No More Learning

how! Unfortunately, however, that isn't quite enough
I need money; I must have jewels, clothes, servants,
and all that sort of thing. Nobody has left me a fortune, I
should like you to know, or any mining stock; and so I am
obliged to depend on the little presents that gentlemen happen
to make me. Now that I've known you a year, how much better


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ALCIPHRON
off am I for it, I should like to ask ? My head looks like a
fright because I haven't had anything to rig it out with, all that
time; and as to clothes, - why, the only dress I've got in the
world is in rags that make me ashamed to be seen with my
friends: and yet you imagine that I can go on in this way with-
out having any other means of living! Oh, yes, of course, you
cry; but you'll stop presently. I'm really surprised at the num-
ber of your tears; but really, unless somebody gives me some-
thing pretty soon I shall die of starvation. Of course, you
pretend you're just crazy for me, and that you can't live without
me. Well, then, isn't there any family silver in your house ?
Hasn't your mother any jewelry that you can get hold of?
Hasn't your father any valuables ? Other girls are luckier than
I am; for I have a mourner rather than a lover. He sends me
crowns, and he sends me garlands and roses, as if I were dead
and buried before my time, and he says that he cries all night.
Now, if you can manage to scrape up something for me, you can
come here without having to cry your eyes out; but if you can't,
why, keep your tears to yourself, and don't bother me!
From the (Epistolæ,' i. 36.
THE PLEASURES OF ATHENS
EUTHY DICUS TO EPIPHANIO
Y ALL the gods and demons, I beg you, dear mother, to leave
B' , ,
discover what beautiful things there are in town. Just think
what you are losing,— the Haloan Festival and the Apaturian
Festival, and the Great Festival of Bacchus, and especially the
Thesmophorian Festival, which is now going on. If you would
only hurry up, and get here to-morrow morning before it is day.
light, you would be able to take part in the affair with the other
Athenian women. Do come, and don't put it off, if you have
any regard for my happiness and my brothers'; for it's an awful
thing to die without having any knowledge of the city. That's
the life of an ox; and one that is altogether unreasonable. Please
excuse me, mother, for speaking so freely for your own good.
After all, one ought to speak plainly with everybody, and espe-
cially with those who are themselves plain speakers.
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 39.


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ALCIPHRON
279
FROM AN ANXIOUS MOTHER
PHYLLIS TO THRASONIDES
I
You only would put up with the country and be sensible,
and do as the rest of us do, my dear Thrasonides, you would
offer ivy and laurel and myrtle and flowers to the gods at
the proper time; and to us, your parents, you would give wheat
and wine and a milk-pail full of the new goat's-milk.
But as
things are, you despise the country and farming, and are fond
only of the helmet-plumes and the shield, just as if you were an
Acarnanian or a Malian soldier. Don't keep on in this way, my
son; but come back to us and take up this peaceful life of ours
again (for farming is perfectly safe and free from any danger,
and doesn't require bands of soldiers and strategy and squad-
rons), and be the stay of our old age, preferring a safe life to a
risky one.
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 16.
FROM A CURIOUS YOUTH
PHILOCOMUS TO THESTYLUS
SO
INCE I have never yet been to town, and really don't know at
all what the thing is that they call a city, I am awfully anx-
ious to see this strange sight, - men living all in one place, -
and to learn about the other points in which a city differs from
the country. Consequently, if you have any reason for going to
town, do come and take me with you. As a matter of fact, I am
sure there are lots of things I ought to know, now that my beard
is beginning to sprout; and who is so able to show me the city
as yourself, who are all the time going back and forth to the
town?
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 31.
FROM A PROFESSIONAL DINER-OUT
CAPNOSPHRANTES TO ARISTOMACHUS
I
SHOULD like to ask my evil genius, who drew me by lot as his
own particular charge, why he is so malignant and so cruel
as to keep me in everlasting poverty; for if no one happens
to invite me to dinner I have to live on greens, and to eat acorns
and to fill my stomach with water from the hydrant. Now, as


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280
ALCIPHRON
long as my body was able to put up with this sort of thing, and
my time of life was such as made it proper for me to bear it, I
could get along with them fairly well; but now that my hair is
growing gray, and the only outlook I have is in the direction of
old age, what on earth am I going to do? I shall really have to
get a rope and hang myself unless my luck changes. However,
even if fortune remains as it is, I shan't string myself up before
I have at least one square meal; for before very long, the wed-
ding of Charitus and Leocritis, which is going to be a famous
affair, will come off, to which there isn't a doubt that I shall be
invited,-either to the wedding itself or to the banquet after-
ward. It's lucky that weddings need the jokes of brisk fellows
like myself, and that without us they would be as dull as gather-
ings of pigs rather than of human beings!
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 49.
UNLUCKY LUCK
CHYTROLICTES TO PATELLOCHARON
Peran
ERHAPS you would like to know why I am complaining so,
and how I got my head broken, and why I'm going around
with my clothes in tatters. The fact is I swept the board at
gambling: but I wish I hadn't; for what's the sense in a feeble
fellow like me running up against a lot of stout young men ?
You see, after I scooped in all the money they put up, and they
hadn't a cent left, they all jumped on my neck, and some of
them punched me, and some of them stoned me, and some of
them tore my clothes off my back. All the same, I hung on to
the money as hard as I could, because I would rather die than
give up anything of theirs I had got hold of; and so I held out
bravely for quite a while, not giving in when they struck me, or
even when they bent my fingers back. In fact, I was like some
Spartan who lets himself be whipped as a test of his endurance:
but unfortunately it wasn't at Sparta that I was doing this thing,
but at Athens, and with the toughest sort of an Athenian gam-
bling crowd; and so at last, when actually fainting, I had to let
the ruffians rob me. They went through my pockets, and after
they had taken everything they could find, they skipped. After
all, I've come to the conclusion that it's better to live without
money than to die with a pocket full of it.
From the Epistolæ,' iii. 54.


