The Song of Jenny Geddes

‘Twas the twenty-third of July, in the sixteen thirty-seven,
On the Sabbath morn from high St. Giles the solemn peal was given;
King Charles had sworn that Scottish men should pray by printed rule;
He sent a book, but never dreamt of danger from a stool.

The Council and the Judges, with ermined pomp elate,
The Provost and the Bailies in gold and crimson state,
Fair silken-vested ladies, grave doctors of the school,
Were there to please the King, and learn the virtues of a stool.

The Bishop and the Dean came in wi’ muckle gravity,
Right smooth and sleek, but lordly pride was lurking in their e’e;
Their full lawn sleeves were blown and big, like seals in briny pool;
They bore a book, but little thought they soon should feel a stool.

The Dean he to the alter went, and, with a solemn look,
He cast his eyes to heaven, and read the curious-printed book:
In Jenny’s heart the blood upwelled with bitter anguish full;
Sudden she started to her legs, and stoutly grasped the stool!

As when a mountain wildcat springs upon a rabbit small,
So Jenny on the Dean springs, with gush of holy gall;
Wilt thou say mass at my lugs, thou popish-puling fool?
No! No! She said, and at his head she flung the three-legged stool.

A bump, a thump! A smash, a crash! Now gentle folks beware!
Stool after stool, like rattling hail, came twirling through the air,
With, well done, Jenny! Bravo, Jenny! That’s the proper tool!
When the Devil will out, and shows his snout, just meet him with a stool!

The Council and the Judges were smitten with strange fear,
The ladies and the Bailies their seats did deftly clear,
The Bishop and the Dean went in sorrow and in dool,
And all the Popish flummery fled when Jenny showed the stool!

And thus a mighty deed was done by Jenny’s valiant hand,
Black Prelacy and Popery she drove from Scottish land;
King Charles he was a shuffling knave, priest Laud a meddling fool,
But Jenny was a woman wise, who beat them with a stool!

~John Stuart Blackie~

Headmistress Rules!

The Beehive faithful will most definitely root and cheer while reading Books Build Character by my dear friend Headmistress over at The Common Room.

Really, you will. You will also learn why Lucy Steele is a person you must know sooner than later.

Schaefferian Spaghetti

Queen Shenaynay

This is what happens when Fa-So-La-La reads Frances Schaeffer and then eats pasta:

"Spaghetti is the totality of the cause and effect relationship of the sauce and the noodles."

I just love that girl. Never a dull moment in her mental universe, lemme tell ya.

Oh, since inquiring minds will want to know, the actual Schaeffer quote is:
"History is the totality of the cause and effect relationship of the seen and the unseen."

Chew on that awhile.

Verbal Oddments

Queen Shenaynay


The Beehive denizens observed a number of linguistic earth-wobbles this past week:


"Quick, put the Army in a gallon zippie!"
(Time for dinner, and Spuddy Buddy's plastic army men were all over the table.)


"I just poured the water over the entire area.
There was no way to keep it off the sailboats."
(A friend, describing a laundry tactic intended to remove purple berry stains but not the cute little red appliques.)


"Healing sauce."
(Spuddy Buddy, when asked what substance he was squeezing copiously on his blistered heel. Neosporin should consider him for their ad department.)


"And now, I will tell you a hard piece of math!"
(Spuddy Buddy again, entertaining the tribe by launching into a demonstration of the wonders he has figured out regarding 10, such as "10 + 30 = 40." We are just so proud of his powers of self-discovery, but our literary sensibilites are shocked by the notion of Math As Storytelling. And how enticing to learn that it can be broken -- though we should prefer shattered -- into pieces. However, we are not so shocked that they would be hard pieces.)


High Speed Internet
Ballroom for Rent
(Prime example of anachronistic juxtaposition, seen on a billboard.)


Can't wait for next week's wobbles.

Nice

Fa-So-La-La

Here is my paper for this month. The assignment was to use Pilgrim's Progress to expound on a theme. Enjoy!


