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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES
-Obvious print and punctuation errors fixed.
-The only Greek word in this text has been rendered as #...#.
GERMANY'S
DISHONOURED ARMY.
ADDITIONAL RECORDS OF GERMAN
ATROCITIES IN FRANCE.
BY
PROFESSOR J. H. MORGAN.
(Late Home Office Commissioner with the British
Expeditionary Force.)
1915.
THE PARLIAMENTARY RECRUITING COMMITTEE,
12, DOWNING STREET, S.W.
(M 3942) Wt. w. 8147-565 500M 8/15 H & S
A DISHONOURED ARMY.
_In November, 1914, Professor Morgan was commissioned by the Secretary
of State for Home Affairs to undertake the investigation in France
into the alleged breaches of the laws of war by the German troops.
His investigations extended over a period of four or five months.
The first six weeks were spent in visiting the base hospitals and
convalescent camps at Boulogne and Rouen, and the hospitals at
Paris; during the remaining three months he was attached to the
General Headquarters Staff of the British Expeditionary Force.
Professor Morgan orally interrogated some two or three thousand
officers and soldiers, representing almost every regiment in the
British armies and all of whom had recently been engaged on active
service in the field. The whole of these inquiries were conducted by
Professor Morgan personally, but his inquiries at headquarters were
of a much more systematic character. There, owing to the courtesy
of Lieutenant-General Sir Archibald Murray, the late Chief of the
General Staff, he had the assistance of the various services--in
particular the Adjutant-General, the Provost-Marshal, the Director
of Military Intelligence, the Director of Medical Services and their
respective staffs--and also of the civil authorities, within the area
at present occupied by the British armies, such as the sous-prefets,
the procureurs de la Republique, the commissaires de police, and the
maires of the communes. In this way he was enabled not only to obtain
corroboration of the statements taken down at the base in the earlier
stages, but also to make a close local study of the behaviour of the
German troops towards the civil population during their occupation of
the districts recently evacuated by them. The following is extracted
(by permission of the Editor) from statements by Professor Morgan
which appeared in the "Nineteenth Century" for June, 1915_:--
[BY PROFESSOR J. H. MORGAN.]
A German military writer (von der Goltz) of great authority predicted
some years ago that the next war would be one of inconceivable
violence. The prophecy appears only too true as regards the conduct of
German troops in the field; it has rarely been distinguished by that
chivalry which is supposed to characterise the freemasonry of arms.
One of our most distinguished Staff officers remarked to me that the
Germans have no sense of honour in the field, and the almost uniform
testimony of our officers and men induces me to believe that the
remark is only too true.
Abuse of the white flag has been very frequent, especially in the
earlier stages of the campaign on the Aisne, when our officers,
not having been disillusioned by bitter experience, acted on the
assumption that they had to deal with an honourable opponent. Again
and again the white flag was put up, and when a company of ours
advanced unsuspectingly and without supports to take prisoners,
the Germans who had exhibited the token of surrender parted their
ranks to make room for a murderous fire from machine-guns concealed
behind them. Or, again, the flag was exhibited in order to give
time for supports to come up. It not infrequently happened that
our company officers, advancing unarmed to confer with the German
company commander in such cases, were shot down as they approached.
The Camerons, the West Yorks, the Coldstreams, the East Lancs, the
Wiltshires, the South Wales Borderers, in particular, suffered heavily
in these ways. In all these cases they were the victims of organised
German units, _i.e._, companies or battalions, acting under the orders
of responsible officers.
There can, moreover, be no doubt that the respect of the German troops
for the Geneva Convention is but intermittent. Cases of deliberate
firing on stretcher-bearers are, according to the universal testimony
of our officers and men, of frequent occurrence. It is almost certain
death to attempt to convey wounded men from the trenches over open
ground except under cover of night.
_=Killing the Defenceless Wounded.=_--A much more serious offence,
however, is the deliberate killing of the wounded as they lie helpless
and defenceless on the field of battle. This is so grave a charge that
were it not substantiated by the considered statements of officers,
non-commissioned officers, and men, one would hesitate to believe
it. But even after rejecting, as one is bound to do, cases which
may be explained by accident, mistake, or the excitement of action,
there remains a large residuum of cases which can only be explained
by deliberate malice. No other explanation is possible when, as
has not infrequently happened, men who have been wounded by rifle
fire in an advance, and have had to be left during a retirement for
reinforcements, are discovered, in our subsequent advance, with nine
or ten bayonet wounds or with their heads beaten in by the butt-ends
of rifles. Such cases could not have occurred, the enemy being present
in force, without the knowledge of superior officers. Indeed, I have
before me evidence which goes to show that German officers have
themselves acted in similar fashion.
Some of the cases reveal a leisurely barbarity which proves great
deliberation; cases such as the discovery of bodies of despatch-riders
burnt with petrol or "pegged out" with lances or of soldiers with
their faces stamped upon by the heel of a boot, or of a guardsman
found with numerous bayonet wounds evidently inflicted as he was in
the act of applying a field dressing to a bullet wound. There also
seems no reason to doubt the independent statements of men of the
Loyal North Lancs, whom I interrogated on different occasions, that
the men of one of their companies were killed on the 20th of December
after they had surrendered and laid down their arms. To what extent
prisoners have been treated in this manner it is impossible to
say--dead men tell no tales--but an exceptionally able Intelligence
Officer at the headquarters of the Cavalry Corps informed me that it
is believed that when British prisoners are taken in small parties
they are put to death in cold blood. Certain it is that our men when
captured are kicked, robbed of all they possess, threatened with death
if they will not give information, and in some cases forced to dig
trenches....
THE PROOFS OF POLICY.
The question as to how far these outrages are attributable to policy
and superior orders becomes imperative. It was at first difficult to
answer. For a long time I did not find, nor did I expect to find, any
documentary orders to that effect. Such orders, if given at all, were
much more likely to be verbal, for it is extremely improbable that the
German authorities would be so unwise as to commit them to writing.
But the outrages upon combatants were so numerous and so collective in
character that I began to suspect policy at a very early stage in my
investigations....
_=Frenzy against British Troops.=_--On the 3rd of May I | 569.838582 |
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Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been
harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Obvious typos have been corrected. Please see the end of this book
for further notes.
THE STORY OF THE HILLS.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: NORHAM CASTLE. AFTER TURNER.]
THE
STORY OF THE HILLS.
A BOOK ABOUT MOUNTAINS
FOR GENERAL READERS.
BY
REV. H. N. HUTCHINSON, B.A., F.G.S.
AUTHOR OF "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE EARTH."
With Sixteen Full-page Illustrations.
They are as a great and noble architecture, first giving shelter,
comfort, and rest; and covered also with mighty sculpture and painted
legend.--RUSKIN.
New York:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND LONDON.
1892.
_Copyright, 1891_,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
ALL WHO LOVE MOUNTAINS AND HILLS
This little Book is Dedicated,
IN THE HOPE THAT EVEN A SLIGHT KNOWLEDGE OF THEIR PLACE IN
NATURE, AND PREVIOUS HISTORY, MAY ADD TO THE WONDER AND DELIGHT
WITH WHICH WE LOOK UPON THESE NOBLE FEATURES OF THE SURFACE OF
THE EARTH.
PREFACE.
Now that travelling is no longer a luxury for the rich, and thousands
of people go every summer to spend their holidays among the
mountains of Europe, and ladies climb Mont Blanc or ramble among the
Carpathians, there must be many who would like to know something of
the secret of the hills, their origin, their architecture, and the
forces that made them what they are.
For such this book is chiefly written. Those will best understand it
who take it with them on their travels, and endeavour by its use to
interpret what they see among the mountains; and they will find that
a little observation goes a long way to help them to read mountain
history.
It is hoped, however, that all, both young and old, who take an
intelligent interest in the world around, though they may never have
seen a mountain, may find these pages worth reading.
If readers do not find here answers to all their questions, they
may be reminded that it is not possible within the present limits
to give more than a brief sketch of the subject, leaving the gaps
to be filled in by a study of the larger and more important works
on geology. The author, assuming that the reader knows nothing of
this fascinating science, has endeavoured to interpret into ordinary
language the story of the hills as it is written in the rocks of
which they are made.
It can scarcely be denied that a little knowledge of natural objects
greatly adds to our appreciation of them, besides affording a deep
source of pleasure, in revealing the harmony, law, and order by which
all things in this wonderful world are governed. Mountains, when
once we begin to observe them, seem to become more than ever our
companions,--to take us into their counsels, and to teach us many a
lesson about the great part they play in the order of things. And
surely our admiration of their beauty is not lessened, but rather
increased, when we learn how much we and all living things owe to
the life-giving streams that flow continually from them. The writer
has, somewhat reluctantly, omitted certain parts of the subject
which, though very interesting to the geologist, can hardly be made
attractive to general readers.
Thus, the cause of earth movements, by which mountains are pushed up
far above the plains that lie at their feet, is at present a matter
of speculation; and it is difficult to express in ordinary language
the ideas that have been put forward on this subject. Again, the
curious internal changes, which we find to have taken place in the
rocks of which mountains are composed, are very interesting to those
who know something of the minerals of which rocks are made up, and
their chemical composition; but it was found impossible to render
these matters sufficiently simple.
So again with regard to the geological structure of mountain-chains.
This had to be very briefly treated, in order to avoid introducing
details which would be too complicated for a book of this kind.
The author desires to acknowledge his obligations to the writings
of Sir A. Geikie; Professor Bonney, Professor Green, and Professor
Shaler, of Harvard University; the volumes of the "Alpine Journal;"
"The Earth," by Reclus; the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." Canon Isaac
Taylor's "Words and Places," have also been made use of; and if in
every case the reference is not given, the writer hopes the omission
will be pardoned. A few passages from Mr. Ruskin's "Modern Painters"
have been quoted, in the hope that others may be led to read that
wonderful book, and to learn more about mountains and clouds, and
many other things, at the feet of one of the greatest teachers of the
century.
Some of our engravings are taken from the justly celebrated
photographs of the High Alps,[1] by the late Mr. W. Donkin, whose
premature death among the Caucasus Mountains was deeply deplored
by all. Those reproduced were kindly lent by his brother, Mr. A. E.
Donkin, of Rugby. To Messrs. Valentine & Son of Dundee, Mr. Wilson
of Aberdeen, and to Messrs. Frith we are indebted for permission to
reproduce some of their admirable photographs; also to Messrs. James
How & Sons of Farringdon Street, for three excellent photographs of
rock-sections taken with the microscope.
[1] Published by Messrs. Spooner, of the Strand.
CONTENTS.
Part I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MOUNTAINS AND MEN 3
II. THE USES OF MOUNTAINS 33
III. SUNSHINE AND STORM ON THE MOUNTAINS 70
IV. MOUNTAIN PLANTS AND ANIMALS 103
Part II.
CHAPTER PAGE
HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE MADE.
V. HOW THE MATERIALS WERE BROUGHT TOGETHER 139
VI. HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE UPHEAVED 174
VII. HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE CARVED OUT 205
VIII. VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS 242
IX. MOUNTAIN ARCHITECTURE 282
X. THE AGES OF MOUNTAINS AND OTHER QUESTIONS 318
ILLUSTRATIONS.
NORHAM CASTLE. After Turner _Frontispiece_
BEN LOMOND. From a Photograph by J. Valentine 16
CLOUDS ON BEN NEVIS 38
SNOW ON THE HIGH ALPS. From a Photograph by
Mr. Donkin 64
A STORM ON THE LAKE OF THUN. After Turner 86
THE MATTERHORN. From a Photograph by Mr. Donkin 98
ON A GLACIER. 116
RED DEER. After Ansdell 133
CHALK ROCKS, FLAMBOROUGH HEAD. From a Photograph by
G. W. Wilson 152
MICROPHOTOGRAPHS ILLUSTRATING ROCK FORMATION 172
THE SKAEGGEDALSFORS, NORWAY. From a Photograph by
J. Valentine 192
THE MER DE GLACE AND MONT BUET. From a Photograph
by Mr. Donkin 229
THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS IN 1872. From an
Instantaneous Photograph 250
COLUMNAR BASALT AT CLAMSHELL CAVE, STAFFA. From
a Photograph by J. Valentine 280
MONT BLANC, SNOWFIELDS, GLACIERS, AND STREAMS. 312
MOUNTAIN IN THE YOSEMITE VALLEY. 336
ILLUSTRATIONS II.
Fig. 1. SECTION ACROSS THE WEALD OF KENT AND SURREY. 237
Fig. 2. THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND ON A TRUE
SCALE (after Geikie.) 237
Fig. 1. THE RANGES OF THE GREAT BASIN, WESTERN
STATES OF NORTH AMERICA, SHOWING A SERIES OF
GREAT FRACTURES AND TILTED MASSES OF ROCK. 272
Fig. 2. SECTION THROUGH SNOWDON. 272
SECTIONS OF MOUNTAIN-RANGES, SHOWING THEIR
STRUCTURE AND THE AMOUNT OF ROCK WORN AWAY 306
PART I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
THE STORY OF THE HILLS.
Part I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
CHAPTER I.
MOUNTAINS AND MEN.
"Happy, I said, whose home is here;
Fair fortunes to the Mountaineer."
In old times people looked with awe upon the mountains, and
regarded them with feelings akin to horror or dread. A very slight
acquaintance with the classical writers of antiquity will suffice
to convince any one that Greeks and Romans did so regard them. They
were not so familiar with mountains as we are; for there were no
roads through them, as now through the Alps, or the Highlands of
Scotland,--to say nothing of the all-pervading railway. It would,
however, be a great mistake to suppose that the ancients did not
observe and enjoy the beauties of Nature. The fair and fertile
plain, the vine-clad <DW72>s of the lower hill-ranges, and the
"many-twinkling smile of ocean" were seen and loved by all who had
a mind to appreciate the beautiful. The poems of Homer and Virgil
would alone be sufficient to prove this. But the higher ranges,
untrodden by the foot of man, were gazed at, not with admiration,
but with religious awe; for men looked upon mountains as the abode
of the gods. They dwelt in the rich plain, which they cultivated,
and beside the sweet waters of some river; for food and drink are
the first necessities of life. But they left the high hills alone,
and in fancy peopled them with the "Immortals" who ruled their
destiny,--controlling also the winds and the lightning, the rain and
the clouds, which seem to have their home among the mountains. A
childlike fear of the unknown, coupled with religious awe, made them
avoid the lofty and barren hills, from which little was to be got
but wild honey and a scanty supply of game. There were also dangers
to be encountered from the fury of the storm and the avalanche; but
the safer ground of the plains below would reward their toil with an
ample supply of corn and other necessaries of life.
In classical times, and also in the Middle Ages, the mountains,
as well as glens and rivers, were supposed to be peopled with
fairies, nymphs, elves, and all sorts of strange beings; and even
now travellers among the mountains of Switzerland, Norway, Wales,
or Scotland find that it is not long since the simple folk of these
regions believed in the existence of such beings, and attributed to
their agency many things which they could not otherwise explain.
Of all the nations of antiquity the Jews seem to have shown the
greatest appreciation of mountain scenery; and in no ancient writings
do we find so many or so eloquent allusions to the hills as in the
Old Testament. But here again one cannot fail to trace the same
feelings of religious awe. The Law was given to their forefathers
in the desert amidst the thunders of Sinai. To them the earth was
literally Jehovah's footstool, and the clouds were His tabernacle.
"If He do but touch the hills, they shall smoke."
But this awe was not unmixed with other and more comforting thoughts.
They felt that those cloud-capped towers were symbols of strength and
the abode of Him who would help them in their need. For so we find
the psalmists regarding them; and with our | 569.838642 |
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Transcribed from the 1815 R. Thomas edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
_SPEEDY APPEARANCE_
OF
CHRIST
DESIRED BY THE CHURCH.
_BEING THE SUBSTANCE OF A_
Sermon,
PREACHED ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND,
_August_ 27, 1815.
* * * * *
BY J. CHURCH,
MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL, SURREY TABERNACLE | 569.838692 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.8197050 | 1,030 | 41 |
Produced by Anne Soulard, Naomi Parkhurst, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version
by Al Haines.
THE PRINCE OF INDIA
OR
WHY CONSTANTINOPLE FELL
BY LEW. WALLACE
VOL. II.
_Rise, too, ye Shapes and Shadows of the Past
Rise from your long forgotten grazes at last
Let us behold your faces, let us hear
The words you uttered in those days of fear
Revisit your familiar haunts again
The scenes of triumph and the scenes of pain
And leave the footprints of your bleeding feet
Once more upon the pavement of the street_
LONGFELLOW
CONTENTS
BOOK IV
THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE (_Continued_)
CHAPTER
XI. THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD
XII. LAEL TELLS OF HER TWO FATHERS
XIII. THE HAMARI TURNS BOATMAN
XIV. THE PRINCESS HAS A CREED
XV. THE PRINCE OF INDIA PREACHES GOD TO THE GREEKS
XVI. HOW THE NEW FAITH WAS RECEIVED
XVII. LAEL AND THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
XVIII. THE FESTIVAL OF FLOWERS
XIX. THE PRINCE BUILDS CASTLES FOR HIS GUL BAHAR
XX. THE SILHOUETTE OF A CRIME
XXI. SERGIUS LEARNS A NEW LESSON
XXII. THE PRINCE OF INDIA SEEKS MAHOMMED
XXIII. SERGIUS AND NILO TAKE UP THE HUNT
XXIV. THE IMPERIAL CISTERN GIVES UP ITS SECRET
BOOK V
MIRZA
I. A COLD WIND FROM ADRIANOPLE
II. A FIRE FROM THE HEGUMEN'S TOMB
III. MIRZA DOES AN ERRAND FOR MAHOMMED
IV. THE EMIR IN ITALY
V. THE PRINCESS IRENE IN TOWN
VI. COUNT CORTI IN SANCTA SOPHIA
VII. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
VIII. OUR LORD'S CREED
IX. COUNT CORTI TO MAHOMMED
X. SERGIUS TO THE LION
BOOK VI
CONSTANTINE
I. THE SWORD OF SOLOMON
II. MAHOMMED AND COUNT CORTI MAKE A WAGER
III. THE BLOODY HARVEST
IV. EUROPE ANSWERS THE CRY FOR HELP
V. COUNT CORTI RECEIVES A FAVOR
VI. MAHOMMED AT THE GATE ST. ROMAIN
VII. THE GREAT GUN SPEAKS
VIII. MAHOMMED TRIES HIS GUNS AGAIN
IX. THE MADONNA TO THE RESCUE
X. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE ASSAULT
XI. COUNT CORTI IN DILEMMA
XII. THE ASSAULT
XIII. MAHOMMED IN SANCTA SOPHIA
BOOK IV
THE PALACE OF BLACHERNE (_Continued_)
CHAPTER XI
THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD
The sun shone clear and hot, and the guests in the garden were glad to
rest in the shaded places of promenade along the brooksides and under
the beeches and soaring pines of the avenues. Far up the extended
hollow there was a basin first to receive the water from the conduit
supposed to tap the aqueduct leading down from the forest of Belgrade.
The noise of the little cataract there was strong enough to draw a
quota of visitors. From the front gate to the basin, from the basin to
the summit of the promontory, the company in lingering groups amused
each other detailing what of fortune good and bad the year had brought
them. The main features of such meetings are always alike. There were
games by the children, lovers in retired places, and old people plying
each other with reminiscences. The faculty of enjoyment changes but
never expires.
