with a smile,\\nLike wealthy men who care not how they give.\\nBut thy strong Hours indignant work d their wills,\\nAnd beat me down and warr d and wasted me,\\nAnd though they could not end me, left me maim d\\nTo dwell in presence of immortal youth.\\nImmortal age beside immortal youth,\\nAnd all I was, in ashes. Can thy love,\\nThy beauty, make amends, though even now,\\nClose over us, the silver star, thy guide,\\nShines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears\\nTo hear me\\nColdly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold\\nAre all thy lights, and cold my wrinkled feet\\nUpon thy glimmering thresholds, when the stream\\nFloats up from those dim fields about the homes\\nOf happy men that have the power to die,\\nAnd grassy barrows of the happier dead.\\nBut to me now, as I recall the moving acci-\\ndents of written story, perhaps that appears\\nmost touching which Scott relates in the poem\\nof Helvellyn though the chord which it\\ntouches be not of sympathy with manhood, but\\nonly of faithful dog-hood, most tender and\\ntrue. The quaint prelude relates, in its old-\\nfashioned prose, how a young gentleman of\\ntalents and of a most amiable disposition per-\\nished by losing his way on the mountain. His\\nremains were not discovered till three months", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "114 Literature and Criticism\\nafterwards, when they were found guarded by\\na faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant\\nduring frequent solitary rambles through the\\nwilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. It\\nis the same incident that Wordsworth cele-\\nbrates in a poem which has no passage of any-\\nthing like the imaginative power of that which\\nI am about to quote from Scott, yet I will re-\\ncall to the reader its closing stanzas\\nBut hear a wonder, for whose sake\\nThis lamentable tale I tell\\nA lasting monument of words\\nThis wonder merits well.\\n(This of the lasting monument is very\\ncharacteristic of the one bard, and how little it\\nwould have been characteristic of the other\\nThe Dog which still was hovering nigh,\\nRepeating the same timid cry,\\nThis Dog had been through three months space\\nA dweller in that savage place.\\nYes, proof was plain that since the day\\nWhen this ill-fated Traveler died,\\nThe Dog had watched about the spot.\\nOr by his master s side\\nHow nourished here through such long time\\nHe knows, who gave that love sublime\\nAnd gave that strength of feeling, great\\nAbove all human estimate\\nAnd this is the passage from Scott, doubtless\\nfamiliar to a hundred for every one who re-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "The Most Pathetic Figure in Story 115\\nmembers the lasting monument which the\\nprofounder yet often weaker poet wrought\\nNot yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,\\nFor, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended,\\nThe much-loved remains of her master defended.\\nAnd chased the hill-fox and the raven away.\\nHow long didst thou think that his silence was slum-\\nber?\\nWhen the wind waved his garment., how oft didst\\nthou starts\\nHow many long days and long weeks didst thou num-\\nber,\\nEre he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart\\nAnd, oh, was it meet that no requiem read o er him,\\nNo mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him.\\nAnd thou, little guardian, alone stretch d before him\\nUnhonor d the Pilgrim from life should depart\\nBut meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,\\nTo lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb.\\nWhen, wilder d, he drops from some cliff high in\\nstature.\\nAnd draws his last sob by the side of his dam.\\nAfter all, be it noted, this is not a morbid\\nbut a very wholesome direction of inquiry.\\nThe contemplation of the real pathos of other\\nlives, even if they be but products of the blind\\nlife within the brain, may haply save us from\\nthat most contemptible of illusions, the self-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "116 Literature and Criticism\\npitying fancy that there is anything specially\\npathetic or tragic in the commonplace fortunes\\nof our own little well-enough-to-do and tea-and-\\ntoast-consuming life.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "GERMAN LYRIC POETRY vs. FRENCH\\nIf the best French lyric poetry of modern\\ndays has indisputably a charm of refinement\\nand delicate beauty all its own, the best of the\\nGerman has an inveterate earnestness and a\\ndepth of feeling that endear it to all who have\\nreally come into its world. One does not so\\noften say of it, How exquisite How beau-\\ntiful but if there be in any one s pocket-book\\nsome long-treasured scrap of verse, well worn\\nnow at the fold and edges, the chances are that\\nif it is not English written, I mean, on Eng-\\nlish soil it is German.\\nNot only does the time-spirit work his special\\nwonders, giving to one epoch the ballad, to an-\\nother the drama, to another the subjective lyric,\\nbut the place-spirit, as well, has always wrought\\nhis own characteristic marvels. Each conti-\\nnent and island and mountain rampart and\\nvalley basin has had its particular dippings\\nin the sea and liftings into the air, its glacier-\\nploughing and meteor- sowing, not in vain.\\nThe result is that each spot produces its own\\nflowers and its own weeds in literature. So, if", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "118 Literature and Criticism\\nno German could ever have written Beranger s\\nrollicking Je suis vilain et tres vilain, Je\\nsuis vilain, or Hugo s Le Cimetiere d Eylau,\\nor De Vigny s Le Cor, or De Musset s Le\\nPoete, or Coppee s Intimites, or Les\\nEpreuves of Sully Prudhomme, it is equally\\ncertain that no Frenchman could have writ-\\nten Freiligrath s O lieb so lang du lieben\\nkannst or Hartmann s Seit Sie Gestor-\\nben, or Griin s Der Letzte Dichter, or any\\npoem of Goethe s or Schiller s.\\nIt would be difficult to say just what this\\nessence is which exists in one and not in the\\nother. We vaguely feel the difference, rather\\nthan distinctly perceive it. The persistent\\nearnestness of the German poem is one thing.\\nThe French lyric may be serious enough, and\\neven sad but we feel it to be a passing mood,\\nor a mood that surely will pass, in time. The\\nGerman poem appears to go down, for founda-\\ntion, to a sense of the permanent and essential\\nseriousness of all human existence. It is writ-\\nten against a background that reflects a sober\\ncoloring upon all its feeling. The French\\nlyric may be a thing woven as out of rain-\\nbows, but not on this ground of eternal\\nblack.\\nThe contrast in the two views of nature is\\nvery marked. The French poet sees a thou-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "German Lyric Poetry vs. French 119\\nsand delicate shades that the German misses.\\nIs there a German equivalent for the nuance of\\nthe French perception and feeling But the\\nevery-day, obvious scenes of nature, its massive\\naspects and forces, the things that every man\\nencounters, these the German poet renders\\nagain with a full heart.\\nPerhaps the best topics on which to feel the\\ndifference are those two immemorial inspirers\\nof song, war and love. When the German\\npoet sings of war, it is with the solemnity of\\nKorner s Gebet Wahrend der Schlacht.\\nWhen the French poet sings of it, it is with\\nthe Gai! Gai of Beranger. In the one,\\nyou hear the heavy tread of men, a dull, regu-\\nlar beat, which, after all, is not very distin-\\nguishable to the ear, as to whether it be an\\nadvancing column or a funeral march. In the\\nother, you hear only the bugles ringing, and\\nshouts of enthusiasm and excitement.\\nIn their treatment of love there is even\\nsharper contrast. The German word Hebe has\\nquite a different atmosphere of suggestion from\\nthe French amour. The German poet sings of\\nlove and home you feel that there is at least\\na possibility that the passion of to-day will out-\\nlast the year, or the years. Constancy is one\\nof its very elements. When the French poet\\nsings of love, it is very delicate, rosy, beautiful,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "120 Literature and Criticism\\nbut we do not hear of home. When his mis-\\ntress is past her youth, we ask ourselves, will\\nshe be thus loved and sung\\nThere is another side, certainly. It is only\\nthe German side that I am just now undertak-\\ning to defend, and it is easy to fall into the ad-\\nvocate s fault of ignoring the opposite point of\\nview. The truth is, it is a good thing that we\\nhave both these literatures. Both strains of\\nmusic are a delight the deep, steady, human\\ntones of the German cello, and the brilliant,\\nvibrant, penetrating notes of the French violin.\\nThe German poetry has certainly less variety\\nthan the French but it speaks of life, and is\\nnot life, in its depth and essence, something of\\na monotone Seek variety as we may, there\\nis but one winter, one summer, in the year.\\nThere is but one sort of friendship, one species\\nof abiding love, one ultimate close to all our\\ncomedies or tragedies.\\nLet me not be understood to imply that the\\nFrench poet is never in earnest, never ele-\\nmental and hearty in his feeling. It is too\\neasy to make these partial statements sound\\nuniversal, and therefore manifestly unjust.\\nSkillful as so many of the French are in writ-\\ning what merely makes the hour pass delight-\\nfully, there are some who know how to enrich\\nit as well. There is no national literature that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "German Lyric Poetry vs. French 121\\nfurnishes too many of those magicians who not\\nonly fillip the hour-glass, but make it run pure\\ngold.\\nA source of frequent injustice to the German\\nlyric poets is the abominable English transla-\\ntion that is usually furnished with German\\nsongs. If they contain sonorous syllables,\\nfairly suited to the voice, it is all that seems\\nto be required by the publishers of music any\\nbeauty or sense is permitted to evaporate in\\npassing from one language to the other. I\\nwas struck by a new instance of this, only yes-\\nterday, in the Polish songs of Chopin. One of\\nthem was rendered so badly that I thought I\\nmight venture to give here another version, im-\\nperfect as it is, and not yet tried with the notes\\nMIR AUS DEN AUGEN\\nAway Let not mine eyes, my heart, behold you\\nIt was your right to choose I heard you say,\\nForget We must forget Love might have told you\\nT was vain. You could not, more than I, obey.\\nAs the dim shadows down the pastures lengthen,\\nThe further sinks the day-star s fading fire,\\nSo in your breast will tender memories strengthen,\\nDeeper and darker as my steps retire.\\nAt every hour, in every place of meeting.\\nWhere we together shared delight and pain,\\nYes, everywhere will dear thoughts keep repeating,\\nHere, too, his voice, his look, his touch, remain", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "122 Literature and Criticism\\nAnd since I have given a German lyric, it\\nmight not be amiss to close with a French one,\\nof which I have tried to give some hint, at\\nleast, in English, a sonnet from the new vol-\\nume of Sully Prudhomme\\nL AMOUR ASSASSINfi\\nPoor wretch that smites, in his despair insane,\\nThe tender mouth for which he has no bread,\\nAnd in some lonely spot, ere it be dead,\\nCovers the little corse, yet warm, ill-slain\\nSo I struck down dear Love for being born\\nI smoothed the limbs, and closed the eyes, and lone\\nThe darling form was left, neath ponderous stones\\nThen, at my deed dismayed, I fled forlorn.\\nI deemed my love was dead indeed, in vain\\nErect he speaks, close by the open tomb,\\nMid April lilacs even there in bloom.\\nWith immortelles his pale brow glorified\\nThou didst but wound I live to seek her side\\nNot by thy hand, not thine, can I be slain", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "THE CLANG-TINT OF WORDS\\nIt is interesting to notice what a difference\\nthere is in words as to their atmosphere. Two\\nterms that the dictionaries give as being nearly\\nor quite synonymous may have widely different\\nvalues for literary use. Each has its own envel-\\noping suggestiveness, airs from Heaven,\\nor emanations from elsewhere. Of two words\\ndenoting the same object or action, one may\\ncome drawing with it a light, a glory, a fair\\nluminous cloud the other bringing a disa-\\ngreeable smudge. Accordingly, in the literary\\nart, it is not enough to use language with an\\nexact sense of definitions; one must add to\\nthis logical precision a nice instinct for atmo-\\nspheric effect. Just as a tone of a particular\\npitch is one thing on a flute, and another on a\\nhorn, each having its own timbre, so a term\\nhaving a precise meaning is one thing if it has\\ndropped caroling out of Grecian skies, and\\nfrom the delicate hands of Keats and Shelley,\\nbut quite another thing if it has come clattering\\nand rumbling up out of clodhoppers horse-\\ntalk. Moreover, just as the difference between", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "124 Literature and Criticism\\ntones on various instruments is due to their\\ndiverse groups of harmonic over-tones, one\\nsuperposed on another, so the individual at-\\nmosphere of any word comes from its having\\nits own composite set of associations, some\\nfaint and vague, some strong and definite, that\\nhave through all its history been clustering\\nupon it.\\nNow, this timbre or clang-tint of words can-\\nnot be learned from any dictionary. It must\\nbe caught, little by little, from a kind of house-\\nhold familiarity with the choicest writers.\\nEuphiiists^ we may call these best writers of\\nevery age for that much-misunderstood move-\\nment of old times, known and ridiculed as\\neiipJmisiti^ was in reality only a product of this\\ninstinct of refinement in the choice of terms.\\nIn that passage from Wordsworth s Brougham\\nCastle, a warm bit of color that stands out\\nfrom a cold poem like a flash of red sunset on\\nbare trees in the snow,\\nArmor rusting in his halls\\nOn the blood of Clifford calls;\\nQuell the Scot exclaims the Lance\\nBear me to the heart of France\\nIs the longing of the Shield,\\nwhat could have been substituted for quelP^ 1\\nCrush; beat; Jzili; smash; either\\none would have been out of the question. Or", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "The Clang Tint of Words 125\\nwhat could have been used instead of bear\\nBring, take; fetch, /z/^, each is\\nimpossible. Quell and bear, by the way,\\nare not terms of every-day use in common\\nspeech yet this is the poet who is popularly\\nsupposed, by those who have read about him\\nmore than they have read him, to have abjured\\nall merely literary language. The truth is, his\\ndistinction is rather that of having passed hon-\\nest coin instead of counters. He used lan-\\nguage not for the sound of it, but for the sense\\nof it. The verse-carpenters had been in the\\nhabit of patching up their products with unfelt\\nand unmeant poetic words their work was\\ncalled poetry because it was not prose.\\nBut Wordsworth never used a word, whether\\nbig or little, Latin or Saxon, except to carry an\\nidea and he picked them not only according\\nto their exact sense, but according to their\\nexact clang-tint as well.\\nNo doubt one of the most charming among\\nthe atmospheric qualities of words is that in-\\nevitable suggestion of sincerity in their use\\nwhich clings about the homely diction of every-\\nday intercourse. Not only Wordsworth, but all\\nof the good modern poets, sing for the most\\npart in the same language in which they would\\ntalk; and, for that matter, did not Chaucer,\\nand did not Shakespeare The best litera-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "126 Literature and Criticism\\nture and the best conversation contrive to get\\non with but one vocabulary. It is only the\\ndreary scribblers that persist in prodding our\\ninattentive brains with startling forms of speech.\\nIt is already merry times in literature when we\\nare not any longer afraid of our mother tongue.\\nWe instinctively sheer off from any writer who\\nuses what Rogers the poet Rogers called\\nalbum words. Certain type metal terms\\nhave come to serve as ear-marks of insincerity\\nand of the mere ambition to write something,\\nterms that are never used in honest speech,\\nand the employment of which in conversation\\nwould make a man feel absurd. When we\\nfind the ideas common and the words uncom-\\nmon we have learned that we may as well put\\ndown the volume, or turn the leaf of the maga-\\nzine. The newspapers have some words of\\nthis sort, dear to them, but the betes noires of\\nall lovers of straightforward English such are\\nperuse and replete r\\nOne gets a vivid sense of the different at-\\nmosphere about words substantially synony-\\nmous in trying to make substitutions in a proof-\\nsheet. For example, the lynx-eyed proof-reader\\nhas some day conveyed to you, by means of the\\ndelicately unobtrusive intimation of a blue-\\npencil line, the fact that you have repeated a\\nword three times in the space of a short para-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "The Clang -Tint of Words 127\\ngraph. You have to find a substitute. It is\\neasy to think of half a dozen terms that stand\\nfor very nearly the same idea, but it is in the\\nincongruous implications of them all that the\\ndifficulty lies. You consult your Book of\\nSynonyms, and find there nearly all you have\\nalready thought of, but never any others.\\nThere is, however, one further resource. You\\nhave had from boyhood the Thesaurus of Eng-\\nlish Words. Hundreds of times, during all\\nthese years, you have referred to its wonderful\\nwealth of kindred terms. You seem dimly to\\nremember that on one occasion in the remote\\npast you did find in it a missing word you\\nwanted. It shall have one more chance to dis-\\ntinguish itself. Perhaps the sentence to be\\namended reads thus As he tore open the\\ntelegram a smile of bitter mockery flickered\\nacross his haggard features, and he staggered\\nbehind the slender column. Suppose, now,\\nit is the word mockery for which you seek\\na substitute. The Thesaurus suggests, a smile\\nof bitter bathos^ bitter bicffooner}\\\\ bitter slip-of-\\nthe-tongue^ bitter scurrility. Or suppose it is\\nstaggered that is to be eliminated. You find\\nas alluring alternatives, he fiuctiiated^ he cur-\\nveted^ he librated^ he dangled. If each one of\\nthese would seem to impart a certain flavor\\nthat is hardly required for your present pur-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "128 Literature and Criticism\\npose, you may write, he pranced, he flapped, he\\nchurned, he effervesced, behind the slender col-\\numn. Or should the word to be removed be\\nhaggard, you have your choice between his\\nsqualid features, his maculated features, his\\nbesmeared features, his rickety features. Or,\\nfinally, if you are in search of something to fill\\nthe place of colum7t, your incomparable hand-\\nbook allows you to choose freely between the\\nslender tallness, the slender may-pole, the slen-\\nder hummock, promontory, top-gallant-mast, pro-\\ncerity, monticle, or garret. The object of this\\nwork, says the title-page, is to facilitate the\\nexpression of ideas, and assist in literary com-\\nposition.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "THE OBJECTIONS TO SPELLING\\nREFORM\\nThere are two insuperable objections, in my\\nprivate and heretical opinion, to the so-called\\nreformed spelling. One is that it would\\nincrease the already too great similarity in\\nwords. Syllables that are at present identical\\nonly to the ear would then become alike to the\\neye also. Now the true theory of a visible and\\naudible language demands that the symbols of\\nideas should diffe?- as intcch as the ideas. Rite,\\nright, and write are three wholly distinct ideas,\\nand their symbols ought to be correspondingly\\ndistinct. In the natural and undisturbed de-\\nvelopment of a language they would differ both\\nto ear and to eye but our present tongue is\\nthe result of confusing influences, and the\\nsounds of our speech have been allowed in\\nmany instances to lose their differentiation.\\nThe eye, however, being a more intellectual\\norgan than the ear, has refused to permit the\\nvisible symbols to break down into this indis-\\ntinguishable similarity. If we cannot have\\nevery idea represented by a different symbol to", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "130 Literature and Criticism\\nthe ear, at least let us not throw away at the\\ncommand of a false notion whatever difference\\nremains to the eye. Afete, meat^ meet night\\nand knight; sight, site, cite mind and mined\\naisle and isle; by, bye, buy se?it, scent, cent;\\nsell and cell wait and weight all and awl,\\nand a great number of other such pairs or trip-\\nlets would lose what little is left of their\\nindividual identity. Depend upon it, this dif-\\nference of spelling has not been a result of\\naccident. It has been retained because of a\\nfelt instinct of the usefulness of keeping things\\nseparate in appearance which are separate in\\nfact. Any one who has dabbled in phonogra-\\nphy knows that the fatal defect of all short-\\nhand systems of writing, for any but those who\\nmake a long-continued specialty of their use, is\\nthe extreme similarity of the signs, especially\\nwhen combined in words and phrases. The\\nadvantage of our alphabet lies in the ingenious\\ndiversity of its forms, enabling the eye to seize\\non the special characteristic of each letter,\\neven in hurried script. This is the secret of\\nits having been retained unchanged through so\\nmany generations of men.\\nMy second objection to phonetic spelling is\\nthat it would petrify any language in the forms\\nwhich it happened to have at the moment of\\nadopting the reform. Now I feel sure, what-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "The Objections to Spelling Reform 131\\never certain eminent philologists may say, that\\nthe language-making instinct is by no means\\nextinct in us. So far as the iron grip of the\\ndictionaries will let it, language tends to move\\nand change. And this, too, not at haphazard,\\nbut in obedience to a felt congruity between\\nsound and sense. One or two examples are as\\ngood as a hundred to illustrate this. Why do\\nchildren and all persons not standing in awe\\nof the dictionary incline to say tiji^iy or teeny\\nfor a minute object, instead of tiny, if not that\\nthe littleness of the sound is more suited to the\\nlittleness of the thing And why do so many\\npersons show a reluctance to pronouncing the\\nin the name of the Deity short, as in dog or\\nfog? If a fixed phonetic spelling, backed up\\nby all the power of the more and more tyran-\\nnical dictionaries, is allowed to paralyze all the\\ninstincts of growth and change in the language,\\nthrowing it into a dead and fossil condition\\nbefore its time, there will be no longer possible\\nsuch progress as, for example, that from the\\nold English ic to the modern I. Ic was too\\ninsignificant a sound for the whole weight of\\nthe first person, and that, too, in its nominative\\ncase of willing and acting. The idea needed\\n(and once had) a more fitting sound-symbol,\\nand at last found it again in this noble vowel,\\na compound whose first tone is ah, that broad-\\nest and fullest utterance in any language.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "PRINCIPLES OF CRITICISM\\nThe value that men have set upon art and\\nliterature proves that these have ministered to\\nsome deep-seated and permanent human de-\\nsire. What is this desire Or if there be more\\nthan one, which is the deepest seated and most\\npermanent in other words, the paramount\\ndesire The true answer to this question, if\\nwe can discover it, must furnish us with a\\nmuch-needed test for literary and art values.\\nIt must, in short, furnish a basis, and the only\\ncorrect basis, for the criticism of all literary\\nand art products.\\nFor, obviously, before we are in a position\\nto determine the worth of a thing, or the rela-\\ntive worth of any two or three things of the\\nsame general sort, we have to inquire. What\\npurpose is this thing intended to serve What\\nis it expected to do\\nNow it is precisely on this point that there\\nseems to have been very confused ideas among\\ncritics, and by this is not meant profes-\\nsional critics only, but all those who have at-\\ntempted, either for themselves or for others, to", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 133\\nform correct estimates of the value or compar-\\native values, of works of literature and art.\\nProfessional critics, especially (for it is they,\\nespecially, who have seemed to feel that they\\nmust not trust to their instincts, which would\\noften have done better for them, but must\\nmake at least a show of having some well-\\nunderstood basis of critical principles), have\\napparently been in a position not unlike that\\nof a layman at some mechanics fair, who under-\\ntakes to pass judgment on a machine of whose\\npurpose and uses he has next to no idea.\\nPerhaps the novel and the poem have been\\nthe most conspicuous examples of this failure,\\non the part of ordinary criticism, to base itself\\non any clear understanding of what these forms\\nof the literary art are essentially for. One\\nnovel will be praised on the ground that it has\\na moral purpose, another on the ground (as by\\nthat distinguished critic, M. Taine) that it has\\nnot a moral purpose one on the ground that\\nit paints actual facts from the life, another on\\nthe ground that it depicts an ideal world one\\non the ground that it gives pleasure, another\\non the ground that it gives information, and\\nso on. If the novel has not all these objects\\nin view (and some of them are a little incon-\\nsistent with each other), which of them has it.\\nAnd if several of them, which object is the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "134 Literature and Criticism\\nessential one, the one which, being accom-\\nplished, the novel cannot be a thoroughly poor\\none, or which, being unaccomplished, it cannot\\nbe a thoroughly good one\\nSo with the poem. The reason that the\\ncritics have, through all time, been so ludi-\\ncrously incapable of making an estimate of any\\ngiven work of poetry (except in the case of an\\nimitation, where a verdict on the original had\\nalready been furnished them) that, should be\\ncorroborated, unless through accident, by the\\ntest of time is that there has been no clear and\\nwell-settled opinion as to the true purpose of\\nthe poetic art. Is it to move us to pity and\\nterror, and at the same time do to these feel-\\nings some ambiguous thing which Greek schol-\\nars never have been exactly able to make out,\\nas Aristotle said or is it to please, as\\neverybody else has always said, till De Quincey\\nblew one of his withering blasts at that shallow\\nnotion, but as the average critic apparently still\\ncontinues to believe Is its true function best\\nfulfilled by being so intelligible that everybody\\ncan understand it, or by being so unintelligible\\nthat nobody can, except the poet himself, and\\nhe only before it gets cold Is it true that a\\npoem cannot be a true poem unless it is\\nsHort or are w^e still permitted to believe\\nthat the Iliad is, after all, a sort of poem", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 135\\nIn seeking for reliable principles on which\\njust criticism may be based, we must, if possi-\\nble, find those which are broad enough to in-\\nclude all art. Otherwise we should suspect\\nthem of not being fundamental principles. For\\nliterature is, in fact, one of the fine arts. Not\\neverything that is written, of course, belongs to\\nliterature proper but when a written product\\nbecomes a part of what has well enough been\\ncalled belles-lettres, as a poem, for example,\\nin contradistinction from a Patent Office Re-\\nport, it belongs to the art of literature, and\\nis closely allied to the other fine arts giving\\nus, like them, that immediate and direct satis-\\nfaction of a high order which we call aesthetic\\npleasure, or delight. Literature, as we shall\\nsee, gives us much more than this, but this it\\ngives us in common with the other arts.\\nIf, then, we ask for a test or criterion for art\\nin general, the reply may be made. The true\\ntest is that it shall be beautiful. But the un-\\nderlying question is. What is beauty, and\\nwhat things are beautiful\\nEvidently beauty is not a simple quality, ap-\\nprehended by a distinct inner sense, the sense\\nof beauty, though it has sometimes crudely\\nbeen so considered. It is plain enough, on\\nreflection, that beauty is a complex thing, and\\nrequires analysis. All great works of art, and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "136 Literature and Criticism\\nespecially of the literary art, are more than\\nmerely beautiful, but we may first of all inves-\\ntigate this quality.\\nLet us take, to begin with, as the simplest\\nof the arts, that of visible form. Its simplest\\nelement is the line then the curved line, as of\\nthe mountain or wave outline. Its highest and\\nmost complex product is the statue, or group\\nof statuary.\\nThe writers on aesthetics, in their attempts\\nto furnish an analysis of the beautiful, have\\nseemed to hover at a greater or less distance\\naround a central idea, none unless it be Mr.\\nHerbert Spencer, whose views have been ex-\\npressed only in scattered suggestions pre-\\ncisely hitting it, and yet few being far away\\nfrom it. We mean the idea that beauty gives\\nus activity of mind and feeling. Hogarth, for\\nexample, speaks of the quality of variety in\\nlines as an element of their beauty. The wav-\\ning line, or undulating curve, he calls especially\\nthe line of beauty, because it gives the eye\\nmuch variety of direction without displeasing\\nit (without hindering it, we should prefer to\\nsay) by sudden changes of direction. Sir Wil-\\nliam Hamilton, in likewise attributing the effect\\nof beauty to the union of variety with unity,\\nexplains our delight in it by the fact of its giv-\\ning full play at once to the imagination through", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 137\\nvariety, and to the understanding through unity.\\nAlison, attributing the entire effect to the asso-\\nciation of ideas, makes beauty to consist in the\\npower of giving active emotions, as of cheer-\\nfulness or sadness, and of awakening trains of\\ncorresponding ideas in the mind. Mr. James\\nSully points out the imperfection of this theory\\nin its exclusion of the element of direct aesthetic\\npleasure derived from color, form, or tone.\\nMr. Herbert Spencer, following a hint derived\\nfrom Schiller, considers the aesthetic activities\\nto be essentially the play of the mind. He\\ngrades aesthetic pleasures according to the\\nnumber of powers called into activity the low-\\nest being the pleasure of mere sensation, as\\nfrom tone or color next, the pleasure of per-\\nception, as from combinations of color, or sym-\\nmetries of form and highest, the pleasure of\\nthe aesthetic sentiments proper, composed of\\nmultitudinous emotions excited in the mind by\\nassociations, some of them reaching far back\\nin the race experience of man.\\nThe central idea, round which these and\\nother theories cluster, is that of increased ac-\\ntivity as the essential effect of beauty on the\\nmind.\\nIn the two arts of form and of tone, the sim-\\nplest elements the straight line and the sin-\\ngle tone may be considered as correspond-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "138 Literature and Criticism\\nent. For the tone differs from mere noise in\\nbeing produced by periodic vibrations, so that\\nin its apprehension our consciousness is con-\\ntinuous whereas in hearing a mere noise, owing\\nto the interferences of the jumbled vibrations,\\nour consciousness is interrupted and intermit-\\ntent. Precisely so, an irregular and confused\\nmultitude of dots made by the pencil on paper\\nwould be a noise in visible form while a con-\\ntinuous row of dots, that is to say a straight\\nline, would be a tone in form. In the tone as\\nin the line the consciousness is unhindered and\\ncontinuous. Again, just as we may have a\\nnoise of tones which, although musical tones\\nseparately, are clashed together in discord, so\\nwe may have a noise, so to speak, of lines\\nclean and straight in themselves, but thrown\\ninto a tangled mass which the eye cannot fol-\\nlow.\\nRising a step higher, we have the curve in\\nform, answering to the melody in music. In\\neither case, its effect is a succession of changes\\nof impression, but of such a nature that the\\nconsciousness may be continuous in appre-\\nhending them. A jagged and irregularly an-\\ngular line, on the other hand, would correspond\\nto a haphazard succession of tones, regardless\\nof the conditions of melodious arrangement,\\nsince both produce checks and interruptions of", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 139\\nthe flowing continuity of consciousness. Ho-\\ngarth s line of beauty, in other words, is the\\npleasantest melody of form, because it gives to\\nconscious apprehension the greatest total of\\nsight activity without check.\\nBut a harmony, whether of audible tones or\\nof visible forms, is still more delightful than a\\nmelody. Such a harmony of forms we get in\\nthe symmetry of two curves above and below a\\nhorizontal line, as in the arch of a bridge re-\\nflected in a stream, or on the two sides of a\\nvertical line, as in the shapely tree. Its sim-\\nplest elements might be represented thus\\nMore graceful still is the symmetry of two\\nundulating curves, answering to each\\nother, and thus furnishing both mel-\\nody and harmony. And this brings\\nus to the elements of one of the\\nbeautiful forms of ancient art. For\\njoining the extremities of the two\\ncurves, we have the vase. If now we\\nadd to each side another answering\\npair of such curves, we have it with\\nthe double arms of the Greek am-\\nphora. And if we add still another such pair\\nat the top, we have reached a hint of the very", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "140 Literature and Criticism\\noutlines of that which we consider\\nthe most graceful of all forms, the\\nhuman figure. For it would require\\nbut slight touches to suggest the\\nhead and the veritable arms and\\nlimbs of the statue.\\nNo doubt there is much in the\\nbeauty of the human form besides\\nthe mere symmetry of graceful lines\\nmuch that depends on the associa-\\ntion of ideas, as, for example, the\\nsuggestion of force and activity in muscular\\ncurves,\\nThose lines\\nThat sweeping downward breathe, in rest, of motion.\\nThe important thing to notice is that just as\\nthe simple grace of the mere outlines is ex-\\nplicable through their ministering to sight ac-\\ntivity, so the complex beauty is woven of a\\nthousand threads of vague suggestion, all linked\\nwith ideas of health and strength and myste-\\nrious life-functions, and so all centring in the\\nsatisfaction of the one desire for full exist-\\nence.\\nBut complex as the quality of beauty is in\\nthe actual human figure, it is even more so in\\nthe work of plastic art. A statue which was\\nmerely an exact copy of life a photograph in\\nmarble would not by any means give us all", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 141\\nthe aesthetic delight of which art is capable.\\nIn fact, it would not be art at all. It is only\\nwhen the artist bodies forth some conception\\nof his own mind that we are greatly stirred.\\nThen, besides the immediate beauty of the\\nmelodies and harmonies of lines, and the me-\\ndiate beauty, through associated ideas, of the\\nsupple and forceful forms, we have in some\\npathetic or heroic group in marble a world of\\nquickened thoughts and feelings. In one of\\nWilhelm von Humboldt s Letters to a Lady,\\nhe says,\\nThe beauty of a work of art is, for the very\\nreason that it is a work of art, much freer from\\nimperfections than nature, and never excites\\nselfish emotions. We observe it attentively,\\nwe wonder at it more and more, but we do not\\nform any connection between it and ourselves.\\nTo the beauty of sculpture applies what Goethe\\nhas said so finely of the stars We never\\ndesire the stars, although we take such pleasure\\nin their light.\\nNow the explanation of this superiority of\\nart to nature, aesthetically, is to be found in the\\nfact that any personal relation to self narrows\\nand lessens the spiritual activity. And the\\nsame explanation is applicable to the connec-\\ntion of aesthetic pleasures with the play im-\\npulse. For the compelling of any impulse to-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "142 Literature and Criticism\\nward the accomplishment of some set purpose\\nmust confine its force. The stream of spiritual\\nactivity is controlled into some single channel,\\nand there is no longer that free swing of all\\nthe powers which is the essence both of play\\nand of esthetic delight. In other words, if we\\nenjoy play more than work, and art more than\\nnature, it is because we have through their\\nmeans a greater total of conscious life.\\nThe art of tone has this advantage over the\\narts of painting and sculpture as the direct\\nsource of power upon the spirit, that music is\\na natural and universal means of expression.\\nThere can never be symphonies of color, as\\nhas been imagined, for the reason that nowhere\\nin the world is color naturally (as distinguished\\nfrom artistically) employed to express anything.\\nTone, on the contrary, is universally so em-\\nployed. Mr. Spencer, in his Essay on the\\nOrigin of Music, and elsewhere, has admira-\\nbly shown how this expressive use of tone runs\\nthrough all the higher grades of the animal\\nkingdom. When the dog barks or howls, and\\nthe bird pipes or complains, and the child sings\\nor cries, it is the beginning of music. For it\\nis the beginning of the use of tones to express\\nfeeling. Ordinary human speech is not speech\\nalone, conveying ideas, but music as well, con-\\nveying feeling. If we listen to an animated", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 143\\nconversation from an adjoining room, where\\nthe articulation of words is not quite audible,\\nwe shall find that it is song, rather than speech,\\nthat we hear. The voices go up and down the\\ngamut, the intervals and the tempo increasing\\nor diminishing as the feeling changes. The\\nstaccato, high-keyed utterances of pleasure the\\nslow, minor cadences of sorrow the deep mon-\\notone of determination the tremolo of passion,\\nall these are nothing but the song within the\\nspeech. Whenever speech ceases to convey-\\nmerely cold intellectual ideas, and becomes\\nemotional, the voice tends more and more\\ntoward song, ranging more widely through the\\ngamut, and taking on the cadences of music\\nproper. Perhaps even among the very ele-\\nments of speech, in the vowels, namely, we\\nhave the beginnings of music as expressive of\\nfeeling. For while the consonants seem to be\\nmere checks or interruptions of the breath, ex-\\npressing the limitation of our consciousness to\\ndefinite ideas, the vowels are pure tones, each\\nhaving a natural pitch of its own (which one\\nmay readily detect by whispering them loudly),\\nand expressing the play of feeling upon these\\nideas. This may possibly help to explain the\\nablaut, or change of vowel to express tense in\\nthe verb as, si7ig, sa?ig, sung. We do not over-\\nlook the theory which explains this by the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "144 Literature and Criticism\\neffect of the ancient reduplication but it\\nsometimes happens in philology, as in society,\\nthat one cause gives rise to a form, and another\\nmakes it permanent. At any rate, the present\\nfact is that, while the consonants remain the\\nsame in the different tenses in this example, as\\nexpressing the unchanged idea of the action,\\nthe vowels change, as the attitude or feeling of\\nthe mind toward the action changes, whether\\npresent, or just finished, or wholly past.