Detailed human skeleton diagram

Artemis was worshipped by the Greeks under various appellations, to each of which belonged special characteristics. Thus she is known as the Arcadian, Ephesian and Brauronian Artemis, and also as Selene-Artemis, and in order fully to comprehend the worship of this divinity, we must consider her under each aspect.

ARCADIAN ARTEMIS

The Arcadian Artemis (the real Artemis of the Greeks) was the daughter of Zeus and Leto, and twin-sister of Apollo. She was the goddess of Hunting and Chastity, and having obtained from her father permission to lead a life of celibacy, she ever remained a maiden-divinity. Artemis is the feminine counterpart of her brother, the glorious god of Light, and, like him, though she deals out destruction and sudden death to men and animals, she is also able to alleviate suffering and cure diseases. Like Apollo also, she is skilled in the use of the bow, but in a far more eminent degree, for in the character of Artemis, who devoted herself to the chase with passionate ardour, this becomes an all-distinguishing feature. Armed with her bow and quiver, and attended by her train of huntresses, who were nymphs of the woods and springs, she roamed over the mountains in pursuit of her favourite exercise, destroying in her course the wild animals of the forest. When the chase was ended, Artemis and her maidens loved to assemble in a shady grove, or on the banks of a favourite stream, where they joined in the merry song, or graceful dance, and made the hills resound with their joyous shouts.

As the type of purity and chastity, Artemis was especially venerated by young maidens, who, before marrying, sacrificed their hair to her. She was also the patroness of those vowed to celibacy, and punished severely any infringement of their obligation.

The huntress-goddess is represented as being a head taller than her attendant nymphs, and always appears as a youthful and slender maiden. Her features are beautiful, but wanting in gentleness of expression; her hair is gathered negligently into a knot at the back of her well-shaped head; and her figure, though somewhat masculine, is most graceful in its attitude and proportions. The short robe she wears, leaves her limbs free for the exercise of the chase, her devotion to which is indicated by the quiver which is slung over her shoulder, and the bow which she bears in her hand.

There are many famous statues of this divinity; but the most celebrated is that known as the Diana of Versailles, now in the Louvre, which forms a not unworthy companion to the Apollo-Belvedere of the Vatican. In this statue, the goddess appears in the act of rescuing a hunted deer from its pursuers, on whom she is turning with angry mien. One hand is laid protectingly on the head of the stag, whilst with the other she draws an arrow from the quiver which hangs over her shoulder.

Her attributes are the bow, quiver, and spear. The animals sacred to her are the hind, dog, bear, and wild boar.

Artemis promptly resented any disregard or neglect of her worship; a remarkable instance of this is shown in the story of the Calydonian boar-hunt, which is as follows:—

Oeneus, king of Calydon in Ætolia, had incurred the displeasure of Artemis by neglecting to include her in a general sacrifice to the gods which he had offered up, out of gratitude for a bountiful harvest. The goddess, enraged at this neglect, sent a wild boar of extraordinary size and prodigious strength, which destroyed the sprouting grain, laid waste the fields, and threatened the inhabitants with famine and death. At this juncture, Meleager, the brave son of Oeneus, returned from the Argonautic expedition, and finding his country ravaged by this dreadful scourge, entreated the assistance of all the celebrated heroes of the age to join him in hunting the ferocious monster. Among the most famous of those who responded to his call were Jason, Castor and Pollux, Idas and Lynceus, Peleus, Telamon, Admetus, Perithous, and Theseus. The brothers of Althea, wife of Oeneus, joined the hunters, and Meleager also enlisted into his service the fleet-footed huntress Atalanta.

The father of this maiden was Schoeneus, an Arcadian, who, disappointed at the birth of a daughter when he had particularly desired a son, had exposed her on the Parthenian Hill, where he left her to perish. Here she was nursed by a she-bear, and at last found by some hunters, who reared her, and gave her the name of Atalanta. As the maiden grew up, she became an ardent lover of the chase, and was alike distinguished for her beauty and courage. Though often wooed, she led a life of strict celibacy, an oracle having predicted that inevitable misfortune awaited her, should she give herself in marriage to any of her numerous suitors.

Many of the heroes objected to hunt in company with a maiden; but Meleager, who loved Atalanta, overcame their opposition, and the valiant band set out on their expedition. Atalanta was the first to wound the boar with her spear, but not before two of the heroes had met their death from his fierce tusks. After a long and desperate encounter, Meleager succeeded in killing the monster, and presented the head and hide to Atalanta, as trophies of the victory. The uncles of Meleager, however, forcibly took the hide from the maiden, claiming their right to the spoil as next of kin, if Meleager resigned it. Artemis, whose anger was still unappeased, caused a violent quarrel to arise between uncles and nephew, and, in the struggle which ensued, Meleager killed his mothers brothers, and then restored the hide to Atalanta. When Althea beheld the dead bodies of the slain heroes, her grief and anger knew no bounds. She swore to revenge the death of her brothers on her own son, and unfortunately for him, the instrument of vengeance lay ready to her hand.

