No More Learning

The snow bends and trims the upper forests every winter, the


## p. 10407 (#235) ##########################################

JOHN MUIR
10407
lightning strikes a single tree here and there, while avalanches
mow down thousands at a swoop as a gardener trims out a bed
of flowers. But the winds go to every tree, fingering every leaf
and branch and furrowed bole; not one is forgotten: the Mount-
ain Pine towering with outstretched arms on the rugged but-
tresses of the icy peaks, the lowliest and most retiring tenant of
the dells, they seek and find them all, caressing them tenderly,
bending them in lusty exercise, stimulating their growth, pluck-
ing off a leaf or limb as required, or removing an entire tree or
grove, now whispering and cooing through the branches like a
sleepy child, now roaring like the ocean; the winds blessing the
forests, the forests the winds, with ineffable beauty and harmony
as the sure result.
-
After one has seen pines six feet in diameter bending like
grasses before a mountain gale, and ever and anon some giant
falling with a crash that shakes the hills, it seems astonishing
that any, save the lowest thick-set trees, could ever have found
a period sufficiently stormless to establish themselves; or once
established, that they should not sooner or later have been blown
down. But when the storm is over, and we behold the same
forests tranquil again, towering fresh and unscathed in erect
majesty, and consider what centuries of storms have fallen upon
them since they were first planted: hail, to break the tender
seedlings; lightning, to scorch and shatter; snow, winds, and
avalanches, to crush and overwhelm,- while the manifest result
of all this wild storm-culture is the glorious perfection we behold:
then faith in Nature's forestry is established, and we cease to
deplore the violence of her most destructive gales, or of any
other storm implement whatsoever.
There are two trees in the Sierra forests that are never blown
down, so long as they continue in sound health. These are the
Juniper and the Dwarf Pine of the summit peaks. Their stiff,
crooked roots grip the storm-beaten ledges like eagles' claws;
while their lithe, cord-like branches bend round compliantly,
offering but slight holds for winds, however violent. The other
alpine conifers- the Needle Pine, Mountain Pine, Two-leaved
Pine, and Hemlock Spruce-are never thinned out by this
agent to any destructive extent, on account of their admirable
toughness and the closeness of their growth. In general the
same is true of the giants of the lower zones. The kingly Sugar
Pine, towering aloft to a height of more than two hundred feet,


## p. 10408 (#236) ##########################################

10408
JOHN MUIR
offers a fine mark to storm-winds; but it is not densely foliaged,
and its long horizontal arms swing round compliantly in the
blast, like tresses of green, fluent algæ in a brook: while the Sil-
ver Firs in most places keep their ranks well together in united
strength.
The Yellow or Silver Pine is more frequently overturned
than any other tree on the Sierra, because its leaves and branches
form a larger mass in proportion to its height; while in many
places it is planted sparsely, leaving open lanes through which
storms may enter with full force. Furthermore, because it is
distributed along the lower portion of the range, which was the
first to be left bare on the breaking up of the ice-sheet at the
close of the glacial winter, the soil it is growing upon has been
longer exposed to post-glacial weathering, and consequently is in
a more crumbling, decayed condition than the fresher soils far-
ther up the range,
and therefore offers a less secure anchorage
for the roots. While exploring the forest zones of Mount Shasta,
I discovered the path of a hurricane strewn with thousands of
pines of this species. Great and small had been uprooted or
wrenched off by sheer force, making a clean gap, like that made
by a snow avalanche. But hurricanes capable of doing this class
of work are rare in the Sierra; and when we have explored the
forests from one extremity of the range to the other, we are
compelled to believe that they are the most beautiful on the
face of the earth, however we may regard the agents that have
made them so.
There is always something deeply exciting, not only in the
sounds of winds in the woods, which exert more or less influence
over every mind, but in their varied water-like flow as manifested
by the movements of the trees, especially those of the conifers.
By no other trees are they rendered so extensively and impress-
ively visible; not even by the lordly tropic palms or tree-ferns
responsive to the gentlest breeze. The waving of a forest of
the giant Sequoias is indescribably impressive and sublime; but
the pines seem to me the best interpreters of winds. They are
mighty waving golden-rods, ever in tune, singing and writing
wind-music all their long century lives. Little, however, of this
noble tree-waving and tree-music will you see or hear in the
strictly alpine portion of the forests. The burly Juniper, whose
girth sometimes more than equals its height, is about as rigid as
the rocks on which it grows. The slender lash-like sprays of the


## p. 10409 (#237) ##########################################

JOHN MUIR
10409
Dwarf Pine stream out in wavering ripples, but the tallest and
slenderest are far too unyielding to wave even in the heaviest
gales. They only shake in quick, short vibrations. The Hemlock
Spruce, however, and the Mountain Pine, and some of the tallest
thickets of the Two-leaved species, bow in storms with consid-
erable scope and gracefulness. But it is only in the lower and
middle zones that the meeting of winds and woods is to be seen
in all its grandeur.
One of the most beautiful and exhilarating storms I ever
enjoyed in the Sierra occurred in December 1874, when I hap-
pened to be exploring one of the tributary valleys of the Yuba
River. The sky and the ground and the trees had been thor-
oughly rain-washed and were dry again. The day was intensely
pure: one of those incomparable bits of California winter, warm
and balmy and full of white sparkling sunshine, redolent of all
the purest influences of the spring, and at the same time enliv-
ened with one of the most bracing wind-storms conceivable.
Instead of camping out, as I usually do, I then chanced to be
stopping at the house of a friend. But when the storm began
to sound, I lost no time in pushing out into the woods to enjoy
it. For on such occasions Nature has always something rare to
show us, and the danger to life and limb is hardly greater than
one would experience crouching deprecatingly beneath a roof.
It was still early morning when I found myself fairly adrift.
Delicious sunshine came pouring over the hills, lighting the tops
of the pines, and setting free a steam of summery fragrance
that contrasted strangely with the wild tones of the storm. The
air was mottled with pine-tassels and bright green plumes, that
went flashing past in the sunlight like birds pursued. But there
was not the slightest dustiness; nothing less pure than leaves, and
ripe pollen, and flecks of withered bracken and moss. I heard
trees falling for hours at the rate of one every two or three
minutes: some uprooted, partly on account of the loose, water-
soaked condition of the ground; others broken straight across,
where some weakness caused by fire had determined the spot.
The gestures of the various trees made a delightful study.
Young Sugar Pines, light and feathery as squirrel-tails, were
bowing almost to the ground; while the grand old patriarchs,
whose massive boles had been tried in a hundred storms, waved
solemnly above them, their long, arching branches streaming
fluently on the gale, and every needle thrilling and ringing and


