804: THE BACKWATER OF LIFE.
June,
THE BACKWATER OF LIFE.
BY JAMES PAYN.
IT is a, strange feeling to one who has
been immersed in affairs, and as it were
in the mid-stream of \vhat we call Life,
to find one's self in its Backwater;
crippled and belpless, but still able to
see through the osiers 011 t·he island be-
tween us what is passing slong the river
-the passenger ,-essels, and the plcas e
ure boats-and to hear faintly the voices
and the laughter, and the strong lan-
guage mellowed by distance, from the
slow- moving barges. The Back \Vlt.ter
has its gQod points; the stream is clear,
the autumn woods that ()vcrhang the
hither bank are fair to look UPOll, and
the plunging of the weir, where all
things end, hus a welcome sound when
the moon shines out anu floods the
scene with silver. Someti mes on dark·
er nights its roar is menllcing, but after
a while the sinister sound is lost and it
changes to a deep solenlllity; then we
wonder, 8S we listen, not without fear,
as to whtlt may be upon the other side
of it. No one who has once been car-
ried over it can come back again.
There is the Mainstream, the Hack-
water, and the 'Veir, and there ends
the Ri ver of Life.
Many of us never reach the Back-
water, our journey being cut short
abru pt ly ; aud few of us wish to reach
it. It is, no doubt, a shock to exchange
sound for silence, action for immobil-
i ty. We, who thought ourael ves so
strong, cannot at first resist Ht bitter
sense of humiliation at being reduced
to dependence upon others. 'l'herc are
three ways of reaching the Backwater
--:-by illnes_s, by poverty, and by disgrace
-but in the last case many prefer the
weir. Sorne persons, tired for the
time of the stres3 and strain of exist.
ence, express the desire that they could
escape from it. and be sheltered and
serene (as thoy term it) for the re-
nlainder of their days; but this is a
very different thing, when they come
to experience it, from what they ima~­
ine it to be, and very different nlso IS
the going into retirement of one's own
will and being seized by the rough
hands of ~'ate l1ud laid upon the shelf.
There has been a deal of nonsense
written, chiefly by doctors who have
their reasoDs for being upon good terms
with her, about "kindly NKture.·'
Nature, like many other folk, can,
wl}en in good hUlnor, be kind enough;
hut she is aL~o capable of gl-eat cruel-
ties, which she inflicts with no enjoy-
ment to herself indeed, but with the
most absolu te i nu i fference to the 80 fJer-
iugs of humanity. Her charllcter, for
all her smiles and super6rial attraction,
is that of the genial tavern brawler
who, after gl'ievously ill-using his boon
companion, takes hln1 hOlne llnd tends
him, whereat all the neighbot's ex-
claim: "How tenuer are his ministra-
tions I"~ but they forget that ·it was he
who caused the patient to be in w~nt
of healing. She ~oes but pick you up
- and not sI ways tbat-aft{'r she has
knocked you down. 'fo speak of her
in this fushion will douhtless appear
shocking to most people, but on the
Backwater we speak as we find. It is
one of the pecu1iari ties- I do not say
the adfantages-of our position that
things seem as they are, and not as
they look to be, and very, very far,
alas! from what we wish them to be.
That Nature should be " so careful of
the Type" is no doubt ~ reflection con-
solatory to the philosophic Inind, but
we cannot all be philosophers, and it
must be owned she is strangely reck-
less of the Oompositor. If one has
owed her something in the past, we of
the Backwater are by this time quits
with her. ..