It’s a typical episode of Leave it to Beaver. Mr. Cleaver, sporting the usual suit and tie, chats with Beaver about some small breach of faith, instructing him in the ways of Niceness. We don't cheat, his father explains, because it isn't fair to others. And we must be fair. That's just what we do.

June enters, in pearls and apron, and announces the lamb chops are ready. Isn't it all nice?

Beaver wonders why he should bother about being fair. If winning is what he wants, why should he not do what’s needed? And why care about those other people anyway?

But Mr. Cleaver insists we should be fair, because...well, because we are Nice! Why else?

I always wondered why I so dislike Mr. Cleaver. Is it the ever-present suit, the condescending advice that disgusts me? I finally realized: Mr. Cleaver is a humanist.

The Oxford Universal Dictionary defines humanism as, "Any system of thought or action which is concerned with merely human interests, or with those of the human race in general." Humanists live with little reference to anything divine, believing that man, unaided, can work things out. They say such things as, "Everything will be OK if we can all just get along! Share the crayons, Susie..."

Such ethics are unpredictable at best-- it may suit Susie to share the crayons now, but what if a situation arises where she can achieve the desired result by *not* sharing the crayons?

Mr. Cleaver’s niceties have no reference to God’s laws, no connection to the commandments of Christ to ‘love thy neighbor as thyself.’ He is nice because it’s nice to be nice.

This system quickly derails when it encounters evil. If niceness is the highest virtue, then what is the lowest vice? Un-niceness? This is absurd and unrealistic. We don’t say that terrorists are just not nice people; we say that they are *evil*. And by so doing we acknowledge that there is a greater virtue than nicety.

When we treat others well, humanistic thought presumes we see some dignity or worthiness in them that we respect and respond to. However, everyday events from drug deals in dark alleys to Beaver cheating on his homework constantly prove that man has less dignity and worth than humanistic philosophy demands. Respect for mankind is a slippery foundation to build ethics on.

So if not that, what?

John Bunyan has an answer. In Pilgrim’s Progress, Worldly Wiseman tempts burdened Christian to forsake the Straight and Narrow Way, promising him ease and wealth. He tells Christian of the nearby village Morality, where lives a man named Legality and his son Civility who are both skilled in removing burdens. If Christian likes the town, he may send for his family and settle down, for "provision there is also cheap and good; and that which will make thy life the more happy is, to be sure; there shalt thou live by honest neighbors, in credit and good fashion."

Christian sets out toward Morality, but he does not get far. Mount Sinai looms above him, threatening to fall upon him and crush him to the earth. He is afraid to go forward, ashamed to go back.

Bunyan brilliantly presses the point that the religion of Civility, or Niceness, is just another form of Legality. But he also indirectly shows us the futility of this religion-- the highest reward its followers ever receive is to ‘live by honest neighbors, in credit and good fashion.’ It is Nice News, and it yields Nice Things. Nothing more, nothing less.

Dr. George Grant says, "We must never be lured into the trap... of thinking that men may somehow manufacture for themselves moral excellence." Nice News does precisely that– at its best it is a synthesized goodness, a man-made morality. Its Niceties will hold only if the world around it is Nice as well. But with roots in the illusion of human dignity, it will fail when men act like monsters.

Christian’s story goes on: Evangelist chastens him and sets him back on his way, saying, "As many as are of the law are under the curse." Then he reminds him of the Good News. For there is indeed more than Nice News--

"And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tiding of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. . . Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Was Fish a Weasel?

Queen Shenaynay

My good and very astute friend Mama Squirrel at Dewey's Treehouse blog has posted a couple of fascinating bits on "weasel words" this week. Beehive scholars are hereby notified that The Queen is Amused, and may begin at any time to throw this phrase about, both in passing -- breezily and assumingly, no doubt -- and in the proverbial red ink on school assignments. So it behooves all to pay a virtual call upon the Treehouse post haste, and prepare yourselves to Beware of Weasel Words henceforth and anon.

* * * * *

This weasel words business reminds me of a phrase we toss about at The Beehive: TFC.

