No More Learning

There is a gentleman with them, who somewhat resembles
St. Nicholas as he appeared to the young Van Glecks on the
fifth of December. But the Saint had a flowing white beard, and
this face is as smooth as a pippin. His Saintship was larger
round the body too, and (between ourselves) he had a pair of
thimbles in his mouth, which this gentleman certainly has not.
It cannot be St. Nicholas, after all.
Near by in the next pavilion sit the Van Holps, with their son
and daughter (the Van Gends) from The Hague. Peter's sister
is not one to forget her promises. She has brought bouquets of
exquisite hot-house flowers for the winners.
These pavilions, and there are others beside,-have all been
erected since daylight. That semicircular one, containing Myn-
heer Korbes's family, is very pretty, and proves that the Hol-
landers are quite skilled at tent-making; but I like the Van
Glecks' best, the centre one, striped red and white, and hung
with evergreens.
The one with the blue flags contains the musicians. Those
pagoda-like affairs, decked with sea-shells and streamers of every
possible hue, are the judges' stands; and those columns and flag-
staffs upon the ice mark the limit of the race-course. The two
-


## p. 4762 (#556) ###########################################

4762
MARY MAPES DODGE
white columns twined with green, connected at the top by that
long floating strip of drapery, form the starting-point. Those
flagstaffs, half a mile off, stand at each end of the boundary line,
cut sufficiently deep to be distinct to the skaters, though not
deep enough to trip them when they turn to come back to the
starting-point.
"
The air is so clear, it seems scarcely possible that the col-
umns and flagstaffs are so far apart. Of course the judges'
stands are but little nearer together. Half a mile on the ice,
when the atmosphere is like this, is but a short distance after
all, especially when fenced with a living chain of spectators.
The music has commenced. How melody seems to enjoy
itself in the open air! The fiddles have forgotten their agony,
and everything is harmonious. Until you look at the blue tent,
it seems that the music springs from the sunshine, it is so bound-
less, so joyous. Only the musicians are solemn.
Where are the racers? All assembled together near the white
columns. It is a beautiful sight,- forty boys and girls in pictur-
esque attire, darting with electric swiftness in and out among
each other, or sailing in pairs and triplets, beckoning, chatting,
whispering, in the fullness of youthful glee.
A few careful ones are soberly tightening their straps; oth-
ers, halting on one leg, with flushed eager faces, suddenly cross
the suspected skate over their knee, give it an examining shake,
and dart off again. One and all are possessed with the spirit
of motion. They cannot stand still. Their skates are a part of
them, and every runner seems bewitched.
Holland is the place for skaters, after all. Where else can
nearly every boy and girl perform feats on the ice that would
attract a crowd if seen on Central Park? Look at Ben! I did
not see him before. He is really astonishing the natives; no
easy thing to do in the Netherlands. Save your strength, Ben;
you will need it soon. Now other boys are trying! Ben is sur-
passed already. Such jumping, such poising, such spinning, such
india-rubber exploits generally! That boy with a red cap is the
lion now; his back is a watch-spring, his body is cork-no, it is
iron, or it would snap at that. He is a bird, a top, a rabbit, a
corkscrew, a sprite, a flesh-ball, all in an instant.
When you
think he is erect, he is down; and when you think he is down,
he is up.
He drops his glove on the ice, and turns a somerset
as he picks it up. Without stopping, he snatches the cap from


