The Contributors' Club

WE of America may not at all times have guarded with due care the Well of English Undefiled; nay more, we may now and then have dropped roiling substances into that precious reservoir. In such case, we do not complain at any judgment which the grave custodians of the Well may have seen fit to pronounce. But how when the rod of punishment is broken over us because of our honest effort to filter yet clearer the afore-mentioned well-water ? Are we not then justified in lifting our voice against chastisement ? In no spirit of anglophobia (a malady as malignant in its way as anglomania), but very properly, one may resent a little such thrusts as this, leveled by The Saturday Review : “ This book is published both in London and New York ; but all copies would appear to have been printed in the transatlantic city. Not only do we meet in its pages with such ungainly and ugly words as ‘ honor,’ ‘ favor,’ and ' savory,’ but we find the not only inane and idiotic, but, as the merest tyro in philology could inform Messrs. Van Campen and Van Polt, the absolutely impossible adjective ‘ neighboring.’ ” It would, of course, be absurd to take up the cudgels for the “ absolutely impossible,” but we may with reason inquire why “ honor,” “ favor,” and “ savory ” should be thought more “ ungainly and awkward ” than “ honour,” “ favour,” and “ savoury,” which the English writer impliedly authorizes. If there is any beauty in orthographical simplicity and uniformity, then, with all its ungainliness and ugliness, the or termination is preferable to the our. This ground is well defended by the author of Webster’s Unabridged, — a work for which some of us confess a fond attachment. Our good Noah lays to Dr. Johnson’s charge the retention of the u in words of this class, and remarks aphoristically, “ Nothing in language is more mischievous than the mistakes of a great man.” And moreover, our favorite lexicographer is no farther sighted than ourselves, for he admits that he can’t see why “ favour ” should be written thus, following neither the Latin “ favor ” nor the French “ faveur.” If a “tyro in philology ” might venture to offer a suggestion, it should be that, by combining the Latin with the French, a comely word and the preservation of all the vowels in both orthographies would be secured : example, “ faveour.” The u in these few debatable words might well be considered as an international shibboleth, since no good American would be apt to employ the vowel in the connection indicated, and no good Englishman, ’pon his soul ! would omit its use.

— A friend of mine, who for some time resided in the city of Cienfuegos, relates the amusing experience he had of a curious social amenity there in vogue, and characteristic, perhaps, of SpanishAmerican etiquette elsewhere. On first taking up his residence in the Cuban city, he was not a little puzzled at hearing himself uniformly addressed as Don José, his baptismal name being neither José (or Joseph), nor in any way resembling it. His perplexity was not lessened when, in a company where several other strangers were present, the preponderance of Don Josés was something to be remarked ; he had not before observed that the name of Joseph was so very common. He was at some pains to correct what he supposed was an error with regard to his own name ; at length, from a Cuban friend, the following explanation was elicited : “ Don José ” was a most honorable title (in part borrowed from a favorite saint), applicable to all strangers whom the native desires to treat with very polite regard, alike avoiding rigid formality and presumptuous familiarity ; while it was difficult to assign the exact position which the typical “ Don José ” occupies between the mere conocido and the assured amigo, the distinction was one to be readily perceived by all courteous natures.

It occurs to me that, should this verbal coupling establish itself in general usage, it may finally take its place in the Spanish lexicon as a common name, or the equivalent thereof, used to denote the individual but recently presented, yet very eligible to one’s further regard and favor, — in short, the individual with whom one would wish to appear on terms of hopeful and progressive amity. As an instance illustrative of the use to which the new vocable might be applied, take this bit of imaginary colloquy. It is asked, “ Is he a friend of yours ? ” to which the reply is, “ No, not precisely that, but a very agreeable and esteemed don josé of mine.” In case this new coinage is favorably passed upon by the Spanish Academy, let us lose no time in adopting it into our own vernacular; any one will at once see that it would render very efficient service.