## p. 10410 (#238) ##########################################

10410
JOHN MUIR
shedding off keen lances of light like a diamond. The Douglas
Spruces, with long sprays drawn out in level tresses, and needles
massed in a gray, shimmering glow, presented a most striking
appearance as they stood in bold relief along the hilltops. The
madroños in the dells, with their red bark and large glossy leaves
tilted every way, reflected the sunshine in throbbing spangles
like those one so often sees on the rippled surface of a glacier
lake. But the Silver Pines were now the most impressively
beautiful of all. Colossal spires two hundred feet in height waved
like supple golden-rods chanting and bowing low as if in worship;
while the whole mass of their long, tremulous foliage was kindled
into one continuous blaze of white sun-fire. The force of the
gale was such that the most steadfast monarch of them all rocked
down to its roots, with a motion plainly perceptible when one
leaned against it. Nature was holding high festival, and every
fibre of the most rigid giants thrilled with glad excitement.
I drifted on through the midst of this passionate music and
motion, across many a glen, from ridge to ridge; often halting in
the lee of a rock for shelter, or to gaze and listen. Even when
the grand anthem had swelled to its highest pitch, I could dis-
tinctly hear the varying tones of individual trees,-Spruce, and
Fir, and Pine, and leafless Oak,- and even the infinitely gentle
rustle of the withered grasses at my feet.
Each was express-
ing itself in its own way,-singing its own song, and making its
own peculiar gestures,-manifesting a richness of variety to be
found in no other forest I have yet seen. The coniferous woods
of Canada and the Carolinas and Florida are made up of trees
that resemble one another about as nearly as blades of grass,
and grow close together in much the same way. Coniferous
trees, in general, seldom possess individual character, such as is
manifest among Oaks and Elms. But the California forests are
made up of a greater number of distinct species than any other
in the world. And in them we find, not only a marked differ-
entiation into special groups, but also a marked individuality in
almost every tree, giving rise to storm effects indescribably glo-
rious.
Toward midday, after a long, tingling scramble through copses
of hazel and ceanothus, I gained the summit of the highest ridge
in the neighborhood; and then it occurred to me that it would
be a fine thing to climb one of the trees, to obtain a wider out-
look and get my ear close to the Eolian music of its topmost


## p. 10411 (#239) ##########################################

JOHN MUIR
10411
needles. But under the circumstances the choice of a tree was
a serious matter. One whose instep was not very strong seemed
in danger of being blown down, or of being struck by others in
case they should fall; another was branchless to a considerable
height above the ground, and at the same time too large to be
grasped with arms and legs in climbing; while others were not
favorably situated for clear views. After cautiously casting about,
I made choice of the tallest of a group of Douglas Spruces that
were growing close together like a tuft of grass, no one of which
seemed likely to fall unless all the rest fell with it. Though
comparatively young, they were about a hundred feet high, and
their lithe, brushy tops were rocking and swirling in wild ecstasy.
Being accustomed to climb trees in making botanical studies,
I experienced no difficulty in reaching the top of this one; and
never before did I enjoy so noble an exhilaration of motion.
The slender tops fairly flapped and swished in the passionate
torrent, bending and swirling backward and forward, round and
round, tracing indescribable combinations of vertical and hori-
zontal curves, while I clung with muscles firm braced, like a
bobolink on a reed.
In its widest sweeps my tree-top described an arc of from
twenty to thirty degrees; but I felt sure of its elastic temper,
having seen others of the same species still more severely tried
bent almost to the ground indeed, in heavy snows-without
breaking a fibre. I was therefore safe, and free to take the wind
into my pulses and enjoy the excited forest from my superb out-
look. The view from here must be extremely beautiful in any
weather. Now my eye roved over the piny hills and dales as
over fields of waving grain, and felt the light running in ripples
and broad swelling undulations across the valleys from ridge to
ridge, as the shining foliage was stirred by corresponding waves.
of air. Oftentimes these waves of reflected light would break
up suddenly into a kind of beaten foam, and again, after chasing
one another in regular order, they would seem to bend forward
in concentric curves, and disappear on some hillside, like sea
waves on a shelving shore. The quantity of light reflected from
the bent needles was so great as to make whole groves appear
as if covered with snow, while the black shadows beneath the
trees greatly enhanced the effect of the silvery splendor.
Excepting only the shadows, there was nothing sombre in
all this wild sea of pines. On the contrary, notwithstanding this


## p. 10412 (#240) ##########################################

10412
JOHN MUIR
was the winter season, the colors were remarkably beautiful.
The shafts of the pine and libocedrus were brown and purple,
and most of the foliage was well tinged with yellow; the laurel
groves, with the pale under sides of their leaves turned upward,
made masses of gray; and then there was many a dash of choc-
olate color from clumps of manzanita, and jet of vivid crimson
from the bark of the madroños; while the ground on the hillsides,
appearing here and there through openings between the groves,
displayed masses of pale purple and brown.
The sounds of the storm corresponded gloriously with this
wild exuberance of light and motion. The profound bass of the
naked branches and boles booming like waterfalls; the quick,
tense vibrations of the pine-needles, now rising to a shrill, whis-
tling hiss, now falling to a silky murmur; the rustling of laurel
groves in the dells, and the keen metallic click of leaf on leaf,—
all this was heard in easy analysis when the attention was calmly
bent.
The varied gestures of the multitude were seen to fine ad-
vantage, so that one could recognize the different species at a
distance of several miles by this means alone, as well as by their
forms and colors and the way they reflected the light. All
seemed strong and comfortable, as if really enjoying the storm,
while responding to its most enthusiastic greetings. We hear
much nowadays concerning the universal struggle for existence,
but no struggle in the common meaning of the word was mani-
fest here; no recognition of danger by any tree; no deprecation:
but rather an invincible gladness, as remote from exultation as
from fear.
I kept my lofty perch for hours, frequently closing my eyes
to enjoy the music by itself, or to feast quietly on the delicious
fragrance that was streaming past. The fragrance of the woods
was less marked than that produced during warm rain, when so
many balsamic buds and leaves are steeped like tea; but from
the chafing of resiny branches against each other, and the inces-
sant attrition of myriads of needles, the gale was spiced to a very
tonic degree. And besides the fragrance from these local sources,
there were traces of scents brought from afar. For this wind
came first from the sea, rubbing against its fresh, briny waves,
then distilled through the redwoods, threading rich ferny gulches,
and spreading itself in broad undulating currents over many a
flower-enameled ridge of the coast mountains, then across the


