The Northwestern standard. [volume], February 27, 1886, Image 1

About The Northwestern standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn.) 1885-1886

Image provided by: Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

                
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tV
A,
YOLIIME
SANBORN
Manufactures Jewelry,
Repairs Watches,
and Loans Money
On Watches, Diamonds and Jewelry.
NO. 8 WASHINGTON AVE. NORTH.
A Rare Opportunity
THE EXCELSIOR HOUSE,
Corner of Second avenue south find Second
street,
Is Offered far Merit.
Ori« of the finest locations in the city, and
-capable of accommodating .severity persons.
Call on or address,
MRS. TELOS- MAHONEY.
JOHN NORTON,
DEALER IN
AND ALL KINDS OF
HAjID AND SOFT
518 Main Street, N. E., Minneapolis,
Minn.
OFFIOE—19/1 Hennepin Avenue.
YARD 1—Second Avenue and Tenth Street,
Southeast
YA.RL» Second Avenue and Fourth Street,
Northeast.
Telephone Connection, 31-1-3.
GORMAN BROS"
PROPRIETORS OF THE
ST. BS SIB
(Connected with the St Charlea Hotel),
Corner First Avenue South and Second
Street, Minneapolis Minn. ••••,.
137"The bur is splondidly equipped with
Choice J.mportod and Domestic Ales, Wines,
Liquor* and Cigars.
Carlinif's Celebrated London Ales and
Porters on draught.
&ff~ Polite and eiHcient bartenders with
3miles for all. Call early anl often.
J.T.
GORTON, UTK Barbershop,
301 Xirotlet Avenue.
Hair cutting a specialty. Turkish and Eleo
tro Thermal Baths. Plain Batlis, 30 cents
Open all day Sunday. 10 cents a shave.
AVENUE HOUSE,
206 Washington Ave. South.
Good accommodation and terms are reason
able.
WIJSTES, LIQUOKS AND CIGARS,
The bast the market affords, always on hand.
LAWRENCE GARRITY, Proprietor.
T. CONNOLLY & Co.
UNDimTA KERS.
A FULL LINK OF
ki
HABITS,
Smtotnos
AND ROBES
25 Second St. S., Minneapolis.
Telephone call 466-1. Answered at all hours.
The CIi max Reached
THE STANDARD STEAM
104 and 106 Third Street Kortn.
Lat»st improved m&chlnar}: and work doaa
lathe finest**tyle.
IEME.
There was an ancient iairy i8le,
An emciaJd of the we«tern sea&,
With so.it skies o'er whoso azure smile
Woou ever ltd ambrosial breeze, »•.
'Twas known, 'tis said, to lvric Greece,
A land of beauty, land of dream,
Ogygla, home of wealth and peace,
The old Homeric muse's theme*.
ThP swallow loved iH gentle a'r, I-,.
The wild bee drank its dewy Bowers,
The loveliest things of earth were there,
And, oh, that hmrt was ours, was ours.^vi
There was au ancient holy isle, -cU
A gem below the wostern skies,
Whose green lap bore tho sacred pile/
W here laith was nursed in heavenly sighs, -t
A star of glory set above
Flashed o'er the midnight of the world,:.,
And brought the joys ol light and love
To slaves in lands of darkness furled.
The martyr blood, the virgin's prayer,
Pure as trie lucensoof its bowers,
The saint and scholar ail were there,
And. oh. that land wasonrs, was ours.
There was an ancient glorious isle,
Below the light of western stars.
And o'er its green and fertile soil
Was heard the martial tramp of Mars
No land on earth but loved its name,
Andfeaiedto face itf warrior brave
Its sword flashed in the. light of fame,
At home and o'er the ocan wave.
1
The plumes of victory floated there,
High o'er its grand old castle towers,
Where knights of faith and freedom werei
And, oh, that land was ours, was ours,
leruel the urn of martyred loye,
The shrine—the sanctuary—the grave
Home of the eagle and the dove, A
The virgin and tbepatriot brave
Hills where tbe startled wild deer leapt,
At conquering valor's mountain cry
An forests where the turtles wept
In languisbment of fairy joy
Streams by whose bank# the minstrel strayed,
Pouring his soul in lightsome showers
Vales where the milkmaid's song delayed.
lerae, fair land, 'twas ours, 'twas ours.