## p. 4763 (#557) ###########################################

MARY MAPES DODGE
4763
Jacob Poot's astonished head, and claps it back again "hind side
before. " Lookers-on hurrah and laugh. Foolish boy! It is
arctic weather under your feet, but more than temperate over-
head. Big drops already are rolling down your forehead. Su-
perb skater as you are, you may lose the race.
A French traveler, standing with a notebook in his hand, sees
our English friend Ben buy a doughnut of the dwarf's brother,
and eat it. Thereupon he writes in his note-book that the Dutch
take enormous mouthfuls, and universally are fond of potatoes
boiled in molasses.
There are some familiar faces near the white columns. Lam-
bert, Ludwig, Peter, and Carl are all there, cool, and in good
skating order. Hans is not far off. Evidently he is going to
join in the race, for his skates are on,—the very pair that he
sold for seven guilders. He had soon suspected that his fairy
godmother was the mysterious "friend" who bought them. This
settled, he had boldly charged her with the deed; and she,
knowing well that all her little savings had been spent in the
purchase, had not had the face to deny it. Through the fairy
god-mother, too, he had been rendered amply able to buy them.
back again. Therefore Hans is to be in the race. Carl is more
indignant than ever about it; but as three other peasant boys
have entered, Hans is not alone.
Twenty boys and twenty girls. The latter by this time are
standing in front, braced for the start; for they are to have the
first "run. " Hilda, Rychie, and Katrinka are among them. Two
or three bend hastily to give a last pull at their skate-straps. It
is pretty to see them stamp, to be sure that all is firm. Hilda
is speaking pleasantly to a graceful little creature in a red jacket
and a new brown petticoat. Why, it is Gretel! What a differ-
ence those pretty shoes make; and the skirt and the new cap!
Annie Bouman is there too. Even Janzoon Kolp's sister has been
admitted; but Janzoon himself has been voted out by the direct-
ors because he killed the stork, and only last summer was caught
in the act of robbing a bird's nest,- -a legal offense in Holland.
There, I cannot tell the
commence.
This Janzoon Kolp, you see, was-
story just now. The race is about to
Twenty girls are formed in a line.
The music has ceased.
A man whom we shall call the crier stands between the col-
umns and the first judges' stand. He reads the rules in a loud
voice:


## p. 4764 (#558) ###########################################

4764
MARY MAPES DODGE
"The girls and boys are to race in turn, until one girl and
one boy have beaten twice. They are to start in a line from the
united columns, skate to the flagstaff line, turn, and then come
back to the starting-point; thus making a mile at each run. "
A flag is waved from the judges' stand. Madame Van Gleck
rises in her pavilion. She leans forward with a white handker-
chief in her hand. When she drops it, a bugler is to give the
signal for them to start.
The handkerchief is fluttering to the ground. Hark!
They are off!
No. Back again. Their line was not true in passing the
judges' stand.
The signal is repeated.
Off again. No mistake this time. Whew! how fast they go!
The multitude is quiet for an instant, absorbed in eager,
breathless watching.
Cheers spring up along the line of spectators. Huzza! five
girls are ahead. Who comes flying back from the boundary
mark? We cannot tell. Something red, that is all. There is a
blue spot flitting near it, and a dash of yellow nearer still.
Spectators at this end of the line strain their eyes, and wish
they had taken their post nearer the flagstaff.
The wave of cheers is coming back again.
Katrinka is ahead!
Now we can see.
She passes the Van Holp pavilion. The next is Madame Van
Gleck's. That leaning figure gazing from it is a magnet. Hilda
shoots past Katrinka, waving her hand to her mother as she
passes. Two others are close now, whizzing on like arrows.
What is that flash of red and gray? Hurrah, it is Gretel! She
too waves her hand, but toward no gay pavilion. The crowd is
cheering; but she hears only her father's voice, "Well done,
little Gretel! " Soon Katrinka, with a quick merry laugh, shoots
past Hilda. The girl in yellow
The girl in yellow is gaining now.
She passes
them all,—all except Gretel. The judges lean forward without
seeming to lift their eyes from their watches. Cheer after cheer
fills the air; the very columns seem rocking. Gretel has passed
them. She has won.
"GRETEL BRINKER, ONE MILE! " shouts the crier.
The judges nod. They write something upon a tablet which
each holds in his hand.


