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The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, October 16, 1899, Image 12

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righted, 1599, by Seymour Eaton.)
Contributors to this course: Dr. William J.
nolle. Lr. Edward Dowden, Dr. Albert S. Cook.
Dr. Hiram Coreon. Dr. Hamilton W. Mab'.c.
3>r. Isaac X. Demrr.cn, Dr. Ylda D. .-vii .1-
ur.d ethers.
I.— Story of the Play.
The King of Navarre, "the sole Inheritor
of a.l perfections that a man may own,"
has made a vow that
"Tii: p.Ttnful study shrill outwear thre6 years.
Xo w--.n-.nn may approach hts silent court."
Three gentlemen of the King's court
have sworn that "for the three years'
term" they will "live with him as his fel
low-aehclars." One article of tho vow or
oath reads as follows:
"Item, If any man he •■en to talk with a
woman within the term of three years he shall
endure rucli public fihame as the rest of tlie
court can possibly devise."
Presently there comes to Navarre, In
tending to visit the court of the King, the
noble and beautiful Princess of France,
attended by threo noble and beautiful la
dies. The Princess is upon an embassy
for her father, the King of France, who is
oldj feeble ar.d 111.
1 he lying of Navarre and his three cour
tiers are dismayed. Tbey do not wish to
be unkmd, nor do they wish to deny them
selves the happiness of meeting those no
hie and beautiful ladies. And yet tbey do
net wish to bo forsworn ef their oath.
Finally, sinco necessity knows no law,
they agver to be forsworn of their oath
thin much:: They will meet the Princess
and her train witbout the precincts of the
court; "nut tho ladies are not to he ad
mitted within the precincts.
When fhe- :ne?t!ng takes place the King
red !:!s throe courtiers fail in love with
tbe Princess and her threo ladies, re
spectively. But for shame's sake they will
not confess their loves to one another, ln
the »nd, however, through a series of mis-
adventures, they become acquainted with I
their common predicament, and they
unite upon a common plan to obtain the
favor of their loved ones.
The Princess and her ladies also find ;
out about the gentlemen's predicament. ;
and determine to have some merriment 1
over the affair. So when the King and!
Ms courtiers. li the disguise of Musco- 1
vites; visit the Princess and her ladies, the
Princess and her ladies also disguise them
selves. The result is that every one of ihe
four gentlemen makes love to the wrong ;
When subsequently the . ■ lemon visit
the ladies In their proper guise and again
declare their loves the ladies mercilessly
laugh at ih<Mii for their former blunders.
In the ond. however, the lovers are all ac- j
cepted, but only on condition of each do- i
ing a year's penance, as, for example, re
--"To ff-nir.e forlorn and naked hermitage" —
this not only because of the broken oaths,
but also to show that their lova is
Note — Road the play before reading any
of the studies which follow. Note Dr.
Cook's directions, as published in The Call j
on Monday. I
II. — A Neglected Comedy. i
"Love's Labor's Dost" Is 'haps the ;
least read of Shakespeare's comedies; and
f.tr this neglect it is easy to assign a rea
son. The play, probably Shakes] first
attempt at independent dramatic compos!
tion, is, on the surface at least, of a quite j
different character from his other come- I
dies. Willie these deal with the lasting
attributes of human nature and find their I
humor in the perennially ridiculous as- i
necta of man's character. "Dove's Dabor's
Dost" is a satiric fling at contemporary j
follies and provokes laughter by its cari- :
cature of figures and fashions well-known j
to its first hearers, but as forgotten to tho •
averafif: reader of to-day as the heroes '
wbo lived before Agamemnon. Just as i
"Patience" some years back swept over
England ar.d America In a peal of merry ;
mocking laughter; but has already passed
away into tne dark backward Ind abysm ;
of time; so this piay of Shakespeare's, i
which once set the pit of the Blackfriars |
theater roaring, and sweetly commended
itself to the fancy of good Queen Bess j
and the learning of wise King James, is j
now to aM intents dead past hope of re- I
surrection from the shelves of the library .
to ttie boards of the stage. 'Die allusions
to tlie fantastic Monarcbo, to tho dancing I
horse, to ihe last fashionable licentious j
poem, ali ring Mow to-day, and when I
Shakespeare's merry gentlemen belabor I
th* long-forgotten fashion of pedantic and |
affected speech, the reader Is Inclined to 1
cry with Armado: "The sweet war man ls i
dead ar.d rotten; sweet chucks, beat not 1
tbe bones of the dead." '.
And yet for the student of Shakespeare)
"Love's Labor's Lost" has a peculiar in
terest. It was the special favorite of the',
young Goethe and nis circle of Shakes- !
r-enre worshipers at Strasburg. : I iegel, I
the great champion of the romantic school j
In Germany, spoke of It as a model com- i
edy of the finest wit and the most de- {
lightful mirth. Nor has it been without '•
honor In its own country. Coleridge says:
"If this juvenile drama had been the only j
one extant of our Shakespeare, and we i
possessed the tradition only' of his riper
works, how many of Shakespeare's char
acteristic features might we not still '
have discovered, though as in a portrait j
of him taken In his boyhood." Charles i
Lamb loved It as the comedy of 'leisure. I
"most nonsense, bost sense"; and Pater \
has devoted to !t one of the most ''harm
ing of hip charming appreciations.
lll. —History of the Play.