Ierne! and shall it never be
The land of freedom's song no more?
The frown of one dark upas tree
Is all that clouds its beauty o'er.
Its skies are soft, its vales are green,
Its harbors rich, its woodlands gay,
One black spot only o'er the scene.
And why not sweep that curse away?
Her childron brave, herdaugbters fair:
a a I a
Oh, God, be with us, if we swear
To make that grand land ours, yes, ours.
lernel by all the martyr's trust,
By all the cloister's sacred vow,
By Plunkett's blood and JEmmet's duat,
Ami Patrick's tomb, we'll right thee now.
Great land! arid what is life to me.
And what is love, and what is joy,
If chains and darkness fetter thee,
tf'
A nd widows wail, and orphans cry?
Slaves bend the knee to prospering crimes
Shall we adore no higher powers?
Yes, and that land of ancient time,
We'll prove 'twas ours, we'll make it ours.
—James J. Malone.in United Ireland.
fr'
Oharles Stewart Parnell.
(JUS
Seldom, if ever before ^rM'i!
history, has a man risen witb such rap
id stride to tbe formost rank of intel
lectual fame and. power as has Charles
Stewart iJafuell, the already lUustrious
leader of Ireland iu her constitutional
struggle for freedom.
Mr. Pavnell was born in June, 1846,
at Avondale, Rathdrum, Ireland, and
is the second son of John Henry Par
nell, a plain country gentleman ot am
ple fortune, and Delia Parnell, nee
Stewart, daughter of Admiral Stewart,
a gallant and distinguished officer of
the United States navy, who died at
Bordertown, X. J., Nov. 6, 1869. His
great grandfather. Sir John Parnell,
barou of Coughton,was member of par
liament and held many distinguished
offices. His grandfather, largely en
dowed with worldly means, lived a re
tired life, beloved by his tenantry and
respected by all. His father, John
Henry Parnell, while yet a young man,
and traveling for pleasure in the United
States, met Miss Stewart in Washing
ton city, and they were afterward mar
ried in New York. Charles Stewart
was the second son, there being now
living two brothers ana three sisters of
the family.
He was educated at Magdalen'Col
lege, Cambridge, England. He was
first elected to parliament on April, 10,
1875. His maiden speech was delivered
in the House of Commons upon the
Irish cjercion bill, April 26, 1875.
Mr. Parnell's remarkable career has
attracted as much attention and admi
ration as that of an? man who has ever
appeared as the champion of human
liberty. Without one act of violence.or
shedding one drop of blood, he has
practically achieved the liberation of
his oppressed country. The hopes and
prayers of every friend of humanity
and every lover of liberty in America
are with him.
Snc& men are among the rarest pro
ducts of time their fame is eternal.
Should Mr. Parnell round out his ca
reer as grandly as seems piobable—al
most certain—he will be to Ireland a
centusy hence what Washington is to
our country to-day*'-
Baron Fava Surprised.
A gentleman whe attended the presi
dent's dinner to the diplomatic corps,
on Thursday last., tells me an amuBing
story about introductions in the east
room on that cheerful occasion. Col.
Wilson, who acted as the official intro
ducer, knew many of the legation peo
ple but not ail of them, and in many
cases he was obliged to ask the names
of persons approaching the president
and Miss Cleveland before presenting
them. Soon after tbe first introduc
tion had been made, a young man with
a foreign look, banged hair, carefully
waxed mustache, and eye-glasses came
tripping along. "What country?"
asked Col. Wilson, leaning forward and
expecting to listen to some foreign
tones. 'Albany was the response.
"And riAme?" continued the colonel.