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281
ALCMAN
(Seventh Century B. C. )
OCCORDING to legend, this illustrious Grecian lyric poet was
born in Lydia, and taken to Sparta as a slave when very
young, but emancipated by his master on the discovery of
his poetic genius. He flourished probably between 670 and 630, dur-
ing the peace following the Second Messenian War. It was that
remarkable period in which the Spartans were gathering poets and
musicians from the outer world of liberal accomplishment to educate
their children; for the Dorians thought it beneath the dignity of a
Dorian citizen to practice these things themselves.
His poetic remains indicate a social freedom at this period hardly
in keeping with the Spartan rigor alleged to have been practiced
without break from the ancient time of Lycurgus; perhaps this com-
munal asceticism was really a later growth, when the camp of mili-
tant slave-holders saw their fibre weakening under the art and luxury
they had introduced. He boasts of his epicurean appetite; with
evident truthfulness, as a considerable number of his extant frag-
ments are descriptions of dishes. He would have echoed Sydney
Smith's -
« Fate cannot harm me — I have dined to-day. ”
In a poem descriptive of spring, he laments that the season affords
but a scanty stock of his favorite viands.
The Alexandrian grammarians put Alcman at the head of the
lyric canon; perhaps partly because they thought him - the most
ancient, but he was certainly much esteemed in classic times. Ælian
says his songs were sung at the first performance of the gymnopædia
at Sparta in 665 B. C. , and often afterward. Much of his poetry was
erotic; but he wrote also hymns to the gods, and ethical and philo-
sophic pieces. His Parthenia,' which form a distinct division of
his writings, were songs sung at public festivals by, and in honor of,
the performing chorus of virgins. The subjects were either religious
or erotic. His proverbial wisdom, and the forms of verse which he
often chose, are reputed to have been like Pindar's. He said of him-
self that he sang like the birds, — that is, was self-taught.
He wrote in the broad Spartan dialect with a mixture of the
Æolic, and in various metres. One form of hexameter which he
invented was called Alcmanic after him. His poems were compre-
hended in six books. The scanty fragments which have survived are
included in Bergk's Poetæ Lyrici Græci? (1878). The longest was
found in 1855 by M. Mariette, in a tomb near the second pyramid.


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282
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
It is a papyrus fragment of three pages, containing a part of his
hymn to the Dioscuri, much mutilated and difficult to decipher.
His descriptive passages are believed to have been his best. The
best known and most admired of his fragments is his beautiful
description of night, which has been often imitated and paraphrased.
NIGHT
O
VER the drowsy earth still night prevails;
Calm sleep the mountain tops and shady vales,
The rugged cliffs and hollow glens;
The cattle on the hill. Deep in the sea,
The countless finny race and monster brood
Tranquil repose. Even the busy bee
Forgets her daily toil. The silent wood
No more with noisy hum of insect rings;
And all the feathered tribes, by gentle sleep subdued,
Roost in the glade, and hang their drooping wings.
Translation by Colonel Mure.
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
(1832-1888)
OUISA MAY ALCOTT, daughter of Amos Bronson and Abigail
(May) Alcott, and the second of the four sisters whom she
was afterward to make famous in Little Women,' was
born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, November 29th, 1832, her father's
thirty-third birthday. On his side, she
was descended from good Connecticut
stock; and on her mother's, from the Mays
and Quincys of Massachusetts, and from
Judge Samuel Sewall, who has left in his
diary as graphic a picture of the New
England home-life of two hundred years
ago, as his granddaughter of the fifth
generation did of that of her own time.
At the time of Louisa Alcott's birth
her father had charge of a school in Ger-
mantown; but within two years he moved
LOUISA M. Alcott
to Boston with his family, and put into
practice methods of teaching so far in
advance of his time that they were unsuccessful. From 1840, the
home of the Alcott family was in Concord, Massachusetts, with the