All critics agree that "Love's Labor's
Dost" Is one of the earliest of Shake- ;
speare's plays, and some of the highest
authorities rank It as his first Independ
ent work. General consent puts the date
of its composition somewhere between 1589
and U.W. We need not trouble ourselves |
about the exact year. When* we know
that wo have In "Dove's Labor's Lost" j
one cf the earliest. If not the very first, 1
of Shakespeare's •' lons In the field of
poetic comedy, we know enough.
The statement that it is one of Ms earl- I
lest creations applies, however. only to the j
first draft of "Love's Labor's Lost," and •
not to the drama as It lies before us to- I
day. On the title page of the first cdi- !
tion, a quarto, published in D'sS, we read: 1
"A Pleasant
Conceited Corned!*
Loves labors ioßt.
As lt was preaetsted before her Hlghnes
tnis last Chrletrras.
Newly ,'norrected and augmented
by W. Shakespeare."
"'Newly corrected and augmented"— for
when her gracious mates-. •■• deigned to
cast the radiant beams' of her favor upon
the young dramatist, whose wit. pathos
end sentiment were packing the play
houses In the suburbs, and commanded j
a performance of bis popular dramatic j
satire for the entertainment of her court
on Christmas day, it was not for him to 1
I, resent ii in its first rough form. It must j
be retouched and decked out with such or
l.ar.ier.t cf rinsing verse as the author of |
"Uoir.eo and Juhet" and "The Merchant 1
of Venice" had at nis command. And 1
there w«3 another reason. Among the
ladies of the court who would watch the
performance was a certain black-eyed
maid of honor whom Shakespeare loved,
and who had given im her bluest veins
lo kisp. He would write his love for her
into the play. court her by the mouth of
its here. Others might laugh over the
mn of the performance, the love which 1
lav l>o)o\v toe surface would be a secret
between them alone. But more of this
It is not hard to discover some of the I
additions that Shakespeare made to the
play ln 1507. In two passages at least we
can see where the printer of the first edi
tion, working probably from a playhouse
copy interlined and with marginal read
ings, has struck off the old and the new
in one confused jumble. The lirst of these
is rowne's famous eulogy of love (act
IV, scene .1), the second Rosaline's Judg
ment on her lover (act V, scene 2). The
Inequality in length of the acts shows us
where the "augmentations" have been
made. The characters of Rosaline and
Berowne must have been strengthened,
and It is possible that the figure of tho
pedant schoolmaster was added as a com
panion piece to the pedant curate of the
first sketch.
IV.— Points of Special Interest.
In spile of what has been said above as I
i to the comparative lack of interest of
this lay for the general reader, there are >
few comedies of Shakespeare that will
' bettor repay a close and sympathetic
: study than "Love's Labor's Lost. It Ss
'. a play of beginnings, and we may see in
1 it the art of Shakespeare In the germ, or
rather in a bud just unfolding, sweet In
; itself, and full of glorious promise. It is
; a play of youth; the young King, the
! young Princess, the young amorous lords j
and ladies dominate the scenes. And in •
; the flash and parry of the weapons of |
i young wit we catch the mind of the young i
1 poet. And it Is a play In which the per
| sonallty of the author shines out through
I the thin veil of the hero, and we see, if
i not exactly Shakespeare himself, Shakes
■ pi ire as he wished himself to appear in
: the eyes of his mistress.
! V. Shakespeare's Art in the Play.
The dramatic art shown in the con
struction of the plot is of the vers* slight
est. The story, drawn no one knows
whence, Is a mere pep on which to hang
a spangled robe of wit and poetry. A
King of Navarro decides to turn his court
into a little academe. Ho and his followers
tate vows to study hard, to sleep little,
to fast often and above all to shun the
society of women, in order that they may
drink deep uf the delights of learning and
earn In their lives the fame that shall
live registered upon their brazen tombs."
But the best laid schemes, even of a stu
dious king and his bookmatds, jtang aft
agley. A I'rincess of France comes upon
the scene with her ladies, as an ambassa
dress from her old father. Of mere ne
cessity the late made vows are broken.
The King and his lords enter into parley
with the Princess and her ladies, and no
sooner enter Into parley than thoy fall in
love, and no socner fall in love than they
begin to woo their mistresses. The ladles,
not ignorant of the vows rashly made and
quickly broken, repay their court with
merry scorn, till at the close a graver note
strikes across the silver laughter, as a
messenger announces thi death of the
King of France. The Princess retires to
a year's sojourn in a mourning bouse, and
for a twelve months' space the lovers i
must wait for their answer. "Our wooing
doth not end like an old play,'' says the
Irrepressible Berowne, with half a sigh i
for tho penalty assigned him. "Jack hath
not Jill." And so for the year at least,
love's labor's lost. Could any plot be
lighter, slighter, brighter!
Even In the character drawing we see
the 'prentice hand, not without promise '
indeed of greater things to come, but still
the 'prentice hand. Tho King and the !
