No More Learning

»
"I suppose they do,” said Mary. “I never was at one before,
but I sometimes hear of them. ”
"And you do not attend ? ” said the gentleman, with an accent
which made the inquiry a marked compliment.
“No, I do not,” said Mary: “these people generally do not
visit us. ”
“What a pity," he said, "that their parties should want such
an ornament! But,” he added, "this night must make them
aware of their oversight; if you are not always in society after
this, it will surely not be for want of solicitation. ”
"You are very kind to think so," replied Mary; "but even if
it were to be so, I should not see my way clear to be often in
such scenes as this. ”
Her companion looked at her with a glance a little doubtful
and amused, and said, "And pray why not? if the inquiry be not
too presumptuous. ”
"Because,” said Mary, "I should be afraid they would take
too much time and thought, and lead me to forget the great
object of life. ”
The simple gravity with which this was said, as if quite as-
sured of the sympathy of her auditor, appeared to give him a
secret amusement. His bright, dark eyes danced, as if he sup-
pressed some quick repartee; but drooping his long lashes def.
erentially, he said in gentle tones, "I should like to know what
so beautiful a young lady considers the great object of life. ”
XXIV-882


## p. 14098 (#288) ##########################################

14098
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
C
>>
on
Mary answered reverentially, in those words then familiar
from infancy to every Puritan child, “To glorify God, and enjoy
him forever. ”
"Really? ” he said, looking straight into her eyes with that
penetrating glance with which he was accustomed to take the
gauge of every one with whom he conversed.
"Is it not ? ” said Mary, looking back, calm and firm, into the
sparkling, restless depths of his eyes.
At that moment, two souls, going with the whole force of
their being in opposite directions, looked out of their windows at
each other with a fixed and earnest recognition.
Burr was practiced in every art of gallantry; he had made
womankind a study; he never saw a beautiful face and form
without a sort of restless desire to experiment upon it and try
his power over the interior inhabitant: but just at this moment,
something streamed into his soul from those blue, earnest eyes,
which brought back to his mind what pious people had so often
told him of his mother, the beautiful and early-sainted Esther
Burr.
He was
one of those persons who systematically man-
aged and played upon himself and others, as a skillful musician
an instrument. Yet one secret of his fascination was the
naïveté with which, at certain moments, he would abandon him-
self to some little impulse of a nature originally sensitive and
tender. Had the strain of feeling which now awoke in him come
over him elsewhere, he would have shut down some spring in
his mind and excluded it in a moment: but talking with a beau-
tiful creature whom he wished to please, he gave way at once
to the emotion; real tears stood in his fine eyes, and he raised
Mary's hand to his lips and kissed it, saying:-
“Thank you, my beautiful child, for so good a thought. It is
truly a noble sentiment, though practicable only to those gifted
with angelic natures. ”
“Oh, I trust not,” said Mary, earnestly touched and wrought
upon, more than she herself knew, by the beautiful eyes, the
modulated voice, the charm of manner, which seemed to enfold
her like an Italian summer.
Burr sighed, - a real sigh of his better nature, but passed out
with all the more freedom that he felt it would interest his fair
companion, who, for the time being, was the one woman of the
world to him.
« Pure and artless souls like yours,” he said, cannot measure
the temptations of those who are called to the real battle of life
»


## p. 14099 (#289) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14099
»
in a world like this. How many nobler aspirations fall withered
in the fierce heat and struggle of the conflict! ”
He was saying then what he really felt, often bitterly felt,-
but using this real feeling advisedly, and with skillful tact, for the
purpose of the hour.
What was this purpose? To win the regard, the esteem, the
tenderness of a religious, exalted nature shrined in a beautiful
form; to gain and hold ascendency. It was a lifelong habit;
one of those forms of refined self-indulgence which he pursued,
thoughtless and reckless of consequences. He had found now
the keynote of the character: it was a beautiful instrument, and
he was well pleased to play on it.
“I think, sir,” said Mary, modestly, "that you forget the
great provision made for our weakness. ”
“How? ” he said.
«They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength, she
replied gently.
He looked at her as she spoke these words, with a pleased,
artistic perception of the contrast between her worldly attire and
the simple, religious earnestness of her words.
“She is entrancing! ” he thought to himself; "so altogether
fresh and naïve ! »
“My sweet saint,” he said, “such as you are the appointed
guardians of us coarser beings. The prayers of souls given up
to worldliness and ambition effect little. You must intercede
for us.
I am very orthodox, you see,” he added with that subtle
smile which sometimes irradiated his features. "I am fully aware
of all that your reverend doctor tells you of the worthlessness of
unregenerate doings; and so when I see angels walking below, I
try to secure a friend at court. » »
He saw that Mary looked embarrassed and pained at this
banter, and therefore added with a delicate shading of earnest-
(
»
ness:
-
“In truth, my fair young friend, I hope you will sometimes
pray for me. I am sure, if I have any chance of good, it will
come in such a way. ”
"Indeed I will,” said Mary fervently,- her little heart full,
tears in her eyes, her breathcoming quick,- and she added
with a deepening color, “I am sure, Mr. Burr, that there should
be a covenant blessing for you if for any one, for you are the
son of a holy ancestry. ”


## p. 14100 (#290) ##########################################

14100
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
A SPIRITUAL LOVE
From "The Minister's Wooing)
W"
HAT Mary loved so passionately, that which came between
her and God in every prayer, was not the gay young
dashing sailor,- sudden in anger, imprudent of speech,
and though generous in heart, yet worldly in plans and schem-
ings, – but her own ideal of a grand and noble man; such a man
as she thought he might become. He stood glorified before her:
an image of the strength that overcomes things physical, of the
power of command which controls men and circumstances, of the
courage which disdains fear, of the honor which cannot lie, of
constancy which knows no shadow of turning, of tenderness which
protects the weak, and lastly, of religious loyalty which should
lay the golden crown of its perfected manhood at the feet of a
Sovereign Lord and Redeemer. This was the man she loved,
and with this regal mantle of glories she invested the person
called James Marvyn; and all that she saw and felt to be want-
ing she prayed for with the faith of a believing woman.
Nor was she wrong; for as to every leaf and every flower
there is an ideal to which the growth of the plant is constantly
urging, so is there an ideal to every human being, - a perfect
form in which it might appear, were every defect removed and
every characteristic excellence stimulated to the highest point.
Once in an age, God sends to some of us a friend who loves in
us not a false imagining, an unreal character, but looking through
all the rubbish of our imperfections, loves in us the divine ideal
of our nature,- loves, not the man that we are, but the angel
that we may be. Such friends seem inspired by a divine gift of
prophecy,- like the mother of St. Augustine, who, in the midst
of the wayward, reckless youth of her son, beheld him in a vision,
standing, clothed in white, a ministering priest at the right hand
of God; as he has stood for long ages since. Could the mysteri-
ous foresight unveil to us this resurrection form of the friends
with whom we daily walk, compassed about with mortal infirmity,
we should follow them with faith and reverence through all the
disguises of human faults and weaknesses, waiting for the mani-
festation of the sons of God. ”