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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
283
exception of a short time spent in a community on a farm in a
neighboring town, and the years from 1848 to 1857 in Boston. At
seventeen, Louisa's struggle with life began. She wrote a play, con-
tributed sensational stories to weekly papers, tried teaching, sewing,
-even going out to service, — and would have become an actress
but for an accident. What she wrote of her mother is as true of
herself, «She always did what came to her in the way of duty or
charity, and let pride, taste, and comfort suffer for love's sake. ” Her
first book, Flower Fables,' a collection of fairy tales which she had
written at sixteen for the children of Ralph Waldo Emerson, some
other little friends, and her younger sisters, was printed in 1855 and
was well received. From this time until 1863 she wrote many
stories, but few that she afterward thought worthy of being re-
printed. Her best work from 1860 to 1863 is in the Atlantic Monthly,
indexed under her name; and the most carefully finished of her few
poems, “Thoreau's Flute,' appeared in that magazine in September,
1863. After six weeks' experience in the winter of 1862–63 as a
hospital nurse in Washington, she wrote for the Commonwealth, a
Boston weekly paper, a series of letters which soon appeared in book
form as Hospital Sketches. ' Miss Alcott says of them, “The
'Sketches) never made much money, but showed me my style. » »
In 1864 she published a novel, Moods'; and in 1866, after a year
abroad as companion to an invalid, she became editor of Merry's
Museum, a magazine for children.
Her Little Women,' founded on her own family life, was written
in 1867-68, in answer to a request from the publishing house of
Roberts Brothers for a story for girls, and its success was so great
that she soon finished a second part. The two volumes were trans-
lated into French, German, and Dutch, and became favorite books in
England. While editing Merry's Museum, she had written the first
part of “The Old-Fashioned Girl' as a serial for the magazine. After
the success of Little Women,' she carried the Old-Fashioned Girl'
and her friends forward several years, and ended the story with two
happy marriages. In 1870 she went abroad a second time, and from
her return the next year until her death in Boston from overwork on
March 6th, 1888, the day of her father's funeral, she published twenty
volumes, including two novels: one anonymous, (A Modern Mephisto-
pheles,' in the No Name series; the other, “Work,' largely a record
of her own experience. She rewrote Moods,' and changed the sad
ending of the first version to a more cheerful one; followed the for-
tunes of her "Little Women and their children in Little Men' and
Jo's Boys,' and published ten volumes of short stories, many of
them reprinted pieces. She wrote also Eight Cousins,' its sequel
Rose in Bloom,' Under the Lilacs,' and Jack and Jill. "


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
The charm of her books lies in their freshness, naturalness, and
sympathy with the feelings and pursuits of boys and girls. She says
of herself, “I was born with a boy's spirit under my bib and tucker,”
and she never lost it. Her style is often careless, never elegant, for
she wrote hurriedly, and never revised or even read over her manu-
script; yet her books are full of humor and pathos, and preach the
gospel of work and simple, wholesome living. She has been a help
and inspiration to many young girls, who have learned from her Jo
in Little Women,' or Polly in the Old-Fashioned Girl,' or Christie
in Work,' that a woman can support herself and her family without
losing caste or self-respect. Her stories of the comradeship of New
England boys and girls in school or play have made her a popular
author in countries where even brothers and sisters see little of each
other. The haste and lack of care in her books are the result of
writing under pressure for money to support the family, to whom
she gave the best years of her life. As a little girl once said of her
in a school essay, “I like all Miss Alcott's books; but what I like best
in them is the author herself. ”
The reader is referred to Louisa May Alcott: Her Life, Letters,
and Journals, edited by Ednah D. Cheney, published in 1889.
THE NIGHT WARD
From Hospital Sketches)
B.
EING fond of the night side of nature, I was soon promoted
to the post of night nurse, with every facility for indulging
in my favorite pastime of "owling. ” My colleague, a
black-eyed widow, relieved me at dawn, we two taking care of
the ward between us, like regular nurses, turn and turn about.
I usually found my boys in the jolliest state of mind their con-
dition allowed; for it was a known fact that Nurse Periwinkle
objected to blue devils, and entertained a belief that he who
laughed most was surest of recovery.
At the beginning of my
reign, dumps and dismals prevailed; the nurses looked anxious
and tired, the men gloomy or sad; and a general “Hark-from-
the-tombs-a-doleful-sound” style of conversation seemed to be
the fashion: a state of things which caused one coming from a
merry, social New England town, to feel as if she had got into
an exhausted receiver; and the instinct of self-preservation, to
say nothing of a philanthropic desire to serve the race, caused a
speedy change in Ward No. 1.


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
285
More flattering than the most gracefully turned compliment,
more grateful than the most admiring glance, was the sight of
those rows of faces, all strange to me a little while ago, now
lighting up with smiles of welcome as I came among them,
enjoying that moment heartily, with a womanly pride in their
regard, a motherly affection for them all. The evenings were
spent in reading aloud, writing letters, waiting on and amusing
the men, going the rounds with Dr. P as he made his second
daily survey, dressing my dozen wounds afresh, giving last doses,
and making them cozy for the long hours to come, till the nine
o'clock bell rang, the gas was turned down, the day nurses went
off duty, the night watch came on, and my nocturnal adventures
began.
My ward was now divided into three rooms; and under favor
of the matron, I had managed to sort out the patients in such a
way that I had what I called my “duty room," my pleasure
room," and my "pathetic room,” and worked for each in a
different way. One I visited armed with a dressing-tray full of
rollers, plasters, and pins; another, with books, flowers, games,
and gossip; a third, with teapots, lullabies, consolation, and some-
times a shroud.
Wherever the sickest or most helpless man chanced to be,
there I held my watch, often visiting the other rooms to see that
the general watchman of the ward did his duty by the fires and
the wounds, the latter needing constant wetting. Not only on
this account did I meander, but also to get fresher air than the
close rooms afforded; for owing to the stupidity of that myste-
rious somebody who does all the damage in the world, the
windows had been carefully nailed down above, and the lower
sashes could only be raised in the mildest weather, for the men
lay just below. I had suggested a summary smashing of a few
panes here and there, when frequent appeals to headquarters had
proved unavailing and daily orders to lazy attendants had come
to nothing No one seconded the motion, however, and the nails
were far beyond my reach; for though belonging to the sister-
hood of ministering angels,” I had no wings, and might as well
have asked for a suspension bridge as a pair of steps in that
charitable chaos.
One of the harmless ghosts who bore me company during the
haunted hours was Dan, the watchman, whom I regarded with a
certain awe; for though so much together, I never fairly saw his