\\nThe reason, then, that music has a much\\ngreater direct power over the feelings than any\\nother art is that music alone is based on a\\nnatural means of emotional expression. But\\nits power of expression does not stop with the\\nfeelings. Inextricably bound up with every\\nhuman feeling is a host of ideas associated\\nwith it in the mind, for every feeling a host\\nof ideas, for the reason that the possible feel-\\nings are few, while ideas are innumerable.\\nAccordingly, music, whose power of direct ex-\\npression is almost limited to the emotions,\\nexpresses different ideas to different persons,\\nor to ourselves at different times, accord-\\ning as the particular emotion is associated in\\nexperience with one set of ideas or another.\\nThe sonata which to an Alpine goatherd would\\nexpress a thunderstorm among rocky peaks to\\na sailor might with equal distinctness express", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 145\\na tempest at sea. The larger and deeper the\\nlife experience of the listener, the more a sym-\\nphony will mean to him in ideas or the fuller\\nhis emotional endowment, the more it will\\nmean to him in feeling, always provided\\nthat it is a great work, a work of genius, to\\nwhich he listens. Of course much can come\\nout of a symphony only if much originally went\\ninto it.\\nThe secret of all art is then within the reach\\nof our hand when we have realized one single\\nfact concerning man. As we look out upon\\nlife we see its myriad activities all springing\\nfrom certain desires. But there is one desire\\namong them which is permanent, and para-\\nmount to all. It is not the desire for mere\\npleasure, for it often overrides that it is not\\nthe desire for mere happiness, even, for it often\\noverrides that. It is the desire for life not\\nthe poor negative desire to escape death and\\ncling to existence, merely, but the aspiration\\nfor full and abounding life. To be alive in\\nevery faculty; to have the greatest possible\\ntotal of conscious being, in physical impres-\\nsion and effect, in intellectual force and grasp,\\nin emotional glow, in the out-stream of the ac-\\ntive will in short, completely to be and live\\nthis is the one paramount human desire. There\\nis only one thing we really dread it is death.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "146 Literature and Criticism\\nThere is only one thing we really desire it is\\nlife.\\nAnd now where is there to be found a per-\\npetual source of this power and activity that\\nwe perpetually desire Nowhere but in the\\nexpressed power and activity of other human\\nspirits, and that is art.\\nWe have seen that in their very elements\\nthe arts are based on the ability to satisfy this\\ndesire. For the beauty of form consists in\\ngiving the sense of sight its greatest total of\\nunchecked apprehension and the beauty of\\ntone, both in those consecutive harmonies\\nwhich we call melodies and in massed har-\\nmonies, in giving the sense of hearing its great-\\nest total of uninterrupted impression. And\\nwhen we pass beyond mere sensuous delight\\nwe find the same essential effect but on the\\nmind now, and the whole soul from the ideas\\nand feelings expressed by the artist.\\nThe test, then, for all art is that, expressing\\nmuch life, it shall give much life. That paint-\\ning, statue, symphony, is the greatest which\\nadds the greatest total to our conscious exist-\\nence. But we must mark well a distinction\\nhere. There are higher and lower grades or\\nplanes of existence. But by what test By\\nno other than this same test, their tendency\\nfor or against renewed and increased life in", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 147\\nthe whole nature. That pleasure is low which\\ntends to belittle the nature that one is high\\nwhich tends to enlarge it. That art is low\\nwhich only stimulates feelings and ideas most\\napt to brutalize that is to say, to restrict and\\nnarrow (for that is the distinction between\\nbrute and man, the one little, the other\\nlarge, in powers and possibilities). That art\\nis high which awakens feelings and ideas that\\nare vital with tendencies toward more and still\\nmore of attainment and being.\\nAnd here we see the distinction between\\nmere prettiness and genuine beauty. A patch\\nof color on the wall may be called pretty, as\\npleasing the color sense alone still more so,\\nif it gratifies also the form sense by its outline.\\nBut it falls short of beauty because it fails\\nto awaken in us any of the higher activities\\nof our inner nature. Decorative art is only\\npretty it touches but the surface of the mind.\\nDecorative poetry, in the same way, suggests\\nonly pretty images of color or form. We pass\\nalong a picture-gallery, or we turn the leaves\\nof a volume of verse. As we pause before\\nsome painting or some poem, the question is,\\nWhat does this give me It may be that it\\ngives the imagination some pretty image of na-\\nture. This is something. It may be that it\\ngives the feeling, also, some touch of suggested", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "148 Literature and Criticism\\npeace or tranquillity. That is more. But if it\\nbe a great picture, or a great poem, the whole\\nspirit in us is quickened to renewed life. Not\\nonly our sense of color and form, our percep-\\ntion of harmonious relations, but our interest\\nin some crisis of human destiny, our thought\\nconcerning this, a hundred mingled streams of\\nfancy and reflection and will impulse are set\\nflowing in us because all this was present in\\nthe man of genius who produced the work, and\\nbecause his expression of it there means\\nthe carrying of it over from his spirit into ours.\\nIf it is a work of the very greatest rank, we\\nare more, from that moment and forever. For\\nout of the life the artist or the poet has given\\nus will be born successive new accessions of\\nlife perpetually.\\nThe art of literature is the highest of the\\narts because its power of expression is greatest.\\nThe effect of music may be more intense at a\\ngiven moment, but its range is not so wide, nor\\nits effect so enduring. And poetry is the high-\\nest form of the literary art, by our test, as hav-\\ning the fullest expressive power since it not\\nonly expresses thought, like prose, but feeling\\nalso.\\nThat poetry contains in itself the elements\\nof the lower arts, a moment s reflection will\\nshow. In the first place, it contains the ele-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 149\\nments of the arts of form, of which sculpture is\\nthe purest example. For it conveys a troop of\\nimages, appealing to the inner eye, instead of\\nthe outer. In the second place, poetry con-\\ntains the elements of music. For in its rhythm,\\nits rhyme, its music of many sorts, a succession\\nof melodies and harmonies are heard by the\\ninner ear, when read silently, or by the outer,\\nwhen read aloud. The verse form is most\\nfitly used, therefore, when it is used for the ex-\\npression of thought and feeling together; of\\nthought, in other words, which is aglow with\\nfeeling, and feeling which is illuminated by\\nthought. It is equally an impertinence to use\\nthe verse form that is, the musical form\\nfor dry, cold ideas, or for mere vague feeling,\\nunlighted by thought. The former is for\\nspeech unaccompanied by music the latter is\\nfor music unaccompanied by speech. A man\\nmay say not sing a mathematical demon-\\nstration he may sing not say an outburst\\nof emotion. For this reason instruments are\\nbetter than voices for great music. Or if the\\nvoice must be used, it is best if the words are\\nin a foreign tongue which is unfamiliar to the\\nlistener. In this way the speech element of an\\nopera, nearly always foolish, is concealed and\\nthe music element, when really good, has its\\nopportunity. It is conceivable, to be sure, that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "150 Literature and Criticism\\nthere might be (as Wagner dreamed and seemed\\non the verge of accomplishing) an action so\\nhigh, expressed in speech so noble and signifi-\\ncant, that it would not belittle its accompany-\\ning music in making it limited and definite in\\nits suggestion. A good deal of our modern\\nverse errs in the reverse direction that is to\\nsay, it is mere music, flowing rhythm, and\\nsounding rhymes, and a pretty babble of in-\\nsignificant words, words, words, expres-\\nsive, thus, of some vague atmosphere of feeling,\\nwithout any thought. But this would have\\nbeen more fitly expressed in music proper it\\nis only a part, and the lesser part of the re-\\nquirement in poetry.\\nIn illustration of the statement that poetry\\ncontains in itself the elements of the arts of\\nform, as giving a succession of beautiful images,\\nwe may take a single passage from Longfellow s\\nEvangeline. Here, close together (using\\nthe poet s own words), we have the morning of\\nJune with its music and sunshine, the gleam of\\nwater, the silvery sand-bars, the dusky arch\\nand trailing mosses of the cypress, the moon-\\nHght indistinctly gleaming through the ruined\\ncedars, the pendulous stairs of the grapevines\\nwith hummingbirds rising and descending, the\\nmeasureless prairie at night with the fireflies\\nfloating above it, the southward rivers running", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 151\\nto the sea side by side like the great chords of\\na harp in loud and solemn vibrations. More-\\nover, each idea brings with it to the mind a\\ncomplex of associated thought and emotion,\\nand not merely from our own individual life\\nexperience. The human race has come a long\\nway. As we read the line in the Lady of the\\nLake,\\nWhen danced the moon on Monan s rill,\\nit is not alone the intrinsic beauty of the scene\\nthat interests us. We could imitate the effect,\\nso far as the bodily eye is concerned, by a\\ncandle glancing on a scrap of crinkled tin. Nor\\nis it any definite association of our own past\\nenjoyment in connection with such a scene.\\nThere are associations as Mr. Herbert Spen-\\ncer has pointed out too vague and dim to\\ndefine faint reverberations of whole aeons of\\nhuman, and perhaps of animal, experience.\\nThe deep forest was once full of the dread of\\nunknown dangers and the expectancy of un-\\nknown delights the shadow of the mountain\\nhad for man the chill of supernatural visita-\\ntions by the moonlit rill the savage and,\\nages before, the wilder creature of the woods\\nsought and slew his prey, or sought and won\\nhis mate.\\nTo illustrate the inclusion of the elements of", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "152 Literature and Criticism\\nthe art of tone, also, in poetry, we may take\\nthe same poem, Evangeline. To begin with,\\nthe metre is music. The accents, following\\neach other in rhythmical order, give us not\\nonly the element of time, such as a metronome\\nwould give, but a veritable tune, as well. If\\nwe recite the line,\\nWhen she had passed it seemed like the ceasing of\\nexquisite music,\\nwe find not only that it is capable of being\\nwritten in bars of time, with eighth and dotted\\neighth and sixteenth notes, but that the ac-\\ncented tones are given on a different pitch,\\neach dactyl making a cadence, or phrase, of\\nthree different tones.\\nThese lines of English hexameter (that is,\\naccent hexameter) seem to follow each other\\nlike ocean waves on the shore. The first half\\nof the line is the wave rolling in then it pauses,\\ntoppling into a crest, and crumbles down into\\nfoam in the last half. As we might represent\\nit,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nRolling, then rearing its crest, and foaming and falling\\nin thunder.\\nSo wave after wave of the sonorous verse rolls\\nin, timing itself (as Dr. Holmes suggests of\\nanother metre) to the very ebb and flow of our\\nblood and our breathing a phrase to each\\npulse-beat, and a line to each breath.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 153\\nThe rhyme system of verse, again, is entirely\\nmusic. There are three sets of rhymes, in\\nreaUty the initial, or consonant rhyme (or\\nalliteration) the medial rhyme, or chime of\\nthe vowels in the interior of the words and\\nthe final rhyme. We may note, first of all, that\\nas in rhythm, so in rhyme, we have the prin-\\nciple that lies at the foundation of music,\\nunity in variety the greatest total of conscious\\nimpression being received through chords,\\nthat is, through a variety of tones made possi-\\nble to apprehend by their relations of agree-\\nment, or unity. If we take the old couplet\\n(which is truly poetry, too, as being wise as\\nw^ell as musical),\\nLove me little, love me long,\\nIs the burden of my song,\\nwe notice first, as most obvious, the final rhyme.\\nThe books define rhyme badly, as being the\\nagreement between two sounds. That really\\nmakes but half a i-hyme. We must have the\\ndifference, as well as the agreement the variety,\\nas well as the unity. In other words, ong and\\n07tg, in this example, are not rhymes they are\\nidentical sounds they constitute a unison, not\\na harmony. But long and song are rhymes,\\nsince now a different consonant precedes each.\\nThe initial rhyme involves the same prin-\\nciple, only reversed the unity being now in", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "154 Literature and Criticism\\nthe consonants, the variety in the following\\nsounds. The important part which this initial\\nrhyme plays in verse is often overlooked, from\\nthe circumstance that the alliteration is so com-\\nmonly concealed as in this line\\nHe was already at rest, and she longed to slumber\\nbeside him.\\nThe r of rest rhymes with the r of already, the\\nof slumber with the of longed, and the s of\\nbeside with the s of slumber, though all these\\nare concealed to the eye by not being visibly\\ninitial letters. This consonant rhyme, by the\\nway, addresses the mind as well as the ear (as\\nmight be expected from the more intellectual\\ncharacter of the consonants) the alliteration\\nin good verse always striking the emphatic\\nsyllable, and (as Mr. John Earle neatly ex-\\npresses it) marking out to the mind the crests\\nof the thought, as in the line just quoted.\\nThe medial rhyme, or chime of interior vow-\\nels, also plays a concealed part in the music\\nof the best verse. Taking again the couplet,\\nLove me little, etc., if we utter the vowels\\nalone we shall hear their chime. Moreover,\\nsince each vowel has a natural pitch of its\\nown, by whispering the vowels in these lines\\nvigorously, we shall hear a distinct tune of dif-\\nferent notes, which might be written upon a\\nstaff in musical notation.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 155\\nThe best verse in which to study these vari-\\nous musical elements is that of Mother Goose.\\nAnd this for two reasons first, because it is a\\nkind of profanation to make a corpus vilum of\\ngood poetry for dissection and secondly be-\\ncause the lines of Mother Goose have been\\npreserved purely on account of this very per-\\nfection of musical form, having had no other,\\nor little other, raison d^etre. Out of thousands\\nof jingles repeated to children, the fittest only\\nhave survived, and these are, accordingly, very\\nperfect specimens so far as the outer shell of\\npoetry is concerned. A college class, for ex-\\nample, in studying verse with a thoroughly\\nscientific analysis, could not do better than to\\nprovide themselves with copies of this immor-\\ntal bard for class-room use. If one were to\\nexhaust completely the possibilities of analysis\\nof, say, this quatrain,\\nOld King Cole was a jolly old soul,\\nAnd a jolly old soul was he\\nHe called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl,\\nAnd he called for his fiddlers three,\\nhe would know a great deal about the very\\nimperfectly understood science of English\\nverse.^\\n1 The work of Sidney Lanier on English verse may\\nbe recommended as the only one that has ever made any\\napproach to a rational view of the subject. Nor are the\\nstandard ones overlooked in makmg this assertion.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "156 Literature and Criticism\\nBut a genuine poem, while containing (by its\\nimages to the inner eye, and its music to the\\ninner ear) these elements of the lower arts, goes\\nbeyond them in expressing more fully than\\nany other form has been found able to do the\\nsoul of the writer to the soul of the reader. In\\nthis way it stands as the highest species of its\\nown which is the highest genus, the art\\nof literature. And the other the prose\\nforms of literature must be ranked precisely\\naccording to this power of expressiveness.\\nWe might draw off in a tabular scheme the\\ndifferent forms of literature, classified on this\\nbasis. At the bottom we should have those\\nwritten works which are books, indeed, but not\\nyet literature as the almanac, the arithmetic,\\nthe receipt-book, the text-book on natural sci-\\nence. These, and a vast number of others, do\\nnot belong to the art of literature, or to litera-\\nture proper, simply because they do not express\\nthe writer, and therefore have no power (to\\ncome back to our test of criticism) to stir or\\nquicken the reader. They are merely fact-\\nbooks. Rising a little higher in our table of\\nforms, we may put down certain books which,\\nthough still fact-books, begin to convey some-\\nthing also of the observer s own personality.\\nSuch are certain books of travel, or of the higher\\nnatural science. They begin to be literature,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0220.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 157\\nbecause they begin to be humanly expressive.\\nA little higher in our tabular scheme will come\\nbooks of human science, wherein the writer is\\nmore apt to give something of himself (not\\nnarrowly, as an individual, but as one repre-\\nsenting universal human nature) together with\\nhis objective results. Especially is this true\\nas we rise into the region of the profounder\\nhuman problems, where our books are fact-\\nbooks, to be sure, but the facts are now of\\nsuch breadth and importance that we incline\\nrather to call them truths.\\nMore and more filly may those works be\\ncalled truth-books as we rise to the region of\\nliterature proper. Here, also, we classify and\\nrank according to expressive power. The essay\\nexpresses more than the history, because the\\nwriter is more free to reveal his own inner life\\nin his work and it contributes to us, of course,\\njust in proportion to what it takes from him.\\nThe more life goes in, the more life comes out.\\nAnd above the essay ranks fiction, on this same\\nground. And among the different forms of\\nfiction the novel stands the highest, as being\\nthe epitome, not only of what the writer has\\nseen, but of what the writer has lived and been\\nand now is. Highest of all, as we have said,\\nis the poem because here the writer felt the\\nmost freedom, and could therefore exert the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0221.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "158 Literature and Criticism\\nmost power. Keble was perhaps the first to\\npoint out that the verse form is not only a con-\\ncealer, but a revealer. That is to say, it reveals\\njust because the writer felt that he was con-\\ncealed. The mask becomes itself the most\\ntransparent sort of window.\\nAnd which form of poetry shall we set high-\\nest by our test, the narrative, the dramatic,\\nor the lyric\\nWe may be helped to answer this by observ-\\ning a fact, which is either a mere coincidence,\\nor goes far to corroborate our view of the true\\nbasis of our valuation of literature. It is the\\nfact that just in proportion with the increase of\\nexpressive power, in our tabulated scheme of\\nliterary forms, goes also an increase in perma-\\nnence of value in the world. The mere fact-\\nbooks are superseded, and become valueless.\\nThe truth-books become more and more of\\npermanent value as we rise to their higher re-\\ngions. And we are most apt to find that the\\nthing that has survived time and storm in the\\nworld s shifting history is some frail bit of a\\nlyric poem because this holds in its crystal-\\nline heart the life of a man and when we are\\ndead or half dead spiritually, out breaks\\nagain from the heart of the crystal that spark\\nof abounding life which is the thing that of all\\nothers we desire.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0222.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 159\\nWhen a mind expresses in a book its mere\\nperception of some external object, it is not yet\\nliterature. Before the same object every one s\\nperception, if normal, would be the same. The\\nexpression of it in writing can add nothing to\\nour inner life beyond what the object itself\\nwould add.^ It is only when the writer, like\\nthe coral insect, builds himself into his work,\\nexpressing inner states of thought, feeling, or\\npurpose, either of his own individuality or,\\nbest of all, of the universal human being, that\\nthe book becomes literature. Literature, for\\nthis reason, always has a style an expres-\\nsion characteristic of the man, the reflex of\\nsomething his own through which, at least,\\nthe truth however universal had to pass.\\nAs in other arts, if a painter exactly repre-\\nsented an actual laughing child, or if a musi-\\ncian exactly copied the wailing of a hurt child,\\nit would not yet be art, for it would convey\\nnothing to us beyond what the external object\\nitself would convey so in literature, if a poet\\n1 This bears on the question of the comparative values\\nof natural science and the humanities in education. A\\nfish in a book can be expected to go no farther toward\\neducating a mind than a fish in a pool. It can stimulate\\nobservation, and attract a dormant attention, and reveal\\nmany interesting facts about the non-human world, but\\nthat is all. Whereas a man s life in a book can renew\\nand increase the whole intellectual and spiritual life.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0223.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "160 Literature and Criticism\\nexactly paints in words a white rose, it may be\\nvery pretty, but it is not yet a genuine poem.\\nBut let him give us the rose, plus his feeling\\nand thought about it, sincerely his, but based\\non what is ours also, and man s universally,\\nand it is a poem. Or let it be a fact instead\\nof an object, say, the falling of an apple to\\nthe ground in a garden. When a writer de-\\nscribes it just as it is, and nothing beyond it,\\nwe say it is a fact that the apple falls. When\\nhe gives it to us plus some activity of his rea-\\nson which links it with the revolving moon,\\nexpressing now the law of universal gravitation,\\nwe say it is a great truth. And if, in its\\nexpression, he adds also the free play of his\\nown mind and feeling upon it, he may give us\\na work of pure literature perhaps most\\nlikely in this case a lyric poem.\\nThe secret of all art, then, is simply this\\nopen secret that it is the giver of what we\\nmost of all desire, abounding life. It draws\\nupon an inexhaustible supply. For it is not\\nmerely the artist s own individual spirit which\\nis imparted to us the greater the genius, the\\nmore deeply his fountain drinks of the tides\\nof the common humanity. And it is genius\\nalone that knows to stir in us those truths,\\nemotions, impulses, that are wrought into our\\ninmost being by the long race experience. We", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0224.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism 161\\nare seldom thoroughly awake and alive. Like\\nthe little fitful spire of violet flame that we\\nsometimes see hovering and playing over the\\nsurface of a coal fire, so our consciousness plays\\nabout the different tracts of the otherwise dor-\\nmant mind now here, now there now sensa-\\ntion, now memory, now one or another of the\\nemotions, starts for the instant into fluttering\\nlife, then darkens back into unconsciousness.\\nWhat we desire is the glow and illumination\\nof the whole spirit and it is art, and espe-\\ncially the literary art, that best ministers to this\\ndesire.\\nIt is not enough that a picture or a novel\\nor a poem should move us the question is,\\nWhat does it move in us How much of the\\nwhole possible range of our inner life does it\\nawaken Nor is mere intensity of impression\\nany sufficient test. For one must inquire,\\nWhither does this tend, toward further re-\\nnewal of full existence, or toward reaction and\\nstagnation? Some feelings are kindled only\\nto smoulder away and leave dead ashes on an\\nempty hearth within the spirit others tend to\\nkindle on and on, awakening thought, rousing\\nto vigorous action. Nor are the most easily\\nmoved activities always the most important\\nones in the effect of art and literature. Laugh-\\nter and tears lie on the surface of the mind", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0225.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "162 Literature and Criticism\\nthe gleam and the dusk may interchange\\nquickly at any passing cloud. It is the great\\nmotive powers deep down in the soul that most\\ncontribute to abounding life, and whose awak-\\nening most surely proves the presence of gen-\\nius the sense of right and justice the feel-\\nings of pity, awe, aspiration love, too, not\\nthe sodden sort of love, which is dear to the\\ndecorative poets in their maudlin moods, but\\nmother-love, and father-love, and menschen-liebe,\\nand love of friend, and lover s love, that de-\\nsires not selfish possession, but the infinite\\nwelfare of its object, and for this will die or\\nwill live.\\nThe test, then, for literature, as for all art,\\nis its life-giving power. In the essay, for ex-\\nample, perfection would consist in giving us,\\nthrough that free and unpremeditated play of\\nthe whole bevy of spiritual faculties (which is\\nthe characteristic of this literary form), the\\nwidest excursions possible to the mind s lighter\\nand leisure hours. In the novel, it would con-\\nsist in imparting to us profound life-truths,\\npure emotions, noble intentions, in connection\\nwith the opportunity to re-live, or live in im-\\nagination, the most significant experiences of\\nhuman existence. In the poem, the require-\\nment is that it shall be full of lovely images,\\nthat it shall be in every way musical, that it", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0226.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "Principles of Criticism I63\\nshall bring about us troops of high and pure\\nassociations, the very words so chosen that\\nthey come trailing clouds of glory in their\\nsuggestiveness and in its matter, that it shall\\nbring us both thought and feeling, for whose\\ninterminghng the musical form of speech alone\\nis fitted and that, coming from a pure and\\nrich nature, it shall leave us purer and richer\\nthan it found us.\\nWordsworth said a profound thing, and said\\nit very simply, as he knew how to do, when he\\ngave as the criterion of a book that it should\\nmake us wiser, better, or happier. And if it\\nbe the greatest sort of book, will it not do ail\\nthree", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0227.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "A PRIVATE LETTER\\nBerkeley, August 21, 1880.\\nMy dear Fellow Being (for really that is\\nthe only relation that gives me any right to\\naddress you), I was reading a story of yours\\nthe other day in a certain magazine, and was\\nstruck by a little mistake in grammar that you\\ncontrived to repeat a good many times. I\\nknew you were a young writer, and it was plain\\nthat you were one of great promise and it\\nseemed to me a pity that a pen capable of such\\ntouches of the genuine literary power should\\nslip into bad English, especially into a mistake\\nso uninterestingly common, so newspapery, as\\nit were, a sin without any tang of eccentri-\\ncity to spice it. Of course I feel a painful deli-\\ncacy in convicting you of bad grammar, and I\\ncould n t think of speaking to you publicly\\nabout it. I would n t for the world have any-\\nbody know I meant you, not even yourself\\nfor certain. That is why I write thus privately\\nto you about it. Not that mistakes in gram-\\nmar are such blood-curdling things, in them-\\nselves, but there is this harm in them they", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0228.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 165\\ncatch the attention and so distract one s mind\\nfrom the real matter in hand. Have you ever\\nnoticed how, when the eloquent B-an-rges is\\npreaching, sometimes in the most impressive\\npassage an unfortunate mispronunciation hits\\nyour ear and throws the whole train of thought\\nand emotion off the track Just so, my dear\\nfriend (for I begin to feel very good-natured to\\nyou now that I am in the way of being abusive\\nthere is a great deal of human-nature in\\npeople), when I was reading your charming\\nstory, just as my feelings were beginning to\\nkindle in that passage, you know, where for\\nthe first time with suddenly this gram-\\nmatical blunder exploded under my rapt atten-\\ntion with a bang, and scattered my emotional\\ntension to the winds.\\nBesides, there is the terrible i7iference. Don t\\nyou know how a bad slip in the refinements of\\nEnglish syntax, coming from some newly intro-\\nduced person, and coming, too, with the fatal\\nsmoothness of habitual use, opens up to you\\nin a second whole vistas of inference and of\\nundesirable probabilities for an acquaintance t\\nJust so you will be sending a manuscript some\\nday to the Coastian, or the Scribbler s Maga-\\nzine, or the Ocean Monthly; and the editor will\\npick it up from a two-bushel basket of such,\\nand his eye, flaming with the preternatural fires", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0229.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "166 Literature and Criticism\\nof haste and intellect, will snatch at a page or\\ntwo of your trembling and otherwise innocent\\ndarling, and will pounce on this identical sole-\\ncism. It will be enough for him for the power\\nof inference must needs be swift and savage in\\na hurried editor in prolific literary regions.\\nBut you are impatient to know what all this\\nis about. It is about the improper use, yea,\\nthe inveterate snarling up and inextricable en-\\ntanglement of the uses of shall and will^ should\\nand would. Oh, you say, is that all Why,\\neverybody makes mistakes in them.^^ No, in\\nfact, not everybody. You will find that our\\nbest writers never use these little auxiliaries\\nimproperly. Indeed, it is the absolutely per-\\nfect discrimination between such words, the\\nsubtle sense of the least delicate flavor or\\nethereal aroma of difference between such im-\\npalpable significations, that gives one charm to\\ntheir style. I admit, on the other hand, that\\noccasionally the particular auxiliaries in ques-\\ntion are maltreated by otherwise respectable\\nwriters. It is, in fact, an Hibernicism that has\\ncrept into use, in this country particularly. But\\nit will be well for you and me to remember that\\nonly old and successful authors can afford to\\nwrite badly.\\nSuppose, then, that once for all we look into\\nthis matter, and know the rights of these four", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0230.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 167\\nsmall words. It is not difficult, but it will re-\\nquire a bit of research into English grammar.\\nYou hate grammar, I suppose That is right.\\nI never knew any one to love it at least the\\nthing that goes under that name in the schools.\\nOf course no one can help liking the real study\\nof grammar, the science of the subtlest work-\\nings of the human mind dealing with the sym-\\nbols of expression; but few schoolboys ever\\nget a taste of that. They are dragged by the\\near through such text-books as that of G Id\\nBr n, and forever after hate every person and\\neverything that was ever associated with the\\nsubject, the desk at which they recited it,\\nand the smell of the particular flower that came\\nin at the window where they tried to learn it,\\nand the teacher that drove them mad with the\\nreiteration of its meaningless maunderings.\\nYou will hardly believe it, but there really\\nare, though, of late, several grammars written\\nby scholars, intelligible, sensible, delightful\\nbooks. (Of course the School Boards have\\nnot introduced them they only consider the\\nbindings of books and their relative cheap-\\nness.) Such, for instance, are Professor Whit-\\nney s Essentials of English Grammar and\\nProfessor Bain s Higher Grammar.\\nWe will begin, then, by trying to forget all\\nabout the potential mood and other devices", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0231.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "168 Literature and Criticism\\nof Satan, found in the ordinary grammars, and\\ngo back to the origin of these four little use-\\nful troubles, shall and should, will and would.\\nYou know that a thousand years ago, in good\\nKing Alfred s time, the English people spoke\\nour mother tongue in the form which we now\\ncall Anglo-Saxon, but which they themselves al-\\nways called Englisc, English, as it really\\nwas, only without the later accessions from\\nthe French, Latin, etc. In this original form\\nof English the primitive verb had (besides our\\nfamiliar imperative, infinitive, and participle)\\nonly two moods the indicative, to express a\\nfact (as, was there^^) and the conditional\\n(or subjunctive), to express an idea of a fact,\\nmerely conceived in the mind (as, if I were\\nthere In the indicative, or fact mood, the\\ntenses (there were only two, present and past\\nas, a77i and was) meant time in the subjunc-\\ntive, or idea mood (since mere mental concep-\\ntions are not tied up to time), they only meant\\ndifferent relations of doubtfulness (as, if ever\\nI be a king, or, if I were king at aiiy time\\nTake, for example, the statement of fact, is\\nwrong this is the indicative mood, and the\\npresent tense means present time, to-day. Or,\\nif it is wrong, he is not aware of it this,\\nalso, is the indicative mood, in spite of the\\nif because, although we do not assert it as", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0232.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 169\\na fact, we assume it to be a fact, for the time\\nbeing, as you see by the conclusion and ac-\\ncordingly the present tense means present time,\\nas before. But suppose we say, if it be wro?ig^\\nhe will not do it. This, you see, is the sub-\\njunctive mood, expressing a mere idea, as be-\\ning possibly true and the present tense does\\nnot mean time (it is future time, if anything),\\nbut mere contingency. Again, take the state-\\nment, he was wrong it is indicative mood,\\nstating a fact, and the past tense means past\\ntime, yesterday. Or, if he was wrojig^ he has\\nprobably discovered it this, also, is the in-\\ndicative mood, in spite of the because\\nwe assume the fact to exist, as the conclusion\\nshows and accordingly the past tense means\\npast time. But suppose we say, even if he\\nwere wrongs he would not discover it. This,\\nplainly, is the subjunctive mood, expressing a\\nmere supposition and the past tense does not\\nmean past time indeed, it may refer to any\\nother time whatever except the past. What,\\nthen, does it mean Do you not see that it\\nmeans to throw the idea still farther away from\\nreality than the present tense would do, imply-\\ning that, while his being wrong is a supposi-\\ntion, it is an improbable supposition And\\nwhat more suitable for this meaning than to\\npush it back into the past, where there can be", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0233.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "1 70 Literature and Criticism\\nno if or peradventure about things at all\\nwhere (as an old saying runs) t is as t is,\\nand t can t be any t is-er.\\nAt this point, my dear young novelist (for\\nthat is what you are coming to, if the fates per-\\nmit), you are beginning to suspect that you\\nhave been basely deceived. You began to\\nread my letter with the alluring expectation of\\nsomething genial if not absolutely frolicsome,\\nand here we are in the thorny wilderness of\\n(we will not speak the loathed word) the\\nstudy that teaches the art of speaking and\\nwriting the English language correctly. (As if\\nit really ever did that When everybody knows\\nthat that art, if learned at all, is learned at the\\nbreakfast-table, and the mother s knee, and\\nwhat we Californians still, by poetic license,\\ncall the fireside. Then, what is the use of\\nall this long (Yes, I know you are\\ncalling it that.) Because there are really a few\\nidioms in our much Hibernicized, and Scotti-\\ncized, and Gallicized, and Missouriated, and\\nDowneastercized mother tongue that cannot be\\nknown with perfect confidence without going\\nto the very roots of the matter.)\\nKnow, then, that shall and will were two\\nAnglo-Saxon verbs {shall being of the form\\nsceal, just as our word ship was originally scip,\\nwith the c pronounced as k). These were not", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0234.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 171\\nauxiliary verbs, but genuine independent verbs\\nHe wille meaning I wish, or I determine\\nand ^Hc sceal meaning I owe, or I otighi.\\nIn the Anglo-Saxon version of the Parable of\\nthe Unjust Steward, the question, How much\\nowest thou is rendered Hit micel scealt\\nthU? This signification lasted to Chaucer s\\ntime, v/ho writes, that faith I shall to God.\\nAnd Mr. Earle (in his Philology of the Eng-\\nlish Tongue says that in one of the old coun-\\ntry dialects a child would still say, if asked to\\nrun of an errand, I will if I shall i. e. I\\nam willing to if I ought to.\\nThese two verbs, to shall and to 7vill, natu-\\nrally came to be used very often with the in-\\nfinitive mood (i. e. the noun form) of other\\nverbs, this infinitive being the object of the\\nmental act of shalling or willing (owing or wish-\\ning). For example, ic wille leornian Englisc\\nmeant will to learn (or, I will the learning\\nof) English^ Just so with shall ic sceal\\nleornian meant owe the learning^^ or, I\\nought the to-learnt\\nYou see, therefore, the fundamental dis-\\ntinction between these two words (and it gov-\\nerns every case of their apparently arbitrary\\nuse). Shalling involves the idea of influence\\nor pressure or obligation, from without willi7ig\\ninvolves the idea of self-determination, from", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0235.