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Produced by Daniel Fromont. HTML version by Al Haines.
[Transcriber's note: This is the third of a series of four novels by
Susan Warner, all of which are in the Project Gutenberg collection:
1. What She Could
2. | 192.354682 |
2023-11-16 18:20:16.3357640 | 1,724 | 11 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
THE HAUNTED MINE
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON
AUTHOR OF "THE GUNBOAT SERIES," "ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,"
"WAR SERIES," ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SALE OF "OLD HORSE," 1
II. CASPER IS DISGUSTED, 13
III. JULIAN IS ASTONISHED, 24
IV. WHERE THE BOX WAS, 38
V. CASPER THINKS OF SOMETHING, 52
VI. A MR. HABERSTRO APPEARS, 65
VII. A PLAN THAT DIDN'T WORK, 78
VIII. CLAUS CALLS AGAIN, 91
IX. THE MASTER MECHANIC, 105
X. WHERE ARE THE VALISES? 118
XI. IN DENVER, 132
XII. CASPER NEVINS, THE SPY, 146
XIII. GETTING READY FOR WORK, 160
XIV. HOW CASPER WAS SERVED, 174
XV. HOW A MINE WAS HAUNTED, 188
XVI. GOOD NEWS, 201
XVII. MR. BANTA IS SURPRISED, 215
XVIII. GRUB-STAKING, 228
XIX. GOING TO SCHOOL, 243
XX. WATERSPOUTS AND BLIZZARDS, 256
XXI. THE CAMP AT DUTCH FLAT, 271
XXII. THE HAUNTED MINE, 286
XXIII. HAUNTED NO LONGER, 302
XXIV. "THAT IS GOLD," 317
XXV. CLAUS, AGAIN, 332
XXVI. CLAUS HEARS SOMETHING, 348
XXVII. BOB TRIES STRATEGY, 365
XXVIII. AN INHUMAN ACT, 380
XXIX. A TRAMP WITH THE ROBBERS, 392
XXX. HOME AGAIN, 406
XXXI. CONCLUSION, 420
THE HAUNTED MINE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SALE OF "OLD HORSE."
"Going for twenty-five cents. Going once; going twice; going----"
"Thirty cents."
"Thirty cents! Gentlemen, I am really astonished at you. It is a
disgrace for me to take notice of that bid. Why, just look at that
box. A miser may have hidden the secret of a gold-mine in it. Here it
is, neatly dovetailed, and put together with screws instead of nails;
and who knows but that it contains the treasure of a lifetime hidden
away under that lid? And I am bid only thirty cents for it. Do I hear
any more? Won't somebody give me some more? Going for thirty cents
once; going twice; going three times, and sold to that lucky fellow
who stands there with a uniform on. I don't know what his name is.
Step up there and take your purchase, my lad, and when you open that
box, and see what is in it, just bless your lucky stars that you came
to this office this afternoon to buy yourself rich."
It happened in the Adams Express office, and among those who always
dropped around to see how things were going was the young fellow who
had purchased the box. It was on the afternoon devoted to the sale of
"old horse"--packages which had lain there for a long time and nobody
had ever called for them. When the packages accumulated so rapidly
that the company had about as many on hand as their storeroom could
hold, an auctioneer was ordered to sell them off for whatever he could
get. Of course nobody could tell what was in the packages, and
somebody always bought them by guess. Sometimes he got more than his
money's worth, and sometimes he did not. That very afternoon a man
bought a package so large and heavy that he could scarcely lift it
from the counter, and so certain was he that he had got something
worth looking at that he did not take the package home with him, but
borrowed a hammer from one of the clerks and opened it on the spot,
the customers all gathering around him to see what he had. To the
surprise of everybody, he turned out half a dozen bricks. A partner of
the man to whom the box was addressed had been off somewhere to buy a
brickyard, and, not satisfied with the productions of the yard, had
enclosed the bricks to the man in St. Louis, to see how he liked them.
The purchaser gazed in surprise at what he had brought, and then threw
down the hammer and turned away; but by the time he got to the door
the loud laughter of everybody in the office--and the office was
always full at the sale of "old horse"--caused him to arrest his
steps. By that time he himself was laughing.
"I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he; "those bricks, which
are not worth a nickel apiece, cost me just two dollars."
He was going on to say something more, but the roar that arose caused
him to wait until it was all over. Then he went on:
"I have spent fifty dollars for 'old horse,' and if anybody ever knows
me to spend another dollar in that way I will give him my head for a
football. A man who comes here to squander his money for anything like
that is a dunce, and ought to have a guardian appointed over him. I
wish you all a very good day."
But in spite of this man's experience, Julian Gray had invested in
this box because he thought there was something in it. He did not care
for what the auctioneer said to him, for he talked that way to
everybody; but Julian knew there were no bricks in it, for it was done
up too neatly. The box was not more than twelve inches long and half
as wide, and by shaking it up and down the boy became aware that there
were papers of some kind in it. He paid the clerk the amount of his
bid upon it, picked up his purchase, and started for the door, paying
no heed to the remarks that were offered for his benefit. There he met
another boy, dressed in a uniform similar to the one he himself wore,
and stopped to exchange a few words with him.
"Well, you got something at last," said the boy. "It is not bricks, I
can swear to that."
"No, sir, it is not," said Julian. "Lift it. It contains papers of
some kind."
"Why don't you open it, and let us see what is in it?"
"I won't do that, either. I am not going to have the whole party
laughing at me the way they served that man a little while ago. Come
up to my room when Jack comes home, and then I will open it."
"I would not be in your boots for a good deal when Jack sees that
box," said the boy, hurrying away. "He says you have no business to
spend the small earnings you get on such gimcracks as 'old | 192.355804 |
2023-11-16 18:20:16.3439010 | 1,891 | 16 |
E-text prepared by Mark C. Orton, Jacqueline Jeremy, Ian Deane, Linda
McKeown, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 24097-h.htm or 24097-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/4/0/9/24097/24097-h/24097-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/4/0/9/24097/24097-h.zip)
THE STORY OF RED FEATHER
A Tale of the American Frontier
by
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Illustrated
[Illustration]
McLoughlin Brothers, Inc.
Made in U. S. A.
McLoughlin Bros. Inc.
Springfield Mass.
Publishers
1828
[Illustration: "To-wika talked soothingly to him."--Page 118]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Brother and Sister--The Signal 3
CHAPTER TWO
An Important Letter--Shut in 14
CHAPTER THREE
Caught Fast--A Friend in Need 25
CHAPTER FOUR
The Consultation--On the Roof 36
CHAPTER FIVE
A Strange Visit--Ominous Signs 47
CHAPTER SIX
The Muddy Creek Band--The Torch 58
CHAPTER SEVEN
"A Little Child Shall Lead Them"--Surrounded by Peril 69
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tall Bear and his Warriors--A Surprising Discovery 80
CHAPTER NINE
Nat Trumbull and his Men--Out in the Night 91
CHAPTER TEN
An Old Friend--Separated 102
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At the Lower Crossing--Tall Bear's Last Failure 114
CHAPTER TWELVE
Conclusion 127
THE STORY OF RED FEATHER
CHAPTER ONE
BROTHER AND SISTER--THE SIGNAL
It is within my memory that Melville Clarendon, a lad of sixteen years,
was riding through Southern Minnesota, in company with his sister
Dorothy, a sweet little miss not quite half his own age.
They were mounted on Saladin, a high-spirited, fleet, and good-tempered
pony of coal-black color. Melville, who claimed the steed as his own
special property, had given him his Arabian name because he fancied
there were many points of resemblance between him and the winged
coursers of the East, made famous as long ago as the time of the
Crusades.
The lad sat his horse like a skilled equestrian, and indeed it would be
hard to find his superior in that respect throughout that broad stretch
of sparsely settled country. Those who live on the American frontier are
trained from their earliest youth in the management of quadrupeds, and
often display a proficiency that cannot fail to excite admiration.
Melville's fine breech-loading rifle was slung over his shoulder, and
held in place by a strap that passed in front. It could be quickly drawn
from its position whenever needed. It was not of the repeating pattern,
but the youth was so handy with the weapon that he could put the
cartridges in place, aim, and fire not only with great accuracy, but
with marked rapidity.
In addition, he carried a good revolver, though he did not expect to use
either weapon on the short journey he was making. He followed, however,
the law of the border, which teaches the pioneer never to venture beyond
sight of his home unprepared for every emergency that is likely to
arise.
It was quite early in the forenoon, Melville having made an early start
from the border-town of Barwell, and he was well on his way to his home,
which lay ten miles to the south. "Dot," as his little sister was called
by her friends, had been on a week's visit to her uncle's at the
settlement, the agreement all round being that she should stay there for
a fortnight at least; but her parents and her big brother rebelled at
the end of the week. They missed the prattle and sunshine which only Dot
could bring into their home, and Melville's heart was delighted when his
father told him to mount Saladin and bring her home.
And when, on the seventh day of her visit, Dot found her handsome
brother had come after her, and was to take her home the following
morning, she leaped into his arms with a cry of happiness; for though
her relatives had never suspected it, she was dreadfully home-sick and
anxious to get back to her own people.
In riding northward to the settlement, young Clarendon followed the
regular trail, over which he had passed scores of times. Not far from
the house he crossed a broad stream at a point where the current (except
when there was rain) was less than two feet deep. Its shallowness led to
its use by all the settlers within a large radius to the southward, so
that the faintly marked trails converged at this point something like
the spokes of a large wheel, and became one from that point northward to
the settlement.
A mile to the east was another crossing which was formerly used. It was
not only broader, but there were one or two deep holes into which a
horse was likely to plunge unless much care was used. Several unpleasant
accidents of this nature led to its practical abandonment.
The ten miles between the home of the Clarendons and the little town of
Barwell consisted of prairie, stream, and woodland. A ride over the
trail, therefore, during pleasant weather afforded a most pleasing
variety of scenery, this being especially the case in spring and summer.
The eastern trail was more marked in this respect and it did not unite
with the other until within about two miles of the settlement. Southward
from the point of union the divergence was such that parties separating
were quickly lost to view of each other, remaining thus until the stream
of which I have spoken was crossed. There the country became so open
that on a clear day the vision covered all the space between.
I have been thus particular in explaining the "lay of the land," as it
is called, because it is necessary in order to understand the incidents
that follow.
Melville laughed at the prattle of Dot, who sat in front of him, one of
his arms encircling her chubby form, while Saladin was allowed to walk
and occasionally gallop, as the mood prompted him.
There was no end of her chatter; and he asked her questions about her
week's experience at Uncle Jack's, and told her in turn how much he and
her father and mother had missed her, and what jolly times they would
have when she got back.
Melville hesitated for a minute on reaching the diverging point of the
paths. He was anxious to get home; but his wish to give his loved sister
all the enjoyment possible in the ride led him to take the abandoned
trail, and it proved a most unfortunate thing that he did so.
Just here I must tell you that Melville and Dot Clarendon were dressed
very much as boys and girls of their age are dressed to-day in the more
settled parts of my native country. Remember that the incidents I have
set out to tell you took place only a very few years ago.
Instead of the <DW53>-skin cap, buckskin suit, leggings and moccasins, of
the early frontier, Melville wore a straw hat, a thick flannel shirt,
and, since the weather was quite warm, he was without coat or vest. His
trousers, of the ordinary pattern, were clasped at the waist by his
cartridge belt, and his shapely feet were encased in strong well-made
shoes. His revolver was thrust in his hip-pocket, and the broad collar
of his shirt was clasped at the neck by a twisted silk handkerchief.
As for Dot, her clustering curls rippled from under a jaunty straw hat,
and fluttered about her pretty shoulders, while the rest of her visible
attire consisted of a simple dress, shoes, and stockings. The extra
clothing taken with her on her visit was tied in a neat small bundle,
fastened to the saddle behind Melville. Should they encounter any sudden
change in the weather, they were within easy reach, while the lad looked
upon himself as strong enough to make useless any such care for him.
Once or twice Melville stopped Saladin and let Dot down to the ground,
that she might gather some of the bright flowers growing by the ways | 192.363941 |
2023-11-16 18:20:16.3439240 | 2,507 | 6 |
Produced by Donald Lainson
LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
By William Makepeace Thackeray (AKA Titmarsh)
I. FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
II. GHENT--BRUGES:--
Ghent (1840)
Bruges
III. WATERLOO
LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
I.--FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
... I quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" at Richmond, one of the
comfortablest, quietest, cheapest, neatest little inns in England, and
a thousand times preferable, in my opinion, to the "Star and Garter,"
whither, if you go alone, a sneering waiter, with his hair curled,
frightens you off the premises; and where, if you are bold enough to
brave the sneering waiter, you have to pay ten shillings for a bottle
of claret; and whence, if you look out of the window, you gaze on a view
which is so rich that it seems to knock you down with its splendor--a
view that has its hair curled like the swaggering waiter: I say, I
quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" with deep regret, believing that I
should see nothing so pleasant as its gardens, and its veal cutlets, and
its dear little bowling-green, elsewhere. But the time comes when people
must go out of town, and so I got on the top of the omnibus, and the
carpet-bag was put inside.
If I were a great prince and rode outside of coaches (as I should if I
were a great prince), I would, whether I smoked or not, have a case of
the best Havanas in my pocket--not for my own smoking, but to give them
to the snobs on the coach, who smoke the vilest cheroots. They poison
the air with the odor of their filthy weeds. A man at all easy in his
circumstances would spare himself much annoyance by taking the above
simple precaution.
A gentleman sitting behind me tapped me on the back and asked for a
light. He was a footman, or rather valet. He had no livery, but the
three friends who accompanied him were tall men in pepper-and-salt
undress jackets with a duke's coronet on their buttons.
After tapping me on the back, and when he had finished his cheroot,
the gentleman produced another wind-instrument, which he called a
"kinopium," a sort of trumpet, on which he showed a great inclination
to play. He began puffing out of the "kinopium" a most abominable
air, which he said was the "Duke's March." It was played by particular
request of one of the pepper-and-salt gentry.
The noise was so abominable that even the coachman objected (although
my friend's brother footmen were ravished with it), and said that it
was not allowed to play toons on HIS 'bus. "Very well," said the valet,
"WE'RE ONLY OF THE DUKE OF B----'S ESTABLISHMENT, THAT'S ALL." The
coachman could not resist that appeal to his fashionable feelings. The
valet was allowed to play his infernal kinopium, and the poor fellow
(the coachman), who had lived in some private families, was quite
anxious to conciliate the footmen "of the Duke of B.'s establishment,
that's all," and told several stories of his having been groom in
Captain Hoskins's family, NEPHEW OF GOVERNOR HOSKINS; which stories the
footmen received with great contempt.
The footmen were like the rest of the fashionable world in this
respect. I felt for my part that I respected them. They were in daily
communication with a duke! They were not the rose, but they had lived
beside it. There is an odor in the English aristocracy which intoxicates
plebeians. I am sure that any commoner in England, though he would die
rather than confess it, would have a respect for those great big hulking
Duke's footmen.
The day before, her Grace the Duchess had passed us alone in a
chariot-and-four with two outriders. What better mark of innate
superiority could man want? Here was a slim lady who required four--six
horses to herself, and four servants (kinopium was, no doubt, one of the
number) to guard her.
We were sixteen inside and out, and had consequently an eighth of a
horse apiece.
A duchess = 6, a commoner = 1/8; that is to say,
1 duchess = 48 commoners.
If I were a duchess of the present day, I would say to the duke my noble
husband, "My dearest grace, I think, when I travel alone in my chariot
from Hammersmith to London, I will not care for the outriders. In these
days, when there is so much poverty and so much disaffection in the
country, we should not eclabousser the canaille with the sight of our
preposterous prosperity."
But this is very likely only plebeian envy, and I dare say, if I were
a lovely duchess of the realm, I would ride in a coach-and-six, with a
coronet on the top of my bonnet and a robe of velvet and ermine even in
the dog-days.
Alas! these are the dog-days. Many dogs are abroad--snarling dogs,
biting dogs, envious dogs, mad dogs; beware of exciting the fury of
such with your flaming red velvet and dazzling ermine. It makes ragged
Lazarus doubly hungry to see Dives feasting in cloth-of-gold; and so
if I were a beauteous duchess... Silence, vain man! Can the Queen
herself make you a duchess? Be content, then, nor gibe at thy betters of
"the Duke of B----'s establishment-- that's all."
ON BOARD THE "ANTWERPEN," OFF EVERYWHERE.
We have bidden adieu to Billingsgate, we have passed the Thames Tunnel;
it is one o'clock, and of course people are thinking of being hungry.
What a merry place a steamer is on a calm sunny summer forenoon, and
what an appetite every one seems to have! We are, I assure you, no less
than 170 noblemen and gentlemen together, pacing up and down under the
awning, or lolling on the sofas in the cabin, and hardly have we passed
Greenwich when the feeding begins. The company was at the brandy and
soda-water in an instant (there is a sort of legend that the beverage is
a preservative against sea-sickness), and I admired the penetration of
gentlemen who partook of the drink. In the first place, the steward WILL
put so much brandy into the tumbler that it is fit to choke you; and,
secondly, the soda-water, being kept as near as possible to the boiler
of the engine, is of a fine wholesome heat when presented to the hot and
thirsty traveller. Thus he is prevented from catching any sudden cold
which might be dangerous to him.
The forepart of the vessel is crowded to the full as much as the
genteeler quarter. There are four carriages, each with piles of
imperials and aristocratic gimcracks of travel, under the wheels of
which those personages have to clamber who have a mind to look at the
bowsprit, and perhaps to smoke a cigar at ease. The carriages overcome,
you find yourself confronted by a huge penful of Durham oxen, lying
on hay and surrounded by a barricade of oars. Fifteen of these horned
monsters maintain an incessant mooing and bellowing. Beyond the cows
come a heap of cotton-bags, beyond the cotton-bags more carriages, more
pyramids of travelling trunks, and valets and couriers bustling and
swearing round about them. And already, and in various corners and
niches, lying on coils of rope, black tar-cloths, ragged cloaks, or hay,
you see a score of those dubious fore-cabin passengers, who are never
shaved, who always look unhappy, and appear getting ready to be sick.
At one, dinner begins in the after-cabin--boiled salmon, boiled beef,
boiled mutton, boiled cabbage, boiled potatoes, and parboiled wine for
any gentlemen who like it, and two roast-ducks between seventy. After
this, knobs of cheese are handed round on a plate, and there is a talk
of a tart somewhere at some end of the table. All this I saw peeping
through a sort of meat-safe which ventilates the top of the cabin, and
very happy and hot did the people seem below.
"How the deuce CAN people dine at such an hour?" say several genteel
fellows who are watching the manoeuvres. "I can't touch a morsel before
seven."
But somehow at half-past three o'clock we had dropped a long way down
the river. The air was delightfully fresh, the sky of a faultless
cobalt, the river shining and flashing like quicksilver, and at this
period steward runs against me bearing two great smoking dishes covered
by two great glistening hemispheres of tin. "Fellow," says I, "what's
that?"
He lifted up the cover: it was ducks and green pease, by jingo!
"What! haven't they done YET, the greedy creatures?" I asked. "Have the
people been feeding for three hours?"
"Law bless you, sir, it's the second dinner. Make haste, or you won't
get a place." At which words a genteel party, with whom I had been
conversing, instantly tumbled down the hatchway, and I find myself one
of the second relay of seventy who are attacking the boiled salmon,
boiled beef, boiled cabbage, &c. As for the ducks, I certainly had
some pease, very fine yellow stiff pease, that ought to have been
split before they were boiled; but, with regard to the ducks, I saw the
animals gobbled up before my eyes by an old widow lady and her party
just as I was shrieking to the steward to bring a knife and fork to
carve them. The fellow! (I mean the widow lady's whiskered companion)--I
saw him eat pease with the very knife with which he had dissected the
duck!
After dinner (as I need not tell the keen observer of human nature who
peruses this) the human mind, if the body be in a decent state, expands
into gayety and benevolence, and the intellect longs to measure itself
in friendly converse with the divers intelligences around it. We ascend
upon deck, and after eying each other for a brief space and with a
friendly modest hesitation, we begin anon to converse about the weather
and other profound and delightful themes of English discourse. We
confide to each other our respective opinions of the ladies round about
us. Look at that charming creature in a pink bonnet and a dress of the
pattern of a Kilmarnock snuff-box: a stalwart Irish gentleman in a green
coat and bushy red whisk | 192.363964 |
2023-11-16 18:20:16.4378590 | 2,147 | 22 |
Produced by David Edwards, Julia Neufeld and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Minor typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
* * * * *
REMINISCENCES OF THE
KING OF ROUMANIA
[Illustration:
_F. Mándy Bucharest._ _Art Repro Co. London._
Carol]
REMINISCENCES OF THE
KING OF ROUMANIA
EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL WITH
AN INTRODUCTION BY
SIDNEY WHITMAN
WITH PORTRAIT
_AUTHORIZED EDITION_
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS
1899
CONTENTS
PAGE.
INTRODUCTION vii
I. THE PRINCIPALITIES OF MOLDAVIA AND WALLACHIA 1
II. THE SUMMONS TO THE THRONE 11
III. STORM AND STRESS 32
IV. MARRIAGE AND HOME LIFE 83
V. FINANCIAL TROUBLES 129
VI. THE JEWISH QUESTION 143
VII. PEACEFUL DEVELOPMENT 155
VIII. THREATENING CLOUDS 218
IX. THE ARMY 250
X. THE WAR WITH TURKEY 265
XI. THE BERLIN CONGRESS AND AFTER 311
EPILOGUE 355
INTRODUCTION
Volk und Knecht und Ueberwinder,
Sie gestehn zu jeder Zeit;
Höchstes Glück der Erdenkinder
Sey nur die Persönlichkeit.
GOETHE (_West-Oestlicher Divan_).
It is said to have been a chance occasion which gave the first
impetus towards the compilation of the German original[1] from which
these "Reminiscences of the King of Roumania have been re-edited and
abridged." One day an enterprising man of letters applied to one
who had followed the King's career for years with vivid interest:
"The public of a country extending from the Alps to the ocean is
eager to know something about Roumania and her Hohenzollern ruler."
The King, without whose consent little or nothing could have been
done, thought the matter over carefully; in fact, he weighed it in
his mind for several years before coming to a final decision. At
first his natural antipathy to being talked about--even in praise
(to criticism he had ever been indifferent)--made him reluctant
to provide printed matter for public comment. On the other hand,
he had long been most anxious that Roumania should attract more
public attention than the world had hitherto bestowed on her. In
an age of universal trade competition and self-advertisement, for
a country to be talked about possibly meant attracting capitalists
and opening up markets: things which might add materially to her
prosperity. With such possibilities in view, the King's own personal
taste or scruples were of secondary moment to him. So the idea
first suggested by a stranger gradually took shape in his mind, and
with it the desire to see placed before his own subjects a truthful
record of what had been achieved in Roumania in his own time. By
these means he hoped to give his people an instructive synopsis of
the difficulties which had been successfully overcome in the task of
creating practical institutions out of chaos.
[1] "Aus dem Leben König Karls von Rumänien. Aufzeichnungen eines
Augenzeugen." Stuttgart: Verlag der J. G. Cotta'schen Buchhandlung.
As so often happens in such cases, the work grew beyond the limits
originally entertained. But the task was no easy one, and involved
the labour of several years. However, the result achieved is well
worth the trouble, for it is an historical document of exceptional
political interest, containing, among other material, important
letters from Prince Bismarck, the Emperor William, the Emperor
Frederick, the Czar of Russia, Queen Victoria, and Napoleon III.
It is, in fact, a piece of work which a politician must consult
unless he is to remain in the dark concerning much of moment in the
political history of our time, and particularly in the history of
the Eastern Question. "The Reminiscences of the King of Roumania"
constitute an important page in the story of European progress. Nor
is this all. They also contain a study in self-revelation which, so
far as it belongs to a regal character, is absolutely unique in its
completeness--even in an age so rich in sensational memoirs as our
own.
The subject-matter deals with a period of over twenty-five years
in the life of a young European nation, in the course of which she
gained her independence and strove successfully to retain it, whilst
more than trebling her resources in peaceful work. In this eventful
period greater changes have taken place in the balance of power in
Europe than in many preceding centuries. A republic has replaced
a monarchy in France, and also on the other side of the Atlantic,
in Brazil, since the days when a young captain of a Prussian
guard regiment, a scion of the House of Hohenzollern, set himself
single-handed the Sisyphean task of establishing a constitutional
representative monarchy on a soil where hitherto periodical
conspiracies and revolts had run riot luxuriously. Just here,
however, our democratic age has witnessed the realisation of the
problem treated by Macchiavelli in "Il Principe"--the self-education
of a prince.
To-day, the man who thirty-three years ago came down the Danube as
a perfect stranger--practically alone, without tried councillors or
adherents--is to all intents and purposes the omnipotent ruler of a
country which owes its independence and present position entirely
to his statesmanship. Nor can there be much doubt that but for him
Roumania and the Lower Danube might be now little more than a name
to the rest of Europe--as, indeed, they were in the past.
II
King Charles of Roumania is the second son of the late Prince
Charles Anthony[2] of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen: the elder South
German Roman Catholic branch of the House of Hohenzollern, of
which the German Emperor is the chief. Until the year 1849 the
Hohenzollern-Sigmaringens, whose dominions are situated between
Württemberg and Baden, near the spot where the Danube rises in the
Black Forest, possessed full sovereign rights as the head of one of
the independent principalities of the German Confederation. These
sovereign rights of his own and his descendants Prince Charles
Anthony formally and voluntarily ceded to Prussia on December 7,
1849. Of him we are credibly informed:
"Prince Charles Anthony lives in the history of the German people
as a man of liberal thought and high character, who of his own
free will gave up his sovereign prerogative for the sake of the
cause of German Unity. His memory is green in the hearts of his
children as the ideal of a father, who--for all his strictness and
discipline--was not feared, but ever loved and honoured, by his
family. He was always the best friend and adviser of his grown-up
sons." His letters to his son Charles, which are frequently quoted
in the present memoir, fully bear out this testimony to the Prince's
intimate, almost ideal, relationship with his children, as also to
the magnanimity with which he is universally credited.
[2] This Prince always wrote his name Karl Anton, as a double name:
hence the retention here.
Of the King's mother--Princess Josephine of Baden--we learn:
"Princess Josephine was deeply religious without being in the least
bigoted. Her unselfishness earned for her the love and devotion of
all those who knew her. As a wife and a mother her life was one of
exceptional harmony and happiness. The great deference which King
Charles has always shown to the other sex has its source in the
veneration which he felt for his mother."
Prince Charles was born on April 20, 1839, at the ancestral
castle of the Hohenzollerns at Sigmaringen on the Danube, then
ruled over by his grandfather, the reigning Prince Charles of
Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen. The castle was not in those days the
treasury of art and history which it is at the present day. The
grandfatherly _régime_ was of a patriarchal, almost despotic kind:
every detail of household affairs was regulated with a view to
strict economy. Though, perhaps, unpleasant at times, all this
proved to be invaluable training for the young Prince, whose
ultimate destiny it was to rule over one of the most extravagant
peoples in Europe. Punctuality was strictly enforced: at nine
o'clock the old Prince wound up his watch as a sign that the day
was over, and at ten darkness and silence reigned supreme over the
household.
Prince Charles was a delicate child, and was considered so
throughout his early manhood, though in reality his health and
bodily powers left little to be desired. The first happy years of
his childhood were passed at Sigmaringen and the summer residences
of Inzigkofen and Krauchenw | 192.457899 |
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Walter Pieterse
A Story of Holland
By
Multatuli
(Eduard Douwes Dekker)
Translated by
Hubert Evans, Ph. D.
New York
Friderici & Gareis
6 East Seventeenth Street
Copyright, 1904,
By
Friderici & Gareis
PREFACE
Most of us know that The Hague is somewhere in Holland; and we all
know that Queen Wilhelmina takes a beautiful picture; but to how many
of us has it occurred that the land of Spinoza and Rembrandt is still
running a literary shop?
How many of us have ever heard of Eduard Douwes Dekker? Very few,
I fear, except professional critics. And yet, the man who, forty
years ago, became famous as Multatuli (I have borne much), was not
only the greatest figure in the modern literature of the Netherlands,
but one of the most powerful and original writers in the literature
of the world. An English critic has called him the Heine of Holland;
Anatole France calls him the Voltaire of the Netherlands.
Eduard Douwes Dekker was born in 1820, at Amsterdam, his father being
the captain of a merchantman trading in the Dutch colonies. At the age
of eighteen Dekker sailed on his father's vessel for the East Indies,
determined to abandon the business career that had been mapped out for
him and enter the colonial service. In 1839 he received a clerkship
in the civil service at Batavia. He now remained in the employ of
the government for seventeen years, being promoted from one grade to
another until he was made Assistant Resident of Lebak in 1856.
In this important position he used his influence to better the
condition of the natives; but, to his sorrow, he soon found that he
did not have the support of his superiors. What he conceived to be
right clashed with the line of conduct he was expected to follow. In
a rash moment of "righteous indignation" he handed in his resignation;
and it was accepted.
This hasty step put an end to a brilliant political career and entailed
upon Dekker years of disappointment and hardship. Seeing that he was
pursuing the wrong method to help either the Javanese, or himself,
he immediately tried to get reinstated, but without success. In 1857
he returned to Holland and applied to the home government, hoping to
be vindicated and restored to his post. Again he was disappointed. The
government offered him another desirable position; but, as it was a
matter of principle with Dekker, he declined it.
When he saw that it was useless to importune the government further,
Dekker made his appeal to the people in "Max Havelaar" (1860). The book
was an instant success and made the name of Multatuli famous. Through
the perfidy of a supposed friend, however, Dekker failed to get very
substantial material rewards from this work. For ten years yet he
was struggling with poverty.
The Bohemian life that Dekker was now compelled to live--his family
was on the sufferance of friends--estranged him from his wife and
strengthened what some might call an unfortunate--or, at least, an
untimely--literary friendship that Dekker had formed with a certain
Miss Mimi Schepel, of The Hague. The spiritual affinity between the
two soon developed a passion that neither could resist. This estimable
lady, who afterwards became Dekker's second wife, is still living,
and has edited Dekker's letters in nine volumes. Dekker died in
February, 1887, at his home in Nieder-Ingelheim, where he had lived
for several years.
The "Woutertje Pieterse" story was first published in Dekker's
seven volume work entitled "Ideen." Here it is sandwiched in between
miscellaneous sketches, essays and treatises, being scattered all
the way from Vol. I to Vol. VII. The story falls naturally into two
parts, of which the present volume is the first part. The second part,
written in a different key, deals with "Walter's Apprenticeship."
A good deal of the flax, or silk, of his Chinaman's pigtail, to use
Dekker's form of expression, I have unraveled as being extraneous
matter. However, despite these omissions, it is quite possible that
some very sensitive person may still find objectionable allusions in
the book. If so, I must refer that one to the shade of Multatuli. From
his own admission his shoulders were evidently broad; and, no doubt,
they will be able to bear the additional strain.
Hubert Evans.
New York City,
November, 1904.
CONTENTS
Page
Chapter I
The origin of the story: regarding poetry, incurable love,
false hair, and the hero of the story--The dangers of fame and
the advantage of the upper shelf--The Chinaman's pigtail, and
the collar of humanity 1
Chapter II
An Italian robber on the "Buitensingel" in Amsterdam--The bitter
suffering of the virtuous Amalia--Wax candles, the palisades of
morality--The cunning of the little Hallemans--The limitations
of space 9
Chapter III
The difference between a sugar bowl and a Bible--Leentje's virtues
and defects--An unfounded suspicion against Pennewip's honor 18
Chapter IV
The profound silence of Juffrouw Laps--Stoffel's sermon--Walter's
fidelity to Glorioso--The last king of Athens--Ruined stomachs
and bursted ear-drums 24
Chapter V
How one may become a great man--The cleverness of
M'sieu Millaire--Versifying and the art of classifying
everything--Hobby-horses 27
Chapter VI
Preparations for a party--The assignment of roles--The conflict
between wishing and being--Some tricks of fancy--The two
sawmills--Amalia and the ducks 34
Chapter VII
Poetry and wigs--The vexation and despair of the latter 42
Chapter VIII
A tea-evening, and how it began--Some gaps in the author's
knowledge--Stoffel's zoological joke--The cause of the last Punic
war--And the advantage of smoking 48
Chapter IX
Echoes of the last Punic war--The defeat of Hannibal (Laps)
by Scipio (Pennewip) 61
Chapter X
Causes of the tedious peace in Europe, showing the value
of a "tea-evening" as a study--Specimens of school-verse
concluded--Suitable for society poets and clever children 68
Chapter XI
Report on the condition of the leading characters after the
catastrophe--Walter again: a character-study 75
Chapter XII
Leentje as a comforter and questioner--Prince Walter and his
dominions 80
Chapter XIII
Convincing proofs of Walter's improvement--His first invitation--A
study in love--Paradise and Peri 87
Chapter XIV
Great changes in the Pieterse family--Walter becomes poet-laureate
at the court of Juffrouw Laps--The mountains of Asia--The bridge,
Glorioso, and love--again 102
Chapter XV
Walter's dream--A swell coachman--Juffrouw Laps's difficulties
117
Chapter XVI
Femke hunts for Walter, and finds him under peculiar
circumstances--Her adventures by the way 125
Chapter XVII
The widower's birthday--Klaasje's poem, and how a surprise may
involve further surprises 132
Chapter XVIII
Walter's recovery--The doctor's pictures--Amsterdam dramaturgy
138
Chapter XIX
Pastors, sermons, and Juffrouw Laps--Chocolate, timidity, and
love--The fire that didn't break out--Some details of religious
belief 150
Chapter XX
Our hero calls on the doctor--Some strange happenings--How Walter
delivered his present 161
Chapter XXI
Ophelia reaches her destination, and Femke becomes a
queen--Walter's first experience "proposing"--Choosing a
profession 170
Chapter XXII
Walter enters the real world--The firm Motto, Business & Co.--The
technique of the novel--And the snuff of the Romans 180
Chapter XXIII
How one may become a "prodigal" by studying the story of the
Prodigal Son 194
Chapter XXIV
Why Walter did not see Femke--The worldliness of a servant of
the church--The secret of Father Jansen's deafness in his left
ear 201
Chapter XXV
Kings and doughnuts--How the masses soar and fall--Walter's
cowardice and remorse of conscience--A good remedy for the
blues 211
Chapter XXVI
Our hero retires thinking of Princess Erika, to be aroused
by robbers and murderers, who are in collusion with Juffrouw
Laps 225
Chapter XXVII
Walter alone with a pious lady, or Juffrouw Laps on the war-path
240
Chapter XXVIII
A midnight kiss--A wonderful statue in the "Juniper Berry"--
Republicans and True Dutch hearts--A sailor with--Femke? 245
Chapter XXIX
Sunrise on the "Dam"--An exciting encounter with a water-nymph--A
letter from heaven--America, a haven for prodigal sons 260
Chapter XXX
A message from Femke, which Walter fails to understand--Dr. Holsma
to the rescue--Femke and family portraits--Femke, and once more
Femke 270
Chapter XXXI
Stoffel's view of the matter--Juffrouw Laps's distress, and
Juffrouw Pieterse's elation--Elephants and butterflies, and
Kaatje's conception of heredity 279
Chapter XXXII
A theatrical performance under difficulties--The contest between
Napoleon and King Minos of Crete--A Goddess on Mt. Olympus--Kisses
and rosebuds 286
Chapter XXXIII
Conclusion 298
WALTER PIETERSE
CHAPTER I
I don't know the year; but, since the reader will be interested to
know the time when this story begins, I will give him a few facts to
serve as landmarks.
My mother complained that provisions were dear, and fuel as well. So
it must have been before the discovery of Political Economy. Our
servant-girl married the barber's assistant, who had only one
leg. "Such a saving of shoe-leather," the good little soul argued. But
from this fact one might infer that the science of Political Economy
had already been discovered.
At all events, it was a long time ago. Amsterdam had no sidewalks,
import duties were still levied, in some civilized countries there were
still gallows, and people didn't die every day of nervousness. Yes,
it was a long time ago.
The Hartenstraat! I have never comprehended why this street should
be called thus. Perhaps it is an error, and one ought to write
Hertenstraat, or something else. I have never found more "heartiness"
there than elsewhere; besides, "harts" were not particularly plentiful,
although the place could boast of a poulterer and dealer in venison.
I haven't been there for a long time, and I only remember that the
Straat connects two main canal-streets, canals that I would fill up
if I had the power to make Amsterdam one of the most beautiful cities
of Europe.
My predilection for Amsterdam, our metropolis, does not make me
blind to her faults. Among these I would mention first her complete
inability to serve as the scene of things romantic. One finds here
no masked Dominos on the street, the common people are everywhere
open to inspection, no Ghetto, no Templebar, no Chinese quarter,
no mysterious courtyard. Whoever commits murder is hanged; and the
girls are called "Mietje" and "Jansje"--everything prose.
It requires courage to begin a story in a place ending with
"dam." There it is difficult to have "Emeranties" and "Heloises";
but even these would be of little use, since all of these belles have
already been profaned.
How do the French authors manage, though, to dress up their "Margots"
and "Marions" as ideals and protect their "Henris" and "Ernestes"
from the trite and trivial? These last remind one of M'sieu Henri or
M'sieu Erneste just about like our castle embankments remind one of
filthy water.
Goethe was a courageous man: Gretchen, Klaerchen----
But I, in the Hartenstraat!
However, I am not writing a romance; and even if I should write one,
I don't see why I shouldn't publish it as a true story. For it is
a true story, the story of one who in his youth was in love with a
sawmill and had to endure this torture for a long time.
For love is torture, even if it is only love for a sawmill.
It will be seen that the story is going to be quite simple | 192.457989 |
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[Transcriber's Note: This e-book contains extensive passages from 18th
Century documents. Spelling, punctuation, hyphenation, and
capitalization are preserved as they appear in the original (including
"goal" for "gaol"). Superscripts are rendered as normal letters.
Macrons over consonants are rendered in brackets | 192.460539 |
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Transcriber's note
Some of the spellings and hyphenations in the original are unusual; they
have not been changed. Minor punctuation errors have been corrected
without notice. A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected,
and they are listed at the end of this book.
STARLIGHT RANCH
AND
OTHER STORIES OF ARMY
LIFE ON THE FRONTIER.
BY
CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,
AUTHOR OF
"MARION'S FAITH," "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER," ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1891.
Copyright, 1890, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
STARLIGHT RANCH 7
WELL WON; OR, FROM THE PLAINS TO "THE POINT" 40
FROM "THE POINT" TO THE PLAINS 116
THE WORST MAN IN THE TROOP 201
VAN 234
STARLIGHT RANCH.
We were crouching round the bivouac fire, for the night was chill, and
we were yet high up along the summit of the great range. We had been
scouting through the mountains for ten days, steadily working southward,
and, though far from our own station, our supplies were abundant, and it
was our leader's purpose to make a clean sweep of the line from old
Sandy to the Salado, and fully settle the question as to whether the
renegade Apaches had betaken themselves, as was possible, to the heights
of the Matitzal, or had made a break for their old haunts in the Tonto
Basin or along the foot-hills of the Black Mesa to the east. Strong
scouting-parties had gone thitherward, too, for "the Chief" was bound to
bring these Tontos to terms; but our orders were explicit: "Thoroughly
scout the east face of the Matitzal." We had capital Indian allies with
us. Their eyes were keen, their legs tireless, and there had been bad
blood between them and the tribe now broken away from the reservation.
They asked nothing better than a chance to shoot and kill them; so we
could feel well assured that if "Tonto sign" appeared anywhere along our
path it would instantly be reported. But now we were south of the
confluence of Tonto Creek and the Wild Rye, and our scouts declared that
beyond that point was the territory of the White Mountain Apaches,
where we would not be likely to find the renegades.
East of us, as we lay there in the sheltered nook whence the glare of
our fire could not be seen, lay the deep valley of the Tonto brawling
along its rocky bed on the way to join the Salado, a few short marches
farther south. Beyond it, though we could not see them now, the peaks
and "buttes" of the Sierra Ancha rolled up as massive foot-hills to the
Mogollon. All through there our scouting-parties had hitherto been able
to find Indians whenever they really wanted to. There were some officers
who couldn't find the Creek itself if they thought Apaches lurked along
its bank, and of such, some of us thought, was our leader.
In the dim twilight only a while before I had heard our chief packer
exchanging confidences with one of the sergeants,--
"I tell you, Harry, if the old man were trying to steer clear of all
possibility of finding these Tontos, he couldn't have followed a better
track than ours has been. And he made it, too; did you notice? Every
time the scouts tried to work out to the left he would herd them all
back--up-hill."
"We never did think the lieutenant had any too much sand," answered the
sergeant, grimly; "but any man with half an eye can see that orders to
thoroughly scout the east face of a range does not mean keep on top of
it as we've been doing. Why, in two more marches we'll be beyond their
stamping-ground entirely, and then it's only a slide down the west face
to bring us to those ranches in the Sandy Valley. Ever seen them?"
"No. I've never been this far down; but what do you want to bet that
_that's_ what the lieutenant is aiming at? He wants to get a look at
that pretty girl all the fellows at Fort Phoenix are talking about."
"Dam'd old gray-haired rip! It would be just like him. With a wife and
kids up at Sandy too."
There were officers in the party, junior in years of life and years of
service to the gray-headed subaltern whom some odd fate had assigned to
the command of this detachment, nearly two complete "troops" of cavalry
with a pack-train of sturdy little mules to match. We all knew that, as
organized, one of our favorite captains had been assigned the command,
and that between "the Chief," as we called our general, and him a
perfect understanding existed as to just how thorough and searching this
scout should be. The general himself came down to Sandy to superintend
the start of the various commands, and rode away after a long interview
with our good old colonel, and after seeing the two parties destined for
the Black Mesa and the Tonto Basin well on their way. We were to move at
nightfall the following day, and within an hour of the time of starting
a courier rode in from Prescott with despatches (it was before our
military telegraph line was built), and the commander of the
division--the superior of our Arizona chief--ordered Captain Tanner to
repair at once to San Francisco as witness before an important
court-martial. A groan went up from more than one of us when we heard
the news, for it meant nothing less than that the command of the most
important expedition of all would now devolve upon the senior first
lieutenant, Gleason; and so much did it worry Mr. Blake, his junior by
several files, that he went at once to Colonel Pelham, and begged to be
relieved from duty with that column and ordered to overtake one of the
others. The colonel, of course, would listen to nothing of the kind, and
to Gleason's immense and evident gratification we were marched forth
under his command. There had been no friction, however. Despite his gray
beard, Gleason was not an old man, and he really strove to be courteous
and conciliatory to his officers,--he was always considerate towards his
men; but by the time we had been out ten days, having accomplished
nothing, most of us were thoroughly disgusted. Some few ventured to
remonstrate. Angry words passed between the commander and Mr. Blake, and
on the night on which our story begins there was throughout the command
a feeling that we were simply being trifled with.
The chat between our chief packer and Sergeant Merrick ceased instantly
as I came forward and passed them on the way to look over the herd guard
of the little battalion, but it set me to thinking. This was not the
first that the officers of the Sandy garrison had heard of those two new
"ranches" established within the year down in the hot but fertile
valley, and not more than four hours' easy gallop from Fort Phoenix,
where a couple of troops of "Ours" were stationed. The people who had so
confidently planted themselves there were evidently well to do, and they
brought with them a good-sized retinue of ranch- and herdsmen,--mainly
Mexicans,--plenty of "stock," and a complete "camp outfit," which served
them well until they could raise the adobe walls and finish their
homesteads. Curiosity led occasional parties of officers or enlisted
men to spend a day in saddle and thus to visit these enterprising
neighbors. Such parties were always civilly received, invited to
dismount, and soon to take a bite of luncheon with the proprietors,
while their horses were promptly led away, unsaddled, rubbed down, and
at the proper time fed and watered. The officers, of course, had
introduced themselves and proffered the hospitality and assistance of
the fort. The proprietors had expressed all proper appreciation, and
declared that if anything should happen to be needed they would be sure
to call; but they were too busy, they explained, to make social visits.
They were hard at work, as the gentlemen could see, getting up their
houses and their corrals, for, as one of them expressed it, "We've come
to stay." There were three of these pioneers; two of them, brothers
evidently, gave the name of Crocker. The third, a tall, swarthy,
all-over-frontiersman, was introduced by the others as Mr. Burnham.
Subsequent investigations led to the fact that Burnham was first cousin
to the Crockers. "Been long in Arizona?" had been asked, and the elder
Crocker promptly replied, "No, only a year,--mostly prospecting."
The Crockers were building down towards the stream; but Burnham, from
some freak which he did not explain, had driven his stakes and was
slowly getting up his walls half a mile south of the other homestead,
and high up on a spur of foot-hill that stood at least three hundred
feet above the general level of the valley. From his "coigne of vantage"
the whitewashed walls and the bright colors of the flag of the fort
could be dimly made out,--twenty odd miles down stream.
"Every now and then," said Captain Wayne, who happened up our way on a
general court, "a bull-train--a small one--went past the fort on its way
up to the ranches, carrying lumber and all manner of supplies, but they
never stopped and camped near the post either going or coming, as other
trains were sure to do. They never seemed to want anything, even at the
sutler's store, though the Lord knows there wasn't much there they
_could_ want except tanglefoot and tobacco. The bull-train made perhaps
six trips in as many months, and by that time the glasses at the fort
could make out that Burnham's place was all finished, but never once had
either of the three proprietors put in an appearance, as invited, which
was considered not only extraordinary but unneighborly, and everybody
quit riding out there."
"But the funniest thing," said Wayne, "happened one night when I was
officer of the day. The road up-stream ran within a hundred yards of the
post of the sentry on No. 3, which post was back of the officer's
quarters, and a quarter of a mile above the stables, corrals, etc. I was
making the rounds about one o'clock in the morning. The night was bright
and clear, though the moon was low, and I came upon Dexter, one of the
sharpest men in my troop, as the sentry on No. 3. After I had given him
the countersign and was about going on,--for there was no use in asking
_him_ if he knew his orders,--he stopped me to ask if I had authorized
the stable-sergeant to let out one of the ambulances within the hour.
Of course I was amazed and said no. 'Well,' said he, 'not ten minutes
ago a four-mule ambulance drove up the road yonder going full tilt, and
I thought something was wrong, but it was far beyond my challenge
limit.' You can understand that I went to the stables on the jump, ready
to scalp the sentry there, the sergeant of the guard, and everybody
else. I sailed into the sentry first and he was utterly astonished; he
swore that every horse, mule, and wagon was | 192.460589 |
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Produced by Sue Asscher and Col Choat
EXPLORATIONS IN AUSTRALIA.
THE JOURNALS
OF
JOHN McDOUALL STUART
DURING THE YEARS
1858, 1859, 1860, 1861, & 1862,
WHEN HE FIXED THE CENTRE OF THE CONTINENT AND
SUCCESSFULLY CROSSED IT FROM SEA TO SEA.
EDITED FROM MR. STUART'S MANUSCRIPT
BY WILLIAM HARDMAN, M.A., F.R.G.S., &c.
With Maps, a Photographic Portrait of Mr. Stuart, and twelve Engravings
drawn on wood by George French Angas, from Sketches taken during
the different expeditions.
(SANS CHANGER.
S.O. AND CO.)
SECOND EDITION.
1865.
ADVERTISEMENT
TO THE
SECOND EDITION.
Since the first edition of this work was published Mr. Stuart has arrived
in England, and at a recent meeting of the Geographical Society he
announced that, taking advantage of his privilege as a discoverer, he had
christened the rich tract of country which he has opened up to the South
Australians Alexandra Land.
December 1st, 1864.
PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.
The explorations of Mr. John McDouall Stuart may truly be said, without
disparaging his brother explorers, to be amongst the most important in
the history of Australian discovery. In 1844 he gained his first
experiences under the guidance of that distinguished explorer, Captain
Sturt, whose expedition he accompanied in the capacity of draughtsman.
Leaving Lake Torrens on the left, Captain Sturt and his party passed up
the Murray and the Darling, until finding that the latter would carry him
too far from the northern course, which was the one he had marked out for
himself, he turned up a small tributary known to the natives as the
Williorara. The water of this stream failing him, he pushed on over a
barren tract, until he suddenly came upon a fruitful and well-watered
spot, which he named the Rocky Glen. In this picturesque glen they were
detained for six months, during which time no rain fell. The heat of the
sun was so intense that every screw in their boxes was drawn, and all
horn handles and combs split into fine laminae. The lead dropped from
their pencils, their finger-nails became as brittle as glass, and their
hair, and the wool on their sheep, ceased to grow. Scurvy attacked them
all, and Mr. Poole, the second in command, died. In order to avoid the
scorching rays of the sun, they had excavated an underground chamber, to
which they retired during the heat of the day.
When the long-expected rain fell, they pushed on for fifty miles to
another suitable halting-place, which was called Park Depot. From this
depot Captain Sturt made two attempts to reach the Centre of the
continent. He started, accompanied by four of his party, advancing over a
country which resembled an ocean whose mighty billows, fifty or sixty
feet high, had become suddenly hardened into long parallel ridges of
solid sand. The abrupt termination of this was succeeded at two hundred
miles by what is now so well known as Sturt's Stony Desert, to which
frequent allusion is made by Mr. Stuart in his journals. After thirty
miles more, this stony desert ceased with equal abruptness, and was
followed by a vast plain of dried mud, which Captain Sturt describes as
"a boundless ploughed field, on which floods had settled and subsided."
After advancing two hundred miles beyond the Stony Desert, and to within
one hundred and fifty miles of the Centre of the continent, they were
compelled to return to Park Depot, where they arrived in a most exhausted
condition.
A short rest at the Depot was followed by another expedition, Captain
Sturt being on this occasion accompanied by Mr. Stuart and two men. The
seventh day of their journey brought them to the banks of a fine creek,
now so well known as Cooper Creek in connection with the fate of those
unfortunate explorers, Burke and Wills. At two hundred miles from Cooper
Creek Captain Sturt and his party were again met by the Stony Desert, but
slightly varied in its aspect. Before abandoning his attempt to proceed,
the leader of the expedition laid the matter before his companions, and
he writes as follows: "I should be doing an injustice to Mr. Stuart and
my men, if I did not here mention that I told them the position we were
placed in, and the chance on which our safety would depend if we went on.
They might well have been excused if they expressed an opinion contrary
to such a course; but the only reply they made me was to assure me that
they were ready and willing to follow me to the last."
With much reluctance, however, Captain Sturt determined to return to
Cooper Creek without delay. They travelled night and day without
interruption, and on the morning of their arrival at the creek, one of
those terrible hot north winds, so much dreaded by the colonists, began
to blow with unusual violence. Lucky was it for them that it had not
overtaken them in the Desert, for they could scarcely have survived it.
The heat was awful; a thermometer, graduated to 127 degrees, burst,
though sheltered in the fork of a large tree, and their skin was
blistered by a torrent of fine sand, which was driven along by the fury
of the hurricane. They still had fearful difficulties to encounter, but
after an absence of nineteen months they returned safely to Adelaide.
The discouraging account of the interior which was brought by Captain
Sturt did not prevent other explorers from making further attempts; but
the terrible fate of Kennedy and his party on York Peninsula, and the
utter disappearance of Leichardt's expedition, both in the same year
(1848), had a very decided influence in checking the progress of
Australian exploration. Seven years later, in 1855, Mr. Gregory landed on
the north-west coast for the purpose of exploring the Victoria River, and
after penetrating as far south as latitude 20 degrees 16 minutes,
longitude 131 degrees 44 minutes, he was compelled to proceed to the head
of the Gulf of Carpentaria, and thence to Sydney along the route taken by
Dr. Leichardt in 1844. Shortly after his return Mr. Gregory was
despatched by the Government of New South Wales in 1857, to find, if
possible, some trace of the lost expedition of the lamented Leichardt;
his efforts, however, did nothing to clear up the mystery that enshrouds
the fate of that celebrated explorer.* (* It is possible that Mr.
McKinlay has been hasty in the opinion he formed from the graves and
remains of white men shown to him by Keri Keri, and the story related of
their massacre. May they not belong to Leichardt's party?)
The colonists of South Australia have always been distinguished for
promoting by private aid and public grant the cause of exploration. They
usually kept somebody in the field, whose discoveries were intended to
throw light on the caprices of Lake Torrens, at one time a vast inland
sea, at another a dry desert of stones and baked mud. Hack, Warburton,
Freeling, Babbage, and other well-known names, are associated with this
particular district, and, in 1858, Stuart started to the north-west of
the same country, accompanied by one white man (Forster) and a native. In
this, the first expedition which he had the honour to command, he was
aided solely by his friend Mr. William Finke, but in his later journeys
Mr. James Chambers also bore a share of the expense.* (* It is greatly to
be regretted that both these gentlemen are since dead. Mr. Chambers did
not survive to witness the success of his friend's later expeditions, and
the news of Mr. Finke's death reached us while these sheets were going
through the press.) This journey was commenced in May, 1858, from Mount
Eyre in the north to Denial and Streaky Bays on the west coast of the
Port Lincoln country. On this journey Mr. Stuart accomplished one of the
most arduous feats in all his travels, having, with one man only (the
black having basely deserted them), pushed through a long tract of dense
scrub and sand with unusual rapidity, thus saving his own life and that
of his companion. During this part of the journey they were without food
or water, and his companion was thoroughly dispirited and despairing of
success. This expedition occupied him till September, 1858, and was
undertaken with the object of examining the country for runs. On his
return the South Australian Government presented him with a large grant
of land in the district which he had explored.
Mr. Stuart now turned his attention to crossing the interior, and, with
the assistance of his friends Messrs. Chambers and Finke, he was enabled
to make two preparatory expeditions in the vicinity of Lake Torrens--from
April 2nd to July 3rd, 1859, and from November 4th, 1859, to January
21st, 1860. The fourth expedition started from Chambers Creek (discovered
by Mr. Stuart in 1858, and since treated as his head-quarters for
exploring purposes), on March 2nd, 1860, and consisted of Mr. Stuart and
two men, with thirteen horses. Proceeding steadily northwards, until the
country which his previous explorations had rendered familiar was left
far behind, on April 23rd the great explorer calmly records in his
Journal the following important announcement: "To-day I find from my
observations of the sun that I am now camped in the CENTRE OF AUSTRALIA."
One of the greatest problems of Australian discovery was solved! The
Centre of the continent was reached, and, instead of being an
inhospitable desert or an inland sea, it was a splendid grass country
through which ran numerous watercourses.
Leaving the Centre, a north-westerly course was followed, but, after
various repulses, a north-easterly course eventually carried the party as
far as latitude 18 degrees 47 minutes south, longitude 134 degrees, when
they were driven back by the hostility of the natives. As has already
been stated, Mr. Gregory in 1855, starting from the north-west coast, had
penetrated to the south as low as latitude 20 degrees 16 minutes,
longitude 127 degrees 35 minutes. Mr. Stuart had now reached a position
about half-way between Gregory's lowest southward point and the head of
the Gulf of Carpentaria. Without actually reaching the country explored
by Gregory, he had overlapped his brother explorer's position by one
degree and a half, or more than one hundred miles, and was about two
hundred and fifty miles in actual distance from the nearest part of the
shores of the Gulf. It is important to remark that the attack of the
savages which forced Mr. Stuart to return occurred on June 26th, 1860, so
that he had virtually crossed the continent two months before Messrs.
Burke and Wills had left Melbourne.* (* They did not leave Cooper Creek
until December 14th, rather more than a fortnight before Mr. Stuart
started on his fifth expedition.)
On New Year's day 1861, Mr. Stuart again left Adelaide, aided this time
by a grant from the Colonial Government of 2500 pounds, in addition to
the assistance of his well-tried friends Messrs. Chambers and Finke. He
made his former position with ease, and advanced about one hundred miles
beyond it, to latitude 17 degrees, longitude 133 degrees; but an
impenetrable scrub barred all further progress, and failing provisions,
etc., compelled him, after such prolonged and strenuous efforts that his
horses on one occasion were one hundred and six hours without water, most
reluctantly to return. The expedition arrived safely in the settled
districts in September, and the determined explorer, after a delay of
less than a month, was again despatched by the South Australian
Government along what had now become to him a familiar road. This time
success crowned his efforts; a passage was found northwards through the
opposing scrub, and leaving the Gulf of Carpentaria far to the right, the
Indian Ocean itself was reached. Other explorers had merely seen the rise
and fall of the tide in rivers, boggy ground and swamps intervening and
cutting off all chance of ever seeing the sea. But Stuart actually stood
on its shore and washed his hands in its waters! What a pleasure it must
have been to the leader when, knowing well from his reckoning that the
sea must be close at hand, but keeping it a secret from all except Thring
and Auld, he witnessed the joyful surprise of the rest of the party!
The expedition reached Adelaide safely, although for a long time the
leader's life was despaired of, the constant hardships of so many
journeys with scarcely any intermission having brought on a terrible
attack of scurvy. The South Australian Government in 1859 liberally
rewarded Mr. Stuart and his party for their successful enterprise.* (*
Mr. Stuart's qualities as a practised Bushman are unrivalled, and he has
always succeeded in bringing his party back without loss of life.) On the
10th of March a resolution was passed to the effect that a sum of 3500
pounds should be paid as a reward to John McDouall Stuart, Esquire, and
the members of his party, in the following proportions: Mr. Stuart 2000
pounds; Mr. Keckwick 500 pounds; Messrs. Thring and Auld 200 pounds each;
and Messrs. King, Billiatt, Frew, Nash, McGorrerey, and Waterhouse, 100
pounds each. Perhaps this is the most fitting place to express Mr.
Stuart's appreciation of the honour done him by the Royal Geographical
Society of London, in awarding him their gold medal and presenting him
with a gold watch. He wishes particularly to express his hearty thanks to
Sir Roderick Murchison, and the other distinguished members of the
society, for the lively interest they have evinced in his welfare.
Mr. Stuart's experiences have led him to form a very decided opinion as
to the cause of the well-known hot winds of Australia, so long the
subject of scientific speculation. North and north-west of Flinders Range
are large plains covered with stones, extending as far as latitude 25
degrees. To the north of that, although the sun was intensely hot, there
were no hot winds; in fact from that parallel of latitude to the Indian
Ocean, either going or returning, they were not met with. "On reaching
latitude 27 degrees on my return," writes Mr. Stuart, "I found the hot
winds prevailing again as on my outward journey. I saw no sandy desert to
which these hot winds have been attributed, but, on lifting some of the
stones that were lying on the surface,* I found them so hot that I was
obliged to drop them immediately. (* On the surface, as I suppose, of the
large plains North of Flinders Range. ED.) It is my opinion that when a
north wind blows across those stone-covered plains, it collects the heat
from them, and the air, becoming rarified, is driven on southwards with
increased vehemence. To the north of latitude 25 degrees, although
exposure to the sun in the middle of the day was very oppressive, yet the
moment we got under the shade of a tree we felt quite alive again; there
was none of that languid feeling which is experienced in the south during
a hot wind, as for example that which blew on the morning after reaching
the Hamilton,* in latitude 26 degrees 40 minutes. (* Journal 1861 to
1862.) That was one of the hottest winds I ever experienced. I had the
horses brought up at 7 o'clock, intending to proceed, but seeing there
was a very hot wind coming on, I had them turned out again. It was well I
did so, for before 10 o'clock all the horses were in small groups under
the trees, and the men lying under the shade of blankets unable to do
anything, so overpowering was the heat." Unfortunately, Mr. Stuart had no
thermometer.
Mr. Stuart is anxious to direct attention to the establishment of a
Telegraph line along his route. On this subject he writes as follows:--
"On my arrival in Adelaide from my last journey I found a great deal of
anxiety felt as to whether a line could be carried across to the mouth of
the Adelaide river. There would be a few difficulties in the way, but
none which could not be overcome and made to repay the cost of such an
undertaking. The first would be in crossing from Mr. Glen's station to
Chambers Creek, in finding timber sufficiently long for poles, supposing
that no more favourable line than I travelled over could be adopted, but
I have good reason for supposing that there is plenty of suitable timber
in the range and creek, not more than ten miles off my track: the
distance between the two places is one hundred miles. From Chambers Creek
through the spring country to the Gap in Hanson Range the cartage would
be a little farther, in consequence of the timber being scarce in some
places. There are many creeks in which it would be found, but I had not
time to examine them in detail. Another difficulty would be in crossing
the McDonnell Range, which is rough and ragged, but there is a great
quantity of timber in the Hugh; the distance to this in a straight line
is not more than seven miles; from thence to the Roper River there are a
few places where the cartage might be from ten to twenty miles, that is
in crossing the plains where only stunted gum-trees grow, but tall timber
can be obtained from the rising ground around them. From latitude 16
degrees 30 minutes south to the north coast, there would be no difficulty
whatever, as there is an abundance of timber everywhere. I am promised
information, through the kindness of Mr. Todd, of the Telegraph
department, as to the average cost of establishing the lines through the
outer districts of this colony, and it is my intention to make a
calculation of the cost of a line on my route, by which the comparative
merits and expense will be tested, and I am of opinion I shall be able to
show most favourable results. I should have been glad for this
information to have accompanied my works, but I find I cannot postpone
them longer for that purpose, as parties have already taken advantage of
the delay occasioned by my illness at the time of, and since, my arrival
home to collect what scraps of information they could obtain, with the
intention of publishing them as my travels. I leave the reward of such
conduct to a discriminating public; I shall not fail to carry out my
intention with regard to a Telegraph line; and should I have no
opportunity of submitting it to the public, I shall take care to advance
the matter in such channels as may be most likely to lead to a successful
issue. I beg reference to my map accompanying this work, which will at
once show the favourable geographical situation of the Adelaide River for
a settlement, and the short and safe route it opens up for communication
and trading with India: indeed when I look upon the present system of
shipping to that important empire, I cannot over-estimate the advantages
that such an extended intercourse would create."
Mr. Stuart is also very anxious for the formation of a new colony on the
scene of his discoveries on the River Adelaide, and would fain have been
one of the first pioneers of such an enterprise, but his health has been
so much shattered by his last journey that he can only now hope to see
younger men follow in the path which he had made his own. He writes as
follows:--
"Judging from the experience I have had in travelling through the
Continent of Australia for the last twenty-two years, and also from the
description that other explorers have given of the different portions
they have examined in their journeys, I have no hesitation in saying,
that the country that I have discovered on and around the banks of the
Adelaide River is more favourable than any other part of the continent
for the formation of a new colony. The soil is generally of the richest
nature ever formed for the benefit of mankind: black and alluvial, and
capable of producing anything that could be desired, and watered by one
of the finest rivers in Australia. This river was found by Lieutenant
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Produced by Sandra Laythorpe. HTML version by Al Haines.
LADY HESTER;
OR,
URSULA'S NARRATIVE.
by
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. SAULT ST. PIERRE
CHAPTER II. TREVORSHAM
CHAPTER III. THE PEERAGE CASE
CHAPTER IV. SKIMPING'S FARM
CHAPTER V. SPINNEY LAWN
CHAPTER VI. THE WHITE DOE'S WARNING
CHAPTER VII. HUNTING
CHAPTER VIII. DUCK SHOOTING
CHAPTER IX. TREVOR'S LEGACY
CHAPTER I.
SAULT ST. PIERRE.
I write this by desire of my brothers and sisters, that if any reports
of our strange family history should come down to after generations the
thing may be properly understood.
The old times at Trevorsham seem to me so remote, that I can hardly
believe that we are the same who were so happy then. Nay, Jaquetta
laughs, and declares that it is not possible to be happier than we have
been since, and Fulk would have me remember that all was not always
smooth even in those days.
Perhaps not--for him, at least, dear fellow, in those latter times; but
when I think of the old home, the worst troubles that rise before me
are those of the back-board and the stocks, French in the school-room,
and Miss Simmonds' "Lady Ursula, think of your position!"
And as to Jaquetta, she was born under a more benignant star. Nobody
could have put a back-board on her any more than on a kitten.
Our mother had died (oh! how happily for herself!) when Jaquetta was a
baby, and Miss Simmonds most carefully ruled not only over us, but over
Adela Brainerd, my father's ward, who was brought up with us because
she had no other relation in the world.
Besides, my father wished her to marry one of my brothers. It would
have done very well for either Torwood or Bertram, but unluckily, as it
seemed, neither of them could take to the notion. She was a dear
little thing, to be sure, and we were all very fond of her; but, as
Bertram said, it would have been like marrying Jaquetta, and Torwood
had other views, to which my father would not then listen.
Then Bertram's regiment was ordered to Canada, and that was the real
cause of it all, though we did not know it till long after.
Bertram was starting out on a sporting expedition with a Canadian
gentleman, when about ten miles from Montreal they halted at a farm
with a good well-built house, named Sault St. Pierre, all looking
prosperous and comfortable, and a young farmer, American in his
ways--free-spoken, familiar, and blunt--but very kindly and friendly,
was at work there with some French-Canadian labourers.
Bertram's friend knew him and often halted there on hunting
expeditions, so they went into the house--very nicely furnished, a
pretty parlour with muslin curtains, a piano, and everything pleasant;
and Joel Lea called his wife, a handsome, fair young woman. Bertram
says from the first she put him in mind of some one, and he was trying
to make out who it could be. Then came the wife's mother, a neat
little delicate, bent woman, with dark eyes, that looked, Bertram said,
as if they had had some great fright and never recovered it. They
called her Mrs. Dayman.
She was silent at first, and only helped her daughter and the maid to
get the dinner, and an excellent dinner it was; but she kept on looking
at Bertram, and she quite started when she heard him called Mr. Trevor.
When they were just rising up, and going to take leave, she came up to
him in a frightened agitated manner, as if she could not help it, and
said--
"Sir, you are so like a gentleman I once knew. Was any relation of
yours ever in Canada?"
"My father was in Canada," answered Bertram.
"Oh no," she said then, very much affected, "the Captain Trevor I knew
was killed in the Lake Campaign in 1814. It must be a mistake, yet you
put me in mind of him so strangely."
Then Bertram protested that she must mean my father, for that he had
been a captain in the --th, and had been stationed at York (as Toronto
was then called), but was badly wounded in repulsing the American
attack on the Lakes in 1814.
"Not dead?" she asked, with her cheeks getting pale, and a sort of
excitement about her, that made Bertram wonder, at the moment, if there
could have been any old attachment between them, and he explained how
my father was shipped off from England between life and death; and how,
when he recovered, he found his uncle dying, and the title and property
coming to him.
"And he married!" she said, with a bewildered look; and Bertram told
her that he had married Lady Mary Lupton--as his uncle and father had
wished--and how we four were their children. I can fancy how kindly
and tenderly Bertram would speak when he saw that she was anxious and
pained; and she took hold of his hand and held him, and when he said
something of mentioning that he had seen her, she cried out with a sort
of terror, "Oh no, no, Mr. Trevor, I beg you will not. Let him think
me dead, as I thought him." And then she drew down Bertram's tall head
to her, and fairly kissed his forehead, adding, "I could not help it,
sir; an old woman's kiss will do you no harm!"
Then he went away. He never did tell us of the meeting till long
after. He was not a great letter writer, and, besides, he thought my
father might not wish to have the flirtations of his youth brought up
against him. So we little knew!
But it seems that the daughter and son-in-law were just as much amazed
as Bertram, and when he was gone, and the poor old lady sank into her
chair and burst out crying, and as they came and asked who or what this
was, she sobbed out, "Your brother Hester! Oh! so like him--my
husband!" or something to that effect, as unawares. She wanted to take
it back again, but of course Hester would not let her, and made her
tell the whole.
It seems that her name was Faith Le Blanc; she was half English, half
French-Canadian, and lived in a village in a very unsettled part, where
Captain Trevor used to come to hunt, and where he made love to her, and
ended by marrying her--with the knowledge of her family and his brother
officers, but not of his family--just before he was ordered to the Lake
frontier. The war had stirred up the Indians to acts of violence they
had not committed for many years, and a tribe of them came down on the
village, plundering, burning, killing, and torturing those whom they
had known in friendly intercourse.
Faith Le Blanc had once given some milk to a papoose upon its mother's
back, and perhaps for this reason she was spared, but everyone
belonging to her was, she believed, destroyed, and she was carried away
by the tribe, who wanted to make her one of themselves; and she knew
that if she offended them, such horrors as she had seen practised on
others would come on her.
However, they had gone to another resort of theirs, where there was a
young hunter who often visited them, and was on friendly terms. When
he found that there was a white woman living as a captive among them,
he spared no effort to rescue her. Both he and she were often in
exceeding danger; but he contrived her escape at last, and brought her
through the woods to a place of safety, and there her child was born.
It was over the American frontier, and it was long before she could
write to her husband. She never knew what became of her letter, but
the hunter friend, Piers Dayman, showed her an American paper which
mentioned Captain Trevor among the officers killed in their attack.
Dayman was devoted to her, and insisted on marrying her, and bringing
up her daughter as his own. I fancy she was a woman of gentle passive
temper, and had been crushed and terrified by all she had gone through,
so as to have little instinct left but that of clinging to the
protector who had taken her up when she had lost everything else; and
she married him. Nor did Hester guess till that very day that Piers
Dayman was not her father!
There were other children, sons who have given themselves to hunting
and trapping in the Hudson's Bay Company's territory; but Hester
remained the only daughter, and they educated her well, sending her to
a convent at Montreal, where she learnt a good many accomplishments.
They were not Roman Catholics; but it was the only way of getting an
education.
Dayman must have been a warm-hearted, tenderly affectionate person.
Hester loved him very much. But he had lived a wild sportsman's life,
and never was happy at rest. They changed home often; and at last he
was snowed up and frozen to death, with one of his boys, on a bear
hunting expedition.
Not very long after, Hester married this sturdy American, Joel Lea, who
had bought some land on the Canadian side of the border, and her mother
came home to live with them. They had been married four or five years,
but none of their children had lived.
So it was when the discovery came upon poor old Mrs. Dayman (I do not
know what else to call her), that Fulk Torwood Trevor, the husband of
her youth, was not dead, but was Earl of Trevorsham; married, and the
father of four children in England.
Poor old thing! She would have buried her secret to the last, as much
in pity and love to him as in shame and grief for herself; and
consideration, too, for the sons, for whom the discovery was only less
bad than for us, as they had less to lose. Hester herself hardly fully
understood what it all involved, and it only gradually grew on her.
That winter her mother fell ill, and Mr. Lea felt it right that the
small property she had had for her life should be properly secured to
her sons, according to the division their father had intended. So a
lawyer was brought from Montreal and her will was made. Thus another
person knew about it, and he was much struck, and explained to Hester
that she was really a lady of rank, and probably the only child of her
father who had any legal claim to his estates. Lea, with a good deal
of the old American Republican temper, would not be stirred up. He
despised lords and ladies, and would none of it; but the lawyer held
that it would be doing wrong not to preserve the record. Hester had
grown excited, and seconded him; and one day, when Lea was out, the
lawyer brought a magistrate to take Mrs. Dayman's affidavit as to all
her past history--marriage witnesses and all. She was a good deal
overcome and agitated, and quite implored Hester never to use the
knowledge against her father; but she must have been always a passive,
docile being, and they made her tell all that was wanted, and sign her
deposition, as she had signed her will, as Faith Trevor, commonly known
as Faith Dayman.
She did not live many days after. It was on the 3rd of February, 1836,
that she died; and in the course of the summer Hester had a son, who
throve as none of her babies had done.
Then she lay and brooded over him and the rights she fancied he was
deprived of, till she worked herself up to a strong and fixed purpose,
and insisted upon making all known to her father. Now that her mother
was gone she persuaded herself that he had been a cruel, faithless
tyrant, who had wilfully deserted his young wife.
Joel Lea would not listen to her. Why should she wish to make his son
a good-for-nothing English lord? That was his view. Nothing but
misery, distress, and temptation could come of not letting things
alone. He held to that, and there were no means forthcoming either of
coming to England to present herself. The family were well to do, but
had no ready money to lay out on a passage across the Atlantic. Nor
would Hester wait. She had persuaded herself that a letter would be
suppressed, even if she had known how to address it; but to claim her
son's rights, and make an earl of him, had become her fixed idea, and
she began laying aside every farthing in her power.
In this she was encouraged, not by the lawyer who had made the
will--and who, considering that poor Faith's witnesses had been
destroyed, and her certificate and her wedding ring taken from her by
the Indians, thought that the marriage could not be substantiated--but
by a clever young clerk, who had managed to find out the state of
things; a man named Perrault, who used to come to the farm, always when
Lea was out, and talk her into a further state of excitement about her
child's expectations, and the injuries she was suffering. It was her
one idea. She says she really believes she should have gone mad if the
saving had not occupied her; and a very dreary life poor Joel must have
had whilst she was scraping together the passage-money. He still
steadily and sternly disapproved the whole, and when at two years' end
she had put together enough to bring her and her boy home, and maintain
them there for a few weeks, he still refused to go with her. The last
thing he said was, "Remember, Hester, what was the price of all the
kingdoms of the world! Thou wilt have it, then! Would that I could
say, my blessing go with thee." And he took his child, and held him
long in his arms, and never spoke one word over him but, "My poor boy!"
CHAPTER II.
TREVORSHAM
I suppose I had better tell what we had been doing all this time. Adela
and I had come out, and had a season or two in London, and my father
had enjoyed our pleasure in it, and paid a good deal of court to our
pretty Adela, because there was no driving Torwood into anything warmer
than easy brotherly companionship.
In fact, Torwood had never cared for anyone but little Emily Deerhurst.
Once he had come to her rescue, when she was only nine or ten years
old, and her schoolboy cousins were teasing her, and at every
Twelfth-day party since she and he had come together as by right.
There was something irresistible in her great soft plaintive brown
eyes, though she was scarcely pretty otherwise, and we used to call her
the White Doe of Rylstone. Torwood was six or seven years older, and
no one supposed that he seriously cared for her, till she was sixteen.
Then, when my father spoke point blank to him about Adela, he was
driven into owning what he wished.
My father thought it utter absurdity. The connection was not pleasant
to him; Mrs. Deerhurst was always looked on as a designing widow, who
managed to marry off her daughters cleverly, and he could believe no
good of Emily.
Now Adela always had more power with papa than any of us. She had a
coaxing way, which his stately old-school courtesy never could resist.
She used when we were children to beg for holidays, and get treats for
us; and even now, many a request which we should never have dared to
utter, she could, with her droll arch way, make him think the most
sensible thing in the world.
What odd things people can do who have lived together like brothers and
sisters! I can hardly help laughing when I think of Torwood coming
disconsolately up from the library, and replying, in answer to our
vigorous demands, that his lordship had some besotted notion past all
reason.
Then we pressed him harder--Adela with indignation, and I with
sympathy--till we forced out of him that he had been forbidden ever to
think or speak again of Emily, and all his faith in her laughed to
scorn, as delusions induced by Mrs. Deerhurst.
"I'm sure I hope you'll take Ormerod, Adela," I remember he ended;
"then at least you would be out of the way."
For Sir John Ormerod's courtship was an evident fact to all the family,
as, indeed, Adela was heiress enough to be a good deal troubled with
suitors, though she had hitherto managed to make them all keep their
distance.
Adela laughed at him for his kind wishes, but I could see she meant to
plead for him. She had her chance, for Sir John Ormerod brought
matters to a crisis at the next ball; and though she thought, as she
said, "she had settled him," he followed it up with her guardian, and
Adela was invited to a conference in the library.
It happened that as she ran upstairs, all in a glow, she came on
Torwood at the landing. She couldn't help saying in her odd
half-laughing, half-crying voice--
"It will come right, Torwood; I've made terms, I'm out of your way."
"Not Ormerod!" he exclaimed.
"Oh! no, no!" I can hear her dash of scorn now, for I was just behind
my brother, but she went on out of breath--
"You may go on seeing her, provided you don't say a word--till--till
she's been out two years."
"Adela! you queen of girls, how have you done it?" he began, but she
thrust him aside and flew up into my arms; and when I had her in her
own room it came out, I hardly know how, that she had so shown that she
cared for no one she had ever seen except my father, that they found
they _did_ love each other; and--and--in short they were going to be
married.
Really it seemed much less wonderful then than it does in thinking of
it afterwards. My father was much handsomer than any young man I ever
saw, with a hawk nose, a clear rosy skin, pure pink and white like a
boy's, curly little rings of white hair, blue eyes clear and bright as
the sky, a tall upright soldierly figure, and a magnificent stately
bearing, courteous and grand to all, but sweetly tender to a very few,
and to her above all. It always had been so ever since he had brought
her home an orphan of six years old from her mother's death-bed at
Nice. And he was youthful, could ride or hunt all day without so much
fatigue as either of his sons, and was as fresh and eager in all his
ways as a lad.
And she, our pretty darling! I don't think Torwood and I in the least
felt the incongruity of her becoming our step-mother, only that papa
was making her more entirely his own.
I am glad we did not mar the sunshine. It did not last long. She came
home thoroughly unwell from their journey to Switzerland, and never got
better. By the time the spring had come round again, she was lying in
the vault at Trevorsham, and we were trying to keep poor little Alured
alive and help my poor father to bear it.
He was stricken to the very heart, and never was the same man again.