Princess are graceful, but shadowy fig
ures. There is not a hair, to choose be- ;
tween Longaville and Dumain, or between
Katherine and Maria. Even the humorous I
persons of the play Armado, Holofernes, :
Costard— follow along lines strictly laid'
down in the old comedy— the Braggart,
the Pedant and the Clown— as indeed they I
are sometimes called In th.- first edition".
But if any one wishes to see how much
of the wine of wit Shakespeare has pour
ed Into these old bottles, one has but to
compare Armado with his prototype, Sir \
Tophas, in Lilly's "Endymion." Only in
the figures of Berowne and Rosaline, i
where the 'prentice hand has been rein- j
forced by the master's touch, do we feel
ourselves In the presence of a pair of j
Shakespeare's men and women, co much I
more alive than the crowds that go about
the street and make as though they lived. j
Berowne. In especial, Is a masterpiece!
His ready wit. his firm hold on the facts I
of life, his unquenchable good humor, I
mark him as one of the characters that I
Shakespeare loved. He subscribes the
oath presented by the King with a laugh- |
ing protest against its Ideality. He falls
in love and jests at his own folly.
"What. I. I love! I sue! I seek a wife!"
With what good-humored malice does !
he upbraid his fellows when their broken I
vows come to light; with what easy grace I
does he confess the fact when his one
love-caused perjury Is revealed. How elo- 1
quently he defends the oath-breaking of I
the little band of lovers and extols Its
cause: •
"From woman's eyes this doctrine I derive; ;
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire:
They are tin* books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain and nourish all the world." |
Unconquerably sanguine he rises above i
each rebuff of his mocking lady, and ac- •
cepts with whimsical resignation her sen
tence "to jest a twelvemonth in a hospi
tal." If anything was wanting in his
character; it was a little mote of the milk
of human kindness, a little more open- I
eyed perception of the suffering In th* j
world. And this we feel that he will gain
He will finish his year's penance not a■■
sadder, but perhaps a gentler man.
Rosaline, the first of tie mad girls
"that mock their lovers so," is a fair
portress* of l at temple of the comic
spirit More than a match in the fence of !
wit for Berowne himself, vet always pre- I
serving a certain decorum which lifts her
above most of the characters of the play I
she is as wise as she is witty. She knows ;
the worth of her lover and his weakness I
as we", and with unerring instinct lays'
her finger on the spot. When she turns >
upon the man "replete with mocks full
of comparisons and wounding flouts' 1 and
dispatches him to
"Visit the speechless sick and still converts I
With groaning wretches, and your task shall bo '
With 'all the fierce endeavor of your wit ' I
To for-.;* the pained Impotent to smile" ' I
we feel the Justice as well as the severity
of the sentence, at once a punishment and
a remedy. j
Dr. Brandes sees in Rosaline and Be
rowne the first sketch of Beatrice and
Benedick, and there is a certain similarity
In the situation. But when we hear Rosa
lino exulting over her lover's plight and
promising herself all the joys of a petty I
tyranny— "This same Berowne I'll torture
ere I go"— we are Irresistibly reminded of
a gentler lady than Beatrice and a wit
tier maid than Rosaline herself, the pret
ty page of the forest of Arden, who ied
Orlando through such a mad cure for the
madness of love, being "effeminate
changeable, longing and liking; proud) ■
fantastical, apish, shallow. Inconstant'
ful! of tears, full of smiles, for every pas- !
sion something and for no passion truly
anything." The dawn of Rosaline is the
promise of Rosalind.
Note— Studies Nos. 11. 111, IV and V 1
are by Dr. Parrott of Princeton Univer- !
sity. The study of "Dove's Dabor's Lost"
will be continued on Monday next.
« ♦ ■
f . ♦
+ Interest your friends ♦
X in "The Call's" Home ♦
f Study Circle. An illus- +
£ trated booklet giving ▼
♦ a list of courses will be ♦
£ sent free upon request i
+ . + '
(Copyrighted, 1699. by Seymour Eaton.)
To no one does the cause of American
independence owe more than to this man
who with invincible persistence and
shrewd far-sightedness so conducted the
cause of those among the colonists who
opposed the taxation of Americans by the
British Parliament that a majority of all
the British subjects in each colony were
willing to unite in declaring their inde
pendence from all foreign rule. He was a
typical puritan, upright, firm, determined,
religious, devoted to his cause, somewhat
narrow, but with the narrowness of the
sharp-edged sword. He was above all else
a politician— a professional and practical
politician. His early ventures in business
were unsuccessful. His malt house was
soon closed, his tax collect'orshlp life him
involved In debt, and. living on the email
remains of his father's estate, he devoted
the remainder of his days to political life.
Adams was of unblemished integrity. His
means were so narrow that his frugal and
devoted wife was at times called upon to
aid in the support of the family and he
was indebted to friends for the clothes he
wore, vet no temptation to amass wealth
touched him. He was above bribery or
influence by money. Adams was a
faithful son of Massachusetts and Boston.