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "172 Literature and Criticism\\nwithin. This would be, if possible, still more\\nevident, if I dared to ask you to plunge one\\nfathom deeper into the inky sea of historical\\ngrammar for the oracles of these abysmal\\nregions tell us that the present s/iall is itself\\nthe past tense of an original old fossil verb\\nsculajt, meaning to get in debt. (Grimm\\nsays, from an ancient present with the meaning\\nto kill the past tense meaning, therefore,\\nI have killed, and have to pay the legal\\nfine. The past tense signified, then, I have\\ngot in debt, i. e. I am under the pressure\\nof an external obligation, or, I owe. You\\nperceive, now, the absurdity in the Hiberni-\\ncism, I will be obliged to refuse your re-\\nquest; for this means, I wish, or will, to\\nbe obliged to refuse it. What we desire to\\nexpress is our being under the outside pressure\\nof circumstances; so we say, properly, I shall\\nbe obliged.\\nBut, you understand, in such an example as\\nthis last, where hardly anything but mere fu-\\nturity is expressed, we are outrunning the Anglo-\\nSaxon usage. It was only in later times that\\nthis grew up. You can see how, since willing\\nto do an act, and feeling a pressure to do an\\nact, are both likely to result in the future doing\\nof it, there would come about a habit of ex-\\npressing mere future expectation by these com-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0236.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 173\\nbinations. And it soon came to be felt as an\\ninstinct of courtesy, in expressing a future act,\\nto speak humbly in the first person, as if about\\nto do it because of outside pressure, I shall\\ndo it, while the second and third persons are\\npolitely represented as doing it of their own\\nfree will, you will, or he will, do it.\\nFor instance, I shall pay my just debts is as\\nif one said, not that it s any virtue in me,\\nbut I must while you will pay your just\\ndebts, implies that of course you wish to, and\\nwould, whether compelled or not.\\nThere are two apparent exceptions, but they\\nare really only further illustrations of this\\noriginal meaning of the words in the inter-\\nrogative form, we use shaW^ for the second\\nperson, because wilV^ would ask for consent\\nor a promis e and in quotation we use shalV^\\nfor all persons, because the person is repre-\\nsented as speaking and saying, in the first\\nperson, I shall.\\nSo much for expressing mere futurity but\\nof course where determination is to be ex-\\npressed, the case is just reversed. Here the\\nfirst person says, I will^^ and the second and\\nthird are represented as dominated by this out-\\nside determination, you shall do it, he\\nshall do it. (By the way, the phrase, I\\nwon t^ is such an exceedingly valuable one.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0237.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "174 Literature and Criticism\\nmorally, that it is worth noting here that this\\nis an abbreviation of a good old form, I wol\\nnot.\\nAnd now shall we briefly explore the matter\\nof should and would For to tell the\\ntruth, since this is a strictly private letter, and\\nyou don t even know that it is you I am talk-\\ning to, one may frankly say that in their usage,\\nalso, there were grievous wrongs.\\nMark you, then, this same shall had in\\nAnglo-Saxon a past tense sceolde, should;\\nand will had a past tense ^^wolde, would.\\nThese, also, were at first not auxiliaries, but\\nindependent verbs, and meant as thus ic\\nsceolde leornian, I owed it (yesterday) to\\nlearn ic wolde leornian,^^ I willed the\\nlearning of it. The same forms were used\\nin the past tense (so-called) of the subjunctive,\\nbut here was expressed not a fact, but the\\nmere mental idea of a fact and the past tense\\nmeant not past time (future, rather if any-\\nthing), but doubtfulness. And soon, just as\\nshalling and wini?ig lost much of their inde-\\npendent meaning, and came to express mere\\nfuturity, so shoidding and wouldiiig came to ex-\\npress merely doubtful or conditional futurity,\\nand were used with other verbs as auxiliaries.\\nThe indicative past was lost, except in the\\nsingle case of a statement like this He tried", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0238.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 175\\nto prevent me, but would do it where the\\npast tense means past time, and the verb car-\\nries its original meaning. But the subjuiidive\\npast is the one we use so commonly and some-\\ntimes misuse so innocently. It occurs in con-\\nditional sentences, and the usage is different in\\nthe two clauses. For example, If he should\\ncome, I should go. In the condition clause,\\nthe usage requires should for all persons;\\nin the conclusion clause, it requires \u00e2\u0096\u00a0^should\\nfor the first person, would for the second\\nand third. That is to say, for any given per-\\nson the same verb is used, in the present to\\nexpress fact futurity shall go, you will go,\\nhe will go and in the past to express doubt-\\nful futurity If it happened, I should go, you\\nwould go, he 7vould go The same reasons\\nof courtesy apply to the distinction of persons^\\nas in the case of shall and will.\\nHere, also, there are two apparent excep-\\ntions I. We say, I would if I were you, or,\\nI wouldn t do that, using would instead\\nof should, because a flavor of its original\\nmeaning is what we require here, namely, wish\\nor preference. And we say, I would like to\\nhelp you, using would instead of should\\nfor the same reason for we mean, I should\\nwish (to like) to help you (if there were any\\nuse of wishing). Just so we say, I would", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0239.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "176 Literature and Criticism\\nhe were here, which differs from I wish he\\nwere here only as being subjunctive (shown\\nby the fact that the past tense does not mean\\npast time), and so expressing only a mere idea\\nof wishing, like I could wish he were here (if\\nthere were any use in it). 2. We say, You\\n(or he) should do it, meaning You ought to.\\nHere, also, the original meaning of the word is\\nintroduced. Only one would expect the pre-\\nsent tense shall but this had already been\\nappropriated for the future. Besides, there\\nseems to be an instinct to throw this idea into\\nthe subjunctive past (or past of unreality and\\ntimelessness), as we see by the equivalent\\nexpression he ought (which is the past of\\nowe or, better still, by a colloquialism\\nwhich pushes the idea still farther off into the\\npast-past, or pluperfect, notwithstanding that\\nthe thought is still, if of any time at all, of\\nfuture time, he V (he had) ought V do ity\\nBut at this point you will doubtless throw\\ndown this unoffending screed, with the ejacu-\\nlation that you knew something about it before,\\nbut now you are all at sea. Well, that is the\\ndanger of a little knowledge. But, my dear\\nfriend, if you will go carefully through Pro-\\nfessor March s Anglo-Saxon and Comparative\\nGrammar, and Professor Bain s Higher and\\nhis Composition Grammar, following them up", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0240.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "A Private Letter 177\\nwith Professor Lounsbury s History of the\\nEnglish Language, and will then confine your\\nlight reading for a year to the very best au-\\nthors, rigorously eschewing all newspapers (ex-\\ncept that exceedingly cultured and intellectual\\none whose editors may happen to be reading\\nthis remark), I promise you that you will then\\nbegin to be ready to enjoy entering on the\\nstudy of these things.\\nLet us hear the conclusion of the whole mat-\\nter, in a practical table (and, now I think of it,\\nyou might skip what you have read up to this\\npoint, and begin here).\\nFor expressing mere futurity (the plural in\\nall cases like the singular)\\nI shall,\\nYou will,\\nHe will.\\nFor interrogation as to mere futurity\\n[Am I going to\\nShall you\\nWill he\\nFor expressing determination\\nI will,\\nYou shall.\\nHe shall.\\nFor expressing doubtful or conditional ideas\\n(future or timeless), in the condition", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0241.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "178 Literature and Criticism\\nIf I should,\\nIf you should,\\nIf he should.\\nIn the conclusion\\nI should,\\nYou would,\\nHe would.\\nFor expressing wish or willingness or prefer-\\nence, in this softened, semi-conditional form;\\nI would (if I were you),\\nI would (like to do it),\\nI would (he were here).\\nFor expressing duty or obligation\\nI should (study, but don t want to),\\nYou should,\\nHe should.\\nMeantime, my dear young author, quid re-\\nfert Caio utnim^ etc., that is to say, what dif-\\nference does it make to Genius whether it\\nspeak precisely in the tongue of common mor-\\ntals I know that, in point of fact, you will\\nalways enjoy writing, and I shall always enjoy\\nreading your stories indeed, you shall go on\\nwriting them, and I will go on reading them,\\neven though you should not use would as\\nyou should, or as you would if you should use\\nwould and should as Shakespeare or\\nMr. Matthew Arnold would.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0242.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "MANAGEMENT OF THE MIND WHILE\\nHEARING MUSIC\\nHAT is the best thing to do with the\\nmind when listening to music Do\\nnothing with it, some one may reply\\nlet it take care of itself. But this implies a\\nmistaken idea as to its ways. It seldom does,\\nin point of fact, take care of itself. It is bound\\nto follow the successive suggestions either of\\ncertain outside impressions, or of certain inner\\nimpressions which also had originally an exter-\\nnal source. One may as well choose a little\\namong these. Surely we might better direct\\nthe mental panorama by some voluntary choice\\nthan to have it directed by the accidental sight\\nof a grotesque face in the audience, or the odd\\nbowing of some one of the second violins. Does\\nit make the sailing of a summer sea any the\\nless idly luxurious to touch the helm lightly\\nfrom time to time\\nNow there are several ways open to choice\\nin the management of the mind s delicate", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0243.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "180 Music\\nsteering apparatus, on such an occasion as the\\nhearing of fine music. The worst way, no\\ndoubt, is to gaze fixedly at the performers, and\\nso let the eye cheat the ear out of half its\\nenjoyment. This is the besetting temptation\\nof the distinguished amateur, who is inclined\\nto give his whole attention to the visible han-\\ndling of whatever instrument he himself may\\nhappen to play. At a recent concert I noticed\\nthat my neighbor riveted his interest, during\\na whole splendid movement of the symphony,\\non the agile gymnastics of one of the double-\\nbasses. But this is not so ill-advised as the\\ntrick some people have of staring at a singer,\\nand even with an opera-glass, during a whole\\nsong. What can they carry away in the mem-\\nory but a visual image of a wonderful openness\\nof countenance, a kind of labio-dental display\\nI have always liked to close my eyes during\\nany passage of orchestral music to which I\\nwished to lend special attention. It is sur-\\nprising what sensitiveness and grasp this in-\\nstantly gives to the auditory power. Some-\\ntimes, in a dark corner under the gallery, one\\nmay indulge himself in the luxury. But on\\nKant s immortal doctrine that one should do\\nonly those things which all may do, this closing\\nof the eyes at a concert hardly seems proper\\nin the body of the house. Would it not look", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0244.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "Management of the Mind i8i\\nqueer if we all sat that way? Look queer\\nto whom, if everybody s eyes were shut?\\nWell, to the gentlemanly ushers; and the re-\\nporters, whose eyes are always open and the\\ncornet and the bassoon, in their lucid inter-\\nvals.) It IS not necessary, however, actually\\nto close the outward eye. We may select some\\npeg on which to hang it, so to speak, where no\\ndistracting image will interrupt our reverie.\\nThe middle of the back of some quiet person\\nm front of us will generally do. Or we may\\nhappen to have that convenient faculty, pos-\\nsessed by so many, of fixing the bodily eye on\\na given point, while the mind s eye is gradually\\nwithdrawn leagues and leagues behind it.\\nThere are two opposite ways, in particular\\nopen to the mind for its excursions during\\nmusic. It may either let itself become enga-ed\\nm dreams of one s own personal destiny, mem-\\nories of the past, fantastically intermingled, or\\ndreams of what hath never been, and what\\ncan never be; or it may go out of itself into\\nthe hfe-dramas of others. Which is the better\\nway? For example, in listening to one of\\nthose orchestral duets of Rubinstein s, one may\\neither disregard the composer s indication in\\nthe title, weaving his own personal episodes at\\nwill from the changes of the chords or he\\nmay occupy his imagination with the relations", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0245.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "182 Music\\nof the suggested Toreador and Andalouse j or\\nhe may hear only the far-off voices of well-\\nknown mortals and their perplexing fates or,\\nfinally, the music may but breathe an ethereal\\nessence of human life universal, too elusive for\\nany individual incarnation. The question is\\nlike that which confronts the poet Shall he\\nsing his own joys and woes, or shall he create\\nexterior dramatic idyls? Shall he follow the\\nmethod of Byron or of Browning\\nI am never merry, said Jessica, when I\\nhear sweet music and her Lorenzo was no\\nphilosopher, and could give but the shallowest\\nexplanation of the fact. Rossetti s Mono-\\nchord, if she could have waited so long for it,\\nmight have helped her to a better one\\nIs it the moved air or the moving sound\\nThat is Life s self and draws my life from me,\\nThat mid the tide of all emergency\\nNow notes my separate wave, and to what sea\\nIts difficult eddies labor in the ground\\nOh what is this that knows the road I came,\\nThe flame turned cloud, the cloud returned to flame,\\nThe lifted shifted steeps and all the way\\nNo doubt it is the first instinct, with all of us,\\nto let the eternal passion, eternal pain, of\\ngreat orchestral music interweave themselves", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0246.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "Management of the Mind I83\\nwith the past, the possible, or, more often,\\nthe dear impossible, of our personal life-story.\\nWe are, for the time being, subjects of what\\nRossetti has noted, in his own private copy of\\nthe poem from which I have just quoted, as\\nthat sublimated mood of the soul in which a\\nseparate essence of itself seems, as it were, to\\noversoar and survey it. But would it not be\\nnobler in the soul if its survey were wider?\\nWould it not be better for the will, in its renun-\\nciation and vows of service, that these inchoate\\nworlds of musical harmony, these swaying\\ntides of mysteriously organizing sound, an au-\\ndible chaos of multitudinous emotions over\\nwhich a creative breath is hovering and calling\\nlife, with all its tragedies and comedies, into\\nbeing, should be identified to the imagination\\nwith the fates of other men than ourselves\\nThere are persons, I am beginning to dis-\\ncover, who have but a very imperfect powder of\\nvisual imagination. An intimate friend writes\\nme, after only three years of separation, I\\nhave completely forgotten you. Or, rather, I\\nremember nothing but you, and not at all your\\noutward aspect. Face, form, manner, have alto-\\ngether faded, and cannot by any effort of will\\nbe recalled. But I can shut my eyes and see\\nthis friend form, features, color, a hundred\\nparticular ways of gesture and manner more", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0247.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "184 Music\\ndistinctly than any photograph could possibly\\npresent him. I could draw his profile on this\\npaper not composing it, but simply tracing it\\nfrom my mental image, as if it were a silhouette\\nlaid down and followed mechanically with the\\npencil.\\nThose of us who possess this common enough\\npower might at least always give some fitting\\n7nise en seme to a symphony, removing it from\\nits incongruous situation in an ugly hall packed\\nwith monotonous rows of frivolous bonnets\\nand sand-papered heads. We do not need\\nWagner s aid to obliterate the musicians and\\nfill the stage with impressive scenery. In a\\nmoment, at will, we are reclining in a stately\\npine forest on a solitary mountain-side. Be-\\nhind us tower great crags with fluted columnar\\nfront, like nature s organ-pipes. Below and to\\nthe left hollows a piny gorge, blue with misty\\ndepth, up whose slope, from round the moun-\\ntain s enormous flank, swells the sound of fall-\\ning torrents. Beyond the granite ridge to the\\nright goes down a broken footpath to a hidden\\nvalley, where some momentous human passion\\nplay begins now to be enacted.\\nOr we are drifting on the ocean, and a storm\\nis subsiding. All night we have driven before\\nthe tempest, and now at the first glimmer of\\ndawn we strain our sight into the darkness.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0248.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "Management of the Mind 185\\nand listen for the roar of breakers. Suddenly\\nthe sound of all sweet and powerful instruments\\nrises and mingles as if from the very depths\\nof the rolling sea. Have the forces of nature\\nbecome audible in their battling together Or\\nhave we drifted into the midst of a strife of\\nmortal destinies, and is this the prelude to a\\nmighty drama of the nations on the shores of\\nsome new world", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0249.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "CAN TUNES BE INHERITED?\\nI AM not a musician professionally, or in\\nany strict sense of the word but I am fond\\nof music, and, having a correct ear and some\\nfacility of touch, I have played on a good\\nmany instruments without acquiring much skill\\nwith any one of them. One musical endow-\\nment there is which might have been strong in\\nme, if it had ever received any proper cultiva-\\ntion it is the power of composing tunes, of\\nimprovisation, on a very limited and unimpres-\\nsive scale. Tunes make themselves in my\\nhead, such as they are. When I whistle\\nas I go, for want of thought, it is neither clas-\\nsical nor popular music, but such as makes\\nitself as it goes along. It is very indifferent\\nwhistling, considered from the point of view of\\nthe distinguished amateur whistler, but un-\\nconsciously the tune, if a poor thing, sir, is\\nnearly always my own.\\nAll this personality only by way of prelude\\nto a curious fact. From about the age of\\ntwenty I have found more and more frequently\\ncoming into my mind a peculiar sort of tune", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0250.jp2"}, "251": {"fulltext": "Can Tunes he Inherited? 187\\na queer minor melody, like the Scotch, and yet\\nnot like the Scotch. Its angular yet taking\\nwildness is more like the Irish tunes that one\\noccasionally hears a genuine native Irish girl\\nsinging, or half humming, with unconscious\\npauses and sudden cresce7idos that follow the\\nvicissitudes of her work. This habitual pre-\\nsentation in the mind of these broken, waver-\\ning melodies, always on a half-fierce and half-\\npathetic minor key, had continued for some ten\\nyears when I made my first acquaintance, by\\nchance, with the folk-music of the Welsh. It\\nwas on a Cunarder in mid-ocean, on the voyage\\nto Liverpool. One evening I was loitering up\\nand down the deck in the warm moonlight,\\nwhen a group of steerage passengers, sitting or\\nreclining about the foot of the foremast, began\\nto sing in a low and half-unconscious strain in\\nthe midst of their talk. They were, it seems,\\nWelsh people, who were choosing this particu-\\nlar time to revisit the fatherland because of\\nan approaching Eisteddfod, somewhere in South\\nWales. It was, I perceived instantly, the\\nmusic of my dreams. To the best of my\\nknowledge and belief, I had never heard these\\ntunes, or any such tunes, sung, w^histled, or\\nplayed anywhere before. It had so happened\\nthat I had never lived in or near any Welsh\\nsettlements. I had never chanced to make the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0251.jp2"}, "252": {"fulltext": "188 Music\\nacquaintance of so much as one solitary Welsh\\nperson, so far as I know. Yet here, sung by\\nthese returning Cymric exiles in the yellow\\nmoonlight, as we rose and fell on the gently\\nheaving waves, here were the very strains\\nthat had for years been floating, unbidden and\\nrecognized, through my brain. I do not mean\\nto say that the precise phrases and cadences\\nwere here. But the character, the musical\\nmoods and tenses, the tone-color, were the\\nsame.\\nMy explanation of the fact is simple, but to\\nmost will probably be incredible. I have Welsh\\nblood in my family, far back on my mother s\\nside. By some freak of heredity the music of\\nmy Welsh ancestors has come down through\\nsix, eight, or ten generations, as a dormant\\ngerm, and come to life again a dim, somno-\\nlent, imperfect life, to be sure in a corner of\\nmy brain. I could almost fancy (though this\\nI do not soberly believe, for it is explicable in\\nother ways) that there has come down with it\\na visual picture of wild torchlight marchings\\nand countermarchings in savage Welsh glens.\\nSo plainly do I see in my brain, ever since\\nthat night on the steamer, and especially ever\\nsince the corroboration of that instantaneous\\nrecognition through a collection of Cymric\\nsongs which I afterward obtained, visions that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0252.jp2"}, "253": {"fulltext": "Can Tunes he Inherited? 189\\nbefit this strange, barbaric music. I see moun-\\ntain gorges at night, black-clad in stunted and\\nleaning trees, under a wild sky, where an un-\\nshapely waning moon dives among scudding\\nrags of storm. Winding along the pass comes\\na procession of my Keltic ancestors it is a\\nburial, or some savage midnight gathering\\nagainst the Saxon invader. Red torches flare\\nin the midst of their flying smoke some indis-\\ntinct dark mass is borne among the leaders\\nand now and again there are metallic gleams\\nalong the vanishing line. They are small,\\ndark men, half clothed in skins of beasts, and\\ntheir wild eyes shine under streaming locks of\\nblack hair. A mountain stream beside them\\nflashes its white bursts of foam out of the\\ndarkness under the crags, and continually\\nthere rises and mingles with its roar that fierce\\nyet woeful music, half shouted and half sung.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0253.jp2"}, "254": {"fulltext": "INDIVIDUAL CONTINUITY\\nHE continuity of our lives is not so\\ngreat as we are apt to suppose. We\\nhave in youth a vivid sense of our con-\\ntinuous individuality, and we take it for granted\\nthat it will always be so with us. Thus we\\nhear with some incredulity the anecdotes of\\neminent men who have completely lost the\\nrecollection of certain things done, said, or\\nwritten in early life, and, what is more, all in-\\nterest in them, or desire to remember them.\\nThat Lowell can have forgotten, as the itemizer\\nsays, that he was once a contributor to the\\nDial seems incredible to a college Junior of\\nmy acquaintance. He has never forgotten any-\\nthing he has written In like manner, to have\\na bosom friend at fourteen, and come to care\\nnext to nothing about him at forty, appears to\\nthe boy a shocking piece of treason. Little he\\nknows how many breaks are likely to occur in\\nthe succession of his life-phases and how\\nmany times the winged creature will lightly", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0254.jp2"}, "255": {"fulltext": "Individual Continuity 191\\nslip his feet out of the chrysalis shell, carrying\\nonly some invisible thread of half-memory over\\nfrom one epoch into the other.\\nNo doubt there are lives that do go on with\\ncomparatively unbroken coherence, tranquil,\\nrustic, or village lives, whose sun always rises\\nover the same horizon, and whose radii of in-\\nterests, from year to year, go out to the same\\nunchanged circumference. Here the constantly\\noverlapping continuity of the neighborhood\\nexistence helps to keep the man s own thread\\nof personality unbroken. But when we once\\ncut loose from geography, make friends and\\nbreak with friends, become the very opposite\\nof Bourbons in that we are always learn-\\ning and always forgetting, then how far\\nbackward over our days can the uninterrupted\\nI be fairly said to extend When\\nsome divinely gifted man,\\nWhose life in low estate began\\nAnd on a simple village green,\\nat last breaks his birth s invidious bar, and\\npasses on to new desires, new opinions, at last\\na whole background of new memories, even,\\ncan it any longer be said to have been really\\nhe who\\nplayed at councilors and kings\\nWith one that was his earliest mate,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0255.jp2"}, "256": {"fulltext": "192 Psychology and Ethics\\nWho ploughs with pain his native lea,\\nAnd reaps the labor of his hands,\\nOr in the furrow musing stands\\nDoes my old friend remember me\\nIn the early summer morning I see what\\nappears to be a long silver line bending and\\nglancing in the air between the fir and the\\napple-tree. But when I look closely, it proves\\nto be a succession of infinitesimal globules of\\ngray dew, strung on an invisible spider-line.\\nIs our personality such a succession of sep-\\narately sphered moments or hours And what\\nis the continuous line on which they are\\nthreaded With one, it may be some persist-\\nent purpose, an ambition or a passion j\\nwith another, the abnegation of an ambition or\\na passion, or some inveterate trouble that is\\nthe last to look in on him at night and the first\\nin the morning, and by means of which he has\\nno difficulty in self-recognition.\\nIt is perhaps a mere fancy that mirrors have\\nsomething to do with the distinct and ever-\\npresent sense of our own identity. If a man\\nhad never looked at himself in a glass, and so\\nhad no clear mental image of how he looked\\nyesterday, and the day before, and a year ago,\\nwould he, for example, feel so intensely as now\\nthis irrational need of being consistent with his\\nown past? It is not merely that we cannot", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0256.jp2"}, "257": {"fulltext": "Individual Continuity 193\\nescape from our grandfathers j but we cannot\\nescape, either, from our own last year. Was\\nthe primitive man, unsophisticated by French\\nplate mirrors, freer for new growths Or did\\neven Adam contemplate his aboriginal counte-\\nnance in some smooth inlet of the river Pison,\\nand so acquire an obstinate sense of respon-\\nsibility for his earliest Adamite impressions\\nAnd (while we are speculating a little freely)\\nshall we go to the length of saying that possi-\\nbly the mere accident of clothing counts for\\nsomething in the case It may then be safest\\nthat a man renew his garments only piecemeal\\nor, if he assume a complete new suit at a time,\\nlet him retire often into the linking familiarity\\nof the second-best. With no mirror-image and\\nno reminder from wonted clothes, would not a\\nman sometimes need the evidence of the little\\ndog at home, and he knows me, to be sure\\nthat I be as I think I be It may well\\nbe doubted whether all of us have positive in-\\ndividuality enough to hold the steady recogni-\\ntion of even our nearest relatives, without the\\nvisible tag of some familiar cut or color of gar-\\nment, or, at least, of that innermost garb or\\nmask which is the bodily face and form itself.\\nHow much, moreover, has the mere circum-\\nstance of our always carrying the same name\\nto do with our sense of continuity As I look", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0257.jp2"}, "258": {"fulltext": "194 Psychology and Ethics\\nover my old letters, here is the too familiar\\naddress on all the faded envelopes these cer-\\ntainly, you would say, were addressed to very\\nme. But when I open one to read, it seems\\nto me it can hardly have been I who wrote\\nthe juvenilities to which these things are in\\nresponse. It was another being to whom they\\ncame fresh from the mail,\\nLike letters unto trembling hands\\nanother being who read them with the eager-\\nness and responsive thoughts that I do now\\ncertainly seem to remember by some strange\\nwitchcraft or self-substitution, like that of Si-\\ngurd and Gunnar upon the Flaming Heath\\nalmost as if they had been my veritable own.\\nHe bore my name, drew checks with my signa-\\nture, even went scf far as to pay my bills,\\nthat person in the past. But in any other\\nsense I am hardly prepared to own him as my\\nactual and continual self. I rather look upon\\nhim as the chick upon the eggshell, the moth\\nupon the cracked cocoon, the man at the mi-\\ncroscope upon the film of protoplasm, with the\\nmusing consciousness, Such as thou art, once\\nwas I.\\nSince we actually go through these meta-\\nmorphoses in life, it would be a significant and\\nappropriate act, if only it were permitted us, to", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0258.jp2"}, "259": {"fulltext": "Individual Continuity 195\\nshed our names from time to time. The other\\nday, when I suddenly awaked once for all from\\nan old nightmare of illusion, why might I not\\nthen and there have moulted to the extent of\\nmy name Or that hour when I flung aside a\\nparticular opinion which had long ridden my\\nmind s shoulders, like an Old Man of the Sea,\\nwhy should there not have gone with it the\\ndesignation of the being whose life had been\\nthus spoiled, letting the new man start with a\\nnew heraldic device Something of this sort,\\nit is true, does happen when a person throws\\noff his early nickname, and assumes the toga\\nvirilis of the full combination of baptismal\\ntitles through which his parents have made\\nhim imposing or ridiculous to the ear and at\\nlast, it may be, adds the initials of dignity by\\nwhich his college or his church has ministered\\nto his vanity. Dicky becomes Dick, and\\nthen full Richard, and then the Reverend\\nDoctor, or the Bishop, or the ex-Vice-\\nPresident. These developments are but the\\noutward and audible symbols of mysterious\\ninner transformations. The ex-Vice-President,\\nbald now, glazed (if that be a proper term for\\nthe taking on of spectacles) and wise, would\\nno more wish to be held responsible for the\\nviews he expressed in youth than he would\\nchirp and twitter again at the charms of the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0259.jp2"}, "260": {"fulltext": "196 Psychology and Ethics\\ngirl he left behind him, or answer to the\\nmaternal or sororal call of Dicky.\\nMore than this it would perhaps not be safe\\nto permit to us in the way of escape from our\\nproper labels. It is necessary that society\\nshould hold us to a strict accountability for\\nour successive selves, and the name is the rope\\nby which these are held together. The world\\nmust keep track of us, like a great police.\\nNature, besides, has us all down in her rogue s\\ngallery for our face is photographed in a thou-\\nsand watchful eyes, as well as our name in so\\nmany ears.\\nSomething of our restlessness in flitting from\\nplace to place may be accounted for by this in-\\nstinctive craving to let the new and different\\nman that we feel is in us^ or might be in us,\\nbegin life all over again in a different place.\\nAt last we shall be permitted to do it, but not\\nprematurely. We dodge to Dresden or Geneva,\\nbut we are there at the station to receive our-\\nselves. Ccelum, non animum, we find that we\\nhave changed. The old lives have managed to\\ncreep stealthily in our shadow, and soon they\\naccost us at every street corner with ironical\\ncongratulations at our escape from them, in the\\nnew city as in the old.\\nAre there not lapses or gaps in the conti-\\nnuity of our conscious existence, of which we", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0260.jp2"}, "261": {"fulltext": "Individual Continuity 197\\nmay ourselves, by a little close attention, be-\\ncome aware To begin with, there is the gap\\nof nightly sleep, when the chain of conscious-\\nness, if it does not actually break off, at least\\nsags under water and is lost to the eye for a\\nspace, to emerge glimmering with vague dreams\\ninto the sunshine of the waking hour. If the\\nfigure appears strained, it is because I am\\nthinking of the early spring mornings in boy-\\nhood, when we used to go to the Little River\\nto take up the gill-net for shad. A mist hung\\non the smoothly running water there was an\\nOriental fragrancy of spearmint from the\\nmoist bank the rattle of the oar in the row-\\nlock sounded preternaturally loud, echoing un-\\nder the covered bridge at that perfectly silent\\nhour. When we boys begin to lift the strained\\ntop line of the net, pulling the skiff along by\\nmeans of it, it is a moment of delicious excite-\\nment. What is that dim spot of glimmering\\ngold, far down in the dark water? It grows,\\nas we eagerly haul on the line, and the little\\nwaves plashed out by the boat make it waver\\nand break, till it seems some huge and splendid\\nprize, like the mysterious casket in the net of\\nthe Arabian fisherman. So memory, puHing in\\nthe line of submerged consciousness after pro-\\nfound sleep, catches sight of vague gleams of\\nwonderful experiences.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0261.jp2"}, "262": {"fulltext": "19S Psychology and Ethics\\nBut frequently, even in waking hours, I have\\nseemed to detect lapses of conscious conti-\\nnuity. I look up, for example, from writing,\\nand my eye turns to the window, and sight ancl\\nattention seem to exhale, as it were, or evapo-\\nrate into open space thought ceases for five\\nseconds I am not a mind, I am a vegetable.\\nOr in walking over some beaten track up and\\ndown in my garden, I have sometimes found\\nmyself at the other end of my beat, without\\nhaving noticed anything, or thought of any-\\nthing in particular, on the way. It has several\\ntimes happened to me, in using my home-\\nexerciser and giving to each pulley movement\\nmy accustomed forty counts, that I find myself\\nat twenty-five or thirty, when I seemed only to\\nhave just counted twelve or fifteen. Now did\\nI simply skip the intervening numbers, or did\\nthe unconscious brain cells go on automatically\\ncounting across a gap of that extent in my con-\\nscious existence Suppose I had died, as\\nwe call it, during that interval what would\\nhave gone on into immortality, the conscious-\\nness or the gap\\nBut in truth this whole matter of the indi-\\nvidual identity the I-ness of the 1 is thick\\nwith difficult questions. Here is my old apple-\\ntree, for instance is it a tree, or a thousand\\ntrees using one common bole Every bud on", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0262.jp2"}, "263": {"fulltext": "Individual Continuity 199\\nit is in reality a separate, individual being\\nas we may easily prove by setting it off by it-\\nself in some chink of another tree, where the\\nsap of life shall come to it duly. Or in the\\ncase of a bunch of polyps, or of vorticels, on\\none stalk, how much of the cooperative life is\\nentitled to say I, and where does the we-\\nness of the we begin If we are to count the\\nwhole tree, with its multitude of separate or\\nseparable lives, as only a single individual, how\\nwould it be with us if the human offspring were\\nnever wholly separated from the life-sustaining\\nparent Or would it strain our sense of iden-\\ntity at all, if the entire change of the substance\\nof the body, popularly supposed to take place\\nevery seven years, should no longer occur grad-\\nually, cell by cell, but by a sudden cataclysm,\\nsome fine morning As the old bone and tissue\\nleft him, and the new were clapped on in their\\nplace, would not the man have to jump to tie\\non the thread of new memory at the vanishing\\nend of the old, lest he lose himself before he\\nhad time to find himself\\nThere is an old story they tell in the country\\nthat always seemed to me to have occult and\\nesoteric meanings as it were a kind of myth\\nthat had been builded better than was known,\\nor else a survival from the folk-lore of some\\nlost race of speculative mound-builders. The", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0263.jp2"}, "264": {"fulltext": "200 Psychology and Ethics\\ntale is of an old farmer who was driving a\\nyoke of oxen in an empty cart, and who yielded\\ngradually to the sweet influences of a jug by\\nhis side, and fell fast asleep. The leisurely\\noxen having presently sauntered into the grass\\nby the roadside, some humorous passer-by\\nfound them feeding there and turned them\\nloose, leaving the peaceful sleeper snoring in\\nthe sun. By and by he awakened, sat up,\\nrubbed his eyes, and slowly soliloquized Am\\nI, or am I not I If I am I, I have lost a good\\nyoke of oxen. If I am not I, I have found a\\ngood cart", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0264.jp2"}, "265": {"fulltext": "WHAT DO WE MEAN BY RIGHT\\nAND OUGHT\\nThe writer wishes to make only the prefatory remark\\nthat he puts forward no claim to the discovery of any\\nnew basis for morals. His effort is merely to bring\\nmore clearly into the light what seems to him to have\\nbeen all along (in actual fact) the basis, and to have\\nthis more clearly recognized as such. While the sub-\\nstance of his essay was written, and propounded to a\\nlimited circle, before the publication of Herbert Spen-\\ncer s Data of Ethics, it comes \u00e2\u0080\u0094from a different point\\nof view to results in harmony with that work. Nor is\\nthis strange, since the writer had been familiar with Mr.\\nSpencer s previous writings, and had no doubt been\\ngreatly indebted to him in all his later thinking on the\\nsubject.