No More Learning



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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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.
Pepin — What generates language ?
Albinus — The tongue.
Pepin - What is the tongue ?
Albinus — A whip of the air.
Pepin— What is the air ?
Albinus — A maintainer of life.
Pepin - What is life?
Albinus — The joy of the happy; the torment of the suffering;
a waiting for death.
Pepin — What is death?
Albinus — An inevitable ending; a journey into uncertainty; a
source of tears for the living; the probation of wills; a waylayer
of men.
Pepin - What is man?
Albinus — A booty of death; a passing traveler; a stranger on
earth.
Pepin - What is man like?
Albinus - The fruit of a tree.
Pepin- What are the heavens ?
Albinus - A rolling ball; an immeasurable vault.
Pepin — What is light?
Albinus — The sight of all things.
Pepin — What is day?
Albinus — The admonisher to labor.
Pepin — What is the sun ?
Albinus — The glory and splendor of the heavens; the attract-
ive in nature; the measure of hours; the adornment of day.
Pepin - What is the moon ?
Albinus — The eye of night; the dispenser of dew; the pre-
sager of storms.
Pepin — What are the stars ?
Albinus — A picture on the vault of heaven; the steersmen of
ships; the ornament of night.
-


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ALCUIN
Pepin — What is rain ?
Albinus — The fertilizer of the earth; the producer of crops.
Pepin — What is fog?
Albinus - Night in day; the annoyance of eyes.
Pepin - What is wind?
Albinus — The mover of air; the agitation of water; the dryer
of the earth.
Pepin — What is the earth ?
Albinus — The mother of growth; the nourisher of the living;
the storehouse of life; the effacer of all.
Pepin - What is the sea ?
Albinus — The path of adventure; the bounds of the earth;
the division of lands; the harbor of rivers; the source of rains;
a refuge in danger; a pleasure in enjoyment.
Pepin — What are rivers ?
Albinus - A ceaseless motion; a refreshment to the sun; the
waters of the earth.
Pepin — What is water ?
Albinus — The supporter of life; the cleanser of filth.
Pepin — What is fire ?
Albinus - An excessive heat; the nurse of growing things; the
ripener of crops.
Pepin — What is cold ?
Albinus — The trembling of our members.
Pepin — What is frost ?
Albinus — An assailer of plants; the destruction of leaves; a
fetter to the earth; a bridger of streams.
Pepin - What is snow?
Albinus - Dry water.
Pepin — What is winter?
Albinus An exile of summer.
Pepin - What is spring?
Albinus - A painter
A painter of the earth.
Pepin - What is summer ?
Albinus - That which brings to the earth a new garment, and
ripens the fruit.
Pepin - What is autumn ?
Albinus — The barn of the year.


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ALCUIN
301
A LETTER FROM ALCUIN TO CHARLEMAGNE
(Written in the year 796)
YOUR Flaccus, in accordance with your entreaty and your
gracious kindness, am busied under the shelter of St. Mar.
tin's, in bestowing upon many of my pupils the honey of
the Holy Scriptures. I am eager that others should drink deep
of the old wine of ancient learning; I shall presently begin to
nourish still others with the fruits of grammatical ingenuity; and
some of them I am eager to enlighten with a knowledge of the
order of the stars, that seem painted, as it were, on the dome
of some mighty palace. I have become all things to all men
(1 Cor. i. 22) so that I may train up many to the profession of
God's Holy Church and to the glory of your imperial realm, lest
the grace of Almighty God in me should be fruitless (1 Cor. xv.
10) and your munificent bounty of no avail. But your servant
lacks the rarer books of scholastic learning, which in my own
country I used to have (thanks to the generous and most devoted
care of my teacher and to my own humble endeavors), and I
mention it to your Majesty so that, perchance, it may please you
who are eagerly concerned about the whole body of learning, to
have me dispatch some of our young men to procure for us cer-
tain necessary works, and bring with them to France the flowers
of England; so that a graceful garden may not exist in York
alone, but so that at Tours as well there may be found the blos-
soming of Paradise with its abundant fruits; that the south wind,
when it comes, may cause the gardens along the River Loire to
burst into bloom, and their perfumed airs to stream forth, and
finally, that which follows in the Canticle, whence I have drawn
this simile, may be brought to pass.
(Canticle v. 1, 2).
Or even this exhortation of the prophet Isaiah, which urges us to
acquire wisdom:—"All ye who thirst, come to the waters; and
you who have not money, hasten, buy and eat: come, without
money and without price, and buy wine and milk” (Isaiah iv. 1. )
And this is a thing which your gracious zeal will not over-
look: how upon every page of the Holy Scriptures we are urged
to the acquisition of wisdom; how nothing is more honorable for
insuring a happy life, nothing more pleasing in the observance,
nothing more efficient against sin, nothing more praiseworthy in
any lofty station, than that men live according to the teachings of


