[The range of journals]

A journal, of course, is likely to treat of a fewer number of trivial

things than is a diary, and oftener the less personal, though Swift's

wonderful "Journal to Stella," written in the little language and meant

for "no eye but hers and the faithful Dingley's" is as personal as

can be. James Madison's stately record of the American Constitutional

Convention stands at the antipodes, we might say; and Hesdin's

"Journal of a Spy in Paris during the Reign of Terror," far off to

the right perhaps; and the Swiss poet, Henri Fréderic Amiel's private

philosophical and moral reflections, his "Journal Intime," far to the

left. In the middle might come the travelers' journals--like Fielding's

"Voyage to Lisbon" and Montaigne's "Voyage in Italy," or even John C.

Fremont's soldier explorations--as typical of the daily record that is

personal, yet not intensely so, and is written to be read.

A quaint and at once extremely romantic travel-journal of this sort

is the _Vida del Gran Tamurlan_, perhaps the oldest piece of travel

writing in Spanish literature. It is the daily record of the voyages

and residences of the ambassadors of Henry the Third on a diplomatic

mission to Tamburlane the Great--that same old Tartar potentate and

conqueror whom Marlowe made immortal by putting into his mouth those

high-astounding terms and that flowing blank verse, which so exactly

suited his character as well as Marlowe's own. The adventures of this

embassy were minutely written down by Ruy Gonsalez de Clavijo from

May, 1403, when it started, to March, 1406, when it returned. In the

report he describes the city of Constantinople which the ambassadors

passed through when it was at the height of its tottering greatness.

An incident recorded is very quaint. These fifteenth century public

servants, extremely human and not at all unlike our modern ones,

were desirous when off on special business not only to serve their

government well but also to do as much sight-seeing on their own

account as possible. Hence they haunted the churches and other places

of relics. But one day they failed to see all they wished to in the

church of San Juan de la Piedra, and for the following reason, bless

you! "The Emperor went to hunt, and left the keys with the Empress his

wife, and when she gave them she forgot to give those where the said

relics were, etc., etc." Delicious episode! Exactly the essence of this

type of narrative. It makes one suspect that despite all the pompous

history that has been got together about them the kings and queens of

old were really human beings. But Clavijo was writing a journal as well

as a diary, for he tells us of bigger things. He and his two friends go

on to Samarcand and find the great Conqueror and experience his lavish

hospitality in a series of magnificent festivals, but, strange to say,

witness also his death; at least he dies when they are at his court,

and Clavijo tells of the troubles the embassy had therefore in getting

ready to return. Argote de Molina, in 1582, a hundred and seventy-six

years later, wrote a _discourso_ upon Clavijo and got out the first

public edition of this journal, which, for the sake of sales probably,

he called "The Life of the Great Tamerlane," a thing it was not, but

only partly. Marlowe wrote his "Tamburlane" in 1586 or 1587. He might

well have seen Clavijo's journal.

[Great diaries]

Diary is for the most part more intimate, more private than journal,

though a diary need not necessarily be private. In fact a writer of

such a record sometimes hands it about among his friends--that is, part

of it. Other parts he invariably keeps to himself, either never to be

read by another or to be read only after the writer has ceased to live

or has ceased to care about the effect of his words. The astoundingly

frank and intimate diary of the famous Samuel Pepys, kept up by him

through the first nine years of the Restoration, has only just now

reached its complete publication. Details at first suppressed for one

reason or another have, as they have been made public from time to

time, gradually changed the world's conception of the character of this

bustling servant of the crown. And not strange to say; for a diary of

all forms of writing is the most revealing. John Evelyn, the friend

and patron of Pepys, wrote himself down no less surely a non-genius

than Pepys wrote himself a genius. They both, however, give us, in

addition to a knowledge of their personal affairs, invaluable pictures

of the men and doings of their day. Fanny Burney's "Diary," egotistical

and minute, but one of the great books of literature, is a gallery of

portraits of the late eighteenth century celebrities--King George and

Queen Charlotte, Reynolds, Burke, Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Thrale, Garrick,

and many others--all her friends. Gideon Welles's "Diary," which

appeared in the _Atlantic Monthly_ during 1909-10, though, like that of

Pepys, an account of public matters, was, like that of Pepys, a private

account not meant to be seen at the time. All these records have

their value for late readers in their honesty and minuteness. It is on

such revelations that we depend for our correct conception of by-gone

affairs.

A diary or a journal, then, is first of all a narrative of real events.

Fiction in this form, like Defoe's "Journal of the Plague" or the diary

parts of Charles Reade's "Cloister and the Hearth," is so for the sake

of the verisimilitude.

[Writing the type]

If you wish to write a journal, you might imagine yourself sending it

across the ocean to some relative or acquaintance who cares to know

about the doings of you yourself, your family, your friends, your

community. You may reflect your own sentiments and those of others;

you may give anecdotes, eye-witness accounts, reports, hear-says,

incidents, opinions, explanations, and bare facts. You may touch upon

your pleasures, your joys, and even your troubles; but your vexations

and regrets you would surely reserve for your diary.

If you write a diary, you should be frank and absolutely natural. Any

playing to the gallery is a denial of the whole tone of diary. You may

be ever so selfish and egotistical, or ever so trivial and vain, if you

are only honest. If we feel that you are recording exactly what you

think, revealing exactly what is, we shall read you with delight, so

seldom does one man get at the real thought of another. You may even be

pious--a most severe trial on a reader's interest--and we will follow

you so long as you are sincere.

=Extracts from Diary of Samuel Pepys=

November, 1661.

3d. (Lord's day.) At night my wife and I had a good supper by ourselves

of a pullet hashed, which pleased me much to see my condition come to

allow ourselves a dish like that.

4th. With my wife to the opera, where we saw "The Bondman," which of

old we both did so doate on, and do still, though to both our thinking

not so well acted here, having too great expectations, as formerly at

Salisbury Court. But for Betterton, he is called by us both the best

actor in the world.

5th. To the Dolphin, where Armiger and I and Captaine Cocke sat late

and drank much, seeing the boys in the streets flying their crackers.

This day being kept all day very strictly in the city.

7th. I met with letters at home from my Lord at Lisbon, which speak of

his being well, and he tells me he had seen at the court there, the day

before he wrote this letter, the Juego de Toro (bullfight). Peg Kite

now hath declared she will have the beggarly rogue the weaver, and so

we are resolved neither to meddle nor make with her.

8th. This morning up early, and to my Lord Chancellor's, with a letter

to him from my Lord, and did speak with him, and he did ask me whether

I was son to Mr. Talbot Pepys or no (with whom he was once acquainted

in the Court of Requests), and spoke to me with great respect. To the

Sunne in New Fish Street, where Sir J. Minnes, Sir William Batten

and we all were to dine, and by discourse found Sir J. Minnes a fine

gentleman and a very good scholler.

9th. With my Lady all the afternoon. My Lady did mightily urge me to

lay out money upon my wife, which I perceived was a little more earnest

than ordinary, and so I seemed to be pleased with it, and do resolve to

bestow a lace on her.

10th. (Lord's day.) At St. Gregory's, where I heard our Queen Katherine

the first time by name publicly prayed for. And heard Dr. Buck upon

"Woe unto thee, Corazin," &c., where he started a difficulty, which

he left to another time to answer, about why God should give means of

grace to those people which he knew would not receive them, and deny to

others, which he himself confesses, if they had had them, would have

received them and they would have been effectual, too. I would I could

hear him explain this when he do come to it.

11th. Captain Ferrers carried me the first time that ever I saw any

gaming-house, to one, entering into Lincolne's Inn Fields, at the end

of Bell Yard, where strange the folly of men to lay and lose much

money, and very glad I was to see the manner of a gamester's life,

which I see is very miserable and poor and unmanly. And thence he took

me to a dancing school in Fleet Streete, where we saw a company of

pretty girls dance, but I do not in myself like to have young girls

exposed to so much vanity. So to the Wardrobe, where I found my Lady

had agreed upon a lace for my wife at £6, which I seemed much glad

of that it was no more, tho in my mind I think it too much, and I

pray God to keep me so to order myself and my wife's expenses that no

inconvenience in purse or honour follow my prodigality.

"Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys," 4 volumes. (David

McKay. 1889. Philadelphia.)

=A Diary of Four Days=

Feb. 5, Saturday.

I awoke at 6 o'clock. It has become my habit not to get up earlier than

half past 6 on vacation days. After breakfast I went to the physics

laboratory to make up my back work.

The first experiment that I tried to perform was about Atwood's

Machine. I was not half thru when the string broke. Not being able to

find another, I went to the office to see whether I had a letter or

not. I was very glad to receive one, for it was from home. I was very

much disappointed, however, to hear that my mother was sick. My father

asked me to go and see Dr. Bautista, so after dinner I went to Santa

Cruz. The office was closed when I reached it. At last the doctor came.

I had a long talk with him about the sickness of my mother. He gave me

the formula of the medicine which my mother should take and told me the

dose. After giving him five pesos I went away and bought the medicine.

I stayed in the Escolta till it was dark, looking for some one who was

going to our town. Not being able to find anybody, I have come back to

my boarding-house with the determination to go home myself and take

mother's medicine. I must study my lesson in physics, however, before I

go to bed.

Feb. 6, Sunday.

At about 6 o'clock this morning I was in the railroad station. At 6

sharp the train left for San Isidro. I was very lonely in the car, for

the passengers were few. There were six Chinamen and a few Filipinos.

While the train was going on I kept myself busy reading my textbook in

chemistry. I reached the station of San Isidro at 10 o'clock. It was

about 11 when I reached home. I was very glad to find my mother better

then.

I ate my dinner with all the members of our family. After staying at

home for about two hours I started for San Isidro with my brother. I

was delayed at the ferry, for a company of American soldiers was using

the _banca_. I reached the station at about 2 o'clock, and as the train

would not leave for an hour, I went to the cock-pit nearby. It so

happened that they were having a _surtada_. This is the first time I

have entered a cock-pit since 1904.

At 3 o'clock the train came. I reached Manila at 8 o'clock. It is now

9:30. I am going to bed earlier than usual, for I am very tired.

Feb. 7, Monday.

I went to school as usual this morning, though I did not recite my

lessons very well. This evening I attended the Harty Club. We were

few in number, so Father Finnegan, our director, took us with him to

the observatory. All of us had a chance to look at the moon. Thru the

telescope the moon looked like the yolk of an egg with black spots. The

astronomer said that the black spots are craters of volcanoes. The moon

when seen thru the telescope is not so beautiful as when you look at it

with the naked eye.

The astronomer, who was a Spanish priest, explained the way the moon

gets its light. He could speak English very well, but his pronunciation

was bad. He pronounced "sun," "soon," and "top," "tawp." There were

many other words which he did not pronounce very well, but he used

these two so often that they were impressed on my mind. Another word he

used very often was "extremities."

When you asked this fat man a question, he would laugh at you if what

you asked was not sensible. Lava asked him what planets are inhabited.

He laughed without ceasing for about two minutes, and then said, "Why,

my boy, none except ours. If any planet is inhabited, the people must

be very different from us."

It was 8 o'clock when we went home. Tomorrow is a laboratory day, so I

am going to bed, for I have no lesson to prepare except in English.

Feb. 8, Tuesday.

I was awakened from a sound sleep by a dreadful dream. When I opened

my eyes it was daylight. My dream was about Halley's comet. We talked

so much about this thing last night that it came into my dream. I

thought it was the 19th of May. My mother roused me, for they could

see something beautiful. When I looked out I saw that it was Halley's

comet. I tried to explain to them what it was, but I was interrupted

in my explanation because I perceived that the comet was coming nearer

to us. We were obliged to leave the house, for the comet was coming

directly toward us. When we were out of the house the comet struck

it. It was set on fire. We tried our best to quench the flames, but

in vain. While the house was burning I awoke. I was very glad that I

awoke, for my lesson in English was not yet prepared.

I recited my lessons as usual. This afternoon Mr. Bulatao and I visited

the observatory again. Our guide showed all the pieces of apparatus

to us. From the top of the building I had a very fine general view of

Manila. After our visit I came home, and now I am going to study my

lessons.

--Facundo Esquivel.

="Something Doing"=

_A JOURNAL: MOCK HEROIC_

Thursday, March 17, 1910.--My friend Protasio and I went to one of the

fairs in the Tondo church-yard to buy an _awit_ for the instructor

in English. On our way home we met a group of gentlemen, eight of

them, among whom I recognized one of my schoolmates, Pedro Pineda. My

companion looked Pedro squarely in the face, but this one came up to

us, with arms akimbo, and presently addressed my companion in this

manner: "What do you want? Why do you look at me?" "Is there any cause

for which you speak to me thus?" answered my companion. "Why? What do

you want? Let us have a boxing match!"

I did my best to make my acquaintances desist from their plan, but my

efforts were in vain. Protasio took off his diamond ring and handed it

to me. I put it on the upper part of my right thumb, suspecting nothing

from the companions of Pedro.