## p. 10413 (#241) ##########################################

JOHN MUIR
10413
golden plains, up the purple foot-hills, and into these piny woods
with the varied incense gathered by the way.
Winds are advertisements of all they touch, however much or
little we may be able to read them; telling their wanderings
even by their scents alone. Mariners detect the flowery perfume
of land-winds far at sea, and sea-winds carry the fragrance of
dulse and tangle far inland, where it is quickly recognized, though
mingled with the scents of a thousand land-flowers. As an illus-
tration of this, I may tell here that I breathed sea-air on the
Firth of Forth, in Scotland, while a boy; then was taken to Wis-
consin, where I remained nineteen years: then, without in all this
time having breathed one breath of the sea, I walked quietly,
alone, from the middle of the Mississippi Valley to the Gulf of
Mexico, on a botanical excursion; and while in Florida, far from
the coast, my attention wholly bent on the splendid tropical vege-
tation about me, I suddenly recognized a sea-breeze, as it came
sifting through the palmettos and blooming vine-tangles, which
at once awakened and set free a thousand dormant associations,
and made me a boy again in Scotland, as if all the intervening
years had been annihilated.
Most people like to look at mountain rivers, and bear them
in mind; but few care to look at the winds, though far more
beautiful and sublime, and though they become at times about as
visible as flowing water. When the north winds in winter are
making upward sweeps over the curving summits of the High
Sierra, the fact is sometimes published with flying snow-banners
a mile long. Those portions of the winds thus embodied can
scarce be wholly invisible, even to the darkest imagination. And
when we look around over an agitated forest, we may see some-
thing of the wind that stirs it, by its effects upon the trees.
Yonder it descends in a rush of water-like ripples, and sweeps
over the bending pines from hill to hill. Nearer, we see detached
plumes and leaves, now speeding by on level currents, now whirl-
ing in eddies, or escaping over the edges of the whirls, soaring
aloft on grand, upswelling domes of air, or tossing on flame-like
crests. Smooth, deep currents, cascades, falls, and swirling eddies,
sing around every tree and leaf, and over all the varied topog-
raphy of the region with telling changes of form, like mountain
rivers conforming to the features of their channels.
After tracing the Sierra streams from their fountains to the
plains, marking where they bloom white in falls, glide in crystal


## p. 10414 (#242) ##########################################

10414
JOHN MUIR
plumes, surge gray and foam-filled in bowlder-choked gorges,
and slip through the woods in long, tranquil reaches -after thus
learning their language and forms in detail, we may at length
hear them chanting all together in one grand anthem, and com-
prehend them all in clear inner vision, covering the range like
lace. But even this spectacle is far less sublime and not a whit
more substantial than what we may behold of these storm-streams
of air in the mountain woods.
We all travel the Milky Way together, trees and men; but
it never occurred to me until this storm day, while swinging in
the wind, that trees are travelers, in the ordinary sense. They
make many journeys; not extensive ones, it is true; but our own
little journeys, away and back again, are only little more than
tree-wavings- many of them not so much.
When the storm began to abate, I dismounted and sauntered
down through the calming woods. The storm-tones died away,
and turning toward the east, I beheld the countless hosts of the
forests hushed and tranquil, towering above one another on the
slopes of the hills like a devout audience. The setting sun filled
them with amber light, and seemed to say, while they listened,
"My peace I give unto you. ”
As I gazed on the impressive scene, all the so-called ruin of
the storm was forgotten; and never before did these noble woods
appear so fresh, so joyous, so immortal.


## p. 10415 (#243) ##########################################

10415
ELISHA MULFORD
(1833-1885)
W
HEN the Civil War drew to its close, there was a general idea
that the stress of emotional feeling through which we had
passed, the quickening of the national consciousness by the
season of national peril, and the remembrance of countless instances
of heroism and adventure, would result in the production of a dis-
tinct type of national literature, from which the note of either pro-
vincialism or cosmopolitanism should be absent.
This anticipation has been realized, but within different limits and
in different forms from those expected by the generation which took
part in the struggle. There is a body of war literature, in which
General Grant's 'Memoirs' perhaps ranks highest; but it is seen that
this literature is still but material from which, as from "old chron-
icles of wasted time," future generations must draw the inspiration
for higher forms, perhaps of song or sustained poem, perhaps of
drama or historical novel. The war, however, did inspire contem-
porary writings. In no case is this more evident than in Mulford's
'Nation,' which glows with a lofty and impassioned idea of patriot-
ism. In the preface the writer says that he has "sought, however
imperfectly, to give expression to the thought of the people in the
late war, and that conception of the nation which they who were so
worthy, held worth living and dying for. "
Elisha Mulford was born in Montrose, Pennsylvania, in 1833, from
the stock of those Puritans who settled the eastern end of Long
Island. He was graduated at Yale in 1855; and after a year in
Germany was admitted, in 1862, to the priesthood of the Episcopal
Church. A slight infirmity of deafness interfered with his usefulness
as a parish priest; and after a settlement in South Orange, New
Jersey, he spent his life in literary and philosophical study, first at
Friendsville, Pennsylvania, and afterwards at Cambridge, Massa-
chusetts. In 1862 he married Rachel Carmalt, daughter of Caleb
Carmalt, a prominent member of the Society of Friends of Northern
Pennsylvania. His book The Nation' secured him a recognized
place among the profound and original minds of his generation, and
was published in 1871; and his other book, The Republic of God,
an Institute in Theology,' in 1881. This last holds something of the
position in the Episcopal Church that Dr. Bushnell's writings do in