At the birth of Meleager, the Moirae, or Fates, entered the house of Oeneus, and pointing to a piece of wood then burning on the hearth, declared that as soon as it was consumed the babe would surely die. On hearing this, Althea seized the brand, laid it up carefully in a chest, and henceforth preserved it as her most precious possession. But now, love for her son giving place to the resentment she felt against the murderer of her brothers, she threw the fatal brand into the devouring flames. As it consumed, the vigour of Meleager wasted away, and when it was reduced to ashes, he expired. Repenting too late the terrible effects of her rash deed, Althea, in remorse and despair, took away her own life.

The news of the courage and intrepidity displayed by Atalanta in the famous boar-hunt, being carried to the ears of her father, caused him to acknowledge his long-lost child. Urged by him to choose one of her numerous suitors, she consented to do so, but made it a condition that he alone, who could outstrip her in the race, should become her husband, whilst those she defeated should be put to death by her, with the lance which she bore in her hand. Thus many suitors had perished, for the maiden was unequalled for swiftness of foot, but at last a beautiful youth, named Hippomenes, who had vainly endeavoured to win her love by his assiduous attentions in the chase, ventured to enter the fatal lists. Knowing that only by stratagem could he hope to be successful, he obtained, by the help of Aphrodite, three golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides, which he threw down at intervals during his course. Atalanta, secure of victory, stooped to pick up the tempting fruit, and, in the meantime, Hippomenes arrived at the goal. He became the husband of the lovely Atalanta, but forgot, in his newly found happiness, the gratitude which he owed to Aphrodite, and the goddess withdrew her favour from the pair. Not long after, the prediction which foretold misfortune to Atalanta, in the event of her marriage, was verified, for she and her husband, having strayed unsanctioned into a sacred grove of Zeus, were both transformed into lions.

The trophies of the ever-memorable boar-hunt had been carried by Atalanta into Arcadia, and, for many centuries, the identical hide and enormous tusks of the Calydonian boar hung in the temple of Athene at Tegea. The tusks were afterwards conveyed to Rome, and shown there among other curiosities.

A forcible instance of the manner in which Artemis resented any intrusion on her retirement, is seen in the fate which befell the famous hunter Actaeon, who happening one day to see Artemis and her attendants bathing, imprudently ventured to approach the spot. The goddess, incensed at his audacity, sprinkled him with water, and transformed him into a stag, whereupon he was torn in pieces and devoured by his own dogs.

EPHESIAN ARTEMIS.

The Ephesian Artemis, known to us as "Diana of the Ephesians," was a very ancient Asiatic divinity of Persian origin called Metra, whose worship the Greek colonists found already established, when they first settled in Asia Minor, and whom they identified with their own Greek Artemis, though she really possessed but one single attribute in common with their home deity.

Metra was a twofold divinity, and represented, in one phase of her character, all-pervading love; in the other she was the light of heaven; and as Artemis, in her character as Selene, was the only Greek female divinity who represented celestial light, the Greek settlers, according to their custom of fusing foreign deities into their own, seized at once upon this point of resemblance, and decided that Metra should henceforth be regarded as identical with Artemis.

In her character as the love which pervades all nature, and penetrates everywhere, they believed her also to be present in the mysterious Realm of Shades, where she exercised her benign sway, replacing to a certain extent that ancient divinity Hecate, and partly usurping also the place of Persephone, as mistress of the lower world. Thus they believed that it was she who permitted the spirits of the departed to revisit the earth, in order to communicate with those they loved, and to give them timely warning of coming evil. In fact, this great, mighty, and omnipresent power of love, as embodied in the Ephesian Artemis, was believed by the great thinkers of old, to be the ruling spirit of the universe, and it was to her influence, that all the mysterious and beneficent workings of nature were ascribed.

There was a magnificent temple erected to this divinity at Ephesus (a city of Asia Minor), which was ranked among the seven wonders of the world, and was unequalled in beauty and grandeur. The interior of this edifice was adorned with statues and paintings, and contained one hundred and twenty-seven columns, sixty feet in height, each column having been placed there by a different king. The wealth deposited in this temple was enormous, and the goddess was here worshipped with particular awe and solemnity. In the interior of the edifice stood a statue of her, formed of ebony, with lions on her arms and turrets on her head, whilst a number of breasts indicated the fruitfulness of the earth and of nature. Ctesiphon was the principal architect of this world-renowned structure, which, however, was not entirely completed till two hundred and twenty years after the foundation-stone was laid. But the labour of centuries was destroyed in a single night; for a man called Herostratus, seized with the insane desire of making his name famous to all succeeding generations, set fire to it and completely destroyed it. So great was the indignation and sorrow of the Ephesians at this calamity, that they enacted a law, forbidding the incendiarys name to be mentioned, thereby however, defeating their own object, for thus the name of Herostratus has been handed down to posterity, and will live as long as the memory of the famous temple of Ephesus.

BRAURONIAN ARTEMIS.

In ancient times, the country which we now call the Crimea, was known by the name of the Taurica Chersonnesus. It was colonized by Greek settlers, who, finding that the Scythian inhabitants had a native divinity somewhat resembling their own Artemis, identified her with the huntress-goddess of the mother-country. The worship of this Taurian Artemis was attended with the most barbarous practices, for, in accordance with a law which she had enacted, all strangers, whether male or female, landing, or shipwrecked on her shores, were sacrificed upon her altars. It is supposed that this decree was issued by the Taurian goddess of Chastity, to protect the purity of her followers, by keeping them apart from foreign influences.

