The Gypsies are wholly ignorant of their origin, and have kept but an imperfect record of their migrations; but it is evident that they are a distinct race of people. Like the Jews, they have no country of their own, and are scattered over all parts of the globe. Time has made little or no change in their peculiarities. They have the same language, personal appearance, habits, and customs, that they had centuries ago. The name of Gypsies (meaning Egyptians) is doubtless an incorrect one. At least we know of nothing to justify them in the assumption of the title. In Italy they are called "Zingari," in Germany "Zigeuner," in Spain "Gitanos," in Turkey "Tchengenler," in Persia "Sisech Hindu," in Sweden "Tartars," and in France "Bohemiens."
Borrow expresses the opinion that the name of Gypsies originated among the priests and learned men of Europe, who expected to find in Scripture some account of their origin and some clew to their skill in the occult sciences.
Simson, the author of a recent work entitled the _History of the Gypsies_, believes that they are a mixture of the shepherd-kings and the native Egyptians, who formed part of the "mixed multitude" mentioned in the Biblical account of the expulsion of the Jews from Egypt. Grellman, however, traces their origin to India. He says that they belong to the Soodra caste. Vulcanius describes them simply as robbers and outlaws, and Hervas regards their language as "a mere jargon of banditti."
Their keen black eyes, swarthy complexion, long raven locks, high cheek-bones, and projecting lower jaws evidently indicate Asiatic origin. It is certain that neither their language nor physiognomy are African. It is argued that if really Egyptians, they would in all probability have preserved a religion, or some of the forms of worship so characteristic of the descendants of that people; whereas, the Gypsies have no religion at all.
Indeed, it is a proverb with them that "the Gypsy church was built of lard, and the dogs ate it."
Whether Egyptians or not, they are doubtless what they claim to be, "Rommany Chals," and not "Gorgios." Very few who have seen them will refuse to believe that they do not understand the art of making horse-shoes, and of snake-charming, fortunetelling, poisoning with the drows, and of singing such songs as the following:
"The Rommany chi And the Rommany chal Shall jaw tasaulor To drab the bawlor, And dook the gry Of the farming rye.
"The Rommany churl And the Rommany girl To-morrow shall hie To poison the sty, And bewitch on the mead The farmer's stead."
JOHN L. SPALDING
John Lancaster Spalding, the poet-priest, was born at Lebanon, Kentucky, June 2, 1840. He is a nephew of Archbishop Martin John Spalding. John L.
Spalding was graduated from St. Mary's College, Maryland, in 1859; and a short time later he was ordained as a priest in the Roman Catholic church. In 1865 he was secretary to the bishop of Louisville; and four years later he built St. Augustine's church for the Catholic negroes of Louisville. In 1871 Spalding was chancellor of the diocese of Louisville. From 1872 to 1877 he was stationed in New York City. He was consecrated bishop of Peoria, Illinois, May 1, 1877, which position he held until 1908, when ill-health compelled his retirement. Bishop Spalding was appointed by President Roosevelt as one of the arbitrators to settle the anthracite coal strike of 1902, and this appointment brought him before the whole country for a time. In 1909 he was created titular archbishop of Scyphopolis. Bishop Spalding continues his residence at Peoria, but recently his health has broken so badly that his life has been despaired of more than once. For many years it has been his custom to spend his summers in Kentucky with his boyhood friends and neighbors. He is the author of _The Life of the Most Rev.
Martin John Spalding, Archbishop_ (New York, 1872); _Essays and Reviews_ (1876); _Religious Mission of the Irish People_ (1880); _Lectures and Discourses_ (1882); _America and Other Poems_ (1885); _Education and the Higher Life_ (Chicago, 1891); _The Poet's Praise_ (1891); _Things of the Mind_ (Chicago, 1894); _Means and End of Education; Thoughts and Theories of Life and Education_ (Chicago, 1897); _Songs: Chiefly from the German_ (1896); _God and the Soul; Opportunity and Other Essays_ (Chicago, 1901); _Religion, Agnosticism, and Education_ (Chicago, 1902); _Aphorisms and Reflections_ (Chicago, 1901); _Socialism and Labor_ (Chicago, 1902); _Glimpses of Truth_ (Chicago, 1903); _The Spalding Year Book_ (1905); _Religion and Art, and other Essays_ (Chicago, 1905). Bishop Spalding's biography of his famous kinsman, Archbishop Spalding, is his finest prose work, and as a poet he has done some pleasing verse, most of which, of course, is marred by being woven into his religion.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _Harper's Weekly_ (October 25, 1902); _The Dial_ (January 1, 1904).
AN IVORY PAPER-KNIFE.[27]
[From _The Hesperian Tree_, edited by J. J. Piatt (Columbus, Ohio, 1903)]
O snow-white blade, thou openest for me So many a page filled with delightful lore Where deathless minds have left the precious store Of words that breathe and truth that makes us free.
To hold thee in my hand, or but to see Thee lying on my desk, O ivory oar, Waiting to drive my bark to any shore, Is fortaste of fresh joy and liberty.