## p. 10416 (#244) ##########################################

10416
ELISHA MULFORD
the Congregational Church, and is characterized by the lofty spiritu-
ality which belonged to the great ages of the Church.
In both of his books, Mulford's philosophical standpoint is that
of Hegel, especially in regarding every human institution as the
embodiment of an idea which virtually constitutes its soul or proper
life. The nation and the church he talks about are our ideal, and
the outward form is the government; the church organizations are
of little consequence except as the visible body of the metaphysical
entity behind them. This tone of thought is not in favor at present:
his writings are highly valued but by a chosen few; and his philoso-
phy seems mystical or impractical to many. Mulford's literary style
is marred by the saturation of his mind with the mannerisms of the
German metaphysicians. Nevertheless, there is a weight and dignity
in it which is found only in the pages of the writers of the greatest
periods, and there are many passages which in rhythm and power
are hardly to be matched in American prose.
Mr. Mulford was of singularly attractive and unselfish character.
His gifts as a conversationalist and occasional speaker were of a high
order, for he never failed to idealize the subject in hand in a pecul-
iarly felicitous manner. Many of his sermons were of singular beauty
and elevation, but only the memory of them remains. At the time
of his death in 1885 he had projected several important works. His
grave is in the cemetery at Concord, not far from the graves of
Emerson and Hawthorne.
As a political thinker, Mr. Mulford won recognition from those
to whom the thought-element, the moral in the highest sense, is re-
garded as the basis of the nature of the State. President Garfield,
Charles Sumner, Wayne MacVeagh, President Angell, Professor Di-
man, F. D. Maurice, and Dean Stanley, among others, testified warmly
to their appreciation of the force and elevation of The Nation. '
The austere dignity which characterizes the 'Republic of God' has
strengthened the faith and comforted the hearts of many who
have come to feel that theology was a "baseless fabric," or at best
a metaphysical system resting on traditionary assumptions. It can
hardly be doubted that when the present tendency to exalt the con-
crete both in philosophy and worship shall have spent its force, the
'Republic of God' will be turned to by sincere Christians as one of
the great modern "Institutes in Theology. "


## p. 10417 (#245) ##########################################

ELISHA MULFORD
10417
[The following selections are taken from The Nation, copyright 1870
by E. Mulford, and from The Republic of God,' copyright 1881 by Elisha
Mulford; and are reprinted by permission of Mrs. Mulford, and of Houghton,
Mifflin & Co. , the publishers. ]
THE NATION IS A CONTINUITY
From The Nation'
IT
T NO more exists complete in a single period of time than does
the race; it is not a momentary existence, as if defined in
some circumstance. It is not composed of its present occu-
pants alone, but it embraces those who are, and have been,
and shall be. There is in it the continuity of the generations; it
reaches backward to the fathers and onward to the children, and
its relation is manifest in its reverence for the one and its hope
for the other.
The evidence of this continuity is in the consciousness of a
people. It appears in the apprehension of the nation as an in-
heritance received from the fathers, to be transmitted unimpaired
to the children. This conviction, that has held the nation as a
heritage worth living and worth dying for, has inspired the devo-
tion and sacrifice of a people.
The evidence of this continuity is also in the fact that the
spirit of a people always contemplates it. The nation has never
existed which placed a definite termination to its existence—a
period when its order was to expire and the obligation to its law
to cease. It cannot anticipate a time when it shall be resolved
into its elements, but contends with the intensity of life against
every force which threatens dissolution. Those who have repre-
sented the State as a compact, have yet held it to be a perpetual
one, in which the children are bound by the acts of their fathers.
This continuity is the condition of the existence of the nation
in history. The nation persists through a form of outward cir-
cumstance. Judea was the same under the judges and under the
kings; Rome was the same under the kings and under the con-
suls. The elements of the being of the nation subsist in this
continuity. In it, also, the products of human effort are con-
served, and the law of human production conforms to it. The
best attainments pass slowly from their germ to their perfectness,
as in the growth of the language and the law, the arts and the
literature of a people. Chaucer and Spenser, through intervals of
XVIII-652


## p. 10418 (#246) ##########################################

10418
ELISHA MULFORD
slow advance, precede Shakespeare, as Giotto and Perugino lead
the way to Michael Angelo and Raphael.
The nation is a continuity, as also in itself the product of
succeeding generations. It transcends the achievement of a sin-
gle individual or a separate age. The life of the individual is
not its measure. In its fruition there is the work of the gen-
erations; and even in the moments of its existence, the expres-
sion of their spirit, the blending of the strength of youth, the
resolve of manhood, and the experience of age-the hope and
the inspiration of the one, the wisdom and repose of the other.
There is the spirit which is always young, and yet always full of
years; and even in its physical course the correspondence to an
always renewed life.
-
This continuity has found expression in the highest political
thought. Shakespeare has it in his historical plays: the continu-
ity of the nation is represented as existing through the years
with the vicissitudes of the people, in the changes of scene,
with the coming and going of men; and there is, as in the
nation, the unity of the drama in which so many actors move,
and whose events revolve from age to age; and thus these plays
hold an attraction apart from the separate scenes and figures
which present some isolated ideal for the poet to shape. Burke
has represented this continuity in the nation as moving through
generations, in a life which no speculative schemes and no legal
formulas may compass: "The nation is indeed a partnership, but
a partnership not only between those who are living, but between
those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are to
be born. "
THE NATION THE REALIZATION OF FREEDOM
From The Nation'
HERE is always a tendency in those withdrawn from the bat-
tle, and its "confused noise and garments rolled in blood,"
to bear its issues into some ideal and abstract sphere.
Thus the war is represented as the immediate conflict of the
antagonistic ideas, freedom and slavery. The reality is other
than this: the hosts are mustered in no intellectual arena, and
the forces called into its field are other than spectral ideas.
This tendency to resolve history into the conflict and progress of


## p. 10419 (#247) ##########################################

ELISHA MULFORD
10419
abstract ideas, or the development of what is called an intellect-
ual conception, can apprehend nothing of the real passion of
history. It knows not what, with so deep significance, is called
the burden of history. It enters not into the travail of time, it
discerns not the presence of a living Person in the judgments
which are the crises of the world. It comprehends only some
intellectual conflict in the issue of necessary laws, but not the
strife of a living humanity. The process of a legal formula, the
evolution of a logical sequence, the supremacy of abstract ideas,-
this has nothing to compensate for the agony and the suffering
and the sacrifice of the actual battle, and it discerns not the real
glory of the deliverance of humanity, the real triumph borne
through but over death. There was in the war, in the issue
which came upon us, "even upon us," and in the sacrifice of
those who were called, the battle of the nation for its very
being; and it was the nation which met slavery in mortal strife.
The inevitable conflict was of slavery with the life of the nation.
There is no vague rhetoric, but a deep truth, in the words
"Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable. " They
are worthy to live upon the lips of the people, for there can be
no union without freedom, since slavery has its necessary result
in the dissolution of the being of the nation; and there can be
no freedom without union, for it is only in the being of the
nation that freedom becomes real.
THE PEOPLE AND THE LAND
From The Nation'
BU
UT in the existence of the nation, which is the substance of
civilization, there is a power higher than the necessary
process of the physical world. It exists in the order of the
moral world. This cannot be determined by physical elements.
The history of the world cannot be deduced from its geography.
In the political course of the nation the land is a necessary ele-
ment, but it is not the creative nor the controlling element. The
future of the nation will not be concluded by its relative near-
ness to the equator. The nation exists historically in the reali-
zation of the freedom of man, and his consequent dominion over
Mr. Buckle, when he stood in Judea, avowed that his
nature.


