hand he beckoned to his men to come up. When they had come, both he and they knelt down, and poured forth their thanks to God.

He then addressed them in these words: "You see here, gentlemen and children mine, how our desires are being accomplished, and the end of our labors. Of that we ought to be certain; for, as it has turned out true, what King Comagre's son told of this sea to us, who never thought to see it, so I hold for certain that what he told us of there being incomparable treasures in it will be fulfilled. God and His Blessed Mother, who have assisted us, so that we should arrive here and behold this sea, will favor us, that we may enjoy all that there is in it." Afterward, they all devoutly sang the "Te Deum Laudamus"; and a list was drawn up, by a notary, of those who were present at this discovery, which was made upon St. Martin's day.


Every great and original action has a prospective greatness, alone from the thought of the man who achieves it, but from the various aspects and high thoughts which the same action will continue to present and call up in the minds of others to the end, it may be, of all time. And so a remarkable event may go on acquiring more and more significance. In this case, our knowledge that the Pacific, which Vasco Nuñez then beheld, occupies more than one half of the earth's surface, is an element of thought which in our minds lightens up and gives an awe to this first gaze of his upon those mighty waters.

Having thus addressed his men, Vasco Nuñez proceeded to take formal possession, on behalf of the kings of Castile, of the sea, and of all that was in it; and in order to make memorials of the event, he cut down trees, formed crosses, and heaped up stones. He also inscribed the names of the monarchs of Castile upon great trees in the vicinity.

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As the world grows older and as civilization advances, there is likely to be more and more time given to reading. In several parts of the earth where mankind are most active, and where the proportion of those who need to labor by their hands is less than in other countries, and likely to go on becoming less, the climate is such as to confine, if it does not repress, out-of-door amusements; and, in all climates, for the lovers of ease, the delicate in health, the reserved, the fastidious, and the musing, books are amongst the chief sources of

delight, and such as will more probably intrench upon other joys and occupations than give way to them.

If we consider what are the objects men pursue, when conscious of any object at all, in reading, they are these: amusement, instruction, a wish to appear well in society, and a desire to pass away time. Now even the lowest of these objects is facilitated by reading with method. The keenness of pursuit thus engendered enriches the most trifling gain, takes away the sense of dullness in details, and gives an interest to what would, otherwise, be most repugnant. No one who has never known the eager joy of some intellectual pursuit, can understand the full pleasure of reading. In considering the present subject, the advantage to the world in general of many persons being really versed in various subjects cannot be passed by. And were reading wisely undertaken, much more method and order would be applied to the consideration of the immediate business of the world.

It must not be supposed that this choice and maintenance of one or more subjects of study must necessarily lead to pedantry or narrowness of mind. The Arts are sisters; Languages are close kindred; Sciences are fellow-workmen; almost every branch of human knowledge is immediately connected with biography; biography falls into history, which, after drawing into itself various minor streams, such as geography, jurisprudence, political and social economy, issues forth upon the still deeper waters of general philosophy. There are very few, if any, vacant spaces between various kinds of knowledge: any track in the forest, steadfastly pursued, leads into one of the great highways; just as you often find, in considering the story of any little island, that you are perpetually brought back into the general history of the world, and that this small rocky place has partaken the fate of mighty thrones and distant empires. In short, all things are so connected together, that a man who knows one subject well cannot, if he would, fail to have acquired much besides: and that man will not be likely to keep fewer pearls who has a string to put them on, than he who picks them up and throws them together without method. This, however, is a very poor metaphor to represent the matter; for what I would aim at producing, not merely holds together what is gained, but has vitality in itself, is always growing. And anybody will confirm this who, in his own case, has had any branch of study or human affairs to work upon; for he must have observed how all he meets seems to work in with, and assimilate itself to, his own pecu

liar subject. During his lonely walks, or in society, or in action, it seems as if this one pursuit were something almost independent of himself, always on the watch, and claiming its share in whatever is going on.

Again, by recommending some choice of subject, and method in the pursuit of it, I do not wish to be held to a narrow interpretation of that word "subject." For example, I can imagine a man saying, I do not care particularly to investigate this or that question in history; I am not going to pursue any branch of science; but I have a desire to know what the most renowned men have written: I will see what the twenty or thirty great poets have said; what in various ages has appeared the best expression of the things nearest to the heart and fancy of man. A person of more adventure and more time might seek to include the greatest writers in morals or history. There are not so many of them. If a man were to read a hundred great authors, he would, I suspect, have heard what mankind has yet had to say upon most things. I am aware of the culture that would be required for such an enterprise; but I merely give it as an instance of what may justly come under the head of the pursuit of one subject, as I mean it, and which certainly would not be called a narrow purpose.