An array of men chosen for the purpose sallied from the basement of the
palace carrying baskets of bread, fruits in season, and wine of the
country in water-skins. Dispersing themselves through the garden, they
waited on the guests, and made distribution without stint or
discrimination. The heartiness of their welcome may be imagined; while
the thoughtful reader will see in the liberality thus characterizing
her hospitality one of the secrets of the Princess's popularity with
the poor along the Bosph | 569.839745 |
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http://gallica.bnf.fr)
Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
[Illustration]
LE MORVAN,
[A DISTRICT OF FRANCE,]
ITS
WILD SPORTS, VINEYARDS AND FORESTS;
WITH
Legends, Antiquities, Rural and Local Sketches.
BY
HENRI DE CRIGNELLE,
ANCIEN OFFICIER DE DRAGONS.
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT IN FRENCH,
BY
CAPTAIN JESSE,
AUTHOR OF "NOTES OF A HALFPAY;" "LIFE OF BRUMMELL;"
"MURRAY'S HAND-BOOK FOR RUSSIA," ETC., ETC.
SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT-STREET.
1851.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM TYLER,
BOLT-COURT.
PREFACE.
Born in one of the most beautiful provinces of France, in a country of
noble forests and extensive vineyards; brought up in the open air amidst
the blue hills, and ever wandering over the fields and mountains with a
gun on my arm--all the hours of my youth, if I may so say, were spent in
search of partridges and hares in the dewy stubbles, and in the pursuit
of the wild cat and the boar in the shady depths of the woods.
When relating the adventures of these different shooting rambles to a
friend, talking over with him our mode of sporting so different from
that of England, and when in imagination I carried him along with me
into the dells and dark ravines, and described to him the chase and
death-struggle of the ferocious wolf, or the odd characters and
antediluvian customs of the primitive people amongst whom I passed the
days of my happy boyhood, astonished, he could hardly believe that such
sports and such singular personages existed within so short a distance
of his own country.
"Why not scribble all this?" he would say, "your sketches would make
capital light reading."
"But to write is not easy; and, besides, what a poor figure I and my
dogs and wolves, woodcocks and vineyards, would cut after the terrible
Mr. Gordon Cumming. How could any description of mine interest the
public in comparison with those of that famous shot and his three
coffee- Hottentots, with his bands of panthers and giraffes, his
troops of yellow lions dancing sarabands round the fountains, and his
jungles and swamps swarming with elephants and hippopotami?"
"But we might be able to go to Le Morvan," said my friend, "whereas few
indeed, if they wished it, can go to the South of Africa to shoot
elephants through the small ribs; neither is it probable that many of us
would like to pass several years of their valuable lives shut up in a
loose, rolling, sea-bathing-machine-like wagon, with their own beloved
shadow alone for all Christian company. Let us have a narrative of your
exploits?"
"You do not consider what you ask," I replied; "my gossip may have
amused you, but the effusions of my pen would to a certainty make you
yawn like graves."
"Nonsense," whispered the flatterer, "you will open to us a new country,
you will confer a real service upon hundreds of restless Englishmen, who
when summer comes know not for the life of them where to go, or where
not to go;--write your work, and advise them to turn their steps to Le
Morvan at the time of the vintage."
But now another, a huge difficulty, sprung up. Printers do not lend
their types for nothing any more than they give gratis their time and
paper. To publish a book is always an expensive affair; misfortune,
which had touched me with its wing, which has been the sad guest of my
house, deprived me of the power of undertaking it myself: and where to
find a person so generous as to take upon himself the responsibility of
the undertaking? Happily I was in England, in the land of kind hearts
and warm sympathies. A noble lady, the mother of a distinguished English
nobleman, who passes her life in doing good, took an interest in my
forlorn history, and was pleased to honour me with her patronage. With
this mantle of protection thrown around me, and my generous friend
having undertaken to bear the responsibilities of publishing, the
difficulties were soon swept away, and Le Morvan was written.
I had hoped that I should in this Preface be permitted to mention her
name, which would have been less a compliment to her than an honour to
me; but her modesty has refused this public acknowledgment of my
unbounded gratitude,--a veil of respectful reserve shall therefore
remain suspended over her name. As for me and mine, we shall treasure it
in our thankful hearts--every day shall we pray that the Great Giver of
all good may confer upon her His most precious and gracious blessings.
HENRI DE CRIGNELLE.
LONDON, _August_, 1851.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
English propensity to ramble--Where and how--Le
Morvan--Vezelay--Description of the town--Historical associations
connected with it--Charles IX.--Persecutions of the Protestants--View
from Vezelay--Scenery and wild sports--The Author--Object of the
Work _p._ 1
CHAPTER II.
Le Morvan--Forests--Climate--Patriarchs and Damosels--Peasants of the
plain and the mountains--Jovial Cures--Their love of Burgundy--The
Doctor and the Cure 14
CHAPTER III.
Geology--Fossil shells--Antediluvian salmon--The Druids--Chindonax, the
High Priest--Roman antiquities--Julius Caesar's hunting-box--Lugubrious
village--Carre-les-Tombes--The Inquisitive Andalusian 26
CHAPTER IV.
Le Morvan during the Middle Ages--Legendary horrors--Forest of La
Goulotte--La Croix Chavannes--La Croix Mordienne--Hotel de
Chanty--Chateau de Lomervo--A French Bluebeard--Citadel of Lingou 35
CHAPTER V.
Castle of Bazoche--Marechal de Vauban--Relics of the old
Marshal--Memorials of Philipsburg--Hotel de Bazarne--Madame de
Pompadour's maitre d'hotel--Proof of the _cures'_ grief--Farm of St.
Hibaut--Youthful recollections--Monsieur de Cheribalde--Navarre the
Four-Pounder--His culverin 43
CHAPTER VI.
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[Illustration]
THE
SHIPWRECKED ORPHANS:
A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE
SHIPWRECK AND SUFFERINGS
OF
JOHN IRELAND AND WILLIAM DOYLEY,
WHO WERE WRECKED IN THE
SHIP CHARLES EATON,
ON AN ISLAND IN THE SOUTH SEAS.
WRITTEN BY JOHN IRELAND.
NEW HAVEN.
PUBLISHED BY S. BABCOCK.
_TO MY YOUNG READERS._
[Illustration]
_My dear little Friends_:
For this volume of TELLER’S TALES, I have selected the “SHIPWRECKED
ORPHANS, a True Narrative of the Sufferings of John Ireland” and a
little child, named William Doyley, who were unfortunately wrecked in
the ship Charles Eaton, of London, and lived for several years with the
natives of the South Sea Islands. The remainder of the passengers and
crew of this ill-fated ship, were most inhumanly murdered by the savages
soon after they landed from the wreck. The Narrative was written by one
of the Orphans, John Ireland, and I give it to you in nearly his own
words, having made but few alterations in the style in which he tells
the story of their sufferings.
The people of some of the South Sea Islands, are of a very cruel
disposition; some of them are cannibals; that is, they eat the flesh of
those unfortunate persons who may happen to be shipwrecked on their
Islands, or whom they may take prisoners of war. Others, on the
contrary, show the greatest kindness to strangers in distress. May the
time soon come when civilization and the Christian religion shall reach
all these benighted savages, and teach them to relieve the distressed,
and to regard the unfortunate as their brethren.
As very little is yet known of the manners and customs of these savage
tribes, I trust this Narrative will prove both interesting and
instructive to you all; and I hope you will feel grateful that,—unlike
the sufferers in this story,—you are surrounded with the comforts of
life, and have kind parents and friends to watch over you and defend you
from the dangers and miseries to which these poor Orphans were so long
exposed.
Your old friend and well-wisher,
THOMAS TELLER.
_Roseville Hall_, 1844.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
SHIPWRECKED ORPHANS.
[Illustration]
Having obtained a situation as assistant in the cabin of the ship
Charles Eaton, I went on board on the 28th of September, 1833, to assist
in preparing for the voyage. In the month of December following, I had
the misfortune to fall into the dock, and not being able to swim,
narrowly escaped drowning; but through the exertions of Mr. Clare, the
chief officer of the ship, I was with difficulty saved.
About the 19th of December, we left the dock, with a cargo mostly of
lead and calico. Our crew consisted of the following persons: Frederick
Moore, commander; Robert Clare, chief mate; William Major, second mate,
Messrs. Ching and Perry, midshipmen; Mr. Grant, surgeon: Mr. Williams,
sail-maker; William Montgomery, steward; Lawrence Constantyne,
carpenter; Thomas Everitt, boatswain; John Barry, George Lawn, James
Millar, James Moore, John Carr, Francis Hower, William Jefferies, Samuel
Baylett, Charles Robertson, and Francis Quill, seamen; and John Sexton,
and myself, boys. The passengers were, Mr. Armstrong, a native of
Ireland, and twenty-five male and female children from the Emigration
Society, with some other steerage passengers.
We had a favorable passage down the river to Gravesend, where we took
leave of our pilot. A pilot is a person who takes charge of the ships in
those parts of rivers where they are dangerous. On the 23d of December
we went on our voyage, passing Deal on the 25th, and arrived at Cowes,
in the Isle of Wight, on the 27th.
The wind here proved contrary, and we were detained in the harbor until
the 4th of January, 1834; when, as we were attempting to quit, a
schooner ran against our vessel and broke off our bowsprit and jib-boom,
and did other damage to her. The bowsprit is the mast that sticks out in
front of the ship, and the jib-boom is the top joint of the bowsprit. We
were therefore obliged to remain there until the repairing of the ship
was completed; and on the 1st of February left Cowes.
[Illustration:
_Manner in which the Murray Islanders spearfish—a female assisting._
See Page 41.
]
This accident caused great alarm among the passengers, and more
especially among the children; indeed it was well that we escaped as we
did; for even in our own harbors in England, ships are often in great
danger.
We arrived at Falmouth, near Land’s-end in Cornwall, on the 5th of
February; and having on the 8th completed our cargo, left England with a
good wind, and every prospect of a happy voyage.
About the latter end of March, we crossed the Equator; that is, that
part of the world where the sun is over head and makes no shadow; here
we went through the usual ceremony of paying tribute to Neptune, to the
great amusement of the passengers.
We came to the Cape of Good Hope, which is in Africa, on the 1st of May,
and here we landed several of our passengers; we again set sail, on the
4th, for Hobart’s Town, in Australia, upwards of twenty thousand miles
from England, where we arrived on the 16th of June; at this place we
bade farewell to our young emigrants, and some of the passengers.
On the 8th of July, Captain and Mrs. Doyley, with their two sons, George
and William, the one about seven or eight years old, and the other about
fourteen months, came on board as passengers to Sourabaya, intending to
go from thence to Calcutta, in the East Indies. William, the youngest,
was my unfortunate companion.
Nothing particular occurred after our leaving Hobart’s Town, till we
arrived in Sidney, in New South Wales, on the 13th of July. There we
took in some ballast; that is, heavy articles which are put in the
bottom of the ship to keep it from turning over with the wind. Our
boatswain, Mr. Everitt, left us at Sidney, and we took on board in his
stead Mr. Pigot, and two or three seamen.
We set sail for China on the 29th. An accident happened two or three
days after leaving the town, which almost caused the death of our
excellent chief officer, Mr. Clare. An anchor is an iron instrument
affixed to the end of a long chain, and is used to keep ships in one
place. It generally hangs at the bows, or fore part of the vessel. The
men were getting the anchor in its proper place, and Mr. Clare was
helping them; on a sudden, the wood of the implement which he was using
broke, and he fell into the sea. We immediately stopped work, and let
down the boat, and he being an excellent swimmer, was able to keep up
till the boat reached him. We were at that time going about six miles an
hour.
We sailed this time with fine weather and good winds, and made the
entrance to Torres Straits, a narrow passage between two islands in the
Southern Ocean, on the 14th of August, in the evening.
The wind now began to blow rather hard; so much so that the captain
thought it necessary to take in some of the sails, and would not attempt
to go on during the dark. However, at daylight on the next morning we
again set sail, although the wind was very high, and the water getting
rough, that is, forming itself into large waves.
The wind continued to increase till about ten o’clock in the morning,
when the ship struck on a reef called the “Detached Reef.” A reef is a
number of rocks in the water, at a short distance from the land, over
which the water just rises, without leaving room enough for a ship to
pass. The Detached Reef was near the entrance of Torres Straits.
So violent was the shock, that the rudder (that by which a ship is
guided,) and the keel, (that ledge which runs along the bottom of the
ship,) were both knocked off, and the captain gave it as his opinion
that nothing could save the ship.
The chief mate cut away the masts, in order to lighten her; but without
effect, and we then found that the bottom was broken in, at which place
the water soon made an entrance, and completely spoiled every thing she
contained. The high and swelling waves broke completely over her, and in
a short time the vessel was a perfect wreck.
It was happy for us that the upper part kept together as it did, though
there was so much danger, from the water rising, that every one expected
to be washed over. There was plainly to be heard above the din of the
wind and sea, the horrible groaning of the planks forming the sides of
the ship, between which the water rushed as through a sieve; and as they
were one by one broken away from the ill-fated vessel, we felt that we
were approaching nearer to a death from which we could not hope to
escape, unless by some merciful interposition of Divine Goodness we
should be rescued from our watery enemy.
Nor were these thoughts lessened by seeing that ours was not the only
vessel that had cause to repent the dangerous and almost unknown
navigation of these straits. About three or four miles from us, to the
windward, or that side from which the wind blows, we observed a ship
high and dry, that is, lying out of water, upon the reefs; she had her
masts standing, her royal yards across, and her sails set; in which
state she had seemingly been left by her crew.
At the time of the vessel striking, Mrs. Doyley was taking coffee in the
cabin, and her infant was asleep in one of the berths, little dreaming
to what future ills his weak and helpless frame was to be exposed.
The distracted mother instantly ran on deck in alarm; and I went into
the cabin, where I saw the poor child washed out of its berth, and
crying on the floor. I took him to Mrs. Doyley, who, after that time,
for the seven long days which were occupied in making the raft, could
not by any means be persuaded to give up her dear charge.
Upon finding how the ship was situated, Captain Moore ordered the boats
to be got ready, and furnished with provisions, in order, if possible,
to save the ship’s company, and reach the island of Timor, regretting
the stern necessity which urged him to such a step in such a sea.
I once heard Captain Moore declare that he was sorry he had not made use
of his own chart, instead of one that he bought at Sidney, lest there
might be any mistake in his own.
We were in possession of four boats; the long boat, two cutters, and a
small boat called a dingy. Three of the seamen seized one of the
cutters; and two others got on board of it next morning by swimming
across the reef at the imminent peril of their lives. A little biscuit,
a ham, and a keg of water, with some carpenters’ tools, had been placed
in the boat on its leaving the ship. As soon as the two men had got into
the boat, they rowed away, and I have never heard any tidings of them
since.
The persons remaining on board the wreck now held a consultation as to
what was best to be done in this miserable state of their affairs. There
were about thirty persons, without sufficient provisions to sustain
life, much less satisfy the cravings of hunger, for a month, without any
fresh water, and with no prospect of escape from their for | 569.84174 |
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Transcriber's note.
Minor punctuation inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of
other changes made, can be found at the end of the book. For this text
version, diacritical marks that cannot be represented in plain text are
shown in the following manner:
[O] o with macron above (balcOny).
Mark up: _italics_
[Among the verses in this Collection may be found a few which have
previously appeared in a Volume, by the same Author, now out of print.]
THE LAZY MINSTREL
[Illustration]
The Lazy
Minstrel
By
J. ASHBY-STERRY
_And while his merry Banjo rang,
'Twas thus the Lazy Minstrel sang!_
[Illustration]
THIRD EDITION.
LONDON
_T. FISHER UNWIN_
26 PATERNOSTER SQUARE
MDCCCLXXXVII
_The Author reserves all rights of translation and reproduction._
TO
NINA, MARY, AND FLORENCE,
THIS VOLUME IS
INSCRIBED.
CONTENTS.
LAZY LAYS:-- Page
Hambleden Lock 3
Spring's Delights 6
A Modern Syren 9
Regrets 12
Hammockuity 13
My Country Cousin 15
A Common-Sense Carol 18
Saint May 20
A Canoe Canzonet 23
A Lover's Lullaby 25
The Tam O' Shanter Cap 26
A Street Sketch 28
A Tiny Trip 29
A Study 31
Doctor Brighton 33
Lizzie 37
A Marlow Madrigal 38
In Rotten Row 41
A Portrait 43
Symphonies in Fur 45
Drifting Down 48
Toujours Tennis 50
Tarpauline 52
The Kitten 54
In the Temple 56
An Unfinished Sketch 59
On Board the "Gladys" 62
Cigarette Rings 65
At Charing Cross 67
The Music of Leaves 70
CASUAL CAROLS:--
In a Bellagio Balcony 75
A Riverain Rhyme 78
The Little Rebel 80
Canoebial Bliss 83
Rosie 85
Skindle's in October 86
In My Easy Chair 88
Blankton Weir 90
Different Views 95
Two Naughty Girls 97
Couleur de Rose 99
In Strawberry Time 102
Number One 104
After Breakfast 107
In an Old City Church 110
A Little Love-Letter 112
Stray Sunbeams 114
Pearl 116
A Nutshell Novel 118
The Pink of Perfection 119
The Impartial 121
A Traveller's Tarantella 122
In a Minor Key 124
A Shower-Song 126
THE SOCIAL ZODIAC:--
January 131
February 132
March 133
April 134
May 135
June 136
July 137
August 138
September 139
October 140
November 141
December 142
IDLE SONGS:--
Mother o' Pearl 145
A Lay of the "Lion" 147
Jennie 150
A Favourite Lounge 151
Spring Cleaning 153
Taken in Tow 155
Thrown! 157
Baggage on the Brain 160
Haytime 163
Pet's Punishment 165
The Baby in the Train 167
Miss Sailor-Boy 170
A Private Note 171
L'Inconnue 173
Fallacies of the Fog 175
The Merry Young Water-Girl 177
A Secular Sermon 179
On the French Coast 181
At the "Lord Warden" 183
Bolney Ferry 185
Dot 188
A Riverside Luncheon 190
Love-Locks 192
A Streatley Sonata 196
The Midshipmaid 199
A Pantile Poem 201
Henley in July 204
The Minstrel's Return 207
A SINGER'S SKETCH-BOOK:--
Dover 213
Chamouni 214
Baveno 215
At Table d'Hote 216
At Etretat 217
Homesick 218
Skreeliesporran 219
A Christmas Carol 220
Sound without Sense 222
The Merry Month of May 227
Two and Two 229
A Shorthand Sonnet 232
In a Gondola 233
The Last Leaf 236
_OVERTURE._
_Within this Volume you will find,
No project to "improve the mind"!
No "purpose" lurks within these lays--
These idle songs of idle days.
They're seldom learned, never long--
The best apology for song!
Should e'er they chance to have the pow'r,
To pass away some lazy hour--
They'll serve all "purpose," it is true,
The Minstrel ever had in view!_
LAZY LAYS.
HAMBLEDEN LOCK.
A CAPITAL luncheon I've had at the "Lion,"
I've drifted down here with the light Summer breeze;
I land at the bank, where the turf's brown and dry on,
And lazily list to the music of trees!
O, sweet is the air, with a perfume of clover,
O, sleepy the cattle in Remenham meads!
The lull of the lasher is soothing, moreover,
The wind whistles low in the stream-stricken reeds!