In the dark this unworthy fellow thrust his hands into his big pocket,

and by the dim light of the evening star I noticed him put on iron

knuckles. Mad with rage, I shouted, "Take off your--!" but hardly had I

begun when just above my left ear fell a terrible blow. I felt no pain,

but the stroke deafened me. Still I lost no time mustering my courage,

and no sooner had I summoned my latent forces than I stood with my back

against the church-yard fence. Confronted by four young men, one of

whom was the sturdy machinist who delivered me the first blow, I raised

my right arm to ward off another dreadful box in the face, when, to my

surprise, I heard the crash of an iron rod. The cane which I had with

me had done its duty; when I was about to receive a blow more serious

than the first, up rose my hand and with an impulse it hit hard the

right shoulder of my sturdy opponent. Overjoyed at this incident I

caused my bent cane to swing back and forth until my four opponents,

realizing that I had an iron cane, ran away as fast as their legs could

carry them.

Protasio received several wounds from the iron knuckles--one on the

right arm, two on the head and one just above the left ear. Breathless

and bloody, I heard him utter the cry, "What! Four people to one?" The

people at the fair overheard the tumult; they rushed to the scene and

saw us two, one bloody, the other holding a bent cane, safe and sound.

But our good opponents had run away, carrying with them my friend's new

_baliwag_ hat.

"Fie! Cowards!" roared my companion, as we turned around the narrow

street beside the church. "Why did those folks fight with us four to

one?"

"Well, although they have made a serious mistake, Tasio," I remarked,

"you cannot blame them; you will know the cause when you study the

psychology of a mob."

He found no word with which to answer me; his right arm he could hardly

raise, and the blood streamed in great quantities from the back of his

head. I conducted him to his house and told him not to go to school

for two days. For my part, I felt nothing particularly painful except

two things--a swelling on my forehead and the bruised place on my face

where I received that blow without notice.

Friday, March 18.--This morning I went to school, and, although

I was tired from last night's pugilistic contest, I worked at the

office of the English department. But in the midst of my meditations

on a perplexing mistake which a second-year student had made in his

short-story theme, upon my shoulders fell two hands. I looked up,

rather amazed at the sudden attack, but I saw Mr. Fansler's familiar

face. "Ready, Victor!" said he. "Ready for the banquet, do you mean?"

"No, to meet Mr. Beattie."

I remembered I had to go with several people on a launch to meet Mr.

Beattie, who had returned from a visit to the States. I put on my

_buntal_ hat, with a minute-man's start, and ran down the flight of

steps of the Normal School building.

Gathered around the portico were the superintendent of the Normal

School, the representatives of the faculty and the representatives

of the various classes. Mr. Fansler and I joined the cheerful group,

three-fifths of which consisted of blooming femininity. As we walked

along the acacia grove we felt no heat, but on the open road, where

fell the blistering sun's rays, the women lagged. "They feel the

heat, to be sure!" I said to myself. "These women at the Normal, I

suppose, are not used to heat. Tender and fresh, they have little or no

exercise."

But necessity was to compel them to run a short race that day. The buzz

of the street car wire along Calle Real made them walk faster, and

finally they really began to run; as lightly as doves, however. The car

took us down to Plaza de Magallanes, back of the Treasury building, but

we did not find our launch there.

As I walked along the edge of the Pasig River bank I noticed a small,

booth-like hut, in which I saw an old woman seated on a stool. She

held in her right hand a bunch of perforated banana leaves, with which

she drove away the flies that tried to alight on the rice and fried

fish. Presently a man came, ate his ten-centavo meal of rice and a half

fish, and departed after the manner of a Frenchman. But soon I saw my

companions going on board the launch and I followed them.

The boat was not very big; it had just enough room to accommodate the

young women and to allow the fellows to sit contiguously on the sides.

All at once the launch began sailing down the smooth river and within

ten minutes we had passed around Engineer Island.

Out in the bay the billows rose. The foam began to appear in greater

quantities as we sailed farther and farther into the sea. The boat

swung to and fro as she courtesied to the waves. But upon looking

round, I discovered that some of the young ladies were seasick. I was

trying to reason out the cause of this malady when all of a sudden a

spray of salt water threw itself directly at my face and my tongue felt

the liquid.

"What a nasty taste salt water has!" I exclaimed, as I tried to

suppress with an effort the sudden change in my stomach.

"How do you like it, Yamzon?" asked fat Memije, the spherical student

of the Academy. Without waiting for an answer, "That's good! The water

will make you fat. Should you like to know how I got fat?" continued

he, whom I always compare to a sponge because of his capacity for

imbibing water in great quantities. "Yes," I muttered, ungraciously.

"Well, I drink four glasses of water before meals and after meals."

"But not salt water," I rejoined. "No, no; fresh water is what you

need."

Just then we spied the _Tean_, which was bringing back Mr. Beattie.

As we approached we saw a man who was so much like him that the ample

instructor of the correspondence department exclaimed in her not too

melodious and high-pitched voice, "There's our dear old superintendent!"

"He's no longer _your_ dear old superintendent," thought I.

Fifteen minutes passed, and Mr. Beattie showed no signs of ever having

come back. But when the ship-master appeared on the upper deck he told

us Mr. Beattie would soon be ready to show his face to us. And he was.

We cheered him and hailed him; hats were taken off; handkerchiefs

waved in the air; and the former superintendent of the Normal School

responded to us, while a twelve-inch smile beamed on his countenance.

Saturday, March 19, 1910.--My short trip yesterday reminded me of our

voyage to Lucena last Thanksgiving. The first thing I did immediately

after breaking-my-fast was to go to my desk and take out from the

lowest case the account of this trip which I wrote while we were

sailing. I have read the thing through and I will gladly repeat it for

you. It begins thus:

"On Thanksgiving afternoon the Normal debating team, on board of the

steamer _Lal-Loc_, set out for Lucena."--There! I can't write it for

you now. My brother is calling me. But I'll just say we won the debate

and had a glorious time.

--Victoriano Yamzon.

II. Autobiography and Memoirs

[Distinction between autobiography and memoirs]

Although the words "autobiography" and "memoirs" are often used

interchangeably, the meanings differ somewhat as journal and diary;

that is, an autobiography is always written to be read by a public,

large or small; memoirs are sometimes secret, like those of Mirabeau

when on his mission to Prussia. The two forms are both, however,

personal accounts by the writer of his own doings and sayings as well

as of the doings and sayings of others connected with him in the same

events.

Gibbon has used the word memoirs as a title for what we generally call

his autobiography; but critics consider the term "memoirs" strictly as

signifying a record of events put down within a limited time in the

author's life--or a record of important events that he can "remember,"

selected out of a long life. Memoirs in the first sense are usually

written by persons of large affairs, like Prince von Metternich in the

French-Austrian crisis, or Mme. de Staël-Holstein during her ten years

of exile, or the Italian poet Silvio Pellico while serving his decade

of imprisonment for taking part in the Carbonari movements. Many of the

writers other than English seem to try to exclude the personal element

from memoirs; though Catherine II of Russia in her account of her life

as Grand Duchess is straightforward and intimate enough. Frederick the

Great, too, in his memoirs of his military and political campaigns has

succeeded in delineating quite exactly his own character as conceived

of by others; while Charles V in his "Autobiographical Leaves" (which

are memoirs) has revealed to the world an entirely new side of himself.

[Cellini, Franklin and others]

Autobiography is more extended than memoirs. This "self-life-writing"

runs from the birthday of the author to the time of the composition of

the narrative. Details are sometimes many, sometimes few, according

to the taste and leisure of the recorder, but the account is always

complete and unified. One of the greatest autobiographies written

is that of Benvenuto Cellini, a Florentine artist of the sixteenth

century. Men lived intense and violent lives in those days, fervidly

devoted to ideals and grossly material at the same time. Cellini

epitomizes them all. His narrative is an Italian classic. A most

entertaining English autobiography is Colley Cibber's "Apology for My

Life." Actor and dramatist, he too had much to tell. But the American

philosopher and statesman, Benjamin Franklin, has carried off the prize

for widespread popularity and readableness. The story goes, whether

true or not, that his "Autobiography" has been translated into more

languages than any other book except the Bible. The narrative is full

of shrewd common-sense and practical example. Our fathers used to say

that no one is a true American who has not read it. What is of value to

us now in the consideration of it is its simplicity both in diction and

tone. Franklin was truly a very great man, and nowhere greater than in

his unpretentious honesty.

Like a diary, an autobiography should be most genuine and original in

content. Sometimes the impulse to record one's life goes even so far as

to take the form of confessions, like those of the great Latin father,

St. Augustine. Our own English ecclesiastic, Cardinal Newman, defended

himself and his faith in his "Apologia." But this that ought to be the

truest of the true forms very easily becomes forced and hectic, like

Rousseau's. Though a man must be honest, there is no need for him to

tell everyone of his inmost thoughts, or mention all his meannesses. De

Quincey's "Confessions of an English Opium Eater" long ago justified

itself by its high tone, and by the fact that it became the basis of

his "Autobiography."

[Some points to be observed in writing]

It is easy to start an autobiography. Most writers begin with their

birth and parentage. To proceed after the first few pages is not so

easy perhaps, because of the possibilities. What to choose is the

question; for everybody has had more experiences than he could possibly

record. Apt selection is what makes a good life history--selection

under a governing sense of unity and progression. Moreover, a writer

of any chronical story should carefully arrange the transitions. Good

including phrases both backward and forward-looking should be used,

as well as precise small conjunctions. Such sets as Cellini has, "At

this moment the whole world was, etc.," "I am now making a great leap

forward when I tell," "Continuing as I did my artillery practice for

a whole month," "In the meantime I had," "I must not forget to give

some indication of how large the figure was, a thing which I can best

do by telling you a very laughable occurrence," "The more I longed

for rest the more did troubles spring up," "Before this I should

have told of my friendship with, etc." The diction of memoirs is

somewhat determined by circumstances and subject; but if you write an

autobiography, you should see to it that your words and constructions

are unmistakably simple. Be as modest as is consistent with your great

deeds, and as cheerful as the fates will allow. If you make yourself

out a good fellow, do so by the general impression of your narrative,

not by assertion. Set before the reader enough of your actions and he

will tabulate your character for you. Your business is to relate; his,

to judge. You may, however, disclose some of your motives. The only

difficulty here is, that people may not believe you, or you may not

have understood yourself at the time. Whatever else you do, be sure to

let us see a human being like ourselves, not some impossible creature

made out of paper and ink. If you care for an outline, it would not be

amiss to follow that prepared for biography.

=The Life of David Hume, Esq., Written by Himself=

It is difficult for a man to speak long of himself without vanity;

therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought an instance of vanity

that I pretend at all to write my life; but this narrative shall

contain little more than the history of my writings; as indeed almost

all my life has been spent in literary pursuits and occupations. The

first success of most of my writings was not such as to be an object of

vanity.

I was born the twenty-sixth of April, 1711, old style, at Edinburgh. I

was of a good family, both by father and mother: my father's family is

a branch of the Earl of Home's, or Hume's; and my ancestors had been

proprietors of the estate which my brother possesses, for several

generations. My mother was daughter of Sir David Falconer, president of

the college of justice; the title of Lord Halkerton came by succession

to her brother.

My family, however, was not rich, and being myself a younger brother,

my patrimony, according to the mode of my country, was, of course,

very slender. My father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I

was an infant, leaving me, with an elder brother and a sister, under

the care of our mother, a woman of singular merit, who, though young

and handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educating

of her children. I passed through the ordinary course of education

with success, and was seized very early with a passion for literature,

which has been the ruling passion of my life and the great source of

my enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriety and my industry

gave my family a notion that the law was the proper profession for me;

but I found an insurmountable aversion to everything but the pursuits

of philosophy and general learning, and while they fancied I was

poring upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors I was

secretly devouring.

My very slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to this plan of

life, and my health being a little broken by my ardent application, I

was tempted, or rather forced, to make a very feeble trial for entering

into a more active scene of life. In 1734 I went to Bristol with some

recommendations to several eminent merchants, but in a few months found

that scene totally unsuitable to me. I went over to France with a view

of prosecuting my studies in a country retreat, and I there laid that

plan of life which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved

to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to

maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as

contemptible except the improvement of my talents in literature.

During my retreat in France, first at Rheims, but chiefly at La

Fletche, in Anjou, I composed my Treatise of Human Nature. After

passing three years very agreeably in that country, I came over to

London in 1737. In the end of 1738 I published my treatise, and

immediately went down to my mother and my brother, who lived at

his country house and was employing himself very judiciously and

successfully in the improvement of his fortune.

Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human

Nature. It fell dead-born from the press, without reaching such

distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots. But being

naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered

the blow and prosecuted with great ardor my studies in the country.

In 1742 I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays. The work

was favorably received and soon made me entirely forget my former

disappointment. I continued with my mother and brother in the country,

and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I

had too much neglected in my early life.

In 1745 I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me

to come and live with him in England; I found also that the friends

and family of that young nobleman were desirous of putting him under

my care and direction, for the state of his mind and health required

it. I lived with him a twelve-month. My appointments during that time

made a considerable accession to my small fortune. I then received

an invitation from General St. Clair to attend him as a secretary to

his expedition, which was at first meant against Canada, but ended

in an incursion on the coast of France. Next year, to wit, 1747, I

received an invitation from the general to attend him in the same

station in his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin.