His age seemed to come upon him all at once; and whereas at sixty-five
he had been like a man ten years younger, he suddenly became like one
ten years older; and though he never was actually ill, he failed from
month to month.
He could not bear the sight or sound of the poor baby. Poor Adela had
scarcely lived to hear it was a boy, and all she had said about it was,
"Ursula, you'll be his mother." And, oh! I have tried. If love would
do it, I think he could not be more even to dear Adela!
What a frail little life it was! What nights and days we had with him;
doctors saying that skill could not do it, but care might; and nurses
knowing how to be more effective than I could be; yet while I durst not
touch him I could not bear not to see him. And I do think I was the
first person he began to know.
Meantime, there was a great difference in Torwood. He had been very
much of a big boy hitherto. No one but myself could have guessed that
he cared for much besides a lazy kind of enjoyment of all the best and
nicest things in this world. He did what he was told, but in an
uninterested sort of way, just as if politics and county business, and
work at the estate, were just as much tasks thrust on him as Virgil and
Homer had been; and put his spirit into sporting, &c.
But when he was allowed to think hopefully of Emily, it seemed to make
a man of him, and he took up all that he had to do, as if it really
concerned him, and was not only a burden laid on him by his father.
And, as my father became less able to exert himself, Torwood came
forward more, and was something substantial to lean upon. Dear fellow!
I am sure he did well earn the consent he gained at last, though not
with much satisfaction, from papa.
Emily had grown into great sweetness and grace, and Mrs. Deerhurst had
gone on very well. Of course, people were unkind enough to say, it was
only because she had such prey in view as Lord Torwood; but, whatever
withheld her, it is certain that Emily only had the most suitable and
reasonable pleasures for a young lady, and was altogether as nice, and
gentle, and sensible, as could be desired. There never was a bit of
acting in her, she was only allowed to grow in what seemed natural to
her. She was just one of the nice simple girls of that day, doing her
quiet bit of solid reading, and her practice, and her neat little
smooth pencil drawing from a print, as a kind of duty to her
accomplishments every day; and filling books with neat up-and-down MS.
copies of all the poetry that pleased her. Dainty in all her ways,
timid, submissive, and as it seemed to me, colourless.
But Fulk taught her Wordsworth, who was his great passion then, and
found her a perfect listener to all his Tory hopes, fears, and usages.
Papa could not help liking her when she came to stay with us, after
they were engaged, at the end of two years. He allowed that, away from
her mother and all her belongings, she would do very well; and she was
so pretty and sweet in her respectful fear of him--I might almost say
awe--that his graceful, chivalrous courtesy woke up again; and he was
beginning absolutely to enjoy her, as she became a little more
confident and understood him better.
How well I remember that last evening! I was happier than I had been
for weeks about little Alured: the convulsions had quite gone off, the
teeth that had caused them were through, and he had been laughing and
playing on my lap quite brightly--cooing to his mother's miniature in
my locket. He was such an intelligent little fellow for eighteen
months! I came down so glad, and it was so pleasant to see Emily, in
her white dress, leaning over my father while he had gone so happily
into his old delight of showing his prints and engravings; and Torwood,
standing by the fire, watching them with the look of a conqueror, and
Jaquetta--like the absurd child she loved to be--teasing them with
ridiculous questions about their housekeeping.
They were to have Spinney Lawn bought for them, just a mile away, and
the business was in hand. Jacquey was enquiring whether there was a
parlour for The Cid, Torwood's hunter, whom she declared was as dear to
him as Emily herself. Indeed, Emily did go out every morning after
breakfast to feed him with bread. I can see her now on Torwood's arm,
with big Rollo and little Malta rolling over one another after them.
Then came an afternoon when we had all walked to Spinney Lawn, laid out
the gardens together, and wandered about the empty rooms, planning for
them. The birds were singing in the March sunshine, and the tomtits
were calling "peter" in the trees, and Jaquetta went racing about after
the dogs, like a thing of seven years old, instead of seventeen. And
Torwood was cutting out a root of primroses, leaves and all, for Emily,
when we saw a fly go along the lane, and wondered, with a sort of idle
wonder. We supposed it must be visitors for the parsonage, and so we
strolled home, looking for violets by the way, and Jaquetta getting
shiny studs of celandine. Ah! I remember those glistening stars were
all closed before we came back.
Well, it must come, so it is silly to linger! There stood the fly at
the hall-door, and the butler met us, saying--
"There's a person with his lordship, my lord. She would not wait till
you came in, though I told her he saw no one on business without you--"
Torwood hastened on before this, expecting to see some importunate
person bothering my father with a petition. What he did see was my
father leaning back in his chair, with a white, confounded, bewildered
look, and a woman, with a child on her lap, opposite. Her back was to
the door, and Torwood's first impression was that she was a
well-dressed impostor threatening him; so he came quickly to my
father's side, and said--
"What is it father? I'm here."
My poor father put out his hand feebly to him, | 192.560864 |
2023-11-16 18:20:16.5430190 | 7,435 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Franks, David Garcia and the PG Online Distributed
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[Illustration: "It has never occurred to one of you to ask _why_ I am
different from other women--to ask just what made me so!"]
THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE
BY KATHLEEN NORRIS
_Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert_
1915
CHAPTER I
To Emeline, wife of George Page, there came slowly, in her thirtieth
year, a sullen conviction that life was monstrously unfair. From a
resentful realization that she was not happy in her marriage, Emeline's
mind went back to the days of her pert, precocious childhood and her
restless and discontented girlhood, and she felt, with a sort of
smouldering fury, that she had never been happy, had never had a fair
chance, at all!
It took Mrs. Page some years to come to this conclusion, for, if she was
shrewd and sharp among the women she knew, she was, in essential things,
an unintelligent woman, and mental effort of any sort was strange to
her. Throughout her entire life, her mind had never been truly awakened.
She had scrambled through Grammar School, and had followed it with five
years as saleswoman in a millinery store, in that district of San
Francisco known as the Mission, marrying George Page at twenty-three,
and up to that time well enough pleased with herself and her life.
But that was eight years ago. Now Emeline could see that she had
reached--more, she had passed--her prime. She began to see that the
moods of those early years, however violent and changing, had been fed
upon secret springs of hope, hope vague and baseless enough, but strong
to colour a girl's life with all the brightness of a thousand dawns.
There had been rare potentialities in those days, anything might happen,
something _would_ happen. The little Emeline Cox, moving between the
dreary discomfort of home and the hated routine of school, might
surprise all these dull seniors and school-mates some day! She might
become an actress, she might become a great singer, she might make a
brilliant marriage.
As she grew older and grew prettier, these vague, bright dreams
strengthened. Emeline's mother was an overworked and shrill-voiced
woman, whose personality drove from the Shotwell Street house whatever
small comfort poverty and overcrowding and dirt left in it. She had no
personal message for Emeline. The older woman had never learned the care
of herself, her children, her husband, or her house. She had naturally
nothing to teach her daughter. Emeline's father occasionally thundered a
furious warning to his daughters as to certain primitive moral laws. He
did not tell Emeline and her sisters why they might some day consent to
abandon the path of virtue, nor when, nor how. He never dreamed of
winning their affection and confidence, or of selecting their friends,
and making home a place to which these friends might occasionally come.
But he was fond of shouting, when Emeline, May, or Stella pinned on
their flimsy little hats for an evening walk, that if ever a girl of his
made a fool of herself and got into trouble, she need never come near
his door again! Perhaps Emeline and May and Stella felt that the
virtuous course, as exemplified by their parents, was not all of roses,
either, but they never said so, and always shuddered dutifully at the
paternal warning.
School also failed with the education of the inner Emeline, although she
moved successfully from a process known as "diagramming" sentences to a
serious literary analysis of "Snow-Bound" and "Evangeline," and passed
terrifying examinations in ancient history, geography, and advanced
problems in arithmetic. By the time she left school she was a tall,
giggling, black-eyed creature, to be found walking up and down Mission
Street, and gossiping and chewing gum on almost any sunny afternoon.
Between her mother's whining and her father's bullying, home life was
not very pleasant, but at least there was nothing unusual in the
situation; among all the girls that Emeline knew there was not one who
could go back to a clean room, a hospitable dining-room, a well-cooked
and nourishing meal. All her friends did as she did: wheedled money for
new veils and new shoes from their fathers, helped their mothers
reluctantly and scornfully when they must, slipped away to the street as
often as possible, and when they were at home, added their complaints
and protests to the general unpleasantness.
Had there been anything different before her eyes, who knows what plans
for domestic reform might have taken shape in the girl's plastic brain?
Emeline had never seen one example of real affection and cooperation
between mother and daughters, of work quickly and skilfully done and
forgotten, of a clean bright house and a blossoming garden; she had
never heard a theory otherwise than that she was poor, her friends were
poor, her parents were poor, and that born under the wheels of a
monstrous social injustice, she might just as well be dirty and
discouraged and discontented at once and have done with it, for in the
end she must be so. Why should she question the abiding belief? Emeline
knew that, with her father's good pay and the excellent salaries earned
by her hard-handed, patient-eyed, stupid young brothers, the family
income ran well up toward three hundred dollars a month: her father
worked steadily at five dollars a day, George was a roofer's assistant
and earned eighty dollars a month, and Chester worked in a plumber's
shop, and at eighteen was paid sixty-five dollars. Emeline could only
conclude that three hundred dollars a month was insufficient to prevent
dirt, crowding, scolding, miserable meals, and an incessant atmosphere
of warm soapsuds.
Presently she outraged her father by going into "Delphine's" millinery
store. Delphine was really a stout, bleached woman named Lizzie Clarke,
whose reputation was not quite good, although nobody knew anything
definite against her. She had a double store on Market Street near
Eleventh, a dreary place, with dusty models in the windows, torn
Nottingham curtains draped behind them, and "Delphine" scrawled in gold
across the dusty windows in front. Emeline used to wonder, in the days
when she and her giggling associates passed "Delphine's" window, who
ever bought the dreadful hats in the left-hand window, although they
admitted a certain attraction on the right. Here would be a sign: "Any
Hat in this Window, Two Dollars," surrounded by cheap, dust-grained
felts, gaudily trimmed, or coarse straws wreathed with cotton flowers.
Once or twice Emeline and her friends went in, and one day when a card
in the window informed the passers-by that an experienced saleslady was
wanted, the girl, sick of the situation at home and longing for novelty,
boldly applied for the position. Miss Clarke engaged her at once.
Emeline met, as she had expected, a storm at home, but she weathered it,
and kept her position. It was hard work, and poorly paid, but the girl's
dreams gilded everything, and she loved the excitement of making sales,
came eagerly to the gossip and joking of her fellow-workers every
morning, and really felt herself to be in the current of life at last.
Miss Clarke was no better than her reputation, and would have willingly
helped her young saleswoman into a different sort of life. But Emeline's
little streak of shrewd selfishness saved her. Emeline indulged in a
hundred little coarsenesses and indiscretions, but take the final step
toward ruin she would not. Nobody was going to get the better of her,
she boasted. She used rouge and lip red. She "met fellers" under flaming
gas jets, and went to dance halls with them, and to the Sunday picnics
that were her father's especial abomination; she shyly told vile stories
and timidly used strong words, but there it ended. Perhaps some tattered
remnant of the golden dream still hung before her eyes; perhaps she
still clung to the hope of a dim, wonderful time to come.
More than that, the boys she knew were not a vicious lot; the Jimmies
and Johnnies, the Dans and Eds, were for the most part neighbours, no
more anxious to antagonize Emeline's father than she was. They might
kiss her good-night at her door, they might deliberately try to get the
girls to miss the last train home from the picnic, but their spirit was
of idle mischief rather than malice, and a stinging slap from Emeline's
hand afforded them, as it did her, a certain shamed satisfaction.
George Page came into "Delphine's" on a windy summer afternoon when
Emeline had been there for nearly five years. He was a salesman for some
lines of tailored hats, a San Franciscan, but employed by a New York
wholesale house. Emeline chanced to be alone in the place, for Miss
Clarke was sick in bed, and the other saleswoman away on her vacation.
The trimmers, glancing out through a plush curtain at the rear, saw Miss
Cox and the "drummer" absorbed in a three hours' conversation. From two
to five o'clock they talked; the drummer watching her in obvious
admiration when an occasional customer interrupted, and when Miss Cox
went home the drummer escorted her. Emeline had left the parental roof
some two years before; she was rooming, now, with a mild and virtuous
girl named Regina Lynch, in Howard Street. Regina was the sort of girl
frequently selected by a girl of Emeline's type for confidante and
companion: timid, conventional, always ready to laugh and admire. Regina
consented to go to dinner with Emeline and Mr. Page, and as she later
refused to go to the theatre, Emeline would not go either; they all
walked out Market Street from the restaurant, and reached the Howard
Street house at about nine o'clock. Regina went straight upstairs, but
Emeline and George Page sat on the steps an hour longer, under the
bright summer moon, and when Emeline went upstairs she woke her roommate
up, and announced her engagement.
George came into the store at nine o'clock the next morning, to
radiantly confirm all that they had said the night before, and with
great simplicity the two began to plan for their future; from that time
they had breakfast, lunch, and dinner together every day; they were both
utterly satisfied; they never questioned their fate. In October George
had to go to San Diego, and a dozen little cities en route, for the
firm, and Emeline went, too. They were married in the little church of
Saint Charles in Eighteenth Street, only an hour or two before they
started for San Jose, the first stop in George's itinerary. Emeline's
mother and sisters came to her wedding, but the men of the family were
working on this week-day afternoon. The bride looked excited and happy,
colour burned scarlet in her cheeks, under her outrageous hat; she wore
a brown travelling gown, and the lemon- gloves that were popular
in that day. Emeline felt that she was leaving everything unpleasant in
life behind her. George was the husband of her dreams--or perhaps her
dreams had temporarily adapted themselves to George.
But, indeed, he was an exceptionally good fellow. He was handsome, big,
dashingly dressed. He was steady and successful in his work, domestic in
his tastes, and tenderly--and perhaps to-day a little pityingly--devoted
to this pretty, clever girl who loved him so, and had such faith in him.
His life had kept him a good deal among men, and rather coarse men; he
had had to do more drinking than he cared to do, to play a good deal of
poker, to listen to a good deal of loose talk. Now, George felt a great
relief that this was over; he wanted a home, a wife, children.
The bride and groom had a cloudless three weeks of honeymoon among a
score of little Southern towns--and were scarcely less happy during the
first months of settling down. Emeline was entirely ignorant of what was
suitable or desirable in a home, and George had only the crude ideals of
a travelling man to guide him. They enthusiastically selected a flat of
four handsome, large, dark rooms, over a corner saloon, on O'Farrell
Street. The building was new, the neighbourhood well built, and filled
with stirring, interesting life. George said it was conveniently near
the restaurant and theatre district, and to Emeline, after Mission
Street, it seemed the very hub of the world. The suite consisted of a
large front drawing-room, connected by enormous folding doors with a
rear drawing-room, which the Pages would use as a bedroom, a large
dining-room, and a dark kitchen, equipped with range and "water back."
There were several enormous closets, and the stairs and hall, used by
the several tenants of the house, were carpeted richly. The Pages also
carpeted their own rooms, hung the stiff folds of Nottingham lace
curtains at the high narrow windows, and selected a set of the heavily
upholstered furniture of the period for their drawing-room. When
Emeline's mother and sisters came to call, Emeline showed them her
gold-framed pictures, her curly-maple bed and bureau, her glass closet
in the dining-room, with its curved glass front and sides and its
shining contents--berry saucers and almond dishes in pressed glass, and
other luxuries to which the late Miss Cox had been entirely a stranger.
Emeline was intoxicated with the freedom and the pleasures of her new
life; George was out of town two or three nights a week, but when he was
at home the two slept late of mornings, and loitered over their
breakfast, Emeline in a loose wrapper, filling and refilling her coffee
cup, while George rattled the paper and filled the room with the odour
of cigarettes.
Then Emeline was left to put her house in order, and dress herself for
the day--her corsets laced tight at the waist, her black hair crimped
elaborately above her bang, her pleated skirts draped fashionably over
her bustle. George would come back at one o'clock to take her to lunch,
and after lunch they wandered up and down Kearney and Market streets,
laughing and chatting, glad just to be alive and together. Sometimes
they dined downtown, too, and afterward went to the "Tivoli" or
"Morosco's," or even the Baldwin Theatre, and sometimes bought and
carried home the materials for a dinner, and invited a few of George's
men friends to enjoy it with them. These were happy times; Emeline,
flushed and pretty in her improvised apron, queened it over the three or
four adoring males, and wondered why other women fussed so long over
cooking, when men so obviously enjoyed a steak, baked potatoes, canned
vegetables, and a pie from Swain's. After dinner the men always played
poker, a mild little game at first, with Emeline eagerly guarding a
little pile of chips, and gasping over every hand like a happy child;
but later more seriously, when Emeline, contrary to poker superstition,
sat on the arm of her husband's chair, to bring him luck.
Luck she certainly seemed to bring him; the Pages would go yawning to
bed, after one of these evenings, chuckling over the various hands.
"I couldn't see what you drew, George," Emeline would say, "but I could
see that Mack had aces on the roof, and it made me crazy to have you go
on raising that way! And then your three fish hooks!"
George would shout with pride at her use of poker terms--would laugh all
the harder if she used them incorrectly. And sometimes, sinking
luxuriously into the depths of the curly-maple bed, Emeline would think
herself the luckiest woman in the world. No hurry about getting up in
the morning; no one to please but herself; pretty gowns and an adoring
husband and a home beyond her maddest hopes--the girl's dreams no longer
followed her, happy reality had blotted out the dream.
She felt a little injured, a little frightened, when the day came on
which she must tell George of some pretty well-founded suspicions of her
own condition. George might be "mad," or he might laugh.
But George was wonderfully soothing and reassuring; more, was
pathetically glad and proud. He petted Emeline into a sort of reluctant
joy, and the attitude of her mother and sisters and the few women she
knew was likewise flattering. Important, self-absorbed, she waited her
appointed days, and in the early winter a wizened, mottled little
daughter was born. Julia was the name Emeline had chosen for a girl, and
Julia was the name duly given her by the radiant and ecstatic George in
the very first hour of her life. Emeline had lost interest in the
name--indeed, in the child and her father as well--just then; racked,
bewildered, wholly spent, she lay back in the curly-maple bed, the first
little seed of that general resentment against life that was eventually
to envelop her, forming in her mind.
They had told her that because of this or that she would not have a
"hard time," and she had had a very hard time. They had told her that
she would forget the cruel pain the instant it was over, and she knew
she never would forget it. It made her shudder weakly to think of all
the babies in the world--of the schools packed with children--at what a
cost!
Emeline recovered quickly, and shut her resentment into her own breast.
Julie, as she was always called, was a cross baby, and nowadays the two
front rooms were usually draped with her damp undergarments, and odorous
of sour bottles and drying clothes. For the few months that Emeline
nursed the child she wandered about until late in the day in a loose
wrapper, a margin of draggled nightgown showing under it, her hair in a
tumbled knot at the back of her head. If she had to run out for a loaf
of bread or a pound of coffee, she slipped on a street skirt, and
buttoned her long coat about her; her lean young throat would show, bare
above the lapels of the coat, but even this costume was not conspicuous
in that particular neighbourhood.
By the time Julia was weaned, Emeline had formed the wrapper habit; she
had also slipped back to the old viewpoint: they were poor people, and
the poor couldn't afford to do things decently, to live comfortably.
Emeline scolded and snapped at George, shook and scolded the crying
baby, and loitered in the hall for long, complaining gossips with the
other women of the house.
Time extricated the young Pages from these troubled days. Julia grew
into a handsome, precocious little girl of whom both parents could be
proud. Emeline never quite recovered her girlish good looks, her face
was thin now, with prominent cheek bones; there was a little frowning
line drawn between her eyes, and her expression was sharp and anxious,
but she became more fond of dress than ever.
George's absences were a little longer in these days; he had been given
a larger territory to cover--and Emeline naturally turned for society
toward her women neighbours. There were one or two very congenial
married women of her own type in the same house, pleasure-loving,
excitable young women; one, a Mrs. Carter, with two children in school,
the other, Mrs. Palmer, triumphantly childless. These introduced her to
others; sometimes half a dozen of them would go to a matinee together, a
noisy, chattering group. During the matinee Julia would sit on her
mother's lap, a small awed figure in a brief red silk dress and deep
lace collar. Julia always had several chocolates from the boxes that
circulated among her elders, and usually went to sleep during the last
act, and was dragged home, blinking and whining and wretched, by one
aching little arm.
George was passionately devoted to his little girl, and no toy was too
expensive for Julia to demand. Emeline loved the baby, too, although she
accepted as a martyrdom the responsibility of supplying Julia's needs.
But the Pages themselves rather drifted apart with the years. Both were
selfish, and each accused the other of selfishness, although, as Emeline
said stormily, no one had ever called her that before she was married,
and, as George sullenly claimed, he himself had always been popularity's
self among the "fellows."
In all her life Emeline had never felt anything but a resentful
impatience for whatever curtailed her liberty or disturbed her comfort
in the slightest degree. She had never settled down to do cheerfully
anything that she did not want to do. She had shaken off the claims of
her own home as lightly as she had stepped from "Delphine's" to the more
tempting position of George's wife. Now she could not believe that she
was destined to live on with a man who was becoming a confirmed
dyspeptic, who thought she was a poor housekeeper, an extravagant
shopper, a wretched cook, and worse than all, a sloven about her
personal appearance. Emeline really was all these things at times, and
suspected it, but she had never been shown how to do anything else, and
she denied all charges noisily.
One night when Julia was about four George stamped out of the house,
after a tirade against the prevailing disorder and some insulting
remarks about "delicatessen food." Emeline sent a few furious remarks
after him, and then wept over the sliced ham, the potato salad, and the
Saratoga chips, all of which she had brought home from a nearby delicacy
shop in oily paper bags only an hour ago. She wandered disconsolately
through the four rooms that had been her home for nearly six years. The
dust lay thick on the polished wood and glass of the sideboard and glass
closet in the dining-room; ashes and the ends of cigarettes filled half
a dozen little receptacles here and there; a welter of newspapers had
formed a great drift in a corner of the room, and the thick velour day
cover of the table had been pushed back to make way for a doubled and
spotted tablecloth and the despised meal. The kitchen was hideous with a
confusion of souring bottles of milk, dirty dishes, hardened ends of
loaves, and a sticky jam jar or two; Emeline's range was spotted and
rusty, she never fired it now; a three-burner gas plate sufficed for the
family's needs. In the bedroom a dozen garments were flung over the foot
of the unmade bed, Julia's toys and clothing littered this and the
sitting-room, the silk woof had been worn away on the heavily
upholstered furniture, and the strands of the cotton warp separated to
show the white lining beneath. On the mantel was a litter of medicine
bottles and theatre programs, powder boxes, gloves and slippers,
packages of gum and of cigarettes, and packs of cards, as well as more
ornamental matters: china statuettes and glass cologne bottles, a
palm-leaf fan with roses painted on it, a pincushion of redwood bark,
and a plush rolling-pin with brass screws in it, hung by satin ribbons.
Over all lay a thick coat of dust.
Emeline took Julia in her lap, and sat down in one of the patent
rockers. She remained for a long time staring out of the front window.
George's words burned angrily in her memory--she felt sick of life.
A spring twilight was closing down upon O'Farrell Street. In the row of
houses opposite Emeline could see slits of gaslight behind lowered
shades, and could look straight into the second floor of the
establishment that flourished behind a large sign bearing the words,
"O'Connor, Modes." This row of bay-windowed houses had been occupied as
homes by very good families when the Pages first came to O'Farrell
Street, but six years had seen great changes in the block. A grocery and
bar now occupied the corner, facing the saloon above which the Pages
lived, and the respectable middle-class families had moved away, one by
one, giving place to all sorts of business enterprises. Milliners and
dressmakers took the first floors, and rented the upper rooms; one
window said "Mme. Claire, Palmist," and another "Violin Lessons"; one
basement was occupied by a dealer in plaster statuary, and another by a
little restaurant. Most interesting of all to the stageloving Emeline
was the second floor, obliquely opposite her own, which bore an immense
sign, "Gottoli, Wigs and Theatrical Supplies. Costumes of all sorts
Designed and on Hand." Between Gottoli's windows were two painted panels
representing respectively a very angular, moustached young man in a
dress suit, and a girl in a Spanish dancer's costume, with a tambourine.
Gottoli did not do a very flourishing business, but Emeline watched his
doorway by the hour, and if ever her dreams came back now, it was at
these times.
To-night Julia went to sleep in her arms; she was an unexacting little
girl, accustomed to being ignored much of the time, and humoured,
over-indulged, and laughed at at long intervals. Emeline sat on and on,
crying now and then, and gradually reducing herself to a more softened
mood, when she longed to be dear to George again, to please and content
him. She had just made up her mind that this was no neighbourhood for
ideal home life, when George, smelling strongly of whiskey, but
affectionate and repentant, came in.
"What doing?" asked George, stumbling in the dark room.
"Just watching the cable cars go up and down," Emeline said, rousing.
She set the dazed Julia on her feet, and groped for matches on the
mantel. A second later the stifling odour of block matches drifted
through the room, and Emeline lighted a gas jet.
"Had your supper?" said she, as George sat down and took the child into
his arms.
"Nope," he answered, grinning ashamedly. "Thought maybe you and I'd go
to dinner somewheres, Em."
Emeline was instantly her better self. While she flew into her best
clothes she told George that she knew she was a rotten manager, but she
was so darn sick of this darn flat--She had just been sitting there
wondering if they hadn't better move into the country, say into Oakland.
Her sister May lived there, they might get a house near May, with a
garden for Julia, and a spare room where George could put up a friend.
George was clumsily enthusiastic. Gosh, if she would do that--if she
could stand its being a little quiet--
"I'd get to know the neighbours, and we'd have real good times," said
Emeline optimistically, "and it would be grand for Julie!"
Julia had by this time gone off to sleep in the centre of the large bed.
Her mother removed the child's shoes and some of her clothing, without
rousing her, loosened her garters, and unbuttoned whatever buttons she
could reach.
"She'll be all right," she said confidently. "She never wakes."
George lowered the gas, and they tiptoed out. But Julie did waken half
an hour later, as it happened, and screamed for company for ten hideous
minutes. Then Miss Flossie Miniver, a young woman who had recently
rented the top floor, and of whom Emeline and the other ladies of the
house disapproved, came downstairs and softly entered the Page flat, and
gathered the sobbing little girl to her warm, soft breast. Miss Miniver
soothed her with a new stick of gum and a pincushion that looked like a
fat little pink satin leg, with a smart boot at one end and a ruffle of
lace at the other, and left Julia peacefully settled down to sleep. But
Julia did not remember anything of this in the morning, and the
pincushion had rolled under the bed, so Emeline never knew of it. She
and George had a good dinner, and later went to the Orpheum, and were
happier than they had been for a long time.
The next Sunday they went to Oakland to see Emeline's sister, and
possibly to begin househunting. It was a cold, dark day, with a raw wind
blowing. Gulls dipped and screamed over the wake of the ferryboat that
carried the Pages to Oakland, and after the warm cabin and the heated
train, they all shivered miserably as they got out at the appointed
corner. Oakland looked bleak and dreary, the wind was blowing chaff and
papers against fences and steps.
Emeline had rather lost sight of her sister for a year or two, and had
last seen her in another and better house than the one which they
presently identified by street and number. The sisters had married at
about the same time, but Ed Torney was a shiftless and unfortunate man,
never steadily at work, and always mildly surprised at the discomfort of
life. May had four children, and was expecting a fifth. Two of the older
children, stupid-looking little blondes, with colds in their noses, and
dirt showing under the fair hair, were playing in the dooryard of the
shabby cottage now. The gate hung loose, the ground was worn bare by
children's feet and dug into holes where children had burrowed, and
littered with cans and ropes and boxes.
Emeline was genuinely shocked by the evidences of actual want inside.
May was a thin, bent, sickly looking woman now, her graying hair hanging
in a loose coil over her cotton wrapper. Floors everywhere were bare, a
few chairs were here and there, a few beds running over with thin
bedding, a table in the kitchen was covered with scattered dishes, some
dirty and some clean. Ashes drifted out of the kitchen stove, and in the
sink was a great tin dish-pan full of cool, greasy water. The oldest
child, a five-year-old girl, had followed these dazzling visitors in,
and now mounted a box and attacked this dish-pan with pathetic energy.
The two younger children sat on the floor, apathetically staring. May
made only a few smiling apologies. They "could see how she was," she
said, limping to a chair into which she dropped with a sigh of relief.
They had had a "fierce" time since Ed--Ed was the husband and
father--had lost his job a year ago. He had not been able to get
anything permanent since. Ed had been there just a minute ago, she
said--and indeed the odour of tobacco was still strong on the close
air--but he had been having a good deal of stomach trouble of late, and
the children made him nervous, and he had gone out for a walk. Poor May,
smiling gallantly over the difficulties of her life, drew her firstborn
to her knees, brushed back the child's silky, pale hair with bony,
trembling fingers, and prophesied that things would be easier when
mamma's girlies got to work: Evelyn was going to be a dressmaker, and
Marguerite an actress.
"She can say a piece out of the Third Reader real cute--the children
next door taught her," said May, but Marguerite would not be exploited;
she dug her blonde head into her mother's shoulder in a panic of
shyness; and shortly afterward the Pages went away. Uncle George gave
each child a dime, Julia kissed her little cousins good-bye, and Emeline
felt a sick spasm of pity and shame as May bade the children thank them,
and thanked them herself. Emeline drew her sister to the door, and
pressed two silver dollars, all she happened to have with her, into her
hand.
"Aw, don't, Em, you oughtn't," May said, ashamed and turning crimson,
but instantly she took the money. "We've had an awful hard time--or I
wouldn't!" said she, tears coming to her eyes.
"Oh, that's all right!" Emeline said uncomfortably, as she ran down the
steps. Her heart burned with sympathy for poor May, who had been so
pretty and so clever! Emeline could not understand the change! May had
graduated from High School with honours; she had held a good position as
a bookkeeper in a grocery before her marriage, but, like Emeline, for
the real business of life she had had no preparation at all. Her own
oldest child could have managed the family finances and catered to
sensitive stomachs with as much system and intelligence as May.
On the boat Emeline spoke of her little money gift to her sister, and
George roused himself from a deep study to approve and to reimburse her.
They did not speak again of moving to the country, and went straight
from the boat to a French table d'hote dinner, where Julia, enchanted at
finding herself warm and near food after the long cold adventures of the
day, stuffed herself on sardines and sour bread, soup and salad, and
shrimps and fried chicken | 192.563059 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)
Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society
London, 1903
BOOK I.
CONTENTS:
Introduction--S.W. Orson
Book I.
INTRODUCTION.
Among the notable books of later times-we may say, without exaggeration,
of all time--must be reckoned The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau.
It deals with leading personages and transactions of a momentous epoch,
when absolutism and feudalism were rallying for their last struggle
against the modern spirit, chiefly represented by Voltaire, the
Encyclopedists, | 192.655198 |
2023-11-16 18:20:19.2425880 | 3,658 | 6 |
Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Anne Storer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
Transcriber's Notes:
1) The single letter following ^ is superscripted.
2) Table of Contents / Illustrations added.
* * * * *
AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,--ANDOVER.
BY REV. F. B. MAKEPEACE.
Illustrations:
Main Street, Looking North.
Brechin Library.
Memorial Hall And Library.
Phillips Academy.
Old Stone Academy.
Theological Seminary.
Lieut.-Gov. Phillips.
Chapel, Theo. Seminary.
Punchard Free School.
Theological Seminary.--general View.
The Old Mark Newman Publishing House.
South Congregational Church.
JAMES OTIS, JR.
BY REV. H. HEWITT.
A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.
THE SINGER.
BY LAURA GARLAND CARR.
THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
Illustrations:
Daniel Webster On His Farm.
Birth-place Of Daniel Webster.
THE NEW ENGLAND LIBRARY AND ITS FOUNDER.
BY VICTORIA REED.
Illustration:
Rev. Thomas Prince.
NEW ENGLAND MANNERS AND CUSTOMS IN THE
TIME OF BRYANT'S EARLY LIFE.
BY MRS. H. G. ROWE.
TRUST.
BY ARTHUR ELWELL JENKS.
NEW ENGLAND CHARACTERISTICS.
BY LIZZIE M. WHITTLESEY.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
EDUCATION.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
INDEX TO PERIODICAL LITERATURE.
Illustration:
Hon. Henry Barnard, LL.D.
* * * * *
THE
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
AND
BAY STATE MONTHLY.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
OLD SERIES, APRIL, 1886. NEW SERIES,
VOL. IV. NO. 4. VOL. I. NO. 4.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
AN ILLUSTRIOUS TOWN,--ANDOVER.
BY REV. F. B. MAKEPEACE.
[Illustration: MAIN STREET, LOOKING NORTH.]
It is said that there are twenty-six places in the United States by the
name of Andover; yet when the name appears in the public prints it does
not occur to any one to ask which Andover? These facts are suggestive of
the wide knowledge and popularity of this historic town, and the abiding
interest of scattered thousands in its welfare. Her sons have gone forth
to dare and to do upon every field of honorable enterprise. Thousands of
pupils have pursued their studies here, and carry precious memories of
the schools, of teachers, and influences,--in a word, of Andover.
In this rapid and general view of the town,[A] all that will be
attempted is to connect the past with the present, and to give a picture
of Andover as it is to-day.[B]
[A] In the February number of this magazine will be found an
interesting article upon Abbott Academy, and in following numbers
articles, now in course of preparation, will be published upon the
Theological Seminary and Phillips Academy.
[B] The history of the town has been carefully written by Miss Sarah
Loring Bailey, and her volume of "Historical Sketches of Andover" is
very valuable.
The natural attractions of the town are great and permanent in their
character. There are neither gold mines nor alarming precipices, but
there are graceful rivers, a quiet rolling landscape, and extensive
views, shaded walks, and charming drives, because there are "more roads
than in any other town in New England;" the air is clear and bracing,
the sunsets once seen are not soon forgotten, the wild-flowers spring in
abundance, and the autumnal glory draws many visitors to the town.
[Illustration: BRECHIN LIBRARY.]
[Illustration: MEMORIAL HALL AND LIBRARY.]
When Washington made his tour of the Eastern States, after his
inauguration, he passed through Andover on his way from Haverhill to
Lexington. He spent the night at the Abbott tavern, and left upon the
face of his host's little daughter a kiss, which she was so reluctant to
lose that for a week she did not wash her face. In his account of this
trip he makes special mention of the beautiful country through which he
was passing.
All that is most characteristic in our New England landscape finds
its representation here. Its rugged granite breaks with hard lines
through the stubborn soil. Its sweep of hill and valley fills the
eye with various beauty. Its lakes catch its sunlight upon generous
bosoms. Its rivers are New England rivers, ready for work, and yet
not destitute of beauty.[C]
[C] Phillips Brooks.
The "Hill" is one mile from the depot, a very uphill way, but one which
it is well worth the stranger's while to travel. Upon its top is a tract
of about two hundred acres, the property of Phillips Academy, upon which
stand the various buildings of the institution, now nearly seventy in
number.
[Illustration: PHILLIPS ACADEMY.]
Prof. Keep, in a recent article, says:--
The wide prospect from Andover Hill is suggestive of the world-wide
fame of the school; and the lovely elm-shaded park, in which stand
the buildings of the Theological Seminary, and the church where the
members of the academy worship, is a hardly less peaceful and
charming scholar's retreat than are those of the college gardens of
Oxford and Cambridge.
This elm-shaded park is the beautiful campus of seven or eight acres. In
the background are all the buildings of the Theological Seminary, except
Brechin Hall, and in front of them is the avenue of elms which makes the
"Gothic window." Nothing of its kind could be more beautiful. Overhead
are the interlaced branches of the lofty trees, the end of the avenue
forming the exquisite window, through which extends a long vista. On
either side of the mullion one has the view of a church in the distance;
and in the valley of the Merrimac nestles the city of Lawrence.
[Illustration: OLD STONE ACADEMY.]
[Illustration: THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY.]
Not far remote is "Carter's Hill," with its commanding view and unbroken
quiet, and destined to become a favorite summer resort, for such as wish
to enjoy some of New England's choicest scenery, to know some of its
purest life, and to keep within an hour's ride of Boston. Within easy
view are Monadnock, Wachusett, and other smaller mountains; the
beautiful Merrimac River, with its populous valley, and the
graceful, busy Shawshin, where it was said, the Devil baptized the
witches,--contemptible when thought of as the object of great Boston's
covetous desire, but important in its relation to the several mills upon
its course, and for its contribution to the general beauty.
"Indian Ridge" is one of the series of lenticular hills, which continues
to the north-east as far as Portsmouth, N.H., and in an irregular course
may be traced westward to the Connecticut River.
[Illustration: LIEUT.-GOV. PHILLIPS.]
This ridge is supposed to have been the spot of Indian encampments, and
is within a tract of land now owned by the town, and intended as a park.
Near it is the "Red Spring," and a mile or two north-east is "Den Rock,"
all of which are frequently visited by holiday bands of children, and by
students in hours of recreation.
The Andover records date from 1639, and the town was incorporated May 6,
1646. The story of Andover's progress from its foundation until the
present, is full of interest. The town's part in all the early movements
was most creditable, and full of intelligence. At the close of a
century of its life we find vigilance as to the character of its growing
population.
The authorities believed that whatsoever a town soweth, that shall it
also reap. It was therefore in vain that the "pauper immigrant" or
"criminal classes" knocked for admittance. It is said that the town was
"made up at the beginning of 'choice men,''very desirable' and 'good
Christians.'"[D]
[D] Historical Sketches, p. 145.
[Illustration: CHAPEL, THEO. SEMINARY.]
[Illustration: PUNCHARD FREE SCHOOL.]
"The selectmen were empowered to examine into the character and habits
of all persons seeking residence, and to admit none who were idle or
immoral.
ANDOVER, the 30th of January, 1719-20.
_To_ MR. EBENEZER LOVEJOY, _constable_.
GREETING:--Whereas there are severall Persons com to Reside in
our Towne and we feare a futer charge and as the Law directs to prevent
such charge, you are Requested in his Majesty's name forthwith to
warn the severall persons under wrighten: to depart out of our Town
as the law directs to, least they prove a futer charge to the
Towne.
[Signed by the Selectmen.]
"The town also encouraged desirable persons to settle by making them
grants of land, etc. Ministers and masters of grammar schools were
exempt from taxation."
[Illustration:
THE CHAPEL. PHILLIPS HALL. BARTLETT CHAPEL.
BARTLETT HALL. BRECHIN HALL.
THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY.--GENERAL VIEW.]
In few places can the local features of the great Revolutionary struggle
be as well studied as in the ample and well-preserved records of
Andover. It would take many pages to tell what the town did in council
and on the field, in business, and at the fireside, to encourage the
patriots. So loyal was the town that its citizens were greatly trusted,
and a portion of Harvard College library was sent there for its greater
safety.
[Illustration: THE OLD MARK NEWMAN PUBLISHING HOUSE.]
A pleasant description of the town is given by Thomas Houghton, an
Englishman, who, writing from Andover in 1789, mentions several
characteristics of the people at that period. He says: "One thing I must
observe, which, I think, wants rectifying, that is, their pluming pride
when adjoined to apparent poverty,--no uncommon case!"
He adds that they grow "their own wool, which they also get spun,
weaved, and dyed, and both the gentlemen I am with, Hon. Samuel Phillips
and his father, who is a justice of the peace, generally appear in their
own manufacture, in imitation of the British."
[Illustration: SOUTH CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH.]
"As to property, it seems so well secured from principle in the people
that there is not such use of locks and bolts as in England. Even where
I am, we have five out-door and sixty-two sash windows; yet all the
barage on the doors is a wood catch on the door-snek."...
"Oh, what a country has Britain lost by her folly! But this is too
large a field to dwell on in a letter; the subject, from even poor me,
would easily draw forth a volume."[E]
[E] Sketches of Andover, pp. 402-3.
Among the early students in Harvard College, from Andover, was one who
was destined to immortal renown. When the rebellious spirit against
England began to rise, Samuel Phillips, whose father, by the same name,
was then the representative to the General Court, was one of the most
earnest to fan the sacred flame. Choosing "Liberty" as the theme, while
in college he wrote: "We should watch against every encroachment, and
with the fortitude of calm, intrepid resolution oppose them. Unborn
generations will either bless us for our activity and magnanimity, or
curse us for our pusillanimity."
In 1775 he is chosen to represent the town in Provincial Congress, to be
held at the meeting-house in Watertown.
His great life-work now began, a work which will be more fully described
hereafter. In all the relations and duties of student, patriot, business
man, judge, lieutenant-governor, and founder of Phillips Academy, he won
for himself a good report, and helped to lay lasting foundations.
"Phillips School," as it was at first called, was opened April 30, 1778,
in a "rude building of one story about 30 x 25 feet, done off
temporarily in the plainest manner for the purpose, and not intended for
more than thirty or forty scholars." From this small beginning the
school has developed into the widely-famed Academy, which numbers more
than three thousand graduates, and under whose instruction have passed
about eleven thousand pupils. The limits of this article prevent a
notice of those alumni who have become justly famous, and also of the
very strong faculty of instructors, at whose head stands one of the
foremost of American educators, under whose wise direction Phillips is
fast becoming the synonyme of Rugby, and is already one of the important
sources of supply of student-life for Harvard and Yale.
In 1785 the "joiner's shop" gave place to a new academy, which stood
west of where Brechin Hall now stands, and which was burned in 1818. The
third academy, erected in the same year, is now used as the gymnasium.
In 1865 the present academy came into being. It is a noble structure,
with excellent facilities for educational work. Its spacious hall,
where occur the commencement exercises, and the annual contests for the
various prizes, is adorned by the portraits of many of the Academy's
illustrious dead.
The new laboratory is a part, already finished, of the proposed
building, for the use of the classes in the natural sciences.
For want of funds in hand, only the east wing has been built, and this
is now occupied by the class in analytical chemistry. When completed,
the building will be a beautiful and a convenient structure. The walls
will be of pressed brick laid in red mortar, with dark granite base, and
Nova Scotia sandstone trimmings. The roof will be covered with Monson
slate. The basement will be eleven feet high, mostly above ground, and
will serve for the force-pump, heating apparatus, and for rough storage.
The chemical laboratory will occupy the main floor, and will be a room
40 x 30 feet. Abundant light and air are to be supplied by windows on
three sides, and the system of ventilation will be excellent.
The advantages aimed at in this building are, ample space, freedom from
dampness, abundant light, the means of speedy and complete ventilation,
good drainage, a minimum of absorbing surfaces, and a minimum of fire
risk. The building, when completed, will have a small side-room for
books and balances, a private laboratory for the instructor in charge,
a spacious lecture-room, a drawing-room, cabinets for the various
collections in geology, mineralogy, etc., now inconveniently distant, a
dry store-room, also corridors, closets, and janitor's quarters,
complete.
The chaste and time-honored seal of Phillips Academy was the gift of
John Lowell and Oliver Wendell, the grandfathers of Oliver Wendell
Holmes; and probably, though not certainly, was engraved by Paul Revere.
In 1807 the "Class in Theology" became a distinct institution, the
first of the kind in the world, whose invested endowment now
reaches nearly a million dollars and which has graduated nearly
2,000 students. The Theological Seminary has passed her 75th
anniversary; yet, as a representative and defender of whatever is
most vigorous, active, and progressive in Christian orthodoxy, she
holds an aegis that is ageless, and a sceptre imperishable. And it
is said that no one man now living can read even the alphabets of
all the languages through which her sons have sought to interpret
the Word of God to the world. Previous | 195.262628 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
A JOURNALISTS NOTE-BOOK
By Frank Frankfort Moore
Author of “Forbid the Banns,” “Daireen,’” “A Gray Eye or So,” etc.
London: Hutchins On And Co., Paternoster Row
1894
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
CHAPTER I.--PAST AND PRESENT.
_Odd lots of journalism--Respectability and its relation to
journalism--The abuse of the journal--The laudation of the
journalist--Abuse the consequence of popularity--Popularity the
consequence of abuse--Drain-work and grey hairs--“Don’t neglect
your reading for the sake of reviewing”--Reading for pleasure or
to criticise--Literature--Deterioration--The Civil List Pension--In
exchange for a soul._
SOME years ago there was an auction of wine at a country-house in
Scotland, the late owner of which had taken pains to gain a reputation
for judgment in the matter of wine-selecting. He had all his life been
nearly as intemperate as a temperance orator in his denunciation of
whisky as a drink, hoping to inculcate a taste for vintage clarets upon
the Scots; but he that tells the tale--it is not a new one--says that
the man died without seriously jeopardizing the popularity of the
native manufacture. The wines that he had laid down brought good prices,
however; but, at the close of the sale, several odd lots were “put
up,” and all were bought by a local publican. A gentleman who had been
present called upon the publican a few days afterwards, and found
him engaged in mixing into one huge cask all the “lots” that he had
bought--Larose, Johannisberg, Château Coutet.
“Hallo,” said the visitor, “what’s this mixture going to be, Rabbie?”
“Weel, sir,” said the publican, looking with one eye into the cask and
mechanically giving the contents a stir with a bottle of Sauterne which
he had just uncorked--“Weel, sir, I think it should be port, but I’m no
sure.”
These odd lots of journalistic experiences and recollections may be
considered a book, “but I’m no sure.”
*****
After all, “a book’s a book although”--it’s written by a journalist.
Nearly every writer of books nowadays becomes a journalist when he has
written a sufficient number. He is usually encouraged in this direction
by his publishers.
“You’re a literary man, are you not?” a stranger said to a friend of
mine.
“On the contrary, I’m a journalist,” was the reply.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” said the inquirer, detecting a
certain indignant note in the disclaimer. “I beg your pardon. What a
fool I was to ask you such a question!”
“I hope he wasn’t hurt,” he added in an anxious voice when we were
alone. “It was a foolish question; I might have known that he was a
journalist, _he looked so respectable_.”
We are all respectable nowadays. We belong to a recognised profession.
We may pronounce our opinions on all questions of art, taste, religion,
morals, and even finance, with some degree of diffidence: we are at
present merely practising our scales, so to speak, upon our various
“organs,” but there is every reason to believe that confidence will come
in due time. Are not our ranks being recruited from Oxford? Some years
ago men drifted into journalism; now it is looked on as a vocation.
Journalism is taken seriously. In a word, we are respectable. Have
we not been entertained by the Lord Mayor of London? Have we not
entertained Monsieur Emile Zola?
*****
People have ceased to abuse us as they once did with great freedom: they
merely abuse the journals which support us. This is a healthy sign; for
it may be taken for granted that people will invariably abuse the paper
for which they subscribe. They do not seem to feel that they get the
worth of their subscription unless they do so. It is the same principle
that causes people to sneer at a dinner at which they have been
entertained. If we are not permitted to abuse our host, whom may we
abuse? The one thing that a man abuses more than to-day’s paper is the
negligence of the boy who omits to deliver it some morning. Only in one
town where I lived did I find that a newspaper was popular. (It was
not the one for which I wrote.) The fathers and mothers taught their
children to pray, “God bless papa, mamma, and the editor of the
_Clackmannan Standard_.”
I met that editor some years afterwards. He celebrated a sort of
impromptu Comminution Service against the people amongst whom he
had lived. They had never paid for their subscriptions or their
advertisements, and they had thus lowered the _Standard_ of Clackmannan
and of the editor’s confidence in his fellow-men.
*****
The only newspaper that is in a hopeless condition is the one which is
neither blessed at all nor cursed at all. Such a newspaper appeals to no
section of the public. It has always seemed to me a matter of question
whether a man is better satisfied with a paper that reflects (so far
as it is possible for a paper to do so) his own views, or with one that
reflects the views that he most abhors. I am inclined to believe that
a man is in a better humour with those of his fellow-men whom he has
thoroughly abused, than with the one whom he greets every morning on the
top of his omnibus.
It is quite a simple matter to abuse a newspaper into popularity. One
of the Georges whose biographies have been so pleasantly and touchingly
written by Thackeray and Mr. Justin M’Carthy, conferred a lasting
popularity upon the man whom he told to get out of his way or he would
kick him out of it.
The moral of this is, that to be insulted by a monarch confers a greater
distinction upon a man living in Clapham or even Brixton than to be
treated courteously by a greengrocer.
*****
But though people continue to abuse the paper for which they subscribe,
and for which they are usually some year or two in arrears in the matter
of payment, still it appears to me that the public are slowly beginning
to comprehend that newspapers are written (mostly) by journalists.
Until recently there was, I think, a notion that journalists sat round
a bar-parlour telling stories and drinking whisky and water while the
newspapers were being produced. The fact is, that most of the surviving
anecdotes of the journalists of a past generation smell of the
bar-parlour. The practical jesters of the fifties and the punsters
of the roaring forties were tap-room journalists. They died hard.
The journalists of to-day do not even smile at those brilliant
sallies--bequeathed by a past generation--about wearing frock-coats and
evening dress, about writing notices of plays without stirring from the
taproom, about the mixing up of criticisms of books with police-court
reports. Such were the humours of journalism thirty or forty years ago.
We have formed different ideas as to the elements of humour in these
days. Whatever we may leave undone it is not our legitimate work.
*****
It was when journalism was in a state of transition that a youth,
waiting on a railway platform, was addressed by a stranger (one of those
men who endeavour to make religious zeal a cloak for impertinence)--“My
dear young friend, are you a Christian?”
“No,” said the youth, “I’m a reporter on the _Camberwell Chronicle_.”
On the other hand, it was a very modern journalist whose room was
invaded by a number of pretty little girls one day, just to keep him
company and chat with him for an hour or so, as it was the day his
paper--a weekly one--went to press. In order to get rid of them, he
presented each of them with a copy of a little book which he had just
published, writing on the flyleaf, “With the author’s compliments.” Just
as the girls were going away, one of them spied a neatly bound Oxford
Bible that was lying on the desk for editorial notice.
“I should so much like that,” she cried, pouncing upon it.
“Then you shall have it, my dear, if you clear off immediately,” said
the editor; and, turning up the flyleaf, he wrote hastily on it, “_With
the author’s compliments_.”
Yes, he was a modern journalist, and took a reasonable view of the
authoritative nature of his calling.
*****
Our position is, I affirm, becoming recognised by the world; but now and
again I am made to feel that such recognition does not invariably extend
to all the members of our profession. Some years ago I was getting my
hair cut in Regent Street, and, as usual, the practitioner remarked in a
friendly way that I was getting very grey.
“Yes,” I said, “I’ve been getting a grey hair or so for some time. I
don’t know how it is. I’m not much over thirty.” (I repeat that the
incident occurred some years ago.)
“No, sir, you’re not what might be called old,” said he indulgently.
“Maybe you’re doing some brain-work?” he suggested, after a pause.
“Brain-work?” said I. “Oh no! I work for a daily paper, and usually
write a column of leading articles every night. I produce a book a year,
and a play every now and again. But brain-work--oh no!”
“Oh, in that case, sir, it must be due to something else. Maybe you
drink a bit, sir.”
I did not buy the bottle which he offered me at four-and-nine. I left
the shop dissatisfied.
This is why I hesitate to affirm that modern journalism is wholly
understanded of the people.
But for that matter it is not wholly understanded of the people who
might be expected to know something about it. The proprietor of a
newspaper on which I worked some years ago made use of me one day to
translate a few lines of Greek which appeared on the back of an old
print in his possession. My powers amazed him. The lines were from an
obscure and little-known poem called the “Odyssey.”
“You must read a great deal, my boy,” said he.
I shook my head.
“The fact is,” said I, “I’ve lately had so much reviewing to do that I
haven’t been able to read a single book.”
“That’s too hard on you,” said he gravely. “Get some of the others of
the staff to help you. You mustn’t neglect your reading for the sake of
reviewing.”
I didn’t.
Upon another occasion the son of this gentleman left a message for
me that he had taken a three-volume novel, the name of which he had
forgotten, from a parcel of books that had arrived the previous day,
but that he would like a review of it to appear the next morning, as his
wife said it was a capital story.
He was quite annoyed when the review did not appear.
*****
But there are, I have reason to know, many people who have got no more
modern ideas respecting that branch of journalism known as reviewing.
“Are you reading that book for pleasure or to criticise it?” I was asked
not so long ago by a young woman who ought to have known better. “Oh, I
forgot,” she added, before I could think of anything sharp to say by way
of reply--“I forgot: if you meant to review it you wouldn’t read it.”
I thought of the sharp reply two days later.
So it is, I say, that some of the people who read what we write from
day to day, have still got only the vaguest notions of how our work is
turned out.
Long ago I used to wish that the reviewers would only read the books I
wrote before criticising them; but now my dearest wish is that they will
review them (favourably) without reading them.
*****
I heard some time ago of a Scot who, full of that brave sturdy spirit
of self-reliance which is the precious endowment of the race of North
Britons, came up to London to fight his way in the ranks of literature.
The grand inflexible independence of the man asserted itself with such
obstinacy that he was granted a Civil List Pension; and while in receipt
of this form of out-door relief for poets who cannot sell their poetry,
he began a series of attacks upon literature as a trade, and gave to the
world an autobiography in a sentence, by declaring that literature and
deterioration go hand in hand.
This was surely a very nasty thing for the sturdy Scotchman, who had
attained to the honourable independence of the national almshouse,
to say, just as people were beginning to look on literature as a
profession.
But then he sat down and forthwith reeled off a string of doggerel
verses, headed “The Dismal Throng.” In this fourth-form satirical
jingle he abused some of the ablest of modern literary men for taking a
pessimistic view of life. Now, who on earth can blame literary men for
feeling a trifle dismal if what the independent pensioner says is true,
and success in literature can only be obtained in exchange for a
soul? The man who takes the most pessimistic view of the profession of
literature should be the last to sneer at a literary man looking sadly
on life.
CHAPTER II.--THE OLD SCHOOL.
_The frock-coat and muffler journalist--A doomed race--One of the
specimens--A masterpiece---“Stilt your friend”--A jaunty emigrant--A
thirsty knave--His one rival--Three crops--His destination--“The
New Grub Street”--A courteous friend--Free lodgings--The foreign
guest--Outside the hall door--The youth who found things--His ring--His
watch--The fruits of modesty--Not to be imitated--A question for
Sherlock Holmes--The liberty of the press--Deadheads._
I HAVE come in contact with many journalists of the old school--the
frock-coat and muffler type. The first of the class whom I met was for
a few months a reporter on a newspaper in Ireland with which I was
connected. He had at one time been a soldier, and had deserted. I tried,
though I was only a boy, to get some information from him that I might
use afterwards, for I recognised his value as the representative of a
race that was, I felt, certain to become extinct. I talked to him as
I talked--with the aid of an interpreter--to a Botjesman in the South
African veldt: I wanted to learn something about the habits of a doomed
type. I succeeded in some measure.
The result of my researches into the nature of both savages was to
convince me that they were born liars. The reporter carried a pair
of stage whiskers and a beard with him when sent to do any work in a
country district; the fact being that the members of the Royal Irish
Constabulary in the country barracks are the most earnest students
of the paper known as _H | 195.361958 |
2023-11-16 18:20:19.3420580 | 5,927 | 21 |
Produced by Alan, sp1nd and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
With the Dyaks of Borneo
BY Captain Brereton
=Kidnapped by Moors=: A Story of Morocco. 6_s._
=A Boy of the Dominion=: A Tale of Canadian Immigration. 5_s._
=The Hero of Panama=: A Tale of the Great Canal. 6_s._
=The Great Aeroplane=: A Thrilling Tale of Adventure. 6_s._
=A Hero of Sedan=: A Tale of the Franco-Prussian War. 6_s._
=How Canada was Won=: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec. 6_s._
=With Wolseley to Kumasi=: The First Ashanti War. 6_s._
=Roger the Bold=: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico. 6_s._
=Under the Chinese Dragon=: A Tale of Mongolia. 5_s._
=Indian and Scout=: A Tale of the Gold Rush to California. 5_s._
=John Bargreave's Gold=: Adventure in the Caribbean. 5_s._
=Roughriders of the Pampas=: Ranch Life in South America. 5_s._
=Jones of the 64th=: Battles of Assaye and Laswaree. 5_s._
=With Roberts to Candahar=: Third Afghan War. 5_s._
=A Hero of Lucknow=: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny. 5_s._
=A Soldier of Japan=: A Tale of the Russo-Japanese War. 5_s._
=Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout.= 3_s._ 6_d._
=With Shield and Assegai=: A Tale of the Zulu War. 3_s._ 6_d._
=Under the Spangled Banner=: The Spanish-American War. 3_s._ 6_d._
=With the Dyaks of Borneo=: A Tale of the Head Hunters. 3_s._ 6_d._
=A Knight of St. John=: A Tale of the Siege of Malta. 3_s._ 6_d._
=Foes of the Red Cockade=: The French Revolution. 3_s._ 6_d._
=In the King's Service=: Cromwell's Invasion of Ireland. 3_s._ 6_d._
=In the Grip of the Mullah=: Adventure in Somaliland. 3_s._ 6_d._
=With Rifle and Bayonet=: A Story of the Boer War. 3_s._ 6_d._
=One of the Fighting Scouts=: Guerrilla Warfare in South Africa.
3_s._ 6_d._
=The Dragon of Pekin=: A Story of the Boxer Revolt. 3_s._ 6_d._
=A Gallant Grenadier=: A Story of the Crimean War. 3_s._ 6_d._
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
[Illustration: THE PIRATES' STRONGHOLD]
With
The Dyaks of Borneo
A Tale of the Head Hunters
BY
CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON
Author of "Kidnapped by Moors" "A Boy of the Dominion" "The Hero of
Panama" "Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout" &c.
_ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I_.
NEW EDITION
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
CONTENTS
CHAP. Page
I. TYLER RICHARDSON 9
II. EASTWARD HO! 24
III. PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY 40
IV. A TRAITOR AND A VILLAIN 58
V. ESCAPE FROM THE SCHOONER 76
VI. COURAGE WINS THE DAY 96
VII. FLIGHT ACROSS THE LAND 116
VIII. MEETING THE DYAKS 136
IX. ON FOOT THROUGH THE JUNGLE 156
X. THE PIRATE STRONGHOLD 176
XI. A MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER 196
XII. CAPTAIN OF A FLEET 216
XIII. THE RAJAH OF SARAWAK 236
XIV. A DANGEROUS ENTERPRISE 256
XV. OFF TO THE RIVER SABEBUS 274
XVI. HEMMED IN 294
XVII. DANGER AND DIFFICULTY 314
XVIII. A NARROW ESCAPE 334
XIX. AN ATTACK UPON THE STOCKADES 354
XX. THE END OF THE CHASE 373
ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
THE PIRATES' STRONGHOLD _Frontispiece_ 185
THE FIGHT AT THE STERN 78
"HE SPRANG AT TYLER" 138
THE CONFERENCE WITH THE TRIBESMEN 150
ELUDING THE PIRATES 238
"HE LAUNCHED THE MISSILE AT THEM" 296
CHAPTER I
Tyler Richardson
It was a balmy autumn day four years after Queen Victoria ascended the
throne, and the neighbourhood of Southampton Water was looking perhaps
more brilliant and more beautiful than it had during the long summer
which had just passed. Already the leaves were covering the ground, and
away across the water pine-trees stood up like sentinels amidst others
which had already lost their covering. A dim blue haze in the distance
denoted the presence of Southampton, then as now a thriving seaport town.
Situated on a low eminence within some hundred yards of the sea, and
commanding an extended view to either side and in front, was a tiny
creeper-clad cottage with gabled roof and twisted chimneys. Behind the
little residence there was a square patch of kitchen-garden, in which
a grizzled, weather-beaten individual was toiling, whilst in front a
long strip of turf, in which were many rose beds, extended as far as the
wicket-gate which gave access to the main Portsmouth road.
Seated in the picturesque porch of the cottage, with a long clay pipe
between his lips, and a telescope of large dimensions beside him, was a
gray-headed gentleman whose dress at once betokened that in his earlier
days he had followed the sea as a calling. In spite of his sunken
cheeks, and general air of ill-health, no one could have mistaken him
for other than a sailor; and if there had been any doubt the clothes
he wore would have at once settled the question. But Captain John
Richardson, to give him his full title, was proud of the fact that he
had at one time belonged to the royal navy, and took particular pains
to demonstrate it to all with whom he came in contact. It was a little
vanity for which he might well be excused, and, besides, he was such a
genial good-natured man that no one would have thought of blaming him.
On this particular day some question of unusual importance seemed to
be absorbing the captain's whole attention. His eyes had a far-away
expression, his usually wrinkled brow was puckered in an alarming
manner, and the lips, between which rested the stem of his clay pipe,
were pursed up in the most thoughtful position. Indeed, so much was he
occupied that he forgot even to pull at his smoke, and in consequence
the tobacco had grown cold.
"That's the sixth time!" he suddenly exclaimed, with a muttered
expression of disgust, awaking suddenly from his reverie. "I've used
nearly half the box of matches already, and that is an extravagance
which I cannot afford. No, John Richardson, matches are dear to you at
least, for you are an unfortunate dog with scarcely enough to live on,
and with nothing in your pocket to waste. But I'd forego many little
luxuries, and willingly cut down my expenditure, if only I could see a
way of settling this beggarly question. For three years and more it has
troubled me, and I'm as far now from a solution as I was when the matter
first cropped up. There's Frank, my brother at Bristol, who has offered
his help, and I fully realize his kindness; but I am sure that his plan
will fail to satisfy the boy. That's where the difficulty comes. The
lad's so full of spirit, so keen to follow his father's profession, that
he would eat his heart out were I to send him to Bristol, but what else
can I suggest as a future for him?"
Once more Captain John Richardson became absorbed in thought, and,
leaning back against the old oak beam which supported the porch, became
lost to his surroundings. So lost indeed that he failed to hear the
creak of the wicket, while his dim eye failed to see the youth who came
striding towards him. But a moment later, catching sight of the figure
screened amidst the creepers in the porch, the young fellow gave vent to
a shout which thoroughly awakened the sailor.
"Sitting in your usual place, Father, and keeping an eye upon every foot
of Southampton Water. Why, you are better even than the coast-guard, and
must know every ship which sails into or out of the docks."
"Ay, and the port from which she set out or to which she's bound in very
many cases," answered the captain with a smile, beckoning to his son to
seat himself beside him in the porch. "And talking of ships reminds me,
my lad, to broach a certain subject to you. A big overgrown fellow like
yourself, with calves and arms which would have been my admiration had I
possessed them when I was your age, should be doing something more than
merely amusing himself. You've the future to look to, your bread and
butter to earn, and how d'you mean to set about it? Come, every young
man should have his choice of a calling, though I think that his parent
or guardian should be at hand to aid him in his selection. What do you
propose to do?"
Captain Richardson once more leaned back against the oaken prop and
surveyed his son, while he slowly abstracted a match from a box which he
produced from a capacious pocket, and set a light to his pipe once more.
"Come, sonny," he continued, "in a couple of years you will be almost
a man, and you are as strong as many already. You were seventeen three
months ago, and since that date you have amused yourself without
hindrance from me. But your playtime must come to an end. Your father is
too poor to keep you longer at school, and has so little money that he
can give you nothing but his good wishes towards your future."
For more than a minute there was silence in the porch, while Tyler
Richardson stared out across the neat stretch of turf at the dancing
water beyond, evidently weighing the words to which the captain had
given vent. That he was strong and sturdy no one could deny. This
was no little vanity on the part of his father, but a fact which was
apparent to any who glanced at the lad. Seated there with his cap
dangling from his fingers, and the sunlight streaming through the
creepers on to his figure, one saw a youth whose rounded features
bore an unmistakable likeness to those possessed by the captain. But
there the resemblance ceased altogether; for Tyler's ruddy cheeks
and sparkling eyes betokened an abundance of good health, while his
lithe and active limbs, the poise of his head, and the breadth of his
shoulders, showed that he was a young man who delighted in plenty of
exercise, and to whom idleness was in all probability irksome. Then,
too, there was an expression upon his face which told almost as plainly
as could words that he was possessed of ambition, and that though he had
at present nothing to seriously occupy his attention, yet that, once his
vocation was found, he was determined to follow it up with all eagerness.
"I know the matter troubles you, Dad," he said, suddenly turning to
his father, "and I know what difficulties there are. Were it not so
my answer would be given in a moment, for what was good enough for my
father is a fine profession for me. The wish of my life is to enter the
royal navy."
"And your father's also. If I saw some way in which I could obtain a
commission for you, why, my lad, you should have it to-morrow, but
there!" (And the captain held out his palms and shrugged his shoulders
to show how helpless he was.) "You know as well as I do that I cannot
move a finger to help you in that direction. I must not grumble, but
for all that, your father has been an unfortunate dog. I entered the
service as full of eagerness as a lad might well be. I was strong and
healthy in those days, and the open life appealed to my nature. Then
came an unlucky day; a round-shot, fired from one of the French forts
which our ships were blockading, struck me on the hip, fracturing the
bone badly. You are aware of this. I barely escaped with my life, and
for months remained upon the sick-list. Then, seeing that I was useless
upon a ship, the Lords of the Admiralty gave me a shore billet, and for
two years I struggled wearily to perform the work. But the old wound
crippled me, and was a constant source of trouble, so that in the end I
was pensioned off, and retired to this cottage to spend the remainder
of my life. I'm a worn-out hulk, Tyler, and that's the truth. Had I
remained on the active list I should no doubt have made many friends
to whom I could have applied at this moment. Perhaps even were I to
state the facts to the Admiralty they would find a commission for you,
but then my means are too small to equip you for the life, and you
would start so badly that your future might be ruined. But there is
Frank, your uncle, who lives at Bristol, and conducts a large trade
with foreign parts; we never had much in common, but for all that have
always been excellent friends, and on more than one occasion he has
suggested that you might go to him and take a post in his warehouse.
If that did not suit you, he would apprentice you to one of his ships,
and the life for which you long would be before you. There, I have told
you everything, and seeing that I cannot obtain a commission for you in
the royal navy, I urge upon you to consider your uncle's proposition
seriously. Who knows, it may mean a great future. He is childless, and
might select you as his successor; and, if not that, he would at least
push on your fortunes and interest himself on your behalf."
Once more the old sea-captain leaned back in his seat and groped wearily
for his matches, while he fixed a pair of anxious eyes upon his son. As
for the latter, he still remained looking steadily out across the water,
as if searching for an answer from the numerous vessels which floated
there. At last, however, he rose to his feet and replaced the cap upon
his head.
"It's a big matter to settle," he said shortly, "and, as you say, I
had better consider it thoroughly. I'll give you my answer to-morrow,
Father, and I feel sure that I shall do as you wish. Every day I see
the necessity of doing something for my living, and as the navy is out
of the question I must accept the next best thing which comes along. I
should be an ungrateful beggar if I did not realize the kindness of my
uncle's offer, and if I decide to take advantage of it, you may be sure
that I shall do my best to please him in every particular. And now I
will get off to Southampton, for there is a big ship lying there which I
am anxious to see. She's full of grain, and hails from America."
Nodding to the captain, Tyler turned and strolled down the garden. Then,
placing one hand lightly upon the gate-post, he vaulted over the wicket
and disappeared behind a dense mass of hedge which hid the dusty road
from view. A moment or two later his father could hear him as he ran in
the direction of Southampton.
Half an hour later Tyler found himself amidst a maze of shipping, with
which the harbour was filled, and at once sought out the vessel of which
he had spoken. She was a big three-master, and lay moored alongside the
dock, with a derrick and shears erected beside her. A couple of gangways
led on to her decks, while a notice was slung in the rigging giving
warning to all and sundry that strangers were not admitted upon the ship.
A few minutes before Tyler arrived at his destination the stevedores had
knocked off work in order to partake of their dinner, whilst the hands
on board had retired to their quarters for the same purpose. In fact,
but for one of the officers, who strolled backwards and forwards on the
dock-side, the deck of the ship was deserted, and Tyler could have gone
on board without a soul to oppose him. But he knew the ways of shipping
people, for scarcely a day passed without his paying a visit to the
harbour. Indeed, so great was his love of the sea that during the last
three months he had spent the greater part of his time at the docks,
and, being a cheerful, gentle-mannered young fellow, had made many
friends amongst the officers and crew of the various vessels which had
put in there with cargoes for the port. Without hesitation, therefore,
he accosted the mate, who was strolling up and down upon the quay.
"May I go aboard?" he asked. "I hear that you carry a cargo of grain,
and I'm anxious to see how it's loaded."
"Then you've come at the right moment, sir," was the answer. "Step right
aboard, and look round as much as you want. We've been terrible hard
at work these last two days getting a cargo of cotton ashore, and now
we've just hove up the lower hatches, and shall be taking the grain out
of her when dinner's finished. It's come all this way for your naval
johnnies--at least that's what the boss has given me to understand;
and we are expecting a party of officers along any moment to take a
look at the stuff. I suppose they'll pass it right away, for it's good
right down to the keel. Then these fellows will tackle it with shovels
and bags, and you will see they'll hoist it up in a twinkling. Helloo!
Blessed if that ain't the party coming along this way!"
He turned, and indicated his meaning by a nod of his head in the
direction of three smartly-dressed naval officers who had just put in an
appearance.
"The party right enough," he said. "Just excuse me, sir, and get right
aboard if you care to."
Having obtained permission to go aboard, Tyler at once stepped to the
gangway, and was quickly upon the deck. Then he went to the hatchway,
which occupied a large square in the centre of the vessel, and leant
over the combing so as to obtain a good view of the scene below. Beneath
was a lower deck and a second hatchway of similar dimensions, the
covering of which had evidently been recently removed. A glance showed
him that the hold was filled with loose grain to within some six feet of
the hatchway, and he was occupied in wondering how many sacks of corn
had been necessary to fill it, when he was aroused by a voice at his
elbow. Turning swiftly, he found the three naval officers and the mate
standing beside him.
"A fine cargo, and in splendid condition," the latter was saying. "We've
just hove up the hatches for your inspection, and that's the way down."
He pointed to a perpendicular ladder which led from the upper hatch to
the one below, and stepped aside to allow the officers to approach it.
At the same moment Tyler caught the eye of the elder of the three naval
gentlemen, and at once, standing erect, he raised his hand as his father
had long since taught him to do.
"Ah, the correct salute, and I thank you for it!" said the officer,
acknowledging it swiftly. "Where did you learn it, my lad? I can see
that you have been taught by someone who was no landsman."
"My father, Captain Richardson, late of the royal navy, instructed me,
sir. He lives close at hand, and would spend his days here upon the
docks were it not that he is crippled and cannot get about."
"By a gun-shot wound--obtained in warfare?" asked the officer with
interest.
"Yes, sir. He was struck by a round-shot fired from a French fort, and
was pensioned from the service."
"That is sad, very unfortunate," said the officer; "but his son must
take his place, and repay the wound with interest when we have war
with France again. But I must see to this cargo. This is one of the
many duties which we sailors have to perform. At one time sailing a
three-master, and then conning one of the new steam-vessels which have
been added to our fleets. Another day we muster ashore, and then an
officer can never say what he may find before him. He may have to visit
the hospitals, the barracks, or inspect a delivery of hammocks before
it is divided amongst the men. To-day we are here to see this cargo of
grain, and to pass it if in good condition."
"Which it is, right away down to the keel, you guess!" burst in the
American mate. "Say, sir, there's the ladder, and if you'll excuse me,
the sooner the inspection's done with the sooner we'll clear the hold
and get away out to sea."
"Then oblige me by slipping down, Mr. Maxwell, and you too, Mr.
Troutbeck. Take one of those wooden spades with you, and turn the grain
over in every direction. Be careful to see that it is not mildewed or
affected by the damp. You can bring a specimen on deck for my benefit."
Hastily saluting, the two officers who had been addressed sprang towards
the steep gangway which led below, and swarmed down it with an agility
which was commendable. Then they paused for a moment or two upon the
edge of the lower hatch until a wooden spade had been tossed to them,
when they leapt upon the glistening mass of grain which filled the hold.
Meanwhile Tyler and the officer who had remained above stood leaning
over the upper hatch, looking down upon the figures below. Indeed, the
former was fascinated, for the sight of a naval uniform filled him
with delight, while to be able to watch officers at their work was a
treat which he would not have missed for anything. It was queer to see
the way in which the younger of the two juniors tossed his cane aside
with a merry laugh and commenced to delve with the spade; and still
more quaint to watch the second as he thrust his two hands into the
corn, and, having withdrawn them filled to the brim, walked towards
the edge of the hatch with the intention of spreading the grains there
the better to inspect them. But--that was stranger still, for, missing
his footing, the officer gave a violent swerve, and with difficulty
saved himself from tumbling full length. The sight, the exclamation of
astonishment and disgust, brought a smile to Tyler's lips; but a second
later his expression changed to one of amazement. Why, the officer
had again all but lost his footing, and--yes, as Tyler stared down at
him, he staggered to one side, threw one hand up to his face, and then
collapsed in a heap, where he lay with hands and toes half-buried in
the corn. Almost at the same moment his companion, who had been digging
vigorously, let his spade drop from his fingers, and looked about him
as if dazed. Then he struggled towards his comrade with a low cry of
alarm, only to stumble himself and come crashing into the grain.
"There's something wrong down there!" shouted Tyler, realizing that
some terrible misfortune had suddenly and unexpectedly overtaken the
naval officers. "Look, sir, they are on their faces, and appear to be
insensible!"
He tugged at the sleeve of the senior officer without ceremony, and
directed his attention to those below, for the former had been engaged
in conversation with the mate, and had not witnessed what had happened.
"Something wrong!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "Why, what could be
wrong? Ahoy, there, Troutbeck and Maxwell! Why, they are on their faces,
and, as I live, they are insensible!"
His amazement was so great that he stood there dumbfounded, and stared
at Tyler as though he could not believe his eyes. But a shout of alarm
from the mate quickly aroused him.
"It's the gas!" he cried in shrill anxious tones. "Quick, or they'll be
suffocated! Hi, for'ard there! All hands on deck to the rescue!"
He went racing towards the quarters in which the men were enjoying their
meal, leaving Tyler and the naval officer alone. As for the latter, his
astonishment was still so great that he remained rooted to the spot,
leaning over the hatchway, the combing of which he grasped with both
hands, whilst he stared down at the two prostrate figures huddled below
upon the corn as though the sight was too much for him. Then he suddenly
stood erect and screwed his knuckles into his eyes, as though he feared
that they were misleading him.
"Gas!" he murmured doubtfully. "What gas? How could there be such a
thing down there?" Then, suddenly recollecting the condition of his
juniors, and realizing that they were in the gravest danger, he sprang
towards the ladder which led to the hold below, and commenced to
descend it as rapidly as possible.
But Tyler was before him, for though dumbfounded at first at what was
beyond his comprehension, the shout to which the mate had given vent
had instantly caused him to understand the danger of the situation.
There was gas in the hold, some poisonous vapour unseen by those who
entered through the hatchway, but lying there floating over the corn
ready to attack any who might enter into the trap. What should he do?
The question flashed through his mind like lightning, and as quickly the
answer came.
"We must get | 195.362098 |
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Produced by Emmy, Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
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AUNT CRETE’S EMANCIPATION
[Illustration: “SHE WATCHED LUELLA’S DISMAYED FACE WITH GROWING
ALARM”]
Aunt Crete’s Emancipation
BY
GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL-LUTZ
Author of “The Girl from Montana,”
“The Story of a Whim,” Etc.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CLARA E. ATWOOD
THE GOLDEN RULE COMPANY
TREMONT TEMPLE
BOSTON, MASS.
_Copyright, 1911_
BY THE GOLDEN RULE COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A TELEGRAM AND A FLIGHT 11
II. THE BACKWOODS COUSIN 25
III. A WONDERFUL DAY 39
IV. AUNT CRETE TRANSFORMED 61
V. LUELLA AND HER MOTHER ARE MYSTIFIED 79
VI. AN EMBARRASSING MEETING 96
VII. LUELLA’S HUMILIATION 117
VIII. AUNT CRETE’S PARTNERSHIP 132
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“SHE WATCHED LUELLA’S DISMAYED FACE WITH GROWING
ALARM” _Frontispiece_
“HE HELPED WITH VIGOR” 31
“DONALD WATCHED HER WITH SATISFACTION” 52
“SHE BEAMED UPON THE WHOLE TRAINFUL OF PEOPLE” 63
“‘SOMEWHERE I HAVE SEEN THAT WOMAN,’ EXCLAIMED LUELLA’S
MOTHER” 81
“THEY STOOD FACE TO FACE WITH THE WONDERFUL LADY IN
THE GRAY GOWN” 102
“‘IT’S A LIE! I SAY IT’S A LIE!’” 123
“AUNT CRETE WAS AT LAST EMANCIPATED” 143
Aunt Crete’s Emancipation
CHAPTER I
A TELEGRAM AND A FLIGHT
“WHO’S at the front door?” asked Luella’s mother, coming in from
the kitchen with a dish-towel in her hand. “I thought I heard the
door-bell.”
“Luella’s gone to the door,” said her sister from her vantage-point at
the crack of the sitting-room door. “It looks to me like a telegraph
boy.”
“It couldn’t be, Crete,” said Luella’s mother impatiently, coming to
see for herself. “Who would telegraph now that Hannah’s dead?”