The interesting story of Iphigenia, a priestess in the temple of Artemis at Tauris, forms the subject of one of Schillers most beautiful plays. The circumstances occurred at the commencement of the Trojan war, and are as follows:—The fleet, collected by the Greeks for the siege of Troy, had assembled at Aulis, in Bœotia, and was about to set sail, when Agamemnon, the commander-in-chief, had the misfortune to kill accidentally a stag which was grazing in a grove, sacred to Artemis. The offended goddess sent continuous calms that delayed the departure of the fleet, and Calchas, the soothsayer, who had accompanied the expedition, declared that nothing less than the sacrifice of Agamemnons favorite daughter, Iphigenia, would appease the wrath of the goddess. At these words, the heroic heart of the brave leader sank within him, and he declared that rather than consent to so fearful an alternative, he would give up his share in the expedition and return to Argos. In this dilemma Odysseus and other great generals called a council to discuss the matter, and, after much deliberation, it was decided that private feeling must yield to the welfare of the state. For a long time the unhappy Agamemnon turned a deaf ear to their arguments, but at last they succeeded in persuading him that it was his duty to make the sacrifice. He, accordingly, despatched a messenger to his wife, Clytemnæstra, begging her to send Iphigenia to him, alleging as a pretext that the great hero Achilles desired to make her his wife. Rejoicing at the brilliant destiny which awaited her beautiful daughter, the fond mother at once obeyed the command, and sent her to Aulis. When the maiden arrived at her destination, and discovered, to her horror, the dreadful fate which awaited her, she threw herself in an agony of grief at her fathers feet, and with sobs and tears entreated him to have mercy on her, and to spare her young life. But alas! her doom was sealed, and her now repentant and heart-broken father was powerless to avert it. The unfortunate victim was bound to the altar, and already the fatal knife was raised to deal the death-blow, when suddenly Iphigenia disappeared from view, and in her place on the altar, lay a beautiful deer ready to be sacrificed. It was Artemis herself, who, pitying the youth and beauty of her victim, caused her to be conveyed in a cloud to Taurica, where she became one of her priestesses, and intrusted with the charge of her temple; a dignity, however, which necessitated the offering of those human sacrifices presented to Artemis.

Many years passed away, during which time the long and wearisome siege of Troy had come to an end, and the brave Agamemnon had returned home to meet death at the hands of his wife and Aegisthus. But his daughter, Iphigenia, was still an exile from her native country, and continued to perform the terrible duties which her office involved. She had long given up all hopes of ever being restored to her friends, when one day two Greek strangers landed on Tauricas inhospitable shores. These were Orestes and Pylades, whose romantic attachment to each other has made their names synonymous for devoted self-sacrificing friendship. Orestes was Iphigenias brother, and Pylades her cousin, and their object in undertaking an expedition fraught with so much peril, was to obtain the statue of the Taurian Artemis. Orestes, having incurred the anger of the Furies for avenging the murder of his father Agamemnon, was pursued by them wherever he went, until at last he was informed by the oracle of Delphi that, in order to pacify them, he must convey the image of the Taurian Artemis from Tauris to Attica. This he at once resolved to do, and accompanied by his faithful friend Pylades, who insisted on sharing the dangers of the undertaking, he set out for Taurica. But the unfortunate youths had hardly stepped on shore before they were seized by the natives, who, as usual, conveyed them for sacrifice to the temple of Artemis. Iphigenia, discovering that they were Greeks, though unaware of their near relationship to herself, thought the opportunity a favourable one for sending tidings of her existence to her native country, and, accordingly, requested one of the strangers to be the bearer of a letter from her to her family. A magnanimous dispute now arose between the friends, and each besought the other to accept the precious privilege of life and freedom. Pylades, at length overcome by the urgent entreaties of Orestes, agreed to be the bearer of the missive, but on looking more closely at the superscription, he observed, to his intense surprise, that it was addressed to Orestes. Hereupon an explanation followed; the brother and sister recognized each other, amid joyful tears and loving embraces, and assisted by her friends and kinsmen, Iphigenia escaped with them from a country where she had spent so many unhappy days, and witnessed so many scenes of horror and anguish.

The fugitives, having contrived to obtain the image of the Taurian Artemis, carried it with them to Brauron in Attica. This divinity was henceforth known as the Brauronian Artemis, and the rites which had rendered her worship so infamous in Taurica were now introduced into Greece, and human victims bled freely under the sacrificial knife, both in Athens and Sparta. The revolting practice of offering human sacrifices to her, was continued until the time of Lycurgus, the great Spartan lawgiver, who put an end to it by substituting in its place one, which was hardly less barbarous, namely, the scourging of youths, who were whipped on the altars of the Brauronian Artemis in the most cruel manner; sometimes indeed they expired under the lash, in which case their mothers, far from lamenting their fate, are said to have rejoiced, considering this an honourable death for their sons.

SELENE-ARTEMIS.

Hitherto we have seen Artemis only in the various phases of her terrestrial character; but just as her brother Apollo drew into himself by degrees the attributes of that more ancient divinity Helios, the sun-god, so, in like manner, she came to be identified in later times with Selene, the moon-goddess, in which character she is always represented as wearing on her forehead a glittering crescent, whilst a flowing veil, bespangled with stars, reaches to her feet, and a long robe completely envelops her.