I then wore the uniform of an officer and was introduced at these

courts as aide-de-camp to the general, along with Sir Harry Erkine and

Captain Grant, now General Grant. These two years were almost the only

interruptions which my studies have received during the course of my

life: I passed them agreeably and in good company; and my appointments,

with my frugality, had made me reach a fortune which I called

independent, the most of my friends were inclined to smile when I said

so: in short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds.

I had always entertained a notion that my want of success in publishing

the Treatise of Human Nature had proceeded more from the manner than

the matter, and that I had been guilty of a very usual indiscretion

in going to the press too early. I, therefore, cast the first part

of the work anew in the Inquiry concerning Human Understanding while

I was at Turin. But this piece was at first little more successful

than the Treatise of Human Nature. On my return from Italy I had the

mortification to find all England in a ferment on account of Dr.

Middleton's Free Inquiry, while my performance was entirely overlooked

and neglected. A new edition, which had been published at London, of

my Essays, moral and political, met not with a much better reception.

Such is the force of natural temper that these disappointments made

little or no impression on me. I went down, in 1749, and lived two

years with my brother at his country house, for my mother was now dead.

I there composed the second part of my Essay, which I called Political

Discourses, and also my Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals,

which is another part of my Treatise that I cast anew. Meanwhile my

bookseller, A. Millar, informed me that my former publications (all

but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the subject of

conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing and that

new editions were demanded. Answers by reverends and right reverends

came out two or three in a year, and I found by Dr. Warburton's railing

that the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company. However,

I had fixed a resolution, which I inflexibly maintained, never to reply

to anybody, and not being very irascible in my temper, I have easily

kept myself dear of all literary squabbles. These symptoms of a rising

reputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed to see

the favorable than unfavorable side of things, a turn of mind which it

is more happy to possess than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a

year.

In 1751 I removed from the country to the town, the true scene for

a man of letters. In 1752 were published at Edinburgh, where I then

lived, my Political Discourses, the only work of mine that was

successful on its first publication. It was well received at home and

abroad. In the same year was published at London my Inquiry concerning

the Principles of Morals, which, in my own opinion (who ought not

to judge on that subject), is, of all my writings, historical,

philosophical or literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed and

unobserved into the world.

In 1752 the Faculty of Advocates chose me their librarian, an office

from which I received little or no emolument, but which gave me the

command of a large library. I then formed the plan of writing the

History of England, but, being frightened with the notion of continuing

a narrative through a period of seventeen hundred years, I commenced

with the accession of the house of Stuart, an epoch when, I thought,

the misrepresentations of faction began chiefly to take place. I was, I

own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of this work. I thought

that I was the only historian that had at once neglected present

power, interest and authority and the cry of popular prejudices, and

as the subject was suited to every capacity, I expected proportional

applauses. But miserable was my disappointment; I was asailed by one

cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation; English, Scotch

and Irish, Whig and Tory, churchman and sectary, free thinker and

religionist, patriot and courtier, united in their rage against the man

who had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of Charles I and

the Earl of Strafford; and after the first ebullitions of their fury

were over, what was still more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into

oblivion. Mr. Millar told me that in a twelve-month he had sold only

forty-five copies of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the

three kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, that could endure the

book. I must only except the primate of England, Dr. Herring, and the

primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, which seemed two odd exceptions. These

dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be discouraged.

I was, however, I confess, discouraged; and had not the war been at

that time breaking out between France and England, I had certainly

retired to some provincial town of the former kingdom, have changed

my name and never more have returned to my native country. But as

this scheme was not now practicable, and the subsequent volume was

considerably advanced, I resolved to pick up courage and to persevere.

In this interval I published at London my Natural History, of

Religion, along with some other small pieces. Its public entry was

rather obscure, except only that Dr. Hurd wrote a pamphlet against

it, with all the illiberal petulance, arrogance and scurrility which

distinguished the Warburtonian school; This pamphlet gave me some

consolation for the otherwise indifferent reception of my performance.

In 1756, two years after the fall of the first volume, was published

the second volume of my history, containing the period from the death

of Charles I till the revolution. This performance happened to give

less displeasure to the Whigs and was better received. It not only

rose, itself, but helped to buoy up its unfortunate brother.

But though I had been taught by experience that the Whig party were

in possession of bestowing all places, both in the state and in

literature, I was so little inclined to yield to their senseless clamor

that in above a hundred alterations, which study, reading or reflection

engaged me to make in the reigns of the two first Stuarts, I have made

all of them invariably on the Tory side. It is ridiculous to consider

the English constitution before that period as a regular plan of

liberty.

In 1759, I published my history of the house of Tudor. The clamor

against this performance was almost equal to that against the history

of the two first Stuarts. The reign of Elizabeth was particularly

obnoxious. But I was now callous against the impressions of public

folly and continued very peaceably and contentedly, in my retreat at

Edinburgh, to finish in two volumes the more early part of the English

history, which I gave to the public in 1761 with tolerable, and but

tolerable, success.

But, notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, to which my

writings had been exposed, they had still been making such advances

that the copy money given me by the book-sellers much exceeded anything

formerly known in England; I was become not only independent but

opulent. I retired to my native country of Scotland, determined never

more to set my foot out of it; and retaining the satisfaction of never

having preferred a request to one great man or ever making advances

of friendship to any of them. As I was now turned of fifty, I thought

of passing all the rest of my life in this philosophical manner, when

I received, in 1763, an invitation' from the earl of Hertford, with

whom I was not in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy

to Paris, with a near prospect of being appointed secretary to the

embassy, and in the meanwhile of performing the functions of that

office. This offer, however inviting, I at first declined; both because

I was reluctant to begin connections with the great, and because I

was afraid that the civilities and gay company of Paris would prove

disagreeable to a person of my age and humor; but on his lordship's

repeating the invitation I accepted of it. I have every reason, both

of pleasure and interest, to think myself happy in my connections with

that nobleman, as well as afterwards with his brother, General Conway.

Those who have not seen the strange effects of modes will never imagine

the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all ranks and

stations. The more I recoiled from their excessive civilities, the

more I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction in

living at Paris, from the great number of sensible, knowing and polite

company with which that city abounds above all places in the universe.

I thought once of settling there for life.

I was appointed secretary to the embassy; and in summer, 1765, Lord

Hertford left me, being appointed lord lieutenant of Ireland. I was

_chargé d'affaires_ till the arrival of the Duke of Richmond, towards,

the end of the year. In the beginning of 1766 I left Paris, and next

summer went to Edinburgh, with the same view as formerly of burying

myself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place, not rich

but with much more money, and a much larger income by means of Lord

Hertford's friendship, than I left it; and I was desirous of trying

what superfluity could produce; as I had formerly made an experiment

of a competency. But in 1767 I received from Mr. Conway an invitation

to be an undersecretary, and this invitation both the character of

the person and my connections with Lord Hertford prevented me from

declining. I returned to Edinburgh in 1768, very opulent (for I

possessed a revenue of one thousand pounds a year), healthy and, though

somewhat stricken in years, with the prospect of enjoying long my ease

and of seeing the increase of my reputation.

In spring, 1775, I was struck with a disorder of the bowels, which at

first occasioned no alarm, but has since, as I apprehended it, become

mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have

suffered very little pain from my disorder, and, what is more strange,

have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a

moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch that were I to name a period

of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I might be

tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same ardor as ever

in study and the same gayety in company. I consider, besides, that a

man of sixty-five, by dying cuts off only a few years of infirmities;

and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out

at last with additional luster, I know that I could have but few years

to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at

the present time.

To conclude historically with my own character: I am, or rather was

(for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which

emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man of

mild disposition, of command of temper, of an open, social and cheerful

humor, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and

of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary

fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, notwithstanding my

frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the

young and careless, as well as to the studious and literary; and as I

took a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no

reason to be displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a

word, though most men anywise eminent have found reason to complain

of Calumny, I never was touched or even attacked by her baleful

tooth; and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil

and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of

their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one

circumstance of my character and conduct; not but that the zealots,

we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate any

story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which they

thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say that there

is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope it

is not a misplaced one, and this is a matter of fact which is easily

cleared and ascertained.

April 18, 1776.

=Autobiography=

I was born on the twentieth of December in the year 1887, in Gapan,

province of Nueva Ecija.

My mother, Manuela Tinio, died when I was but two years of age, and I

was left to the care of my beloved grandfather, Esteban Tinio, uncle

Quintin Tinio and my aunts Paula and Felipa Tinio. I had two brothers

and three sisters, but all of them died except one of my brothers,

Valentin, who is now attending the Philippine Medical School. My uncle

Valentin was one of the active leaders of the revolutionary movement

in Nueva Ecija. He bore a deadly hatred against the Spaniards. On

several occasions secret meetings were held in our house shortly before

the uprising of the people. When the revolution broke out unexpectedly

in 1896 he was forced to flee to the mountain, where he was captured

afterwards, and was finally shot. My grandfather died in 1903 in his

eighty-ninth year, and thus I was left to the care of my father,

Francisco Guanio, and my two aunts, Paula and Felipa, who are still

unmarried. Altho my aunts are over sixty years of age, yet they are

still strong, active and diligent women. They have never wasted their

time in idleness, and are always at work from morning till night. To

them who are more than mothers to me I owe my present education.

I was born in the most extraordinary period of Philippine history. I

lived to see the days when our fathers were struggling hard against

Spain. During my boyhood I saw men imprisoned, exiled and executed

for no offense whatever. I have heard the voice of the oppressed

people crying for justice. I have seen men, rich and poor, wise and

ignorant, fighting for the common cause of the Filipino people. I

witnessed one of the fierce attacks of our patriots upon the Spanish

regiment at Gapan. When I was twelve years old many towns were entirely

depopulated; churches, and schoolhouses converted into hospitals;

men and women impelled by fear to flee from their homes with their

children. I once enjoyed seeing the humiliating race-distinction

effaced. Early one morning I was awakened from my sleep by the loud

booming of cannon and by the shouting of the once happy and satisfied

people, inaugurating the short-lived Philippine republic. These past

events changed my gentle nature entirely. It has been my ambition ever

since to make the most of myself for my country's sake.

I attended the public school at Gapan in 1894. Here I learned the

alphabet and catechism. At that time Spanish was taught in nearly all

the schools of the Islands. The sudden outbreak of the revolution of

1896 brought about the closing of the schools for a short time. And

altho they were soon reopened, yet there was not the same enthusiasm

for learning among the great mass of students as had been previously

shown. They attended schools simply because they were compelled to do

so by the government (for education was compulsory under the Spanish

administration in these islands). In 1898 I attended school very

irregularly on account of the revolution. Then in the beginning of the

year 1899 schools were closed on account of the troubles which the

Filipinos had had with the Americans, and consequently I had to stay at

home for two years. In October, 1901, I entered the Gapan Intermediate

School, which was then under the supervision of an American teacher. On

January 1, 1904, I left the school of Gapan and attended the S. Isidro

High School. In June, 1905, I was transferred to the Philippine Normal

School, where I have stayed since then.

My uncle Quintin's plan was to make me a lawyer, but his unexpected

death prevented his desire. My father and my two aunts, Paula and

Felipa, allowed me to pursue any course I liked. It is their wish to

give me a good and thorough education.

My own plan is different from that of my uncle Quintin. I desire to

complete the high school course first, then the college course, and

finish with the engineering course.

--Domingo T. Guanio.

=What I Remember of the Coming of the Americans=

In the afternoon of November 15, 1900, while I was at a small private

school conducted by an educated woman, the wife of the colonel in

Ponciano's army, one of my classmates called my attention to the

running of men and women up and down the street.

"What is the matter? Why are those people running?" asked our teacher

of her husband, who was then entering the gate.

"They say there is a _casco_ of rice in Laguna de Bay. I do not know

what kind of casco it is; it has a flag. Send all the children home,"

said the colonel.

"The class is dismissed," said our teacher to us.

She had scarcely spoken these words when we jumped to our feet and ran

as fast as we could to our homes.

"Have you not seen your father? Where is he?" said my mother as soon as

she caught sight of me. I looked back and saw my father coming.

"Here he comes," I said to my mother.

"Prepare yourself, Leopoldo. We will go to the mountain," said my

mother.

"Why? There is a casco of rice coming," I answered.

"No, that is not a casco of rice. If that is a casco of rice, the

people on the beach wouldn't run away to the mountain. Get yourself

ready, quick," replied my mother.

It was a cloudy afternoon. The wind blew hard. Nothing could be heard

but the moaning of the wind on the trees and houses, the running of

men and women along the streets and the crying of babies. The streets

were full of people, all running in the same direction. Some carried

trunks on their heads, others had bundles of clothes on their backs.

Some carried infants in their arms, others had them on their hips. The

little boys and girls ran beside their parents. It was indeed a piteous

sight!

While my father and mother were busy putting our things in a _carreton_

I was going up and down the stairs every ten minutes. I did not know

what to do. When I was upstairs I wanted to go downstairs. When I

was downstairs I wanted to go up. I wished to carry with me my shoes

because I knew I needed them on the mountain. But I also wanted to

carry my black coat. At last I thought of the bread that my mother had

bought that morning. I took it all. Just then my father and mother

had put our trunks, in the carreton. We all got into the carreton--my

father, my mother, my little brother, my sister, and myself. My father

was the driver. We left our home, our minds full of the gloomiest

forebodings.