## p. 4765 (#559) ###########################################

MARY MAPES DODGE
4765
While the girls are resting,- some crowding eagerly around
our frightened little Gretel, some standing aside in high disdain,
-the boys form in a line.
Mynheer Van Gleck drops the handkerchief this time. The
buglers give a vigorous blast. Off start the boys!
Half-way already. Did ever you see the like!
Three hundred legs flashing by in an instant.
But there are
only twenty boys. No matter; there were hundreds of legs, I
am sure. Where are they now? There is such a noise one gets
bewildered. What are the people laughing at? Oh! at that fat
boy in the rear. See him go! See him! He'll be down in an
instant; no, he won't. I wonder if he knows he is all alone: the
other boys are nearly at the boundary line. Yes, he knows it.
He stops.
He wipes his hot face. He takes off his cap, and
looks about him. Better to give up with a good grace. He has
made a hundred friends by that hearty, astonished laugh. Good
Jacob Poot!
The fine fellow is already among the spectators, gazing as
eagerly as the rest.
A cloud of feathery ice flies from the heels of the skaters as
they "bring to," and turn at the flagstaffs.
Something black is coming now,-one of the boys; it is all we
know. He has touched the vox humana stop of the crowd; it
fairly roars. Now they come nearer; we can
see the red cap.
There's Ben, there's Peter, there's Hans!
Hans ahead. Young Madame Van Gend almost crushes
the flowers in her hand: she had been quite sure that Peter
would be first. Carl Schummel is next, then Ben, and the youth
with the red cap. The others are pressing close. A tall figure
darts from among them. He passes the red cap, he passes Ben,
then Carl. Now it is an even race between him and Hans.
Madame Van Gend catches her breath.
It is Peter! He is ahead! Hans shoots past him. Hilda's
eyes fill with tears: Peter must beat. Annie's eyes flash proudly.
Gretel gazes with clasped hands: four strokes more will take her
brother to the columns.
He is there! Yes; but so was young Schummel just a second
before. At the last instant, Carl, gathering his powers, had
whizzed between them, and passed the goal.
"CARL SCHUMMEL, ONE MILE! >> shouts the crier.


## p. 4766 (#560) ###########################################

4766
MARY MAPES DODGE
Soon Madame Van Gleck rises again. The falling handkerchief
starts the bugle, and the bugle, using its voice as a bowstring,
shoots off twenty girls like so many arrows.
It is a beautiful sight; but one has not long to look: before
we can fairly distinguish them they are far in the distance.
This time they are close upon one another.
It is hard to say,
as they come speeding back from the flagstaff, which will reach.
the columns first. There are new faces among the foremost,-
eager glowing faces, unnoticed before. Katrinka is there, and
Hilda; but Gretel and Rychie are in the rear. Gretel is waver-
ing, but when Rychie passes her she starts forward afresh. Now
they are nearly beside Katrinka. Hilda is still in advance: she
is almost "home. ” She has not faltered since that bugle note
sent her flying: like an arrow, still she is speeding toward the
goal. Cheer after cheer rises in the air. Peter is silent, but
his eyes shine like stars. "Huzza! Huzza! "
The crier's voice is heard again.
"HILDA VAN GLECK, ONE MILE! "
A loud murmur of approval runs through the crowd, catching
the music in its course, till all seems one sound, with a glad
rhythmic throbbing in its depths. When the flag waves all is
still.
Once more the bugle blows a terrific blast. It sends off the
boys like chaff before the wind,-dark chaff, I admit, and in big
pieces.
It is whisked around at the flagstaff, driven faster yet by the
cheers and shouts along the line. We begin to see what is com-
ing. There are three boys in advance this time, and all abreast,
Hans, Peter, and Lambert. Carl soon breaks the ranks, rush-
ing through with a whiff. Fly, Hans; fly, Peter; don't let Carl
beat again! -Carl the bitter, Carl the insolent. Van Mounen is
flagging, but you are as strong as ever. Hans and Peter, Peter
and Hans; which is foremost? We love them both. We scarcely
care which is the fleeter.
Hilda, Annie, and Gretel, seated upon the long crimson bench,
can remain quiet no longer. They spring to their feet, so dif-
ferent! and yet one in eagerness. Hilda instantly reseats her-
self: none shall know how interested she is; none shall know
how anxious, how filled with one hope. Shut your eyes then,
Hilda, hide your face rippling with joy. Peter has beaten.