Text:
Myths and Legends of Ancient Greece and Rome
Author: E.M. Berens
Published: 1880

The Project Gutenberg E-Book
Produced by Alicia Williams, Keith Edkins and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Dead animals and plants rot and decay.
In swampy areas, for example, dead plants fall into the water. As they decay, they give off gas. Scientists call this biogas.
Biogas comes from garbage, sewage, and manure, too.

Biogas is a source of cheap energy for many villages in China. Many vehicles are fueled by methane, a mixture of biogas and carbon dioxide.
Biogas is a valuable source of energy which is often wasted. When materials decay, the biogas mixes with carbon dioxide, forming a gas called methane. Large amounts of methane can be dangerous—a tiny spark near the gas can cause an explosion. But if methane is collected safely and stored correctly, it can provide an important source of energy.

Biogas could be important in countries where other fuels are scarce or too expensive. A small village can use its own garbage and sewage to produce biogas. People collect the droppings of farm animals and put them in a tank. Some of the waste turns to liquid. The liquid soon starts to give off methane, which is kept in a storage tank that has an expandable lid. The gas can be used in homes for cooking and heating, or as fuel to power an engine or an electric generator.

The land that we need for growing food is very important. We cant afford to spoil it. There are many ways in which farmers could make better use of the land and grow good crops without the help of factory-made chemicals.
If it is farmed with care, the land will go on giving us enough food to eat for thousands of years to come.
Sometimes, surface soil, or topsoil, is washed away by rain. This is called water erosion. Farmers can help prevent water erosion by plowing across a slope instead of up and down it.
This is called contour plowing. 
If it rains, water does not run down the hill, washing away soil as it goes. Instead, it is caught in the furrows and soaks in, leaving the soil behind. Contour plowing also prevents streams from getting blocked by washed-away soil, thus flooding low-lying land.

There was once a little girl who was very pretty and delicate, but in summer she was forced to run about with bare feet, she was so poor, and in winter wear very large wooden shoes, which made her little insteps quite red, and that looked so dangerous!

In the middle of the village lived old Dame Shoemaker; she sat and sewed together, as well as she could, a little pair of shoes out of old red strips of cloth; they were very clumsy, but it was a kind thought. They were meant for the little girl. The little girl was called Karen.

On the very day her mother was buried, Karen received the red shoes, and wore them for the first time. They were certainly not intended for mourning, but she had no others, and with stockingless feet she followed the poor straw coffin in them.

Suddenly a large old carriage drove up, and a large old lady sat in it: she looked at the little girl, felt compassion for her, and then said to the clergyman:

"Here, give me the little girl. I will adopt her!"

And Karen believed all this happened on account of the red shoes, but the old lady thought they were horrible, and they were burnt. But Karen herself was cleanly and nicely dressed; she must learn to read and sew; and people said she was a nice little thing, but the looking-glass said: "Thou art more than nice, thou art beautiful!"

Now the queen once travelled through the land, and she had her little daughter with her. And this little daughter was a princess, and people streamed to the castle, and Karen was there also, and the little princess stood in her fine white dress, in a window, and let herself be stared at; she had neither a train nor a golden crown, but splendid red morocco shoes. They were certainly far handsomer than those Dame Shoemaker had made for little Karen. Nothing in the world can be compared with red shoes.

Now Karen was old enough to be confirmed; she had new clothes and was to have new shoes also. The rich shoemaker in the city took the measure of her little foot. This took place at his house, in his room; where stood large glass-cases, filled with elegant shoes and brilliant boots. All this looked charming, but the old lady could not see well, and so had no pleasure in them. In the midst of the shoes stood a pair of red ones, just like those the princess had worn. How beautiful they were! The shoemaker said also they had been made for the child of a count, but had not fitted.

"That must be patent leather!" said the old lady. "They shine so!"

"Yes, they shine!" said Karen, and they fitted, and were bought, but the old lady knew nothing about their being red, else she would never have allowed Karen to have gone in red shoes to be confirmed. Yet such was the case.

Everybody looked at her feet; and when she stepped through the chancel door on the church pavement, it seemed to her as if the old figures on the tombs, those portraits of old preachers and preachers wives, with stiff ruffs, and long black dresses, fixed their eyes on her red shoes. And she thought only of them as the clergyman laid his hand upon her head, and spoke of the holy baptism, of the covenant with God, and how she should be now a matured Christian; and the organ pealed so solemnly; the sweet childrens voices sang, and the old music-directors sang, but Karen only thought of her red shoes.

In the afternoon, the old lady heard from everyone that the shoes had been red, and she said that it was very wrong of Karen, that it was not at all becoming, and that in future Karen should only go in black shoes to church, even when she should be older.

The next Sunday there was the sacrament, and Karen looked at the black shoes, looked at the red ones—looked at them again, and put on the red shoes.

The sun shone gloriously; Karen and the old lady walked along the path through the corn; it was rather dusty there.

At the church door stood an old soldier with a crutch, and with a wonderfully long beard, which was more red than white, and he bowed to the ground, and asked the old lady whether he might dust her shoes. And Karen stretched out her little foot.

"See, what beautiful dancing shoes!" said the soldier. "Sit firm when you dance"; and he put his hand out towards the soles.

