King of the Franks, burned alive his son and all his friends because they rebelled against him. Another mode of execution was to drag the victim at a horse's tail until dead. The ferocity of European nations became intolerable during the anarchy of the feudal system. The peasants of northern France, rendered desperate, resolved to extirpate the nobility. As an example of their method of carrying out this resolve read the following: "A party in 1358 forced open the castle of a knight, hung him upon the gallows, violated in his presence, his wife and daughters, roasted him upon a spit, compelled his wife and children to eat of his flesh, and terminated that horrid scene with massacring the whole family and burning the castle." When asked why they committed such atrocious deeds they answered "they did as they saw others do." A sad commentary on the manners of the times. The nobles were equally cruel. It was rare sport with them to kill their prisoners with their own hands. "The Count de Ligney encouraged his nephew, a boy of fifteen, to kill with his own hands some prisoners who were his countrymen ; in which says Monstrelet, "the young man took great delight." An English law in the time of Edward I, punished stealing from the lead mines in Derby in the following manner : A hand of the criminal was nailed to a table, he was then left without meat or drink, and his only method of escape was to sever his

hand in some way. To these individual cases indicating the cruelty of ancient manners add the horrible cruelties practiced in their wars, and the atrocious crimes practiced in religious persecutions. Then set opposite this cruelty, the humanity of the present day and rejoice in the manhood of the 19th century. In connection with this universal cruelty existed great harshness and roughness of man. Observe the coarse upbraidings of the Homeric warriors. The rudeness and brutality of the Spartans towards the Helots, their slaves, is a reproach to the human race, and yet the Spartans were respected by their neighbors as the most virtuous people of Greece.

ners.

In Rome, a slave chained at the gate of every great house gave admittance to the guests invited to a feast. The behavior of Demosthenes and Eschines to each other in their public harangues, speaks volumes in testimony of the coarseness of the masses. Their indelicacy is painfully apparent in the comedies and tragedies of the most cultivated periods. Roman manners were equally detesta

ble for their lust and indecency. The manners of Europe before the revival of letters were no less coarse than cruel.

Drunkenness seems to have been universal, for a law of Charlemange forbids judges to hold courts, except in the morning, while they are yet sober. The common amusement of a race of strumpets, the birthday tenure mentioned by Struvius, and the obscene ornaments of dress worn in time of Lewis XI, of France, are instances of indelicacy which should bring a blush to the cheek of a savage. They had then the original Can-Can as a popular drama. Even clergymen refused to administer the sacrament without a fee.

It is needless to refer to the manners of the two centuries preceeding this. In the literature of these centuries will be found abundant evidence that we are an improvement upon them in respect to our manners.

Progress is the watchword of this century with reference to our manners, as well as our thoughts, and it is our privilege to believe and feel proud and confident in the sphere of life in which our lots

are cast.

VARIETY IS THE SPICE OF LIFE.

BY E. X.

PRELUDE.

Variety lends to our living the spice,

And virtue is sprinkled with atoms of vice ;
The good and evil are placed on a level,
Some men go to heaven and some to the devil.

This world is a patent machine, made to mash

And mix everything in a gigantic hash;

Go where you may please, or turn which way you will,

In searching, you'll find that the same is true still.

Oh, what a sad world is this base ball of ours,

There's a basket of weeds with each bouquet of flowers.

ILLUSTRATION.

Little Jimmy Dundaster was one of the weeds,

A stout little weed, though,—a dock or a sumach;
With a conscience elastic, and very few creeds,
He recognized never a king but his stomach.

One day (it was summer) a good little boy,
Be-spit-curl'd and spencer'd, was bending his course
Down town to a store with the sign of a toy,
To purchase a long-wished-for ginger-bread horse.

Now Jimmy Dundaster was lying in wait,
And he followed the good little boy, unsuspected,
And saw him emerge from the shop with the bait,
A huge horse of ginger-bread, sorrel complected.

Alas, that our duty compels us to tell

What further occurr'd in this wicked disaster:

The good little boy was unburdened, pell-mell,

And the horse was borne off by bad Jimmy Dundaster,

The good little boy wandered home, unconsol'd,
His apron and tucker were dirtied with weeping,
While in the next alley sat Jimmy, the bold,
Contentedly munching the fruit of his reaping.