Lucretia was short and dumpy, with the comfortable, patient look of the
maiden aunt that knows she is indispensable because she will meekly
take all the burdens that no one else wants to bear. Her sister could
easily look over her head into the hall, and her gaze was penetrative
and alert.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Carrie,” said Lucretia apprehensively; “but I’m
all of a tremble. Telegrams are dreadful things.”
“Nonsense, Crete, you always act like such a baby. Hurry up, Luella.
Don’t stop to read it. Your aunt Crete will have a fit. Wasn’t there
anything to pay? Who is it for?”
Luella, a rather stout young woman in stylish attire, with her mother’s
keen features unsoftened by sentiment, advanced, irreverently tearing
open her mother’s telegram and reading it as she came. It was one of
the family grievances that Luella was stout like her aunt instead
of tall and slender like her mother. The aunt always felt secretly
that they somehow blamed her for being of that type. “It makes one so
hard to fit,” Luella’s mother remarked frequently, and adding with a
disparaging glance at her sister’s dumpy form, “So impossible!”
At such times the aunt always wrinkled up her pleasant little
forehead into a V upside down, and trotted off to her kitchen, or her
buttonholes, or whatever was the present task, sighing helplessly. She
tried to be the best that she could always; but one couldn’t help one’s
figure, especially when one was partly dependent on one’s family for
support, and dressmakers and tailors took so much money. It was bad
enough to have one stout figure to fit in the family without two; and
the aunt always felt called upon to have as little dressmaking done
as possible, in order that Luella’s figure might be improved from the
slender treasury. “Clothes do make a big difference,” she reflected.
And sometimes when she was all alone in the twilight, and there was
really nothing that her alert conscience could possibly put her hand to
doing for the moment, she amused herself by thinking what kind of dress
she would buy, and who should make it, if she should suddenly attain a
fortune. But this was a harmless amusement, inasmuch as she never let
it make her discontented with her lot, or ruffle her placid brow for an
instant.
But just now she was “all of a tremble,” and the V in her forehead was
rapidly becoming a double V. She watched Luella’s dismayed face with
growing alarm.
“For goodness’ sake alive!” said Luella, flinging herself into the most
comfortable rocker, and throwing her mother’s telegram on the table.
“That’s not to be tolerated! Something’ll have to be done. We’ll have
to go to the shore at once, mother. I should die of mortification to
have a country cousin come around just now. What would the Grandons
think if they saw him? I can’t afford to ruin all my chances for a
cousin I’ve never seen. Mother, you simply must do something. I won’t
stand it!”
“What in the world are you talking about, Luella?” said her mother
impatiently. “Why didn’t you read the telegram aloud, or why didn’t you
give it to me at once? Where are my glasses?”
The aunt waited meekly while her sister found her glasses, and read the
telegram.
“Well, I declare! That is provoking to have him turn up just now of
all times. Something must be done, of course. We can’t have a gawky
Westerner around in the way. And, as you say, we’ve never seen him. It
can’t make much difference to him whether he sees us or not. We can
hurry off, and be conveniently out of the way. It’s probably only a
‘duty visit’ he’s paying, anyway. Hannah’s been dead ten years, and
I always heard the child was more like his father than his mother.
Besides, Hannah married and went away to live when I was only a little
girl. I really don’t think Donald has much claim on us. What a long
telegram! It must have cost a lot. Was it paid for? It shows he knows
nothing of the world, or he would have put it in a few words. Well,
we’ll have to get away at once.”
She crumpled the telegram into a ball, and flung it to the table
again; but it fell wide of its mark, and dropped to the floor instead.
The aunt patiently stooped and picked it up, smoothing out the crushed
yellow paper.
“Hannah’s boy!” she said gently, and she touched the yellow paper as if
it had been something sacred.
“Am taking a trip East, and shall make you a little visit if
convenient. Will be with you sometime on Thursday.
DONALD GRANT.”
She sat down suddenly in the nearest chair. Somehow the relief from
anxiety had made her knees weak. “Hannah’s boy!” she murmured again,
and laid her hand caressingly over the telegram, smoothing down a torn
place in the edge of the paper.
Luella and her mother were discussing plans. They had decided that they
must leave on the early train the next morning, before there was any
chance of the Western visitor’s arriving.
“Goodness! Look at Aunt Crete,” said Luella, laughing. “She looks as if
she had seen a ghost. Her lips are all white.”
“Crete, you oughtn’t to be such a fool. As if a telegram would hurt
you! There’s nobody left to be | 195.36316 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 53897-h.htm or 53897-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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https://archive.org/details/trailsofpathfind00grinrich
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
* * * * * *
IN THE SAME SERIES
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
=The Boy’s Catlin.= My Life Among the Indians, by GEORGE
CATLIN. Edited by MARY GAY HUMPHREYS. Illustrated.
12mo. _net_ $1.50
=The Boy’s Hakluyt.= English Voyages of Adventure and
Discovery, retold from Hakluyt by EDWIN M. BACON.
Illustrated. 12mo. _net_ $1.50
=The Boy’s Drake.= By EDWIN M. BACON. Illustrated. 12mo.
_net_ $1.50
=Trails of the Pathfinders.= By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL.
Illustrated. 12mo. _net_ $1.50
* * * * * *
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
[Illustration:
CAPTAINS LEWIS AND CLARK WERE MUCH PUZZLED AT THIS POINT TO KNOW
WHICH OF THE RIVERS BEFORE THEM WAS THE MAIN MISSOURI.]
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
by
GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL
Author of “Blackfoot Lodge Tales,” “Pawnee Hero
Stories and Folk Tales,” “The Story of the
Indian,” “Indians of Today,” etc.
Illustrated
New York
Charles Scribner’S Sons
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
Charles Scribner’S Sons
Published April, 1911
[Illustration]
PREFACE
The chapters in this book appeared first as part of a series of
articles under the same title contributed to _Forest and Stream_
several years ago. At the time they aroused much interest and there was
a demand that they should be put into book form.
The books from which these accounts have been drawn are good reading
for all Americans. They are at once history and adventure. They deal
with a time when half the continent was unknown; when the West--distant
and full of romance--held for the young, the brave and the hardy,
possibilities that were limitless.
The legend of the kingdom of El Dorado did not pass with the passing of
the Spaniards. All through the eighteenth and a part of the nineteenth
century it was recalled in another sense by the fur trader, and with
the discovery of gold in California it was heard again by a great
multitude--and almost with its old meaning.
Besides these old books on the West, there are many others which every
American should read. They treat of that same romantic period, and
describe the adventures of explorers, Indian fighters, fur hunters and
fur traders. They are a part of the history of the continent.
NEW YORK, _April_, 1911.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 3
II. ALEXANDER HENRY--I 13
III. ALEXANDER HENRY--II 36
IV. JONATHAN CARVER 57
V. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE--I 84
VI. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE--II 102
VII. ALEXANDER MACKENZIE--III 121
VIII. LEWIS AND CLARK--I 138
IX. LEWIS AND CLARK--II 154
X. LEWIS AND CLARK--III 169
XI. LEWIS AND CLARK--IV 179
XII. LEWIS AND CLARK--V 190
XIII. ZEBULON M. PIKE--I 207
XIV. ZEBULON M. PIKE--II 226
XV. ZEBULON M. PIKE--III 238
XVI. ALEXANDER HENRY (THE YOUNGER)--I 253
XVII. ALEXANDER HENRY (THE YOUNGER)--II 271
XVIII. ALEXANDER HENRY (THE YOUNGER)--III 287
XIX. ROSS COX--I 301
XX. ROSS COX--II 319
XXI. THE COMMERCE OF THE PRAIRIES--I 330
XXII. THE COMMERCE OF THE PRAIRIES--II 341
XXIII. SAMUEL PARKER 359
XXIV. THOMAS J. FARNHAM--I 372
XXV. THOMAS J. FARNHAM--II 382
XXVI. FREMONT--I 393
XXVII. FREMONT--II 405
XXVIII. FREMONT--III 415
XXIX. FREMONT--IV 428
XXX. FREMONT--V 435
ILLUSTRATIONS
CAPTAINS LEWIS AND CLARK WERE MUCH PUZZLED AT THIS POINT TO
KNOW WHICH OF THE RIVERS BEFORE THEM WAS THE MAIN MISSOURI
_Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
“I NOW RESIGNED MYSELF TO THE FATE WITH WHICH I WAS MENACED” 28
A MAN OF THE NAUDOWESSIE 62
From _Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America_,
by Jonathan Carver
A MAN OF THE OTTIGAUMIES 62
From _Travels Through the Interior Parts of North America_,
by Jonathan Carver
ALEXANDER MACKENZIE 84
From Mackenzie’s _Voyages from Montreal Through the Continent
of North America_, etc.
MACKENZIE AND THE MEN JUMPED OVERBOARD 118
LIEUTENANT ZEBULON MONTGOMERY PIKE, MONUMENT AT COLORADO SPRINGS,
COLORADO 208
BUFFALO ON THE SOUTHERN PLAINS 236
From Kendall’s _Narrative of the Texas Santa Fé Expedition_
TWO MEN MOUNTED ON HER BACK, BUT SHE WAS AS ACTIVE WITH THIS LOAD
AS BEFORE 270
FUR TRADERS OF THE NORTH 280
ASTORIA IN 1813 302
From Franchere’s _Narrative of a Voyage to the Northwest
Coast of America_
CARAVAN ON THE MARCH 334
From Gregg’s _Commerce of the Prairies_
WAGONS PARKED FOR THE NIGHT 340
From Gregg’s _Commerce of the Prairies_
TRAPPERS ATTACKED BY INDIANS 360
From an old print by A. Tait
TRAIN STAMPEDED BY WILD HORSES 372
From Bartlett’s _Texas, New Mexico, California_, etc.
MAJOR-GENERAL JOHN C. FREMONT 394
AN OTO COUNCIL 414
From James’s _An Expedition from Pittsburgh to the Rocky
Mountains by Major Stephen H. Long_.
MAP
PAGE
ROUTES OF SOME OF THE PATHFINDERS 2
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
[Illustration: ROUTES OF SOME OF THE PATHFINDERS]
TRAILS OF THE PATHFINDERS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
Three centuries ago half a dozen tiny hamlets, peopled by white men,
were scattered along the western shores of the North Atlantic Ocean.
These little settlements owed allegiance to different nations of
Europe, each of which had thrust out a hand to grasp some share of the
wealth which might lie in the unknown wilderness which stretched away
from the seashore toward the west.
The “Indies” had been discovered more than a hundred years before, but
though ships had sailed north and ships had sailed south, little was
known of the land, through which men were seeking a passage to share
the trade which the Portuguese, long before, had opened up with the
mysterious East. That passage had not been found. To the north lay ice
and snow, to the south--vaguely known--lay the South Sea. What that
South Sea was, what its limits, what its relations to lands already
visited, were still secrets.
St. Augustine had been founded in 1565; and forty years later the
French made their first settlement at Port Royal in what is now Nova
Scotia. In 1607 Jamestown was settled; and a year later the French
established Quebec. The Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts in 1620 and
the first settlement of the Dutch on the island of Manhattan was in
1623. All these settlers establishing themselves in a new country
found enough to do in the struggle to procure subsistence, to protect
themselves from the elements and from the attacks of enemies, without
attempting to discover what lay inland--beyond the sound of the salt
waves which beat upon the coast. Not until later was any effort made to
learn what lay in the vast interior.
Time went on. The settlements increased. Gradually men pushed farther
and farther inland. There were wars; and one nation after another was
crowded from its possessions, until, at length, the British owned all
the settlements in eastern temperate America. The white men still clung
chiefly to the sea-coast, and it was in western Pennsylvania that the
French and Indians defeated Braddock in 1755, George Washington being
an officer under his command.
A little later came the war of the Revolution, and a new people sprang
into being in a land a little more than two hundred and fifty years
known. This people, teeming with energy, kept reaching out in all
directions for new things. As they increased in numbers they spread
chiefly in the direction of least resistance. The native tribes were
easier to displace than the French, who held forts to the north, and
the Spanish, who possessed territory to the south; and the temperate
climate toward the west attracted them more than the cold of the
north or the heat of the south. So the Americans pushed on always
to the setting sun, and their early movements gave truth to Bishop
Berkeley’s famous line, written long before and in an altogether
different connection, “Westward the course of empire takes its way.”
The Mississippi was reached, and little villages, occupied by Frenchmen
and their half-breed children, began to change, to be transformed into
American towns. Yet in 1790, ninety-five per cent. of the population of
the United States was on the Atlantic seaboard.
Now came the Louisiana Purchase, and immediately after that the
expedition across the continent by Meriwether Lewis and William
Clark. The trip took two years’ time, and the reports brought back
by the intrepid explorers, telling the wonderful story of what lay
in the unknown beyond, greatly stimulated the imagination of the
western people. Long before this it had become known that | 195.454183 |
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CELEBRATED TRAVELS AND TRAVELLERS.
THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.
[Frontispiece: TRANSLATED BY DORA LEIGH]
CELEBRATED TRAVELS AND TRAVELLERS.
THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.
BY JULES VERNE
WITH 59 ILLUSTRATIONS BY L. BENETT AND P. PHILIPPOTEAUX,
AND 50 FAC-SIMILES OF ANCIENT DRAWINGS.
[Illustration: _TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH._]
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON | 195.462959 |
2023-11-16 18:20:19.5398400 | 138 | 29 |
This eBook was produced by David Widger <[email protected]>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the
file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an
entire meal of them. D.W.]
THE EMPEROR, Part 1.
By Georg Ebers
Volume 2.
CHAPTER V.
Pontius had gone to the steward's room, with a frowning brow, but it was
with a smile on his strongly-marked lips, and a brisk step that he
returned to his work-people. The foreman came to meet | 195.55988 |
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YALE UNIVERSITY
MRS. HEPSA ELY SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PUBLISHED BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
ELECTRICITY AND MATTER. _By_ JOSEPH JOHN THOMSON,
D.SC., LL.D., PH.D., F.R.S., _Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge, Cavendish Professor of Experimental Physics, Cambridge_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE INTEGRATIVE ACTION OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.
_By_ CHARLES S. SHERRINGTON,
D.SC., M.D., HON. LL.D., TOR., F.R.S.,
_Holt Professor of Physiology in the University of Liverpool_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 25 cents extra._
RADIOACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS. _By_ ERNEST RUTHERFORD,
D.SC., LL.D., F.R.S., _Macdonald Professor of Physics,
McGill University_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 22 cents extra._
EXPERIMENTAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATIONS OF
THERMODYNAMICS TO CHEMISTRY.
_By_ DR. WALTHER NERNST, _Professor and Director of the
Institute of Physical Chemistry in the University of Berlin_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE PROBLEMS OF GENETICS. _By_ WILLIAM BATESON, M.A.,
F.R.S., _Director of the John Innes Horticultural Institution,
Merton Park, Surrey, England_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 25 cents extra._
STELLAR MOTIONS.
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO MOTIONS DETERMINED BY MEANS OF
THE SPECTROGRAPH. _By_ WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL, SC.D., LL.D.,
_Director of the Lick Observatory, University of California_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 30 cents extra._
THEORIES OF SOLUTIONS. _By_ SVANTE AUGUST ARRHENIUS,
PH.D., SC.D., M.D., _Director of the Physico-Chemical
Department of the Nobel Institute, Stockholm, Sweden_.
_Price $2.25 net; postage 15 cents extra._
IRRITABILITY.
A PHYSIOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE GENERAL EFFECT OF
STIMULI IN LIVING SUBSTANCES.
_By_ MAX VERWORN,
_Professor at Bonn Physiological Institute_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 20 cents extra._
THE EVOLUTION OF MODERN MEDICINE.
_By_ SIR WILLIAM OSLER, BART., M.D., LL.D., SC.D.,
_Regius Professor of Medicine, Oxford University_.
_Price $3.00 net; postage 40 cents extra._
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
BY
WILLIAM BATESON, M.A., F.R.S.
DIRECTOR OF THE JOHN INNES HORTICULTURAL INSTITUTION,
HON. FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
AND FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF BIOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913
By YALE UNIVERSITY
First printed August, 1913, 1000 copies
[** Transcriber's Note:
Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate ITALICS
in the original text.
Hyphenation was used inconsistently by the author and has been
left as in the original text. ]
THE SILLIMAN FOUNDATION
In the year 1883 a legacy of about eighty-five thousand dollars was left
to the President and Fellows of Yale College in the city of New Haven,
to be held in trust, as a gift from her children, in memory of their
beloved and honored mother, Mrs. Hepsa Ely Silliman.
On this foundation Yale College was requested and directed to establish
an annual course of lectures designed to illustrate the presence and
providence, the wisdom and goodness of God, as manifested in the natural
and moral world. These were to be designated as the Mrs. Hepsa Ely
Silliman Memorial Lectures. It was the belief of the testator that any
orderly presentation of the facts of nature or history contributed
to the end of this foundation more effectively than any attempt to
emphasize the elements of doctrine or of creed; and he therefore
provided that lectures on dogmatic or polemical theology should be
excluded from the scope of this foundation, and that the subjects should
be selected rather from the domains of natural science and history,
giving special prominence to astronomy, chemistry, geology, and anatomy.
It was further directed that each annual course should be made the basis
of a volume to form part of a series constituting a memorial to Mrs.
Silliman. The memorial fund came into the possession of the Corporation
of Yale University in the year 1901; and the present volume constitutes
the fifth of the series of memorial lectures.
PREFACE
This book gives the substance of a series of lectures delivered in Yale
University, where I had the privilege of holding the office of Silliman
Lecturer in 1907.
The delay in publication was brought about by a variety of causes.
Inasmuch as the purpose of the lectures is to discuss some of the wider
problems of biology in the light of knowledge acquired by Mendelian
methods of analysis, it was essential that a fairly full account of
the conclusions established by them should first be undertaken and I
therefore postponed the present work till a book on Mendel's Principles
had been completed.
On attempting a more general discussion of the bearing of the phenomena
on the theory of Evolution, I found myself continually hindered by the
consciousness that such treatment is premature, and by doubt whether
it were not better that the debate should for the present stand
indefinitely adjourned. That species have come into existence by an
evolutionary process no one seriously doubts; but few who are familiar
with the facts that genetic research has revealed are now inclined to
speculate as to the manner by which the process has been accomplished.
Our knowledge of the nature and properties of living things is far too
meagre to justify any such attempts. Suggestions of course can be made:
though, however, these ideas may have a stimulating value in the lecture
room, they look weak and thin when set out in print. The work which may
one day give them a body has yet to be done.
The development of negations is always an ungrateful task apt to be
postponed for the positive business of experiment. Such work is happily
now going forward in most of the centers of scientific life. Of many
of the subjects here treated we already know more than we did in 1907.
The delay in production has made it possible to incorporate these new
contributions.
The book makes no pretence at being a treatise and the number of
illustrative cases has been kept within a moderate compass. A good many
of the examples have been chosen from American natural history, as being
appropriate to a book intended primarily for American readers. The facts
are largely given on the authority of others, and I wish to express my
gratitude for the abundant assistance received from American colleagues,
especially from the staffs of the American Museum in New York, and of
the Boston Museum of Natural History. In connexion with the particular
subjects personal acknowledgments are made.
Dr. F. M. Chapman was so good as to supervise the preparation of the
Plate of _Colaptes_, and to authorize the loan of the Plate
representing the various forms of _Helminthophila_, which is taken from
his _North American Warblers_.
I am under obligation to Messrs. Macmillan & Co., for permission to
reproduce several figures from _Materials for the Study of Variation_,
illustrating subjects which I wished to treat in new associations, and
to M. Leduc for leave to use Fig. 9.
In conclusion I thank my friends in Yale for the high honour they did me
by their invitation to contribute to the series of Silliman Lectures,
and for much kindness received during a delightful sojourn in that
genial home of learning.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCTORY. THE PROBLEM OF SPECIES AND VARIETY 1
II. MERISTIC PHENOMENA 31
III. SEGMENTATION, ORGANIC AND MECHANICAL 60
IV. THE CLASSIFICATION OF VARIATION AND THE NATURE
OF SUBSTANTIVE VARIATION 83
NOTE TO CHAPTER IV 94
V. THE MUTATION THEORY 97
NOTE TO CHAPTER V 116
VI. VARIATION AND LOCALITY 118
VII. LOCAL DIFFERENTIATION--_continued_.
OVERLAPPING FORMS 146
VIII. LOCALLY DIFFERENTIATED FORMS--_continued_.
CLIMATIC VARIETIES 164
IX. THE EFFECTS OF CHANGED CONDITIONS 187
X. THE EFFECTS OF CHANGED CONDITIONS--_continued_.
THE CAUSES OF GENETIC VARIATION 212
XI. THE STERILITY OF HYBRIDS. CONCLUDING REMARKS 233
APPENDIX TO CHAPTER X 250
INDEX 251
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
The purpose of these lectures is to discuss some of the familiar
phenomena of biology in the light of modern discoveries. In the last
decade of the nineteenth century many of us perceived that if any
serious advance was to be made with the group of problems generally
spoken of as the Theory of Evolution, methods of investigation must be
devised and applied of a kind more direct and more penetrating than
those which after the general acceptance of the Darwinian views had been
deemed adequate. Such methods obviously were to be found in a critical
and exhaustive study of the facts of variation and heredity, upon which
all conceptions of evolution are based. To construct a true synthetic
theory of Evolution it was necessary that variation and heredity instead
of being merely postulated as axioms should be minutely examined as
phenomena. Such a study Darwin himself had indeed tentatively begun, but
work of a more thorough and comprehensive quality was required. In the
conventional view which the orthodoxy of the day prescribed, the terms
variation and heredity stood for processes so vague and indefinite that
no analytical investigation of them could be contemplated. So soon,
however, as systematic inquiry into the natural facts was begun it was
at once found that the accepted ideas of variation were unfounded.
Variation was seen very frequently to be a definite and specific
phenomenon, affecting different forms of life in different ways, but
in all its diversity showing manifold and often obvious indications
of regularity. This observation was not in its essence novel. Several
examples of definite variation had been well known to Darwin and
others, but many, especially Darwin himself in his later years, had
nevertheless been disposed to depreciate the significance of such
facts. They consequently then lapsed into general disparagement. Upon
more careful inquiry the abundance of such phenomena proved to be far
greater than was currently supposed, and a discussion of their nature
brought into prominence a consideration of greater weight, namely that
the differences by which these definite or discontinuous variations are
constituted again and again approximate to and are comparable with the
class of differences by which species are distinguished from each other.
The interest of such observations could no longer be denied. The
more they were examined the more apparent it became that by means of
the facts of variation a new light was obtained on the physiological
composition and capabilities of living things. Genetics thus cease to be
merely a method of investigating theories of evolution or of the origin
of species but provide a novel and hitherto untried instrument by which
the nature of the living organism may be explored. Just as in the study
of non-living matter science began by regarding the external properties
of weight, opacity, colour, hardness, mode of occurrence, etc., noting
only such evidences of chemical attributes and powers as chance
spontaneously revealed; and much later proceeded to the discovery that
these casual manifestations of chemical properties, rightly interpreted,
afford a key to the intrinsic nature of the diversity of matter, so in
biology, having examined those features of living things which ordinary
observations can perceive, we come at last to realize that when studied
for their own sake the properties of living organisms in respect of
heredity and variation are indications of their inner nature and provide
evidences of that nature which can be obtained from no other source.
While such ideas were gradually forming in our minds, came the
rediscovery of Mendel's work. Investigations which before had only
been imagined as desirable now became easy to pursue, and questions
as to the genetic inter-relations and compositions of varieties can
now be definitely answered. Without prejudice to what the future may
disclose whether by way of limitation or extension of Mendelian method,
it can be declared with confidence and certainty that we have now the
means of beginning an analysis of living organisms, and distinguishing
many of the units or factors which essentially determine and cause the
development of their several attributes.
Briefly put, the essence of Mendelism lies in the discovery of the
existence of unit characters or factors. For an account of the Mendelian
method, how it is applied and what it has already accomplished,
reference must be made to other works.[1] With this part of the subject
I shall assume a sufficient acquaintance. In these lectures I have
rather set myself the task of considering how certain problems appear
when viewed from the standpoint to which the application of these
methods has led us. It is indeed somewhat premature to discuss such
questions. The work of Mendelian analysis is progressing with great
rapidity and anything I can say may very soon be superseded as out
of date. Nevertheless a discussion of this kind may be of at least
temporary service in directing inquiry to the points of special interest.
THE PROBLEM OF SPECIES AND VARIETY
Nowhere does our new knowledge of heredity and variation apply more
directly than to the problem what is a species and what is a variety? I
cannot assert that we are already in a position to answer this important
question, but as will presently appear, our mode of attack and the
answers we expect to receive are not those that were contemplated by our
predecessors. If we glance at the history of the scientific conception
of Species we find many signs that it was not till comparatively recent
times that the definiteness of species became a strict canon of the
scientific faith and that attempts were made to give precise limits
to that conception. When the diversity of living things began to be
accurately studied in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries names
were applied in the loosest fashion, and in giving a name to an animal
or a plant the naturalists of those times had no ulterior intention.
Names were bestowed on those creatures about which the writer proposed
to speak. When Gesner or Aldrovandi refer to all the kinds of horses,
unicorns, dogs, mermaids, etc., which they had seen or read of, giving
to each a descriptive name, they do not mean to "elevate" each named
kind to "specific rank"; and if anyone had asked them what they meant by
a species, it is practically certain that they would have had not the
slightest idea what the question might imply, or any suspicion that it
raised a fundamental problem of nature.
Spontaneous generation being a matter of daily observation, then
unquestioned, and supernatural events of all kinds being commonly
reported by many witnesses, transmutation of species had no inherent
improbability. Matthioli,[2] for instance, did not expect to be charged
with heresy when he declared _Stirpium mutatio_ to be of ordinary
occurrence. After giving instances of induced modifications he wrote,
"Tantum enim in plantis naturae germanitas potest, ut non solum saepe
praedictos praestet effectus, sed etiam ut alteram in alteram stirpem
facile vertat, ut cassiam in cinnamomum, sisymbrium in mentham, triticum
in lolium, hordeum in avenam, et ocymum in serpyllum."
I do not know who first emphasized the need for a clear understanding
of the sense in which the term species is to be applied. In the second
half of the seventeenth century Ray shows some degree of concern on
this matter. In the introduction to the _Historia Plantarum_, 1686, he
discusses some of the difficulties and lays down the principle that
varieties which can be produced from the seed of the same plant are to
be regarded as belonging to one species, being, I believe, the first
to suggest this definition. That new species can come into existence
he denies as inconsistent with Genesis 2, in which it is declared that
God finished the work of Creation in six days. Nevertheless he does not
wholly discredit the possibility of a "transmutation" of species, such
that one species may as an exceptional occurrence give rise by seed
to another and nearly allied species. Of such a phenomenon he gives
illustrations the authenticity of which he says he is, against his will,
compelled to admit. He adds that some might doubt whether in the cases
quoted the two forms concerned are really distinct species, but the
passage is none the less of value for it shews that the conception of
species as being distinct unchangeable entities was not to Ray the dogma
sacrosanct and unquestionable which it afterwards became.[3]
In the beginning of the eighteenth century Marchant,[4] having observed
the sudden appearance of a lacinated variety of _Mercurialis_, makes the
suggestion that species in general may have arisen by similar mutations.
Indeed from various passages it is manifest that to the authors of the
seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries species appeared simply as
groups more or less definite, the boundaries of which it was unnecessary
to determine with great exactitude. Such views were in accord with the
general scientific conception of the time. The mutability of species is
for example sometimes likened (see for instance Sharrock, loc. cit.) to
the metamorphoses of insects, and it is to be remembered that the search
for the Philosopher's Stone by which the transmutation of metals was to
be effected had only recently fallen into discredit as a pursuit.
The notion indeed of a peculiar, fixed meaning to be attached to species
as distinct from variety is I think but rarely to be found categorically
expressed in prae-Linnaean writings.
But with the appearance of the _Systema Naturae_ a great change
supervened. Linnaeus was before all a man of order. Foreseeing the
immense practical gain to science that must come from a codification of
nomenclature, he invented such a system.
It is not in question that Linnaeus did great things for us and made
Natural History a manageable and accessible collection of facts instead
of a disorderly heap; but orderliness of mind has another side, and
inventors and interpreters of systems soon attribute to them a force and
a precision which in fact they have not.
The systematist is primarily a giver of names, as Ray with his broader
views perceived. Linnaeus too in the exordium to the _Systema Naturae_
naively remarks, that he is setting out to continue the work which
Adam began in the Golden Age, to give names to the living creatures.
Naming however involves very delicate processes of mind and of logic.
Carried out by the light of meagre and imperfect knowledge it entails
all the mischievous consequences of premature definition, and promotes
facile illusions of finality. So was it with the Linnaean system. An
interesting piece of biological history might be written respecting the
growth and gradual hardening of the conception of Species. To readers
of Linnaeus's own writings it is well known that his views cannot be
summarized in a few words. Expressed as they were at various times
during a long life and in various connexions, they present those divers
inconsistencies which commonly reflect a mind retaining the power of
development. Nothing certainly could be clearer than the often quoted
declaration of the _Philosophia Botanica_, "Species tot numeramus quot
diversae formae in principio sunt creatae," with the associated passage
"Varietates sunt plantae ejusdem speciei mutatae a caussa quacunque
occasionali." Those sayings however do not stand alone. In several
places, notably in the famous dissertation on the peloric _Linaria_
he explicitly contemplates the possibility that new species may arise
by crossing, declaring nevertheless that he thinks such an event to
be improbable. In that essay he refers to Marchant's observation on a
laciniate _Mercurialis_, but though he states clearly that that plant
should only be regarded as a variety of the normal, he does not express
any opinion that the contemporary genesis of new species must be an
impossibility. In the later dissertation on Hybrid Plants he returns to
the same topic. Again though he states the belief that species cannot
be generated by cross-breedings, he treats the subject not as heretical
absurdity but as one deserving respectful consideration.
The significance of the aphorisms that precede the lectures on the
Natural Orders is not easy to apprehend. These are expressed with the
utmost formality, and we cannot doubt that in them we have Linnaeus's
own words, though for the record we are dependent on the transcripts of
his pupils.
The text of the first five is as follows:
1. Creator T. O. in primordio vestiit Vegetabile _Medullare_
principiis constitutivis diversi _Corticalis_ unde tot difformia
individua, quot _Ordines_ Naturales prognata.
2. _Classicas_ has (1) plantas Omnipotens miscuit inter se,
unde tot _Genera_ ordinum, quot inde plantae.
3. _Genericas_ has (2) miscuit Natura, unde tot _Species_
congeneres quot hodie existunt.
4. _Species_ has miscuit Casus, unde totidem quot passim
occurrunt, _Varietates_.
5. Suadent haec (1-4) Creatoris leges a simplicibus ad
Composita.
Naturae leges generationis in hybridis.
Hominis leges ex observatis a posteriori.
I am not clear as to the parts assigned in the first sentence
respectively to the "_Medulla_" and the "_Cortex_," beyond that Linnaeus
conceived that multiformity was first brought about by diversity in
the "_Cortex_." The passage is rendered still more obscure if read in
connection with the essay on "_Generatio Ambigena_," where he expresses
the conviction that the _Medulla_ is contributed by the mother, and the
_Cortex_ by the father, both in plants and animals.[5]
But however that may be, he regards this original diversity as resulting
in the constitution of the Natural Orders, each represented by one
individual.
In the second aphorism the Omnipotent is represented as creating the
genera by intermixing the individual _plantae classicae_, or prototypes
of the Natural Orders.
The third statement is the most remarkable, for in it he declares that
Species were formed by the act of Nature, who by inter-mixing the genera
produced _Species congeneres_, namely species inside each genus, to the
number which now exist. Lastly, Chance or Accident, intermixing the
species, produced as many varieties as there are about us.
Linnaeus thus evidently regarded the intermixing of an originally
limited number of types as the sufficient cause of all subsequent
diversity, and it is clear that he draws an antithesis between
_Creator_, _Natura_, and _Casus_, assigning to each a special part
in the operations. The acts resulting in the formation of genera are
obviously regarded as completed within the days of the Creation, but the
words do not definitely show that the parts played by Nature and Chance
were so limited.
Recently also E. L. Greene[6] has called attention to some curious
utterances buried in the _Species Plantarum_, in which Linnaeus refers
to intermediate and transitional species, using language that even
suggests evolutionary proclivities of a modern kind, and it is not easy
to interpret them otherwise.
Whatever Linnaeus himself believed to be the truth, the effect of his
writings was to induce a conviction that the species of animals and
plants were immutably fixed. Linnaeus had reduced the whole mass of
names to order and the old fantastical transformations with the growth
of knowledge had lapsed into discredit; the fixity of species was
taken for granted, but not till the overt proclamation of evolutionary
doctrine by Lamarck do we find the strenuous and passionate assertions
of immutability characteristic of the first half of the nineteenth
century.
It is not to be supposed that the champions of fixity were unacquainted
with varietal differences and with the problem thus created, but in
their view these difficulties were apparent merely, and by sufficiently
careful observation they supposed that the critical and permanent
distinctions of the true species could be discovered, and the
impermanent variations detected and set aside.
This at all events was the opinion formed by the great body of
naturalists at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth
centuries, and to all intents and purposes in spite of the growth of
evolutionary ideas, it remains the guiding principle of systematists
to the present day. There are 'good species' and 'bad species' and the
systematists of Europe and America spend most of their time in making
and debating them.
In some of its aspects the problem of course confronted earlier
naturalists. Parkinson for instance (1640) in introducing his treatment
of _Hieracium_ wrote, "To set forth the whole family of the Hawkeweedes
in due forme and order is such a world of worke that I am in much doubt
of mine own abilitie, it having | 195.656327 |
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Produced by Al Haines
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
CONTENTS
A Story
By the Almshouse Window
The Angel
Anne Lisbeth
Beauty of Form and Beauty of Mind
The Beetle who went on his Travels
The Bell
The Bell-deep
The Bird of Popular Song
The Bishop of Borglum and his Warriors
The Bottle Neck
The Buckwheat
The Butterfly
A Cheerful Temper
The Child in the Grave
Children's Prattle
The Farm-yard Cock and the Weather-cock
The Daisy
The Darning-Needle
Delaying | 195.659166 |
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Produced by Curtis A. Weyant, David Maddock, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: ]
THE LITTLE LADY OF THE BIG HOUSE
BY
JACK LONDON
Author of "The Valley of the Moon," "The Star Rover," "The Sea Wolf,"
Etc.
CHAPTER I
He awoke in the dark. His awakening was simple, easy, without movement
save for the eyes that opened and made him aware of darkness. Unlike
most, who must feel and grope and listen to, and contact with, the
world about them, he knew himself on the moment of awakening, instantly
identifying himself in time and place and personality. After the lapsed
hours of sleep he took up, without effort, the interrupted tale of his
days. He knew himself to be Dick Forrest, the master of broad acres,
who had fallen asleep hours before after drowsily putting a match
between the pages of "Road Town" and pressing off the electric reading
lamp.
Near at hand there was the ripple and gurgle of some sleepy fountain.
From far off, so faint and far that only a keen ear could catch, he
heard a sound that made him smile with pleasure. He knew it for the
distant, throaty bawl of King Polo--King Polo, his champion Short Horn
bull, thrice Grand Champion also of all bulls at Sacramento at the
California State Fairs. The smile was slow in easing from Dick
Forrest's face, for he dwelt a moment on the new triumphs he had
destined that year for King Polo on the Eastern livestock circuits. He
would show them that a bull, California born and finished, could
compete with the cream of bulls corn-fed in Iowa or imported overseas
from the immemorial home of Short Horns.
Not until the smile faded, which was a matter of seconds, did he reach
out in the dark and press the first of a row of buttons. There were
three rows of such buttons. The concealed lighting that spilled from
the huge bowl under the ceiling revealed a sleeping-porch, three sides
of which were fine-meshed copper screen. The fourth side was the house
wall, solid concrete, through which French windows gave access.
He pressed the second button in the row and the bright light
concentered at a particular place on the concrete wall, illuminating,
in a row, a clock, a barometer, and centigrade and Fahrenheit
thermometers. Almost in a sweep of glance he read the messages of the
dials: time 4:30; air pressure, 29:80, which was normal at that
altitude and season; and temperature, Fahrenheit, 36 deg.. With another
press, the gauges of time and heat and air were sent back into the
darkness.
A third button turned on his reading lamp, so arranged that the light
fell from above and behind without shining into his eyes. The first
button turned off the concealed lighting overhead. He reached a mass of
proofsheets from the reading stand, and, pencil in hand, lighting a
cigarette, he began to correct.
The place was clearly the sleeping quarters of a man who worked.
Efficiency was its key note, though comfort, not altogether Spartan,
was also manifest. The bed was of gray enameled iron to tone with the
concrete wall. Across the foot of the bed, an extra coverlet, hung a
gray robe of wolfskins with every tail a-dangle. On the floor, where
rested a pair of slippers, was spread a thick-coated skin of mountain
goat.
Heaped orderly with books, magazines and scribble-pads, there was room
on the big reading stand for matches, cigarettes, an ash-tray, and a
thermos bottle. A phonograph, for purposes of dictation, stood on a
hinged and swinging bracket. On the wall, under the barometer and
thermometers, from a round wooden frame laughed the face of a girl. On
the wall, between the rows of buttons and a switchboard, from an open
holster, loosely projected the butt of a.44 Colt's automatic.
At six o'clock, sharp, after gray light had begun to filter through the
wire netting, Dick Forrest, without raising his eyes from the
proofsheets, reached out his right hand and pressed a button in the
second row. Five minutes later a soft-slippered Chinese emerged on the
sleeping-porch. In his hands he bore a small tray of burnished copper
on which rested a cup and saucer, a tiny coffee pot of silver, and a
correspondingly tiny silver cream pitcher.
"Good morning, Oh My," was Dick Forrest's greeting, and his eyes smiled
and his lips smiled as he uttered it.
"Good morning, Master," Oh My returned, as he busied himself with
making room on the reading stand for the tray and with pouring the
coffee and cream.
This done, without waiting further orders, noting that his master was
already sipping coffee with one hand while he made a correction on the
proof with the other, Oh My picked up a ro | 195.660499 |
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E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 48107-h.htm or 48107-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
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IN THE LINE OF BATTLE
+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
| |
| _UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_ |
| |
| Soldiers’ Stories of the War |
| |
| Edited by WALTER WOOD |
| |
| With 20 full-page Illustrations by A. C. MICHAEL. |
| |
| _Second Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s. net_ |
| |
| |
| “Unchallengeably the best war budget of its kind that we have |
| had.”--_The Referee._ |
| |
| “A collection of absolutely authentic accounts by privates |
| and non-commissioned officers.... In the language in which |
| these fighters couch their experiences and opinions we see a |
| great simplicity and directness of observation and recital, so |
| admirable that _one page of such writing is worth all the folios |
| of the war experts and correspondents_, not to say romancers and |
| publicists.”--_The Athenæum._ |
| |
| “It is a stimulating and hopeful record, full of the real |
| atmosphere of the war, and Mr. Wood has done a serviceable thing |
| in producing it.”--_Daily Chronicle._ |
| |
| “The human side, the naked horror and simple glory of actual |
| conflict, is what Mr. Wood’s soldiers are concerned with, and the |
| stories they tell give a clearer picture of this side of war than |
| can be found in any other form.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._ |
| |
| “All Mr. Wood’s papers make us feel, if that is possible, prouder |
| of the British sailor and soldier.”--_Evening News._ |
| |
| “A very real and deeply affecting book, and the editor has done |
| a valuable work in collecting these poignant, odd, whimsical, |
| terrible stories together.”--_Westminster Gazette._ |
| |
| “No man who boasts a heart, least of all any man of young limbs, |
| will read these soldiers’ simple stories without a quickening |
| of the pulse. They are at once a great stimulus and a great |
| memorial.”--_Daily Telegraph._ |
| |
| “It is a noble tribute to the unassuming heroism of the |
| British soldier, and brings one close to the realities of |
| war.”--_Spectator._ |
| |
| “This is a collection of absolutely authentic stories narrated |
| by non-commissioned officers and privates who have taken part in |
| the present war, and who relate their experiences.”--_War Office |
| Times._ |
| |
| “Mr. Wood has done his work uncommonly well; his book is alive |
| with interest, and has the permanent value that must always |
| belong to such first-hand testimony.”--_Bookman._ |
| |
| |
| LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, LTD. |
| |
| |
+--------------------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration:
[_Frontispiece._
“SEVERAL VILLAGES... HAVE BEEN DESTROYED IN THE INTERESTS OF OUR
DEFENCE.... MY HEART BLEEDS WHEN... I THINK OF THE NUMBER OF INNOCENT
PERSONS WHO HAVE LOST THEIR HOMES AND THEIR GOODS.”--THE KAISER, IN A
TELEGRAM TO PRESIDENT WILSON.]
IN THE LINE OF BATTLE
Soldiers’ Stories of the War
Edited by
WALTER WOOD
Author of
“Men of the North Sea,” “Survivors’ Tales of Great Events,”
“North Sea Fishers and Fighters,” etc
Illustrated from Official Photographs
London
Chapman & Hall, Ltd.
1916
Printed in Great Britain by
Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,
Brunswick St., Stamford St., S.E.,
and Bungay Suffolk.
INTRODUCTION
The narratives in this volume, which is a companion to my _Soldiers’
Stories of the War_, are told on exactly the same lines as those which
were adopted for that collection. There was a personal interview to
get the teller’s own tale; then the writing, the object being to act
as the soldier’s other self; and finally the submission to him of the
typescript, so that he could revise and become responsible for the
completed work.
In dealing with these records I have tried to be a faithful interpreter
or reproducer of a tale that has been told to me. I have invited a
man to tell his story as it came into his mind, and to look upon me
simply as a means of putting it into concrete and coherent form, and
as a medium between himself and the reader. The greatest difficulty
that had to be overcome was a narrator’s reluctance to speak of his own
achievements, though he never failed to wax enthusiastic when telling
of the doings of his comrades. Nothing has left a deeper impression
on my mind than the generous praise which a gunner, say, has bestowed
upon the infantry, and the blessings that the infantry have invoked
upon the gunners. Never in any of Great Britain’s wars has there been
such an exhibition of universal esprit de corps as we have witnessed in
this stupendous conflict between civilisation and freedom and cultured
barbarism and tyranny.
Nothing could have been more encouraging to me as compiler and
editor of these true tales than the generous praise that was given to
the companion volume. I am grateful to all my critics, who, without
exception, so far as I know, welcomed and accepted the work for what it
professed to be--an honest contribution on behalf of soldiers to the
history of the war.
I set out to do a certain thing--to act as pilot to members of a
wondrous band who found themselves in unknown waters, and I succeeded
past my utmost expectations. I am proud to think that any act of mine
has put on record the doings of patriotic men who have fought so
nobly for their country; and thankful to feel that I have been the
means of getting for his relatives and friends and all the rest of us
the experiences of more than one fine fellow who since I saw him has
answered the roll-call for the last time.
WALTER WOOD.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
HOW TROOPER POTTS WON THE V.C. ON BURNT HILL 1
TROOPER FREDERICK WILLIAM OWEN POTTS, 1/1st Berkshire
Yeomanry (T.F.).
CHAPTER II
A PRISONER OF WAR IN GERMANY 16
CORPORAL OLIVER H. BLAZE, 1st Battalion Scots Guards.
CHAPTER III
GASSED NEAR HILL 60 33
LANCE-CORPORAL R. G. SIMMINS, 8th Battalion Canadian
Infantry, 90th Winnipeg Rifles.
CHAPTER IV
A LINESMAN IN GALLIPOLI 43
PRIVATE JOHN FRANK GRAY, 5th Battalion Wiltshire
Regiment.
CHAPTER V
AN ANZAC’S ADVENTURES 62
TROOPER RUPERT HENDERSON, 6th Australian Light
Horse.
CHAPTER VI
”IMPERISHABLE GLORY” FOR THE KENSINGTONS 80
----, 13th (Kensington) Battalion London Regiment.
CHAPTER VII
TEN MONTHS IN THE FIGHTING-LINE 94
PRIVATE FREDERICK WOODS, 1st Battalion Royal Irish
Fusiliers.
CHAPTER VIII
A GUNNER AT THE DARDANELLES 114
| 195.759354 |
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GALSWORTHY PLAYS--SERIES 3
THE FUGITIVE
A Play in Four Acts
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
GEORGE DEDMOND, a civilian
CLARE, his wife
GENERAL SIR CHARLES DEDMOND, K.C.B., his father.
LADY DEDMOND, his mother
REGINALD HUNTINGDON, Clare's brother
EDWARD FULLARTON, her friend
DOROTHY FULLARTON, her friend
PAYNTER, a manservant
BURNEY, a maid
TWISDEN, a solicitor
HAYWOOD, a tobacconist
MALISE, a writer
MRS. MILER, his caretaker
THE PORTER at his lodgings
A BOY messenger
ARNAUD, a waiter at "The Gascony"
MR. VARLEY, manager of "The Gascony"
TWO LADIES WITH LARGE HATS, A LADY AND GENTLEMAN, A LANGUID LORD,
HIS COMPANION, A YOUNG MAN, A BLOND GENTLEMAN, A DARK GENTLEMAN.
ACT I. George Dedmond's Flat. Evening.
ACT II. The rooms of Malise. Morning.
ACT III. SCENE I. The rooms of Malice. Late afternoon.
SCENE II. The rooms of Malise. Early Afternoon.
ACT IV. A small supper room at "The Gascony."
Between Acts I and II three nights elapse.
Between Acts II and Act III, Scene I, three months.
Between Act III, Scene I, and Act III, Scene II, three months.
Between Act III, Scene II, and Act IV, six months.
"With a hey-ho chivy
Hark forrard, hark forrard, tantivy!"
ACT I
The SCENE is the pretty drawing-room of a flat. There are two
doors, one open into the hall, the other shut and curtained.
Through a large bay window, the curtains of which are not yet
drawn, the towers of Westminster can be seen darkening in a
summer sunset; a grand piano stands across one corner. The
man-servant PAYNTER, clean-shaven and discreet, is arranging two
tables for Bridge.
BURNEY, the maid, a girl with one of those flowery Botticellian
faces only met with in England, comes in through the curtained
door, which she leaves open, disclosing the glimpse of a white
wall. PAYNTER looks up at her; she shakes her head, with an
expression of concern.
PAYNTER. Where's she gone?
BURNEY. Just walks about, I fancy.
PAYNTER. She and the Governor don't hit it! One of these days
she'll flit--you'll see. I like her--she's a lady; but these
thoroughbred 'uns--it's their skin and their mouths. They'll go till
they drop if they like the job, and if they don't, it's nothing but
jib--jib--jib. How was it down there before she married him?
BURNEY. Oh! Quiet, of course.
PAYNTER. Country homes--I know 'em. What's her father, the old
Rector, like?
BURNEY. Oh! very steady old man. The mother dead long before I took
the place.
PAYNTER. Not a penny, I suppose?
BURNEY. [Shaking her head] No; and seven of them.
PAYNTER. [At sound of the hall door] The Governor!
BURNEY withdraws through the curtained door.
GEORGE DEDMOND enters from the hall. He is in evening dress,
opera hat, and overcoat; his face is broad, comely, glossily
shaved, but with neat moustaches. His eyes, clear, small, and
blue-grey, have little speculation. His hair is well brushed.
GEORGE. [Handing PAYNTER his coat and hat] Look here, Paynter!
When I send up from the Club for my dress things, always put in a
black waistcoat as well.
PAYNTER. I asked the mistress, sir.
GEORGE. In future--see?
PAYNTER. Yes, sir. [Signing towards the window] Shall I leave the
sunset, sir?
But GEORGE has crossed to the curtained door; he opens it and
says: "Clare!" Receiving no answer, he goes in. PAYNTER
switches up the electric light. His face, turned towards the
curtained door, is apprehensive.
GEORGE. [Re-entering] Where's Mrs. Dedmond?
PAYNTER. I hardly know, sir.
GEORGE. Dined in?
PAYNTER. She had a mere nothing at seven, sir.
GEORGE. Has she gone out, since?
PAYNTER. Yes, sir--that is, yes. The--er--mistress was not dressed
at all. A little matter of fresh air, I think; sir.
GEORGE. What time did my mother say they'd be here for Bridge?
PAYNTER. Sir Charles and Lady Dedmond were coming at half-past nine;
and Captain Huntingdon, too--Mr. and Mrs. Fullarton might be a bit
late, sir.
GEORGE. It's that now. Your mistress said nothing?
PAYNTER. Not to me, sir.
GEORGE. Send Burney.
PAYNTER. Very good, sir. [He withdraws.]
GEORGE stares gloomily at the card tables. BURNEY comes in
front the hall.
GEORGE. Did your mistress say anything before she went out?
BURNEY. Yes, sir.
GEORGE. Well?
BURNEY. I don't think she meant it, sir.
GEORGE. I don't want to know what you don't think, I want the fact.
BURNEY. Yes, sir. The mistress said: "I hope it'll be a pleasant
evening, Burney!"
GEORGE. Oh!--Thanks.
BURNEY. I've put out the mistress's things, sir.
GEORGE. Ah!
BURNEY. Thank you, sir. [She withdraws.]
GEORGE. Damn!
He again goes to the curtained door, and passes through.
PAYNTER, coming in from the hall, announces: "General Sir
Charles and Lady Dedmond." SIR CHARLES is an upright,
well-groomed, grey-moustached, red-faced man of sixty-seven, with
a keen eye for molehills, and none at all for mountains. LADY
DEDMOND has a firm, thin face, full of capability and decision,
not without kindliness; and faintly weathered, as if she had
faced many situations in many parts of the world. She is fifty
five.
PAYNTER withdraws.
SIR CHARLES. Hullo! Where are they? H'm!
As he speaks, GEORGE re-enters.
LADY DEDMOND. [Kissing her son] Well, George. Where's Clare?
GEORGE. Afraid she's late.
LADY DEDMOND. Are we early?
GEORGE. As a matter of fact, she's not in.
LADY DEDMOND. Oh?
SIR CHARLES. H'm! Not--not had a rumpus?
GEORGE. Not particularly. [With the first real sign of feeling]
What I can't stand is being made a fool of before other people.
Ordinary friction one can put up with. But that----
SIR CHARLES. Gone out on purpose? What!
LADY DEDMOND. What was the trouble?
GEORGE. I told her this morning you were coming in to Bridge.
Appears she'd asked that fellow Malise, for music.
LADY DEDMOND. Without letting you know?
GEORGE. I believe she did tell me.
LADY DEDMOND. But surely----
GEORGE. I don't want to discuss it. There's never anything in
particular. We're all anyhow, as you know.
LADY DEDMOND. I see. [She looks shrewdly at her son] My dear,
I should be rather careful about him, I think.
SIR CHARLES. Who's that?
LADY DEDMOND. That Mr. Malise.
SIR CHARLES. Oh! That chap!
GEORGE. Clare isn't that sort.
LADY DEDMOND. I know. But she catches up notions very easily. I
think it's a great pity you ever came across him.
SIR CHARLES. Where did you pick him up?
GEORGE. Italy--this Spring--some place or other where they couldn't
speak English.
SIR CHARLES. Um! That's the worst of travellin'.
LADY DEDMOND. I think you ought to have dropped him. These literary
people---[Quietly] From exchanging ideas to something else, isn't
very far, George.
SIR CHARLES. We'll make him play Bridge. Do him good, if he's that
sort of fellow.
LADY DEDMOND. Is anyone else coming?
GEORGE. Reggie Huntingdon, and the Fullartons.
LADY DEDMOND. [Softly] You know, my dear boy, I've been meaning to
speak to you for a long time. It is such a pity you and Clare--What
is it?
GEORGE. God knows! I try, and I believe she does.
SIR CHARLES. It's distressin'--for us, you know, my dear fellow--
distressin'.
LADY DEDMOND. I know it's been going on for a long time.
GEORGE. Oh! leave it alone, mother.
LADY DEDMOND. But, George, I'm afraid this man has brought it to a
point--put ideas into her head.
GEORGE. You can't dislike him more than I do. But there's nothing
one can object to.
LADY DEDMOND. Could Reggie Huntingdon do anything, now he's home?
Brothers sometimes----
GEORGE. I can't bear my affairs being messed about----
LADY DEDMOND. Well! it would be better for you and Clare to be
supposed to be out together, than for her to be out alone. Go
quietly into the dining-room and wait for her.
SIR CHARLES. Good! Leave your mother to make up something. She'll
do it!
LADY DEDMOND. That may be he. Quick!
[A bell sounds.]
GEORGE goes out into the hall, leaving the door open in his
haste. LADY DEDMOND, following, calls "Paynter!" PAYNTER
enters.
LADY DEDMOND. Don't say anything about your master and mistress
being out. I'll explain.
PAYNTER. The master, my lady?
LADY DEDMOND. Yes, I know. But you needn't say so. Do you
understand?
PAYNTER. | 195.959029 |
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* * * * *
Punch, or the London Charivari
Volume 105, December 16, 1893.
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
* * * * *
SEASONABLE SONNET.
(_By a Vegetarian._)
Yes, Christmas overtakes us yet once more.
The Cattle Show has vanished in the mists
Of time and Islington, but re-exists
In piecemeal splendour at the store.
Here, nightly, big boys blue are to the fore
With knives and choppers in their greasy fists;
And now, methinks, the wight who never lists
Yet hears the brass band on the proud first floor.
High over all rings "What d'ye buy, buy, buy?"
The meat is decked with gay rosette and bow,
While gas-jets beckon all the world and wife.
A cheerful scene? A ghastly one, say I,
Where mutilated corpses hang arow,
And in the midst of death we are in life.
* * * * *
AS THEY LIKED IT.--We read of the recent success at Palmer's Theatre,
New York, of _As You Like It_, with all the parts played by women.
Of course, everybody knows that this was a complete reversal of the
practice of the stage in SHAKSPEARE'S own day, when the buskin was
on the other leg, so to speak; but we are not told if the passage
"Doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat" was
transposed to "Petticoat ought to show itself courageous to doublet
and hose."
* * * * *
THIS SETTLED IT.--"He may be irritable," observed Mrs. R., "but
remember the old saying that 'Irritation is the sincerest form of
flattery.'"
* * * * *
[Illustration: ALL IN THE DAY'S WORK.
_Critic._ "HOW'S THE _BOOK_ GOING, OLD MAN?"
_Author._ "OH--ALL RIGHT, I FANCY. THE PRESS HAS NOTICED IT ALREADY.
YESTERDAY'S _ROSELEAVES_ HAILS ME AS THE COMING _THACKERAY_!"
_Critic._ "AH, _I_ WROTE THAT!"
_Author._ "DID YOU REALLY? HOW CAN I THANK YOU? ON THE OTHER HAND,
THIS WEEK'S _KNACKER_ SAYS THAT I'VE BEEN FORTUNATELY ARRESTED BY
MADNESS ON THE ROAD TO IDIOTCY!"
_Critic._ "AH, I WROTE THAT TOO!"]
* * * * *
A PLEA FOR PLEADINGS.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--Last week I begged for a chance for the Briefless,
and the only reply has been, that by a few strokes of the pen the
Judges have ruined and undone the Junior Bar. On a day which will be
known henceforth in the Temple as Bad Friday, we read the new Rules,
by which in future it will be possible to have an action--_without
pleadings!_ Statement of Claim, Defence, Reply, Rejoinder--all
disappear into a beggarly "Summons for Directions," that can be drawn
by a solicitor's office-boy. Of course, amongst the silks, the change
will, no doubt, be popular. These learned gentlemen can with a light
heart and a heavy pocket welcome the change, which will get rid of the
pleadings which it is merely a nuisance to read. But what is to become
of us whose business it is to draw them?
It may possibly be said that this new arrangement will save the
pockets of the clients, but what have the Judges to do with that? Does
anyone imagine litigation to be anything more than a pastime, at which
those who play ought to be content to pay? In a hard winter, when the
wolf is consistently at our door, to take the bread out of our mouths
in this way, is a proceeding which (_pace_ Mr. GLADSTONE) takes the
cake. I am sure Mr. GOSCHEN will welcome such an expression. In any
case I appeal, Sir, through you, from the Judges to an enlightened
paying public.
Yours faithfully,
L. ERNED COUNSEL.
102, _Temple Gardens, E.C.,_
_Dec. 6._
* * * * *
CAUSE AND EFFECT.--A razor and a _tabula rasa_.
* * * * *
JOHN TYNDALL.
BORN AUG. 21, 1820.
DIED DEC. 4, 1893.
HONEST JOHN TYNDALL, then, has played his part!
Scientist brain, and patriotic heart
Both still in the last sleep, that sadly came,
Without reproach to love, or loss to fame.
Rest, Son of Science, certain of your meed!
Of bitter moan for you there is small need;
But England bows in silent sympathy
With her whose love, chance-wounded | 195.960524 |
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BETELGUESE
_A TRIP THROUGH HELL_
By JEAN LOUIS De ESQUE
_Author of "The Flight of a Soul", etc._
JERSEY CITY
CONNOISSEUR'S PRESS
1908
Copyright, 1907 and 1908, by
_Jean Louis de Esque_
_Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, E. C._
_All Rights Reserved_
TO
Those that felt the wand of Muse--
Queen Posy's shaft of subtle art--
Seared to the distant heights of blue,
Past onyx lees that Sunsets dyed,
And put to Vellum Couplets' fuse,
Sped same to Fate with timid heart,
Then shed dim tears in Sorrow's pew,
This work's respectfully inscribed.
PREFACE
To the readers of this poem an apology is needed for affixing thereto a
praem. Some friends of mine have been plaguing me beyond the restrictive
line of Patience for the true cause of conceiving the accompanying
collection of words, balderdash or what you will, some even asseverating
with the eruditeness of an Aristole that it was a nebulous idea, an
embryonic form of thought hibernating within the cavities of my sinciput's
inner apex, the remnants of that wild phantasmagoric dream of "vicious,
vulpine labyrinths of hell," partly expounded in my "The Flight of a
Soul."
Now to satisfy everybody but my friends I throw my prejudices to the winds
and confess, to wit: That I, with the buckler of Will, wooed Oblivion on
September the sixth at exactly 5 P.M., having been up at my desk mauling
and drubbing the English language with a vengeance for thirty-six
consecutive hours, and that I awoke at 12.30 A.M. that selfsame night with
the entire contents of the accompanying----? (have as yet not decided in
what category the critics will consign this weird hypotyposis of the
Supernal) jingling through my tired brain. I set to work at exactly 12.45
A.M. and wrote until our esteemed companions of the nocturnal hours ceased
their unloved music (mosquitos), 5.05 A.M., hied myself back to bed and
hypothecated as many winks as Dame Slumber saw fit to allot to me, who am
at continued war with her silent wand. The same tactics were employed
during the succeeding fifteen nights, wherein I penned eight thousand one
hundred and sixteen (8116) lines. This is the truth, the whole and
integral truth, and nothing but the unexpurgated truth, so help me Muse
(she's blind as a bat) and Satan, of whom I've writ in such an unbecoming
manner that, henceforth, I must perforce seek my future Elysian in other
haunts than those of the above named Cosmopoietic's own, for fear that his
uncoped wrath may blast me into an ape-faced minstrel or, like one
red-haired varlet draped with the cognomen of "Nero," use my unbleached
bones for illuminating the highway to his insidiate lair.
To the readers this question may present itself, to wit: Why place Hell in
the bowels of Betelguese? Why not the sun or moon?
In the first instance the former sphere is eliminated as a possibility on
account of its nature. Being a huge nucleous mass of aeriform fluid,
nothing containing animal or vegetable life could possibly exist either
on or within its bowels. The moon, too, is excluded for the same reason as
is our earth, it having at one time been a part of the latter, broken off
by one of the giant planets long before the pleioncene era. Betelguese
being a celestial pariah, an outcast, the largest of all known comets or
outlawed suns in the universe; and, further, so long as Hell has not been
definitely placed, why not figure this hybrid planet as a possibility?
Astronomers throughout the world remember the colossal outburst in the
constellation Perseus that occurred on February 20, 1901, when one sun
exploded, or two made collision with appalling force. It was observed
through telescopes and could be seen with the naked eye in full daylight.
Both suns were destroyed as suns--that is, they were turned into thin gas
and vanished from sight of the largest telescope within less than a year.
Had each sun been the centre of a system of eight worlds like our sun; and
imagine each world, sixteen in all, to be inhabited with human beings;
then they all perished in a short time after collision and died of what
the astronomers call "fervent heat."
Vega, far more larger than our sun, appears stationary. Our sun, with its
family of moons and comets, is moving toward it at the fearful pace of
fourteen miles per second. At its present rate of speed--and if Vega is
really a "fixed" planet--then our sun would reach it in 320,000 years.
However, it is a known certainty that the quantity of matter that is
invisible is so much greater than the visible that the visible may be
ignored. There may, too, be hundreds of millions of dark bodies, extinct
constellations far larger than our own sun. Any one of these could
approach our solar system and annihilate it with its impact for, in
passing the orbit of the earth on their way around the sun, they attain a
regular velocity of 26-1/2 miles per second. If one of these dark comets
should overtake the earth and strike it, the velocity of impact would be
about eight miles per second; but if it should meet the earth in a head-on
collision, the speed, when it struck, would be forty-five miles per
second, a momentum beyond the power of the brain to fathom--indeed, man
can not think of sixty miles per minute. Let a solid nucleous collide with
the earth and imagination would reel at the result.
The earth moves over 18-1/2 miles every second, and this added to or
subtracted from 26-1/2 makes 45 or 8. If a comet should strike at right
angles to the direction of the earth's motion the speed of collision would
be 26-1/2 miles. But 8, 26-1/2 or even 15 would hurl destruction if large
enough.
A visible change is taking place in the giant sun Betelguese. Its nebulae
is slowly but surely disappearing. One hundred years hence it may be a
dark planet, invisible to even the most powerful telescope. However, Hell
will reign on, through eons and eons; and, if this sun, or any other,
contains its kingdom, and mankind lives for another thousand years or
more, those who should be so unfortunate as to miss the jagged heights to
Paradise need not worry, for glozing imps will lead them to the fasthold
of Typhon's weird home. Have no fear.
September 22d, MCMVII.
WHEN I AM | 195.962219 |
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Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
THE HOUSE OF HEINE BROTHERS, IN MUNICH.
THE house of Heine Brothers, in Munich, was of good repute at the time of
which I am about to tell,—a time not long ago; and is so still, I trust.
It was of good repute in its own way, seeing that no man doubted the word
or solvency of Heine Brothers; but they did not possess, as bankers, what
would in England be considered a large or profitable business. The
operations of English bankers are bewildering in their magnitude.
Legions of clerks are employed. The senior book-keepers, though only
salaried servants, are themselves great men; while the real partners are
inscrutable, mysterious, opulent beyond measure, and altogether unknown
to their customers. Take any firm at random,—Brown, Jones, and Cox, let
us say,—the probability is that Jones has been dead these fifty years,
that Brown is a Cabinet Minister, and that Cox is master of a pack of
hounds in Leicestershire. But it was by no means so with the house of
Heine Brothers, of Munich. There they were, the two elderly men, daily
to be seen at their dingy office in the Schrannen Platz; and if any
business was to be transacted requiring the interchange of more than a
word or two, it was the younger brother with whom the customer was, as a
matter of course, brought into contact. There were three clerks in the
establishment; an old man, namely, who sat with the elder brother and had
no personal dealings with the public; a young Englishman, of whom we
shall anon hear more; and a boy who ran messages, put the wood on to the
stoves, and swept out the bank. Truly he house of Heine Brothers was of
no great importance; but nevertheless it was of good repute.
The office, I have said, was in the Schrannen Platz, or old Market-place.
Munich, as every one knows, is chiefly to be noted as a new town,—so new
that many of the streets and most of the palaces look as though they had
been sent home last night from the builders, and had only just been taken
out of their bandboxes It is angular, methodical, unfinished, and
palatial. But there is an old town; and, though the old town be not of
surpassing interest, it is as dingy, crooked, intricate, and dark as
other old towns in Germany. Here, in the old Market-place, up one long
broad staircase, were situated the two rooms in which was held the bank
of Heine Brothers.
Of the elder member of the firm we shall have something to say before
this story be completed. He was an old bachelor, and was possessed of a
bachelor’s dwelling somewhere out in the suburbs of the city. The junior
brother was a married man, with a wife some twenty years younger than
himself, with two daughters, the elder of whom was now one-and-twenty,
and one son. His name was Ernest Heine, whereas the senior brother was
known as Uncle Hatto. Ernest Heine and his wife inhabited a portion of
one of those new palatial residences at the further end of the Ludwigs
Strasse; but not because they thus lived must it be considered that they
were palatial people. By no means let it be so thought, as such an idea
would altogether militate against whatever truth of character painting
there may be in this tale. They were not palatial people, but the very
reverse, living in homely guise, pursuing homely duties, and satisfied
with homely pleasures. Up two pairs of stairs, however, in that street
of palaces, they lived, having there a commodious suite of large rooms,
furnished, after the manner of the Germans, somewhat gaudily as regarded
their best salon, and with somewhat meagre comfort as regarded their
other rooms. But, whether in respect of that which was meagre, or
whether in respect of that which was gaudy, they were as well off as
their neighbours; and this, as I take it, is the point of excellence
which is desirable.
Ernest Heine was at this time over sixty; his wife was past forty; and
his eldest daughter, as I have said, was twenty-one years of age. His
second child, also a girl, was six years younger; and their third child,
a boy, had not been born till another similar interval had elapsed. He
was named Hatto after his uncle, and the two girls had been christened
Isa and Agnes. Such, in number and mode of life, was the family of the
Heines.
We English folk are apt to imagine that we are nearer akin to Germans
than to our other continental neighbours. This may be so in blood, but,
nevertheless, the difference in manners is so striking, that it could
hardly be enhanced. An Englishman moving himself off to a city in the
middle of Central America will find the customs to which he must adapt
himself less strange to him there, than he would in many a German town.
But in no degree of life is the difference more remarkable than among
unmarried but marriageable young women. It is not my purpose at the
present moment to attribute a superiority in this matter to either
nationality. Each has its own charm, its own excellence, its own
Heaven-given grace, whereby men are led up to purer thoughts and sweet
desires; and each may possibly have its own defect. I will not here
describe the excellence or defect of either; but will, if it be in my
power, say a word as to this difference. The German girl of
one-and-twenty,—our Isa’s age,—is more sedate, more womanly, more
meditative than her English sister. The world’s work is more in her
thoughts, and the world’s amusements less so. She probably knows less of
those things which women learn than the English girl, but that which she
does know is nearer to her hand for use. She is not so much accustomed
to society, but nevertheless she is more mistress of her own manner. She
is not taught to think so much of those things which flurry and disturb
the mind, and therefore she is seldom flurried and disturbed. To both of
them, love,—the idea of love,—must be the thought of all the most
absorbing; for is it not fated for them that the joys and sorrows of
their future life must depend upon it? But the idea of the German girl
is the more realistic, and the less romantic. Poetry and fiction she may
have read, though of the latter sparingly; but they will not have imbued
her with that hope for some transcendental paradise of affection which so
often fills and exalts the hearts of our daughters here at home. She is
moderate in her aspirations, requiring less excitement than an English
girl; and never forgetting the solid necessities of life,—as they are so
often forgotten here in England. In associating with young men, an
English girl will always remember that in each one she so meets she may
find an admirer whom she may possibly love, or an admirer whom she may
probably be called on to repel. She is ever conscious of the fact of
this position; and a romance is thus engendered which, if it may at times
be dangerous, is at any rate always charming. But the German girl, in
her simplicity, has no such consciousness. As you and I, my reader,
might probably become dear friends were we to meet and know each other,
so may the German girl learn to love the fair-haired youth with whom
chance has for a time associated her; but to her mind there occurs no
suggestive reason why it should be so,—no probability that the youth may
regard her in such light, because that chance has come to pass. She can
therefore give him her hand without trepidation, and talk with him for
half an hour, when called on to do so, as calmly as she might do with his
sister.
Such a one was Isa Heine at the time of which I am writing. We English,
in our passion for daily excitement, might call her phlegmatic, but we
should call her so unjustly. Life to her was a serious matter, of which
the daily duties and daily wants were sufficient to occupy her thoughts.
She was her mother’s companion, the instructress of both her brother and
her sister, and the charm of her father’s vacant hours. With such calls
upon her time, and so many realities around her, her imagination did not
teach her to look for joys beyond those of her present life and home.
When love and marriage should come to her, as come they probably might,
she would endeavour to attune herself to a new happiness and a new sphere
of duties. In the meantime she was contented to keep her mother’s
accounts, and look after her brother and sister up two pair of stairs in
the Ludwigs Strasse. But change would certainly come, we may prophesy;
for Isa Heine was a beautiful girl, tall and graceful, comely to the eye,
and fit in every way to be loved and cherished as the partner of a man’s
home.
I have said that an English clerk made a part of that small establishment
in the dingy banking-office in the Schrannen Platz, and I must say a word
or two of Herbert Onslow. In his early career he had not been fortunate.
His father, with means sufficiently moderate, and with a family more than
sufficiently large, had sent him to a public school at which he had been
very idle, and then to one of the universities, at which he had run into
debt, and had therefore left without a degree. When this occurred, a
family council of war had been held among the Onslows, and it was decided
that Herbert should be sent off to the banking-house of Heines, at
Munich, there being a cousinship between the families, and some existing
connections of business.
It was, therefore, so settled; and Herbert, willing enough to see the
world,—as he considered he should do by going to Munich,—started for his
German home, with injunctions, very tender from his mother, and very
solemn from his aggrieved father. But there was nothing bad at the heart
about young Onslow, and if the solemn father had well considered it, he
might perhaps have felt that those debts at Cambridge reflected more
fault on him than on his son. When Herbert arrived at Munich, his
cousins, the Heines,—far-away cousins though they were,—behaved kindly to
him. They established him at first in lodgings, where he was boarded
with many others, having heard somewhat of his early youth. But when
Madame Heine, at the end of twelve months, perceived that he was punctual
at the bank, and that his allowances, which, though moderate in England,
were handsome in Munich, carried him on without debt, she opened her
motherly arms and suggested to his mother and to himself, that he should
live with them. In this way he also was domiciled up two pairs of stairs
in the palatial residence in the Ludwigs Strasse.
But all this happened long ago. Isa Heine had been only seventeen when
her cousin had first come to Munich, and had made acquaintance with him
rather as a child than as a woman. And when, as she ripened into
womanhood, this young man came more closely among them, it did not strike
her that the change would affect her more powerfully than it would the
others. Her uncle and father, she knew, had approved of Herbert at the
bank; and Herbert had shown that he could be steady; therefore he was to
be taken into their family, paying his annual subsidy, instead of being
left with strangers at the boarding-house. All this was very simple to
her. She assisted in mending his linen, as she did her father’s; she
visited his room daily, as she visited all the others; she took notice of
his likings and dislikings as touching their table arrangement,—but by no
means such notice as she did of her father’s; and without any flutter,
inwardly in her imagination or outwardly as regarded the world, she made
him one of the family. So things went on for a year,—nay, so things went
on for two years with her, after Herbert Onslow had come to the Ludwigs
Strasse.
But the matter had been regarded in a very different light by Herbert
himself. When the proposition had been made to him, his first idea had
been that so close a connection with, a girl so very pretty would be
delightful. He had blushed as he had given in his adhesion; but Madame
Heine, when she saw the blush, had attributed it to anything but the true
cause. When Isa had asked him as to his wants and wishes, he had blushed
again, but she had been as ignorant as her mother. The father had merely
stipulated that, as the young Englishman paid for his board, he should
have the full value of his money, so that Isa and Agnes gave up their
pretty front room, going into one that was inferior, and Hatto was put to
sleep in the little closet that had been papa’s own peculiar property.
But nobody complained of this, for it was understood that the money was
of service.
For the first year Herbert found that nothing especial happened. He
always fancied that he was in love with Isa, and wrote some poetry about
her. But the poetry was in English, and Isa could not read it, even had
he dared to show it to her. During the second year he went home to
England for three months, and by confessing a passion to one of his
sisters, really brought himself to feel one. He returned to Munich
resolved to tell Isa that the possibility of his remaining there depended
upon her acceptance of his heart; but for months he did not find himself
able to put his resolution in force. She was so sedate, so womanly, so
attentive as regarded cousinly friendship, and so cold as regarded
everything else, that he did not know how to speak to her. With an
English girl whom he had met three times at a ball, he might have been
much more able to make progress. He was alone with Isa frequently, for
neither father, mother, nor Isa herself objected to such communion; but
yet things so went between them that he could not take her by the hand
and tell her that he loved her. And thus the third year of his life in
Munich, and the second of his residence in the Ludwigs Strasse, went by
him. So the years went by, and Isa was now past twenty. To Herbert, in
his reveries, it seemed as though life, and the joys of life, were
slipping away from him. But no such feeling disturbed any of the Heines.
Life of course, was slipping away; but then is it not the destiny of man
that life should slip away? Their wants were all satisfied, and for
them, that, together with their close family affection, was happiness
enough.
At last, however, Herbert so spoke, or so looked, that both Isa and her
mother saw that his heart was touched. He still declared to himself that he
had made no sign, and that he was an oaf, an ass, a coward, in that he
had not done so. But he had made some sign, and the sign had been read.
There was no secret,—no necessity for a secret on the subject between the
mother and daughter, but yet it was not spoken of all at once. There was
some little increase of caution between them as Herbert’s name was
mentioned, so that gradually each knew what the other thought; but for
weeks, that was all. Then at last the mother spoke out.
“Isa,” she said, “I think that Herbert Onslow is becoming attached to
you.”
“He has never said so, mamma.”
“No; I am sure he has not. Had he done so, you would have told me.
Nevertheless, is it not true?”
“Well, mamma, I cannot say. It may be so. Such an idea has occurred to
me, but I have abandoned it as needless. If he has anything to say he
will say it.”
“And if he were to speak, how should you answer him?”
“I should take time to think. I do not at all know what means he has for
a separate establishment.” Then the subject was dropped between them for
that time, and Isa, in her communications with her cousin, was somewhat
more reserved than she had been.
“Isa, are you in love with Herbert?” Agnes asked her, as they were
together in their room one night.
“In love with him? No; why should I be in love with him?”
“I think he is in love with you,” said Agnes.
“That is quite another thing,” said Isa, laughing. “But if so, he has
not taken me into his confidence. Perhaps he has you.”
“Oh no. He would not do that, I think. Not but what we are great
friends, and I love him dearly. Would it not be nice for you and him to
be betrothed?”
“That depends on many things, my dear.”
“Oh yes, I know. Perhaps he has not got money enough. But you could
live here, you know, and he has got some money, because he so often rides
on horseback.” And then the matter was dropped between the two sisters.
Herbert had given English lessons to the two girls, but the lessons had
been found tedious, and had dwindled away. Isa, nevertheless, had kept
up her exercises, duly translating German into English, and English into
German; and occasionally she had shown them to her cousin. Now, however,
she altogether gave over such showing of them, but, nevertheless, worked
at the task with more energy than before.
“Isa,” he said to her one day,—having with some difficulty found her
alone in the parlour, “Isa, why should not we go on with our English?”
“Because it is troublesome,—to you I mean.”
“Troublesome. Well; yes; it is troublesome. Nothing good is to be had
without trouble. But I should like it if you would not mind.”
“You know how sick you were of it before;—besides, I shall never be able
to speak it.”
“I shall not get sick of it now, Isa.”
“Oh yes you would;—in two days.”
“And I want you to speak it. I desire it especially.”
“Why especially?” asked Isa. And even she, with all her tranquillity of
demeanour, could hardly preserve her even tone and quiet look, as she
asked the necessary question.
“I will tell you why,” said Herbert; and as he spoke, he got up from his
seat, and took a step or two over towards her, where she was sitting near
the window. Isa, as she saw him, still continued her work, and strove
hard to give to the stitches all that attention which they required. “I
will tell you why I would wish you to talk my language. Because I love
you, Isa, and would have you for my wife,—if that be possible.”
She still continued her work, and the stitches, if not quite as perfect
as usual, sufficed for their purpose.
“That is why I wish it. Now will you consent to learn from me again?”
“If I did, Herbert, that consent would include another.”
“Yes; certainly it would. That is what I intend. And now will you learn
from me again?”
“That is,—you mean to ask, will I marry you?”
“Will you love me? Can you learn to love me? Oh, Isa, I have thought of
this so long! But you have seemed so cold that I have not dared to
speak. Isa, can you love me?” And he sat himself close beside her. Now
that the ice was broken, he was quite prepared to become an ardent
lover,—if she would allow of such ardour. But as he sat down she rose.
“I cannot answer such a question on the sudden,” she said. “Give me till
to-morrow, Herbert, and then I will make you a reply;” whereupon she left
him, and he stood alone in the room, having done the deed on which he had
been meditating for the last two years. About half an hour afterwards he
met her on the stairs as he was going to his chamber. “May I speak to
your father about this,” he said, hardly stopping her as he asked the
question. “Oh yes; surely,” she answered; and then again they parted.