## p. 4767 (#561) ###########################################

MARY MAPES DODGE
4767
"PETER VAN HOLP, ONE MILE! " calls the crier.
The same buzz of excitement as before, while the judges take
notes, the same throbbing of music through the din; but some-
thing is different. A little crowd presses close about some
object near the column. Carl has fallen. He is not hurt, though
somewhat stunned. If he were less sullen, he would find more
sympathy in these warm young hearts. As it is, they forget him.
as soon as he is fairly on his feet again.
The girls are to skate their third mile.
How resolute the little maidens look, as they stand in a line!
Some are solemn with a sense of responsibility; some wear a
smile, half bashful, half provoked; but one air of determination
pervades them all.
This third mile may decide the race. Still, if neither Gretel
nor Hilda win, there is yet a chance among the rest for the
silver skates.
Each girl feels sure that this time she will accomplish the
distance in one-half the time. How they stamp to try their
runners! How nervously they examine each strap! How erect
they stand at last, every eye upon Madame Van Gleck!
The bugle thrills through them again. With quivering eager-
ness they spring forward, bending, but in perfect balance. Each
flashing stroke seems longer than the last.
Now they are skimming off in the distance.
Again the eager straining of eyes; again the shouts and
cheering; again the thrill of excitement, as after a few moments,
four or five in advance of the rest come speeding back, nearer,
nearer to the white columns.
Who is first? Not Rychie, Katrinka, Annie, nor Hilda, nor
the girl in yellow, but Gretel,- Gretel, the fleetest sprite of a
girl that ever skated. She was but playing in the earlier race:
now she is in earnest, or rather, something within her has deter-
mined to win. That blithe little form makes no effort; but it
cannot stop,-not until the goal is passed!
In vain the crier lifts his voice: he cannot be heard. He has
no news to tell: it is already ringing through the crowd,- Gretel
has won the silver skates!
Like a bird she has flown over the ice; like a bird she looks
about her in a timid, startled way. She longs to dart to the
sheltered nook where her father and mother stand. But Hans is
beside her; the girls are crowding round. Hilda's kind, joyous


## p. 4768 (#562) ###########################################

4768
MARY MAPES DODGE
voice breathes in her ear.
Goose-girl or not, Gretel
Skaters.
From that hour none will despise her.
stands acknowledged Queen of the
With natural pride, Hans turns to see if Peter Van Holp is
witnessing his sister's triumph. Peter is not looking toward
them at all. He is kneeling, bending his troubled face low, and
working hastily at his skate-strap. Hans is beside him at once.
"Are you in trouble, mynheer? "
་་
"Ah, Hans! that you? Yes; my fun is over. I tried to
tighten my strap to make a new hole, and this botheration of a
knife has cut it nearly in two. "
"Mynheer," said Hans, at the same time pulling off a skate,
"you must use my strap! "
«<
"Not I, indeed, Hans Brinker! " cried Peter, looking up;
"though I thank you warmly. Go to your post, my friend: the
bugle will sound in a minute. "
"Mynheer," pleaded Hans in a husky voice, "you have called
me your riend. Take this strap-quick! There is not an
instant to lose. I shall not skate this time: indeed, I am out of
practice. Mynheer, you must take it;" and Hans, blind and
deaf to any remonstrance, slipped his strap into Peter's skate,
and implored him to put it on.
"Come, Peter! " cried Lambert from the line: "we are wait-
ing for you. "
"For Madame's sake," pleaded Hans, "be quick! She is
motioning to you to join the racers. There, the skate is almost
on: quick, mynheer, fasten it. I could not possibly win. The
race lies between Master Schummel and yourself. "
"You are a noble fellow, Hans! " cried Peter, yielding at
last. He sprang to his post just as the handkerchief fell to
the ground. The bugle sends forth its blast, loud, clear, and
ringing.
Off go the boys!
"Mein Gott! " cries a tough old fellow from Delft. "They
beat everything, these Amsterdam youngsters. See them! "
See them, indeed! They are winged Mercuries, every one of
them. What mad errand are they on? Ah, I know; they are
hunting Peter Van Holp. He is some fleet-footed runaway from
Olympus. Mercury and his troop of winged cousins are in full
chase. They will catch him! Now Carl is the runaway. The
pursuit grows furious. Ben is foremost!


