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3G A War Camp 39 Mou-sets^ as a Sailor 41 African fenced City 44 Slaves on an African Kiver 52 Negro Women at Home 54 THE ORPHANS' PILGRIMAGE.
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The Greek poet Kostes Palamas played a dominant role in the development of modern vernacular, or demotic, Greek literature. He drew inspiration from popular mood and expression and gave voice to the aspirations of a people long isolated from their ancient traditions. Kostes Palamas was born on Jan. There Palamas received his primary and secondary education, moving to Athens in with the intention of studying law; he left the University of Athens, however, without completing a degree.

In the early s Palamas struggled to support himself as a journalist and literary critic; during these years he became involved with the Demotikistes, moving quickly to the vanguard of this literary school that sought to replace the anachronistic "official" language of government and education with the popular idiom. Palamas published his first collection of lyric verse, entitled Tragoudia tes Patridos mou Songs of My Fatherland , in The following year Palamas married Maria Valvi, by whom he had three children. The poet wrote perhaps his most moving expression of personal grief in "The Tomb, " a poem in memory of his son Alki, who died at the age of 9.

During these years filled with struggle and polemic, Palamas produced scores of newspaper articles, and he translated the New Testament and the works of several western European authors into modern Greek. He published a well-known short story, "A Man's Death, " in , and issued a collection of poems, lambs and Anapaests, in That year Palamas was named secretary general of the University of Athens, a position he held until his retirement in Asalefte Zoe Life Immovable , Palamas's next collection of verse, appeared in It exhibited his increasing variety of mood and metrical form.

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The Gypsy poet, an outcast possessed only of his vital language, wanders from creative tasks to love and to the death of gods and of the ancients, finally becoming a prophet and uniting at last science, nature, and man. The poet, virtually a national hero, died in Athens on Feb. Phoutrides and T. It must be remembered that in our faith this feeling concerning the production of the race is a profoundly religious feeling, and brings a happi- ness not realized where the relations are merely worldly. Entering Salt Lake City on a beautiful summer day, I could realize how its site had appeared to the first Mor- mon pilgrims a land of Beulah.

Even before cultivation it blossomed like a rose amid the mountains. William Godbe, whom I had met in London, and his wife had invited me to be their guest, and arranged a Sunday afternoon lec- ture for me in the Opera House. I found the Mormons were by no means the vulgar people some supposed them, nor the puritanical sectarians I had imagined them, but the Salt Lake aristocracy. In driving about the neighbour- hood I met a company of young ladies with fine horses and fashionable riding-habits : all Mormons.

My lecture in the same house was attended by a fine audience, two thirds being Mormon families, quite as well dressed and intelligent as the fami- lies of other regions.


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On Sunday morning in the finely festooned Tabernacle the crowd, more than ten thousand, was made up of people gathered from many lands, and some of the devout ap- peared more rustic than those seen in the theatre. But here I remarked an old-fashioned simplicity somewhat like that of Methodist meetings in the South. It was very hot, and occasionally during the sermon some one would go for a drink to one of the water buckets provided at each door. The scene was unique. There was an organ, stringed in- struments, and admirable choir; but in two hymns the multitude joined, and the fervent singing of so many voices was as impressive as the refrain of the people re- sponding to the choir in St.

The air was cooled by a large fountain playing in the centre of the building. And what shall I say of the sermon? He took no text and spoke without notes, without hesita- tion, and with little gesture except in a few dramatic passages. I doubt not that if this Mormon preacher had been a Congregationalist he would have had national distinction. He was, however, in his Tabernacle freer than Beecher in Plymouth Church, having no com- punction in occasionally though rarely raising the loud laughter that Beecher generally reserved for the lecture hall.

It was a complete doctrinal discourse. His hour was occupied mainly with a vigorous lawyer-like argument for his system. From my point of view his defence, so far as it was biblical, was unanswerable. I was not sur- prised by observing in the pew next in front of me a ma- tronly lady, apparently English, with her three youthful daughters, becoming nervous as quotation after quotation from the Bible was set forth.

That same evening I met in Mr.

I was acquainted with some of her rela- tives, and was much pleased to hear her experiences and impressions at Salt Lake City. Though reared in ortho- doxy, she told me that in arguing with Mormons she had long ago ceased to quote Scripture. In one thing they all agreed, namely, that the outer world was mistaken in supposing that any individual was attracted to a Mormon church by sensuality.

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It was rather the ascetic who left the sensual- ism of great cities and undertook the burden of supporting a number of wives and their always different residences. Some of the personal narratives were of thrilling inter- est, and if America could produce a George Sand, Salt Lake would become a classic land of romance.

Some of these men and women had come from remote parts of the world where they had suffered poverty and been brought up in ignorance ; they had listened to the tale of some way- side missionary concerning the far land flowing with milk and honey, temporal and spiritual ; they had journeyed as poor pilgrims, working their way on boats, climbing moun- tains, and here had secured comfortable livelihood and education such as would have been impossible in their native countries.