And the old lady gave the old soldier alms, and went into the church with Karen.

And all the people in the church looked at Karens red shoes, and all the pictures, and as Karen knelt before the altar, and raised the cup to her lips, she only thought of the red shoes, and they seemed to swim in it; and she forgot to sing her psalm, and she forgot to pray, "Our Father in Heaven!"

Now all the people went out of church, and the old lady got into her carriage. Karen raised her foot to get in after her, when the old soldier said,

"Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!"

And Karen could not help dancing a step or two, and when she began her feet continued to dance; it was just as though the shoes had power over them. She danced round the church corner, she could not leave off; the coachman was obliged to run after and catch hold of her, and he lifted her in the carriage, but her feet continued to dance so that she trod on the old lady dreadfully. At length she took the shoes off, and then her legs had peace.

The shoes were placed in a closet at home, but Karen could not avoid looking at them.

Now the old lady was sick, and it was said she could not recover. She must be nursed and waited upon, and there was no one whose duty it was so much as Karens. But there was a great ball in the city, to which Karen was invited. She looked at the old lady, who could not recover, she looked at the red shoes, and she thought there could be no sin in it; she put on the red shoes, she might do that also, she thought. But then she went to the ball and began to dance.

When she wanted to dance to the right, the shoes would dance to the left, and when she wanted to dance up the room, the shoes danced back again, down the steps, into the street, and out of the city gate. She danced, and was forced to dance straight out into the gloomy wood.

Then it was suddenly light up among the trees, and she fancied it must be the moon, for there was a face; but it was the old soldier with the red beard; he sat there, nodded his head, and said, "Look, what beautiful dancing shoes!"

Then she was terrified, and wanted to fling off the red shoes, but they clung fast; and she pulled down her stockings, but the shoes seemed to have grown to her feet. And she danced, and must dance, over fields and meadows, in rain and sunshine, by night and day; but at night it was the most fearful.

She danced over the churchyard, but the dead did not dance—they had something better to do than to dance. She wished to seat herself on a poor mans grave, where the bitter tansy grew; but for her there was neither peace nor rest; and when she danced towards the open church door, she saw an angel standing there. He wore long, white garments; he had wings which reached from his shoulders to the earth; his countenance was severe and grave; and in his hand he held a sword, broad and glittering.

"Dance shalt thou!" said he. "Dance in thy red shoes till thou art pale and cold! Till thy skin shrivels up and thou art a skeleton! Dance shalt thou from door to door, and where proud, vain children dwell, thou shalt knock, that they may hear thee and tremble! Dance shalt thou—!"

"Mercy!" cried Karen. But she did not hear the angels reply, for the shoes carried her through the gate into the fields, across roads and bridges, and she must keep ever dancing.

One morning she danced past a door which she well knew. Within sounded a psalm; a coffin, decked with flowers, was borne forth. Then she knew that the old lady was dead, and felt that she was abandoned by all, and condemned by the angel of God.

She danced, and she was forced to dance through the gloomy night. The shoes carried her over stack and stone; she was torn till she bled; she danced over the heath till she came to a little house. Here, she knew, dwelt the executioner; and she tapped with her fingers at the window, and said, "Come out! Come out! I cannot come in, for I am forced to dance!"

And the executioner said, "Thou dost not know who I am, I fancy? I strike bad peoples heads off; and I hear that my axe rings!"

"Dont strike my head off!" said Karen. "Then I cant repent of my sins! But strike off my feet in the red shoes!"

And then she confessed her entire sin, and the executioner struck off her feet with the red shoes, but the shoes danced away with the little feet across the field into the deep wood.

And he carved out little wooden feet for her, and crutches, taught her the psalm criminals always sing; and she kissed the hand which had wielded the axe, and went over the heath.

"Now I have suffered enough for the red shoes!" said she. "Now I will go into the church that people may see me!" And she hastened towards the church door: but when she was near it, the red shoes danced before her, and she was terrified, and turned round. The whole week she was unhappy, and wept many bitter tears; but when Sunday returned, she said, "Well, now I have suffered and struggled enough! I really believe I am as good as many a one who sits in the church, and holds her head so high!"

And away she went boldly; but she had not got farther than the churchyard gate before she saw the red shoes dancing before her; and she was frightened, and turned back, and repented of her sin from her heart.

And she went to the parsonage, and begged that they would take her into service; she would be very industrious, she said, and would do everything she could; she did not care about the wages, only she wished to have a home, and be with good people. And the clergymans wife was sorry for her and took her into service; and she was industrious and thoughtful. She sat still and listened when the clergyman read the Bible in the evenings. All the children thought a great deal of her; but when they spoke of dress, and grandeur, and beauty, she shook her head.

The following Sunday, when the family was going to church, they asked her whether she would not go with them; but she glanced sorrowfully, with tears in her eyes, at her crutches. The family went to hear the word of God; but she went alone into her little chamber; there was only room for a bed and chair to stand in it; and here she sat down with her Prayer-Book; and whilst she read with a pious mind, the wind bore the strains of the organ towards her, and she raised her tearful countenance, and said, "O God, help me!"