MORAL.

In this Gyasticutus-ozoican age

In these wrangling times,

When talent lies dormant and fashion's the rage,

These tangling rhymes

May gain approbation or merit contempt,
From polish or prejudice may be exempt;
But who cares for critics or scoffers or those
That hold the head lofty or turn up the nose!
If aught there may be that this story contains
Will not be approv'd by fastidious brains,
The truth is not alter'd; there still are some Jims
Who, though they know better, are not Cherubim(s).
The good little boys are not always rewarded,
And sometimes the bad boys are prone to be sordid.

308

This simple and beautiful epic-idyl, though not the greatest, is one of the best of Goethe's works. There is an interest and simplicity in both the plot and the language which indicate the work of a master genius. The characters are few and well drawn. The poem consists of nine cantos named after the nine muses; the verse is dactylic hexameter.

Though a love story, it has none of that sickly sentimentality, so prevalent in the majority of tales in which Cupid performs a prominent part. An additional interest attaches to the story from its national character, being founded on an incident of the French Revolution; but the scenes of the revolution form no part of the story except as they affect the domestic and personal relations of the characters.

It is always interesting to know an author's opinion of his own productions. Who does not read "David Copperfield" with an additional interest when he knows that it was Dickens's favorite among all his works? Goethe himself says of this poem in his 'Conversations,' “‘Hermann und Dorothea' is almost the only one of my larger poems which still satisfies me; I can never read it without strong interest. I love it best in the Latin translation; there it seems to me nobler, and as if it had returned to its original form." In conversing about writing for the stage he says again of this poem: "If any one reads my 'Hermann und Dorothea,' he thinks it might be brought out at the theatre," and goes on to say that Topfer has made the experiment, but without success, for things that may be very pretty to read and to think about often fall flat on the stage.

A brief outline of the epic, as it is sometimes called, with a few remarks upon it and its author, is as much as can be attempted in this place.

The opening scene is in a fertile valley near the Rhine. Here, in a little market-town, the host of the "Golden Lion " is sitting with his wife in the doorway of their house lamenting the misery of the fugitives who have lately arrived from the Upper Rhine and passed within a short distance of the market, attracting all the curious out to see the procession. They have sent Hermann, their only son, with food and clothing for the sufferers. The two are

conversing on the calamities of the exiles, and the prospects for a splendid harvest, when the crowd returns from gazing at the procession and with them two neighbors, the apothecary and the preacher, who stop to greet the couple and relate to them what they have seen. The apothecary, who is a little loquacious, tells the story of suffering, and the three go into a cool back parlor where "no flies intrude" to refresh themselves with some Rhine wine of "three and eighty," and continue their conversation until Hermann returns and tells what he has seen. He has bestowed his

provisions upon a maiden whom he found driving an ox team hitched to a wagon in which lay a very sick woman. The appearance and manner of the girl as she asked assistance, not for her self, but for the woman, captivated the young man at once, and he gives a vivid description of her troubles, when the apothecary—a confirmed bachelor-takes occasion to congratulate himself that he has neither wife nor children to care for in such troubulous times.

This emboldens Hermann to enter a protest against such a selfish and unmanly sentiment, saying he "would rather marry now than ever," whereupon his mother commends him and relates how she was married in a time of pecuniary distress. The father, like a great many other fathers, is determined that his son shall marry none but a wealthy girl; and he suggests to Hermann the daughter of the merchant, his richest neighbor, for a wife. The plan does not suit and the father's manner becomes very passionate. Taking offence at this, Hermann withdraws from the room, leaving the men to continue their conversation, which turns, after the father's wrath has subsided, upon the extravagance of the times, the apothecary, as usual, doing much of the talking.

Meanwhile the mother, who sympathizes with Hermann, has gone to hunt for him that she may console him. She finds him sitting in a field under a pear tree, weeping. In answer to her inquiries he affects great patriotism, and grieves that his name was not put on the last muster roll. The mother, however, suspects that her son is attempting a disguise and she succeeds in getting a confession from him that his heart is set on the maiden to whom he ministered in the procession. His home is desolate, because he has "no wife." His mother enlists heartily in his cause to obtain the father's consent to Hermann's choice. The preacher takes her