## p. 14101 (#291) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14101
MISS PRISSY TAKES CANDACE'S COUNSEL
From The Minister's Wooing)
C
(C
ANDACE sat on a fragment of granite bowlder which lay there,
her black face relieved against a clump of yellow mulleins,
then in majestic altitude. On her lap was spread a checked
pocket-handkerchief, containing rich slices of cheese and a store of
her favorite brown doughnuts.
“Now, Miss Prissy,” she said, “dar's reason in all tings, an'a
good deal more in some tings dan dar is in oders. Dar's a good
deal more reason in two young, handsome folks comin' togeder
dan dar is in ” — Candace finished the sentence by an emphatic
flourish of her doughnut. “Now as long as eberybody thought
Jim Marvyn was dead, dar wa'n't nothin' else in de world
to be done but marry de doctor. But good lan’! I hearn him
a-talkin' to Miss Marvyn las' night: it kinder 'mos' broke my
heart. Why, dem two poor creeturs, dey's jest as onhappy 's dey
can be!
An' she's got too much feelin' for de doctor to say a
word; and I say he oughter to be told on 't! dat's what I say,”
said Candace, giving a decisive bite to her doughnut.
“I say so too,” said Miss Prissy. “Why, I never had such
bad feelings in my life as I did yesterday, when that young man
came down to our house. He was just as pale as a cloth. I
tried to say a word to Miss Scudder, but she snapped me up so!
She's an awful decided woman when her mind's made up.
telling Cerinthy Ann Twitchel, - she came round me this noon,-
that it didn't exactly seem to me right that things should go on
as they are going. And says I, Cerinthy Ann, I don't know
anything what to do. ' And says she, “If I was you, I know
what I'd do,— I'd tell the doctor,' says she. “Nobody ever takes
offense at anything you do, Miss Prissy. ' To be sure,” added
Miss Prissy, "I have talked to people about a good many things
that it's rather strange I should; 'cause I ain't one, somehow,
that can let things go that seem to want doing. I always told
folks that I should spoil a novel before it got half-way through
the first volume, by blurting out some of those things that they
let go trailing on so, till everybody gets so mixed up they don't
know what they're doing. ”
“Well, now, honey,” said Candace authoritatively, “ef you's
got any notions o’ dat kind, I tink it mus' come from de good
I was
(


## p. 14102 (#292) ##########################################

14102
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
You jes'
Lord, an' I 'dvise you to be 'tendin' to 't right away.
go 'long an' tell de doctor yourself all you know, an' den le's see
what 'll come on 't. I tell you, I b’liebe it'll be one o' de bes'
day's works you eber did in your life! ”
« Well," said Miss Prissy, "I guess to-night, before I go to
bed, I'll make a dive at him. When a thing's once out, it's out,
and can 't be got in again, even if people don't like it; and that's
a mercy, anyhow. It really makes me feel 'most wicked to think
of it, for he is the most blessedest man!
«Dat's what he is,” said Candace. “But de blessedest man in
de world oughter know de truth: dat's what I tink! ”
« Yes -- true enough! ” said Miss Prissy. “I'll tell him, any-
(
>>
»
way! ”
(
riences.
-
Miss Prissy was as good as her word; for that evening, when
the doctor had retired to his study, she took her life in her
hand, and walking swiftly as a cat, tapped rather timidly at the
study-door, which the doctor opening, said benignantly:-
"Ah, Miss Prissy! »
“If you please, sir,” said Miss Prissy, “I'd like a little con-
versation. ”
The doctor was well enough used to such requests from the
female members of his church, which generally were the pre-
lude to some disclosures of internal difficulties or spiritual expe-
He therefore graciously motioned her to a chair.
“I thought I must come in,” she began, busily twirling a bit
of her Sunday gown. "I thought — that is-I felt it my duty -
I thought — perhaps — I ought to tell you — that perhaps you
ought to know - »
The doctor looked civilly concerned. He did not know but
Miss Prissy's wits were taking leave of her. He replied, how-
ever, with his usual honest stateliness:-
"I trust, dear madam, that you will feel at perfect freedom to
open to me any exercises of mind that you may have. ”
“It isn't about myself,” said Miss Prissy. “If you please, it's
about you and Mary! ”
The doctor now looked awake in right earnest, and very much
astonished besides; and he looked eagerly at Miss Prissy, to have
her go on.
"I don't know how you would view such a matter," said Miss
Prissy; but the fact is that James Marvyn and Mary always did
love each other, ever since they were children. ”


## p. 14103 (#293) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14103
Still the doctor was unawakened to the real meaning of the
words, and he answered simply:-
“I should be far from wishing to interfere with so very nat-
ural and universal a sentiment, which I make no doubt is all
quite as it should be. ”
“No-but-” said Miss Prissy, "you don't understand what I
mean. I mean that James Marvyn wanted to marry Mary, and
that she was — well- she wasn't engaged to him, but — »
"Madam! ” said the doctor, in a voice that frightened Miss
Prissy out of her chair, while a blaze like sheet-lightning shot
from his eyes, and his face flushed crimson.
« Mercy on us! Doctor, I hope you'll excuse me; but there -
the fact is — I've said it out — the fact is, they wa’n’t engaged:
but that Mary loved him ever since he was a boy, as she
never will and never can love any man again in this world, is
what I am just as sure of as that I'm standing here; and I've
felt you ought to know it, 'cause I'm quite sure that if he'd
been alive, she'd never given the promise she has — the promise
that she means to keep, if her heart breaks and his too. The'
wouldn't anybody tell you, and I thought I must tell you; 'cause
I thought you'd know what was right to do about it. ”
During all this latter speech the Doctor was standing with
his back to Miss Prissy, and his face to the window, just as he
did some time before, when Mrs. Scudder came to tell him of
Mary's consent. He made a gesture backward, without speaking,
that she should leave the apartment: and Miss Prissy left, with
a guilty kind of feeling as if she had been striking a knife into
her pastor; and rushing distractedly across the entry into Mary's
little bedroom, she bolted the door, threw herself on the bed,
and began to cry.
Well, I've done it ! ” she said to herself.
strong, hearty man,” she soliloquized, “so I hope it won't put
him in a consumption: men do go into a consumption about
such things sometimes. I remember Abner Seaforth did; but
then he was always narrow-chested, and had the liver com-
plaint or something. I don't know what Miss Scudder will say;
- but I've done it. Poor man! such a good man, too! I declare,
I feel just like Herod taking off John the Baptist's head. Well,
well! it's done, and can't be helped. ”
Just at this moment Miss Prissy heard a gentle tap at the
door, and started as if it had been a ghost, — not being able to
« He's a very