''Mr. Cassidy," was the response^ In
very plain English. The colonel
laughed a little laugh and presented
"Mr. Cassidy, of Albany, N. The
colonel turned to the nexfcrcomer and
pursued the same formula. A swarthy
gentleman with a superbly dressed
woman on his arm responded to the
first inquiry, "Italy," and to the next
"The Barou Fava." Not stopping to
reflect, CoL Wilson announced, "The
Baron and Baroness Fava, of Italy*"
Minister Soteldo. of Venezuela, who
stood at the colonel's elbow, pulled him
by the sleeve in great tribulation, "MY
dear colonel," he ejeeulated ^'you have
made a great mistake. It is not the
Baroness Fava. Est is onozzer iadde
But it was too late, and the pair were
passed along the entire receiving line
as the Baron and Baroness Eava.:
Rochester Union. h'.,
j.t
Samuel J. Tilden.
There has been mystery about the
physical condition of Samuel J. Tilden
through two administrations but now
comes the remarkable statement from
tbe Hon. John Bigelow, who is in a po
sition to be well informed, that Mr. Til
den, though an invalid when compared
with robust men, has never been in bed
from illness a day since he was a boy.
Air. Bigelow says further: "The amount
of literary and other mental labor
transacted by him each day would
break down apparently stronger men.
His vitality is wonderful, and his mind
is as clear as twenty years ago." This
statement can be readily believed. In
his letter accepting the Democratic
nomination for the Presidency in 1876
he displayed marvellous power in the
treatment public questions. His let
ters and papers that have since been
made public are of the same character.
His letter to Speaker Carlisle, touching
tbe coast defences, was one of the most
impressive public papers that have
found their way into print in a long
time. The subject in hand was broad
ly treated, and every line developed
well-trained thought aud splendid dic
tion. Even those who did not agree
with Mr. Tilden a3 to how the surplus
revenue should be applied were forced
to concede the argumentative force of
the letter, and to almost wonder how
they could take a different view under
such reasoning. The last example of
Mr. Tilden's composition is a tender,
considerate, and eloquent dispatch of
condolence to the widow of Horatio
Seymour. ,,
Horatio Seymour.U'ah^
In a speech at a public meeting in
Utica, N. Y., RosWell P. Flower ten
dered the following deserved tribute to
the memory of Horatio Seymour:
Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen:
did not come here to pronounce a eu
of the
distinguished Statesman, tbe eminent,
Christian, Horatio Seymour. There
fore, not knowing that I was to speak,
yotrwill1pleasie«j3^se
few brief remarks, as I cannot alldw
this opportunity to pass without pay
inga short tribute to him. He was my
friend and I loved and revered him.
As a statesman he believed in a gov
ernment by party. He believed when
a party won a victory that that party
if it had competent men in it, should
take charge of the Goverriment fap
plause]aadbe held responsible for its
acts. That applied to the responsible
positions. He would not ask his gar
dener or the coachman what their poli
tics were, but the prominent places in
his household were filled by men who
would not give away his secrets. He
had broad conceptions of the great
State of New York and broader still of
the union. You will remember, in 1862
when personal liberty in the great
State of New York, some of us tonight
were threatened, how we rose and put
him to the front as representing that
principle, and to carry on a vigorous
prosecution of tbe war. For he believ
ed than that we had a right to repossess
ourselves of the forts and other prop
erty of the United States under the Con
stitution, aud, as our great representa
tive, he sent the last man in tbe State
of New York to defend it and the Capi
tal at Washington. As an orator he
thrilled me and many of you time and
again, but when all his qualities are
mentioned, when all bis good qualities
as a politican, when all his purity as a
statesman is told, his character as a
Christian gentleman outweighs them
all. In this character he was great.
And when he returned to his me
that armor of purity which the Chris
tian religion had thrown around him,
when he, the born leader of men,
kneeled at the feet of the lowly Naza
rene, and became His follower, then he
showed bis greatness, and then, too, to
my mind, won his cro *m that is immortal
and eternal. Last Friday God called
him home. He obeyed the summons
without a moan and without a struggle.
To-day he stands before the great
white throne with the Christian armor
glistening in the sunlight of heaven
that armor at which so many fiery darts
of vituperation in the heat of political
contest were thrown, to fall broken at
his feet, is glistening there, soon to be
exchanged for the armor of the Church
triumphant. You who would like to
shake his kindly hand in another world
should emulate him. Try to practice his
•party and follow his
example in the State
and nation. Then when we pass from
hence, if we have lived as we ought, we
can enjoy that kindly meeting. It is a
meeting worth living for. It is a meet
ing that will take away the sting Of
death. [Applause.]