## p. 10420 (#248) ##########################################

10420
ELISHA MULFORD
only interest was in the agriculture of the country: but the soil
is the same upon which a people lived who stood in the continu-
ity of a nation, which long captivity in strange lands and under
strange skies did not destroy, whose unity was lost in the grand-
eur of no imperialism, and whose lines of kings and prophets
looked to the coming of One in whom was the hope of humanity;
but the physical process of nature does not renew that life. The
mountains of Attica are the same upon which the Parthenon was
built, and their quarries the same which furnished marble for
the sculpture of Athene, and the windy plains are the same upon
which an army was mustered at Marathon, and the sea is the
same whose waves were parted by their ships at Salamis; but
the conflict which in its moral interest made these names immor-
tal, has closed.
THE PERSONALITY OF MAN
From The Republic of God'
THE
HE personality of man is not to be represented as a reflection
of the personality of God. It is no remote imitation and no
faint impression of the personality of God. It is real. It
has the strength of the free spirit. It moves among the fleeting
forms and fading images of the finite, where shadow pursues
shadow, but it is not of them. In the accident of time it is con-
scious of a life "builded far from accident. "
The personality of God is the ground of his relation with the
personality of man. Without personality in God, he would, so
far as the knowledge of man goes, be lower than man; and with-
out personality in man, there would be no ground of relation to
God.
THE PERSONALITY OF GOD
From The Republic of God'
THE
HE personality of God is the postulate of the knowledge of
God.
In this human life and these human relations, in the
knowledge of a person by a person, there are elements of
strength and love, elements of freedom which are deeper than
those which exist in the knowledge of the physical world. The
knowledge of the physical process is the result of observation


## p. 10421 (#249) ##########################################

ELISHA MULFORD
10421
and comparison; it is the fruit of research: but in human rela-
tions there are other elements. There is a knowledge which is
not the result of experiment, and yet may come through experi-
ence. Thus, for instance, one will not experiment on a friend,
and sympathy and love are not among the results of research.
There may be in the words, I know Him in whom I have believed,
a deeper knowledge than that which man obtains through the
external observation of phenomena.
THE TELEOLOGICAL ARGUMENT
From The Republic of God'
THE
HE conditions of this process are those of conflict, a struggle
for existence; it is "the rack of this tough world," and one
form passes beyond another form by survival. There are in
nature elements of subsistence for production and for destruction.
One race to subsist must prey with ravin upon another race.
There is the adaptation of the wing of the crow and of the tooth.
of the shark. There is a strange intermingling in the poison
that fills the chalice of the most beautiful flower, the malaria
that is borne upon the softest airs, the colors that gleam re-
splendently in the sinuous folds of the serpent. There is the
fair light that illumines the dawn and empurples the evening, but
throws its radiance over mists and exhalations. There are smooth
waters that bear the reflection of the clouds which hold the
tempest, and are changed with the clouds which burst over them
into the rage of cruel seas. The tides rise and fall with almost
changeless precision; but they are swept by the storm that marks
their lines with wreck. By the cleft and broken strata of the
rocks, one may still seem to hear "the sea rehearse its ancient
song of chaos. " There is in nature that which is beautiful, and
that which is fantastic and monstrous. These aspects of nature
become more apparent in tropical countries, where there is a
stronger movement of the impulse, the passion of nature, with
more impetuous energies. Thus in India there are more images
and shrines of supplication to Siva the destroyer, than to Brahma
the creator and Vishnu the preserver.


## p. 10422 (#250) ##########################################

10422
ELISHA MULFORD
THE SCRIPTURES
From The Republic of God'
HE Bible is a book written in literal forms, subject to the
ordinary rules of construction, as defined in the science of
grammar.
The Bible is a book written in languages, as the Hebraic, the
Chaldaic, the Greek, or Græco-Hebraic; subject to the ordinary
rules of derivation and distinction, as defined in the science of
comparative philology.
The Bible is a book written in manuscripts; which require
in their transcription and authentication the critical study which
belongs to the science which-in comparing, for instance, the
uncial with other styles-is the science which deals with scriptory
forms.
The Bible is a book which has been subject to the mutations
of literature. It is written in manuscripts of unequal value, no
one of which is entirely perfect in itself, so as to displace all
others, and none are free from obscure or various readings. It
has suffered simply the mutations of literature, and has had no
exemptions from them.
It embraces the most varied forms of literature; as genealo-
gies, laws, histories, records of legislative and judicial procedure,
methods of sanitary, civil, and military administration. There is
legend and myth. There are various forms of poetry: the ode,
as in the antiphone of Moses and Miriam; the drama, as in the
Book of Job; the idyl, as in the Song of Solomon; the lyric, as
in the Book of the Psalms, and the opening pages of the Gospel
of St. Luke; and in the writings of St. Paul, citations from the
Greek comedy, as from Menander.
These Scriptures embraced, in substance, all the literature that
the ancient Hebrew people possessed. Their productions in art
and music always remained rude and simple, and in architecture
they were the common adaptations of a primitive mode of life, or
often the reproduction of forms copied from Egypt, or imported
from Phoenicia.
There are traces in these writings of the races, countries,
and ages in which they appeared, and of climatic conditions with.
respect to languages, customs, and laws. There is a popular
element, as in the stories of Samson and Ruth; and there is
also a priestly and a kingly element, as in the Books of the


