Harper's Round Table, August 27, 1895 Part 6

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOHN WAS THE COMPANION OF HIS FATHER IN MANY EXPEDITIONS.]

However that may be, we catch more glimpses of John's good side than of his bad. He was the companion of his father in many of his expeditions about Germany, and he was with him on that fatal trip to Eisleben in January, 1546, to reconcile the quarrelsome Counts of Mansfeld.

With his boy he forded the icy rivers Mulde and Saale, where they nearly lost their lives, and where the Reformer doubtless "caught his death."

Escorted by hors.e.m.e.n and spearmen, Luther and his son entered Eisleben; the Counts of Mansfeld were reconciled, but Luther fell sick, and that very night, the 18th of February, he died.

All Germany mourned the great man's death; all Germany hoped that his sons might follow in the father's steps. But the three boys seem only to have turned out respectable men, without any of the elements of greatness or leaders.h.i.+p.

John Luther made a fairly good lawyer. He married the daughter of one of his professors at Konigsberg University; served as a soldier in the German army; settled down, and died at Konigsberg, in the year 1576, at the age of fifty. His name is chiefly remembered as the "dear Johnny"

and "son John" of his great father's letters, and of the happy home circle in the cloister-house at Wittenberg. He left neither name nor deed to make his memory a word in the mouths of men; yet we cannot but feel that, as the son of Luther, he must have been proud of the great father whom he remembered only with love and reverence, and, let us hope, rejoiced to see the regard the world paid to the masterful ways of the great Reformer and leader, whose gifts the son did not inherit, and whose name he but feebly upheld.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PUDDING STICK]

This Department is conducted in the interest of Girls and Young Women, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor.

The last Pudding Stick was especially designed for young people who wish to write for the papers. This one is also to be about writing, but in rather a different line. I hope none of you will be offended if I urge upon you the importance of learning to spell. It always gives me a little quiver of pain--something like the sudden start of a nerve in a tooth which is sensitive--when I read a letter from one of my girls, and find that she uses two "l's" where she should use one, or one "t" where two are required. I think it is easier for some than for others to spell correctly. Spelling is largely a matter dependent on attention. You may not know it, but your eyes are always teaching you how to spell, and, unconsciously, as you read interesting books or the daily paper, you see how words are spelled, and learn to spell correctly yourself. There is no excuse for any girl who has both sight and hearing to blunder in her spelling, when Helen Keller, who can neither see nor hear, spells without ever making a mistake. Helen writes a beautiful legible hand, and uses a type-writer to perfection, and yet she has never had the advantages which most of us possess, having been blind and deaf ever since her babyhood. The thing is to pay close attention if you desire to be a good speller.

Very much more than we fancy we are dependent for our style of speech in writing and conversation on the authors we read. Here, too, we need to be attentive. No bright American girl can afford not to read a few pages of some good author every day of her life. Mere story-books are not sufficient. Keep on hand a book which is a serious undertaking, and plod straight through it. I have made this a rule all my life, and I advise you to do the same.

Those who have had the good fortune to be early taught another language besides your own, and who understand French or German, should keep on hand a book in one of those languages, and read a chapter or two every day. If I could I would like to persuade you of the importance of doing something along the line of a study or an accomplishment every single day. Even a few minutes regularly devoted will tell in time to advantage. The president of one of our great New England colleges used to say to the students, "Nothing can stand before the day's works."

People who set apart a little while every morning or every afternoon for a definite purpose, and then never allow themselves to lose that time, making it up if they are interrupted by extra effort on the next day, soon surpa.s.s the brilliant people who are capable of great exertions now and then, but never do anything patiently day by day. I wish, too, that I could say to you as strongly as I feel, "love your work." "The labor we delight in physics pain." It seems to me a dreadful thing to go to one's work with the spirit of a slave. We should always put into our work our best thoughts, our best hope, and the motive of true love. No matter what the work, the way we go about it gives it worth and dignity, or makes it petty and mean.

Another caution is, do not talk very much about what you are doing.

Nothing is so weak as vanity. Somewhere in the world there is always somebody doing such work as ours quite as well as we can do it, and we have no right to inflict upon our friends the story of our personal endeavors or failures. It is well to omit from our daily conversation as much as possible references to ourselves and to what we are engaged upon. I want my girls to become interesting women, and the woman who is really interesting thinks and talks of others more than of herself.

It is a good plan, in order to fix on your mind what you read and wish to remember, to keep a commonplace book. Here you may copy poems which please you, dates of striking events, bits of description, and entertaining anecdotes. One girl friend of mine succeeded thus in making a very beautiful compilation, which was afterwards published, and which gave great pleasure to her friends.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Signature]

ON BOARD THE ARK.