\\nIn attempting to find a solid basis for mor-\\nals, ethical writers have too much neglected\\nthe simple question of fact. They have asked\\nwhat we ought to mean by right, and what it\\nis right to understand by ought, but these\\nquestions lead into fog. What we need first\\nof all to know is, What do we, in fact, mean\\nby these words, as we use them from day to\\nday Every one uses them. They are found", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0265.jp2"}, "266": {"fulltext": "202 Psychology and Ethics\\nin different races, in connection witli all sorts\\nof religious beliefs. They are applied every-\\nwhere and this is very significant to sub-\\nstantially the same classes of actions. It would\\nbe easy to point out these actions, and thus to\\nshow what these terms right and ought\\ndenote but it is not so easy to point out the\\nprecise qualities of actions by virtue of which\\nwe say that they are right, and ought to\\nbe done, and thus to show what these terms\\nconnote, or what we mean by them. It is a\\nquestion, not of metaphysics or speculative\\nethics, but of pure psychology. We shall find,\\nif we investigate it, that we have already a solid\\nbasis for morals, and that what is needed is to\\nbring it to clear recognition. We shall find\\nthat right, as a quality of actions, has refer-\\nence to their consequences that when we say\\na thing is right we mean that it conduces\\nto human welfare that the highest welfare is\\nconceived to be that which Herbert Spencer\\ndescribes in his Data of Ethics as com-\\nplete living.\\nIt will be best to take, for our analysis, a\\ncase in point. Suppose that A. is angry with\\nB., and has a murderous impulse toward him.\\nBut the thought arises, It is not right to kill\\nhim I ought not to kill him. 7 he two\\nterms do not connote the same thing. Let us", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0266.jp2"}, "267": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 203\\ntake them separately. First, what does he\\nmean by right\\nTo begin with, A. does not need to stop to\\nthink of the moral aspect of this particular\\ncase of killing. He simply perceives that it\\nfalls in with a class of acts concerning which\\nhe has previously formed this judgment of\\nnot right. In other words, he now only\\nfeels it to be not right, by an instantaneous\\ninstinct. But how has this been formed\\nThere are certain adjectives, oftenest applied\\nto concrete objects, and connoting impressions\\nmade directly on special senses. Such are\\nblue, sweet, rough, etc. There are other adjec-\\ntives, oftenest applied to actions, and connoting\\ntheir results. Such are dangerous, benejicent,\\nruinous, etc. To which of these classes does\\nright belong Does it express some qual-\\nity of an action that directly strikes a special\\nsense, an inner sense, comparable to the\\nouter senses of sight, touch, etc. or does it\\nexpress some character in the consequences\\nlikely to follow the action In other words,\\nwhen A. says, It is not right to kill B., is\\nhe expressing an impression made directly on\\nsome special sense of right, or a judgment\\nas to consequences i\\nWe must avoid one liability to error here if\\na certain action has repeatedly been followed", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0267.jp2"}, "268": {"fulltext": "204 Psychology and Ethics\\nby evil results, although the first judgment\\nconcerning it was plainly an estimate of conse-\\nquences, it finally comes to seem a direct ver-\\ndict of impression on an inner sense. For\\nexample, the action of thrusting the hand into\\nboiling metal is declared so instantaneously to\\nbe dangerous that one feels as if the action re-\\nquired no weighing of consequences, but as if\\nsome sense of danger immediately declared\\nit dangerous. Originally, however, the child\\nrequired a process of reasoning to apply this\\njudgment as to its quality. And we again\\ncome back to the original need of reflection\\nwhen we have learned that there are certain\\nconditions under which the action is not at all\\ndangerous, and once more the adjective really\\nstands for the result of a process of reasoning\\nas to the probable consequences of the action.\\nIn the same way, it is apparently the expres-\\nsion of a direct impression on some sense of\\nright when A. says, It is not right to kill\\nB. But if we go back to the period of child-\\nhood, we find that originally this action of kill-\\ning made no such impression on the mind,\\nsay in the case of killing animals. If it is true\\nthat children are ever born with this judgment\\n(so to speak) that killing is not right, it is\\nprobably the result of ancestral experience, and\\nin no case amounts to more than some instinc-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0268.jp2"}, "269": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 205\\ntive physical repugnance. It is safe to say\\nthat the time when the act of kilhng first seems\\nclearly not right to the child, is the moment\\nwhen he recognizes that certain evil results\\npunishment to himself, or pain and deprivation\\nof life to the animal follow the act. Here\\nalso, as in the case of plunging the hand into\\nboiling metal, we come at last to find that kill-\\ning is sometimes right, as in the killing of ani-\\nmals for food, or the judicial killing of men,\\nand again the judgment (after having passed\\nthrough a stage where it seems immediate, as\\nif the verdict of a special sense) becomes again\\nvisibly a weighing of consequences.\\nIn examining the origin and growth of the\\nidea of right in childhood (or what is very\\nmuch the same thing, in undeveloped men),\\nwe find that the idea changes very greatly as\\nthe mind develops. Perhaps there could be\\nno better test of the degree of development of\\nmen than the meaning of this word right to\\ntheir minds, not the denotation merely, or\\nthe designation of what actions are right,\\nbut the connotation, or the quality in which\\ntheir rightness is conceived to consist. In\\nearliest childhood, as the mother expresses to\\nthe child her displeasure at certain acts, this\\ndispleasure, followed it may be by other pains,\\ncomes to be the prominent result of these ac-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0269.jp2"}, "270": {"fulltext": "206 Psychology and Ethics\\ntions to his consciousness. Conversely, certain\\nactions become associated in the child s mind\\nwith the agreeable result of the parent s ap-\\nproval, and perhaps reward. These he learns\\nto consider right actions. If, now, the fam-\\nily is an ordinarily religious one, the child\\nlearns also to expect the displeasure and pun-\\nishment of God from certain acts, his approval\\nand reward from certain others. To a greater\\nor less extent, also, he is taught or learns by\\nhis own observation to expect from actions\\na result in approval or disapproval from other\\npeople, at first in the household, and afterward\\nin the outside world. Right comes, then,\\nto signify to the child s mind a certain set of\\nconsequences to himself from parents, from\\nGod, from public opinion.\\nBut this is not all. From the beginning the\\nchild has what may be called sympathy, or the\\ntendency to put himself in another s place. (It\\nis seen even in the brute animals, at least in\\nmotherhood.) He feels the evil results of ac-\\ntions to others to some extent as to himself.\\nIn other words, the consequences of actions\\ncome to be computed with reference to others,\\nas well as to self. Not right, in fine, comes\\nto mean what will bring evil consequences to\\nall.\\nWhen, therefore, A. says to himself, It is", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0270.jp2"}, "271": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 207\\nnot right to kill B., his consciousness con-\\ntains, as the connotation of the word right, a\\njudgment as to the consequences of this action.\\nIt is a judgment so rapid, and its elements are\\nso tangled together in vague combination, that\\nit seems an instantaneous sense impression.\\nBut there are likely to lie in it the obscure\\nremains of the teachings of childhood, the ap-\\nprehension of parental, of divine, of public\\ndispleasure to himself, the sympathetic appre-\\nhension of the resulting evil to B., and the\\nperception (if he be a reflective man), how-\\never general and rapidly swept together in\\nconsciousness, of universal harms to universal\\nbeing.\\nIt is an interesting question, the answer to\\nwhich throws some light on the explanation of\\nthe idea How did this word right come\\nto be selected in language to represent this\\nidea 1 The original sense of the term, not in\\nour own tongue only, is of straightness, as a\\nright line. Wrong, also, is originally\\nwrung, or wrenched from the straight line.\\nWhile we must beware of foisting into the\\nmind at a given moment, in trying to analyze\\nwhat it contains in using any word, too much\\nof the original sense of it (for of this the mind\\nat the moment may hold very little indeed in\\nconsciousness), yet the choice of a certain", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0271.jp2"}, "272": {"fulltext": "208 Psychology and Ethics\\nword, in the growth of language, to represent\\na certain secondary idea, has always some sig-\\nnificance. In this case the instinctive selec-\\ntion of right and wrong, the straight\\nand the crooked, to stand for actions char-\\nacterized respectively by good and evil conse-\\nquences, seems to point to a perception that\\nthe straight line is the useful and convenient\\none on the whole. It is the line the results of\\nwhich are, in the long run, most satisfactory.\\nIn building, in constructing, in traveling, in\\nadapting means to ends in general, the straight\\nis on the whole the successful. Out of all the\\nendless variety of crooked lines, only a few\\nare beautiful, only a few are useful. Number-\\nless phrases involve this perception. The boy\\nmust toe the mark. The account is all\\nstraight. The man is level-headed. Meth-\\nods are crooked. We straighten out\\nconfusions.\\nTo the question, then, What does the man\\nmean by right our answer is. He really\\nmeans productive of good consequences\\nconducive to welfare. If it be asked, whose\\nwelfare the reply must be, It will depend on\\nthe grade of development of him who uses the\\nword. It may in the consciousness be limited\\nto self, it may be so wide as to include all.\\nIf one doubt that it is this estimate of con-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0272.jp2"}, "273": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 209\\nsequences that determines for us whether ac-\\ntions are right, let him notice how immediately\\nwe decide an action to be wrong however it\\nhad been felt to be right before the moment\\nwe are convinced that it will bring harm to all.\\nWhen the Laureate makes Pallas say to the\\nhesitating Paris\\nBecause right is right, to follow right\\nWere wisdom in the scorn of consequence,\\nwe understand that the meaning is, it is wise\\nto scorn momentary and merely personal con-\\nsequences, in favor of those which are lasting\\nand universal. Without the expectation of con-\\nsequences of some sort, to some one, actions\\ncould have to us no quality of rightness or\\nwrongness at all.\\nBut do all actions that are judged to be con-\\nducive to welfare bring with them the sense of\\ntheir being right A man puts on his shoes\\nin dressing. The consequences of not doing\\nso are distinct, yet he has no sense of right or\\nwrong connected with the act. It is a mere\\nquestion of prudence. Suppose he knew the\\nleaving off his shoes would result in his not\\nbeing able to walk to a certain point in time\\nto win a suit which would secure to him an\\nimmense fortune This increased amount of\\nanticipated evil still does not give the act any\\ntinge of moral quality to his mind, so far as", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0273.jp2"}, "274": {"fulltext": "210 Psychology and Ethics\\nthe consequences to self only are thought of.\\nBut the preventing another from having shoes,\\nthough it would only cause some slight pain,\\nseems to him wrong. Still more the prevent-\\ning another from winning his fortune.\\nYet we have said that the very origin of the\\nidea of right in the child s mind lies in the\\nperception of consequences to himself. How\\nis it, then, that it seems to be only when re-\\nsults to others are involved that we pass from\\na perception of what is merely prudent to\\na felt quality of Tightness t Has the man\\nmerely transferred a name, applying now the\\nterm prudent to that quality of an action\\nw^hich once he would have termed right\\nNo, not merely the name, but the idea con-\\ntained in his consciousness is different. It is\\nimportant to detect in just what this difference\\nconsists. In both cases the result is conceived\\nonly as regarding self. In the case of the\\nchild, where the idea seems fairly represented\\nby the term right, the result (the penalty) is\\nconceived as coming from a person. In the\\ncase of the man, where the idea is represented\\nby the term prudent, the result is to come\\nfrom impersonal forces of nature. Is it not\\nthe personality of the source of penalty that\\nmakes the difference Suppose that the man\\nbelieved that if he left off his shoes God would", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0274.jp2"}, "275": {"fulltext": "Right and OugW 211\\ndirectly punish him by making him ill. Now\\nagain it would seem to him a question of right\\nand wrong. Suppose God were conceived to\\nact unalterably and uniformly by unvarying\\nlaws, the illness coming now, not as a special\\nadaptation to the individual case, but as the\\nresult of unchangeable conditions. Now it has\\nbecome mere prudence again. Is it not,\\nthen, the element of uncertainty the vague-\\nness of the expectation that gives that tinge\\nto the idea which makes us call it right in-\\nstead of prudent If the child knows that a\\nmachine will invariably strike his hand when-\\never he puts it on the wheel, he considers it to\\nbe prudent to avoid that action. If he knows\\nthat his mother will probably strike his hand if\\nhe puts it on the sleeping baby, he considers\\nit right to avoid the act. Trying to grasp\\nall that the consciousness contains in either\\ncase, can we see any difference between the\\ntwo ideas except the definiteness and certainty\\nof the expectation of pain in the one, the vague-\\nness and uncertainty in the other For the\\npersonal displeasure always introduces an in-\\ncalculable element into the .penalty. In other\\nwords, there is a sense of the authority of the\\nparent, of God, or of public opinion, conceived\\nas sources of penalty and this authority\\nseems on analysis to yield only a sense of the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0275.jp2"}, "276": {"fulltext": "212 Psychology and Ethics\\nindefinite power the unlimited possibility of\\nproducing consequences in these beings.\\nIt is not necessarily in merely growing ma-\\nture in years that one reaches a higher devel-\\nopment of the idea of right. No doubt many\\npersons of mature age still have in their con-\\nsciousness only some vague apprehension of\\npenalties to themselves when they feel an act\\nto be not right. Perhaps it might some-\\ntimes be found that a man considers an act not\\nprudent when it threatens some slight and\\ntemporary damage to himself, and another act\\nnot right when to his belief it threatens him\\nwith everlasting torment.\\nBut in those minds which pass on to further\\ndevelopment in growing older, the considera-\\ntion of consequences to others more and more\\ntakes the place of this childish idea of right.\\nThe consideration of consequences to self,\\nfrom any source whatever, hardly gives to the\\nidea concerning an act any flavor whatever of\\nrightness, but only a sense of its pru-\\ndence. It is only what would cause gener-\\nally harm that seems wrong it is only what\\nconduces to the general welfare that seems\\nright.\\nBut there is a higher idea than that of\\nright, as the mere correlative of wrong.\\nRight as ordinarily used means only what", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0276.jp2"}, "277": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 213\\nwe may do without doing wrong. The higher\\nidea is that of duty. This word means not\\nwhat we merely J7iay do, but what we ought\\nto do. Here again we see a development from\\na cruder to a more evolved morality. At first,\\nwhether in childhood, or in the childish period\\nof nations, or in the permanent condition of\\nunprogressive nations and persons, morality\\ngoes no farther than in the abstention from\\nwrong. Its precepts are only Thou shalt\\nnot. But there comes later the sense of\\nduty. The aspiration is to do not only the\\nright, but all the right one can as one s whole\\nduty. The morality is based not on Thou\\nshalt not, nor even on Thou shalt, but I\\nwin.\\nAnd what, now, is the true analysis of this\\nfurther idea of ought We have said that\\nit is not identical with the idea of right\\ntheir denotation may be the same, but their\\nconnotation is different. When A. says, It is\\nnot right to kill B., I ought not to do it, he\\nreally says two different things. The idea\\nought carries in his consciousness a more\\nprominent flavor of the outside power com-\\npelling him by means of penalties. It is neces-\\nsary, for any clear analysis, to consider the\\norigi7i of this ought idea in the individual\\nmind, since at any given moment it consists", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0277.jp2"}, "278": {"fulltext": "214 Psychology and Ethics\\npartly of a residuum from previous stages of\\nthe idea, and cannot be completely analyzed\\nwithout a view of these.\\nWhen the child A. is about to take an orange\\nthat has been given to B., the mother makes\\nhim understand that the act would incur her\\ndispleasure and possibly other pains. He thus\\nlearns that the act would not be right. Prcr\\nsently he learns also that its evil consequences\\nto B. are a part of its wrongness j by and by\\nthese perhaps constitute for him its chief wrong-\\nness. But he learns to feel at the same time\\nthe sense of his mother s outside compelling\\npower upon him through the motive of her dis-\\npleasure and other penalties. She obliges\\nme (forces me through motives) not to do it,\\nis his feeling. I am under obligation, I ought\\nnot to do it. Moreover, by sympathy (which\\nenters into training more than is ordinarily\\nperceived), catching her feeling, he comes to\\nfeel toward himself, on occasion of such an act,\\nas he has perceived her to feel toward him.\\nSo grows up self-reproof. From God, con-\\nceived as a higher parent, he comes to expect\\na similar displeasure and from public opinion\\nstill another. From the latter alone, indeed,\\nthe idea might spring up, in the case of a\\nperson growing up without parent or religious\\ntraining. The mature man, therefore, is likely", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0278.jp2"}, "279": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 215\\nto have in his consciousness as the ought\\nidea a more or less confused mingling of the\\nidea of the parental displeasure (possibly now\\na mere relic), of the divine displeasure (possi-\\nbly also a relic), the displeasure of public\\nopinion, and the displeasure of his own perma-\\nnent, as against his momentary, self.\\nIn many minds of the present day it will\\nfurnish a clear illustration of the survival of\\nrelics of ideas in the moral consciousness to\\nrecall their own experience of the Sabbath-\\nkeeping precepts of childhood. If (as was\\ntrue in the writer s case) the child was taught\\nthat the reading of Robinson Crusoe on\\nSunday was a wicked act, some vague idea of\\nan ought connected with ordinary employ-\\nments on that day will be found to have sur-\\nvived a long time beyond any acceptance of it\\nby the mature reason.\\nIt is an interesting inquiry, again, how the\\nword ought came to be used in the growth\\nof our language. For the history of the use of\\na word throws a little (however uncertain)\\nlight on the development of the idea in the\\nminds of our forefathers. The word appears\\nin the earliest known form of the language as\\nah, meaning I have, I own. (This present\\ntense seems to have been, earlier still, the past\\nof a verb signifying to labor; and to have", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0279.jp2"}, "280": {"fulltext": "216 Psychology and Ethics\\ncome to mean, therefore, I have labored and\\nearned, and so havey) Ought was the past\\ntense of this ah, but took on the meaning of\\nthe present tense. It is important to notice\\nthat ah had originally in English the sense of\\nI own, not I owe. The latter was a sec-\\nondary sense that grew up in the thirteenth or\\nfourteenth century. From the sense of I\\nhave, it came to be used with to as a kind of\\nauxiliary verb it appears about the year 1200\\nas ah to don, I have to do, so and so.\\nWe can only grope here in conjectures, but the\\nhistory of the idea seems to have been, I\\nhave this thing to do that is, it has been\\ngiven me to do, or set for me to do. That\\nis to say, I otight, I am obliged (under obli-\\ngation) to do it j I must do it, or something\\nwill happen to me.\\nFrom its frequent occurrence in phrases\\nwith to, followed by a verb, like the above, it\\nseems to have taken on the sense of owe in\\ngeneral.\\nWhen, then, A. says, I ought not to kill\\nB., his idea so far as the history of the use of\\nthis word throws any glimmer of light upon it\\nis not based (as often seems to be supposed)\\non any sense of owing it to B., or to the com-\\nmunity, or the Deity; for the word was used\\nto mean ought before it was used to mean", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0280.jp2"}, "281": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 217\\nowe. The etymology rather points to a\\nbasis in the sense of having a task imposed on\\nhim by an outside power, or by his own per-\\nmanent self with penalties. In other words,\\nthe phrase, I owe him a dollar, came from the\\nthought, I /lave to pay him a dollar, and not\\nvice versa. And the phrase, I ought to do\\nthis, came from the thought, I have to do\\nthis, I must do it, and not vice versa.\\nObligation, then, or the ought, as a state\\nof a person in relation to a proposed action,\\nreduces under analysis to a liability to indefi-\\nnite pains and penalties from some superior\\npower, which thus compels him toward or from\\nthe act. And the connection of the idea\\nought with the idea right is consummated\\nwhen we arrive at the conception of general\\nideas, and conceive of this superior power\\nparental, divine, public, or that of our own per-\\nmanent self as acting in accordance with\\nabstract right, or that which conduces to\\ngeneral welfare.\\nThus we see that as fast as the conception of\\nhigher powers, with farther reaching penalties\\nand rewards, comes in, the idea of the ought\\nshifts its basis. At first the child s ought\\nis based on the mandates of the parent, what-\\never they be. When he becomes aware of a\\nhigher public law, the felt obligation of obedi-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0281.jp2"}, "282": {"fulltext": "218 Psychology and Ethics\\nence to the parent is modified by this concep-\\ntion. When, further, he perceives a law of\\nabstract right, higher still than the state, or\\nhis immediate public (as in the question of\\nobeying a vicious law), his ought again is\\nmodified. At last he comes to say even of the\\nDeity, If he commanded me to do what was\\nunjust, what was cruel, what was not right, I\\nwould not obey because he divines a total\\nof things, concerned with consequences abso-\\nlutely universal, which has now become in fact\\nhis Deity. It is the conception, as the poet\\nembodies it, of the Quiet overruling Se-\\ntebos. So that one s final ought is felt\\ntoward what is conceived as the hostility of the\\nuniverse against evil, and its friendliness toward\\ngood.\\nAnd here we reach our final question, so far\\nas the theoretical discussion of the basis of\\nmorals is concerned. Good, welfare\\nwhat do we mean by these words The\\nought, we have said, in its highest develop-\\nment, becomes a perception of superior powers\\nworking for the good, i. e. the welfare, of all\\nthe right, we have said, is such action as is\\nperceived to be conducive to this good or wel-\\nfare of all but what good, what welfare\\nHere again we arrive at a region of changing\\nand developing standards. There are many", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0282.jp2"}, "283": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 219\\nwords which remain the same, but represent\\ndifferent ideas in any individual mind at differ-\\nent stages of growth, or in different minds as\\na fossil wood retains its form, but new parti-\\ncles replace the old. Delightful, for in-\\nstance, has a sufficient degree of identity of\\nconnotation to serve for that rude sort of ap-\\nproximate communication between minds which\\nmakes up ordinary speech but the word really\\nstands for many various and indeed contradic-\\ntory ideas. Take, for instance, the common\\nphrase, a delightful book. How little it\\ntells us concerning the book, unless we know\\nwho utters it. So of the words good and\\nwelfare we begin perhaps by feeling that\\nphysical pleasure is the good thing. It is\\nthe conception of infancy, and of those minds\\nthat never pass beyond the infancy of the intel-\\nlect. To such the welfare of a man would\\nconsist in being all one sensual nerve, and this\\nperpetually gratified. But there develops grad-\\nually in the mind a perception that pleasures\\ngrade themselves into lower and higher. We\\nrate the soul higher than the body, and we\\nrate the satisfaction of the spirit higher than\\nthe gratification of the nerve. There arises the\\nconception which we name happiness. This\\nidea, to be sure, is also various in various\\nminds. But on the whole we seem to mean by", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0283.jp2"}, "284": {"fulltext": "220 Psychology and Ethics\\nit at least some more permanent condition of\\nsatisfaction than any momentary pleasure;\\nand on the whole it seems to stand, to any\\ngiven mind, for the highest sort of satisfaction\\nit knows. But, farther on, the idea of happiness\\nitself rises. The word begins to seem inade-\\nquate. It did, for example, to Thomas Carlyle,\\nwho substituted for it (in Sartor Resartus\\nthe word blessedness, meaning thereby a pos-\\nsession of higher satisfactions, more intellec-\\ntual, more spiritual, than the term happiness\\ntarnished as it is by its use for mere animal\\npleasures seemed able to express. Least\\nof all do we now feel satisfied with the idea of\\nC07ite7itment as constituting any worthy sort\\nof happiness. Contented we say. It is a\\nmere negation of discontent. The swine is\\ncontented in his litter the mollusk is even\\nmore contented in his mud the lifeless stone\\nis most contented of all.\\nAnd at this point we begin to perceive the\\nessence of the still further developing idea of\\nwelfare. If the stone s condition is, least of\\nall, welfare, if that of the mollusk is but a\\nlittle better, and so on, what is this increas-\\ning element, as we go higher in the grade of\\nexistence, that approaches more and more our\\nidea of real good, real welfare It is\\nnothing less than Being conscious existence,", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0284.jp2"}, "285": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 221\\ncompleteness of life. Why does intellectual plea-\\nsure seem higher to us than animal pleasure\\nBecause it involves more of the man. Why did\\nCarlyle s blessedness represent to him a\\nhigher idea than even the highest happiness\\nBecause it was more inclusive because it\\nexpressed the life of the Spirit, the feelings,\\nthe will, as well as of the dry intellect. The\\nhighest aspiration, then, comes to be that for\\nincreased totality of conscious life in all the\\nnatural human powers, of body, mind, and\\nspirit. Those courses of action those move-\\nments of the thought or the feehng, even\\nwhich tend toward narrowing, belittling, dwarf-\\ning the man s nature, seem bad and degrading.\\nThose actions and impulses seem lofty which\\ntend toward broadening, deepening, fulfilling\\nthe stream of conscious life. We cry with the\\npoet,\\nT is life whereof our nerves are scant,\\nMo7 e life, znd fuller, that I want.\\nAnd we feel it to be the highest promise he\\ncould make when Jesus declared,\\nI am come that they might have life, and\\nthat they might have it more abmtdantly.\\nAnd this brings us, from a different stand-\\npoint, to Spencer s conclusion in the Data of\\nEthics.\\nAt the same time with this progress in the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0285.jp2"}, "286": {"fulltext": "222 Psychology and Ethics\\nidea of welfare, of the thing most to be desired,\\nthere is a parallel progress in the idea respect-\\ning the persons for whom we most desire it.\\nWe begin by craving it for self. Little by little\\nthe desire broadens itself, for each of the higher\\nforms of good in turn to include as its recipi-\\nents one s family, one s friends, one s race, one s\\nuniverse. The highest welfare, the greatest\\ngood, the siwimum botium^ is at last, in our con-\\nception, the attainment of the highest possible\\ngrade of development the conscious posses-\\nsion of the most complete possible existence\\nby all beings. And by right we mean\\nwhat promotes this and by wrong we mean\\nwhat frustrates this. And that which we feel\\nwe ought to do is that toward which we\\nfeel that the universal powers compel us by\\nmotives of these recognized consequences to\\nall.\\nIf any system of religious ethics has held up\\nto men the idea of physical pleasure as the\\nchief reward, and physical pain as the chief\\npunishment, it is by this fact seen to be a crude\\nsystem. Nor does it elevate the standard in\\nkind to extend this pleasure or pain to all\\neternity. We recognize in innumerable cases\\nthat mere pleasure and pain are no true tests\\nof good or welfare. The man would not\\nexchange his human life with all its elements", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0286.jp2"}, "287": {"fulltext": "Right and OugW 223\\nof pain for the swine s life with all its elements\\nof pleasure. The higher standard is so wrought\\ninto our very instincts that we instantly recog-\\nnize the completer life to be the higher or more\\ndesirable life, regardless of any question of\\npleasure or pain. Pleasure is no doubt a good,\\ninsomuch as it promotes a more abounding\\nlife and pain is no doubt a7i evil, insomuch\\nas it represses or destroys life. But givejt the\\nabounding life, and we feel that it would be a\\nhigher choice to take pain with the great life\\nthan to take pleasure with the little life. Our\\nsympathy and admiration go out to the suffer-\\ning Prometheus rather than to the voluptuous\\nJove. We could rather worship yea_, envy\\nthe eternal martyr than the eternal swine.\\nAnd now, finally, it will be asked, If the test\\nof the good, of the true welfare, is its satisfac-\\ntion of the desire for abounding life, how can\\nwe be sure that this is the highest satisfac-\\ntion, that this is the highest desire In\\nother words, what is the test of our test?\\nWe are well aware that here we reach a\\nchasm which very many persons will be unpre-\\npared to cross with us. We shall cross safely,\\nbut the bridge is not such as tempts the unac-\\ncustomed eye.\\nFor our answer can only be, There is no test\\nexcept the existence of the desire itself. We", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0287.jp2"}, "288": {"fulltext": "224 Psychology and Ethics\\nfind by actual observation that in fact this is\\nthe paramount desire of man. To satisfy it\\nseems to him the highest satisfaction, and there-\\nfore it seems to him the highest desire. But\\ncan he not in some way k7iow whether it is\\nthe highest.? We answer, There is no other\\nmeaning to this word highest, itself, under\\ncomplete analysis, than what \\\\s found to he\\nin fact paramount in human estimation.\\nBut, it will be objected, the soul finds in\\nitself many desires. At one time one is strong-\\nest, at other times another. How determine\\nwhich of these is the paramount desire We\\nanswer. We can only count that highest which is\\nthe most permanent and the paramount desire\\nof the sanest and completest men. This desire\\nw^e take as the test, not on the ground that it\\npleases us to take it not because we are de-\\nvoid of the craving for some more certain\\nsanction not from any consideration of its\\nconvenience in instruction, or in supporting\\nthis or that institution or creed but we take it\\nbecause the honest truth appears to be that we\\nhave that, and we have no other. We may\\ninvent or imagine as many as we please, but,\\nlike it or not, conceive it to be safe or not, this\\nthe mind s sane estimate of what is most\\ndesirable is the only one that does actually\\nin fact exist for us.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0288.jp2"}, "289": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 225\\nMany persons take such a view of the uni-\\nverse as allows them to believe that they can\\ncontrive some safer way for men than the open\\nsight of the actual truth. Even for themselves,\\nsome feel that it is more desirable to retain\\nagreeable illusions than to allow them to be\\ntorn away. These persons will prefer to say\\nconcerning the test of right and duty, Such and\\nsuch standards have been handed down from\\nthe past, and it is easiest for me and safest for\\nthe world to believe that the past had some\\nsuperior wisdom in setting up these standards.\\nGod s will, for example, is offered as the\\ntrue test. But how do we know what is God s\\nwill He has revealed it, it will be said, in\\nthe Bible. But why should we believe this is a\\nrevelation from God, seeing that it was written\\nby men, and appears to be so similar to what\\nmen have all along been accustomed to write\\nelsewhere Because these particular men claim\\nto have heard God say these things. But why\\nbelieve such a strange claim when we should\\nnot think of believing it if any of our neighbors\\nmade it Because, it will be said, it was made\\na long time ago, and has been for a long time\\nbelieved. But are there not many beliefs of\\ngreat antiquity which have turned out to be\\nerroneous\\nAt some such point the mind of the person", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0289.jp2"}, "290": {"fulltext": "226 Psychology and Ethics\\nwho insists on the existence of some supernat-\\nurally revealed and infallible test for morals\\nis apt to turn to this other support for his con-\\nfidence in the Bible as a basis its own inter-\\nnal evidence of a divine character. These\\ncommands, he says, are evidently divine,\\nbecause they are right because they are the\\nhighest and best in the world. But by what\\ntest right and highest and best It is the\\nvicious circle again.\\nThere is no possible answer, try as we may\\nto avoid it, but the answer we have already\\ngiven the test which the mind finds itself in\\nfact applying is the only test. That to man is\\nbest which he most desires. That desire is\\nthe best which is his paramount and most per-\\nmanent desire. And that desire is, if we con-\\nsult mankind in general, if we consult our own\\nconsciousness, or all history and all literature,\\nthe desire for a good or welfare consist-\\ning of the greatest possible total of conscious\\nlife.\\nThis desire for abounding life conceals itself\\nunder many more visible desires. It lies, how-\\never, hidden under our craving for society,\\nwhich stimulates and calls out increased activ-\\nity of all our powers under our craving for\\nsolitude, when now too much society serves\\nonly to repress and confine the greater activity", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0290.jp2"}, "291": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 227\\nof our own mind and spirit under our enjoy-\\nment of music, which fulfills not only the possi-\\nble capacity of the mere sense of hearing, but\\nawakens a world of inner life, in memories and\\ndreams under our pleasure in all art and lit-\\nerature, which at once give wings and a wider\\nhorizon to the mind under our passion for\\nbroader truth, which (linking many facts in\\none) gives the intellect a clearer and more in-\\nclusive grasp a completer life of knowing\\nunder, at last, as we have seen, our aspiration\\nfor the highest good of all, which is but\\nanother name for the completest satisfaction,\\nfor all, of this highest desire.\\nIf any one says, This is not the highest\\ngood thing, or summtim bomim, he is merely\\nsaying (if we push the statement to the furthest\\nanalysis), This is not what find most desir-\\nable that is to say, what most desire. It\\nbecomes, then, merely a question as to whose\\ndesire is to be the final arbiter; and we find\\nnone better than the desire of those who are\\nthe sanest and completest men and in them,\\nthe permanent judgment, not any momentary\\nwhim.\\nIt would not be true to say, as might be said\\nby some one who looked no deeper than the\\nsurface of the matter, that this leaves every\\nman a law unto himself; or that it leaves", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0291.jp2"}, "292": {"fulltext": "228 Psychology and Ethics\\nevery man to do what seems good in his own\\neyes. On the contrary, it sends a man for his\\ntrue law to the dictates of universal reason,\\nagainst his personal passion, to what seems\\ngood, in the eyes of all sane and sober judg-\\nments, against the troubled vision of his mo-\\nmentary desire.\\nThis is, as we have said, no new test it is\\nthat to which all moral precepts and principles\\nhave in reality been subjected from the begin-\\nning. Whatever sacred books, whatever divine\\nrevelations, whatever commandments written\\nupon tables of brass or stone, have been\\nadopted, have been adopted after being sub-\\njected to this test. The Ten Commandments,\\nthe Golden Rule, find and always have found\\nin this their real sanction. And if to-morrow\\na code of moral rules were suddenly seen writ-\\nten in golden letters across the sky at noon-\\nday, so that it should be said everywhere, It\\ncannot have come by any human means; it\\nmust be a revelation of the Deity, what would\\nbe the necessary action of our minds upon it\\nWe should necessarily do just what we have\\nalways done with Vedas, Korans, and Bibles.\\nWe should bring it to the test of the judg-\\nment of the human reason. We should ask,\\nfirst of all, Are these precepts right If\\nthe reason declared them wrong, we should re-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0292.jp2"}, "293": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 229\\nject them, no matter what appeared to be their\\norigin. If the stone tables had commanded,\\nThou Shalt steal, and Thou shalt kill,\\nthe human reason would have declared them\\nwrong, and rejected them. If the Golden Rule\\nwere, Hate thy neighbor, and do him evil,\\nthere would have been the same verdict and\\nresult. And by what test By this same old\\ntest, which, be we satisfied with it or not, is all\\nwe have the test of cojisequences, as affecting\\nhuman welfare, as promoting or frustrating\\nwhat seems most desirable to men that is to\\nsay, the satisfaction of the highest human de-\\nsire, the desire for true and full existence.