## p. 10423 (#251) ##########################################

ELISHA MULFORD
10423
Chronicles and Kings. In some books there are the traces of
reflective phases of thought, as in the Book of Ecclesiastes; and
in some there are traces of Asiatic forms and Asiatic institu-
tions.
These Scriptures were written by various writers in various
ages, and bear the note and accent of the individuality of these
writers in their modes of expression. If it needs to be said,
the literary forms of the older parts rise often to great dignity
of expression, as the later chapters of Isaiah and the books of
Hosea and Job; and they have, in this quality, a comparative
excellence in the literature of the world. There is in the New
Testament not an indifference to literary form, but no distinction
of literary form. These writings are simply narrative; in a
biographical arrangement, or in the style of letters that are few
and direct and very unequal in their expression. There is a his-
torical narrative of a discursive character, apparently embracing
the work of various writers. The Epistle to the Hebrews has
a singular finish, with an antithetic expression, and an elaborate
detail of historical portraiture, that indicates the culture of the
writer in the schools of rhetoric in his age. The evangel of
St. Luke is commended for the diligence and thoroughness of its
research. The writings of St. Paul, in the Epistles, which may
be distinctively called catholic, indicate more plainly the modifica-
tions to which the Greek language was subject when it became
the instrument for the expression of Hebrew forms of thought;
and they indicate also, in their illustrative expression, the influ-
ence of a knowledge of Roman law in an age of great Roman
lawyers. But the writings of St. Paul have no literary form to
commend them,-to bring them into comparison, in Greek with
the consummate beauty of phrase in Æschylus, or the repose
in the style of Plato, or the sustained strength of the masterful
style of Aristotle. There is often, from language of great ele-
vation, a lapse to some digressive phrase; as, for an extreme
instance, in the thirty-third verse of the fifteenth chapter of the
first Epistle to the Corinthians, which drops and moves on with
a quotation from the Greek comedy. They lack the form which
belongs to the great hymns of the Vedas, and the constructive
unity and consonance with a formal system which belongs to the
Koran. The Koran is also better preserved, and has suffered less
in transcription, with proportionately fewer obscure or various.
readings. The style has no distinctive quality: but they who, in


## p. 10424 (#252) ##########################################

10424
ELISHA MULFORD
common parlance with religious society, speak of their beautiful
liturgy, suggest a comparison with the hymns of the Vedas; and
they who write of the poetry of the Bible must draw their paral-
lel with Eschylus and Shakespeare, and the masters of the liter-
ary art to which they invite attention.
The Bible has a unity which is deeper than any structural
form, however various and complete. This prevails with a con-
tinuous and continually increasing manifestation through the
whole. It is not merely the unity which appears in the literature
of a people, as the Latin or the English literature: it is that, but
it is more and other than that. It is not merely the unity which
attaches to the continuous history, the institutions, laws, customs,
wars of a people: it is that, but it is more and other than that.
The Bible is the record of the revelation of God. It is the
record of a revelation of God in man and to the world. It is
testamentary to the revelation of God to and through the world.
This revelation, and not a literature nor a body of traditions, is
the ground of the unity which it discovers. It is the record of
the revelation of God, in his revelation with humanity; in the
fulfillment of his eternal purpose, which was before the foundation
of the world; in the righteousness in which he manifests his own
being, and in the life which he has given for the world. It
is of the coming of his kingdom, in which the kingdoms of this
world become the kingdoms of Christ. It is of a revelation in
an order in the world, of the family and the nation. It is of a
revelation of and in the Christ.


## p. 10425 (#253) ##########################################

10425
FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
(1823-)
BY HENRY A. STIMSON
ROFESSOR MAX MÜLLER has told an incident that occurred early
in his Oxford life, which not only fixes his parentage but
introduces us to the rare literary circle that opened to him
in England, and which did so much for his future career.
P
He was invited to meet Thackeray at a little dinner. Müller had
as yet mastered English but imperfectly, and was moreover some-
what awed by the great man. A fine fish,
a John Dory, was brought on; when Thack-
eray turned his large spectacled eyes upon
the stranger, and said, "Are you going to
eat your own ancestor? " Everybody stared
in silence; looking very grave and learned,
Thackeray said, "Surely you are the son of
the Dorian Müller- the Müller who wrote
that awfully learned book on the Dorians:
and was not John Dory the ancestor of all
the Dorians? " In the laugh that followed,
Müller replied that he was not the son of
Ottfried Müller, who wrote on the Dorians,
but of Wilhelm Müller the poet, who wrote
'Die Homerische Vorschule'; and as to John
Dory being his ancestor, that was impossible, as the original John
Dory was il Janitore,- that is, St. Peter,- and he had no wife. After
which quick repartee the young scholar was well launched.
F. MAX MÜLLER
He was then but twenty-five years of age. He was born at Des-
sau, December 6th, 1823. After studying in Leipzig and Berlin, taking
his degree in 1843, and publishing his first Sanskrit work in 1844, he
went to Paris to study with the great Orientalist, Burnouf. Recog-
nizing his abilities, Burnouf helped him to decide upon a career,
and directed him to England; whither he went in 1846 to collate
manuscripts for an edition of the Rig-Veda, the Sacred Hymns of the
Brahmins.

In London he introduced himself to the Prussian Minister, Baron
Bunsen, who became his lifelong friend, and by whose good offices


## p. 10426 (#254) ##########################################

10426
FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
the East India Company was induced to bear the expense of the
first edition of the 'Rig-Veda. ' The troubled state of affairs on the
Continent made it more easy for the student, whose life work was
to be so largely among cumbersome and illegible manuscripts, to take
advantage of the quiet seclusion of England. He went at once to
Oxford, and that became his future home.
It is no strange thing for foreign scholars to visit London and
the English universities, but it is not easy for them to become domes-
ticated there. Erasmus tried it for a year; Taine, with all his admir-
ation for things English, was never more than a visitor; and such
Orientalists as Renan, Darmesteter, and Burnouf did not make the
attempt. In "the don city," where, as Bunsen warned him, "every
English idiosyncrasy strengthens itself, and buries itself in coteries,"
Müller settled with such success that ten years later, in 1858, Bunsen
wrote to him: "Without ceasing to be a German, you have appro-
priated all that is excellent and superior in English life; and of that
there is much. "
Oxford was very hospitable to him. He was invited to lecture
before the University in 1850, made honorary M. A. of Christ Church
in 1851, elected Taylorian professor in 1854, curator of the Bodleian
Library in 1856, fellow of All Souls in 1858; and in 1868 was named in
the act of convocation for the chair of comparative philology, the
first professorship ever created by the University itself. He resigned
this in 1875, but has since remained in Oxford, engaged by the Uni-
versity to edit a series of translations of the Sacred Books of the
East. ' He has been a prolific author on a large variety of subjects,
and a frequent and welcomed lecturer.
His life work has been editing the text and furnishing translations
of the Rig-Veda; and by this he would probably prefer to be remem-
bered. But he is better known to the public, and has exerted a wide
and powerful influence by his writings on The Science of Language,'
'The Science of Religion,' and collateral topics. His lectures on the
Science of Language, delivered in 1861 and 1862 in the Royal Insti-
tution, London, attracted wide attention, passed through many edi-
tions when published, and are asserted to have made good for the
first time the claims of philology to be ranked among the sciences.
He carried out his theories in the realm of religion in the Gifford
Lectures before the University of Glasgow in 1889, 1891, 1892, and
1893; and in the Hibbert Lectures, of which he was chosen to deliver
the first series on the Origin and Growth of Religion as Illustrated
by the Religions of India, in the chapter house of Westminster in
1878.
His theories of the origin and growth of language have been
strenuously combated, and his accuracy as an observer and collater