"The Trials and Triumphs of the
O&tholic Church" was the tubjeot
lecture given on the Ttb by fbev. Father
Cook, C- SS. B-, in fit. Fxanefe* Church,
San, Francisco,
tat
the benefit of die
Presentation Nuna~
t»jft
MINNEAPOLIS AND ST. FAF^SATirRDAY^^FBB»¥ARV^2tf%«86f
TIE LAST
i..v :.*•£
How the Tories Tuipb]
.minster When1
Was«
The keenest moment tirit
theCollings amendment
o'clock. At that minnte l^rd Harting
(on, for the first time in life, took a
definite and bold stand and re
fused to go with the strftbm. It was
expected up to tbe last m^nentihat he
would have kept his placet but the To
ries were resolved to "drmv" him, and
he probably was ready $p be drawa.
Mr. Balford had first stpted th^b^he
real question was Ire
claration evoked loud
Michael Beach followed li
ciaiation that those who yi
Collings voted virtually.
legislative union, and
Lord Hartington to
With force and with somi
of passion Lord Hartihi
the motion of Mr. Collin
sorted all the objections
during the recess, Hie Conservatives
occasionally cheered,. buf the House
generally remained still,f and. by this
stillness testified, to the f«|teful impor
tance of the speech and pe moment*
So the Whig and the Radical coalition
is over. The parting has ^me at last.
There was no attempt at farther speech
after this and the divisioi was taken,
with the sombreness that nearly always
characterizes divisions thgfti decide sol
emn issues. Among the Radicals there
was a certain gleam in $he eye that
spoke of their joy at being at last rid
of the man in their owhijparty whom
they regard as the chief qajA most,effec
tive obstacle to their prof^unlroe. JJut
to inany of the Whigs thellesson was^a
bitter cne, and to Mr. ^Gladftone it
seemed one in whiph thert was^ fttixeii
sadness and exultation. jBrsat at one
of the tables in the diyiskj§t lobby, and
there came to him one ffjliower after
another to say a word to ask the
honor of a shake hands, jfhen he pass
ed down in conversation with the man
who knows most of his miiul, Lord Rich
ard Grosvenorr--^embeM |w^^tf
bowing or maM^g way fck him. The
division was ait last over. «Phe numbers
Were: For the gove:
agfrtatnt
againBt'the government, 7
fateful momepti^came for
tMatroe'
most extraordinary scene occurred that'
was ever witnessed. Mr. Jesse Col
lings wa» handed the paper, and it was
known that the government was beaten.
At once there burst from the Irish
members the loudest, fiercest, most
penetrating cheers ever yet hfgard. Nor
did cheers alone tell of tbe exultation.
Many took off their bats and madly
waved them. There were frequent and
hoarse shouts and groans. This lasted
for several seconds. When Sir Michael
Beach got up the gtery roar of the Irish
party broke forth Imce mote. Then he
announced practically the fall the
government. As the House was just
about to break up, Dr. Kenny and Mr.
Deasey advanced to be sworn, but the
ceremoney had to be deferred. Then,
as the House was breaking up there
was another strange scexte. The
Irish members stood up inJHheirijplaces,
and remained standing aa^Vthe
£J ,!n ,*? *i -A, V? A* Vwft, ..f,*-W,
Ministry
One of the Most Extraoi
Ever Witnessed in the
of Oommomt.
Eveate
House
at 12:80
The flef
beers. Sir
py thft 4e
ed for Mt%
inst^Jfche
calleaW
re himself
appearance
oh assailed
and re-as
had urged
^mpnt, 250,
fed luajority
!i»li6n the
le announce-
:Tories
passed them by. It was a veritable pass
ing under the Caudine Forks. The
Tories, shamefaced, shambling, silent,
with Johnston of Ballykilbeg, gloomier
than ever, in their midst, passed by
down the iloor,and there were the Irish
members looking down upon them—
noisy, aggressive, triumphant.