Until he went to the continental Congress
In 1774 he seems never to have left his na
tive State, nor indeed to have ever gone
any distance from his residence. Except
for his journeys to attend ' the various
congresses of which he was a member,
he seems never to have gone from home.
Others might hold foreign embassies; for
him Boston was all sufficient. In Boston
his influence was lons supreme. The roy
alist Governor of Massachusetts rightly
called him "the grand, incendiary of the
province," for the whole of Massachusetts
was set on fire by the Boston town meet
ing and the moderator and master of that
meeting was Samuel Adams. He did not
enter into public life early, but from 1705,
when he was first elected as a represent
ative from Boston to the great and gen
erai court, to 1797, when he resigned the
Governorship of the State, his whole time
was devoted to the service of the people,
lt was noted that be cared not to discuss
social, scientific or religious matters with
friends; all his thoughts were on politics,
and ln old age his favorite theme was the
struggle with Great Britain, in which he
had borne so great a part. Upright him
self, he insisted on civic virtu.- and strove
to draw promising and able young men
into public service. His kinsman, John
Adams, and John Hancock, whose wealth
and social position were of great value
to the colonists, were two of those he in
troduced into politics.
Through a long career we find but little
to criticise in his actions from a moral
point of view. He was doubtless somewhat
disingenuous In his treatment of the let
ters of Governor Hutchinson and in some
of his arguments, but the wonder is rather
that in the heat of controversy he was
swayed so little from the path of abso
lute rectitude.
He cared not for personal advancement
and seemed to feel little bitterness when
the people set him aside for a time. Adams
trusted the people and believed that their
decisions as to men were right. To in
fluence these decisions as to measures he
applied himself with the utmost vigor.
He was born ln 1722, and educated at
Harvard College, where he took his
bachelor's degree in 1740, and his master's
degree in 1743. It was afterward remem
bered, as a presage of his future, that his
master's thesis was an affirmative answer
to the question "Whether it be lawful to
resist the supreme magistrate, if the com
monwealth cannot be otherwise pre
served." •
When 26 years of age he began furnish
ing to the newspapers the first of those
long series of articles on government
which had so much effect. His style of
writing was clear and Incisive, his argu
ments were forcible and logical. Adams
used few mataphors and quotations, his
writings were not graceful, but they were
never dull and were always convincing.
In these first essays we .find the same
ideas expressed as he statad again and
again in later years: "Whoever acquaints
us that we have no right to examine Into
the conduct of those who, though they
derive their power from us to serve the
common Interests, make use of it to im
poverish and ruin us, is ln a degree a
rebel— to the undoubted rights and liber
ties of the people. He that leaves no
stone unturned to defend and propagate
the schemes of illegal power cannot be es
teemed a loyal man."
Adams always took a deep interest in
popular education, and his first public
oflice was that of school visitor, to which
he was appointed in 1703. His whole course
of effort against Great Britain was what
we would call a "campaign of education."
tie appealed chiefly to the intellects of his
fellow-citizens, though he was too skill
ful to omit altogether the appeal to emo •
tions. When the stamp act showed the
policy of Great Britain toward America
he drafted his first public paper, a series
of instructions to their representatives,
adopted by the Boston town meeting on
May 24, 1764. He stood steadfastly for the
principle of no taxation without repre
sentation, and, unlike Otis discerned from
the first that representation of any sort
ln the British Parliament was Impracti
cable. In these early resolutions he
claims that the stamp tax "annihilates
our charter rights to govern and tax our
selves. It strikes at our British privi
leges, which, as we have never forfeited
them, we hold in common with our fellow
subjects who are natives of Britain.- If
taxes are laid upon us in any shape, with
out our having a legal representation
where they are laid, we are reduced from
the character of subjects to the miserable
state of tributary slaves." Adams ad
vanced from this position so as to main
tain, In 1773, that Parliament had no right
to legislate for the colonies in America
The attempt of the British to seize him
and Hancock Just before the battle of
Lexington was not a mistaken one. He
had been the very forefront of opposition
Governor Bernard had found him an in
vincible opponent. Governor Hutchinson
had succeeded no better, though he had
been born and brought up In Massachu
setts, and Governor Gage was shortly to
be driven from Boston because of " the
activity of the colonists which Adams
had aroused. His kinsman, John Adams
said of him: "The talents of that great
man were of the most exalted, though not
of the most showy kind. Love of country,
his exertions in her service through a long
course of years • * * under the royal
government and through the whole of the
subsequent revolution and always in sup
port of tho same principles— his inflexible
integrity, his disinterestedness, his invarl
ble resolution, his sagacity, his patience,
j perseverance and pure public virtue were
: nexer exceeded by any man ln America."
Adams was prudent enough to see from
■ the very first that Boston alone or even
the whole of Massachusetts, could not en
dure successfully the burden of the strug
gle with England. To secure even the
hope of success the co-operation of all the
i other colonies was necessary. In the res
i olutions of 1764, to which wo have refer
red, the. Necessity of united effort is stated
thus: "As his majesty's other North
American colonies are embarked with us
in this most Important bottom, we further
desire you to use your endeavors that
their weight may be added to that of this
province that, by the united application
of all who are aggrieved, all may obtain
redress." This Insistence on the Import
i ance of united action was never lost by
• Adams. He continued to struggle for it.
i In 1788 he Induced the Legislature to send
i a circular letter to the other colonies.