## p. 14104 (#294) ##########################################

14104
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
rid herself of the impression that somehow she had committed a
great crime, for which retribution was knocking at the door.
It was Mary, who said in her sweetest and most natural
tones, Miss Prissy, the doctor would like to see you. "
Mary was much astonished at the frightened, discomposed
manner with which Miss Prissy received this announcement, and
said:
“I'm afraid I've waked you up out of sleep.
I don't think
there's the least hurry. ”
Miss Prissy didn't, either: but she reflected afterwards that
she might as well get through with it at once; and therefore
smoothing her tumbled cap-border, she went to the doctor's study.
This time he was quite composed, and received her with a mourn-
ful gravity, and requested her to be seated.
"I beg, madam,” he said, "you will excuse the abruptness of
my manner in our late interview. I was so little prepared for
the communication you had to make, that I was perhaps unsuit-
ably discomposed. Will you allow me to ask whether you were
requested by any of the parties to communicate to me what you
did ? »
"No, sir,” said Miss Prissy.
" Have any of the parties ever communicated with you on the
subject at all ? ” said the doctor.
“No, sir,” said Miss Prissy.
“That is all," said the doctor. « I will not detain you.
very much obliged to you, madam. ”
He rose, and opened the door for her to pass out; and Miss
Prissy, overawed by the stately gravity of his manner, went out
in silence.
»
I am
THE MINISTER'S SACRIFICE
From "The Minister's Wooing)
W"
HEN Miss Prissy left the room, the doctor sat down by the
table and covered his face with his hands. He had a
large, passionate, determined nature; and he had just
come to one of those cruel crises in life in which it is apt to
seem to us that the whole force of our being, all that we can
hope, wish, feel, enjoy, has been suffered to gather itself into


## p. 14105 (#295) ##########################################

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
14105
one great wave, only to break upon some cold rock of inevitable
fate, and go back, moaning, into emptiness.
In such hours men and women have cursed God and life,
and thrown violently down and trampled under their feet what
yet was left of life's blessings, in the fierce bitterness of despair.
« This, or nothing! ” the soul shrieks in her frenzy. At just such
points as these, men have plunged into intemperance and wild
excess; they have gone to be shot down in battle; they have
broken life and thrown it away like an empty goblet, and gone
like wailing ghosts out into the dread unknown.
The possibility of all this lay in that heart which had just
received that stunning blow. Exercised and disciplined as he had
been by years of sacrifice, by constant, unsleeping self-vigilance,
there was rising there in that great heart an ocean tempest of
passion; and for a while his cries unto God seemed as empty
and as vague as the screams of birds tossed and buffeted in the
clouds of mighty tempests.
The will that he thought wholly subdued seemed to rise under
him as a rebellious giant. A few hours before, he thought himself
established in an invincible submission to God's will that nothing
could shake. Now he looked into himself as into a seething vor-
tex of rebellion; and against all the passionate cries of his lower
nature, could, in the language of an old saint, cling to God only
by the naked force of his will. That will rested unmelted amid
the boiling sea of passion, waiting its hour of renewed sway. He
walked the room for hours; and then sat down to his Bible, and
roused once or twice to find his head leaning on its pages, and
his mind far gone in thoughts from which he woke with a bit-
ter throb. Then he determined to set himself to some definite
work; and taking his Concordance, began busily tracing out and
numbering all the proof-texts for one of the chapters of his
theological system,- till at last he worked himself down to such
calmness that he could pray: and then he schooled and reasoned
with himself, in a style not unlike, in its spirit, to that in which
a great modern author has addressed suffering humanity:-
“What is it that thou art fretting and self-tormenting about?
Is it because thou art not happy? Who told thee that thou wast
to be happy? Is there any ordinance of the universe that thou
shouldst be happy? Art thou nothing but a vulture screaming
for prey ? Canst thou not do without happiness? Yea, thou canst
do without happiness, and instead thereof find blessedness. ”


## p. 14106 (#296) ##########################################

14106
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
The doctor came lastly to the conclusion that blessedness,
which was all the portion his Master had on earth, might for
him also; and therefore he kissed and blessed that silver dove of
happiness which he saw was weary of sailing in his clumsy old
ark, and let it go out of his hand without a tear.
He slept little that night: but when he came to breakfast,
all noticed an unusual gentleness and benignity of manner; and
Mary, she knew not why, saw tears rising in his eyes when he
looked at her.


## p. 14107 (#297) ##########################################

14107
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
(1808–1874)
Tay
was
a
HE German renaissance, which had its beginnings in that
great literary movement of which Goethe was the central
Ce figure, was destined to express itself at a later period in an
output of philosophical and religious thought almost without parallel
in its comprehensiveness and in its subtlety. Like other manifesta-
tions of intellectual and spiritual vigor, it was not without its nega-
tive and destructive principle: a principle which found, perhaps, its
most significant expression in the life and work of David Friedrich
Strauss,- a man modern only in the let-
ter of what he performed; in the spirit a
dogmatist of almost mediæval intensity and
narrowness.
He was born at Ludwigsburg, near Stutt-
gart, January 27th, 1808. His father, al-
though a tailor by trade, devoted much of
his time to literary pursuits; his mother
woman of strong common-sense,
whose piety was of an extremely practical
character. The son inherited his father's
taste for books, his mother's distaste of
mysticism. Being designed for the church,
he was sent in his thirteenth year to an D. F. STRAUSS
evangelical seminary at Blaubeuren near
Ulm, to study theology. Two of his teachers there, Professors Kern
and F. C. Baur, were to have a deep influence upon his life. There
also he met Christian Märklin, a student whose biography he was
afterwards to write. Four years later, in 1825, he entered the Uni-
versity of Tübingen; but finding in the curriculum little nourish-
ment, he sought satisfaction for his needs in Schelling's pantheistic
philosophy, and in the writings of the romanticists, Jacob Böhme,
and others.
In 1826 Professors Baur and Kern came to the University, resum-
ing the intellectual oversight of their former pupils, Strauss and
Märklin. Baur introduced Strauss to the works of Schleiermacher,
whose mystical conception of religion, as having its roots in the
emotional life, was for a time attractive to the future author of the