Thou bringest dreams of the Dark Continent Where herded elephants in freedom roam, Or blow their trumpets when they danger scent, Or in wide rivers shoot the pearly foam, Yet art of vital books all redolent, Where highest thoughts have made themselves a home.
FOOTNOTE:
[27] Copyright, 1902, by John James Piatt.
NATHANIEL S. SHALER
Nathaniel Southgate Shaler, the distinguished Harvard geologist, poet, historian, and sociologist, was born at Newport, Kentucky, February 20, 1841. He was graduated from Harvard in 1862, where he had the benefit of almost private instruction from the great Agassiz. Shaler returned to Kentucky, and for the next two years he served in the Union army. In 1864 he was appointed assistant in palentology at Harvard; and four years later he became assistant in zoology and geology in the Lawrence Scientific School and head of the department of palentology. In 1873 the Governor of Kentucky appointed Professor Shaler director of the Kentucky Geological Survey, and he devoted parts of the next seven years to this work. He was the most efficient State geologist Kentucky has ever known, and his work for the Survey pointed out the path trodden by his successors. His assistant, Professor John R. Proctor, followed him as Director, and he stands next to his chief in the work he accomplished. _The Kentucky Geological Survey_ (1874-1880, 6 vols.), volume three of which, entitled _A General Account of the Commonwealth of Kentucky_ (Cambridge, Mass., 1876), was written entirely by Shaler, are excellent memorials of the work he did for his native state. In 1884 Shaler was placed in charge of the Atlantic division of the United States Geological Survey; and in 1891 he was chosen dean of the Lawrence Scientific School at Harvard. This position he held until a year or two before his death. Dean Shaler published _Thoughts on the Nature of Intellectual Property_ (Boston, 1878); _Glaciers_ (Boston, 1881); _The First Book of Geology_ (Boston, 1884); _Kentucky: A Pioneer Commonwealth_ (Boston, 1885), the philosophy of Kentucky history summarized; _Aspects of the Earth_ (New York, 1889); _Nature and Man in America_ (New York, 1891); _The Story of Our Continent_ (Boston, 1892); _Sea and Land_ (New York, 1892); _The United States_ (New York, 1893); _The Interpretation of Nature_ (Boston, 1893); _Domesticated Animals_ (New York, 1895); _American Highways_ (New York, 1896); _Outlines of the Earth's History_ (New York, 1898); _The Individual_ (New York, 1900); _Elizabeth of England_ (Boston, 1903, five vols.), a "dramatic romance," celebrating "the spacious times of great Elizabeth"; _The Neighbor_ (Boston, 1904); _The Citizen_ (New York, 1904); _Man and the Earth_ (New York, 1905); and _From Old Fields_ (Boston, 1906), a book of short poems. Besides these books, Dean Shaler wrote hundreds of magazine articles, reports, scientific memoirs, miscellaneous essays. He died at Cambridge, Massachusetts, April 10, 1906, just as he was about to make ready for a final journey to Kentucky. Dean Shaler was loved and honored more at Harvard, perhaps, than any other teacher the University has ever known.
BIBLIOGRAPHY. _The World's Work_ (June, 1906); _Science_ (June 8, 1906); _The Autobiography of Nathaniel Southgate Shaler, with a Supplementary Memoir by his Wife_, published posthumously (Boston, 1909), is a charming record of his days at Harvard and in Kentucky.
THE ORPHAN BRIGADE[28]
[From _From Old Fields_ (Boston, 1906)]
Eighteen hundred and sixty-one: There in the echo of Sumter's gun Marches the host of the Orphan Brigade, Lit by their banners, in hope's best arrayed.
Five thousand strong, never legion hath borne Might as this bears it forth in that morn: Hastings and Cressy, Naseby, Dunbar, Cowpens and Yorktown, Thousand Tears' War, Is writ on their hearts as onward afar They shout to the roar of their drums.
Eighteen hundred and sixty-two: Well have they paid to the earth its due.
Close up, steady! the half are yet here And all of the might, for the living bear The dead in their hearts over Shiloh's field-- Rich, O God, is thy harvest's yield!
Where faith swings the sickle, trust binds the sheaves, To the roll of the surging drums.
Eighteen hundred and sixty-three: Barring Sherman's march to the sea-- Shorn to a thousand; face to the foe Back, ever back, but stubborn and slow.
Nineteen hundred wounds they take In that service of Hell, yet the hills they shake With the roar of their charge as onward they go To the roll of their throbbing drums.
Eighteen hundred and sixty-four: Their banners are tattered, and scarce twelve score, Battered and wearied and seared and old, Stay by the staves where the Orphans hold Firm as a rock when the surges break-- Shield of a land where men die for His sake, For the sake of the brothers whom they have laid low, To the roll of their muffled drums.
Eighteen hundred and sixty-five: The Devil is dead and the Lord is alive, In the earth that springs where the heroes sleep, And in love new born where the stricken weep.
That legion hath marched past the setting of sun: Beaten? nay, victors: the realms they have won Are the hearts of men who forever shall hear The throb of their far-off drums.