An jBxcitmg Adventnre.
During the great storm of last week
two sturdy miners started to ascend one
of our neighboring mountains with the
intention of working a claim that lay
near its crest. Tbey made the trip on
Norwegian snow-shoes, on which they
worked their way up a narrow gulch
leading to their property. As they
journeyed on, one of them got to be
some two hundred yards in advance of
the other, and it was while this distance
separated them that the leader by an
unhappy step overturned a top heavy
mass of-snow and started a dreadful
slide. He seized hold of a convenient
tree, and called to his companion to
"Look out!" Tbe tree was small, and
bent over under the weight of the mov
ing snow. He let go, and started with
the snow. Hie long shoes by this time
were firmly anchored in the moving
mass, and lie was hurled along with no
power to step himself by seizing trees
which he passed. Fortunately he was
on the tail end of the av&ianche, and
thus rode on it in safety, with nothing
cconing behind to cover him up^%|'
When he found that he had urns to
be an unwilling passenger upon tbe
terrible train lie looked ahead to see
what had become of his partner. The
latter seeing hat there was no escape
on either side, tunuxl heels to the roar
ing mass and started on alife-and-death
run right down the gakfcu Then fol
lowed a wild and thrilling chase. Tba
than who was anchored oo |op of tfae
snow yeQed to the man in fronfcio raa
while he who was pursued stabled
eve^ymneeie to keep oat of tho jaws
of the death that waa cloae At hfs heels^-:
The sight wonkt hsve heesiaBmuringif
it had not been of such a seridus nature.
Tlie rac$ wa? kept up ior more
a6d (jl^ring the eCfttire dial
the fellow who'Was on top kfepf yelling
you'Hr?, and It^e hiur o|
ftie ftellow wlio waa running held his hat
poiSsed four inches from his headi while
he headed for ttie gulch, Often the
rolling snow struck the heels of hi's
shoes, but it did not quite get him.
More quickly than it takes to tell it the
hunted man dashed put into the valley
and what tie thought was safety. 3?he:
valley, however was more dangerous
than the mountain, ad an unseen gulch
crossed it, into which the hunted man
full. Providence, though was kind to
him, for the slide had spent its force,
and the snow piled up on the bank over
which he had fallen,
When the two were able to look
abound one was lying at the bottom of
the gulch, while the other was seated
upon the crest of the snow-bank that
overlooked its edge.—Aspen (CoL)
Times.
j,
Feats of Strength.^
tHie' muschlar power of the human
body is indeed woderful, A Turkish
porter will trot at a rapid pace and
carry a weight of QOO poonds. Milo, a
celebrated athlete of Crotona, in Italy,
accustomed himself to cany the great
est burdens, and by degrees became a
monster in strength. It is said that he
carried on his shoulders an ox, 4 years
old, weighing upwards of 1,000 pounds,
far a distance of forty rods, and after
wards killed him with one blow of his
fist. He was seven times crowned at
the Pythian games and six times at the
Olympian. He presented himself the
seventh time, but no one. had the cour-'
age to enter the lists against, him. He
was one of the disciples of Pythagoras,
and to his uncommon sbwngth the
learned preceptor and pupils owed their
liVes. The pillar which supported the
roof of a house suddenly gave way, but
Milo upheld tbe building and gave the
philosopher time to escape^ In old age
he attempted!
to pull up a tree by the
roots and break it. He partially effiict
ed this, but his strength being gradual
ly exhausted, the tree, where cleft, re
united and: left his hand pinched in the
body of it. He was then alone, and,,
being unabletto diseng? ge himself, died
in that position. Huller mentioned
that he saw a .man, whose finger having
caught in a chain in the bottom of a
mine, by keeping it forcibly bent/sup
ported by that means the whole weight
of his body, 150 pounds, junJtil he was
drawn to the surface, a
feet. Augustus W
could roll ufa silv/v"11^ a sheet
oti^per, and twis^f® strongest horse^
shMltottu«fw' -M hon is said to have
left
"pilMse
ous power of muscle is e^hibited'ijy"Uie
fish. The whale moves with a velocity
tHrough the dense medium of water
that would carry him, if he continued
at the same rate, around the world in
less than a fortnight and a sword fish
has been known to strike his weapon
through the oak plank of a ship.
the impression ,his teeth upon a
ise &P soDd ii^.1^
Wolf and Beaver.