And the sun shone so clearly, and straight before her stood the angel of God in white garments, the same she had seen that night at the church door; but he no longer carried the sharp sword, but in its stead a splendid green spray, full of roses. And he touched the ceiling with the spray, and the ceiling rose so high, and where he had touched it there gleamed a golden star. And he touched the walls, and they widened out, and she saw the organ which was playing; she saw the old pictures of the preachers and the preachers wives. The congregation sat in cushioned seats, and sang out of their Prayer-Books. For the church itself had come to the poor girl in her narrow chamber, or else she had come into the church. She sat in the pew with the clergymans family, and when they had ended the psalm and looked up, they nodded and said, "It is right that thou art come!"

"It was through mercy!" she said.

And the organ pealed, and the childrens voices in the choir sounded so sweet and soft! The clear sunshine streamed so warmly through the window into the pew where Karen sat! Her heart was so full of sunshine, peace, and joy, that it broke. Her soul flew on the sunshine to God, and there no one asked after the RED SHOES.

What Was The Pony Express?

If you receive a message and pass it on to someone else, you are acting as a relay. Relays are useful for sending messages over long distances.

Frank E. Webner, pony express rider, ca. 1861 Creator(s): Department of Commerce. Bureau of Public Roads. (08/20/1949 - 04/01/1967) Historical Photograph File of the Bureau of Public Roads, 1896 - 1963; Records of the Bureau of Public Roads, 1892 - 1972; Record Group 30; National Archives.

"There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but is immediately felt, and puts the stranger at once at his ease."
--Washington Irving.

Were we to look up the meaning of the word hospitality in the dictionary, we would find it defined as the act of receiving and entertaining guests kindly, generously, and gratuitously, without expectation of reward.
According to such a definition, much that passes for hospitality in the social realm does not deserve the name. Society is a give-and¬-take arrangement, somewhat resembling the gift exchange we practise at Christmas. If you do not give you do not get; if you do not entertain you are not invited, unless it is understood that circumstances prevent your doing so. Then one is asked for what one can contribute in the way of good company, promotion of gayety, and the like. One "pays her way" by being agreeable, well gowned, popular. Thus, in a way, much social hospitality is merely social bargaining. The woman who feels indebted to her circle--or circles, for these impinge upon each other--gives a large reception or "at home." She can seldom do more than welcome the coming and speed the parting guest. Her greeting is "So delighted to see you here;" her farewell, "Good-bye; so glad you were able to come." Her guests have greeted each other in much the same casual fashion, have had some refresh¬ments warranted to destroy their appetite for dinner; have shown a handsome gown and hat--and perhaps had the former injured in the crush. One is reminded of Bunthornes "Hollow! Hollow! Hollow!!"

Real Hospitality
Quite different is this from what we offer when we invite our friends to visit us. Here is genuine hospitality--the receiving and entertaining gratuitously those whose companionship we enjoy. One of the chief joys of having ones own home is the pleasure of being able to welcome ones friends and afford them the privilege of enjoying it also. An invitation of this kind means we are willing to incommode ourselves, incur expense, and give a measure of our time to the entertainment of those of our friends whose society we wish to enjoy familiarly. Thus it seems that an invitation to visit a friend in her home is a compliment of no mean order, although Nicole says: "Visits are for the most part neither more nor less than inventions for discharging upon our neighbors somewhat of our own unendurable weight."

Short Visits
Visits are of much shorter duration than in those "old times" people talk about so enthusiastically--and would find so tire¬some were they to return again. Then visitors stayed week after week; were urged to remain longer when they proposed departure. The story goes of a Virginia planter who invited an old war-time friend to visit him. At the end of a month the major proposed departure. His host objected so strenuously that he agreed to stay another month. And so it went on, the guest regularly proposing to leave, the host hospitably insisting on his remaining, until in the end the old veteran died in and was buried from his friends house. This, however, is an example not to be emulated in these less hospitable days.
There is a saying, "Short visits make long friends," that is worth consideration by those who visit. Probably the truth of the saying has been so often attested that it has given rise to the custom of specifying the date of arrival and departure of a guest when giving the invitation. It has become to be understood that the vague, indefinite invitation "Do come and see us sometime," means nothing. No one would think for a moment of taking it in good faith. If the giver wishes to entertain her friend she will ask if it will be convenient for her to visit her at a certain specified date. Nothing less counts. An understanding of this might save the unexperienced from the awkwardness of making an unwelcome visit.

The Unexpected Visit
Nothing is worse form than "the surprise visit." Generally you do surprise your hostess and very often most disagreeably. A housekeeper does not enjoy an intrusion--for such it is--¬of that kind any more than you would be pleased to have a chance caller rush unannounced into your private rooms. Even among relatives and the most intimate friends, there is nothing to justify the unexpected arrival. Nothing so strikes terror to a womans soul as the thud of trunks on the piazza and the crunch of wheels on the gravel, meaning someone has "come to stay."
Such an arrival is a piece of presumption on the part of the visitor. She assumes she will be welcome at any time she chooses to present herself. This may be true; but at the same time there is an obligation of courtesy which requires her to consult her friends convenience. Instead, she consults her own and utterly ignores that of her hostess, who is thus forced into entertaining her.