There is another view of reading, which, though it is obvious enough, is seldom taken, I imagine, or at least acted upon; and that is, that, in the course of our reading, we should lay up in our minds a store of goodly thoughts in well-wrought words, which should be a living treasure of knowledge always with us, and from which at various times, and amidst all the shifting of circumstances, we might be sure of drawing some comfort, guidance, and sympathy. We see this with regard to the sacred writings. "A word spoken in due season, how good is it!" But there is a similar comfort on a lower level to be obtained from other sources than sacred ones. In any work that is worth carefully reading there is generally something that is worth remembering accurately. A man whose mind is enriched with the best sayings of the poets of his own country is a more independent man, walks the streets in a town, or the lanes in the country, with far more delight than he otherwise would have; and is taught, by wise observers of man and nature, to examine for himself. Sancho Panza with his proverbs is a great deal better than he would have been without them: and I contend that a man has something in

himself to meet troubles and difficulties, small or great, who has stored in his mind some of the best things which have been said about troubles and difficulties. Moreover, the loneliness of sorrow is thereby diminished.

It need not be feared that a man whose memory is rich in such resources will become a quoting pedant. Often, the sayings which are dearest to our hearts are least frequent on our lips; and those great ideas which cheer men in their direst struggles, are not things which they are likely to inflict by frequent repetition upon those they live with. There is a certain reticence with us as regards anything we deeply love.

I have not hitherto spoken of the indirect advantage of methodical reading in the culture of the mind. One of the dangers supposed to be incident upon a life of study is, that purpose and decisiveness are worn away. Not, as I contend, upon a life of study, such as it ought to be. For, pursued methodically, there must be some, and not a little, of the decision, resistance, and tenacity of pursuit which create, or further, greatness of character in action. Though, as I have said, there are times of keen delight to a man who is engaged in any distinct pursuit, there are also moments of weariness, vexation, and vacillation, which will try the metal in him and see whether he is worthy to understand and master anything. For this you may observe that, in all times and all nations, sacrifice is needed. The savage Indian who was to obtain any insight into the future had to starve for it for a certain time. Even the fancy of this power was not to be gained without paying for it. And was anything real ever gained without sacrifice of some kind?

It cannot have escaped the notice of any one who has had much experience, that human life is a system of cunningly devised checks and counter-checks. This is easily seen in considering physical things, such, for instance, as the human body. One of these bodies has a particular disorder. You could cure it by a certain remedy, if that remedy could be continued far enough; but it cannot, as it would produce another disorder. The same law holds good throughout life; and sometimes, where there is an appearance of the power of free movement in many directions, there is in reality a check to movement in every one.




JOHN RUSKIN, who has risen to be an authority of last resort in all questions pertaining to Art, is a native of London, where he was born in 1819. He was educated at Oxford, where he won the Newdigate Prize for English Poetry, and has devoted his whole life to the study and exposition of Art. He has written many books, most of which treat of architecture and painting: Ilis first work was Modern Painters, which at once established his reputation. It elicited profuse criticism, which in effect was favorable; but high authorities severely censured it as illogical and as extravagant in style. Among his best-known works are The Seven Lamps of Architecture, The Stones of Venice, and Lectures on Architecture and Painting. Within a few years he has given much attention to questions of Political Economy. On no modern writer have praise and blame been bestowed in so great volumes and in so nearly equal measures. In the early years of his career it is undoubtedly true that the weight of critical authority was against him; but to-day his hold upon the popular respect seems to be firmer than ever. His arrogance and dogmatism have cost him many friends, and the eccentricities of his style-which, however, is marvelously forcible, and vigorous with a certain wild beauty have repelled many readers from his books. But it is impossible not to admire his earnestness, his unquestionable love of truth, and his honest detestation of shams. He has done more than any other living writer to stimulate the public interest in Art, and to formulate sound theories about it.


Or all inorganic substances, acting in their own proper nature, and without assistance or combination, water is the most wonderful. If we think of it as the source of all the changefulness and beauty which we have seen in clouds; then as the instrument by which the earth we have contemplated was modeled into symmetry, and its crags chiseled into grace; then as, in the form of snow, it robes the mountains it has made with that transcendent light which we could not have conceived if we had not seen; then as it exists in the foam of the torrent,—in the iris which spans it, in the morning mist which rises from it, in the deep crystalline pools which mirror its hanging shore, in the broad lake and glancing river; finally, in that which is to all human minds the best emblem of unwearied, unconquerable power, the wild, various, fantastic, tameless unity of the sea; what shall we compare to this mighty, this universal element, for glory and for beauty? or how shall we follow its eternal changefulness of feeling? It is like trying to paint a soul.

Few people, comparatively, have ever seen the effect on the sea of a powerful gale continued without intermission for three or four days and nights, and to those who have not I believe it must be unimaginable, not from the mere force or size of surge, but from the complete

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