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
face, and but for his legs should never have recognized him, as
we seldom met by day. These legs were remarkable, as was his
whole figure: for his body was short, rotund, and done up in a
big jacket and muffler; his beard hid the lower part of his face,
his hat-brim the upper, and all I ever discovered was a pair of
sleepy eyes and a very mild voice. But the legs! — very long,
very thin, very crooked and feeble, looking like gray sausages in
their tight coverings, and finished off with a pair of expansive
green cloth shoes, very like Chinese junks with the sails down.
This figure, gliding noiselessly about the dimly lighted rooms,
was strongly suggestive of the spirit of a beer-barrel mounted on
corkscrews, haunting the old hotel in search of its lost mates,
emptied and staved in long ago.
Another goblin who frequently appeared to me was the attend.
ant of the pathetic room,” who, being a faithful soul, was often
up to tend two or three men, weak and wandering as babies,
after the fever had gone. The amiable creature beguiled the
watches of the night by brewing jorums of a fearful beverage
which he called coffee, and insisted on sharing with me; coming
in with a great bowl of something like mud soup, scalding hot,
guiltless of cream, rich in an all-pervading flavor of molasses,
scorch, and tin pot.
Even my constitutionals in the chilly halls possessed a certain
charm, for the house was never still. Sentinels tramped round
it all night long, their muskets glittering in the wintry moon-
light as they walked, or stood before the doors straight and
silent as figures of stone, causing one to conjure up romantic
visions of guarded forts, sudden surprises, and daring deeds; for
in these war times the humdrum life of Yankeedom has vanished,
and the most prosaic feel some thrill of that excitement which
stirs the Nation's heart, and makes its capital a camp of hospi-
tals. Wandering up and down these lower halls I often heard
.
cries from above, steps hurrying to and fro, saw surgeons passing
up, or men coming down carrying a stretcher, where lay a long
white figure whose face was shrouded, and whose fight was done.
Sometimes I stopped to watch the passers in the street, the
moonlight shining on the spire opposite, or the gleam of some
vessel floating, like a white-winged sea-gull, down the broad Po-
tomac, whose fullest flow can never wash away the red stain of
the land.
1


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
287
AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION
From Little Women
"T"
“I just
hat boy is a perfect Cyclops, isn't he ? ” said Amy one day,
as Laurie clattered by on horseback, with a flourish of
his whip as he passed.
"How dare you say so, when he's got both his eyes ? and very
handsome ones they are, too,” cried Jo, who resented any slight-
ing remarks about her friend.
“I didn't say anything about his eyes; and I don't see why
you need fire up when I admire his riding. ”
"Oh, my goodness! that little goose means a centaur, and she
called him a Cyclops, exclaimed Jo, with a burst of laughter.
«You needn't be so rude; it's only a lapse of lingy,' as Mr.
Davis says,” retorted Amy, finishing Jo with her Latin.
wish I had a little of the money Laurie spends on that horse,”
she added, as if to herself, yet hoping her sisters would hear.
«Why? ” asked Meg, kindly, for Jo had gone off in another
laugh at Amy's second blunder.
"I need it so much: I'm dreadfully in debt, and it won't be
my turn to have the rag-money for a month. ”
« In debt, Amy: what do you mean? ” and Meg looked sober.
"Why, I owe at least a dozen pickled limes; and I can't pay
them, you know, till I have money, for Marmee forbids my hav-
ing anything charged at the shop. ”
« Tell me all about it. Are limes the fashion now? It used
to be pricking bits of rubber to make balls;” and Meg tried to
keep her countenance, Amy looked so grave and important.
«Why, you see, the girls are always buying them, and unless
you want to be thought mean, you must do it too. It's nothing
but limes now, for every one is sucking them in their desks in
school-time, and trading them off for pencils, bead-rings, paper
dolls, or something else, at recess. If one girl likes another, she
gives her a lime; if she's mad with her, she eats one before her
face, and don't offer even a suck. They treat by turns; and
I've had ever so many, but haven't returned them, and I ought,
for they are debts of honor, you know. ”
“How much will pay them off, and restore your credit ? ”
asked Meg, taking out her purse.
“A quarter would more than do it, and leave a few cents
over for a treat for you. Don't you like limes ? ”