We had not gone very far from the town when we heard

per-r-rrok-rok-pook-pook-pook-pok--bung.

"Jesus, Maria, y Josep!" exclaimed my mother.

We all looked at each other speechless. At a distance we heard a cry,

"_Nacu! nanay co_."

"Perhaps a bullet struck that man," I said to myself.

In a few minutes we arrived at the Lecheria hill. It was already dark.

There was a moon, but it was hidden behind the clouds. At the bottom

of the hill was a large house made of nipa and bamboo. The house was

very dark. When we came to it a voice inside said, "Who is that?

Aniceto?"

"Yes," answered my father.

"Why are you late? Have you eaten your supper?" asked the voice.

"No, but we have to go now. The bullets will reach us here. We can eat

our supper in the carreton," replied my father.

All the people in the house silently went down to the ground. They got

into their carts and we began our journey. There were four vehicles

in all. One was loaded with rice. Uncle Paulino and his family were

in one. The other one was occupied by Grandmother Tereza and her four

sons. We traveled over low hills and valleys beneath the outspreading

branches of the wild trees and over thick _cogon_ grasses. The moon had

gained full brightness, but the night was cold. After I had eaten my

supper I fell asleep. My mother wrapped me in her blanket. When I awoke

I found that we were in Pasong Calabaw. It was four o'clock in the

morning. We had been traveling all night.

--Leopoldo Faustino.

III. Biography

[Beginning in England of literary biography]

With Johnson's "Lives of the Poets" biography in England took on a

literary quality. Before that time such work had been perfunctory and

had been done by hack writers; but with the appearance of the "Life

of Savage" (1744), says Macaulay, a new era began. "The little work

with all its faults was a masterpiece. No finer specimen of literary

biography existed in any language living or dead. The discerning

critic might confidently have predicted that the author was destined

to be the founder of a new school of English eloquence." And he was.

Thirty-three years later, after he had become famous, a company of

booksellers called on Dr. Johnson to add to the "Life of Savage" a

series of biographical prefaces for an edition of the poets from

Cowley downwards. Although intending at first to write only a few

short paragraphs, this great and good talker let himself run on until

he handed, over to the publishers ten volumes--somewhat short volumes

to be sure, but a fine piece of work, and most of it very precious.

From that time on, no biographer who expected to be read, dared

be uninteresting. Prejudiced in temperament he might be, mistaken

sometimes, but henceforth he must prove himself lively, vigorous,

faithful, penetrating, sagacious, warm yet discriminating in praise,

reasonable in censure, fearless in judgments, and fresh and exact in

expression. The model had been set. The thing had been done not for one

poet, but for many. Biography was now a literary type, to be written

with care by a qualified person. It is worthy of note that the original

type was short.

[Great biographies in English]

Since Johnson's day English literature has gained through biography

some of the best books in the world. Boswell's "Life of Johnson" and

Lockhart's "Life of Scott" are to be so ranked. Lockhart did also a

superfine example of the short form, a biographical sketch of Theodore

Hook, a very strange "bohemian." Lockhart's "Life of Napoleon" and

"Life of Burns" are also standard. Trevelyan's "Life of Macaulay,"

Forster's "Life of Goldsmith" and "Life of Dickens" rank here, as

possibly likewise Southey's "Life of Nelson," Mrs. Gaskell's "Life of

Charlotte Bronté," and Thomas Moore's brilliant "Life of Lord Byron."

Macaulay's own short "Life of Johnson," though displaying Macaulay's

faults of prejudice and exaggeration, is in itself a classic.

[Writer and subject]

Very naturally a biography is a double revelation--one of writer and

subject. What you choose to praise or blame, how you praise or blame,

what you notice, what you omit, how you emphasize, how you show your

erudition, where you give your sympathy, the largeness or smallness

of your view of life--all these and more are tale-tellers of your own

personality. A luminous illustration of this fact is Goldy's "Life of

Beau Nash." Oliver and the great beau had much in common, and when the

biographer is commenting on "the mixed silliness and shrewdness" of

his subject, "the taste and tawdriness, blossomed-colored coats and

gambling debts, vanity, carelessness, and good-heart," he is writing

a critique of his own life, past and to come. When he mentions Nash's

"ill-controlled sensibility which was so strong that, unable to witness

the misfortunes of the miserable, he was always borrowing money, to

relieve them," we see the unlucky and reckless poet himself.

[Beginning]

Since it is the uncertain quantity of your own personality that will

make your narrative dry or entertaining, we need hardly say more on

the tone side of the work, unless it be to caution you about your

diction, to have it simple and fresh. On the other hand, you might

profitably notice at the end of this division the outline of general

facts that the world expects in every biography. A certain number of

questions ought to be answered, not in any set order, not with any set

emphasis, but surely in sum finally. See if you can not be original in

your beginning and ending. The amount of space that you will devote

to one topic or the other will be determined by your purpose and your

audience. If you are writing for children, as Hawthorne was in his

"Biographical Sketches," you will emphasize those divisions of the

life that a child would most naturally be interested in, or would be

instructed by. [Emphasis] Be careful, however, not to make your poor

hero or heroine the opportunity for a sermon. Besides being not quite

fair, the device is trite and tiresome. Hawthorne we may forgive for

preaching when we remember the taste of his day and the nearness of

it to Puritanical ideals; but you live in an age that likes to take

its own lessons from unvarnished facts and from truths put forth

concretely, not deduced. Avoid fulsomeness and heroics. [Attitude]

Set yourself to the task of revealing the personality just as it was,

and it will teach its own lesson. Many people are more inspired by an

erring soul that yet achieved, than they are by an icy paragon who knew

no struggles. Be sure that in this history of another person you give

us a human fellow.

Now, do not fly to the encyclopedia and cull facts about Napoleon or

Cromwell. Take some one whom you know--a man or woman of attainment in

your own neighborhood. Do the character-sketching with care. Be crisp

and original in attack. The outline given below is a skeleton which you

must hide with a pleasing exterior. But do not forget to put the heart

and lungs in him. Exact and full information is the motor power of a

living biography.

=Outline for a Life=

I. Birth: place and date--country, city, epoch.

Nationality of parents and noteworthy facts connected with the

family.

II. Boyhood and early education:

Disposition and temperament displayed by the youth.

His chief interests; hobbies.

Anecdotes about the boy: both true and only typical.

Primary and secondary schooling: at private or public institutions.

III. Later education and the choice of a career: College life.

His family's plan for his profession or career.

His own plan.

Circumstances influencing the ultimate choice.

Success resulting from the choice:

Intellectual and personal.

Financial and worldly.

Final professional training.

Travel.

IV. Family and domestic life: marriage, children.

Influence of wife and children on his success.

Anecdotes and particular instances to illustrate personality and

character.

V. Friends and enemies: names, professions, and influence.

VI. Accomplishment and title to fame:

His rank in his own nation and the world.

His especial characteristics as displayed in style and

subject-matter.

His masterpieces: something of their content.

=Queen Christina=

(Born 1626. Died 1689.)

In the royal palace at Stockholm, the capital city of Sweden, there was

born, in 1626, a little princess. The king, her father, gave her the

name of Christina, in memory of a Swedish girl with whom he had been in

love. His own name was Gustavus Adolphus, and he was also called the

Lion of the North, because he had gained greater fame in war than any

other prince or general then alive. With this valiant king for their

commander, the Swedes had made themselves terrible to the Emperor of

Germany and to the King of France, and were looked upon as the chief

defense of the Protestant religion.

The little Christina was by no means a beautiful child. To confess the

truth, she was remarkably plain. The queen, her mother, did not love

her so much as she ought; partly, perhaps, on account of Christina's

want of beauty, and also both the king and queen had wished for a son,

who might have gained as great renown in battle as his father had.

The king, however, soon became exceedingly fond of the infant princess.

When Christina was very young she was taken violently sick. Gustavus

Adolphus, who was several hundred miles from Stockholm, traveled night

and day and never rested until he held the poor child in his arms. On

her recovery he made a solemn festival in order to show his joy to

the people of Sweden and express his gratitude to Heaven. After this

event he took his daughter with him in all the journeys which he made

throughout his kingdom.

Christina soon proved herself a bold and sturdy little girl. When she

was two years old the king and herself, in the course of a journey,

came to the strong fortress of Colmar. On the battlements were soldiers

clad in steel armor, which glittered in the sunshine. There were

likewise great cannons, pointing their black mouths at Gustavus and

little Christina and ready to belch out their smoke and thunder; for,

whenever a king enters a fortress, it is customary to receive him with

a royal salute of artillery.

But the captain of the fortress met Gustavus and his little daughter as

they were about to enter the gateway.

"May it please your Majesty," said he, taking off his steel cap and

bowing profoundly, "I fear that, if we receive you with a salute of

cannon, the little princess will be frightened almost to death."

Gustavus looked earnestly at his daughter, and was indeed apprehensive

that the thunder of so many cannon might perhaps throw her into

convulsions. He had almost a mind to tell the captain to let them enter

the fortress quietly, as common people might have done, without all

this head-splitting racket. But, no; this would not do.

"Let them fire," said he, waving his hand. "Christina is a soldier's

daughter and must learn to bear the noise of cannon."

So the captain uttered the word of command and immediately there was a

terrible peal of thunder from the cannon and such a gush of smoke that

it enveloped the whole fortress in its volumes. But amid all the din

and confusion Christina was seen clapping her little hands and laughing

in an ecstasy of delight. Probably nothing ever pleased her father so

much as to see that his daughter promised to be fearless as himself.

He determined to educate her exactly as if she had been a boy and to

teach her all the knowledge needful to the ruler of a kingdom and the

commander of an army.

But Gustavus should have remembered that Providence had created her to

be a woman, and that it was not for him to make a man of her.

However, the king derived great happiness from his beloved Christina.

It must have been a pleasant sight to see the powerful monarch of

Sweden playing in some magnificent hall of the palace with his merry

little girl. Then he forgot that the weight of a kingdom rested upon

his shoulders. He forgot that the wise Chancellor Oxenstiern was

waiting to consult with him how to render Sweden the greatest nation of

Europe. He forgot that the Emperor of Germany and the King of France

were plotting together how they might pull him down from his throne.

Yes, Gustavus forgot all the perils and cares and pompous irksomeness

of a royal life, and was as happy while playing with his child as

the humblest peasant in the realm of Sweden. How gayly did they dance

along the marble floor of the palace, this valiant king, with his

upright, martial figure, his war-worn visage and commanding aspect,

and the small, round form of Christina, with her rosy face of childish

merriment! Her little fingers were clasped in her father's hand, which

had held the leading staff in many famous victories. His crown and

scepter were her playthings. She could disarm Gustavus of his sword,

which was so terrible to the princes of Europe.

But, alas! the king was not long permitted to enjoy Christina's

society. When she was four years old Gustavus was summoned to take

command of the allied armies of Germany, which were fighting against

the emperor. His greatest affliction was the necessity of parting with

his child; but people in such high stations have little opportunity for

domestic happiness. He called an assembly of the senators of Sweden and

confided Christina to their care, saying that each one of them must be

a father to her if he himself should fall in battle.

At the moment of his departure Christina ran towards him and began

to address him with a speech which somebody had taught her for the

occasion. Gustavus was busied with thoughts about the affairs of the

kingdom, so that he did not immediately attend to the childish voice

of his little girl. Christina, who did not love to be unnoticed,

immediately stopped short and pulled him by the coat.

"Father," said she, "why do not you listen to my speech?"

In a moment the king forgot everything except that he was parting

with what he loved best in all the world. He caught the child in his

arms, pressed her to his bosom and burst into tears. Yes; though he was

a brave man, and though he wore a steel corselet on his breast, and

though armies were waiting for him to lead them to battle, still his

heart melted within him and he wept. Christina, too, was so afflicted

that her attendants began to fear that she would actually die of grief.

But probably she was soon comforted, for children seldom remember their

parents quite so faithfully as their parents remember them.

For two years more Christina remained in the palace at Stockholm. The

queen, her mother, had accompanied Gustavus to the wars. The child,

therefore, was left to the guardianship of five of the wisest men in

the kingdom. But these wise men knew better how to manage the weighty

affairs of state than how to govern and educate a little girl so as to

render her a good and happy woman.

When two years had passed away tidings were brought to Stockholm which

filled everybody with triumph and sorrow at the same time. The Swedes

had won a glorious victory at Lutzen. But, alas! the warlike King of

Sweden, the Lion of the North, the father of our little Christina, had

been slain at the foot of a great stone, which still marks the spot of

that hero's death.

Soon after this sad event a general assembly of congress, consisting of

deputations from the nobles, the clergy, the burghers, and the peasants

of Sweden, was summoned to meet at Stockholm. It was for the purpose

of declaring little Christina to be Queen of Sweden and giving her the

crown and scepter of her deceased father. Silence being proclaimed,

the Chancellor Oxenstiern arose.

"We desire to know," said he, "whether the people of Sweden will take

the daughter of our dead King Gustavus Adolphus to be their queen."