With sail closely furled, and a weed incandescent--
Made fast to a post is the swift _Shuttlecock_--
I think you will own 'tis uncommonly pleasant
To dream and do nothing by Hambleden Lock!
See a barge blunder through, overbearing and shabby,
With its captain asleep, and his wife in command;
Then a boatful of beauties for Medmenham Abbey,
And a cargo of campers all tired and tanned.
Two duffers collide, they don't know what they're doing--
They're both in the ways of the water unskilled--
But here is the Infant, so great at canoeing,
Sweet, saucy, short-skirted, and snowily frilled.
I notice the tint of a ribbon or feather,
The ripple of ruffle, the fashion of frock;
I languidly laze in the sweet Summer weather,
And muse o'er the maidens by Hambleden Lock!
What value they give to the bright panorama--
O, had I the pencil of Millais or Sandys!--
The lasses with sunshades from far Yokohama,
The pretty girl-scullers with pretty brown hands!
Next the _Syren_ steams in; see the kind-eyed old colley,
On the deck, in the sun, how he loves to recline!
Note the well-ordered craft and its Skipper so jolly,
With friends, down to Marlow, he's taking to dine.
In the snug-curtained cabin, I can't help espying
A dew-clouded tankard of seltzer-and-hock,
And a plateful of peaches big babies are trying,
I note, as they glide out of Hambleden Lock!
A punt passes in, with Waltonians laden,
And boatman rugose of mahogany hue;
And then comes a youth and a sunny-haired maiden
Who sit _vis-a-vis_ in their bass-wood canoe.
Now look at the Admiral steering the _Fairy_,
O, where could he find a much better crew than
His dutiful daughters, Flo, Nina, and Mary,
Who row with such grace in his trim-built randan?
I muse while the water is ebbing and flowing,
I silently smoke and serenely take stock
Of countless Thames toilers, now coming, now going,
Who take a pink ticket at Hambleden Lock!
SPRING'S DELIGHTS.
_'Tis good-bye to comfort, to ease and prosperity,
Now Spring has set in with its usual severity!_
SPRING'S Delights are now returning!
Let the Lazy Minstrel sing;
While the ruddy logs are burning,
Let his merry banjo ring!
Take no heed of pluvial patter,
Waste no time in vain regrets;
Though our teeth are all a-chatter,
Like the clinking castanets!
Though it's freezing, sleeting, snowing,
Though we're speechless from catarrh,
Though the East wind's wildly blowing,
Let us warble, _Tra la la_!
Spring's Delights are now returning!
Let us order new great-coats:
Never let us dream of spurning
Woollen wrap around our throats.
Let us see the couch nocturnal
Snugly swathed in eider-down:
Let not thoughts of weather vernal
Tempt us to go out of Town.
Though | 569.843632 |
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SOWING AND REAPING
BY
D. L. MOODY.
_'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.'_
Gal. vi: 7.
Chicago: New York: Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
Publishers of Evangelical Literature
_Copyright 1896 by_
_Fleming H. Revell Company._
CONTENTS
Chap.
I. Sowing and Reaping
II. Be Not Deceived: God Is Not Mocked
III. When a Man Sows, He Expects to Reap
IV. A Man Reaps the Same Kind as He Sows
V. A Man Reaps More than He Sows
VI. Ignorance of the Seed Makes No Difference
VII. Forgiveness and Retribution
VIII. Warning
SOWING AND REAPING
SOWING AND REAPING.
CHAPTER I.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of
the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of
the Spirit reap life everlasting." Galatians vi: 7, 8.
I think this passage contains truths that no infidel or sceptic will
dare to deny. There are some passages in the Word of God that need
no other proof than that which we can easily find in our daily
experience. This is one of them. If the Bible were to be blotted out
of existence, the words I have quoted would be abundantly verified
by what is constantly happening around us. We have only to take up
the daily papers to see them being fulfilled before our eyes.
I remember giving out this text once when a man stood right up in
the audience and said:
"I don't believe it."
I said, "My friend, that doesn't change the fact. Truth is truth
whether you believe it or not, and a lie is a lie whether you
believe it or not."
He didn't want to believe it. When the meeting broke up, an officer
was at the door to arrest him. He was tried and sent to the
penitentiary for twelve months for stealing. I really believe that
when he got into his cell, he believed that he had to reap what he
sowed.
We might as well try to blot the sun out of the heavens as to blot
this truth out of the Word of God. It is heaven's eternal decree.
The law has been enforced for six thousand years. Did not God make
Adam reap even before he left Eden? Had not Cain to reap outside of
Eden? A king on the throne, like David, or a priest behind the
altar, like Eli; priest and prophet, preacher and hearer, every man
must reap what he sows. I believed it ten years ago, but I believe
it a hundred times more to-day.
My text applies to the individual, whether he be saint or sinner or
hypocrite who thinks he is a saint; it applies to the family; it
applies to society; it applies to nations. I say the law that the
result of actions must be reaped is _as true for nations as for
individuals;_ indeed, some one has said that as nations have no
future existence, the present world is the only place to punish them
as nations. See how God has dealt with them. See if they have not
reaped what they sowed. Take Amalek: " | 569.879788 |
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THE BRASS BELL
OR
THE CHARIOT OF DEATH
A Tale of Caesar's Gallic Invasion
By EUGENE SUE
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL FRENCH BY
SOLON DE LEON
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS COMPANY, 1907
NEW EDITION 1916
COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY THE
NEW YORK LABOR NEWS CO.
PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATION
_The Brass Bell_; or, _The Chariot of Death_ is the second of Eugene
Sue's monumental serial known under the collective title of _The
Mysteries of the People; or History of a Proletarian Family Across the
Ages_.
The first story--_The Gold Sickle; or, Hena, the Virgin of the Isle of
Sen_--fittingly preludes the grand drama conceived by the author. There
the Gallic people are introduced upon the stage of history in the
simplicity of their customs, their industrious habits, their bravery,
lofty yet childlike--such as they were at the time of the Roman invasion
by Caesar, 58 B. C. The present story is the thrilling introduction to
the class struggle, that starts with the conquest of Gaul, and, in the
subsequent seventeen stories, is pathetically and instructively carried
across the ages, down to the French Revolution of 1848.
D. D. L.
TABLE OF CONTENTS | 569.93895 |
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
On page 20, section III is missing in the original.
In the Notes section, the entry for 559 was out of numerical order in
the original; it has been moved to its proper place in this eBook.
_THE CRANE CLASSICS_
THE
COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH
BY
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
WITH SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY AND NOTES
BY
P. H. PEARSON, A. M.
Professor of the English Language and Literature In Bethany College
CRANE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
TOPEKA, KANSAS
1905
Copyright 1905,
By CRANE & COMPANY,
Topeka, Kansas.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
INTRODUCTION 5
SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY 14
THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 27
NOTES 91
INTRODUCTION.
“The Courtship of Miles Standish” deals with a supreme moment in the
history of our nation, the moment when the harassed and thrice-winnowed
little band of Puritans began to establish themselves and their
institutions on these shores. In the belief that the poem will be
better understood and appreciated both as poetry and as history if some
of the traits and the struggles of this people are called to mind, a
few words regarding them will here be given.
Though the sovereigns of England under whose auspices the movement
known as the Reformation was carried through, severed connection
with the Church of Rome, they did not bring about a thorough reform
in matters of faith and church service. Hence there arose in England
parties holding conflicting views regarding the correctness and
propriety of the practices and ceremonies still in vogue. The
Established Church still retained much that, in the opinion of the
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PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 150.
APRIL 19, 1916.
[Illustration: _Overworked and exasperated Colonel (who has told Adjutant
to answer the telephone)._ "WELL, WHAT THE BLAZES DO THEY WANT?"
_Adjutant._ "IT'S THE C.O. OF THE BLANKSHIRES, SIR; WANTS YOU TO REPEAT
THE FUNNY STORY YOU TOLD HIM LAST NIGHT AT MESS."]
* * * * *
CHARIVARIA.
The recent Zeppelin raids have not been without their advantages. In a
spirit of emulation an ambitious hen at Acton has laid an egg weighing
5-1/4 oz.
* * *
The opponents of Colonel ROOSEVELT regard the advice given in the title
of his new book, _Fear God and take your own part_, to be unusually
moderate as coming from one who, whatever he may have said to the contrary,
is very generally suspected of being prepared to take the part that is
at present being played by President WILSON.
* * *
At a meeting of the "No-Conscription Fellowship" last week, Mr. PHILIP
SNOWDEN referred to the Conscientious Objectors as the "Salt of the
Earth." Perhaps, but we don't care to have them rubbed into us.
* * *
Germany has addressed a Note to the United States explaining that the
_Sussex_ could not possibly have been torpedoed for the reason that the
submarine commander who sank the vessel had no difficulty in drawing
a picture of her which closely resembled a totally different ship.
* * *
It is announced that the care of the great vine at Hampton Court has been
taken over by the Office of Works from the Board of Green Cloth. It is
rumoured that the latter body, which has been of late somewhat lost sight
of, is to be entrusted with the general supervision of our aerial forces.
* * *
So successful have been the electrically-heated footwarmers supplied
to the police of Pittsburg, Pa, that the State Department is said to
be contemplating their adoption.
* * *
For shouting "The Zepps are coming!" a Grimsby girl has been fined
L1. It was urged in defence that the girl suffered from hallucinations,
one of which was that she was a daily newspaper proprietor.
* * *
While announcing in Parliament last week that the Zoo would have to
pay the Amusement Tax the CHANCELLOR promised to "keep an open mind in
regard to any representations that might be made on the subject." Mr.
MCKENNA, we understand, has since received a strong representation from
the hippopotamus, protesting that, while he and his fellow-pachyderms are
commonly considered as instructive, their natural dignity precludes them
from attempting to provide amusement in any form.
* * *
"In twenty years' time," says Mr. PEMBERTON BILLING, "the aeroplane will
bring about universal peace." This statement will come as a distinct shock
to many who imagined that with Mr. BILLING at Westminster it might be
expected to achieve this desirable result in about twenty days.
* * *
The Gaslight and Coke Co., in the interests of economy, are proposing
to abandon the painting of street lamp-posts. The chief patrons of
these institutions, they say, will be quite satisfied as long as the
lamp-posts still feel the same to the touch.
* * *
A woman doctor has lately advanced the theory that talking leads to long
life; but an attested married man of our acquaintance assures us that
this is a mistake, and that it merely makes it seem longer.
* * * * *
"BURY MARRIED MEN AND LORD DERBY."
_Provincial Paper._
A tempting solution of the Government's problem, but perhaps a little
too mediaeval for these times.
* * * * *
METHODS OF A GERMAN MISSIONARY.
[See note to Cartoon on opposite page.]
_The Sultan soliloquises:--_
MEHMOUD, the gilt is off your idol's crown;
Clear shows the clay beneath the chipped enamel;
In sporting phrase, your dibs have been planked down
On the wrong camel.
This WILLIAM had a God he called his peer,
And yet must needs take on a new religion;
Spoke well of ALLAH; in His Shadow's ear
Cooed like a pigeon;
Pressed you to join him in a Holy War;
Advanced the wherewithal you badly needed;
And taught you how to go for Christian gore
The same as he did.
And now, where Afric's fountains fling their balm,
In his last place within the sun, 'tis written
With how remote a love for dear Islam
Your Bosch was bitten.
He hoped to stamp your creed out, branch and root;
This missionary meant to take your Arabs
And crush their souls beneath his mailed boot
Like crawling scarabs.
And if they still ignored his ponderous heel,
If still their faith in ALLAH stood unshaken,
He looked to stimulate a local zeal
For heathen bacon!
MEHMOUD, it is too much! Sick Man you are,
Yet in your veins I hope enough of vigour is
To tell this WILLIAM he has gone too far
With his damned piggeries!
O. S.
* * * * *
UNWRITTEN LETTERS TO THE KAISER.
No. XXXVII.
(_From Dr. LIEBKNECHT._)
If such trifling matters as the meeting of the Reichstag now occupy any
portion of your Majesty's attention, it may please you to learn that my
membership of that august body has been temporarily suspended. At the
same time I should be sorry that your Majesty should labour under any
misapprehension as to what happened. No doubt I was forbidden to speak,
though I am the representative of people whose voices have a right to be
heard even in the unhappy Parliament which is all that the German Empire
is allowed to provide for the subjects of the German KAISER. But I wish
you to understand that I was not silenced before I had said aloud nearly
everything that I had in my mind to say. It is true that I did not make
any formal speech. The bellowing blockheads who now arrogate to themselves
the name of patriots and all the virtues of patriotism were easily able
to prevent me from doing this, and I was forced, therefore, to confine
myself to short and sharp interjections thrown in at appropriate moments
while BETHMANN-HOLLWEG, that arch-impostor, was proving to the whole world
that even if Germany had a good case he is the last man who would be able
to place it in a convincing manner before the judgment of the world.
Your Majesty has had a long practice in the use of words. You pride
yourself on the glorious and beneficial effect of such speeches as that
in which you condescendingly praised the Almighty for having allied
Himself with you, very much, as it appeared, to His own advantage,
or that other speech in which you announced to your conscripts their
duty to shoot down their parents if in some momentary whim you ordered
them to do it, or even that other brave and Imperial harangue in which
you declared your humane and merciful designs on the Chinese people. I
have no doubt, then, that if you could be induced to speak your opinion
fairly and openly you would admit that, though you yourself could, of
course, have done better, I did not do so very badly in my little bout
with poor BETHMANN. At any rate I spoke the truth, which is an inconvenient
course of conduct, and made BETHMANN look the fool that everybody (except,
perhaps, your Majesty) knows him to be.
Indeed, your Majesty, a fool who is also arrogant is a very terrible
thing. When BETHMANN, for instance, spoke of Germany's love for her
neighbours, and in particular for the small nations, he delivered himself
into my hands. All I had to do--and I did it--was to remind him that he
proved his love by jumping upon them and strangling them. In a moment
the whole fabric of his stupid argument was shattered and he was left
gaping open-mouthed and without an answer before the whole world. The
incident showed the man's mind and his disposition in a lightning flash,
and from all countries, even from wretched Belgium and from ruined Serbia,
there came a laugh of hatred and contempt. Why are we so hated? Not
because we are great and powerful and prosperous, but because we make our
greatness an incubus, our power a tyranny and our prosperity an offence.
Fools like BETHMANN do not see this. They and their fellow-fools, some
of them quite brilliant men, with high notions on literature and music and
the drama, are for ever in a state of jealous fear. They have the mania
of persecution and imagine that all other countries are leagued against
them for the purpose of wiping Germany off the map. Then they lose their
unfortunate heads and strike out blindly to right and left. The other
nations have no course open to them except to defend themselves as best
they may, and then Herr BETHMANN and his superior fools shout out that
this wicked defensive proves up to the hilt that when they spoke of
conspiracies they were fully justified and that Germany for her own safety
must smash and in the end control every other country under the sun.
And yet, your Majesty, the time will come when we must have peace. This
pouring out of blood, this tremendous waste of money and lives must some
day have an end. Those are the best patriots who would put a stop to it
as soon as possible, for the longer you defer peace the more difficult
it becomes to make it. We have been told of great victories, but they
profit us not at all. All is desolation and cruelty and confusion. And
those who think most of Germany know best how bitterly she needs peace.
Your truth-telling but suspended subject,
LIEBKNECHT.
* * * * *
"THE LIAR'S PUNISHMENT.
"_The Matin_ points out the predicament in which the German High
Command must have found itself yesterday when editing its daily
_communique_. No doubt it wished to place on record with all
customary exaggeration the slight advantage gained on the <DW72>s
of the Dead Man. But how can the German High Command state this
convincingly when for over a week it has solemnly announced the
complete capture of the Dead Man? It has therefore to maintain
silence as the only expedient."--_Evening News_.
On the principle: "_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_."
* * * * *
"We are told that the maximum of the income-tax duty will be
reached at five shillings in the pound, a figure that will recall
the Budgets of the Neapolitan wars."--_Irish Paper._
When, as now, Vesuvians were so heavily taxed.
* * * * *
[Illustration: LOVE ME, LOVE MY PIG. [Captured documents show that the
German Government had schemed to stamp out Mohammedanism in East Africa
both by force and by the encouragement of pig-breeding.]]
GRASS VALLEY ARMISTICE.
"'E didn't mean to do it," he said, touching the bandages on his head.
"Oh no, quite an accident. It was a foo-de-joy--doorin' the armistice.
Wot, haven't you 'eard of Grass Valley Armistice?"
I said I couldn't recall it for the moment.
"It was doorin' September," he said; lasted two hours. Sergeant Duffin
started it.
"'E was out on a patrol one night, and suddenly 'e comes rashin' back
over the parapet and goes chargin' down to the Major's dug-out with a
face like this 'ere sheet.
"'They'me comin',' ses Bints 'oo was next to me, and we were just goin'
to loose off a round or two, when we 'eard ole Duffy | 569.944441 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.9607970 | 456 | 16 |
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MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY T. LEMAN HARE
RUBENS
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
_In Preparation_
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. L | 569.980837 |
2023-11-16 18:26:33.9608030 | 1,352 | 9 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 20, ISSUE 566, SEPTEMBER 15, 1832***
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See 14024-h.htm or 14024-h.zip:
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 20, NO. 566.] SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1832. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration: BOLSOVER CASTLE.]
BOLSOVER CASTLE
Bolsover is a populous village on the eastern verge of Derbyshire upon
the adjacent county of Nottingham; and but a short distance from the
town of Chesterfield. The Castle occupies the plain of a rocky hill that
rises abruptly from the meadows. The building is of great extent, and,
from its elevated situation, it is a landmark for the surrounding
country.
Bolsover has been the site of a castle from the Norman Conquest to the
present time; but, of the first fabric of this description not a single
vestige now remains. At the Domesday survey it belonged to William
Peveril, lord of Derbyshire, in whose family it remained for three
generations. King John, when Earl of Moreton, became the possessor of
Bolsover; but, during his continuation with Longchamp, bishop of Ely, it
became the property of that prelate. Subsequently it again reverted to
John, who, in the eighteenth year of his reign, issued a mandate to
Bryan de L'Isle, the then governor of Bolsover, to fortify the castle
and hold it against the rebellious barons; or, if he could not make it
tenable, to demolish it. This no doubt was the period when the
fortifications, which are yet visible about Bolsover, were established.
In the long and tumultuous reign of Henry III., this castle still
retained its consequence. William, Earl Ferrars, had the government of
it for six years: afterwards it had eleven different governors in twice
that term. It is not necessary to trace the place through all its
possessors. In the reign of Henry VIII. it was the property of Thomas
Howard, the first Duke of Norfolk. On the attainder of his son, the
castle escheated to the crown. Shortly afterwards it was granted to Sir
John Byron for fifty years. In the reign of James I., Gilbert Talbot,
Earl of Shrewsbury, was the owner of Bolsover. In the year 1613, he sold
it to Sir Charles Cavendish, whose eldest son William, was the first
Duke of Newcastle, a personage of great eminence among the nobility of
his time, and in high favour at court.[1] He was sincerely attached to
his royal master, Charles I., whom he entertained at Bolsover Castle,
on three different occasions, in a style of princely magnificence.