Massachusetts was the chief offender, but
i she struggled for a principle whose im-
I portance was equal to all the colonies. We
j must never think of the colonies as actu- '
i ally suffering from oppression, though the
■ strong language of their documents often
; state that as a fact. What Adams strug
gled against was the validity of a doctrine
Which would make oppression possible. In
that struggle he often thought that In this '
time of common distress it would be the
wisdom of the colonists more frequently '
to correspond with and to be more atten
tive to the particular circumstances of
each other. "It seems of late to havo*
been the policy of the enemies of America
to point their artillery against one prov
ince only and artfully to draw off the at
| tention of the other colonies, and. If pos
■ slide, to render that single province odious i
to them, while it Is Buffering ministerial i
vengeance for the sake of the common I
cause. But it Is to be hoped that the colo
nists will be aware of this artifice. At this
juncture an attempt to subdue one prov- *
Ince to despotic power is justly to be con- ;
sid< red as an attempt to enslave the i
whole. The colonies form one political
body of which each is a member. The
liberties of the whole are invaded, there
fore, the Interest of the whole to support
each individual with all their weight and
j influence."
I As the clouds thickened his masterly re- I
; sistance to the ill-judged British policy !
was continued and the skill -with which
' he managed the colonial cause, keeping !
I within constitutional measures, was clear- I
)ly shown. His newspaper articles, pub- I
j lished as was the custom of the day un
[ dei some such norn de plume as "Can
! dlde," did much to crystallize the opposi- j
tion. His descendant and biographer, j
Wells, rightly calls him "the true father I
j of Democracy in America, whose voice j
I and pen were employed for the common |
! people; and he labored to build up Amer
lean liberty, not only by public measures,
but by cultivating an Individual inde
pendence of thought among the working
classes, as the true basis of national free
dom." So successful was he in his con
trol of the people and so did he wield his
I power that in 1770 Hutchinson was obliged
' to withdraw from town to the fort in the
harbor the two British regiments, who
had been engaged In that unfortunate af- '
j fray known as the Boston massacre. In
, the same year, through his influence, the
Assembly appointed a committee of cor
respondence "to communicate such intel
ligence as may be necessary to the agent
and others in Great Britain and also to
• the speakers of the several Assemblies
i through the continent, or to such com- !
1 mittee of correspondence as they have or
may appoint. This Idea was still further
carried out by the more famous resolu- i
tion of the town of Boston In November I
! 1772, appointing a like committee to "state 1
the rights of the colonists, and of this j
I province in particular, as men and Chris- i
■ tians and subjects, and to communicate i
. publicly the same to the several towns '■
and to the world, as the sense of this
1 town, with the Infringements and viola
; tions thereof that have been or from time
,to time may be made." So strong was his
longing for confederation of all America
that he always sought to include Canada
In tho continental combination.
The destruction of the tea in Boston
; harbor was managed by Adams, and
I when the port bill closed that harbor
Adams acted as the chairman of the com
'■ mittee. to distribute the donations which
I came so generously from the other
States. He was chosen a member of the
First Continental Congress, and served in
that body for seven years, or nearly until
, the end of the war. Earliest of all the
I colonists he longed for Independence and
, at one time, discouraged by the slow prog
ress of the other colonies toward the ac
ceptance of that idea, he thought of a
separate Independent confederation of the
New England colonies. lie won. however'
; and had the joy of seeing the adoption of
; the resolution for independence Intro
j duced by his friend, R. H. Dee ■
. Wit the achievement of independence
: his chief work was done. There were stir
( twenty years of useful service ahead for
i him. however. He was one of those who
prepared the articles of confederation
! and. in J?- service on the marine board
i did much to build up the navy, for whose
; needs as well as for his State's interests!
.he Insisted on our preservation of our
rights to the Newfoundland fisheries He
served at home, in his absence from Con
gress as Secretary of State, and when the
i State's constitution was prepared he sat
' _%, a useful member of the convention
After retiring from Congress we find him
! In the Massachusetts Senate as strong an
i opponent of Great Britain as ever and
bitter against allowing the Tories to re
turn. He was classed as an anti-federal- i
: ist, yet was convinced that the people de
: sired the adoption of the Federal consti- '
tution, and voted therefor in the ratify in i
: convention, while proposing amendments
in the form of a bill of rights. He was a ;
stanch supporter of law and order in the
turbulent time of Shay's rebellion. Thi '
| people of Massachusetts honored him to
; the last. A long standing disagreement
between himself and Hancock was made
up in 1,88, and after serving as council
and lieutenant governor he succeeded to
I J, h ♦.? OV -£ rnors ' lip ln 1793 ' at Hancock's!
I death. By successive re-elections he held!
(Continued In Sixth Column.)
(Copyright, 1899, by Seymour Eaton.)