## p. 10427 (#255) ##########################################

FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
10427
of facts sometimes discredited; notably by the accomplished Ameri-
can Orientalist, the late Professor W. D. Whitney of Yale University.
He has been exposed to the danger of hasty and superficial general-
izations: but his doctrine of myths as originating in the natural
phenomena of the sky-the sun, the moon, the dawn - has awak-
ened wide interest, and greatly stimulated intelligent investigation;
while his effort to make a science of religion-with a law of growth,
a steady absorption of new material, and a historical procedure -
while still recognizing that religion is an aspiration, and in its essence
what neither sense nor reason can supply, has done much to broaden
Christian sympathies, and to open the way for those wider studies
into the history of other religions, which are to-day laying surer
foundations for religion itself. He modestly speaks of his labors in
this department as "but a desire and a seed. "
He has not been disappointed in his aim to help build again the
bridge between the East and the West, which stood firm in earliest
times, but which, while never altogether destroyed for the great na-
tions of antiquity, has been broken in the course of the historic
centuries. It is much to have been a leader in the labors of the dis-
tinguished band of Orientalists, as a result of which we are enabled
to-day to read the thoughts, comprehend the motives, hear the pray-
ers, understand the life, and know the business, the worship, the laws,
the poetry, of a world buried from three to eight thousand years.
Professor Max Müller's command of a beautiful and virile English
style has had much to do with his success. The captious Saturday
Review has called him "really one of the best English writers of the
day. "
A passage to illustrate both his manner and his views may be
taken from his inaugural address as president of the Congress of
Orientalists in 1892-
"What people call 'mere words are in truth the monuments of the finest
intellectual battles, triumphal arches of the grandest victories, won by the
intellect of man. When man had found names for body and soul, for father
and mother, and not till then, did the first act of human history begin. Not
till there were names for right and wrong, for God and man, could there
be anything worthy of the name of human society. Every new word was
a discovery; and these early discoveries, if but properly understood, are
more important to us than the greatest conquests of the Kings of Egypt and
Babylon. Not one of our greatest explorers has unearthed with his spade or
pickaxe more splendid palaces and temples, whether in Egypt or in Babylon,
than the etymologist. Every word is the palace of a human thought; and in
scientific etymology we possess the charm with which to call these ancient
thoughts back to life. Languages mean speakers of language; and families
of speech presuppose real families, or classes, or powerful confederacies, which
have struggled for their existence, and held their ground against all enemies. »


## p. 10428 (#256) ##########################################

10428
FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
His marriage to Miss Grenfell, by which he became connected
with the families of Charles Kingsley and of Froude, served only to
widen and render more intimate the circle of literary and profes-
sional friends which has been so characteristic of Müller's life from
the first. In Leipzig, Hermann, Haupt, and Brockhaus; in Berlin,
Alexander von Humboldt and Boeckh; in Paris, Burnouf; in England,
Thackeray, Tennyson, Browning, Arnold, Clough, Jowett, Ruskin,-
and indeed almost every one of prominence in scientific and liter-
ary affairs, have been his friends or have been helpful to his fame.
This argues exceptional gifts of heart and person, as well as of in-
tellect. His strong and beautiful face, now crowned with a wealth
of snowy hair, shines with eager intelligence and the sweetness of
thorough kindliness. As an instance of this kindliness, it is related
that two young ladies, strangers, from some unknown motive wrote
him asking advice in the choice of a language to study, of which
no one in England knew anything. His answer reveals his amiabil-
ity and genuine helpfulness. He writes:-
―
"It is by no means easy to reply to your inquiry. To take up any work
in good earnest is a most excellent thing; and I should be the last person to
find fault with anybody for fixing on learning a language, even for the mere
sake of learning something. Yet it is right that our work should have some
useful object beyond the mere pleasure of working.
I take it that lit-
erature would form an object to you in the choice of a language. »
Then he suggests several languages, giving reasons for each, ending
with a pleasant wish for their perseverance and success.
He has directed his studies largely in the line of religion, because
religion is to him a cherished personal possession. In his lecture
on Missions delivered in Westminster Abbey, December 3d, 1873, he
says:-
•
"There is one kind of faith that revels in words, there is another that can
hardly find utterance: the former is like riches that come to us by inherit-
ance, the latter is like the daily bread which each of us has to win by the
sweat of his brow. The former we cannot expect from new converts; we
ought not to expect it or exact it, for fear it might lead to hypocrisy and
superstition. .
We want less of creeds but more of trust, less of cere-
mony but more of work, less of solemnity but more of genial honesty, less of
doctrine but more of love. There is a faith as small as a grain of mustard
seed; but that grain alone can remove mountains, and more than that, it can
move hearts. »
Theories are forgotten, and sciences are outgrown; but to have
been the inspiring leader of many in the onward march of knowl-
edge, and to have achieved a serene and rounded character, go far
to amply crown any life.


## p. 10429 (#257) ##########################################

FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
10429
"Denn wer den Besten seiner Zeit genug
Gethan, der hat gelebt für alle Zeiten. »
"That which lived
True life, lives on. "
But to have added to this that which should accompany old age,—
"honor, love, and troops of friends," -fills the cup of the most am-
bitious scholar, and leaves little in this world to be desired.
Nauyet Minima
ON THE MIGRATION OF FABLES
From Chips from a German Workshop›
con
"C
OUNT not your chickens before they be hatched," is a well-
known proverb in English; and most people, if asked
what was its origin, would probably appeal to La Fon-
taine's delightful fable, 'La Laitière et le Pot au Lait. ' We all
know Perrette, lightly stepping along from her village to the town,
and in her day-dreams selling her milk for a good sum, then
buying a hundred eggs, then selling the chickens, then buying
a pig, fattening it, selling it again, and buying a cow with a
calf. The calf frolics about, and kicks up his legs-so does Per-
rette; and alas! the pail falls down, the milk is spilt, her riches
gone, and she only hopes when she comes home that she may
escape a flogging from her husband.
Did La Fontaine invent this fable? or did he merely follow
the example of Sokrates, who, as we know from the 'Phædon,'
occupied himself in prison, during the last days of his life, with
turning into verse some of the fables - or as he calls them, the
myths of Æsop.
La Fontaine published the first six books of his fables in
1668; and it is well known that the subjects of most of these
fables were taken from Æsop, Phædrus, Horace, and other clas-
sical fabulists, -if we may adopt this word "fabuliste," which La
Fontaine was the first to introduce into French.