On the king's second visit here, where he was accompanied by his queen,
upwards of 15,000_l_. were expended. The Duchess of Newcastle, in her
Life of the Duke, her husband, says, "The Earl employed Ben Jonson in
fitting up such scenes and speeches as he could devise; and sent for all
the country to come and wait on their Majesties; and, in short, did all
that even he could imagine to render it great and worthy of their royal
acceptance." It was this nobleman who erected the edifice which is now
in ruins. Mr. Bray, in his _Tour in Derbyshire_, observes: "This
place was seized by the Parliament after the Duke went abroad, and was
sold and begun to be pulled down, but was then bought by Sir Charles,
the Duke's youngest brother, and so restored to the family."[2]
The present castle was built at different periods. The north-east end,
which was erected by Sir Charles Cavendish, about the year 1613, is the
oldest. The interior of this portion is uncomfortably arranged. The
rooms are small, and the walls are wainscoted, and fancifully inlaid and
painted. The ceilings of the best apartments are carved and gilt, and
nearly the whole of the floors are coated with plaster. There is a small
hall, the roof of which is supported by pillars; and a star-chamber,
richly carved and gilt. The only comfortable apartment, according
to Mr. Rhodes, is now called the drawing room, but was formerly the
_pillar-parlour_, from its having in the centre a stone column, from
which springs an arched ceiling, while round the lower part of the shaft
is a plain dinner-table, in the right chivalric fashion. From the roof
of this building, to which the ascent is by winding stairs, the view
extends "till all the stretching landscape into mist decays." The garden
beneath is surrounded with a wall about three yards thick, and contains
an old fountain of curious and expensive workmanship, which Dr. Pegge,
(who was a native of Chesterfield, and wrote a history of Beauchief
Abbey,) has laboured to prove very beautiful.
Hitherto we have spoken but of that part of Bolsover Castle which was
formerly denominated the Little House, to distinguish it from the more
magnificent structure adjoining. This immense fabric, whose walls are
now roofless and rent into fissures, was built by William, the first
Duke of Newcastle, in the course of the reign of Charles II., but is
said never to have been entirely finished. The interior walls are but
bare stones; the door and window | 569.980843 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.0149060 | 2,411 | 12 |
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Transcriber’s notes:
In this transcription, paired underscores denote _italicised text_.
The text contains a few typographic characters that will not
necessarily display correctly with all viewing devices. If some of the
characters look abnormal, first ensure that the device’s character
encoding is set to Unicode (UTF-8). The default font might also need to
be changed to a Unicode font such as Arial Unicode MS, DejaVu, Segoe UI
Symbol or FreeSerif.
The following typographic errors have been corrected silently:
cought —> caught
conderable —> considerable
rhubard —> rhubarb
therfore —> therefore
smoaked —> smoked
teized —> seized
choaked —> choked
wereat —> were at
inculation —> inoculation
throngh —> through
anamalous —> anomalous
Archaic spellings remain as in the original but archaic long ‘s’
letters (ſ) have been replaced by the standard letter ‘s’.
Spelling inconsistencies such as dram/drachm, and unpaired square
brackets are as in the original.
Footnotes have been positioned below the relevant paragraphs.
A short table of contents has been inserted by the transcriber to
assist the reader.
THE
PRESENT METHOD
OF
INOCULATING
FOR THE
SMALL-POX.
To which are added,
Some Experiments, instituted with a View
to discover the Effects of a similar Treatment
in the NATURAL SMALL-POX.
By THOMAS DIMSDALE, M. D.
The SEVENTH EDITION, Corrected.
LONDON:
Printed by JAMES PHILLIPS, George-Yard,
Lombard-Street;
And Sold by W. OWEN, in Fleet-Street; and
CARNAN and NEWBERY, in-St. Paul’s Church
Yard.
MDCCLXXIX.
TO THE
Royal College of Physicians
IN
LONDON,
This Treatise is inscribed,
With all due Deference
and Respect,
BY
THE AUTHOR.
INTRODUCTION.
Of the Age, Constitution, and Season of the Year proper for Inoculation.
Of the Preparation.
Of Infection.
Of the Progress of Infection.
OF ANOMALOUS SYMPTOMS AND APPEARANCES.
Consequences of this Method of Inoculation.
The Effects of this Treatment applied to the natural Small-Pox.
CONCLUSION.
CASES.
CASES of the natural Small-pox, treated in the preceding Method.
POSTSCRIPT.
CASE.
INTRODUCTION.
From the time that I entered into the practice of medicine, and saw the
danger to which the generality of those who had the small-pox in the
natural way were exposed, I could not but sincerely wish, with every
sensible person of the faculty, that Inoculation might become general.
A considerable share of employment in this branch of my profession
has for upwards of twenty years occurred to me; and altho’ I have
been so fortunate as not to lose a patient under inoculation, except
one child, about fourteen years ago, who after the eruption of a few
distinct pustules died of a fever, which I esteemed wholly independent
of the small-pox, yet I must acknowledge that in some cases the
symptoms have cost me not a little anxiety for the event.
Nor have the subsequent effects of this practice always been so
favourable as one could wish; and tho’ far from equalling those which
too often follow the natural small-pox; either in respect to difficulty
or number, yet they sometimes gave no small uneasiness to the operator.
It cannot likewise, it ought not to be concealed, that some of the
inoculated have died under this process, even under the care of very
able and experienced practitioners. But this number is so small, that,
when compared with the mortality attending the natural small-pox, it is
reduced almost to a cypher.
These circumstances, however, tended to discourage the operation in
some degree. Practitioners were cautious of urging a process, of whose
event they could not be certain: and parents, who were sensible enough
to observe, that though the chance was greatly in their favour, yet a
blank might cast up against them, engaged in it with hesitation.
Humanity, as well as a wish to promote the honour and advantage of the
art I profess, made me ever attentive to the improvement of this part
of my employment. Dissatisfied with the common methods, I had carefully
attended to the circumstances that seemed to contribute to the good or
ill success of this practice, in the course of my own business, as well
as to the best information I could get of the success of others.
Many facts had induced me to think that regimen, preparation, and
management would do much: that as the disease was of an inflammatory
kind, a cooling regimen must certainly for the most part be reasonable.
Some faint essays were made to try how far this sentiment might be
just. But those who are the best acquainted with the first aphorism of
Hippocrates, will be the first in justifying a cautious procedure,
where the object is no less than the life of an individual.
In this situation I first heard, and with the utmost satisfaction,
that in some parts of the nation, a new and more successful method
of inoculating was discovered, than had hitherto been practised. The
relators gave incredible accounts of the success; which was the more
marvellous, as the operators were chiefly such, as, by report, could
lay but little claim to medical erudition.
Knowing that improvements, which would do honour to the most elevated
human understandings, are sometimes stumbled upon by men of more
confined abilities; and that in medicine, as well as in every other
circumstance in life, it is our duty to avail ourselves as much as
possible of all discoveries tending to the common benefit, I embraced
every _just opportunity_ of informing myself of facts, circumstances,
and events, that either public fame, or more precise relations,
brought to me. I use the term _just opportunity_, because, if I am not
misinformed, endeavours have been used, inconsistent with equity and
candour, to rob those who are intitled to our gratitude for assisting
us in this important process, of that share of private emolument which
is their due, let their title to the discovery be ever so paradoxical.
To expose patients, even in the inoculated small-pox, to all weathers,
was a thing unheard of. To permit them through the whole progress
of the disease to go abroad, and follow their usual vocations, and
that they should neither suffer any present evil, nor experience any
disagreeable consequences, was still more surprizing; yet an infinite
number of instances have confirmed all this; and some of these
instances will appear in the sequel of this performance.
The design of this treatise is to bring the practice still one step
nearer to perfection, and lessen the ravages of a distemper, which is
not a native of Britain, but, like the plague, has been imported from
a foreign country, and demands the exertion of all the powers we are
possessed of, either to exterminate it from amongst us, which perhaps
is not practicable, or to render it less unsafe, if not wholly without
difficulty or danger.
The following directions for this purpose, are the result of an
extensive practice: and if a strong persuasion of the truth of what he
writes, founded on repeated trials and impartial observations, should
have led the author to express himself in a very sanguine manner, the
future experience of others, he trusts, will be his justification.
Hertford, 1. Nov.
1766.
Of the AGE, CONSTITUTION, and SEASON of the Year proper for INOCULATION.
Before I proceed to describe the regimen and preparatives, it may
not be improper to mention what has occurred to me in respect to the
most suitable age and constitution for inoculation; and likewise what
seasons seem to be more or less favourable for the practice.
In regard to age; where it is left to my choice, I decline inoculating
children under two years old. I know the common practice is against
me in this particular; but my reasons for rejecting such are founded
on observation and experience. I have, indeed, lately inoculated many
under this age, at the pressing entreaties of their parents, and they
have all done well. But it must be considered, that young children are
exposed to all the hazards of dentition, fevers, fluxes, convulsions,
and other accidents, sufficiently difficult in themselves to manage in
such tender subjects; insomuch that scarce two in three of all that are
born, live to be two years old, as is demonstrable from the Bills of
Mortality.
Besides, convulsive paroxysms often accompany the variolous eruptive
fever in children; and though generally looked upon in no unfavourable
light, as often preceding a distinct kind of small-pox, yet they are
at all times attended with some degree of danger; nay, some, it is
well known, have expired under them; while others, who have struggled
through with great difficulty, have been so debilitated, and their
faculties so impaired, that the effects have been perceptible during
the remaining part of their lives.
And even admitting the eruption to be favourable, and not attended
with any such alarm, yet should a larger number of pustules than
usual appear, or any untoward symptom happen, and require medical
help, the unhappy sufferer is much too young to be prevailed on to
take unpalatable medicines, or submit to other necessary measures,
by persuasions, menaces, or bribes. I have often been present at
afflicting scenes of this nature; and have reason to think that many
children have died of the small-pox in the natural way, merely from the
impossibility of prevailing upon them to comply with what was proper,
in cases where little or no danger was discoverable, either from the
number or species of the pustules, the degree of fever, or any other
apparent cause.
It must likewise be taken into consideration, that young children have
usually a larger share of pustules from inoculation, than those who are
advanced a little farther in life; and that under this circumstance
many have died; and the proportion of these, so far as I can learn,
is too great to encourage a continuance in the inoculation of young
children: so that it seems most prudent to wait till this dangerous
period be over, especially as its duration is so short, that the
danger of their receiving the small-pox therein in the natural way is
very little; and it is at this time much more easy to | 570.034946 |
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POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
FRONTISPIECE.
[Illustration caption: While Fatima is kneeling to Blue Beard, and
supplicating for mercy, he seizes her by the hair, and raises his
scymetar to cut off her head.]
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
Embellished with neat Engravings.
[Illustration]
COOPERSTOWN:
Printed and sold by H. and E. Phinney.
1828
_The Alphabet._
A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z
_A B C D E F G H I J K
L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z_
_a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o
p q r s t u v w x y z_
fi fl ff ffi ffl--_fi fl ff ffi ffl_
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0
. , ; : ? ! ' () [] * [dagger] [double dagger] Sec. || ¶
THE
POPULAR STORY
OF
BLUE BEARD.
A long time ago, and at a considerable distance from any town, there
lived a gentleman, who was not only in possession of great riches, but
of the largest estates in that part of the country. Although he had some
very elegant neat mansions on his estates, he generally resided in a
magnificent castle, beautifully situated on a rising ground, surrounded
with groves of the finest evergreens, and other choice trees and shrubs.
The inside of this fine castle was even more beautiful than the outside;
for the rooms were all hung with the richest damask, curiously
ornamented; the chairs and sofas were covered with the finest velvet,
fringed with gold; and his table-dishes and plates were either of silver
or gold, finished in the most elegant style. His carriages and horses
might have served a king, and perhaps were finer than any monarch's of
the present day. The gentleman's appearance, however, did not altogether
correspond to his wealth; for, to a fierce disagreeable countenance, was
added an ugly blue beard, which made him an object of fear and disgust
in the neighbourhood, where he usually went by the name of Blue Beard.
There resided, at some considerable distance from Blue Beard's castle,
an old lady and her two daughters, who were people of some rank, but by
no means wealthy. The two young ladies were very pretty, and the fame of
their beauty having reached Blue Beard, he determined to ask one of them
in marriage. Having ordered a carriage, he called at their house, where
he saw the two young ladies, and was very politely received by their
mother, with whom he begged a few moments conversation.
[Illustration]
After the two young ladies left the room, he began by describing his
immense riches, and then told her the purport of his visit, begging she
would use her interest in his favour. They were both so lovely, he said,
that he would be happy to get either of them for his wife, and would
therefore leave it to their own choice to determine upon the subject,
and immediately took his leave.
When the proposals of Blue Beard were mentioned to the young ladies
by their mother, both Miss Anne and her sister Fatima protested, that
they would never marry an ugly man, and particularly one with such a
frightful blue beard; because, although he possessed immense riches,
it was reported in the country, that he had married several beautiful
ladies, and nobody could tell what had become of them.
Their mother said, that the gentleman was agreeable in his conversation
and manners; that the ugliness of his face, and the blue beard, were
defects which they would soon be reconciled to from habit: that his
immense riches would procure them every luxury their heart could desire;
and he was so civil, | 570.035051 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.0208960 | 1,692 | 9 | DIVISION 1914-1918***
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45934/45934-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/historyof51sthig00bews
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: 11^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: XII^{me}).
THE HISTORY OF THE 51ST (HIGHLAND) DIVISION
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR G. M. HARPER, K.C.B., D.S.O.]
THE HISTORY OF THE 51ST (HIGHLAND) DIVISION
1914-1918
by
MAJOR F. W. BEWSHER
D.S.O., M.C.
Formerly Brigade Major, 152nd Infantry Brigade,
and General Staff Officer, 2nd Grade,
51st (Highland) Division
William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1921
Dedicated
_TO THE YOUTH OF SCOTLAND_.
_In the hope that this record of the courage, skill, and
endurance of a Highland Division may strengthen
their purpose, when their time comes, to uphold in no
lesser degree the great traditions of their forebears._
FOREWORD.
If it were possible for the General who for three years commanded all
the British Divisions in France, and was served with equal gallantry,
devotion, and success by each, to admit a predilection for any of them,
my affection would naturally turn to the Division that drew so many of
its recruits from the same part of Scotland where my boyhood was spent
and my own people lived. Those who read the pages of this book will find
therein a tale of patient endeavour and glorious achievement of which I
claim a good right to be as proud as any of my fellow-countrymen. The
51st Division does not need to boast of its prowess or its record. It
can point to the story of its deeds, plainly and simply told, and leave
the world to judge.
HAIG
OF BEMERSYDE,
F.M.
_8th August 1920._
PREFACE.
In compiling the 'History of the 51st (Highland) Division' I have been
beset by various difficulties, which have contributed towards the long
delay in its publication.
In the first place, it has been written in circumstances in which
military duties have afforded little leisure for continuous effort;
secondly, the work has been carried out in many places, most of them
highly unsuitable for research, such as the desert of Sinai, native
villages and the deserts of Lower Egypt, Jerusalem, Bir Salem, and at
sea.
Not only had the difficulty of transporting from station to station the
large mass of available material to be overcome, but also the conditions
of life in huts and under canvas in an eastern climate are seldom
conducive to clear and consecutive thinking.
Further, the material available has been unequal. Up to the conclusion
of the battle of Arras, no completed narratives of the operations
carried out by the Division were compiled. To this point, therefore, the
only resources were the bald and rather incomplete entries in the
official war diaries and personal diaries, which threw little light on
the operations in their broader aspects.
From the third battle of Ypres onwards a detailed account of all
engagements was published by Divisional Headquarters shortly after the
conclusion of each operation. These have rendered the compiling of the
'History' from this point considerably less laborious, and have allowed
it to be carried out in greater and more accurate detail.
It has been necessary, owing to the increased and increasing cost of
production, to keep the size of this book within certain bounds, and to
reduce as far as possible the number of maps. On this account there has
been no alternative but to restrict the detail in which actions are
described. It is regretted that in consequence much material which
officers and men of the Division and their relatives have submitted,
often at my request, has been necessarily omitted.
It was only thus that the book could be kept sufficiently reduced in
size to prevent its price prohibiting the circulation desired.
The 'History' is now presented with every consciousness on the part of
the author that full justice has not been done to its great subject.
Indeed, it is doubtful if full justice can be done to the part played by
the British Army in the Great War until a generation not intimately
involved in it has arisen and has come to regard the burdens sustained
for over four years by the British soldier in the true perspective.
My thanks are due to all those who have assisted me in the compilation
of this work by the loan of diaries, maps, documents, &c., and in
particular to Lieut.-General Sir G. M. Harper, K.C.B., D.S.O.;
Major-General R. Bannatine-Allason, C.B.; Brigadier-General L. Oldfield,
C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O.; and Colonel Ian Stewart, C.M.G., D.S.O.
General Bannatine-Allason kindly wrote for me the first chapter, and
spared himself no pains in assisting to procure for me information
concerning the early days of the Division in France. Had it not been for
him and Colonel Ian Stewart, information would have been so scanty that
it is doubtful if the earlier chapters could have been written.
To Captain A. Scott, D.S.O., M.C., 7th Argyll and Sutherland
Highlanders, late staff-captain 154th Infantry Brigade, I am
particularly indebted. Captain Scott has kindly relieved me of the
labour of reading through the proofs and of completing the final
arrangements for the publication of this book, a labour which residence
in the Near East would have made it difficult for me to perform.
Lastly, I am indebted to Mr James Blackwood, in no small degree, for
taking upon himself, while I have been abroad, much of the burden of the
preparation of this book for the Press, which would normally have fallen
upon the author.
F. W. B.
HEADQUARTERS, 3RD (LAHORE) DIVISION,
BIR SALEM, PALESTINE.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. MOBILISATION 1
II. ARRIVAL IN FRANCE--FESTUBERT 10
III. THE PERIOD OF APPRENTICESHIP 28
IV. TRAINING AND REORGANISATION--THE LABYRINTH. 51
V. THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME--HIGH WOOD 73
VI. ARMENTIERES AND HEBUTERNE 87
VII. THE BATTLE OF THE ANCRE--BEAUMONT HAMEL 100
VIII. COURCELETTE 127
IX. THE BATTLE OF ARRAS 138
X. THE BATTLE OF ARRAS | 570.040936 |
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"The Right Stuff"
Some Episodes in the Career of a North Briton
BY
IAN HAY
DR JOHNSON. Oatmeal, sir? The food of horses in England and of men in
Scotland!
BOSWELL (_roused at last_). And where, sir, will you find such
horses--or such men?
_SHILLING EDITION_
William Blackwood & Sons
Edinburgh and London
1912
_TO_
_AN INDULGENT CRITIC_
CONTENTS.
BOOK ONE.
RAW MATERIAL.
CHAP.
I. "OATMEAL AND THE SHORTER CATECHISM"
II. INTRODUCES A PILLAR OF STATE AND THE APPURTENANCES THEREOF
III. "ANENT"
IV. A TRIAL TRIP
V. ROBIN ON DUTY
VI. ROBIN OFF DUTY
VII. A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP
VIII. OF A PIT THAT WAS DIGGED, AND WHO FELL INTO IT
IX. THE POLICY OF THE CLOSED DOOR
X. ROBIN'S WAY OF DOING IT
BOOK TWO.
THE FINISHED ARTICLE.