To him this last-accorded permission sounded as though it carried with it
more weight than it in truth possessed. In his own country a reference
to the lady’s father is taken as indicating a full consent on the lady’s
part, should the stern paterfamilias raise no objection. But Isa had no
such meaning. She had told him that she could not give her answer till
the morrow. If, however, he chose to consult her father on the subject,
she had no objection. It would probably be necessary that she should
discuss the whole matter in family conclave, before she could bring
herself to give any reply.
On that night, before he went to bed, he did speak to her father; and Isa
also, before she went to rest, spoke to her mother. It was singular to
him that there should appear to be so little privacy on the subject; that
there should be held to be so little necessity for a secret. Had he made
a suggestion that an extra room should be allotted to him at so much per
annum, the proposition could not have been discussed with simpler ease.
At last, after a three days’ debate, the matter ended thus,—with by no
means a sufficiency of romance for his taste. Isa had agreed to become
his betrothed if certain pecuniary conditions should or could be
fulfilled. It appeared now that Herbert’s father had promised that some
small modicum of capital should be forthcoming after a term of years, and
that Heine Brothers had agreed that the Englishman should have a
proportionate share in the bank when that promise should be brought to
bear. Let it not be supposed that Herbert would thus become a
millionaire. If all went well, the best would be that some three hundred
a year would accrue to him from the bank, instead of the quarter of that
income which he at present received. But three hundred a year goes a
long way at Munich, and Isa’s parents were willing that she should be
Herbert’s wife if such an income should be forthcoming.
But even of this there was much doubt. Application to Herbert’s father
could not be judiciously made for some months. The earliest period at
which, in accordance with old Hatto Heine’s agreement, young Onslow might
be admitted to the bank, was still distant by four years; and the present
moment was thought to be inopportune for applying to him for any act of
grace. Let them wait, said papa and mamma Heine,—at any rate till New
Year’s Day, then ten months distant. Isa quietly said that she would
wait till New Year’s Day. Herbert fretted, fumed, and declared that he
was ill-treated. But in the end he also agreed to wait. What else could
he do?
“But we shall see each other daily, and be close to each other,” he said
to Isa, looking tenderly into her eyes. “Yes,” she replied, “we shall
see each other daily—of course. But, Herbert—”
Herbert looked up at her and paused for her to go on.
“I have promised mamma that there shall be no change between us,—in our
manner to each other, I mean. We are not betrothed as yet, you know, and
perhaps we may never be so.”
“Isa!”
“It may not be possible, you know. And therefore we will go on as
before. Of course we shall see each other, and of course we shall be
friends.”
Herbert Onslow again fretted and again fumed, but he did not have his
way. He had looked forward to the ecstasies of a lover’s life, but very
few of those ecstasies were awarded to him. He rarely found himself
alone with Isa, and when he did do so, her coldness overawed him. He
could | 196.05413 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE STORY OF PAUL JONES
An Historical Romance
By Alfred Henry Lewis
Illustrated by Seymour M. Stone and Phillipps Ward
G. W. Dillingham Company, 1906
London
[Illustration: 0006]
[Illustration: 0007]
THE STORY OF PAUL JONES
CHAPTER I--HIS BAPTISM OF THE SEA
This is in the long-ago, or, to be exact, in July, 1759. The new brig
_Friendship_, not a fortnight off the stocks, is lying in her home
harbor of Whitehaven, being fitted to her first suit of sails. Captain
Bennison is restlessly about her decks, overseeing those sea-tailors,
the sail-makers, as they go forward with their task, when Mr. Younger,
the owner, comes aboard. The latter gentleman is lowland Scotch, stout,
middle-aged, and his severe expanse of smooth-shaven upper-lip tells
of prudence, perseverance and Presbyterianism in even parts, as traits
dominant of his character.
“Dick,” says Mr. Younger, addressing Captain Bennison, “ye’ll have a
gude brig; and mon! ye s’uld have a gude crew. There’ll be none of the
last in Whitehaven, for what ones the agents showed me were the mere
riff-raff of the sea. I’ll even go to Arbigland, and pick ye a crew
among the fisher people.”
“Arbigland!” repeats Captain Bennison, with a glow of approval. “The
Arbigland men are the best sailor-folk that ever saw the Solway. Give
me an Arbigland crew, James, and I’ll find ye the Rappahannock with
the _Friendship_, within the month after she tears her anchor out o’
Whitehaven mud.”
And so Mr. Younger goes over to Arbigland.
It is a blowing July afternoon. An off-shore breeze, now freshening to a
gale, tosses the Solway into choppy billows. Most of the inhabitants
of Arbigland are down at the mouth of the little tide-water creek, that
forms the harbor of the village, eagerly watching a small fishing yawl.
The latter craft is beating up in the teeth of the gale, striving for
the shelter of the creek.
| 196.055315 |
2023-11-16 18:20:20.2360410 | 152 | 15 |
Produced by Tom Cosmas, from materials obtained at The Internet Archive
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE FAMILY OF PSITTACIDAE,
PARROTS:
THE GREATER PART OF THEM
SPECIES HITHERTO UNFIGURED,
CONTAINING
FORTY-TWO LITHOGRAPHIC PLATES,
DRAWINGS FROM LIFE, AND ON STONE,
By EDWARD LEAR, A.L.S.
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY E. LEAR, 61 ALBANY STREET, REGENT'S PARK.
1832.
TO THE
Queen's Most Excellent Majesty,
THIS WORK
IS, BY HER MOST GRACIOUS PERMISSION,
HUMBLY DEDICATED,
BY
HER MAJESTY'S | 196.256081 |
2023-11-16 18:20:20.2397320 | 4,566 | 20 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Walt Farrell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. This transcription uses _ characters around italic text,
^ to indicate superscripted text, and {} around multi-character
superscripts.
2. The author's textual notes occur near the end of the book, before
the Index to First Lines.
As an aid to the reader this text uses a different style for
references to those notes than the printed edition used.
References to the notes are marked within the text as
"[number:number]" and within the textual notes section as
"number:number." For example, [2:1] represents the first note in
the second poem that has notes; [3:2] represents the second note
in the third poem that has notes.
3. Additional Transcriber's Notes occur at the end of the book.
LYRICS: THOMAS STANLEY
Thy numbers carry weight, yet clear and terse,
And innocent, as becomes the soul of verse.
_JAMES SHIRLEY: To his honour'd
friend Thomas Stanley, Esquire,
upon his Elegant Poems._ [1646.]
[Illustration: _Thomas Stanley (1625-1678)_]
THOMAS STANLEY:
HIS ORIGINAL LYRICS, COMPLETE,
IN THEIR COLLATED READINGS OF
1647, 1651, 1657.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION, TEXTUAL NOTES,
A LIST OF EDITIONS, AN APPENDIX OF
TRANSLATIONS, AND A PORTRAIT.
EDITED BY
L. I. GUINEY
J. R. TUTIN
HULL
1907
TO
C. N. G.
IN MEMORY OF AN OXFORD WINTER
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFATORY NOTE xi
I. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN THE EDITION OF 1647:
The Dream 1
Despair 1
The Picture 2
Opinion 2
II. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN THE EDITION OF 1651:
The Cure 4
To the Countess of S[underland?] with _The Holy
Court_ 6
Drawn for Valentine by the L[ady] D[orothy]
S[pencer?] 7
III. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN EDITION OF 1657 [JOHN
GAMBLE'S _Ayres and Dialogues_] HAVING NO TITLES:
'On this swelling bank' 9
'Dear, fold me once more' 10
'The lazy hours' 10
IV. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN EDITIONS OF 1647 AND 1651:
Love's Innocence 12
The Dedication to Love 13
The Glow-Worm 13
To Chariessa, desiring her to Burn his Verses 14
On Mr. Fletcher's Works 15
To the Lady D[ormer] 16
To Mr. W[illiam] Hammond 17
On Mr. Shirley's Poems 18
On Mr. Sherburne's Translation of Seneca's Medea,
and Vindication of the Author 20
On Mr. Hall's Essays 21
On Sir J[ohn] S[uckling] his Picture and Poems 22
Answer [to 'The Union'] 22
V. LYRICS PRINTED ONLY IN EDITIONS OF 1647 AND 1657
[GAMBLE]:
The Blush 24
The Cold Kiss 25
The Idolater 25
The Magnet 26
On a Violet in her Breast 27
Song: 'Foolish Lover, go and seek' 28
The Parting 29
Counsel 29
Expostulation with Love, in Despair 30
Song: 'Faith, 'tis not worth thy pains and care' 31
Expectation 32
VI. LYRICS PRINTED IN ALL ORIGINAL EDITIONS OF
STANLEY:
The Breath 33
The Night: a Dialogue 34
Unalter'd by Sickness 35
To Celia, Excuse for Wishing her less Fair 36
Celia, Sleeping or Singing 37
Palinode 37
The Return 38
Chang'd, yet Constant 39
To Chariessa, Beholding Herself in a Glass 41
Song: 'When I lie burning in thine eye' 42
Song: 'Fool! take up thy shaft again' 43
Delay 43
The Repulse 44
Song: 'Celinda, by what potent art' 45
The Tomb 46
To Celia, Pleading Want of Merit 48
The Kiss 49
The Snowball 50
Speaking and Kissing 50
The Deposition 51
Love's Heretic 52
La Belle Confidante 54
La Belle Ennemie 55
Love Deposed 56
The Divorce 57
The Bracelet 58
The Farewell 59
The Exchange: Dialogue 60
The Exequies 61
The Silkworm 62
Ambition 62
Song: 'When, dearest Beauty, thou shalt pay' 63
Song: 'I will not trust thy tempting graces' 64
Song: 'No, I will sooner trust the wind' 65
Song: 'I prithee let my heart alone!' 65
The Loss 66
The Self-Cruel 67
An Answer to a Song, 'Wert thou much [?] fairer
than thou art,' by Mr. W. M. 68
The Relapse 69
APPENDIX:
A SHEAF OF TRANSLATIONS:
The Revenge [Ronsard] 71
Claim to Love [Guarini] 72
The Sick Lover [Guarini] 72
Time Recover'd [Casone] 73
Song: 'I languish in a silent flame' [De Voiture] 73
Apollo and Daphne [Marino] 74
Song: Torment of absence and delay [Montalvan] 75
A Lady Weeping [Montalvan] 75
To his Mistress in Absence [Tasso] 76
The Hasty Kiss [Secundus] 76
Song: 'When thou thy pliant arms' [Secundus] 77
Song: ''Tis no kiss' [Secundus] 77
Translations from Anacreon:
I. The Chase: 'With a Whip of lilies, Love' 78
II. 'Vex no more thyself and me' 78
III. The Spring: 'See, the Spring herself discloses' 79
IV. The Combat: 'Now will I a lover be' 79
V. 'On this verdant lotus laid' 80
E Catalectis Vet[erum] Poet[arum] 81
Seven Epigrams [Plato]:
I. Upon one named Aster 81
II. Upon Aster's Death 81
III. On Dion, engraved on his Tomb at Syracuse 82
IV. On Alexis 82
V. On Archaeanassa 82
VI. Love Sleeping 82
VII. On a Seal 83
TEXTUAL NOTES 85
A LIST OF EDITIONS OF THOMAS STANLEY'S POEMS AND
TRANSLATIONS 101
INDEX TO FIRST LINES 107
PREFATORY NOTE
Thomas Stanley's quiet life began in 1625, the year of the accession of
that King whom English poets have loved most. He came, though in the
illegitimate line, from the great Stanleys, Earls of Derby. His father,
descended from Edward, third Earl, was Sir Thomas Stanley of
Leytonstone, Essex, and Cumberlow, Hertfordshire; and his mother was
Mary, daughter to Sir William Hammond of St. Alban's Court, Nonington,
near Canterbury. Following the almost unbroken law of the heredity of
genius, Stanley derived his chief mental qualities from his mother; and
through her he was nearly related to the poets George Sandys, William
Hammond, Sir John Marsham the chronologer, Richard Lovelace and his less
famous brother; as, through his father, to a fellow-poet perhaps dearer
to him than any of these, Sir Edward Sherburne.
His tutor, at home, not at College, was William Fairfax, son of the
translator of Tasso. With translation in his own blood, that
accomplished and affectionate gentleman succeeded in inspiring his
forward charge with a taste for the same rather thankless game, and
with a love of modern foreign classics which he never lost. It was
thrown at Stanley, afterwards, that in courting the Muses, he had
profited only too well by Fairfax's aid: but the charge, if ever a
serious one at all, was absurdly ill-founded. It may have been based on
a wrong reading of that very generous acknowledgement beginning: 'If we
are one, dear friend,' which is printed in this volume; for the muddled
misconstruing mind has existed in every intellectual society. Nothing is
plainer than that Stanley, both by right of natural genius and of
fastidious scholarship, was more than capable of beating his music out
alone.
The boy was sent to Pembroke College, Cambridge, before he was fifteen,
and was entered as a gentleman commoner of that University, passing by
no means unmarked among a brilliant generation; and there, in 1641 he
graduated Master of Arts, being incorporated at Oxford in the same
degree. He next set out, like all youths of his rank and age, upon that
'grand tour' which was still a perilous business. He returned to England
in the full fury of the great Civil contest (his family having emigrated
to France, meanwhile), and settled down to work, not forensic, but
literary, in the Middle Temple. There he fell to editing AEschylus,
turning Anacreon into English, and planning the beginnings of his
_History of Philosophy_. Best of all, he wrote, at leisure and by
liking, his charming verses. Contemporaries not a few practised this
same notable detachment, building nests, as it were, in the cannon's
mouth. Choosing the contemplative life, Stanley, like William Habington
and Drummond of Hawthornden, was shut in with his mental activities,
while many others whom they knew and whom we know, poor gay sparks of
Parnassus, were dimming and blunting themselves on bloody fields. Like
Habington and Drummond also in this, he was, though a passive Royalist,
Royalist to the core. His _Psalterium Carolinum_ ([Greek: Eikon
Basilike] in metre), published three years before the Restoration,
proves at least that if he were a non-combatant for the cause he
believed in, he was no timid truckler to the power which crushed it. In
London he seems to have lived throughout the war, suffering and
surviving in the smallpox epidemic. He had married early, and, according
to all evidence, most happily. His wife was Dorothy, daughter and
co-heiress of Sir James Enyon, Baronet, of Flore, or Flower,
Northamptonshire. (It is curious, one may note in passing, that Thomas
Stanley in the Oxford University Register is entered as an incorporated
Cantabrigian 'of Flowre, Northants.' This was in his seventeenth year,
when it is highly improbable that any property there could have been
made over to him, unless with reference to his betrothal to Dorothy
Enyon, then a child.) One of Stanley's devoted poetic circle joyfully
salutes them on the birth of their second son, Sidney,
'Ere both the parents forty summers told,'
as equal paragons. 'You two,' sings Hammond, 'who are in worthiness so
near allied.' They enjoyed, together, a comfortable fortune, and gave
even more generously, in proportion, than they had received. All
Stanley's tastes and habits were humanistic. He was the loyal and
helpful friend of many English men of letters. To name his familiar
associates is to call up a bright and thoughtful pageant, for they
include, besides Lovelace and Suckling and Sherburne, the Bromes; James
Shirley; John Davies of Kidwelly; John Hall of Durham, better remembered
now as the friend of Hobbes than as the prodigy his generation thought
him; and the genial Edward Phillips, the nephew of Milton. Though
Stanley knew how to protest manfully when the profits of his mental
labours were in danger of being withdrawn from him, yet he sought none
of the usual awards of life, and never increased his patrimony. Indeed,
his relative William Wotton said of him long after, in a Latin notice
written for _Elogia Gallorum_, that Stanley lived engrossed in his
studies, and let his private interests run to seed. He kept his learning
and his liberty, his charity and peace and good repute; and of his
troubles and trials he has left, like the gallant philosopher he was, no
record at all. A little brass in the chancel pavement of Clothall
Church, near Baldock, witnesses to some of these: for there 'Thomas et
Dorothea, parentes moesti,' laid two little sons to rest...'sit nomen
Dnyi benedictum.' They lost other children, later; but one son and three
daughters survived their gentle father, when, after a severe illness, he
was called away from a society which bitterly deplored him, in April,
1678. He died in Suffolk Street, London, in the parish of St.
Martin-in-the-Fields.
Stanley was supposed by his contemporaries to have made himself immortal
by his _History of Philosophy_, long a standard book, though hardly an
original one. Indeed, they considered him, chiefly on account of it,
'the glory and admiration of his time': the phrase is that of a careful
critic, Winstanley. The work went into many editions; his prose was used
and read, while his verse was talked of, and passed lightly from hand to
hand. As in the case of Petrarca, whose fine Latin tomes quickly
perished, while his less regarded vernacular _Rime_ rose to shine 'on
the stretched forefinger of all Time,' so here was a little remainder of
lovely English song to embalm an otherwise soon-buried name. Hardly any
poet of his poetic day, to be discovered hereafter, can be appraised on
a more intimate understanding, or can awaken a more endearing interest.
Yet we know that save for one or two of his pieces extant here or there
in anthologies; save for a private reprint in 1814 by that tireless
scholar and 'great mouser,' Sir Egerton Brydges; save for Mr. A. H.
Bullen's valued reproduction of the _Anacreontea_, in 1893, Thomas
Stanley's name is utterly unknown to the modern world.
We have indeed travelled far from the ideals of the seventeenth century.
Perhaps, after all, that is one of our blunders; for every hour,
nowadays, we are busy breaking a backward path through the historic
underbrush, in order to speak with those singing gentlemen of 'the
Warres,' whose art and statecraft and religion some of us (who have seen
the end of so much else), find incredibly attractive to our own. Their
lawless vision, like that of children, and the mysterious trick of
music in all their speech, are things we love instinctively, and never
can regain. Out of their political storm, their hard thought, and high
spirits, they can somehow give us rest: and it is chiefly rest which we
crave of them. We appeal to each of these post-Elizabethans with the
invitatory line of one of them:
'Charm me asleep with thy delicious numbers!'
The pleasure they can still give is inexhaustible, for unconscious
genius like theirs, however narrow, is a deeper well than Goethe's. Cast
aside, and contemned, and left in the darkness long ago, the greater
number of these English Alexandrians are as alive as the lamp in
Tullia's tomb; and of these Stanley, as a craftsman, is almost first.
He was a born man of letters; he gave his whole life to meditation, to
friendship, and to art; he did his beautiful best, and cared nothing for
results; and though literary dynasties have come and gone, his work has
sufficient vitality to-day to leap abreast of work which has never been
out of the sphere of man's appreciation, and has deserved all the
appreciation which it got. Stanley's fastidious strength, his wayward
but concentrated grace, his spirit of liberty and scorn in writing of
love (which was one of the novel characteristic notes of Wither's
generation, and of Robert Jones's before him); the sunny, fearless
mental motion, like that of a bird flying not far, but high, seem to our
plodding scientific wits as unnatural as a Sibyllic intoxication. He
strikes few notes; he recognises his limits and controls his range; but
within these, he is for the most part as happy as Herrick, as mellow as
Henry King, as free as Carew, and as capable as these were, and as those
deeper natures, Crashaw and Vaughan, were not, of a short poem perfect
throughout. He is the child of his age, moreover, in that his ingenuity
never slumbers, and his speech must ever be concise and knotty. If he
sports in the tangles of Neraea's hair, it is because he likes tangles,
and means to add to them. No Carolian poet was ever an idler!
Carew, perhaps, is Stanley's nearest parallel. The latter shows the very
same sort of golden pertness, masked in languid elegance, which goes to
unify and heighten Carew's memorable enchantment, and the same sheer
singable felicity of phrase. But, unlike Carew, he has no glorious
ungoverned swift-passing raptures; there is in Stanley less fire and
less tenderness. Nor has he anything to repent of. His imagination, as
John Hall discerningly said of it,
'Makes soft Ionic turn grave Lydian.'
Except Habington's, no considerable body of amatory verse in all that
century, certainly not even Cowley's more artificial sequence of 1647,
is, on the whole, so free from stain. Stanley's exemption did not pass
unnoticed; and William Fairfax ('no man fitter!') is careful to instruct
us that Doris, Celinda, and Chariessa were 'various rays' of 'one orient
sun,' and further, that 'no coy ambitious names may here imagine earthly
flames,' because the poet's professional and deliberate homage was
really paid to inward beauty, and never to 'roses of the cheek' alone.
Here we run up against a sweet and famous moral of Carew's, which not
Carew, but Stanley, bears out as the better symbolist of the two. Our
poet does not appear to have contributed towards the religious
literature of a day when the torrent of intense life in human hearts
bred so much heaven-mounting spray, as well as so much necessary scum
and refuse. But his was a temperament so religious that one almost
expects to find somewhere a manuscript volume of 'pious thoughts,' the
shy fruit of Stanley's Christian'retire | 196.259772 |
2023-11-16 18:20:20.3375920 | 7,419 | 6 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Graeme Mackreth and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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THE GERMAN FLEET
_BEING THE COMPANION VOLUME TO "THE FLEETS AT WAR"
AND "FROM HELIGOLAND TO KEELING ISLAND."_
BY
ARCHIBALD HURD
AUTHOR (JOINT) OF "GERMAN SEA-POWER, ITS RISE, PROGRESS
AND ECONOMIC BASIS."
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO
MCMXV
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 7
I. PAST ASCENDENCY 19
II. THE FIRST GERMAN FLEET 26
III. GERMANY'S FLEET IN THE LAST CENTURY 51
IV. BRITISH INFLUENCE ON THE GERMAN NAVY 80
V. THE GERMAN NAVY ACTS 93
VI. GERMAN SHIPS, OFFICERS, AND MEN 142
VII. WILLIAM II. AND HIS NAVAL MINISTER 155
APPENDIX I.--GERMANY'S NAVAL POLICY 183
APPENDIX II.--BRITISH AND GERMAN SHIP-BUILDING
PROGRAMMES 189
INTRODUCTION
In the history of nations there is probably no chapter more fascinating
and arresting than that which records the rise and fall and subsequent
resurrection of German sea-power.
In our insular pride, conscious of our glorious naval heritage, we are
apt to forget that Germany had a maritime past, and that long before
the German Empire existed the German people attained pre-eminence in
oversea commerce and created for its protection fleets which exercised
commanding influence in northern waters.
It is an error, therefore, to regard Germany as an up-start naval
Power. The creation of her modern navy represented the revival
of ancient hopes and aspirations. To those ambitions, in their
unaggressive form, her neighbours would have taken little exception;
Germany had become a great commercial Power with colonies overseas, and
it was natural that she should desire to possess a navy corresponding
to her growing maritime interests and the place which she had already
won for herself in the sun.
The more closely the history of German sea-power is studied the more
apparent it must become, that it was not so much Germany's Navy
Acts, as the propaganda by which they were supported and the new and
aggressive spirit which her naval organisation brought into maritime
affairs that caused uneasiness throughout the world and eventually
created that feeling of antagonism which found expression after the
opening of war in August, 1914.
In the early part of 1913 I wrote, in collaboration with a friend who
possessed intimate knowledge of the foundations and the strength of the
German Empire, a history of the German naval movement,[1] particular
emphasis being laid on its economic basis. In the preparation of
the present volume I have drawn upon this former work. It has been
impossible, however, in the necessarily limited compass of one of
the _Daily Telegraph_ War Books, to deal with the economic basis
upon which the German Navy has been created. I believe that the
chapters in "German Sea-Power" with reference to this aspect of German
progress--for which my collaborator was responsible and of which,
therefore, I can speak without reserve--still constitute a unique
presentation of the condition of Germany on the eve of the outbreak of
war.
Much misconception exists as to the staying power of Germany. The
German Empire as an economic unit is not of mushroom growth. Those
readers who are sufficiently interested in the subject of the basis
of German vitality, will realise vividly by reference to "German
Sea-Power" the deep and well-laid foundations upon which not only the
German Navy, but the German Empire rest.
Whether this history should be regarded as the romance of the German
Navy or the tragedy of the German Navy must for the present remain an
open question. In everyday life many romances culminate in tragedy,
and the course of events in the present war suggest that the time may
be at hand when the German people will realise the series of errors
committed by their rulers in the upbuilding of German sea-power. Within
the past fifteen years it is calculated that about £300,000,000 has
been spent in the maintenance and expansion of the German Fleet, the
improvement of its bases, and the enlargement of the Kiel Canal. Much
of this money has been raised by loans. Those loans are still unpaid;
it was believed by a large section of the German people that Great
Britain, hampered by party politics and effete in all warlike pursuits,
would, after defeat, repay them. That hope must now be dead.
The German people, as the memorandum which accompanied the Navy Act
of 1900 reveals, were led to anticipate that the Fleet, created by
the sacrifice of so much treasure, would not only guarantee their
shores against aggression, but would give absolute protection to their
maritime and colonial interests, and would, eventually, pay for itself.
The time will come when they will recognise that from the first they
have been hoodwinked and deceived by those in authority over them. It
may be that German statesmen, and the Emperor himself, were themselves
deceived by the very brilliance of the dreams of world power which they
entertained and by the conception which they had formed of the lack of
virility, sagacity and prescience of those responsible for the fortunes
of other countries, and of Great Britain in particular.
German Navy Acts were passed in full confidence that during the period
when they were being carried into effect the rest of the world would
stand still, lost in admiration of Germany's culture and Germany's
power. The mass of the German people were unwilling converts to the
new gospel. They had to be convinced of the wisdom of the new policy.
For this purpose a Press Bureau was established. Throughout the
German States this organisation fostered, through the official and
semi-official Press, feelings of antagonism and hatred towards other
countries, and towards England and the United States especially,
because these two countries were Germany's most serious rivals in the
commercial markets of the world, and also possessed sea-power superior
to her own.
It is interesting to recall in proof of this dual aim of German policy
the remarks of von Edelsheim, a member of the German General Staff, in
a pamphlet entitled "Operationen Ubersee."[2]
The author, after first pointing out the possibility of invading
England, turned his attention to the United States.[3] His remarks are
so interesting in view of the activity of German agents on the other
side of the Atlantic after the outbreak of war, that it is perhaps
excusable to quote at some length this explanation by a member of the
German General Staff of how the German Fleet was to be used against the
United States as an extension of the power of the huge German Army.
"The possibility must be taken into account that the fleet of the
United States will at first not venture into battle, but that it will
withdraw into fortified harbours, in order to wait for a favourable
opportunity of achieving minor successes. Therefore it is clear that
naval action alone will not be decisive against the United States, but
that combined action of army and navy will be required. Considering
the great extent of the United States, the conquest of the country
by an army of invasion is not possible. But there is every reason
to believe that victorious enterprises on the Atlantic coast, and
the conquest of the most important arteries through which imports
and exports pass, will create such an unbearable state of affairs in
the whole country that the Government will readily offer acceptable
conditions in order to obtain peace.
"If Germany begins preparing a fleet of transports and troops for
landing purposes at the moment when the battle fleet steams out of our
harbours, we may conclude that operations on the American soil can
begin after about four weeks, and it cannot be doubted that the United
States will not be able to oppose to us within that time an army
equivalent to our own.
"At present the regular army of the United States amounts to 65,000
men, of whom only 30,000 could be disposed of. Of these at least
10,000 are required for watching the Indian territories and for
guarding the fortifications on the sea coast. Therefore only about
20,000 men of the regular army are ready for war. Besides, about
100,000 militia are in existence, of whom the larger part did not come
up when they were called out during the last war. Lastly, the militia
is not efficient; it is partly armed with muzzle-loaders, and its
training is worse than its armament.
"As an operation by surprise against America is impossible, on account
of the length of time during which transports are on the way, only
the landing can be affected by surprise. Nevertheless, stress must be
laid on the fact that the rapidity of the invasion will considerably
facilitate victory against the United States, owing to the absence of
methodical preparation for mobilization, owing to the inexperience of
the personnel, and owing to the weakness of the regular army.
"In order to occupy permanently a considerable part of the United
States, and to protect our lines of operation so as to enable us to
fight successfully against all the forces which that country, in
the course of time, can oppose to us, considerable forces would be
required. Such an operation would be greatly hampered by the fact
that it would require a second passage of the transport fleet in
order to ship the necessary troops that long distance. However, it
seems questionable whether it would be advantageous to occupy a great
stretch of country for a considerable time. The Americans will not
feel inclined to conclude peace because one or two provinces are
occupied by an army of invasion, but because of the enormous, material
losses which the whole country will suffer if the Atlantic harbour
towns, in which the threads of the whole prosperity of the United
States are concentrated, are torn away from them one after the other.
"Therefore the task of the fleet would be to undertake a series of
large landing operations, through which we are able to take several
of these important and wealthy towns within a brief space of time. By
interrupting their communications, by destroying all buildings serving
the State commerce and the defence, by taking away all material for
war and transport, and, lastly, by levying heavy contributions, we
should be able to inflict damage on the United States.
"For such enterprises a smaller military force will suffice.
Nevertheless, the American defence will find it difficult to undertake
a successful enterprise against that kind of warfare. Though an
extremely well-developed railway system enables them to concentrate
troops within a short time on the different points on the coast, the
concentration of the troops and the time which is lost until it is
recognised which of the many threatened points of landing will really
be utilised will, as a rule, make it possible for the army of invasion
to carry out its operation with success under the co-operation of
the fleet at the point chosen. The corps landed can either take
the offensive against gathering hostile forces or withdraw to the
transports in order to land at another place."
These declarations of German naval and military policy are of interest
as illustrating the character of the propaganda by which the naval
movement was encouraged. _The Navy was to give world-wide length of
reach to the supreme German Army, and enable Germany to dictate peace
to each and every nation, however distantly situated._ An appeal was
made to the lowest instincts of the German people. They were counselled
to create a great naval force on the understanding that the money
expended would by aggressive wars be repaid with interest and that,
as a result of combined naval and military operations, they would
extend the world power of the German Empire, and incidentally promote
Germany's maritime interests in all the oceans of the world.
Those who were responsible for the inflammatory speeches and articles
by which the interest of the German people in the naval movement was
excited, forgot the influence which these ebullitions would have upon
the policy of other Powers and upon their defensive preparations.
It was only after hostilities had broken out that the German people
realised what small results all their sacrifices had produced. By
the words, more than the acts, of those responsible for German naval
policy, the other Powers of the world had been forced to expand and
reorganise their naval forces. Germany had at great cost won for
herself the position of second greatest naval Power in the world, but
in doing so she had unconsciously forced up the strength of the British
Fleet and dragged in her path the United States, France, Italy, Japan,
Russia, and to a limited extent, but only to a limited extent, her
ally, Austria-Hungary. During the years of agitation the other Powers
of the world had not stood still, as it was assumed in Germany they
would do. First, the British people increased their naval expenditure
and more ships were built and more officers and men were entered; and
then the German Navy Act of 1912 was passed.
It had been the practice of the naval Powers to keep about one-half
only of their ships in full sea-going commission. The armed peace,
before Germany began to give expression to her maritime ambitions, was
a yoke which rested easily upon the navies of the world. As a British
naval officer has remarked:--
"Up to the end of the last century our Navy enjoyed a peace
routine. We maintained squadrons all over the world, and the pick
of our personnel was to be found anywhere but in home waters. The
Mediterranean claimed the pick of both our ships and men. Here naval
life was one long holiday. The routine was to lay in harbour for nine
months out of the year. About July the whole fleet would congregate at
Malta for the summer's cruise. Sometimes it would be east of Malta,
taking in the Grecian Archipelago and the Holy Land; at others it
would be west, visiting the French and Italian ports, paying a visit
to the Rock, and then home to Malta for another long rest.
"Preparation for war was never thought of. Why should it be? The
French Navy had no aggressive designs, and was much below our own,
both in material strength and in personnel, while the Russian Navy
was partly confined in the Black Sea, the other part being in the
Baltic. And so we, both officers and men, set out to have a good time.
Our ships were kept up to yacht-like perfection as regards their
paintwork, while their bright work shone like gold, and the road to
promotion lay not through professional efficiency, but the state of
cleanliness and splendour of one's ship. All kinds of drills and
evolutions were devised, not because of their war value, but because
they had a competitive value, and so ship could be pitted against ship
and an element of sport introduced.
"There was nothing really wrong in all this. The British Navy was
there to maintain for us our title of 'Mistress of the Seas,' and as
no other nation apparently wished to challenge our title, there was
nothing to do but pass away the time as pleasantly as possible; when
the Navy was called on to perform any task it carried it through with
vigour, valour, and efficiency, and immediately settled down again."[4]
This regime came to an end soon after Grand Admiral von Tirpitz
became German Naval Secretary towards the end of the nineteenth
century. He set the navies of the world a new model. He determined to
take advantage of the easy-going spirit which animated the pleasant
relations then existing between the great fleets. There was to be
nothing pleasant about the German Fleet. It was to be a strenuous agent
of Germany's aggressive aims. In the organisation of German sea-power
new principles found expression. In home waters and abroad the German
Navy was always ready instantly for war. The screw was applied
gradually stage by stage. Under the German Navy Act of 1912 this
aggressive sea policy found its ultimate expression: it was proposed
to keep always on a war footing nearly four-fifths of the ships in
northern waters, while at the same time the squadrons abroad were to
be greatly increased in strength. Happily, owing to Lord Fisher's
foresight and strategical ability, the British Navy was enabled step by
step to respond to each and every measure taken by Germany. He created
for us a Grand Fleet and when hostilities broke out that fleet took up
its war stations and denied to the main forces of Germany the use of
any and every sea.
German policy operated as a tonic, though not to the same extent, on
the other great fleets of the world. In the summer of 1914 Germany
discovered that every anticipation upon which her foreign, naval
and military policies had been based had been falsified by events.
In particular, in adding to her strength at sea and on land, she
had rendered herself weak by creating enemies east and west. Her
navy, which was to have engaged in a victorious campaign against the
greatest naval power of the world in isolation--the rest of the world
watching the inevitable downfall of the Mistress of the Seas with
approval--found arrayed against it not the British fleet only, but the
fleets of France and Russia in Europe and the Navy of Japan in the Far
East.
In studying, therefore, the history of the naval development of
Germany, and contrasting the high hopes which inspired the naval
movement with the events which occurred on the outbreak of war, and in
subsequent months, one is led to wonder whether, after all, the romance
of the German Navy will not be regarded in the future, by the German
people at least, rather as a great and costly tragedy.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: "German Sea-Power, Its Rise, Progress and Economic Basis,"
by Archibald Hurd and Henry Castle (1913, London, John Murray, 10s.
6d.).]
[Footnote 2: "Modern Germany" (Smith Elder, 1912).]
[Footnote 3: Germans always assumed that they could attack the United
States without intervention on our part, just as they assumed that
they could engage in war with us without becoming involved with the
United States. They believed that Germany would fight both countries in
turn--and victoriously.]
[Footnote 4: "The British Navy from Within" by "Ex-Royal Navy" (Hodder
& Stoughton).]
THE GERMAN FLEET
CHAPTER I
Past Ascendency
Like the foundations of the Empire in 1870, the formation of the modern
German Fleet is the result of a movement that had its origin among
the people and not among the Princes of the country. And this naval
movement sprang up and reached its greatest vigour in those sea-board
districts that still sedulously keep alive the splendid tradition of
the Hanseatic League, which, as the strongest maritime Power of its
day, for centuries almost monopolized the trade of Northern and Western
Europe, and with the word "sterling," a corruption of "Easterling,"
the name popularly given to its members, has left on Great Britain
the indelible stamp of its former mercantile domination. For the coin
of the Hanse towns, by reason of its unimpeachable quality, was once
universally sought after in England, and thus became the standard of
monetary excellence.
The memories of the Hansa are the "historical foundation" on which
have been based Germany's claims to a leading place among the maritime
nations, and they have played a prominent part in every agitation
for the increase of her fleet. Why, it was asked, should she not
again assume upon the seas that dominating position which she once
undoubtedly held? Why, with her expanding population, trade, and
wealth, should she not reclaim that maritime ascendency which she
forfeited to Holland in the seventeenth century, and which a hundred
years later passed to Great Britain? Why should she not realize that
dream which was in the mind of Friedrich List when he wrote: "How easy
it would have been for the Hanse towns, in the epoch of their rule over
the sea, to attain national unity through the instrumentality of the
imperial power, to unite the whole littoral from Dunkirk to Riga under
one nationality, and thus to win and maintain for the German nation
supremacy in industry, trade, and sea-power!"
It is, moreover, not without significance that the Hansa itself was, in
a sense, democratic, and that, at a time when Germany, as a national
unit, was rendered impotent in the world by her superabundance of
Princes, her citizens were able, on their own initiative, and by their
own energies, to assert their power and capacity as a maritime people.
The story of the Hansa is full of strange anomalies and antitheses.
Historians differ by centuries as to the date at which the existence of
the League commenced, and just as it never had a definite beginning,
so it has never had a formal end, for to this day two of the Hanse
towns--Hamburg and Bremen--have certain institutions in common, such
as their supreme law courts and their diplomatic representation in
Prussia. For hundreds of years the Confederation acted, and was treated
by foreign Governments, as an independent State and a great Power,
but its composition was never certain and always fluctuating. From
first to last the names of no fewer than ninety cities and towns
were entered upon its rolls, but it is impossible to say of each of
them how often and when it joined or left the League. Foreign rulers,
and especially the English monarchs, made repeated attempts to obtain
from the Hansa an official list of its members, but compliance with
their demands was systematically evaded on one pretext or another. The
League's policy was, as far as possible, to assert the claims of its
members, and to disown responsibility for those made against them. This
policy is pretty clearly expressed in the following answer returned
by the League in 1473 to complaints put forward on behalf of English
merchantmen who had suffered through the depredations of the Dantzic
privateer or pirate, Paul Beneke: "The towns of the Hansa are a corpus
in the possession of the privileges they hold in any realms, lands, or
lordships, and when their privileges are infringed, they are accustomed
to meet and consult, and then to issue for all of them ordinances
against all goods from the countries in which their privileges have
been infringed, that they shall not be suffered in the commonalty of
towns. But they were not making war against England; only some of the
towns of the Hansa, which had been injured by England, had determined
upon it at their own venture, win or lose, which did not take place
in the name of the Hanse commonalty." The theory of the Federation
was, in fact, that it existed for the purpose only of taking, and
not of giving, and it refused to imply a corporate responsibility by
publishing its membership rolls.
It is impossible, in the space available, to tell in any detail the
fascinating story of the rise of the Hansa to the position of a great
power, with its guild halls and factories in foreign lands, of which
the oldest and most important was the Steelyard, in London. The history
of this institution is believed to go back to the latter days of the
Roman occupation. When the Hanseatic League was at the height of its
power--from the last quarter of the fourteenth to the first half of
the sixteenth centuries, the Steelyard, in London, closely resembled a
state within a larger state. It occupied a site now covered by Cannon
Street Station, extending from Thames Street to the river, and bounded
to the east and west respectively by All Hallows and Cousins Lane.
The Steelyard had something of the appearance of a fortress and was
stoutly defended against attack. The community within its precincts was
governed with monastic severity. Their affairs were administered by
an alderman with the assistance of two adjuncts and nine counsellers
who took part in all the State and civic pageants of London as a
Corporation.
This great German commercial institution on British soil, and the other
houses established in other countries, reflected the great power which
was wielded by the Hanseatic League in commerce. These German traders,
however, realised that their increasing trade on the seas required
adequate defence. Mainly at the instigation of the merchants of Lübeck,
a considerable navy was created, this German city being dependent for
its prosperity mainly upon the herring fishing and curing industries
of Europe. In process of time the Germans succeeded in driving away
English, French and Spanish rivals, and created a great monopoly of
the herring fisheries of northern Europe, from which they drew immense
wealth and on which depended a number of other industries.
It was mainly for the protection of the Sound herrings that the Hansa
undertook against the Scandinavian States the numerous campaigns by
which it won the keys of the Baltic. The war which culminated with
the peace of Spralsunde in 1370 raised the League to the rank of a
first-class sea Power. Encouraged by its success in crushing and
humiliating Denmark, the Hansa had little hesitation in measuring
itself against England. The towns became associated through the
Victualling Brothers with an active form of corsair warfare on English
shipping.
By its triumph over the Danes, the Hansa secured a practical monopoly
of the shipping and trade of the Baltic and North Sea, which it held
almost unimpaired for nearly two hundred years. In the words of Gustav
Wasa, "the three good (Scandinavian) Crowns remained small wares of
the Hansa up to the sixteenth century," and as long as this was so
the commercial and maritime supremacy of the League was practically
unchallengeable. The manner in which the Easterlings availed themselves
of the ascendency they had now acquired is a classic example of the
ruthless and unscrupulous exploitation of political power for the
purposes of purely material gain, for they were actuated by no national
or ideal aims, but solely by the desire to enrich themselves. Favoured
by the confusion and chaos prevailing in the lands of their potential
rivals, they became the exclusive brokers through whose mediation the
spices of the Orient, the wines of France, the cloth of Flanders, the
tin, wool, hides, and tallow of England, were exchanged for the dried
cod of Norway, the ores of Sweden, the wheat of Prussia, the honey and
wax of Poland, the furs of Russia, and the myriads of herrings which
every summer were caught in the Sound, and salted and packed on the
coast of Scania. What they aimed at, and what for long years they
substantially obtained, was the disappearance of all flags but their
own from the North Sea and the Baltic. Moreover, a great part of the
carrying trade between England and France also fell to their lot.
The conditions were such as rendered warlike operations between
England and the Teutonic order inevitable. It is impossible to trace
in any detail the guerilla tactics which were adopted on both sides.
It is only necessary for our present purpose to convey some idea of
the sea power which the Hansa exercised in order that we may better
understand the ambitions of Germany to which the Emperor William the
Second and Grand Admiral von Tirpitz gave expression in the early years
of the twentieth century. At the outset of its career, its warships
were manned by the burghers themselves, but as the fleet increased
in size--it was quadrupled during the first half of the fifteenth
century--recourse to mercenaries became more and more general. The
commanders of the ships were invariably citizens of the towns which had
equipped them, and were frequently members of the governing council,
while the admiral of a fleet was always a councillor, and usually
a burgomaster. The officers of the land forces, which were raised
as occasion demanded, were principally drawn from the impoverished
nobility, whose members welcomed any opportunity of repairing their
shattered fortunes by martial adventure. Of the naval resources of the
League, some idea can be formed from the fact that, in the war against
the Scandinavian Kingdoms in 1426, it sent out a fleet of 260 ships,
manned by 12,000 sailors and fighting men. For the exhausting, if not
inglorious, seven years' war against Gustav Wasa's successor, Lübeck
alone fitted out 18 men-of-war, of which one, the _Adler_, carried 400
sailors, 500 fighting men, and 150 "constables." Her armament consisted
of 8 carthouns, 6 demi-carthouns, 26 culverins, and many smaller pieces
of ordnance. Among her munitions were 6,000 cannon-balls and 300
hundredweight of powder.
CHAPTER II
The First German Fleet
In one of the window niches on the ground floor of the Military Museum
(Zeughaus) at Berlin lies an old and dilapidated 8-pounder gun. In its
deep and disfiguring coat of rust it is an inconspicuous object, and,
amid that rich and varied collection of artillery from all the ages,
the eye of the casual visitor will not rest upon it for more than a
disparaging moment. And yet few of the treasures of the museum have a
more interesting history to tell, for it is the sole remaining relic
of the first serious experiment in naval and colonial policy ever made
by a German ruler. On an elevation rising from the beach of Cape Three
Points, on the Gold Coast, now British territory, are still to be seen
the crumbling ruins of the fort of Gross-Friedrichsburg, built there
by the Elector of Brandenburg in 1681, and when the German corvette
_Sophie_ visited the spot, with pious purpose, in 1884, this corroded
gun was unearthed from beneath the weeds and brushwood that have
overgrown the decayed ramparts.
Frederick William, the Great Elector, has been exemplary for many of
his successors. Frederick the Great rightly considered him the most
able of the previous Princes of the house of Hohenzollern, while the
present German Emperor has made a special cult of his memory, and
assuredly had a symbolic intention when he appeared at a fancy-dress
ball disguised as the first of his ancestors who equipped a fleet and
founded a colony.
When Frederick William was called to the Brandenburg throne in 1641
at the age of twenty, Germany was still in the throes of the Thirty
Years' War, and no part of the Empire had suffered more than his
Electorate from the consequences of that unspeakable calamity. Of all
the causes which have contributed to impede the normal development
of the painstaking and industrious German race, none had so malign
an influence as that stupendous conflict. It not merely delayed
civilization, but over vast tracts of country positively exterminated
it. At the close of the war many once flourishing towns had absolutely
disappeared from the face of the earth, and where formerly a numerous
peasantry had tilled its fertile fields a howling wilderness extended
in all directions as far as the eye could reach. In North Germany
to-day an apparently purposeless pond, or a detached clump of venerable
trees, still shows where once a village stood, and bears mute witness
to the ruthless barbarity with which the religious partition of Central
Europe was brought about.
When an end was put to the bloodshed and rapine by the Peace of
Westphalia (1648), the population of Germany had been reduced to one
half--in some districts to one tenth--of its former dimensions. Many
portions of the Empire are even to-day not so thickly inhabited as they
were before the war. Industry and commerce had migrated to England,
France, and Holland; and Leipzig and Frankfort were the only German
towns that had retained any trade worthy of mention. The Hansa, with
its fleets of warships and merchantmen, was but a memory of the past.
Königsberg had no longer a ship of its own; the trade of Dantzig and
Stettin was almost entirely carried in foreign bottoms; and even
Hamburg, which directly had been but comparatively little touched by
the thirty years of chaos and turmoil, and had benefited from its
exceptional connection with England, was left commercially crippled.
At a Hanse Parliament held in 1630, only Hamburg, Lübeck, and Bremen
were represented. Germany had been so drained of money that barter had
generally taken the place of purchase by coin; wages were paid in the
products of labour, grain, ore, and manufactured goods, and even state
officials in some cases received their salaries in kind.
Even before the war broke out, Brandenburg, a country of barren soil
and few natural resources, had stood far below the rest of Germany
both materially and intellectually. In 1600 the twin towns, Berlin
and Cöln, which faced one another from opposite banks of the Spree,
and have since been merged to form the colossal capital of the new
Empire, contained together no more than 14,000 souls. Brandenburg and
Frankfort-on-Oder each had a population of 10,000. Only two other
towns, Stendal and Salzwedel, could boast more than 5,000 inhabitants.
And it was of the mere ruins of this country that Frederick William
formed the foundation-stone of the Prussian Kingdom and of the German
Empire of to-day.
If the Thirty Years' War had produced any form of national
consolidation, if it had increased the authority of the Empire or
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MAJOR BARBARA
BERNARD SHAW
ACT I
It is after dinner on a January night, in the library in
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Produced by Carla Foust, and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice.
[Illustration: CENTRAL BUILDING
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY]
HANDBOOK
_of_
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC
LIBRARY
1916
Copyright, 1916, by
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
CONTENTS
THE CENTRAL BUILDING: PAGE
EXTERIOR 7
SCULPTURE 13
THE REAR OF THE BUILDING 15
FIRST FLOOR
ENTRANCES 17
ELEVATORS 19
EXHIBITION ROOM 19
CURRENT PERIODICALS ROOM 19
BUSINESS OFFICES 21
TECHNOLOGY DIVISION 21
PATENTS ROOM 22
THE LIBRARY FOR THE BLIND 22
SECOND FLOOR
ORIENTAL DIVISION 23
JEWISH DIVISION 23
SLAVONIC DIVISION 23
SCIENCE DIVISION 25
ECONOMICS DIVISION 25
BUSINESS OFFICES 25
THIRD FLOOR
PUBLIC CATALOGUE ROOM 27
INFORMATION DESK 31
APPLICATION FOR BOOKS 31
THE MAIN READING ROOM 31
THE LIBRARY'S BOOKS 33
USE OF BOOKS 39
STACK 39
GENEALOGY ROOM 39
AMERICAN HISTORY DIVISION 39
RESERVE BOOKS 41
PRINTS ROOM 43
ART AND ARCHITECTURE 43
MAP ROOM 45
STUART GALLERY 45
GENERAL GALLERY 45
PRINTS GALLERY 45
MANUSCRIPT DIVISION 46
MUSIC DIVISION 47
BASEMENT
NEWSPAPER ROOM 47
CENTRAL CIRCULATION BRANCH 49
CHILDREN'S ROOM 51
LIBRARY SCHOOL 51
PUBLIC TELEPHONES 53
BUSINESS OFFICES 53
TRAVELLING LIBRARIES OFFICE 53
CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT (BRANCHES):
CIRCULATION OF BOOKS 55
SPECIAL COLLECTIONS 57
INTERBRANCH LOAN 57
READING ROOMS 57
LIBRARY FOR THE BLIND 59
TRAVELLING LIBRARIES 59
WORK WITH CHILDREN 61
LECTURES AND MEETINGS 62
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE LIBRARY:
THE ASTOR LIBRARY 63
THE LENOX LIBRARY 67
THE TILDEN TRUST 67
CONSOLIDATION 69
NEW YORK FREE CIRCULATING LIBRARY 71
OTHER CIRCULATING LIBRARIES 71
CARNEGIE BRANCHES 71
MANAGEMENT 71
BENEFACTORS 72
WORK OF THE LIBRARY 73
FLOOR PLANS, CENTRAL BUILDING 74
TRUSTEES AND OFFICERS OF THE LIBRARY 76
DIRECTORY OF BRANCH LIBRARIES 77
PUBLICATIONS OF THE LIBRARY 78
THE CROTON RESERVOIR 79
_NOTE_
_Although the purpose of this Handbook is to tell the principal facts
about the Library as an institution, its chief use is likely to be that
of a guide to the Central Building. The section about the Central
Building is therefore given first place. Any visitor who cares to take
the trouble, before beginning his tour of the Building, to read the
brief historical sketch (on pages 63-73) will have a better
understanding of the organization and work of the Library, and see the
reasons for a number of things which might not otherwise be clear._
THE CENTRAL BUILDING
OPEN: WEEK DAYS, INCLUDING HOLIDAYS, 9 A.M. TO 10 P.M. SUNDAYS, 1 P.M.
TO 10 P.M.
(Except where otherwise noted these are the hours of the special reading
rooms.)
THE CENTRAL BUILDING
=The Central Building= of The New York Public Library is on the western
side of Fifth Avenue, occupying the two blocks between 40th and 42nd
Streets. It stands on part of the site of the old Croton distributing
reservoir, and it was built by the City of New York at a cost of about
nine million dollars.
Competitions to choose the architect for the building were held in 1897,
two years after The New York Public Library was incorporated. The result
of the competition was the selection of Messrs. Carrere and Hastings, of
New York, as architects. In 1899 the work of removing the old reservoir
began. Various legal difficulties and labor troubles delayed beginning
the construction of the building, but by November 10, 1902, the work had
progressed so far that the cornerstone was laid. The building was opened
to the public May 23, 1911, in the presence of the President of the
United States, the Governor of the State of New York, the Mayor of New
York, and an audience of about six hundred persons.
=Exterior.= The material of the building is largely Vermont marble, and
the style that of the modern Renaissance, somewhat in the manner of the
period of Louis XVI, with certain modifications to suit the conditions
of to-day. It is rectangular in shape, 390 feet long and 270 feet deep,
built around two inner courts. It has a cellar, basement or ground
floor, and three upper floors.
[Illustration: MAIN ENTRANCE]
"The Library," wrote Mr. A. C. David, in the _Architectural Record_[1],
"is undeniably popular. It has already taken its place in the public
mind as a building of which every New Yorker may be proud, and this
opinion of the building is shared by the architectural profession of the
country. Of course, it does not please everybody; but if American
architects in good standing were asked to name the one building which
embodied most of what was good in contemporary American architecture,
The New York Public Library would be the choice of a handsome majority."
Mr. David continued: "The Library is not, then, intended to be a great
monumental building, which would look almost as well from one point of
view as another, and which would be fundamentally an example of pure
architectural form. It is designed rather to face on the avenue of a
city, and not to seem out of place on such a site. It is essentially and
frankly an instance of street architecture; and as an instance of street
architecture it is distinguished in its appearance rather than imposing.
Not, indeed, that it is lacking in dignity. The facade on Fifth Avenue
has poise, as well as distinction; character, as well as good manners.
But still it does not insist upon its own peculiar importance, as every
monumental building must do. It is content with a somewhat humbler role,
but one which is probably more appropriate. It looks ingratiating rather
than imposing, and that is probably one reason for its popularity. It is
intended for popular rather than for official use, and the building
issues to the people an invitation to enter rather than a command....
[Illustration: TERRACE IN FRONT OF LIBRARY
LOOKING SOUTH]
"The final judgment on the Library will be, consequently, that it is not
a great monument, because considerations of architectural form have in
several conspicuous instances been deliberately subordinated to the
needs of the plan. In this respect it resembles the new Museum of Fine
Arts in Boston. The building is at bottom a compromise between two
groups of partly antagonistic demands, and a compromise can hardly ever
become a consummate example of architectural form. But, on the other
hand, Messrs. Carrere and Hastings have, as in so many other cases, made
their compromise successful. Faithful as they have been to the
fundamental requirement of adapting the building to its purpose as a
library, they have also succeeded in making it look well; and they have
succeeded in making it look well partly because the design is
appropriate to its function as a building in which books are stored,
read and distributed. A merely monumental library always appears
somewhat forbidding and remote. The Library looks attractive, and so far
as a large building can, even intimate....
[Illustration: BY EDWARD C. POTTER]
[Illustration: TERRACE LOOKING NORTH]
"The popularity of the Library has, consequently, been well earned. The
public has reason to like it, because it offers them a smiling
countenance; and the welcome it gives is merely the outward and visible
sign of an inward grace. When people enter they will find a building
which has been ingeniously and carefully adapted to their use.
Professional architects like it, because they recognize the skill, the
good taste and the abundant resources of which the building, as a whole,
is the result; and while many of them doubtless cherish a secret
thought that they would have done it better, they are obliged to
recognize that in order to have done it better they would have been
obliged to exhibit a high degree of architectural intelligence. In the
realism of its plan and in the mixture of dignity and distinction in the
design, The New York Public Library is typical of that which is best in
the contemporary American architectural movement; and New York is
fortunate, indeed, that such a statement can be made of the most
important public building erected in the city during several
generations."
[Illustration: ROMANCE BY PAUL BARTLETT]
=Sculpture.= Of the sculptural designs, the two lions on either side of
the main approach are by E. C. Potter. They have been subjected to much
criticism, mainly of a humorous nature, and in the daily press. This
adverse comment has not been endorsed by critics of art and
architecture. Mr. Potter was chosen for this work by Augustus St.
Gaudens, and again, after Mr. St. Gaudens' death, by Mr. D. C. French,
also an eminent sculptor. Any layman can satisfy himself, by a brief
observation of the building as a whole, that the architectural balance
of the structure demands figures of heroic size to flank the main
approach. With that requirement in view, the designer of such figures
has but a limited choice of subject, since there are few living
creatures whose forms possess dignity without being cumbrous. The
sculptor in this instance has followed well-established precedents in
designing the lions according to the canons of decorative art. They are
as realistic as would be suitable for figures of this size, and in this
position.
[Illustration: PHILOSOPHY BY PAUL BARTLETT]
The groups in the pediments are by George Gray Barnard; the one in the
northern pediment represents History, and the one in the southern, Art.
The figures above the fountains on either side of the main entrance are
by Frederick MacMonnies; the man seated on the Sphinx, on the northern
side of the entrance represents Truth. On the southern side, the figure
of the woman seated on Pegasus represents Beauty. Above the figure of
Truth is this inscription from the Apocrypha (1 Esdras, chapter 3):
BUT ABOVE ALL THINGS
TRUTH
BEARETH AWAY
THE VICTORY
The inscription above the figure of Beauty is:
BEAUTY
OLD YET EVER NEW
ETERNAL VOICE
AND INWARD WORD
This is from the twenty-first stanza of Whittier's poem, "The Shadow and
the Light."
The six figures above the main entrance are by Paul Bartlett; naming
them from north to south they are: History, Drama, Poetry, Religion,
Romance, and Philosophy. Above the entrance are inscriptions concerning
three of the component parts of The New York Public Library. They are as
follows:
THE LENOX LIBRARY
FOUNDED BY
JAMES LENOX
DEDICATED TO HISTORY
LITERATURE AND THE FINE ARTS
MDCCCLXX
THE ASTOR LIBRARY
FOUNDED BY
JOHN JACOB ASTOR
FOR THE
ADVANCEMENT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE
MDCCCXLVIII
THE TILDEN TRUST
FOUNDED BY
SAMUEL JONES TILDEN
TO SERVE THE INTERESTS OF
SCIENCE AND POPULAR EDUCATION
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Produced by Benjamin Klein
Jimmie Moore _of_ Bucktown
By Melvin E. Trotter
Chicago
The Winona Publishing Company
MCMIV
Copyright, 1904
by
The Winona Publishing Company
_August._
Contents
I. The Invasion Begun
II. "Der Gang"
III. "The Busted Funeral"
IV. Jimmie's New Pa
V. Mrs. Cook's "Opery"
VI. Mrs. Cook's First Prayer
VII. Floe
VIII. Bill's Pension
IX. "Auntie's Favorite Horse"
X. Jimmie's Education
XI. The Meeting in the Market
XII. Fred Hanks
XIII. "Fagin's Meetin'"
XIV. Fred and Doc
XV. The Picnic
XVI. Dave Strikes His Gait
Jimmie Moore of Bucktown
CHAPTER I
_The Invasion Begun_
"Please kin yer tell me where is der boss of dis Mishun?"
The superintendent turned sharply about and beheld a boy of
singularly striking appearance. His stature was that of a child
of ten or twelve years and his face that of a worn-out, heart-broken,
disappointed old man. His eyes, set far back in his head under
heavy eyebrows, indicated an almost abnormal development of
the perceptive faculties. In other respects the contour of the
head was not remarkable; but the face was one, once seen, never
to be forgotten. The nose was pointed and pinched, the cheeks
hollow, and the glance of his eye at once appealing and defiant.
There could be no doubt that this boy was a bread winner, and
that the burdens he carried were altogether too heavy for such
young shoulders.
From the ragged cap which he turned nervously in his hands to
the large pair of sharp-pointed ladies' shoes on his feet, every
garment was a misfit. The loss of a button from the neckband
of his blouse-waist permitted it to gap wide open and disclosed
the fact that he wore no underclothing. The day was bitterly
cold; and the boy's shivery look showed how greatly he suffered.
As the superintendent took in all these facts he realized that,
despite his unseemly attire and generally distracted appearance,
the boy was by no means an ordinary character. Down deep in
the dark gray eyes that never wavered under his steady gaze
he saw the making of a man mighty for good or evil.
"I guess I'm the man you want," said Morton, kindly. "Come into
my office."
Leading the way, he was followed by the boy into a small private
office at the back end of the big mission hall. Offering the
lad a seat, he turned to his desk, on which stood two telephones.
In an instant that boy was again upon his feet. Looking with
wide-open eyes, he inquired, "Be yer goin' ter call der bull?
I ain't as't yer fur nuthin'. Me Pa said yer was a good guy
and wouldn't squeal. I mus' go."
Morton intercepted the boy at the door. But it was some time
before he could persuade him that it was not his intention to
turn him over to the police, "the bull," for begging.
"I want to help you," he said. "I'll be your friend, and I won't
squeal on you either."
"Well, be yer Mister Morton?" asked the boy.
"Yes, that's my name," replied the superintendent. "And now
I want you to tell me all about your trouble. Who sent you to
me?"
"Me Pa. He heard your talk on der gospel wagon down at der square.
He don't talk about nuthin' else and he wants yer ter come an'
see him."
"Is he sick?"
"Sure he's sick. He's been in bed ever since Wednesday. Ma says
he's outer his head. Tuesday night he didn't come home home
from work, and Ma says, 'I guess he's drunk ag'in.' We waited
fur him till eleven o'clock and den I couldn't stay awake no
longer. 'Sides, der wood was all burnt up and we had ter go
ter bed ter keep warm. At five in der mornin' Mike Hardy, der
bar-keep' at Fagin's, saw Pa layin' in Rice's wagon box, out
in front of der market. It snowed on Pa, and he was near frozed.
Mike calls Bill Cook and dey brings Pa home. Bill and Pa is
chums; an' Bill gets drunk, too. Ma says dey bot' works fur
Fagin. When dey gits paid dey take all der money straight to
Fagin's and spends it for booze."
"Well, what's your name and where do you live?" interrupted
Morton.
"Me name's Jimmie Moore, and we live down in Bucktown near der
market."
"Go on with your story, sonny," said Morton.
"After dey got him in der house Ma and Bill gits his clothes
off and Bill goes and gets some wood and built a fire. I carried
me mornin' papers, and when I gits back I stayed wit' Pa while
Ma went ter Ransome's house up on der Avenue to do deir washin'.
Pa he slept all day till four in the afternoon, and den he raised
up straight in bed and, lookin' at somethin' in der corner of
der room, said, 'Can't yer see me hand? I raised it twice. Why
don't yer come and git me?' I couldn't see nuthin', but he keeps
on talkin' dat way fur a long time. Den he laid down again and
cried and said he wanted der mishun man ter come and see him.
When Ma gits back she sent me to der barber shop to git Fred
Hanks ter telerphone ter Dr. Possum. He's der city doctor. He
looked at Pa and said he had ammonia. Den Ma she cried, 'cause
she had no money ter git supper for us kids and fer the doctor's
paper, too."
"Pretty soon Mrs. Cook, that's Bill's missus, comes in and she
said she'd help take care of Pa. The neighbors done all dey
could, but we ain't got no money, er no wood, and der rent ain't
paid. We ain't had no fire since yisterday, and dis' mornin'
Ma sits down and cries 'cause der's nothin' for der kids ter
eat. Her and me don't mind, but we got four girl kids that's
hungry all der time. Pa set up in bed and said, 'Go to der mishun
man and tell him I mus' see him.' Ma sent me up ter see if yer
won't come down ter see Pa."
Finding a knitted scarf for the boy to tie about his neck, the
superintendent and Jimmie started for the sick man's bedside.
The section of the city where the Moore family lived, locally
known as Bucktown, contained the only real slums to be found
in the busy and rapidly growing metropolis. It was located on
a low tract of ground between the city market and the river,
and was inhabited chiefly by <DW64>s and very poor white people.
On the way Jimmie continued his story, and the superintendent
tried to tell him about the Father above who loves the poor
and who sent His Son to die that all the world might live and
have access to the unsearchable riches of God. "The only help
that is sure and lasting," he said, "comes from God. He can
find a way out of your trouble for you."
"I don't see how He kin help us," replied the boy. "They won't
give us no help at der city hall, 'cause we ain't been here | 196.454172 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, KarenD, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
[Illustration:
The American Missionary
VOL. XXXIX.
NO. 8.
August, 1885.]
CONTENTS
* * * * *
PAGE.
EDITORIAL.
THE FIGURES--FINANCIAL 213
FAREWELL AND GREETING 215
HIGHER EDUCATION OF THE <DW64> 217
OPINIONS 219
PARAGRAPHS 221
THE SOUTH.
BEREA COLLEGE, KY. 221
ANNIVERSARY AT TALLADEGA 222
TOUGALOO COMMENCEMENT 223
TILLOTSON INSTITUTE 224
AVERY INSTITUTE--BREWER NORMAL SCHOOL 226
STUDENT'S LETTER 227
THE INDIANS.
THE APACHE RAID 229
INDIAN SUMMER TENT (cut) 230
THE CHINESE.
TOUR AMONG THE MISSIONS 231
BUREAU OF WOMAN'S WORK.
RESOLUTIONS AT SARATOGA 233
PAPER MISSION--INDUSTRIAL LETTER FROM LE MOYNE 234
CHILDREN'S PAGE.
PLAYING 'POSSUM 234
RECEIPTS 235
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION.
Rooms, 56 Reade Street.
* * * * *
Price 50 Cents a Year, in Advance.
Entered at the Post-Office at New York, N. Y., as second-class
matter.
* * * * *
AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION.
* * * * *
PRESIDENT, Hon. WM. B. WASHBURN, LL. D., Mass.
_Vice-Presidents._
Rev. C. L. GOODELL, D. D., Mo.
Rev. A. J. F. BEHRENDS, D. D., N. Y.
Rev. D. O. MEARS, D. D., Mass.
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D. D., Ill.
Rev. ALEX. McKENZIE, D. D., Mass.
_Corresponding Secretary._
Rev. M. E. STRIEBY, D. D., _56 Reade Street, N. Y._
_Assistant Corresponding Secretary._
Rev. JAMES POWELL, D. D., _56 Reade Street, N. Y._
_Treasurer._
H. W. HUBBARD, Esq., _56 Reade Street, N. Y._
_Auditors._
W. H. ROGERS,
PETER McCARTEE.
_Executive Committee._
JOHN H. WASHBURN, Chairman.
A. P. FOSTER, Secretary.
_For Three Years._
LYMAN ABBOTT.
A. S. BARNES.
J. R. DANFORTH.
CLINTON B. FISK.
A. P. FOSTER.
_For Two Years._
S. B. HALLIDAY.
SAMUEL HOLMES.
SAMUEL S. MARPLES.
CHARLES L. MEAD.
ELBERT B. MONROE.
_For One Year._
J. E. RANKIN.
WM. H. WARD.
J. L. WITHROW.
JOHN H. WASHBURN.
EDMUND L. CHAMPLIN.
_District Secretaries._
Rev. C. L. WOODWORTH, D. D., _21 Cong'l House, Boston_.
Rev. J. E. ROY, D. D., _112 West Washington Street, Chicago_.
Rev. CHARLES W. SHELTON, _Financial Secretary for Indian Missions_.
_Field Officer._
----
_Bureau of Woman's Work._
_Secretary_, Miss D. E. EMERSON, _56 Reade Street, N. Y._
* * * * *
COMMUNICATIONS
Relating to the work of the Association may be addressed to the
Corresponding Secretary; those relating to the collecting fields, to
Rev. James Powell, D. D., or to the District Secretaries; letters for
the "American Missionary," to the Editor, at the New York Office.
DONATIONS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS
May be sent to H. W. Hubbard, Treasurer, 56 Reade Street, New York,
or, when more convenient, to either of the Branch Offices, 21
Congregational House, Boston, Mass., or 112 West Washington Street,
Chicago, Ill. A payment of thirty dollars at one time constitutes a
Life Member.
FORM OF A BEQUEST.
"I BEQUEATH to my executor (or executors) the sum of ---- dollars, in
trust, to pay the same in ---- days after my decease to the person
who, when the same is payable, shall act as Treasurer of the
'American Missionary Association,' of New York City, to be applied,
under the direction of the Executive Committee of the Association, to
its charitable uses and purposes." The Will should be attested by
three witnesses.
* * * * *
THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY
VOL. XXXIX. AUGUST, 1885. No. 8.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association.
* * * * *
$365,000
NEEDED FOR THE CURRENT YEAR.
* * * * *
Your Committee are convinced that not less than a THOUSAND DOLLARS a
day are imperatively demanded to perfect the admirably organized
plans of the Association, even for the present, to say nothing of the
pressing needs of the early future.--
[FINANCE COMMITTEE'S REPORT ADOPTED BY ANNUAL MEETING AT SALEM.]
* * * * *
THE FIGURES.
Donations. Legacies. Total.
Oct. 1, 1884, to June 30, 1885 - $153,072.30 $23,884.35 $176,956.65
Oct. 1, 1883, to June 30, 1884 - 145,821.49 31,169.90 176,991.39
----------- ---------- -----------
Inc. $7,250.81 Dec. $7,285.55 Dec. $34.74
These figures on their face are encouraging rather than discouraging.
They show that our receipts from living donors are better by a few
thousand dollars than last year, an evidence of the hold that we
still have upon the churches, made all the more conspicuous in these
hard times. But these figures do not tell the whole story. The
$40,000 debt to which we have made frequent reference hitherto is
still pending. To this must be added the $13,000 debt that came over
from last year.
Only two working months are left. Our fiscal year ends with
September. From month to month we have published the figures. Our
friends have been able to trace for themselves just how the financial
struggle has been maintained. Donations from churches and
individuals have been kept distinct from legacies, and comparison
made with receipts of the corresponding months in the preceding year.
A varying story the figures have had to tell.
There is a slave hymn:
"I'm sometimes up and I'm sometimes down,
But still | 196.55718 |
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Produced by Heather Clark, John Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Superscript letters are denoted by ^, for example y^e and Serv^t.
A number following the ^ indicates the generation of the family, for
example Joseph,^3 is in the third generation of the (Parsons) family.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
| 196.561618 |
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Produced by Gary Rees, Linda Cantoni, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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[Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors have been corrected
without note; obsolete and inconsistent spelling, punctuation,
hyphenation, and capital | 196.654591 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE
ROYAL ROAD TO HEALTH
OR THE SECRET OF
HEALTH WITHOUT DRUGS.
BY
CHAS. A. TYRRELL, M. D.
Registered Number 2646
Proprietor of Tyrrell’s Hygienic Institute. Inventor of the “J. B. L. Cascade,”
Professor of Hygiene. Ex-President of the Eclectic Medical Society
of the City and County of New York. Originator of the
Improved System of Physical Exercises, etc.
ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTIETH EDITION
COMPLETELY REVISED, ENLARGED AND ILLUSTRATED
PUBLISHED BY
CHAS. A. TYRRELL, M. D.
134 W. 65TH STREET, NEW YORK
1917
[Illustration: Chas A Tyrrell md]
TO MY WIFE
WHOSE ENTHUSIASM, AND UNFLAGGING INTEREST IN ALL
MATTERS PERTAINING TO HEALTH IS EXCELLED BY
NONE, AND WHO HAS BEEN A FAITHFUL CO-WORKER
IN BUILDING UP THE SYSTEM OF
TREATING DISEASE BY HYGIENIC
METHODS HEREIN SET FORTH,
THIS BOOK IS
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
COPYRIGHTED, 1907,
BY
CHARLES A. TYRRELL, M.D.
[Illustration: THE DIGESTIVE ORGANS.
(_Viewed from the front._)]
DESCRIPTION OF THE DIAGRAM
ILLUSTRATING THE
DIGESTIVE ORGANS OF MAN.
1. Esophagus or Gullet.
2. Cardiac end of Stomach.
3. Pyloric end of Stomach.
4. Duodenum.
5, 6. Convolutions of Small Intestines.
7. Cæcum.
7* Vermiform appendage of Cæcum, called the _appendicula vermiformis_.
8. Ascending Colon.
9, 10. Transverse Colon.
11. Descending Colon.
12. Sigmoid Flexure, the last curve of the Colon before it
terminates in the Rectum.
13. Rectum, the terminal part of the Colon.
14. Anus, posterior opening of the alimentary canal, through
which the excrements are expelled.
15, 15. Lobes of the Liver, raised and turned back.
16. Hepatic Duct, which carries the bile from the liver to the Cystic
and Common Bile Ducts.
17. Cystic Duct.
18. Gall Bladder.
19. Common Bile Duct.
20. Pancreas, the gland which secretes the pancreatic juice.
21. Pancreatic Duct, entering the Duodenum with the Common Bile Duct.
* * * * *
The illustration here given of the Digestive Apparatus of man represents
the organs of food digestion, especially the alimentary canal and glands
connected therewith, and to the reader of this book, or to any student
of anatomy, it will be found of invaluable service as a reference.
The diagram gives a view of the digestive organs from the ventral or
front side, a proper study of which cannot fail to impress every
intelligent being with the reverential deduction of the Psalmist that we
are “_fearfully and wonderfully made_.”
PREFACE TO THE ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTIETH EDITION
In presenting to the public the one hundred and seventieth edition of
this work, it is a matter for profound gratification to be able to state
that the treatment described in its pages has steadily increased in
public favor since its introduction. Tens of thousands of grateful
people testify to its efficiency, not only as a remedial process, but
better still, as a preventive of disease. Truth must ever prevail, and
this treatment being based on natural law (which is unerring), must
achieve the desired result, which is the restoration and preservation of
health.
This edition has been completely revised and much of it re-written, and
while the essential principles remain unchanged, some slight departures
from previously expressed opinions may be noted; for in the years that
have elapsed since the first edition saw the light, some notable
advances have been made in rational therapeutics and dietetics, and no
one can afford to lag behind the car of Progress.
The arrangement of the book has been still farther altered, by adding
another part, making nine in all, each part being devoted to a special
phase of the general subject, thus simplifying it, and making its
principles easier of application. Quotations have been freely made from
articles written during the past three years by the author, in his
capacity as editor of “Health,” and several new formulas for the
treatment of important diseases have been added to those that have
appeared in previous editions.
While painfully conscious that the critically disposed may find
something to condemn in its pages, the work is sent forth with the
fervent hope, that despite any defects it may possess it may, in the
future, as in the past, prove the means of restoring to suffering
thousands the possession of their natural and rightful heritage--health.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
DRUGGING PROVED UNSCIENTIFIC.
.....PAGE
Health is wealth. The truth about “Materia Medica.” Medical opinions
on drugs--they do not cure disease. Opinions of British physicians.
The most important medical discoveries made by laymen. There is no
“law of cure,” only a condition. Drugs do not act on the system, but
are acted upon.....13
PART II.
THE TRUE CAUSE OF DISEASE.
Only one cause of disease. There is only one disease, but many
modifications. Digestion and assimilation explained. Evil effects
of the retention of waste. The horrors of fæcal impaction. How
auto-infection is accomplished. The mysteries of the circulation.
Disease shown to be the result of imperfect elimination.....37
PART III.
RATIONAL HYGIENIC TREATMENT.
Nature cures, not the physician. The action of microbes. The
cathartic habit. The true action of cathartics explained, and popular
suppositions corrected. A correct solution of the difficulty.
“Flushing the colon” an ancient practice. Dr. Turner’s post mortem
experiences. Colon distortion illustrated. Objections to the ordinary
appliances--danger in using the long, flexible catheter. Invention of
the “J. B. L. Cascade,” and description of it.....50
PART IV.
HOW TO USE IT.
The complete process of “flushing the colon” explained, step by step,
so that even a child might understand it. Objections answered. Advice
to users of the treatment.....71
PART V.
PRACTICAL HYGIENE.
Longevity man’s natural heritage. The care of the body--absolute
cleanliness rare. The function of water in the human organism. Hot
water the natural scavenger. The bath. Description of the skin,
and its function. Hints on bathing. The wet sheet pack. Importance
of fresh air. Interchange of gases in the lungs. Ventilation.
Prof. Willard Parker on impure air. The function of the heart. The
therapeutic value of sunlight.....86
PART VI.
EXERCISE.
Motion | 196.658666 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 42140-h.htm or 42140-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/greuzeocad00mackuoft
Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
GREUZE
1725-1805
* * * * * *
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
COROT. SIDNEY ALLNUTT.
DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
DELACROIX. PAUL G. KONODY.
DUERER. H. E. A. FURST.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
HOGARTH. C. LEWIS HIND.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
INGRES. A. J. FINBERG.
LAWRENCE. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LE BRUN, VIGEE. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
MANTEGNA. MRS. ARTHUR BELL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
PERUGINO. SELWYN BRINTON.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
SARGENT. T. MARTIN WOOD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
VAN EYCK. J. CYRIL M. WEALE.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
WATTS. W. LOFTUS HARE.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
* * * * * *
[Illustration: PLATE I.--L'ACCORDEE DU VILLAGE. (Frontispiece)
This picture, at first entitled "A Father handing over the
Marriage-portion of his Daughter," then "The Village Bride," is
the best of Greuze's subject pictures. The scene is more or less
naturally arranged, and informed with the tender homely sentiment
inspired by the subject; and the bride, with her fresh young face
and modest attitude, is a delicious figure. It was exhibited in the
Salon of 1761, and now hangs in the Louvre.]
GREUZE
by
ALYS EYRE MACKLIN
Illustrated with Eight Reproductions in Colour
[Illustration: IN SEMPITERNUM.]
London: T. C. & E. C. Jack
New York: Frederick A. Stokes Co.
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. Early Days and First Success 11
II. The Times in which Greuze Lived 20
III. Greuze's Moral Pictures 27
IV. The Pictures by which we know Greuze 35
V. The Vanity of Greuze 44
VI. "The Broken Pitcher" and other well-known Pictures 52
VII. Ruin and Death 62
VIII. The Art of Greuze 71
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. L'Accordee du Village Frontispiece
In the Louvre
Page
II. L'Innocence tenant deux Pigeons 14
In the Wallace Collection
III. La Malediction paternelle 24
In the Louvre
IV. Portrait d'Homme 34
In the Louvre
V. L'Oiseau Mort 40
In the Louvre
VI. Les Deux Soeurs 50 | 196.659413 |
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LEGENDS OF BABYLON AND EGYPT IN RELATION TO HEBREW TRADITION
By Leonard W. King, M.A., Litt.D., F.S.A.
Assistant Keeper of Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities in the British
Museum
Professor in the University of London King's College
First Published 1918 by Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press.
THE BRITISH ACADEMY
THE SCHWEICH LECTURES 1916
PREPARER'S NOTE
This text was prepared from a 1920 edition of the book,
hence the references to dates after 1916 in some places.
Greek text has been transliterated within brackets "{}"
using an Oxford English Dictionary alphabet table.
Diacritical marks have been lost.