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288
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
“Not much; you may have my share. Here's the money :
make it last as long as you can, for it isn't very plenty, you
know. ”
"Oh, thank you! it must be so nice to have pocket-money.
I'll have a grand feast, for I haven't tasted a lime this week. I
felt delicate about taking any, as I couldn't return them, and
I'm actually suffering for one. ”
Next day Amy was rather late at school; but could not resist
the temptation of displaying, with pardonable pride, a moist
brown-paper parcel before she consigned it to the inmost recesses
of her desk. During the next few minutes the rumor that Amy
March had got twenty-four delicious limes (she ate one on the
way), and was going to treat, circulated through her “set” and
the attentions of her friends became quite overwhelming. Katy
Brown invited her to her next party on the spot; Mary Kingsley
insisted on lending her her watch till recess; and Jenny Snow,
a satirical young lady who had basely twitted Amy upon her
limeless state, promptly buried the hatchet, and offered to furnish
answers to certain appalling sums. But Amy had not forgotten
Miss Snow's cutting remarks about some persons whose noses
were not too flat to smell other people's limes, and stuck-up
people who were not too proud to ask for them”; and she
instantly crushed “that Snow girl's” hopes by the withering tele-
gram, «You needn't be so polite all of a sudden, for you won't
get any. "
A distinguished personage happened to visit the school that
morning, and Amy's beautifully drawn maps received praise;
which honor to her foe rankled in the soul of Miss Snow, and
caused Miss March to assume the airs of a studious young
peacock. But, alas, alas! pride goes before a fall, and the
revengeful Snow turned the tables with disastrous success. No
sooner had the guest paid the usual stale compliments, and bowed
himself out, than Jenny, under pretence of asking an important
question, informed Mr. Davis, the teacher, that Amy March had
pickled limes in her desk.
Now, Mr. Davis had declared limes a contraband article, and
solemnly vowed to publicly ferule the first person who was found
breaking the law. This much-enduring man had succeeded in
banishing gum after a long and stormy war, had made a bonfire
of the confiscated novels and newspapers, had suppressed a
private post-office, had forbidden distortions of the face, nick-


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
289
names, and caricatures, and done all that one man could do to
keep half a hundred rebellious girls in order. Boys are trying
enough to human patience, goodness knows!
but girls are
infinitely more so, especially to nervous gentlemen with tyran-
nical tempers, and no more talent for teaching than “Dr. Blim-
ber. ” Mr. Davis knew any quantity of Greek, Latin, algebra,
and ologies of all sorts, so he was called a fine teacher; and
manners, morals, feelings, and examples were not considered of
any particular importance. It was a most unfortunate moment
for denouncing Amy, and Jenny knew it. Mr. Davis had evi-
dently taken his coffee too strong that morning; there was an
east wind, which always affected his neuralgia, and his pupils
had not done him the credit which he felt he deserved; therefore,
to use the expressive if not elegant language of a school-girl,
"he was as nervous as a witch, and as cross as a bear. ” The
word “limes” was like fire to powder: his yellow face flushed,
and he rapped on his desk with an energy which made Jenny
skip to her seat with unusual rapidity.
“Young ladies, attention, if you please! ”
At the stern order the buzz ceased, and fifty pairs of blue,
black, gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his
awful countenance.
“Miss March, come to the desk. ”
Amy rose to comply with outward composure; but a secret
fear oppressed her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience.
“Bring with you the limes you have in your desk,” was the
unexpected command which arrested her before she got out of
her seat.
“Don't take all,” whispered her neighbor, a young lady of
great presence of mind.
Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the rest down
before Mr. Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart
would relent when that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfor-
tunately, Mr. Davis particularly detested the odor of the fashion-
able pickle, and disgust added to his wrath.
Is that all ? ”
"Not quite,” stammered Amy.
"Bring the rest, immediately. ”
With a despairing glance at her set she obeyed.
“You are sure there are no more ? ”
"I never lie, sir. ”
1-19


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
«So I see. Now take these disgusting things, two by two,
and throw them out of the window. ”
There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little
gust as the last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their
longing lips. Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and
fro twelve mortal times; and as each doomed couple, looking, oh,
so plump and juicy! fell from her reluctant hands, a shout from
the street completed the anguish of the girls, for it told them
that their feast was being exulted over by the little Irish chil-
dren, who were their sworn foes. This- this was too much; all
flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable Davis,
and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears.
As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a por-
tentous “hem,” and said, in his most impressive manner:
«Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week
ago. I am sorry this has happened; but I never allow my rules
to be infringed, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold
out your hand. ”
Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him
an imploring look, which pleaded for her better than the words
she could not utter. She was rather a favorite with “old Davis,"
as of course. he was called, and it's my private belief that he
would have broken his word if the indignation of one irrepressible
young lady had not found vent in a hiss. That hiss, faint as it
was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and sealed the culprit's fate.
“Your hand, Miss March! ” was the only answer her mute
appeal received; and, too proud to cry or beseech, Amy set her
teeth, threw back her head defiantly, and bore without flinching
several tingling blows on her little palm. They were neither
many nor heavy, but that made no difference to her. For the
first time in her life she had been struck; and the disgrace, in
her eyes, was as deep as if he had knocked her down.
“You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr.
Davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun.
That was dreadful. It would have been bad enough to go to
her seat and see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied
ones of her few enemies; but to face the whole school with that
shame fresh upon her seemed impossible, and for a second she
felt as if she could only drop down where she stood, and break
her heart with crying. A bitter sense of wrong, and the thought
of Jenny Snow, helped her to bear it; and taking the ignominious