— Some of the things we are most familiar with are those hardest to define, and perhaps by reason of our very familiarity with them. “ Humor,” for instance, is a word in every one’s mouth, but to define it adequately in clear and concise phrase is not so easy as might be imagined ; and how many of the people who use the term have even an approximate notion of its meaning? It is much the same with regard to the word “ wit,” although this idea is less complex than the former one. “ Tact ” is another word of the same kind; we recognize the thing much more readily than we can explain it. Wit, or the quality of mind that produces wit, has been described (not defined) as the antithesis of dullness. May we not describe tact fairly well as the antithesis of clumsiness ? Etymologically, as we know, tact is touch, and it may be called, therefore, the deft way of handling people. It is born with some men and women, like the supple, delicate fingers of the artist’s hand, and those who have it use their gift instinctively. It is not measured alike to those who have it, — men possess it in different degrees; while others, again, are wanting in it altogether.

Tact ought not to be confounded with savoir-faire: it is not merely the English equivalent for that term ; one may have a large acquaintance with the world and its conventions and be perfected in the practice of social duties, great and small, and yet be lacking in this fine sixth sense, so invaluable to its possessors and to all with whom they come in contact. It is the outcome of intellectual and of temperamental qualities, and implies the possession of clear perceptions, quick imagination, and delicate sensibilities ; it is these that give the tactful person his subtle intuition of another’s mental processes and moods of feeling, and in the same moment the exactly right mode of dealing with these. Tact, it is true, like any other natural gift, may be consciously exercised and brought by use to a higher perfection. Practiced on a large scale, with experience and foresight aiding, it makes the successful diplomate. It is impossible not to feel a certain pleasure in the use of special faculties, of whatever kind ; and it is not to be wondered at that a person possessing the gift of dextrous touch should regard with a mingling of amusement and compassion the unfortunate individual who goes on his blundering way through the world, forever stumbling against people’s idiosyncrasies, bruising their small foibles, oversetting their cherished prejudices, when a little adroitness might save all the damage. There are men and women who are always doing this, just as there are those whose awkward motions and clumsy fingers are continually bringing disaster upon themselves and whatever they handle.

It is sometimes argued that this power of delicate manipulation of others is not an altogether admirable thing, —that it is scarcely compatible with perfect sincerity of nature ; and if you are inclined to oppose this view you are asked to think over the list of those among your acquaintance most remarkable for tact, and say if you consider such as trustworthy as others you know. There is a show of reason for this opinion, no doubt, but on the whole the case cannot be made out satisfactorily. It seems to me to reduce itself to a question of the use or the abuse of a good thing. The quality of our action depends upon the motive of it here as elsewhere. We may of course manage people for consciously selfish purposes, and we may do the same things out of the purest good-will, for wholly benevolent ends. Tact may be called the worldly substitute for Christian love, or the practice of that golden rule whose universal observance would bring in the millennium. But while waiting for the perfection of individual Christians and the realization of the Christian ideal, we may be thankful for tact, and acknowledge our debt to it for hindering much of the friction of this jarring world.

— “Brer Jahsper? He live down dat street, roun’ de corner, on de lef’ han’ side, in a little frame house, wid steps up to de do’, an’ a right smart garden.”

Our pilgrim feet followed this direction until they brought us into the actual presence of the colored preacher so well known at home and abroad for his theory that “ the sun do move.”

He was smoking a contemplative pipe before an open fire. With the old courtesy of the slave, his first thought seemed to be that the smoke might be unpleasant to his visitors, for the pipe disappeared somewhere even before he advanced to shake hands, then he hastily opened a window, and seated himself by it. The room apparently served him as chamber and study. A large Bible lay on the bureau, numerous likenesses of himself adorned the walls, the most prominent among them being a large oil portrait over his bed.

It was evident that “ Brer Jasper ” was accustomed to being interviewed, for he was in no wise abashed. When told that people North were interested in him and his church, he replied, “ I am awar of that; I’ve had visitors from all parts of the world ; committees have called on me. I’ve had applications from Europe and the State of Maine, Paris and Boston. I was offered as much as twelve hundred dollars in Washington, but I refused, because I was ottached to this church, and raised it up.”

His tall figure and dark, solemn old face were not without a dignity, imposing in its way, as he spoke of his career and experience with the most genuine admiration of himself.

“ I was the youngest of twenty-fo’ children,” said he; “ my mother lived to be a hundred an’ six years old, and not more’n half the har on her head was white; and my grandmother she was a hundred an’ ten; an’ I’m seventy-two now.” (The Negro, like the Chinaman, is apt to age an ancestor in proportion to his veneration for him.)