If men lived like men Indeed, their houses
would be temples, which we should hardly dare !
injure, and in which lt would make us holy to
be permitted to live. • • * 1 would have, then,
our ordinary dwelling houses built to iast. and
built to be lovely, as right and full of pleasant- j
ness as may be. within and without, and with
such differences as might express each .man's
character and occupation and partly his his
In our American life, with its perpetual j
grasp for something better than its past ,
has known, each man may be said to \
build a house to escape from rather than
to record his history. The majority pre
fer not to look backward, and the new
house enshrines no memory of the early
days of its owner, which may have been
in dugout or log cabin or in one of the
uncompromisingly hideous little boxes
thai make the suburbs of many cities.
But Ruskin, whose words open this pa
per, is, as usual, right In his demand that
the house of man shall be something it
seldom occurs to us to make it— temple
wherein ordered and harmonious growth
may be a part of the daily life. The house
should be the best and utmost expression
of the home spirit; the best adaptation of
means to ends; the utmost convenience |
and comfort for all under its roof; the i
greatest ease in necessary work; the best |
space for individual as well as family life. <
i How is this to be brought about? The |
! plan is left to the general builder, the i
[ contractor, whose business It Is to make !
as much show for the money spent as |
brain can contrive, and to skimp and j
curtail in whatever is out of sight. Cheap j
building houses "made to sell" are the
first consideration. Houses made to last
and to improve with age have not yet en
tered our thought of construction.
At this point we see, then, certain
needs defining themselves, and we may
well group them under their distinct
heads. We are to consider
a. The Individual plan.
b. (Jen, sanitary aspects.
c. Materials and their handling.
d. Construction and its ethics.
In the limited space at command only
suggestions under each head can be given,
but it is hoped that the reader will gain
from them some new thought as to the
real nature of building and what it may
stand for in every human life. We have
tirst to consider, then,
The Individual Plan.
It will at once be insisted that there
can be no need of this, in face of the fact
that we have many books, large and
small, all devoted to the plans for all
sorts and conditions of men and their
dwelling places. There are admirable ones
to be mentioned, but this does not affect
ln the slightest the discovery made by all
who buy a house that they would have
built it quite otherwise at certainly one,
and it may be many points. It is but
very recently that the architects' confer
• ence in one of our great cities brought
from one prominent member a recom
i mendation that they turn their attention
to the architecture of farm houses, and
'a better future thereby for the farmer's
wife and children, at present compelled
to live in structures of a hideousness cal
culated to kill out the sense of beauty as
thoroughly as we find it killed out in the
mass of our people.
This is one phase, and It applies to
workmen's houses of all degrees. An-
I other and quite as Important one is thai
according to the different pursuits of the
family should be the type of room of- j
fered them. A pair Just beginning life ■,
together may take the average flat or
small house. But presently, with chil
dren and their needs to consider, it is
found that the nursery, or the living room :
which must perhaps serve this purpose,
has no sun and thus is made unfit for the J
i growing child, whose birthright is sun
i shine and the strength and healing it j
I means for all. With the departure of the
old-fashioned garret, one playground for
the child— an invaluable one, since It gave
loom for infinite "make-believe"van
ished also.- Yet the child should have its
I own play spot sacred from interference,
; preferably as remote from the other j
rooms as possible, that his noise on rainy j
! days may not interfere with others; a
place for collections of all orders, for
' toys and books and the tools the child |
j loves to use, and which are part of the
I training in use of hand and brain to- ;
> gether that presently we are all to know j
; is the first essential of education.
All this is to be planned for, and lt is I
often possible to modify or alter the for- I
mal plan of the architect and secure this
space. But the least skilled draughtsman
can take pencil and paper, think out the
: family needs as they have demonstrated
! themselves, and see first how to make a
j rough plan; then how to make the avail
able space tell to the utmost for family
comfort. No matter how small the sum,
• it will be better to do without a formal
parlor, we will say, have a living room
! ample and generous, and put the money
: saved into deadened floors and the best
finish. This matter of deadening floors is
: seldom thought about, yet for the most
i nervous people in Christendom it is es
i sential. We all know the houses where
every sound is heard throughout, and no
\ escape for tired mother, for ailing baby,
| for the invalid, If there be one. or. the
patient who wants only quiet and rest to
come to strength speedily. In our sound
ing-board houses this form of cure is im
! possible, but it need not be. Plan, then,
j to these ends, and see If there is not in
stant gain in the conception of the mean
i ing of a house and what it is to stand for >
i in the family life.
General Sanitary Aspects.
This heading means a volume. To un
derstand it fully there should be some
very earnest study, and the books best
adapted to this end are named in the lit
tle bibliography accompanying this paper.
; The shortest, most compact and most
practical Is a manual prepared under the
direction of one of the aides! of American
women, Mrs. Ellen H. Richards, profes
sor of chemistry in the Boston Institute
of Technology.- "Home Sanitation" is its
title, and it covers the ground for both
1 city and country as to the situation of the
; house, Its drainage and plumbing, its yen
, tilation, heating and lighting, a set of
1 questions at the end of each delightfully
i queer little chapter clinching all doubtful
points. There are many elaborate manu
als, but this and one or two others cover
all the ground and must be thoroughly
learned. A dry and well-drained soil, a
house planned for as much sunshine as
possible in every room, and perfect drain-
I age are the requisites for even the sim-
I plest dwelling. In the city the size of the
; lot determines much. In the country it
I can always be remembered that it is by
• no means necessary to face the street,
; and that turning the house door to the
i side may give the sun Impossible from the
i front. Storerooms are better on the north
! side for coolness, and the spare room,
! used less probably than any other, can
much better dispense with sun than those
I In constant use. A little thought over the
: general plan will settle many questions of
this nature.