When the chancellor had spoken an old man, with white hair and coarse

apparel, stood up in the midst of the assembly. He was a peasant, Lars

Larrson by name, and had spent most of his life in laboring on a farm.

"Who is this daughter of Gustavus?" asked the old man. "We do not know

her. Let her be shown to us."

Then Christina was brought into the hall and placed before the old

peasant. It was strange, no doubt, to see a child--a little girl of six

years old--offered to the Swedes as their ruler instead of the brave

king, her father, who had led them to victory so many times. Could her

baby fingers wield a sword in war? Could her childish mind govern the

nation wisely in peace?

But the Swedes do not appear to have asked themselves these questions.

Old Lars Larrson took Christina up in his arms and gazed earnestly

into her face. He had known the great Gustavus well, and his heart was

touched when he saw the likeness which the little girl bore to that

heroic monarch.

"Yes," cried he, with the tears gushing down his furrowed cheeks, "this

is truly the daughter of our Gustavus! Here is her father's brow!--here

is his piercing eye! She is his very picture! This child shall be our

queen!"

Then all the proud nobles of Sweden and the reverend clergy, and the

burghers, and the peasants knelt down at the child's feet and kissed

her hand.

"Long live Christina, Queen of Sweden!" shouted they.

Even after she was a woman grown, Christina remembered the pleasure

which she felt in seeing all these men at her feet and hearing them

acknowledge her as their supreme ruler. Poor child! she was yet to

learn that power does not insure happiness. As yet, however, she had

not any real power. All the public business, it is true, was transacted

in her name; but the kingdom was governed by a number of the most

experienced statesmen, who were called a regency.

But it was considered necessary that the little queen should be

present at the public ceremonies and should behave just as if she

were in reality the ruler of the nation. When she was seven years of

age, some ambassadors from the Czar of Muscovy came to the Swedish

court. They wore long beards and were clad in a strange fashion, with

furs and other outlandish ornaments; and as they were inhabitants of

a half-civilized country, they did not behave like other people. The

Chancellor Oxenstiern was afraid that the young queen would burst out

laughing at the first sight of these queer ambassadors, or else that

she would be frightened by their unusual aspect.

"Why should I be frightened?" said the little queen. "And do you

suppose that I have no better manners than to laugh? Only tell me how I

must behave and I will do it."

Accordingly, the Muscovite ambassadors were introduced, and Christina

received them and answered their speeches with as much dignity and

propriety as if she had been a grown woman.

All this time, though Christina was now a queen, you must not suppose

that she was left to act as she pleased. She had a preceptor, named

John Mathias, who was a very learned man and capable of instructing

her in all the branches of science. But there was nobody to teach her

the delicate graces and gentle virtues of a woman. She was surrounded

almost entirely by men, and had learned to despise the society of her

own sex. At the age of nine years she was separated from her mother,

whom the Swedes did not consider a proper person to be intrusted with

the charge of her. No little girl who sits by a New England fireside

has cause to envy Christina in the royal palace at Stockholm.

Yet she made great progress in her studies. She learned to read the

classical authors of Greece and Rome, and became a great admirer of the

heroes and poets of old times. Then as for active exercises, she could

ride on horseback as well as any man in her kingdom. She was fond of

hunting and could shoot at a mark with wonderful skill. But dancing was

the only feminine accomplishment with which she had any acquaintance.

She was so restless in her disposition that none of her attendants were

sure of a moment's quiet either day or night. She grew up, I am sorry

to say, a very unamiable person, ill-tempered, proud, stubborn, and, in

short, unfit to make those around her happy or to be happy herself. Let

every little girl who has been taught self-control and a due regard for

the rights of others thank Heaven that she has had better instruction

than this poor little Queen of Sweden.

At the age of eighteen Christina was declared free to govern the

kingdom by herself without the aid of a regency. At this period of

her life she was a young woman of striking aspect, a good figure and

intelligent face, but very strangely dressed. She wore a short habit

of gray cloth, with a man's vest over it; and a black scarf around her

neck; but no jewels nor ornaments of any kind.

Yet, though Christina was so negligent of her appearance, there was

something in her air and manner that proclaimed her as the ruler of a

kingdom. Her eyes, it is said, had a very fierce and haughty look. Old

General Wrangel, who had often caused the enemies of Sweden to tremble

in battle, actually trembled himself when he encountered the eyes of

the queen. But it would have been better for Christina if she could

have made people love her, by means of soft and gentle looks, instead

of affrighting them by such terrible glances.

And now I have told you almost all that is amusing or instructive in

the childhood of Christina. Only a few more words need be said about

her; for it is neither pleasant nor profitable to think of many things

that she did after she grew to be a woman.

When she had worn the crown a few years, she began to consider it

beneath her dignity to be called a queen, because the name implied

that she belonged to the weaker sex. She therefore caused herself to

be proclaimed King; thus declaring to the world that she despised

her own sex and was desirous of being ranked among men. But in the

twenty-eighth year of her age Christina grew tired of royalty and

resolved to be neither a king nor a queen any longer. She took the

crown from her head with her own hands and ceased to be the ruler of

Sweden. The people did not greatly regret her abdication, for she had

governed them ill, and had taken much of their property to supply her

extravagance.

Having thus given up her hereditary crown, Christina left Sweden and

traveled over many of the countries of Europe. Everywhere she was

received with great ceremony, because she was the daughter of the

renowned Gustavus, and had herself been a powerful queen. Perhaps you

would like to know something about her personal appearance in the

latter part of her life. She is described as wearing a man's vest, a

short gray petticoat, embroidered with gold and silver, and a black

wig, which was thrust awry upon her head. She wore no gloves, and so

seldom washed her hands that nobody could tell what had been their

original color. In this strange dress, and, I suppose, without washing

her hands or face, she visited the magnificent court of Louis XIV.

She died in 1689. None loved her while she lived, nor regretted her

death, nor planted a single flower upon her grave. Happy are the

little girls of America who are brought up quietly and tenderly at the

domestic hearth, and thus become gentle and delicate women! May none

of them ever lose the loveliness of their sex by receiving such an

education as that of Queen Christina.

--Nathaniel Hawthorne.

Biographical Stories. (Houghton Mifflin Company.)

=Joan Luna's Life=

The parents of Juan Luna, the greatest and most eminent Filipino

painter, were Ilocanos and of humble birth. The young artist was born

in Ilocos Norte in the year 1857 and died in Hong Kong in 1899. From

childhood he was hot-tempered. His early education was at home. At the

age of twelve he was a good caricaturist. His father then sent him to

Manila to attend the "Ateneo Municipal." At the age of twenty-one he

was sent to Madrid, where he studied art under several famous Spanish

and Italian painters. He was given prizes at the expositions in Madrid

and Paris. In Spain he met Miss Paz Pardo de Tavera, whom he married

three years later. He became very popular. Some of his friends were Dr.

Jose Rizal, Dr. Roxas, the famous Italian tenor, Payarre, and many of

the French and Spanish nobility. He was especially loved by women, of

whose hearts and inclinations he showed a knowledge very intimate. Juan

Luna had an art which is seldom found in man, an instinct found only in

real genius, a power to portray and interpret life, tenderness and the

emotions of wrath and pity.

He was tall and well built, with a high forehead, a short flat nose

and large black impressive eyes. In about the year 1890, while he was

at Paris, a terrible thing occurred. His wife began to be untrue to

him. It is said that one day Paz asked Juan to let her go to a certain

shop to buy some thread. He allowed her to go, but soon followed her

because he suspected her. He saw that Paz did not go to a shop but to a

private house. He walked in and found his wife with another man. Then

the crisis began. Luna was blind with anger. He took Paz home and asked

her to explain to him her late behaviour. After many a tear, after

many excuses and explanations, after many promises to be good, Paz was

pardoned.

Two months later Luna asked his wife to go with him and their two

children to live in a village near by. Paz at first said she would not

go; but through the request of her mother and brothers, she assented to

Luna's plan. On the day of their departure, when the carriages which

were to take them to the neighboring village were in front of the door,

Paz went to the bath-room with her mother. Juan knocked at the door and

asked her to come down for it was getting late. Paz then shouted out

of the window, saying that her husband was killing her. All at once

Luna rushed to his room, took his pistol, opened the bath-room door

with a sudden push, and fired at every one who came in his way. His

mother-in-law, wife and elder son were killed, and his younger son was

wounded.

In this deed we see the real character of Luna. He was generous

and cold-blooded; but when his pride, name and honor were wounded,

his blood boiled in his head, he trembled, and saw nothing before

him--neither God nor man--but only the guilty.

The police then arrested him. He was tried the following day. The

newspapers spread this piece of news to the world under their title:

"_La Tragedia en Paris._" Fortunately he was acquitted. The judges

decided that man's honor is his life, and that when it is once

destroyed it can never be supplied.

Luna was the greatest artist and painter that the Philippines has ever

produced. He is great in his own country and ranks among the world's

good painters.

In 1899 he came back to the Philippines; but on his way home, while at

Hong Kong, he died of apoplexy and a broken heart. His son was brought

to Manila by a friend. Andres, his son, is now twenty years of age and

is also a good painter, but not like his father.

The Philippines produced one of the world painters, showing the fact

that a great worker and a great mind can not be hidden, even by tyranny

and oppression.

--Dolores Asuncion.

=Elizabeth Glade=

Elizabeth Glade was born in Baltimore, Maryland, about the year 1816.

Her mother was a poor widow, but gave her as much money as the family

purse could afford, for education in those days was very expensive.

Having finished with school, Elizabeth began to occupy herself in

making buttons and fringe, which at that time were made by hand. At

the age of twenty-three she married John Arnold, a carpenter. They

both moved to the city of Washington to live. In 1849, when gold was

discovered in California, Mr. Arnold caught the fever of the excitement

and joined the forty-niners. A few years afterwards his wife received

news of his death.

Elizabeth was left with only two hundred dollars, and with five

children who looked to her for food and care. So she began the trade

she had learned in her girlhood and struggled along in spite of hard

times. Her mother took care of the children while Elizabeth gave her

entire attention to her trade.

Gradually her work increased. She bought land in the business part of

Washington and started a store. Later she bought more property. As

Washington grew, land and houses became more valuable, and Elizabeth

became wealthy. She expended much money on her children's education.

One son she sent to Yale college and afterwards to Europe to continue

his studies. This son died before he had opportunity to make a name

for himself. Her other two sons also died young; but her two daughters

lived to survive her, and were a great comfort to her.

Elizabeth had a peculiar disposition; for, though she was exceedingly

charitable, in small things she sometimes showed indifference to other

people's feelings. In this petty selfishness, however, she was always

frank and never attempted to hide her actions.

When a young girl, before she married, Elizabeth once went to town to

buy two veils for herself and her sister. She had received from her

sister the money for her veil. Before Elizabeth bought the veils she

saw a poor woman, who asked her for money. Elizabeth opened her purse

and gave the women the money for her sister's veil. She then bought a

veil for herself and returned home. Her sister was surprised to see her

with only one veil and asked her where the other was. "I thought that

as you were younger you would not mind losing your veil, and that you

would like to give the money to the poor woman," Elizabeth replied in

her most innocent manner.

One time she had company to supper and, as was her custom, took all

the cream off the milk for her own coffee before passing the pitcher

to anyone else. The guest, when asked if she would have milk in her

coffee, said: "No, I do not care for milk in my coffee when the cream

has been taken off." Elizabeth burst out laughing and said, "Well,

Jane, I did not think anybody saw me do that."

Elizabeth supported two of her brothers and their families when they

became ill and poor.

--Nellie Barrington.

=Biography of a Traitor=

Vicente was born in Santa Cruz, Laguna, in the year 1868. His parents

were poor, so that he did not have a high education. Very little is

known about his childhood. He seemed to have attended the primary

school of the town, where he learned a little Spanish. He was not

properly brought up by his parents. He was allowed to indulge in bad

society. Being thus left alone, exposed to vice, he grew to be an

unscrupulous and unruly young man. He became an orphan at the age of

eighteen. To earn his living and to satisfy his craving for any easy,

idle and dependent life, he joined the _Guardia Civil_, a body of

soldiers employed by the Spaniards to maintain peace in the islands.

Unfortunately, instead of being the guardians of peace, these men

became the malefactors of the country. As I have said, Vicente joined

this most dreaded army of oppressors and in a few days he became one

of the most cruel and abusive men in the corps. He put many guiltless

persons in prison, just because of animosity or revenge. He sent many

innocent persons to the block simply because he wished to gain the

favor of the high officials. Such injustices were much admired and

were even encouraged by the Spaniards--for they also practised such

acts. Often such base conduct brought promotion to a soldier of that

behavior. So Vicente was appointed a sergeant. Being thus gratuitously

rewarded he grew more atrocious than before. He was, then, a terror,

an awful monster to humble citizens, a murderer and a robber in

every sense. His tyrannical and arbitrary character, however, often

succumbed to the tinkling of coins--a fact that was universally true

of government officials of that time, from the highest to the lowest.

Once or twice through perfidious ways, Vicente acquired a few large

tracts of land, but this unlawfully attained property was soon lost in

gambling.

Spanish rule was ended by the revolution of 1898. This body of _Guardia

Civiles_ was torn asunder. Many of them were killed in the fight, but

many were taken prisoners and some were pardoned. Vicente, evidently,

was to live longer to play another plot against his country.