## p. 10430 (#258) ##########################################

10430
FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
In 1678 a second of these six books was published, enriched
by five books of new fables; and in 1694 a new edition appeared,
containing one additional book, thus completing the collection of
his charming poems.
The fable of Perrette stands in the seventh book; and was
published, therefore, for the first time in the edition of 1678. In
the preface to that edition, La Fontaine says: "It is not neces-
sary that I should say whence I have taken the subjects of these
new fables. I shall only say, from a sense of gratitude, that I
owe the largest portion of them to Pilpay, the Indian sage. "
If then La Fontaine tells us himself that he borrowed the
subjects of most of his new fables from Pilpay, the Indian sage,
we have clearly a right to look to India in order to see whether,
in the ancient literature of that country, any traces can be dis-
covered of Perrette with the milk-pail.
Sanskrit literature is very rich in fables and stories; no other
literature can vie with it in that respect; nay, it is extremely
likely that fables, in particular animal fables, had their principal
source in India. In the sacred literature of the Buddhists, fables
held a most prominent place. The Buddhist preachers, address-
ing themselves chiefly to the people, to the untaught, the un-
cared-for, the outcast, spoke to them as we still speak to children,
in fables and parables. Many of these fables and parables must
have existed before the rise of the Buddhist religion; others, no
doubt, were added on the spur of the moment, just as Sokrates
would invent a myth or fable whenever that form of argument
seemed to him most likely to impress and convince his hearers.
But Buddhism gave a new and permanent sanction to this whole
branch of moral mythology; and in the sacred canon, as it was
settled in the third century before Christ, many a fable received,
and holds to the present day, its recognized place. After the
fall of Buddhism in India, and even during its decline, the Brah-
mans claimed the inheritance of their enemies, and used their pop-
ular fables for educational purposes. The best known of these
collections of fables in Sanskrit is the 'Pañkatantra,' literally the
Pentateuch or Pentamerone. From it and from other sources
another collection was made, well known to all Sanskrit scholars
by the name of 'Hitopadesa'; i. e. , Salutary Advice. Both these
books have been published in England and Germany, and there
are translations of them in English, German, French, and other
languages.


## p. 10431 (#259) ##########################################

FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
10431
The first question which we have to answer refers to the
date of these collections; and dates in the history of Sanskrit
literature are always difficult points. Fortunately, as we shall
see, we can in this case fix the date of the 'Pañkatantra' at
least, by means of a translation into ancient Persian, which was
made about five hundred and fifty years after Christ, though
even then we can only prove that a collection somewhat like the
'Pañkatantra' must have existed at that time; but we cannot
refer the book, in exactly that form in which we now possess it,
to that distant period.
If we look for La Fontaine's fable in the Sanskrit stories of
'Pañkatantra,' we do not find, indeed, the milkmaid counting her
chickens before they are hatched, but we meet with the follow-
ing story:-
――――
"There lived in a certain place a Brâhman, whose name was
Svabhâvakripana, which means 'a born miser. ' He had collected a
quantity of rice by begging [this reminds us somewhat of the Bud-
dhist mendicants], and after having dined off it, he filled a pot with
what was left over. He hung the pot on a peg on the wall, placed
his couch beneath, and looking intently at it all the night, he thought,
'Ah, that pot is indeed brimful of rice. Now, if there should be a
famine, I should certainly make a hundred rupees by it. With this
I shall buy a couple of goats. They will have young ones every six
months, and thus I shall have a whole herd of goats. Then with the
goats I shall buy cows. As soon as they have calved, I shall sell
the calves. Then with the cows I shall buy buffaloes; with the buf-
faloes, mares. When the mares have foaled, I shall have plenty of
horses; and when I sell them, plenty of gold. With that gold I shall
get a house with four wings. And then a Brâhman will come to my
house, and will give me his beautiful daughter, with a large dowry.
She will have a son, and I shall call him Somasarman. When he is
old enough to be danced on his father's knee, I shall sit with a book
at the back of the stable, and while I am reading, the boy will see
me, jump from his mother's lap and run towards me to be danced on
my knee. He will come too near the horse's hoof, and full of anger,
I shall call to my wife, "Take the baby; take him! " But she, dis-
tracted by some domestic work, does not hear me.
Then I get up,
and give her such a kick with my foot. ' While he thought this, he
gave a kick with his foot, and broke the pot. All the rice fell over
him, and made him quite white. Therefore I say, 'He who makes
foolish plans for the future will be white all over, like the father of
Somasarman. › »


## p. 10432 (#260) ##########################################

10432
FREDERICK MAX MÜLLER
(
I shall at once proceed to read you the same story, though
slightly modified, from the 'Hitopadesa. ' The Hitopadesa' pro-
fesses to be taken from the 'Pañkatantra' and some other books;
and in this case it would seem as if some other authority had
been followed. You will see, at all events, how much freedom
there was in telling the old story of the man who built castles in
the air.
"In the town of Devîkotta there lived a Brâhman of the name of
Devasarman. At the feast of the great equinox he received a plate
full of rice. He took it, went into a potter's shop, which was full of
crockery, and overcome by the heat, he lay down in a corner and
began to doze. In order to protect his plate of rice he kept his
stick in his hand, and began to think: 'Now, if I sell this plate of
rice, I shall receive ten cowries [kapardaka]. I shall then, on the
spot, buy pots and plates, and after having increased my capital
again and again, I shall buy and sell betel-nuts and dresses till I
become enormously rich. Then I shall marry four wives, and the
youngest and prettiest of the four I shall make a great pet of. Then
the other wives will be so angry, and begin to quarrel. But I shall
be in a great rage, and take a stick, and give them a good flogging. '
While he said this, he flung his stick away; the plate of rice was
smashed to pieces, and many of the pots in the shop were broken.
The potter, hearing the noise, ran into the shop, and when he saw
his pots broken, he gave the Brâhman a good scolding, and drove
him out of his shop.