Windows of Love

A MAN who had traveled in foreign lands boasted very much, on returning to his own country, of the many wonderful and heroic feats he had performed in the different places he had visited. Among other things, he said that when he was at Rhodes he had leaped to such a distance that no man of his day could leap anywhere near him as to that, there were in Rhodes many persons who saw him do it and whom he could call as witnesses. One of the bystanders interrupted him, saying:

“Now, my good man, if this be all true there is no need of witnesses. Suppose this to be Rhodes, and leap for us.”

A CHARCOAL-BURNER carried on his trade in his own house. One day he met a friend, a Fuller, and entreated him to come and live with him, saying that they should be far better neighbors and that their housekeeping expenses would be lessened. The Fuller replied, “The arrangement is impossible as far as I am concerned, for whatever I should whiten, you would immediately blacken again with your charcoal.”

Like will draw like.

genuine lightning stones, in the West Indies, the exquisitely polishedgreenstone tomahawks of the old Carib marauders. But then, in thismatter, I am pretty much in the position of that philosophic scepticwho, when he was asked by a lady whether he believed in ghosts, answeredwisely, ‘No, madam, I have seen by far too many of them.’

One of the finest accounts ever given of the nature of thunderbolts isthat mentioned by Adrianus Tollius in his edition of ‘Boethius on Gems.’He gives illustrations of some neolithic axes and hammers, and thenproceeds to state that in the opinion of philosophers they are generatedin the sky by a fulgureous exhalation (whatever that may look like)conglobed in a cloud by a circumfixed humour, and baked hard, as itwere, by intense heat. The weapon, it seems, then becomes pointed by thedamp mixed with it flying from the dry part, and leaving the other enddenser; while the exhalations press it so hard that it breaks outthrough the cloud, and makes thunder and lightning. A very lucidexplanation certainly, but rendered a little difficult of apprehensionby the effort necessary for realising in a mental picture theconglobation of a fulgureous exhalation by a circumfixed humour.

One would like to see a drawing of the process, though the sketch wouldprobably much resemble the picture of a muchness, so admirably describedby the mock turtle. The excellent Tollius himself, however, whiledemurring on the whole to this hypothesis of the philosophers, bases hisobjection mainly on the ground that, if this were so, then it is odd thethunderbolts are not round, but wedge-shaped, and that they have holesin them, and those holes not equal throughout, but widest at the ends.As a matter of fact, Tollius has here hit the right nail on the headquite accidentally; for the holes are really there, of course, toreceive the haft of the axe or hammer. But if they were trulythunderbolts, and if the bolts were shafted, then the holes would havebeen lengthwise, as in an arrowhead, not crosswise, as in an axe orhammer. Which is a complete _reductio ad absurdum_ of the philosophicopinion.

Some of the cerauniae, says Pliny, are like hatchets. He would have beennearer the mark if he had said ‘are hatchets’ outright. But this_apercu_, which was to Pliny merely a stray suggestion, became to thenorthern peoples a firm article of belief, and caused them to representto themselves their god Thor or Thunor as armed, not with a bolt, butwith an axe or hammer. Etymologically Thor, Thunor, and thunder are theself-same word; but while the southern races looked upon Zeus or Indraas wielding his forked darts in his red right hand, the northern raceslooked upon the Thunder-god as hurling down an angry hammer from hisseat in the clouds. There can be but little doubt that the very notionof Thor’s hammer itself was derived from the shape of the supposedthunderbolt, which the Scandinavians and Teutons rightly saw at once tobe an axe or mallet, not an arrowhead. The ‘fiery axe’ of Thunor is acommon metaphor in Anglo-Saxon poetry. Thus, Thor’s hammer is itselfmerely the picture which our northern ancestors formed to themselves,

A BAT who fell upon the ground and was caught by a Weasel pleaded to be spared his life. The Weasel refused, saying that he was by nature the enemy of all birds. The Bat assured him that he was not a bird, but a mouse, and thus was set free. Shortly afterwards the Bat again fell to the ground and was caught by another Weasel, whom he likewise entreated not to eat him. The Weasel said that he had a special hostility to mice. The Bat assured him that he was not a mouse, but a bat, and thus a second time escaped.

It is wise to turn circumstances to good account.

THE POMEGRANATE and Apple-Tree disputed as to which was the most beautiful. When their strife was at its height, a Bramble from the neighboring hedge lifted up its voice, and said in a boastful tone:

“Pray, my dear friends, in my presence at least cease from such vain disputings.”

by compounding the idea of thunder and lightning with the idea of thepolished stone hatchets they dug up among the fields and meadows.