\\nThou shalt not kill, is not, then, right be-\\ncause it is in the Bible. It is in the Bible\\nbecause, by the test of human judgment, it is\\nright. Or rather, that book in which it is found\\nis held to be The Bible, because these pre-\\ncepts found there are by the human reason\\njudged to be right. Thou shalt love thy\\nneighbor as thyself is not a divine command\\nbecause Jesus uttered it, but Jesus is ac-\\ncounted divine because he uttered such com-\\nmands. If one dislikes to accept this state-\\nment, let him test its validity by asking himself,\\nas before. If Jesus had uttered precisely con-\\ntrary commands to these, what character should\\nwe attribute to him To die for others is not", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0293.jp2"}, "294": {"fulltext": "230 Psychology and Ethics\\na divine act because Jesus did so, but that he\\ndid so is his highest claim to men s acceptance\\nas a divine being. And by what test Always\\nby this same test, there is no other possible,\\nthat these noble precepts and actions are\\nrecognized as being such as universally pro-\\nmote welfare. And what welfare That which\\nmen universally seek as the most desirable,\\nabounding life. Not animal pleasure, for when-\\never it clashes with this we decide against it\\nnot merely our own pleasure, even of the intel-\\nlect and spirit, for whenever these clash with\\nits attainment by others, we decide against it\\nnot merely happiness, even of the purest kind,\\nand even for others, unless, indeed, we Hft the\\nword happiness above any ordinary use of\\nit, and make it stand for this highest welfare\\nitself for in case of the alternative we esteem\\nit better to be unhappy with abounding life\\nthan to be happy at any lower stage of being.\\nBut in reality no such alternative as this last\\nis possible, except as an imaginary hypothesis,\\nfor it is the very characteristic of happiness of\\nevery desirable sort that it promotes life and\\nof pain, that it represses and tends to destroy\\nlife. Happiness is therefore a thing worthy\\nof pursuit, as a means. Even pleasure is a\\ngood thing, still as a means. Nor can it ever\\nbe a bad or wrong thing unless it contravene", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0294.jp2"}, "295": {"fulltext": "Right and OugW 23 1\\nthe law of right unless, that is to say, it tends\\nto oppose the highest welfare of self or others.\\nThe more one contemplates the human story\\nin the past, or the human life as it goes on\\nabout us in the present, the more one realizes\\nthe truth of this generalization, that the desire\\nfor abounding life is the paramount desire of\\nman. There is hardly an activity but goes\\nback to this for its mainspring, hardly a de-\\nsire but rests upon this deeper desire. All his-\\ntory is the record of man s efforts to attain\\npersonal liberty and this liberty for which\\nso many battles have been fought, and dynas-\\nties overturned, and blood spilled is only\\nthe riddance from whatever hampered large\\naction and large living. It was the longing\\nfor more life and fuller, not for self only\\nbut for all, that made the heroes and martyrs\\nof the long struggle for free government. It\\nwas so of the struggle for religious liberty, so\\nfor liberty of thought. Freedom to do and be^\\nto the utmost limits of each individual s possi-\\nbility, was the prize they sought.\\nThe history of the efforts of women toward\\nemancipation from personal and social tyranny\\nillustrates the working of this same funda-\\nmental desire. It has not been so much any\\nincrease of pleasure they have sought, or for a\\nposition where they could be more happy, in", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0295.jp2"}, "296": {"fulltext": "232 Psychology and Ethics\\nany mere sense of being contented, but the\\nliberty to live larger lives, to be more, to have\\nin themselves an increased total of the com-\\nmon human existence.\\nThe history of all art is but another such\\nillustration. Form after form of art has been\\ndeveloped under the pressure of this same de-\\nsire to live in large worlds, to give the whole\\nsoul its fullest activity of life if not through\\nthe actual surroundings, with their narrowing\\nand deadening influences, then through the\\nnerves of the receptive imagination, that can\\nvibrate to the touch of the creative imagina-\\ntion of the artist, and dream the gardens of\\nparadise in a desert, or heaven in hell. Music,\\narchitecture, sculpture, painting, all have their\\nhold on men through the fact that in the first\\nplace these sounds and forms and colors give\\nthe mere sense its fullest possible activity (as\\nthe chord depends for its delightfulness on its\\ngiving the ear a larger total of effect than is\\npossible in the single tone, or the discord and\\nas the line of beauty, the double waving curve,\\ndoes the same for the eye) and in the second\\nplace, the fact that through the effect of these\\narts on the imagination, the feelings, the rea-\\nson, they waken to stir for the moment at\\nleast the whole man, that was half dormant\\nbefore, into full and abounding life.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0296.jp2"}, "297": {"fulltext": "Right and Ought 233\\nSo, finally, the history of literature illustrates\\nonce more the working of this same paramount\\ndesire. The drama has moved and delighted\\nmen because it brought into their conscious\\nexistence a wealth of other scenes and more\\nvaried activity. It enabled them, for the one\\nbrief hour, to live through the emotions and ac-\\ntions of many souls to compress into a few\\nrich moments the whole destinies of men or\\nempires, made their own through the tumult of\\nthe inner life. Fiction, from its first crude be-\\nginnings in some Hebrew or Arabic tale to the\\nnovel of Scott or George Eliot, has been but\\nthe outcome of this same irrepressible craving\\nto enlarge the bounds of our own narrow exist-\\nence through the inner experience of the for-\\ntunes, the joys, the woes, of an imaginary world.\\nPoetry, with its eternal passion, eternal pain,\\nhas both been the expression of this hunger for\\na fuller life in the poet, and has fed the sacred\\nfire of this aspiration in the world.\\nAnd of the relative value of all art, as of\\nall literature, this furnishes the only true and\\nrational test what has it added to the inner\\nlife That symphony, that painting, that poem\\nis greatest which more than any other has had\\nfor its effect in the world that we might have\\nlife the inner life, and through that the\\nouter also and that we might have it more\\nabundantly.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0297.jp2"}, "298": {"fulltext": "234 Psychology and Ethics\\nAnd so at last, to return to our starting-\\npoint, in morals also that impulse, that choice,\\nthat action is the most right, is the highest\\nduty, which most tends to satisfy this para-\\nmount human desire and aspiration, for that\\nfuller and more abounding life which is not\\nonly the goal of all unconscious progress, work-\\ning in the dark of natural forces, but of all\\nconscious wishes and purposes, working in the\\nlight of the human reason and will.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0298.jp2"}, "299": {"fulltext": "THE PSYCHOLOGY OF INTERRUP-\\nTIONS\\nThere is a certain small and yet in the long\\nrun important hindrance that I often encoun-\\nter in the act of writing, for which I should\\nvery much like to find the exact psychological\\nexplanation. It is very possibly a common\\nexperience with all toilers in pen and ink.\\nWhen I am deeply absorbed in a piece of\\nwork, and my whole mind is fixed on a train\\nof thought which I am trying to follow out and\\nexpress in precise language, a sudden interrup-\\ntion (as by my wife s asking me a question)\\ncauses a peculiar and specific mental wrench\\nor jar that is more than an annoyance, and\\namounts to a positive pain. What is it that\\nhappens in the brain as the physical concomi-\\ntant or cause of this I observe that the shock\\nvaries in intensity with the completeness of the\\nabsorption or abstraction of the mind in its\\nwork. This is so much a matter of instinct\\nthat I find myself, during any perceived liabil-\\nity to such interruption, withholding my atten-\\ntion from complete concentration on my writ-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0299.jp2"}, "300": {"fulltext": "236 Psychology and Ethics\\ning, in order to lessen the force of the painful\\nblow that I feel may come at any moment.\\n(This secondary effort, by the way, or voluntary\\nrestraining of the mind from its desired track,\\nalways seems to produce in me, no matter how\\nmuch I may resist it, a kind of irritation or sub-\\nirritation of temper, after a little, which soon\\ndestroys the possibility of any satisfactory pro-\\nduction.) Is the physical explanation of this\\ninterruption-shock, perhaps, that the sudden\\nback-flow of the nerve currents, inundating\\ntracts in the brain left empty by the concentra-\\ntion of the whole mind on its task, gives a kind\\nof stab or jerk to the nervous centres And\\ndoes the effort to withhold a part of the atten-\\ntion, while consciously subject to interruption,\\ncorrespond, physically, to a forcible keeping of\\nall the channels partially filled against a too\\nsudden wave, or jet, of energy\\nThe condition of things in the mind at such\\na time always seems to me (to suggest it by the\\nmerest inadequate hint of metaphor) as if the\\neffort to hold and carry on a train of thought\\nwere a muscular struggle, while grasping tightly\\na number of separate lengths of bamboo rod to\\nkeep them close together, end to end, and in a\\nperfectly straight line, as the necessary condi-\\ntion of having a new length continually sprout\\nout from the growing extremity. Now if, at", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0300.jp2"}, "301": {"fulltext": "The Psychology of Interruptions 237\\nthe moment when every nerve is strained to\\nhold these pieces in position, some one were to\\ngive us a sudden shove in the back, such\\nseems the kind of interruption I speak of.\\nWhatever be the correct explanation of the\\nphenomenon, the suffering and hindrance from\\nit are considerable in the course of a lifetime\\nand we hereby bring it to the attention of the\\nSociety for the Prevention of Cruelty to Wri\\nBut, come to think, there is no such benevo-\\nlent organization as yet in existence.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0301.jp2"}, "302": {"fulltext": "THE BREAD-AND-BUTTER MOMENTS\\nOF THE MIND\\nIt is astonishing how insensible we some-\\ntimes are to the most beautiful or sublime spec-\\ntacles. Noble scenes, which at another time\\nwould inspire the imagination and thrill the\\nheart with a tumult of emotions, now unfold\\ntheir glory before our unmoved eyes, and the\\nhumdrum thoughts plod along their accus-\\ntomed way. Travelers know this phenomenon\\nvery well. Ely Cathedral lives in my memory\\nas a delicious vision of solemn loveliness but\\nwhen my friends praise York Minster, I hardly\\nrecall that I was ever there. This indifference\\nis to be ascribed to the fact that in York my\\nbrain happened to be dough or putty for the\\ntime being, and in no respect on the architec-\\nture of the minster. I remember that George\\nSand had this experience in her voyage to\\nItaly. In the Histoire de ma Vie she says\\nJe poursuivis mon voyage quand meme, ne\\nsouffrant pas, mais peu a peu si abrtitie par les\\nfrissons, les defaillances et la somnolence, que\\nje vis Pise et le Campo Santo avec une grande", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0302.jp2"}, "303": {"fulltext": "The Bread-and-Butter Moments 239\\napathie. II me devint meme indifferent de\\nsuivre une direction ou une autre Rome et\\nVenise furent jouees a pile ou face. Vetiise\\nface retomba dix fois sur le plancher. J y\\nvoulus voir une destinee, et je partis pour\\nVenise par Florence. Je vis toutes les\\nbelles choses qu il fallait voir, maisj etais\\nglacee, et, en regardant le Persee de Cellini et\\nla Chapelle carree de Michel Ange, il me\\nsemblait, par moments, que j etais statue moi-\\nmeme. La nuit, je revais que je devenais mo-\\nsaique et je comptais attentivement mes petits\\nCarres de lapis et de jaspe.\\nBut the same phlegmatic seizure often occurs\\nto us at home and in familiar surroundings.\\nThree nights ago, standing at my window, I\\nsaw the full moon rise superbly through a low\\nhorizon drapery of shadowed cloud-folds and\\nI said to myself, Let us go walk in the garden,\\nand drink in the splendor of this celestial spec-\\ntacle. So I sought my favorite pacing-ground,\\na wide path from the round rose-bed to the\\nelm -tree, running between lines of stately\\ncannas. There had been purifying rain, and\\nthe sky was deepened to its most lustrous\\ndark the soft billow-edges of the few fleeces,\\nswimming over across the big moon, caught,\\nturn by turn, a faint tinge of halo colors. The\\nmoon was dazzling. Who can believe that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0303.jp2"}, "304": {"fulltext": "240 Psychology and Ethics\\nmere sunshine, falling on mere rock and sand,\\nwill reflect such a white-cold intensity of light\\nI gazed intently on the blinding shield, as if to\\ncompel it to seem to me what it really is,\\nthe big globe, rolling there, dizzily unsupported,\\nin empty space. I said, That distance across\\nthe bulging disk is about that which the Pacific\\nRailroad traverses across our continent. Let\\nme try to imagine the little train, full of earth\\ninhabitants, creeping in a curve around yonder\\npoint of shadow, and across the bridgeless\\nnose of the man in the moon. For an in-\\nstant the conception of the globular form and\\nthe enormous bulk, swinging on its rounds,\\nalmost touched on the confines of my expectant\\nimagination then fled away unseizable, and\\nleft but the silvery spot, stuck there inade-\\nquately against the blue ceiling, so ridiculously\\nnear that even the lighter clouds pass behind,\\ninstead of before it, and a venturous balloon\\nmight be capable of bumping it at any rash\\ndischarge of ballast.\\nThen I took up my pacing back and forth.\\nThe broad silvered leaves of the cannas seemed\\nto float motionless in the great flood of light,\\nand beneath each hung its motionless black\\nshade. Every shadow of every delicate bough\\nand twig of the beech and the elm was lace\\nand bough and twig themselves, less distinct", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0304.jp2"}, "305": {"fulltext": "The Bread-and-Butter Moments 241\\nand more ethereal than their shadows, were\\nonly the mentally conceived patterns, or Pla-\\ntonic Ideas, of the lace, hovering above it in\\nthe air. What a mysterious and glorious night,\\nand what subtlest and most celestial dreams\\nshould throng the brain at such an hour!\\nBack and forth, to and fro, I paced and what,\\nthink you, were the sublime ideas I found in\\nmy brain, as I suddenly became aware of my-\\nself, after some minutes of floating in that sea\\nof twice distilled and space traversing radi-\\nance I was listening with lively displeasure\\nto the squeaking of my own new shoes. I was\\nthinking, How can this intolerable thing be\\ncured I was picturing in my imagination\\nthe sedulous shoemaker, anxiously handling\\nthe superinteguments, and discussing with me\\nthe possible ways and means of silencing this\\nmusic of abandoned soles. I remembered that\\nsome one had once recommended a hypoder-\\nmic injection of pumice-stone. As I turned\\nfrom the shadow back into the full flood of\\nradiance, I found myself wondering whether\\nthe leathern layers would have to be unstitched,\\nor whether anything could be done with a\\ngimlet.\\nI saw that the whole magnificent spectacle\\nof the night was being wasted on such an insect\\nas I, and that the most suitable scheme was to\\ngo ingloriously to bed.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0305.jp2"}, "306": {"fulltext": "THE SLIPPERINESS OF CERTAIN\\nWORDS\\nNext to the pleasure of finding ourselves\\ndifferent from people in general with regard\\nto great matters is the pleasure of discovering\\nour identity vs^ith them in small matters. For\\nmy own part, at least, I like to know that I am\\nnot so eccentric as I may have feared in vari-\\nous little tricks and manners of my body or\\nmy mind. I am always pleased to meet people\\nwho wear their thumbs inside their shut hand\\nand who have square-toed shoes and who like\\nthe smell of catnip and the taste of some cates\\nwhen a little burnt and who reluct at shaking\\nhands and who never sharpen the lead of a\\npencil and who say good-morning to the\\nservants and who reject the use of a spoon,\\nas being a thing to take powders in, or the\\nmilder nourishments of helpless infancy.\\nSo it would be a gratification to me to know\\nthat others are subject to a habit of the mind\\nwhich has always clung to me, and which I\\nsuspect of being nearly universal. I mean the\\nhabit of forgetting certain words, which have", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0306.jp2"}, "307": {"fulltext": "The Slipperiness of Certain Words 243\\nbeen reached for and have slipped away so\\nmany times that they have become perma-\\nnently sHppery, at least about the handle.\\nThere are words which are such old offenders\\nin this way that I feel their vicinity before I\\nget to them, in speaking or writing, and I say\\nto myself, There I shall have a time, now, to\\nget hold of that word and so I always do.\\nPeremptory is one of these slippery words, with\\nme. Complacent is another. Sententious is a\\nthird. And there is still another, which even\\nnow, as I sought it for an example, escaped\\nmy grasp, as slipper as an eeles sliding it\\nis the word deprecatory. The way I took to\\nfind it and seize upon it, just at this moment,\\nwas by keeping before my mind s eye the\\nimage of a humble small dog standing before\\na haughty big one, in momentary doubt as to\\nwhether the tail will wag or the jaws will de-\\nvour. By keeping this picture vividly present\\nto one lobe of the brain, while the other lobe\\nstrained every nerve to seize the initial syllable,\\nvaguely felt (that most mysterious state of the\\nmind) to be just hovering on the very edge of\\nthe memory, on the tip of my tongue, as we\\nsay, thus at last I clutched it and drew it in.\\nThere are certain proper names that have\\nbecome thus polished on the handle that is to\\nsay, on the initial syllable. Sometimes I sue-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0307.jp2"}, "308": {"fulltext": "244 Psychology and Ethics\\nceed in getting them by working at the other\\nend, and the final syllable drags in the unwill-\\ning first. My best reliance, however, is in the\\nalphabet. By beginning at a, b, r, and going\\nslowly down the letters, watching closely for\\nthe least sign of recognition, the smallest indi-\\ncation of that chemical affinity or magnetic at-\\ntraction which the mental image of the person\\nshows for its proper title when you come to its\\ninitial letter, I can commonly find the required\\nproper name. Sometimes it happens that I\\nhave to give it up, for the moment, and by\\nand by, when engaged about something else, it\\ncomes to me, as the result of unconscious\\ncerebration. I have an acquaintance named\\nBonstead, a most excellent dealer in some of\\nthe necessaries of life. If he had any idea,\\nhow I have struggled with his name, I believe\\nhe would hardly consider it friendly conduct\\non his part not to go and have it changed.\\nNow there is no assignable reason why this\\nname should slip my memory more than others.\\nIt is, on the face of it, a name of good augury,\\nand has been borne by admirable people. To\\nanother mind my own name, or that of the\\nreader, would as likely be the erring one. And\\nso of the few exceptional words cited above.\\nAnother memory will doubtless have entirely\\ndifferent examples. My explanation is that", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0308.jp2"}, "309": {"fulltext": "The Slipperiness of Certain IVords 245\\nthese happen to be words of which, for some\\npurely accidental reason, I got but a feeble\\nhold when first encountered; so that, having\\nslipped once, and again, and still again, they\\nacquired the habit of slipping, and became per-\\nmanently slippery.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0309.jp2"}, "310": {"fulltext": "THE ETHICS OF THE PLANK AT SEA\\nContrary to my custom, I showed some\\nverses before the ink and my affection for\\nthem had taken the time to dry to a critical\\nfriend. Now this lady s mind is so constructed\\nthat when you attack it with ever so casual a\\nremark or question you never know what may\\nhappen. On this occasion what happened was\\na discussion in ethics. But I had better give\\nthe lines first of all\\nHIS NEIGHBOR AS HIMSELF.\\nBlack the storming ocean, crests that leap and whelm\\nShip a tumbling ruin, stripped of spar and helm.\\nNow she shudders upward, strangled with a sea\\nThen she hangs a moment, and the moon breaks free\\nOn her huddled creatures, waiting but to drown,\\nAs she reels and staggers, ready to go down.\\nCrash the glassy mountain whirls her to her grave.\\nIn the foam three struggle one his love will save.\\nThere s a plank for two, but, as he lifts her there,\\nLo his rival sinking eyes that clutch despair.\\nOnly a swift instant left him to decide,\\nShall he drown, and yield the other life and bride", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0310.jp2"}, "311": {"fulltext": "The Ethics of the Plank at Sea 247\\nIn the peaceful morning stays a snowy sail.\\nTwo afloat, one missing. Which one Did he fail,\\nCoward, merely man Or did the great sea darken eyes\\nAll divinely shining with self-sacrifice\\nI waited while she read them. Then I waited\\nwhile she read them again. Then there was a\\npause, and I said, Well Then there was\\nmore pause, during which the mercury of my\\nestimate of the verses slowly sank. Then I\\nsaid, humbly, I did think of sending them to\\nThe Magazine.\\nYes, said she slowly. (The mercury con-\\ntinued to go down.) But I don t believe in\\nthe ethics of it.\\nIs f/iat all said I brightly.\\nIs that a//? said she darkly.\\nWell, then, said I, humbled again, what\\nis wrong with the ethics Instance me, good\\nshepherd.\\nIn the first place, she was good enough\\nto explain, I don t like this handing a girl\\naround as if she were a transferable piece of\\nproperty. It is wrong, and what is worse, it\\nis sentimental. Because, of course, the one\\nwhom, in a fair field, she loves is the one who\\nhas a right to her, and how can he give her up\\nwithout sacrificing her, too\\nBut, said I, the fact that she is his bride\\ndoes not necessarily imply that she loves him\\nbest.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0311.jp2"}, "312": {"fulltext": "248 Psychology and Ethics\\nDoes n t it interjected she.\\nAt least we may suppose that in the case\\ngiven the woman s affection or fancy for it\\nmay as yet be only that is evenly balanced\\nbetween the two.\\nThen, said she, let his own love for her\\ndecide him. That he knows. He cannot know\\nthat the other loves her so well.\\nBut, still objected I, suppose he is a\\nvery common-sense, hard-headed person, and\\nhis view of love is that, as a mere sentiment, it\\namounts to nothing that the important ques-\\ntion is, Whose love is likely to surround her\\nwith the most comfortable existence, the best\\nopportunities, in short, the greatest happi-\\nness And suppose he is perfectly aware that\\nhe himself is the old, sad, and every way unde-\\nsirable Doe, while the rival is the young, chip-\\nper, and every way desirable Roe.\\nYou talk, said she, as if the man himself\\nhad no rights, no claims to happiness on his\\nown account.\\nOh, but, said I, must he not recognize\\nas well the other s rights and claims, and love\\nhis neighbor as himself\\nBut, she insisted, not better than him-\\nself.\\nWould you have him, then, make a cool\\ncalculation on a plank at sea of the ex-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0312.jp2"}, "313": {"fulltext": "The Ethics of the Plank at Sea 249\\nact relative values of himself and the other\\nman, and adjudge the bride and the life to the\\nmost worthy\\nI know, she replied, that in all the small\\nmatters of daily intercourse it is the sweeter\\nand more dignified course to give up, regard-\\nless of all question of who has the right, or\\nwhich is the more worthy. But when it comes\\nto the uttermost, when one s hold on life or on\\nthe thing that alone could make life valuable is\\nat stake, why should not a rational mind look\\ndown upon the whole matter as might an un-\\nbiased inhabitant of Mars, and give the prize\\nto him who has the most desert\\nBut, said I, could even the most rational\\nmind ever hope to be an unbiased judge of the\\nrelative claims of another and himself And\\nbesides, supposing the two men are justly esti-\\nmated as precisely equal in value, the world\\nwould still be the gainer for the first posses-\\nsor s giving up the plank. In either case, it\\nwould have had a living man but now it has\\nthe man plus the act of self-sacrifice. To save\\nthe other man instead of himself is not merely\\nsubstituting x for x it substitutes x y. For\\nmy part, I must still hold to the ethics of\\nx+ yr\\nShe let me have the last word, and there we\\nleft it.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0313.jp2"}, "314": {"fulltext": "THE MIND AS A BAD PORTRAIT\\nPAINTER\\nMost people seem to experience an odd\\ndifficulty in realizing that the very greatest per-\\nsonages of the past ever were young. Yet this\\nconception is necessary, if we wish to see them\\nas they really were, and not according to the\\ntext-books and other sources of illusory tradi-\\ntion. Milton, for insta*nce who does not think\\nof him habitually as the blind old bard\\nTo test this, let any one arrange to have the\\nname brought suddenly before the attention at\\nan odd moment, and see what kind of image\\npresents itself to the imagination in response\\nto the word. Ten to one it will prove to be a\\nvenerable but sightless and piteous figure a\\nconfused mixture of several superimposed\\nimages, of which the most prominent may be\\nsome dolorous frontispiece engraving of a\\nstoop-shouldered bust, or the blind, pathetic\\nform in Munkacsy s vivid group. It needs\\nbut an instant s reflection to see that this is a\\nvery inadequate and unfortunate conception of\\nthe actual Milton in his best days. True, he\\nI", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0314.jp2"}, "315": {"fulltext": "The Mind as a Bad Portrait Painter 251\\nwas both old and blind when the two Paradises\\nwere committed to paper, but not when they\\nwere first conceived in his creative brain. And\\nwhat of that long period of his middle man-\\nhood, when he was not only poet, but states-\\nman and diplomate and terrible fighter for free\\nthought and free government, an erect, ac-\\ntive figure, as full of force and fire as any\\ntrooper of them all What of the still earlier\\ndays, when the beautiful young fellow charmed\\nthe hearts of man and maid, cunning at\\nfence, of the literal sort, as well as in all the\\nelegant intricacies of Italian sonneteering and\\npolished statecraft For my part, I like best\\nto remember the outward aspect of Milton as\\nhe appears in Vertue s engraving from the\\nOnslow portrait at the age of twenty-one, a\\njocund youngster, with laughing dark gray eyes\\nand fresh, manly face full of the sap so soon\\nto mature into the tough oak that helped he\\nmore than almost any man, if we consider his\\nhaving been both brain and pen to Cromwell,\\nbesides his own incessant prose polemics on\\nthe, side of freedom to wrestle out our mod-\\nern liberties in that fierce tug of the Great\\nRevolution. It was at just the time of this\\nlovely boy portrait that he was writing to his\\ncollege mate\\nFestivity and poetry are not incompatible.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0315.jp2"}, "316": {"fulltext": "252 Psychology and Ethics\\nWhy should it be different with you? But,\\nindeed, one sees the triple influence of Bac-\\nchus, Apollo, and Ceres in the verses you have\\nsent me. And then, have you not music,\\nthe harp lightly touched by nimble hands, and\\nthe lute giving time to the fair ones as they\\ndance in the old tapestried room Believe me,\\nwhere the ivory keys leap and the accompany-\\ning dance goes round the perfumed hall, there\\nwill the song-god be.\\nThe teachers of literature might well make\\nsome effort to rehabilitate these misimagined\\nworthies of the past, to remove from them the\\ndisguises of age and senility that a too rever-\\nent tradition has thrown about them, and to\\npresent them in that bloom of manhood be-\\nlonging to the period of their greatest activity.\\nIf I were a Professor of Literature, I should\\ndesire to hang my lecture-room with pictures,\\nnot of the old traditional and forbidding\\ndecrepitudes, but of Milton, for example, as\\nthe charming young swordsman, with velvet\\ncloak tossed on the ground and rapier in hand\\nof Homer, no longer blind and prematurely\\nagonized, as it were, with our modern perplex-\\nities in finding him a birthplace, but as the\\nsplendid young Greek athlete, limbed and\\nweaponed like his own youthful vision of\\nApollo, as", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0316.jp2"}, "317": {"fulltext": "The Mind as a Bad Portrait Painter 253\\nDown he came,\\nDown from the summit of the Olympian mount,\\nWrathful in heart his shoulders bore the bow\\nAnd hollow quiver there the arrows rang\\nUpon the shoulders of the angry god,\\nAs on he moved. He came as comes the night,\\nAnd, seated from the ships aloof, sent forth\\nAn arrow terrible was heard the clang\\nOf that resplendent bow.\\nI would tamper with even such venerated tra-\\nditional dignities as Mrs. Barbauld, for the sake\\nof their own rehabilitation in the eyes of mis-\\nguided youth. She should no longer frown\\nformidable behind the stately prsenomen of\\nLetitia she should be given back her true\\ngirl-name of Nancy, and be represented, after\\nher own account, as lithely and blithely climb-\\ning an apple-tree. Pythagoras should be a\\ngracious stripling, crowned with ivy buds and\\nstretched at a pretty goat-girl s feet, touching\\ndelicately the seven-stringed lyre. Even Moses\\nmight be shown as a buxom and frolicsome\\nboy, shying stones at the crocodiles. Only\\nShakespeare, of all the pantheon, would need\\nno change. His eternal youthfulness has been\\ntoo much for the text-books and the monument-\\nmakers, and we always seem to conceive him\\nas the fresh-hearted and full-forced man he\\nreally was.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0317.jp2"}, "318": {"fulltext": "THE FELT LOCATION OF THE I\\nI SUPPOSE everybody has tried, first or last,\\nto make out just where he feels himself to be\\nsituated in himself. When the finger is pinched,\\nit is plainly enough not /that am pinched, but\\nmy finger and the same is true of a hurt in\\nany part of the body. Notwithstanding the\\nfact that the great controlling nerve-centres\\nare in the brain, I have never been able to dis-\\ncover that a headache felt any nearer me than\\na finger-ache. Perhaps the nearest approach\\nI have known to a sense of closeness, or to a\\nveritable me-3.che, has been a sharp pain in the\\nstomach, especially when, on one occasion, I\\nwas struck in that region by a baseball bat,\\nwhich slipped from the hand of the striker.\\nBut there is one point concerning our felt\\nlocation which I think we all are sure of. It\\nis the one brought out so deliciously by the\\ndear little girl in Punch. You ought to\\ntie your own apron-strings, Mabel says one\\nof those irresistible young women of Du Mau-\\nrier s. How can I, aunty is the reply.\\nI m in front, you know", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0318.jp2"}, "319": {"fulltext": "ne Felt Location of the 255\\nThis is a shrewd observation in minute psy-\\nchology. The spinal chord runs along the\\nback, with all its ganglia; the weight of the\\nbrain is well behind yet we are not there. In\\nother words, the curious thing is that we feel\\nourselves to be, not in the region where im-\\npressions are received and answered in the\\nbrain and spinal cord, but where they first meet\\nthe nerve-extremities. We seem to inhabit not\\nthe citadel, but the outer walls. At the point\\nof peripheral expansion of the nerves of sense,\\nwhere the outer forces begin to be apprehended\\nby us as inner, in front, where the fingers\\nfeel, and the nose smells, and the eyes see,\\nthere, if anywhere, we find ourselves to be.\\nI have often been interested to notice where-\\nabouts on our bodily surface another animal\\nlooks to find us. The man, or even the little\\nchild, looks at the face. Is it because the voice\\nissues thence Yet it is the eyes, rather than\\nthe mouth, that is watched. Is it because the\\nexpression, the signal station for the changing\\nmoods, is there more than elsewhere A dog,\\nalso, invariably looks up into the face. So does\\na bird, notwithstanding the fact that the food\\ncomes from the hand. Why does he not con-\\nsider the I, so far as his needs are con-\\ncerned, to lie in the part that feeds him But\\nno he cocks his head to one side, and directs", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0319.jp2"}, "320": {"fulltext": "256 Psychology and Ethics\\nhis lustrous little eye straight to our own, in\\norder to establish what communion he can with\\nthe very him of his master and friend.\\nIt is hardly less pathetic than our own hu-\\nman efforts to pierce, by the searching pene-\\ntration of the eyes, to the real personality of\\neach other. We never succeed. We utter our\\nimperfect articulate sounds to each other s\\nears, but we do not look thither. It is still at\\nthe appealing and dumbly yearning eyes that\\nwe gaze, and go away baffled and sorrowful at\\nlast.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0320.jp2"}, "321": {"fulltext": "WHAT IS THE OLDEST THING IN\\nTHE WORLD?\\nThe human mind is pretty hard to suit. It\\ngets tired of old things, but when everything\\nin the environment seems brand-new it expe-\\nriences a still more profound dissatisfaction.\\nThen an inveterate craving for something an-\\ncient asserts itself. Thus we are as difficult\\nas the boarding-house boy of whom my bach-\\nelor friend tells me when they help him to\\nsyrup on his buckwheat cake, and ask with\\nfond solicitude, Do you want it drizzle-drozzle\\nor crinkle-crankle he responds only with a\\nvague scowl and when the honeyed stream\\ndescends in the latter form he whines, You\\nhieiu I wanted it drizzle-drozzle\\nWhen the hunger for something good and\\nold is strong upon us, we Americans are driven\\nto cross the ocean in search of it. But even\\nin the old countries it is not everything that\\ncan satisfy us. A comrade of mine, who has\\nbeen roaming up and down Europe, writes me\\nthat Niirnberg is the only city that really\\nkeeps its promise of seeming old. When we", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0321.jp2"}, "322": {"fulltext": "258 Psychology and Ethics\\ncannot conveniently travel for it, this periodi-\\ncal want of the flavor of antiquity sends us\\nto the Old Curiosity Shops. We accumulate\\nold truck of various sorts. Worm-eaten furni-\\nture may for the moment soothe our madness.\\nMoss-grown and tumble-down houses become\\ncaptivating to our fancy. We are even patient\\nof old jokes. We seek the society of the elders,\\nand hear with constantly renewed pleasure their\\ncastanean anecdotes. We refuse to read any\\nbook that has a clean new cover. The gleam\\nof fresh paint vexes our eyes, as we walk along\\nthe rows of spick-span houses. Even our let-\\nter-paper must have torn and ragged edges, as\\nif we had found it in our great-grandmother s\\nportfolio, in a chest in the garret.\\nThis hankering is itself an old trait. Infal-\\nlible Bartlett, in that volume of inexhaustible\\ninterest to those who like to turn over the quin-\\ntessential distillations of the wit and wisdom\\nof all times, the Familiar Quotations,\\ngives quaint illustrations of it under the head\\nof Old wood to burn, old wine to drink, old\\nfriends to trust It was this same mood that\\nmade Dan Chaucer assert (as everybody re-\\nmembers, but as nobody resents hearing over\\nagain, it is, would say our friend the Judge,\\nso deliciously wrong", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0322.jp2"}, "323": {"fulltext": "The Oldest Thing in the World 259\\nFor out of the old fieldes, as men saithe,\\nCometh al this new corne fro yere to yere,\\nAnd out of olde bookes, in good faithe,\\nCometh al this new science that men lere.\\nYet, in the form in which we feel it in this\\ncountry, this hunger for the old is one of the\\nsix or seven thousand traits which our British\\ncousins find it difficult to comprehend. We\\ncross the sea to find a cathedral that is truly\\nancient, and they point us with pride to this\\nsummer s restorations but while the group^\\nstands admiring them, the American slides\\naway quietly, and slips behind a tomb, or is\\nfound rapt on some dear unrestored nook of\\nthe ivied cloister. Just so it is on the Conti-\\nnent Paris is always too wonderfully new and\\nshining, as if Orpheus had strummed it up only\\nthis very morning from entirely new materials.\\nMy favorite spot is in the Louvre, between the\\nfive-footed bull of Assyria and the rose-colored\\ngranite sarcophagus of Rameses III. The\\nHague is delightfully swept-up and washed-\\ndown and immaculately fresh and resplendent\\nbut my best moment there was when, in the\\nmuseum, I took in my hand a gold coin of\\nAlexander, and as it lay cool and smooth in\\nmy palm I thought it was probably one that\\nthe conqueror himself flung ringing against the", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0323.jp2"}, "324": {"fulltext": "260 Psychology and Ethics\\ntub-staves of Diogenes, the day that worthy\\ngrowled at him to get out of his sunshine.\\nSometimes the question has presented itself,\\nWhat is the very oldest thing in the world that\\nwas seen by the men of yore and is still visible\\nto us What is the object, or line, or point,\\nwhich we can now behold, that was gazed on\\nby human eyes farthest back in antiquity It\\nis certainly not to be looked for in this coun-\\ntry. We are ridiculously new. It was only the\\nother day that Columbus discovered us, and it\\nwas but a little while previous that, as red In-\\ndians, we had appeared on the scene not long\\nenough, obviously, to have thinned out the deer\\nand partridges. As mound-builders, we had\\nonly a short time before thrown up our queer\\nconstructions for the puzzling of the antiqua-\\nries. The very soil here under me, as I write,\\nis painfully recent. It was but a few thousand\\nyears ago that some sportive glacier came ca-\\npering down from the Pole, and plastered it.\\nin the shape of rock-meal, over our bare sand-\\nstones. Over in the Sierra Nevadas, it is true,\\nI lay one sunshiny afternoon along a gleaming\\nslope of the primeval granite, and cooled my\\ncheek against its ice-planed polish, and admit-\\nted that here at last was something pretty old.