XI. A MISFIRE
XII. THE COMPLEAT ANGLER
XIII. A HOSTAGE TO FORTUNE
XIV. "TO DIE--WILL BE AN _AWFULLY_ BIG ADVENTURE"
XV. TWO BATTLES
XVI. "_QUI PERD, GAGNE_"
XVII. IN WHICH ALL'S RIGHT WITH THE WORLD
XVIII. A PROPHET IN HIS OWN COUNTRY
BOOK ONE.
RAW MATERIAL.
CHAPTER ONE.
OATMEAL AND THE SHORTER CATECHISM.
The first and most-serious-but-one ordeal in the life of Robert Chalmers
Fordyce--so Robert Chalmers himself informed me years afterwards--was
the examination for the Bursary which he gained at Edinburgh University.
A bursary is what an English undergraduate would call a "Schol."
(Imagine a Scottish student talking about a "Burse"!)
Robert Chalmers Fordyce arrived in Edinburgh pretty evenly divided
between helpless stupefaction at the sight of a great city and stern
determination not to be imposed upon by the inhabitants thereof. His
fears were not as deep-seated as those of Tom Pinch on a similar
occasion,--he, it will be remembered, suffered severe qualms from his
familiarity with certain rural traditions concerning the composition of
London pies,--but he was far from happy. He had never slept away from
his native hillside before; he had never seen a town possessing more
than three thousand inhabitants; and he had only once travelled in a
train.
Moreover, he was proceeding to an inquisition which would decide once
and for all whether he was to go forth and conquer the world with a
university education behind him, or go back to the plough and sup
porridge for the rest of his life. To-morrow he was to have his
opportunity, and the consideration of how that opportunity could best be
gripped and brought to the ground blinded Robin even to the wonders of
| 570.134528 |
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MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
A SELECT PARTY
The man of fancy made an entertainment at one of his castles in the
air, and invited a select number of distinguished personages to
favor him with their presence. The mansion, though less splendid
than many that have been situated in the same region, was
nevertheless of a magnificence such as is seldom witnessed by those
acquainted only with terrestrial architecture. Its strong
foundations and massive walls were quarried out of a ledge of heavy
and sombre clouds which had hung brooding over the earth, apparently
as dense and ponderous as its own granite, throughout a whole
autumnal day. Perceiving that the general effect was gloomy,--so
that the airy castle looked like a feudal fortress, or a monastery
of the Middle Ages, or a state prison of our own times, rather than
the home of pleasure and repose which he intended it to be,--the
owner, regardless of expense, resolved to gild the exterior from top
to bottom. Fortunately, there was just then a flood of evening
sunshine in the air. This being gathered up and poured abundantly
upon the roof and walls, imbued them with a kind of solemn
cheerfulness; while the cupolas and pinnacles were made to glitter
with the purest gold, and all the hundred windows gleamed with a
glad light, as if the edifice itself were rejoicing in its heart.
And now, if the people of the lower world chanced to be looking
upward out of the turmoil of their petty perplexities, they probably
mistook the castle in the air for a heap of sunset clouds, to which
the magic of light and shade had imparted the aspect of a
fantastically constructed mansion. To such beholders it was unreal,
because they lacked the imaginative faith. Had they been worthy to
pass within its portal, they would have recognized the truth, that
the dominions which the spirit conquers for itself among unrealities
become a thousand times more real than the earth whereon they stamp
their feet, saying, "This is solid and substantial; this may be
called a fact."
At the appointed hour, the host stood in his great saloon to receive
the company. It was a vast and noble room, the vaulted ceiling of
which was supported by double rows of gigantic pillars that had been
hewn entire out of masses of variegated clouds. So brilliantly were
they polished, and so exquisitely wrought by the sculptor's skill,
as to resemble the finest specimens of emerald, porphyry, opal, and
chrysolite, thus producing a delicate richness of effect which their
immense size rendered not incompatible with grandeur. To each of
these pillars a meteor was suspended. Thousands of these ethereal
lustres are continually wandering about the firmament, burning out
to waste, yet capable of imparting a useful radiance to any person
who has the art of converting them to domestic purposes. As managed
in the saloon, they are far more economical than ordinary lamplight.
Such, however, was the intensity of their blaze that it had been
found expedient to cover each meteor with a globe of evening mist,
thereby muffling the too potent glow and soothing it into a mild and
comfortable splendor. It was like the brilliancy of a powerful yet
chastened imagination,--a light which seemed to hide whatever was
unworthy to be noticed and give effect to every beautiful and noble
attribute. The guests, therefore, as they advanced up the centre of
the saloon, appeared to better advantage than ever before in their
lives.
The first that entered, with old-fashioned punctuality, was a
venerable figure in the costume of bygone days, with his white hair
flowing down over his shoulders and a reverend beard upon his
breast. He leaned upon a staff, the tremulous stroke of which, as
he set it carefully upon the floor, re-echoed through the saloon at
every footstep. Recognizing at once this celebrated personage, whom
it had cost him a vast deal of trouble and research to discover, the
host advanced nearly three fourths of the distance down between the
pillars to meet and welcome him.
"Venerable sir," said the Man of Fancy, bending to the floor, "the
honor of this visit would never be forgotten were my term of
existence to be as happily prolonged as your own."
The old gentleman received the compliment with gracious
condescension. He then thrust up his spectacles over his forehead
and appeared to take a critical survey of the saloon.
"Never within my recollection," observed he, "have I entered a more
spacious and noble hall. But are you sure that it is built of solid
materials and that the structure will be permanent?"
"O, never fear, my venerable friend," replied the host. "In
reference to a lifetime like your own, it is true my castle may well
be called a temporary edifice. But it will endure long enough to
answer all the purposes for which it was erected."
But we forget that the reader has not yet been made acquainted with
the guest. It was no other than that universally accredited
character so constantly referred to in all seasons of intense cold
or heat; he that, remembers the hot Sunday and the cold Friday; the
witness of a past age whose negative reminiscences find their way
into every newspaper, yet whose antiquated and dusky abode is so
overshadowed by accumulated years and crowded back by modern
edifices that none but the Man of Fancy could have discovered it;
it was, in short, that twin brother of Time, and great-grandsire of
mankind, and hand-and-glove associate of all forgotten men and
things,--the Oldest Inhabitant. The host would willingly have drawn
him into conversation, but succeeded only in eliciting a few remarks
as to the oppressive atmosphere of this present summer evening
compared with one which the guest had experienced about fourscore
years ago. The old gentleman, in fact, was a good deal overcome by
his journey among the clouds, which, to a frame so earth-incrusted
by long continuance in a lower region, was unavoidably more
fatiguing than to younger spirits. He was therefore conducted to an
easy-chair, well cushioned and stuffed with vaporous softness, and
left to take a little repose.
The Man of Fancy now discerned another guest, who stood so quietly
in the shadow of one of the pillars that he might easily have been
overlooked.
"My dear sir," exclaimed the host, grasping him warmly by the hand,
"allow me to greet you as the hero of the evening. Pray do not take
it as an empty compliment; for, if there were not another guest in
my castle, it would be entirely pervaded with your presence."
"I thank you," answered the unpretending stranger; "but, though you
happened to overlook me, I have not just arrived. I came very
early; and, with your permission, shall remain after the rest of the
company have retired."
And who does the reader imagine was this unobtrusive guest? It was
the famous performer of acknowledged impossibilities,--a character
of superhuman capacity and virtue, and, if his enemies are to be
credited, of no less remarkable weaknesses and defects. With a
generosity with which he alone sets us an example, we will glance
merely at his nobler attributes. He it is, then, who prefers the
interests of others to his own and a humble station to an exalted
one. Careless of fashion, custom, the opinions of men, and the
influence of the press, he assimilates his life to the standard of
ideal rectitude, and thus proves himself the one independent citizen
of our free country. In point of ability, many people declare him
to be the only mathematician capable of squaring the circle; the
only mechanic acquainted with the principle of perpetual motion; the
only scientific philosopher who can compel water to run up hill; the
only writer of the age whose genius is equal to the production of an
epic poem; and, finally, so various are his accomplishments, the
only professor of gymnastics who has succeeded in jumping down his
own throat. With all these talents, however, he is so far from being
considered a member of good society, that it is the severest censure
of any fashionable assemblage to affirm that this remarkable
individual was present. Public orators, lecturers, and theatrical
performers particularly eschew his company. For especial reasons,
we are not at liberty to disclose his name, and shall mention only
one other trait,--a most singular phenomenon in natural
philosophy,--that, when he happens to cast his eyes upon a
looking-glass, he beholds Nobody reflected there!
Several other guests now made their appearance; and among them,
chattering with immense volubility, a brisk little gentleman of
universal vogue in private society, and not unknown in the public
journals under the title of Monsieur On-Dit. The name would seem to
indicate a Frenchman; but, whatever be his country, he is thoroughly
versed in all the languages of the day, and can express himself
quite as much to the purpose in English as in any other tongue. No
sooner were the ceremonies of salutation over than this talkative
little person put his mouth to the host's ear and whispered three
secrets of state, an important piece of commercial intelligence, and
a rich item of fashionable scandal. He then assured the Man of Fancy
that he would not fail to circulate in the society of the lower
world a minute description of this magnificent castle in the air and
of the festivities at which he had the honor to be a guest. So
saying, Monsieur On-Dit made his bow and hurried from one to another
of the company, with all of whom he seemed to be acquainted and to
possess some topic of interest or amusement for every individual.
Coming at last to the Oldest Inhabitant, who was slumbering
comfortably in the easy-chair, he applied his mouth to that
venerable ear.
"What do you say?" cried the old gentleman, starting from his nap
and putting up his hand to serve the purpose of an ear-trumpet.
Monsieur On-Dit bent forward again and repeated his communication.
"Never within my memory," exclaimed the Oldest Inhabitant, lifting
his hands in astonishment, "has so remarkable an incident been heard
of."
Now came in the Clerk of the Weather, who had been invited out of
deference to his official station, although the host was well aware
that his conversation was likely to contribute but little to the
general enjoyment. He soon, indeed, got into a corner with his
acqu | 570.140582 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's Note:
For the ASCII version of this e-book, letters with a macron over them
have been represented as [=o], and letters with a breve as [)u].
Page numbers from the original book have been added to asterisks that
indicate notes in the Appendix (e.g. [*3]) in order to make it easier to
match them to their corresponding notes. Page 61 has two notes: [*61a]
and [*61b]. Footnotes are in the same format, without the asterisks
(e.g. [1], [2])
Please see the end of this book for more detailed notes on the text.]
By Alice M. Bacon
IN THE LAND OF THE GODS. 12mo, $1.50.
JAPANESE GIRLS AND WOMEN. 16mo, $1.25. In Riverside Library for Young
People. 16mo, 75 cents.
_Holiday Edition._ With 12 full-page Illustrations in color and 43
outline drawings by Japanese artists. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $4.00.
A JAPANESE INTERIOR. 16mo, $1.25. In Riverside School Library. 16mo, 60
cents, _net_.
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
JAPANESE GIRLS AND
WOMEN
BY
ALICE MABEL BACON
_REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION_
[Illustration]
B | 570.142291 |
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MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE OLD MANSE.
The Author makes the Reader acquainted with his Abode.
Between two tall gate-posts of rough-hewn stone (the gate itself
having fallen from its hinges at some unknown epoch) we beheld the
gray front of the old parsonage, terminating the vista of an avenue of
black-ash trees. It was now a twelvemonth since the funeral
procession of the venerable clergyman, its last inhabitant, had turned
from that gateway towards the village burying-ground. The wheel-track
leading to the door, as well as the whole breadth of the avenue, was
almost overgrown with grass, affording dainty mouthfuls to two or
three vagrant cows and an old white horse who had his own living to
pick up along the roadside. The glimmering shadows that lay half
asleep between the door of the house and the public highway were a
kind of spiritual medium, seen through which the edifice had not quite
the aspect of belonging to the material world. Certainly it had
little in common with those ordinary abodes which stand so imminent
upon the road that every passer-by can thrust his head, as it were,
into the domestic circle. From these quiet windows the figures of
passing travellers looked too remote and dim to disturb the sense of
privacy. In its near retirement and accessible seclusion, it was the
very spot for the residence of a clergyman,--a man not estranged from
human life, yet enveloped, in the midst of it, with a veil woven of
intermingled gloom and brightness. It was worthy to have been one of
the time-honored parsonages of England, in which, through many
generations, a succession of holy occupants pass from youth to age,
and bequeath each an inheritance of sanctity to pervade the house and
hover over it as with an atmosphere.
Nor, in truth, had the Old Manse ever been profaned by a lay occupant
until that memorable summer afternoon when I entered it as my home. A
priest had built it; a priest had succeeded to it; other priestly men
from time to time had dwelt in it; and children born in its chambers
had grown up to assume the priestly character. It was awful to
reflect how many sermons must have been written there. The latest
inhabitant alone--he by whose translation to paradise the dwelling was
left vacant--had penned nearly three thousand discourses, besides the
better, if not the greater, number that gushed living from his lips.
How often, no doubt, had he paced to and fro along the avenue,
attuning his meditations to the sighs and gentle murmurs and deep and
solemn peals of the wind among the lofty tops of the trees! In that
variety of natural utterances he could find something accordant with
every passage of his sermon, were it of tenderness or reverential
fear. The boughs over my head seemed shadowy with solemn thoughts, as
well as with rustling leaves. I took shame to myself for having been
so long a writer of idle stories, and ventured to hope that wisdom
would descend upon me with the falling leaves of the avenue, and that
I should light upon an intellectual treasure in the Old Manse well
worth those hoards of long-hidden gold which people seek for in
moss-grown houses. Profound treatises of morality; a layman's | 570.238559 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY
COPYRIGHT, 1895,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
Those who are acquainted with the delightful Memoires Secrets de M. Le
Comte de Bussy Rabutin (particularly the supplements to them), and
with Rousset's Histoire de Louvois, will, perhaps, recognise the
inspiration of this story. Those who are not so acquainted with these
works will, I trust, still be able to take some interest in the
adventures of Georges St. Georges.
J. B.-B.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--"THE KING'S COMMAND" 1
II.--HOSPITALITY! 10
III.--IT IS THE MAN 18
IV.--"HER LIFE STANDS IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED" 27
V.--THE GRAVEYARD 34
VI.--A LITTLE LIGHT 44
VII.--A REASON 53
VIII.--DRAWING NEAR 62
IX.--A ROYAL SUMMONS 71
X.--MADAME LA MARQUISE 80
XI.--THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY 89
XII.--LOST 96
XIII.--DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK 105
XIV.--"I MUST SPEAK!" 114
XV.--THE MINISTER OF WAR 123
XVI.--PASQUEDIEU! 132
XVII.--"KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL!" 140
XVIII.--LA GALERE GRANDE REALE 149
XIX.--"A NEW LIFE" 158
XX.--"HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 166
XXI.--MAY, 1692 175
XXII.--LA HOGUE 183
XXIII.--THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 191
XXIV.--ON THE ROAD 199
XXV.--"I KNOW YOUR FACE" 207
XXVI.--IN THE SNARE 216
XXVII.--ANOTHER ESCAPE 224
XXVIII.--THE FLEUR-DE-LIS 231
XXIX.--FAREWELL HOPE 240
XXX.--"IT IS TRUE" 248
XXXI.--ST. GEORGES'S DOOM 256
XXXII.--THE LAST CHANCE 265
XXXIII.--THE DAY OF EXECUTION 274
XXXIV.--"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER" 283
XXXV.--AT LAST 291
CONCLUSION 300
* * * * *
IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY.
THE FIRST PERIOD.
CHAPTER I.
"THE KING'S COMMAND."
All over Franche-Comte the snow had fallen for three days unceasingly,
yet through it for those three days a man--a soldier--had ridden,
heading his course north, for Paris.
Wrapped in his cloak, and prevented from falling by his bridle arm, he
bore a little child--a girl some three years old--on whom, as the
cloak would sometimes become disarranged, he would look down fondly,
his firm, grave features relaxing into a sad smile as the blue eyes of
the little creature gazed upward and smiled into his own face. Then he
would whisper a word of love to it, press it closer to his great
breast, and again ride on.
For three days the snow had fallen; was falling when he left the
garrison of Pontarlier and threaded his way through the pine woods on
the Jura <DW72>s; fell still as, with the wintry night close at hand,
he approached the city of Dijon. Yet, except to sleep at nights, to
rest himself, the child, and the horse, he had gone on and on
unstopping, or only stopping to shoot once a wolf that, maddened with
hunger, had sprung out at him and endeavoured to leap to his saddle;
and once to cut down two footpads--perhaps poor wretches, also
maddened with hunger--who had striven to stop his way.
On and on and on through the unceasing snow he had gone with the child
still held fast to his bosom, resting the first night at Poligny,
since the snow was so heavy on the ground that his horse could go no
further, and another at Dole for the same reason, until now he drew
near to Dijon.
"A short distance to travel in three days," he muttered to himself,
as, afar off, his eye | 570.335866 |
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THE EVOLUTION OF STATES
AN INTRODUCTION TO ENGLISH POLITICS
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ESSAYS TOWARDS A CRITICAL METHOD.
NEW ESSAYS TOWARDS A CRITICAL METHOD.
WINNOWINGS FROM WORDSWORTH.
WALT WHITMAN: An Appreciation.
MONTAIGNE AND SHAKESPEARE. (Second Edition, with additional Essays on
cognate subjects.)
BUCKLE AND HIS CRITICS: a Sociological Study.
THE SAXON AND THE CELT: a Sociological Study.
MODERN HUMANISTS: Essays on Carlyle, Mill, Emerson, Arnold, Ruskin, and
Spencer. (Fourth Edition.)
THE FALLACY OF SAVING: a Study in Economics.
THE EIGHT HOURS QUESTION: a Study in Economics. (Second Edition.)
THE DYNAMICS OF RELIGION: an Essay in English Culture-History.
By "M.W. Wiseman."
A SHORT HISTORY OF FREETHOUGHT, Ancient and Modern. (Second Edition:
2 vols.)
PATRIOTISM AND EMPIRE. (Third Edition.)
STUDIES IN RELIGIOUS FALLACY.
WRECKING THE EMPIRE.
A SHORT HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.
CHRISTIANITY AND MYTHOLOGY. (Second Edition.)
CRITICISMS. 2 vols.
TENNYSON AND BROWNING AS TEACHERS.
ESSAYS IN ETHICS.
ESSAYS IN SOCIOLOGY. 2 vols.
LETTERS ON REASONING. (Second Edition.)
DID SHAKESPEARE WRITE "TITUS ANDRONICUS"?
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THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RUeGEN
BY
THE AUTHOR OF "ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN"
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1904
[Illustration: map of Ruegen]
CONTENTS
THE FIRST DAY--From Miltzow to Lauterbach
THE SECOND DAY--Lauterbach and Vilm
THE THIRD DAY--From Lauterbach to Goehren
THE FOURTH DAY--From Goehren to Thiessow
THE FOURTH DAY (continued)--At Thiessow
THE FIFTH DAY--From Thiessow to Sellin
THE FIFTH DAY (continued)--From Sellin to Binz
THE SIXTH DAY--The Jagdschloss
THE SIXTH DAY (continued)--The Granitz Woods, Schwarze See, and Kiekoewer
THE SEVENTH DAY--From Binz to Stubbenkammer
THE SEVENTH DAY (continued)--At Stubbenkammer
THE EIGHTH DAY--From Stubbenkammer to Glowe
THE NINTH DAY--From Glowe to Wiek
THE TENTH DAY--From Wiek to Hiddensee
THE ELEVENTH DAY--From Wiek Home
THE ADVENTURES OF ELIZABETH IN RUeGEN
THE FIRST DAY
FROM MILTZOW TO LAUTERBACH
Every one who has been to school and still remembers what he was taught
there, knows that Ruegen is the biggest island Germany possesses, and
that it lies in the Baltic Sea off the coast of Pomerania.