Materials and Their Handling.
This is a matter supposed usually to be
j quite beyond the comprehension of
women. Yet every woman can in a short
\ time learn the difference between good
j and bad mortar, between seasoned and un
seasoned wood, between well-laid courses
of brick and the makeshift which marks
much of the cheap building* She can learn
i also what constitutes a good cellar and
good foundation, and how a cellar floor
should be made, with the virtue of cc
', ment and the value of smooth cellar
. walls. These are all phases of home sani
tation, and honest materials honestly put
I together are an equal part of it. Crocking
walls, settling and uneven floors, base
i boards shrinking away and doors sagging
1 are all part of lack of knowledge or lack
• of honesty on the builder's part. We are
i a hasty people and kiln-dry our wood,
i with no thought of the consequence. And
we are wedded to wood when all about is
another material, more beautiful, more
; durable and in many places less costly.
Common "rubble." the loose stone of the
! neighborhood, put together with good
j mortar and a course of brick here and
j there, over windows, doors, etc., as fin
ish, will make a house beautiful to look
! at, beloved of all climuing vihes, and pic
i turesque under all conditions. Or there
! may be a story of rubble and brick and
i the upper portion finished in wood. But
more and more architects— the thinking
| ones— urge the adoption of stone and
1 brick and give models within even very
| narrow means.
Construction and Its Ethics.
Practically this Is in great part included
in the heading "Materials." But there is
another point seldom thought of in the
matter of flimsy or substantial structure,
and that is the educational effect of hon
est workmanship, whether In house or its
finish and furnishing. The day for gin
gerbread work in house finish, the cheao
and most unheautiful production of the
jigsaw, is fast passing. Sanitation, is
teaching us that smooth surfaces are not
only more healthful, since they give no
lodgment to bacteria, but are also more
beautiful. Veneers, save where wood a
i of so costly an order that it must so be
used or not at all, are also out of date.
But we still put cheap finish whenever we
can, covering half-mixed mortar in walls
with gay papers and making all out of
: sight construction of the poorest quality
i of wood. Our public buildings share often
the same fate because the sort of con
i science that would not admit poor con
[ struction is not yet part of our teaching.
These things are, when we are a little
j wiser, to be a necessity in all education,
j and when that good day comes even our
I politicians will have been so drilled in
! what constitutes honest building that we
shall have a new order of homes and of
public buildings.
Here again we have the possibilities of
a volume in our title, but being held rig
idly to the limits of a column or two can
only outline certain points that bear upon
all homes, whether rich or poor, In city
or country. Four phases present them
a. A new thought about building.
b. Possibilities of a back yard.
c. Building for privacy.
d. A uew phase of factory work for the home.
This question of the home environment
is. like all the rest that bear upon ways
nt living, made easy or difficult by the
depth of the purse. But for the rich or
those of moderate purse must be first of :
I all some sense of beauty and fitness, or
• the story of their lack will be plain to i
read in every lino of the building and jts |
surroundings. The country home should :
seem to have grown naturally in the spot
[ where we find it, even if set close among
| its neighbors. The city house is limited
in expression by the narrow space upon
which it stands; yet even this, as we j
shall presently see, is capable of different !
treatment, and is already receiving it.
But for every town and village that has
come to the sense of beauty sufficiently to
desire the best arrangement and planning :
a harmonious whole, it is still possible to
reconstruct at least a part of the space \
occupied. The time is nearing when the
smallest settlement will be subject to
laws laid down by competent authorities,
and every house will be planned with re i
lation to its effect to the whole. Now
and from the beginning it has all been
chance work, and the thought of a gen
eral unity of plan and effect absolutely
unknown. Ppblic buildings have been at
the mercy of mere contractors, and each
town has been a mere jumble of incoher
ences. A change in this respect means a
change in the whole handling of every
phase of building; the growth of the civic
sense and of that sense of a common obli
gation to make the most and best of every
oportunity for larger, happier living. To
this end a group of friends who propose
building could easily take counsel to
gether, pool their resources, employ a
thinking architect and start in with a
definite conception of what plan of plant
ing and building would produce the best
results. The very fact of having begun
with this united purpose would give a
different expression to the whole. As we
do and always have done, a town, even
with the best natural advantages, fails to
show them to real advantage. The
wealthier people are planted In the best
places, and when it is presently discov
ered that parks and boulevards and free
access to a lake or river, for Instance, are
public needs, every desirable foot of ■
ground has already been appropriated and
everybody wonders why nobody thought ;
about it In the beginning;.