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
291
place, she fixed her eyes on the stove-funnel above what now
seemed a sea of faces, and stood there so motionless and white,
that the girls found it very hard to study, with that pathetic
little figure before them.
During the fifteen minutes that followed, the proud and sensi-
tive little girl suffered a shame and pain which she never forgot.
To others it might seem a ludicrous or trivial affair, but to her
it was a hard experience; for during the twelve years of her life
she had been governed by love alone, and a blow of that sort
had never touched her before. The smart of her hand, and the
ache of her heart, were forgotten in the sting of the thought,-
"I shall have to tell at home, and they will be so disappointed
in me! »
The fifteen minutes seemed an hour; but they came to an end
at last, and the word “Recess! ” had never seemed so welcome to
her before.
“ You can go, Miss March,” said Mr. Davis, looking, as he
felt, uncomfortable.
He did not soon forget the reproachful look Amy gave him, as
she went, without a word to any one, straight into the ante-room,
snatched her things, and left the place “forever,” as she passion.
ately declared to herself. She was in a sad state when she got
home; and when the older girls arrived, some time later, an in-
dignation meeting was held at once. Mrs. March did not say
much, but looked disturbed, and comforted her afflicted little
daughter in her tenderest manner. Meg bathed the insulted
hand with glycerine, and tears; Beth felt that even her beloved
kittens would fail as a balm for griefs like this, and Jo wrath-
fully proposed that Mr. Davis be arrested without delay; while
Hannah shook her fist at the villain,” and pounded potatoes for
dinner as if she had him under her pestle.
No notice was taken of Amy's flight, except by her mates;
but the sharp-eyed demoiselles discovered that Mr. Davis was
quite benignant in the afternoon, and also unusually nervous.
Just before school closed Jo appeared, wearing a grim expression
as she stalked up to the desk and delivered a letter from her
mother; then collected Amy's property and departed, carefully
scraping the mud from her boots on the door-mat, as if she
shook the dust of the place off her feet.
« Yes, you can have a vacation from school, but I want you
to study a little every day with Beth,” said Mrs. March that


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292
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
evening. "I don't approve of corporal punishment, especially for
girls. I dislike Mr. Davis's manner of teaching, and don't think
the girls you associate with are doing you any good, so I shall
ask your father's advice before I send you anywhere else. ”
«That's good! I wish all the girls would leave, and spoil his
old school. It's perfectly maddening to think of those lovely
limes,” sighed Amy with the air of a martyr.
"I am not sorry you lost them, for you broke the rules, and
deserved some punishment for disobedience," was the severe
reply, which rather disappointed the young lady, who expected
nothing but sympathy.
"Do you mean you are glad I was disgraced before the whole
school ? ” cried Amy.
“I should not have chosen that way of mending a fault,
replied her mother; “but I'm not sure that it won't do you more
good than a milder method. You are getting to be altogether
too conceited and important, my dear, and it is about time you
set about correcting it. You have a good many little gifts and
virtues, but there is no need of parading them, for conceit spoils
the finest genius. There is not much danger that real talent or
goodness will be overlooked long; even if it is, the consciousness
of possessing and using it well should satisfy one, and the great
charm of all power is modesty. ”
“So it is,” cried Laurie, who was playing chess in a corner
with Jo.
"I knew a girl once who had a really remarkable
talent for music, and she didn't know it; never guessed what
sweet little things she composed when she
when she was alone, and
wouldn't have believed it if any one had told her. ”
"I wish I'd known that nice girl; maybe she would have
helped me, I'm so stupid,” said Beth, who stood beside him
listening eagerly.
“You do know her, and she helps you better than any one
else could,” answered Laurie, looking at her with such mis-
chievous meaning in his merry eyes, that Beth suddenly turned
very red, and hid her face in the sofa-cushion, quite overcome by
such an unexpected discovery.
Jo let Laurie win the game, to pay for that praise of her
Beth, who could not be prevailed upon to play for them after
her compliment. So Laurie did his best and sung delightfully,
being in a particularly lively humor, for to the Marches he
seldom showed the moody side of his character. When he was


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LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
293
gone, Amy, who had been pensive all the evening, said suddenly,
as if busy over some new idea:-
“Is Laurie an accomplished boy ? ”
“Yes; he has had an excellent education, and has much talent;
he will make a fine man, if not spoilt by petting,” replied her
mother.
“And he isn't conceited, is he? ” asked Amy.
“Not in the least; that is why he is so charming, and we all
like him so much. ”
"I see: it's nice to have accomplishments, and be elegant, but
not to show off, or get perked up,” said Amy thoughtfully.
« These things are always seen and felt in a person's manner
and conversation, if modestly used; but it is not necessary to
display them,” said Mrs. March.
“Any more than it's proper to wear all your bonnets, and
gowns and ribbons, at once, that folks may know you've got
'em,” added Jo; and the lecture ended in a laugh.
THOREAU'S FLUTE
From the Atlantic Monthly, September, 1863
W*
E, SIGHING, said, “Our Pan is dead;
His pipe hangs mute beside the river;
Around it wistful sunbeams quiver,
But Music's airy voice is fled.
Spring mourns as for untimely frost;
The bluebird chants a requiem;
The willow-blossom waits for him;-
The Genius of the wood is lost. ”
Then from the flute, untouched by hands,
There came a low, harmonious breath:
“For such as he there is no death;
His life the eternal life commands;
Above man's aims his nature rose :
The wisdom of a just content
Made one small spot a continent,
And turned to poetry Life's prose.
« Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild,
Swallow and aster, lake and pine,
To him grew human or divine, -
Fit mates for this large-hearted child.