\\nYet rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun as\\nwas this gigantic adamantine couch, there was", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0324.jp2"}, "325": {"fulltext": "Tide Oldest Thing in the IVorld 261\\na still older thing playing at that very moment\\nabout us. It was the mountain wind. I could\\nput out my hand to it, and reflect that it might\\nhave been this very identical breath of air that\\nbubbled up through the sea when the towers of\\nAtlantis went down or it may have flickered\\nthe flame on Abel s altar, You need not, I\\nmight have said to it, think to palm yourself\\noff as a freakish young zephyr, just born of\\nyonder snow-streak and the sun-warmed rock\\nyou have been roaming this planet ever since\\nits birth. You have whirled in cyclones, and\\ndanced with the streamers of the aurora it\\nwas you that breathed Job s curses, and the\\nlove-vows of the first lover that was ever for-\\nsworn.\\nBut there is still an older thing to link us\\nwith the earliest of our race it is the nightly\\nprocession of the stars. How old are the\\nnames of these familiar constellations Ptol-\\nemy gives a list of forty-eight of them and\\nsome were certainly known to Homer and to\\nthe eldest of the Hebrew writers. Is it an\\nutterly wild speculation that they may be so\\nancient as to have once fairly represented the\\noutlines of the bears and lions, archers and\\nhunters, whose names they carry The stars,\\nwe know, are forever shifting their relative po-\\nsitions, if only a few hair s-breadths every thou-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0325.jp2"}, "326": {"fulltext": "262 Psychology and Ethics\\nsand years. Now the Scorpion is still a fairly\\nsuggestive scorpion, and Draco a tolerable\\ndragon, winding his scaly length about the Lit-\\ntle Bear. May it not be that Ursa Major took\\nhis name so many aeons ago that he was then\\na veritable ursine figure, instead of the later\\nWain and the Great Dipper of our own day\\nLet not the severe scientist frown at this fancy\\nof a mere literary man. Let him keep his tem-\\nper, remembering the dictum of that other and\\nmore solemn literary man who averred that\\nonly the undevout astronomer gets mad, or\\nwords more or less to that effect.\\nAt least we may have the satisfaction of feel-\\ning, when we look up at the stars, that our eyes\\nare fastened on the very oldest things we know\\nof in the world. We can be sure that human\\neyes traced out, night after night, those very\\nlines, squares, triangles, rings, the arrow of\\nthe Archer, the wings of the Swan, the scales\\nof the Balance, the bands of Orion, longer\\nago than in the case of any shapes and forms\\nthat our eyes can now behold unless it be the\\nwrinkled visage of the Man in the Moon, or\\nthe fiery circle of the sun itself.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0326.jp2"}, "327": {"fulltext": "THE FREE WILL OF THE BONFIRE\\nAs we pass away from the period of child-\\nhood, most of its wonderful sights lose their\\nfascination. To experienced and disillusioned\\nmiddle age it almost seems that nothing is any-\\nlonger wonderful, except perhaps the fact that\\nnothing is any longer wonderful. But for my\\nown part, as I go on in life, I find that two or\\nthree of the child s great spectacles still keep\\nfor me their freshness. One of these is the\\nelephant leading the circus procession through\\nthe village street. I never could see it enough,\\nthat huge, unearthly shape, moving solemnly\\nalong flapping its wings of ears not for com-\\nmon and mundane fly-guards, but in some mys-\\nterious gesture or ceremonial bending its\\narchitectural legs in the wrong place waving\\nits trunk in incantation seeing none of the\\ntrivial street matters to right or left, but ab-\\nsorbed in Oriental dreams. I used to think\\nit strange that people who were rich enough\\nshould not have one always pacing about their\\nown back yards.\\nAnother of these spectacles of childhood", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0327.jp2"}, "328": {"fulltext": "264 Psychology and Ethics\\nthat keeps its charm for me is the locomotive\\nat full speed. Momentum is but a word in a\\nbook, except when I stand as near as I dare to\\nthe clattering rails, and take the fearful joy of\\nseeing, hearing, feeling, touching, so to speak,\\nwith the trembling antennae of my mind, the\\nthunderous rush of the iron mass as it reaches\\nme, and is gone. A different and calmer plea-\\nsure is to watch the train from a half mile s\\ndistance across the fields, how slick is its\\nslipping along, without haste, without rest,\\nas if independently of any propelling force for\\nit is the train that appears to run the driving-\\nwheels, not the driving-wheels the train. It is\\nnot momentum now, but the inertia of motion\\nnot a missile or projectile, hurled from behind\\nor drawn from before, but a thing whose state\\nof speed is as natural and immutable as to\\nother things the state of rest. Only I never\\ncan make the forward motion of the engine\\nitself appear steady and uniform. To my eye\\nthere is some optical illusion by which the\\nrushing and whizzing creature seems inces-\\nsantly to hang for the smallest fraction of a\\nsecond, then leap forward, then hang again\\nand so, by alternate infinitesimal checks and\\nboundings ahead, to fly on its swift way.\\nBut the sight in which I still take the most\\nchildlike delight is the spring bonfire. Just", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0328.jp2"}, "329": {"fulltext": "ne Free IVill of the Bonfire 265\\nabout the time that the cherry-trees are snow-\\ning out into full bloom; and the bluebirds,\\nloveliest of feathered things, are talking about\\nnesting-boxes in gentle, irresolute voices, soft\\nas their breasts and their flight and the first\\nround clouds are rolling across a deeper azure\\nthan has yet appeared and some merry maid,\\nherself freshly blossomed out in a sprigged\\nspring gown, comes in triumphant with the\\nfirst arbutus, then the sound of the rake is\\nheard in the land. The offending sticks and\\nstraws of last year s garden life are gathered\\ntogether into dry and light-tossed piles. Now\\nthe eager child is permitted, if he is good, the\\nuntold felicity of setting off the bonfire. There\\nis\\nThe quick, sharp scratch\\nAnd blue spurt of a lighted match,\\nthe instant s breathless suspense while the first\\npungency of the vaporous odor steals out, the\\nsere sticks keeping at least some fragrant mem-\\nory of the past summer within them, and giv-\\ning up this last ghost in reluctant and wavering\\nsmoke. It is fairly lighted, and now in a mo-\\nment blows in freshly the favoring gale that\\nall flames and other aspiring spirits call to\\nthemselves out of whatever depth of stagnation\\naround them, and up leaps and out springs\\nthe crimson, the orange, the scarlet, the vividly", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0329.jp2"}, "330": {"fulltext": "266 Psychology and Ethics\\nflame-colored flame. Always out of soft sheaths\\nof brown smoke the blades of fire dart upward,\\nin curves, and bounding whirls and spirals, and\\nsudden sidelong sword-thrusts. Would it not\\nall seem the very quintessence of voluntary,\\nself-impelled aspiration upward and away from\\nearth? In sober scientific verity, however,\\nwhat is at the bottom of all that swift and\\nbuoyant skyward impulse It is no life within\\nit is all force from without. Atmospheric pres-\\nsure is the plain prose of it. It is a pretty\\nillusion, but there is really no heavenward\\nstriving in the flame. It leaps and bounds\\nupward in beautiful freedom, but it is only\\noh, the inexorable fact that the weight of\\nthe heavier air around it squeezes the flame out\\nof its way in helpless obedience to gravity.\\nAnd so an uneasy question creeps into the\\nmind, namely, this If these leaping crests of\\nthe flame, these upflung wings, so eager and\\nmad to rise that flame shreds away from flame\\nin the upward rush, leaving detached waves of\\nfire hanging free of the crimson column, and\\nflickering an instant by themselves, if this is\\nall but the illusory aspect of inert matter under\\nthe pressure of outside circumstance, what may\\nwe think of our own semblance of free will and\\naspiration As we look from the flame to the\\nman, must we say, So he Is each appar-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0330.jp2"}, "331": {"fulltext": "The Free Will of the Bonfire 267\\nently spontaneous out-thrust of free impulse\\nnothing but a blind result of the composition\\nof forces surrounding us in the world\\nIf this would seem a dolorous doubt, it has,\\non second thought, another and more comfort-\\nable side. If wills were perfectly free of out-\\nside influence, what a jostle and shock of\\nchaotic impulses It would be like a starry\\nuniverse in which gravity had fallen asleep, all\\nthe planets gone mad and become comets, and\\nevery comet an egoistic and resistless force\\nbent on universal destruction. It is curious to\\nconsider that, unless the human will were con-\\ntrolled by outside forces, influenced, at least,\\nand is not every influence to that extent a con-\\ntrol it would be impossible to sway any\\nfriend for good, impossible to be swayed by any\\nfriend for good, since the influencing will is\\nbut an outside force to any other will. What\\nwould become of education, training, all loving\\nministrations of gentle control, if every child s\\nown choice and every evil passion s propulsion\\nwere a supreme free force, a blind flame, leap-\\ning hither and thither at its own impulse?\\nFree will it seems our most priceless pos-\\nsession. Fate? it seems our deadliest foe.\\nBut when we go to another human soul, with\\nsome confidence that we may win it to forego\\nan evil opportunity, and to take the better and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0331.jp2"}, "332": {"fulltext": "268 Psychology and Ethics\\nwiser path, it is because we rely on being able\\nto step, ourselves, into the chain of controlling\\nforces surrounding that other will, and so to\\nbecome its fate, or some small segment of its\\nfate, as against its own free will. I feel that I\\nam free, and I delight to feel it but I know that\\nthere is at this moment approaching me, un-\\nseen, on the train, or across the ocean, or down\\nthe street, a friend whose will, an outside force\\nto me, shall bend me this way or that by a\\nword. And at this fact, too, how can I but\\nrejoice although I recognize plainly enough\\nthat the more I am loved by any spirit wiser\\nand stronger than my own, the less I shall be\\nfree. That as yet unspoken word, I know, is\\nbut one among ten million converging forces,\\nin the centre of which my will vibrates and\\nquivers in delicate response to each electric\\nthrill of influence. If it were not so, again,\\nhow could one take measures against the ques-\\ntionable possibilities of his own future self If\\nmy will, at a given hour of next year or ten\\nyears hence, is to be a free and uncontrollable\\nimpulse, what use for me to legislate for it\\nto-day\\nAnd there is one other and final consolation\\nin that bugbear of a thought that the leaping\\nflame is but the slave of the crowding air it is\\nfrom the reflection that, whether it be safe or", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0332.jp2"}, "333": {"fulltext": "The Free Will of the Bonfire 269\\nnot for universal exoteric doctrine, the evil\\nthat we do not only lives after us it lived\\nbefore us. The seeds of it were sown within\\nus from without, like the meteoric dust that\\nmay have brought the germs of foul weeds\\nupon a virgin planet. Evil deeds, evil thoughts,\\nthey are all of the nature of an influenza, an\\ninfluence^ or a convergence of a multitude of\\nsuch. For the moment, if only for the mo-\\nment, we break away from the sane sense of\\npersonal responsibility, and, turning on the\\nghost of our bad deed, we cry, Thou canst\\nnot say did it And yet", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0333.jp2"}, "334": {"fulltext": "THE INVISIBLE PART OF THIS WORLD\\nWE LIVE IN A TALK TO SCHOOL-\\nCHILDREN\\nI WANT to talk to you a few minutes this\\nafternoon about the invisible part of this world\\nwe are living in. I did not say that I meant\\nto talk about the invisible world, for by that\\nyou would have thought I was going to speak\\nof some far-off, unintelligible matters, wholly\\ndistinct from the world around us with which\\nwe are familiar. But what I want to remind\\nyou of is this that there is a great portion of\\nthis wonderful world of ours which we scarcely\\never think about, because it is invisible, and\\nyet which is just as real and just as near to all\\nof us as these desks and books and clothes.\\nThere are forces and motions here which would\\nbe astounding and frightful, if we could fairly\\nrealize them, without at the same time appre-\\nciating the supreme order by which they are all\\ncontrolled.\\nTo begin with, here are a great many cubic\\nfeet of oxygen and nitrogen, mixed together\\ninto a transparent fluid which we call air, across", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0334.jp2"}, "335": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this World 271\\nwhose invisible waves the sounds you are lis-\\ntening to are being carried to your ears like\\nripples a fluid so delicate and fine that it is\\npenetrating our lungs, each breath passing over\\nto the blood its little burden of life-giving oxy-\\ngen, yet so vast in extent, reaching up as it\\ndoes above the clouds, that its weight in this\\nroom is equal to many tons. Suppose one of\\nyou were lying on the floor yonder with a huge\\nrock weighing two thousand pounds crushing\\nhim down we should all be horrified. Yet\\nthis invisible air is pressing every one of our\\nbodies with a force of more than two thousand\\npounds. Why is it, then, that we are not\\ncrushed It is for the same reason that the\\nfish is able to sink with safety to a depth in\\nthe sea where it sustains a mass of water above\\nit of many tons weight. The body of the fish\\nis covered with minute pores, little threadlike\\nopenings, which admit the water to the inside\\nof every part, and so the pressure from within\\nbalances that from without. Just as if I take\\na pane of glass in the window and press hard\\nagainst it with my hand, of course it will\\ngive way and be broken. But if I reach my\\narm out of the window and press at the same\\ntime with the other hand equally hard against\\nthe outside of the pane, the pressure will be\\nexactly balanced and the glass will remain un-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0335.jp2"}, "336": {"fulltext": "272 Psychology and Ethics\\nbroken. In the same way, the pores and cav-\\nities of our bodies allow the air to penetrate\\nevery part, and the pressure is just as great\\nfrom within as from outside, and we are there-\\nfore wholly unconscious of it. So that we walk\\nabout, balancing upon our heads, as it were,\\nthis vast burden of thousands of pounds, with-\\nout ever thinking of its existence.\\nAgain, consider the force which the earth is\\nexerting to bind everything fast to its surface.\\nSuppose we should fix an iron ring into the\\nwall yonder, and, getting a firm hold of it,\\nshould attempt to lift the wall, with the roof,\\na foot or an inch. You know, of course, what\\nwould prevent our budging it a hair s breadth,\\nsimply the attraction of gravitation words\\neasily spoken, but how rarely appreciated!\\nHere is something going on between the wall\\nand the earth which defies our strength to have\\nthe least effect on it. We can see nothing\\nthere except the lifeless, motionless wood and\\nstone resting on the equally lifeless ground.\\nWe may peep under the foundations, but we\\ncan find nothing gluing the stone and the\\nground together. Yet there is this enormous\\nattraction, reaching up like a gigantic hand\\nfrom the earth s centre, holding everything\\ndown with a grip of iron. What we call the\\nheaviest things, stone and lead and so on, are", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0336.jp2"}, "337": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this World 273\\nonly the things which this unseen hand grips\\nthe firmest. Some of the lightest substances,\\nfeathers for instance, seem to elude its grasp,\\nbut it is only because the air buoys them up,\\nas a stick is buoyed up on the water. Exhaust\\nthe air from a glass vessel with the air-pump,\\nand the feather falls like lead.\\nBut here in this little lump of glass is an-\\nother startling force, all the time at work. We\\ncan see as we hold it up only a transparent\\nmass but inside here, embracing every parti-\\ncle, from the centre to the circumference, is a\\npower at work which would defy the stoutest\\narms in the room to overcome. Suppose you\\ngrasp each side and try to pull it in two. Why\\nis it that you might tug with might and main,\\nand yet make no impression on it whatever\\nYou answer, of course, that it is the attraction\\nof cohesion, another very easy word to say,\\nbut a very amazing thing if we could only\\nfairly get hold of it with our minds. Suppose\\nwe take a small bar of iron as big as your\\nwrist, and having fixed one end firmly to the\\nfloor or the ground, let a horse be fastened by\\na chain to the other end, and undertake to\\npull the bar in two. When you saw the strong\\nanimal plunging and straining every muscle in\\nvain, it would impress you with an idea of\\ngreat power. But there in the little bar would", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0337.jp2"}, "338": {"fulltext": "274 Psychology and Ethics\\nbe the far greater power, a little goblin, as\\nit were, sitting inside the iron, and knotting its\\nparticles together with the strength of twenty\\nhorses; a little sleepless, motionless goblin,\\nsitting there wholly invisible, exerting every\\ninstant the force of a giant. All around us, in\\nthe boards of the floor, in the wood of your\\ndesks, in the bones of your arms and fingers,\\nwe find this strange force, griping atom to\\natom, so that you may lay your hand on the\\ncommonest lump of stone or iron, and think it\\nis a very ordinary object you are touching,\\nwhile right under the palm of your hand there\\nis at work a concealed power sufficient to make\\nan earthquake, if it were only so applied.\\nBut if these unseen forces are wonderful,\\nwhat shall we say of the motions that are taking\\nplace here in the room You all seem to be sit-\\nting here in your chairs quietly enough, yet the\\nfact really is that you are flying through space\\nat the rate of more than a thousand miles every\\nminute. We go a thousand miles every hour\\nwith the earth s motion round its own axis, and\\n68,000 miles every hour in its yearly flight\\nround the sun. It is just as if we were to glue\\nsome wee bit of an insect to the side of a ball,\\nand hurl the ball with all our might at some\\nobject. You know how it goes whirling round\\nand on toward the mark at the same time,", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0338.jp2"}, "339": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this World 275\\nonly we are being hurled with a motion a hun-\\ndred times more rapid. Suppose I had a\\npistol here, and should fire it at the wall yon-\\nder j the bullet would sing through the air with\\nsuch swiftness that you would perceive no in-\\nterval between the bang of the powder and\\nthe thud of the lead in the plaster. Yet we\\nare this moment whizzing off to the eastward\\nswifter than the pistol ball. You look out of\\nthe window and see the snowy line of the\\nSierras on the horizon, and before I have had\\ntime to speak the words we have reached the\\npoint in space where those white summits were\\nas I began this sentence, and are already spin-\\nning on far beyond. It is hard to realize this,\\nand do you see why? It is because we are\\nused to thinking of rapid motion as something\\nthat makes the air rush against our faces, while\\nstationary objects appear to be passing behind\\nus as we go whereas in this case we have no\\nstationary objects at our side, and the air, in-\\nstead of blowing against us, sticks fast to the\\nearth and flies along with us. If for an instant\\nthe atmosphere could be stopped while the\\nearth went on, there would be suddenly such a\\nblast of wind as would crush this building to\\nthe ground like the crushing of an egg-shell.\\nBut it is in ourselves, after all, that we may\\nfind the most wonderful things in the world. A", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0339.jp2"}, "340": {"fulltext": "276 Psychology and Ethics\\nmicrocosm, the old sages used to call man, a\\nword which those of you who are studying\\nGreek know means a little world meaning by\\nthat that man contains in himself in miniature\\nall the forces and elements of the whole world.\\nA human body, if you will only think of it, is all\\nmade up of wonderful forces. Consider the\\nmechanism which is incessantly pumping blood\\nthrough our arteries and veins. You see a\\nperson sitting quietly in his seat, and you would\\nnever suspect that such a piece of machinery\\nwas working away inside of him. But there is\\nthe heart, pump-pump-pumping away, day and\\nnight, sending in each hour many gallons of\\nblood through our systems. And as you may\\nsee if you watch the circulation in a bat s wing\\nunder the microscope, the blood does not creep\\nslowly along, as we are apt to imagine, but the\\nred streams go darting swift as an arrow along\\ntheir slender channels, into the limbs, down\\nto the finger-ends and the feet, and back again\\nto the wonderful pumping heart.\\nThen the muscular force, what a strange\\nthing that is Here is this book lying here,\\nthe whole earth, through the attraction of grav-\\nitation, is pulling upon that book, tons of solid\\nplanet holding it down and here is my arm, a\\nmere piece of bone with a cord of flesh cover-\\ning it, just such red flesh and white bone as", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0340.jp2"}, "341": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this World 277\\nwe see lying powerless in the butcher shops,\\nand all I have to do is to call into action the\\nmuscular force, and up comes the book, in\\nspite of the whole earth s resistance. The brain\\nrecalls to itself this invisible force, and how\\nquickly the earth snatches the book back\\nConsider, too, what is called the assimilating\\npower in our bodies. That is, the power which\\ntakes up food and digests it and changes it\\ninto flesh and bone. Here is a strange, invisi-\\nble force in each of us, which takes a little\\nbread and meat, and in a few hours time\\nmakes it into muscle and brain. There would\\nseem to be no similarity between a loaf of\\nbread and a man s strength, yet this hidden\\npower actually changes one into the other.\\nThe hungry soldier, who has marched a long\\nday without food, and is ready to lie down tired\\nout, and wishing the war were over, has his\\ngood cup of coffee and his beefsteak, and out\\nof them this invisible assimilating power makes\\nfor him strength and courage, and he gets up\\nstout and cheery, ready to hurrah for the Pre-\\nsident, and to defeat any amount of rebel bat-\\ntalions. Every moment these vital forces in\\nour bodies are at work, repairing the waste\\nthat is incessantly going on. So that if we\\ncould see what is to our eyes invisible, we\\nshould behold in man as the ultimate skeleton,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0341.jp2"}, "342": {"fulltext": "278 Psychology and Ethics\\nnot a bundle of motionless bones, but a living\\nfountain of forces, streaming from the brain\\nalong the intricate web-work of the nerves, so\\nrapid as to seem a mere flash of incessant\\nmotion from head to foot.\\nBut if these vital forces of the body are won-\\nderful, what are we to think of the invisible\\n7fimd? Here in each of us is a marvelous\\nthing a thinking mind, a force that never\\npauses, which you cannot stop if you try. Try\\nfor a moment not to think, and your very idea\\nof not thinking is a thought, followed in spite\\nof you by some other thought. And here we\\nreach what is really ma7t the body is nothing\\nhorses have just such bodily powers as you and\\nI they digest food, and have muscles, and\\nlungs, and eyes. But here in you and me\\nthere is something different, an invisible\\nsomething in us by which we can gain know-\\nledge, and can understand the curious world\\nwe are living in. Here we can sit in this room,\\nand by our minds we can go out of this room,\\nand think about distant countries and distant\\ntimes can be glad or sorry about events and\\npeople of past times, long before we were born\\ncan even go off away from this little planet\\nEarth altogether, and occupy ourselves with\\nfar-off worlds, weighing the moon, or measur-\\ning the girth of Jupiter and Mars. And here", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0342.jp2"}, "343": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this World 279\\nis the most difficult of all the invisible things\\nto realize. We are all the time thinking of the\\nbodies of men and women as their real selves.\\nWe say such a person is beautiful, or such a\\none ugly, or weak, when in reality the girl\\nwhose face happens to be homely may be most\\nbeautiful in spirit, and the boy who seems weak\\nor deformed may in his real self, his mind, be\\nthe most vigorous and graceful of all of us.\\nWe treasure up photographs of our friends\\nfaces as their likenesses, when really a letter\\nthey have written, or some generous action\\nthey have performed, is a much truer picture\\nof them, because it shows us something of their\\nreal self, the invisible mind. When we look\\nat a person s head, we do not see the real per-\\nson. We only see a skull, made up for the\\nmost part of lime and if we could peep under\\nthe skull, we should only see a ball of whitish\\nsubstance called the brain and we might\\nsearch through and through and discover no-\\nthing of the wonderful mind. We must try to\\nget rid of this idea that the body is the person.\\nWe must think of a man not as a body with a\\nsoul in it, but as a soul with a body round it.\\nPerhaps we sometimes feel proud of some bod-\\nily superiority to others, or feel pained and\\nhurt about some physical defect or awkward-\\nness. But that is very foolish. It is just as if", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0343.jp2"}, "344": {"fulltext": "280 Psychology and Ethics\\nyou were traveling on horseback, and should\\nmeet some neighbor better mounted than you\\nwere you would never think of being ashamed\\nor feeling badly because he was riding a hand-\\nsomer horse. And just so the mind is, as it\\nwere, mounted on the body, as a man is on a\\nhorse and it ought to govern the body (which\\njust now in this world happens to be carrying\\nit about), just as the good rider does his steed.\\nAnd as we laugh at a man who lets his horse\\nrun away with him, just so we ought to see that\\nit is ridiculous for people to let their physical\\naches, and troubles, and pleasures run away\\nwith their minds.\\nYou see we must get used to thinking of\\nthese invisible things as real, or we shall go\\nthrough life without half appreciating what a\\nbeautiful world this is. We have no business\\nto go about only half attending to what is all\\naround us. Many people go through life as\\nsnails do, carrying their whole world on their\\nbacks seeing and thinking of nothing except\\nclothes and food, and their little daily circum-\\nstances of pleasure or trouble. If we mean\\nto be anything higher than a sort of human\\nsnails, we must go about, not only with our eyes\\nopen, but with our minds open. We need to\\nbe constantly jogging ourselves on the elbow\\nand reminding ourselves to notice this thing", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0344.jp2"}, "345": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this JVorld 281\\nand that, or else we are apt to forget the ex-\\nistence of everything except what is held up\\nplainly before our eyes. We must be con-\\nstantly recollecting that because a thing is in-\\nvisible, it is none the less real. For instance,\\nif we go out into the street now in broad day-\\nlight, and look up at the sky, we do not think\\nof there being anything there above us except\\nwhat we see, the blue sky and the white clouds.\\nAnd yet we know, if we will only think of it,\\nthat even now overhead there are all the beau-\\ntiful burning stars, Orion and the Pleiades and\\nthe Great Dipper, wheeling across the sky, just\\nas fair and solemn as at midnight.\\nYou know the earth is often spoken of as\\nthe common habitation of beasts and birds and\\nmen, all living in the same world. But think\\nwhat a false idea this is The spider only in-\\nhabits its little cobweb in the corner, seeing\\nand knowing nothing beyond while to us the\\nwhole world is given to live in. We look into\\nthe stones and rocks, and read there the his-\\ntory of our planet we investigate the most\\nhidden forces that are moving throughout na-\\nture we are interested at the same moment in\\nthings in Virginia, in Europe, in Asia, in the\\ntimes of the Greeks, and of the Puritans, and\\nof our own heroes of to-day. As the insect\\nreaches out with its long tentacles and feels", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0345.jp2"}, "346": {"fulltext": "282 Psychology and Ethics\\nabout its little world, so we go feeling about\\nwith our restless minds, reaching out through\\nthe whole universe down through the micro-\\nscope into the invisible atoms and origins of all\\nliving things, up through the telescope among\\nthe boundless spaces where the only landmarks\\nare the innumerable stars.\\nWe must not feel, either, any of that dread\\nof invisible things which is natural to ignorant\\npeople. You know that in very early ages of\\nthe world, when men were barbarous and igno-\\nrant, they invented all sorts of fables about\\nevil spirits, and goblins, and ghosts, and all\\nmanner of such nonsense. They felt that there\\nwere forces in action all around them which\\nthey could not see and understand, and there-\\nfore they were afraid of them, and imagined\\nvarious foolish terrors to be frightened at. It\\nis just so with us sometimes when we lie awake\\nin the dark we have a feeling of dread, sim-\\nply because we can t plainly see what is around\\nus. But we must remember that it is simply\\nour ignorance that makes us timid. If we\\ncould see things clearly just as they are, we\\nshould be wise enough to see that everything\\nin the world is meant for our good, that so\\nlong as we go about with reverent hearts and\\npure minds, all the powers and forces of the\\nworld are on our side, guarding us from harm.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0346.jp2"}, "347": {"fulltext": "The Invisible Part of this World 283\\nEven in the old ignorant times, we can see\\nwhat a healthy, sunshiny sort of people the\\nEnglish were, from the fact that their mytho-\\nlogy rather ran to benevolent fairies and good\\nfolk, as they used to call their imaginary\\nsprites, instead of the fierce demons which the\\ncoarse and brutal minds of some other peoples\\nconjured up.\\nI don t think it is often that we find any-\\nthing very well worth reading in newspapers;\\nbut I read a little incident in a newspaper a\\nwhile ago which pleased me. It told about\\na little baby that was creeping about on the\\ncarpet one morning, when the sunshine was\\nstreaming in through the window, and lying\\nbroad and warm on the floor. The little child,\\nafter creeping around it for some minutes,\\nlaughing out its innocent delight at the sun-\\nbeam s cheerfulness and warmth, finally put its\\nlittle mouth down and kissed it. And just so,\\nI thought, we ought to feel toward all Nature,\\nwe ought to love it, not fear it. The more\\nbroadly we live, and the more deeply we look\\ninto the kind, beautiful eyes of Nature, the\\nmore we shall feel that while we are pure and\\ngood the whole universe is in harmony with us,\\nand all its vast forces, seen and unseen, are\\nonly so many guardian angels helping us along,\\nso many pleasant friends, helping us to be", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0347.jp2"}, "348": {"fulltext": "284 Psychology and Ethics\\nwise and happy our little aches and pains are\\nonly meant to teach us necessary lessons and\\neven if we die, it is only setting us free, lead-\\ning us to some other even more beautiful world,\\nof which we at least know this, as the old Ro-\\nman emperor wrote, that whatever it is, we are\\nsure there will be no lack of God there, to take\\ncare of us. The more we know of the things\\nabout us, and of each other, the better we shall\\nunderstand, as Coleridge says, that\\nHe prayeth best who loveth best\\nAll things both great and small\\nFor the dear God who loveth us\\nHe made and loveth all.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0348.jp2"}, "349": {"fulltext": "CDucation\\nSHOULD A COLLEGE EDUCATE?\\nN the American language (which is\\nsimply the most modern English) a\\ncollege and a university are two dif-\\nferent things. The terms are sometimes con-\\nfounded, in loose popular speech, but the best\\nusage in this country shows an increasing ten-\\ndency toward a sharp distinction between them.\\nA failure to apprehend this distinction clearly,\\nand a consequent notion that a college is only\\na little university, or a university only a large\\ncollege, has sometimes given rise to odd doc-\\ntrine as to what a college should teach.\\nIn their original signification the words are\\nnot widely different the imiversitas signifying\\nmerely a corporate whole, in law the colle-\\ngium^ a society of colleagues. But the term\\nuniversity, in its development in Europe and\\nthis country, and the term college, in its devel-\\nopment in this country especially, have become\\nwidely differentiated. That which is properly\\ncalled a university has its own distinct pur-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0349.jp2"}, "350": {"fulltext": "286 Education\\npose, and consequently its own proper methods\\nand appliances. That which is properly called\\na college has a different purpose, and its meth-\\nods and appliances are consequently entirely\\ndifferent.\\nIdeally, a university is a place where any-\\nbody may learn everything. And this, whether\\nit be as knowledge, properly speaking, or as\\nskill. Actually, however, as found existing at\\npresent (since few persons after leaving col-\\nlege wish to study beyond the requirements of\\na bread-occupation), a university consists of a\\ncentral college, surrounded by a cluster of pro-\\nfessional or technical schools, where special\\nbranches are pursued, chiefly with reference to\\nsome particular calHng.\\nA college, on the other hand, is a place where\\nyoung people, whatever their future occupation\\nis to be, may first of all receive that more or\\nless complete development which we call a\\nliberal education.\\n1 In one or two instances our state charters have em-\\nployed these terms, university and college, in such a way\\nas to confuse any rational or usual distinction between\\nthem. The State of California, for instance, has a Uni-\\nversity of California, consisting of a College of Letters,\\na College of Agriculture, a College of Mining, etc. Of\\nthese only the College of Letters answers to the accepted\\nsense of the term college, the others being what are\\nmore properly called professional or technical schools.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0350.jp2"}, "351": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 287\\nThe cliaracter of the college course, then,\\nshould be determined purely with reference to\\nthe distinct purpose of the college. The hu-\\nman mind being many-sided, the college under-\\ntakes to aid its development on all the lines of\\nits natural growth. The tendency of modern\\nlife, moreover, with its extreme division of la-\\nbor, being to force one or two powers of the\\nmind at the expense of the rest, the aim of the\\ncollege is to forestall this one-sided effect by\\ngiving the whole man a fair chance beforehand.\\nWhile the special or professional schools of the\\nuniversity provide that a person may go as far\\nas possible on some one line of knowledge,\\nwhich constitutes his specialty,^ or of that com-\\nThe use of the words at Cambridge (U. S.) illustrates\\ntheir almost universal application in this country Har-\\nvard University consisting (in the language of the an-\\nnual catalogue) of Harvard College, the Divinity School,\\nthe Law School, the Lawrence Scientific School, etc.\\n1 The Johns Hopkins University, at Baltimore, fur-\\nnishes one example, in this country, of a university\\nin somewhat the sense of the term as used abroad. It\\ndoes not, it is true, exclude college work, but it main-\\ntains chairs of original research, and at the same time\\nprovides advanced instruction for graduate students on\\nspecial lines of study, other than those of the usual pro-\\nfessional schools. It is to be hoped that the fact of its\\ncarrying on undergraduate college work does not indi-\\ncate any danger of its being checked in its full career,\\nthrough some possible unripeness of its public for its", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0351.jp2"}, "352": {"fulltext": "288 Education\\nbination of knowledge and skill which consti-\\ntutes his profession, the college provides that\\nhe shall get such a complete possession of\\nhimself in all his powers mind, body, and\\nthat total of qualities known as character\\nas is essential to the highest success in any\\nspecialty or profession whatever. He may get\\nthis broad preparation elsewhere than in col-\\nlege. It may come through private study. It\\nmay come sometimes but only to men of ex-\\ntraordinary endowments from the discipline\\nof life itself. But to the ordinary man, the\\naverage man, it comes most surely and most\\neasily through a college course. Once having\\nit, from one source or another, a man no doubt\\nfits himself best to serve the world by perfect-\\ning his knowledge and skill in some single\\ndirection but without some such broad pre-\\nliminary development, some such liberal edu-\\ncation, he will fail not only of his best possible\\nspecial work, but what is worst of all he\\nwill assuredly fail of that best service which\\nany man can do for the community, the living\\nin it, whatever his profession, as a complete\\nand roundly moulded man. He will fail (to\\nuse Mr. Spencer s excellent phrase) of com-\\nplete living. He will have entered the world\\nmore advanced work, and warped toward an ordinary\\nuniversity with a college and professional schools only.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0352.jp2"}, "353": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 289\\nwithout being equipped for that great common\\nprofession, the profession of Uving under-\\nneath and above his particular calling the\\nintellectual life.