At the beginning of the Filipino-American war, while all the people

left the town, with a heartless friend Vicente surrendered. They

allied themselves with the Americans to betray their countrymen in the

battlefield. During the year following 1898, these two men were the

sole guides of the Americans in their campaigns. They caused many to be

thrown in prison. They laid heavy taxes upon the goods of the tradesmen

for their own use.

Vicente's friend was elected president of the town the first time that

the civil government was established here. He was unfortunate, however,

in being stabbed to death soon afterwards. Vicente succeeded his friend

in 1900, and later married the wife of his predecessor. By this time

Vicente was very rich with the spoils of his own countrymen. In fact,

he was, then, living a glorious life at the expense of his suffering

country. He did not wield his power long. Naturally, the Americans had

no confidence in him. When the war was over, his office was taken from

him and was given to a good and honest citizen.

From that time Vicente lived a retired life with his family. Because

of cock-fighting, gambling and card playing, his seemingly abounding

wealth was soon exhausted. After all, he was a poor ordinary man,

devoid of influence, respect and rank in society. Even his house was

sold. He then rented his former house and set up as a notary public

in 1904; by which he could hardly support his family. His repressed

ambition for power was, however, kindled again and in January, 1909, he

proclaimed himself candidate for the presidency in the coming election.

But fortune, health and success deserted him. He grew consumptive and,

after a few weeks, he was confined to his bed.

One night in June, 1909, Vicente suddenly rose from his bed and before

his companions could ask him what he wished, he jumped out of the

window, shouting that he was chased by some devils who were compelling

him to go with them to hell. He did not live long after this event. He

died a few hours later. In the morning, the incident of his tragical

death reached the ears of almost everybody, and all these people said,

"He is just paying for some of his injustices. God is punishing him.

Who knows what punishment he will receive in the other world!"

--Walfrido de Leon.

CHAPTER IX

IMPERSONAL ACCOUNTS

In its general sense narrative history includes all true-story forms,

even incidents and eye-witness accounts. But annals and chronicles

may be grouped by themselves on the basis of the non-personal and

scientific attitude of the writer and the fact that the story is

usually of the doings of a set of people living as a unit. Of course

we find such type blendings as the "Annals" of Goethe, which are true

but autobiographical, and the "Annals of the Parish" by John Galt, and

the "Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family," which though collective

are fictitious; yet for the most part these forms are thought of as

embodying community and actual history, and we will take them up as

such, remembering that fiction has drawn on all true-narrative forms

for verisimilitude. History is often classified into narrative, scenic,

and philosophical. Only with the first kind have we anything to do.

There are a number of histories that have extraordinary literary value,

that are not mere recitals of past events with tame descriptions of

by-gone scenes and more-or-less acute analysis of epochs and causes,

but are intense human documents with the life-blood of nations

throbbing and beating in their pages. Green gave his health and the

best days of his living to write his "History of the English People,"

and we love it. It has something more than a scholar's accuracy in it.

It has a broad and deep inspiration that brings a catch in the throat

and a gleam of pride in the eye of any who are fortunate enough to

belong to the magnificent race whose deeds it records. Enthusiasts

fought for Macaulay's "History" at the door of the bindery, fulfilling

the author's hope that it might be considered more interesting than

a novel. Motley's "Rise of the Dutch Republic" is one of the most

creditable things in American letters. Prescott's "Ferdinand and

Isabella," "Conquest of Mexico" and of "Peru," and Parkman's "Montcalm

and Wolfe" are along side for literary qualities. Carlyle's "French

Revolution" is a unique and graphic set of pictures. Gibbon's "Decline

and Fall of the Roman Empire" has long stood as a classic example of

literary high-seriousness in an allied department. Grote's "History

of Greece," Machiavel's "History of Florence," Sismondi's "Italian

Republics," Hallam's "Middle Ages," Symond's "Italian Renaissance" and

Schiller's "Thirty Years' War" are all worthy the name of literature

and have excellent narrative in them. We can study at present,

however, only those forms of history that are shorter and are merely

narrative--annals, chronicles, and true relations.

I. Annals

[What annals are]

Annals are a concise historical record in which events are arranged

chronologically, year by year. The accounts of necessity are brief,

since they are made and kept for reference. They contain any matter

the recorders deemed worthy of notice, especially, of course, whatever

affected the community as a whole. The report stands in relation to

the community much as a diary stands in relation to a person. Intimate

facts are to be expected. The ambitions, hopes, defeats, expenditures,

future plans, of the city or state, are mentioned perhaps, as are also,

maybe, its success and honor--in the carrying out of a town fiesta

or county fair, or in being host to some distinguished visitor or to

a session of some large political party. The essential element of

this kind of narrative history is the yearly periods, though the term

"annals" has been loosely used in modern literature to signify almost

any temporal order. Indeed, except in studies like this such titles are

never very strictly applied. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, for instance,

is in large part annals. However, we have a few clear cases, especially

among the ancients.

[Famous old annals]

Tacitus wrote annals. Then later there are the _Annales Ecclesiastici_

of Baronius; the _Annales et Historia de Rebus Belgicis_ by Grotius,

published at Amsterdam in 1557; Hailes's "Annals of Scotland from the

Accession of Malcolm III to the Accession of the House of Stuart;"

Chamber's "Domestic Annals of Scotland," and others. John Stow bears

a very high reputation as "an accurate and impartial recorder of

public events." He travelled on foot through a considerable part of

England examining old manuscripts in cathedrals and other places of

preservation. He wrote down impartially what he judged to be the truth,

and, unswayed by "fear, favor, or malice," as he himself declared, he

established trustworthy history in his native land. His "Survey of

London" (1598) is the best known of his writings. A scholarly piece of

work, it has served us the foundation of all subsequent histories of

the metropolis.

American history, so badly treated in the past, is being written

accurately for the first time, think our present day historians.

They go about their work in the good old Stow fashion: they use

authenticated local records. The friendly fable is current that the

way a noted professor composes his many histories is this: he merely

reaches about from left to right and up and down of his mammoth desk

and pulls from the numerous cubby-holes bundles of closely written

pages, sorts them a little, ties a string around them, and says,

"Here's your book." But these closely written pages are carefully

prepared, minutely accurate material--monographs on the local annals

and traditions of various places, done by the professor's own students

under the scrutinizing eye of their master. Whether the fable is based

on truth or not, it is illustrative of the value of annals.

[Suggestions on material]

If you live in a small town, you can easily get at its records, and

with the permission of a person in authority copy a few items. If you

yourself very well know the events written of, you might edit the

report, adding details of your own by way of notes. You should not

change the statements, however, in the original; but, where there is

evidence of error or omissions, you could supply a corrective amendment

with the real facts in support. If you translate from one tongue into

another be careful to give the idiomatic equivalent. The annals of a

society or club might be easily enough compiled. All that you would

need to do would be to arrange the narrative by years, culling your

facts from the secretaries' reports.

=The State of England in Stephen's Reign=

1137. This year King Stephen went across the sea to Normandy. There

he was well received because the people thought that he must be the

same sort of man as his uncle; for he still had his treasure and he

distributed it and squandered it foolishly. In large quantities had

King Henry gathered gold and silver together. No good did any of it do

his soul, however.

When King Stephen came to England he made his parliament at Oxenford.

There he took Robert, bishop of Salisbury; Alix, bishop of Lincoln;

also Chancellor Robert, his nephew; he put them all in prison until

they gave up their castles. When the traitors understood that he was

a mild man, soft and good, and did no justice, they did every kind of

wrong. They had sworn homage to him, had made oaths, but they did not

keep faith. All were foresworn and their word of truth was gone. For

every rich man made him a castle, which they all held against the king.

They filled the land full of castles. They oppressed very much the

wretched men of the land with castle-building. When the castles were

finished, they filled them with evil and devilish men. They captured

and imprisoned there by night and by day all persons whom they thought

had any possessions, both men and women. They put them in prison for

the sake of gold and silver. They tortured them with indescribable

tortures; never were martyrs tormented as were these people. They

hanged up men by the feet and smoked them with foul smoke. Some were

hanged up by the thumbs, others by the head, and burning things were

hung on to their feet. They put knotted strings around men's heads and

writhed them until they went into the brain. They put men into prison

where adders and snakes and toads were crawling, and so they tormented

them. Some they put into a chest short and narrow and not deep, that

had sharp stones within, and forced men therein so that they broke all

their limbs. In many of the castles were hateful and grim things called

_tachenteges_, which two or three men had enough to do to carry. It was

thus made: it was fastened to a beam and had a sharp iron to go around

a man's neck and throat, so that he might noways sit, or lie, or sleep,

but he bore all the iron. Many thousands they starved with hunger.

I cannot nor may I tell all the wickedness and all the torture which

they did the poor wretches of this land. This condition lasted nineteen

years while Stephen was king, and it grew ever worse and worse.

They laid tribute on the enclosures (_tunes_) always, and called it

_censerie_. When the miserable inhabitants had no more to give, then

they were plundered. The nobles burned all the enclosures. So that you

might easily go a whole day's journey and you would find no man sitting

in his enclosure. No land was tilled. Corn was dear; also flesh,

cheese, and butter, for there was none in the country. The wretched

peasants died of hunger. Some who were once rich men went a begging;

others fled the country.

Never was there before more destitution and suffering in the land;

never did heathen men act worse than they did. For everywhere

subsequently did they forbear neither church or churchyard; but they

took all the property that was in them. And sometimes they burned the

church and all together. Nor did they spare bishops' land, or abbots',

or priests'. They spoiled monks and clerks. And every man (plundered)

the other wherever he could. If two or three men came riding up to

an enclosure, all the people of the farmstead fled because of them;

for they thought that they were robbers. The bishops and the clergy

always cursed them, but that was nothing to them; for they were all

fore-cursed, fore-sworn, and lost.

Wheresoever the peasants cultivated, the earth produced no grain; for

the land was all destroyed with such deeds. And they said openly that

Christ and his saints slept. Such things and more than we can mention

we suffered nineteen years because of our sins.

During all this evil time Abbot Martin held his abbacy twenty years,

six months and eight days, with great toil. He provided his monks and

his guests all that they needed; he practiced much charity in his

house. Nevertheless he worked on the church, and appointed for its

lands and rents. He endowed it richly, he caused it to be roofed, he

brought them (the monks) into the new minister on St. Peter's day (June

29) with much honor. And he went to Rome; there he was well received

by Pope Eugenius. He obtained privileges; one, of all the lands of

the abbacy and another, of the lands which belong to the office of

sacrist. And, if he might live longer, he meant to do the same with

respect to the office of treasurer. And he gained property in lands

that powerful men held by force or violence; from William Maldint, who

held Rockingham, he obtained Cottingham and Easton, and from Hugo of

Walteville he secured Irlingborough and Stanwick, and forty sols from

Oldwinkle each year. And he created many monks and planted vineyards.

And he performed many works. And he changed the town to a better state

than it ever was before. He was a good monk and a good man; therefore

God and other men loved him.

Now we will say a little about what befell in King Stephen's time.

During his reign the Jew of Norwich bought a Christian boy before

Easter and tortured him with all the torture that our Lord suffered.

And on Good Friday they hanged him to a cross for the love of our Lord.

Then they buried him. They thought it would be concealed, but our

Lord showed that he was a holy martyr. The monks took him and buried

him splendidly in the minster. And he performed through our Lord many

wonderful miracles. They called him Saint William.

1138. This year King David of Scotland came to this land with an

immense army. He wanted to obtain possession of the country by

fighting. And there came against him William, Earl of Albermar, to

whom the king had entrusted York and to other faithful men with a few

followers, and fought with him. He put the king to flight at the battle

of the Standard, and slew very many of his army.

1140. This year King Stephen wanted to take Robert, Earl of Gloucester,

King Henry's son; but he could not, for he became aware of it.

Thereafter in the Lenten season the sun and the day grew dark, about

the ninth hour of the day, while people were eating; so that they

had to light candles to eat by. It was on the 20th of March that the

inhabitants were so greatly astonished.

Later William, archbishop of Canterbury, died. And the king made

Theobald archbishop, who was abbot in the abbey of Bec.

Then there waxed a very great war between the king and Randolf, earl

of Chester, not for the reason that he (the king) did not give him

(evidently the earl) all that he demanded of him, as he did to all the

others. But always the more he gave them, the worse they were to him.

The earl held Lincoln against the king and deprived him of all that

he ought to have. Thither went the king and besieged the earl and his

brother William of Romare in the castle. But the earl stole out and

went after Robert, earl of Gloucester, and brought him thither with a

large army. They fought hard on Candlemas day against their lord. They

captured him because his men betrayed him and fled. They led him to

Bristol and put him in prison. Then was all England stirred more than

it ever was before. And all kinds of evil were in the land.

Later came King Henry's daughter that had been empress of Germany. Now

she was the countess of Anjou. She came to London and the London folk

wanted to seize her. And she fled and lost there very much.