PREFACE
In these lectures an attempt is made, not so much to restate familiar
facts, as to accommodate them to new and supplementary evidence which
has been published in America since the outbreak of the war. But even
without the excuse of recent discovery, no apology would be needed for
any comparison or contrast of Hebrew tradition with the mythological
and legendary beliefs of Babylon and Egypt. Hebrew achievements in the
sphere of religion and ethics are only thrown into stronger relief when
studied against their contemporary background.
The bulk of our new material is furnished by some early texts, written
towards the close of the third millennium B.C. They incorporate
traditions which extend in unbroken outline from their own period into
the remote ages of the past, and claim to trace the history of man back
to his creation. They represent the early national traditions of
the Sumerian people, who preceded the Semites as the ruling race in
Babylonia; and incidentally they necessitate a revision of current
views with regard to the cradle of Babylonian civilization. The most
remarkable of the new documents is one which relates in poetical
narrative an account of the Creation, of Antediluvian history, and of
the Deluge. It thus exhibits a close resemblance in structure to the
corresponding Hebrew traditions, a resemblance that is not shared by the
Semitic-Babylonian Versions at present known. But in matter the Sumerian
tradition is more primitive than any of the Semitic versions. In spite
of the fact that the text appears to have reached us in a magical
setting, and to some extent in epitomized form, this early document
enables us to tap the stream of tradition at a point far above any at
which approach has hitherto been possible.
Though the resemblance of early Sumerian tradition to that of the
Hebrews is striking, it furnishes a still closer parallel to the
summaries preserved from the history of Berossus. The huge figures
incorporated in the latter's chronological scheme are no longer to be
treated as a product of Neo-Babylonian speculation; they reappear in
their original surroundings in another of these early documents, the
Sumerian Dynastic List. The sources of Berossus had inevitably been
semitized by Babylon; but two of his three Antediluvian cities find
their place among the five of primitive Sumerian belief, and two of his
ten Antediluvian kings rejoin their Sumerian prototypes. Moreover, the
recorded ages of Sumerian and Hebrew patriarchs are strangely alike.
It may be added that in Egypt a new fragment of the Palermo Stele has
enabled us to verify, by a very similar comparison, the accuracy of
Manetho's sources for his prehistoric period, while at the same time
it demonstrates the way in which possible inaccuracies in his system,
deduced from independent evidence, may have arisen in remote antiquity.
It is clear that both Hebrew and Hellenistic traditions were modelled on
very early lines.
Thus our new material enables us to check the age, and in some measure
the accuracy, of the traditions concerning the dawn of history which
the Greeks reproduced from native sources, both in Babylonia and Egypt,
after the conquests of Alexander had brought the Near East within the
range of their intimate acquaintance. The third body of tradition, that
of the Hebrews, though unbacked by the prestige of secular achievement,
has, through incorporation in the canons of two great religious systems,
acquired an authority which the others have not enjoyed. In re-examining
the sources of all three accounts, so far as they are affected by the
new discoveries, it will be of interest to observe how the same problems
were solved in antiquity by very different races, living under widely
divergent conditions, but within easy reach of one another. Their
periods of contact, ascertained in history or suggested by geographical
considerations, will prompt the further question to what extent each
body of belief was evolved in independence of the others. The close
correspondence that has long been recognized and is now confirmed
between the Hebrew and the Semitic-Babylonian systems, as compared with
that of Egypt, naturally falls within the scope of our enquiry.
Excavation has provided an extraordinarily full archaeological
commentary to the legends of Egypt and Babylon; and when I received the
invitation to deliver the Schweich Lectures for 1916, I was reminded of
the terms of the Bequest and was asked to emphasize the archaeological
side of the subject. Such material illustration was also calculated to
bring out, in a more vivid manner than was possible with purely literary
evidence, the contrasts and parallels presented by Hebrew tradition.
Thanks to a special grant for photographs from the British Academy,
I was enabled to illustrate by means of lantern slides many of the
problems discussed in the lectures; and it was originally intended that
the photographs then shown should appear as plates in this volume.
But in view of the continued and increasing shortage of paper, it
was afterwards felt to be only right that all illustrations should
be omitted. This very necessary decision has involved a recasting of
certain sections of the lectures as delivered, which in its turn has
rendered possible a fuller treatment of the new literary evidence. To
the consequent shifting of interest is also due a transposition of names
in the title. On their literary side, and in virtue of the intimacy of
their relation to Hebrew tradition, the legends of Babylon must be given
precedence over those of Egypt.
For the delay in the appearance of the volume I must plead the pressure
of other work, on subjects far removed from archaeological study
and affording little time and few facilities for a continuance of
archaeological and textual research. It is hoped that the insertion
of references throughout, and the more detailed discussion of problems
suggested by our new literary material, may incline the reader to add
his indulgence to that already extended to me by the British Academy.
L. W. KING.
LEGENDS OF BABYLON AND EGYPT
IN RELATION TO HEBREW TRADITION
LECTURE I--EGYPT, BABYLON, AND PALESTINE, AND SOME TRADITIONAL ORIGINS
OF CIVILIZATION
At the present moment most of us have little time or thought to spare
for subjects not connected directly or indirectly with the war. We have
put aside our own interests and studies; and after the war we shall all
have a certain amount of leeway to make up in acquainting ourselves
with what has been going on in countries not yet involved in the great
struggle. Meanwhile the most we can do is to glance for a moment at any
discovery of exceptional interest that may come to light.
The main object of these lectures will be to examine certain Hebrew
traditions in the light of new evidence which has been published in
America since the outbreak of the war. The evidence is furnished by some
literary texts, inscribed on tablets from Nippur, one of the oldest
and most sacred cities of Babylonia. They are written in Sumerian, the
language spoken by the non-Semitic people whom the Semitic Babylonians
conquered and displaced; and they include a very primitive version of
the Deluge story and Creation myth, and some texts which throw new light
on the age of Babylonian civilization and on the area within which it
had its rise. In them we have recovered some of the material from which
Berossus derived his dynasty of Antediluvian kings, and we are thus
enabled to test the accuracy of the Greek tradition by that of the
Sumerians themselves. So far then as Babylonia is concerned, these
documents will necessitate a re-examination of more than one problem.
The myths and legends of ancient Egypt are also to some extent involved.
The trend of much recent anthropological research has been in the
direction of seeking a single place of origin for similar beliefs and
practices, at least among races which were bound to one another by
political or commercial ties. And we | 196.659627 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 3 of the 1893 three volume set]
THE IRON GATE
AND OTHER POEMS
1877-1881
THE IRON GATE
VESTIGIA QUINQUE RETRORSUM
MY AVIARY
ON THE THRESHOLD
TO GEORGE PEABODY
AT THE PAPYRUS CLUB
FOR WHITTIER | 196.661598 |
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Produced by David Clarke, Barbara Kosker and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
RAMBLES BEYOND RAILWAYS.
[Illustration: LAMORNA COVE.]
RAMBLES BEYOND RAILWAYS;
OR,
Notes in Cornwall taken A-Foot.
BY WILKIE COLL | 196.662475 |
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Produced by Judith Boss
DANNY'S OWN STORY
By Don Marquis
TO
MY WIFE
CHAPTER I
HOW I come not to have a last name is a question that has always had
more or less aggervation mixed up with it. I might of had one jest
as well as not if Old Hank Walters hadn't been so all-fired, infernal
bull-headed about things in gineral, and his wife Elmira a blame sight
worse, and both of em ready to row at a minute's notice and stick to it
forevermore.
Hank, he was considerable of a lusher. One Saturday night, when he come
home from the village in his usual fix, he stumbled over a basket that
was setting on his front steps. Then he got up and drawed back his foot
unsteady to kick it plumb into kingdom come. Jest then he hearn Elmira
opening the door behind him, and he turned his head sudden. But the kick
was already started into the air, and when he turns he can't stop it.
And so Hank gets twisted and falls down and steps on himself. That
basket lets out a yowl.
"It's kittens," says Hank, still setting down and staring at that there
basket. All of which, you understand, I am a-telling you from hearsay,
as the lawyers always asts you in court.
Elmira, she sings out:
"Kittens, nothing! It's a baby!"
And she opens the basket and looks in and it was me.
"Hennerey Walters," she says--picking me up, and shaking me at him like
I was a crime, "Hennerey Walters, where did you get this here baby?" She
always calls him Hennerey when she is getting ready to give him fits.
Hank, he scratches his head, for he's kind o' confuddled, and thinks
mebby he really has brought this basket with him. He tries to think of
all the places he has been that night. But he can't think of any place
but Bill Nolan's saloon. So he says:
"Elmira, honest, I ain't had but one drink all day." And then he kind o'
rouses up a little bit, and gets surprised and says:
"That a BABY you got there, Elmira?" And then he says, dignified: "So
fur as that's consarned, Elmira, where did YOU get that there baby?"
She looks at him, and she sees he don't really know where I come from.
Old Hank mostly was truthful when lickered up, fur that matter, and she
knowed it, fur he couldn't think up no lies excepting a gineral denial
when intoxicated up to the gills.
Elmira looks into the basket. They was one of them long rubber tubes
stringing out of a bottle that was in it, and I had been sucking that
bottle when interrupted. And they wasn't nothing else in that basket but
a big thick shawl which had been wrapped all around me, and Elmira
often wore it to meeting afterward. She goes inside and she looks at
the bottle and me by the light, and Old Hank, he comes stumbling in
afterward and sets down in a chair and waits to get Hail Columbia for
coming home in that shape, so's he can row back agin, like they done
every Saturday night.
Blowed in the glass of the bottle was the name: "Daniel, Dunne and
Company." Anybody but them two old ignoramuses could of told right off
that that didn't have nothing to do with me, but was jest the company
that made them kind of bottles. But she reads it out loud three or four
times, and then she says:
"His name is Daniel Dunne," she says.
"And Company," says Hank, feeling right quarrelsome.
"COMPANY hain't no name," says she.
"WHY hain't it, I'd like to know?" says Hank. "I knowed a man oncet
whose name was Farmer, and if a farmer's a name why ain't a company a
name too?"
"His name is Daniel Dunne," says Elmira, quietlike, but not dodging a
row, neither.
"AND COMPANY," says Hank, getting onto his feet, like he always done
when he seen trouble coming. When Old Hank was full of licker he knowed
jest the ways to aggervate her the worst.
She might of banged him one the same as usual, and got her own eye
blacked also, the same as usual; but jest then I lets out another big
yowl, and she give me some milk.
I guess the only reason they ever kep' me at first was so they could
quarrel about my name. They'd lived together a good many years and
quarrelled about everything else under the sun, and was running out of
subjects. A new subject kind o' briskened things up fur a while.
But finally they went too far with it one time. I was about two years
old then and he was still calling me Company and her calling me Dunne.
This time he hits her a lick that lays her out and likes to kill her,
and it gets him scared. But she gets around agin after a while, and they
both see it has went too fur that time, and so they makes up.
"Elmira, I give in," says Hank. "His name is Dunne."
"No," says she, tender-like, "you was right, Hank. His name is Company."
So they pretty near got into another row over that. But they finally
made it up between em I didn't have no last name, and they'd jest call
me Danny. Which they both done faithful ever after, as agreed.
Old Hank, he was a blacksmith, and he used to lamm me considerable, him
and his wife not having any kids of their own to lick. He lammed me when
he was drunk, and he whaled me when he was sober. I never helt it up
agin him much, neither, not fur a good many years, because he got me
used to it young, and I hadn't never knowed nothing else. Hank's wife,
Elmira, she used to lick him jest about as often as he licked her, and
boss him jest as much. So he fell back on me. A man has jest naturally
got to have something to cuss around and boss, so's to keep himself
from finding out he don't amount to nothing. Leastways, most men is like
that. And Hank, he didn't amount to much; and he kind o' knowed it, way
down deep in his inmost gizzards, and it were a comfort to him to have
me around.
But they was one thing he never sot no store by, and I got along now to
where I hold that up agin him more'n all the lickings he ever done. That
was book learning. He never had none himself, and he was sot agin it,
and he never made me get none, and if I'd ever asted him for any he'd
of whaled me fur that. Hank's wife, Elmira, had married beneath her, and
everybody in our town had come to see it, and used to sympathize with
her about it when Hank wasn't around. She'd tell em, yes, it was so.
Back in Elmira, New York, from which her father and mother come to our
part of Illinoise in the early days, her father had kep' a hotel,
and they was stylish kind o' folks. When she was born her mother was
homesick fur all that style and fur York State ways, and so she named
her Elmira.
But when she married Hank, he had considerable land. His father had left
it to him, but it was all swamp land, and so Hank's father, he hunted
more'n he far | 196.754332 |
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E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Jane Robins, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the numerous original illustrations.
See 50710-h.htm or 50710-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50710/50710-h/50710-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50710/50710-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/cassellshistoryo02londuoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
CASSELL'S ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ENGLAND
CASSELL'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND
From the Wars of the Roses to the Great Rebellion
With Numerous Illustrations, Including and Rembrandt Plates
VOL. II
The King's Edition
Cassell and | 196.760425 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover]
THE SYRIAN CHRIST
BY
ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published October 1916_
{v}
PREFACE
This little volume is sent forth in the confident hope that it may
throw fresh light on the life and teachings of Christ, and facilitate
for the general public the understanding of the Bible. As may be
readily seen, from its perusal, the present work is not intended to be
a commentary on the Bible, nor even an exhaustive study of the subject
with which it deals. That it leaves many things to be desired is very
evident to the author, who fears that his book will be remembered by
its readers more by the things it lacks than by the things it contains.
Yet, from the cordial reception with which the opening chapters of this
publication (which made their first appearance in the _Atlantic
Monthly_) met from readers, of various religious affiliations, the
author has been encouraged to believe that his aim has not only been
clearly {vi} discerned, but thoroughly approved. The books which
undertake the systematic "expounding of the Scriptures" are a host
which no man can number, nor is there any lack of "spiritual lessons
drawn from the Bible." Therefore, as one of the Master's fellow
countrymen, and one who has enjoyed about twenty years of service in
the American pulpit, I have for several years entertained the growing
conviction that such a book as this was really needed. Not, however,
as one more commentary, but as an Oriental guide to afford Occidental
readers of the Bible a more intimate view of the original intellectual
and social environment of this sacred literature. So what I have to
offer here is a series of suggestions, and not of technically wrought
Bible lessons.
The need of the Western readers of the Bible is, in my judgment, to
enter sympathetically and intelligently into the atmosphere in which
the books of the Scriptures first took form: to have real intellectual,
as well as spiritual, fellowship with those Orientals who sought {vii}
earnestly in their own way to give tangible form to those great
spiritual truths which have been, and ever shall be, humanity's most
precious heritage.
My task has not been a light one. It is comparatively easy to take
isolated Bible texts and explain them, treating each passage as a
detached unit. But when one undertakes to group a large number of
passages which never were intended to be gathered together and treated
as the kindred thoughts of an essay, the task becomes rather difficult.
How far I have succeeded in my effort to relate the passages I have
treated in this book to one another according to their intellectual and
social affinities, the reader is in a better position to judge than I
am.
It may not be absolutely necessary for me to say that infallibility
cannot justly be ascribed to any author, nor claimed by him, even when
writing of his own experiences, and the social environment in which he
was born and brought up.
However, in Yankee, not in Oriental, {viii} fashion, I will say that
_to the best of my knowledge_ the statements contained in this book are
correct.
Finally, I deem it necessary before I bring this preface to a close to
sound a note of warning. So I will say that the Orientals' extensive
use of figurative speech should by no means be allowed to carry the
idea that _all_ Oriental speech is figurative. This manner of speech,
which is common to all races of men, is only _more extensively_ used by
Orientals than by Occidentals. I could wish, however, that the learned
theologians had suspected more strongly the literal accuracy of
Oriental utterances, and had thus been saved at times from founding a
huge doctrinal structure on a figure of speech.
Notwithstanding all this, the Gospel and the Christian faith still live
and bless and cheer the hearts and minds of men. As an Oriental by
birth, and as an American from choice, I feel profoundly grateful that
I have been enabled to render this modest service to the Churches of
{ix} America, and to present this book as an offering of love and
homage to my Master, the Syrian Christ.
ABRAHAM MITRIE RIHBANY
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.
{xi}
CONTENTS
PART I. THE SYRIAN CHRIST.
I. Son of the East
II. Birth of a Man Child
III. The Star
IV. Mystic Tones
V. Filial Obedience
VI. Feast and Sacrament
VII. The Last Scene
PART II. The Oriental Manner Of Speech.
I. Daily Language
II. Imprecations
III. Love of Enemies
IV. "The Unveracious Oriental"
V. Impressions _vs._ Literal Accuracy
VI. Speaking in Parables
VII. Swearing
VIII. Four Characteristics
{xii}
PART III. BREAD AND SALT
I. The Sacred 'Aish
II. "Our Daily Bread"
III. "Compel Them to come in"
IV. Delaying the Departing Guest
V. Family Feasts
PART IV. OUT IN THE OPEN
I. Shelter and Home
II. Resigned Travelers
III. The Market Place
IV. The Housetop
V. The Vineyards and the Fields
VI. The Shepherd
PART V. SISTERS OF MARY AND MARTHA
I. Woman East and West
II. Paul and Woman
III. Jesus and his Mother
IV. "A Gracious Woman"
PART VI.
Here and There in the Bible
Index
{3}
PART I
THE SYRIAN CHRIST
THE SYRIAN CHRIST
CHAPTER I
SON OF THE EAST
Jesus Christ, the incarnation of the spirit of God, seer, teacher of
the verities of the spiritual life, and preacher of the fatherhood of
God and the brotherhood of man, is, in a higher sense, "a man without a
country." As a prophet and a seer Jesus belongs to all races and all
ages. Wherever the minds of men respond to simple truth, wherever the
hearts of men thrill with pure love, wherever a temple of religion is
dedicated to the worship of God and the service of man, there is Jesus'
country and there are his friends. Therefore, in speaking of Jesus as
the son of a certain country, I do not mean in the least to localize
his Gospel, or to set bounds and limits to the flow of his spirit and
the workings of his love.
Nor is it my aim in these chapters to imitate {4} the astute
theologians by wrestling with the problem of Jesus' personality. To me
the secret of personality, human and divine, is an impenetrable
mystery. My more modest purpose in this writing is to remind the
reader that, whatever else Jesus was, as regards his modes of thought
and life and his method of teaching, he was a Syrian of the Syrians.
According to authentic history Jesus never saw any other country than
Palestine. There he was born; there he grew up to manhood, taught his
Gospel, and died for it.
It is most natural, then, that Gospel truths should have come down to
the succeeding generations--and to the nations of the West--cast in
Oriental moulds of thought, and intimately intermingled with the simple
domestic and social habits of Syria. The gold of the Gospel carries
with it the sand and dust of its original home.
From the foregoing, therefore, it may be seen that my reason for
undertaking to throw fresh light on the life and teachings of Christ,
and {5} other portions of the Bible whose correct understanding depends
on accurate knowledge of their original environment, is not any claim
on my part to great learning or a profound insight into the spiritual
mysteries of the Gospel. The real reason is rather an accident of
birth. From the fact that I was born not far from where the Master was
born, and brought up under almost the identical conditions under which
he lived, I have an "inside view" of the Bible which, by the nature of
things, a Westerner cannot have. And I know that the conditions of
life in Syria of to-day are essentially as they were in the time of
Christ, not from the study of the mutilated tablets of the archaeologist
and the antiquarian, precious as such discoveries are, but from the
simple fact that, as a sojourner in this Western world, whenever I open
my Bible it reads like a letter from home.
Its unrestrained effusiveness of expression; its vivid, almost flashy
and fantastic imagery; its naive narrations; the rugged unstudied
simplicity of its parables; its unconventional (and {6} to the more
modest West rather unseemly) portrayal of certain human relations; as
well as its all-permeating spiritual mysticism,--so far as these
qualities are concerned, the Bible might all have been written in my
primitive village home, on the western <DW72>s of Mount Lebanon some
thirty years ago.
Nor do I mean to assert or even to imply that the Western world has
never succeeded in knowing the mind of Christ. Such an assertion would
do violent injustice, not only to the Occidental mind, but to the
Gospel itself as well, by making it an enigma, utterly foreign to the
native spirituality of the majority of mankind. But what I have
learned from intimate associations with the Western mind, during almost
a score of years in the American pulpit, is that, with the exception of
the few specialists, it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, for
a people to understand fully a literature which has not sprung from
that people's own racial life. As a repository of divine revelation
the Bible knows no geographical limits. Its spiritual truths are {7}
from God to man. But as a literature the Bible is an imported article
in the Western world, especially in the home of the Anglo-Saxon race.
The language of the Scriptures, the mentality and the habits of life
which form the setting of their spiritual precepts, and the mystic
atmosphere of those precepts themselves, have come forth from the soul
of a people far removed from the races of the West in almost all the
modes of its earthly life.
You cannot study the life of a people successfully from the outside.
You may by so doing succeed in discerning the few fundamental traits of
character in their local colors, and in satisfying your curiosity with
surface observations of the general modes of behavior; but the little
things, the common things, those subtle connectives in the social
vocabulary of a people, those agencies which are born and not made, and
which give a race its rich distinctiveness, are bound to elude your
grasp. There is so much in the life of a people which a stranger to
that people must receive {8} by way of unconscious absorption. Like a
little child, he must learn so many things by involuntary imitation.
An outside observer, though wise, is only a photographer. He deals
with externals. He can be converted into an artist and portray the
life of a race by working from the soul outward, only through long,
actual, and sympathetic associations with that race.
From the foregoing it may be seen that I deem it rather hazardous for a
six-weeks tourist in that country to publish a book on the _life_ of
Syria. A first-class camera and "an eye to business" are hardly
sufficient qualifications for the undertaking of such a task. It is
very easy, indeed, to take a photograph, but not so easy to relate such
a picture to the inner life of a race, and to know what moral and
social forces lie behind such externals. The hasty traveler may easily
state what certain modes of thought and life in a strange land mean to
_him_, but does that necessarily mean that _his_ understanding of such
things is also the understanding of the _people_ of that land
themselves?
{9}
With the passing of the years, this thought gains in significance with
me, as a Syrian immigrant. At about the end of my second year of
residence in this country, I felt confident that I could write a book
on America and the Americans whose accuracy no one could challenge. It
was so easy for me to grasp the significance of certain general aspects
of American life that I felt I was fully competent to state how the
American people lived, what their racial, political, and religious
tendencies were, what their idioms of speech meant, and to interpret
their amorous, martial, dolorous, and joyous moods with perfect
accuracy and ease. But now, after a residence of about twenty-four
years in America--years which I have spent in most intimate association
with Americans, largely of the "original stock"--I do not feel half so
confident that I am qualified to write such a book. The more intimate
I become with American thought, the deeper I penetrate the American
spirit, the more enlightened my associations become with American
fathers, mothers, {10} and children in the joys and sorrows of life,
the more fully do I realize how extremely difficult, if not impossible,
it is for one to interpret successfully the life of an alien people
before one has actually _lived it_ himself.
Many Westerners have written very meritorious books on the thought and
life of the East. But these are not of the "tourist" type. Such
writers have been those who, first, had the initial wisdom to realize
that the beggars for _bakhsheesh_ in the thoroughfares of Syrian
cities, and those who hitch a woman with an ox to the plough in some
dark recesses of Palestine, did not possibly represent the deep soul of
that ancient East, which gave birth to the Bible and to the glorious
company of prophets, apostles, and saints. Second, such writers knew,
also, that the fine roots of a people's life do not lie on the surface.
Such feeders of life are both deep and fine; not only long residence
among a people, but intimate association and genuine sympathy with them
are necessary to reveal to a stranger the hidden {11} meaning of their
life. Social life, like biological life, energizes from within, and
from within it must be studied.
And it is those common things of Syrian life, so indissolubly
interwoven with the spiritual truths of the Bible, which cause the
Western readers of holy writ to stumble, and which rob those truths for
them of much of their richness. By sheer force of genius, the
aggressive, systematic Anglo-Saxon mind seeks to press into logical
unity and creedal uniformity those undesigned, artless, and most
natural manifestations of Oriental life, in order to "understand the
Scriptures."
"Yet show I unto you a more excellent way," by personally conducting
you into the inner chambers of Syrian life, and showing you, if I can,
how simple it is for a humble fellow countryman of Christ to understand
those social phases of the Scriptural passages which so greatly puzzle
the august minds of the West.
{12}
CHAPTER II
BIRTH OF A MAN CHILD
In the Gospel story of Jesus' life there is not a single incident that
is not in perfect harmony with the prevailing modes of thought and the
current speech of the land of its origin. I do not know how many times
I heard it stated in my native land and at our own fireside that
heavenly messengers in the forms of patron saints or angels came to
pious, childless wives, in dreams and visions, and cheered them with
the promise of maternity. It was nothing uncommon for such women to
spend a whole night in a shrine "wrestling in prayer," either with the
blessed Virgin or some other saint, for such a divine assurance; and I
remember a few of my own kindred to have done so.
Perhaps the most romantic religious practice in this connection is the
_zeara_. Interpreted literally, the word _zeara_ means simply a visit.
In its social use it is the equivalent of {13} a call of long or short
duration. But religiously the _zeara_ means a pilgrimage to a shrine.
However, strictly speaking, the word "pilgrimage" means to the Syrians
a journey of great religious significance whose supreme purpose is the
securing of a blessing for the pilgrim, with no reference to a special
need. The _zeara_ is a pilgrimage with a specific purpose. The
_zayir_ (visitor to a shrine) comes seeking either to be healed of a
certain ailment, to atone for a sin, or to be divinely helped in some
other way. Unlike a pilgrimage also, a _zeara_ may be made by one
person in behalf of another. When, for example, a person is | 196.765727 |
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Archive/American Libraries.)
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 1. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
FROM FARM TO FORTUNE
OR
Only A | 196.766926 |
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Produced by D.R. Thompson
HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II OF PRUSSIA
FREDERICK THE GREAT
By Thomas Carlyle
Volume X.
BOOK X. -- AT REINSBERG. - 1736-1740.
Chapter I. -- MANSION OF REINSBERG.
On the Crown-Prince's Marriage, three years ago, when the AMT or
Government-District RUPPIN, with its incomings, was assigned to him for
revenue, we heard withal of a residence getting ready. Hint had fallen
from the Prince, that Reinsberg, an old Country-seat, standing with
its Domain round it in that little Territory of Ruppin, and probably | 196.862305 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE JEW AND OTHER STORIES
BY IVAN TURGENEV
_Translated from the Russian_
_By CONSTANCE GARNETT_
TO THE MEMORY OF STEPNIAK
WHOSE LOVE OF TURGENEV
SUGGESTED THIS TRANSLATION
INTRODUCTION
In studying the Russian novel it is amusing to note the childish
attitude of certain English men of letters to the novel in general,
their depreciation of its influence and of the public's 'inordinate'
love of fiction. Many men of letters to-day look on the novel as a mere
story-book, as a series of light-, amusing pictures for their
'idle hours,' and on memoirs, biographies, histories, criticism, and
poetry as the age's _serious_ contribution to literature. Whereas
the reverse is the case. The most serious and significant of all
literary forms the modern world has evolved is the novel; and brought to
its highest development, the novel shares with poetry to-day the honour
of being the supreme instrument of the great artist's literary skill.
| 196.862354 |
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My Lady Caprice
by
Jeffery Farnol
CONTENTS
I. TREASURE TROVE
II. THE SHERIFF OF NOTTINGHAM
III. THE DESPERADOES
IV. MOON MAGIC
V. THE EPISODE OF THE INDIAN'S AUNT
VI. THE OUTLAW
VII. THE BLASTED OAK
VIII. THE LAND OF HEART'S DELIGHT
I
TREASURE TROVE
I sat fishing. I had not caught anything, of course--I rarely do, nor
am I fond of fishing in the very smallest degree, but I fished
assiduously all the same, because circumstances demanded it.
It had all come about through Lady Warburton, Lisbeth's maternal aunt.
Who Lisbeth is you will learn if you trouble to read these veracious
narratives--suffice it for the present that she has been an orphan from
her youth up, with no living relative save her married sister Julia and
her Aunt (with a capital A)--the Lady Warburton aforesaid.
Lady Warburton is small and somewhat bony, with a sharp chin and a
sharper nose, and invariably uses lorgnette; also, she is possessed of
much worldly goods.
Precisely a week ago Lady Warburton had requested me to call upon
her--had regarded me with a curious exactitude through her lorgnette,
and gently though firmly (Lady Warburton is always firm) had suggested
that Elizabeth, though a dear child, was young and inclined to be a
little self-willed. That she (Lady Warburton) was of opinion that
Elizabeth had mistaken the friendship which had existed between us so
long for something stronger. That although she (Lady Warburton) quite
appreciated the fact that one who wrote books, and occasionally a play,
was not necessarily immoral-- Still I was, of course, a terrible
Bohemian, and the air of Bohemia was not calculated to conduce to that
degree of matrimonial harmony which she (Lady Warburton) as Elizabeth's
Aunt, standing to her in place of a mother, could wish for. That,
therefore, under these circumstances my attentions were--etc., etc.
Here I would say in justice to myself that despite the torrent of her
eloquence I had at first made some attempt at resistance; but who could
hope to contend successfully against a woman possessed of such an
indomitable nose and chin, and one, moreover, who could level a pair of
lorgnette with such deadly precision? Still, had Lisbeth been beside
me things might have been different even then; but she had gone away
into the country--so Lady Warburton had informed me. Thus alone and at
her mercy, she had succeeded in wringing from me a half promise that I
would cease my attentions for the space of six months, "just to give
dear Elizabeth time to learn her own heart in regard to the matter."
This was last Monday. On the Wednesday following, as I wandered
aimlessly along Piccadilly, at odds with Fortune and myself, but
especially with myself, my eye encountered the Duchess of Chelsea.
The Duchess is familiarly known as the "Conversational Brook" from the
fact that when once she begins she goes on forever. Hence, being in my
then frame of mind, it was with a feeling of rebellion that I obeyed
the summons of her parasol and crossed over to the brougham.
"So she's gone away?" was her greeting as I raised my hat--"Lisbeth,"
she nodded, "I happened to hear something about her, you know."
It is strange, perhaps, but the Duchess generally does "happen to hear"
something about everything. "And you actually allowed yourself to be
bullied into making that promise--Dick! Dick! I'm ashamed of you."
"How was I to help myself?" I began. "You see--"
"Poor boy!" said the Duchess, patting me affectionately with the handle
of her parasol, "it wasn't to be expected, of course. You see, I know
her--many, many years ago I was at school with Agatha Warburton."
"But she probably didn't use lorgnettes then, and--"
"Her nose was just as sharp though--'peaky' I used to call it," nodded
the Duchess. "And she has actually sent Lisbeth away--dear child--and
to such a horrid, quiet little place, too, where she'll have nobody to
talk to but that young Selwyn.
"I beg pardon, Duchess, but--"
"Horace Selwyn, of Selwyn Park--cousin to Lord Selwyn, of Brankesmere.
Agatha has been scheming for it a long time, under the rose, you know.
Of course, it would be a good match, in a way--wealthy, and all
that--but I must say he bores me horribly--so very serious and precise!"
"Really!" I exclaimed, "do you mean to say--"
"I expect she will have them married before they know it--Agatha's
dreadfully determined. Her character lies in her nose and chin."
"But Lisbeth is not a child--she has a will of her own, and--"
"True," nodded the Duchess, "but is it a match for Agatha's chin? And
then, too, it is rather more than possible that you are become the
object of her bitterest scorn by now.
"But, my dear Duchess--"
"Oh, Agatha is a born diplomat. Of course she has written before this,
and without actually saying it has managed to convey the fact that you
are a monster of perfidy; and Lisbeth, poor child, is probably crying
her eyes out, or imagining she hates you, is ready to accept the first
proposal she receives out of pure pique."
"Great heavens!" I exclaimed, "what on earth can I do?"
"You might go fishing," the Duchess suggested thoughtfully.
"Fishing!" I repeated, "--er, to be sure, but--"
"Riverdale is a very pretty place they tell me," pursued the Duchess in
the same thoughtful tone; "there is a house there, a fine old place
called Fane Court. It stands facing the river, and adjoins Selwyn
Park, I believe."
"Duchess," I exclaimed, as I jotted down the address upon my cuff, "I
owe you a debt of gratitude that I can never--"
"Tut, tut!" said her Grace.
"I think I'll start to-day, and--"
"You really couldn't do better," nodded the duchess.
* * * * *
And so it befell that on this August afternoon I sat in the shade of
the alders fishing, with the smoke of my pipe floating up into the
sunshine.
By adroit questioning I had elicited from mine host of the Three Jolly
Anglers the precise whereabouts of Fane Court, the abode of Lisbeth's
sister, and guided by his directions, had chosen this sequestered spot,
where by simply turning my head I could catch a glimpse of its tall
chimneys above the swaying green of the treetops.
It is a fair thing upon a summer's hot afternoon within some shady
bower to lie upon one's back and stare up through a network of branches
into the limitless blue beyond, while the air is full of the stir of
leaves, and the murmur of water among the reeds. Or propped on lazy
elbow, to watch perspiring wretches, short of breath and purple of
visage, urge boats upstream or down, each deluding himself into the
belief that he is enjoying it. Life under such conditions may seem
very fair, as I say; yet I was not happy. The words of the Duchess
seemed everywhere about me.
"You are become the object of her bitterest scorn by now," sobbed the
wind.
"You are become," etc., etc., moaned the river. It was therefore with
no little trepidation that I looked forward to my meeting with Lisbeth.
It was this moment that the bushes parted and a boy appeared. He was a
somewhat diminutive boy, clad in a velvet suit with a lace collar, both
of which were plentifully bespattered with mud. He carried his shoes
and stockings beneath one arm, and in the other hand swung a hazel
branch. He stood with his little brown legs well apart, regarding me
with a critical eye; but when at length he spoke his attitude was
decidedly friendly.
"Hallo, man!"
"Hallo," I returned; "and whom may you be?"
"Well, my real name is Reginald Augustus, but they call me 'The Imp.'"
"I can well believe it," I said, eyeing his muddy person.
"If you please, what is an imp?"
"An imp is a sort of an--angel."
"But," he demurred, after a moment's thought, "I haven't got wings an'
things--or a trumpet."
"Your kind never do have wings and trumpets."
"Oh, I see," he said; and sitting down began to wipe the mud from his
legs with his stockings.
"Rather muddy, aren't you?" I hinted. The boy cast a furtive glance at
his draggled person.
"'Fraid I'm a teeny bit wet, too," he said hesitatingly. "You see,
I've been playing at 'Romans' an' I had to wade, you know, because I
was the standard bearer who jumped into the sea waving his sword an'
crying, 'Follow me!' You remember him, don't you?--he's in the history
book."
"To be sure," I nodded; "a truly heroic character. But if you were the
Romans, where were the ancient Britons?"
"Oh, they were the reeds, you know; you ought to have seen me slay
them. It was fine; they went down like--like--"
"Corn before a sickle," I suggested.
"Yes, just!" he cried; "the battle raged for hours."
"You must be rather tired."
"'Course not," he answered, with an indignant look. "I'm not a
girl--and I'm nearly nine, too."
"I gather from your tone that you are not partial to the sex--you don't
like girls, eh, Imp?"
"Should think not," he returned; "silly things, girls are. There's
Dorothy, you know; we were playing at executions the other day--she was
Mary Queen of Scots an' I was the headsman. I made a lovely axe with
wood and silver paper, you know; and when I cut her head off she cried
awfully, and I only gave her the weeniest little tap--an' they sent me
to bed at six o'clock for it. I believe she cried on purpose--awfully
caddish, wasn't it?"
"My dear Imp," said I, "the older you grow, the more the depravity of
the sex will become apparent to you."
"Do you know, I like you," he said, regarding me thoughtfully, "I think
you are fine."
"Now that's very nice of you, Imp; in common with my kind I have a
weakness for flattery--please go on."
"I mean, I think you are jolly."
"As to that," I said, shaking my head and sighing, "appearances are
often very deceptive; at the heart of many a fair blossom there is a
canker worm."
"I'm awfull' fond of worms, too," said the Imp.
"Indeed?"
"Yes. I got a pocketful yesterday, only Aunty found out an' made me
let them all go again."
"Ah--yes," I said sympathetically; "that was the woman of it."
"I've only got one left now," continued the Imp; and thrusting a hand
into the pocket of his knickerbockers he drew forth six inches or so of
slimy worm and held it out to me upon his small, grimy palm.
"He's nice and fat!" I said.
"Yes," nodded the Imp; "I caught him under the gooseberry bushes;" and
dropping it back into his pocket he proceeded to don his shoes and
stockings.
"Fraid I'm a bit muddy," he said suddenly.
"Oh, you might be worse," I answered reassuringly.
"Do you think they'll notice it?" he inquired, contorting himself
horribly in order to view the small of his back.
"Well," I hesitated, "it all depends, you know."
"I don't mind Dorothy, or Betty the cook, or the governess--it's Auntie
Lisbeth I'm thinking about."
"Auntie--who?" I exclaimed, regardless of grammar.
"Auntie Lisbeth," repeated the Imp.
"What is she like?"
"Oh, she's grown up big, only she's nice. She came to take care of
Dorothy an' me while mother goes away to get nice an strong--oh Auntie
Lisbeth's jolly, you know."
"With black hair and blue eyes?"
The Imp nodded.
"And a dimple at the corner of her mouth?" I went on dreamily--"a
dimple that would lead a man to the--Old Gentleman himself."
"What old gentleman?"
"Oh, a rather disreputable old gentleman," I answered evasively.
"An' do you know my Auntie Lisbeth?"
"I think it extremely probable--in fact, I'm sure of it."
"Then you might lend me your handkerchief, please; I tied mine to a bush
for a flag, you know, an' it blew away."
"You'd better come here and I'll give you a rub-down my Imp." He
obeyed, with many profuse expressions of gratitude.
"Have you got any Aunties?" he inquired, as I laboured upon his miry
| 196.957373 |
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Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, MWS, ellinora and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber Note:
Obvious typos and punctuation errors corrected.
Italic text is represented by underscores surrounding the _italic
text_.
Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS.
A small decoration on the title page is represented by [Decoration].
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THIS
MISERY _of_ BOOTS
BY
H. G. WELLS
_Author of “Socialism and the Family,” “In the
Days of the Comet,” “A Modern
Utopia,” etc._
[Decoration]
BOSTON
THE BALL PUBLISHING CO.
1908
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THIS MISERY OF
BOOTS
CHAPTER I
THE WORLD AS BOOTS AND SUPERSTRUCTURE
“It does not do,” said a friend of mine, “to think about boots.” For my
own part, I have always been particularly inclined to look at boots, and
think about them. I have an odd idea that most general questions can be
expressed in terms of foot-wear—which is perhaps why cobblers are often
such philosophical men. Accident it may be, gave me this persuasion. A
very considerable part of my childhood was spent in an underground
kitchen; the window opened upon a bricked-in space, surmounted by a
grating before my father’s shop window. So that, when I looked out of
the window, instead of seeing—as children of a higher upbringing would
do—the heads and bodies of people, I saw their under side. I got
acquainted indeed with all sorts of social types as boots simply,
indeed, as the soles of boots; and only subsequently, and with care,
have I fitted heads, bodies, and legs to these pediments.
There would come boots and shoes (no doubt holding people) to stare at
the shop, finicking, neat little women’s boots, good sorts and bad
sorts, fresh and new, worn crooked in the tread, patched or needing
patching; men’s boots, clumsy and fine, rubber shoes, tennis shoes,
goloshes. Brown shoes I never beheld—it was before that time; but I have
seen pattens. Boots used to come and commune at the window, duets that
marked their emotional development by a restlessness or a kick.... But
anyhow, that explains my preoccupation with boots.
But my friend did not think it _did_, to think about boots.
My friend was a realistic novelist, and a man from whom hope had
departed. I cannot tell you how hope had gone out of his life; some
subtle disease of the soul had robbed him at last of any enterprise, or
belief in coming things; and he was trying to live the few declining
years that lay before him in a sort of bookish comfort, among
surroundings that seemed peaceful and beautiful, by not thinking of
things that were painful and cruel. And we met a tramp who limped along
the lane.
“Chafed heel,” I said, when we had parted from him again; “and on these
pebbly byways no man goes barefooted.” My friend winced; and a little
silence came between us. We were both recalling things; and then for a
time, when we began to talk again, until he would have no more of it, we
rehearsed the miseries of boots.
We agreed that to a very great majority of people in this country boots
are constantly a source of distress, giving pain and discomfort, causing
trouble, causing anxiety. We tried to present the thing in a concrete
form to our own minds by hazardous statistical inventions. “At the
present moment,” said I, “one person in ten in these islands is in
discomfort through boots.”
My friend thought it was nearer one in five.
“In the life of a poor man or a poor man’s wife, and still more in the
lives of their children, this misery of the boot occurs and recurs—every
year so many days.”
We made a sort of classification of these troubles.
There is the TROUBLE OF THE NEW BOOT.
(i) They are made of some bad, unventilated material; and “draw the
feet,” as people say.
(ii) They do not fit exactly. Most people have to buy ready-made boots;
they cannot afford others, and, in the submissive philosophy of poverty,
they wear them to “get used” to them. This gives you the little-toe
pinch, the big-toe pinch, the squeeze and swelling across the foot; and,
as a sort of chronic development of these pressures, come corns and all
the misery of corns. Children’s feet get distorted for good by this
method of fitting the human being to the thing; and a vast number of
people in the world are, as a consequence of this, ashamed to appear
barefooted. (I used to press people who came to see me in warm pleasant
weather to play Badminton barefooted on the grass—a delightful thing to
do—until I found out that many were embarrassed at the thought of
displaying twisted toes and corns, and such-like disfigurements.)
(iii) The third trouble of new boots is this: they are unseasoned and in
bad condition, and so they squeak and make themselves an insulting
commentary on one’s ways.
But these are but trifling troubles to what arises as the boots get into
wear. Then it is the pinch comes in earnest. Of these TROUBLES OF THE
WORN BOOT, I and my friend, before he desisted, reckoned up three
principal classes.
(i) There are the various sorts of chafe. Worst of the chafes is
certainly the heel chafe, when something goes wrong with the upright
support at the heel. This, as a boy, I have had to endure for days
together; because there were no other boots for me. Then there is the
chafe that comes when that inner lining of the boot rucks up—very like
the chafe it is that poor people are always getting from over-darned and
hastily-darned socks. And then there is the chafe that comes from
ready-made boots one has got a trifle too large or long, in order to
avoid the pinch and corns. After a little while, there comes a
transverse crease across the loose-fitting forepart; and, when the boot
stiffens from wet or any cause, it chafes across the base of the toes.
They have you all ways. And I have a very lively recollection too of the
chafe of the knots one made to mend broken laces—one cannot be always
buying new laces, and the knots used to work inward. And then the chafe
of the crumpled tongue.
(ii) Then there are the miseries that come from the wear of the sole.
There is the rick of ankle because the heel has gone over, and the sense
of insecurity; and there is the miserable sense of not looking well from
behind that many people must feel. It is almost always painful to me to
walk behind girls who work out, and go to and fro, consuming much
foot-wear, for this very reason, that their heels seem always to wear
askew. Girls ought always to be so beautiful, most girls could be so
beautiful, that to see their poor feet askew, the grace of their walk
gone, a sort of spinal curvature induced, makes me wretched, and angry
with a world that treats them so. And then there is the working through
of nails, nails in the shoe. One limps on manfully in the hope presently
of a quiet moment and a quiet corner in which one may hammer the thing
down again. Thirdly, under this heading I recall the flapping sole. My
boots always came to that stage at last; I wore the toes out first, and
then the sole split from before backwards. As one walked it began
catching the ground. One made fantastic paces to prevent it happening;
one was dreadfully ashamed. At last one was forced to sit by the wayside
frankly, and cut the flap away.
(iii) Our third class of miseries we made of splitting and leaks. These
are for the most part mental miseries, the feeling of shabbiness as one
sees the ugly yawn, for example, between toe cap and the main upper of
the boot; but they involve also chills, colds, and a long string of
disagreeable consequences. And we spoke too of the misery of sitting
down to work (as multitudes of London school children do every wet
morning) in boots with soles worn thin or into actual holes, that have
got wet and chilling on the way to the work-place....
From these instances my mind ran on to others. I made a discovery. I had
always despised the common run of poor Londoners for not spending their
Sundays and holidays in sturdy walks, the very best of exercise. I had
allowed myself to say when I found myself one summer day at Margate:
“What a soft lot all these young people must be who loaf about the
band-stand here, when they might be tramping over the Kentish hills
inland!” But now I repented me of that. Long tramps indeed! Their boots
would have hurt them. Their boots would not stand it. I saw it all.
And now my discourse was fairly under way. “_Ex pede Herculem_,” I said;
“these miseries of boots are no more than a sample. The clothes people
wear are no better than their boots; and the houses they live in far
worse. And think of the shoddy garment of ideas and misconceptions and
partial statements into which their poor minds have been jammed by way
of education! Think of the way _that_ pinches and chafes them! If one
expanded the miseries of these things.... Think, for example, of the
results of the poor, bad, unwise food, of badly-managed eyes and ears
and teeth! Think of the quantity of toothache.”
“I tell you, it does not _do_ to think of such things!” cried my friend,
in a sort of anguish; and would have no more of it at any price....
And yet in his time he had written books full of these very matters,
before despair overtook him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER II
PEOPLE WHOSE BOOTS DON’T HURT THEM
Well, I did not talk merely to torment him; nor have I written this
merely to torment you. You see I have a persistent persuasion that all
these miseries are preventable miseries, which it lies in the power of
men to cure.
Everybody does not suffer misery from boots.
One person I know, another friend of mine, who can testify to that; who
has tasted all the miseries of boots, and who now goes about the world
free of them, but not altogether forgetful of them. A stroke of luck,
aided perhaps by a certain alacrity on his own part, lifted him out of
the class in which one buys one’s boots and clothes out of what is left
over from a pound a week, into the class in which one spends seventy or
eighty pounds a year on clothing. Sometimes he buys shoes and boots at
very good shops; sometimes he has them made for him; he has them stored
in a proper cupboard, and great care is taken of them; and so his boots
and shoes and slippers never chafe, never pinch, never squeak, never
hurt nor worry him, never bother him; and, when he sticks out his toes
before the fire, they do not remind him that he is a shabby and
contemptible wretch, living meanly on the dust heaps of the world. You
might think from this he had every reason to congratulate himself and be
happy, seeing that he has had good follow after evil; but, such is the
oddness of the human heart, he isn’t contented at all. The thought of
the multitudes so much worse off than himself in this matter of
foot-wear, gives him no sort of satisfaction. Their boots pinch _him_
vicariously. The black rage with the scheme of things that once he felt
through suffering in his own person in the days when he limped shabbily
through gaily busy, fashionable London streets, in split boots that
chafed, he feels now just as badly as he goes about the world very
comfortably himself, but among people whom he knows with a pitiless
clearness to be almost intolerably uncomfortable. He has no optimistic
illusion that things are all right with them. Stupid people who have
always been well off, who have always had boots that fit, may think
that; but not so, he. In one respect the thought of boots makes him even
more viciously angry now, than it used to do. In the old days he was
savage with his luck, but hopelessly savage; he thought that bad boots,
ugly uncomfortable clothes, rotten houses, were in the very nature of
things. Now, when he sees a child sniffing and blubbering and halting
upon the pavement, or an old country-woman going painfully along a lane,
he no longer recognises the Pinch of Destiny. His rage is lit by the
thought, that there are fools in this world who ought to have foreseen
and prevented this. He no longer curses fate, but the dulness of
statesmen and powerful responsible people who have neither the heart,
nor courage, nor capacity, to change the state of mismanagement that
gives us these things.
Now do not think I am dwelling unduly upon my second friend’s good
fortune, when I tell you that once he was constantly getting pain and
miserable states of mind, colds for example, from the badness of his
clothing, shame from being shabby, pain from the neglected state of his
teeth, from the indigestion of unsuitable food eaten at unsuitable
hours, from the insanitary ugly house in which he lived and the bad air
of that part of London, from things indeed quite beyond the unaided
power of a poor over-worked man to remedy. And now all these
disagreeable things have gone out of his life; he has consulted dentists
and physicians, he has hardly any dull days from colds, no pain from
toothache at all, no gloom of indigestion....
I will not go on with the tale of good fortune of this lucky person. My
purpose is served if I have shown that this misery of boots is not an
unavoidable curse upon mankind. If one man can evade it, others can. By
good management it may be altogether escaped. If you, or what is more
important to most human beings, if any people dear to you, suffer from
painful or disfiguring boots or shoes, and you can do no better for
them, it is simply because you are getting the worse side of an
ill-managed world. It is not the universal lot.
And what I say of boots is true of all the other minor things of life.
If your wife catches a bad cold because her boots are too thin for the
time of the year, or dislikes going out because she cuts a shabby ugly
figure, if your children look painfully nasty because their faces are
swollen with toothache, or because their clothes are dirty, old, and
ill-fitting, if you are all dull and disposed to be cross with one
another for want of decent amusement and change of air—don’t submit,
don’t be humbugged for a moment into believing that this is the dingy
lot of all mankind. Those people you love are living in a badly-managed
world and on the wrong side of it; and such wretchednesses are the daily
demonstration of that.
Don’t say for a moment: “Such is life.” Don’t think their miseries are
part of some primordial curse there is no escaping. The disproof of that
is for | 196.957472 |
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Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
Dick Sands the Boy Captain by Jules Verne
[Redactor's Note: _Dick Sands the Boy Captain_ (Number V018 in the T&M
numerical listing of Verne's works) is a translation of _Un capitaine
de quinze ans_ (1878) by Ellen E. Frewer who also translated other
Verne works. The current translation was published by Sampson & Low in
England (1878) and Scribners in New York (1879) and was republished
many times and included in Volume 8 of the Parke edition of _The Works
of Jules Verne_ (1911). There is another translation published by
George Munro (1878) in New York with the title _Dick Sand A Captain at
Fifteen_.
This work has an almost mechanical repetiveness in the continuing
description of the day after day trials of sailing at sea. Thus the
illustrations, of which there were 94 in the french edition, are all
the more important in keeping up the reader's interest. The titles of
the illustrations are given here as a prelude to a future fully
illustrated edition.]
*****
DICK SANDS
THE BOY CAPTAIN.
BY
JULES VERNE.
TRANSLATED BY
ELLEN E. FREWER
ILLUSTRATED
1879
*****
CONTENTS.
PART THE FIRST
I. THE "PILGRIM"
II. THE APPRENTICE
III. A RESCUE
IV. THE SURVIVORS OF THE "WALDECK"
V. DINGO'S SAGACITY
VI. A WHALE IN SIGHT
VII. PREPARATIONS FOR AN ATTACK
VIII. A CATASTROPHE
IX. DICK'S PROMOTION
X. THE NEW CREW
XI. ROUGH WEATHER
XII. LAND AT LAST
XIV. ASHORE
XV. A STRANGER
XVI. THROUGH THE FOREST
XVII. MISGIVINGS
XVIII. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY
PART THE SECOND
I. THE DARK CONTINENT
II. ACCOMPLICES
III. ON THE MARCH AGAIN
IV. ROUGH TRAVELLING
V. WHITE ANTS
VI. A DIVING-BELL
VII. A SLAVE CARAVAN
VIII. NOTES BY THE WAY
IX. KAZONDE
X. MARKET-DAY
XI. A BOWL OF PUNCH
XII. ROYAL OBSEQUIES
XIII. IN CAPTIVITY
XIV. A RAY OF HOPE
XV. AN EXCITING CHASE
XVI. A MAGICIAN
XVII. DRIFTING DOWN THE STREAM
XVIII. AN ANXIOUS VOYAGE
XIX. AN ATTACK
XX. A HAPPY REUNION
*****
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Number Title
I-01-a Cousin Benedict
I-01-b Captain Hull advanced to meet Mrs. Weldon and her party
I-02-a Negoro
I-02-b Dick and Little Jack
I-03-a Negoro had approached without being noticed by any one
I-03-b The dog began to swim slowly and with manifest weakness
towards the boat
I-04-a Mrs. Weldon assisted by Nan and the ever active Dick Sands,
was doing everything in her power to restore consciousness
to the poor sufferers
I-04-b The good-natured <DW64>s were ever ready to lend a helping
hand
I-05-a "There you are, then, Master Jack!"
I-05-b Jack cried out in the greatest excitement that Dingo knew
how to read
I-05-c Negoro, with a threatening gesture that seemed half
involuntary, withdrew immediately to his accustomed quarters
I-06-a "This Dingo is nothing out of the way"
I-06-b Occasionally Dick Sands would take a pistol, and now and
then a rifle
I-06-c "What a big fellow!"
I-07-a The captain's voice came from the retreating boat
I-07-b "I must get you to keep your eye upon that man"
I-08-a The whale seemed utterly unconscious of the attack that was
threatening it
I-08-b The boat was well-nigh full of water, and in imminent danger
of being capsized
I-08-c There is no hope
I-09-a "Oh, we shall soon be on shore!"
I-09-b "Oh yes, Jack; you shall keep the wind in order"
I-10-a All three of them fell flat upon the deck
I-10-b Jack evidenced his satisfaction by giving his huge friend a
hearty shake of the hand
I-10-c A light shadow glided stealthily along the deck
I-11-a For half an hour Negoro stood motionless
I-12-a Under bare poles
I-12-b Quick as lightning, Dick Sands drew a revolver from his pocket
I-12-c "There! look there!"
I-13-a "You have acquitted yourself like a man"
I-13-b They both examined the outspread chart
I-13-c The sea was furious, and dashed vehemently upon the crags
on either hand
I-14-a Surveying the shore with the air of a man who was trying to
recall some past experience
I-14-b Not without emotion could Mrs. Weldon, or indeed any of
them, behold the unfortunate ship
I-14-c The entomologist was seen making his way down the face of
the cliff at the imminent lisk of breaking his neck
I-15-a "Good morning, my young friend"
I-15-b "He is my little son"
I-15-c They came to a tree to which a horse was tethered
I-16-a The way across the forest could scarcely be called a path
I-16-b Occasionally the soil became marshy
I-16-c A halt for the night
I-16-d Hercules himself was the first to keep watch
I-17-a "Don't fire!"
I-17-b A herd of gazelles dashed past him like a glowing cloud
I-17-c A halt was made for the night beneath a grove of lofty trees
I-18-a "Look here! here are hands, men's hands"
I-18-b The man was gone, and his horse with him!
II-02-a They were seated at the foot of an enormous banyan-tree
II-02-b Both men, starting to their feet, looked anxiously around
them
II-02-c Dingo disappeared again amongst the bushes
II-03-a "You must keep this a secret"
II-03-b "Harris has left us"
II-03-c The march was continued with as much rapidity as was
consistent with caution
II-04-a It was a scene only too common in Central Africa
II-04-b Another brilliant flash brought the camp once again into
relief
II-04-c One after another, the whole party made their way inside
II-05-a Cousin Benedict's curiosity was awakened
II-05-b The naturalist now fairly mounted on a favourite hobby
II-05-c "My poor boy, I know everything"
II-06-a They set to work to ascertain what progress the water was
making
II-06-b All fired simultaneously at the nearest boat
II-06-c The giant clave their skulls with the butt end of his gun
II-07-a The start was made
II-08-a If ever the havildar strolled a few yards away, Bat took
the opportunity of murmuring a few words of encouragement
to his poor old father
II-08-b The caravan had been attacked on the flank by a dozen or
more crocodiles
II-08-c The creature that had sprung to my feet was Dingo
II-08-d More slaves sick, and abandoned to take their chance
II-09-a Adjoining the commercial quarter was the royal residence
II-09-b With a yell and a curse, the American fell dead at his feet
II-10-a Accompanied by Coimbra, Alvez himself was one of the first
arrivals
II-11-a The potentate beneath whose sway the country trembled for a
hundred miles round
II-11-b Alvez advanced and presented the king with some fresh tobacco
II-11-c The king had taken fire internally
II-12-a "Your life is in my hands!"
II-12-b All his energies were restored
II-13-a Friendless and hopeless He contented | 196.958936 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "_HARRY'S BLOOD WAS UP._" p. 12]
CARRIED OFF
_A STORY OF PIRATE TIMES_
BY
ESME STUART
AUTHOR OF 'FOR HALF-A-CROWN' 'THE LAST HOPE'
'THE WHITE CHAPEL' ETC.
_WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY
BROAD SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & | 196.96163 |
2023-11-16 18:20:21.0401640 | 2,649 | 20 | RANCH***
E-text prepared by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Emmy, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/c/)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 20349-h.htm or 20349-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/3/4/20349/20349-h/20349-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/3/4/20349/20349-h.zip)
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT ROCKY RANCH
Or
Great Days Among the Cowboys
by
LAURA LEE HOPE
Author of "The Moving Picture Girls," "The Moving Picture
Girls Under the Palms," "The Outdoor Girls
Series," "The Bobbsey Twins Series," Etc.
Illustrated
The Goldsmith Publishing Co.
Cleveland
Made in U. S. A.
Copyright, 1914, by
Grosset & Dunlap
Press of
The Commercial Bookbinding Co.
Cleveland
[Illustration: "WE ARE HEMMED IN BY THE PRAIRIE FIRE!" _Moving Picture
Girls at Rocky Ranch._--_Page 192._]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE SPY 1
II WESTERN PLANS 13
III A DARING FEAT 23
IV A CLOUD OF SMOKE 32
V A MIX-UP 42
VI THE AUTO SMASH 49
VII OFF FOR THE WEST 56
VIII THE OIL WELL 66
IX THE RIVALS 72
X THE CYCLONE 78
XI AT ROCKY RANCH 90
XII SUSPICIONS 96
XIII AT THE BRANDING 109
XIV A WARNING 117
XV THE INDIAN RITES 125
XVI PRISONERS 134
XVII THE RESCUE 143
XVIII A RUSH OF STEERS 156
XIX TOO MUCH REALISM 163
XX IN THE OPEN 168
XXI THE BURNING GRASS 178
XXII HEMMED IN 186
XXIII THE ESCAPE 193
XXIV A DISCLOSURE 201
XXV THE ROUND-UP 208
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS
AT ROCKY RANCH
CHAPTER I
THE SPY
"Well, Ruth, aren't you almost ready?"
"Just a moment, Alice. I can't seem to get my collar fastened in the
back. I wish I'd used the old-fashioned hooks and eyes instead of those
new snaps."
"Oh, I think those snaps are just adorable!"
"Oh, Alice DeVere! Using such an extreme expression!"
"What expression, Ruth?"
"'Adorable!' You sometimes accuse me of using slang, and there you
go----"
"'Adorable' isn't slang," retorted Alice.
"Oh, isn't it though? Since when?"
"There you go yourself! You're as bad as I am."
"Well, it must be associating with you, then," sighed Ruth.
"No, Ruth, it's this moving picture business. It just makes you use
words that _mean_ something, and not those that are merely sign-posts.
I'm glad to see that you are getting--sensible. But never mind about
that. Are you ready to go to the studio? I'm sure we'll be late."
"Oh, please help me with this collar. I wish I'd made this waist with
the new low-cut effect. Not too low, of course," Ruth added hastily, as
she caught a surprised glance from her sister.
Two girls were in a room about which were strewn many articles of
feminine adornment. Yet it was not an untidy apartment. True, dresser
drawers did yawn and disclose their contents, and closet doors gaped at
one, showing a collection of shoes and skirts. But then the occupants of
the room might have been forgiven, for they were in haste to keep an
appointment.
"There, Ruth," finally exclaimed the younger of the two girls--yet she
was not so much younger--not more than two years. "I think your collar
is perfectly sweet."
"It's good of you to say so. You know I got it at that little French
shop around the corner, but sewed some of that Mexican drawn lace on to
make it a bit higher. Now I'm sorry I did, for I had to put in those
snap fasteners instead of hooks. And if you don't get them to fit
exactly they come loose. It's like when the film doesn't come right on
the screen, and the piano player sounds a discord to call the
operator's attention to it."
"You've hit it, sister mine."
"Oh, Alice! There you go again. 'Hit it!'"
"You'd say 'hit it' at a baseball game," Alice retorted.
"Oh, yes, I suppose so. But we're not at one," objected the older girl,
as she finished buttoning her gloves, and took up her parasol, which she
shook out, to make sure that it would open easily when needed.
"There, I think I'm ready," announced Alice, as she slipped on a light
jacket, for, though it was spring, the two rivers of New York sent
rather chilling breezes across the city, and a light waist was rather
conducive to colds.
"Have you the key?" asked the older girl, as she paused for a moment on
the threshold of the private hall of the apartment house. She had tied
her veil rather tightly at the back, knotting it and fastening it with a
little gold pin, and now she pulled it away from her cheeks, to relieve
the tension.
"Yes, I have it, Ruth. Oh, don't make such funny faces! Anyone would
think you were posing."
"Well, I'm not--but this veil--tickles."
"Serves you right for trying to be so stylish."
"It's proper to have a certain amount of style, Alice, dear. I wish I
could induce you to have more of it."
"I have enough, thank you. Let's don't talk dress any more, or we'll
have a tiff before we get to the moving picture studio, and there are
some long and trying scenes ahead of us to-day."
"So there are. I wonder if daddy took his key?"
"Wait, and I'll look on his dresser."
The younger girl went back into the apartment for a moment, while her
sister stepped across the corridor and tapped lightly at an opposite
door.
"Has Russ gone?" she asked the pleasant-faced woman who answered.
"Yes, Ruth. A little while ago. He was going to call for you girls, but
I knew you were dressing, for Alice came in to borrow some pins, so I
told him not to wait."
"That's right. We'll see him at the studio."
"You're coming in to supper to-night, you know."
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Dalwood. Daddy wouldn't miss that for anything!" laughed
Ruth, as she turned to wait for her sister. "Of course he _says_ our
cooking is the best he ever had since poor mamma left us," Ruth went
on, "but I just _know_ he relishes yours a great deal more."
"Oh, you're just saying that, Ruth!" objected the neighbor.
"Indeed I'm not. You should hear him talk, for days afterward, about
your clam chowder." She laughed genially.
"Well, he does seem to relish that," admitted Mrs. Dalwood.
"What's that?" asked Alice, as she came out.
"We're speaking of clam chowder, and how fond daddy is of Mrs. Dalwood's
recipe," said Ruth.
"Oh, yes, indeed! I should think he'd be ashamed to look a clam in the
face--that is, if a clam _has_ a face," laughed Alice. "It's awfully
good of you, Mrs. Dalwood, to make it for him so often."
"Well, I'm always glad when a man enjoys his meals," declared Mrs.
Dalwood, who, being a widow, knew what the lack of proper home life
meant.
"I'm afraid we're imposing on you," suggested Alice, as she started down
the stairs. "You have us over to tea so often, and we seldom invite
you."
"Now don't be thinking that, my dear!" exclaimed the neighbor. "I know
what it is when you have to pose so much for moving pictures.
"My boy Russ tells me what long hours you put in, and how hard you work.
And it's trouble enough to get up a meal these days, and have anything
left to pay the rent. So I'm only too glad when you can come in and
enjoy the victuals with us. I cook too much anyhow, and of late Russ
seems to have lost his appetite."
"I fancy I know why," laughed Alice, with a roguish glance at her
sister.
"Alice!" protested Ruth, in shocked tones. "Don't you dare----"
"I was only going to say that he has not seemed well since coming back
from Florida--what was the harm in that?" Alice wanted to know.
"Oh!" murmured Ruth. "Do come on," she added, as if she feared her
fun-loving sister might say something embarrassing.
"Russ will be better soon, Mrs. Dalwood," Alice called as she and her
sister went down the stairway of the apartment house.
"What makes you think so?" asked his mother. "Not but what I'm glad to
hear you say that, for really he hasn't eaten at all well lately."
"We're going on the road again, I hear," went on Alice. "The whole
moving picture company is to be taken off somewhere, and a lot of films
made. Russ always likes that, and I'm sure his appetite will come back
as soon as we start traveling. It always does."
"You are getting to be a close observer," remarked Ruth, with just the
hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Oh, Alice, do finish buttoning your
gloves in the house!" she exclaimed. "It looks so careless to go out
fussing with them."
"All right, sister mine. Anything to keep peace in the family!" laughed
the younger girl.
Together they went down the street, a charming picture of youth and
happiness.
A little later they entered the studio of the Comet Film Company, a
concern engaged in the business of making moving pictures, from posing
them with actors and actresses, and the suitable "properties," to the
leasing of the completed films to the various theaters throughout the
country.
Alice and Ruth DeVere, of whom you will hear more later, with their
father, were engaged in this work, and very interesting and profitable
they found it.
As the girls entered the studio they were greeted by a number of other
players, and an elderly gentleman, with a bearing and carriage that
revealed the schooling of many years behind the footlights, came
forward.
"I was just wondering where you were," he said with a smile. His voice
was husky and hoarse, and indicated that he had some throat affection.
In fact, that same throat trouble was the cause of Hosmer DeVere being
in moving picture work instead of in the legitimate drama, in which he
had formerly been a leading player.
"We stopped a moment to speak to Mrs. Dalwood," explained Ruth.
"Clam chowder," added Alice, with a laugh. "She's going to have it this
evening, Daddy."
"Good!" he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in a manner that
indicated gratification. "I was just hungry for some."
"You always seem able to eat that," laughed Alice. "I must learn how to
make it."
"I wish you would!" exclaimed her father, earnestly. "Then when we are
on the road I can have some, now and then."
"Oh, you are hopeless!" laughed Alice. "Here is your latch-key, Daddy | 197.060204 |
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LEGENDS
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
BY
AUGUST STRINDBERG
LONDON: ANDREW MELROSE
3 YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1912
CONTENTS
I. The Possessed Exorcist
II. My Wretchedness Increases
III. My Wretchedness Increases (cont.)
IV. Miracles
V. My Incredulous Friend's Troubles
VI. Miscellanies
VII. Studies in Swedenborg
VIII. Canossa
IX. The Spirit of Contradiction
X. Extracts from my Diary, 1897
XI. In Paris
XII. Wrestling Jacob
Note
I
THE POSSESSED EXORCIST
Hunted by the furies, I found myself finally in December 1896 fixed
fast in the little university town Lund, in Sweden. A conglomeration
of small houses round a cathedral, a palace-like university building
and a library, forming an oasis of civilisation in the great southern
Swedish plain. I must admire the refinement of cruelty which has chosen
this place as my prison. The University of Lund is much prized by the
natives of Schonen, but for a man from the north like myself the fact
that one stays here is a sign that one has come to an inclined plane
and is rolling down. Moreover, for me who am well advanced in the
forties, have been a married man for twenty years and am accustomed
to a regular family life, it is a humiliation to be relegated to
intercourse with students, bachelors who are given to a life of riot
and carousing, and who are all more or less in ill odour with the
fatherly authorities of the university because of their radical way of
thinking.
Of the same age, and formerly a companion of the professors, who now
no longer tolerate me, I am compelled to find my friends among the
students, and so to take upon myself the role of an enemy of the
seniors and of the social circles of solid respectability. Come down,
indeed! That is just the right word, and why? Because I scorned to
submit myself to the laws of social life and domestic slavery. I have
regarded the conflict for the upholding of my personality as a sacred
duty, quite irrespective of the fact of its being a good or bad one.
Excommunicated, regarded with suspicion, denounced by fathers and
mothers as a corrupter of youth, I am placed in a situation which
reminds one of a snake in an ant-heap, all the more as I cannot leave
the town through pecuniary embarrassment.
Pecuniary embarrassment! That has now been my lot for three years,
and I cannot explain how all my resources were dried up, as soon as
my profits were exhausted. Four-and-twenty dramas of my composing are
now laid up in a corner, and not a single one performed any more; an
equal number of novels and tales, and not one in a second edition.
All attempts to borrow a loan have failed and continue to fail. After
I had sold all that I possessed, need compelled me at last to sell
the letters which I had received in the course of years, _i.e._ other
people's property.
This constant condition of poverty seems to me so clearly to depend
upon some special purpose of Providence that I finally endure it
willingly as a part of my penance and do not try to resist it any
more. As regards myself, I want of means signifies nothing to me
as an independent author, but it is disgraceful not to have the
wherewithal to support my children. Very well! I make up my mind to
bear the disgrace though it involve pains like hell. I will not yield
to the temptation to pay for false honour with my life. Prepared for
anything, I endure resolutely to the uttermost the most extraordinary
humiliations and observe how my expiatory pangs commence. Well-educated
youths of good family treat me one night to a serenade of caterwauling
in my corridor. I take it as something I have deserved without
disturbing myself. I try to hire a furnished lodging. The landlord
refuses with transparent excuses, and the refusal is flung in my
face. I pay visits and am not received. These are mere trifles. But
what really wounds me is the sublime irony shown in the unconscious
behaviour of my young friends when they try to encourage me by praising
my literary works, "so fruitful in liberating ideas, etc." And this to
me, who have just flung these so-called ideas on the dust-heap, so that
those who entertain these views are now my opponents! I am at war with
my former self, and while I oppose my friends and those once of the
same mind with me, I lay myself prostrate in the dust.
This is irony indeed; and as a dramatist I must admire the composition
of this tragi-comedy. In truth, the scenes are well-arranged.
Meanwhile people, taking into consideration the way in which old and
new views become entangled with each other in a period of transition,
do not reckon too rigidly with a veteran like myself. They do not
prick up their ears so solemnly at my arguments, but rather ask after
novelties in the world of ideas. I open for them the vestibule to the
temple of Isis, and say, by way of preliminary, that occultism is going
to be the vogue. Then they rage, and cut me down with the same weapons
which during twenty years I have been forging against superstition and
mysticism.
Since these debates always take place in garden-restaurants to the
accompaniment of wine-drinking, one avoids violent arguments, and I
confine myself to relating facts and real occurrences, assuming the
mask of an enlightened sceptic. It can certainly not be said that
people are opposed to everything new--quite the contrary; but they
become conservative as regards ideals which have been won by hard
fighting and which one is not inclined to desert. Still less are they
disposed to abjure a faith which has been purchased by a baptism of
blood. It falls to my share to strike out a path between naturalism
and supernaturalism, by expounding the latter as a development of the
former.
For this purpose, I address myself to the problem of giving, as just
indicated, natural and scientific explanation for all the mysterious
phenomena which appear to us. I split up my personality and show to the
world a rationalistic occultist, but I keep my innermost individuality
unimpaired and cherish the germ of a creedless religion. Often my
outer role gets the upper hand; my two natures become so intricately
intermixed that I can laugh at my newly won belief. This helps my
theories to find entrance into the most oppositely constituted minds.
The gloomy December days drag on lazily under a dark-grey smoky sky.
Although I have discovered Swedenborg's explanation regarding the
character of my sufferings, I cannot bring myself once for all to
bend under the hand of the Powers. My disposition to make objections
asserts itself, and I continually refer the real causes of my suffering
to external things, especially the malice of men. Attacked day and
night by "electric streams," which compress my chest and stab my
heart, I quit my torture-chamber, and visit the tavern where I find
friends. Fearing sobriety, I drink ceaselessly, as the only way of
procuring sleep at night. Shame and disgust, however, combined with
restlessness, compel me to give this up, and for some evenings I visit
the Temperance Cafe called the "Blue Band." But the company one meets
with there depresses me,--bluish, pale, and emaciated faces, terrible
and malicious eyes, and a silence which is not the peace of God.
When things go wrong, wine is a benefit, and refraining from it a
punishment. I return to the half-sober tavern, without, however,
transgressing the bounds of moderation, after having disciplined myself
for several evenings by drinking tea.
Christmas is approaching, and I regard the children's festival with a
cool bitterness that I can hardly dignify with the name of resignation.
For six years I have had all kinds of sufferings, and am now prepared
for anything. Loneliness in an hotel! That has long been my nightmare,
and I have become accustomed to it. It seems as though the very thing
that I dislike is forced upon me.
Meanwhile a closer intimacy has sprung up between me and a friendly
circle, so that they begin to make confidences to me. The fact is that
during the last months so many things have happened, so many unusual
unexpected things. "Let me hear them," I say. "They tell me that the
head of the revolutionary students, the freest of freethinkers, after
having come out of a temperance hospital and taking the pledge, has
been now converted, so that he forthwith----"
"Well, what?"
"Sings penitential psalms."
"Incredible!"
In fact the young man, who was unusually gifted, had for the present
spoilt his prospects by attacking the views prevalent at the
university, including the misuse of strong drink. When I arrived in the
town he kept a little aloof from me on the ground of his temperance
principles, but it was he who lent me Swedenborg's Arcana Coelestia,
which he had taken from his father's library. I remember that after
I had begun to read the work I gave him an account of Swedenborg's
theories, and suggested to him to read the prophet in order to gain
light, but he interrupted me with a gesture of alarm.
"No! I will not! Not now! Later!"
"Are you afraid?"
"Yes, for the moment."
"But read it merely as a literary curiosity."
"No."
I thought at first he was joking, but later on it became clear to me
that he was quite in earnest. So there seems to be a general awakening
going on through the world, and I need not conceal my own experiences.
"Tell me, old fellow, can you sleep at night?"
"Not much. When I lie awake my whole past life comes in review before
me; all the follies which I have committed, all my sufferings
and unhappiness pass by, but especially the follies. And when the
procession ends, it commences all over again."
"You also?"
"What do you mean by 'also'?"
"That is the disease of our time. They call it 'the mills of God.'"
At the word "God" he makes a grimace and answers, "Yes, it is a queer
age we live in; the world turns round and round."
"Or rather it is the re-entrance of the Powers."
* * * * *
The Christmas week is over. In consequence of the holidays my table
companions are scattered over the neighbourhood of Lund. One fine
morning my friend, the doctor and psychologist, comes and shows me
a letter from our friend the poet, containing an invitation to his
parents' house, a country property a few miles from the town. I decline
to go as I dislike travelling.
"But he is unhappy," says the doctor.
"What is the matter with him?"
"Sleeplessness; you know he has lately been keeping Christmas."
I take shelter behind the excuse of having some business to do, and the
question remains undecided. In the afternoon I get another letter, to
say that the poet is ill and wants his friend's medical advice.
"What is he suffering from now?" I ask.
"He suffers from neurasthenia and believes himself persecuted----"
"By demons?"
"Not exactly that, but anyhow----"
An access of grim humour elicited by the fact of having a brother
in misfortune makes me determine to go with him. "Very well then,
let us start," I say; "you see to the medicine and I will see to the
exorcism." When the matter is settled, I pack my portmanteau, and as | 197.157665 |
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BENTLEY'S
MISCELLANY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1837.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
ADDRESS.
Twelve months have elapsed since we first took the field, and every
successive number of our Miscellany has experienced a warmer reception,
and a more extensive circulation, than its predecessor.
In the opening of the new year, and the commencement of our new volume,
we hope to make many changes for the better, and none for the worse;
and, to show that, while we have one grateful eye to past patronage,
we have another wary one to future favours; in short, that, like the
heroine of the sweet poem descriptive of the faithlessness and perjury
of Mr. John Oakhum, of the Royal Navy, we look two ways at once.
It is our intention to usher in the new year with a very merry
greeting, towards the accomplishment of which end we have prevailed
upon a long procession of distinguished friends to mount their hobbies
on the occasion, in humble imitation of those adventurous and
aldermanic spirits who gallantly bestrode their foaming chargers on the
memorable ninth of this present month, while
"The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad."
These, and a hundred other great designs, preparations, and surprises,
are in contemplation, for the fulfilment of all of which we are already
bound in two volumes cloth, and have no objection, if it be any
additional security to the public, to stand bound in twenty more.
BOZ.
30th November, 1837.
CONTENTS
OF THE
SECOND VOLUME.