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294
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT
Such homage Nature ne'er forgets,
And yearly on the coverlid
'Neath which her darling lieth hid
Will write his name in violets.
«To him no vain regrets belong,
Whose soul, that finer instrument,
Gave to the world no poor lament,
But wood-notes ever sweet and strong.
O lonely friend! he still will be
A potent presence, though unseen,-
Steadfast, sagacious, and serene:
Seek not for him, he is with thee. ”
A SONG FROM THE SUDS
From Little Women)
Q
UEEN of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam rises high;
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.
I wish we could wash from our hearts and souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing-day!
Along the path of a useful life,
Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom ;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away,
As we busily wield a broom.
I am glad a task to me is given,
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say, -
«Head you may think, Heart you may feel,
But Hand you shall work alway! ”
Selections used by permission of Roberts Brothers, Publishers, and John S. P.
Alcott


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295
ALCUIN
(735? - 804)
BY WILLIAM H. CARPENTER
Lcuin, usually called Alcuin of York, came of a patrician
family of Northumberland. Neither the date nor the place
of his birth is known with definiteness, but he was born
about 735 at or near York. As a child he entered the cathedral
school recently founded by Egbert, Archbishop of York, and ulti-
mately became its most eminent pupil. He was subsequently as-
sistant master to Albert, its head; and when Ælbert succeeded to
the archbishopric, on the death of Egbert in 766, Alcuin became
scholasticus or master of the school. On the death of Ælbert in 780,
Alcuin was placed in charge of the cathedral library, the most
famous in Western Europe. In his longest poem,
(Versus de
Eboracensi Ecclesia' (Poem on the Saints of the Church at York),
he has left an important record of his connection with York. This
poem, written before he left England, is, like most of his verse, in
dactylic hexameters. To a certain extent it follows Virgil as a
model, and is partly based on the writings of Bede, partly on his
own personal experience. It is not only valuable for its historical
bearings, but for its disclosure of the manner and matter of instruc-
tion in the schools of the time, and the contents of the great library.
As master of the cathedral school, Alcuin acquired name and fame
at home and abroad, and was soon the most celebrated teacher in
Britain. Before 766, in company with Ælbert, he made his first
journey to Germany, and may have visited Rome. Earlier than 780
he was again abroad, and at Pavia
under the notice of
Charlemagne, who was on his way back from Italy. In 781 Eanbald,
the new Archbishop of York, sent Alcuin to Rome to bring back the
Archbishop's pallium. At Parma he again met Charlemagne, who
invited him to take up his abode at the Frankish court. With the
consent of his king and his archbishop he resigned his position at
York, and with a few pupils departed for the court at Aachen, in 782.
Alcuin's arrival in Germany was the beginning of a new intel-
lectual epoch among the Franks. Learning was at this time in a
deplorable state. The older monastic and cathedral schools had
been broken up, and the monasteries themselves often unworthily
bestowed upon royal favorites. There had been a palace school for
rudimentary instruction, but it was wholly inefficient and unimportant.
During the years immediately following his arrival, Alcuin zeal-
ously labored at his projects of educational reform. First reorganizing
came


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296
ALCUIN
names.
was
the palace school, he afterward undertook a reform of the monasteries
and their system of instruction, and the establishment of new schools
throughout the kingdom of Charlemagne. At the court school the
great king himself, as well as Liutgard the queen, became his
pupil. Gisela, Abbess of Chelles, the sister of Charlemagne, came
also to him for instruction, as did the Princes Charles, Pepin, and
Louis, and the Princesses Rotrud and Gisela. On himself and the
others, in accordance with the fashion of the time, Alcuin bestowed
fanciful
He Flaccus or Albinus, Charlemagne was
David, the queen was Ava, and Pepin was Julius. The subjects of
instruction in this school, the centre of culture of the kingdom, were
first of all, grammar; then arithmetic, astronomy, rhetoric, and
dialectic. The king himself studied poetry, astronomy, arithmetic,
the writings of the Fathers, and theology proper. It was under the
influence of Alcuin that Charlemagne issued in 787 the capitulary
that has been called “the first general charter of education for the
Middle Ages. ” It reproves the abbots for their illiteracy, and exhorts
them to the study of letters; and although its effect was less than
its purpose, it served, with subsequent decrees of the king, to stimu-
late learning and literature throughout all Germany.
Alcuin's system included, besides the palace school, and the
monastic and cathedral schools, which in some instances gave both
elementary and superior instruction, all the parish or village ele-
mentary schools, whose head was the parish priest.
In 790, seeing his plans well established, Alcuin returned to York
bearing letters of reconciliation to Offa, King of Mercia, between
whom and Charlemagne dissension had arisen. Having accomplished
his errand, he went back to the German court in 792. Here his first
act was to take a vigorous part in the furious controversy respect-
ing the doctrine of Adoptionism. Alcuin not only wrote against
the heresy, but brought about its condemnation by the Council of
Frankfort, in 794.
Two years later, at his own request, he was made Abbot of the
Benedictine monastery of St. Martin, at Tours. Not contented with
reforming the lax monastic life, he resolved to make Tours a seat of
learning Under his management, it presently became the most
renowned school in the kingdom. Especially in the copying of man-
uscripts did the brethren excel. Alcuin kept up a vast correspond-
ence with Britain as well as with different parts of the Frankish
kingdom; and of the two hundred and thirty letters preserved, the
greater part belonged to this time. In 799, at Aachen, he held a
public disputation on Adoptionism with Felix, Bishop of Urgel, who
was wholly vanquished. When the king, in 800, was preparing for
that visit to the Papal court which was to end with his coronation as