l'here is another thing, among many,
on which we who are'~ laid by" find
ourselves in dis8greeroent with the gen-
eral voice. A great writer puts into
the mouth of one of h is characters, a
very old and feeble man, the aspira-
tion, "Hea~en keep n1Y memory
green!" It IS a comfort to him to
remember his youth: and this view is
almost universally acceptod. I cannot
say that it is the view of us who Hve-
or let us rtlther S8V• exist-on th~ Back-
water. Wc agree rather wi Lh the poet
who tells us thal ,. 8, sorrow's crown
1895. rJ:BE BAOKW~TEB
•
of 80rrO\VS is remembering happier
things. "
We think of the far back time when
with strong aud supple arms we pad-
dled our own canoe UPOll the river,
with c<?mpanions full of the high spirits
of youth. How we ., put our backs
into it)' 8S we made the ban ks fleet by
and enjoyed our blameless victories:
Ah, youth, for years full many and sweet,
tTi8 anown that you and I were one,
sings the poet, but we d id not ourael ves
know it. \Ve were too happy to be
aware of our happiness. We were un-
conscious, as " o'tr lliry cliffs and glit-
tering saud~" we took our \vay, of onr
likeness to
Those trim skiffs unknown 01 yore
On winding lake or river wide,
That. need no aid of sail or oar,
That heed no spite of wind or tide.
. still cling to us : it is only to be washed
Bnt in this body" that does us griev-
ous wrong" we remember that it was
so, with nnapeatcable sorrow. Some
tell us tlUlt we have had our day, and
should be content. Perhaps we should
be so, but it is cold comfort. Others
say, " Think how many of your fellow-
creu,ture& are worse off." What 8 text
for Christian souls to preach on! It
is one of the Inost terri ble of our reflec-
tions to remember that this is the case;
to know that so many like oursel,·es are
crying, "Lord, help U8 I"~ and wait-
ing, RR it Seen}8 to U8, in vain for His
reply. ] t is said in Holy 'Vrit that
"sorrow mu,. endure for a nir-ht, but
joy cometh In the morning;' that is
not on r caS(l, bn t the con trary. The
"dead unhappy night" is not eo sad
for us as the first gray streaks of dawn,
when we r~cognize that another weary
day, all emptied of delight, is awaiting
us. "Oh, Lord, how long!" is then
our bitter cry. It is BBid, and with.
truth, that the spectacle of the happi-
ness of others should a.lways make 8
good man happy; but even when, 88
heaven knows, there is no envy and no
grudge, one cannot but feel the sense
of contrast.
Perhaps Ollr greatest trial is to watch
the lovers as they drop down the stream
in their light skiff, the boy leaning for-
ward upon his oars to gaze the better
at his fair companion, and she with
down-drooped eyes, out a smile that
OF LIFE . 805
proclai ms her cOllsciousnesa of his
scrutiny, hangs oue little hand in the
water and watches it escape through
her fingers. The tinlc has come and
gone long ago whert!ill we ought to
have been content" to go wooing in
our hoys;" but that love-making by
proxy, with the fruition for others, W,8
never, as history tells us, a very wel-
come procE'eding. And now, the re-
melnbrsnce of what Wa! once so bright'
and sweet and fair, the parting and the
meeti ng, the glance that was mirrored
in a flash from loving eyes, the tell- tale
pressure of the gen tIe hand, the stolen
kisd so tenderly forgiven, is of all re-
membrances the most intolerable. Self-
ish? Yes; do not suppose that self,
though different indeed from \,hat it
used to he, with no bravery of pretence
abont it, 'luernlous, d(lgraded, does not
away by the cleansing waters of the
weir. Yet, after 811, . we have no envv,
nor would we deprl ve our fellow-crea-
.
tures of a single pleasure if we could.
It is the mere sense of loss, irreme-
d iable and conl plete, that causes on r
despair. It will be shocking to Dlany
persons (who aJ'e still alive and in the
,vorld, however, Bud can foJ1ow the pur-
suits they love) to learn that sllch views
are entertained by individuals in our
position. 'Ye are generHlly depicted
as being philosophic or resigned, just
88 the blind (God help them !) are 81-
ways described as "cheerful;" I do
not know on whose account this hypoc-
risy is maintained.
Alas! we have Dor hope nor health,
Nor peace within nor calm aronnel,
Nor that content 8urpa88ing wealth
The sage in meditation found.
But it is not t.o be wondered at that
others shonld take 8 brighter view of
onr condition. Just (again) a~ in the
case of the blind, who are seen at their
best in company, and strive to hide
their sad deficiency from those who
visit them, so when our friends come
to see us, we {lut on oar best looks, and
draw on our httle store of smiles to wel-
come them; and they give a good re-
port of us to onr acquaintances (" bright
and cheery 3S ever, I do assure you "),
and never guess that when they have
gone the curtain falls, and our dark-
ness is deeper than ever.