The Inopportune Arrival
Many awkward and sometimes amusing anecdotes are told in connection with the inopportune visit. Thus not long ago the newspapers chronicled the plight of a woman who undertook to surprise an acquaintance from whom she had not heard for several years. She was driven to their house and dismissed the carriage. A strange face met her at the door, and she learned that her friend had removed to another city nearly a twelvemonth before. "Served her right" will be everybodys verdict.
Suppose one arrives unexpectedly and finds the friends house full of other and invited company. Then, if ever, she ought to feel herself "a rank outsider." If she is tactless enough not to give notice of her intended arrival, she probably has not the good sense to depart as quickly as possible. The man of the house may have to sleep on the parlor sofa, or the children on the floor, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred the whole family will wish her in Halifax.
Or she may arrive to find some member of the family ill, or house-cleaning or repairing in progress, or the house in the hands of the decorators. Indeed, so many unforeseen accidents may occur to make her visit an unpleasant memory, both to herself and her hostess, that only the most selfish and inconsiderate of women will so violate the social conventions as to make "surprise visits."

Visits That Save Expense
Something equally reprehensible is the visit we pay to a friend in town where we have business or desire a pleasure trip, and do not propose to have it cost us much of any¬thing. We force hospitality on our acquaintances in order to save hotel bills. They know it, and they feel about it just exactly as we would in their places--that is, that it is an imposition on good nature and a mean and selfish thing to do.
"We gave up our house and went to boarding simply because my health and my husbands salary were inadequate to the demands made upon them by our out-of-town relatives and acquaintances, who used us as a restaurant and hotel. There was seldom a week when we did not give ten or twelve meals and two or three nights lodging to people better able to pay for them than we were to furnish them. So we gave up housekeeping." This is an actual experience.

MANNERS AND SOCIAL CUSTOMS FOR OUR GREAT MIDDLE CLASS
AS WELL AS OUR BEST SOCIETY
Correspondence, Cards and Introductions, Dress for Different Occasions, Weddings, Christenings, Funerals, Etc.,
Social Functions, Dinners, Luncheons.
Gifts, "Showers," Calls, and Hundreds of Other Essential Subjects so Vital to Culture and Refinement of Men, Women, School-Girls and Boys at Home and in Public.
By MRS. ELIZABETH JOHNSTONE
Excerpt from the book:
MOTHERS  REMEDIES
Over One Thousand Tried and Tested Remedies from Mothers of the United States and Canada.
By DR. T. J. RITTER
PUBLISHED BY G.H. FOOTE  PUB. CO. DETROIT MICH 1921

There is no situation in which ones good breeding is so much in evidence as at the table. For that reason, mothers should begin to train their children in infancy to correct usage. As soon as a child is able to hold a spoon and fork, he should be taught how to hold them properly, and the training should be continued until the right habit is established.
One should not be seated until the lady of the house is seated, unless especially requested to do so. Children should observe this rule as rigidly as that which requires the removal of the hat on entering the house.

At the Table
On being seated, the napkin is unfolded and laid across the lap. It is more correct to only unfold one-half, that is, open it at the center fold. One is not supposed to require further protection than from the accidental crumb. On no account should it be used as a bib, or be tucked in the dress or waistcoat.
Grape fruit is eaten from an orange spoon. If oysters are served raw, they must not be cut but eaten whole.
Soup must be taken from the side of the spoon, quietly, with no hissing or other sound, nor should the spoon be so full that it drips over. The motion of the spoon in filling it, is away from instead of towards the person; and tilting the plate to secure the last spoonful is bad form.
Crackers are never served with soup: croutons--small squares of bread toasted very hard and brown, or small H. & P. biscuits are passed. These are never put into the soup, but are eaten from the hand. Neither soup nor fish should be offered the second time.
Fish is generally eaten with a fork and a bit of bread, though silver fish knives are in occasional use. The entree which follows the fish should be eaten with the fork only. A mouthful of meat is cut as required; it is never buried in potato or any vegetable and then conveyed to the mouth. Vegetables are no longer served in "birds bath-tubs," as some wit once called the individual vegetable dishes, but are cooked sufficiently dry to be served on the plate with the meat. All vegetables are eaten with the fork, so also jellies, chutney, etc., served with the meat course.

Using the Fork
The fork laid farthest from the plate is to be used for the first course requiring such a utensil; the others are used in their order. The knife is held in the right hand; by the handle, not the blade. The fork should not be held like a spoon, or a shovel, but more as one would hold a pencil or pen; it is raised laterally to the mouth. The elbow is not to be projected, or crooked outward, in using either knife or fork; that is a very awkward performance. The fork should never be over-burdened. The knife is never lifted to the mouth; it is said that "only members of the legislature eat pie with a knife nowadays." The handle of neither knife or fork may rest on the table nor the former be laid across the edge of the plate.
Tender meat, like the breast of chickens, may be cut with the fork. A bone is never taken in the fingers, the historic anecdote about Queen Victoria to the contrary notwithstanding. The table manners of the twentieth century are not Early Victorian. Olives and celery are correctly laid on the bread-and-butter plate. The former is never dipped in ones salt cellar; a small portion of salt is put on the edge of the plate; both are eaten from the fingers.