## p. 4769 (#563) ###########################################

MARY MAPES DODGE
4769
The chase turns in a cloud of mist. It is coming this way.
Who is hunted now? Mercury himself. It is Peter, Peter Van
Holp! Fly, Peter!
Hans is watching you. He is sending all
his fleetness, all his strength, into your feet. Your mother and
sister are pale with eagerness. Hilda is trembling, and dare not
look up.
Fly, Peter! The crowd has not gone deranged; it is
only cheering. The pursuers are close upon you. Touch the
white column! It beckons; it is reeling before you- it —
>>
"Huzza! Huzza! Peter has won the silver skates!
"PETER VAN HOLP! " shouted the crier. But who heard him?
"Peter Van Holp! " shouted a hundred voices; for he was the
favorite boy of the place. "Huzza! Huzza! "
Now the music was resolved to be heard.
It struck up a
lively air, then a tremendous march. The spectators, thinking
something new was about to happen, deigned to listen and to
look.
The racers formed in single file. Peter, being tallest, stood
first. Gretel, the smallest of all, took her place at the end.
Hans, who had borrowed a strap from the cake-boy, was near
the head.
Three gayly twined arches were placed at intervals upon the
river, facing the Van Gleck pavilion.
Skating slowly, and in perfect time to the music, the boys
and girls moved forward, led on by Peter. It was beautiful to
see the bright procession glide along like a living creature. It
curved and doubled, and drew its graceful length in and out
among the arches; whichever way Peter, the head, went, the
body was sure to follow. Sometimes it steered direct for the
centre arch; then, as if seized with a new impulse, turned away
and curled itself about the first one; then unwound slowly, and
bending low, with quick snake-like curvings, crossed the river,
passing at length through the farthest arch.
When the music was slow, the procession seemed to crawl
like a thing afraid; it grew livelier, and the creature darted for-
ward with a spring, gliding rapidly among the arches, in and
out, curling, twisting, turning, never losing form, until at the
shrill call of the bugle rising above the music it suddenly
resolved itself into boys and girls, standing in double semicircle
before Madame Van Gleck's pavilion.
Peter and Gretel stand in the centre, in advance of the others.
Madame Van Gleck rises majestically. Gretel trembles, but feels
VIII-299


## p. 4770 (#564) ###########################################

MARY MAPES DODGE
4770
that she must look at the beautiful lady. She cannot hear what
is said, there is such a buzzing all around her. She is thinking
that she ought to try and make a courtesy, such as her mother
makes to the meester, when suddenly something so dazzling is
placed in her hand that she gives a cry of joy.
Then she ventures to look about her. Peter too has some-
thing in his hands. "Oh, oh! how splendid! " she cries; and
"Oh! how splendid! " is echoed as far as people can see.
་
Meantime the silver skates flash in the sunshine, throwing
dashes of light upon those two happy faces.
"Mevrouw Van Gend sends a little messenger with her
bouquets, one for Hilda, one for Carl, and others for Peter and
Gretel. "
―――――――
At sight of the flowers, the Queen of the Skaters becomes
uncontrollable. With a bright stare of gratitude, she gathers
skates and bouquet in her apron, hugs them to her bosom, and
darts off to search for her father and mother in the scattering
crowd.


## p. 4771 (#565) ###########################################

4771
JOHN DONNE
(1573-1631)
HE memory of Dr. Donne must not, cannot die, as long as
men speak English," wrote Izaak Walton, "whilst his con-
versation made him and others happy. His life ought to
be the example of more than that age in which he died. "
Born in 1573, all the influences of the age in which Donne lived
nourished his large nature and genius. Shakespeare and Marlowe
were nine years older than he; Chapman fourteen; Spenser, Lyly,
and Richard Hooker each twenty; while Sir Philip Sidney counted
one year less. Lodge and Puttenham were
grown men, and Greene and Nash riotous
boys. In the following year Ben Jonson
«< came forth to warm our ears," and soon
after we have his future co-worker Inigo
Jones. It was the time of a multitude of
poets,- Drayton, the Fletchers, Beaumont,
Wither, Herrick, Carew, Suckling, and
others. Imagination was foremost, and was
stimulated by vast discoveries. Debates
upon ecclesiastical reform, led by Wyclif,
Tyndal, Knox, Foxe, Sternhold, Hopkins,
and others, had prepared the way; and the
luminous literatures of Greece and Italy,
but recently brought into England, had
made men's spirits receptive and creative. It was a period of vast
conceptions, when men discovered themselves and the world afresh.
JOHN DONNE
Under such outward conditions Donne was born, in London, "of
good and virtuous parents," says Walton, being descended on his
mother's side from no less distinguished a personage than Sir Thomas
More. In 1584, when he was eleven years old, with a good command
both of French and Latin, he passed from the hands of tutors at
home to Hare Hall, a much frequented college at Oxford. Here he
formed a friendship with Henry Wotton, who, after the poet's death,
collected the material from which Walton wrote his tender and sin-
cere 'Life of Donne. '