I knew a handsome fellow named Fisher in college who was a master of stating the obvious, in a value-free sort of way, when a compliment was really what was called for.

Examples:
"You're wearing a dress today."
"You made a lot of lasagna."
"Your hair is lighter."
"You look different today."

[OK, Fish... and your point is?]

His chums began to refer to these as Typical Fisher Comments, or TFC for short.

We took up lightheartedly mocking him in response:
"Good, Fish, good. Now, tell us all how you Feeeeeeel About It."
"Opinions Can Be Your Friends, Fish."
"Step 2: Emote about the lasagna."

And so on.

We tried to persuade him that this was a most efficient way to kill a good conversation. I urged him to Just Say No to becoming the Master of Cosmic Duh. His mother read Emily Post to him over dinner. All to no avail. When I graduated from college, he said, "My. You've graduated." Four years later, when I invited him to my wedding... well, you can guess. And that's my point. Dull, dull, dull.

He really was quite intelligent, and very well read. There was just no accounting for it.

I haven't seen Fisher in fifteen years, but TFC lives on: my acerbic offspring have picked it up. So when one daughter says to the other "Your toenails are pink," or "That outfit is new," the other will snarkishly indict: "TFC."

Very Useful, like I said.

Small

by Fa-So-La-La


I was startled by the world today--
The sky surprised my habits
And I saw that I was small.

I am a pinpoint in the universe,
A smallish-pinkish spot,
A speck on the face of glory.

All things in perspective now, and I
Could cry--for if this speck
Alone had tarnished, and no other---

The Lamb would still have bled.

I should infinitely prefer a book.......

Fa-So-La-La

Well, Beehive Faithful, I have been deliberating on the subject of books. Yes, I know, you are all in shock.

My deliberations have been about what to read this summer-- here is my list so far--

--The Five Red Herrings, Dorothy Sayers

--Glimpses of the Moon, Edith Wharton

--Reading Between the Lines, Gene Edward Veith

--Gulliver's Travels, Jonathan Swift

--The Dean's Watch, Elizabeth Goudge

--The Flying Inn, G.K. Chesterton

--Heretics, " "

--Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson

--Sophie's World, Jostein Gaarder

--The Complete Angler, Izaak Walton

--Short Stories of Eudora Welty

--Essays of C.S. Lewis


Questions? Comments? Complaints? And do y'all have any suggestions?

(As always, virtual M&M's to those enlightened souls who can tell me what I am quoting in the title!)

Author and Finisher

Fa-So-La-La

I was reading this week in school about the archetypal elements without which no story is satisfying-- the patterns that draw us in and stick with us most, the themes of a truly satisfying story. Reading this list I realized that every last one of them is present in the Gospel story--

First of all is the most basic, the birth-coming of age-struggle-maturation-death story. This is seen not only in Christ's life, but also figuratively in our lives, starting with the new birth and moving on through spiritual maturation.

Then there is the quest/journey storyline-- present in our search for the truth.

And the pursuit-capture-rescue-escape story-- this one's obvious!

It is a love story-- with not just 'ordinary' love (that of Christ and His Bride), but also unrequited love (the love of the Saviour for fallen sinners) and forbidden love (our love of sin that must be overcome).

It is an adventure story, with riddles, mystery, sacrifice, discovery, temptation, loss and gain of identity, metamorphosis, transformation, descent to a lower world, and even some figurative dragon-slaying!

And, best of all, it even ends in a wedding, which as every informed person knows is the only truly satisfactory way to end a story............. ;-)

So what does this tell us?
It makes me think that God is truly a master artisan, who wrote His own story with care and consideration. Maybe this is a little odd, but it is a truly fascinating line of thought! The fact that God created and that He created beautifully is a mandate to His children to also create beautifully. To be conformed to the image of the Creator involves being creators ourselves, and loving and delighting in excellent and well-made things just as he delighted in the excellence of His creation.