806 THE BA.CKWATER OF LIFE. June,
These visits of our friends are at be shown. There are two words that
once the cause of onr joy and of our ring in our ears fur more sorrowful1y
sorrow. It is sweet to be remenlbered than the warning of the weir: "Too
after social death. Our most tender ]ate! Too late It!' We are 88 dead
reflection is the thought that when men, though (th1'11,s to these ang. . lic
nothing can be guined by it, not even visitors) not "out of mind.'~ We
the reciprocity of geniality, these dear think, if a miracle were worked and
kind folks leave their business or their we could" get about again," that we
pleasure, and look in upon us, day should spend the remainder of our li\"es
after day. The Backwater is not a in striving to repay them, in doing the
lively scene. It is always in the shadow like kind offices we have received from
projected by the platform above the them to others in the sanle sad case as
weir, and the noise of the falling ourselves. There is no harm in having
waters is very melancholy; yet these such thoughts, and,. alas! 110 good.
good souls do not desert us. Nay, News is brought us of what is ~oing
there is something in our condition on in the world-in politics, in lItera-
that touches them in quite 8. remark- ture, and in social life. It interests us
able rnanner. Even those who, when very much, but in quita l\ different
we were among them, were mere ac- fashion from the old one. We are no
quaintances develop the most friendly longer actors, but spectators, and, as it
feeling, and make us ashamed of our seems to us, at an immense distance
previous ignorance of its existence. To from the stage. The performnDces
" kindly Nature," 8S she is called by are, RS it were, in another planet. Our
those who have experienced only her visitors, with tender instinct, select
good offices, we have, to tell the hon- only such topics U8 are~reeable to UB,
est truth, but little to be t.hankful for; and strive to concelT1rom us the rea-
it is to men and women that our feeblv son-that we aretoo weak for opposi-
beating hearts go forth in unspellkable tion. But, 0.188--! we know the reason
gratitu~ There is one-one-con- very well, A certain morbid sensitive-
solation in our miserable lot, that it nes~t1tkes the place of intelligence with
has brought us face to face with the ns, and on the other hand is UDSUS-
immetlsurable goodness of Humanity.. pected. They are unaware -RS, in-
Let the' divines say whllt .. t,~I:eY ivill ot·' (re~d, How coultl it be otherwise ?-that
those who have been mCc1e after the their lightest remarks sometimes dis-
image of their O[.e~Oi1:iet them heap tress us. 'fhey forgE't when they praise
upon them all the-'1'auhs of their-fallen the weather that we shall never more
llature ; let the cynics aver that what feel the sunshine, nor breathe the fresh
seems good in them is only another air, nor put foot to the ground again.
form ~l_.Belfi,ahness: we on thA Back- Again, in their wish to cheer U8, they
~er ha.ve good cause to know that profess to see some improvement in onr
these tra.ducers lie. Oh, Love that condit.ion, which in fact never takes
cherishes its object when all that llla,ce. 'rhe best that bappens is that
makes it lovely has departed, that pre- the change for the \vorse, \vhich is con-
fers to possess it useless sa a broken tinuou8, is imperceptible. Ordinary
toy rather than to lose it, that slaves invalids have their "good days."
for it and sacrifices it.s all to give it With us on the Backwater it is not
daily comfort, that holds all menial 80; there are only days that are less
offices as gracioDs opportunities for bad than the others. What is worse
mitigation of discomfort and of pain; than aH, some good folks think to raise
we know you now 88 \ve have never our spirits by the reflection that we
known you before. Oh, Friendship, may live for months, and even yeans,
whose slnile bas been always dear to us, longer. Because they are in love with
but of the greatness of whose fond and life themselves, they think that, though
faithful heart we have never gnessed, in some less degree perhaps, it is dear
forgive us for our former ignorance. If to us also; t.hey cannot conceive B state
even there be no heaven hereafter, of existence in which one's chief hope
there are angels here. Alas! though and constant prayer are to get it ended.
onr gratitude can he told, it can never Others, from eqnally kind IDotive8, find
1895. DELPHI.
another ground of congratulation in
the fact that, though the nearneS8 of
the Weir is evident, we are not mored
by it. They do not understand that
one of the saddest conditions to which
• ••
DELPHI.