Some thought and plan, then, is what !
all must take with them who make a
country home. Suppose, however, that
one must live in a block? Even then we
are by no means so helpless as we have
believed. The great apartment houses
have shown us how much comfort can be
increased by the lessening of labor, a
common heating apparatus and plumbing
system doing away at once with some of
the heaviest labor of the private home,
the care of the fire and all the dirt and
trouble of coal and ashes. A well-known
Brooklyn builder, Alfred White, who put
up the first model tenement houses, has
since built a block of small houses, the
first one in this country, about an open
j court with fountains, trees and shrubs.
• No millionaire's house has more perfect
i finish, and building an entire block at
\ once the expense for each house was so
i reduced as to enable the landlord to rent
i them for less than the same sum charged
I for individual houses. On a small city
lot there seems no chance for change.
I Not long ago one of our best and most
\ progressive architects, Russell Sturgis.
! told" us In a popular magazine how to
j build on a city lot so that there might be
an actual front yard planted in such
! fashion, all given ln detail, drawing
by drawing, that the street seemed quite
put away.
Note— Mrs. Campbell's studies will be
continued next week.
(Continued From Fourth Column.)
the post until 1797, when he retired from
public life. He died on October 2, 1803,
having "through a long life exhibited,
as one of his friends said, "on all occa
sions an example of patriotism, religion
and virtue honorable to the human char
acter." 7 :;
Johns Hopkins University.
Home Science
Series of Articles Will
Be Edited by the
Brightest Women of
the Literary World.
Will Find This an In-
teresting and Instruc-
tive Course.
(Continued From Column Three, Page One.)
he gives an illuminative decision ("Win
ter's Tale," IV, iv, 89 ff.):
Nature Is
Made better by no mean.
But nature makes that mean; so over that art
Which you say adds to nature is an art
That nature makes.
This is an art
Which does mend nature, change It rather, Dut
The art itself is nature.
Finally, when he speaks of "the elegancy,
facility and golden cadence of poesy • .£ a
has at once named the trait by which the
unlettered most- reaclilv recognize it, and
the quantity of which" the greatest mas
ters are the quickest to appreciate tho
charm. Shakespeare studied nature but
ho labored at an art. and the measure or
his success In touching the hearts of men
is the perfection which his art attained.
So we may, if we will, begin by looking
in Shakespeare for these six things. We
may see how he loves, and studies, and re
veals man In brutes—tho human soul in
a human body— in a world which thwarts,
perplexes, amuses or inspires him, and
amid other human beings from whom he
Is strikingly dissimilar, and with whom he
is essential akin. Then we may observe
how Shakespeare never persistently and
ultimately misleads us, but always gives
us ample materials"for deciding upon the
true moral rank of each of his Important
characters. We may perceive how he is
interested to uphold the moral order of
the world, as revealed In social and polit
ical institutions, and how he lashes those
who are guilty of any attempt to subvert
this moral order, while he bestows honors
with a lavish hand upon those who are
concerned in maintaining it. We shall
then discover, on closer inspection, that
the dramatist has but slight sympathy
with other worldliriess, - with the spirit
that, regarding man as a stranger and pil
grim on the earth, deliberately sets its af
fection on things above. Next, we may
follow his pencil as, with vigorous or ten
der touches, it paints for us the appear
ance and effects of objects in the world of
sense, rarely giving us an object alone,
but associating them In groups or uniting
them by reciprocal action and influence,
as he does with his human beings. When
we have begun all this we may at length
study Shakespeare's views concerning the
wonderful art by which he was enabled
to perform these marvels, and investigate
the means by which they were actually
brought to pass. - :
Yale University.
Note — The Shakespeare studies will be
published on Mondays and Thursdays.
The study of "Dove's Dabor's Dost" will
be commenced on Thursday.
(Continued From Column Five, Page One.)
color effects, not forcing the note, not
making a flaunting display of technical
mastery, nor seeking vivid contrasts. He
is sober and harmonious, tending more
and more, as he advances in years, to
ward a single color note, flooding the sur
face with light and obliterating outlines.
This makes him at last quite an impres
sionist, so that to appreciate many of his
late pictures it is necessary to obtain the
right distance and focus before the proper
effect of color and form can be under
stood. At close quarters they seem blur
red and careless.
But beyond the wonderful coloring
which so often gives just the intoxication
of a Venetian evening there was undoubt
edly a vivid power of characterization in
Titian's art, whether his portraits have
the clear outlines of the "Young Man
With the Glove" or are impressionistic
like the "Antiquary Strada." If the mas
ter's art is perplexing in its variety of
stages, it is due to his long life and the
changes In contemporary art; if it is un
even in its quality it is, because his lax
ity was not proof against the temptation
of pot boilers— and for this his age was
more to blame than he was. Certainly
the fact that his nature was impressiona
ble has made him a radiant reflection of
the sensuous life of the late Venetian
renaissance to a degree that would have
been impossible to a more self-poised or
solitary genius.
Princeton University.
• •»• v-^J FN ••••
Organize at Once so
That You May Be
Fully Prepared to Pur-
sue the Full Course
to Be Presented Dur-
ing the Winter Months.
Please Interest Your
Friends in This Excel-
lent Educational Fea-

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