## p. 14108 (#298) ##########################################

14108
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
'Leben Jesu,' drawing him away from the influence of the rational
philosophy of Kant and the pantheism of Schelling. But he was not
to remain long a disciple of Schleiermacher. His own temperament,
as well as outside forces, was drawing him to the consideration of
the overwhelming Hegelian philosophy. In the last year at Tübingen
he read Hegel's Phänomenologie,' - strong meat even for a Ger-
inan youth to digest. Hegel, in direct opposition to Schleiermacher,
sought the roots of religion in thought, not feeling: his conception of
Begriff and Vorstellung, of Notion and Representation, the Absolute,
and the finite presentation of the Absolute, was to exert a tremendous
influence upon Strauss; leading him at last to the inquiry embodied
in the Life of Jesus,' how much of dogmatic religion is but the
shadowing forth, the vorstellung, of great underlying truths.
He was not at once, however, to apply the Hegelian philosophy
to the doctrines of the Christian religion. In 1830 he passed his
examination with honor, becoming soon after assistant to a country
clergyman; but a man of his restless and eager intellect could not
long remain in the quiet atmosphere of a country parish. In 1831
he resigned his pastorate, to study under Schleiermacher and Hegel
in the University of Berlin. The latter dying suddenly, shortly after
Strauss's coming to Berlin, he removed to Tübingen, where he be-
came a repetent or assistant professor, lecturing upon logic, history
of philosophy, and history of ethics. In 1833 he resigned this position
to devote himself to writing the 'Life of Jesus. ' In 1834 the first
volume, and in 1835 the second volume, was published.
In the Life of Jesus,' Strauss attempted to apply the Hegelian
philosophy to the dogmatic system of the Christian religion: or
rather, influenced by the Hegelian principle that the Absolute is
expressed in finite terms, he attempted to show that the miraculous
elements in the life of Jesus were ideally but not historically true;
that the immaculate conception, the transfiguration, the resurrection,
the ascension into heaven, were symbols of profound truth, myths
created out of the Messianic hopes of the followers of Christ. This
mythical theory was directly in the face of the theory of the deists,
that the miraculous events in Christ's life were proof of the fallibility
of the evangelists; and in the face of the theory of the rationalists,
that those events were capable of natural explanation. The mythical
theory of Strauss was not original with him.
It had been applied to
certain parts of the Old Testament by Eichhorn, Bauer, and others;
in the secular domain, it was being applied by Niebuhr to early
Roman history, and by Wolff to the Homeric poems: but no
before Strauss had applied it to the four Gospels thoroughly and
exhaustively,- thoroughly and exhaustively, however, only in so far
that Strauss never lost sight of his theory for one moment, bending
one


## p. 14109 (#299) ##########################################

DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
14109
everything to its shape. Of the critical study of the gospels in the
modern sense Strauss knew little,— his dogmatic temper being impa-
tient of the restraints of scholarship; added to that, a certain irrev-
erence of temperament prevented him not only from appreciation of
the essential in Christianity, but by a kind of paradox, from arriving
at anything like scientific truth. He disproved everything but proved
nothing. The Jesus of Strauss's Life is not even a historical per-
sonage like the Jesus of Renan's Life); but a faint shadow, just
discerned through dead mists of theory. The great work was to
have but a negative mission: it prepared the way by its blankness
for positive scholarship, for positive criticism; it is the reflection of
the colorless mood of one standing between two worlds, without the
spiritual insight necessary to understand that between the old order
and the new there must be an organic link, else both will perish.
The replies to the Leben Jesu,' by Neander, Ullmann, Schweizer,
and others, led to a reply from Strauss in 1837. In 1839 a third edi-
tion of the work appeared, in which concessions were made to the
critics, to be withdrawn in the edition of 1840, of which George Eliot
made an English translation. In the same year Christliche Glaubens-
lehre,' a history of Christian doctrines in their disintegration, ap-
peared. Strauss meanwhile had been elected to the chair of theology
in the University of Zurich, but the opposition this appointment
aroused led to its annulment. In 1842 he married Agnes Schebest,
an opera singer, with whom he lived until their separation in 1847,
and who bore him three children. In 1847 he published a satire, in
which he drew a parallel between Julian the Apostate and Frederick
William IV. of Prussia. In 1848 he was nominated a member of the
Frankfort Parliament, but was defeated; was elected to the Würtem-
berg Chamber, but his constituents asked him to resign because of his
conservative action.
In 1849 he began to publish those biographies which contribute
most directly to his literary fame. The Life of Schubart) was fol-
lowed by the Life of Christian Märklin,' in 1851; the Life of
Frischlin, in 1855; and the Life of Ulrich von Hutten,' 1858-60. In
1862 appeared the Life of Reimarus'; in 1877, A Life of Jesus for
the German People,' — in substance much like the former Life. '
Previous to its publication, “The Christ of Dogma and the Jesus of
History' had appeared in 1865. In 1872 Strauss took up his residence
at Darmstadt, where he made the acquaintance of the Princess Alice
and the Crown Princess of Germany, who befriended him, and before
whom he lectured on Voltaire. In 1870 these lectures were pub-
lished; in the same year occurred his correspondence with Renan on
the subject of the Franco-Prussian War,-a correspondence which led
to the severing of their friendship.


