Pa was unmoved by the beauties of Sussex or by
the colors of the sunset, which for the moment made picturesque the
scraggy evergreens on the horizon. His eyes were with his heart, and
that was in Sparta. Above the roar of the car-wheels we heard his
nagging inquiries.
"What did Lycurgus do then?"
Answer not audible.
"No. He made laws. Who did he make laws for?"
"For the Greeks."
"He made laws for the Lacedemonians. Who was another great
lawgiver?"
"It was - it was - Pericles."
"No, it was n't. It was Solon. Who was Solon?"
"Solon was one of the wise men of Greece."
"That's right. When did he flourish?"
When the train stops at a station the classics continue, and the
studious group attracts the attention of the passengers. Pa is well
pleased, but not so the young lady, who beseechingly says,
"Pa, everybody can hear us."
"You would n't care how much they heard, if you knew it," replies
this accomplished devotee of learning.
In another lull of the car-wheels we find that pa has skipped over to
Marathon; and this time it is the daughter who is asking a question.
"Pa, what is a phalanx?"
"Well, a phalanx - it's a - it's difficult to define a phalanx. It's a
stretch of men in one line, - a stretch of anything in a line. When
did Alexander flourish?"
This domestic tyrant had this in common with the rest of us, that he
was much better at asking questions than at answering them. It
certainly was not our fault that we were listeners to his instructive
struggles with ancient history, nor that we heard his petulant
complaining to his cowed family, whom he accused of dragging him away
on this summer trip. We are only grateful to him, for a more
entertaining person the traveler does not often see. It was with
regret that we lost sight of him at St. John.
Night has settled upon New Brunswick and upon ancient Greece before
we reach the Kennebeckasis Bay, and we only see from the car windows
dimly a pleasant and fertile country, and the peaceful homes of
thrifty people. While we are running along the valley and coming
under the shadow of the hill whereon St. John sits, with a regal
outlook upon a most variegated coast and upon the rising and falling
of the great tides of Fundy, we feel a twinge of conscience at the
injustice the passing traveler must perforce do any land he hurries
over and does not study. Here is picturesque St. John, with its
couple of centuries of history and tradition, its commerce, its
enterprise felt all along the coast and through the settlements of
the territory to the northeast, with its no doubt charming society
and solid English culture; and the summer tourist, in an idle mood
regarding it for a day, says it is naught!