While htinting in the Wind River
mountain an eastern correspondent
witnessed an encounter between a rtl
ver-gray wolf and a beaver. On the
log that formed the basis of -the beaver
dam there crouched an immense silver
grey wolf. He was intently watching
the surface of the water. Soon there
came a long ripple from one of the
banks, steadily approaching the log
A beaver was on his way tothe top of
the dam. Instantly the wolf crouched
still lower, while his eyes never moved
from the ripple. He wanted beaver
meat for breakfast. The water broke
close to the edge of the log, and the
broad head of the beaver appeared.
There was a savage spring, a loud
splash, and both the wolf and beauer
disappeared beneath the water. In a
few seconds the wolf emerged alone,
clambered back on the log, and discon
solately pawed several bunches of fur
from between his glistening fangs.
The beaver had escaped. But the wolf
Was not discouraged. In a moment or
two he moved further along tbe log and
took up another position of observer
tion. The point he now occupied was
at the junction of a huge limty with
the parent stream. This limb made a
semi-circular sweep of the twenty-five
or thirty feet, its extreme end resting
on the bank. The water space thus en
closed was not as the rest of the pond,
and near the shore was quite shallow
All at once the wolf pricked up his ear*
and there could be seen the ripple that
announced the presence of a beaver.
Soon the black object appeared
above the water near the shore
It was thei#nose of a bea
ver. Slovly the wolf crept along
the limb. His movements were noise
less. The water was so shallow that
the beaver,once in his enemy's dutches
could not possibly escape. The spring
was made and the beaver was caught
Rut what was this? Fran every ride
arose black forms, and white teeth, and
the wolf was the centre of a savage
ambuscade. He fought desperately, but
from the first bis case was hopeless.
The beavers swarmed to the attack un
til fully fifty were there. The marauder
was litezaUy torn to pieces and the
water covered with fragments Of hair
and hide.
^, ]At the rate wtdch the United &ates
courts axe convicting Mormovs tbe pen
itentiaries wOlhave tob*eaiaic«d,and
thaie wftithenbeagood working msj-
aonethe ef«rtg*H»ng wfcsMW.'m: 1-^
IV S aHN4\ n* J* N
V^lwln?k'¥'W?^^:?/r% .VttA'.'i^? .,
IMtaflMMi v*%
^mWly wff
fw
T&mji
The Friend rf
$PW
lh
ritdsciA
fr&edoiii-^His Personal
or SediietB,
of St. Patrick's Cimrch in Dublin sums
up in words at pace cruelly fitter and
profoundly melancholy thes, Mqvy. a
great maze's life That mouldering in
scription niched in high obscurity,
which sometimes stray pilgrixnn from
across the seas strain their sighLto de
cipher in th$ gloom i§ \tb# a^lf-utijered
epitaph of Jonathan
Hie deposittiia &st
'tJW eteva kidigtiatlo
Corttltexius laoerare ce^ott,
Abi viator
1
Et imitare si potoris
Strenuum pro virili libertatis vindloatorem.
"Here resteth the body of Jonathan
Swift, dean of -this Cathedrjtl church,
wiiere iierce indignation can vex his
heart no longer. Go, traveller, imitate
if thou canst a champion, sj^renuous. to
his uttermost of liberty.1"
A little way apart, shadowed by his
name in death no le^s than in life, lies
Stella, the pale, dark-haired cfnld whose
wide eyes filled with strange fire as they
followed the poor and lonely scholar
through stately Shene or the prim
rococo epicureanism of Moor .Park,
sleeps as she lived at her master's feet.
She dedii ated all the days of lier life to
SWift with a devotion which is well
nigh without a parallel in the history
of woman's love for man. As we stand,
awe struck and reverential in the quiet
presence of the dead, our senses seem*
troubled by a'haunting influence as if a
phantom, %vague, veiled, impalpable,
were flitting by us on the twilight air.