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ALCUIN
297
(
Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, he invited Alcuin to accompany
him. But the old man, wearied with many burdens, could not make
the journey. By the beginning of 804 he had become much enfeebled.
It was his desire, often expressed, to die on the day of Pentecost.
His wish was fulfilled, for he died at dawn on the 19th of May. He
was buried in the Cloister Church of St. Martin, near the monastery.
Alcuin's literary activity was exerted in various directions. Two-
thirds of all that he wrote was theological in character. These works
are exegetical, like the Commentary on the Gospel of St. John';
dogmatic, like the Writings against Felix of Urgel and Elipandus
of Toledo,' his best work of this class; or liturgical and moral, like
the Lives of the Saints. The other third is made up of the epis-
tles, already mentioned; of poems on a great variety of subjects, the
principal one being the ‘Poem on the Saints of the Church at York);
and of those didactic works which form his principal claim to atten-
tion at the present day. His educational treatises are the following:
(On Grammar, On Orthography,' (On Rhetoric and the Virtues,'
(On Dialectics,' 'Disputation between the Royal and Most Noble
Youth Pepin, and Albinus the Scholastic,' and 'On the Calculation
of Easter. ' The most important of all these writings is his (Gram-
mar,' which consists of two parts: the first a dialogue between a
teacher and his pupils on philosophy and studies in general; the
other a dialogue between a teacher, a young Frank, and a young
Saxon, on grammar. These latter, in Alcuin's language, have “but
lately rushed upon the thorny thickets of grammatical density. ”
Grammar begins with the consideration of the letters, the vowels
and consonants, the former of which «are, as it were, the souls, and
the consonants the bodies of words. ” Grammar itself is defined
to be the science of written sounds, the guardian of correct speak-
ing and writing. It is founded on nature, reason, authority, and
custom. ” He enumerates no less than twenty-six parts of grammar,
which he then defines. Many of his definitions and particularly his
etymologies, are remarkable. He tells us that feet in poetry are so
called “because the metres walk on them”; littera is derived from
legitera, “since the littera serve to prepare the way for readers
(legere, iter). In his Orthography,' a pendant to the "Grammar,'
cælebs, a bachelor, is “one who is on his way ad cælum” (to heaven).
Alcuin's (Grammar' is based principally on Donatus. In this, as in
all his works, he compiles and adapts, but is only rarely original.
(On Rhetoric and the Virtues) is a dialogue between Charlemagne
and Albinus (Alcuin). The Disputation between Pepin and Albi-
nus,' the beginning of which is here given, shows both the manner
and the subject-matter of his instruction. Alcuin, with all the lim-
itations which his environment imposed upon him, stamped himself
(


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298
ALCUIN
indelibly upon his day and generation, and left behind him, in his
scholars, an enduring influence. Men like Rabanus, the famous
Bishop of Mayence, gloried in having been his pupils, and down to
the wars and devastations of the tenth century his influence upon
education was paramount throughout all Western Europe. There is
an excellent account of Alcuin in Professor West's Alcuin' (“Great
Educators) Series ), published in 1893.
Umst Carpenter,
ON THE SAINTS OF THE CHURCH AT YORK
HERE the Eboric scholars felt the rule
Of Master Ælbert, teaching in the school.
Their thirsty hearts to gladden well he knew
With doctrine's stream and learning's heavenly dew.
T"
To some he made the grammar understood,
And poured on others rhetoric's copious flood.
The rules of jurisprudence these rehearse,
While those recite in high Eonian verse,
Or play Castalia's flutes in cadence sweet
And mount Parnassus on swift lyric feet.
Anon the master turns their gaze on high
To view the travailing sun and moon, the sky
In order turning with its planets seven,
And starry hosts that keep the law of heaven.
The storms at sea, the earthquake's shock, the race
Of men and beasts and flying fowl they trace;
Or to the laws of numbers bend their mind,
And search till Easter's annual day they find.
Then, last and best, he opened up to view
The depths of Holy Scripture, Old and New.
Was any youth in studies well approved,
Then him the master cherished, taught, and loved;
And thus the double knowledge he conferred
Of liberal studies and the Holy Word.
From West's (Alcuin, and the Rise of the Christian Schools): by permission of
Charles Scribner's Sons


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ALCUIN
299
DISPUTATION BETWEEN PEPIN, THE MOST NOBLE AND ROYAL
YOUTH, AND ALBINUS THE SCHOLASTIC
P
-
EPIN — What is writing?
Albinus — The treasury of history.
Pepin — What is language ?
Albinus — The herald of the soul.