After leaving Oxford he traveled for three years on the Continent,
and on his return in 1572 became a member of Lincoln's Inn, with
intent to study law; but his law never, says Walton, "served him


## p. 4772 (#566) ###########################################

4772
JOHN DONNE
for other use than an ornament and self-satisfaction. " While a mem-
ber of Lincoln's Inn he became one of the coterie of the poets of his
youth. To this time are to be referred those of his 'Divine Poems'
which show him a sincere Catholic. Stirred by the increasing differ-
ences between the Romanist and the Anglican denominations, Donne
turned toward theological questions, and finally cast his lot with the
new doctrines. His large nature, impetuously reacting from the
asceticism to which he had been bred, turned to excess and overbold-
ness in action, and an occasional coarseness of phrasing in his poems.
The first of his famous 'Satires' are dated 1593, and all were prob-
ably written before 1601. During this time also he squandered his
father's legacy of £3000. In 1596, when the Earl of Essex defeated the
Spanish navy and pillaged Cadiz, Donne, now one of the first poets
of the time, was among his followers. "Not long after his return
into England
the Lord Ellesmere, the Keeper of the Great
Seal,
taking notice of his learning, languages, and other
abilities, and much affecting his person and behavior, took him to be
his chief secretary, supposing and intending it to be an introduction to
some weighty employment in the State;
and did always use
him with much courtesy, appointing him a place at his own table. "
Here he met the niece of Lady Ellesmere, the daughter of Sir
George More, Lord Lieutenant of the Tower,-whom at Christmas,
1600, he married, despite the opposition of her father.
Sir George,
transported with wrath, obtained Donne's imprisonment; but the poet
finally regained his liberty and his wife, Sir George in the end forgiv-
ing the young couple. "Mr. Donne's estate was the greatest part
spent in many chargeable travels, books, and dear-bought experience,
he [being] out of all employment that might yield a support for him-
self and wife. " The depth and intensity of Donne's feeling for this
beautiful and accomplished woman are manifested, says Mr. Norton,
in all the poems known to be addressed to her, such as The Anni-
versary' and 'The Token. '
Of The Valediction Forbidding Mourning' Walton declares:—“I
beg leave to tell that I have heard some critics, learned both in lan-
guages and poetry, say that none of the Greek or Latin poets did
ever equal them;" while from Lowell's unpublished Lecture on
Poetic Diction' Professor Norton quotes the opinion that "This poem
is a truly sacred one, and fuller of the soul of poetry than a whole
Alexandrian Library of common love verses. »
•
-
During this period of writing for court favors, Donne wrote many
of his sonnets and studied the civil and canon law. After the death
of his patron Sir Francis in 1606, Donne divided his time between
Mitcham, whither he had removed his family, and London, where he
frequented distinguished and fashionable drawing-rooms. At this


## p. 4773 (#567) ###########################################

JOHN DONNE
4773
time he wrote his admirable epistles in verse, The Litany,' and
funeral elegies on Lady Markham and Mistress Bulstrode; but those
poems are merely ❝occasional," as he was not a poet by profession.
At the request of King James he wrote the 'Pseudo-Martyr,' pub-
lished in 1610. In 1611 appeared his funeral elegy An Anatomy of
the World,' and one year later another of like texture, 'On the Prog-
ress of the Soul,' both poems being exalted and elaborate in thought
and fancy.
The King, desiring Donne to enter into the ministry, denied all
requests for secular preferment, and the unwilling poet deferred his
decision for almost three years. All that time he studied textual
divinity, Greek, and Hebrew. He was ordained about the beginning
of 1615. The King made him his chaplain in ordinary, and promised
other preferments. "Now," says Walton, "the English Church had
gained a second St. Austin, for think none was so like him before
his conversion, none so like St. Ambrose after it; and if his youth
had the infirmities of the one, his age had the excellences of the
other, the learning and holiness of both. "
In 1621 the King made him Dean of St. Paul's, and vicar of St.