Then Henry, bishop of Winchester, brother of King Stephen, spoke

with Earl Robert and with the empress and swore them oaths that he

would never again hold with the king his brother, and he cursed all

those that were allied to him. And he told them that he would give

up to them Winchester, and he caused them to come thither. When they

were within the castle, the king's queen came with all her forces

and besieged them. And a great famine occurred in the castle. When

they could no longer endure it, they stole out and fled. But those

without were aware, and followed them. And they took Robert, earl of

Gloucester, and led him to the Rochester and put him in prison. The

empress escaped into a minster. Then went wise men between the king's

friends and the earl's friends. And they negotiated that the king

should be let out of prison in exchange for the earl, and so they

exchanged captives.

--Peterborough Chronicle.

=Annals of the Town of Mangaldan, 1879-1882=

I. July 2, 1879. An army of locusts swept over the town. Crops were

destroyed; panic followed.

II. August 8, 1879. The _cura_ (priest) ordered the improvement of

streets.

III. August 21, 1879. A cardinal from Rome visited the town. The

priests waited on his table. Several persons arrested for violating a

certain ordinance were pardoned through the grace of the holy visitor.

IV. February 29, 1880. The gold rosary of the image of Virgin Mary was

stolen; consequently, the _cura_ forbade the procession on the evening

of that day.

V. July 17. A terrible earthquake shook the town, destroying some

houses.

VI. November 27. The Governor General visited Mangaldan. There was

great rejoicing; all the houses around the _plaza_ were hung with

damasks.

VII. December 1. A Moro was taken around the town. He carried a flag

with a pig painted on it.

--Don Domingo Ydio,[11] 1879-1880.

I. January 1, 1881. Mariano Cendaña, after murdering all the members of

his family, went around the town, killing all whom he met. He was at

last captured.

II. October. A big comet appeared in the east. It was so low that the

people said it was only as high up as the tallest cocoanut. The rays,

spreading far and wide, struck superstitious persons with awe and

admiration.

III. November. General epidemic, caused by some disease scattered by

water (perhaps cholera), killed many people.

IV. June, 1882. Another murder, Adriano Torralba, killed three men in

the barrio of Maasin.

--Kept by Don Mariano Cortes, 1881-1882.

(Obtained and translated by Bernabe B. Aquino.)

=Annals of Pagsanjan=

It has been said that about the middle of the seventeenth century

some Chinese traders arrived at the junction of the Bumbungan and the

Balanac rivers. They chose this place to establish a trading post, for

the boats and barges could anchor close to the land. At that time the

San Isidro Hill extended to the Balanac river, and there were rice

and corn fields on the site of the present town. As time went on, the

Chinese married Filipino women, and quite a settlement grew up. The

Chinese built houses and stores, and formed a small village with other

Filipino families. This village was under the control of Lumbang, its

neighboring town. The inhabitants, of the village went to hear mass at

Lumbang. The men, especially the Chinese and their sons, gradually grew

rich. One of these rich mestizos supported the priest of Lumbang, who,

accordingly, could not say the mass before they were all in the church.

One day, however, when the priest was hungry, he said the mass before

their arrival. Then, the man who supported him became angry. He

assembled all his fellowmen to talk concerning the separation of the

village from Lumbang. They all agreed to build a church of their own

and call a priest. They contributed money, and then asked some Chinese

carpenters to build a church for them. It was completed, in 1690. At

the completion of the church they agreed to build streets and enlarge

their village in order that it might accommodate the increasing

population. They dug up a part of the San Isidro Hill, and on that

cleared space laid out the streets which are now called Maura, Rizal,

and Moret. They also covered the fields with sand, and built other

streets. They kept enlarging the village till it became a town. The

people named this town Pinagsangajan, which means branching. They so

called it Pinagsangajan, for it was located at the junction of the

Balanac and the Bumbungan rivers. Now the people called it Pagsanjan,

contraction of Pinagsangajan.

In 1763 the church was burned. It was rebuilt in 1764. It was not

completed till 1882.

In 1880 a great earthquake occurred, and many buildings in Pagsanjan

were destroyed. These ruined buildings were not repaired for seven

years.

In 1890 a severe storm occurred, and the Balanac and the Bumbungan

rivers overflowed their banks. The water flowed all over the town. Many

buildings were carried away by the flood, and many people were drowned.

In 1893 a great fire happened, and more than one hundred and fifty

buildings were burned. Before the big fire there were some large

houses. Very few houses at that time were made of stone. So after the

fire the people used stone materials in rebuilding their ruined houses.

They made their new houses larger than the old ones. It took them many

years to finish beautifying the town.

On November 14, 1896, the _Katipunan_ arrived at Pagsanjan. The next

day they went to Santa Cruz to storm the town, but they could not

carry out their plan, for all the people who were faithful to their

country fought against them. Then they returned to Pagsanjan. They went

back again to Santa Cruz, but they accomplished nothing. On Tuesday

afternoon nearly all the inhabitants of Pagsanjan fled from the town,

because many soldiers were come to storm the place. But the shelling

did not happen; instead they pardoned those who did not run away when

they saw that the people in the town were few. The leader of these

soldiers was General Aguirre.

In 1901 the Americans came to Pagsanjan. When they came the church

plaza served as barracks for the soldiers. These soldiers erected

their tents and staked their horses there. This plaza has had a

checkered history. In 1892 when Don Pedro Paterno, a deputy of the

first district of the province of Laguna, was spending his vacation

in Pagsanjan, a meeting was held at his house, and he urged upon the

people the advantage of erecting a monument in the center of the

park, so as to commemorate the concession of municipal government

in the Philippines. The people all agreed with him, so immediately

they contributed money and within a week the proposed monument was

completed. In the dedication of this monument many people joined.

As the monument was erected to thank the government of Spain, the

inscription engraven on the tablets was about the Queen of Spain, Don

Angel Aviles, the director general of the civil administration, and

others. In 1898 just after the insurrection of the Filipinos against

the Spaniards, the four marble tablets with their inscriptions were

taken from the faces of the monument and reversed; then on the blank

surface were painted inscriptions of the revolutionary government in

honor of Emilio Aguinaldo and Apolinario Mabini. In 1902 after the

Philippines became subject to the American government, the councillors

agreed to remove the inscriptions, replacing them with others--William

McKinley, José Rizal, W. H. Taft and the honorable Civil Commission of

the United States in the Philippines. But the people were not contented

with the inscriptions, so after a short time an agreement was made

that the tablets were to be turned as they were originally mounted,

presenting the old inscriptions, so that the founders and the names of

those in whose honor the monument was first erected and who granted the

early liberties should not be forgotten.

--Dolores Zafra.

II. Chronicles

[Definition. Froissart]

When the order of time is most conspicuous, history is called

chronicle. The work is usually divided into sections, each section

covering a separate period. The periods may be long or short. The

account of occurrences may be somewhat elaborate, but it is most often

bare and simple. Froissart's chronicles (1326-1400), however, are a

rich pageantry of feudal times. "The din of arms, the shouting of

knights, and marshalling of troops are there. Visions Of fair women

rise before us. Gorgeous feasts and spectacles in which this knight

of France and England so much delighted are set forth in copious

details, and though he is no philosopher, his shrewd observations, and

richly minute descriptions have helped others to philosophize."[12]

Froissart's Chronicles first appeared at Paris about the end of

the fifteenth century under the title of _Chroniques de France,

d'Angleterre, d'Escosse, d'Espagne, de Bretagne, de Gascogne, de

Flanders et lieux d'aleutour_. In English there are two versions: one

executed in 1523-25 by Lord Berners (reprinted in 1812); and the other

1803-5 by Thomas Johnes. The later is more correct. In the 13th and

14th centuries chroniclers sprung up all over Europe, and created the

non-church history of the highways.

[Ayala]

Contemporaneous with Froissart was Ayala, who is first of the Spanish

chroniclers to be entirely safe as an historical source. Ayala wrote

calm, business-like prose, and was bent upon recording facts whether

glorious or inglorious. In contrast with Froissart's simple-hearted

enthusiasm Ayala's attitude is one of cool sagacity and experience. He

looks quite through the deeds of men. He as dispassionately records

the crimes of the lords of the earth as he does their pretentions

to greatness. He lived in "four wild reigns"--those of Peter the

Cruel, Henry the Second, John the First, and Henry the Third--and,

as a minister of state in each, had every opportunity to become

disillusioned, about chivalry. An event that both Ayala and Froissart

record is the murder of Blanche of Bourbon by her husband the king, Don

Pedro the Cruel.

The circumstantial minuteness of an account by a chronicler, who was

an eight-years' eye-witness of the king's inhumanity to his young and

beautiful queen, and who recorded step by step the series of murders

by which the king came up to the final crime, seems more moving to

a modern reader than would seem the wildest and most impassioned

ballad on the subject. Indeed, Ayala's account has settled the

character of Don Pedro forever, despite the occasional attempts by

some personally interested countryman to defend him, and despite the

sentimental-tragedy of the theater, and such metrical outbursts as that

of Chaucer's in the "Monk's Tale." But Chaucer, as Ayala himself would

have told us, was an "interested party," since he was attached to the

Duke of Lancaster who was attached to Don Pedro.

[General chronicle of Spain]

Seventy-five or eighty years before Ayala, Alfonso the Wise had

begun the general chronicle of Spain by collecting old ballads and

redoing them into prose, and by adding thereto the history of his own

day. Sixty years after him, Alfonso the Eleventh appointed a court

chronicler; and so the habit in Spain of recording the chief events of

the kingdom was kept up from 1320 with more or less regularity down to

the establishment of the Academy of History in the eighteenth century.

It is interesting to note that this chronicle, that first preserved the

popular metrical tales by putting them into prose, in turn gave rise to

popular metrical tales that have kept the traditions--such as those of

the Cid and Bernardo del Carpio.

[Saxo Grammaticus]

Like this earlier part of the Spanish Chronicle, the still older

legendary chronicles of the North promoted literature. That of

the Britons by Geoffrey of Monmouth and that of the Danes by Saxo

Grammaticus have served, perhaps, a better purpose than true accounts;

for they have quickened the imagination of subsequent times and given

us themes for many ballads and for some of the marvelous productions of

Shakespeare.

[Holinshed]

Because of the industry of Shakespeare's commentators in assigning so

much of the great dramatist's subject-matter to Holinshed, the Tudor

chronicler will always live. Regardless of whatever he may be worth

personally, the whole world owes him a debt for doing the hack work and

thus leaving a great genius free to construct.

A chronicle is not hard to write. The only requirements are that you

shall select a definite period of time, and, proceeding in order, draw

in it simple and graphic pictures of the life lived and the deeds

wrought. You might put together the events of your own neighborhood for

the last three years.

[True relation]

Or you might write up some important happening as it reaches back

into the past and culminates in the present. You would then be

writing a true relation. A true relation does not differ much from

a chronicle except in the fact that the author as one person takes

full responsibility for all the statements. He must record nothing,

therefore, that he does not himself actually know; of every thing, else

he must give warning as hearsay or as oral or written tradition or as

records of someone else. A true relation may even be a travel sketch

or a partial biography. It differs from journal and diary in being a

narrative of the doings of units of mankind or of events that are of

scientific or general importance and that are not necessarily recorded

daily and have no essentially personal bearing upon the author beyond,

the relationship of vouched and voucher.

In 1589 Richard Hakluyt published a folio of various relations which

he called "The Principal Navigations, Voyages, and Discoveries Made

by the English Nation." The events recorded, however, are not always

authentic. Modern historians are impatient with Hakluyt, because he

did not select more carefully and sacrifice bulk to trustworthiness.

Well-known Spanish relations found in Blair and Robertson's "Philippine

Islands" are those of Loarca, Chirino, Morga, Plascencia. They are

considered reliable.

_CHRONICLE_

=Rivalry Between Two Towns=

During the time that the Earl of Flanders was in his greatest

prosperity there was a citizen of Ghent, by name John Lyon, subtle and

enterprising, and very much in favor of the earl. This man having been

banished from Ghent on account of some murder in which he had been

concerned, retired to Donay, where the earl, who is said to have been

the promotion of the murder, supported him in the greatest affluence,

after a while recovered for him his freedom, and made him deacon of the

pilots, which office might be worth about 1,000 francs a year. At the

same time there was a family in Ghent called the Matthews, consisting

of seven brothers, who were the most considerable of all the pilots.

One of these, by name Gilbert Matthew, from jealousy and other causes,

bore in secret great hatred toward this John Lyon, and determined,

without striking a blow, to do him the greatest injury in his power.

With this view he got acquainted with one of the earl's chamberlains,

and in the course of conversation with him took an opportunity of

saying that if the Earl of Flanders pleased he might gain every year

a handsome revenue from the pilots; that it might be collected on the

foreign trade, provided John Lyon, the deacon, would acquit himself

honestly. The hint was conveyed by the chamberlain to the earl, who

(like other great lords, naturally eager of gain) ordered Gilbert

Matthew to be sent for. Gilbert was introduced accordingly and made his

scheme appear so reasonable that the earl agreed to adopt it. John Lyon

was forthwith sent for, and in Gilbert's presence the earl proposed the

scheme to him. Now John saw at once that this was not a reasonable

demand, and consequently said, "What you require, as it seems at

Gilbert's proposing, I cannot execute alone; it will be too heavy upon

the mariners." However, the earl persisted, and John Lyon replied that

he would do the best in his power.