\\nBut (it may be asked) why may not the uni-\\nversity, through some one of its special schools,\\nfurnish this culture without the need of a col-\\nlege Because a man is too complex an organ-\\nism to get complete growth in any single region\\nof study, or by any one line of exercises.\\nBut, at least (it may further be asked), might\\nnot the ideal university, with its whole circle of\\nknowledges, professional and otherwise, give\\nthis complete culture In other words, why\\nshould not the college add to its course all\\nkinds of knowledges, and so itself become an\\nideal university, where anybody might learn\\neverything It is the theory implied in this\\nquestion that produces the tendency toward\\nunlimited electives in the college course.\\nThere should be no difficulty in seeing why\\nthis is an irrational tendency, however attrac-\\ntive it may seem at first sight to the public.\\nIt is irrational because the time actually given\\nto college study is no more than four years in\\nthis time only a few subjects can be studied\\nand the very essence of the function of the col-\\nlege is, therefore, that it should select among\\nthe numberless possible subjects those which", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0353.jp2"}, "354": {"fulltext": "290 Education\\npromise the greatest educating force. For we\\nreach, at this point in the discussion, a fact\\nthat underlies the whole system of any right\\neducation a fact persistently ignored by\\nmany persons having to do with educational\\naffairs, particularly in the lower schools and in\\nremote communities, and on the ignorance of\\nwhich no end of educational blunders have\\nbeen built. It is the fact that, while every\\npossible knowledge and skill is useful for one\\npurpose or another, 7iot all are equally useful\\nfor the purposes of education. The college,\\ntherefore, must select such studies as are most\\nuseful for its own purposes. So far as the uni-\\nversity undertakes to prescribe any such gen-\\neral or culture course, it becomes a college.\\nSo far as the college forgets to do this, in de-\\nference to notions of a practical training, or\\nof the magnificence of a great cloud of elec-\\ntives, it does not become a university for\\nthat, in the nature of the case, is impossible\\nbut it fails of its true function as a college, and\\nis no longer either the one thing or the other.\\nThe ideal of a great university where any-\\nbody might learn everything has a peculiar\\ncharm for the imagination. Bacon sketched\\nthe large outlines of such an establishment in\\nhis New Atlantis and ever since his day\\nwe have come to see more and more clearly", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0354.jp2"}, "355": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 291\\nthat knowledge does indeed make prosperity,\\nwhether for peoples or for individuals. No-\\nthing can be more charming, then, than the\\nthought of a great central institution where the\\nlast word on every subject might be heard;\\nwhere the foremost scientist in every science,\\nthe foremost craftsman in every handicraft,\\nshould impart the entirety of his acquisitions\\nor his dexterity to all who cared to seek it.\\nSuch a university ought, it would seem, to be\\naccessible to every community in this modern\\nworld.\\nBut all this would not give us a college.\\nThat we have only when we have a company\\nof competent scholars providing a course of\\ngeneral preliminary training a course selected\\nwith reference to its particular end of producing\\nbroadly educated men. The university, taking\\nthe man as he is, would propose to leave him\\nas he is, except for the acquisition of a certain\\nspecial knowledge or skill. The college, taking\\nthe youth as he is, proposes to make of him\\nsomething that he is not. It proposes no less\\na miracle, in fact, than the changing of a crude\\nboy into an educated man. A miracle, yet\\nevery day sees it more and more successfully\\nperformed.\\nAn educated man what is it that we un-\\nderstand by the phrase If it would not be", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0355.jp2"}, "356": {"fulltext": "292 Education\\neasy to set down all that it connotes in our\\nvarious minds, we should probably agree that\\nit includes, among other things, such quali-\\nties as these a certain largeness of view an\\nacquaintance with the intellectual life of\\nthe world the appreciation of principles the\\npower and habit of independent thought the\\nfreedom from personal provincialism, and the\\nrecognition of the other point of view an un-\\nderlying nobleness of intention the persist-\\nence in magnanimous aims. If there has not\\nyet been found the system of culture which\\nwill give this result every time and with all\\nsorts of material, it may at least be asserted\\nthat a course of study whether in college or\\nout somewhat corresponding to the course\\npursued at our best colleges has a visible ten-\\ndency to produce this result. Whether it might\\nbe produced, also, by some entirely different\\ncourse is certainly a question not to be rashly\\nanswered in the negative. All we can say is,\\nthat any course which has as yet been proposed\\nas a substitute has proved, on experiment, to\\nhave serious defects in comparison with it.\\nOur wisest plan is to hold fast what we already\\nknow to be good studies, making further exper-\\niments with candor and fairness avoiding, on\\nthe one hand, the timid pre-judgments of those\\nwho are afraid of all that is not ancient and", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0356.jp2"}, "357": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 293\\nestablished, and, on the other hand, the crude\\nenthusiasms of those half-educated persons who\\nthink that nothing old can be good, and no-\\nthing new can be bad.\\nTwo principal proposals of change in the\\ncollege course have been made. One is that\\nthe modern languages should be substituted\\nfor the ancient. So far as the complete sub-\\nstitution has been tried, most observers would\\nprobably agree that the experiment has failed.\\nIn other words, more persons are found to have\\nstudied modern languages without having be-\\ncome educated persons by that means than\\nare found to have studied the classics without\\nthat result. College observers, unbiased by\\nany personal interest as teachers on either side,\\nwould probably be found nearly unanimous as\\nto this point. Without discussing the question\\ntheoretically here, we would only insist upon\\nthis that, so far as any change of this kind is\\nmade, it be made only on the ground of greater\\nserviceableness for purely educational pur-\\nposes, as being better fitted to educe the\\nman the only test of studies with which the\\ncollege has anything whatever to do. Prob-\\nably Mill s answer, or counter-question, will\\neventually be found the wisest one as between\\nthe classical and the modern languages and\\nliteratures Why not both", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0357.jp2"}, "358": {"fulltext": "294 Education\\nThe other principal proposal of change is\\nthe substitution of natural science in place of\\nthe humanities. To the addition of a cer-\\ntain amount of natural science, enough, cer-\\ntainly, to impart its admirable methods of re-\\nsearch, and, what is more, its admirable spirit\\nof uncompromising adhesion to the exact\\ntruth, no one is likely to object. But when it\\nis proposed to make any radical substitution of\\nthe material studies for the human studies,\\nmaking courses (as has been done) without\\nLatin, Greek, Literature, Logic, Philosophy,\\nAncient History, etc., supplying their places\\nwith the natural sciences, it is well to consider\\ncarefully, first, the results of the experiment so\\nfar as it has been tried and, secondly, certain\\nwell-established principles concerning the hu-\\nman mind in its relation to studies. As to\\nascertained results, it is to be said that for\\nsome time now there have been, in several of\\nour institutions of learning, courses having\\nthese contrasted characters running side by\\nside. We will not here offer any testimony of\\nour own as to the comparative results of the\\ntwo in the production of broadly educated men.\\nWe would only suggest to those who are in\\nany doubt upon the matter, or who have any\\nradical change of college courses in view, to\\nlook into the results of the experiment for", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0358.jp2"}, "359": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 295\\nthemselves, and to take the testimony of those\\nwho have had opportunity to observe them.\\nThe effect of such an examination will be likely\\nto produce hearty agreement with an editorial\\nwriter in a late number of Science, who\\nremarks that the introduction of scientific\\nstudies in our educational systems has not\\nbrought about the millennium which was ex-\\npected. Much good, no doubt, they have\\ndone, when introduced in proper proportion.\\nTheir methods have certainly influenced favor-\\nably the methods of the older studies. But,\\nafter all, we come back to the truth that, of the\\ntwo groups of studies, both indispensable, the\\nhumanities furnish the greater growth-power\\nfor the mind, because they are the product and\\nexpression of mind.-^\\nIt cannot be too carefully kept in view that,\\nin any such comparison of the natural sciences\\nwith the humanities, we take into account only\\n1 Sometimes we hear the curious remark made, per-\\nhaps by one of the weaker brethren among those very\\nuseful persons, the dealers in second-hand science (Pop-\\nular Science), that the book of nature is the expression\\nof the mind of God, while other books only express the\\nmind of man. But it does not require great acumen to\\nperceive that the mind of man and all its productions\\nare also the work and the expression of the same Author\\nhis Bible, one might say, to carry on the figure, while\\nmaterial nature is only his spelling-book.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0359.jp2"}, "360": {"fulltext": "296 Education\\ntheir educational value. The sensitive loyalty\\nof scientific men to their specialties, a very\\npleasant thing to see, sometimes seems to\\nblind them to this distinction between intrinsic\\nvalues and educational values. They should\\nremember that no slight upon the intrinsic\\nvalue of any science is implied in the doubt as\\nto its comparative educational value. There\\nare many things of enormous usefulness to the\\nworld in other ways, whose examination could\\ncontribute next to nothing toward the develop-\\nment of mind. Iron, for example, constitutes\\nalmost the framework of civilization but this\\ndoes not at all imply that metallurgy, as a col-\\nlege study, would have any considerable edu-\\ncating force. On the other hand, there are\\nmany subjects of study whose application to\\nthe ordinary business of life might seem very\\nremote indeed, yet whose power to educe the\\nman is found to be very great. The calculus,\\nor the Antigone, might never be of any use\\nto the man, in the superficial sense of the word,\\nyet they might have been the very meat and\\ndrink of his intellectual growth. The natural\\nsciences may well be satisfied with the crowns\\nof honor the world must always give them for\\ntheir royal contributions to our mental and\\nmaterial existence, without expecting to be\\nmade exclusively, also, our nurses and school-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0360.jp2"}, "361": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 297\\nmasters. The fitness for those humbler but\\nnecessary functions must be determined wholly\\non other grounds than that of value, however\\npriceless it be, to the world for other purposes.\\nBoth experiment and reflection seem to point\\nmore and more decisively to the view that\\nmind, on the whole, grows chiefly through con-\\ntact with mind. And accordingly, what are\\ncalled the liberal courses of study, formed\\nlargely of those studies which bring to the stu-\\ndent the magnetic touch of the human spirit in\\nits dealings with life, seem to show more vital-\\nizing power, seem actually to produce, on\\nexperiment, more broadly educated men than\\nwhat may be called the illiberal courses, formed\\nwithout these human studies. Yet here, again,\\nWhy not both is the best solution, so far\\nas we can effect it. For the natural sciences\\nhave, undeniably, certain admirable influences\\nin education. They are free from any encour-\\nagement of morbid moods. They teach the\\nmind to hug its fact. There is little minis-\\ntry to brooding egotism in them except that\\nsometimes a very callow pupil may for a while\\nfeel that the mastery of a few rudiments some-\\nhow covers him prematurely with the glory that\\nproperly belongs to the great discoverers but\\nfrom this stage he soon recovers. There is\\nalways a freshness and out-of-door healthful-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0361.jp2"}, "362": {"fulltext": "298 Education\\nness about even the simplest work in natural\\nscience that makes it a charming study, for the\\nlower schools, especially. Mr. Spencer has\\nwell pointed out its adaptation, on this score,\\neven to the period of childhood. It is, in fact,\\nso far as it includes only the observation of\\noutside nature, an invigorating play of the\\nmind, rather than a laborious work. And the\\nneed of this health-giving intellectual play we\\nnever outgrow.\\nBut the attractiveness of these natural studies\\nmust not be allowed to blind us to the need,\\nwhen it comes to forming a course for the\\nmaturer mind, of more abstract and complex\\nsubjects. The sciences in their higher and\\nseverer regions, where the mind of man has\\nmore and more mingled itself with the mere\\nfacts of nature, as in wide comparative views\\nand the induction of great principles and espe-\\ncially the purely human studies, the languages,\\nhistories, philosophies, literatures, these must\\nbe the food and light of the larger growth of\\nthe mind. The law of intellectual development\\nin education seems to be analogous to a cer-\\ntain familiar law of physical growth in lower\\norganisms. The very lowest, the vegetable, is\\nable to nourish itself directly on the crude\\ninorganic elements of nature the higher, the\\nanimal, can only be nourished on matter al-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0362.jp2"}, "363": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate 299\\nready organized by life. Somewhat so, appar-\\nently, with the growth of intellect: while the\\nsimpler faculties, such as we share with other\\nanimals, are able to get their full development\\nfrom the sights and sounds of nature alone, the\\ndeeper feelings and the higher intellectual pro-\\ncesses can be best nourished on the outcome\\nof the human spirit nature and life as organ-\\nized, or reorganized, by the mind of man.\\nIn meeting the public on this matter of the\\ncourse of study, the college finds itself con-\\nfronted with two or three false notions, so in-\\nveterate that they may well be classed as popu-\\nlar delusions. Each of these, like most popular\\ndelusions, has crystallized round a convenient\\nphrase.\\nOne such notion is that the choice of studies\\nfor any given youth should be governed by his\\nown natural predispositions. In other words,\\nhe should follow his bent. This has a plau-\\nsible sound, yet to apply it to the college\\ncourse would be to ignore the very purpose of\\nthe college. When it comes to selecting a life\\noccupation, a specialty for study or practice,\\nsuch as the various schools of the university\\nundertake to furnish, a youth should, no doubt,\\nchoose according to his taste and talent. But\\nto choose on that ground alone in his prepara-\\ntory culture-course would simply magnify any", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0363.jp2"}, "364": {"fulltext": "300 Education\\nlack of balance in his original nature. As well\\nmight one advise a boy at the gymnasium to\\ndevote himself to those exercises in which he\\nnaturally excelled, to the neglect of all that\\nfound out his weak points if the arms were\\nfeeble, to use only the muscles of the thighs\\nif the thighs were undeveloped, to use only the\\narms. The purpose of the college is to do for\\nmind and character what the gymnasium does\\nfor the physical powers to build up the man\\nall round. If the student hates mathematics,\\nit is probably because his mind is naturally\\nweak on the side of abstract reasoning, and the\\nhated study is therefore the very study he\\nneeds. If he has a lofty disdain of literature,\\nit is very likely only an evidence of some lack\\nof that side of culture somewhere in his ances-\\ntry. There is nothing sacred about a bent.\\nSo far from being an indication of Providence,\\nit is apt to be a mere indication of hereditary\\ndefect. If we look at it from the side of its\\nbeing a predisposition to weakness in some\\nparticular directions, a bent away from certain\\nlines of study (the form in which it chiefly\\nshows itself in college), we can see that the\\nsooner it is repaired by a generous mental diet,\\nthe better for the man and for the race to\\nwhose ideal perfection he and his posterity are\\nto contribute. Perhaps the greatest danger to", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0364.jp2"}, "365": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 301\\nwhich the higher education is at present ex-\\nposed is that of spreading before the student\\na vast number of miscellaneous subjects, all\\nrecommended as equally valuable, and inviting\\nhim to choose according to his bent. The\\nresult naturally is that the average boy follows\\nthat universal bent of human nature toward\\nthe course that offers him the easiest time. If\\nthis course happens to include strong studies,\\neasy only because he is specially interested in\\nthem, the harm is not so great but if it con-\\nsists chiefly of light studies, introduced into the\\ncurriculum only because somebody was there\\nto teach them, and somebody else wanted them\\ntaught (and perhaps a little, too, because each\\ncounts one in a catalogue), then the harm is\\nenormous. This becomes evident enough if\\nwe use (as we may for brevity s sake be per-\\nmitted to do) the rednctio ad absiirdum of an\\nextreme illustration if we suppose that some\\nlanguage having a great history and a great\\nliterature, the Greek, for example, is rejected\\nin favor of some barbarous tongue embodying\\nneither history nor literature say, for example,\\nthe Pawnee or the Eskimo or if we suppose\\nthat for exercises in writing and reasoning is\\nsubstituted the collecting of postage-stamps of\\nall nations, or practice on the guitar. Far\\nshort of any such violent extremes, there are", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0365.jp2"}, "366": {"fulltext": "302 Education\\nperfectly well recognized differences between\\nthe efficacy of one study and another in edu-\\ncating a college student. And it would seem\\nwiser to trust the choice to the governing body\\nof the college than to an inexperienced lad,\\nswayed by some momentary whim, or by the\\nclass-tradition of the easiness of one sub-\\nject or another in other words, by his natural\\nbent.\\nAnother popular delusion concerning the\\ncollege course hinges on a common misuse of\\nthe word practical. It properly signifies effec-\\ntual in attainifig one s end. So, transferring the\\nterm to persons, we call him a practical man\\nwho habitually employs such means. A prac-\\ntical study, then, is in reality a study which is\\ncalculated to effect the end we have in view in\\npursuing it. And since the end in view of a\\ncollege study is purely and simply the develop-\\nment of the mind and character, any study is a\\npractical study just to the extent that it is\\neffectual for this end. And any study is a\\ncompletely unpractical study, no matter how\\nuseful it may be for other purposes, if it is\\nineffectual for this. The real virus of people s\\nmisuse of this word lies in their taking it to\\nmean, not effectual for one s end, whatever\\nit be, but effectual for that particular end\\nwhich to them happens to seem the chief end", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0366.jp2"}, "367": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 3 03\\nof man. If a man s one aim is to have a suc-\\ncessful farm, he is apt to consider all studies\\nunpractical that do not bear directly on agri-\\nculture. If the great object of another is to\\ngain public office, to him that study alone\\nseems practical which directly subserves\\nthis end. Accordingly, there are always found\\nwell-meaning persons, not conversant with edu-\\ncational affairs, who consider the best studies,\\nand those which for college purposes are most\\npractical, as being completely unpractical and\\nwho will always be trying to crowd in upon its\\ncourses those so-called practical studies, which,\\nfor the ends the college has in view, would\\nprove as unpractical as studies could be.\\nIt furnishes a favorite phrase for those who\\nthus misconceive the purpose of a liberal edu-\\ncation, to say that it fails to fit a man for\\nthe struggle of life. If the phrase means the\\nmaking of a living, this objection certainly\\nseems not well founded. Any one s daily ob-\\nservation of common life will enable him to\\nanswer the question whether or not liberally\\neducated men are, relatively to the rest of the\\ncommunity, making a comfortable living.\\nWhen, how^ever, we come to notice that some\\nof those who are fondest of this complaint\\nagainst the college course, on their owm ac-\\ncount, do not seem to stand in any conspicu-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0367.jp2"}, "368": {"fulltext": "304 Education\\nous need of a living, we are led to suspect that\\nthey may mean something else by the struggle\\nof life. Perhaps some mean by this phrase the\\nstrife for sudden wealth, or for political office,\\nprizes for which, in fact, a good deal of violent\\nstruggling is done. So far from inciting\\nmen to any such feverish struggle, it may be\\nhoped that the higher education will always\\nraise them above the disposition for it, or the\\ntemptation to it. Public reputation and public\\noffice should, we are beginning once more to\\nbelieve, seek the man and they may be\\ndepended on to find him as fast as he deserves\\nthem. If not in the scramble and struggle of\\ncertain ignoble regions of effort, at least in the\\nlegitimate pursuit of any dignified career, men\\nsucceed in the long run by means of their\\ncharacter and intelligence and the more com-\\npletely these have been developed, the surer\\nthe success. Such a completeness the present\\ncollege course is generally admitted to have an\\nobserved tendency, at least, to produce.\\nHowever much it may lack of perfection,\\nthe common criticisms upon it seem wide of\\nthe mark whether it be the charge that there\\nare not enough electives for every possible\\ntaste or bent or that the studies are not prac-\\ntical enough or that they fail to fit a man for\\nthe struggle of life. For these complaints", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0368.jp2"}, "369": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 305\\nare all based on the same fundamental miscon-\\nception, the supposition, namely, that the pur-\\npose of the college is merely to equip the man\\nwhen in reality its purpose is, first of all, to\\nevolve the man. They all overlook this cen-\\ntral idea of the higher education that its aim\\nis not merely to add something to the man\\nfrom without, as convenience or equipment\\nbut to produce a certain change in him from\\nwithin as growth and power. The misconcep-\\ntion seems all the more short-sighted, in that\\nit fails to perceive that the most valuable\\nequipment for any work whatever that may\\nafterward be undertaken is found in this very\\nbreadth and depth of preparatory develop-\\nment.\\nTwo permanent human desires, on the sur-\\nface antagonistic, but at bottom perfectly re-\\nconcilable, have all along been at work in\\nmoulding systems of education. One is the\\ndesire to be much, or the desire for attainment;\\nthe other is the desire to get much, or the\\ndesire for acquisition. As we look at young\\npeople, we find that we have both these desires\\nfor their future. We would have them amount\\nto a great deal, in themselves we may call\\nthis our aspiration for them and we would\\nhave them get on in life we may call this our\\nambition for them. As we look at the comma-", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0369.jp2"}, "370": {"fulltext": "306 Education\\nnity we feel these same two desires we would\\nhave it a community of wise and noble per-\\nsons and we would have it a prosperous com-\\nmunity.\\nNow our educational work has taken on one\\ncharacter or another, according as aspiration or\\nai?ibition has been most prominently in mind.\\nSome, perceiving that we are all people of\\nwhom more might have been made, have been\\nmost impressed with the importance of lifting\\nmen s personal lives to higher planes. Others\\nhave felt most the need of equipping men for\\nspecial efficiency in the various callings of life.\\nNot the college only, but the entire field of\\neducation, from kindergarten to university, has\\nbeen a battle-ground where these two ideas,\\nunwisely supposing themselves natural foes,\\nhave continually fought. But both these de-\\nsires are in the right. Seen in the larger view\\nthere is no possible casus belli between them.\\nThey are reconciled the moment it is seen to\\nbe true that the completest development is\\nitself the most valuable equipment.\\nFortunately, the colleges have for the most\\npart taken this larger view, and have cour-\\nageously kept their courses in accord with it,\\nin spite of efforts from outside to warp them\\nfrom their true purpose of providing an educa-\\ntion for men, to that of providing an occupation", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0370.jp2"}, "371": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 307\\nfor them and corresponding efforts to have\\nthe educative studies removed, and occupative\\nstudies substituted in their stead.\\nThat the college course will be further im-\\nproved, as it has been constantly improving in\\nthe past, no one can doubt. The important\\nthing is that changes, when they are made,\\nshould be made with a clear understanding of\\nthe purpose of the college, and in furtherance\\nof this. It would not be best (if, once more, a\\nviolently absurd example may be pardoned)\\nthat Eskimo should be substituted for Greek\\non a vicious and sophistical ground; such as,\\nfor instance, that a young man might some\\ntime go on a diplomatic mission to Greenland,\\nand might find it a convenient language to\\nhave. Nor should practice on the guitar be\\nsubstituted for literary exercises, on any such\\nground as that it is well received in society,\\nand, for purposes of instruction in the female\\nseminaries, might at any moment be a valuable\\nequipment for the struggle of life.\\nThe greatest advance in college work is\\nprobably to be expected from improved meth-\\nods of treatment, rather than from radical\\nchanges of the subjects of the course. Much\\nof the elementary work in the languages, both\\nancient and modern, will no doubt eventually\\nbe relegated to the lower schools. More and", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0371.jp2"}, "372": {"fulltext": "308 Education\\nmore the classics will be taught as literatures.\\nThe same change, it may be hoped, will some\\ntime invade even the modern language courses,\\nso that they will have less of the Ollendorff\\ncharacter, the mere conversational drill, con-\\nceived as being useful or ornamental for the\\nstruggle, and more of the character of an\\nintellectual study of the modern European\\nmind in its history and literature. So also in\\nthe natural sciences, the lower schools will\\ndoubtless one day do a large part of what now\\nthe colleges are doing; much of that mere\\nobservation and memory, namely, which is not\\nbeyond the capacity of the ordinary boy or\\ngirl of high-school age.\\nOne college study there is, in particular,\\nwhich may be expected to make great advances\\nin its scope and methods. It is a study which\\nhas for a long time appeared on all the cata-\\nlogues, but which, so far as any adequate de-\\nvelopment is concerned, is still in its infancy.\\nThis study, the History of English Literature,\\nhas too largely consisted in the mere memo-\\nrizing of disconnected facts and dates as found\\nin some one or two text-books. And so far as\\nthe real authors of our literature have been\\nstudied at all, it has been with much too exclu-\\nsive a regard to philology. Even in this com-\\nparatively superficial aspect of the subject, its", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0372.jp2"}, "373": {"fulltext": "Should a College Educate? 3 09\\nstudy has been confined, commonly, to a few\\npoets of the early period. The outside shell\\nof literature, the language, has been taught\\nwith much acumen and nice scholarship but\\nthe substance, the thing itself, has been neg-\\nlected. It remains to be seen what educating\\nforce there will prove to be in the proper study\\nof this subject when it shall include the history\\nof English thought, of which English literature\\nis only the expression and when it shall bring\\nthe student face to face with the best minds of\\nmodern as well as of ancient times.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0373.jp2"}, "374": {"fulltext": "JLife\\nWANTED A FRIEND\\nE hear of people s seeking by public\\nadvertisement for a suitable partner\\nin marriage, but who ever heard of\\nany one s advertising for a friend Yet why\\nnot Every one, it is likely, has in mind some\\nmore or less vague ideal of the absolutely\\nperfect comrade. May he not be supposed\\nto exist somewhere, and to be in the habit\\nof reading a daily newspaper or a monthly\\nmagazine Go to let us seek him, then,\\nby appropriate advertisement. Something in\\nthis wise would it run Wanted, a Friend\\nThe undersigned, having existed in compar-\\native solitude long enough to experience a\\npretty keen desire for some one to whom to\\nsay, How sweet is solitude and having as\\nyet met no one who exactly satisfies his idea,\\nwould beg hereby to announce his need. The\\napplicant must be rather old, in order to be\\nfitted to give advice a limited amount of it", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0374.jp2"}, "375": {"fulltext": "Wanted A Friend 3 11\\nwisely and at the same time rather young,\\nin order to receive it in liberal quantity and in\\na meek frame of mind. He must be of medium\\nheight, intellectually, and in the enjoyment of\\nrobust spiritual health. A written guarantee\\nmust be given of freedom from all contagious\\ndefects of character. He must be a thoroughly\\ndisillusioned and advanced person, and yet\\nbe able to sympathize with any little illusions\\nor superstitions of the subscriber. His heart\\nmust be full of love for men in the abstract,\\nbut entirely devoid, as yet, of affection for any\\nparticular one of them. He should, however,\\nbe able to exhibit satisfactory scars of early\\nlove-affairs, and a more or less scorched aspect\\nof spirit from some previous period of welt-\\nschmerz. Thus he will be ready to shed furtive\\ntears at any pathetic fragments of autobiogra-\\nphy the subscriber may mingle in his conversa-\\ntion. He will also be expected to look unut-\\nterable things when his own past in general is\\nalluded to, but never to mention any of it in\\ntiresome detail. His memory must be enriched\\nwith portions of the subscriber s writings, which\\nhe will quote on frequent occasions with a happy\\nspontaneity and he must hold the unbiased\\nopinion that his friend is the greatest violin\\namateur, marine painter, poet, polo player, and\\nmaster of English prose style of our own or any", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0375.jp2"}, "376": {"fulltext": "312 Life\\nother time. He must be on similar intimate\\nterms with several other equally, or almost\\nequally, important personages, whose private\\naffairs he will communicate, and whom he will\\nbackbite to the subscriber in an entertaining\\nmanner. The applicant must undertake that,\\nwhen they dine together at restaurants, he will\\nnever order the viands, in return for which\\nconcession he will from time to time be per-\\nmitted to pay the bill. In walking on public\\nstreets, the applicant will carry his face well\\nturned round and his ears pricked up toward\\nthe subscriber, so as to hear him easily without\\nforcing him to deviate from the fixed carriage\\nof his own head, so necessary to his conception\\nof himself as a masterful and positive charac-\\nter. The same rule will be adhered to in con-\\nversing together in the cars, especially when\\nthe subscriber chooses to keep his own face\\nturned away toward the window, and still to\\ncontinue speaking in his ordinary low and dig-\\nnified tone of voice. The applicant must have\\ninherited or acquired a fondness for hearing\\nmanuscript read, and will never commit the\\nindiscretion of attempting to read any of his\\nown. For this and other good reasons,\\nN. B., no person of the literary class need\\napply.\\nYet, seriously, if one cannot exactly publish", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0376.jp2"}, "377": {"fulltext": "Wanted A Friend 313\\nan advertisement for the purpose, might there\\nnot be ways, open to persons even of the most\\nsensitive taste, of extending the possibilities of\\nintimate human relations beyond the small\\ncircle of haphazard association It is a curi-\\nous thing to reflect on, that this connection of\\ntwo persons in friendship, while it is one of\\nthe most important facts in their lives, is one\\nof the things left most completely to chance.\\nWe do not go out, some fine morning, and\\nexamine all the diverse characters in our envi-\\nronment, and deliberately choose this or that\\none for a friend. It is left rather to mere\\naccident, blind contact, or strong necessity of\\nloving. A natural reason for this, it may be\\nsaid, is that die case of friendship is unique\\namong human relations in the fact that the\\nchoice must necessarily be mutual. It would\\nbe awkward, that is to say, if, after making a\\ndeliberate examination of the whole field, we\\nshould choose, and not be chosen. Another\\ndifficulty in the way of wisely making a free\\nselection among any great number of persons is\\nthat, after all, however wide our circle may hap-\\npen to be, it is only wide relatively to circles\\nwhich are very narrow. The largest round of\\nacquaintance has but a small circumference in\\nthe great mass of humanity. With the greatest\\nnumber of those included, moreover, it covers", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0377.jp2"}, "378": {"fulltext": "314 Life\\nbut a speaking acquaintance. The most\\nexperienced and the most widely circulated of\\nus have been able to summer and winter\\nbut a very few people. Sometimes I think the\\nonly men I really know are those who were in\\ncollege with me. This is not on the principle\\nin vino vei itas^^^ but on another principle that\\nmight well be embodied in a Latin maxim, if it\\nis not, ifi Juventute Veritas which is not\\nquite the same as sa3dng that children and\\nfools speak the truth. This is probably the\\nreal reason, by the way, that all through life\\nthere are never any friends like the college\\nfriends, there are never any whom we know\\nso through and through and out of perfect\\nknowledge comes the only perfect trust.\\nWhatever the difficulties in the way of a\\nwider reach of friendships, it does not seem\\nreasonable that we should be so shut up to the\\nsmall geographical limitations of our village or\\ncity, or set. Why might not people seek\\nout friends for their friends There would be\\nnothing odious about that sort of match-mak-\\ning. I know and love a man in California, for\\nexample, who is just suited to a man I know\\nand love in Berlin. Why do I not bring them\\ntogether When one prints a book, or even a\\nmagazine article, and some kindred spirit,\\nhitherto unknown, is courageous enough to", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0378.jp2"}, "379": {"fulltext": "Wanted A Friend 315\\nfollow his sensible first impulse (instead of let-\\nting that sullen goblin, the sober second\\nthought, fling cold water all over it), and writes\\nto say he likes it, why may not this sometimes\\nbe followed up, and become the basis of some-\\nthing worth while (Of course there are al-\\nways ear-marks in any such letter, to distin-\\nguish that of him who writes because he likes\\nyour thought and that of him who writes be-\\ncause he likes to say so.) In some such ways\\nthe half-souls that Plato tells about might find\\ntheir other halves. Or the quarter-souls might\\nfind their other three quarters for was not\\nPlato s idea inadequate to the fact as to most\\nof us, who need a group of at least three oth-\\ners to make a complete and satisfying integer\\nof companionship\\nIt is an interesting and yet after all a melan-\\ncholy reflection that very likely, at this identi-\\ncal instant, there is sitting down to a dinner-\\ntable in London, or putting on his gloves in\\nMunich, or walking through the Common in\\nBoston, a person who is more nearly akin to\\nourselves, and more fitted in every way to be\\nour dearest friend, than any one of those whom\\nchance has hitherto thrown in our way. For\\nit was chance or (if we do not like the impli-\\ncations of that word) the concatenation of\\ncauses uncontrolled by our own volition that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0379.jp2"}, "380": {"fulltext": "316 Life\\ndetermined our closest friendship, whatever it\\nis. At the very moment we first took that\\nhand, some other hand, for aught we know,\\nmay have brushed by, at no greater distance,\\non the other side, a hand that might, it is as\\nhkely as not, have Jitted our own better in\\nevery possible respect. How do I know, even\\nas I write these words, and dip my pen in the\\nink, and pause, but a letter has been addressed\\nin Calcutta or Stockholm which, had it been\\naddressed to me, would have renewed and illu-\\nminated my whole future life But the man\\nand I are fated to be strangers. We have\\nnever met, shall never meet. There is no\\nmagic telephone threading the air between us\\nand, if there were, we should only exchange\\nsome superficial word. Nothing short of living\\nsome segment of life together can make two\\nmen into friends. Even letters are of little\\navail. The best of our epistles do not bring\\nthe deep places of our minds into communica-\\ntion. They are hardly more than some less\\nabrupt species of telephonic hello.