'My Lovely Lord Jesus Christ'

This is truly amazing-- it is the trial record and final Christian testimony of Marion Harvie, a young woman who was a martyr in Scotland in the 1600's. Please do read it, even though it is long-- it is well worth your time!

http://members.aol.com/Voxknoxrox/cloudofwitnesses.html#11

Whatsoever ye do -- or, How To Sweep The Floor

Queen Shenaynay

A favorite verse:
"Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." Colossians 3:23

Since Beehive scholars are studying the Renaissance, it's particularly timely to consider that George Herbert must have liked that verse, too, way back in 1633, when he wrote the following:

The Elixir

Teach me, my God and King,
In all things Thee to see,
And what I do in any thing,
To do it as for Thee:

Not rudely, as a beast,
To runne into an action;
But still to make Thee prepossest,
And give it His perfection.

A man that looks on glasse,
On it may stay his eye;
Or if he pleaseth, through it passe,
And then the heav’n espie.

All may of Thee partake:
Nothing can be so mean,
Which with this tincture (for Thy sake)
Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause
Makes drudgerie divine:
Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws,
Makes that and th’ action fine.

This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold:
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for lesse be told.


Charles Wesley loved this poem enough to arrange it into a hymn by the same title. (Beehive scholars will, of course, click that link to hear the tune... and will do so heartily, will they not? ;-)

* * * * *

John Ruskin, the eminent Victorian thinker and critic, came along about 200 years after Herbert (and almost 200 years before Beehive scholars came on the scene), and said it this way:

"There is no action so slight nor so mean* but it may be done to a great purpose, and ennobled therefore; nor is any purpose so great but that slight actions may help it, and may be so done as to help it much, most especially, that chief of all purposes -- the pleasing of God."

*as in the earlier usage of mean: base, common, low in quality or grade, inferior.

* * * * *

"Not with eye-service, as men-pleasers; but in singleness of heart, fearing God." Colossians 3:22

The Pleasant Places

Fa-So-La-La

We are reading Wind in the Willows aloud as a family in the evenings, and I am in awe. This book is beautiful in every sense of the word. Here is a section that we read last night that I thought was especially insightful and lovely---

"As he hurried along, eagerly anticipating the moment when he would be at home again among the things he knew and liked, the Mole saw clearly that he was an animal of tilled field and hegerow, linked to the ploughed furrow, the frequented pasture, the lane of evening lingerings, the cultivated garden plot. For others the asperities, the stubborn endurance, or the clash of actual conflict, that went with Nature in the rough; he must be wise, must keep to the pleasant places in which his lines were laid and which held adventure enough, in their way, to last a lifetime."


May we all have the wisdom to keep to the pleasant places in which our lines are laid.

Electoral Spudage

Well, today Spuddy Buddy was watching a School House Rock ditty about the voting process, and all was well until they showed one of those red-and-blue maps of America, showing an equal number of red and blue states. Whereupon Spuddy Buddy, child of the '04 elections as he is, exlaimed in horror--

"WHAT? You mean people are actually VOTING for those bad guys?"

Muahahahahahahahahahahaha. Around here, we brainwash 'em young.

Revenge of a mortal hand

Queen Shenaynay

One of my favorite modern poems -- do enjoy. The poet is Polish, a 1996 Nobel Prize laureate.


The Joy of Writing

Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence - this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word "woods."

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they'll never let her get away.

Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.

They forget that what's here isn't life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.

Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.


By Wislawa Szymborska
From No End of Fun, 1967
translated from Polish by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh

Give Up on That Legacy Thing, Already!

Queen Shenaynay

The first choke-splutter-guffaw came when former President Bill Clinton opined that the Pope would "have a mixed legacy."

If I recall correctly, I think psychologists call this "transference." Or is it "projection"? (My college psych class is getting to be a while back.)

But Clinton inadvertently wins the Irony of the Day Award again today with this beaut, again about the Pope:

"There will be debates about him. But on balance, he was a man of God, he was a consistent person, he did what he thought was right. That's about all you can ask of anybody."

Oh, okay... so we can ask that of... like maybe... the man in the Oval Office?