When this conference was over, Gilbert Matthew, whose only object was

to ruin John Lyon, went to his six brothers and said to them, "You must

now give me every possible assistance, and we shall effect our purpose.

A meeting is to be held about this tax; now, notwithstanding all I may

say at the meeting, you must refuse to comply. I will dissemble and

argue that if John Lyon did his duty, this ordinance would be obeyed.

I know the earl well, and sooner than lose his point, John Lyon will

be displaced; from his office, which will be given to me, and then, of

course, you can comply. With regard to the other mariners, we are too

powerful for them to oppose us."

The six brothers agreed to do exactly as Gilbert had directed them,

and at the meeting everything turned out as he wished; for John was

deposed and the office was given to Gilbert. Not contented with having

effected the ruin of their unhappy victim, one of the brothers wanted

to contrive to have him put to death, but to this the others would not

agree, saying that he had done them no wrong and that no man ought to

lose his life but by sentence of a judge. Things went quietly for some

time, until the people of Bruges began to make a canal from the River

Lys. The canal had often before been attempted; but as the inhabitants

of Ghent considered it to be injurious to the interests of their town,

it was always opposed by them. On the present occasion the Earl of

Flanders had sanctioned the plan, and even sent pioneers with a body

of men-at-arms to annoy them in the execution of their work.

As chance would have it, one day a woman on her return from a

pilgrimage to Our Lady of Boulogne, being weary, sat down in the

market-place of Ghent; when many people collected around her, asking

whence she came. "From Boulogne," said the woman, "and I have seen on

my road the greatest curse that ever befell the town of Ghent; for

there are upward of five hundred men laboring night and day to open a

canal for the Lys, and if they be not immediately prevented, the course

of the river will soon be turned." This speech of the woman was echoed

far and wide, and served to inflame men's minds in all directions. Many

said that if John Lyon had been deacon no such attempt would ever have

been made; and to him they resorted for advice. John thought this a

favorable opportunity to redress the injury he had received; however,

he did not wish to seem to thrust himself forward; but when prevailed

upon to speak, after much entreaty said: "Gentlemen, if you wish to

put an end to this business, you must renew an ancient custom which

formerly existed in this town of Ghent. I mean you must first put on

white hoods and choose a leader."

"We will have it so! We will have it so!" was heard on all sides. "We

will put on white hoods."

White hoods were accordingly provided and given out to those who

preferred war to peace; and John Lyon was elected chief. Most willingly

did he accept the office, for he rejoiced at the opportunity of

embroiling the towns of Ghent and Bruges with each other and with the

earl, their lord. Gilbert Matthew, on the other hand, was by no means

well pleased when he saw in what numbers the white hoods had collected.

News was soon carried to the pioneers that a large force from Ghent

was coming against them, upon which they immediately left their work

and returned to Bruges, so that John Lyon and his party returned to

the town without any encounter. During the same week in which these

white hoods had placed themselves under the command of John Lyon,

another cause of distrust originated at Ghent by some persons who were

alarmed for its franchises; which circumstances also favored greatly

John's desire of embroiling the town. The hope of success made him

more active than ever. He spread secret rumors in different parts and

took every opportunity of suggesting "That never could the privileges

of any town be properly maintained when offices were put to sale,"

intending this in allusion to the manner in which Gilbert Matthew had

become possessed of the deaconship. Moreover, he frequently harangued

his people in public; on which occasions he spoke so well and with so

much art that he always left them highly impressed in his favor. At

length the men of Ghent determined to send to the Earl of Flanders

requesting a redress of their grievances, and especially that he would

put a stop to the canal. The earl, thinking to abolish the white hoods,

immediately granted the request, but John Lyon, who was present when

the earl's answer was received, thus addressed the meeting: "My good

people, you see clearly at present the value of these white hoods. Do

they not guard your privileges better than those of the red and black,

or hoods of any other color? Be assured, then, by me, that as soon as

they shall be laid aside I will not give three farthings for all your

privileges."

This speech had the desired effect upon the people, and they determined

to do as John Lyon had advised them. But Gilbert Matthew, who was very

ill at ease, concerted a plan with the earl to arrest John and some

of the principals of the white hoods, hoping thereby to disperse the

rest. With this view the bailiff of Ghent came to the town with about

200 horsemen; galloped up the streets with the earl's banner in his

hand, and posted himself in the market-place, where he was joined by

Gilbert and several others. John Lyon, suspecting what was intended,

immediately got together a large body of his men, for they were

instructed to be always ready, and ordered them to advance. The moment

Gilbert Matthew and his party saw the white hoods advancing they left

the bailiff and ran off as fast as they could. John Lyon on entering

the market-place, without saying a word, seized the bailiff and slew

him. He then ordered the earl's banner to be dragged through the dirt

and torn to pieces; and, upon seeing this, the men at arms took to

flight and left the town, which the victorious party pillaged as they

pleased.

After this event, several of the wisest and richest of the citizens in

Ghent, tired of these constant contentions, called an assembly in which

it was debated how they could best make up matters with the earl and

promote the advantage of the town. John Lyon and other leaders of the

white hoods were invited to attend; indeed, without them they would

not have dared to assemble. Many proposals were made, and long debates

ensued; at last, however, it was determined to elect twelve of the

most respectable inhabitants, who should entreat the earl's pardon for

the murder of the bailiff, and endeavor by this means to obtain peace;

but in this peace every person was to be included, and nothing moved in

the business hereafter.

The resolution was acted upon, and on an appointed day twelve citizens

waited upon the earl, who pleaded their cause so well, and appeared so

contrite that the earl was on the point of pardoning all the outrages

that had been committed, when he received information that the castle

of Andreghien had been burned to the ground. "Burned!" replied the earl

to the messenger who brought the intelligence. "And by what means?"

"By an accidental fire, as they say," was the reply.

"Ah! ah!" answered the earl. "Now it is all over; there can never be

peace in Flanders while John Lyon lives."

Then sending for the deputies from Ghent, he said to them, "Wretches,

you supplicate my pardon with sword in hand. I had acceded to your

wishes and your people have been base enough to burn down my favorite

castle. Was it not sufficient to have murdered my bailiff and trampled

on my banner? Quit my presence directly; and tell the men of Ghent

they shall never have peace until they shall have given up to me to be

beheaded those whom I shall point out."

The earl was right in his conjecture. It was, indeed, John Lyon and a

refractory band of white hoods under him who, discontented with the

proposal of the assembly, had actually destroyed the beautiful castle

of Andreghien while the deputies were at Male in conference with

the earl. Of course the poor deputies knew nothing of John Lyon's

intention; and, like people perfectly innocent, endeavored to excuse

themselves, but in vain. The earl was now so much enraged that he

would not listen to them, and as soon as they had left he summoned

all the knights of Flanders, and every gentleman dependent on him, to

be advised by them how he could best revenge himself on the people of

Ghent.

This was the very thing that John Lyon wanted; for the people of Ghent

would now be obliged to make war, whether they liked it or not. He

therefore seized the opportunity, and, having collected the white

hoods, publicly harangued the people, and advised them without delay

to get together all the support from neighboring towns they could, and

make an attack upon Bruges. Such even now was his influence that in a

short time he mustered a very large army, and placing himself at their

head advanced to Bruges, which town was so taken by surprise that after

a short parley at the wicket, the burgomaster and magistrates opened

the gates and the men of Ghent entered. A formal alliance was then

drawn up, which the men of Ghent and Bruges mutually swore to keep, and

to remain forever as good friends and neighbors.

"Froissart's Chronicles," in World's Great Classics Series.

=A Short History of Ilagan=

The town of Ilagan derived its name from the inverted form of the

Ibanag word _nagaly_, which means "transfer." Why the town was named

Ilagan was the fact that in early times it was moved to its present

location from a plain a few miles away, which is always overflowed by

the annual inundation of the Cagayan river.

The early inhabitants were well-trained warriors, for they had to

fight with the Igorrotes--a wild head-hunting tribe in the mountains.

Their religion was somewhat similar to Brahmanism, for they worshiped

the crocodile and practiced _anito_ widely. Even after the Spaniards

came to the town, the people were barbarous, and it was only after

the arrival of the Dominicans, about 1689, that civilization began to

spread itself among the people; for these benevolent friars established

schools, converted the pagan inhabitants into Christians, and taught

them better modes of living.

Although the people seemed to be contented, still it was not very long

until they began to feel the heavy grasp of the iron hand of Spanish

oppression. In 1776 a revolt occurred, and the people in their frenzy

burned the church and nearly all the Spanish residences. The causes of

the revolt were the high rates of taxation and the compulsory public

labor. But the uprising, which spread throughout central Luzon, was

soon quelled, and peace was restored.

Then followed a period of advancement and progress. The inhabitants

were for about one hundred and thirty years peaceful. During this

long period a new church was finished, in 1787; the town became

the capital of the province, and commerce progressed by leaps and

bounds. But in 1897 when the news of Rizal's execution, which

caused a tide of patriotism to sweep over the land, became known to

the people, they again revolted, but without accomplishing much.

In the Filipino-American war the inhabitants took no active part,

although, owing to the presence of a handful of Tagalog soldiers from

Palanan, then a barrio of Ilagan, where Aguinaldo was captured, some

skirmishing was done in the barrio of San Antonio.

Ilagan is situated on a three-cornered star-shaped plateau at the

junction of the Pinacanauan and Cagayan rivers, about ninety miles

from Aparri. It is divided into four districts: Bagumbayan, which

occupies the northern corner of the star; Baculod, the eastern corner;

St. Vicente, the southwestern comer, and Central, the center. The

residences of the rich, the municipal and provincial buildings, the

church and the principal European and Chinese business houses are in

the central district; while the farmers, artisans, shoemakers and other

classes of people inhabit the other districts. In the district of St.

Vicente are the ruins of the church burned in 1776. The lot where it

is situated is now overgrown with large trees, and the crumbling brick

wall which formed the background of the church, and is now covered with

moss and vines, remains as a memento of the uprising.

The inhabitants, being near the Ilocanos, are industrious, and being

far from the Tagalogs are peaceful. But what is to be admired more

than any of their other characteristics is their political belief.

The majority is--I hope it will be always--in favor of the indefinite

retention of the islands by America, the spread of democratic education

among the people, and the speedy development of agriculture. If the

people do not depart from their present policies, the future history of

the town will be one of happiness.

_A TRUE RELATION_

=Some Incidents of the Rebellion of 1898=

The Filipino rebellion against Spanish rule really began in the

year 1896, in southern Luzon. The northwestern provinces rebelled

much later, owing perhaps to the lack of communication or to some

disagreement among the leaders of certain districts. I was about eight

years old at the time the war broke out in western Pangasinan and

northern Zambales, and I write from what I saw with my own eyes, and

what was afterwards told me by my parents and older friends.

About the beginning of the year 1898 the northwestern provinces of

Luzon became restless, seeing that their brothers in Cavite and other

southern provinces were already in the field. The Spaniards grew more

and more uneasy and so a detachment of from fifteen to twenty Spanish

soldiers was placed in each town, in addition to the _guardia civil_,

which was also stationed in the large towns. It must be borne in mind

that in that war no quarter could be expected from either side and all

the prisoners were invariably put to death. So that unusual cruelty

should not be imputed to the common Filipino fighter in the massacres

which he committed.

Just about the beginning of the year 1898, some time in the month of

January, the people of my town, as well as the neighboring towns,

agreed to massacre the detachment of soldiers in their respective

municipalities. The agreement was kept a great secret, and in my town

at least the Spanish soldiers had not the slightest idea of the fatal

compact. The day decided upon was a certain Monday in February, 1898,

the exact date of which I do not remember.

Outside the town, in the dead of night, you would find groups talking

in whispers as to the final arrangements, for the chief men would go

to the _barrios_ in the night and hold secret meetings in hidden and

solitary places. In the afternoons you would find men grinding their

long bolos or _talibongs_ in the solitude of their houses. At the same

time you would see the women making trousers and hat-bands of red cloth

for their husbands or brothers. In the meantime the Spaniards had a

vague idea of how things were going on, and becoming rather uneasy,

they ordered a barricade of bamboo to be built around their barracks.

The guardia civil did the same, except that instead of bamboo, they

used big logs, which they made each _principal_ (councilor) give.

But unfortunately the very workmen themselves were rebels, and were

the first ones to strike the blow. I also remember clearly how the

lieutenant and the town friar forbade people to talk in groups of three

or more. So men walked in the streets alone or with only one companion,

not even daring to engage in earnest conversation. Men visited their

friends, going to the back doors at night.

It must be stated here that in order to get all the able-bodied men to

join the rebellion a form of ceremony was gone through in the case of

every single convert. Certain men who were influential and eloquent

were appointed to do the hard work of conversion. A leader of this

kind had to coax and persuade men singly, at the same time taking care

that the Spanish forces did not hear of his proceedings. After a man

had expressed his willingness to join, he was made to take a solemn

oath, the non-fulfilment of which would bring upon him temporal and

spiritual condemnation. Besides, his arm was pricked with a sharp

knife, and with his own blood he wrote, or else caused to be written,

his name in a large book. This made the ceremony to the new recruit

exceedingly impressive.