\\nBut, for all that, even the oldest and gnarliest\\nof us keep somewhere a vague belief in new\\npossibilities of intercommunion, and sometimes\\nwe are moved to sing (under our breath) in\\nsuch wise as this following:", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0380.jp2"}, "381": {"fulltext": "Wanted A Friend 317\\nTO THE UNKNOWN SOUL\\nsou], that somewhere art my very kin,\\nFrom dusk and silence unto thee I call\\n1 know not where thou dwellest if within\\nA palace or a hut if great or small\\nThy state and store of fortune if thou rt sad\\nThis moment, or most glad\\nThe lordliest monarch or the lowest thrall.\\nBut well I know since thou rt my counterpart-\\nThou bear st a clouded spirit full of doubt\\nAnd old misgiving, heaviness of heart\\nAnd loneliness of mind long wearied out\\nWith climbing stairs that lead to nothing sure,\\nWith chasing lights that lure.\\nIn the thick murk that wraps us all about.\\nAs across many instruments a flute\\nBreathes low, and only thrills its selfsame tone,\\nThat wakes in music while the rest are mute,\\nSo send thy voice to me Then I alone\\nShall hear and answer and we two will fare\\nTogether, and each bear\\nTwin burdens, lighter now than either one.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0381.jp2"}, "382": {"fulltext": "ROMANTIC DISPOSITIONS\\nWhat is the essential quality in that view\\nof life which we are accustomed to call ro-\\nmantic What is it that constitutes yonder\\namiable friend of ours a romantic person\\nWhat was it about that pretty notion, expressed\\na moment ago, that made us call it a roman-\\ntic notion To begin with, it is plainly\\nsomething that we regard with disfavor. It\\nevidently implies, in a character, a lack of good\\nsense in an idea, a lack of solid truth. Fur-\\nthermore, it appears to belong to the region of\\nviews concerning the future we do not speak\\nof romantic ideas of what has happened,\\nbut of what will happen. A romantic per-\\nson is one who indulges in romantic expec-\\ntations. Will not this, then, answer for a defi-\\nnition A romantic disposition is a disposition\\nto expect ends without means a romantic no-\\ntion is a notion that the desirable thing will\\nsomehow happen, without our having made any\\nadequate provision for it. This use of the\\nword originated, of course, from the term\\nromances the idea being that things in real life", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0382.jp2"}, "383": {"fulltext": "Romantic Dispositions 3 19\\nmay be expected to turn out as they do in the\\nstory-books. We must not make the mistake\\nof supposing that the romances are therefore\\nresponsible for the prevalence of romantic no-\\ntions. If there is a relation of cause and effect\\nhere at all, it is the other way round. The\\nirrational views of life in the story-books have\\nalways had their origin in the perennial roman-\\nticism of the human mind.\\nFor, if we are willing to come to the dissect-\\ning-room for a moment, who of us will not be\\nfound to have his mind infested with romantic\\nideas of life i Dear youth, you step up trip-\\npingly to the examination, for you have not yet\\nso much as come to the knowledge that there\\nare false views of life, illusions, idola as\\nyet, whatsoever impressions you find in your\\nfresh young brain seem to you, as a matter of\\ncourse, to be the correct, and the only possible\\ncorrect, ones. But, nevertheless, as I tenderly\\nremove the os frontis and the dura and the//^\\nmater, there come swarming out a wonderful\\nflight of preposterous notions, thick as the\\nvague moth-imps from Pandora s casket. And\\nyou, mature, world-wise citizen, that have ar-\\nrived at full knowledge of the abundant exist-\\nence of illusions in other men s minds, I\\nknow )7ou for the sport of many a delusive\\nexpectation there are muscce volitantes as big", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0383.jp2"}, "384": {"fulltext": "320 Life\\nas moons dancing about over your wise-look-\\ning eyes. And even you, too, my ancient\\nJacques, my self-confident old cynic, we un-\\nderstand why you have found life a perpetual\\ndisappointment it is because you have per-\\npetually expected some metaphysical fourth\\ndimension of happiness to develop itself spon-\\ntaneously in your affairs.\\nBut Francis Bacon said all this much more\\nbriefly, and therefore much better. Doth any\\nman doubt, quoth he, that if there were\\ntaken out of men s minds vain opinions, flat-\\ntering hopes, false valuations, iniaginations as one\\nwould, and the like, but it would leave the\\nminds of a number of men poor shrunken\\nthings, full of melancholy and indisposition,\\nand unpleasing to themselves His drift just\\nhere is to the point that these unsubstantial\\npith-contents of men s brains make, on the\\nwhole, for contentment and agreeable living.\\nBut this might well be disputed. In the days\\nwhen the youngsters used to beset me for\\nquestions suitable to debate in their clubs and\\nsocieties, I wonder I never thought to give\\nthem this Whether illusions be conducive to\\nhappiness. Bacon, it should be noted, takes\\ncare to say just afterward, But howsoever\\nthese things are thus men s depraved judg-\\nments and affections, yet truth is the sover-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0384.jp2"}, "385": {"fulltext": "Romantic Dispositions 32 1\\neign good of human nature. So that after\\nall the boys might quote the philosopher on\\nboth sides of their question.\\nFlattering hopes imaginations as one\\nwould; I have italicized these as belonging\\nespecially to the brain-pith of the romantic dis-\\nposition. Do we not know them very well, and\\nrecognize them as we lean carefully over the\\nedge of our mind and peer down into the dark\\nmirror of our own consciousness? the hope\\nto have friends without being friendly, and to\\nbe loved without being lovely the hope to be-\\ncome famous without ever producing works\\nmeet for fame-winning the hope to be rich\\nwithout the work or the wit to effect it, or any\\nreliable lien on luck that should be trusted to\\nhelp; the hope that j^^ some definite or\\nsome not impossible she will fall into our\\narms, unwooed and unwon, like a ripe apple\\ninto a basket left accidentally under the tree.\\nFlattering hopes, because they all imply that\\nwe are somehow favorites of the Powers, ex-\\nceptions to the laws of inertia and gravitation.\\nImaginations as one would; not only the\\ndreaming of what we wish things were (which\\nwould be a harmless enough amusement), but\\nthe dreaming that things are as we wish them,\\nthis marks well the distinction between the\\npositive or scientific mind and the fanciful or", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0385.jp2"}, "386": {"fulltext": "322 Life\\nromantic mind. The one tries to imagine how\\nthings really are the other tries to imagine\\nthings as they are not and cannot be.\\nThere are two little old tales that I like, as\\nillustrating romantic expectations in common\\nlife one, of the rustic lad, who was sent to sell\\na load of pumpkins in the city, and who re-\\nturned at night with his cart still heaping full,\\nreporting that he had driven through all the\\nstreets, and nobody had said a word to him\\nabout pumpkins the other, of the dairy-maid,\\nwho sat all day in the middle of the field upon\\nher milking-stool, and not a cow came up to\\nbe milked.\\nIt is a mark of a great poet when we find\\nuniversal life-truths crystallized into a few lines\\nof a poem, possibly for the first time, or cer-\\ntainly never so well expressed before. In the\\nSpanish Gypsy, Fedalma is seated on a bank\\nin mournful meditation, when Hinda comes to\\nbring her\\nA branch of roses\\nSo sweet, you 11 love to smell them. T was the last.\\nI climbed the bank to get it before Tralla,\\nAnd slipped and scratched my arm. But I don t mind.\\nYou love the roses so do I. I wish\\nThe sky would rain down roses, as they rain\\nFrom off the shaken bush. Why will it not.?\\nThen all the valley would be pink and white\\nAnd soft to tread on.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0386.jp2"}, "387": {"fulltext": "Romantic Dispositions 323\\nOver the sea, Queen, where we soon shall go,\\nWill it rain roses\\nFcdalma, No, my prattler, no\\nIt never will rain roses when we want\\nTo have more roses, we must plant more treesJ**\\nIs there anywhere in literature so perfect a pic-\\nture of the romantic and the positive disposi-\\ntions of mind", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0387.jp2"}, "388": {"fulltext": "THE GOOD THINGS OF OUR FRIEND\\nAS HIS COMPENSATIONS\\nOf course unreasonable people must neces-\\nsarily be more or less unhappy. The moon is\\nalways there in plain sight, and nobody to\\nbring it to their hand. But it seems as if rea-\\nsonable people, in the absence of acute pain or\\nespecial disaster, might contrive to be reason-\\nably happy. The very phrase contains the lim-\\nitation happy, that is to say, up to the point\\nthat sound reason could expect, considering\\nthe inevitables, the conditions, as it were of\\nthe lease.\\nOne of the medicinal truths that would seem\\nobvious to any such reasonable person, and yet\\none that we are apt to lose sight of, is this\\nThe good thing that our friend enjoys is only\\nhis particular compensation. We forget, or we\\nnever have perceived, the otherwise intolerable\\nills of his situation. Seeing only the compen-\\nsation, we think it ought to make him perfectly\\nhappy. We are certain it would make us\\nhappy, if we had it.\\nMy city friend, for example, makes me a", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0388.jp2"}, "389": {"fulltext": "The Good Things of our Friend 325\\nthree days visit. I take him on my three\\nfavorite walks. The first day we go through\\nthe gorge of the river. The stream, glad to be\\ndone with its work in the village mills, goes\\ndancing down through a deep, rocky ravine.\\nDark hemlocks lean from the cliffs, and others\\nbelow cling with their writhen roots to huge\\ncubical blocks of sandstone, fallen in the frosts\\nof a thousand winters. Alders, feathery birches,\\nand the white stems of sycamores catch the\\nsunshine and brighten the interspaces. Mosses\\nand ferns soften the outlines of the jagged\\nrocks. It is early autumn, and the gay colors\\nof unfallen leaves streak the whole length of\\nthe ravine, with the shadowy hemlock for con-\\ntrast; and the river, rich brown with recent\\nrains, streams along like a curving stripe in\\nsome splendid agate. When the south wind\\ncomes soughing up the gorge, it is all one\\nsolemn song, with river voices and forest voices\\ncommingled. Ah exclaims my city friend\\nif I could have a retreat like this within ten\\nminutes walk of the ager compascuus at home\\nin Botolfium\\nThe second day I take him to the little silver\\nlake that lies like a mirror in its oval frame of\\nwoodlands. We approach it through a country\\nlane, between fields of ripened corn. There is\\na fragrance of apples from farm orchards, and\\nwe seem to see Keats s Autumn,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0389.jp2"}, "390": {"fulltext": "326 Life\\nSitting careless on a granary floor,\\nHer hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind,\\nOr on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,\\nDrowsed with the fume of poppies, while her hook\\nSpares the next swath and all its twined flowers.\\nThe ruddy western sun throws a long slant of\\nshadow from the woods that come close down\\nto one sandy margin, keeping off the wind, and\\nreflecting darkly in a reach of water so smooth\\nas to be almost invisible. From the centre\\nacross to the opposite shore the breeze con-\\ntinually casts and draws its net of darkling rip-\\nples. On its stilt, at the upper end of the lake,\\na white crane stands motionless, and now and\\nthen a young bass flips winking out of the\\nglassy water, as if to dare him from his statu-\\nesque repose. Ah exclaims my friend\\nagain if I only had this in place of the hal-\\nlowed but somewhat unexciting Lacus Rara-\\nriwi P^\\nThe third day we go the Great Woods,\\nwoods of such trees as can be seen only here\\nin the Middle West, near the southern shore of\\nLake Weary. A mere New Englander can\\nnever see at home such stately forest growth\\nwhite oaks, and hickories, and chestnuts, and\\npepperidges, and tulip-trees. The long aisles,\\ncarpeted with the first bright fallen leaves,\\nstretch far away among straight and towering", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0390.jp2"}, "391": {"fulltext": "The Good Things of our Friend 327\\ncolumns. Shafts of low and mellowed sun-\\nshine light up other aerial aisles here tracing\\nthe sharp shadow of an oak spray against a\\nsmooth beech bole, there gilding the already-\\ngolden yellow of a hickory-top, or just flicking\\na quick red squirrel as he leaps from the side\\nbranch of his chestnut-tree larder to that of his\\noak-tree bedroom. For a moment it is perfectly\\nstill, and you hear a nut drop, and a chipmunk\\npipe his shrill claim to its possession. Then\\na breeze rustles the top of a pepperidge, and\\ntosses out and down an armful of crimson\\nleaves. Ah sighs my friend if we could\\nonly have all this on the daustrtwi molare\\nI have vexations, hindrances, depths of\\ndumps, with such surroundings He would\\nnot be able to believe it, if I should hint at\\nsuch a thing.\\nBy and by, when the winter of our discon-\\ntent is well settled down upon these rustic\\nregions, I pay my friend, in turn, a visit of\\nthree days in Botolfium. He feasts me on pic-\\nture-galleries he leaves me blissfully buried for\\nhalf a day in the Minervan library; he elec-\\ntrifies me with intellectual company he intoxi-\\ncates me with the symphony concert. Oh\\nI exclaim to myself if these things but grew\\nat home in the woods of the Co7iservatio Occi-\\ndentalis He unhappy here Impossible", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0391.jp2"}, "392": {"fulltext": "328 Life\\nBut when I come to reflect, I am aware that\\nhe, too, probably has infelicities that he could\\nhardly bear but by the assuagement of these\\nvery compensations. He would most likely\\ntell me that it is only by the hardest discipline,\\neven with the pictures, and the books, and the\\nbrains, and the orchestra, that he can put up\\nwith and and\\nIf only the world could have been so con-\\nstructed as to let us enjoy other people s com-\\npensations, without the ills for which they\\ncompensate Then,\\nThis earth had been the Paradise\\nIt never looked to human eyes,\\nSince Adam left his garden yet.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0392.jp2"}, "393": {"fulltext": "CHOOSING A CLASS OF PEOPLE FOR\\nEXTERMINATION\\nIn the midst of a queer higglety-pigglety\\ndream, last night, I thought the Great Panjan-\\ndrum appeared to me with the kind offer to have\\nsome one class of my fellow beings immediately\\nexterminated; provided I could, without tak-\\ning too much of his valuable time, decide which\\nparticular class it should be. Just seven min-\\nutes were given in which to make and announce\\nthe decision. Of course I accepted with alac-\\nrity, and at once hastened to run over in my\\nmind such of the obnoxious varieties of human\\nnature as could most speedily be recalled. At\\nfirst I thought I would select the people who do\\nnot answer letters but I reflected that some-\\ntimes we write letters in haste, which had better\\nbe answered at leisure, long leisure, or even not\\nat all, on the principle that the least said, soon-\\nest mended. Then I dallied for a moment\\nwith the idea that it should be those who, hear-\\ning us say things in joke, straightway report\\nthem as things said in earnest. Surely, thought\\nI to myself, we can t go amiss in having this", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0393.jp2"}, "394": {"fulltext": "330 Life\\nvenomous species obliterated But as the\\ngenial destroyer looked at his watch a little\\nimpatiently, I hurriedly recollected certain\\nother deserving candidates. There were those\\nwho always allow for everybody else s being\\nlate at appointments, and so afflict the punc-\\ntual soul with a quarter of an hour of painful\\nfidgets j and those who send us lukewarm\\nverses, with a request for an introduction to\\nthe favorable notice of the editors of the great\\nmagazines and those who borrow tennis-rack-\\nets and sheet-music and the book-store attend-\\nants who tag us around with recommendations\\nof the latest inanities and the botherhood\\n\\\\sic\\\\ of locomotive engineers who agonize the\\near at night with gratuitous shrieks as of whis-\\ntling fiends and the literary ladies who follow\\nup our plainest observations with praise of\\nhow nicely, or prettily, or nobly, or something,\\nit was said.\\nSix minutes and three quarters, whispered\\nthe Grand Panjandrum, punching at me with\\nhis sceptre, and knocking his little round button\\nat top against the ceiling, as he hastily rose.\\nI made one more rapid snatch among my recol-\\nlections of people who are with difficulty to be\\nendured, and cried, Take those who carry a\\nperpetual countenance of cold displeasure, and\\ncontrive to make each member of the house-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0394.jp2"}, "395": {"fulltext": "Choosing People for Extermination 3 3 1\\nhold, or the company, feel that he is at all\\ntimes the special object of it The depart-\\ning monster nodded benignly over his shoulder\\nand winked, as who should say, You have\\nchosen well", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0395.jp2"}, "396": {"fulltext": "THE NOUVEAU CULTIV^\\nThe noiiveaux riches, as a class, have been a\\ngood deal before the public, and their appear-\\nance and habits, both in the wild state and\\nunder domestication, are pretty familiar to all\\nkeen observers of the wonders of natural his-\\ntory. But there is another class in modern\\nsociety, equally noteworthy, and in some re-\\nspects even more preposterous and disagree-\\nable, that seems to have escaped classification.\\nIt is that species of person whom we may de-\\nnominate the nouveau cultive. Sprung from\\nilliterate stock in some uncivilized region, he\\nhas suddenly been plunged into an accidental\\npenumbra of culture when well along in years.\\nHe has been caught late. He has, accord-\\ningly, a most vivid appreciation of those things\\nwhich seem to him to mark the difference be-\\ntween his present advanced position and his\\nprevious backward state. The little that he\\nnow knows is very conspicuous to him and to\\nhis relatives. His faith in certain second-rate\\nmakers of public opinion, especially since he\\nhas traveled and has seen the Building where", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0396.jp2"}, "397": {"fulltext": "The Nouveau Ciiltive 333\\nthese powerful things are produced, is very\\ntouching. He has religious convictions con-\\ncerning the greatness of Washington Irving\\nand Fitz-Greene Halleck, and perhaps of\\nYoung, Pollock, and Mrs. Hemans. He has\\nread that Jeffrey said to Macaulay, Where did\\nyou get that style and he, too, wonders\\nwhere such a magnificent thing could have\\nbeen found. Sometimes he copies passages, in\\nhopes to acquire it for his own contributions to\\nthe county paper. He loves to quote from\\nquaint old this one and that one; and has\\nbought, but not yet read, a copy of Chaucer,\\nbecause, as he is proud to explain to his family,\\nhe was a well of English undefyled. His\\nwife has presented to him a brief handbook\\nof the history of art, and they have learned\\na good many of the dates. This gives them a\\ncontempt for the plain people who like and\\ntack up woodcuts and still take comfort in\\nChristmas-cards. They have read a little of\\nDant, not without some secret struggles with\\nthe I-talian names and greatly commis-\\nerate those who have not the advantage of\\nfamiliarity with Doar s great illustrations.\\nAll this is before the nouveau cultive moves\\nto the city. At that epoch the interesting\\ncreature enters on a second stage of develop-\\nment, but still very late. If the first was that", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0397.jp2"}, "398": {"fulltext": "334 Life\\nof the larva, this is that of the chrysalis but\\nit is too far along in the season ever to pro-\\nduce a perfect butterfly. If the larva was\\nactive and aggressive, the chrysalis is appro-\\npriately cold and impassive. It has acquired\\na shell, and has a glazed expression of counte-\\nnance, indicative of mysterious processes going\\non within. The man has mastered the code of\\ndress, equipage, and etiquette and so lately\\nthat he is greatly impressed with these things,\\nmakes his daughters and nieces shed tears for\\ntheir errors, and rarely misses, himself. He\\nnot only acquires the correct pronunciation of\\nclever,^^ with the genuine imported chiar-oscuro\\nof the final syllable, but he learns to apply the\\nword to the proper books and persons, and\\ndoes this with almost painful frequency. He\\nis wonderfully sure of the received verdicts on\\nworks of literature and art. If you happen to\\nquestion any of them, or intimate a preference\\nfor some new man, it is comical, and yet a little\\nvexing, for all your philosophy, to see how your\\nlifelong weariness of the old orthodox judg-\\nment is taken for that ignorance of it from\\nwhich he himself has so lately emerged. On\\nthe other hand, it is with an exquisitely bene-\\nvolent condescension that he gives you the last\\ntwaddle as superseding your view of some one\\nof the immortals.", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0398.jp2"}, "399": {"fulltext": "The Nouveau Cultivd 335\\nThere is, however, one consideration that\\nshould reconcile us to any and all of the social\\ninfelicities connected with the existence of this\\nclass of the nouveaux cultives. It is the fact of\\nthe better outlook for the next generation that\\ncomes from even the slightest lift to this. If\\nthe father only gets so far as to perform awk-\\nward and ludicrous antics on the front door-\\nsteps of culture, the children will certainly have\\na better chance of entering in than if he never\\nhad come out of the woods at all.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0399.jp2"}, "400": {"fulltext": "THE LEFT-OVER EXPRESSION OF\\nCOUNTENANCE\\nThere are certain humorous sidewalk obser-\\nvations that are open to one as a kind of com-\\npensation for having to elbow and jostle along\\nthe public ways. One of these is the trick\\npeople have of looking at you with the left-over\\nremainders of the expression of face just be-\\nstowed on the companion with whom they are\\nwalking and talking. A pair of persons en-\\ngaged in lively argument are approaching you.\\nOne of them is laying down the law with great\\nvigor of facial and muscular gesture. At the\\nmoment of brushing by he glances at you, with\\nthe ferocious scowl of his fervid eloquence still\\npuckering his features. You would think he\\nwas your bitterest foe. Of course it would be\\nopposed to the great law of economy of force\\nto have relaxed and then puckered up again\\njust for the momentary meeting of another\\nface. Perhaps his apparatus of facial expres-\\nsion is not agile enough to have accomplished\\nthe manoeuvre if he had tried.\\nShortly after, you encounter Saccharissima", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0400.jp2"}, "401": {"fulltext": "Left-Over Expression of Countenance 337\\nand Dulcissima, chatting and laughing together\\nas they come. They are entire strangers to\\nyou, but as you pass you receive a most capti-\\nvating smile, from both of them this time,\\nas it happens, for both are talking at once.\\nIt produces an effect like those momentary\\nstreaks of warm air through which one sud-\\ndenly walks on an autumn day.\\nSometimes you get a mixed expression, with\\nmuch the effect of a stream of warm and of cold\\nwater poured on the head at the same time.\\nThe eyes, which are the more mobile portion\\nof the expressional apparatus, will nimbly alter\\ntheir look, at the instant of meeting you, to\\nthat freezing glance appropriate to the encoun-\\nter of an un-introduced fellow creature. The\\nmouth, meanwhile, with its attendant cheek-\\ncurves, continues the companionable smile,\\nthus bridging over the interruption, and allow-\\ning the conversation to go on with its atmo-\\nsphere unchanged.\\nOccasionally it happens, however, that the\\nmixture was already in the original expression.\\nWe all know that blood-curdling look which\\npasses between eminently civil people, wherein\\nthe eyes remain distant and stony, while the\\nunfortunate mouth (which for its sins, per-\\nhaps always has to do the hypocrisy for the\\nwhole countenance) is forced to maintain an", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0401.jp2"}, "402": {"fulltext": "338 Life\\nexpansive mechanical smile. Thus I meet, of\\na morning, two middle-aged ladies engaged in\\npolite exchange of views upon the weather.\\nRival boarding-house keepers, possibly. The\\neffect now is quite complex. They are already\\nwearing, for each other, the mixed expression\\nreferred to, and in glancing at you each infuses\\nan additional drop of vitriol into the ocular\\nand adjustable part of her look. This momen-\\ntary contact with expressions that were in-\\ntended for other people is singularly noticeable\\non the road in meeting open carriages. Some-\\ntimes on a crisp afternoon, when everybody is\\nout and all are animated, it is like encounter-\\ning an intermittent running fire of faces some\\nreal rifle-shots (such as Emerson describes),\\nand with explosive bullets at that others, the\\nmere sugar-plum artillery of the Carnival,\\nand none of them intended for you particularly.\\nIt is merely that you happen to intervene in\\nthe line of fire. An effect of this sort is when\\ntwo crowded open horse-cars meet and pass.\\nHere you have, not single shots, but the simul-\\ntaneous discharge of a whole battery of divers\\nfacial howitzers.\\nPerhaps the oddest case of this persistence\\nof previous expressions is where you have\\nstopped a moment to speak with a lady on a\\nvillage sidewalk. You are only slightly ac-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0402.jp2"}, "403": {"fulltext": "Left-Over Expression of Countenance 339\\nquainted, and neither your mutual relation nor\\nthe business in hand calls for anything but a\\nvery indifferent and matter-of-fact cast of coun-\\ntenance. But suddenly, in the middle of a\\nsentence, this daughter of Eve is aware of a\\nfavorite young gentleman bowing and smiling\\nfrom a rapidly passing carriage. Without mov-\\ning her head, there is not time for that,\\nbut only her eyes, she flashes on her vanishing\\nfriend a bewitchingly intimate smile. Then\\nshe instantly looks back to you and finishes\\nthe business sentence, with the remains of this\\ncharming but now queerly incongruous glance\\nfading out of her face in a most interesting\\nmanner. It is like watching the last tint of\\nsunset vanishing from a mountain peak, or a\\npretty little wave ebbing back on the beach, or\\nthe closing of a flower at night, or the putting\\nup of the shutters on the village apothecary\\nshop at bedtime.\\nI remember an appalling instance of such a\\nphenomenon that occurred to me when a child.\\nEven at this late day, whenever I vividly recall\\nthe scene, it gives me a chill. It was in a\\nVirgil class, and I was a poor little palpitating\\nnew scholar. While I was anxiously constru-\\ning the opening lines of the Dido-in-the-storm\\nepisode\u00e2\u0080\u009ethe beetle-browed master turned slyly\\nto a privileged older pupil with some sotto voce", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0403.jp2"}, "404": {"fulltext": "340 Life\\nschoolmaster s joke. As I glanced up, having\\npartly heard the words without catching the\\npoint, he was just turning back to me, with a\\nmost genial and winning smile sweetening his\\nusually acid features. Innocently, and no\\ndoubt with some timidly responsive look on my\\nface, I said, What But on the instant of\\nspeaking I divined that, alas the grin was not\\nmeant for me. It was a case of left-over re-\\nmainder. As it ceased to coldly furnish forth\\nhis rapidly congealing countenance, he bade\\nme in a stern voice to go on. It was much\\nas if he had cried, What right h^Neyou to be\\nsmiling at me, you miserable little sinner\\nBut I have known over-sensitive persons of\\nlarger growth to have their disagreeable mo-\\nments with these remainder biscuits of ex-\\npression. For example, I have an unhappy\\nfriend who has all his life been intermittently\\nridden with the idea that he is in some way\\nridiculous. I can never find him really happy\\nand at his ease except in his library or his\\ngarden. The books and the chickens, he says,\\ndo not laugh at him. Whether it be the effect\\non his nerves of tea-drinking, or of living too\\nmuch alone, or of having been brought up by\\nhomespun people, to whom his artistic tastes\\nreally did appear ridiculous, and who took no\\npains to conceal the fact, whatever the", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0404.jp2"}, "405": {"fulltext": "Left-Over Expression of Countenance 34 1\\ncause, there is nothing of which he has such\\nterror as the laughter of fools directed\\nagainst himself. Lately I set myself seriously\\nto combat this fancy. I said, Let us go out\\ntogether on the street, or into company, and\\nsee if you can show me any reliable instances\\nof people s laughing at you.\\nThe first persons we happened to encounter,\\nafter leaving the house, were two sauntering\\nschoolgirls, satchels on arm, maxillaries active,\\nand one was telling the other with infinite\\nsecrecy as if the very lamp-posts were sure\\nto be listening some wonderful experience,\\nsuch as only schoolgirls have. As my friend\\nand I approached them, it appeared that the\\nclimax of the narrative had just been reached.\\nGlancing up at us unconsciously, as we met,\\nthey continued to giggle, and passed on.\\nThere you see said my friend. And I\\nhad much ado to convince him that it was only\\na case of left-over expression.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0405.jp2"}, "406": {"fulltext": "THE KEEPER-IN AND THE BLURTER-\\nOUT\\nTwo good friends of mine have now for\\nyears stood to my mind as types of two oppo-\\nsite dispositions with regard to secretiveness.\\nThe one never seems to say anything without\\npausing first to consider within himself whether,\\nafter all, it might not be better not to say it.\\nThe other seems never to let any\\nCraven scruple\\nOf thinking too precisely on the event\\nhinder her from the utterance of whatever she\\nhas to say. The one I call a keeper-in the\\nother, a blurter-out. It has been an interest-\\ning study with me to observe these two charac-\\nters, and the results of their two methods both\\non others and on themselves.\\nThe keeper-in would appear, at first sight,\\nto have all the wisdom on his side. He cer-\\ntainly has the support of all the little hoard\\nof maxims. Do not the proverbs all preach\\na sharp surveillance of that unruly member,\\nthe tongue.? Did not the Greek philosopher\\nwag his hoary head, and aver that he had often", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0406.jp2"}, "407": {"fulltext": "The Keeper-In and the Blurter-Out 343\\nbeen sorry for what he had said, but never for\\nwhat he had refrained from saying Does not\\nGeorge Sand testify that, in her experience,\\nwords are always dangerous except when they\\nare necessary And sings not warningly the\\nGerman poet,\\nAm Baum des Schweigens hangt\\nSeine Frucht, der Frieda\\nNevertheless, I am compelled to record, as\\nthe result of my own observations, the opinion\\nthat the least harm and the most good have\\ncome from the method of the blurter-out. And\\nwhy not Are we to admit that there is, on the\\nwhole, more evil than good in people s minds\\nto be expressed Can we believe that winged\\nwords are oftener envenomed arrows than\\nbearers of good tidings\\nNo doubt there is a kind of confidence which\\nthe keeper-in inspires among his friends. We\\nknow that if we impart a secret to him it is\\nsafe. We are sure that in any deliberative coun-\\ncil, where a word is to be fitly spoken only at a\\ncertain moment, he will not go off semi-reti7ia-\\nculum. If the success of an undertaking, or\\nthe peace of a family, hangs on silence, he will\\nbe golden through and through. But then,\\non the other hand, we are equally and sadly\\nsure that if there suddenly comes a crisis in\\nour affairs, or in public affairs, where a quick,", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0407.jp2"}, "408": {"fulltext": "344 Life\\ncourageous utterance is the indispensable thing,\\nthe keeper-in can be relied on to fail to utter\\nit. It is true that, in talking with him at my\\nfireside, I can relate to him with perfect confi-\\ndence the good story of my catching our neigh-\\nbor at my hen-roost but then, how can I be\\nsure that our neighbor has not been to him\\nwith just such a merry tale (lacking only the\\nbasis of fact) about me How do I know that\\nhe esteems me as a truthful and virtuous man,\\nwhen I am aware that he would look me in the\\nface with the same inscrutable repose of man-\\nner if he suspected me of being a liar and a\\nthief?\\nBut with the blurter-out, on the contrary, I\\nknow just what she thinks of me, and just what\\nshe does not think of me and I know that she\\nknows that I know, and is glad of it. The\\nonly anxiety she appears to have is lest people\\nshould suppose she thinks more of them than\\nshe does. I have observed a little stir of ap-\\nprehension in a company when she enters the\\nroom, or the conversation. No one knows\\nexactly what she may say next. And it is a\\npretty thing to see the way in which a certain\\nkindly relative of hers will anxiously bend for-\\nward as she talks, ready to whisper a gentle\\nand nudging Now, Jane\\nI admit that the keeper-in avoids some awk-", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0408.jp2"}, "409": {"fulltext": "The Keeper-In and the Blurter-Out 345\\nward situations, and that the blurter-out gets\\ninto a certain amount of hot water. It might\\nbe urged by some that the best course would\\nbe a happy mean between the two. But, for\\nmy part, I would rather risk it on the penalties\\nof the impetuous truth-teller than to adopt any\\nsort of a happy mean that consists in being\\nmeanly happy.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0409.jp2"}, "410": {"fulltext": "OLD MORTON\\nThe Middle-Western village produces, or\\nconfirms into inveteracy when produced, many\\na queer type of character. In the same way\\nthat isolated valleys in mountainous countries\\ndevelop and preserve distinct idioms of folk-\\nspeech, so do these isolated semi-rustic regions\\nexhibit odd dialectic varieties of human nature.\\nOne such queer character, or odd stick, is\\nremembered in our village as Old Morton.\\nBent at a crooked right angle, weather-stained\\nand storm-beaten, like a sort of land species of\\nancient mariner, gray, unkempt, and his arid\\nface visibly consoled by perennial founts of\\ntobacco, the old man was wont to hobble\\nthrough the village street about once a day,\\nusually at mail-time. For he, too, it was clear,\\nlike all the denizens of little towns, and espe-\\ncially those without either correspondence or\\nbusiness, had always great expectations in con-\\nnection with the unknown possibilities of each\\nday s lean but punctual mail-bag. His only\\nemployment and means of support consisted of\\nchance jobs of small joinery in a rickety little", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0410.jp2"}, "411": {"fulltext": "Old Morton 347\\nshop on the bank of the river, in the loft of\\nwhich was his lonely and unseen lair. There\\nnever was a more inoffensive creature he was\\nvery gentle with small children and all piteous\\ndumb animals but his bent-over face had a\\nsplenetic gaze down at mother earth, say,\\nrather, step-mother pavement, as he made\\nhis way along the street, and his old blue\\neyes looked up at you with a sort of protesting\\nhostility, as if, in the absence of a visible Pro-\\nvidence, he took you for a representative of\\nthings in general and accused you of his fate.\\nI was comparatively a new-comer in the town,\\nand had never exchanged greetings with him\\nbut one day, as I was hurrying across the stone\\nbridge, he met me, and stopped me with the\\nparalyzing exclamation, Aiii t ye glad ye ain^t\\nold Morton/ I was never more nonplused\\nand put to it for a reply. What I did respond\\nwas, Who I? But whether this counter-\\ninterrogative of mine meant anything or not, I\\nhave never known. The particular nuance of\\nmy own inner consciousness that prompted my\\nwords had, in my astonishment, evaporated\\nwith them, as I found upon asking myself what\\nunder the moon I had meant, while I hurried\\non my way. His words I understood well\\nenough, and perhaps mine may have been\\nmeant to convey some sudden sense of my", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0411.jp2"}, "412": {"fulltext": "348 Life\\nsmall reason for any such self-gratulation. But\\nit is quite as likely my mental breath was so\\ncompletely taken away that I made the re-\\nsponse in entire idiocy.\\nI learned afterward that it was a habit of his\\nto address this or a similar question to persons\\nof his acquaintance. His constant idea seemed\\nto be that, whatever the apparent hardness of\\nany other mortal s lot in life, it ought to be a\\nsufficient consolation to him to reflect that,\\nafter all, he was not Old Morton.\\nThere was philosophy in the reflection, and\\nI was glad to have imbibed it. In fact, what\\nright had I to grumble and sulk about things,\\nso long as I had not the weak and friendless\\nold man s bent back, and rheumatism, and\\nshattered nerves, and forlorn abandonment\\nOnce I was waiting at the provision store, on\\nsome family errand of harmless necessary,\\nsoap, or sugar, or other village bricabrac (such\\nas it is the pleasant privilege of the literary man\\nof the household, with his apparent plenitude\\nof leisure, to purvey), when I saw the ancient\\nphilosopher, sitting on a cracker barrel, and\\ngazing at a pair of urchins whose tow heads\\nbarely reached the counter. There was a kind\\nof quizzical and melancholy tenderness in his\\nlook. There s one good thing about them\\nboys he exclaimed with emphasis, as he", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0412.jp2"}, "413": {"fulltext": "Old Morton 349\\ncaught my eye. They won t neither one on\\nem 7iever be Old Morton And he evidently\\nfelt that in pronouncing this decisive judgment\\nhe was, as it were, a benignant oracle, decree-\\ning them a blessed fate.", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0413.jp2"}, "414": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0414.jp2"}, "415": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0415.jp2"}, "416": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2993", "width": "1903", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0416.jp2"}, "417": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2983", "width": "1861", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0417.jp2"}, "418": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2993", "width": "1840", "jp2-path": "proseofedwardrow00sill_0418.jp2"}}