SONGS of the Month--July, by "Father Prout;" August; September, by
"Father Prout;" October, by J.M.; November, by C.D.; December, by
Punch Pages 1, 109, 213, 321, 429, 533
Papers by Boz:
Oliver Twist, or the Parish Boy's Progress, 2, 110, 215, 430, 534
The Mudfog Association for the Advancement of Everything 397
Poetry by Mrs. Cornwell Baron Wilson:
Elegiac Stanzas 16
Lady Blue's Ball 380
My Father's Old Hall 453
Fictions of the Middle Ages: The Butterfly Bishop, by Delta 17
A New Song to the Old Tune of Kate Kearney 25
What Tom Binks did when he didn't know what to do with himself 26
A Gentleman Quite 36
The Foster-Child 37
The White Man's Devil-house, by F.H. Rankin 46
A Lyric for Lovers 50
The Remains of Hajji Baba, by the Author of "Zohrab" 51,166
Shakspeare Papers, by Dr. Maginn:
No. III. Romeo 57
IV. Midsummer Night's Dream--Bottom the Weaver 370
V. His Ladies--Lady Macbeth 550
The Piper's Progress, by Father Prout 67
Papers by J.A. Wade:
No. II. Darby the Swift 68
III. The Darbiad 464
Song of the Old Bell 196
Serenade to Francesca 239
Phelim O'Toole's Nine Muse-ings on his Native County 319
Papers by Captain Medwin:
The Duel 76
Mascalbruni 254
The Last of the Bandits 585
The Monk of Ravenne 81
A Marine's Courtship, by M. Burke Honan 82
Family Stories, by Thomas Ingoldsby:
No. VI. Mrs. Botherby's Story--The Leech of Folkestone 91
VII. Patty Morgan the Milkmaid's Story--Look at the Clock 207
What though we were Rivals of yore, by T. Haynes Bayly 124
Papers by the Author of "Stories of Waterloo:"
Love in the City 125
The Regatta, No. I.: Run Across Channel 299
Legends--of Ballar; the Church of the Seven; and the Tory
Islanders 527
Three Notches from the Devil's Tail, or the Man in the Spanish
Cloak, by the Author of "Reminiscences of a Monthly Nurse" 135
The Serenade 149
The Portrait Gallery, by the Author of "The Bee Hive"
No. III. The Cannon Family 150
IV. Journey to Boulogne 454
A Chapter on Laughing 163
A Muster-chaunt for the Members of the Temperance Societies 165
My Uncle: a Fragment 175
Why the Wind blows round St. Paul's, by Joyce Jocund 176
Papers by C. Whitehead:
Rather Hard to Take 181
The Narrative of John Ward Gibson 240
Nights at Sea, by the Old Sailor:
No. IV. The French Captain's Story 183
V. The French Captain's Story 471
VI. Jack among the Mummies 610
Midnight Mishaps, by Edward Mayhew 197
The Dream 206
Genius, or the Dog's-meat Dog, by Egerton Webbe 214
The Poisoners of the Seventeenth Century, by George Hogarth:
No. I. The Marchioness de Brinvilliers 229
II. Sir Thomas Overbury 322
Smoke 268
Some Passages in the Life of a Disappointed Man 270
The Professor, by Goliah Gahagan 277
Biddy Tibbs, who cared for Nobody, by H. Holl 288
The Key of Granada 303
Glorvina, the Maid of Meath, by J. Sheridan Knowles 304
An Excellent Offer, by Marmaduke Blake 340
The Autobiography of a Good Joke 354
The Secret, by M. Paul de Kock 360
The Man with the Club-foot 381
A Remonstratory Ode to Mr. Cross on the Eruption of Mount Vesuvius,
by Joyce Jocund 413
Memoirs of Beau Nash 414
Grub-street News 425
The Confessions of an Elderly Gentleman 445
The Relics of St. Pius 462
A few Inquiries 470
Lines occasioned by the Death of Count Borowlaski 484
A Chapter on Widows 485
Petrarch in London 494
Adventures in Paris, by Toby Allspy:
The Five Floors No. I. 495; No. II. 575
Martial in Town 507
Astronomical Agitation--Reform of the Solar System 508
The Adventures of a Tale, by Mrs. Erskine Norton 511
When and Why the Devil Invented Brandy 518
The Wit in spite of Himself, by Richard Johns 521
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[Note: for this online edition I have moved the Table of Contents to
the beginning of the text.]
THE ENJOYMENT OF ART
BY
CARLETON NOYES
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1903
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY CARLETON NOYES
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published, March, 1903_
To
ROBERT HENRI
AND
VAN D. PERRINE
This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at
the crowded heaven,
And I said to my spirit _When we become the enfolders of
those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every
thing in them, shall we be fill'd and satisfied then?_
And my spirit said _No, we but level that lift to pass and
continue beyond._
WALT WHITMAN
CONTENTS
Preface
I. The Picture and the Man i
II. The Work of Art as Symbol 19
III. The Work of Art as Beautiful 41
IV. Art and Appreciation 67
V. The Artist 86
PREFACE
The following pages are the answer to questions which a young man
asked himself when, fresh from the university, he found himself
adrift in the great galleries of Europe. As he stood helpless and
confused in the presence of the visible expressions of the spirit of
man in so many ages and so many lands, one question recurred
insistently: _Why_ are these pictures? What is the meaning of all
this striving after expression? What was the aim of these men who
have left their record here? What was their moving impulse? Why,
why does the human spirit seek to manifest itself in forms which we
call beautiful?
He turned to histories of art and to biographies of artists, but he
found no answer! to the "Why?" The philosophers with their
theories of aesthetics helped him little to understand the dignity and
force of this portrait or the beauty of that landscape. In the
conversation of his artist friends there was no enlightenment, for
they talked about "values" and "planes of modeling" and the
mysteries of "tone." At last he turned in upon himself: What does
this canvas mean to me? And here he found his answer. This work
of art is the revelation to me of a fuller beauty, a deeper harmony,
than I have ever seen or felt. The artist is he who has experienced
this new wonder in nature and who wants to communicate his joy, in
concrete forms, to his fellow men.
The purpose of this book is to set forth in simple, untechnical
fashion the nature and the meaning of a work of art. Although the
illustrations of the underlying principles are drawn mainly from
pictures, yet the conclusions apply equally to books and to music. It
is true that the manifestations of the art-impulse are innumerable,
embracing not only painting, sculpture, literature, music, and
architecture, but also the handiwork of the craftsman in the
designing of a rug or in the fashioning of a cup or a candlestick; it is
true that each art has its special province and function, and that each
is peculiarly adapted to the expression of a certain order of emotion
or idea, and that the distinctions between one art and another are not
to be inconsiderately swept aside or obscured. Yet art is one. It is
possible, without confusing the individual characteristics essential to
each, to discuss these principles under the comprehensive rubric of
Art.
The attempt is made here to reduce the supposed mysteries of art
discussion to the basis of practical, every-day intelligence and
common sense. What the ordinary man who feels himself in any
way attracted; towards art needs is not more and constantly more
pictures to look at, not added lore about them, not further knowledge
of the men and the times that have produced them; but rather what
he needs is some understanding of what the artist has aimed to
express, and, as reinforcing that understanding, the capacity rightly
to appreciate and enjoy.
It is hoped that in this book the artist may find expressed with
simplicity and justice his own highest aims; and that the appreciator
and the layman may gain some insight into the meaning of art
expression, and that they may be helped a little on their way to the
enjoyment of art.
HARVARD COLLEGE, _December tenth, 1902._
I
THE PICTURE AND THE MAN
At any exhibition of paintings, more particularly at some public
gallery or museum, one can hardly fail to reflect that an interest in
pictures is unmistakably widespread. People are there in
considerable numbers, and what is more striking, they seem to
represent every station and walk in life. It is evident that pictures, as
exhibited to the public, are not the cult of an initiated few; their
appeal is manifestly to no one class; and this popular interest is as
genuine as it is extended.
Thus reflectively scanning the crowd, the observer asks himself:
What has attracted these numbers to that which might be supposed
not to be understood of the many? And what are the pictures that in
general draw the popular attention?
A few persons have of course drifted into the exhibition out of
curiosity or from lack of something better to do. So much is evident
at once, for these file past the walls listlessly, seldom stopping, and
then but to glance at those pictures which are most obviously like
the familiar object they pretend to represent,--such as the bowl of
flowers which the beholder can almost smell, the theatre-checks and
five-dollar note pasted on a wall which tempt him to finger them, or
the panel of game birds which puzzles him to determine whether the
birds are real or not. These visitors, however, are not the most
numerous. With the great majority it is not enough that the picture
be a clever piece of imitation or illusion: transferring their interest
from the mere execution, they demand further that the subjects
represented shall be pleasing. The crowd pause before a sunny
landscape, with cows standing by the shaded pool; they gather about
the brilliant portrait of a woman splendidly arrayed,--a favorite
actress or a social celebrity; they linger before a group of children
wading in a brook, or a dog crouching mournfully by an empty
cradle. At length, with an approving and sympathetic word of
comment, they pass on to the next pleasing picture. Some canvases,
not the most popular ones, are yet not without their interest for a few;
these visitors are taking things a little more seriously; they do not try
to see every picture, they do not hurry; they seem to be considering
the canvas immediately before them with concentrated attention.
No one of all these people is insensible to the appeal of the
picturesque: their presence at the exhibition is evidence of that. In
life they like to see a bowl of flowers, a sunny landscape, a beautiful
woman in beautiful surroundings; and naturally they are interested
in that which represents and recalls the reality. At once it is plain,
however, that to different individuals the various pictures appeal in
different measure and for differing reasons. To one the very fact of
representation is a mystery and fascination. To another the important
thing is the subject; the picture must represent what he likes in
nature or in life. To a third the subject itself is of less concern than
what the painter wanted to say about it: the artist saw a beauty
manifested by an ugly beggar, perhaps, and he wanted to show that
beauty to his fellows, who could not perceive it for themselves.
The special interest in pictures of each of these three men is not
without its warrant in experience. What man is wholly indifferent to
the display of human skill? Who is there without his store of
pleasurable associations, who is not stirred by any call which rouses
them into play? What lover of beauty is not ever awake to the
revelation of new beauty? Indeed, upon these three principles
together, though in varying proportion, depends the full significance
of a great work of art.
As the lover of pictures looks back over the period of his conscious
interest in exhibitions and galleries, it is not improbable that his
earliest memories attach themselves to those paintings which most
closely resembled the object represented. He remembers the great
wonder which he felt that a man with mere paint and canvas could
so reproduce the reality of nature. So it is that those paintings which
are perhaps the first to attract the man who feels an interest in
pictures awakening are such as display most obviously the painter's
skill. Whatever the subject imitated, the fascination remains; that
such illusion is possible at all is the mystery and the delight.
But as his interest in pictures grows with indulgence, as his
experience widens, the beholder becomes gradually aware that he is
making a larger demand. After the first shock of pleasurable surprise
is worn away, he finds that the repeated exhibition of the painter's
dexterity ceases to satisfy him; these clever pieces of deception
manifest a wearying sameness, after all; and the beholder begins
now to look for something more than mere expertness. Thinking on
his experience, he concludes that the subjects which can be imitated
deceptively are limited in range and interest; he has a vague,
disquieting sense that somehow these pictures do not mean anything.
Yet he is puzzled. Art aims to represent, he tells himself, and it
should follow that the best art is that which represents most closely
and exactly. He recalls, perhaps, the legend of the two Greek
painters, one with his picture of the fruit which the birds flew down
to peck at, the other with his painting of a | 197.262359 |
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[Illustration: A LONELY HOUSE. Page 40.]
LIVING TOO FAST;
OR,
The Confessions of a Bank Officer,
BY
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
(_Oliver Optic_.)
AUTHOR OF “IN DOORS AND OUT,” “THE WAY OF THE WORLD,”
“YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD,” &C. &C.
_ILLUSTRATED._
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM,
1876.
COPYRIGHT,
By WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
1876.
Electrotyped by C. C. Morse & Son, Haverhill, Mass.
PREFACE.
The story contained in this volume records the experience of a bank
officer, “living too fast,” in the downward career of crime. The
writer is entirely willing now to believe that this career ought to
have ended in the state prison; but his work is a story, and he has
chosen—perhaps unhappily—to punish the defaulter in another way.
Yet running through the narrative for the sake of the contrast, is
the experience of a less showy, but more honest young man than the
principal character, who represents the true life the young business
man ought to lead. The author is not afraid that any of his young
friends who may read this book will be tempted into an “irregularity”
by the example of the delinquent bank officer, for it will be found
that his career of crime is full of remorse and positive suffering.
DORCHESTER, JULY 1, 1876.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.
GETTING A SITUATION, 11
CHAPTER II.
MISS LILIAN OLIPHANT, 27
CHAPTER III.
GOING TO HOUSEKEEPING, 42
CHAPTER IV.
THE ENGLISH BASEMENT HOUSE, 57
CHAPTER V.
LILIAN ASTONISHED—SO AM I, 72
CHAPTER VI.
A FAMILY JAR, 87
CHAPTER VII.
A SHADOW OF SUSPICION, 102
CHAPTER VIII.
COMING TO THE POINT, 116
CHAPTER IX.
A LONELY HOUSE, 131
CHAPTER X.
MY WIFE AND I, 145
CHAPTER XI.
OVER THE PRECIPICE, 160
CHAPTER XII.
A KEEPER IN THE HOUSE, 174
CHAPTER XIII.
THE SECOND STEP, 187
CHAPTER XIV.
THE HOUSE-WARMING, 201
CHAPTER XV.
MY UNCLE IS SAVAGE, 214
CHAPTER XVI.
CORMORIN AND I, 228
CHAPTER XVII.
PROVIDING FOR THE WORST, 242
CHAPTER XVIII.
BUSTUMUPS AT FIFTY, 256
CHAPTER XIX.
A CRASH IN COPPERS, 270
CHAPTER XX.
THE LAST STEP, 283
CHAPTER XXI.
AN EXILE FROM HOME, 297
CHAPTER XXII.
CHARLES GASPILLER, 311
CHAPTER XXIII.
MY CONFESSION, 324
CHAPTER XXIV.
AUNT RACHEL’S WILL, 337
LIVING TOO FAST;
OR,
THE CONFESSIONS OF A BANK OFFICER.
_CHAPTER I._
GETTING A SITUATION.
[Illustration]
“I DON’T wish to stand in your way, Tom Flynn.”
“And I don’t wish to stand in your way, Paley Glasswood,” replied Tom,
with a refreshing promptness, which was intended to assure me, and did
assure me, that he was my friend, and that he was unwilling to take any
unfair advantage of me.
Tom and myself were applicants for the situation of discount clerk
in the Forty-ninth National Bank of Boston. We had submitted our
applications separately, and each without the knowledge of the
other. If we had taken counsel together before doing so, possibly
some sentimental outbreak would have prevented one or the other from
placing himself even in a seeming attitude of competition with the
other. We had been schoolmates in Springhaven, had been cronies,
and agreed as well as boys usually do. It is true he had given me a
tremendous thrashing on one occasion, when I ventured to regard myself
as physically his equal. Though I could not quite forgive him for the
drubbing he gave me, I did not respect him any the less. While we were
good friends, as the world goes, I was sometimes rather annoyed by the
consciousness of being slightly his inferior.
Tom was always a little ahead of me in scholarship, and always
contrived to come out just in advance of me in every thing in which we
were brought into real or fancied rivalry with each other. Still he
was never so far before me as to shut me out of the sphere in which he
moved. But in spite of my repeated partial defeats, I regarded myself
as fully his equal. Perhaps my vanity assured me that I was slightly
his superior, for, like the rest of the world, I was human then, as I
have unfortunately proved myself to be since. I was tolerably sure that
in the great battle of life which all of us are compelled to fight, I
should come out all right. When it came to the matter of business, I
was confident that I should outstrip him.
Both of us had been graduated at the Springhaven High School, with the
highest honors, though as usual Tom was a little higher than myself,
for while he received the first diploma, the second was awarded to me.
Tom was my friend, and always treated me with the utmost kindness and
consideration, but I could not help feeling just a little stung by his
superiority; by his continually coming out about half a length ahead
of me. Springhaven is not so far from the metropolis of New England as
to be regarded as a provincial town; and though engaging in business
anywhere except in the great city was not the height of his or my
ambition, Tom had gone into a store in his native place, and obtained
his earliest knowledge of the ways of the world. But when he was
twenty-one he obtained a situation in an office in the city in which
he received a salary of six hundred dollars a year.
Again, at this interesting period of life which seems to be the
beginning of all things to a young man, Tom was ahead of me, for I
had gone to the city as a boy of sixteen, and when I was of age, my
employers refused to give me over five hundred a year. Tom had been
lucky—this was my view of the case. Tom had blundered into a good
situation, and it was no merit of his own. I deserved something better
than I had, and it was only the stupid and stingy policy of the firm
which had “brought me up” that rendered my position inferior to that of
my friend.
I had one advantage over my friendly rival, however, in my own
estimation. My character was above suspicion, which could not be said
of Tom, though in the city not a word affecting his reputation had ever
been breathed, so far as I was aware. At the store in Springhaven where
Tom had served two years as a clerk, several sums of money had been
missed. There was no proof that Tom took them, but a few people in town
knew that he was suspected of the theft, especially as he appeared to
be living beyond his income. I do not believe my friend even knew that
he was suspected of the theft, but inasmuch as he was the only person
besides the two partners who had access to the safe where the money was
kept, it seemed probable to Mr. Gorham, the senior member, that he was
guilty.
It was a serious matter, and the two partners used every effort to
discover the thief. They put decoys in the safe, such as marked bank
bills, and resorted to various expedients, but it always happened
that none of these traps were ever disturbed. Though various sums
mysteriously disappeared, the decoys were never touched. Mr. Gorham
declared that Tom was too smart for him, and Mr. Welch, the junior,
never said much about the matter. At a convenient time, without
stating any reason for the step, Tom was informed that his services
were no longer required; that a change in the business rendered them
unnecessary. The junior partner retired from the firm, and the senior
carried on the store alone.
Mr. Gorham was a relative of my mother, and knowing of my intimacy with
Tom, he regarded it as his duty to inform her of the suspicions which
he entertained. My mother was shocked and appalled. Tom was the son of
one of the best men in the town, and as there was no direct proof of
the crime, it was not deemed expedient to say anything about it. Mr.
Gorham did not say anything, except to my mother, and she, appreciating
the kindness of her kinsman, faithfully promised to keep the momentous
secret. Probably there were not a half dozen persons in Springhaven who
knew that Tom left his place under suspicion, and those were the family
and intimate friends of the storekeeper.
I will not say that the knowledge of this circumstance afforded me
any satisfaction, but it helped me to feel that I was the superior
of Tom; that in being honest I had a decided advantage over him. I
could not disbelieve the story as it came from the lips of my mother,
though it was possible there was some mistake. Within three years after
the change in the firm of Gorham & Welch, the junior partner “went
to destruction,” and in the light of this after revelation, it was
possible that he had appropriated the money. Mr. Gorham hinted as much
to my mother, and she, knowing that Tom and myself were still intimate,
gave me the suggestion as a confirmation of what I had always said in
his defence. I had found it quite impossible to dissolve my relations
with Tom, strongly as my mother desired it. Without exactly believing
that he was guilty of the whispered iniquity, I felt that he would be a
sufferer on account of it.
The position in the bank for which we were both applicants, was
considered a remarkably good one for a young man like Tom or me. I had
considerable influence which I could bring to bear upon the directors,
and so had my friend, but it seemed to be an even thing between him and
me. In the light of past experience, I felt that Tom would get ahead of
me again, and I was intensely anxious to succeed, in order that I might
regain the ground I had continually lost.
I have called my book “Confessions.” I mean that they shall be such;
and of course I do not set myself up as a model man. I did wrong, and
that was the source of all my misery. I shall not, therefore, deem it
necessary to apologize for each individual fault of which I was guilty.
My readers can blame me as they will—and I deserve the severest
censure. I have sent grief and dismay into the bosoms of my friends,
and my story is a warning voice to all who are disposed to yield to the
temptations which beset every man in his business relations.
I met Tom Flynn on the street, and I think he was sincerely desirous
not to step into my path. I am confident he had a genuine regard for
me, and that, if he could have been sure of securing the situation in
the bank to me by withdrawing from the competition himself, he would
have done so on the moment. But there were other applicants, and if he
retired from the field at all, he was as likely to do it in favor of
some stranger as of me.
“I should like the place, Tom, though I don’t wish to stand in your
way,” I added; but in saying so, I am afraid I only indulged in a
conventional form of speech, desiring only to appear to be as generous
and self-sacrificing as he was.
“Of course it is my duty to do as well as I can for myself, but if I
can get out of your way without losing the chance for one of us, I will
do so.”
“Thank you, Tom. That’s handsome, and I would do as much for you; but
as neither of us can foresee the issue, we will each do the best he can
to get the place. That’s fair.”
“Certainly it is; and whichever is successful, there shall be no hard
feelings on the part of the other.”
At that moment Tom raised his hat to a lady, and turning from me spoke
to her. She was a beautiful creature, and though it would have been
quite proper for me to terminate the interview, I was not inclined to
do so, for the lady filled my eye, and I could not help looking at her.
“Be sure and come, Mr. Flynn,” said she.
“I shall certainly go if nothing unforeseen occurs,” replied he. “Miss
Oliphant, allow me to make you acquainted with my particular friend,
Mr. Paley Glasswood,” he added, turning to me.
I was very glad indeed to know her, for I could not remember that any
lady had ever before made so captivating an impression upon me, even
after a much longer acquaintance. She was not only very pretty, but
she was elegantly dressed, and I concluded that she belonged to some
“nobby” family. I was pleased with her, and said some of the prettiest | 197.357431 |
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A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
VOLUME VII
By
VOLTAIRE
EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION
THE WORKS OF VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H.G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
FORTY-THREE VOLUMES
One hundred and sixty-eight designs, comprising reproductions
of rare old engravings, steel plates, photogravures,
and curious fac-similes
VOLUME XI
E.R. DuMONT
PARIS--LONDON--NEW YORK--CHICAGO
1901
_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_ "Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared eighteen hundred
years apart, there is a mysterious relation. * * * * Let us say it
with a sentiment of profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization."_
_VICTOR HUGO_.
LIST OF PLATES--Vol. VII
OLD ROUEN--frontispiece
MONTESQUIEU
THE DREAM OF HUMAN LIFE
ANCIENT ROME
[Illustration: Old Rouen.]
* * * * *
VOLTAIRE
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY.
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. VII
JOSEPH-MISSION
* * * * *
JOSEPH.
The history of Joseph, considering it merely as an object of curiosity
and literature, is one of the most precious monuments of antiquity which
has reached us. It appears to be the model of all the Oriental writers;
it is more affecting than the "Odyssey"; for a hero who pardons is more
touching than one who avenges.
We regard the Arabs as the first authors of these ingenious fictions,
which have passed into all languages; but I see among them no adventures
comparable to those of Joseph. Almost all in it is wonderful, and the
termination exacts tears of tenderness. He was a young man of sixteen
years of age, of whom his brothers were jealous; he is sold by them to a
caravan of Ishmaelite merchants, conducted into Egypt, and bought by a
eunuch of the king. This eunuch had a wife, which is not at all
extraordinary; the kislar aga, a perfect eunuch, has a seraglio at this
day at Constantinople; they left him some of his senses, and nature in
consequence is not altogether extinguished. No matter; the wife of
Potiphar falls in love with the young Joseph, who, faithful to his
master and benefactor, rejects the advances of this woman. She is
irritated at it, and accuses Joseph of attempting to seduce her. Such is
the history of Hippolytus and Phaedra, of Bellerophon and Zenobia, of
Hebrus and Damasippa, of Myrtilus and Hippodamia, etc.
It is difficult to know which is the original of all these histories;
but among the ancient Arabian authors there is a tract relating to the
adventure of Joseph and Potiphar's wife, which is very ingenious. The
author supposes that Potiphar, uncertain between the assertions of his
wife and Joseph, regarded not Joseph's tunic, which his wife had torn as
a proof of the young man's outrage. There was a child in a cradle in his
wife's chamber; and Joseph said that she seized and tore his tunic in
the presence of this infant. Potiphar consulted the child, whose mind
was very advanced for its age. The child said to Potiphar: "See if the
tunic is torn behind or before; if before, it is a proof that Joseph
would embrace your wife by force, and that she defended herself; if
behind, it is a proof that your wife detained Joseph." Potiphar, thanks
to the genius of the child, recognized the innocence of his slave. It is
thus that this adventure is related in the Koran, after the Arabian
author. It informs us not to whom the infant belonged, who judged with
so much wit. If it was not a son of Potiphar, Joseph was not the first
whom this woman had seduced.
However that may be, according to Genesis, Joseph is put in prison,
where he finds himself in company with the butler and baker of the king
of Egypt. These two prisoners of state both dreamed one night. Joseph
explains their dreams; he predicted that in three days the butler would
be received again into favor, and that the baker would be hanged; which
failed not to happen.
Two years afterwards the king of Egypt also dreams, and his butler tells
him that there is a young Jew in prison who is the first man in the
world for the interpretation of dreams. The king causes the young man to
be brought to him, who foretells seven years of abundance and seven of
sterility.
Let us here interrupt the thread of the history to remark, of what
prodigious antiquity is the interpretation of dreams. Jacob saw in a
dream the mysterious ladder at the top of which was God Himself. In a
dream he learned a method of multiplying his flocks, a method which
never succeeded with any but himself. Joseph himself had learned by a
dream that he should one day govern his brethren. Abimelech, a long time
before, had been warned in a dream, that Sarah was the wife of Abraham.
To return to Joseph: after explaining the dream of Pharaoh, he was made
first minister on the spot. We doubt if at present a king could be
found, even in Asia, who would bestow such an office in return for an
interpreted dream. Pharaoh espoused Joseph to a daughter of Potiphar. It
is said that this Potiphar was high-priest of Heliopolis; he was not
therefore the eunuch, his first master; or if it was the latter, he had
another title besides that of high-priest; and his wife had been a
mother more than once.
However, the famine happened, as Joseph had foretold; and Joseph, to
merit the good graces of his king, forced all the people to sell their
land to Pharaoh, and all the nation became slaves to procure corn. This
is apparently the origin of despotic power. It must be confessed, that
never king made a better bargain; but the people also should no less
bless the prime minister.
Finally, the father and brothers of Joseph had also need of corn, for
"the famine was sore in all lands." It is scarcely necessary to relate
here how Joseph received his brethren; how he pardoned and enriched
them. In this history is found all that constitutes an interesting epic
poem--exposition, plot, recognition, adventures, and the marvellous;
nothing is more strongly marked with the stamp of Oriental genius.
What the good man Jacob, the father of Joseph, answered to Pharaoh,
ought to strike all those who know how to read. "How old art thou?" said
the king to him. "The days of the years of my pilgrimage," said the old
man, "are an hundred and thirty years; few and evil have the days of the
years of my life been."
JUDAEA.
I never was in Judaea, thank God! and I never will go there. I have met
with men of all nations who have returned from it, and they have all of
them told me that the situation of Jerusalem is horrible; that all the
land round it is stony; that the mountains are bare; that the famous
river Jordan is not more than forty feet wide; that the only good spot
in the country is Jericho; in short, they all spoke of it as St. Jerome
did, who resided a long time in Bethlehem, and describes the country as
the refuse and rubbish of nature. He says that in summer the inhabitants
cannot get even water to drink. This country, however, must have
appeared to the Jews luxuriant and delightful, in comparison with the
deserts in which they originated. Were the wretched inhabitants of the
Landes to quit them for some of the mountains of Lampourdan, how would
they exult and delight in the change; and how would they hope eventually
to penetrate into the fine and fruitful districts of Languedoc, which
would be to them the land of promise!
Such is precisely the history of the Jews. Jericho and Jerusalem are
Toulouse and Montpellier, and the desert of Sinai is the country between
Bordeaux and Bayonne.
But if the God who conducted the Israelites wished to bestow upon them a
pleasant and fruitful land; if these wretched people had in fact dwelt
in Egypt, why did he not permit them to remain in Egypt? To this we are
answered only in the usual language of theology.
Judaea, it is said, was the promised land. God said to Abraham: "I will
give thee all the country between the river of Egypt and the Euphrates."
Alas! my friends, you never have had possession of those fertile banks
of the Euphrates and the Nile. You have only been duped and made fools
of. You have almost always been slaves. To promise and to perform, my
poor unfortunate fellows, are different things. There was an old rabbi
once among you, who, when reading your shrewd and sagacious prophecies,
announcing for you a land of milk and honey, remarked that you had been
promised more butter than bread. Be assured that were the great Turk
this very day to offer me the lordship (seigneurie) of Jerusalem, I
would positively decline it.
Frederick III., when he saw this detestable country, said, loudly enough
to be distinctly heard, that Moses must have been very ill-advised to
conduct his tribe of lepers to such a place as that. "Why," says
Frederick, did he not go to Naples? Adieu, my dear Jews; I am extremely
sorry that the promised land is the lost land.
By the Baron de Broukans.
JULIAN.
SECTION I.
Justice is often done at last. Two or three authors, either venal or
fanatical, eulogize the cruel and effeminate Constantine as if he had
been a god, and treat as an absolute miscreant the just, the wise, and
the great Julian. All other authors, copying from these, repeat both the
flattery and the calumny. They become almost an article of faith. At
length the age of sound criticism arrives; and at the end of fourteen
hundred years, enlightened men revise the cause which had been decided
by ignorance. In Constantine we see a man of successful ambition,
internally scoffing at things divine as well as human. He has the
insolence to pretend that God sent him a standard in the air to assure
him of victory. He imbrues himself in the blood of all his relations,
and is lulled to sleep in all the effeminacy of luxury; but he is a
Christian--he is canonized.
Julian is sober, chaste, disinterested, brave, and clement; but he is
not a Christian--he has long been considered a monster.
At the present day--after having compared facts, memorials and records,
the writings of Julian and those of his enemies--we are compelled to
acknowledge that, if he was not partial to Christianity, he was somewhat
excusable in hating a sect stained with the blood of all his family; and
that although he had been persecuted, imprisoned, exiled, and threatened
with death by the Galileans, under the reign of the cruel and sanguinary
Constantius, he never persecuted them, but on the contrary even pardoned
ten Christian soldiers who had conspired against his life. His letters
are read and admired: "The Galileans," says he, "under my predecessor,
suffered exile and imprisonment; and those who, according to the change
of circumstances, were called heretics, were reciprocally massacred in
their turn. I have called home their exiles, I have liberated their
prisoners, I have restored their property to those who were proscribed,
and have compelled them to live in peace; but such is the restless rage
of these Galileans that they deplore their inability any longer to
devour one another." What a letter! What a sentence, dictated by
philosophy, against persecuting fanaticism. Ten Christians conspiring
against his life, he detects and he pardons them. How extraordinary a
man! What dastardly fanatics must those be who attempt to throw disgrace
on his memory!
In short, on investigating facts with impartiality, we are obliged to
admit that Julian possessed all the qualities of Trajan, with the
exception of that depraved taste too long pardoned to the Greeks and
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SMALL HORSES IN WARFARE
[Illustration: _Frederick Taylor, pinxt._ ON THE ALERT.]
SMALL HORSES IN WARFARE
BY
SIR WALTER GILBEY, BART.
ILLUSTRATED
VINTON & CO., LTD.
9, NEW BRIDGE STREET, LONDON, E.C.
1900
CONTENTS.
HORSES IN THE CRIMEAN WAR
CAPE HORSES
PONIES IN THE SOUDAN
BURNABY'S RIDE TO KHIVA
POST HORSES IN SIBERIA
PONIES IN INDIA
PONIES IN NORTHERN AFRICA
PONIES IN MOROCCO
PONIES IN EASTERN ASIA
PONIES IN AUSTRALIA
PONIES IN AMERICA AND TEXAS
ARMY HORSES OF THE FUTURE
BREEDING SMALL HORSES
APPENDIX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
ON THE ALERT
BASHI BAZOUK
ONE OF REMINGTON'S HORSE
SIX ORIGINAL PENCIL SKETCHES BY HENRY ALKEN
GIMCRACK
_The present seems an appropriate time to put forward a few facts which
go to prove the peculiar suitability of small horses for certain
campaigning work which demands staying power, hardiness and independence
of high feeding. The circumstance that the military authorities have
been obliged to look to foreign countries for supplies of such horses
for the war in South Africa has suggested the propriety of pointing out
that we possess in England foundation stock from which we may be able to
raise a breed of small horses equal to, or better than, any we are now
obliged to procure abroad._
_Elsenham Hall, Essex, May, 1900._
SMALL HORSES IN WARFARE.
The campaign in South Africa has proved beyond doubt the necessity for a
strong force similar to that of the Boers. Their rapidity of movement
has given us an important lesson in the military value of horses of that
useful type which is suitable for light cavalry and mounted infantry.
Since the war broke out we have seen that we possess numbers of men able
to ride and shoot, who only need a little training to develop them into
valuable soldiers, but our difficulty throughout has been to provide
horses of the stamp required for the work they have to perform. The
experience we have gained in South Africa goes to confirm that acquired
in the Crimea, where it was found that the horses sent out from England
were unable to withstand the climate, poor food, and the hardships to
which they were subjected, while the small native horses and those bred
in countries further East suffered little from these causes. It was
then proved beyond dispute that these small horses are both hardy and
enduring, while, owing to their possession like our English
thoroughbreds of a strong strain of Arab blood, they were speedy enough
for light cavalry purposes.
Breeders of every class of horse, saving only those who breed the
Shetland pony and the few who aim at getting ponies for polo, have for
generations made it their object to obtain increased height. There is
nothing to be urged against this policy in so far as certain breeds are
concerned; the sixteen-hand thoroughbred with his greater stride is more
likely to win races than the horse of fifteen two; the sixteen-hand
carriage horse, other qualities being equal, brings a better price than
one of less stature; and the Shire horse of 16.2 or 17 hands has
commonly in proportion greater strength and weight, the qualities most
desirable in him, than a smaller horse. Thus we can show excellent
reason for our endeavours to increase the height of our most valuable
breeds; and the long period that has elapsed since we were last called
upon to put forward our military strength has allowed us to lose sight
of the great importance of other qualities.
Breeders and horsemen are well aware, though the general public may not
know or may not realise the fact, that increased height in the horse
does not necessarily involve increased strength in all directions, such
as greater weight-carrying power and more endurance. Granting that the
saying, "a good big horse is better than a good little one," is in the
main correct, we have to consider that the merits which go to make a
useful horse for campaigning are infinitely more common in small horses
than in big ones.
All the experience of campaigners, explorers and travellers goes to
prove that small compact animals between 13.2 and 14.2 hands high are
those on which reliance can be placed for hard and continuous work on
scanty and innutritious food.
HORSES IN THE CRIMEAN WAR.
During the Crimean War I was located for a short time at Abydos in Asia
Minor, on the shores of the Dardanelles, and had daily opportunities of
seeing the horses and studying the manoeuvres of some 3,000 mounted
Bashi Bazouks and Armenian troops who were encamped there under General
Beatson in readiness for summons to the Crimea, whither they were
eventually dispatched.
The horses on which these troops were mounted ranged from 14 hands to
14.3; all had a strong strain of Arab blood, and had come with the
troops from the Islands of the Archipelago. They were perfect horses for
light cavalry work. The economy with which they were fed was surprising:
their feed consisted principally of chopped straw with a small daily
ration of barley when the grain was procurable, which was not always the
case; and on this diet they continued in condition to endure long
journeys which would have speedily broken down the best English charger
in the British army.
CAPE HORSES.
The universal opinion of residents in South Africa is against the
introduction of imported horses for general work, inasmuch as they
cannot withstand the climate, hard living, bad roads and rough usage
which make up the conditions of a horse's life in the Colony.
In past years, before the present war, large numbers of English
horses have been sent to Natal for military service, but the results
were not satisfactory; all became useless, and the large majority died;
the change from English stables and English methods of management to
those in vogue in the Colony almost invariably proved fatal.
[Illustration: BASHI BAZOUK]
Some five years ago, when discussing with Mr. Cecil Rhodes the
advisability of introducing into Cape Colony English sires to improve
the stamp of horse bred in South Africa, he gave his opinion against
such measures. He pointed out that highly bred and large horses were
unsuitable for the work required in the Colony; they needed greater care
in housing, feeding, and grooming than the conditions of life in South
Africa would allow owners to bestow upon them. The hardships attendant
upon long journeys over rough country, the extremes of heat and cold
which horses must endure with insufficient shelter or none at all, must
inevitably overtax the stamina which has been weakened by generations of
luxurious existence in England.
Mr. Rhodes considered that no infusion of English blood would enhance
the powers of the small colonial bred horse to perform the work required
of him under local conditions; that though thoroughbred blood would
improve him in height and speed, these advantages would be obtained at
the cost of such indispensable qualities as endurance and ability to
thrive on poor and scanty fare.
It is however permissible to suppose that a gradual infusion of good
blood carefully chosen might in course of time benefit the Cape breed.
The use only of horses which have become acclimatised would perhaps
produce better results than have hitherto been obtained. The progeny
reared under the ordinary conditions prevailing in the Colony would
perpetuate good qualities, retaining the hardiness of the native breed.
PONIES IN THE SOUDAN.
The late Colonel P. H. S. Barrow furnished a most interesting and
suggestive Report to the War Office on the Arabs which were used by his
regiment, the 19th Hussars, during the Nile campaign of 1885. This
report is published among the Appendices to Colonel John Biddulph's
work, _The XIXth and their Times_ (1899).
Experience, in the words of Colonel Biddulph, had shown that English
horses could not stand hard work under a tropical sun with scarcity of
water and desert fare. It was therefore decided before leaving Cairo | 197.460297 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)
Some corrections have been made. The names of places mentioned have
been left as spelled in the original. Bounaparte has been corrected to
Buonaparte where it appeared in the text.
THE
NAPOLEON GALLERY
OR,
Illustrations of the Life and Times
OF THE
EMPEROR OF FRANCE
ENGRAVED BY REVEIL, AND OTHER EMINENT ARTISTS, FROM ALL
THE MOST CELEBRATED PICTURES IN FRANCE
PUBLISHED BY
ESTES & LAURIAT
BOSTON
_Copyright, 1888._
BY ESTES & LAURIAT.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
I. THE ACTION AT ST. ROCHE’S
II. ENTERING MILAN
III. “WHAT A LESSON FOR MAN!”
IV. THE BATTLE OF RIVOLI
V. NAPOLEON AT LONATO
VI. DEFENDING THE REDOUBT OF MONTE LEGINO
VII. PRELIMINARIES OF THE PEACE OF LEOBEN
VIII. CROSSING THE BRIDGE AT ARCOLA
IX. THE CISALPINE REPUBLIC
X. THE BATTLE OF THE PYRAMIDS
XI. THE REVOLT OF CAIRO
XII. THE FIGHT AT BENOUTH
XIII. THE SPEECH AT THE PYRAMIDS
XIV. “ALL WHOM I COMMAND ARE MY CHILDREN”
XV. BUONAPARTE PARDONING THE REBELS AT CAIRO
XVI. THE PLAGUE OF JAFFA
XVII. “YOU ARE THE GREATEST OF MEN!”
XVIII. NAPOLEON INSCRIBING HIS NAME ON MOUNT SINAI
XIX. NAPOLEON AT MALMAISON
XX. THE BATTLE OF MARENGO
XXI. THE BATTLE OF ABOUKIR
XXII. THE REVIEW BY THE FIRST CONSUL
XXIII. BUONAPARTE AT MOUNT ST. BERNARD
XXIV. THE DEATH OF DESAIX
XXV. THE CORONATION OF NAPOLEON
XXVI. THE FIRST CORPS CROSSING THE MAINE
XXVII. THE FOURTH CORPS AT DONAWERTH
XXVIII. THE EMPEROR’S ARRIVAL AT AUGSBURG
XXIX. NAPOLEON CROWNED KING OF ITALY
XXX. NAPOLEON CROSSING THE RHINE AT KEHL
XXXI. THE FOURTH CORPS ENTERING AUGSBURG
XXXII. NAPOLEON ADDRESSES THE ARMY
XXXIII. THE SURRENDER OF ULM
XXXIV. NAPOLEON RECEIVING THE KEYS OF VIENNA
XXXV. THE MORNING OF AUSTERLITZ
XXXVI. PRESENTATION OF AUSTRIAN ENSIGNS TO THE FRENCH SENATE
XXXVII. THE SEVENTY-SIXTH REGIMENT RECOVERING ITS COLORS
XXXVIII. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE OF AUSTERLITZ
XXXIX. THE BATTLE OF AUSTERLITZ
XL. NAPOLEON’S INTERVIEW WITH THE AUSTRIAN EMPEROR
XLI. STATUES ON THE COLUMN OF THE GRAND ARMY
XLII. THE DUCHESS OF WEIMAR AND NAPOLEON
XLIII. NAPOLEON RECEIVING THE DEPUTIES OF THE SENATE
XLIV. THE SWORD OF FREDERICK THE GREAT
XLV. THE BATTLE OF JENA
XLVI. MARSHAL NEY AT ELCHINGEN
XLVII. NAPOLEON’S CLEMENCY
XLVIII. THE FIELD OF BATTLE AT EYLAU
XLIX. THE BATTLE OF FRIEDLAND
L. THE SIMPLON PASS
LI. BATTLE OF ESSLING
LII. NAPOLEON WOUNDED AT RATISBON
LIII. THE COMBAT AT SOMO SIERRA
LIV. NAPOLEON’S INTERVIEW WITH THE PRUSSIAN QUEEN
LV. THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW
LVI. THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF MONTEBELLO
LVII. NAPOLEON AT THE TOMB OF FREDERICK THE GREAT
LVIII. THE PEASANT OF THE RHINE
LIX. THE REDOUBT OF KABRUNN
LX. “IS IT TRUE THAT THINGS ARE GOING SO BADLY?”
LXI. THE BATTLE OF MOSCOW
LXII. THE SKIRMISH
LXIII. “EVERY ONE TO HIS OWN CALLING”
LXIV. THE DEATH OF PONIATOWSKI
LXV. NAPOLEON AT LUTZEN
LXVI. THE BATTLE OF MONTMIRAIL
LXVII. NAPOLEON AT MONTEREAU
LXVIII. NAPOLEON’S FAREWELL AT FONTAINBLEAU
LXIX. THE BATTLE OF HAINAU
LXX. NAPOLEON AT ARCIS-SUR-AUBE
LXXI. FILIAL ANXIETY OF A CONSCRIPT
LXXII. THE TURNPIKE OF CLICHY
LXXIII. THE RETURN FROM ELBA
LXXIV. NAPOLEON AT CHARLEROI
LXXV. NAPOLEON AT WATERLOO
LXXVI. NAPOLEON SALUTING WOUNDED FOES
LXXVII. NAPOLEON IN 1815
LXXVIII. TAKING THE OATH OF ALLEGIANCE
LXXIX. A SOLDIER’S FAREWELL
LXXX. A SOLDIER AT WATERLOO
LXXXI. A FIELD HOSPITAL
LXXXII. ARC DE TRIOMPHE DE L’ETOILE
LXXXIII. DEATH-BED OF NAPOLEON
LXXXIV. NAPOLEON AS LIEUTENANT-COLONEL
LXXXV. THE TRIUMPHAL COLUMN
LXXXVI. STATUE OF NAPOLEON BY CHAUDET
LXXXVII. APOTHEOSIS
LXXXVIII. NAPOLEON, EMPEROR
LXXXIX. THE DEATH-MASK OF NAPOLEON
XC. THE FUNERAL PROCESSION AT THE ARC DE TRIOMPHE
XCI. ESPLANADE OF THE HOTEL DES INVALIDES
XCII. THE CATAFALQUE, DÔME DES INVALIDES
XCIII. THE FUNERAL CAR
XCIV. OPENING THE CASKET
XCV. ROYAL COURT OF THE HOTEL DES INVALIDES
THE ACTION AT ST. ROCHE’S.
On the 4th of October, 1795, at six o’clock in the morning, Napoleon
visited every post, and placed his troops in line. They were few in
number, and might easily have been destroyed by the populace.
While everything portended a sanguinary affair, the danger becoming
every instant more pressing, the Convention discussed the situation
without coming to any decision. Suddenly a column of a few battalions
headed by Lafond, an emigrant, appeared on Point Neuf, and obliged
Cartaux to fall back under the posterns. At about a quarter past four
some rockets were fired from the _Hotel de Noailles_. This was the
signal for the attack. Lafond’s column wheeled round, and marched on the
_Pont Royal_ along the _Quai Voltaire_. This column was routed by the
artillery of the Louvre and _Pont Royal_ after rallying three times
under the fire. St. Roche was taken, and every other post occupied by
the sectionaries, was cleared. At six o’clock, the affray was over; and
if a few cannon were heard during the night, they were discharged to
destroy the barricades which some of the citizens still wished to
maintain.
[Illustration: THE ACTION AT St. ROCHE’S.]
ENTERING MILAN.
On the 15th of May, 1796, Napoleon made his entry into Milan, amidst the
acclamations of the populace; his troops passing under a triumphal arch.
From that day the Italians adopted the tri- ensign--green, red
and white.
Napoleon remained only a few days in Milan, where he received d’Este,
natural brother of the Duke of Modena, who came to solicit the
protection of the French army. Buonaparte treated with the Duke of
Modena as he had done with the Duke of Parma.
In taking the command of the army in Italy, Napoleon, notwithstanding
his extreme youth, inspired the soldiers, and even the old officers
themselves, with absolute | 197.460578 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY
THE FEATHER
_THE CHILDREN’S LIBRARY._
THE BROWN OWL.
A CHINA CUP, AND OTHER STORIES.
STORIES FROM FAIRYLAND.
TALES FROM THE MABINOGION.
THE STORY OF A PUPPET.
THE LITTLE PRINCESS.
IRISH FAIRY TALES.
AN ENCHANTED GARDEN.
LA BELLE NIVERNAISE.
THE FEATHER.
(_Others in the Press._)
[Illustration: “BUT THE EAGLE HAD THE BEST OF IT AFTER ALL.”]
THE FEATHER
BY
FORD H. MADOX HUEFFER
AUTHOR OF ‘THE BROWN OWL’
_WITH FRONTISPIECE BY
F. MADOX BROWN_
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
1892
[Illustration]
_TO JULIET_
‘_True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air._’
THE FEATHER
ONCE upon a time there was a King who reigned over a country as yet,
for a reason you may learn later on, undiscovered—a most lovely
country, full of green dales and groves of oak, a land of dappled
meadows and sweet rivers, a green cup in a circlet of mountains, in
whose shadow the grass was greenest; and the only road to enter the
country lay up steep, boiling waterfalls, and thereafter through rugged
passes, the channels that the rivers had cut for themselves. Therefore,
as you may imagine, the dwellers in the land were little troubled by
inroads of hostile nations; and they lived peaceful lives, managing
their own affairs, and troubling little about the rest of the world.
Now this King, like many kings before and after him, had a daughter
who, while very young, had, I am sorry to say, been very self-willed;
and the King, on the death of his wife, finding himself utterly unable
to manage the Princess, handed her over to the care of an aged nurse,
who, however, was not much more successful—but that is neither here nor
there.
For years everything went on smoothly, and it seemed as if everything
intended to go on smoothly until doomsday, in which case this history
would probably never have been written. But one evening in summer
the Princess and her nurse, who had by this time become less able
than ever to manage her charge, sat on a terrace facing the west. The
Princess had been amusing herself by pelting the swans swimming in the
river with rose-leaves, which the indignant swans snapped up as they
fluttered down on the air or floated by on the river.
But after a time she began to tire of this pastime, and sitting down,
looked at the sun that was just setting, a blinding glare of orange
flame behind the black hills. Suddenly she turned to the nurse and said:
‘What’s on the other side of the hills?’
‘Lawk-a-mussy-me, miss!’ answered the nurse, ‘I’m sure I don’t know.
What a question to ask!’
‘Then why don’t you ask some one who has been there?’
‘Because no one ever has, miss.’
‘But why not?’
‘Because there’s a fiery serpent that eats every one who comes near
the hills; and if you’re not eaten up, you’re bound to tumble down a
precipice that’s nearly three miles deep, before you can get over the
hills.’
‘Oh, what fun! Let’s go,’ said the Princess, by no means awed. But the
nurse shook her head.
‘No, miss, I won’t go; and I’m sure your pa won’t let you go.’
‘Oh yes, he will; let’s go and ask him.’
But at that moment a black shadow came across the sun, and the swans,
with a terrified ‘honk, honk,’ darted across the water to hide
themselves in the reeds on the other side of the river, churning dark
tracks in the purple of the sunlit water’s glassy calmness.
‘Oh dear! oh dear! it’s a boggles, and it’s coming this way,’ cried the
nurse.
‘But what is a boggles, nurse?’
‘Oh dear, it’s coming! Come into the house and I’ll tell you—come.’
‘Not until you tell me what a boggles is.’
The nurse perforce gave in.
‘A boggles is a thing with a hooked beak and a squeaky voice, with hair
like snakes in corkscrews; and it haunts houses and carries off things;
and when it once gets in it never leaves again—oh dear, it’s on us!
Oh-h-h!’
Her cries only made the thing see them sooner. It was only an eagle,
not a boggles; but it was on the look-out for food, and the sun shining
on the Princess’s hair had caught its eyes, and in spite of the cries
of the nurse it swooped down, and, seizing the Princess in its claws,
began to carry her off. The nurse, however, held on to her valiantly,
screaming all the while for help; but the eagle had the best of it
after all, for it carried up, not only the Princess, but the nurse also.
The nurse held on to her charge for some seconds, but finding the
attempt useless she let go her hold; and since it happened that at the
moment they were over the river, she fell into it with a great splash,
and was drifted on shore by the current.
Thus the Princess was carried off; and although the land far and wide
was searched, no traces of her were discoverable. You may imagine for
yourself what sorrow and rage the King indulged in. He turned the nurse
off without warning, and even, in a paroxysm of rage, kicked one of his
pages downstairs; nevertheless that did not bring back the Princess.
As a last resource he consulted a wise woman (ill-natured people called
her a witch) who lived near the palace. But the witch could only say
that the Princess would return some day, but she couldn’t or wouldn’t
say when, even though the King threatened to burn her. So it was all
of no use, and the King was, and remained, in despair. But, since his
Majesty is not the important personage in the story, we may as well
leave him and return to the Princess.
She, as you can think, was not particularly happy or comfortable,
for the claws of the eagle pinched her, and besides, she was very
frightened; for, you see, she didn’t know that it wasn’t a boggles, as
the nurse had called it, and a boggles is a great deal worse than the
worst eagle ever invented.
Meanwhile the eagle continued flying straight towards the sun, which
was getting lower and lower, so that by the time they reached the
mountains it was dark altogether. But the eagle didn’t seem at all
afraid of the darkness, and just went on flying as if nothing had
happened, until suddenly it let the Princess down on a rock—at least,
that was what it seemed to her to be. Not knowing what else to do, she
sat where the eagle had let her fall, for she remembered something
about the precipice three miles deep, and she did not at all wish to
tumble down that.
She expected that the eagle would set to and make a meal off her at
once. But somehow or other, either it had had enough to eat during the
day, or else did not like to begin to have supper so late for fear of
nightmare; at any rate, it abstained, and that was the most interesting
matter to her. Everything was so quiet around that at last, in spite
of herself, she fell asleep. She slept quite easily until daylight,
although the hardness of the rock was certainly somewhat unpleasant.
When she opened her eyes it was already light, and the sun at her back
was darting black shadows of the jagged mountains on to the shimmering
gray sea of mist that veiled the land below. Her first thought was
naturally of the eagle, and she did not need to look very far for him,
since he was washing himself in a little pool close by, keeping an eye
on her the while.
As soon as he saw her move he gave himself a final shake, so that
the water flew all around, sparkling in the sunlight; after which he
came towards her by hops until he was quite close—rather too close,
she thought. Nevertheless she did not move, having heard somewhere
that, under the circumstances, that is the worst thing to do; she also
remembered animals cannot stand being looked at steadily by the human
eye, therefore she looked very steadfastly at the eyes of the eagle.
But the remedy did not seem to work well in this case, for the glassy
yellow eyes of the bird looked bad-tempered, and it winked angrily,
seeming to say, ‘Whom are you staring at?’ And then it began to stretch
out its bill towards her until it was within a few inches of her face.
This was more than she could stand, and she said sharply, ‘Take your
head away.’
The eagle, however, took no notice whatever of this; and seeing nothing
better to do, she lifted up her hand and gave it a smart box on the
ear, or rather on the place where its ear should have been. The eagle
drew back its beak in a hurry and scratched its head with one claw as
if it were puzzled. After a moment’s reflection it put out its head
again, and once more the Princess lifted up her hand; but when the
eagle saw that it jumped backwards in a hurry, as if it did not care to
receive a second box on the ear, and began to stride sulkily away as if
it thought it better to wait a while. When it reached the edge of the
rock—for I have forgotten to tell you that they were on a flat rock at
the top of a mountain—it sat preening its feathers in a sulky manner,
as if it imagined itself a very ill-used bird; moreover, although it
seemed inclined to remain there a long time, I need not tell you
that the Princess had no objections. However, after a time even the
waiting began to grow unpleasant; but suddenly a peculiar sound, as of
something shooting through the air, came from below, and the eagle gave
a leap and fell down a mass of tumbled feathers with an arrow quivering
in their centre, and, with hardly a shudder, it was dead.
The Princess, as you may imagine, was a good deal startled by this
sudden occurrence, but I cannot say she was very sorry for the eagle;
on the contrary, she was rather glad to be rid of him, and it suddenly
came into her head that the man who had shot the arrow might possibly
be somewhere below, and in that case might come up and save her if she
called to him. So she tried to get up, but she was so stiff that she
could hardly move, and when she did stand up she had pins and needles
in one of her feet, and had to stamp hard on the ground before it would
go away. So that it was some time before she got to the edge and looked
over. Now it happened that, just as she bent carefully forward to look
down the side, the head of a man appeared over the edge, and his hands
were so near her that he almost caught hold of her foot as he put them
up to help himself. As she drew back a little to let him have room, he
suddenly noticed her, and almost let go his hold in astonishment.
‘Hullo, little girl,’ he said; ‘how did you come here? It’s rather
early in the morning for you to be up. But who are you when you’re at
home?’
‘I’m the daughter of King Caret.’
‘King how much?’
‘King Caret, I said; and I should be glad if you would help me down
from this height, and show me the way back.’
‘How on earth can I show you the way back when I don’t know who King
Caret is?’
‘But surely you must know who he is?’
‘Never heard of him. What’s he like, and what’s he king of?’
‘He’s the King of Aoland.’
‘And where’s Aoland?’
‘I don’t know—it’s somewhere over those mountains—the eagle brought me
here, you know.’
‘Ah! the eagle brought you here, did he? It’s a little habit he’s
got; he’s carried off no end of my kids and young sheep, so I suppose
he thought he’d try a change and carry off one of King Turnip—I mean
Caret’s. But if he brought you from over the mountains you won’t get
back in a hurry, I can tell you; you’d have to jump up a precipice
three miles high, and then you’d be eaten by old Kinchof the dragon.’
‘Oh dear! then I shall never get back!’
‘No, I’m afraid you won’t. But don’t begin to cry now—there, there—and
I’ll take you to King Mumkie; he’s the king of this country, you know.’
‘What an awful name—Mumkie!’
‘Yes, it is rather unpleasant, isn’t it? And then, he’s a usurper—he
drove the last king out and made himself king instead. He used to be
a cat’s-meat man, but he got up an army and drove the other off the
throne, and now _he’s_ turned into a gardener—his name’s Abbonamento.’
‘Oh, never mind what his name is, only get me down—I’m awfully hungry;
for you see I’ve been up here all night.’
‘Oh! all right. But I say, how are you going to get down—you can’t
climb, can you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered; ‘I’ve never tried.’
‘Then you can be sure you can’t. The only thing seems to be for me to
carry you down.’
But the Princess did not seem to relish the idea at all.
‘You might let me drop, you know; it’s rather steep.’ And it was pretty
steep, too—about as steep as the wall of a house, and a good deal
higher than a very high house. However, it seemed to be the only thing
to do, so she let herself be carried down. The man took her on one
arm, and yet seemed to climb down about as easily as if he were going
downstairs. However, the Princess did not notice that, since she kept
her eyes shut hard, for, to tell the truth, she was rather nervous.
But at last they were at the bottom, and he let her down on to the
ground.
‘Now, what are you going to do?’ he said.
‘I don’t know at all. What can I do?’
‘You’d better go and see King Mumkie and ask him what to do.’
‘But he has got such a dreadful name; it sounds as if he was awfully
ugly,’ she said.
‘But he’s not at all; he’s just like me, and I’m sure I’m handsome
enough for any one.’
The Princess looked at him now for the first time; for you see, she
had not noticed him very much while she was on the mountain. But now
she could hardly repress a shudder; for he was awfully ugly. To begin
with, he was big enough for any giant, and then his hair was of a
purple hue, and his eyes of a delicate sea-green that flashed in the
shade like a cat’s; and then his nose was awfully red, and shaped like
a mangel-wurzel; and his teeth, which were long and bright green, shone
in the sun like danger-signals. Altogether he was not prepossessing;
and the Princess could hardly help smiling when he said that the King
was as handsome as himself. However, he went on:
‘My name’s Wopole; I’m King Mumkie’s falconer, and so I can tell you
all about him. Come, let’s go towards the town.’
And as there seemed nothing else to do, she set out with him; but he
walked so fast that she could hardly keep up.
‘How slowly you do walk!’ he grumbled in a bad-tempered manner; ‘can’t
you keep up? Come along, I can’t wait all day.’ And he went on faster
than ever, so that she had to run to keep up with him. Suddenly he
stopped as if he had been shot.
‘Confound it, I’ve forgotten to bring the eagle, and I shall have to
go all the way back and get it. Oh—ouch!’ And he began to howl in such
a dreadful manner that the Princess felt quite relieved when he turned
and ran towards the hill at the top of his speed, howling all the way.
‘What on earth shall I do now?’ thought the Princess. ‘If I wait for
this dreadful giant, goodness knows what may happen, and then his king
has such an unpleasant name; at any rate, I should like some breakfast,
for I’m awfully hungry. I think I’ll go on towards the town, and see if
I can’t find some one who’ll show me the way home.’
So she went on down the lane for some way, until, coming to a place
where a stream went across the path, she knelt down and scooped up a
little water in the palm of her hand and drank it; for, you see, the
sun was very hot now, and the heat made her throat feel quite dry and
parched. When she had finished she went and lay down in the long grass
that bordered the road, for she was rather tired. She intended to wait
till some one came along, only she was quite resolved not to go with
the giant at any rate. So she lay quietly in the shade listening to
the loud humming of the bees and the chirp of a linnet that was pluming
itself, swinging on a bough above her head.
She had not been waiting long before she heard a dreadful noise behind
her coming down the road, and in a few minutes she recognised the voice
of the giant, who seemed to be in a terrible temper. Gradually the
sound of his voice and his footsteps came nearer. The Princess did not
know what to do, for if she tried to run away he would only catch her
up; so she lay perfectly still, hoping he would pass her without seeing
her. And that is just what did happen; for, in a few moments, he came
rushing round the corner shouting out, ‘Stop! stop! will you?’ And as
his eyes were fixed on the road far in advance, of course he did not
notice her, and was soon round another bend in the road. The Princess
noticed that he had the eagle hanging with its claws round his neck,
and the jolting, as he went by, had shaken one of its large tail
feathers out, and as soon as she had got over her fright, she went and
picked it up out of the dusty road.
Just as she picked it up, the clatter of feet running along the road
came to her ears, and for a moment she feared that the giant had
returned; but soon a cow trotted round the bend and stopped at the
stream to drink, presently another, and then a third. Each of them took
a long look at the Princess, and then bent down its head to take a
draught out of the stream. Just then an old man came round the corner,
and when he saw the cows had stopped he called out:
‘Gee on, Lightfoot; now, Daisy; come up, Cherry,’ and the cows gave
their heads a toss, and walked slowly through the stream.
The Princess hurried to one side of the road, for, like many people,
she had an instinctive dread of anything like a cow or a bull.
The old man noticed it and smiled.
‘Oh, you needn’t be afraid, miss, they won’t hurt you,’ he said; but
all the same, she didn’t care to go too near them. ‘They’ve just been
frightened by Wopole, King Mumkie’s falconer,’ he went on. ‘Wopole came
running round the corner suddenly, and almost knocked Lightfoot—that’s
the dun cow—over. He was roaring out “Where is she?” awfully loud. I
pity her when he gets her, whoever she is.’
‘But who is _she_?’ asked the Princess.
‘I don’t know—how should I?’
‘Oh, I only thought you might know. But what will he do with her when
he gets her?’
‘I don’t know; fry her in lard or something—that’s what they generally
do to strangers in the town now.’
‘Oh dear!’ said the Princess; ‘how am I to get away from him?’
The old man looked at her curiously.
‘Oh! you’re her,’ he said.
‘I rather think I am. But how am I to get away?’ she answered.
‘If you’ll come with me I’ll take you to my cottage over there, and
they’ll never think of looking for you there.’
But the Princess did not exactly like the idea.
‘Aren’t you one of these people?’ she asked; ‘because I don’t relish
being fried in lard, or oil, or anything else.’
But the old man shook his head.
‘Good gracious me, no!’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t let them roast the last
stranger that came to the town, and so they turned me out.’
‘Oh,’ said the Princess, ‘then you must be King Abominable.’
‘I am Abbonamento.’
‘Then I suppose I shall be safe with you?’
‘Quite safe, if you like to come; only just help me to drive the cows.’
And the old man called to his animals who were browsing in the grass
at the wayside, and they trudged quietly on till they came to a gate
in the hedge. This they waited for the old man to open for them, and
then went through the meadow until they came to a little farmhouse half
hidden by trees.
‘This is my house,’ the King said. ‘Just wait a moment till I have put
the cows in the byre, and then I’ll come back and let you in; for you
see my wife’s away at the market, and there’s no one else at home.’
So the Princess stopped where she was, and the old man went whistling
round to the back of the house driving his cows before him.
It was a very small house, with the thatched roof coming so low down
that you could touch it almost with your hand, and the windows were
quite overshadowed by it. Over a little arbour of trellis-work before
the door ran a rose-tree of deep red flowers, and the roses were full
of bees that came from the hives arranged on benches under the eaves,
and a few chickens were asleep on one leg under the porch.
In two or three minutes the door opened, and the old man appeared, and
the chickens walked lazily away.
‘I entered by a back door,’ he explained. ‘Come in and make yourself at
home.’
The inside of the house was just as small and homely as the outside,
and the rooms were refreshingly shady and cool after the hot sunlight
without.
‘Sit down,’ said the old man, pointing to an arm-chair; and the
Princess did as she was told.
‘Now,’ said he, ‘if you will tell me where you come from, I will try to
find out how to take you back.’
So she told him all her story, and he listened very attentively. When
she had finished he said:
‘It’s lucky for you that Wopole forgot the eagle, or goodness knows
what would have happened to you; but how you’re to get back I don’t
know. It’s my opinion you never will, for no one was ever known to pass
those mountains safely yet.’
I don’t know what else he would have gone on to say, but by this time
the Princess had begun to cry bitterly.
‘Oh dear me!’ said the old man, ‘what a fool I was to go and tell
her all that. Now goodness knows what’ll happen. Oh dear, oh dear,
Princess, don’t go on weeping like that, or you’ll melt altogether; do
leave off.’
But the Princess did not seem at all inclined to leave off, and she
might have melted altogether, only just then the door opened, and an
old woman with a market-basket on her arm and a big umbrella in her
hand came into the room, but stood transfixed with her eyes and mouth
wide open when she saw the Princess.
‘My! Abbonamento, what’s the little girl crying for? and where does she
come from? and what does it all mean?’
And she picked up her umbrella, which she had dropped, and leaned it
against the table, and put her market-basket on a chair. This she did
very slowly, and all the while the old king was telling her what had
happened, so that by the time she had finished her preparations she
knew nearly as much about it as he did. When he had finished she shook
her head.
‘Poor girl! poor girl! So you come from the land on the other side of
the mountains. I know it.’
The Princess had by this time left off crying, and when she heard the
old lady say ‘I know it’ she said:
‘“Kennst du das Land
Wo die Citronen blühen?”’
But the old lady shook her head.
‘That’s Greek, and I never could understand Greek. If it had been
German or French now—but just translate it for me, will you?’
So the Princess translated it for her.
‘“Knowest thou the land where blooms the lemon-flower?”’
But the old lady shook her head.
‘I don’t know so much about the lemon-flower; but my grand-aunt
Thompson had a sister whose daughter had a servant who’d seen the
dragon eat up the last man that ever tried to cross the mountains.’
‘But I don’t see how that is to help me to get back—do you?’
‘No, I don’t exactly; but perhaps something will turn up to help you.
Won’t it, Abbonamento?’
Abbonamento nodded.
‘But what shall I do in the meanwhile?’ said the Princess; ‘for, you
see, I don’t want to be fried in | 197.461669 |
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_THE WORKS_
OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
[Illustration]
THE WORKS
OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
EDITED BY
WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK, M.A.
FELLOW AND TUTOR OF TRINITY
COLLEGE, AND PUBLIC ORATOR IN
THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE;
AND WILLIAM ALDIS WRIGHT, M.A.
LIBRARIAN OF TRINITY COLLEGE,
CAMBRIDGE.
_VOLUME V_.
Cambridge and London:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1864.
CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A.
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS.
CONTENTS.
THE Preface. . . . vii
THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI. . . . 3
Notes to The First Part of King Henry VI. . . . 103
THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI. . . . 109
Notes to The Second Part of King Henry VI. . . . 223
THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI. . . . 229
Notes to The Third Part of King Henry VI. . . . 339
THE FIRST PART OF THE CONTENTION, &c. . . . 343
Notes to The First Part of the Contention,
&c. . . . 405
THE TRUE TRAGEDIE OF RICHARD DUKE
OF YORKE, AND THE GOOD KING HENRY THE SIXT. . . . 407
Notes to The True Tragedie of Richard Duke of
Yorke. . . . 469
KING RICHARD III. . . . 473
Notes to King Richard III. . . . 637
PREFACE.
_The First Part of King Henry the Sixth_ was printed for the first
time, so far as we know, in the Folio of 1623. The same edition
contained also for the first time in their present form, ‘The second
Part of King Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Good Duke Humfrey,’
and ‘The third Part of King Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Duke
of Yorke.’
The play upon which the Second part of Henry the Sixth was founded was
first printed in quarto (Q1), in 1594, with the following title:
The | First part of the Con- tention betwixt the two famous houses of
Yorke | and Lancaster, with the death of the good | Duke Humphrey:
| And the banishment and death of the Duke of | _Suffolke_, and the
Tragicall end of the proud Cardinall | of _Winchester_, with the
notable Rebellion | of _Iacke Cade:_ | _And the Duke of Yorkes first
claime vnto the_ | _Crowne_. | LONDON | Printed by Thomas Creed, for
Thomas Millington, | and are to be sold at his shop vnder Saint Peters
| Church in Cornwall. | 1594. |
The only copy known of this edition is in the Bodleian Library (Malone,
Add. 870), and is probably the same which was once in Malone’s
possession, and which he collated with the second Quarto printed in
1600. Mr Halliwell, in the preface to ‘The first sketches of the
second and third parts of King Henry the Sixth,’ edited by him for the
Shakespeare Society, is inclined to doubt this, on the ground that
Malone quotes, from the copy in his possession, a reading which does
not exist in that now in the Bodleian. The passage in question is in
Scene IX. line 12, p. 370 of the present volume, ‘Honouring him as
if he were their king:’ on which Mr Halliwell in his note observes,
‘Malone, who has collated his copy of the edition of 1600, “printed by
W. W.,” with a copy of the 1594 edition formerly in his possession,
distinctly writes--
“_Thinking_ him as if he were their king,”
as the reading of his copy of the first edition. If so, it must have
been a different copy from that now in the Bodleian, from which
the present text is reprinted, and another instance of the curious
variations in different copies of the same editions, which were first
discovered by Steevens (Boswell’s _Malone_, Vol. X. p. 73), and
recently applied to good use by Mr Collier.’ Mr Halliwell has here
inadvertently fallen into error. Malone’s collation is made in a copy
of the edition of 1600, in which the line stands thus:
‘Honouring him as if he were _a king_.’
At the foot of the page he wrote ‘their king,’ which is the reading
of the edition of 1594 for the two last words, but which Mr Halliwell
misread ‘thinking’ and regarded as a various reading for ‘Honouring.’
It is still possible, therefore, that Malone’s copy and that at present
in the Bodleian may be identical.
The second edition (Q2) of the First Part of the Contention appeared
in quarto in 1600, with the following title:
The | First part of the Con-|tention betwixt the two famous hou-|_ses
of Yorke and Lancaster, with the_ | death of the good Duke | Humphrey:
| And the banishment and death of the Duke of | Suffolke, and the
Tragical end of the prowd Cardinall | _of Winchester, with the notable
Rebellion of_ | _Iacke Cade_: | _And the Duke of Yorkes first clayme
to the_ | _Crowne_. | LONDON | Printed by Valentine Simmes for Thomas
Millington, and | are to be sold at his shop vnder S. Peters church |
in Cornewall. | 1600. |
Copies with this title are in the Library of the Duke of Devonshire,
and in the Bodleian (Malone, 867). An imperfect copy, wanting the last
seven leaves, is in the Capell collection. Another impression bearing
the same date, ‘Printed by W. W. for Thomas Millington,’ is said to
exist, but we have been unable to find it. The MS. title quoted by Mr
Halliwell from a copy in the Bodleian (Malone, 36) is prefixed to what
appears to us unquestionably the same edition as the above. The minute
correspondence of misplaced and defective letters between this copy and
Capell’s, with which, as well as with the other copy in the Bodleian,
we have compared it, proves beyond question that all three must have
been printed from the same form, and that the MS. title inserted in
Malone’s copy is out of place. So far therefore from Capell’s imperfect
copy of this edition being unique, as Mr Halliwell states, there are
at least two other perfect copies in existence, besides one which only
wants the title-page. In Lowndes’s _Bibliographer’s Manual_ (ed. Bohn,
p. 2281), another is said to be in the possession of Mr Tite. The late
Mr George Daniel is stated, on the same authority, to have had the
editions printed by Valentine Simmes and by W. W. in one volume, but
they were not sold at his sale, and we have been unable to trace them.
In 1619, a third edition (Q3) without date, printed by Isaac Jaggard,
and including also ‘The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York,’ appeared
with the following title:
The | Whole Contention | betweene the two Famous Houses, LANCASTER
and | YORKE. | _With the Tragicall ends of the good Duke_ | Humfrey,
Richard Duke of Yorke, | _and King Henrie the_ | _sixt_. | Diuided
into two Parts: And newly corrected and | enlarged. Written by
_William Shake-_|_speare_, Gent. | Printed at LONDON, for T. P. |
On the title-page of his copy of this edition, Capell has added in MS.
the date ‘1619.--at the same time with the Pericles that follows;
as appears by the continuation of the signatures.’ The signatures of
‘The whole Contention’ are from A to Q in fours, while in _Pericles_,
‘Printed for T. P. 1619,’ the first page has signature R, which shows
that the two must have formed part of the same volume.
‘The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York,’ which formed the
ground-work of The Third part of King Henry the Sixth, was first
printed in small 8vo. in 1595, with the following title:
The | true Tragedie of Richard | _Duke of Yorke, and the death of_ |
good King Henrie the Sixt, | _With the whole contention betweene_ |
the two Houses Lancaster | and Yorke, as it was sundrie times | acted
by the Right Honoura-|ble the Earle of Pem-|brooke his seruants. |
Printed at London by P. S. for Thomas Milling-|_ton, and are to be
sold at his shoppe vnder_ | _Saint Peters Church in_ | _Cornwal_,
1595. |
A unique copy of this edition is in the Bodleian Library (Malone, 876).
Although printed in 8vo. we have quoted it as Q1, in order to avoid
introducing a new notation.
The second edition (Q2) was printed in 1600, with the following title:
The | True Tragedie of | Richarde Duke of | Yorke, and the death of
good | King Henrie the sixt: | With the whole contention betweene the
two | Houses, Lancaster and Yorke; as it was | sundry times acted by
the Right | Honourable the Earle | of Pembrooke his | seruantes. |
Printed at London by _W. W._ for _Thomas Millington_, | and are to be
sold at his shoppe vnder Saint | Peters Church in Cornewall. | 1600. |
Copies of this edition are in the Duke of Devonshire’s Library, the
Bodleian (Malone, 36), and the British Museum. In Malone’s Shakespeare
(ed. 1790, Vol. I. Pt. I. p. 235), among the ‘Dramatick Pieces on which
plays were formed by Shakespeare,’ an edition of The True Tragedy is
mentioned, bearing date ‘1600, V. S. for Thomas Millington,’ but in
a note to the ‘Third Part of King Henry VI.’ (Vol. VI. p. 261) he
confesses, ‘I have never seen the quarto copy of the _Second_ part of
The whole Contention, &c. printed by _Valentine Simmes_ for Thomas
Millington, 1600;’ and it is extremely doubtful whether such a one
exists. A copy of The True Tragedy, and not, as stated in Bohn’s
Lowndes, of The First Part of the Contention, printed by W. W. 1600,
was sold at Rhodes’s sale in 1825 (No. 2113). The only authority
therefore for the existence of an edition of The First Part of the
Contention, printed by W. W. in 1600, is the MS. title-page of Malone’s
copy in the Bodleian Library. Capell merely quotes it on the authority
of Pope, and all that Pope says in the Table at the end of his first
edition, after giving the title of The Whole Contention printed in
1619, is, ‘Since Printed under the same Title by _W. W._ for _Tho.
Millington_, with the true Tragedy of _Richard_ D. of _York_, and the
Death of good King _Henry_ the 6th, acted by the Earl of Pembroke his
servants 1600.’ This clearly refers to the second Quarto of The True
Tragedy, not to that of The First Part of the Contention, and appears
to us to be the origin of the error†.
──────────
† This view is further confirmed by a manuscript note at the back
of the title-page of Steevens’s copy of The True Tragedy, ed. 1600,
now in the British Museum. It shews that Pope is the only authority
for the statement, and is as follows: ‘This is only the _third_ part
of K. Henry VI. The _second_ part, according to Pope, was likewise
printed in 1600, by W. W. for Thos. Millington. MALONE.’
The third edition (Q3) of The True Tragedy formed the second part of
The Whole Contention described above. It has no separate title-page,
but merely the heading:
The Second Part. | Containing the Tragedie of | Richard Duke of Y | 197.560814 |
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THE CLOISTER AND THE HEARTH
by Charles Reade
Etext Notes:
1. Greek passages are enclosed in angled brackets, e.g. {methua}, and
have been transliterated according to:alpha A, a
beta B, b
gamma G, g
delta D, d
epsilon E, e
zeta Z, z
eta Y, y
theta Th, th
iota I, i
kappa K, k
lamda L, l
mu M, m
nu N, n
omicron O, o
pi P, p
rho R, r
sigma S, s
tau T, t
phi Ph, ph
chi Ch, ch
psi Ps, ps
xi X, x
upsilon U, u
omega W, w
2. All diacritics have been removed from this version
3. References for the Author's footnotes are enclosed in square
brackets(e.g. (1)) and collected at the end of the chapter they occur
in.
4. There are 100 chapters in the book, each starting with CHAPTER R,
where R is the chapter number expressed as a Roman numeral.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
A small portion of this tale appeared in Once a Week, July-September,
1859, under the title of "A Good Fight."
After writing it, I took wider views of the subject, and also felt
uneasy at having deviated unnecessarily from the historical outline of
a true story. These two sentiments have cost me more than a year's very
hard labour, which I venture to think has not been wasted. After this
plain statement I trust all who comment on this work will see that to
describe it as a reprint would be unfair to the public and to me. The
English language is copious, and, in any true man's hands, quite able
to convey the truth--namely, that one-fifth of the present work is a
reprint, and four-fifths of it a new composition.
CHARLES READE
CHAPTER I
Not a day passes over the earth, but men and women of no note do great
deeds, speak great words, and suffer noble sorrows. Of these obscure
heroes, philosophers, and martyrs, the greater part will never be known
till that hour, when many that are great shall be small, and the small
great; but of others the world's knowledge may be said to sleep: their
lives and characters lie hidden from nations in the annals that record
them. The general reader cannot feel them, they are presented so curtly
and coldly: they are not like breathing stories appealing to his heart,
but little historic hail-stones striking him but to glance off his
bosom: nor can he understand them; for epitomes are not narratives, as
skeletons are not human figures.
Thus records of prime truths remain a dead letter to plain folk: the
writers have left so much to the imagination, and imagination is so
rare a gift. Here, then, the writer of fiction may be of use to the
public--as an interpreter.
There is a musty chronicle, written in intolerable Latin, and in it
a chapter where every sentence holds a fact. Here is told, with harsh
brevity, the strange history of a pair, who lived untrumpeted, and died
unsung, four hundred years ago; and lie now, as unpitied, in that stern
page, as fossils in a rock. Thus, living or dead, Fate is still unjust
to them. For if I can but show you what lies below that dry chronicler's
words, methinks you will correct the indifference of centuries, and give
those two sore-tried souls a place in your heart--for a day.
It was past the middle of the fifteenth century; Louis XI was sovereign
of France; Edward IV was wrongful king of England; and Philip "the
Good," having by force and cunning dispossessed his cousin Jacqueline,
and broken her heart, reigned undisturbed this many years in Holland,
where our tale begins.
Elias, and Catherine his wife, lived in the little town of Tergou. He
traded, wholesale and retail, in cloth, silk, brown holland, and,
above all, in curried leather, a material highly valued by the middling
people, because it would stand twenty years' wear, and turn an ordinary
knife, no small virtue in a jerkin of that century, in which folk were
so liberal of their steel; even at dinner a man would leave his meat
awhile, and carve you his neighbour, on a very moderate difference of
opinion.
The couple were well to do, and would have been free from all earthly
care, but for nine children. When these were coming into the world, one
per annum, each was hailed with rejoicings, and the saints were thanked,
not expostulated with; and when parents and children were all young
together, the latter were looked upon as lovely little playthings
invented by Heaven for the amusement, joy, and evening solace of people
in business.
But as the olive-branches shot up, and the parents grew older, and saw
with their own eyes the fate of large families, misgivings and care
mingled with their love. They belonged to a singularly wise and
provident people: in Holland reckless parents were as rare as
disobedient children. So now when the huge loaf came in on a gigantic
trencher, looking like a fortress in its moat, and, the tour of the
table once made, seemed to have melted away, Elias and Catherine would
look at one another and say, "Who is to find bread for them all when we
are gone?"