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ALCUIN
the philosophers. Moreover, nothing is more essential to the gov-
ernment of the people, nothing better for the guidance of life
into the paths of honorable character, than the grace which wis-
dom gives, and the glory of training and the power of learning.
Therefore it is that in its praise, Solomon, the wisest of all men,
exclaims, Better is wisdom than all precious things, and more
to be desired” (Prov. viii. i seq). To secure this with every pos-
sible effort and to get possession of it by daily endeavor, do you,
my lord King, exhort the young men who are in your Majesty's
palace, that they strive for this in the flower of their youth, so
that they may be deemed worthy to live through an old age of
honor, and that by its means they may be able to attain to ever-
lasting happiness. I, myself, according to my disposition, shall
not be slothful in sowing the seeds of wisdom among your serv-
ants in this land, being mindful of the injunction, “Sow thy
seed in the morning, and at eventide let not thy hand cease;
since thou knowest not what will spring up, whether these or
those, and if both together, still better is it” (Eccles. xi. 6). In
the morning of my life and in the fruitful period of my studies I
sowed seed in Britain, and now that my blood has grown cool in
the evening of life, I still cease not; but sow the seed in France,
desiring that both may spring up by the grace of God. And now
that my body has grown weak, I find consolation in the saying of
St. Jerome, who declares in his letter to Nepotianus, «Almost all
the powers of the body are altered in old men, and wisdom alone
will increase while the rest decay. ” And a little further he says,
« The old age of those who have adorned their youth with noble
accomplishments and have meditated on the law of the Lord both
day and night becomes more and more deeply accomplished with
its years, more polished from experience, more wise by the lapse
of time; and it reaps the sweetest fruit of ancient learning. ” In
this letter in praise of wisdom, one who wishes can read many
things of the scientific pursuits of the ancients, and can under-
stand how eager were these ancients to abound in the grace of
wisdom. I have noted that your zeal, which is pleasing to God
and praiseworthy, is always advancing toward this wisdom and
takes pleasure in it, and that you are adorning the magnificence
of your worldly rule with still greater intellectual splendor. In
this may our Lord Jesus Christ, who is himself the supreme type
of divine wisdom, guard you and exalt you, and cause you to
attain to the glory of His own blessed and everlasting vision.