I called by request on an intelligent and handsome woman who had been one of several plural wives from whom a well-to-do Mormon had parted in obedience to the law. She was residing alone in a pleasant home, and told me that nothing could exceed the vigilance and kindness with which her former husband and the one wife remain- ing to him, and to whom he was perfectly loyal, supported her and the two other wives from whom he had separated.

She suffered no disrespect in the community. I have often thought of this happy woman in later years while remark- ing the little consideration given by Americans in their rage against polygamy to the fate of repudiated wives. A story is told of an American missionary on a savage island who managed to make one convert but refused to baptize him because he had four wives. But one day the convert came and said he had now but one wife. Richard Garnett — Pearl-divers — Our floating Utopia. When one looks back upon the ages when the Knight Templar was a real figure, and every sword of his frater- nity stained with the blood that made the Red Cross, it seemed a strange thing to find them in the far west become pageantry.

There are penalties on taking a thing out of its historic habitat. Here was the cross, radiant on caps that called for bells, not only decorating Joss houses, but vile dens, even labelling the whiskey bottles. In the Chinese temple was a figure of the Joss, in which I recognized a degradation of Buddha.

On his altar was a dish containing vari-coloured candies.


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The Chinese idled around without reverence or solemnity. One told me that it was a three-day festival or mission. At the end of three days I went that way in the evening, and at midnight witnessed a strange procession. Between these multi- tudes marched the procession, with mechanical noises meant for music. Midway in the procession were six or seven priests in red garb, and behind these, uplifted on the shoulders of four men, was the Joss, a variegated dummy with uplifted arms which startled me.

I found the Chinese theatre interesting. An attentive Chinaman sat in my box and undertook to explain to me the plot. The interest of this was that the hero and his wife, pursued by enemies, find that they cannot both be saved ; he prepares to die, but she seizes his sword and kills herself.

But he, still pursued, cannot be saved except by touching the altar of the Joss. In order, however, to seek that asylum he must needs become a priest ; but by becoming a priest he divorces himself from his other wife, who is a sister of the Emperor.

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This highly decorated wife enters the temple and finds her husband beside the altar, turned priest. With loud lamentations she tries to drag him from the altar. Failing that, she tries cajolery, and we witnessed the fascinations of a Chinawoman trying to captivate her lord.

She will have him back. She have no priest. She cry good deal. At any rate, I know not to this day whether the heroine coaxed her lord back or not, or whether he was slain by his pur- suers. But it was an ancient story, and in it were the ideas of asylum and of priestly celibacy. San Francisco struck me as cosmopolitan, occupying a place similar to that of ancient Venice. There was also cosmopolitan- ism in the absence of any blase air in those I met, — refined and educated people.

They appeared notably free from provincialism. I met some parted from in boyhood and then thought of as if passing into another world. Valentine Pey- ton and his sister, relatives whose parting from us in Virginia I could just remember, gave me a grand re- ception. He had founded a race in San Francisco, and in his house I was surrounded by his children and grand- children. Norris, whom I had known in my student days as the beautiful young wife of Thomas Starr King, entertained me in her mansion, and gave me an amusing account of her journey to the Yosemite with the Emer- son party.

At the house of Mr. Seated on a tug, awaiting mails from the East, with which I am to go out to our royal Pacific ship, an old gentleman beguiled the hours till midnight with his memo- ries of California. He was unimaginative, but his dry narrative strung facts suffi- ciently poetic. One generation had witnessed the growth of a camp of nomads to a brilliant city, but to this day he said the majority of those who came to San Francisco have deep in them the hope of spending their last years somewhere else. Presently we accompanied one hundred and fifty huge mail bags to the ship Australia.

Every sack was a witness to the vast numbers who had come to the golden shore only to find it a gate to shores beyond. Ah, the South! Deep down in every breast there is a Mignon sighing for the finer gold — The land where the citrons bloom, And the gold orange lights the leafy gloom.

Voyaging these summer seas, gently gliding to soft ripple of bluest waves, between Elysian dawns and Hes- perian sunsets, sinking more and more into a sweet day- dream, drinking deeper the draught of Lethe, — we on this floating Pacific island learned more in a week than anthropology can tell us about the islanders. We experi- enced their evolution. By the time we reached the Hawai- ians I was one of them. It took only three days to make our upper deck one of the Society Islands. We had no clique nor caste. Our ship rolled out of Frisco waters, hut as it approached the tropic its rolls turned to the easy swing of a hammock.

We had hammocks swung on deck, but the Australia having turned into one, they were left for the play of the younger children. I say younger, for though some of us are old, yet all children — or nearly all. When we first gathered in the smoking-room the con- versation fell on Shakespeare. In St. Louis I had been visited by Mr.

Holmes, who had written a book to prove that Lord Bacon wrote the plays ascribed to Shakespeare. An Australian gentleman mentioned that the late Dr. Thompson of Melbourne — a great authority on typhus — was an enthusiastic believer in the theory that Lord Bacon wrote the plays attributed to Shakespeare.