Round this island I wished to walk this summer, but no one would walk
with me. It is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the
life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on
anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a
thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside. If you
drive you are bound by a variety of considerations, eight of the most
important being the horses' legs. If you bicycle--but who that loves to
get close to nature would bicycle? And as for motors, the object of a
journey like mine was not the getting to a place but the going there.
Successively did I invite the most likely of my women friends, numbering
at least a dozen, to walk with me. They one and all replied that it
would make them tired and that it would be dull; and when I tried to
remove the first objection by telling them how excellent it would be for
the German nation, especially those portions of it that are still to
come, if its women walked round Ruegen more often, they stared and
smiled; and when I tried to remove the second by explaining that by our
own spirits are we deified, they stared and smiled more than ever.
Walking, then, was out of the question, for I could not walk alone. The
grim monster Conventionality whose iron claws are for ever on my
shoulder, for ever pulling me back from the harmless and the wholesome,
put a stop to that even if I had not been afraid of tramps, which I was.
So I drove, and it was round Ruegen that I drove because one hot
afternoon when I was idling in the library, not reading but fingering
the books, taking out first one and then another, dipping into them,
deciding which I would read next, I came across Marianne North's
_Recollections of a Happy Life_, and hit upon the page where she begins
to talk of Ruegen. Immediately interested--for is not Ruegen nearer to me
than any other island?--I became absorbed in her description of the
bathing near a place called Putbus, of the deliciousness of it in a
sandy cove where the water was always calm, and of how you floated about
on its crystal surface, and beautiful jelly-fish, stars of purest
colours, floated with you. I threw down the book to ransack the shelves
for a guide to Ruegen. On the first page of the first one I found was
this remarkable paragraph:--
'Hearest thou the name Ruegen, so doth a wondrous spell come over thee.
Before thine eyes it rises as a dream of far-away, beauteous fairylands.
Images and figures of long ago beckon thee across to the marvellous
places where in grey prehistoric times they dwelt, and on which they
have left the shadow of their presence. And in thee stirs a mighty
desire to wander over the glorious, legend-surrounded island. Cord up,
then, thy light bundle, take to heart Shylock's advice to put money in
thy purse, and follow me without fear of the threatening sea-sickness
which may overtake thee on the short crossing, for it has never yet done
any one more harm than imposing on him a rapidly-passing discomfort.'
This seemed to me very irresistible. Surely a place that inspired such a
mingling of the lofty and the homely in its guide-books must be well
worth seeing? There was a drought just then going on at home. My eyes
were hot with watching a garden parch browner day by day beneath a sky
of brass. I felt that it only needed a little energy, and in a few hours
I too might be floating among those jelly-fish, in the shadow of the
cliffs of the legend-surrounded island. And even better than being
surrounded by legends those breathless days would it be to have the sea
all round me. Such a sea too! Did I not know it? Did I not know its
singular limpidity? The divineness of its blue where it was deep, the
clearness of its green where it was shallow, lying tideless along its
amber shores? The very words made me thirsty--amber shores; lazy waves
lapping them slowly; vast spaces for the eye to wander over; rocks, and
seaweed, and cool, gorgeous jelly-fish. The very map at the beginning of
the guide-book made me thirsty, the land was so succulently green, the
sea all round so bland a blue. And what a fascinating island it is on
the map--an island of twists and curves and inland seas called Bodden;
of lakes, and woods, and frequent ferries; with lesser islands dotted
about its coasts; with bays innumerable stretching their arms out into
the water; and with one huge forest, evidently magnificent, running
nearly the whole length of the east coast, following its curves, dipping
down to the sea in places, and in others climbing up chalk cliffs to
crown them with the peculiar splendour of beeches.
It does not take me long to make up my mind, still less to cord up my
light bundle, for somebody else does that; and I think it was only two
days after I first found Marianne North and the guide-book that my maid
Gertrud and I got out of a suffocating train into the freshness that
blows round ryefields near the sea, and began our journey into the
unknown.
It was a little wayside station on the line between Berlin and
Stralsund, called Miltzow, a solitary red building on the edge of a
pine-wood, that witnessed the beginning of our tour. The carriage had
been sent on the day before, and round it, on our arrival, stood the
station authorities in an interested group. The stationmaster,
everywhere in Germany an elaborate, Olympic person in white gloves,
actually helped the porter to cord on my hold-all with his own hands,
and they both lingered over it as if loth to let us go. Evidently the
coachman had told them what I was going to do, and I suppose such an
enterprising woman does not get out at Miltzow every day. They packed us
in with the greatest care, with so much care that I thought they would
never have done. My hold-all was the biggest piece of luggage, and they
corded it on in an upright position at our feet. I had left the choosing
of its contents to Gertrud, only exhorting her, besides my pillow, to
take a sufficiency of soap and dressing-gowns. Gertrud's luggage was
placed by the porter on her lap. It was almost too modest. It was one
small black bag, and a great part of its inside must, I knew, be taken
up by the stockings she had brought to knit and the needles she did it
with; yet she looked quite as respectable the day we came home as she
did the day we started, and every bit as clean. My dressing-case was put
on the box, and on top of it was a brown cardboard hat-box containing
the coachman's wet-weather hat. A thick coat for possible cold days made
a cushion for my back, and Gertrud's waterproof did the same thing for
hers. Wedged in between us was the tea-basket, rattling inharmoniously,
but preventing our slipping together in sloping places. Behind us in the
hood were the umbrellas, rugs, guide-books, and maps, besides one of
those round shiny yellow wooden band-boxes into which every decent
German woman puts her best hat. This luggage, and some mysterious
bundles on the box that the coachman thought were hidden by his legs but
which bulged out unhideable on either side, prevented our looking
elegant; but I did not want to look elegant, and I had gathered from the
remarks of those who had refused to walk that Ruegen was not a place
where I should meet any one who did.
Now I suppose I could talk for a week and yet give no idea whatever of
the exultation that filled my soul as I gazed on these arrangements. The
picnic-like simplicity of them was so full of promise. It was as though
I were going back to the very morning of life, to those fresh years when
shepherd boys and others shout round one for no reason except that they
are out of doors and alive. Also, during the years that have come after,
years that may properly be called riper, it has been a conviction of
mine that there is nothing so absolutely bracing for the soul as the
frequent turning of one's back on duties. This was exactly what I was
doing; and oh ye rigid female martyrs on the rack of daily
exemplariness, ye unquestioning patient followers of paths that have
been pointed out, if only you knew the wholesome joys of sometimes being
less good!
The point at which we were is the nearest from which Ruegen can be
reached by persons coming up from the south and going to drive. No one
ever gets out there who is bound for Ruegen, because no one ever drives
to Ruegen. The ordinary tourist, almost exclusively German, goes first to
Stralsund, is taken across the narrow strip of water, train and all, on
the steam ferry, and continues without changing till he reaches the open
sea on the other side of the island at Sassnitz. Or he goes by train
from Berlin to Stettin and then by steamer down the Oder, crosses the
open sea for four hours, and arrives, probably pensive for the boats are
small and the waves are often big, at Goehren, the first stopping-place
on the island's east coast.
We were not ordinary tourists, and having got to Miltzow were to be
independent of all such wearinesses as trains and steamers till the day
we wanted to come back again. From Miltzow we were going to drive to a
ferry three miles off at a place called Stahlbrode, cross the mile of
water, land on the island's south shore, and go on at once that
afternoon to the jelly-fish of Miss North's Putbus, which were beckoning
me across to the legend-surrounded island far more irresistibly than any
of those grey figures the guide-book talked about.
The carriage was a light one of the victoria genus with a hood; the
horses were a pair esteemed at home for their meekness; the coachman,
August, was a youth who had never yet driven straight on for an
indefinite period without turning round once, and he looked as though he
thought he were going to enjoy himself. I was sure I was going to enjoy
myself. Gertrud, I fancy, was without these illusions; but she is old,
and has got out of the habit of being anything but resigned. She was the
sop on this occasion thrown to the Grim One of the iron claws, for I
would far rather have gone alone. But Gertrud is very silent; to go with
her would be as nearly like being alone as it is possible to be when you
are not. She could, I knew, be trusted to sit by my side knitting,
however bumpy the road, and not opening her lips unless asked a
question. Admirable virtue of silence, most precious, because most rare,
jewel in the crown of female excellences, not possessed by a single one
of those who had refused to walk! If either of them had occupied
Gertrud's place and driven with me would she not, after the way of
women, have spent the first half of the time telling me her secrets and
the other half being angry with me because I knew them? And then
Gertrud, after having kept quiet all day, would burst into activities at
night, unpack the hold-all, produce pleasant things like slippers, see
that my bed was as I like it, and end by tucking me up in it and going
away on tiptoe with her customary quaint benediction, bestowed on me
every night at bedtime: 'The dear God protect and bless the gracious
one,' says Gertrud as she blows out the candle.
'And may He also protect and bless thee,' I reply; and could as ill
spare my pillow as her blessing.
It was half-past two in the afternoon of the middle Friday in July when
we left the station officials to go back to their dull work and trotted
round the corner into the wide world. The sky was a hot blue. The road
wound with gentle ups and downs between fields whitening to harvest.
High over our heads the larks quivered in the light, shaking out that
rapturous song that I can never hear without a throb of gratitude for
being alive. There were no woods or hills, and we could see a long way
on either side, see the red roofs of farms clustered wherever there was
a hollow to protect them from the wild winds of winter, see the straight
double line of trees where the high road to Stralsund cut across ours,
see a little village a mile ahead of us with a venerable church on a
mound in the middle of it gravely presiding over the surrounding wide
parish of corn. I think I must have got out at least six times during
the short drive between Miltzow and the ferry pretending I wanted
flowers, but really to enjoy the delight of loitering. The rye was full
of chickory and poppies, the ditches along the road where the spring
dampness still lingered were white with the delicate loveliness of
cow-parsley, that most spiritual of weeds. I picked an armful of it to
hold up against the blue of the sky while we were driving; I gave
Gertrud a bunch of poppies for which she thanked me without enthusiasm;
I put little posies of chickory at the horses' ears; in fact I felt and
behaved as if I were fifteen and out for my first summer holiday. But
what did it matter? There was nobody there to see.
Stahlbrode is the most innocent-looking place--a small cluster of
cottages on grass that goes down to the water. It was quite empty and
silent. It has a long narrow wooden jetty running across the marshy
shore to the ferry, and moored to the end of this jetty lay a big
fishing-smack with furled brown sails. I got out and walked down to it
to see if it were the ferry-boat, and whether the ferryman was in it.
Both August and the horses had an alarmed, pricked-up expression as they
saw me going out into the jaws of the sea. Even the emotionless Gertrud
put away her stocking and stood by the side of the carriage watching me.
The jetty was roughly put together, and so narrow that the carriage
would only just fit in. A slight wooden rail was all the protection
provided; but the water was not deep, and heaved limpidly over the
yellow sand at the bottom. The shore we were on was flat and vividly
green, the shore of Ruegen opposite was flat and vividly green; the sea
between was a lovely, sparkling blue; the sky was strewn across with
loose clusters of pearly clouds; the breeze that had played so gently
among the ears of corn round Miltzow danced along the little waves and
splashed them gaily against the wooden posts of the jetty as though the
freshness down there on the water had filled it with new life. I found
the boat empty, a thing of steep sides and curved bottom, a thing that
was surely never intended for the ferrying across of horses and
carriages. No other boat was to be seen. Up the channel and down the
channel there was nothing visible but the flat green shores, the dancing
water, the wide sky, the bland afternoon light.
I turned back thoughtfully to the cottages. Suppose the ferry were only
used for ferrying people? If so, we were in an extremely tiresome fix. A
long way back against the sky I could see the line of trees bordering
the road to Stralsund, and the whole dull, dusty distance would have to
be driven over if the Stahlbrode ferry failed us. August took off his
hat when I came up to him, and said ominously, 'Does the gracious one
permit that I speak a few words?'
'Speak them, August.'
'It is very windy.'
'Not very.'
'It is far to go on water.'
'Not very.'
'Never yet have I been on the sea.'
'Well, you are going on it now.'
With an expression made up of two parts fright and one resignation he
put on his hat again and relapsed into a silence that was grim. I took
Gertrud with me to give me a countenance and walked across to the inn, a
new red-brick house standing out boldly on a bit of rising ground, end
ways on to the sea. The door was open and we went in, knocking with my
sunshade on the floor. We stirred up no life of any sort. Not even a dog
barked at us. The passage was wide and clean with doors on each side of
it and an open door at either end--the one we had come in by followed by
the afternoon sun, and the other framing a picture of sky with the sea
at the bottom, the jetty, the smack with folded sails, and the coast of
Ruegen. Seeing a door with _Gaststube_ painted on it I opened it and
peeped in. To my astonishment it was full of men smoking in silence, and
all with their eyes fixed on the opening door. They must have heard us.
They must have seen us passing the window as we came up to the house. I
concluded that the custom of the district requires that strangers shall
in no way be interfered with until they actually ask definite questions;
that it was so became clear by the alacrity with which a yellow-bearded
man jumped up on our asking how we could get across to Ruegen, and told
us he was the ferryman and would take us there.
'But there is a carriage--can that go too?' I inquired anxiously,
thinking of the deep bottom and steep sides of the fishing-smack.
'_Alles, Alles_,' he said cheerily; and calling to a boy to come and
help he led the way through the door framing the sea, down a tiny, sandy
garden prickly with gooseberry bushes, to the place where August sat
marvelling on his box.
'Come along!' he shouted as he ran past him.
'What, along that thing of wood?' cried August. 'With my horses? And my
newly-varnished carriage?'
'Come along!' shouted the ferryman, half-way down the jetty.
'Go on, August,' I commanded.
'It can never be accomplished,' said August, visibly breaking out into a
perspiration.
'Go on,' I repeated sternly; but thought it on the whole more discreet
to go on myself on my own feet, and so did Gertrud.
'If the gracious one insists----' faltered August, and began to drive
gingerly down to the jetty with the face of one who thinks his last hour
well on the way.
As I had feared, the carriage was very nearly smashed getting it over
the sides of the smack. I sat up in the bows looking on in terror,
expecting every instant to see the wheels wrenched off, and with their
wrenching the end of our holiday. The optimistic ferryman assured us
that it was going in quite easily--like a lamb, he declared, with great
boldness of imagery. He sloped two ineffectual planks, one for each set
of wheels, up the side of the boat, and he and August, hatless,
coatless, and breathless, lifted the carriage over on to them. It was a
horrid moment. The front wheels twisted right round and were as near
coming off as any wheels I saw in my life. I was afraid to look at
August, so right did he seem to have been when he protested that the
thing could not be accomplished. Yet there was Ruegen and here were we,
and we had to get across to it somehow or turn round and do the dreary
journey to Stralsund.
The horses, both exceedingly restive, had been unharnessed and got in
first. They were held in the stern of the boat by two boys, who needed
all their determination to do it. Then it was that I was thankful for
the boat's steep sides, for if they had been lower those horses would
certainly have kicked themselves over into the sea; and what should I
have done then? And how should I have faced him who is in authority over
me if I returned to him without his horses?
'We take them across daily,' the ferryman remarked, airily jerking his
thumb in the direction of the carriage.
'Do so many people drive to Ruegen?' I asked astonished, for the plank
arrangements were staringly makeshift.
'Many people?' cried the ferryman. 'Rightly speaking, crowds.'
He was trying to make me happy. At least it reassured August to hear it;
but I could not suppress a smile of deprecation at the size of the fib.
By this time we were under weigh, a fair wind sending us merrily over
the water. The ferryman steered; August stood at his horses' heads
talking to them soothingly; the two boys came and sat on some coiled
ropes close to me, leaned their elbows on their knees and their chins on
their hands, and fixing their blue fisher-boy eyes on my face kept them
there with an unwinking interest during the entire crossing. Oh, it was
lovely sitting up there in the sun, safe so far, in the delicious quiet
of sailing. The tawny sail, darned and patched in divers shades of brown
and red and orange, towered above us against the sky. The huge mast
seemed to brush along across the very surface of the little white
clouds. Above the rippling of the water we could hear the distant larks
on either shore. August had put on his scarlet stable-jacket for the
work of lifting the carriage in, and made a beautiful bit of colour
among the browns of the old boat at the stern. The eyes of the ferryman
lost all the alertness they had had on shore, and he stood at the rudder
gazing dreamily out at the afternoon light on the Ruegen meadows. How
perfect it was after the train, after the clattering along the dusty
road, and the heat and terror of getting on board. For one exquisite
quarter of an hour we were softly lapped across in the sun, and for all
that beauty we were only asked to pay three marks, which included the
horses and carriage and the labour of getting us in and out. For a
further small sum the ferryman became enthusiastic and begged me to be
sure to come back that way. There was a single house on the Ruegen shore
where he lived, he said, and from which he would watch for us. A little
dog came down to welcome us, but we saw no other living creature. The
carriage conducted itself far more like a lamb on this side, and I drove
away well pleased to have got over the chief difficulty of the tour, the
soft-voiced ferryman wishing us Godspeed, and the two boys unwinking to
the last.
So here we were on the legend-surrounded island. 'Hail, thou isle of
fairyland, filled with beckoning figures!' I murmured under my breath,
careful not to appear too unaccountable in Gertrud's eyes. With eager
interest I looked about me, and anything less like fairyland and more
like the coast of Pomerania lately left I have seldom seen. The road, a
continuation of the road on the mainland, was exactly like other roads
that are dull as far as a rambling village three miles farther on called
Garz--persons referring to the map at the beginning of this book will
see with what a melancholy straightness it proceeds to that village--and
after Garz I ceased to care what it was like, for reasons which I will
now set forth.
There was that afternoon in the market-place of Garz, and I know not
why, since it was neither a Sunday nor a holiday, a brass band playing
with a singular sonorousness. The horses having never before been
required to listen to music, their functions at home being solely to
draw me through the solitudes of forests, did not like it. I was
astonished at the vigour of the dislike they showed who were wont to be
so meek. They danced through Garz, pursued by the braying of the
trumpets and the delighted shouts of the crowd, who seemed to bray and
shout the louder the more the horses danced, and I was considering
whether the time had not come for clinging to Gertrud and shutting my
eyes when we turned a corner and got away from the noise on to the
familiar rattle of the hard country road. I gave a sigh of relief and
stretched out my head to see whether it were as straight a bit as the
last. It was quite as straight, and in the distance bearing down on us
was a black speck that swelled at an awful speed into a motor car. Now
the horses had not yet seen a motor car. Their nerves, already shaken by
the brass band, would never stand such a horrid sight I thought, and
prudence urged an immediate getting out and a rushing to their heads.
'Stop, August!' I cried. 'Jump out, Gertrud--there's a dreadful thing
coming--they're sure to bolt----'
August slowed down in apparent obedience to my order, and without
waiting for him to stop entirely, the motor being almost upon us, I
jumped out on one side and Gertrud jumped out on the other. Before I had
time to run to the horses' heads the motor whizzed past. The horses
strange to say hardly cared at all, only mildly shying as August drove
them slowly along without stopping.