"TOM" MARSHALL[29]
[From _The Autobiography of Nathaniel Southgate Shaler_ (Boston, 1909)]
I have referred above to Thomas F. Marshall, a man of singular attractiveness and talents with whom I had a curious relation. I first met him when I was about fourteen years of age, when he, for some time a congressman, had through drunkenness fallen into a curious half-abandoned mode of life. He was then an oldish fellow, but retained much of his youthful splendor. He was about six feet three inches high, but so well built that he did not seem large, until you stood beside him. His face, even when marred by drink, had something of majesty in it. Marshall, when I knew him, picked up a scanty living as a lecturer.
When sober, which he often was for months at a time, his favorite subject was temperance. On this theme he was as eloquent as Gough; in his season of spree, he turned to history. The gradations were not sharp, for he would, as I have seen him, preach most admirably of the evil of drink while he supported himself in his fervent oratory with whiskey from a silver mug. In matters of history, he had read widely.
One of his favorite themes was the mediaeval history of Italy. I recall with a distinctness which shows the impressiveness of his discourses his story of Florence, so well told that ten years after, when I saw the town for the first time, the shape of it and of the neighboring places was curiously familiar. Along with some other youths, I noted down the dates of events as he gave them and looked them up. We never caught him in an error, though at times he was so drunk that he could hardly stand up. I have known many historians who doubtless much exceeded him in learning, but never another who seemed to have such a capacity for living in the events he narrated.
I had no sooner met "Tom" Marshall than we became friends. He at once took a curious fancy to me, talked to me as though we were of an age, and gave me my first chance of such contact with a man of learning and imagination. The relation, while on one side largely profitable to me, became embarrassing, for the unhappy man got the notion that I could stop his drinking if I would stay with him. A number of times when he had his dipsomaniac fury upon him I found that by sitting by his bed and talking with him on some historical subject, or rather listening to his talk, he would apparently forget about his drink and in a few hours drop asleep and awake to be sober for some months.
Sometimes these quiet interviews were most interesting to me. I recall one of them when I found him in an attack of half delirium. His memory, always active, took him back to the days when he was in Congress and to the scene when he, a very young member of the House, had been chosen by some careful elders to lead an attack on John Quincy Adams. They, the elders, were to come to his support when he had drawn the enemy's fire. It all became so real to him, that he sprang out of bed and in his tattered nightgown gave, first his own speech with all the actions of a young orator, and then the deliberate, crushing rejoinder of his mighty antagonist. At the end of it he fell back upon his bed, cursing the villains who led him into the fight and left him to take the consequences.
My relations with Marshall continued until I went to Cambridge but my influence over his drinking gradually lessened as he sank lower, and his able mind began to be permanently clouded. When I had been some months at college, I espied the poor fellow in the street, carpet-bag in hand, evidently making for my quarters. I sent word by a messenger to my chum, Hyatt, to receive and care for him, but to say that I had left town, which was true, for I went at once to Greenfield, where I had friends. Hyatt was also to provide the wanderer with a suit of clothes and a railway ticket back to Kentucky. I stayed away until I learned that Marshall was on his way home. I have always been ashamed of my conduct in this matter, but the unhappy man was at that time of his degradation an impossible burthen for me to carry; once ensconced in my quarters it would have been impossible to provide him with a dignified exit, and there was no longer hope that I might reform him.
Yet the cowardice of the action has grieved me to this day.
Two years afterwards, in 1862, I saw Marshall for the last time. I was with a column of troops going through the town of Versailles, Kentucky. He was seated in front of a bar-room, with his chin upon the top of his cane. He was so far gone that the sight merely troubled his wits without affording him any explanation of what it meant. His bleared though still noble face stays in my memories as one of the saddest of those weary years.
LINCOLN IN KENTUCKY
[From the same]
Among the interesting and in a way shaping incidents of my boyhood, was a brief contact with Abraham Lincoln about 1856. He was coming on foot from the town of Covington; I was on horseback, and met him near the bridge over the Licking River. He asked the way to my grandfather's house, which was about a mile off. Attracted by his appearance, I dismounted and asked him to get on my horse, which he declined to do; so I walked beside him. Probably because he knew how to talk to a lad--few know the art, and those the large natures alone--we became at once friendly. When I had shown him into the house, I hung about to find his name. As I had never heard of Mr.
Lincoln of Illinois, it was explained to me that he was the man who was "running against" the Little Giant. We lads all knew Stephen A.
Douglas, who was so popular that farm tools were named for him: the Little Giant this and that of cornshellers or ploughs. While Mr.
Lincoln was with my grandfather, my mother dined or supped with him.
When she came home she said: "I have had a long talk with Mr. Lincoln, who is called an Abolitionist; if he is an Abolitionist, I am an Abolitionist." I well remember the horror with which this remark inspired the household: if my mother had said she was Satan, it could not have been worse. The droll part of the matter is that all the reasonable people about me were in heart haters of slavery. They saw and deplored its evils, and were full of fanciful schemes for making an end of it. But the name Abolitionist was abominated.