## p. 14110 (#300) ##########################################

14110
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
a
In 1872 appeared (The Old Faith and the New. It is this work
rather than the Life of Jesus, which is a monument of destructive
criticism; although it is less scholarly and more superficial, written
with a certain indifference, as if even once stimulating subject
had become wearisome. The book is without light or heat. Its
author had drifted away from all philosophy, whether of Hegel or
Schelling or Schleiermacher; had cast anchor in a port of No-man's-
land. To his intellect at least, God and the soul of man had become
unreal. Yet he was perhaps not wholly satisfied with the aridity of
his choice. The last picture of him is of an old man in hired lodg-
ings, reading in the days before his death the Phædo' of Plato.
He died in February 1874.
THE DEVELOPMENT OF GRÆCO-ROMAN CULTIVATION
From (A New Life of Jesus)
IM
N OPPOSITION to the religious tendency of the Jewish people, all
the efforts of the Greeks were applied to the perfecting of the
really human element in man. This position does not, speak-
ing generally, require any proof; as in the politics and morals, in
the poetry and fine arts, of that people, it lies before us as a rec-
ognized fact. But in their religion it shows itself in the resem-
blance of the Greek gods to men. The Indian, the Egyptian, the
Assyrian, did not shape their divinities in purely human form.
And the cause of this was not merely deficiency in artistic skill
and taste, but above all, the fact that these nations did not con-
ceive of their gods as being simply human. Whether the Greek
obtained his divinities in part from abroad, or from native prede-
cessors, the peculiar change which he as a Greek in every
instance set about making, is this: that he converted the original
natural symbolism into a relation of human life; made them,
instead of types of cosmical powers, representatives of the powers
of the human mind and social institutions; and in connection
with this, approximated their outward form more completely to
the human.
Now, a piety which produced human ideals in god-like forms
- in those of an Apollo, an Athene, a Zeus - stands indisputably
higher than that which had not divested its divinities externally
of the form of beasts, and internally of the wild creating or de.
stroying power of nature; but the human element in the Greek
gods had, - corresponding to its original natural signification, as


## p. 14111 (#301) ##########################################

DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
14111
-
well as to the state of the cultivation of the popular mind at the
time when these imaginations were realized in form,- together
with its moral side, so strongly marked a sensual side, that as
soon as the moral ideas were enlightened, offense could not fail
to be taken at the cruelties of a Kronos, the adulteries of a Zeus,
the pilferings of a Hermes, etc. Hence the poets of the later
period endeavored to give a moral coloring to the myths that
offended them: but there were individual philosophers of an earlier
time - above all Xenophanes, the founder of the Eleatic school —
who rejected the unworthy and in general human conceptions of
the gods, as they were represented by Homer and Hesiod; and
as is well known, it was on this ground that Plato banished
Homer from his ideal republic. But even independently of this
moral stumbling-block, the plurality of gods was soon discovered
to be irreconcilable with the idea of the Divine nature; which, as
the most perfect possible and the supreme cause of everything,
could be only one and indivisible: and thus, among educated
Greeks, we see Polytheism continually more and more displaced
by the conception of Monotheism, or at all events reconciled with
it by a stricter subordination of separate divinities to one supreme
God. Thus in this respect the Greek gradually raised himself
to the point of view on which the Hebrew stood from the first;
and in so far as the former had attained to his conception of the
one God by the philosophical method, that conception, in its later
contact with Jewish Monotheism, might be of special service to
the latter in the way of purifying it from many anthropomorphic
features which still clung to it in the writings of the Old Testa-
ment.
But in all this the Greek formed his conceptions of man, his
nature and his duties, far in advance of those ideal gods in
Homer; and in a manner that never would have been possible
on Jewish soil. "Humanitarianism,” says Welcker, “could never
have issued from Hebrew supranaturalism; for in proportion
as the apprehension is earnest and exalted, must the authority
and the law of the one God and Lord suppress that human
religious freedom out of which all power and cheerfulness is
derived in the best and noblest form. ” It was precisely because
the Divinity did not confront the Greek in the form of a
commanding law, that the Greek was compelled to be a law
to himself; because he did not like the Jew, see his whole
life ordered for him, step by step, by religious ordinance, he was
»


## p. 14112 (#302) ##########################################

14112
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
(
compelled to seek for a moral rule within his own mind. That
this was
a difficult problem, that the way to the solution of
it led over dangerous ground, we see by the corruption of
morals which broke in over the Greek nation after the most
brilliant and flourishing age, by the arbitrary manner in which
the contemporary Sophists confounded all moral notions. To
them, according to the maxim of Protagoras, man was the meas-
ure of all things: nothing was naturally good or bad, but only
by reason of an arbitrary rule of men, to which the individual
need not bind himself; but as the authors of those rules estab-
lished them for their own advantage, it was open to the indi-
vidual to call good and put in practice whatever was agreeable
or useful to himself. The art of justifying such conduct argu-
mentatively, of shaking the foundations of all existing principles
in religion and morals, of strengthening the weaker cause," —
i. e. , of making right of wrong,- was taught and published by
the Sophists; but in point of fact, all that they did was to put
into a methodical form what all the world around them was prac-
ticing already.
It is well known how this moral license among the people of
Greece, and the sophistical palliation of it, was resisted by Socra-
tes. He could not, like a Hebrew prophet, refer to a written law
of God,-- which indeed in the case of his fellow-countrymen,
long before moved to religious skepticism, would have done
no good; like the opponents, therefore, whom he endeavored
to combat, he kept to man: to him too, in a certain sense, man
was the measure of all things; but not man in so far as he
follows his own caprice or pleasure, but in so far as he seeks in
earnest to know himself, and by well-regulated thought to come
to an understanding with himself as to what contributes to his
own true happiness. He who acts upon such true knowledge
will on all occasions act right; and this right conduct will ever
make man happy: this was the condensed substance of the moral
system of Socrates, for the establishment of which he required
no divine command; although he delivered very pure notions
respecting the nature of God, in the sense of the reconciliation
alluded to above of the national Polytheism with a rational
Monotheism. That Socrates delivered these doctrines not scholas.
tically in an exclusive circle, but publicly and as it were socially;
that moreover, as an exalted example, he at the same time
practiced what he taught, in his own life and conduct; that