Buffalo Meat

Fa-So-La-La

One of the loveliest ways to spend an afternoon is in a tree reading C. S. Lewis or something, I think. Today it was C. S. Lewis's essay on The Lord of the Rings. There was one comment that was so brilliant that I couldn't not share it. This is exactly the right way to think about fantasy--

"The value of the myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by 'the veil of familiarity'. The child enjoys his cold meat (otherwise dull to him) by pretending it is a buffalo, just killed with his own bow and arrow. And the child is wise. The real meat comes back to him the more savoury for having been dipped in a story; you might say that only then is it the real meat. If you are tired of the real landscape, look at it in a mirror. By putting bread, gold horse, apple or the very roads into a myth we do not retreat from reality: we discover it. As long as the story lingers in our mind, the real things are more themselves........By dipping them in myth we see them more clearly."

This is so true. It also happens to be a very good summary of the message of Finding Neverland. Anyway, it reminds me of the other day when we took two of Spuddy Buddy's and the Shieldmaiden's friends to a town about two hours away. On the way there the boys were pretending that the passing cars were evil warriors, and they fought them Incredibles-style with their superpowers. Because they had absorbed these fantasies, the road and the cars and travelling itself were restored to the magic that they were supposed to have.

After Biology

by Fa-So-La-La


The Sacred and the Sacredly Ordained
Are marked by order--
Covenants and cells
A Mighty Wonder.

Humanity is selfish squalor--
It cannot see
Beauties in Him-- but only--
Divinity of Me.

A Debatable and Desert Land

Fa-So-La-La


All the talk about Beowulf lately reminded me of this paper I wrote for school earlier this year. The assignment was to state whether Beowulf was essentially pagan or Christian-- it was a fascinating thing to think and write about. There are some papers that are truly fun to write, and this was one of them.



On Tolkein’s map of Middle Earth lies a region south of Gondor marked ‘A Debatable and Desert Land.’ Does it belong to Gondor – or the Wild Men? Beowulf is debatable land in the realm of literature – to whom does it belong: Pagan or Christian? An answer may be found in comparing Beowulf with The Iliad.

A hero’s motives reveal his ideology – does he serve others, or self? Unabashed selfishness is rampant in The Iliad. Agamemnon rails because he can’t keep Chryseis, Achilles sulks while his comrades die, Hera tricks Zeus into serving her whims. We hear much talk of winning great glory. “My honors never equal yours,” Achilles rages, like a child who counts one less marshmallow in his cocoa than in his brother’s. Beowulf’s motives seem so noble by comparison–

“. . . I come to proffer
my whole-hearted help and council.
I can show the wise Hrothgar a way
to defeat his enemy and find respite–...
I can calm the terror in his mind.” (ll 277-282)

Responses to treasures are also telling. Returning home, Beowulf offers his gifts from Hrothgar to his king. We can scarcely imagine Achilles in so sharing a mood! But Beowulf prefers a good name over great riches, and loving favor to silver and gold. He is contrasted with ancient kings whose treasure he has freed from the dragon–

“The high-born chiefs who had buried the treasure
declared it until doomsday so accursed
that whoever robbed it would be guilty of wrong
and grimly punished for their transgression
. . . Yet Beowulf’s gaze at the gold treasure
when he saw it first had not been selfish.” (ll 3069-3075)

The Iliad, marked by incessant bickering among mortals and immortals, has for heroes men of rage fuming through clenched teeth. Beowulf seeks peace. Even snarling Unferth receives courtesy, though he “was sick with envy” at Beowulf’s coming and “could not brook or abide the fact/ that anyone else alive under heaven might enjoy a greater reward than he did.” When Unferth twists a tale of Beowulf ’s bravery, he is met with mercy: “Well, friend Unferth, you have had your say/ about Brecca and me. But it was mostly beer/ that was doing the talking.” Beowulf upbraids Unferth with reason –

“The fact is, Unferth, if you were truly
as keen or courageous as you claim to be
Grendel would never have gotten away with
such unchecked atrocity, attacks on your king,
havoc in Heorot and horrors everywhere.” (ll 590–594)

Compare this to Achilles’ rant at Agamemnon–

“Staggering drunk, with your dog’s eyes, your fawn’s heart!
Never once did you arm with the troops and go to battle
or risk an ambush packed with Achaea’s picked men–
You lack the courage, you can see death coming.”