It is the haunting influence of the se
cret of those two tortured lives, the se
cret that lies buried between their
graves.
Never, perhaps, before or since* has
the ordinance of heaven brought two
such entities together to play tne part
of patron and the patronized as Sir
William Temple and Jonathan Swift.
.easing
sicism in ^hethldstof the pleasaojBi
rey hills (and woods and wa
William.:Temile, Baronet, and,
grateful toils rtf statecraft! His
he soothed in an amiable an^l sufficient
ly facile cominerce with the Latin
muses, in a diplomatic assumption of
acquaintance with bewildering phases
of the Grecian grammar which led him
to ludicrous shipwreck over the letters
Phalaris, and in the not-ungraceful ex
ercise his wit in the composition of es
says of which posterity still remembers
at least the names. His body solaced
with the pipins of Shene and the peach
es of his sunny walls, with philosophic
promeriadtts between yew groves ad
orned with busts of pagan wisdom,
with a deferential care of his gout, and
a reverential eye to the precepts of the
ancients.
To this well-meaning, pompous,
blameless, periweggedpedant, the most
eminently respectable medley of sense
and nonsense that even his age pro
duced, there came, in the later years of
the dying seventeenth century, a young
suppliant from Ireland a penni
less, remote kinsman: His
baronetship's most bumble, obedient
servant to command—and, unhappily,
his servant at times dedicated himself
to the adoration of Temple in terms
more complaisant, more servile than
these—was Mr. Jonathan, Swift, a
young student from Dublin, with much
wit, less learning, and infinit estimally
little means. The great man was, grac
ious he received the dark, awkward
young Irishman into his service al
lowed him to drudge for him, flatter
him, fight his battles for him—most
notably that immortal "Battler of the
Books"—wait upon his humors, swal
low his sonorous platitudes,, and tinsel
learning/ and be in most things, men
tal and physical, his decorous and de
lighted slave. In return for so much
homage the stranger was alloted some
twenty pounds a year, a place at the
servant's table, the run of the miscell
aneous agglomeration of literature
which Temple called a library, and the
companionship of Hester Johnson.,
For the rest of her life Hester John
son—she was presumably, indeed, al
most certainly, Sir William Temple's
daughter—devoted herself to Swift.
There never was in all the world, or
out of it, in tbe illimitable kingdoms of
fancy, a more famous pair of lovers
than these two. Lelia and Mfjnun,
Borneo and uliet, iDiarmoid and
Grainne—repeat what names you please
of famous lovers that the fancies of
poets have ever adorned by the Tigris
or the Avon or the Blackwater, the
names of Swift and Stella are to the
full as famous, appeal no less keenly to
heart and twain, to the imagination
and to pity. Happy they w«» not,
-4
My mind always tarns, wtt*n4 tead
ot Swift and Stellate that luckless psut
of lovers Whan D*nte sew lii tiw tfcts&
riveleof abq^'
the tacking wind, ««d
ii
,& 1
i... ¥$U
w#1#TOiii
JwaigHt*
jess/mm
I?
*r^3$
ifp
C0mpah:io)i|lp||
i. They, too
seem1 driven by
they have fell
tliey are greatiy gifU,,
appy they
ge, exquisitei^fijieinSaapV
at
•tlOB hfek
time and with'their troubled lives^ dfe
long as Stella lived ^SWifib was ilffv^
alone. When she died he'was alone |pi
the end*. remember npthjlig^
ture profoundly i^ncl^ 4|£i&i
Shift's own eloqnetttr
memory of his dead wife,!,w^itte£i in
rodm which he has moved that
ar^ being prepared.
1
may not tbe light'burnihg1 in' th|
church windows, where ^the l^sW r|f^s
1
5
The chief events of'SmftVl&e Way,4,
be'mentioned well nigh 'in a breath
He was born in Hoey's alley, in .Dublin^. V'v
on the 30th day of November, *1067 his:
scholar days at Dublin University* were
days of poverty, of moroseness, of what
^hQse.^vho thought th$of$$fyes wise
called misapplication.