Flint arrowheads of the stone age are less often taken for thunderbolts,no doubt because they are so much smaller that they look quite tooinsignificant for the weapons of an angry god. They are more frequentlydescribed as fairy-darts or fairy-bolts. Still, I have known evenarrowheads regarded as thunderbolts, and preserved superstitiouslyunder that belief. In Finland, stone arrows are universally so viewed;and the rainbow is looked upon as the bow of Tiermes, the thunder-god,who shoots with it the guilty sorcerers.

But why should thunderbolts, whether stone axes or flint arrowheads, bepreserved, not merely as curiosities, but from motives of superstition?The reason is a simple one. Everybody knows that in all magicalceremonies it is necessary to have something belonging to the person youwish to conjure against, in order to make your spells effectual. A bone,be it but a joint of the little finger, is sufficient to raise the ghostto which it once belonged; cuttings of hair or clippings of nails areenough to put their owner magically in your power; and that is thereason why, if you are a prudent person, you will always burn all suchoff-castings of your body, lest haply an enemy should get hold of them,and cast the evil eye upon you with their potent aid. In the same way,if you can lay hands upon anything that once belonged to an elf, such asa fairy-bolt or flint arrowhead, you can get its former possessor to doanything you wish by simply rubbing it and calling upon him to appear.This is the secret of half the charms and amulets in existence, most ofwhich are either real old arrowheads, or carnelians cut in the sameshape, which has now mostly degenerated from the barb to theconventional heart, and been mistakenly associated with the idea oflove. This is the secret, too, of all the rings, lamps, gems, and boxes,possession of which gives a man power over fairies, spirits, gnomes, andgenii. All magic proceeds upon the prime belief that you must possesssomething belonging to the person you wish to control, constrain, orinjure. And, failing anything else, you must at least have a wax imageof him, which you call by his name, and use as his substitute in yourincantations.

On this primitive principle, possession of a thunderbolt gives you somesort of hold, as it were, over the thunder-god himself in person. If youkeep a thunderbolt in your house it will never be struck by lightning.In Shetland, stone axes are religiously preserved in every cottage as acheap and simple substitute for lightning-rods. In Cornwall, the stonehatchets and arrowheads not only guard the house from thunder, but alsoact as magical barometers, changing colour with the changes of theweather, as if in sympathy with the temper of the thunder-god. InGermany, the house where a thunderbolt is kept is safe from the storm;and the bolt itself begins to sweat on the approach of lightning-clouds.Nay, so potent is the protection afforded by a thunderbolt that wherethe lightning has once struck it never strikes again; the bolt already

A BOY was hunting for locusts. He had caught a goodly number, when he saw a Scorpion, and mistaking him for a locust, reached out his hand to take him. The Scorpion, showing his sting, said:

If you had but touched me, my friend, you would have lost me, and all your locusts too!”

A LION was awakened from sleep by a Mouse running over his face. Rising up angrily, he caught him and was about to kill him, when the Mouse piteously entreated, saying: “If you would only spare my life, I would be sure to repay your kindness.” The Lion laughed and let him go. It happened shortly after this that the Lion was caught by some hunters, who bound him by strong ropes to the ground. The Mouse, recognizing his roar, came gnawed the rope with his teeth, and set him free, exclaim “You ridiculed the idea of my ever being able to help you, expecting to receive from me any repayment of your favor;

I now know you know that it is possible for even a Mouse to come to benefits on a Lion.”

were up this morning as soon as it was light. Miss Emma Fielding isgoing to be married to young Mr. Harvey.

Heaven alone can tell in what bright colours this marriage is paintedupon the mind of the little housemaid at number six, who has hardlyslept a wink all night with thinking of it, and now stands on theunswept door-steps leaning upon her broom, and looking wistfully towardsthe enchanted house. Nothing short of omniscience can divine whatvisions of the baker, or the green-grocer, or the smart and mostinsinuating butterman, are flitting across her mind?what thoughts of howshe would dress on such an occasion, if she were a lady?of how she woulddress, if she were only a bride?of how cook would dress, beingbridesmaid, conjointly with her sister ?in place? at Fulham, and how theclergyman, deeming them so many ladies, would be quite humbled andrespectful. What day-dreams of hope and happiness?of life being oneperpetual holiday, with no master and no mistress to grant or withholdit?of every Sunday being a Sunday out?of pure freedom as to curls andringlets, and no obligation to hide fine heads of hair in caps?whatpictures of happiness, vast and immense to her, but utterly ridiculousto us, bewilder the brain of the little housemaid at number six, allcalled into existence by the wedding at the corner!