Vegetables, Fruits, etc.
Green corn is seldom served on the cob at ceremonious dinners. If it is served, it is to be broken in medium-sized pieces and eaten from the cob, a rather messy process, and one not pretty to observe. The fastidious avoid it. If eaten, the piece is held between the fingers of one hand. To take an unbroken ear in both hands and gnaw the length of it suggests the manners of an animal never named in polite society.
It is correct to take up asparagus by the stalk, and eat it from the fingers, but the newer and more desirable custom is to cut off the edible portion with knife and fork. Lettuce is never cut with a knife; a fork is used, the piece rolled up and conveyed to the mouth.
Hard cheese may be eaten from the fingers; soft cheeses, like Neufchatel, Brie, and the like, are eaten with the fork, or a bit is spread on a morsel of bread and conveyed to the mouth with the fingers.
A soft cake is eaten with a fork. The rule is that whatever can be eaten with a fork shall be so eaten.
Roman punch and sherbets require a spoon. Berries, peaches and cream, custards, preserves, jellies, call for the spoon. Strawberries are often served as a first course in their season. They are then arranged with their hulls and a portion of stem left on, dipped in powdered sugar and eaten from the fingers. A little mound of the sugar is pressed into shape in the center of the small plate and the berries laid around it.
Peaches, pears, and apples are peeled with the fruit knife, cut in quarters or eighths, and eaten from the fingers. Bananas are stripped of the skin, cut in pieces with a fork and eaten from it. Oranges are cut in two across the sections and eaten with an orange spoon. Plums, like olives, are eaten by biting off the pulp without taking the stone in the mouth. Pineapple, unless shredded or cut up, requires both knife and fork; it is usually prepared for more convenient eating. Grapes, which should be washed by letting water from the faucet run over them and laid on a folded towel until the moisture drips off, are eaten from behind the half-closed hand, which receives the skins and seeds, then to be deposited on the plate.
If the small cup of coffee--the demi-tasse--is served, the small after-dinner coffee spoon is necessary. Cream is seldom served with the black coffee--cafe noir--with which a meal concludes, cut loaf sugar is passed.

The Spoon
The spoon must never be left in the cup, no matter what beverage is served. Most of us have seen some absent-minded individual (we will charitably suppose him absent-minded instead of ignorant), stir his coffee round and round and round, creating a miniature whirlpool and very likely slopping it over into the saucer; then, prisoning the spoon with a finger, drink half the cups contents at a gulp. To do this is positively vulgar. Stir the coffee or tea very slightly, just enough to stir the cream and sugar with it, then drink in sips. To take either from the teaspoon is bad form. Bread is broken, not cut, and only a small portion buttered at a time. Do not play with bread crumbs or spoon, etc., during the progress of a meal.
Leave knife and fork on the plate, handles side by side, when it is passed for a second helping, and at a conclusion of a course, or the meal, lay them in the same position, points of the fork upward.

Finger Bowls
When finger bowls are brought, the tips of the fingers are dipped in the bowl and dried on the napkin. Men may lift the moistened fingers to the lips; women seldom do this, but wipe the lips with the napkin. At any function the napkin is not folded, but laid at the side of the plate at the conclusion of the repast. If a guest for a day or so, or for more than one meal, note what your hostess does with her napkin and follow her. If a guest at only one meal, never fold the napkin. Be careful not to throw it down so carelessly that it is stained with coffee, fruit, or fruit juices; your hostess will thank you for your consideration.
Be ready to rise when your hostess rises; you do not push your chair into place; simply rise and leave it. Rise on the side of your chair so you will not have to go around it in following your hostess to the drawing room.

MANNERS AND SOCIAL CUSTOMS FOR OUR GREAT MIDDLE CLASS
AS WELL AS OUR BEST SOCIETY
Correspondence, Cards and Introductions, Dress for Different Occasions, Weddings, Christenings, Funerals, Etc.,
Social Functions, Dinners, Luncheons.
Gifts, "Showers," Calls, and Hundreds of Other Essential Subjects so Vital to Culture and Refinement of Men, Women, School-Girls and Boys at Home and in Public.
By MRS. ELIZABETH JOHNSTONE
Excerpt from the book:
MOTHERS  REMEDIES
Over One Thousand Tried and Tested Remedies from Mothers of the United States and Canada.
By DR. T. J. RITTER
PUBLISHED BY G.H. FOOTE  PUB. CO. DETROIT MICH 1921

Ive been writing this blog for about 3 months, and it has been an immensely rewarding experience.  Ive learned a great deal about all sorts of topics, had a chance to develop my writing skills, and enjoyed the virtual company of many wonderful science bloggers (almost all of whom are far more qualified than I, and whom I am very grateful to be able to observe and learn from.)

I assume that Ive developed a small regular readership, as my traffic-tracking service indicates that I have between 5 and 20 returning visitors each day (depending on how recently Ive posted.)  I figured Id take this opportunity (as sleep doesnt seem to be working out for me, at the moment) to probe your minds for a minute, both to satisfy my own curiosity and to help me figure out how I should be running this thing.  If you have a second, please leave your responses to these questions in the comments:

Who are you?  Why do you read this blog?  What do I do right as a blogger, and what do I do wrong?

Thanks in advance for your help!

Id also like to use this post to offer to trade articles with anybody who might be interested.  Id love to have some guest posts on here.  Id also like to try my hand at writing about something besides cephalopods (I have lots of other interests, I promise!), but I am not ready to maintain more than one blog at the moment, and Ive decided to keep Cephalove firmly on topic.  Send me an email or leave me a comment if youre interested.