## p. 14113 (#303) ##########################################

DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
14113
lastly he became a martyr to his convictions, - to his efforts,
misunderstood by the mass of his fellow-citizens, for spiritual
and moral elevation, - all this gives him a resemblance to Christ
which has always been observed: in fact, notwithstanding the
wide difference occasioned by the opposition between the systems
of the nations and the religions on both sides, there is not in the
whole of antiquity previous to Christianity, that of the Hebrews
not excepted, any figure to be found so closely resembling Christ
as that of Socrates.
After Socrates, no Greek did more to raise the tone of Greek
cultivation to a point at which it might come into contact with
the religion of the Hebrews, consequently towards the prepara-
tion for Christianity, than his disciple Plato. According to him,
Ideas constituted all that was true in things; i. e. , general notions
of them, which he considered to be not mere conceptions in the
minds of men, but real supersensuous existences. The highest
idea is that of the Good, and this identical with God himself: and
when Plato calls Ideas also Gods, we see in this the possibility
of a reconciliation of his philosophy on the one hand with the
Polytheism of his countrymen, on the other with the Monothe.
ism of the Jews; for Ideas, which in the former case might be
looked upon as subordinate gods or demons, might in the latter
be looked upon as angels, and be subordinated to the supreme
Idea as to the one God. Plato declares the external world to
have arisen from an amalgamation of reason with unreason, from
the entrance of Ideas into their opposite (which accordingly was
called matter, but which Plato described more negatively as the
non-existent, without form and definiteness): in connection with
this, in the language of the mysteries, he calls the human body
the fetter and prison of the soul, into which it sunk out of an
earlier disembodied state of pure contemplation of Ideas; and he
considers the utmost possible release of the soul from the body
as the problem which philosophy has to solve. In all this we
recognize at once the points of contact with the views of the
Essenes and the Gnostic speculations, in the form in which they
appeared early in the Christian Church; but the main central
principle — that of considering not the visible but the invisible as
the truly Existent, not this life but the future as the true Life
- has so much connection with Christianity that we cannot but
recognize in this principle a preparation for it, or of mankind for
it, on the part of the Greeks. Lastly, Plato does not, as Socrates
XXIV—883


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14114
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
did, consider virtue as the only true means for attaining hap-
piness, but makes happiness to consist in virtue as the right
condition - harmony and health -- of the soul; and in doing so
he makes virtue, in so far as it has its reward in itself, inde-
pendent of all pure motives, even of a regard to future recom-
pense, - which nevertheless he emphatically inculcates. Thus he
raised the idea of virtue as much above the Christian idea of
it, as the point of view of the genuine philosopher is in com-
parison with the ordinary religious point of view; and only the
foremost of the Christian teachers have in this respect come near
to Plato.
In everything that was essential, Aristotle remained true to
Plato's exalted theory of man's moral object; only that, in accord-
ance with his tendency to outward experience, he laid more stress
upon external good and evil as possible helps or obstacles to
moral effort. The school of the Stoics, in part from a motive of
mere opposition to the less strict principles of the Peripatetic
School founded by Aristotle, took as the main foundation of their
moral doctrine the self-sufficiency of virtue, its power to make
men happy in itself alone, the worthlessness of everything ex-
ternal to it. According to the Stoic doctrine, virtue is to be
considered the only good, vice the only evil; all other things,
however powerful their influence may be on the condition of
men, come into the category of the indifferent: health and sick.
ness, riches and poverty, nay, life and death themselves, are in
themselves neither good nor bad, but solely indifferent things,
which men may turn as well to good as to evil. Here the con-
nection with the later Christian point of view and its indifference
to external circumstances cannot be overlooked: and when the
Stoic philosophy places its wise man, as a being perfect, abso-
lutely without wants and godlike, upon an elevation apparently
irreconcilable with Christian humility, this elevation is again
compensated when the superiority of the wise man is stated to
consist only in his having put himself in accordance with the
law of the universe, and adapted himself to the general reason of
the world; and resignation to destiny as the will of God, the sub-
ordination of the individual will to the will of the Divinity, is
preached by the Stoics in a manner which at once reminds us of
the precepts of Christ.
Again, there was still another point of view in which Stoicism
prepared the way for Christianity. The mode of thought that


## p. 14115 (#305) ##########################################

DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
14115
prevailed in antiquity, not merely among the Jews, but also
among the Greeks and Romans, was, in accordance with the iso-
lation of the nations before the great monarchies of the world
arose, exclusive, and limited to their own people. The Jew con-
sidered none but the posterity of Abraham to be the people of
God; the Greek held that none but a Hellene was a genuine
man, or fully entitled to be called a man at all, and with refer-
ence to the barbarian he assigned himself the same exclusive
position that the Jew did to himself towards the Gentiles. Even
philosophers like Plato and Aristotle had not yet quite rid
themselves of the national prejudice: the Stoics were the first to
draw from the community of the faculty of reason in all men the
inference of the essential resemblance and connection of all.
The Stoics were the first to look upon all men as citizens of
a great republic, to which all individual States stand in only the
same relation as the houses of the town to the whole, as a fam-
ily under the common law of reason: the dea of Cosmopolitan-
ism, as one of the finest fruits of the exertions of Alexander the
Great, first sprung up in the Porch; nay, a Stoic was the first
to speak the word that all men are brothers, all having God for
their father. As regards the Idea of God, the Stoics advanced
the reconciliation between the popular polytheism and philosoph-
ical monotheism on the ground of the pantheistic view of the
universe, so far as to consider Zeus as the universal Spirit of
the universe, the original Existence, and the other gods as por-
tions and manifestations of him; and in doing so they did, in the
Idea of the Logos, describing universal Reason as the creative
power of nature, prepare a conception which was afterwards to
become of the utmost importance for the dogmatic foundation of
Christianity. At the same time, by the allegorical interpretation
which they applied to Homer and Hesiod in order to extract
physio-philosophical ideas of the gods and their histories in the
Greek mythology, the Stoics pointed out to the Alexandrian
Jews and subsequently to the Christians, in the study of the
Old and subsequently of the New Testament, the way of substi-
tuting at their pleasure a different meaning when they did not
like the literal one.
However far a theory which places the highest good in pleas-
ure, and deprives the gods of all interference with the world and
mankind, appears to be moved from the line of spiritual develop-
ment which helped to prepare the way for Christianity,- still,
even in Epicureanism, traits are not wanting that bear some