We smile at such things, and so we should, though perhaps for a betterreason than commonly presents itself. It should be pleasant to us toknow that there are notions of happiness so moderate and limited, sinceupon those who entertain them, happiness and lightness of heart are veryeasily bestowed.

But the little housemaid is awakened from her reverie, for forth fromthe door of the magical corner house there runs towards her, allfluttering in smart new dress and streaming ribands, her friend JaneAdams, who comes all out of breath to redeem a solemn promise of takingher in, under cover of the confusion, to see the breakfast table spreadforth in state, and?sight of sights!?her young mistress ready dressedfor church.

And there, in good truth, when they have stolen up-stairs on tip-toe andedged themselves in at the chamber-door?there is Miss Emma ?looking likethe sweetest picter,? in a white chip bonnet and orange flowers, and allother elegancies becoming a bride, (with the make, shape, and quality ofevery article of which the girl is perfectly familiar in one moment, andnever forgets to her dying day)?and there is Miss Emma?s mamma in tears,and Miss Emma?s papa comforting her, and saying how that of course shehas been long looking forward to this, and how happy she ought to be?andthere too is Miss Emma?s sister with her arms round her neck, and theother bridesmaid all smiles and tears, quieting the children, who wouldcry more but that they are so finely dressed, and yet sob for fearsister Emma should be taken away?and it is all so affecting, that thetwo servant-girls cry more than anybody; and Jane Adams, sitting downupon the stairs, when they have crept away, declares that her legs

buried in the soil seems to preserve the surrounding place from theanger of the deity. Old and pagan in their nature as are these beliefs,they yet survive so thoroughly into Christian times that I have seen astone hatchet built into the steeple of a church to protect it fromlightning. Indeed, steeples have always of course attracted the electricdischarge to a singular degree by their height and tapering form,especially before the introduction of lighting-rods; and it was a soretrial of faith to mediaeval reasoners to understand why heaven shouldhurl its angry darts so often against the towers of its very ownchurches. In the Abruzzi the flint axe has actually been Christianisedinto St. Paul’s arrows–_saetti de San Paolo_. Families hand down themiraculous stones from father to son as a precious legacy; and mothershang them on their children’s necks side by side with medals of saintsand madonnas, which themselves are hardly so highly prized as the stonesthat fall from heaven.

Another and very different form of thunderbolt is the belemnite, acommon English fossil often preserved in houses in the west country withthe same superstitious reverence as the neolithic hatchets. The veryform of the belemnite at once suggests the notion of a dart orlance-head, which has gained for it its scientific name. At the presentday, when all our girls go to Girton and enter for the classical tripos,I need hardly translate the word belemnite ‘for the benefit of theladies,’ as people used to do in the dark and unemancipated eighteenthcentury; but as our boys have left off learning Greek just as theirsisters are beginning to act the ‘Antigone’ at private theatricals, Imay perhaps be pardoned if I explain, ‘for the benefit of thegentlemen,’ that the word is practically equivalent to javelin-fossil.The belemnites are the internal shells of a sort of cuttle-fish whichswam about in enormous numbers in the seas whose sediment forms ourmodern lias, oolite, and gault. A great many different species are knownand have acquired charming names in very doubtful Attic at the hands ofprofoundly learned geological investigators, but almost all are equallygood representatives of the mythical thunderbolt. The finest specimensare long, thick, cylindrical, and gradually tapering, with a hole at oneend as if on purpose to receive the shaft. Sometimes they havepetrified into iron pyrites or copper compounds, shining like gold, andthen they make very noble thunderbolts indeed, heavy as lead, andcapable of doing profound mischief if properly directed. At other timesthey have crystallised in transparent spar, and then they form verybeautiful objects, as smooth and polished as the best lapidary couldpossibly make them. Belemnites are generally found in immense numberstogether, especially in the marlstone quarries of the Midlands, and inthe lias cliffs of Dorsetshire. Yet the quarrymen who find them neverseem to have their faith shaken in the least by the enormous quantitiesof thunderbolts that would appear to have struck a single spot with suchextraordinary frequency This little fact also tells rather hardlyagainst the theory that the lightning never falls twice upon the sameplace.