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303
HENRY M. ALDEN
(1836-)
ENRY Mills ALDEN, since 1864 the editor of Harper's Maga-
zine, was born in Mount Tabor, Vermont, November uth,
1836, the eighth in descent from Captain John Alden, the
Pilgrim. He graduated at Williams College, and studied theology
at Andover Seminary, but was never ordained a minister, having
almost immediately turned his attention to literature. His first work
that attracted attention was an essay on the Eleusinian Mysteries,
published in the Atlantic Monthly. The scholarship and subtle
method revealed in this and similar works led to his engagement to
deliver a course of twelve Lowell Institute lectures at Boston, in
1863 and 1864, and he took for his subject “The Structure of Pagan-
ism. ' Before this he had removed to New York, had engaged in
general editorial work, and formed his lasting connection with the
house of Harper and Brothers.
As an editor Mr. Alden is the most practical of men, but he is in
reality a poet, and in another age he might have been a mystic.
He has the secret of preserving his life to himself, while paying the
keenest attention to his daily duties. In his office he is immersed in
affairs which require the exercise of vigilant common-sense, and
knowledge of life and literature. At his home he is a serene and
optimistic philosopher, contemplating the forces that make for our
civilization, and musing over the deep problems of man's occupa-
tion of this earth. In 1893 appeared anonymously a volume entitled
"God in His World, which attracted instantly wide attention in this
country and in England for its subtlety of thought, its boldness of
treatment, its winning sweetness of temper, and its exquisite style.
It was by Mr. Alden, and in 1895 it was followed by A Study of
Death, continuing the great theme of the first, – the unity of crea-
tion, the certainty that there is in no sense a war between the
Creator and his creation. In this view the Universe is not divided
into the Natural and the Supernatural: all is Natural. ut we can
speak here only of their literary quality. The author is seen to be a
poet in his conceptions, but in form his writing is entirely within
the limits of prose; yet it is a prose most harmonious, most melodi-
ous, and it exhibits the capacity of our English tongue in the hand of
a master. The thought is sometimes so subtle as to elude the care-
less reader, but the charm of the melody never fails to entrance.
The study of life and civilization is profound, but the grace of treat-
ment seems to relieve the problems of half their difficulty.
His wife did not live to read the exquisite dedication given below.


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304
HENRY M. ALDEN
From A Study of Death, copyright 1895, by Harper and Brothers
A DEDICATION
TO MY BELOVED WIFE
M
Y EARLIEST written expression of intimate thought or cher-
ished fancy was for your eyes only; it was my first
approach to your maidenly heart, a mystical wooing, which
neglected no resource, near or remote, for the enhancement of
its charm, and so involved all other mystery in its own.
In you, childhood has been inviolate, never losing its power
of leading me by an unspoken invocation to a green field, ever
kept fresh by a living fountain, where the Shepherd tends his
flock. Now, through a body racked with pain, and sadly broken,
still shines this unbroken childhood, teaching me Love's deepest
mystery.
It is fitting, then, that I should dedicate to you this book
touching that mystery.
It has been written in the shadow, but
illumined by the brightness of an angel's face seen in the dark-
ness, so that it has seemed easy and natural for me to find at
the thorn's heart a secret and everlasting sweetness far surpass-
ing that of the rose itself, which ceases in its own perfection.
Whether that angel we have seen shall, for my need and
comfort, and for your own longing, hold back his greatest gift,
and leave you mine in the earthly ways we know and love, or
shall hasten to make the heavenly surprise, the issue in either
event will be a home-coming: if here, yet already the deeper
secret will have been in part disclosed; and if beyond, that
secret, fully known, will not betray the fondest hope of loving
hearts. Love never denied Death, and Death will not deny
Love.
From (A Study of Death, copyright 1895, by Harper and Brothers
THE DOVE AND THE SERPENT
TH
.
HE Dove flies, and the Serpent creeps. Yet is the Dove
fond, while the Serpent is the emblem of wisdom. Both
were in Eden: the cooing, fluttering, winged spirit, loving
to descend, companion-like, brooding, following; and the creep-
ing thing which had glided into the sunshine of Paradise from


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HENRY M. ALDEN
305
the cold bosoms of those nurses of an older world — Pain, and
Darkness, and Death - himself forgetting these in the warmth
and green life of the Garden. And our first parents knew
naught of these as yet unutterable mysteries, any more than
they knew that their roses bloomed over a tomb: so that when
all animate creatures came to Adam to be named, the meaning
of this living allegory which passed before him was in great
part hidden, and he saw no sharp line dividing the firmament
below from the firmament above; rather he leaned toward the
ground, as one does in a garden, seeing how quickly it was
fashioned into the climbing trees, into the clean flowers, and
into his own shapely frame. It was upon the ground he lay
when that deep sleep fell upon him from which he woke to find
his mate, lithe as the serpent, yet with the fluttering heart of
the dove.
As the Duve, though winged for flight, ever descended, so the
Serpent, though unable wholly to leave the ground, tried ever to
lift himself therefrom, as if to escape some ancient bond.