BY ALBERT LEE.

CHAPTER IV.

The animals poured into the Ark like the tide through a sluice. They pushed and shoved and crowded, and many tried to get to the Purser's window ahead of their turns. The big ones brushed the little ones aside with a total disregard of gentleness or consideration. But the Bull soon put a stop to this sort of thing. He stuck his head out of the window and said all sorts of horrible things, and vowed he would have the doors closed if the beasts did not preserve better order. Things went along better after that.

The larger animals came in first: Lions, Tigers, Elephants, Hippopotami, Rhinoceroses, Camels, Giraffes, Dromedaries, Buffaloes, Polar Bears, Grizzly Bears, and every other kind of Bear. Tommy thought he had never seen so many different animals in all his life. It beat a circus all hollow, and it reminded him of the college song his Uncle d.i.c.k used to sing about:

"The animals came in two by two, Hurrah! Hurrah!

The animals came in two by two.

Hurrah! Hurrah!

The animals came in two by two, The Elephant and the Kangaroo, And they all got into the Ark before it began to rain!"

After the large animals followed a long procession of deer--Elk, Antelopes, Gazelles, Chamois, Moose, and Caribou. Behind these came dogs of every kind--big dogs, little dogs, thin dogs, fat dogs, gay dogs, sad dogs, s.h.a.ggy dogs, sleek dogs, and all colored dogs; Greyhounds, Mastiffs, Pugs, St. Bernards, Fox Terriers, Setters, Pointers, Poodles, Great Danes, Skyes, Black-and-Tans, and Collies. Toward the end of the procession came a long-bodied brown dog with big ears and long straight legs. Tommy had never seen that kind before.

"What is he?" he said, pointing downward.

The ex-Pirate shook his head, but the Gopher answered, "That's a Dachshund."

"A Dachshund?" repeated Tommy: "I guess not. Dachshunds are not built like that. Look at his long legs."

"Well, that _is_ a Dachshund," insisted the Gopher; and then he pulled his sunbonnet over his head and closed his eyes for a nap.

The French Poodle was the only one that had any trouble with the Bull, because the Bull could not speak French, and refused to understand what the Poodle said. Tommy plainly heard the dog muttering to himself as he left the window:

"Espece de John Bull! Il est toujours comme ca!"

But the little boy could not understand what the Poodle meant anymore than the Bull could, because he had not gotten along any further in his French exercise-book than "Have you seen the good General's red slippers under the green table of the wine-merchant's beautiful mother-in-law?"

And he did not recognize any of the words in the Poodle's plaint.

The Bull had been losing his temper pretty rapidly ever since the doors opened, and he seemed to be waiting for a chance to do or say something ugly. Pretty soon a couple of harmless and sleepy-looking Oxen came plodding up the gang-plank and strolled through the doorway.

"Look here!" the Bull shouted at them, "you've got to leave your chewing-gum outside! No gum-chewing allowed on the Ark!"

One of the Oxen protested, but the Bull a.s.serted that if the Ox made any trouble he would come outside and settle the matter himself; and so both Oxen regretfully stuck their chewing-gum under the gang-plank and pa.s.sed in. A little while later a Lizard came along and handed in his ticket through the small window near the floor. The Bull looked at it and frowned, and then stuck his head out over the counter and glared at the little Lizard, who positively turned green with fright.

"What do you mean by presenting this ticket?" asked the Bull, savagely.

"Please, sir, I want to come into the Ark," replied the Lizard, meekly.

"Well, you can't get in on this ticket--see?"

"Please, sir, it's the only one I have," continued the Lizard, trembling.

"Well, look here, young fellow," snorted the Bull, getting angrier as he spoke; "this ticket is your shape, but it is not your size. You bought it from a speculator outside!"

"Oh no, sir!" exclaimed the Lizard.

"I don't care what you say. This is the Crocodile's ticket, and it ain't your size, and you can't get in on it!"

"Please, sir. I did not know," mildly protested the Lizard. "I can't read, sir."

"Well, don't you know that the pauper, the insane, and the illiterate are not allowed on this Ark?" roared the Bull, apparently deriving much pleasure out of the fact that he was scaring the Lizard half to death.

The little fellow did not in the least understand the meaning of these big words, but he was so frightened by the Bull's ferocious manner that he turned away and scurried frantically down the gang-plank, and hid under a big stone in the sand.

"How awfully mean for the Bull to talk like that to such a little animal!" whispered Tommy to the ex-Pirate.

"That's what he always does. Never takes a fellow his size," answered the ex-Pirate. "He bullies the little ones: that's why he's called a Bull."