At this observation the younger ones needed all their filial respect to
keep their little Dutch countenances; for in their opinion dinner and
supper came by nature like sunrise and sunset, and, so long as that
luminary should travel round the earth, so long as the brown loaf go
round their family circle, and set in their stomachs only to rise again
in the family oven. But the remark awakened the national thoughtfulness
of the elder boys, and being often repeated, set several of the family
thinking, some of them good thoughts, some ill thoughts, according to
the nature of the thinkers.
"Kate, the children grow so, this table will soon be too small."
"We cannot afford it, Eli," replied Catherine, answering not his words,
but his thought, after the manner of women.
Their anxiety for the future took at times a less dismal but more
mortifying turn. The free burghers had their pride as well as the
nobles; and these two could not bear that any of their blood should go
down in the burgh after their decease.
So by prudence and self-denial they managed to clothe all the little
bodies, and feed all the great mouths, and yet put by a small hoard
to meet the future; and, as it grew and grew, they felt a pleasure the
miser hoarding for himself knows not.
One day the eldest boy but one, aged nineteen, came to his mother, and,
with that outward composure which has so misled some persons as to the
real nature of this people, begged her to intercede with his father to
send him to Amsterdam, and place him with a merchant. "It is the way
of life that likes me: merchants are wealthy; I am good at numbers;
prithee, good mother, take my part in this, and I shall ever be, as I am
now, your debtor."
Catherine threw up her hands with dismay and incredulity.
"What! leave Tergou!"
"What is one street to me more than another? If I can leave the folk of
Tergou, I can surely leave the stones."
"What! quit your poor father now he is no longer young?"
"Mother, if I can leave you, I can leave"
"What! leave your poor brothers and sisters, that love you so dear?"
"There are enough in the house without me."
"What mean you, Richart? Who is more thought of than you Stay, have I
spoken sharp to you? Have I been unkind to you?"
"Never that I know of; and if you had, you should never hear of it from
me. Mother," said Richart gravely, but the tear was in his eye, "it all
lies in a word, and nothing can change my mind. There will be one mouth
less for you to feed.'
"There now, see what my tongue has done," said Catherine, and the next
moment she began to cry. For she saw her first young bird on the edge
of the nest trying his wings to fly into the world. Richart had a calm,
strong will, and she knew he never wasted a word.
It ended as nature has willed all such discourse shall end: young
Richart went to Amsterdam with a face so long and sad as it had never
been seen before, and a heart like granite.
That afternoon at supper there was one mouth less. Catherine looked at
Richart's chair and wept bitterly. On this Elias shouted roughly and
angrily to the children, "Sit wider, can't ye: sit wider!" and turned
his head away over the back of his seat awhile, and was silent.
Richart was launched, and never cost them another penny; but to fit him
out and place him in the house of Vander Stegen, the merchant, took all
the little hoard but one gold crown. They began again. Two years passed,
Richart found a niche in commerce for his brother Jacob, and Jacob left
Tergou directly after dinner, which was at eleven in the forenoon. At
supper that day Elias | 197.561623 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
_William Nelson._
[Illustration: Yours Faithfully
William Nelson]
_William Nelson_
A MEMOIR
BY
SIR DANIEL WILSON, LL.D., F.R.S.E.,
PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO.
[Illustration: colophon]
Printed for Private Circulation.
_T. Nelson and Sons, Edinburgh._
_1889._
TO
Mrs. William Nelson
THIS
MEMOIR OF HER HUSBAND
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY
HIS OLD FRIEND AND
SCHOOLMATE
FOREWORD.
The volume here produced for the eye of friends is the memorial of one
whose life presented a rare example of simplicity, of thoroughness in
working up to a high standard in all that he undertook, and fidelity in
his responsible stewardship as a man of wealth and a captain of
industry. The friendship between us extended in uninterrupted union,
with the maturing estimation of years and experience, from early boyhood
till both had passed the assigned limits of threescore years and ten. It
would have been easy to swell the volume into the bulky proportions of
modern biography: for William Nelson keenly enjoyed the communion of
friendship; and his correspondence furnishes many passages calculated to
interest others besides those who knew and loved him as a friend. But
the aim has been simply to present him “in his habit as he lived;” and
thus to preserve for relatives, personal friends, and for his
fellow-workers of all ranks, such a picture as may pleasantly recall
some reflex of a noble life; and record characteristic traits of one of
whom it can be so truly said: “To live in hearts of those we love is not
to die.”
D. W.
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO,
_September 26, 1889_.
CONTENTS.
I. INTRODUCTORY, 13
II. HAUNTS OF BOYHOOD, 26
III. SCHOOLS AND SCHOOLMATES, 41
IV. THE CASTLE HILL, 61
V. HOPE PARK, 77
VI. EGYPT AND PALESTINE, 87
VII. CHURCH--MARRIAGE, 108
VIII. SALISBURY GREEN, 121
IX. GLIMPSES OF TR | 197.660334 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY:
His Life and Adventures.
Imperial 16mo, cloth, 6s. Boys' Edition, crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt
edges, 5s.
THE STORY OF HUNGARY.
Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. (THE STORY OF THE NATIONS
SERIES.)
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
[Illustration: VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM CENTRAL ASIA.
_Photographed in Teheran, 1863._
_Frontispiece to Vol._ II.]
THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
THE MEMOIRS OF ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY
PROFESSOR OF ORIENTAL LANGUAGES
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF | 197.662952 |
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THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
EDITED WITH ADDITIONS BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY F.S.A.
LONDON
GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN
CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO.
1893
PREFACE
Although the Diary of Samuel Pepys has been in the hands of the public for
nearly seventy years, it has not hitherto appeared in its entirety. In the
original edition of 1825 scarcely half of the manuscript was printed.
Lord Braybrooke added some passages as the various editions were
published, but in the preface to his last edition he wrote: "there
appeared indeed no necessity to amplify or in any way to alter the text of
the Diary beyond the correction of a few verbal errors and corrupt
passages hitherto overlooked."
The public knew nothing as to what was left unprinted, and there was
therefore a general feeling of gratification when it was announced some
eighteen years ago that a new edition was to be published by the Rev.
Mynors Bright, with the addition of new matter equal to a third of the
whole. It was understood that at last the Diary was to appear in its
entirety, but there was a passage in Mr. Bright's preface which suggested
a doubt respecting the necessary completeness. He wrote: "It would have
been tedious to the reader if I had copied from the Diary the account of
his daily work at the office."
As a matter of fact, Mr. Bright left roughly speaking about one-fifth of
the whole Diary still unprinted, although he transcribed the whole, and
bequeathed his transcript to Magdalene College.
It has now been decided that the whole of the Diary shall be made public,
with the exception of a few passages which cannot possibly be printed. It
may be thought by some that these omissions are due to an unnecessary
squeamishness, but it is not really so, and readers are therefore asked to
have faith in the judgment of the editor. Where any passages have been
omitted marks of omission are added, so that in all cases readers will
know where anything has been left out.
Lord Braybrooke made the remark in his "Life of Pepys," that "the cipher
employed by him greatly resembles that known by the name of 'Rich's
system.'" When Mr. Bright came to decipher the MS., he discovered that
the shorthand system used by Pepys was an earlier one than Rich's, viz.,
that of Thomas Shelton, who made his system public in 1620.
In his various editions Lord Braybrooke gave a large number of valuable
notes, in the collection and arrangement of which he was assisted by the
late Mr. John Holmes of the British Museum, and the late Mr. James
Yeowell, sometime sub-editor of "Notes and Queries." Where these notes
are left unaltered in the present edition the letter "B." has been affixed
to them, but in many instances the notes have been altered and added to
from later information, and in these cases no mark is affixed. A large
number of additional notes are now supplied, but still much has had to be
left unexplained. Many persons are mentioned in the Diary who were little
known in the outer world, and in some instances it has been impossible to
identify them. In other cases, however, it has been possible to throw
light upon these persons by reference to different portions of the Diary
itself. I would here ask the kind assistance of any reader who is able to
illustrate passages that have been left unnoted. I have received much
assistance from the various books in which the Diary is quoted. Every
writer on the period covered by the Diary has been pleased to illustrate
his subject by quotations from Pepys, and from these books it has often
been possible to find information which helps to explain difficult
passages in the Diary.
Much illustrative matter of value was obtained by Lord Braybrooke from the
"Diurnall" of Thomas Rugge, which is preserved in the British Museum (Add.
MSS. 10,116, 10,117). The following is the description of this
interesting work as given by Lord Braybrooke
"MERCURIUS POLITICUS REDIVIVUS;
or, A Collection of the most materiall occurrances and transactions
in Public Affairs since Anno Dni, 1659, untill
28 March, 1672,
serving as an annuall diurnall for future satisfaction and
information,
BY THOMAS RUGGE.
Est natura hominum novitatis avida.--Plinius.
"This MS. belonged, in 1693, to Thomas Grey, second Earl of
Stamford. It has his autograph at the commencement, and on the
sides are his arms (four quarterings) in gold. In 1819, it was sold
by auction in London, as part of the collection of Thomas Lloyd,
Esq. (No. 1465), and was then bought by Thomas Thorpe, bookseller.
Whilst Mr. Lloyd was the possessor, the MS. was lent to Dr. Lingard,
whose note of thanks to Mr. Lloyd is preserved in the volume. From
Thorpe it appears to have passed to Mr. Heber, at the sale of whose
MSS. in Feb. 1836, by Mr. Evans, of Pall Mall, it was purchased by
the British Museum for L8 8s.
"Thomas Rugge was descended from an ancient Norfolk family, and two
of his ancestors are described as Aldermen of Norwich. His death
has been ascertained to have occurred about 1672; and in the Diary
for the preceding year he complains that on account of his declining
health, his entries will be but few. Nothing has been traced of his
personal circumstances beyond the fact of his having lived for
fourteen years in Covent Garden, then a fashionable locality."
Another work I have found of the greatest value is the late Mr. J. E.
Doyle's "Official Baronage of England" (1886), which contains a mass of
valuable information not easily to be obtained elsewhere. By reference to
its pages I have been enabled to correct several erroneous dates in
previous notes caused by a very natural confusion of years in the case of
the months of January, February, and March, before it was finally fixed
that the year should commence in January instead of March. More confusion
has probably been introduced into history from this than from any other
cause of a like nature. The reference to two years, as in the case of,
say, Jan. 5, 1661-62, may appear clumsy, but it is the only safe plan of
notation. If one year only is mentioned, the reader is never sure whether
or not the correction has been made. It is a matter for sincere regret
that the popular support was withheld from Mr. Doyle's important
undertaking, so that the author's intention of publishing further volumes,
containing the Baronies not dealt with in those already published, was
frustrated.
My labours have been much lightened by the kind help which I have
received from those interested in the subject. Lovers of Pepys are
numerous, and I have found those I have applied to ever willing to give
me such information as they possess. It is a singular pleasure,
therefore, to have an opportunity of expressing publicly my thanks to
these gentlemen, and among them I would especially mention Messrs.
Fennell, Danby P. Fry, J. Eliot Hodgkin, Henry Jackson, J. K. Laughton,
Julian Marshall, John Biddulph Martin, J. E. Matthew, Philip Norman,
Richard B. Prosser, and Hugh Callendar, Fellow of Trinity College, who
verified some of the passages in the manuscript. To the Master and
Fellows of Magdalene College, also, I am especially indebted for allowing
me to consult the treasures of the Pepysian Library, and more
particularly my thanks are due to Mr. Arthur G. Peskett, the Librarian.
H. B. W.
BRAMPTON, OPPIDANS ROAD,
LONDON, N.W.
February, 1893.
PREVIOUS EDITIONS OF THE DIARY.
I. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., Secretary to the Admiralty in
the reigns of Charles II. and James II., comprising his Diary from 1659
to 1669, deciphered by the Rev. John Smith, A.B., of St. John's College,
Cambridge, from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library, and a
Selection from his Private Correspondence. Edited by Richard, Lord
Braybrooke. In two volumes. London, Henry Colburn. . . 1825. 4vo.
2. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S. . . . Second edition. In
five volumes. London, Henry Colburn. . . . 1828. 8vo.
3. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S., Secretary to the
Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II.; with a Life and
Notes by Richard, Lord Braybrooke; the third edition, considerably
enlarged. London, Henry Colburn. . . . 1848-49. 5 vols. sm. 8vo.
4. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S. . . . The fourth
edition, revised and corrected. In four volumes. London, published for
Henry Colburn by his successors, Hurst and Blackett. . . 1854. 8vo.
The copyright of Lord Braybrooke's edition was purchased by the late Mr.
Henry G. Bohn, who added the book to his Historical Library.
5. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., from his MS.
Cypber in the Pepysian Library, with a Life and Notes by Richard, Lord
Braybrooke. Deciphered, with additional notes, by the Rev. Mynors Bright,
M.A. . . . London, Bickers and Son, 1875-79. 6 vols. 8vo.
Nos. 1, 2 and 3 being out of copyright have been reprinted by various
publishers.
No. 5 is out of print.
PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF SAMUEL PEPYS.
The family of Pepys is one of considerable antiquity in the east of
England, and the Hon. Walter Courtenay Pepys
[Mr. W. C. Pepys has paid great attention to the history of his
family, and in 1887 he published an interesting work entitled
"Genealogy of the Pepys Family, 1273-1887," London, George Bell and
Sons, which contains the fullest pedigrees of the family yet
issued.]
says that the first mention of the name that he has been able to find is
in the Hundred Rolls (Edw. I, 1273), where Richard Pepis and John Pepes
are registered as holding lands in the county of Cambridge. In the next
century the name of William Pepis is found in deeds relating to lands in
the parish of Cottenham, co. Cambridge, dated 1329 and 1340 respectively
(Cole MSS., British Museum, vol. i., p. 56; vol. xlii., p. 44). According
to the Court Roll of the manor of Pelhams, in the parish of Cottenham,
Thomas Pepys was "bayliffe of the Abbot of Crowland in 1434," but in spite
of these references, as well as others to persons of the same name at
Braintree, Essex, Depedale, Norfolk, &c., the first ancestor of the
existing branches of the family from whom Mr. Walter Pepys is able to
trace an undoubted descent, is "William Pepis the elder, of Cottenham, co.
Cambridge," whose will is dated 20th March, 1519.
In 1852 a curious manuscript volume, bound in vellum, and entitled "Liber
Talboti Pepys de instrumentis ad Feoda pertinentibus exemplificatis," was
discovered in an old chest in the parish church of Bolney, Sussex, by the
vicar, the Rev. John Dale, who delivered it to Henry Pepys, Bishop of
Worcester, and the book is still in the possession of the family. This
volume contains various genealogical entries, and among them are
references to the Thomas Pepys of 1434 mentioned above, and to the later
William Pepys. The reference to the latter runs thus:--
"A Noate written out of an ould Booke of my uncle William Pepys."
"William Pepys, who died at Cottenham, 10 H. 8, was brought up by
the Abbat of Crowland, in Huntingdonshire, and he was borne in
Dunbar, in Scotland, a gentleman, whom the said Abbat did make his
Bayliffe of all his lands in Cambridgeshire, and placed him in
Cottenham, which William aforesaid had three sonnes, Thomas, John,
and William, to whom Margaret was mother naturallie, all of whom
left issue."
In illustration of this entry we may refer to the Diary of June 12th,
1667, where it is written that Roger Pepys told Samuel that "we did
certainly come out of Scotland with the Abbot of Crowland." The
references to various members of the family settled in Cottenham and
elsewhere, at an early date already alluded to, seem to show that there is
little foundation for this very positive statement.
With regard to the standing of the family, Mr. Walter Pepys writes:--
"The first of the name in 1273 were evidently but small copyholders.
Within 150 years (1420) three or four of the name had entered the
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Transcriber’s Note: Italic text is indicated by _underscores_, boldface
by =equals signs=.
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
BY
LOUIS D. BRANDEIS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1913, 1914, by_
THE MCCLURE PUBLICATIONS
_Copyright, 1914, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
FASCo _March, 1914_
PREFACE
While Louis D. Brandeis’s series of articles on the money trust was
running in Harper’s Weekly many inquiries came about publication in
more accessible permanent form. Even without such urgence through the
mail, however, it would have been clear that these articles inevitably
constituted a book, since they embodied an analysis and a narrative
by that mind which, on the great industrial movements of our era, is
the most expert in the United States. The inquiries meant that the
attentive public recognized that here was a contribution to history.
Here was the clearest and most profound treatment ever published on
that part of our business development which, as President Wilson and
other wise men have said, has come to constitute the greatest of our
problems. The story of our time is the story of industry. No scholar
of the future will be able to describe our era with authority unless
he comprehends that expansion and concentration which followed the
harnessing of steam and electricity, the great uses of the change, and
the great excesses. No historian of the future, in my opinion, will
find among our contemporary documents so masterful an analysis of why
concentration went astray. I am but one among many who look upon Mr.
Brandeis as having, in the field of economics, the most inventive and
sound mind of our time. While his articles were running in Harper’s
Weekly I had ample opportunity to know how widespread was the belief
among intelligent men that this brilliant diagnosis of our money trust
was the most important contribution to current thought in many years.
“Great” is one of the words that I do not use loosely, and I look upon
Mr. Brandeis as a great man. In the composition of his intellect, one
of the most important elements is his comprehension of figures. As one
of the leading financiers of the country said to me, “Mr. Brandeis’s
greatness as a lawyer is part of his greatness as a mathematician.”
My views on this subject are sufficiently indicated in the following
editorial in Harper’s Weekly.
ARITHMETIC
About five years before the Metropolitan Traction Company of New
York went into the hands of a receiver, Mr. Brandeis came down
from Boston, and in a speech at Cooper Union prophesied that that
company must fail. Leading bankers in New York and Boston were
heartily recommending the stock to their customers. Mr. Brandeis
made his prophecy merely by analyzing the published figures. How
did he win in the Pinchot-Glavis-Ballinger controversy? In various
ways, no doubt; but perhaps the most critical step was when he
calculated just how long it would take a fast worker to go through
the Glavis-Ballinger record and make a judgment of it; whereupon he
decided that Mr. Wickersham could not have made his report at the
time it was stated to have been made, and therefore it must have
been predated.
Most of Mr. Brandeis’s other contributions to current history
have involved arithmetic. When he succeeded in preventing a raise
in freight rates, it was through an exact analysis of cost. When
he got Savings Bank Insurance started in Massachusetts, it was
by being able to figure what insurance ought to cost. When he
made the best contract between a city and a public utility that
exists in this country, a definite grasp of the gas business was
necessary--combined, of course, with the wisdom and originality
that make a statesman. He could not have invented the preferential
shop if that new idea had not been founded on a precise knowledge
of the conditions in the garment trades. When he established
before the United States Supreme Court the constitutionality of
legislation affecting women only, he relied much less upon reason
than upon the amount of knowledge displayed of what actually
happens to women when they are overworked--which, while not
arithmetic, is built on the same intellectual quality. Nearly two
years before Mr. Mellen resigned from the New Haven Railroad, Mr.
Brandeis wrote to the present editor of this paper a private letter
in which he said:
“When the New Haven reduces its dividends and Mellen resigns, the
‘Decline of New Haven and Fall of Mellen’ will make a dramatic
story of human interest with a moral--or two--including the evils
of private monopoly. Events cannot be long deferred, and possibly
you may want to prepare for their coming.
“Anticipating the future a little, I suggest the following as an
epitaph or obituary notice:
“Mellen was a masterful man, resourceful, courageous, broad
of view. He fired the imagination of New England; but, being
oblique of vision, merely distorted its judgment and silenced its
conscience. For a while he trampled with impunity on laws human and
divine; but, as he was obsessed with the delusion that two and two
make five, he fell, at last, a victim to the relentless rules of
humble arithmetic.
“‘Remember, O Stranger, Arithmetic is the first of the sciences and
the mother of safety.’”
The exposure of the bad financial management of the New Haven railroad,
more than any other one thing, led to the | 197.757794 |
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THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ALFRED THE GREAT
_C. PLUMMER_
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
LONDON, EDINBURGH
NEW YORK
THE LIFE AND TIMES
OF
ALFRED THE GREAT
BEING THE FORD LECTURES FOR 1901
BY
CHARLES PLUMMER, M.A.
FELLOW AND CHAPLAIN OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, OXFORD
WITH | 197.759316 |
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*Shakespeare*
Ben Jonson
Beaumont And Fletcher
Notes and Lectures
by S. T. Coleridge
New Edition
Liverpool
Edward Howell
MDCCCLXXIV
CONTENTS
Shakespeare
Definition Of Poetry.
Greek Drama.
Progress Of The Drama.
The Drama Generally, And Public Taste.
Shakespeare, A Poet Generally.
Shakespeare's Judgment equal to his Genius.
Recapitulation, And Summary Of the Characteristics of Shakespeare's
Dramas.
Outline Of An Introductory Lecture Upon Shakespeare.
Order Of Shakespeare's Plays.
Notes On The "Tempest."
"Love's Labour's Lost."
"Midsummer Night's Dream."
"Comedy Of Errors."
"As You Like It."
"Twelfth Night."
"All's Well That Ends Well."
"Merry Wives Of Windsor."
"Measure For Measure."
"Cymbeline."
"Titus Andronicus."
"Troilus And Cressida."
"Coriolanus."
"Julius Caesar."
"Antony And Cleopatra."
"Timon Of Athens."
"Romeo And Juliet."
Shakespeare's English Historical Plays.
"King John."
"Richard II."
"Henry IV.--Part I."
"Henry IV.--Part II."
"Henry V."
"Henry VI.--Part I."
"Richard III."
"L | 197.762444 |
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Produced by David Widger
HUCKLEBERRY FINN
By Mark Twain
Part 8.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
AS soon as we reckoned everybody was asleep that night we went down the
lightning-rod, and shut ourselves up in the lean-to, and got out our pile
of fox-fire, and went to work. We cleared everything out of the way,
about four or five foot along the middle of the bottom log. Tom said we
was right behind Jim's bed now, and we'd dig in under it, and when we got
through there couldn't nobody in the cabin ever know there was any hole
there, because Jim's counter-pin hung down most to the ground, and you'd
have to raise it up and look under to see the hole. So we dug and dug
with the case-knives till most midnight; and then we was dog-tired, and
our hands was blistered, and yet you couldn't see we'd done anything
hardly. At last I says:
"This ain't no thirty-seven year job; this is a thirty-eight year job,
Tom Sawyer."
He never said nothing. But he sighed, and pretty soon he stopped
digging, and then for a good little while I knowed that he was thinking.
Then he says:
"It ain't no use, Huck, it ain't a-going to work. If we was prisoners it
would, because then we'd have as many years as we wanted, and no hurry;
and we wouldn't get but a few minutes to dig, every day, while they was
changing watches, and so our hands wouldn't get blistered, and we could
keep it up right along, year in and year out, and do it right, and the
way it ought to be done. But WE can't fool along; we got to rush; we
ain't got no time to spare. If we was to put in another night this way
we'd have to knock off for a week to let our hands get well--couldn't
touch a case-knife with them sooner."
"Well, then, what we going to do, Tom?"
"I'll tell you. It ain't right, and it ain't moral, and I wouldn't like
it to get out; but there ain't only just the one way: we got to dig him
out with the picks, and LET ON it's case-knives."
"NOW you're TALKING!" I says; "your head gets leveler and leveler all
the time, Tom Sawyer," I says. "Picks is the thing, moral or no moral;
and as for me, I don't care shucks for the morality of it, nohow. When I
start in to steal a <DW65>, or a watermelon, or a Sunday-school book, I
ain't no ways particular how it's done so it's done. What I want is my
<DW65>; or what I want is my watermelon; or what I want is my
Sunday-school book; and if a pick's the handiest thing, that's the thing
I'm a-going to dig that <DW65> or that watermelon or that Sunday-school
book out with; and I don't give a dead rat what the authorities thinks
about it nuther."
"Well," he says, "there's excuse for picks and letting-on in a case like
this; if it warn't so, I wouldn't approve of it, nor I wouldn't stand by
and see the rules broke--because right is right, and wrong is wrong, and
a body ain't got no business doing wrong when he ain't ignorant and knows
better. It might answer for YOU to dig Jim out with a pick, WITHOUT any
letting on, because you don't know no better; but it wouldn't for me,
because I do know better. Gimme a case-knife."
He had his own by him, but I handed him mine. He flung it down, and
says:
"Gimme a CASE-KNIFE."
I didn't know just what to do--but then I thought. I scratched around
amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took
it and went to work, and never said a word.
He was always just that particular. Full of principle.
So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and
made the fur fly. We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long
as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it.
When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing his
level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his hands was
so sore. At last he says:
"It ain't no use, it can't be done. What you reckon I better do? Can't
you think of no way?"
"Yes," I says, "but I reckon it ain't regular. Come up the stairs, and
let on it's a lightning-rod."
So he done it.
Next day Tom stole a pewter spoon and a brass candlestick in the house,
for to make some pens for Jim out of, and six tallow candles; and I hung
around the <DW65> cabins and laid for a chance, and stole three tin
plates. Tom says it wasn't enough; but I said nobody wouldn't ever see
the plates that Jim throwed out, because they'd fall in the dog-fennel
and jimpson weeds under the window-hole--then we could tote them back and
he could use them over again. So Tom was satisfied. Then he says:
"Now, the thing to study out is, how to get the things to Jim."
"Take them in through the hole," I says, "when we get it done."
He only just looked scornful, and said something about nobody ever heard
of such an idiotic idea, and then he went to studying. By and by he said
he had ciphered out two or three ways, but there warn't no need to decide
on any of them yet. Said we'd got to post Jim first.
That night we went down the lightning-rod a little after ten, and took
one of the candles along, and listened under the window-hole, and heard
Jim snoring; so we pitched it in, and it didn't wake him. Then we
whirled in with the pick and shovel, and in about two hours and a half
the job was done. We crept in under Jim's bed and into the cabin, and
pawed around and found the candle and lit it, and stood over Jim awhile,
and found him looking hearty and healthy, and then we woke him up gentle
and gradual. He was so glad to see us he most cried; and called us
honey, and all the pet names he could think of; and was for having us
hunt up a cold-chisel to cut the chain off of his leg with right away,
and clearing out without losing any time. But Tom he showed him how
unregular it would be, and set down and told him all about our plans, and
how we could alter them in a minute any time there was an alarm; and not
to be the least afraid, because we would see he got away, SURE. So Jim
he said it was all right, and we set there and talked over old times
awhile, and then Tom asked a lot of questions, and when Jim told him
Uncle Silas come in every day or two to pray with him, and Aunt Sally
come in to see if he was comfortable and had plenty to eat, and both of
them was kind as they could be, Tom says:
"NOW I know how to fix it. We'll send you some things by them."
I said, "Don't do nothing of the kind; it's one of the most jackass ideas
I ever struck;" but he never paid no attention to me; went right on. It
was his way when he'd got his plans set.
So he told Jim how we'd have to smuggle in the rope-ladder pie and other
large things by Nat, the <DW65> that fed him, and he must be on the
lookout, and not be surprised, and not let Nat see him open them; and we
would put small things in uncle's coat-pockets and he must steal them
out; and we would tie things to aunt's apron-strings or put them in her
apron-pocket, if we got a chance; and told him what they would be and
what they was for. And told him how to keep a journal on the shirt with
his blood, and all that. He told him everything. Jim he couldn't see no
sense in the most of it, but he allowed we was white folks and knowed
better than him; so he was satisfied, and said he would do it all just as
Tom said.
Jim had plenty corn-cob pipes and tobacco; so we had a right down good
sociable time; then we crawled out through the hole, and so home to bed,
with hands that looked like they'd been chawed. Tom was in high spirits.
He said it was the best fun he ever had in his life, and the most
intellectural; and said if he only could see his way to it we would keep
it up all the rest of our lives and leave Jim to our children to get out;
for he believed Jim would come to like it better and better the more he
got used | 197.956059 |
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UNCLE WALT
[Illustration: To George Matthew Adams
From his Accomplice Walt Mason]
UNCLE WALT
[WALT MASON]
[Illustration]
The Poet Philosopher
Chicago
George Matthew Adams
1910
Copyright, 1910, by George Matthew Adams.
Registered in Canada in accordance with
the copyright law. Entered at Stationers'
Hall, London. All rights reserved.
Contents
A Glance at History 17
Longfellow 18
In Politics 19
The Human Head 20
The Universal Help 21
Little Sunbeam 22
The Flag 23
Doc Jonnesco 24
Little Girl 25
The Landlady 26
Twilight Reveries 27
King and Kid 28
Little Green Tents 29
Geronimo Aloft 31
The Venerable Excuse 32
Silver Threads 33
The Poet Balks 34
The Penny Saved 35
Home Life 36
Eagles and Hens 37
The Sunday Paper 38
The Nation's Hope 39
Football 40
Health Food 41
Physical Culture 43
The Nine Kings 44
The Eyes of Lincoln 45
The Better Land 46
Knowledge Is Power 47
The Pie Eaters 48
The Sexton's Inn 49
He Who Forgets 50
Poor Father 51
The Idle Question 52
Politeness 53
Little Pilgrims 55
The Wooden Indian 56
Home and Mother 57
E. Phillips Oppenheim 58
Better than Boodle 59
The Famous Four 60
Niagara 61
A Rainy Night 62
The Wireless 63
Helpful Mr. Bok 64
Beryl's Boudoir 65
Post-Mortem Honors 67
After A While 68
Pretty Good Schemes 69
Knowledge by Mail 70
Duke and Plumber 71
Human Hands 72
The Lost Pipe 73
Thanksgiving 74
Sir Walter Raleigh 75
The Country Editor 76
Useless Griefs 77
Fairbanks' Whiskers 78
Letting It Alone 79
The End of the Road 80
The Dying Fisherman 81
George Meredith 82
The Smart Children 83
The Journey 85
Times Have Changed 86
My Little Dog "Dot" 87
Harry Thurston Peck 88
Tired Man's Sleep 89
Tomorrow 90
Toothache 91
Auf Wiedersehen 92
After the Game 93
Nero's Fiddle 94
The Real Terror 95
The Talksmiths 96
Woman's Progress 97
The Magic Mirror 99
The Misfit Face 100
A Dog Story 101
The Pitcher 102
Lions and Ants 103
The Nameless Dead 104
Ambition 105
Night's Illusions 106
Before and After 107
Luther Burbank 108
Governed Too Much 109
Success in Life 110
The Hookworm Victim 111
Alfred Austin 112
Weary Old Age 113
Lullaby 114
The School Marm 115
Poe 116
Gay Parents 117
Dad 118
John Bunyan 119
A Near Anthem 121
The Yellow Cord 122
The Important Man 123
Toddling Home 124
Trifling Things 125
Trusty Dobbin 126
The High Prices 127
Omar Khayyam 128
The Grouch 129
The Pole 130
Wilhelmina 131
Wilbur Wright 132
The Broncho 133
Schubert's Serenade 135
Mazeppa 136
Fashion's Devotee 137
Christmas 138
The Tightwad 139
Blue Blood 140
The Cave Man 141
Rudyard Kipling 142
In Indiana 143
The Colonel at Home 144
The June Bride 145
At The Theatre 146
Club Day Dirge 147
Washington 149
Hours and Ponies 150
The Optimist 151
A Few Remarks 152
Little Things 153
The Umpire 154
Sherlock Holmes 155
The Sanctuary 156
The Newspaper Graveyard 157
My Lady's Hair 158
The Sick Minstrel 159
The Beggar 160
Looking Forward 161
The Depot Loafers 162
The Foolish Husband 163
Halloween 165
Rienzi To The Romans 166
The Sorrel Colt 167
Plutocrat and Poet 168
Mail Order Clothes 169
Evening 170
They All Come Back 171
The Cussing Habit 172
John Bull 173
An Oversight 174
The Traveler 175
Saturday Night 176
Lady Nicotine 177
Up-To-Date Serenade 179
The Consumer 180
Advice To A Damsel 181
The New Year Vow 182
The Stricken Toiler 183
The Law Books 184
Sleuths of Fiction 185
Put It On Ice 186
The Philanthropist 187
Other Days 188
The Passing Year 189
List of Illustrations
Page
Frontispiece 12
"A Glance at History" 16
"Geronimo Aloft" 30
"Physical Culture" 42
"Little Pilgrims" 54
"Post-Mortem Honors" 66
"The Journey" 84
"The Magic Mirror" 98
"A Near Anthem" 120
"Schubert's Serenade" 134
"Washington" 148
"Halloween" 164
"Up-to-Date Serenade" 178
[Illustration: _"Uncle Walt" on his favorite steed. Drawn by John T.
McCutcheon_]
A Poet of the People
Walt Mason's Prose Rhymes are read daily by approximately ten million
readers.
A newspaper service sells these rhymes to two hundred newspapers with a
combined daily circulation of nearly five million, and assuming that
five people read each newspaper--which is the number agreed upon by
publicity experts--it may be called a fair guess to say that two out of
every five readers of newspapers read Mr. Mason's poems.
So the ten million daily readers is a reasonably accurate estimate. No
other American verse-maker has such a daily audience.
Walt Mason is, therefore, the Poet Laureate of the American Democracy.
He is the voice of the people.
Put to a vote, Walt would be elected to the Laureate's job, if he got a
vote for each reader. And, generally speaking, men would vote as they
read.
The reason Walt Mason has such a large number of readers is because he
says what the average man is thinking so that the average man can
understand it.
The philosophy of Walt Mason is the philosophy of America. Briefly it is
this: The fiddler must be paid; if you don't care to pay, don't dance.
In the meantime--grin and bear it, because you've got to bear it, and
you might as well grin. But don't try to lie out | 197.958569 |
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THE PANCHRONICON
THE
PANCHRONICON
BY
HAROLD STEELE MACKAYE
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1904
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published, April, 1904
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 1
II. A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 23
III. A NOCTURNAL EVASION 38
IV. A CHANGE OF PLAN 58
V. DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 86
VI. SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 103
VII. NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 123
VIII. HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 157
IX. PHOEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 179
X. HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 208
XI. THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 242
XII. HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 258
XIII. HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 277
XIV. THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT 297
XV. HOW REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON 317
XVI. HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 324
XVII. REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 340
THE PANCHRONICON
CHAPTER I
THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP
The two sisters were together in their garden.
Rebecca Wise, turned forty and growing slightly gray at the temples, was
moving slowly from one of her precious plants to the next, leaning over
each to pinch off a dead leaf or count the buds. It was the historic
month of May, 1898, and May is the paradise of flower lovers.
Phoebe was eighteen years younger than her sister, and the beauty of
the village. Indeed, many declared their belief that the whole State of
New Hampshire did not contain her equal.
She was seated on the steps of the veranda that skirted the little white
cottage, and the absent gaze of her frank blue eyes was directed through
the gate at the foot of the little path bordered by white rose-bushes.
In her lap was a bundle of papers yellowed by age and an ivory
miniature, evidently taken from the carved wooden box at her side.
Presently Rebecca straightened her back with a slight grimace and looked
toward her sister, holding her mold-covered hands and fingers spread
away from her.
"Well," she inquired, "hev ye found anythin'?"
Phoebe brought her gaze back from infinity and replied:
"No, I ain't. Only that one letter where Isaac Burton writes her that
the players have come to town."
"I don't see what good them letters'll do ye in the Shakespeare class,
then."
Rebecca spoke listlessly--more interested in her garden than in her
sister's search.
"I don't know," Phoebe rejoined, dreamily. "It's awful funny--but
whenever I take out these old letters there comes over me the feelin'
that I'm 'way off in a strange country--and I feel like somebody else."
Rebecca looked up anxiously from her work.
"Them sort o' philanderin' notions are foolish, Phoebe," she said, and
flicked a caterpillar over the fence.
Phoebe gave herself a little shake and began to tie up the papers.
"That's so," she replied. "But they will come when I get these out, an'
I got 'em out thinkin' the' might be somethin' about Shakespeare in 'em
for our class."
She paused and looked wistfully at the letters again.
"Oh!" she cried, "how I do wonder if he was among those players at the
Peacock Inn that day! You know 'players' is what they called play-actors
in those days, and he was a play-actor, they say."
"Did he live very far back, then?" said Rebecca, wishing to appear
interested, but really intent upon a new sprout at the foot of the
lilac-bush.
"Yes, three hundred years ago. Three of these letters has a date in 1598
exactly."
There was a long silence, and at length Rebecca looked up from the
ground to ascertain its cause. She frowned and drew her aching back
stiffly straight again.
"Everlastin'ly lookin' at that pictur'!" she exclaimed. "I declare to
goodness, Phoebe Wise, folks'll think you're vain as a pouter pigeon."
Phoebe laughed merrily, tossed the letters into the box and leaped to
her feet. The miniature at which she had been gazing was still in her
hands.
"Folks'll never see me lookin' at it, Rebecca--only you," she said.
Then with a coaxing tone and looking with appealing arch | 197.962759 |
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Transcriber's Note
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_; bold text by =equal signs=; and
bold, italic text by +plus signs+. The oe ligature was replaced by the
individual letters.
VOL. XVIII MARCH-APRIL, 1916 20c. a Copy
No. 2 $1 a Year
Bird-Lore
[Illustration (birdhouse in field)]
EDITED BY
FRANK M. CHAPMAN
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUDUBON SOCIETIES
BY
D. Appleton & Company
HARRISBURG, PA. NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY FRANK M. CHAPMAN _R. Weber_.
Bird-Lore
March-April, 1916
------------------
CONTENTS
=GENERAL ARTICLES= Page
Frontispiece in Color--Bush-Tits, Verdin, and Wren-Tit
_Louis Agassiz Fuertes_
The World's Record for Density of Bird Population. Illustrated
by the author _Gilbert H. Grosvenor_ 77
The Robin in Yosemite. Verse _Garrett Newkirk_ 84
The Spring Migration of 1915 at Raleigh, N. C.
_S. C. Bruner and C. S. Brimley_ 85
First Efforts at Bird Photography. Illustrated by the author
_H. Tra Hartshorn_ 88
Long-eared Owl on Nest. Illustration _H. and E. Pittman_ 91
The Interesting Barn Owl. Illustrated by the author
_Joseph W. Lippincott_ 92
Photographs of Flickers _Arthur A. Allen_ 96
The Migration of North American Birds. Illustrated by
Louis Agassiz Fuertes _W. W. Cooke_ 97
Notes on the Plumage of North American Birds. Thirty-seventh
Paper _Frank M. Chapman_
=NOTES FROM FIELD AND STUDY= 100
A Correction; Hints for Bird Clubs, _W. M. Buswell_; Ornithological
Possibilities of a Bit of Swamp Land, _Arthur P. Stubbs_; My
Neighbor's Sparrow Trap, _Charles R. Keyes_; A Tropical Migration
Tragedy; A Shower of Birds, _R. L. Tripp_; A Heron's Involuntary
Bath, _John R. Tooker_; Winter Notes From Carlisle, Ind., _J. H.
Gilliland_; Notes from Nebraska, _Howard Paret_; A Gannet over the
Hudson River, _J. T. Nichols_; Petrels on the Hudson, _F. M.
Chapman_; Starling in Ohio, _Sheridan T. Wood_; Evening Grosbeaks
and Cardinals in Southern Wisconsin, _Ethel A. Nott_; Evening
Grosbeaks at Port Henry, N. Y., _Dora B. Harris_; Evening Grosbeak
at Glen Falls, N. Y., _E. Eveleen Hathaway_; Evening Grosbeaks at
Saratoga Springs, N. Y., _Jacolyn Manning, M. D._; The Evening
Grosbeak at Boston, _E. G. and R. E. Robbins_; Evening Grosbeaks
at Poughkeepsie, N. Y., _George W. Gray_; Evening Grosbeaks in
Lexington, Mass., _Winsor M. Tyler, M. D._; Evening Grosbeaks in
Vermont, _L. H. Potter_; Evening Grosbeaks in Connecticut, _Mary
Hazen Arnold_; Martin Problems, _May S. Danner_; A Bold Winter
Wren, _Edward J. F. Marx_.
=BOOK NEWS AND REVIEWS= 110
Grinnell's Distributional List of California Birds; Taverner on
the Food Habits of Cormorants; The Ornithological Magazines.
=EDITORIAL= 112
=THE AUDUBON SOCIETIES--SCHOOL DEPARTMENT= 113
Bird and Arbor Day--An Awakening, _A. H. W._; Junior Audubon Work;
Ways of Keeping up Interest in Bird Study; For and From Adult
and Young Observers, Red-wing Blackbird. Ills.
=EDUCATIONAL LEAFLET No. 85.= Chestnut-sided Warbler. With
plate by Bruce Horsfall _T. Gilbert Pearson_ 128
=AUDUBON SOCIETIES--EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT= 132
A Case in Point; A Feeding-Shelf; Photographing Water-Fowl; Birds
and the Cold Spell; Florence Merriam Bailey; New Members and
Contributors; The Virginia Game Bill; Notes From the Field.
*.* _Manuscripts intended for publication, books, etc., for review and
exchanges, should be sent to the Editor, at the American Museum of
Natural History, 77th St. and 8th Ave., New York City._
=Notices of changes of addresses, renewals and subscriptions should be
sent to BIRD-LORE, HARRISBURG, PA.=
=Please remit by Draft or Money Order=
* * * * *
Important Notice to All Bird-Lore Subscribers
=Bird-lore= is published on or near the first days of February, April,
June, August, October, and December. Failure to secure the copy due you
should be reported not later than the 18th of the months above
mentioned. We cannot supply missing copies after the month in which the
number in question was issued.
Entered as second-class mail matter in the Post Office at Harrisburg,
Pa.
* * * * *
[Illustration (Wren House)]
Send $1 for this famous
WREN HOUSE
Known as Jennie's Choice
For three seasons "Jennie" preferred this House where there was a choice
of fifty.
A. P. GREIM
"Birdville" TOMS RIVER, N. J.
* * * * *
THE JACOBS BIRD-HOUSE COMPANY
First American enterprise for the manufacture of =Bird-Houses and
Bird-Feeding Devices=
=Over 33 years' experience by the Pres. Mgr.= Always leading in the
Bird-House enterprise,
=Jacobs Now Pays the Freight=
to your nearest steam railroad freight station!
[Illustration: Our Indorsement.]
Twelve beautiful designs of colony houses for the Purple Martin.
Individual nest boxes for Wrens, Bluebirds, Swallows, Chickadees,
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Sheltered Feeding Devices and Food Tables, Cement Bird Baths and
Drinking Fountains.
Genuine Government Sparrow Traps.
Direct from our factory to user at factory prices, thus giving customers
the benefit of local dealers' and agents' commissions.
Mention this magazine and send 10 cts. for our beautifully illustrated
bird-house booklet.
JACOBS BIRD-HOUSE COMPANY
404 S. Washington St., Waynesburg, Pa.
* * * * *
[Illustration (Publisher's Logo)]
+Just the Book to Interest Children in Bird Study+
=LITTLE BIRD BLUE=
By William L. and Irene Finley
"No child can read this beautifully printed and illustrated book without
having his love for the bluebird increased; even the adult will find
much pleasure in text, illustrations, and exquisite make-up."--_Guide to
Nature._
"One of the prettiest and most commendable of children's books."--_St.
Louis Republic._
"It has the beneficial effect of intensifying our love of
birds."--_Rochester Post Express._
"Children could hardly have a more happy introduction to
bird-study."--_Lexington Herald._
"One of the most entertaining books for juveniles."--_Boston Globe._
"Told in a manner to delight children."--_Zion's Herald._
"Mr. and Mrs. Finley have written the book with much charm, and woven
into the story a great deal of bird-lore."--_Portland Evening Telegram._
_Profusely illustrated with drawings by Bruce Horsfall and photographs
by Mr. Finley. Price 75 cents net._
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN CO.,
4 Park Street 16 East 49th St.
BOSTON NEW YORK
* * * * *
=Everything from "Soup to Nuts" for the Birds=
Try Evang Bros. Mixtseed for Native and Migratory Birds! Large size
package, 50 cents.
=230 Main Street Evanston, Illinois=
* * * * *
=Bird Gardening=
WALTER M. BUSWELL, at present the Superintendent of the famous Bird
Sanctuary of the Meriden Bird Club, is prepared to give expert advice on
all matters pertaining to the attraction and protection of birds.
=Address: Meriden, New Hampshire=
* * * * *
I should be pleased to have any MUSEUM or HIGH SCHOOL desiring to secure
an excellent ORNITHOLOGICAL and OOeLOGICAL COLLECTION for study and
scientific purposes communicate with me.
=GEO. W. AMES=
=No. 707 Washington Avenue=
=Bay City, Mich.=
* * * * *
+To Bird-Lovers+
Use Comstock's
BIRD NOTEBOOKS
Nos. 1 and 2
in your bird study
Each book has outlines for recording location, size, nesting, habits,
etc., for use in the field. In addition, book No. 1 has 30, and book No.
2 has 28 outline drawings of birds (by Louis Agassiz Fuertes), on
watercolor paper for recording the colors.
These books are used in quantity in classes, rural, city and normal
schools and colleges.
Pocket size, 124 pages
30 cts. each, 50 cts. set of two
_Send for circular of the Nature
Notebook Series_
The Comstock Publishing Company
110 Roberts Place, Ithaca, N. Y.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Wren House No. 6_]
=Do You Love Birds?=
Encourage them to live in your gardens. Use our successful bird-houses
for Wrens, Chickadees, Bluebirds and Purple Martins. Strongly made--well
painted, to resist weather. Prices 35c to $10. Design illustrated $1 50.
Our reliable wire Sparrow Trap endorsed by U. S. Government, $3 F. O. B.
Dubuque. _Write for free illustrated Folder No. 233-B._
=Farley & Loetscher Mfg. Co., Dubuque, Iowa=
* * * * *
=Bird-Lores Wanted=
======================================================================
_(The publishers of BIRD-LORE respectfully urge subscribers who desire
to have unbroken files of the magazine, to renew their subscription at
the time of its expiration.)_
======================================================================
Vol. I, Nos. 2, 3, 4; Vol. II, Nos. 1, 2, 3, 5; Vol. III, Nos. 4, 5;
Vol. XIII, Nos. 1, 2. PHILIP DOWELL, Port Richmond, N. Y.
Vol. I, Nos. 2, 3, 4, 6; Vol. II, Nos. 2, 3, 5; Vol. III, Nos. 1, 2, 4;
Vol. IV, Nos. 1, 2; Vol. V, No. 1; Vol. VII, No. 1; Vol. IX, Nos. 3, | 198.256738 |
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[Illustration: CAPTAIN BARCLAY
_In his Walking dress._]
PEDESTRIANISM;
OR,
AN ACCOUNT
OF
The Performances of celebrated Pedestrians
DURING
_THE LAST AND PRESENT CENTURY_;
WITH A FULL NARRATIVE OF
Captain Barclay’s
PUBLIC AND PRIVATE MATCHES;
AND
AN ESSAY ON TRAINING.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF THE HISTORY OF | 198.261235 |
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DOROTHY
ON A HOUSE-BOAT
_By_
EVELYN RAYMOND
ILLUSTRATED
New York
THE PLATTE & PECK CO.
THE
DOROTHY BOOKS
By EVELYN RAYMOND
These stories of an American girl by an American author have made
"Dorothy" a household synonym for all that is fascinating. Truth and
realism are stamped on every page. The interest never flags, and is
ofttimes intense. No more happy choice can be made for gift books, so
sure are they to win approval and please not only the young in years,
but also "grown-ups" who are young in heart and spirit.
Dorothy
Dorothy at Skyrie
Dorothy's Schooling
Dorothy's Travels
Dorothy's House Party
Dorothy in California
Dorothy on a Ranch
Dorothy's House Boat
Dorothy at Oak Knowe
Dorothy's Triumph
Dorothy's Tour
_Illustrated, 12mo, Cloth
Price per Volume, 50 Cents_
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
THE PLATT & PECK CO.
[Illustration: "EPHRAIM, DID YOU EVER LIVE IN A HOUSE-BOAT?"--P 15
_Dorothy's House-Boat_]
FOREWORD.
Those who have followed the story of Dorothy Calvert's life thus
far will remember that it has been | 198.36061 |
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Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
THE ADVENTURES OF FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM
by Tobias Smollett
COMPLETE IN TWO PARTS
PART I.
With the Author's Preface, and an Introduction by G. H. Maynadier, Ph.D.
Department of English, Harvard University.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PREFATORY ADDRESS
CHAPTER
I Some sage Observations that naturally introduce our important
History
II A superficial View of our Hero's Infancy
III He is initiated in a Military Life, and has the good Fortune
to acquire a generous Patron
IV His Mother's Prowess and Death; together with some Instances
of his own Sagacity
V A brief Detail of his Education
VI He meditates Schemes of Importance
VII Engages in Partnership with a female Associate, in order to
put his Talents in Action
VIII Their first Attempt; with a Digression which some Readers
may think impertinent
IX The Confederates change their Battery, and achieve a remarkable
Adventure
X They proceed to levy Contributions with great Success, until
our Hero sets out with the young Count for Vienna, where he
enters into League with another Adventurer
XI Fathom makes various Efforts in the World of Gallantry
XII He effects a Lodgment in the House of a rich Jeweller
XIII He is exposed to a most perilous Incident in the Course of his
Intrigue with the Daughter
XIV He is reduced to a dreadful Dilemma, in consequence of an
Assignation with the Wife
XV But at length succeeds in his Attempt upon both
XVI His Success begets a blind Security, by which he is once again
well-nigh entrapped in his Dulcinea's Apartment
XVII The Step-dame's Suspicions being awakened, she lays a Snare
for our Adventurer, from which he is delivered by the
Interposition of his Good Genius
XVIII Our Hero departs from Vienna, and quits the Domain of Venus
for the rough Field of Mars
XIX He puts himself under the Guidance of his Associate, and
stumbles upon the French Camp, where he finishes his
Military Career
XX He prepares a Stratagem, but finds himself countermined--
Proceeds on his Journey, and is overtaken by a terrible
Tempest
XXI He falls upon Scylla, seeking to avoid Charybdis.
XXII He arrives at Paris, and is pleased with his Reception
XXIII Acquits himself with Address in a Nocturnal Riot
XXIV He overlooks the Advances of his Friends, and smarts severely
for his Neglect
XXV He bears his Fate like a Philosopher; and contracts
acquaintance with a very remarkable Personage
XXVI The History of the Noble Castilian
XXVII A flagrant Instance of Fathom's Virtue, in the Manner of his
Retreat to England
XXVIII Some Account of his Fellow-Travellers
XXIX Another providential Deliverance from the Effects of the
Smuggler's ingenious Conjecture
XXX The singular Manner of Fathom's Attack and Triumph over the
Virtue of the fair Elenor
XXXI He by accident encounters his old Friend, with whom he holds
a Conference, and renews a Treaty
XXXII He appears in the great World with universal Applause and
Admiration
XXXIII He attracts the Envy and Ill Offices of the minor Knights of
his own Order, over whom he obtains a complete Victory
XXXIV He performs another Exploit, that conveys a true Idea of his
Gratitude and Honour
XXXV He repairs to Bristol Spring, where he reigns paramount during
the whole Season
XXXVI He is smitten with the Charms of a Female Adventurer, whose
Allurements subject him to a new Vicissitude of Fortune
XXXVII Fresh Cause for exerting his Equanimity and Fortitude
XXXVIII The Biter is Bit
INTRODUCTION
The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom, Smollett's third novel, was
given to the world in 1753. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing to her
daughter, the Countess of Bute, over a year later [January 1st, 1755],
remarked that "my friend Smollett. . . has certainly a talent for
invention, though I think it flags a little in his last work." Lady Mary
was both right and wrong. The inventive power which we commonly think of
as Smollett's was the ability to work over his own experience into
realistic fiction. Of this, Ferdinand Count Fathom shows comparatively
little. It shows relatively little, too, of Smollett's vigorous
personality, which in his earlier works was present to give life and
interest to almost every chapter, were it to describe a street brawl, a
ludicrous situation, a whimsical character, or with venomous prejudice to
gibbet some enemy. This individuality--the peculiar spirit of the author
which can be felt rather than described--is present in the dedication of
Fathom to Doctor ------, who is no other than Smollett himself, and a
candid revelation of his character, by the way, this dedication contains.
It is present, too, in the opening chapters, which show, likewise, in the
picture of Fathom's mother, something of the author's peculiar "talent
for invention." Subsequently, however, there is no denying that the
Smollett invention and the Smollett spirit both flag. And yet, in a way,
Fathom displays more invention than any of the author's novels; it is
based far less than any other on personal experience. Unfortunately
such thorough-going invention was not suited to Smollett's genius. The
result is, that while uninteresting as a novel of contemporary manners,
Fathom has an interest of its own in that it reveals a new side of its
author. We think of Smollett, generally, as a rambling storyteller, a
rational, unromantic man of the world, who fills his pages with his own
oddly-metamorphosed acquaintances and experiences. The Smollett of Count
Fathom, on the contrary, is rather a forerunner of the romantic school,
who has created a tolerably organic tale of adventure out of his own
brain. Though this is notably less readable than the author's earlier
works, still the wonder is that when the man is so far "off his beat," he
should yet know so well how to meet the strange conditions which confront
him. To one whose idea of Smollett's genius is formed entirely by Random
and Pickle and Humphry Clinker, Ferdinand Count Fathom will offer many
surprises.
The first of these is the comparative lifelessness of the book. True,
here again are action and incident galore, but generally unaccompanied by
that rough Georgian hurly-burly, common in Smollett, which is so
interesting to contemplate from a comfortable distance, and which goes so
far towards making his fiction seem real. Nor are the characters, for
the most part, life-like enough to be interesting. There is an apparent
exception, to be sure, in the hero's mother, already mentioned, the
hardened camp-follower, whom we confidently expect to become vitalised
after the savage fashion of Smollett's characters. But, alas! we have no
chance to learn the lady's style of conversation, for the few words that
come from her lips are but partially characteristic; we have only too
little chance to learn her manners and customs. In the fourth chapter,
while she is making sure with her dagger that all those on the field of
battle whom she wishes to rifle are really dead, an officer of the
hussars, who has been watching her lucrative progress, unfeelingly puts a
brace of bullets into the lady's brain, just as she raises her hand to
smite him to the heart. Perhaps it is as well that she is thus removed
before our disappointment at the non-fulfilment of her promise becomes
poignant. So far as we may judge from the other personages of Count
Fathom, even this interesting Amazon would sooner or later have turned
into a wooden figure, with a label giving the necessary information as to
her character.
Such certainly is her son, Fathom, the hero of the book. Because he is
placarded, "Shrewd villain of monstrous inhumanity," we are fain to
accept him for what his creator intended; but seldom in word or deed is
he a convincingly real villain. His friend and foil, the noble young
Count de Melvil, is no more alive than he; and equally wooden are Joshua,
the high-minded, saint-like Jew, and that tedious, foolish Don Diego.
Neither is the heroine alive, the peerless Monimia, but then, in her
case, want of vitality is not surprising; the presence of it would amaze
us. If she were a woman throbbing with life, she would be different from
Smollett's other heroines. The "second lady" of the melodrama,
Mademoiselle de Melvil, though by no means vivified, is yet more real
than her sister-in-law.
The fact that they are mostly inanimate figures is not the only surprise
given us by the personages of Count Fathom. It is a surprise to find few
of them strikingly whimsical; it is a surprise to find them in some cases
far more distinctly conceived than any of the people in Roderick Random
or Peregrine Pickle. In the second of these, we saw Smollett beginning
to understand the use of incident to indicate consistent development of
character. In Count Fathom, he seems fully to understand this principle
of art, though he has not learned to apply it successfully. And so, in
spite of an excellent conception, Fathom, as I have said, is unreal.
After all his villainies, which he perpetrates without any apparent
qualms of conscience, it is incredible that he should honestly repent of
his crimes. We are much inclined to doubt when we read that "his vice
and ambition was now quite mortified within him," the subsequent
testimony of Matthew Bramble, Esq., in Humphry Clinker, to the contrary,
notwithstanding. Yet Fathom up to this point is consistently drawn, and
drawn for a purpose:--to show that cold-blooded roguery, though
successful for a while, will come to grief in the end. To heighten the
effect of his scoundrel, Smollett develops parallel with him the virtuous
Count de Melvil. The author's scheme of thus using one character as the
foil of another, though not conspicuous for its originality, shows a
decided advance in the theory of constructive technique. Only, as I have
said, Smollett's execution is now defective.
"But," one will naturally ask, "if Fathom lacks the amusing, and not
infrequently stimulating, hurly-burly of Smollett's former novels; if its
characters, though well-conceived, are seldom divertingly fantastic and
never thoroughly animate; what makes the book interesting?" The surprise
will be greater than ever when the answer is given that, to a large
extent, the plot makes Fathom interesting. Yes, Smollett, hitherto
indifferent to structure, has here written a story in which the plot
itself, often clumsy though it may be, engages a reader's attention. One
actually wants to know whether the young Count is ever going to receive
consolation for his sorrows and inflict justice on his basely ungrateful
pensioner. And when, finally, all turns out as it should, one is amazed
to find how many of the people in the book have helped towards the
designed conclusion. Not all of them, indeed, nor all of the adventures,
are indispensable, but it is manifest at the end that much, which, for
the time, most readers think irrelevant--such as Don Diego's history--is,
after all, essential.
It has already been said that in Count Fathom Smollett appears to some
extent as a romanticist, and this is another fact which lends interest to
the book. That he had a powerful imagination is not a surprise. Any one
versed in Smollett has already seen it in the remarkable situations which
he has put before us in his earlier works. These do not indicate,
however, that Smollett possessed the imagination which could excite
romantic interest; for in Roderick Random and in Peregrine Pickle, the
wonderful situations serve chiefly to amuse. In Fathom, however, there
are some designed to excite horror; and one, at least, is eminently
successful. The hero's night in the wood between Bar-le-duc and Chalons
was no doubt more blood-curdling to our eighteenth-century ancestors than
it is to us, who have become acquainted with scores of similar situations
in the small number of exciting romances which belong to literature, and
in the greater number which do not. Still, even to-day, a reader, with
his taste jaded by trashy novels, will be conscious of Smollett's power,
and of several thrills, likewise, as he reads about Fathom's experience
in the loft in which the beldame locks him to pass the night.
This situation is melodramatic rather than romantic, as the word is used
technically in application to eighteenth and nineteenth-century
literature. There is no little in Fathom, however, which is genuinely
romantic in the latter sense. Such is the imprisonment of the Countess
in the castle-tower, whence she waves her handkerchief to the young
Count, her son and would-be rescuer. And especially so is the scene in
the church, when Renaldo (the very name is romantic) visits at midnight
the supposed grave of his lady-love. While he was waiting for the sexton
to open the door, his "soul. . . was wound up to the highest pitch of
enthusiastic sorrow. The uncommon darkness,. . . the solemn silence,
and lonely situation of the place, conspired with the occasion of his
coming, and the dismal images of his fancy, to produce a real rapture of
gloomy expectation, which the whole world could not have persuaded him to
disappoint. The clock struck twelve, the owl screeched from the ruined
batt | 198.362513 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.4384950 | 252 | 17 |
Produced by KD Weeks, Chris Curnow and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note
The title page consists of an image, which has been transcribed.
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the '_' character as _italic_. There are
instances of vowels modified by macrons. These are given as, e.g.,
[=e], [=u], etc. Symbols in the form of bold figures are printed as
=T=, =V=, =Y=, etc. There is one instance of an inverted T, which
is represented as [=invertedT=]. The 'oe' ligature is given as
separate characters, that is, 'OE' or 'oe'.
For consistency, fractions are usually represented, for example,
as 2-1/2 for 21/2. In tabular data, the available Latin-1 fractions
1/4, 1/2, 3/4 were used on occasion to minimize width. Superscripted
characters are indicated | 198.458535 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.4396750 | 35 | 14 |
Produced by Emmy, Beth Baran and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously | 198.459715 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.5369020 | 337 | 13 |
Produced by Craig Kirkwood, Demian Katz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images
courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
HOW TO TELL FORTUNES
CONTAINING Napoleon’s Oraculum, and the Key to Work It
ALSO Tells Fortunes by Cards, LUCKY AND UNLUCKY DAYS, SIGNS AND OMENS.
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY
FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER
168 West 23d St., New York City
HOW TO TELL FORTUNES BY CARDS.
In telling Fortunes by Cards--as in all games in which they are
employed--the Ace ranks highest in value. Then comes the King, followed
by the Queen, Knave, Ten, Nine, Eight, and Seven; these being generally
the only cards used.
The order, and comparative value of the different suits, is as
follows:--First on the list stand “Clubs,” as they mostly portend
happiness; and--no matter how numerous, or how accompanied--are rarely
or never of bad augury. Next come “Hearts,” which usually signify joy,
liberality, or good temper; “Diamond | 198.556942 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.5369650 | 109 | 6 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE WHITE DOVE
By William J. Locke
New York: John Lane Company
1899
O White Dove of the Pity Divine
J. H. Skunk
[Illustration: 0009]
THE WHITE DOVE
CHAPTER I--FATHER AND SON
“ Life is a glorious thing,” said the girl.
Sylvester Lanyon looked at her half in amusement, half in wist | 198.557005 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.5395740 | 148 | 43 |
Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
* * * * *
AN
ESSAY UPON PROJECTS.
* * * * *
BY
DANIEL DEFOE.
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1887
INTRODUCTION.
DEFOE’S “Essay on Projects” was the first volume he published, and no
great writer ever published a first book | 198.559614 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.5407910 | 985 | 27 |
E-text prepared by Ruth Hart [email protected]
Transcriber's note:
In the original book, the Table of Contents was located after
the Preface, but I have placed it at the beginning of the text
for this online version.
PRACTICAL MYSTICISM
by
EVELYN UNDERHILL
Author of "Mysticism," "The Mystic Way," "Immanence: A Book of Verses."
"If the doors of perception were cleansed,
everything would appear to man as it is, infinite.
For man has closed himself up,
till he sees all things through the narrow chinks of his cavern."
WILLIAM BLAKE
New York
E.P. Dutton & Company
681 Fifth Avenue
Copyright 1915 by
E.P. Dutton & Company
TO THE UNSEEN FUTURE
CONTENTS
Preface vii
I. What is Mysticism 1
II. The World of Reality 13
III. The Preparation of the Mystic 21
IV. Meditation and Recollection 56
V. Self-Adjustment 29
VI. Love and Will 74
VII. The First Form of Contemplation 87
VIII. The Second Form of Contemplation 105
XI. The Third Form of Contemplation 126
X. The Mystical Life 148
PREFACE
This little book, written during the last months of peace, goes to
press in the first weeks of the great war. Many will feel that in
such a time of conflict and horror, when only the most ignorant,
disloyal, or apathetic can hope for quietness of mind, a book
which deals with that which is called the "contemplative" attitude
to existence is wholly out of place. So obvious, indeed, is this
point of view, that I had at first thought of postponing its
publication. On the one hand, it seems as though the dreams of a
spiritual renaissance, which promised so fairly but a little time
ago, had perished in the sudden explosion of brute force. On the
other hand, the thoughts of the English race are now turned, and
rightly, towards the most concrete forms of action--struggle and
endurance, practical sacrifices, difficult and long-continued
effort--rather than towards the passive attitude of self-surrender
which is all that the practice of mysticism seems, at first sight, to
demand. Moreover, that deep conviction of the dependence of all
human worth upon eternal values, the immanence of the Divine
Spirit within the human soul, which lies at the root of a mystical
concept of life, is hard indeed to reconcile with much of the
human history now being poured red-hot from the cauldron of
war. For all these reasons, we are likely during the present crisis
to witness a revolt from those superficially mystical notions
which threatened to become too popular during the immediate
past.
Yet, the title deliberately chosen for this book--that of "Practical"
Mysticism--means nothing if the attitude and the discipline which
it recommends be adapted to fair weather alone: if the principles
for which it stands break down when subjected to the pressure of
events, and cannot be reconciled with the sterner duties of the
national life. To accept this position is to reduce mysticism to the
status of a spiritual plaything. On the contrary, if the experiences
on which it is based have indeed the transcendent value for
humanity which the mystics claim for them--if they reveal to us a
world of higher truth and greater reality than the world of
concrete happenings in which we seem to be immersed--then that
value is increased rather than lessened when confronted by the
overwhelming disharmonies and sufferings of the present time. It
is significant that many of these experiences are reported to us
from periods of war and distress: that the stronger the forces of
destruction appeared, the more intense grew the spiritual vision
which opposed them. We learn from these records that the
mystical consciousness has the power of lifting those who
possess it to a plane of reality which no struggle, no cruelty, can
disturb: of conferring a certitude which no catastrophe can wreck.
Yet it does not wrap its initiates in a selfish and otherworldly
calm, isolate them from the pain and effort of the common life.
Rather, it gives them renewed vitality; | 198.560831 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.5430490 | 2,136 | 8 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Mary Akers and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note:
This book was published in two volumes, of which this is the second.
The first volume was released as Project Gutenberg ebook #45394,
available at http:www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45394. Italic text
has been marked with _underscores_. Please see the end of this
Project for further notes.
THE LIFE
OF
SIR HUMPHRY DAVY,
BART. LL.D.
LATE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY, FOREIGN ASSOCIATE
OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTE OF FRANCE,
&c. &c. &c.
BY
JOHN AYRTON PARIS, M.D. CANTAB. F.R.S. &c.
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY,
NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
M DCCC XXXI.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER X.
Mr. Faraday's introduction to Sir H. Davy.--A renewed correspondence
on the subject of the Gunpowder Manufactory.--Davy
obtains permission from Napoleon to visit the Continent.--He embarks
in a Cartel from Plymouth.--Is arrested at Morlaix.--Arrives
at Paris.--Visits the Louvre.--His extraordinary conduct
upon that occasion.--Inspects the Colossal Elephant, and is introduced
to M. Alavair, its architect.--The discovery of the dungeons
of the Bastile.--Davy's interesting letter to M. Alavair.--He attends
a meeting of the Institute.--Is visited by all the principal savans
of Paris.--The adventure which befell Lady Davy in the Thuilleries'
Garden.--Anniversary dinner of the Philomatic Society.--The
junior Chemists of France invite Davy to a splendid entertainment.--How
far Davy is entitled to be considered the discoverer
of the true nature of Iodine.--Napoleon's unlucky experiment
with the Voltaic battery.--Davy is presented to the Empress
Josephine.--An account of the Court ceremony at Malmaison.--Remarks
on the conduct of Davy during his visit to Paris.--He quits the
capital of France, and proceeds by way of Lyons, to Montpellier.--Is
assisted in experiments on sea-weed by M. Berard.--Crosses
the Alps.--Arrives at Genoa.--Institutes experiments on
the Torpedo.--Visits Florence, and accomplishes the combustion
of the diamond, by the great lens in the cabinet of Natural
History.--Experiments on Iodine.--He examines the colours used by
the Ancients.--Visits all the celebrated Philosophers of Italy and
Switzerland, with whom he works in their laboratories.--Returns
to England 1
CHAPTER XI.
Collieries of the North of England.--Fire-damp.--The dreadful
explosion at Felling Colliery described.--Letters from the Bishop
of Bristol to the Author.--A Society is established at Bishop-Wearmouth
for preventing accidents in coal mines.--Various projects
for ensuring the miner's safety.--The Reverend Dr. Gray, the present
Bishop of Bristol, addresses a letter to Sir H. Davy, and
invites his attention to the subject.--Sir H. Davy's reply.--Farther
Correspondence upon the possibility of devising means of security.--Sir
H. Davy proposes four different kinds of lamp for the purpose.--The
Safe-lamp--The Blowing-lamp--The Piston-lamp--The
Charcoal-lamp.--His investigation of the properties of fire-damp
leads to the discovery of a new principle of safety.--His
views developed in a paper read before the Royal Society on the
9th of November 1815.--The first Safety-lamp.--Safety-tubes superseded
by Safety-canals.--Flame Sieves.--Wire-gauze lamp.--The
phenomenon of slow combustion, and its curious application.--The
invention of the Safety-lamp claimed by a Mr. Stephenson.--A
deputation of Coal-owners wait upon Sir H. Davy, in order to
express to him the thanks of the Proprietors for his discovery.--Mr.
Buddle announces to Dr. Gray (now Bishop of Bristol) the intention
of the Coal-trade to present him with a service of plate.--The
Resolutions are opposed, and the claims of Stephenson urged,
by Mr. W. Brandling.--A dinner is given to Sir Humphry, at which
the plate is presented to him.--The President and Council of the Royal
Society protest against the claims still urged by Mr. Stephenson's
friends.--Mr. Buddle's letter in answer to several queries
submitted to him by the Author.--Davy's Researches on Flame.--He
receives from the Royal Society the Rumford Medals.--Is
created a Baronet.--Some observations on the apathy of the State
in rewarding scientific merit.--The Geological Society of Cornwall
receives the patronage and support of Sir Humphry 58
CHAPTER XII.
Sir Humphry Davy suggests a chemical method for unrolling
the ancient Papyri.--He is encouraged by the Government to
proceed to Naples for that purpose.--He embarks at Dover.--His
experiments on the Rhine, the Danube, the Raab, the Save, the
Ironzo, the Po, and the Tiber, in order to explain the formation of
mists on rivers and lakes.--His arrival and reception at Naples.--He
visits the excavations at Herculaneum.--He concludes that it
was overwhelmed by sand and ashes, but had never been exposed
to burning matter.--He commences his attempt of unrolling the
Papyri.--His failure.--He complains of the persons at the head of
the department in the Museum.--He analyses the waters of the
Baths of Lucca.--His return to England.--Death of Sir Joseph
Banks.--He is elected President of the Royal Society.--Some
remarks on that event.--He visits Penzance.--Is honoured by a
public dinner.--Electro-magnetic discoveries of Oersted extended
by Davy.--He examines Electrical Phenomena in vacuo.--The
results of his experiments questioned.--He enquires into the state
of the water, and aeriform matter in the cavities of crystals.--The
interesting results of his enquiry confirm the views of the
Plutonists 160
CHAPTER XIII.
The Liquefaction of Chlorine Gas first effected by Mr. Faraday,
and witnessed by the Author.--Sir H. Davy continues the
investigation.--His paper on the application of Liquefiable Gases as
mechanical agents.--Other probable uses of these bodies.--He
proposes several methods to prevent the fumes which arise from
Smelting-furnaces.--Importance of the subject.--His Letters to
Mr. Vivian.--The Government solicit the advice of the Royal Society
on the subject of protecting the Copper Sheathing of Ships
from the action of sea-water.--Sir H. Davy charges himself with
this enquiry.--He proposes a plan of protection founded on Voltaic
principles.--His numerous experiments.--He embarks on board
the Comet steam-vessel bound to Heligoland, in order to try his
plan on a vessel in motion.--He arrives at Mandal, lands, and
fishes in the lakes.--The Protectors washed away.--He teaches
the inhabitants of Christiansand to crimp fish.--He remains a few
days at Arendal.--A Norwegian dinner.--The Protectors are examined
and weighed.--Results of the experiment.--The steam-vessel
proceeds up the Glommen.--He visits the great waterfall.--Passes
into Sweden.--Has an interview with the Crown Prince of
Denmark, and afterwards with Prince Christian at Copenhagen.--He
visits Professor Oersted.--He proceeds to Bremen to see Dr.
Olbers.--Returns to England.--His third paper read before the Royal
Society.--Voltaic influence of patches of rust.--A small quantity
of fluid sufficient to complete the circuit.--He receives from the
Royal Society the Royal Medal.--The Progress of Voltaic discovery
reviewed.--The principle is of extensive application.--The
Author's researches into the cause of the solution of Lead in spring
water.--An account of the numerous trials of Protectors.--Failure
of the plan.--Report of the French on the state of the protected
frigate, La Constance.--Dr. Revere's new plan of Protection 208
CHAPTER XIV.
The failure of the Ship protectors a source of great vexation to
Davy.--His Letters to Mr. Poole.--He becomes unwell.--He
publishes his Discourses before the Royal Society.--Critical Remarks
and Quotations.--He goes abroad in search of health.--His
Letter to Mr. Poole from Ravenna.--He resigns the Presidency
of the Royal Society.--Mr. Gilbert elected _pro tempore_.--Davy
returns to England, and visits his friend Mr. Poole.--Salmonia, or
Days of Fly-fishing.--An Analysis of the Work, with various
extracts to illustrate its character | 198.563089 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.5467450 | 2,657 | 7 |
Produced by the Mormon Texts Project,
http://bencrowder.net/books/mtp. Volunteers: Benjamin
Bytheway, Jean-Michel Carter, Byron Clark, Ben Crowder,
Meridith Crowder, Tom DeForest, Eric Heaps.
THE
GREAT APOSTASY
CONSIDERED IN THE LIGHT OF
SCRIPTURAL AND SECULAR
HISTORY
By JAMES E. TALMAGE
D. Sc. D., Ph. D., F. R. S. E.
Press of Zion's Printing and Publishing Company
Independence, Jackson County, Missouri.
Published by the Missions of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day
Saints in America
BUREAU OF INFORMATION--Temple Block, Salt Lake City, Utah.
CALIFORNIA MISSION--153 W. Adams St., Los Angeles, Calif.
CANADIAN MISSION--36 Ferndale Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada.
CENTRAL STATES MISSION--302 S. Pleasant St., Independence, Mo.
EASTERN STATES MISSION--273 Gates Ave., Brooklyn, N. Y.
HAWAIIAN MISSION--P. O. Box 3228, Honolulu, Hawaii.
MEXICAN MISSION--3531 Fort Blvd., El Paso, Texas, U. S. A.
NORTHERN STATES MISSION--2555 N. Sawyer Ave., Chicago, Ill.
NORTHCENTRAL STATES MISSION--2725 3d Ave.S., Minneapolis, Minn.
NORTHWESTERN STATES MISSION--264 East 25th St., Portland, Ore.
SOUTHERN STATES MISSION--371 E. North Ave., Atlanta. Ga.
WESTERN STATES MISSION--538 East 7th Ave., Denver, Colo.
PREFACE.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints proclaims the
restoration of the Gospel and the re-establishment of the Church as of
old, in this, the Dispensation of the Fulness of Times. Such
restoration and re-establishment, with the modern bestowal of the Holy
Priesthood, would be unnecessary and indeed impossible had the Church
of Christ continued among men with unbroken succession of Priesthood
and power, since the "meridian of time."
The restored Church affirms that a general apostasy developed during
and after the apostolic period, and that the primitive Church lost its
power, authority, and graces as a divine institution, and degenerated
into an earthly organization only. The significance and importance of
the great apostasy, as a condition precedent to the re-establishment
of the Church in modern times, is obvious. If the alleged apostasy of
the primitive Church was not a reality, the Church of Jesus Christ of
Latter-day Saints is not the divine institution its name proclaims.
The evidence of the decline and final extinction of the primitive
Church among men is found in scriptural record and in secular history.
In the following pages the author has undertaken to present a summary
of the most important of these evidences. In so doing he has drawn
liberally from many sources of information, with due acknowledgment of
all citations. This little work has been written in the hope that it
may prove of service to our missionary elders in the field, to classes
and quorum organizations engaged in the study of theological subjects
at home, and to earnest investigators of the teachings and claims of
the restored Church of Jesus Christ.
Salt Lake City, Utah, JAMES E. TALMAGE.
November 1, 1909.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The first edition of "The Great Apostasy" was issued by the Deseret
News, Salt Lake City, in November, 1909, and comprised ten thousand
copies. The author has learned, with a pleasure that is perhaps
pardonable, of the favorable reception accorded the little work by the
missionary elders of the Church, and by the people among whom these
devoted servants are called to labor. The present issue of twenty
thousand copies constitutes the second edition, and is published
primarily for use in the missionary field. The text of the second
edition is practically identical with that of the first.
Salt Lake City, Utah, JAMES E. TALMAGE.
February, 1910.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_Introduction: The Establishment of the Church of Christ_.
Conditions at beginning of Christian era.--Religious systems,
Jewish, Pagan, and Samaritan.--Jewish sects and parties.--Law of
Moses fulfilled and superseded.--Apostles chosen and ordained.--
Apostolic administration.--The Church established on the western
hemisphere.--The "meridian of time."
CHAPTER II.
_The Apostasy Predicted_.
The Church has not continued in unbroken succession.--Divine
fore-knowledge.--The divine purposes not thwarted.--Apostasy from
the Church compared with the apostasy of the Church.--Specific
predictions concerning the apostasy.--The Law of Moses a temporary
measure.--Isaiah's fateful prophecy.--Predictions by Jesus
Christ.--By Paul.--By Peter.--By Jude.--By John the Revelator.--
Apostasy on the western hemisphere predicted.
CHAPTER III.
_Early Stages of the Apostasy_.
The apostasy recognized in apostolic age.--Testimony of
Paul.--"Mystery of iniquity."--Summary of Paul's utterances
concerning early apostasy.--Testimony of Jude.--Of John the
Revelator.--Messages to the churches of Asia.--Nicolaitanes
denounced.--Testimonies of Hegesippus.--Early schisms in the
Church.--Declension of the Church before close of first
century.--Apostasy on the western hemisphere.--Destruction of
Nephite nation by the Lamanites.
CHAPTER IV.
_Causes of the Apostasy.--External Causes Considered_.