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14116
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
resemblance to it. In the first place, it is especially true in
philosophy that the most opposite tendencies come in contact
when thoroughly carried out; and thus the highest Good of the
Epicurean is not so far from that of the Stoic as might appear at
first sight. For by that pleasure in which he places the highest
Good, the Epicurean does not understand the highest sensual
enjoyment, but an abiding tranquil state of mind, which requires
the renunciation of much transitory enjoyment, the acceptance of
much incidental pain; and the Epicurean tranquillity is closely
connected with the Stoic apathy. It is true indeed that the vir.
tue of the Epicurean is never an object in and for itself, nor
ever anything but a means for attaining that happiness which is
separate from it; but still the means are so indispensable and so
sufficient, that he can neither conceive virtue without happiness
nor happiness without virtue. And though the Epicureans were
not so prudish as the Stoics with regard to the outward good
things of life, still they pointed to the simplicity of men's real
wants, and to the advantage of keeping within the bounds of
these wants, conversely also to the mode in which pain and mis-
ery may be conquered by the exercise of reason and coolness.
In this the Epicureans, by their passive process, approached
very nearly to the same point as the Stoics did by their active;
and towards the latter they stood in a supplementary relation in
those points in which Stoic severity became harshness and want
of feeling. The Porch would know nothing of compassion and
indulgence; Epicurus advised mercy and pardon, and the Epi.
curean principle, that it is better to confer a benefit than to
receive one, corresponds exactly to the precept of Jesus, that to
give is more blessed than to receive.
It was from the opposition and combat between these schools
of Greek philosophy, of which the one regularly denied what
the other maintained, the one thought it could refute what the
other could maintain, that at last a doubt of all truth as capable
of being known and proved — skepticism, as well philosophical as
practical — developed itself. In this there seems at first sight
to be a still wider separation from popular religious faith than
had been before involved in men's applying themselves to phi-
losophy. Still, the breaking of the last supports which human
consciousness sought in philosophy might make that conscious-
ness even more ready to receive a fresh supposed revelation of the
Divine. The increase of superstition, the recourse to secret mys-
teries and novel forms of worship, which were to bring man into
-


## p. 14117 (#307) ##########################################

DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
14117
immediate contact with the Divinity, such as may be noticed
about the time of the rise of Christianity even among the more
cultivated classes of the Græco-Roman world, was the result of
the fact that not merely the old religions now failed to give
mankind the satisfaction which they sought for, but the existing
philosophical systems also failed to do so. It is well known how
in the third century after Christ the so-called Neo-Platonic phi-
losophy sprang out of this unsatisfied want; but even in the last
century before Christ we remark a precedent to this tendency
in the same Neo-Pythagoreanism to which we ascribed, above,
an influence upon the Therapeutico-Essenic sect among the Jews.
If then such a want of a new method of contact with the
Divine, a new bond between heaven and earth, was felt in the
spirit of that time, and felt among the Jews as well as among
the Gentiles, Christianity takes its place as one of a series of at-
tempts to satisfy that want; and the recognition that it met with
is explained from the fact that it had the power of satisfying
it in a more catholic and original manner than the artificially
invented systems of Neo-Pythagoreanism and Neo-Platonism, or
the secret league of the Therapeuts and Essenes.
If now, as compared with what the Greeks did to prepare the
way for Christianity, we attempt to describe the assistance which
the Roman people rendered, we may refer this assistance to two
points. The first is the unity of one great Empire within which,
even in the century before the birth of Christ, they had com-
prised all the known nations of the ancient world. In this Alex-
ander had preceded them; but his kingdom, which besides did
not comprise the real West, had not continued to exist as a unity,
but had fallen into several pieces, among which there was never
a complete cessation from a bloody struggle. It was impossible
that the idea of Cosmopolitanism — the contemplation of man as
man, and no longer merely as Greek, Jew, etc. , etc. - could strike
deep root until it did so in the Roman Empire of the world; so
also it was necessary for the numerous and separate divinities of
tribes and nations to unite and mix in this great communion of
peoples, before the conceptions of them could resolve themselves
into that of the one supreme and only God, the religions of the
nations into a religion of the world. And with this change the
spiritualization of religion was immediately connected. The One
God could not be a material God, and for the God of all nations
the usages were no longer suited by which this or that peo-
ple had been accustomed to worship its own God. Christianity


## p. 14118 (#308) ##########################################

14118
DAVID FRIEDRICH STRAUSS
having once arisen, was enabled to spread rapidly and unimpeded
by means of the closer connection which the Roman rule had
established by assimilation of education and institutions, as well
as by the facilitation of intercourse between separate nations and
countries,
This dissemination was but an external addition to
all that preceded. The reverse side of this unity is the destruc-
tion of the happiness and comfort which one of these peoples
had before enjoyed in its independence, in living according to
its own laws and ancient traditions; the pressure with which the
foreign yoke weighed upon them; the manifold acts of injustice
to which in the later times of the Roman republic - especially
during the civil war — they were obliged to submit. Men's life
in this world being thus embittered, and all natural assistance
against Roman oppression being at last despaired of, their minds
were directed to the next world, their expectations to some
miraculous succor such as that of the idea of the Jewish Messiah
made them hope for, and Christianity promised after a spiritual
fashion.
The other point which we may look upon as the Roman con-
tribution towards the preparation of the way for Christianity is
the practical turn of the Roman people. Even the late schools
of Greek philosophy, such as the Stoic and Epicurean, had pre-
ferred applying themselves to the theory of morals; and in the
hands of the Romans, who had little inclination for mere specu-
lation or scholastic philosophizing generally, philosophy became
entirely practical and popular. In the popular apprehension the
opposition between different schools and systems was smoothed
away. The consequence was that among the Romans especially
was formed that Eclecticism, as the most famous representative
of which Cicero is well known to all the world, though his real
merit and importance in the history of progress has been lately
overlooked; Seneca also, though he stands on Stoic ground, was
not free from this Eclecticism: and in the writings of both there
are found, about the One God and the consciousness of him
implanted in men,-as well as about man, his Divine nature, its
corruption and restoration, — thoughts and expressions the purity
of which surprises us: while their resemblance to the doctrines
of Christianity, especially in the case of Seneca, has given occas-
ion to the legend of a connection between him and the Apostle
Paul, though it only shows how everything on all sides at that
time was pressing towards the point at which we see Christianity
immediately appear.


## p. 14119 (#309) ##########################################

14119
RUTH MCENERY STUART
(1856-)
SITHIN the last ten years Ruth McEnery Stuart has become
prominent among writers of dialect stories, by an originality
and charm which offset the disadvantages of her being a
late comer in a well-worked field. One of her earliest magazine
stories, Lamentations of Jeremiah Johnson, proved that the pos-
sibilities of the dialect story were by no means exhausted. It was
brightened with kindly humor; was in itself a quaint conception,
having that general character of pleasantness which distinguishes
Mrs. Stuart's stories, making them always
readable.
Lamentations of Jeremiah Johnson was
followed by other stories of negro life:
(The Golden Wedding,' Lucindy, Crazy
Abe,' — each told with force and natural-
ness, each a picture in which scenes and
situations stand out by a quick succession
of masterly strokes. Her characters are not
subtle, but clear and sharp. To understand
them, eyesight, not imagination, is required.
There are more classic ways than hers of
telling a story; but few are written with
less effort to be brilliant at the expense of Ruth McENERY STUART
truth. Her comedy rarely degenerates into
melodrama. Her pathos is never overdrawn.
She has not confined herself altogether to tales of negro life.
Babette, her only long story, is a pretty and conventional idyl of
Creole life in New Orleans. The Sonny' series tells of the birth
and education of the child of an Arkansas planter. The stories of
Simpkinsville are of life in an Arkansas village. (The Unlived Life
of Little Mary Ellen) is a pathetic tale of old-fashioned Southern
gentlefolk.
Mrs. Stuart has lived the greater part of her life among the peo-
ple and scenes which she describes so well. She was born in Marks-
ville, Aroyelles Parish, Louisiana, in 1856. In 1879 she married Mr.
Alfred O. Stuart, a planter of southern Arkansas, where she learned
to know the after-the-war negro of the Southern plantations, — the