'That's all right,' I remarked, greatly relieved, to Gertrud, who still
held her stocking. 'Now we'll get in again.'
But we could not get in again because August did not stop.
'Call to him to stop,' I said to Gertrud, turning aside to pick some
unusually big poppies.
She called, but he did not stop.
'Call louder, Gertrud,' I said impatiently, for we were now a good way
behind.
She called louder, but he did not stop.
Then I called; then she called; then we called together, but he did not
stop. On the contrary, he was driving on now at the usual pace, rattling
noisily over the hard road, getting more and more out of reach.
'Shout, shout, Gertrud!' I cried in a frenzy; but how could any one so
respectable as Gertrud shout? She sent a faint shriek after the
ever-receding August, and when I tried to shout myself I was seized with
such uncontrollable laughter that nothing whatever of the nature of a
noise could be produced.
Meanwhile August was growing very small in the distance. He evidently
did not know we had got out when the motor car appeared, and was under
the pleasing impression that we were sitting behind him being jogged
comfortably towards Putbus. He dwindled and dwindled with a rapidity
distressing to witness. 'Shout, shout,' I gasped, myself contorted with
dreadful laughter, half-wildest mirth and half despair.
She began to trot down the road after him waving her stocking at his
distant back and emitting a series of shrill shrieks, goaded by the
exigencies of the situation.
The last we saw of the carriage was a yellow glint as the sun caught the
shiny surface of my bandbox; immediately afterwards it vanished over the
edge of a far-away dip in the road, and we were alone with Nature.
Gertrud and I stared at each other in speechless dismay. Then she looked
on in silence while I sank on to a milestone and laughed. There was
nothing, her look said, to laugh at, and much to be earnest over in our
tragic predicament, and I knew it but I could not stop. August had had
no instructions as to where he was driving to or where we were going to
put up that night; of Putbus and Marianna North he had never heard. With
the open ordnance map on my lap I had merely called out directions,
since leaving Miltzow, at cross-roads. Therefore in all human
probability he would drive straight on till dark, no doubt in growing
private astonishment at the absence of orders and the length of the way;
then when night came he would, I supposed, want to light his lamps, and
getting down to do so would immediately be frozen with horror at what he
saw, or rather did not see, in the carriage. What he would do after that
I could not conceive. In sheerest despair I laughed till I cried, and
the sight of Gertrud watching me silently from the middle of the
deserted road only made me less able to leave off. Behind us in the
distance, at the end of a vista of _chaussee_ trees, were the houses of
Garz; in front of us, a long way in front of us, rose the red spire of
the church of Casnewitz, a village through which, as I still remembered
from the map now driving along by itself, our road to Putbus lay. Up and
down the whiteness of this road not a living creature, either in a cart
or on its legs, was to be seen. The bald country, here very bald and
desolate, stretched away on either side into nothingness. The wind
sighed about, whisking little puffs of derisive dust into our eyes as it
passed. There was a dreadful absence of anything like sounds.
'No doubt,' said Gertrud, 'August will soon return?'
'He won't,' I said, wiping my eyes; 'he'll go on for ever. He's wound
up. Nothing will stop him.'
'What, then, will the gracious one do?'
'Walk after him, I suppose,' I said, getting up, 'and trust to something
unexpected making him find out he hasn't got us. But I'm afraid nothing
will. Come on, Gertrud,' I continued, feigning briskness while my heart
was as lead, 'it's nearly six already, and the road is long and lonely.'
'_Ach_,' groaned Gertrud, who never walks.
'Perhaps a cart will pass us and give us a lift. If not we'll walk to
that village with the church over there and see if we can get something
on wheels to pursue August with. Come on--I hope your boots are all
right.'
'_Ach_,' groaned Gertrud again, lifting up one foot, as a dog pitifully
lifts up its wounded paw, and showing me a black cashmere boot of the
sort that is soft and pleasant to the feet of servants who are not
required to use them much.
'I'm afraid they're not much good on this hard road,' I said. 'Let us
hope something will catch us up soon.'
'_Ach_,' groaned poor Gertrud, whose feet are very tender.
But nothing did catch us up, and we trudged along in grim silence, the
desire to laugh all gone.
'You must, my dear Gertrud,' I said after a while, seeking to be
cheerful,'regard this in the light of healthful exercise. You and I are
taking a pleasant afternoon walk together in Ruegen.'
Gertrud said nothing; at all | 570.339218 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.3594960 | 7,435 | 41 |
Produced by David Edwards, Les Galloway 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 METAPHYSIC
OF
CHRISTIANITY
AND
BUDDHISM.
_A SYMPHONY._
BY
MAJOR-GENERAL DAWSONNE M. STRONG, C.B.
(_Late Indian Army_),
AUTHOR OF "SELECTIONS FROM THE BOSTĀN OF SÂDI,
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE."
"Let every man take heed how he buildeth thereupon."--_Bible._
LONDON:
WATTS & CO., 17, JOHNSON'S COURT, FLEET ST.
1899.
LOVINGLY DEDICATED
TO
MY WIFE
IN MEMORY OF OUR SOJOURN
IN
THE EAST.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
I. JESUS AND GOTAMA 1
II. GOD AND THE KOSMOS 33
III. SOUL, SELF, INDIVIDUALITY, AND KARMA 55
IV. HEAVEN AND NIRVANA 82
V. SOME CONCLUDING REMARKS 103
AT THE MALAGAWA TEMPLE, CEYLON 113
APPENDIX:--METRICAL ADAPTATIONS OF BUDDHISTIC
LEGEND AND SCRIPTURE:--
1. The Last Words of Gotama Buddha to his
Favourite Disciple Ananda 115
2. Samsâra and Nirvana 116
3. Rejoice 118
4. The Goal 120
5. Buddha and the Herdsman 123
6. Buddha and the King 126
INTRODUCTION.
"Si notre foi diffère quant à la forme et aux dogmes, nos âmes restent
toujours d'accord sur un principe éternel et divin."--GEORGE SANDS.
An immense difficulty has to be encountered by those who have been
deeply impressed by the value and beauty of Christianity when they are
called upon to consider the claims of other faiths. Anyone who has had
within his experience and under his observation such an exceptional
case as that of a sincere Christian who, from childhood to old age,
has set before him the ideal Christ and the Christian conception of an
all-compassionate Father--a Christian whose inner light has been so
pure that no darkness of doubt has ever dimmed it, and no doctrinal
warfare has ever stained its radiance--he, I contend, has an almost
insuperable obstacle to overcome when he attempts to associate holiness
and purity, of the same supreme order, with the followers of other
religious systems which have been formulated for the comfort and
salvation of humanity.
It is doubtful if any ordinary adherent of the Christian faith, however
extensive his sympathies towards persons outside his own flock, has
ever been able to pass this barrier, which always seems to interpose
itself when search is made for a common bond of union with an alien
belief.
A man may have lived many a year in the East, and witnessed there, with
deep appreciation, the purity, the endurance, the touching self-denial
of the devout peasantry, and the beautiful charity of the poor towards
the poor; or he may have associated with saintly ascetics in India,
and with the yellow-robed and gentle _religieux_ of Ceylon; he may
have surveyed the famous temple of that fair island, in the intense
stillness of a tropical night, till all identity of self seemed to
vanish in the solemnity of the surroundings, and the only sound was
that of a monk's intoning voice heard from within the dungeon-like
apertures of the building, and the only light that of the fitful
fireflies amid the lofty and drooping foliage;--yet, in each and all of
these experiences, that aroma of holiness, so perceptible at times in
our own religious atmosphere, would somehow seem strangely absent to
the unacclimatized senses, and no halo would be distinguishable by a
vision which had been restricted by prejudice.
Still more difficult is it to rise to the same height of reverence
for a saintly and surpassing personality if it is presented in
sacred records other than those to which one has owned a prior
allegiance. Nevertheless, the discovery in other religious systems of
a correspondence with one's own particular persuasion must assuredly
tend towards the attainment of that attitude of mind commended by St.
Paul of "being all things to all men." To pave the way towards the
acquisition of this mental posture in relation to religious concepts is
the main object I have had in view in composing this small book.
It has been said that no age has more needed a departure in this
direction than our own. "On the one hand, sectarian hatred and
dogmatism almost obscure the great truths _common_ to all mankind; on
the other, merciless and destructive criticism, in undermining much
that used to be generally accepted, seems at times to threaten even the
foundations of truth."
Some people, however, maintain that there is an appreciable value
to be attached to all dogmatic declarations, and that those who are
working in strictly-confined theological grooves are contributing, as
specialists, to a knowledge of the whole. Even if these workers are
possessed of all the uncharitable qualities sometimes attributed to
the narrow-minded, yet they may be held deserving of encouragement
in view of the probability that the more their limited ideas become
exposed to the light by their enthusiastic endeavours to assert them as
final truth, the sooner will their imperfections be obliterated. The
fragmentary opinions they cling to will then be discovered to possess
no value except as constituent elements of the whole.
Others go the length of advocating that the flames of bigotry should be
fanned to furnace-heat in order that the feeding fuel may be the more
rapidly consumed.
In any case, the more apparent it becomes that every religion worthy
of the name springs from a root common to all, and is really, at
bottom, the one true cosmic religion, and that the variations are
superficial and unimportant in themselves, the greater will be the
advantages accruing to humanity in the political, social, and moral
spheres. In other words, the advantage to be derived from the study of
the obscure phases of religions lies in this--that, in so doing, our
minds are better able to grasp the solidarity of religious thought and
aspirations throughout the world. We are enabled to see more clearly
that all religious forms, and even formless philosophies, however crude
and idolatrous the former may appear to people of wide culture, and
however mystical and evasive the latter may be regarded by those of
narrow vision, are but the effects of one cause common to all.
When we have got rid, Buddhistically, of the idea of separateness,
or, in a Christian sense, have exercised self-suppression, we can
then proceed to eliminate the notion of separateness in religions and
philosophies. Thus, whether we are Determinists or Indeterminists,
we shall experience the sensation that, according to the law of
development, it is in the scheme of things for us to struggle forward
on our several paths, not in antipathy to, but hand in hand with, those
who make use of different modes of progression towards one identical
goal.
Missionary propagandism, under these conditions, will have the same
_raison d'être_, and our cherished symbolisms will in no wise suffer.
Holding this view, I have felt no misgivings as to the propriety of
placing side by side, as it were, the historical and radiant figures of
Jesus the Christ and Gotama the Buddha, and of indicating an analogy
between the essential features of the two systems of religion which
these great deliverers of a world on earth have fashioned and commended
for the acceptance of their fellow creatures.
Indeed, Buddhism should occupy a very large place in the affections
and admiration of all true Christians on account of the many points of
resemblance discernible in the characters and gospels of Gotama and
Jesus.
St. Augustine, the great vindicator of Christianity, clears the ground
for an assimilation of the two systems. He writes: "For the thing in
itself which is now called the Christian religion really was known to
the ancients, nor was wanting at any time, from the beginning of the
human race until the time that Christ came into the flesh, from which
the true religion which had previously existed began to be called
Christian; and this in our day is the Christian religion--not as having
been wanting in former times, but as having in later times received
this name."
Köppen says: "As, from the standpoint of Buddhism, all men--nay, all
beings--are brothers, children of one sin, sons of the same nonentity,
thus all religions of the globe appear to it as related, as sprung from
one source; all pursuing the same end, and arriving at the same goal.
The religious views, creeds, etc., etc.... of all nations, Churches,
schools, sects, and parties, however diverse they may seem, are hence,
according to the conception of the believing Buddhist, not alien,
but inwardly akin. They are merely peculiar forms, modifications,
obscurations, degenerations of the same truth--of one law, one faith,
one redemption. For him there is only one doctrine and one Way; and
all religions belong, in one way or another, to this doctrine, and are
all on that Way."
Among the things that can never be shaken are the foundations of
Christianity, Islam and Buddhism, and other cognate religious
systems. Here and there, perchance, a steeple may come down with
a crash, a minaret may fall, a pagoda crumble into dust; but the
foundation-stones, laid beneath the surface, buried in mystery, and
encompassed by darkness, remain irremoveable, changeless, and eternal.
It is, then, in this brooding darkness which envelopes their occult
sources that we must take our stand; and not until we have grown into
and become one with the encircling gloom, and been subjectively steeped
in it, can we hope to understand or pronounce a fair judgment upon what
is the less obscure and objective.
The comparative study of religions requires approach with an open and
receptive mind, and a large amount of intuitive sympathy with all. It
cannot be fairly undertaken if the initial object of investigation is
to mould the one or the other to the shape of personal fancy.
Mr. Arthur Lillie, a most interesting exponent of Buddhism in relation
to Christianity, says that the study of an ancient religion is not
philosophy, but pure history. This may be true, in a sense; but, at
the same time, it is necessary that the records of the past should be
studied in a philosophical and synthetic spirit, with an Impressionist
rather than a pre-Raphaelite tendency. Mr. Lillie hardly makes due
allowance for the measure of failure which must accompany all human
efforts to do justice to a great idea, and perhaps overstrains the
theory that literary and philological analysis have had their day, and
that archæology and history should now reign supreme.
In connection with the placing of too great a reliance upon the
"letter" of venerated records, a warning--serious enough if we
appropriate it to ourselves--has issued from the pen of the Rev. Spence
Hardy, who, in a passage of his book, entitled _Eastern Monachism_
(p. 166), emphasizes with tremendous force the precarious position of
those who take their stand solely upon sacred books. "The priests of
India," he writes, "are encompassed by weapons that may be wrested
from their hands and used to their own destruction. When it is clearly
proved to them that their venerated records contain absurdities and
contradictions, they must of necessity conclude that their origin
cannot have been divine; and, the foundations of the system being thus
shaken, the whole mass must speedily fall, leaving only the unsightly
ruin as a monument of man's folly, when he endeavours to form a
religion from the feculence of his own corrupt heart or the fancies of
his own perverted imagination."
It may be apposite here to demonstrate how far short of the Pauline
standard the cultivated European critic falls, by referring to some
remarks of the Rev. Prof. Bruce in one of his Gifford Lectures[A] of
last year, in which he treats of Gotama's views concerning the moral
order of the universe. Of the two leading doctrines of Buddhism, Karma
is called by him "fantastic" and Nirvana "morbid"; and, not content
with such a contemptuous dismissal of these remarkable conceptions, he
proceeds to say: "The well-being of the race demanded warriors, brave
in the field of battle against evil, not monks, immured in cloisters
and passing their lives in poverty, wearing the yellow robe of a
mendicant order."
[A] _Vide Glasgow Herald_, January, 1898.
This rhetorical flourish may have sounded very effective and convincing
as a peroration, and have produced the desired result of clearing
the lecturer from any possible imputation of sympathy with Buddhism,
except as an ethical system of considerable excellence; but such a
summing-up of Buddhism is neither more nor less than a throwing of
dust in the eyes of beholders, and is, in my opinion, very far removed
from the dispassionate survey one would expect from a Gifford Lecturer.
Alighting on such a misrepresentation of his religious system, a
Buddhist would naturally feel aggrieved, and his belief in our
self-adopted reputation for fair-play all round might be rudely shaken.
"Karma" is undoubtedly one of the so-called mysteries of Buddhism; but
is it in any sense more fantastic than any other religious mystery? Is
this theory of the transmigration of character (as it has been somewhat
loosely described) more fanciful in its conception than that of the
transmigration of the soul, a "vaguely-apprehended, feebly-postulated
ego," to a dim locality such as heaven? Then, again, it may be asked,
what is there so objectionable in a quiet, unobtrusive resistance to
evil, that it should prompt the lecturer to magnify the importance of a
crude aggressiveness?
It is by no means true that Buddhist monks are usually immured in
cloisters; they, in fact, move about freely as examples, within human
limits, of the highest morality, and they chiefly occupy themselves
(as in Burma) with the education of children.[B] General Forlong, in
his _Short Studies in the Science of Comparative Religions_, says:
"Gotama's religion widened from Jaino-Buddhism into one of work and
duty towards his fellows; his instructions to the order of monks were
to the following effect: that they were not to _beg_ from door to door,
but only to accept gifts in return for services performed; and this was
their service--to be an example to all men."
[B] Those who have not yet read that pathetically beautiful book, _The
Soul of a People_, by H. Fielding, are referred to chapters x. and
xi., wherein are set forth the true characteristics, functions, and
aspirations of the Buddhist monkhood in Burma.
Condemnation of these monks for passing their lives in poverty sounds
strangely inappropriate coming from the lips of a Christian professor;
and, as to the well-being of the race not demanding the wearing of
yellow garments, one might reasonably ask if it demanded the wearing
of a black gown. We must, in all fairness, I think, credit Gotama with
possessing a large measure of that "Light which lighteth _every man_
that cometh into the world."
Sir Edwin Arnold, I believe, refers to the mysteries of Buddhism as
"blank abstractions," but I do not suppose he regards them as more
"blank" than the mysteries of other religions. All mysteries are, in
a sense, blank abstractions, and the blanker they are the nearer the
truth; and what religion is without them? It may be conceded, however,
that such a conception as "Ultimate Reality" upon which to fall back in
time of need might prove to some minds a more comfortless one than that
presented by the "Compassionate Father" of the Christian God-idea. But
even this Christian symbolism has an element of mystery in it.
Then there is the poetic phase of anthropomorphism, which is not
altogether to be despised from an æsthetic point of view. Such as the
Mohammedan Allah, who is described with exquisite imagery in the Bostān
of Sâdi as a beautiful cup-bearer at Sufistic banquets,
"So fair, They spill the wine and stare,"[C]
which recalls the anthropomorphic Deity of the Psalms:--
"In His hand is a cup, and the wine is red."
[C] Author's translation of _Bostān of Sâdi_.
Another picture of great poetical merit is that of the Incarnate
Saviour of the Mexicans, who does not ascend to heaven on his departure
from the earth, but sets forth upon the wide ocean in a wizard bark of
serpent skins for the fabled shores of the kingdom of his Father.
Dr. Paul Carus, in his preface to _The Gospel of Buddha_, says: "A
comparison of the many striking agreements between Christianity and
Buddhism may prove fatal to a sectarian conception of Christianity,
but will in the end only help to mature our insight into the essential
nature of Christianity, and so elevate our religious convictions.
It will bring out that nobler Christianity which aspires to be the
cosmic religion of universal truth.... It will serve both Christians
and Buddhists as a help to penetrate further into the spirit of their
faith, so as to see its full width, breadth, and depth."
The theological formation which has gradually developed into what may
be called the crust of creeds, and which has probably now reached
its limits of hardening, is seen, from day to day, under varying
influences, to be cracking into wider and deeper fissures. The curious
inquirer now possesses ample opportunities of looking below the surface
and observing some of the conditions that have, in the course of ages,
given rise to the accretions.
The deeper we look, or the further our horizon recedes, the greater
perhaps is the sense of bewilderment and isolation; yet so to wander
is, at any rate, to be free; and we need not just at present fear
that ultimate knowledge is nescience, when our vision will no longer
be bounded by any horizon, and when even vision itself will at last
disappear.
As it has been stated of science, so it may be affirmed of all inquiry,
"that at a certain stage of its development a degree of vagueness best
consists with fertility."
Christianity and Buddhism possess three prominent features--"the
metaphysical," "the ethical," and "the biographical." As the two
latter have been so exhaustively contrasted in connection with these
systems, I have confined myself in the following pages chiefly to a
consideration of their mystical relationship.