Causes of the apostasy, external and internal.--Persecution as an
external cause.--Judaism and Paganism arrayed against the
Church.--Judaistic persecution.--Predictions of Judaistic
opposition.--Fulfillment of the same.--Destruction of Jerusalem.
CHAPTER V.
_Causes of the Apostasy.--External Causes, Continued_.
Pagan persecution.--Roman opposition to Christianity, explanation
of.--Number of persecutions by the Romans.--Persecution under
Nero.--Under Domitian.--Under Trajan.--Under Marcus Aurelius.--Later
persecutions.--Persecutions under Diocletian.--Extent of the
Diocletian persecution.--Diocletian boast that Christianity was
extinct.--The Church taken under state protection by Constantine the
Great.
CHAPTER VI.
_Causes of the Apostasy.--Internal Causes_.
Diverse effect of persecution.--Imprudent zeal of some.--Return to
idolatry by others.--"Libels" attesting individual apostasy.--Sad
condition of the Church in third century.--Testimony as to
conditions of apostasy at this period.--Decline of the Church
antedates the conversion of Constantine.--Departure from
Christianity.--Specific causes of the growing apostasy.
CHAPTER VII.
_Internal Causes.--Continued_.
First specific cause: "The corrupting of the simple principles of
the gospel by the admixture of the so-called philosophic systems of
the times."--Judaistic perversions.--Admixture of Gnosticism with
Christianity.--Gnosticism unsatisfying.--New platonics.--Doctrine of
the Logos.--"The World."--Sibellianism.--Arianism.--The Council of
Nice and its denunciation of Arianism.--The Nicene Creed.--The Creed
of Athanasius.--Perverted view of life.--Disregard for truth.
CHAPTER VIII.
_Internal Causes.--Continued_.
Second specific cause: "Unauthorized additions to the ceremonies of
the Church, and the introduction of vital changes in essential
ordinances."--Simplicity of early form of worship ridiculed.--
Formalism and superstition increase.--Adoration of images, etc.--
Changes in baptismal ordinance.--Time of its administration
restricted.--Ministrations of the exorcist introduced.--Immersion
substituted by sprinkling.--Infant baptism introduced.--Changes in
the sacrament of the Lord's Supper.--Fallacy of
transubstantiation.--Adoration of the "host."--Proof of apostate
condition of the Church.
CHAPTER IX.
_Internal Causes.--Continued_.
Third specific cause: "Unauthorized changes in church organization
and government."--Early form of church government.--Equality of the
bishops.--Origin of synods or church councils.--Bishops of Rome
claimed supremacy.--Title of Pope assumed.--Secular authority
asserted by the Pope.--Indulgences or pardons.--Infamous doctrine of
supererogation.--The traffic in indulgences.--Tetzel the papal
agent.--Copy of an indulgence.--The sin of blasphemy.--
Scripture-reading forbidden to the people.--Draper's arraignment of
the papacy.
CHAPTER X.
_Results of the Apostasy.--Its Sequel_.
Revolts against the Church of Rome.--John Wickliffe in England.--
John Huss and Jerome of Prague.--The Reformation inaugurated.--
Martin Luther, his revolt; his excommunication; his defense at
Worms.--The Protestants.--Zwingle and Calvin.--The Inquisition.--
Zeal of the reformers.--Rise of the Church of England.--Divine
over-ruling in the events of the Reformation.--The "Mother Church"
apostate.--Fallacy of assuming human origin of divine authority.--
Priestly orders of Church of England declared invalid by "Mother
Church."--The apostasy admitted and affirmed.--Wesley's
testimony.--Declaration by Church of England.--Divine declaration of
the apostasy.--The sequel.--The Revelator's vision of the
Restoration.--The Church re-established in the nineteenth century.
COPYRIGHT
by
JAMES E. TALMAGE.
1909.
The Great Apostasy.
CHAPTER I.
**Introduction: The Establishment of the Church of Christ**.
1. A belief common to all sects and churches professing Christianity
is that Jesus Christ, the Savior and Redeemer of the human race,
established His Church upon the earth by personal ministration in the
meridian of time. Ecclesiastical history, as distinguished from
secular history, deals with the experiences of the Church from the
time of its establishment. The conditions under which the Church was
founded first claim our attention.
2. At the beginning of the Christian era, the Jews, in common with
most other nations, were subjects of the Roman empire.--(See Note 1,
end of chapter.) They were allowed a considerable degree of liberty in
maintaining their religious observances and national customs
generally, but their status was far from that of a free and
independent people.
3. The period was one of comparative peace,--a time marked by fewer
wars and less dissension than the empire had known for many years.
These conditions were favorable for the mission of the Christ, and for
the founding of His Church on earth.
4. The religious systems extant at the time of Christ's earthly
ministry may be classified in a general way as Jewish and Pagan, with
a minor system--the Samaritan--which was essentially a mixture of the
other two. The children of Israel alone proclaimed the existence of
the true and living God; they alone looked forward to the advent of
the Messiah, whom mistakenly they awaited as a prospective conqueror
coming to crush the enemies of their nation. All other nations,
tongues, and peoples bowed to pagan deities, and their worship
comprised naught but the sensual rites of heathen idolatry.
Paganism--(See Note 2, end of chapter.) was a religion of form and
ceremony, based on polytheism--a belief in the existence of a
multitude of gods, which deities were subject to all the vices and
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LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
By William Makepeace Thackeray (AKA Titmarsh)
I. FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
II. GHENT--BRUGES:--
Ghent (1840)
Bruges
III. WATERLOO
LITTLE TRAVELS AND ROADSIDE SKETCHES
I.--FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM
... I quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" at Richmond, one of the
comfortablest, quietest, cheapest, neatest little inns in England, and
a thousand times preferable, in my opinion, to the "Star and Garter,"
whither, if you go alone, a sneering waiter, with his hair curled,
frightens you off the premises; and where, if you are bold enough to
brave the sneering waiter, you have to pay ten shillings for a bottle
of claret; and whence, if you look out of the window, you gaze on a view
which is so rich that it seems to knock you down with its splendor--a
view that has its hair curled like the swaggering waiter: I say, I
quitted the "Rose Cottage Hotel" with deep regret, believing that I
should see nothing so pleasant as its gardens, and its veal cutlets, and
its dear little bowling-green, elsewhere. But the time comes when people
must go out of town, and so I got on the top of the omnibus, and the
carpet-bag was put inside.
If I were a great prince and rode outside of coaches (as I should if I
were a great prince), I would, whether I smoked or not, have a case of
the best Havanas in my pocket--not for my own smoking, but to give them
to the snobs on the coach, who smoke the vilest cheroots. They poison
the air with the odor of their filthy weeds. A man at all easy in his
circumstances would spare himself much annoyance by taking the above
simple precaution.
A gentleman sitting behind me tapped me on the back and asked for a
light. He was a footman, or rather valet. He had no livery, but the
three friends who accompanied him were tall men in pepper-and-salt
undress jackets with a duke's coronet on their buttons.
After tapping me on the back, and when he had finished his cheroot,
the gentleman produced another wind-instrument, which he called a
"kinopium," a sort of trumpet, on which he showed a great inclination
to play. He began puffing out of the "kinopium" a most abominable
air, which he said was the "Duke's March." It was played by particular
request of one of the pepper-and-salt gentry.
The noise was so abominable that even the coachman objected (although
my friend's brother footmen were ravished with it), and said that it
was not allowed to play toons on HIS 'bus. "Very well," said the valet,
"WE'RE ONLY OF THE DUKE OF B----'S ESTABLISHMENT, THAT'S ALL." The
coachman could not resist that appeal to his fashionable feelings. The
valet was allowed to play his infernal kinopium, and the poor fellow
(the coachman), who had lived in some private families, was quite
anxious to conciliate the footmen "of the Duke of B.'s establishment,
that's all," and told several stories of his having been groom in
Captain Hoskins's family, NEPHEW OF GOVERNOR HOSKINS; which stories the
footmen received with great contempt.
The footmen were like the rest of the fashionable world in this
respect. I felt for my part that I respected them. They were in daily
communication with a duke! They were not the rose, but they had lived
beside it. There is an odor in the English aristocracy which intoxicates
plebeians. I am sure that any commoner in England, though he would die
rather than confess it, would have a respect for those great big hulking
Duke's footmen.
The day before, her Grace the Duchess had passed us alone in a
chariot-and-four with two outriders. What better mark of innate
superiority could man want? Here was a slim lady who required four--six
horses to herself, and four servants (kinopium was, no doubt, one of the
number) to guard her.
We were sixteen inside and out, and had consequently an eighth of a
horse apiece.
A duchess = 6, a commoner = 1/8; that is to say,
1 duchess = 48 commoners.
If I were a duchess of the present day, I would say to the duke my noble
husband, "My dearest grace, I think, when I travel alone in my chariot
from Hammersmith to London, I will not care for the outriders. In these
days, when there is so much poverty and so much disaffection in the
country, we should not eclabousser the canaille with the sight of our
preposterous prosperity."
But this is very likely only plebeian envy, and I dare say, if I were
a lovely duchess of the realm, I would ride in a coach-and-six, with a
coronet on the top of my bonnet and a robe of velvet and ermine even in
the dog-days.
Alas! these are the dog-days. Many dogs are abroad--snarling dogs,
biting dogs, envious dogs, mad dogs; beware of exciting the fury of
such with your flaming red velvet and dazzling ermine. It makes ragged
Lazarus doubly hungry to see Dives feasting in cloth-of-gold; and so
if I were a beauteous duchess... Silence, vain man! Can the Queen
herself make you a duchess? Be content, then, nor gibe at thy betters of
"the Duke of B----'s establishment-- that's all."
ON BOARD THE "ANTWERPEN," OFF EVERYWHERE.
We have bidden adieu to Billingsgate, we have passed the Thames Tunnel;
it is one o'clock, and of course people are thinking of being hungry.
What a merry place a steamer is on a calm sunny summer forenoon, and
what an appetite every one seems to have! We are, I assure you, no less
than 170 noblemen and gentlemen together, pacing up and down under the
awning, or lolling on the sofas in the cabin, and hardly have we passed
Greenwich when the feeding begins. The company was at the brandy and
soda-water in an instant (there is a sort of legend that the beverage is
a preservative against sea-sickness), and I admired the penetration of
gentlemen who partook of the drink. In the first place, the steward WILL
put so much brandy into the tumbler that it is fit to choke you; and,
secondly, the soda-water, being kept as near as possible to the boiler
of the engine, is of a fine wholesome heat when presented to the hot and
thirsty traveller. Thus he is prevented from catching any sudden cold
which might be dangerous to him.
The forepart of the vessel is crowded to the full as much as the
genteeler quarter. There are four carriages, each with piles of
imperials and aristocratic gimcracks of travel, under the wheels of
which those personages have to clamber who have a mind to look at the
bowsprit, and perhaps to smoke a cigar at ease. The carriages overcome,
you find yourself confronted by a huge penful of Durham oxen, lying
on hay and surrounded by a barricade of oars. Fifteen of these horned
monsters maintain an incessant mooing and bellowing. Beyond the cows
come a heap of cotton-bags, beyond the cotton-bags more carriages, more
pyramids of travelling trunks, and valets and couriers bustling and
swearing round about them. And already, and in various corners and
niches, lying on coils of rope, black tar-cloths, ragged cloaks, or hay,
you see a score of those dubious fore-cabin passengers, who are never
shaved, who always look unhappy, and appear getting ready to be sick.
At one, dinner begins in the after-cabin--boiled salmon, boiled beef,
boiled mutton, boiled cabbage, boiled potatoes, and parboiled wine for
any gentlemen who like it, and two roast-ducks between seventy. After
this, knobs of cheese are handed round on a plate, and there is a talk
of a tart somewhere at some end of the table. All this I saw peeping
through a sort of meat-safe which ventilates the top of the cabin, and
very happy and hot did the people seem below.
"How the deuce CAN people dine at such an hour?" say several genteel
fellows who are watching the manoeuvres. "I can't touch a morsel before
seven."
But somehow at half-past three o'clock we had dropped a long way down
the river. The air was delightfully fresh, the sky of a faultless
cobalt, the river shining and flashing like quicksilver, and at this
period steward runs against me bearing two great smoking dishes covered
by two great glistening hemispheres of tin. "Fellow," says I, "what's
that?"
He lifted up the cover: it was ducks and green pease, by jingo!
"What! haven't they done YET, the greedy creatures?" I asked. "Have the
people been feeding for three hours?"
"Law bless you, sir, it's the second dinner. Make haste, or you won't
get a place." At which words a genteel party, with whom I had been
conversing, instantly tumbled down the hatchway, and I find myself one
of the second relay of seventy who are attacking the boiled salmon,
boiled beef, boiled cabbage, &c. As for the ducks, I certainly had
some pease, very fine yellow stiff pease, that ought to have been
split before they were boiled; but, with regard to the ducks, I saw the
animals gobbled up before my eyes by an old widow lady and her party
just as I was shrieking to the steward to bring a knife and fork to
carve them. The fellow! (I mean the widow lady's whiskered companion)--I
saw him eat pease with the very knife with which he had dissected the
duck!
After dinner (as I need not tell the keen observer of human nature who
peruses this) the human mind, if the body be in a decent state, expands
into gayety and benevolence, and the intellect longs to measure itself
in friendly converse with the divers intelligences around it. We ascend
upon deck, and after eying each other for a brief space and with a
friendly modest hesitation, we begin anon to converse about the weather
and other profound and delightful themes of English discourse. We
confide to each other our respective opinions of the ladies round about
us. Look at that charming creature in a pink bonnet and a dress of the
pattern of a Kilmarnock snuff-box: a stalwart Irish gentleman in a green
coat and bushy red whiskers is whispering something very agreeable into
her ear, as is the wont of gentlemen of his nation; for her dark eyes
kindle, her red lips open and give an opportunity to a dozen beautiful
pearly teeth to display themselves, and glance brightly in the sun;
while round the teeth and the lips a number of lovely dimples make their
appearance, and her whole countenance assumes a look of perfect health
and happiness. See her companion in shot silk and a dove-colored
parasol; in what a graceful Watteau-like attitude she reclines. The tall
courier who has been bouncing about the deck in attendance upon these
ladies (it is his first day of service, and he is eager to make a
favorable impression on them and the lady's-maids too) has just brought
them from the carriage a small paper of sweet cakes (nothing is prettier
than to see a pretty woman eating sweet biscuits) and a bottle that
evidently contains Malmsey madeira. How daintily they sip it; how happy
they seem; how that lucky rogue of an Irishman prattles away! Yonder
is a noble group indeed: an English gentleman and his family. Children,
mother, grandmother, grown-up daughters, father, and domestics,
twenty-two in all. They have a table to themselves on the deck, and the
consumption of eatables among them is really endless. The nurses have
been bustling to and fro, and bringing, first, slices of cake; then
dinner; then tea with huge family jugs of milk; and the little people
have been playing hide-and-seek round the deck, coquetting with the
other children, and making friends of every soul on board. I love to
see the kind eyes of women fondly watching them as they gambol about; a
female face, be it ever so plain, when occupied in regarding children,
becomes celestial almost, and a man can hardly fail to be good and happy
while he is looking on at such sights. "Ah, sir!" says a great big man,
whom you would not accuse of sentiment, "I have a couple of those little
things at home;" and he stops and heaves a great big sigh and swallows
down a half-tumbler of cold something and water. We know what the honest
fellow means well enough. He is saying to himself, "God bless my girls
and their mother!" but, being a Briton, is too manly to speak out in a
more intelligible way. Perhaps it is as well for him to be quiet, and
not chatter and gesticulate like those Frenchmen a few yards from him,
who are chirping over a bottle of champagne.
There is, as you may fancy, a number of such groups on the deck, and
a pleasant occupation it is for a lonely man to watch them and build
theories upon them, and examine those two personages seated cheek by
jowl. One is an English youth, travelling for the first time, who has
been hard at his Guidebook during the whole journey. He has a "Manuel du
Voyageur" in his pocket: a very pretty, amusing little oblong work it is
too, and might be very useful, if the foreign people in three languages,
among whom you travel, would but give the answers set down in the book,
or understand the questions you put to them out of it. The other honest
gentleman in the fur cap, what can his occupation be? We know him at
once for what he is. "Sir," says he, in a fine German accent, "I am a
brofessor of languages | 198.761335 |
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Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Grounds of an Opinion on the Policy of Restricting the
Importation of Foreign Corn; intended as an Appendix to
"Observations on the Corn Law"
by the Rev. T.R. Malthus,
Professor of History and Political Economy
in the East India College, Hertfordshire.
London: Printed for John Murray, Albermarle Street, and J. Johnson
and Co., St. Paul's Church Yard, 1815.
Grounds, &c.
The professed object of the Observations on the Corn Laws, which I
published in the spring of 1814, was to state with the strictest
impartiality the advantages and disadvantages which, in the actual
circumstances of our present situation, were likely to attend the
measures under consideration, respecting the trade in corn.
A fair review of both sides of the question, without any attempt to
conceal the peculiar evils, whether temporary or permanent, which
might belong to each, appeared to me of use, not only to assist in
forming an enlightened decision on the subject, but particularly to
prepare the public for the specific consequences which were to be
expected from that decision, on whatever side it might be made. Such
a preparation, from some quarter or other, seemed to be necessary,
to prevent those just discontents which would naturally have arisen,
if the measure adopted had been attended with results very different
from those which had been promised by its advocates, or contemplated
by the legislature.
With this object in view, it was neither necessary, nor desirable,
that I should myself express a decided opinion on the subject. It
would hardly, indeed, have been consistent with that character of
impartiality, which I wished to give to my statements, and in which
I have reason to believe I in some degree succeeded.(1*)
These previous statements, however, having been given, and having, I
hope, shewn that the decision, whenever it is made, must be a
compromise of contending advantages and disadvantages, I have no
objection now to state (without the least reserve), and I can truly
say, wit the most complete freedom from all interested motives, the
grounds of a deliberate, yet decided, opinion in favour of some
restrictions on the importation of foreign corn.
This opinion has been formed, as I wished the readers of the
Observations to form their opinions, by looking fairly at the
difficulties on both sides of the question; and without vainly
expecting to attain unmixed results, determining on which side there
is the greatest balance of good with the least alloy of evil. The
grounds on which the opinion so formed rests, are partly those which
were stated in the Observations, and partly, and indeed mainly, some
facts which have occurred during the last year, and which have
given, as I think, a decisive weight to the side of restrictions.
These additional facts are--
1st, The evidence, which has been laid before Parliament, relating
to the effects of the present prices of corn, together with the
experience of the present year.
2dly, The improved state of our exchanges, and the fall in the price
of bullion. And
3dly, and mainly, the actual laws respecting the exportation of corn
lately passed in France.
In the Observations on the corn laws, I endeavoured to shew that,
according to the general principles of supply and demand, a
considerable fall in the price of corn could not take place, without
throwing much poor lad out of cultivation, and effectually
preventing, for a considerable time, all further improvements in
agriculture, which have for their object an increase of produce.
The general principles, on which I calculated upon these
consequences, have been fully confirmed by the evidence brought
before the two houses of Parliament; and the effects of a
considerable fall in the price of corn, and of the expected
continuance of low prices, have shewn themselves in a very severe
shock to the cultivation of the country and a great loss of
agricultural capital.
Whatever may be said of the peculiar interests and natural
partialities of those who were called upon to give evidence upon
this occasion, it is impossible not to be convinced, by the whole
body of it taken together, that, during the last twenty years, and
particularly during the last seven, there has been a great increase
of capital laid out upon the land, and a great consequent extension
of cultivation and improvement; that the system of spirited
improvement and high farming, as it is technically called, has been
principally encouraged by the progressive rise of prices owing in a
considerable degree, to the difficulties thrown in the way of
importation of foreign corn by the war; that the rapid accumulation
of capital on the land, which it had occasioned, had so increased
our home growth of corn, that, notwithstanding a great increase of
population, we had become much less dependent upon foreign supplies
for our support; and that the land was still deficient in capital,
and would admit of the employment of such an addition to its present
amount, as would be competent to the full supply of a greatly
increased population: but that the fall of prices, which had lately
taken place, and the alarm of a still further fall, from continued
importation, had not only checked all progress of improvement, but
had already occasioned a considerable loss of agricultural advances;
and that a continuation of low prices would, in spite of a
diminution of rents, unquestionably destroy a great mass of farming
capital all over the country, and essentially diminish its
cultivation and produce.
It has been sometimes said, that the losses at present sustained by
farmers are merely the natural and necessary consequences of
overtrading, and that they must bear them as all other merchants do,
who have entered into unsuccessful speculations. But surely the
question is not, or at least ought not to be, about the losses and
profits of farmers, and the present condition of landholders
compared with the past. It may be necessary, perhaps, to make
inquiries of this kind, with a view to ulterior objects; but the
real question respects the great loss of national wealth, attributed
to a change in the spirit of our legislative enactments relating to
the admission of foreign corn.
We have certainly no right to accuse our farmers of rash speculation
for employing so large a capital in agriculture. The peace, it must
be allowed, was most unexpected; and if the war had continued, the
actual quantity of capital applied to the land, might have been as
necessary to save the country from extreme want in future, as it
obviously was in 1812, when, with the price of corn at above six
guineas a quarter, we could only import a little more than 100,000
quarters. If, from the very great extension of cultivation, during
the four or five preceding years, we had not obtained a very great
increase of average produce, the distresses of that year would have
assumed a most serious aspect.
There is certainly no one cause which can affect mercantile
concerns, at all comparable in the extent of its effects, to the
cause now operating upon agricultural capital. Individual losses
must have the same distressing consequences in both cases, and they
are often more complete, and the fall is greater, in the shocks of
commerce. But I doubt, whether in the most extensive mercantile
distress that ever took in this country, there was ever one fourth
of the property, or one tenth of the number of individuals
concerned, when compared with the effects of the present rapid fall
of raw produce, combined with the very scanty crop of last year.(2*)
Individual losses of course become national, according as they
affect a greater mass of the national capital, and a greater number
of individuals; and I think it must be allowed further, that no
loss, in proportion to its amount, affects the interest of the
nation so deeply, and vitally, and is so difficult to recover, as
the loss of agricultural capital and produce.
If it be the intention of the legislature fairly to look at the
evils, as well as the good, which belongs to both sides of the
question, it must be allowed, that the evidence laid before the two
houses of Parliament, and still more particularly the experience of
the last year, shew, that the immediate evils which are capable of
being remedied by a system of restrictions, are of no inconsiderable
magnitude.
2. In the Observations on the corn laws, I gave, as a reason for
some delay in coming to a final regulation respecting the price at
which foreign corn might be imported, the very uncertain state of
the currency. I observed, that three different importation prices
would be necessary, according as our currency should either rise to
the then price of bullion, should continue at the same nominal
value, or should take an intermediate position, founded on a fall in
the value of bullion, owing to the discontinuance of an
extraordinary demand for it, and a rise in the value of paper, owing
to the prospect of a return to payments in specie. In the course of
this last year, the state of our exchanges, and the fall in the
price of bullion, shew pretty clearly, that the intermediate
alteration which, I then contemplated, greater than in the case
first mentioned, and less than in the second, is the one which might
be adopted with a fair prospect of permanence; and that we should
not now proceed under the same uncertainty respecting the currency,
which we should have done, if we had adopted a final regulation in
the early part of last year.(3*) This intermediate alteration,
however, supposes a rise in the value of paper on a return to cash
payments, and some general fall of prices quite | 198.763149 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Diane Monico, and the Online Distributed
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from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
The
Merry-Go-Round
[Illustration]
_BOOKS BY_
_CARL VAN VECHTEN_
MUSIC AFTER THE GREAT WAR 1915
MUSIC AND BAD MANNERS 1916
INTERPRETERS AND INTERPRETATIONS 1917
THE MERRY-GO-ROUND 1918
THE MUSIC OF SPAIN 1918
The
| 198.857267 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Stephen Hutcheson, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This book was produced from scanned images of public
domain material from the Google Books project.)
[Illustration: "The Toad Woman stopped fanning and looked at her." Page
125.]
ADVENTURES
IN
Shadow-Land.
CONTAINING
Eva's Adventures in Shadow-Land.
By MARY D. NAUMAN.
AND
The Merman and The Figure-Head.
By CLARA F. GUERNSEY.
TWO VOLUMES IN ONE.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1874.
Entered according to Act of Congress, | 198.860735 |
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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Constantia and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
"CARROTS:"
JUST A LITTLE BOY
"Is it then a great mistake
That Boys were ever made at all?"
[Illustration: There she sat, as still as a mouse, holding her precious
burden. (_See page_ 9.) _Frontispiece_]
"CARROTS:"
JUST A LITTLE BOY
BY
MRS. MOLESWORTH
(ENNIS GRAHAM)
AUTHOR OF "TELL ME A STORY" "CUCKOO CLOCK"
"GRANDMOTHER DEAR" ETC.
[Illustration: p. 210.]
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE
LONDON
MACMILLAN & CO.
1876
TO
SIX LITTLE COUSINS
MORIER, BEVIL,
NOEL, LIONEL,
EDWARD,
AND BABY BRIAN.
EDINBURGH, 1870
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. FLOSS'S BABY 1
II. SIX YEARS OLD 12
III. PLANS 26
IV. THE LOST HALF-SOVEREIGN 44
V. CARROTS IN TROUBLE 60
VI. CARROTS "ALL ZIGHT" AGAIN 78
VII. A LONG AGO STORY 91
VIII. "THE BEWITCHED TONGUE" 111
IX. SYBIL 130
X. A JOURNEY AND ITS ENDING 152
XI. HAPPY AND SAD 180
XII. "THE TWO FUNNY LITTLE TROTS" 206
XIII. GOOD ENDINGS 236
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THERE SHE SAT, AS STILL AS A MOUSE, HOLDING HER
PRECIOUS BURDEN _Frontispiece._
"A YELLOW SIXPENNY, OH, HOW NICE!" 36
FLOSS TAPPED AT THE DOOR. "CARROTS," SHE SAID,
"ARE YOU THERE?" 78
"NOW, BE QUIET ALL OF YOU, I'M GOING TO BEGIN" 114
"WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT, MY POOR OLD
MAN?" SAID AUNTIE, FONDLY 148
"IT IS FLOSSIE AND ME, SYBIL--DON'T YOU REMEMBER
US?" 184
"SUDDENLY A BRIGHT THOUGHT STRUCK ME, I SEIZED
GIP, MY LITTLE DOG, WHO WAS ASLEEP ON THE
HEARTHRUG, AND HELD HIM UP AT THE WINDOW" 212
"CARROTS:" JUST A LITTLE BOY
CHAPTER I.
FLOSS'S BABY.
"Where did you come from, Baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here?
* * *
"But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here!"
_G. Macdonald._
His real name was Fabian. But he was never called anything but Carrots.
There were six of them. Jack, Cecil, Louise, Maurice, commonly called
Mott, Floss, dear, dear Floss, whom he loved best of all, a long way the
best of all, and lastly Carrots.
Why Carrots should have come to have his history written I really cannot
say. I must leave you, who understand such things a good deal better
than I, you, children, for whom the history is written, to find out. I
can give you a few reasons why Carrots' history should _not_ have been
written, but that is about all I can do. There was nothing very
remarkable about him; there was nothing very remarkable about the place
where he lived, or the things that he did, and on the whole he was very
much like other little boys. There are my _no_ reasons for you. But
still he was Carrots, and after all, perhaps, that was _the_ reason! I
shouldn't wonder.
He was the baby of the family; he had every right to be considered the
baby, for he was not only the youngest, but very much the youngest; for
Floss, who came next to him, was nearly four years older than Carrots.
Yet he was never treated as the baby. I doubt if even at the very outset
of his little life, when he was just a wee pink ball of a creature,
rolled up in flannel, and with his funny curls of red hair standing
crisp up all over his head, I doubt, if even then, he was ever called
"baby." I feel almost sure it was always "Carrots." He was too
independent and sensible to be counted a baby, and he was never fond of
being petted--and then, too, "Carrots" came so naturally!
I have said that Carrots loved his sister Floss better than anybody or
anything else in the world. I think one reason of this was that she was
the very first person he could remember in his life, and a happy thing
for him that it was so, for all about her that there was to remember was
nice and good and kind. She was four years older than he, four years
old, that is to say, when he first came into the world and looked about
him with grave inquiry as to what sort of a place this could be that he
had got to. And the first object that his baby-wise eyes settled upon
with content, as if in it there might be a possible answer to the
riddle, was Floss!
These children's father and mother were not very rich, and having six
boys and girls you can quite easily imagine they had plenty to do with
their money. Jack was a great boy at school when Carrots first joined
the family party, and Cecil and Louise had a governess. Mott learnt with
the governess too, but was always talking of the time when he should go
to school with Jack, for he was a very boy-ey boy, very much inclined to
look down upon girls in general, and his sisters in particular, and his
little sister Floss in _particularest_. So, till Carrots appeared on the
scene, Floss had had rather a lonely time of it, for, "of course," Cecil
and Louise, who had pockets in all their frocks, and could play the
'March of the Men of Harlech' as a duet on the piano, were _far_ too big
to be "friends to Floss," as she called it. They were friendly and kind
in an elder sisterly way, but that was quite a different sort of thing
from being "friends to her," though it never occurred to Floss to
grumble or to think, as so many little people think now-a-days, how
much better things would have been arranged if _she_ had had the
arranging of them.
There was only one thing Floss wished for very, very much, and that was
to have a brother or sister, she did not much care which, younger than
herself. She had the most motherly heart in the world, though she was
such a quiet little girl that very few people knew anything about what
she was thinking, and the big ones laughed at her for being so
outrageously fond of dolls. She had dolls of every kind and size, only
alike in one thing, that none of them were very pretty, or what you
would consider grand dolls. But to Floss they were lovely, only, they
were _only_ dolls!
Can you fancy, can you in the least fancy, Floss's delight--a sort of
delight that made her feel as if she couldn't speak, when one winter's
morning she was awakened by nurse to be told that a real live baby had
come in the night--a little brother, and "such a funny little fellow,"
added nurse, "his head just covered with curly red hair. Where did he
get that from, I wonder? Not one of my children has hair like that,
though yours, Miss Flossie, has a touch of it, perhaps."
Floss looked at her own tangle of fluffy hair with new reverence. "Hair
something like my hairs," she whispered. "Oh nursie, dear nursie, may
Floss see him?"
"Get up and let me dress you quickly, and you shall see him--no fear but
that you'll see more of the poor little fellow than you care about,"
said nurse, though the last words were hardly meant for Floss.
The truth was that though of course every one meant to be kind to this
new little baby, to take proper care of him, and all that sort of thing,
no one was particularly glad he had come. His father and mother felt
that five boys and girls were already a good number to bring up well and
educate and start in life, not being very rich you see, and even nurse,
who had the very kindest heart in the world, and had taken care of them
all, beginning with Jack, ever since they were born, even nurse felt, I
think, that they _could_ have done without this red-haired little
stranger. For nurse was no longer as young as she had been, and as the
children's mother could not, she knew, very well afford to keep an
under-nurse to help her, it was rather trying to look forward to
beginning again with all the "worrit" of a new baby--bad nights and many
tiring climbs up the long stairs to the nursery, etc., etc., though
nurse was so really good that she did not grumble the least bit, and
just quietly made up her mind to make the best of it.
But still Floss was the only person to give the baby a really hearty
welcome. And by some strange sort of baby instinct he seemed to know it
almost from the first. He screamed at Jack, and no wonder, for Jack, by
way of salutation, pinched his poor little nose, and said that the next
time they had boiled mutton for dinner, cook need not provide anything
but turnips, as there was a fine crop of carrots all ready, which piece
of wit was greatly applauded by Maurice and the girls. He wailed when
Cecil and Louise begged to be allowed to hold him in their arms, so that
they both tumbled him back on to nurse's lap in a hurry, and called him
"a cross, ugly little thing." Only when little Floss sat down on the
floor, spreading out her knees with great solemnity, and smoothing her
pinafore to make a nice place for baby, and nurse laid him carefully
down in the embrace of her tiny arms, "baby" seemed quite content. He
gave a sort of wriggle, like a dog when he has been pretending to burrow
a hole for himself in the rug, just before he settles down and shuts his
eyes, and in half a second was fast asleep.
"Baby loves Floss," said Floss gravely, and as long as nurse would let
her, till her arms really ached, there she sat on the floor, as still
as a mouse, holding her precious burden.
It was wonderful how trusty she was. And "as handy," said nurse, "indeed
far more handy than many a girl of five times her age." "I have been
thinking," she said one day to Floss's mother, "I have been thinking,
ma'am, that even if you had been going to keep an under-nurse to help
with baby, there would have been nothing for her to do. For the help I
get from Miss Flossie is really astonishing, and Master Baby is that
fond of her already, you'd hardly believe it."
And Floss's mother kissed her, and told her she was a good little soul,
and Floss felt, oh, so proud! Then a second thought struck her, "Baby
dood too, mamma," she said, staring up into her mother's face with her
bright searching grey-green eyes.
"Yes," said her mother with a little sigh, "poor baby is good too,
dear," and then she had to hurry off to a great overhauling of Jack's
shirts, which were, if possible, to be made to last him another
half-year at school.
So it came to pass that a great deal of Floss's life was spent in the
nursery with Carrots. He was better than twenty dolls, for after a while
he actually learnt, first to stand alone, and then to walk, and after a
longer while he learnt to talk, and to understand all that Floss said to
him, and by-and-by to play games with her in his baby way. And how
patient Floss was with him! It was no wonder he loved her.
This chapter has seemed almost more about Floss than Carrots you will
say, perhaps, but I couldn't tell you anything of Carrots' history
without telling you a great deal about Floss too, so I daresay you won't
mind. I daresay too you will not care to hear much more about Carrots
when he was a baby, for, after all, babies are all very like each other,
and a baby that wasn't like others would not _be_ a baby! To Floss I
fancy he seemed a remarkable baby, but that may have been because he
was her very own, and the only baby she had ever known. He was certainly
very good, in so far as he gave nurse exceedingly little trouble, but
why children should give trouble when they are perfectly well, and have
everything they can possibly want, I have never been able to decide. On
the whole, I think it must have something to do with the people who take
care of them, as well as with themselves.
Now we will say good-bye to Carrots, as a baby.
CHAPTER II.
SIX YEARS OLD.
"As for me, I love the sea,
The dear old sea!
Don't you?"
_Song._
I think I said there was nothing very remarkable about the place where
Carrots lived, but considering it over, I am not quite sure that you
would agree with me. It was near the sea for one thing, and _that_ is
always remarkable, is it not? _How_ remarkable, how wonderful and
changeful the sea is, I doubt if any one can tell who has not really
lived by it, not merely visited it for a few weeks in the fine summer
time, when it looks so bright and sunny and inviting, but lived by it
through autumn and winter too, through days when it looks so dull and
leaden, that one can hardly believe it will ever be smiling and playful
again, through fierce, rough days, when it lashes itself with fury, and
the wind wails as if it were trying to tell the reason.
Carrots' nursery window looked straight out upon the sea, and many and
many an hour Floss and he spent at this window, watching their strange
fickle neighbour at his gambols. I do not know that they thought the sea
at all wonderful. I think they were too much accustomed to it for that,
but they certainly found it very _ | 198.954274 |
2023-11-16 18:20:22.9395910 | 1,067 | 9 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of NEVER AGAIN! by Edward Carpenter
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THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher (Vol. 2 of 10)
_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Clorin _a shepherdess, having buried her Love in an Arbour._
Hail, holy Earth, whose cold Arms do imbrace
The truest man that ever fed his flocks
By the fat plains of fruitful _Thessaly_,
Thus I salute thy Grave, thus do I pay
My early vows, and tribute of mine eyes
To thy still loved ashes; thus I free
My self from all insuing heats and fires
Of love: all sports, delights and jolly games
That Shepherds hold full dear, thus put I off.
Now no more shall these smooth brows be begirt
With youthful Coronals, and lead the Dance;
No more the company of fresh fair Maids
And wanton Shepherds be to me delightful,
Nor the shrill pleasing sound of merry pipes
Under some shady dell, when the cool wind
Plays on the leaves: all be far away,
Since thou art far away; by whose dear side
How often have I sat Crown'd with fresh flowers
For summers Queen, whil'st every Shepherds Boy
Puts on his lusty green, with gaudy hook,
And hanging scrip of finest Cordevan.
But thou art gone, and these are gone with thee,
And all are dead but thy dear memorie;
That shall out-live thee, and shall ever spring
Whilest there are pipes, or jolly Shepherds sing.
And here will I in honour of thy love,
Dwell by thy Grave, forgeting all those joys,
That former times made precious to mine eyes,
Only remembring what my youth did gain
In the dark, hidden vertuous use of Herbs:
That will I practise, and as freely give
All my endeavours, as I gain'd them free.
Of all green wounds I know the remedies
In Men or Cattel, be they stung with Snakes,
Or charm'd with powerful words of wicked Art,
Or be they Love-sick, or through too much heat
Grown wild or Lunatick, their eyes or ears
Thickned with misty filme of dulling Rheum,
These I can Cure, such secret vertue lies
In Herbs applyed by a Virgins hand:
My meat shall be what these wild woods afford,
Berries, and Chesnuts, Plantanes, on whose Cheeks,
The Sun sits smiling, and the lofty fruit
Pull'd from the fair head of the staight grown Pine;
On these I'le feed with free content and rest,
When night shall blind the world, by thy side blest.
_Enter a_ Satyr.
_Satyr._ Through yon same bending plain
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods have I run,
Whose bottom never kist the Sun
Since the lusty Spring began,
All to please my master _Pan,_
Have I trotted without rest
To get him Fruit; for at a Feast
He entertains this coming night
His Paramour, the _Syrinx_ bright:
But behold a fairer sight! [_He stands amazed._
By that Heavenly form of thine,
Brightest fair thou art divine,
Sprung from great immortal race
Of the gods, for in thy face
Shines more awful Majesty,
Than dull weak mortalitie
Dare with misty eyes behold,
And live: therefore on this mold
Lowly do I bend my knee,
In worship of thy Deitie;
Deign it Goddess from my hand,
To receive what e're this land
From her fertil Womb doth send
Of her choice Fruits: and but lend
Belief to that the Satyre tells,
Fairer by the famous wells,
To this present day ne're grew,
Never better nor more true.
Here be Grapes whose lusty bloud
Is the learned Poets good,
Sweeter yet did never crown
The head of _Bacchus_, Nuts more brown
Than the Squirrels Teeth that crack them;
Deign O fairest fair to take them.
For these black ey'd _Driope_
Hath oftentimes commanded me,
With my clasped knee to clime;
See how well the lusty time
Hath deckt their rising cheeks in red,
Such as on your lips is spred,
Here be Berries for a Queen,
Some be red, some be green,
These are of that luscious meat,
The great God _Pan_ himself doth eat:
All these, and what the woods can yield,
The hanging mountain or the field,
I freely offer, and ere long
Will bring you more, more sweet and strong,
Till when humbly leave I take,
Lest the great _Pan_ do awake,
That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
Under a broad Beeches shade,
I must go, I must run
Swifter than the fiery Sun. [_Exit_.
_Clo_. And all my fears go with thee.
What greatness or what private hidden power,
Is there in me to draw submission
From this rude man, and beast? sure I am mortal:
The Daughter of a Shepherd, he was mortal:
And she that bore me mortal: prick my hand
And it will bleed: a Feaver shakes me,
And the self same wind that makes the young Lambs shrink,
Makes me a cold: my fear says I am mortal:
Yet I have heard (my Mother told it me)
And now I do believe it, if I keep
My Virgin Flower uncropt, pure, chaste, and fair,
No Goblin, Wood-god, Fairy, Elfe, or Fiend,
Satyr or other power that haunts the Groves,
Shall hurt my body, or by vain illusion
Draw me to wander after idle fires;
Or voyces calling me in dead of night,
To make me follow, and so tole me on
Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruine:
Else why should this rough thing, who never knew
Manners, nor smooth humanity, whose heats
Are rougher than himself, and more mishapen,
Thus mildly kneel to me? sure there is a power
In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines: then strong Chastity
Be thou my strongest guard, for here I'le dwell
In opposition against Fate and Hell.
_Enter an old_ Shepherd, _with him four couple of_ Shepherds
_and_ Shepherdesses.
_Old Shep_. Now we have done this holy Festival
In honour of our great God, and his rites
Perform'd, prepare your selves for chaste
And uncorrupted fires: that as the Priest,
With powerful hand shall sprinkle on [your] Brows
His pure and holy water, ye may be
From all hot flames of lust, and loose thoughts free.
Kneel Shepherds, kneel, here comes the Priest of _Pan_.
_Enter_ Priest.
_Priest_. Shepherds, thus I purge away,
Whatsoever this great day,
Or the past hours gave not good,
To corrupt your Maiden blood:
From the high rebellious heat
Of the Grapes, and strength of meat;
From the wanton quick desires,
They do kindle by their fires,
I do wash you with this water,
Be you pure and fair hereafter.
From your Liver and your Veins,
Thus I take away the stains.
All your thoughts be smooth and fair,
Be ye fresh and free as Air.
Never more let lustful heat
Through your purged conduits beat,
Or a plighted troth be broken,
Or a wanton verse be spoken
In a Shepherdesses ear;
Go your wayes, ye are all clear.
[_They rise and sing in praise of_ Pan.
The SONG.
_Sing his praises that doth keep
Our Flocks from harm,_
Pan _the Father of our Sheep,
And arm in arm
Tread we softly in a round,
Whilest the hollow neighbouring ground
Fills the Musick with her sound._
Pan, _O great God_ Pan, _to thee
Thus do we sing:
Thou that keep'st us chaste and free
As the young spring,
Ever be thy honour spoke,
From that place the morn is broke,
To that place Day doth unyoke._
[_Exeunt omnes but_ Perigot _and_ Amoret.
_Peri_. Stay gentle _Amoret_, thou fair brow'd Maid,
Thy Shepherd prays thee stay, that holds thee dear,
Equal with his souls good.
_Amo_. Speak; I give
Thee freedom Shepherd, and thy tongue be still
The same it ever was; as free from ill,
As he whose conversation never knew
The Court or City be thou ever true.
_Peri_. When I fall off from my affection,
Or mingle my clean thoughts with foul desires,
First let our great God cease to keep my flocks,
That being left alone without a guard,
The Wolf, or Winters rage, Summers great heat,
And want of Water, Rots; or what to us
Of ill is yet unknown, full speedily,
And in their general ruine let me feel.
_Amo_. I pray thee gentle Shepherd wish not so,
I do believe thee: 'tis as hard for me
To think thee false, and harder than for thee
To hold me foul.
_Peri_. O you are fairer far
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
That guides the wandring Sea-men through the deep,
Straighter than straightest Pine upon the steep
Head of an aged mountain, and more white
Than the new Milk we strip before day-light
From the full fraighted bags of our fair flocks:
Your hair more beauteous than those hanging locks
Of young _Apollo_.
_Amo_. Shepherd be not lost,
Y'are sail'd too far already from the Coast
Of our discourse.
_Peri_. Did you not tell me once
I should not love alone, I should not lose
Those many passions, vows, and holy Oaths,
I've sent to Heaven? did you not give your hand,
Even that fair hand in hostage? Do not then
Give back again those sweets to other men,
You your self vow'd were mine.
_Amo_. Shepherd, so far as Maidens modesty
May give assurance, I am once more thine,
Once more I give my hand; be ever free
From that great foe to faith, foul jealousie.
_Peri_. I take it as my best good, and desire
For stronger confirmation of our love,
To meet this happy night in that fair Grove,
Where all true Shepherds have rewarded been
For their long service: say sweet, shall it hold?
_Amo_. Dear friend, you must not blame me if I make
A doubt of what the silent night may do,
Coupled with this dayes heat to move your bloud:
Maids must be fearful; sure you have not been
Wash'd white enough; for yet I see a stain
Stick in your Liver, go and purge again.
_Peri_. O do not wrong my honest simple truth,
My self and my affections are as pure
As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine
Of the great _Dian_: only my intent
To draw you thither, was to plight our troths,
With enterchange of mutual chaste embraces,
And ceremonious tying of our selves:
For to that holy wood is consecrate
A vertuous well, about whose flowry banks,
The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds,
By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes
Their stolen Children, so to make them free
From dying flesh, and dull mortalitie;
By this fair Fount hath many a Shepherd sworn,
And given away his freedom, many a troth
Been plight, which neither envy, nor old time
Could ever break, with many a chaste kiss given,
In hope of coming happiness; by this
Fresh Fountain many a blushing Maid
Hath crown'd the head of her long loved Shepherd
With gaudy flowers, whilest he happy sung
Layes of his love and dear Captivitie;
There grows all Herbs fit to cool looser flames
Our sensual parts provoke, chiding our bloods,
And quenching by their power those hidden sparks
That else would break out, and provoke our sense
To open fires, so vertuous is that place:
Then gentle Shepherdess, believe and grant,
In troth it fits not with that face to scant
Your faithful Shepherd of those chaste desires
He ever aim'd at, and--
_Amo_. Thou hast prevail'd, farewel, this coming night
Shall crown thy chast hopes with long wish'd delight.
_Peri_. Our great god _Pan_ reward thee for that good
Thou hast given thy poor Shepherd: fairest Bud
Of Maiden Vertues, when I leave to be
The true Admirer of thy Chastitie,
Let me deserve the hot polluted Name
Of the wild Woodman, or affect: some Dame,
Whose often Prostitution hath begot
More foul Diseases, than ever yet the hot
Sun bred through his burnings, whilst the Dog
Pursues the raging Lion, throwing Fog,
And deadly Vapour from his angry Breath,
Filling the lower World with Plague and Death. [_Ex._ Am.
_Enter_ Amaryllis.
_Ama_. Shepherd, may I desire to be believ'd,
What I shall blushing tell?
_Peri_. Fair Maid, you may.
_Am_. Then softly thus, I love thee, _Perigot_,
And would be gladder to be lov'd again,
Than the cold Earth is in his frozen arms
To clip the wanton Spring: nay do not start,
Nor wonder that I woo thee, thou that art
The prime of our young Grooms, even the top
Of all our lusty Shepherds! what dull eye
That never was acquainted with desire,
Hath seen thee wrastle, run, or cast the Stone
With nimble strength and fair delivery,
And hath not sparkled fire, and speedily
Sent secret heat to all the neighbouring Veins?
Who ever heard thee sing, that brought again
That freedom back, was lent unto thy Voice;
Then do not blame me (Shepherd) if I be
One to be numbred in this Companie,
Since none that ever saw thee yet, were free.
_Peri_. Fair Shepherdess, much pity I can lend
To your Complaints: but sure I shall not love:
All that is mine, my self, and my best hopes
Are given already; do not love him then
That cannot love again: on other men
Bestow those heats more free, that may return
You fire for fire, and in one flame equal burn.
_Ama_. Shall I rewarded be so slenderly
For my affection, most unkind of men!
If I were old, or had agreed with Art
To give another Nature to my Cheeks,
Or were I common Mistress to the love
Of every Swain, or could I with such ease
Call back my Love, as many a Wanton doth;
Thou might'st refuse me, Shepherd; but to thee
I am only fixt and set, let it not be
A Sport, thou gentle Shepherd to abuse
The love of silly Maid.
_Peri_. Fair Soul, ye use
These words to little end: for know, I may
Better call back that time was Yesterday,
Or stay the coming Night, than bring my Love
Home to my self again, or recreant prove.
I will no longer hold you with delays,
This present night I have appointed been
To meet that chaste Fair (that enjoys my Soul)
In yonder Grove, there to make up our Loves.
Be not deceiv'd no longer, chuse again,
These neighbouring Plains have many a comely Swain,
Fresher, and freer far than I e'r was,
Bestow that love on them, and let me pass.
Farewel, be happy in a better Choice. [_Exit_.
_Ama_. Cruel, thou hast struck me deader with thy Voice
Than if the angry Heavens with their quick flames
Had shot me through: I must not leave to love,
I cannot, no I must enjoy thee, Boy,
Though the great dangers 'twixt my hopes and that
Be infinite: there is a Shepherd dwells
Down by the Moor, whose life hath ever shown
More sullen Discontent than _Saturns_ Brow,
When he sits frowning on the Births of Men:
One that doth wear himself away in loneness;
And never joys unless it be in breaking
The holy plighted troths of mutual Souls:
One that lusts after [every] several Beauty,
But never yet was known to love or like,
Were the face fairer, or more full of truth,
Than _Phoebe_ in her fulness, or the youth
Of smooth _Lyaeus_; whose nigh starved flocks
Are always scabby, and infect all Sheep
They feed withal; whose Lambs are ever last,
And dye before their waining, and whose Dog
Looks like his Master, lean, and full of scurf,
Not caring for the Pipe or Whistle: this man may
(If he be well wrought) do a deed of wonder,
Forcing me passage to my long desires:
And here he comes, as fitly to my purpose,
As my quick thoughts could wish for.
_Enter_ Shepherd.
_Shep_. Fresh Beauty, let me not be thought uncivil,
Thus to be Partner of your loneness: 'twas
My Love (that ever working passion) drew
Me to this place to seek some remedy
For my sick Soul: be not unkind and fair,
For such the mighty Cupid in his doom
Hath sworn to be aveng'd on; then give room
To my consuming Fires, that so I may
Enjoy my long Desires, and so allay
Those flames that else would burn my life away.
_Ama_. Shepherd, were I but sure thy heart were sound
As thy words seem to be, means might be found
To cure thee of thy long pains; for to me
That heavy youth-consuming Miserie
The love-sick Soul endures, never was pleasing;
I could be well content with the quick easing
Of thee, and thy hot fires, might it procure
Thy faith and farther service to be sure.
_Shep_. Name but that great work, danger, or what can
Be compass'd by the Wit or Art of Man,
And if I fail in my performance, may
I never more kneel to the rising Day.
_Ama_. Then thus I try thee, Shepherd, this same night,
That now comes stealing on, a gentle pair
Have promis'd equal Love, and do appoint
To make yon Wood the place where hands and hearts
Are to be ty'd for ever: break their meeting
And their strong Faith, and I am ever thine.
_Shep_. Tell me their Names, and if I do not move
(By my great power) the Centre of their Love
From his fixt being, let me never more
Warm me by those fair Eyes I thus adore.
_Ama_. Come, as we go, I'll tell thee what they are,
And give thee fit directions for thy work. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Cloe.
_Cloe_. How have I wrong'd the times, or men, that thus
After this holy Feast I pass unknown
And unsaluted? 'twas not wont to be
Thus frozen with the younger companie
Of jolly Shepherds; 'twas not then held good,
For lusty Grooms to mix their quicker blood
With that dull humour, most unfit to be
The friend of man, cold and dull Chastitie.
Sure I am held not fair, or am too old,
Or else not free enough, or from my fold
Drive not a flock sufficient great, to gain
The greedy eyes of wealth-alluring Swain:
Yet if I may believe what others say,
My face has soil enough; nor can they lay
Justly too strict a Coyness to my Charge;
My Flocks are many, and the Downs as large
They feed upon: then let it ever be
Their Coldness, not my Virgin Modestie
Makes me complain.
_Enter_ Thenot.
_The_. Was ever Man but I
Thus truly taken with uncertainty?
Where shall that Man be found that loves a mind
Made up in Constancy, and dare not find
His Love rewarded? here let all men know
A Wretch that lives to love his Mistress so.
_Clo_. Shepherd, I pray thee stay, where hast thou been?
Or whither go'st thou? here be Woods as green
As any, air likewise as fresh and sweet,
As where smooth _Zephyrus_ plays on the fleet
Face of the curled Streams, with Flowers as many
As the young Spring gives, and as choise as any;
Here be all new Delights, cool Streams and Wells,
Arbors o'rgrown with Woodbinds, Caves, and Dells,
Chase where thou wilt, whilst I sit by, and sing,
Or gather Rushes to make many a Ring
For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of Love,
How the pale _Phoebe_ hunting in a Grove,
First saw the Boy _Endymion_, from whose Eyes
She took eternal fire that never dyes;
How she convey'd him softly in a sleep,
His temples bound with poppy to the steep
Head of old _Latmus_, where she stoops each night,
Gilding the Mountain with her Brothers light,
To kiss her sweetest.
_The_. Far from me are these
Hot flashes, bred from wanton heat and ease;
I have forgot what love and loving meant:
Rhimes, Songs, and merry Rounds, that oft are sent
To the soft Ears of Maids, are strange to me;
Only I live t' admire a Chastitie,
That neither pleasing Age, smooth tongue, or Gold,
Could ever break upon, so pure a Mold
Is that her Mind was cast in; 'tis to her
I only am reserv'd; she is my form I stir
By, breath and move, 'tis she and only she
Can make me happy, or give miserie.
_Clo_. Good Shepherd, may a Stranger crave to know
To whom this dear observance you do ow?
_The_. You may, and by her Vertue learn to square
And level out your Life; for to be fair
And nothing vertuous, only fits the Eye
Of gaudy Youth, and swelling Vanitie.
Then know, she's call'd the Virgin of the Grove,
She that hath long since bury'd her chaste Love,
And now lives by his Grave, for whose dear Soul
She hath vow'd her self into the holy Roll
Of strict Virginity; 'tis her I so admire,
Not any looser Blood, or new desire.
_Clo_. Farewel poor Swain, thou art not for my bend,
I must have quicker Souls, whose works may tend
To some free action: give me him dare love
At first encounter, and as soon dare prove.
The SONG.
_Come Shepherds, come,
Come away without delay
Whilst the gentle time dot[h] stay.
Green Woods are dumb,
And will never tell to any
Those dear Kisses, and those many
Sweet Embraces that are given
Dainty Pleasures that would even
Raise in coldest Age a fire,
And give Virgin Blood desire,
Then if ever,
Now or never,
Come and have it,
Think not I,
Dare deny,
If you crave it._
_Enter_ Daphnis.
Here comes another: better be my speed,
Thou god of Blood: but certain, if I read
Not false, this is that modest Shepherd, he
That only dare salute, but ne'r could be
Brought to kiss any, hold discourse, or sing,
Whisper, or boldly ask that wished thing
We all are born for; one that makes loving Faces,
And could be well content to covet Graces,
Were they not got by boldness; in this thing
My hopes are frozen; and but Fate doth bring
Him hither, I would sooner chuse
A Man made out of Snow, and freer use
An Eunuch to my ends: but since he's here,
Thus I attempt him. Thou of men most dear,
Welcome to her, that only for thy sake,
Hath been content to live: here boldly take
My hand in pledg, this hand, that never yet
Was given away to any: and but sit
Down on this rushy Bank, whilst I go pull
Fresh Blossoms from the Boughs, or quickly cull
The choicest delicates from yonder Mead,
To make thee Chains, or Chaplets, or to spread
Under our fainting Bodies, when delight
Shall lock up all our senses. How the sight
Of those smooth rising Cheeks renew the story
Of young _Adonis_, when in Pride and Glory
He lay infolded 'twixt the beating arms
Of willing _Venus_: methinks stronger Charms
Dwell in those speaking eyes, and on that brow
More sweetness than the Painters can allow
To their best pieces: not _Narcissus_, he
That wept himself away in memorie
Of his own Beauty, nor _Silvanus_ Boy,
Nor the twice ravish'd Maid, for whom old _Troy_
Fell by the hand of _Pirrhus_, may to thee
Be otherwise compar'd, than some dead Tree
To a young fruitful Olive.
_Daph_. I can love,
But I am loth to say so, lest I prove
Too soon unhappy.
_Clo_. Happy thou would'st say,
My dearest _Daphnis_, blush not, if the day
To thee and thy soft heats be enemie,
Then take the coming Night, fair youth 'tis free
To all the World, Shepherd, I'll meet thee then
When darkness hath shut up the eyes of men,
In yonder Grove: speak, shall our Meeting hold?
Indeed you are too bashful, be more bold,
And tell me I.
_Daph_. I'm content to say so,
And would be glad to meet, might I but pray so
Much from your Fairness, that you would be true.
_Clo_. Shepherd, thou hast thy Wish.
_Daph_. Fresh Maid, adieu:
Yet one word more, since you have drawn me on
To come this Night, fear not to meet alone
That man that will not offer to be ill,
Though your bright self would ask it, for his fill
Of this Worlds goodness: do not fear him then,
But keep your 'pointed time; let other men
Set up their Bloods | 198.960649 |
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https://archive.org/details/tuenslave | 198.960841 |
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Transcribed from the [1894?] Willsons’ edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
INCIDENTS
IN
A GIPSY’S LIFE
BY
GEORGE SMITH.
* * * * *
THE ROYAL
EPPING FOREST GIPSIES
THE GROUNDS,
INTERNATIONAL EXHIBITION
LIVERPOOL.
* * * * *
WILLSONS’,
NEW WALK PRINTING WORKS,
LEICESTER.
* * * * *
THE FOLLOWING NOTABLE PERSONS HAVE PAID A VISIT TO MY PEOPLE.
H.M. QUEEN VICTORIA.
PRINCE VICTOR.
SON OF THE KHEDIVE OF EGYPT.
LORD LATHOM, High Chamberlain.
LORD POLTIMORE.
LORD CAMPBELL.
LORD MONKS.
LORD MAYO.
LORD CLONMELL.
LORD FARNHAM.
LATE DUKE OF MACLIN.
MARQUIS & MARCHIONESS OF TWEEDALE.
SIR DAVID (Mayor of Liverpool) and LADY RADCLIFFE.
SIR A. B. WALKER, Bart.
SIR JOHN MAXWELL STIRLING.
ALSO
SON OF THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER.
BISHOP OF THE ISLE OF MAN.
LETTER FROM GOVERNOR WALPOLE of I.O.M.
10 LETTERS FROM THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
And at the GREAT CARNIVAL of 1894, principal Citizens of Glasgow.
PREFACE.
My idea in writing this little pamphlet is to enlighten the minds of
people as to the mode of living, and the customs of our tribe; and I
think the reader will be convinced that we are not the desperadoes that
some people think, but, on the other hand, honest living and a christian
race; always ready to do good. To young men especially, if they follow
my career they will find that my success in life is due to being
straight-forward and honest in all my dealings; firm purpose of mind; and
an object to gain; the result is success, and I hope it may prove a
benefit to the rising generation.
Shortly, I shall produce a full Biography of my life.
Yours faithfully,
GEORGE SMITH | 198.963892 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
PSYCHE
By
LOUIS COUPERUS
Translated from the Dutch,
with the author's permission,
By
B. S. Berrington, B.A.
With Twelve Illustrations by Dion Clayton Calthrop
London: Alston Rivers, Ltd.
Brooke Street, Holborn Bars, E.C.
1908
"Cry no more now and go to sleep, and if you cannot sleep,
I will tell you a story, a pretty story of flowers and
gems and birds, of a young prince and a little princess.
... For in the world there is nothing more than a story."
PSYCHE
CHAPTER I
Gigantically massive, with three hundred towers, on the summit of a
rocky mountain, rose the king's castle high into the clouds.
But the summit was broad, and flat as a plateau, and the castle spread
far out, for miles and miles, with ramparts and walls and pinnacles.
And everywhere rose up the towers, lost in the clouds, and the castle
was like a city, built upon a lofty rock of basalt.
Round the castle and far away lay the valleys of the kingdom, receding
into the horizon, one after the other, and ever and ever.
Ever changing was the horizon: now pink, then silver; now blue, then
golden; now grey, then white and misty, and gradually fading away,
and never could the last be seen.
In clear weather there loomed behind the horizon always another
horizon. They circled one another endlessly, they were lost in the
dissolving mists, and suddenly their silhouette became more sharply
defined.
Over the lofty towers stretched away at times an expanse of variegated
clouds, but below rushed a torrent, which fell like a cataract into
a fathomless abyss, that made one dizzy to look at.
So it seemed as if the castle rose up to the highest stars and went
down to the central nave of the earth.
Along the battlements, higher than a man, Psyche often wandered,
wandered round the castle from tower to tower, from wall to wall,
with a dreamy smile on her face, then she looked up and stretched out
her hands to the stars, or gazed below at the dashing water, with
all the colours of the rainbow, till her head grew dizzy, and she
drew back and placed her little hands before her eyes. And long she
would sit in the corner of an embrasure, her eyes looking far away,
a smile on her face, her knees drawn up and her arms entwining them,
and her tiny wings spread out against the mossy stone-work, like a
butterfly that sat motionless.
And she gazed at the horizon, and however much she gazed, she always
saw more.
Close by were the green valleys, dotted with grazing sheep, soft
meadows with fat cattle, waving corn-fields, canals covered with ships,
and the cottage roofs of a village. Farther away were lines of woods,
hill-tops, mountain-ridges, or a mass of angular, rough-hewn basalt.
Still farther off, misty towers with minarets and domes, cupolas and
spires, smoking chimneys, and the outline of a broad river. Beyond,
the horizon became milk-white, or like an opal, but not a line more
was there, only tint, the reflection of the last glow of the sun,
as if lakes were mirrored there; islands rose, low, in the air,
aerial paradises, watery streaks of blue sea, oceans of ether and
light quivering nothingness!...
And Psyche gazed and mused.... She was the third princess, the
youngest daughter of the old king, monarch of the Kingdom of the
Past.... She was always very lonely. Her sisters she seldom saw,
her father only for a moment in the evening, before she went to bed;
and when she had the chance she fled from the mumbling old nurse, and
wandered along the battlements and dreamed, with her eyes far away,
gazing at the vast kingdom, beyond which was nothingness....
Oh, how she longed to go farther than the castle, to the meadows,
the woods, the towns--to go to the shining lakes, the opal islands,
the oceans of ether, and then to that far, far-off nothingness, that
quivered so, like a pale, pale light!... Would she ever be able to pass
out of the gates?--Oh, how she longed to wander, to seek, to fly!... To
fly, oh! to fly, to fly as the sparrows, the doves, the eagles!
And she flapped her weak, little wings.
On her tender shoulders there were two wings, like those of a very
large butterfly, transparent membranes, covered with crimson and soft,
yellow dust, streaked with azure and pink, where they were joined to
her back. And on each wing glowed two eyes, like those on a peacock's
tail, but more beautiful in colour and glistening like jewels, fine
sapphires and emeralds on velvet, and the velvet eye set four times
in the glittering texture of the wings.
Her wings she flapped, but with them she could not fly.
That, that was her great grief--that, that made her think, what were
they for, those wings on her shoulders? And she shook them and flapped
them, but could not rise above the ground; her delicate form did not
ascend into the air, her naked foot remained firm on the ground, and
only her thin, fine veil, that trailed a little round her snow-white
limbs, was slightly raised by the gentle fluttering of her wings.
CHAPTER II
To fly! oh, to fly!
She was so fond of birds. How she envied them! She enticed them with
crumbs of bread, with grains of corn, and once she had rescued a dove
from an eagle. The dove she had hidden under her veil, pressed close
to her bosom, and the eagle she had courageously driven off with her
hand, when in his flight he overshadowed her with his broad wings,
calling out to him to go away and leave her dove unhurt.
Oh, to seek! to seek!
For she was so fond of flowers, and gladly in the woods and meadows,
or farther away still, would she have sought for those that were
unknown. But she cultivated them within the walls, on the rocky ground,
and she had made herself a garden; the buds opened when she looked
at them, the stems grew when she stroked them, and when she kissed
a faded flower it became as fresh again as ever.
To wander, oh, to wander!
Then she wandered along the battlements, down the steps, over the
court-yards and the ramparts, but at the gates stood the guards,
rough and bearded and clad in mail, with loud-sounding horns round
their shoulders.
Then she could go no farther and wandered back into the vaults
and crypts, where sacred spiders wove their webs; and then, if she
became frightened, she hurried away, farther, farther, farther, along
endless galleries, between rows of motionless knights in armour,
till she came again to her nurse, who sat ever at her spinning-wheel.
Oh! to glide through the air!
To glide in a steady wind, to the farthest horizon, to the milk-white
and opal region, which she saw in her dreams, to the uttermost parts
of the earth!
To glide to the seas, and the islands, which yonder, so far, far
away and so unsubstantial, changed every moment, as if a breeze
could alter their form, their tint; so unfirm, that no foot could
tread them, but only a winged being like herself, a bird, a fairy,
could gently hover over them, to see all that beautiful landscape,
to enjoy that atmosphere, that dream of Paradise....
Oh! to fly, to seek, to wander, to soar!...
And for hours together she sat dreaming in an embrasure, her eyes
far off, her arms round her knees, and her wings spread out, like a
little butterfly that sat motionless.
CHAPTER III
Emeralda, that was the name of her eldest sister. Surpassingly
beautiful was Emeralda, dazzling fair as no woman in the kingdom, no
princess in other kingdoms. Exceedingly tall she was, and majestic in
stature; erect she walked, stately and proudly; she was | 198.965917 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: THEY MARCHED... LIKE MEN WHO HAD LOST ALL INTEREST IN
LIFE]
PRINCE RUPERT
THE BUCCANEER
BY
C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY G. GRENVILLE MANTON
THIRD EDITION
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
First Published... April 1901
Second Edition ... June 1901
Third Edition.... May 1907
TO
E. C. H.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. The Pawning of the Fleet
II. The Admission to the Brotherhood
III. The Rape of the Spanish Pearls
IV. The Ransoming of Caraccas
V. The Passage-money
VI. The Mermaid and the Act of Faith
VII. The Galley
VIII. The Regaining of the Fleet
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
They marched... like men who had lost all interest in life...
_Frontispiece_
Prince Rupert shone out like a very Paladin
Then one Watkin, a man of iron and a mighty shooter, took the lead
It would be a perpetual sunshine for me, Querida
Master Laughan endeavoured to outdo them all in desperation and valour
"Oh, I say what I think," retorted Watkin with a sour look
The secretary was occupied in leading her own.
There is no mistaking the manner of buccaneers returning well-laden
PRINCE RUPERT THE BUCCANEER
CHAPTER I
THE PAWNING OF THE FLEET
"Not slaves, your Highness," said the Governor. "We call them
_engagés_ here: it's a genteeler style. The Lord General keeps us
supplied."
"I'll be bound he gave them the plainer name," said Prince Rupert.
The Governor of Tortuga shrugged his shoulders. "On the bills of
lading they are written as Malignants; but judging from the way he
packed the last cargo, Monsieur Cromwell regards them as cattle. It is
evident that he cared only to be shut of them. They were so packed
that one half were dead and over the side before the ship brought up to
her anchors in the harbour here. And what were left fetched but poor
prices. There was a strong market too. The Spaniards had been making
their raids on the hunters, and many of the _engagés_ had been killed:
our hunters wanted others; they were hungry for others; but these poor
rags of seaworn, scurvy-bitten humanity which offered, were hardly
worth taking away to teach the craft--Your Highness neglects the
cordial."
"I am in but indifferent mood for drinking, Monsieur. It hangs in my
memory that these poor rogues once fought most stoutly for me and the
King. Cromwell was ever inclined to be iron-fisted with these Irish.
Even when we were fighting him on level terms he hanged all that came
into his hands, till he found us stringing up an equal number of his
saints by way of reprisal. But now he has the kingdom all to himself,
I suppose he can ride his own gait. But it is sad, Monsieur D'Ogeron,
detestably sad. Irish though they were, these men fought well for the
Cause."
The Governor of Tortuga emptied his goblet and looked thoughtfully at
its silver rim. "But I did not say they were Irish, _mon prince_.
Four Irish kernes there were on the ship's manifest, but the scurvy
took them, and they went overside before reaching here."
"Scots then?"
"There is one outlandish fellow who might be a Scot, or a Yorkshireman,
or a Russian, or something like that. But no man could speak his
lingo, and none would bid for him at the sale. You may have him as a
present if you care, and if perchance he can be found anywhere alive on
the island. No, your Highness, this consignment is all English;
drafted from foot, horse, and guns: and a rarely sought-after lot they
would have been, if whole. From accounts, they must have been all
tried fighting men, and many had the advantage of being under your own
distinguished command.--Your Highness, I beseech you shirk not the
cordial. This climate creates a pleasing thirst, which we ought to be
thankful for. The jack stands at your elbow."
Prince Rupert looked out over the harbour, and the black ships, at the
blue waters of the Carib sea beyond. "My poor fellows," he said, "my
glorious soldiers, your loyalty has cost you dear."
"It is the fortune of war," said D'Ogeron, sipping his goblet. "A
fighting man must be ready to take what befalls. Our turn may come
to-morrow."
"I am ready, Monsieur, to take my chances. It is not on my conscience
that I ever avoided them."
"Your Highness is a philosopher, and I take it your officers are the
same. Yesterday they rode with you boot to boot in the field, ate with
you on the same lawn, spoke with you in council across the same
drum-head. To-day they would be happy if they could be your lackeys.
But the chance is not open to them; they are lackeys to the buccaneers."
Prince Rupert started to his feet. "Officers, did you say?"
"Just officers. The great Monsieur Cromwell has but wasteful and
uncommercial ways of conducting a war. He captures a gentle and
gall | 198.977276 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Charlie Howard and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
STORIES OF USEFUL INVENTIONS
[Illustration:
Guglielmo Marconi
Benjamin Franklin
Thomas Edison
Sir Henry Bessemer
Robert Fulton
Alexander Graham Bell
Hudson Maxim
A GROUP OF INVENTORS]
STORIES OF
USEFUL INVENTIONS
BY
S. E. FORMAN
AUTHOR OF "A HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES,"
"ADVANCED CIVICS," ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1911
Copyright, 1911, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published September, 1911_
PREFACE
In this little book I have given the history of those inventions which
are most useful to man in his daily life. I have told the story of the
Match, the Stove, the Lamp, the Forge, the Steam-Engine, the Plow, the
Reaper, the Mill, the Loom, the House, the Carriage, the Boat, the
Clock, the Book, and the Message. From the history of these inventions
we learn how man became the master of the world of nature around him,
how he brought fire and air and earth and water under his control and
compelled them to do his will and his work. When we trace the growth of
these inventions we at the same time trace the course of human progress.
These stories, therefore, are stories of human progress; they are
chapters in the history of civilization.
And they are chapters which have not hitherto been brought together in
one book. Monographs on most of the subjects included in this book have
appeared, and excellent books about modern inventions have been written,
but as far as I know, this is the first time the evolution of these
useful inventions has been fully traced in a single volume.
While preparing the stories I have received many courtesies from
officers in the Library of Congress and from those of the National
Museum.
S. E. F.
May, 1911.
Washington, D. C.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE FOREWORD ix
I THE MATCH 3
II THE STOVE 13
III THE LAMP 28
IV THE FORGE 38
V THE STEAM-ENGINE 54
VI THE PLOW 73
VII THE REAPER 85
VIII THE MILL 97
IX THE LOOM 109
X THE HOUSE 123
XI THE CARRIAGE 144
XII THE CARRIAGE (_Continued_) 156
XIII THE BOAT 166
XIV THE CLOCK 187
XV THE BOOK 203
XVI THE MESSAGE 222
A FOREWORD[1]
These stories of useful inventions are chapters in the history of
civilization and this little book is a book of history. Now we are told
by Herodotus, one of the oldest and greatest of historians, that when
the writer of history records an event he should state the _time_ and
the _place_ of its happening. In some kinds of history--in the history
of the world's wars, for example, or in the history of its
politics--this is strictly true. When we are reading of the battle of
Bunker Hill we should be told precisely when and where the battle was
fought, and in an account of the Declaration of Independence the time
and place of the declaration should be given. But in the history of
inventions we cannot always be precise as to dates and places. Of course
it cannot be told when the first plow or the first loom or the first
clock was made. Inventions like these had their origin far back in the
earliest ages when there was no such person as a historian. And when we
come to the history of inventions in more recent times the historian is
still sometimes unable to discover the precise time and place of an
invention.
It is in the nature of things that the origin of an invention should be
surrounded by uncertainty and doubt. An invention, as we shall see
presently, is nearly always a response to a certain want. The world
wants something and it promises a rich reward to one who will furnish
the desired thing. The inventor, recognizing the want, sets to work to
make the thing, but he conducts his experiments in secret, for the
reason that he does not want another to steal his ideas and get ahead of
him. We can see that this is true in respect to the flying machine. The
first experiments with the flying machine were conducted in secret in
out of the way places and pains were taken that the public should know
as little as possible about the new machine and about the results of the
experiments. The history of the flying machine will of course have to be
written, but because of the secrecy and mystery which surrounded the
beginnings of the invention it will be extremely difficult for the
future historian to tell precisely when the first flying machine was
invented or to name the inventor. If it is so difficult to get the facts
as to the origin of an invention in our own time, how much more
difficult | 199.057958 |
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Produced by sp1nd, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note
This book contains a small number of characters which are | 199.05802 |
2023-11-16 18:20:23.0533390 | 1,278 | 9 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
FROM SKETCH-BOOK AND DIARY
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
LETTERS FROM THE HOLY LAND
CONTAINING 16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
FROM PAINTINGS BY THE AUTHOR
"Charmingly natural and spontaneous travel impressions with sixteen
harmonious illustrations. The glow, spaciousness and atmosphere of these
Eastern scenes are preserved in a way that eloquently attests the
possibilities of the best colour process work."--_Outlook_.
"The letters in themselves afford their own justification; the sketches
are by Lady Butler, and when we have said that we have said all.
Combined, they make a book that is at once a delight to the eye and a
pleasure to handle. The illustrations, marvellously well
reproduced, provide in a panoramic display faithful representations of
the Holy Land as it is seen to-day. They make a singularly attractive
collection, worthy of the distinguished artist who painted them."--_St.
James's Gazette_.
A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE LONDON
AGENTS
America The Macmillan Company
64 & 66 Fifth Avenue, New York
Australasia The Oxford University Press
205 Flinders Lane, Melbourne
Canada The Macmillan Company of Canada, Ltd.
27 Richmond Street West, Toronto
India Macmillan & Company, Ltd.
Macmillan Building, Bombay
309 Bow Bazaar Street, Calcutta
[Illustration: THE HOUR OF PRAYER, A SOUVENIR OF WADY HALFA]
FROM SKETCH-BOOK
AND DIARY
BY
ELIZABETH BUTLER
WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
AND TWENTY-ONE SMALL SKETCHES IN THE TEXT
BY THE AUTHOR
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, W.
BURNS AND OATES, 28 ORCHARD STREET, W.
1909
Dedication
TO MY SISTER, ALICE MEYNELL
I have an idea of writing to you, most sympathetic Reader, of certain
days and nights of my travels that have impressed themselves with
peculiar force upon my memory, and that have mostly rolled by since you
and I set out, at the Parting of the Ways, from the paternal roof-tree,
within three months of each other.
First, I want to take you to the Wild West Land of Ireland, to a glen in
Kerry, where, so far, the tourist does not come, and then on to remote
Clew Bay, in the County Mayo.
After that, come with me up the Nile in the time that saw the close of
the Gordon Relief Expedition, when the sailing "Dahabieh," most
fascinating of house-boats, was still the vogue for those who were not
in a hurry, and when again the tourist (of that particular year) was
away seeking safer picnic grounds elsewhere.
Then to the Cape and the voyage thither, which may not sound alluring,
but where you may find something to smile at.
I claim your indulgence, wherever I ask you to accompany me, for my
painter's literary crudities; but nowhere do I need it more than in
Italy, for you have trodden that field with me almost foot by foot. The
veil to which I trust for softening those asperities elsewhere must fall
asunder there.
I have made my Diary, and in the case of the Egyptian chapters, my
letters to our mother, the mainsprings from which to draw these
reminiscences.
Bansha CASTLE, _July_ 1909.
CONTENTS
I. IN THE WEST OF IRELAND
CHAPTER I
PAGE
GLANARAGH 3
CHAPTER II
COUNTY MAYO IN 1905 15
II. EGYPT
CHAPTER I
CAIRO 31
CHAPTER II
THE UPPER NILE 55
CHAPTER III
ALEXANDRIA 77
III. THE CAPE
CHAPTER I
TO THE CAPE 91
CHAPTER II
AT ROSEBANK, CAPE COLONY 105
IV. ITALY
CHAPTER I
VINTAGE-TIME IN TUSCANY 123
CHAPTER II
Sienna, Perugia, and Vesuvius 143
CHAPTER III
ROME 160
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN COLOUR
1. The Hour of Prayer, A Souvenir of Wady Halfa _Frontispiece_
IRELAND
FACING PAGE
2. Our Escort into Glenaragh 1
3. "A Chapel-of-Ease," Co. Kerry 8
4. Croagh Patrick 17
5. Clew Bay, Co. Mayo 20
6. A Little Irish River 24
EGYPT
7. In a Cairo Bazaar 33
8. The Camel Corps 40
9. The English General's Syces 49
10. Registering Fellaheen for the Conscription 56
11. "No Mooring To-night!" 59
12. The "Fostat" becalmed 62
13. At Philae 67
14. A "Lament" in the Desert 70
15. Abu Simbel at Sunrise 76
16. Madame's "At Home" Day; Servants at the Gate 81
17. Syndioor on the Lower Nile 88
THE CAPE
18. "In the Hollow of His Hand" 97
19. A Corner of our Garden at Rosebank 104
| 199.073379 |
2023-11-16 18:20:23.0695450 | 65 | 10 |
Produced by Victorian/Edwardian Pictorial Magazines,
Jonathan Ingram, Wayne Hammond, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: “‘CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!’ CAME THE ANSWER FROM CUTLER’S
GUN | 199.089585 |
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