To Ireland and to Swift lor 'tielaqd
came ever soon after Stella with her
companion,* Mrs. Dinglj. iitfllla'S'
^jputh and beauty,, «uid wit made her,
op «1*L.
mmm
WmMM
J,witojbe.-
read what pleased him best, cvlUvatint^,
his genius, walking his. own wilpl way
whither it led him—and failed to get,,
his degree. Then poverty ,compelled him'
like most men of genius in his time, to*'
a patron. Swift found him
Si^ William Temple, a distant' cotttteo
tion, by his marriage ^rith Dorothy
borne, of Shift's mother. Sir WiiliaMk'
was affable "enofugh, accepted Bwiffii'^
services, and' with Sir William for 'y
some ten years S^wift lived in^deej^^^ij
bondage broken now and then by fits ,Mt
of fiery insubordination 3110666Aefl by'
humiliating sdK-surrewder. l^wasf
during one of these revolts thai Swift"
took orders. Like Hatoletr, Swift
lacked advancement He^jhafif.kttbwn
the honorof hali^intima^^|^S)yahyv.^
had trod the walks^fvghehC'Wi^
Iiam of OJWge, antl-been instructed by1"
the Dutch' king in the Dut^man's'
method of cutting asparagus, dud had
even beeii flattered with promises'of
royal favor. But when Sir Teirijple died
and the misses'had duly mourned for
Even u|L.
dalous
spoke with a
and respect of lufe
was in love with Sw^,
to doubt, but she seeh.
thought of marriage wifil
and eager suitor. Swift,
dreaded the thought of losing hei^.
seeming to acquiesce in th'6 pjfop0h.
marriage, put so many ingenius obstfty^
lesin tha.way that the match was brok^^
en off. Poor Stella. She might havW
been happier With that Irish gentle-'
man, the champion of bis quiet liffi,
the sharer o£ his small ambitions, his
partner in obscure content during life,f
and in the obllvioa after deaths Biit
she could not escape from the Spell of
the curse of Swift's genius. Who
ii? li
•a
!'1
the periwegged seventeenth century
Boman, Swift fouhd jthftt his -lidp^*
from the kin^ireie va&.vr He prompted
most fruitlussly the regAlmemory then
in despair he accepted the chaplaincy,1
to Lord Berkeley, one of the lord jus-*^
tices of Ireland, and received the two
livings of Laracor and Bathbeggin, in
the diocese of Meath, worth joihtl^
some £260 a year.
fnow
tememhers the name of her luckless-^M,
lover or heeds where he sleeps?• But jpl
the world will never forget Stelta^anf
her sorrows, or think of her without
pang.
lA'
Suddenly Swift became fax^ous.
writings have attracted atteption,tn t^
great world of London. His- destta^^,
carries him there. He becomes
companion and counsellor of statesmenf
of scholars and soldiers. He becomes!
the most remarkable man of an ag^tf
remarkable men. Of all the b^Up^tpe mn
figures that crowd the court and ,u tr
ing-room of St, James none is ttjKf
brilliant than that of the Kev. Jraatfa§i^ k*
Swift, of Laracor, in the county,,
Meathvin Ireland. Out of tliat galaxy
of genius and wit and statesiain^ufp
which has earned for the age of Ani)#,
the imperial epithet of Aiigostan, SWftft
shines like a kind of central sun, witJw^vW
in whose orbit lesser luminaries ckcte. mii.
The poor Irish parson crosses- St*
George's Channel, and in a moment Ue.
takes the lead in that wonderful Lott-',/
don world, is recognized at
peer, and more than the peer, of. Bolinj^*
broke and Harley, of Pope' cwidl Ai^
buthnot and Gay, of Addison
Steele. Three names stand,'out
spicuously in English h&to^y d:
the age of Anne. The ndhleof a s'
man, the name of a poet, and tfefe
of one who was both statesman
poet—Bollngbroke, Pope and Swift/
is one of the fanciful amusement of
historical students to spec*)
course which Bollngbroke
ran, and the fame he might
if his career had beeaf tnu&A
pier auspices, or it Uik'Ult
guided under haw& fstatr.
BoHngbrokemmitbe
politician who*#
Wh09l political
& apt