BY HON. REGINALD LISTER.
D ELPH I, by virtue of its oracle, the
multitude and diversity of the cults
which it embraced, and the weahh and
treasure8 which it contained, possesses
an interest unriv~lled perhaps by that
of any other city or shrine in Greece.
~~ great era opened, therefore, in the
annals of archreology when. after long
and complicated negotiations, the COll-
tract cedIng to the :French the right of
excavation at Delphi, fl nally received
the royal 8sient, ull,i beca.lne law on
the l3-25th of April, 1891. The chief
features of the agreement, which is on
nluch the same lines as that made with
the Germans for Olympia, are as fol-
lows.
Right of' com pulsor! expropriation
is given as in the cuse of roads and rail-
ways; all land thus acquired becolnes
the property of the Greek Government.
as also do all ant iquities of any kind
which may be discovered. On the
other hand, the right of excavation is
gi ven to the French Cor ten years, and
also the exclusi ve right of copying,
photographing, and publishing antiq ui-
ties discovered for five years from the
date of discovery in each case.
But before entering iuto the details
of the work of excavation and the re-
Bults hitherto obtained, I propose to
trace shortly the origin and history of
Delphi, and to try and convey some
idea of thp appearance which it present-
ed in the days of its sanctity and Inag-
n ificence.
According to the earliest traditions,
Delphj ,,~a8 the joint oracle of Earth
uod Poseidon, and Earth g2l,ve her
share to her daughter, Tbemis, and
Apollo received it from Themis. Such
was the version of the st.ory accepted
by.LEschylus, who in the opening lines
of the Eumenides puts the following
pru.yer into the mouth of the Pythian
priestess :-
807
the human mind can be reduced-not
from faith, but from pain and weari-
ness-is no longer to fear t.he Shadow
feared of man.- Oot'n/till Magazine.
,
First in this prayer of all the gods I name
The prophet Mother Earth, and Th~mi8 next,
Second who sat-for so with truth is told-
00 this her mother s shrine oracular.
9
To guard her oracle. Earth had posted
iD the chasms of Parnassus 8 terrible
she-dragon, who infested the place till
she was slain by Apollo--a legend in-
terpreted in later times as symbolical
of the early developlnent of religion in
ma.n, beginning with the worship of
Earth and her gloom; children, tram-
melled by the coils 0 the Earth-born
Python, which is at length vanquished
by Apollo, just 88 the mist and dark-
ness of superstition are dispellQd by the
rising snn of truth.
piJ,usanias enumerates five successive
temples at Delphi.
The most anoient (he says) was built of
laurels from branches brought from a tree at
Tempe, so:that was nothing more than a hut;
and the people of Del phi say the next temple
was built of the wax of bees and of wings.
The third was. of bronze, and this is no mar·
vel, siDce Acrisiu8 made a bronze chamber for
his daughter, and the LacedremoniaDs have
still a temple to Athena Chalcioocus (of the
bronze bOtlse), and the Romans have a forum
remarkable for its size and magnificenoe with
a bronze roof. * And the fourth (built of stone
by Trophonius and Agawedes) was burnt down
when Exicleides wa.s a.rchon .in Athens in the
first yea.r of the 58th Olympiad (548 B.O.) when
Diognetus of Croton was victor: and the tem-
ple whioh still exists was built by the Am-
phictyonA ont of the saored money, and its
architect was the Corinthian Bpintharus.
It is with these latter two temples that
we have to deal, the first three being
undoubtedly prehistoric, and existing
at the time of the worship of Earth and
her children.
The founding of the fourth temple
Dlsrks the advent of Apollo at Delphi,
which we find most graphically ~e­
scribed in the Homerio hymn of Apollo.
* The Forum of Trajan in Rome, whioh was
roofed with bronze tiles.