A culture of civility is present in Beowulf but absent in The Iliad. Why? Perhaps this reflects the natures of Beowulf’s God and the pagan pantheon. Mount Olympus rings with anger – “Do as you please– /but none of the deathless gods will ever praise you” says Hera to Zeus in a typical exchange. These gods model neither humility nor serving others. Beowulf’s ‘Almighty Father’ is never accused. No vile tales are told of Him, no complaints of intrigue and trickery such as abound in pagan mythology. Men speak of Him with a respect foreign to the gods of Olympus, always calling Him Lord of Ages, God Almighty, Lord of All, Heavenly Shepherd, Holy Lord.

The gods of the Iliad and Beowulf are served differently. The pagan gods are temperamental, requiring continual sacrifice, catered to like bratty toddlers. They turn without warning. Aphrodite’s threat to Helen is particularly chilling– and revealing:

“Don’t provoke me– wretched headstrong girl!
Or in my immortal rage I may just toss you over,
hate you as I adore you now. . .”

These gods are unstable as water, served with instability by men who are ever afraid of them. Beowulf’s just and merciful God is served so differently, with trust rather than sacrifice:

“. . . And may the Divine Lord
in His wisdom grant the glory of victory
to whichever side He sees fit.” (pg. 47, ln. 685-687)

Is Beowulf Pagan or Christian? Perhaps our labels are too convenient. We like history neatly tagged by era, as though Medieval turned to Renaissance promptly on January 1, 1400. But history moves like seasons – who can mark the minute summer has gone?

Similarly, Beowulf chafes at tidy labels. It creaks on the hinge between cultures, where grandfather is pagan but grandson is Christian. Beowulf , the debatable land, is perhaps just south of Gondor– but no longer wholly wild.

Like Beowulf, this paper was written on a hinge – on a Thor’s day in the month of Octavius... in the Year of Our Lord 2004.

Calling all Inklings!

The Shieldmaiden

No longer do my LOTR ramblings infect this blog...they are now contained in a gallon Ziplock....just kidding!

Please come visit my new LOTR blog:
http://inklingsunanimous.blogspot.com/

~A note to Darkside and Fa-so-la-la~
If you have not posted on my blog by the next time that I check, I shall be very PUT OUT.

Amen, Brother!

"Euangelio (that we cal gospel) is a greke word, and signifyeth good, mery, glad and joyful tydings, that maketh a mannes hert glad, and maketh hym synge, daunce and leepe for joye."


---William Tyndale

Tartan Day 2005

Great Scot

In 1998, the U.S. Congress set aside April 6 for honoring the astounding contributions of the Scots to the founding and development of the United States of America. As a result, National Tartan Day, a long-held tradition in Scotland and England, was adopted for celebration in the United States. On March 9, 2005, Congress once again renewed Tartan Day to occur on the 6th day of each following April. Bonny Beehive scholars will want to visit the US site and the UK site for truly fascinating information. Consider it a requirement!

In honor of Tartan Day, the following is an ode penned by the great Scottish poet Robert Burns regarding a man that we in the Beehive refer to as "Uncle Bob." This poem is based upon a rousing speech that Robert the Bruce is supposed to have given to his men prior to the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314, which battle secured the freedom of Scotland.

It is sung to a traditional piping tune, which all good and reasonable people will want to listen to while reading the poem. (Follow the index to "S" to find the tune.)

SCOTS WHA HAE

Scots! wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots! wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,
Or to victory!

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour:
See approach proud Edward's power -
Chains and slavery!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!

What for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Let him on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow! -
Let us do or die!

Now, over the objection of The Queen, I submit a second Burns poem, which captures the essence of Scottish cuisine:

TO A HAGGIS

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan o' the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn they stretch an' strive,
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scronful' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow's wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r,
Gie her a Haggis!