“ The onliest living pastor, white or colored, who was preaching when I began, that had any name in the public, was Dr. Ryland ; he’s principal now of a young ladies’ seminary, and he was formerly pastor of the First Colored Baptist Church, — that was forty-five years ago. I came here as a hirelin’ from Williamsburg in 1825 ; Mrs. Peachy was my mistress. As it was ’gainst the law for a slave to have a church, I preached round in different counties, and in family circles wherever they wrote me letters to come. My owners had no objection ; I never was treated barbarously ; they would n’t impose upon me, or suffer anybody else to do it; I was the same as a prince to ’em ; but when I worked in a tobacco factory my time had to be paid for by them that sent for me to preach, when they took me away from my work. Sometimes I was called off most every day in the week. They sent a dollar for my time in the afternoon, and when the colored families where I was going to preach the funeral could n't raise it, they got the whites to give it, and they often made me a present of five dollars just graciously. White people thought a heap of me then, and they do now. Some of the agedest white citizens — but young to me — come to see me; they sit down here in this room and ’verse with me. Young men come too, and they’ve all told me I never should suffer while I was living. I told ’em I had made a little preparation for my old age, that I was n’t fur behind time. If my race thought as much of me as the whites do there’d be another state of things about here ; fact is, I don’t accuse my race, it’s jealous colored preachers. My first church was in Petersburg, after the war. I organized my present church — the Sixth Mount Zion Apostolic Baptist — in 1867. I was a member of the First Baptist twenty-seven years, and when I took my letter out, and went to raise this young church, I started with nine members. Now we don’t number less ’n twenty-three hundred. How did I come to preach about the sun ? Well, it was six years ago, one of my members asked me to preach it. Richard Wells, the pastor of the Ebenezer Baptist Church, said it was a base fabrication, and a contemptible lie, and I preached to the world that it was God’s revealed will. Philosophers believe in the world revolvin’ upon axles, and there ain’t no reason for it whatever. He take philosophers, and I take God’s word. If the philosophers has got Wells, and gone from the Bible, they haven’t got me, and I stick to it. If Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, how could it stand still unless it was a-movin’ ? I was n’t after money, I only wanted to set the world right. I been offered three or four hundred dollars for preachin’ that sermon about the rotation of the sun, but I refused ; the onliest time I has ever commanded any money for it was once when I preached it here in Mozart Hall for the white people ; then they give me a third, after they frame expenses. I reckon if I had all the letters been sent to me here since I preach that subject, a bag would n’t hold ’em. Do I enjoy preachin’? Lord, ma’am! in my younger days I could preach a sermon every hour, — ’t wan t no mo’ to me than singin’ a few verses of a hymn; then I had strength and lungs, — got no strength now. I’m an old man now, does very little preachin’, fact is, I could preach more than two sermons a day, but ’t ain’t no use for me to impose myself. Does I take comfort in my religion ? I ain’t no mo ’fraid o’ hell than you is of a fly. I was satisfied at my conversion that I was called to preach. A great deal is said about anointin’, but little understood about it. I was anointed of God to preach, when 1 could n’t read a word of the Bible, anointed by the Holy Ghost. I feel like it was an independent fortune to me in this world and the world to come. You ain’t never seen any of the particular sketches which I preach on the rotation of the sun, — has you?”

Here the old man handed us some printed notes of his famous discourse, the text being taken from Exodus : “ The Lord is a man of war, the Lord is his name,” arid the motion of the sun proved from as many as a dozen texts from the Old Testament. As we left, Brother Jasper showed us his garden with some pride; it is his pleasure to work in it. He is paid a regular salary by his congregation, and is not obliged to resort to any secular business.

Thirty years hence the Rev. John Jasper and his innocent delusion will be a legend. He is nearly the last of his kind.

— It is not often that “ Round Robins ” have more than a circumscribed and ephemeral interest. The following verses, which were inspired by the receipt of Professor Palmer’s Translation of the Odyssey, were sent from a Pennsylvania Rectory as part of a Round Robin greeting and acknowledgment, and as they have a certain application to the present phase of classical training they seem worthy of publication. 'Απóλλη is of course the Rector’s wife; the Doctor her father, and Chrysostom the pastor of a famous church in New York. “ Uncle Sam,” we scarcely need to add, is the late Dr. Samuel Taylor, of Andover.

ON RECEIVING A COPY OF PALMER’S ODYSSEY.