Entries from July 2004 ↓

It may be that the catastrophe, so far as we are concerned, might have been staved off once more if we would have disregarded the obligation of our alliance and would have left Austria in the lurch–the Austria which did not want anything else than to put a stop to the nasty work of a band of assassins organized by a neighboring State. But it requires an extreme degree of political blindness for the assumption that by such cowardly treason we should have been able to purchase a change of mind or a lasting peace from our enemies. On the contrary, they would soon enough have used a suitable opportunity to fall upon Germany, which then would have been completely isolated, and the struggle for our national existence would have had to be fought under conditions very much more favorable to our enemies.

In a certain drawing-room the other afternoon we were talking about some well-known superstitions and, among others, of that secret room in the castle of Glamis, which, Sir Walter Scott tells us, is known only to the earl of Strathmore, his heir apparent, and one other person in whom the earl may choose to confide. One of our party told us an amusing story concerning this secret chamber of Glamis. Once, when stopping at the castle in autumn, a curious and indiscreet visitor took advantage of the host’s absence to suggest a plan by which the whereabouts of the hidden chamber should be revealed. The castle was full and it was proposed that each guest should hasten to his or her room and hang his or her pillow out of the window, while one of visitor was told to mark off such window as displayed no white signal. In the middle of carrying out this pretty plan, the master of the castle returned unexpectedly and great was his wrath at this unseemly curiosity. Never had the owner of Glamis appeared in so towering a passion. The display of temper is hardly to be wondered at, for the Glamis secret is regarded with an extraordinary seriousness by the Strathmore family and when imparted to the heir has been known to fill him with gloom hard to dispel.–Sketch

Theosophy claimed the life of George Roble, whose body was found in the Calumet river at Chicago. He thought of nothing but this doctrine for months and finally drowned himself to see if there was anything beyond. He was 24 years of age.

Genius, say some, is but a capacity for hard work. This is not the whole truth, says the New Science Review. There must be work in accordance with law. The miner who digs for gold on the seashore will never find it, though he dig so laboriously, but if he study gold and the geologic strata in which it lives he has begun to put himself into harmony with law. Mere work, unless properly directed, is like riding a hobby-horse–there is energy and motion, but no progress.

For years Napoleon was living in miniature the battles he was to fight, analyzing strategic moves and positions, and training his mind to thus grasp a new situation on the instant. Von Moltke studied the military topography of all Europe, and with marvelous foresight thought out how to win. His victory was no triumph of mere fortune or special inspiration. It was but the logical outcome of his trained mind, and a trained mind ever lights the torch of its own inspiration. Leonardo da Vinci always carried in his girdle his sketch-book in his walks in Florence constantly looking for picturesque faces. “In the silence of the night,” he would counsel himself, “recall the ideas of the things you have studied. Design in your spirit the contours and outlines of the figures you have seen during the day.” There is a theory held by scientists that genius comes from disease. Disease, insanity, depravity and other failings often do occur as consequences due to overconcentration or misuse of powers, but they do not create genius any more than the vultures of the plains create the carcass upon which they feed. The genius, too, being of finer mental material, is more likely to show a flaw, as Dresden china reveals a mar not noticeable in a red clay flower pot. In support of this disease theory the most insignificant, commonplace ailments of ordinary humanity, when found in genius, are magnified and exaggerated. The weaknesses thus pointed out are, it is worth noting, usually shown in the part of mind or of body where the genius was not exercised.

The Mirror of Literature, April 23, 1831. Number 486. Windsor Castle, Origin of the word Britannia, and Coincident Popular Supersitions (part 1)

The Mirror of Literature, April 30, 1831. Number 487. Birthplace of Locke, Hippodrome Games, and Coincident Popular Supersitions (part 2)

In No. 475 of the Mirror, p. 98, will be found an article by a correspondent (H.) on “English Superstition,” introducing a very interesting Cheshire legend, as a counterpart to a Scottish one, related by the celebrated author of “Demonology and Witchcraft.” H. remarks of his tale that “it gives rise to many interesting conjectures respecting the probable causes of such a superstition being believed in countries with apparently so little connexion or intercourse as Cheshire and Scotland.” Perhaps it may be as well to refer to what Sir W. Scott has said upon this very subject, in note xi. to canto 4 of his “Lady of the Lake,” ere we proceed to utter a few specimens of coincident superstitions:—

“A work of great interest might be compiled upon the origin of popular fiction, and the transmission of similar tales from age to age, and from country to country. The mythology of one period would then appear to pass into the romance of the next century—and that, into the nursery tale of subsequent ages. Such an investigation, while it went greatly to diminish our ideas of the richness of human invention, would also show that these fictions, however wild and childish, possess such charms for the populace, as enable them to penetrate into countries unconnected by manners and language, and having no apparent intercourse to afford the means of transmission. It would carry me far beyond my bounds to produce instances of this community of fable, among nations who never borrowed from each other anything intrinsically worth learning. Indeed, the wide diffusion of popular fictions may be compared to the facility with which straws and feathers are dispersed abroad by the wind, while valuable metals cannot be transported without trouble and labour.”

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Guests of the Stamford hotel, on Michigan avenue, were horrified Sunday at an accident to a young lady which occurred right in front of that famous hostelry, which has become a kind of headquarters for those bicyclists who make use of the magnificent South side boulevards, says the Chicago Tribune. At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon a very dashing girl, with a little cap set jauntily upon her blonde ringlets, came speeding down the avenue. She was dressed in a very natty blouse and the latest style of riding bloomers, which reached well down toward the ankle. Just as she reached the hotel one of the bloomer legs caught in between the chain and sprocket of the machine and in an instant, going at the scorching pace she was, the entire bloomer was stripped off her shapely right limb. The spectators were for a moment paralyzed at the extent of this catastrophe, and two or three young ladies who were just about to mount their wheels blushed as red as a rainy sunset, but he dashing damsel was equal to the emergency. With a dextrous hand she disengaged herself from the mangled bloomers and stood before her admiring and astonished audience arrayed in an extremely becoming pair of black tights and trunks to match. Thrusting the bloomers into her blouse, she vaulted lightly on her wheel and the next moment was vanishing southward over the hard roadway at a two-minute gait.