Scots Aye!

[Queen Shenaynay here] Turning aside from the haggis, per usual, The Queen will now interject a juicy bit on Scots Wha Hae... As Great Scot mentioned, Burns crafted the poem from the legendary address of Robert the Bruce to his troops. Then, curiously, William Walker (not Wallace, mind you!), the reknowned hymn writer, arranged the words of the poem into a hymn entitled "Bruce's Address," which is included in a number of old hymnals, including The Good Old Songs, which I have open in my lap at this moment. The hymn is sung to the same traditional piping tune as the poem. Notice how Walker changes the cause of Scotland into the cause of Christ, and replaces King Edward with Satan.

Bruce's Address

Soldiers of the cross, arise,
Lo, your Captain from the skies,
Holding forth the glitt'ring prize,
Calls to Victory.
Fear not, tho' the battle low'r,
Firmly stand the trying hour
Stand the tempter's utmost pow'r,
Spurn his slavery!

Who the cause of Christ would yield?
Who would leave the battlefield?
Who would cast away his shield?
Let him basely go.
Who for Zion's King will stand?
Who will join the faithful band?
Let him come with heart and hand,
Let him face the foe.

By the mercies of our God,
By Emmanuel's streaming blood,
When alone for us He stood,
Ne'er give up the strife:
Ever to the latest breath,
Hark to what your Captain saith --
"Be thou faithful unto death;
Take the crown of life."


Virtual M&Ms to Gentle Reader Bob Zimmerman for sharing that the Boston Camerata recorded both Scots Wha Hae and Bruce's Address on their cd Travelin' Home. Click on the link and go have a listen!

Handsome, Clever, and Rich

Fa-So-La-La

WARNING-- SPOILERS! If you have not read or seen Emma, think twice before reading this post! :-)

Well, I have finished Emma again-- the last book in this round of Jane Austen. (Soooo sad.) I had never really seen before this reading the 'issue' or 'theme' of Emma, but this time it was just fascinating, and a subject that I was thinking about anyway. Don't you love it when that happens? :-) I have gotten so much wisdom and food for thought out of Jane Austen this time around-- I loved it before, but I did not truly see how great she was or thoroughly comprehend the ideas and themes behind the stories.

The main point of Emma is simplicity-- not simplicity as in ignorance or naivete, but as in openness and frankness, and a wholehearted approach to people and relationships. The book is really about honesty-- intellectual, emotional and spiritual honesty, as well as honesty in our dealings with others. Emma, at the beginning of the book, is about as dishonest within herself and with others as she can be. She fools herself constantly, lets her wishes color her observations and judgment, is artful in her relationships with even those who she mosts loves and trusts, is conceited, and lets herself indulge in if not completely unmerited then an inexusable self-conceit-- all the while convinced that her judgment is excellent, her insight unparalleled, and her plans and schemes unrivalled in wisdom and felicity. She is truly a mess.

As the book unfolds it is amazing and fascinating to watch layer after layer of her self-deception be stripped away. Starting with the mess with Mr. Elton and Harriet, and going through to her final and grand realization and self-discovery at the end, she progresses layer by layer through her pretentions and follies and conceits until she arrives at the point where there is nothing left but herself, and she realises how truly foolish that self is-- much like in Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis. The issues at the hearts of the two books are not the same, but the theme of self-discovery runs through and unifies both. Another post on this later-- there is much here to discuss!

Some will doubtless disagree with me (and if you do please leave your comments! I would love to hear other people's opinion on this), but to me the climax of the book is the two parties-- the afternoon at Donwell Abbey and the excursion to Box Hill. It is telling to me that right at the climax of the book Jane places these two events that so clearly show the difference in the designedly simple and natural and that which actually is simple and natural. It is a brilliant touch, designed to give a visual and anecdotal idea of the concept behind the book.