## p. 14120 (#310) ##########################################

14120
RUTH MCENERY STUART
new issue” negro, as he is described by his fellows of the old
régime. There too she became acquainted with the country people,
whose simple lives and quaint speech are recorded in her stories of
Arkansas.
Unc' Mingo's Speculations' was Mrs. Stuart's first story. The
titles of her collected works are- _Carlotta's Intended and Other
Tales,' 'A Golden Wedding and Other Tales,' Babette,' (Sonny,'
(Solomon Crow's Christmas,' and Pockets and Other Tales. '
(
THE WIDDER JOHNSING
From (A Golden Wedding and Other Tales. ) Copyright 1893, by
Harper & Brothers
“Monkey, monkey, bottle o' beer,
How many monkeys have we here?
One, two, three-
Out goes she! ”
"T"
((
AIN' no use ter try ter hol' 'er. She des gwine f'om fits ter
convulsions, and f'om convulsions back inter fits! »
Sister Temperance Tias raised her hands and spoke
low. She had just come out of the room of sorrow.
Jake Johnson was dead, and Lize Ann Johnson again a widow.
The "other room” in the little cabin was crowded with vis-
itors,— the old, the young, the pious, the thoughtless, the frivo-
lous, — all teeming with curiosity, and bursting into expressions
of sympathy, each anxious to look upon the ever-interesting face
of death, every one eager to “he'p hol Sis' Lize Ann. ”
But Temperance held sway on this as on all similar occasions
on the plantation, and no one would dare to cross the threshold
from “the other room” until she should make the formal an-
nouncement, "De corpse is perpared ter receive 'is frien's;” and
even then there would be the tedium of precedence to undergo.
It was tiresome, but it paid in the end; for long before mid-
night, every visitor should have had his turn to pass in and take
a look.
Then would begin an informal, unrestricted circulation
between the two rooms, when the so-disposed might “choose
pardners,” and sit out on the little porch, or in the yard on
benches brought in from the church, and distributed about for
that purpose.


## p. 14121 (#311) ##########################################

RUTH MCENERY STUART
14121
C
Here they would pleasantly gather about in groups with social
informality, and freely discuss such newly discovered virtues of
the deceased as a fresh retrospect revealed, or employ themselves
with their own more pressing romances, as they saw fit.
There were many present, inside and at the doors, who eagerly
anticipated this later hour, and were even now casting about for
"pardners”; but Sister Temperance was not one of these. Now
was the hour of her triumph. It was she alone - excepting the
few, selected by herself, who were at this moment making a
last toilet for the departed — who had looked upon the face of the
dead.
She was even ahead of the doctors; who, as the patient had
died between visits, did not yet know the news.
As she was supreme authority upon the case in all its bear-
ings, whenever she appeared at the door between the two rooms
the crowd pressed eagerly forward. They were so anxious for
the very latest bulletin.
"F'om convulsions inter fits! Umh! ” repeated the foremost
sister, echoing Temperance's words.
“Yas, an' back ag'in ! » reiterated the oracle. « She des come
thoo a fit, an' de way she gwine orn now, I s'picion de nex' gwine
be a reverind convulsion! She taken it hard, I tell yer! ” And
Sister Temperance quietly, cruelly closed the door, and withdrew
into the scene of action.
“Sis' Lize Ann ought ter be helt,” ventured a robust sister
near the door.
«Or tied, one,” added another.
“I knowed she keered mo'fur Brer Jake 'n she let orn,”
suggested a third. "Lize Ann don't mean no harm by her orf-
She des kep’ 'er love all ter 'erse'f. ”
So ran the gossip of “the other room,” when Temperance re-
appeared at the door.
“Sis' Calline Taylor, yo' services is requi'ed. ” She spoke with
a suppressed tone of marked distinctness and a dignity that was
inimitable, whereupon a portly dame at the farthest corner of the
room began to elbow her way through the crowd, who regarded
her with new respect as she entered the chamber of death; a
shrill scream from the new-made widow adding its glamour to
her honors, as with a loud groan she closed the door behind her.
A stillness now fell upon the assembly, disturbed only by an
occasional moan, until Sister Phyllis, a leader in things spiritual,
broke the silence
»
handed ways.


## p. 14122 (#312) ##########################################

14122
RUTH MCENERY STUART
(
(
>
“Sis' Calline Taylor is a proud han' ter hol' down fits, but I
hope she'll speak a word in season fur sperityal comfort. ”
“Sis' Tempunce callin' out Scripture ev'y time she see 'er
ease up,” said old Black Sal. Lize Ann in good han's, po' soul!
Look like she is got good 'casion ter grieve. Seem like she's
born ter widderhood. ”
"Po' Jake! Yer reck'n she gwine bury 'im 'longside o' Alick
an' Steve ? ” — her former husbands.
“In co'se. 'Tain' no use dividin' up grief an' sowin' a pus-
son's sorrer broadcas', 'caze — »
The opening door commanded silence again.
"Brer Jake's face changin' mightily! ” said Temperance, as she
stood again before them. «De way hit's a-settlin', I b'lieve he
done foun' peace ter his soul. ”
"Is 'is eyes shet ? »
"De lef' eye open des a leetle teenchy tinechy bit. ”
“Look fur a chile ter die nex'— a boy chile. Yer say de lef'
eye open, ain't yer ? »
“Yas - de one todes de chimbly. He layin' catti-cornders o'
«
de baid, wid 'is foots ter de top. ”
« Catti-cornders! Umh! ”
Yas, an' wid 'is haid down todes de foot. ”
"Eh, Lord! Haids er foots is all one ter po' Jake now.