Think first about the two people involved- Mr. Knightly, the model in the book for simplicity (the good kind), honesty, and realness: and Mrs. Elton, the model of self-deception, self-conceit, pretension, and dishonesty. The opinions of Mr. Knightly and Mrs. Elton on the subject of the party at Donwell set forth what I mean perfectly (and hilariously):

(Mrs. Elton) "It is to be a morning scheme, you know, Knightly; quite a simple thing. I shall wear a large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my arm. Here,-- probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be more simple, you see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be no form or parade-- a sort of gipsy party.-- We are to walk about in your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under the trees;-- and whatever else you may like to provide, it is all to be out of doors-- a table spread in the shade, you know. Everything as natural and simple as possible. Is not that your idea?"

(Mr. Knightly) "Not quite. My idea of the simple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the dining room. The nature and the simplicity of gentleman and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by meals within doors. When you are tired of eating strawberries in the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house." ........

(Mrs. Elton) "I wish we had a donkey. The thing would be for us all to come on donkies, Jane, Miss Bates, and me-- and my caro sposo walking by......."


How simple and natural. A pink basket with ribbons, and an entrance on a donkey.... I think I shall let this passage speak for itself.

The party at Donwell is delightful -- everything really real, everything the way the nature of people truly likes. It is spontaneous, simple, unscheduled-- everybody is allowed to be happy in their own way. The excursion to Box Hill on the other hand, under the guidence and planning of Mrs. Elton, is a complete and total disaster. It is hot, the party is out of spirits, nobody really enjoys themselves, everybody is offended by something. But most noteworthy of all the aspects of it is the unnatural and forced character of it-- nobody is quite themselves, and most especially Emma and Frank. Frank reaches a level of gaiety and gallantry unbearable even to Emma, and she under his influence is the same, abandoning her usual propriety and making herself unpleasant to all.

It is immediately after this (and largely due to it) that everything begins to come clear and many things are made plain as the book winds up to its conclusion. Emma sees her pretentions and superficialities and follies, and repents.....and everybody lives happily ever after.

This book, besides having these issues covered in so fascinating and insightful a way, also is one of the most hilarious books ever written. The comedy of the people around Emma is brilliantly written and laugh-out-loud funny. The writing style and organization of the plot is, as always, clean, concise, and elegant, and to add to all that, is Mr. Knightly just the COOLEST or WHAT? :-) Seriously, I think Mr. Knightly, of all the men in Jane's writing, is the one most deserving to be admired and emulated. He is truly Knightly.

Anyway, even though this time around my favorite has been Mansfield Park, Emma is so delightful that every time I read it I think it is the best. If you have not read it, please, do yourself a favor and do so immediately!

No Polluted Thing

Fa-So-La-La

I am currently reading Passion and Purity by Elisabeth Elliot, and I ran across something that made me stop dead in my tracks. OK, well maybe not dead, just stunned and thoughtful. :-)

"In Lilias Trotter's beautifully illustrated book, Parables of the Cross, she describes the death-life cycle of plants, which illustrates the spiritual processes that must go on in us if we are to die to self and live to God.....

'The fair new petals must fall, and for no visible reason. No one seems enriched by the stripping.
And the first step into the realm of giving is a like surrender-- not manward but Godward: an utter yielding of our best. So long as our idea of surrender is limited to the renouncing of unlawful things, we have never grasped the true meaning: that is not worthy of the name for 'no polluted thing' can be offered.
The life lost on the Cross was not a sinful one-- the treasure poured forth there was God-given, God blessed treasure, lawful and right to be kept: only that there was the life of the world at stake."

This is a truly amazing thought. The Lord deserves more than a negative offering-- the renouncing of the things forbidden. He deserves and requires the positive offering of things which seem good to us. He asks us to put our faith in him and give up our best for his service.
It is easy to look at something you have or something you desire and say to yourself that it is a good thing and therefore God must approve you having it. But the way that seems right unto man may not be right by God's reckoning, and so we must be prepared and willing to give up even the things that we would have sworn it was good for us to have.

I sometimes fall into traps of thinking that I am really being a good Christian because I am keeping all the rules and giving up the things of the world. But the truest sacrifice is to give up the things that seem good and right. Are we ready to literally offer our best?