D. M. S.
_Caledonian United Service Club, Edinburgh.
February, 1899._
SANSCRIT AND PALI TERMS USED.
{Includes everything of which impermanence may be
{predicated, or, which is the same thing, everything
SAMSKĀRA {which springs from a cause. (Childers.)
SANKHĀRA {Gestaltungen--Oldenberg's _Buddha_, German edition.
{Conformations--English translation of Oldenberg's
{_Buddha_.
SKANDHAS The five attributes or elements of being--form, sensation,
perception, discrimination, and consciousness.
BHIKKHU {Mendicant, monk, friar.
BHIKSHU {
AKĀSA Space.
{The ocean of Birth and Death, transiency, worldliness,
SAMSĀRA {the restlessness of a worldly life, the agitation of
{selfishness, the vanity fair of life. (Paul Carus.)
MAHĀYĀNA The great vehicle--viz., of salvation.
HINĀYĀNA The little vehicle--viz., of salvation.
KARMA Action, work, the law of action, retribution, results of
deeds previously done, and the destiny resulting
therefrom. (Paul Carus.)
ERRATUM.
For Professor Oldenberg's _Buddhism_ read everywhere Professor
Oldenberg's _Buddha: His Life, His Doctrine, His Order_.
CHRISTIANITY AND BUDDHISM.
CHAPTER I.
JESUS AND GOTAMA.
"For while one saith, I am of Paul; and another, I am of Apollos;
are ye not carnal?"--BIBLE.
In any attempt to appreciate the relationship of Christianity to
Buddhism it is important to bear in mind, not only the differences
which have characterized the process of their evolution, but also to
recognize that the two religions are, in their origin, distinct as
to time and _locale_; that they developed on different soils, and
have borne fruit of very different kinds; and that the races which
subsequently appropriated them as religious systems were in many
respects dissimilar, and lived under widely divergent conditions.
Only by regarding these religions as growing apart, and in no manner
connected in this sense, can we ultimately arrive at a just and logical
estimate of the character of the founders.
It is not by confounding their sources at the start, or by attempting
to prove that the one system is a product of the other, that we can in
the end draw closer the bonds which seem to unite them. A consideration
of almost equal weight is that of the dual nature of the great
personalities of Jesus and Gotama. We must not confuse the significance
of the term "God" with the man Jesus, nor the mystical principle
embodied in the title "Buddha" with the personal and human Gotama. Both
Jesus as God and Gotama as Buddha are dual personalities, and combine
in themselves tangible and intangible realities. The former is to be
regarded as man and God, the latter as Gotama and Buddha.
But, while wishing to emphasize the fact of the independent origin of
Christianity and Buddhism, I have no intention of combating the fact
that a spurious Buddhism had, in the garb of Essenism, established a
footing in Palestine at a date anterior to the Christian era, and that,
under the influence of St. John the Baptist, the recognized leader of
the Essenes, a way was prepared and made ready for the great light
which was to shine forth afresh in the majestic humanity of Jesus. The
presence of Essene Buddhists in Palestine at that date is a matter
of history, and has been clearly established by prominent Oriental
scholars. Moreover, the Church of England itself has, through the
medium of some of its most reliable authorities, openly acquiesced in
the fact.
The Essenes, who were, from the second century before Christ
onwards, domiciled in the Holy Land, although virtually Buddhists, do
not seem to have preserved intact the tenets of Gotama, though the
ethics remained unadulterated. They retained many of the qualities
of the monastic Buddhists, such as asceticism, brotherly love, a
rare benevolence towards mankind in general, and the still rarer
consideration for animal life. Nor was any departure made from the vows
of chastity, the belief in the transitory nature of things, and in
their attitude of non-resistance to evil. It was rather with regard to
metaphysical obscurities that they wandered from the strict teaching of
Gotama; and we cannot wonder that such was the case when we remember
the doubts, difficulties, and uncertainties that must have beset
the paths of these followers of Gotama when they had no longer the
Enlightened One to point to them the way of truth.
Especially do they seem to have gone astray in the matter of the
doctrine of the soul. This they described "as coming from the subtlest
ether, and as lured by the sorcery of nature into the prison-house of
the body." The Essenes derived their Buddhistic tenets and practices
directly from Gnosticism, which is said to have prevailed in Alexandria
two centuries before the birth of Christ, and its existence in that
city owed its origin to the importation of Buddhism from India,
constant communication having been established in those days between
Egypt and the West Coast of India as far north as the mouths of the
Indus.
Further, the edicts of King Asoka go to prove that at about this time
he was on intimate terms and in frequent correspondence with the
Greeks; also, that during his reign and under his royal patronage
Buddhist missionaries found their way to Egypt, and there scattered the
seed from which arose the Gnostics, or Therapeuts, and the kindred sect
of the Essenes.
Mr. Arthur Lillie, in his _Buddhism in Christendom_, p. 75, writes:
"The most subtle thinker of the modern English Church, the late
Dean Mansel, boldly maintained that the philosophy and rites of the
Therapeuts of Alexandria were due to Buddhist missionaries who visited
Egypt within two centuries of the time of Alexander the Great. In this
he has been supported by philosophers of the calibre of Schelling
and Schopenhauer and the great Sanscrit authority Lassen. Renan, in
his work _Les Langues Sémétiques_, also sees traces of this Buddhist
propagandism in Palestine before the Christian era. Hilgenfeld, Mutter,
Bohlen, King, all admit the Buddhist influence. Colebrooke saw a
striking similarity between the Buddhist philosophy and that of the
Pythagoreans. Dean Milman was convinced that the Therapeuts sprung from
the 'contemplative and indolent fraternities' of India."
When we travel back from Essenism to Gnosticism we approach nearer
geographically and conceptionally to the source from which they both
originated. Gnosticism, however, presumes to tell us more than Gotama
chose to reveal as to the beginnings of things, and enters into details
about various spiritual emanations which are at variance with any
inferences that can be legitimately drawn from early Buddhism.
In the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, under "Gnosticism," we read: "The
Supreme Being, according to Gnosticism, was regarded as wholly
inconceivable and indescribable; as the Unfathomable Abyss; the
Unnameable. From this transcendant source existence sprang by emanation
in a series of spiritual powers. It was only through these several
powers that the Infinite passed into life and activity, and became
capable of representation. To this higher world was given the name of
Pleroma, and the divine powers composing it in their ever-expanding
procession from the Highest were called Æons."
Jesus, according to the Gnostic conception, was one of these higher
Æons or Buddhas "proceeding from the Kingdom of Light for the
redemption of this lower Kingdom of Darkness."
If the above was whittled down to the bare statement that the
Boundless, to be made perceptible, had to become active and creative,
and that thus it happened that the Boundless was manifested by and in
the universe, Gnosticism, on this point, would not greatly differ from
what was probably in the mind of Gotama when he pointed out that the
Uncreated or Unproduced must have existence, otherwise the created, the
produced, could not be.
In face of the historically-established fact that Buddhism had reached
Palestine before the Christian era had commenced, and that Buddhistic
influences were widely disseminated throughout the Holy Land when Jesus
arose upon the scene, I wish to maintain that Jesus, although nurtured
in the mixed society of ceremonial and Essenic Jews, cannot be claimed
as belonging to the Essenes or any other sect _after_ he emerged from
his long retirement and commenced his ministry. During the time of his
withdrawal from publicity it must be assumed that he was growing in
wisdom, and continued to do so until the perfect enlightenment came to
him, when the Holy Ghost descended upon him, and he knew himself to
be the Son and symbol of God, and, as such, capable of revealing the
mysteries of the kingdom of heaven to those who had ears to hear and
eyes to see. This view, or reading, of the Scriptures was the cardinal
tenet of the adoptionist Christology of the Paulician school in Armenia.
Jesus, as human, was undoubtedly begotten, not made, and died. Jesus,
as divine, became so, not by the conversion of the Godhead into flesh,
but by taking of the _manhood_ into God--first the natural, after that
the spiritual, as St. Paul says. Jesus, as God, was immortal.
Jesus, as a perfected soul on earth, was a presentation of the
Logos, in the sense given to this term by Dr. Paul Carus, "as forms
of speech," which, containing in words eternal truth, is the most
important part of the human soul, when soul is regarded as the
formative factors of the various forms and their relations that have
been evolving, and are constantly evolving and re-evolving. Jesus was,
in this respect, altogether independent of his _entourage_, although
a part of it in all other relations. He utilized what was good and
answered his purpose in the tenets of the several sections of the
society in which he moved. He was an eclectic, and stood midway between
mystical and anti-mystical Israel.
The Essenes, as already stated, derived their doctrines and customs
chiefly from the Gnostics of Egypt, and the origin of the latter has
been traced to the propagation of Buddhism by Indian missionaries sent
to Egypt in the time of King Asoka.
Now, Gotama Buddha was, in point of time, an earlier presentation of
Logos; and, as Gotama's influences were at work in Palestine when Jesus
appeared, it follows in the natural course of things that Jesus, as a
presentation of this same Logos, or Bodhi, would have shown a stronger
leaning towards the tenets and practices of the Essenes than towards
those of the ceremonial Jews.
The position of Jesus in Palestine closely corresponded with that
of Gotama in Hindustan. Gotama was isolated between the ceremonial
Brahmin class and the extreme mystical party. He also assimilated, as
Jesus did, in furtherance of his mission, some of the tenets of each
party, with certain modifications. He shocked the ceremonialists by
showing disdain for rites as rites, and estranged himself from the
extreme mystical party by refusing to give his imprimatur to factitious
asceticism. In the same manner Jesus ignored some of the Essenic
restrictions by partaking of wine and animal food.
Brahmanism suffered corruption through the acquisition by the priests
of wealth and power. To the endowment of the Christian Church, and the
elevation of its priests to temporal sway by the Emperor Constantine,
has been attributed the beginning of the decadence of the Christian
ideal. The decline of true Buddhism in India was due in a great measure
to the munificence of King Asoka, who erected and enriched monasteries
and other religious institutions. This led ultimately to many serious
abuses, as well as to deviations from the precepts which Gotama had
endeavoured to inculcate.
In Palestine, at the commencement of the Christian era, the ceremonial
Jews or Pharisees,[D] though a numerically small section, were the
dominant party of Judaism, and were represented by dignitaries of an
overbearingly proud demeanour. Suppressed by them, the spirituality of
the Essene Buddhists was thrown into the shade, and, when the voice
crying in the wilderness was no longer to be heard and the commanding
personality of St. John the Essene disappeared from the scene, Essenism
as an organization came to an end.
[D] An indiscriminate denunciation of the Pharisees is, I think,
unjustifiable. They must be held deserving of commendation in so far
as they were guided by conscience to a close adherence to the letter
of that Law which had been delivered to them by the Almighty, through
Ezra the Lawyer, for strict and undeviating observance.
To contend with these ceremonialists of Palestine and the corrupt
Brahmanism of India, and to further the success of their respective
missions in the face of these formidable forces, both Jesus in the one
case and Gotama in the other realized the expediency of initiating a
mode of proselytism which, by the humble bearing and unworldly aspect
of its agents, would differentiate it from the arrogant and exclusive
methods of the priestly classes. The missionaries whom these new lights
sent forth into the world to propagate the doctrine of salvation
received explicit instructions not to provide themselves with gold or
silver, or change of raiment and shoes; in fact, they were to pose as
examples of that humility and forbearance which was the keynote, in
their ethical significance, of the two systems as formulated for the
redemption of humanity. In both cases the spell of this evangelism
was | 570.379536 |
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Produced by David Widger
SKETCH | 570.37962 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.4204080 | 1,876 | 6 | CANADA***
E-text prepared by Moti Ben-Ari and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 40019-h.htm or 40019-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40019/40019-h/40019-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/40019/40019-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/barrengroundnort00pikeiala
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
[Illustration: Cover]
THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA
[Illustration: Ready for Tracking]
THE BARREN GROUND OF NORTHERN CANADA
by
WARBURTON PIKE
[Illustration]
New York
E. P. Dutton & Company
681 Fifth Avenue
Published, 1917,
By E. P. Dutton & Co.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION
In many of the outlying districts of Canada an idea is prevalent,
fostered by former travellers, that somewhere in London there exists a
benevolent society whose object is to send men incapable of making any
useful scientific observations to the uttermost parts of the earth, in
order to indulge their taste for sport or travel. Several times before I
had fairly started for the North, and again on my return, I was asked if
I had been sent out under the auspices of this society, and, I am
afraid, rather fell in the estimation of the interviewers when I was
obliged to confess that my journey was only an ordinary shooting
expedition, such as one might make to the Rocky Mountains or the
interior of Africa, and that no great political reformation depended
upon my report as to what I had seen.
In talking with officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, many of whom had
been stationed for long periods in the Athabasca and Mackenzie River
districts, I had often heard of a strange animal, a relic of an earlier
age, that was still to be found roaming the Barren Ground, the vast
desert that lies between Hudson's Bay, the eastern ends of the three
great lakes of the North, and the Arctic Sea. This animal was the
Musk-ox, but my informants could tell me nothing from personal
experience, and all that was known on the subject had been gathered from
Indian report. Once or twice some enthusiastic sportsman had made the
attempt to reach the land of the Musk-ox, but had never succeeded in
carrying out his object; specimens had been secured by the officers of
the various Arctic expeditions, but no one had ever seen much of these
animals or of the methods of hunting them employed by the Northern
Indians.
This, then, was the sole object of my journey; to try and penetrate this
unknown land, to see the Musk-ox, and find out as much as I could about
their habits, and the habits of the Indians who go in pursuit of them
every year. But the only white men who had succeeded in getting far out
into the Barren Ground were the early explorers,--Hearne, Sir John
Franklin, Sir George Back, and Dr. Richardson, while long afterwards Dr.
Rae and Stewart and Anderson went in search of the missing Franklin
expedition. With the exception of Hearne, who threw in his lot with the
Indians, these leaders were all accompanied by the most capable men that
could be procured, and no expense was spared in order to make success as
certain as possible; yet in spite of every precaution the story of Sir
John Franklin's first overland journey and the death of Hood are among
the saddest episodes in the history of the Arctic exploration.
My best chance seemed to be to follow Hearne's example, and trust to
the local knowledge of Indians to help me; and I think, as the sequel
showed, that I was right in not taking a crew from Winnipeg. The Indians
and half-breeds of the Great Slave Lake, although very hard to manage,
are certainly well up in Barren Ground travel; they are possessed of a
thorough knowledge of the movements of the various animals at different
seasons, and thus run less danger of starvation than strangers, however
proficient the latter may be in driving dogs and handling canoes.
In following out this plan I naturally passed through a great deal of
new country, and discovered, as we white men say when we are pointed out
some geographical feature by an Indian who has been familiar with it
since childhood, many lakes and small streams never before visited
except by the red man. I have attempted in a rough map to mark the
chains of lakes by which we reached the Barren Ground, but their
position is only approximate, and perhaps not even that, as I had no
instruments with which to make correct observations, and in any case
should have had little time to use them. Let no eminent geographer waste
his time in pointing out the inaccuracies in this map; I admit all the
errors before he discovers them. All that I wish to show is that these
chains of lakes do exist and can be used as convenient routes, doing
away with the often-tried method of forcing canoes up the swift and
dangerous streams that fall into the Great Slave Lake from the northern
tableland.
The success of my expedition is to be attributed entirely to the
assistance which was given me by the Hudson's Bay Company, and I take
this opportunity of thanking them for all the hospitality that was shown
to me throughout my journey; I was never refused a single request that I
made, and, although a total stranger, was treated with the greatest
kindness by everybody, from the Commissioner at Winnipeg to the engaged
servant in the Far North. My thanks are especially due to Lord Anson,
one of the directors in London, to Messrs. Wrigley and William Clark at
Winnipeg, Mr. Roderick MacFarlane, lately of Stuart's Lake, British
Columbia, a well-known northern explorer who put me in the way of making
a fair start, Dr. Mackay of Athabasca, Mr. Camsell of Mackenzie River,
Mr. Ewen Macdonald of Peace River, and most of all to Mr. Mackinlay of
Fort Resolution on the Great Slave Lake, who was my companion during a
long summer journey in the Barren Ground.
My only excuse for publishing this account of my travels is that the
subject is a reasonably new one, and deals with a branch of sport that
has never been described. I have spared the reader statistics, and I
have kept my story as short as possible. I hope that in return anyone
who may be interested in these pages will spare his comments on faulty
style, and the various errors into which a man who has spent much time
among the big game is sure to fall when he is rash enough to lay down
his rifle and take up the pen.
I have also cut out the chapter with which these books usually begin,--a
description of the monotonous voyage by Atlantic steamer and Canadian
Pacific Railway, and start at once from Calgary, a thriving cattle-town
close under the eastern foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains.
LONDON, 1891.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Ready for Tracking _Frontispiece_
PAGE
The Old Hudson Bay Post at Edmonton 2
The Hudson Bay Fort at Edmonton 6
The "Grahame" Towing Freight-scows on Lake
Athabasca 16
Patching a Birch-bark on the Slave River 26
King Beaulieu 32
A Dead White Wolf 57
The Indians Driving Caribou 89
Making Camp 102
Taking the Post Dogs for Exercise 142
Skins in the Post Store-room 142
Dog-rib Powwow at Fort Resolution 167
A Group of Dog-ribs 167
Starting up the Peace River 233
Junction of the Peace and Smoky Rivers 248
The Arrival of the Dog Train 295
Edmonton 298
MAP
A SKETCH MAP to illustrate Mr. Warburton
Pike's journeys to the Barren Ground of
Northern Canada _To face p._ 302
THE BARREN GROUND | 570.440448 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Christoph W. Kluge, Rod
Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note
Obvious typographical and printer's errors have been corrected.
Punctuation marks where missing have silently been supplied.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in
the original except where noted otherwise.
A complete list of corrections can be found at the end of this
e-text.
[Illustration: THE YELLOW HOUSE]
THE
YELLOW HOUSE
MASTER OF MEN
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF
"THE MISCHIEF-MAKER" "BERENICE" "HAVOC"
"THE LOST LEADER" "THE MALEFACTOR"
[Illustration]
VOLUME ONE
NEW YORK
P. F. COLLIER & SON
Copyright 1908
By C. H. Doscher & Co.
Copyright 1912
By P. F. Collier & Son
THE YELLOW HOUSE
CHAPTER I
THE YELLOW HOUSE
Positively every one, with two unimportant exceptions, had called
upon us. The Countess had driven over from Sysington Hall, twelve
miles away, with two anaemic-looking daughters, who had gushed
over our late roses and the cedar trees which shaded the lawn. The
Holgates of Holgate Brand and Lady Naselton of Naselton had presented
themselves on the same afternoon. Many others had come in their train,
for what these very great people did the neighborhood was bound
to endorse. There was a little veiled anxiety, a few elaborately
careless questions as to the spelling of our name; but when my father
had mentioned the second "f," and made a casual allusion to the
Warwickshire Ffolliots--with whom we were not indeed on speaking
terms, but who were certainly our cousins--a distinct breath of
relief was followed by a gush of mild cordiality. There were wrong
Ffolliots and right Ffolliots. We belonged to the latter. No one
had made a mistake or compromised themselves in any way by leaving
their cards upon a small country vicar and his daughters. And earlier
callers went away and spread a favorable report. Those who were
hesitating, hesitated no longer. Our little carriage drive, very
steep and very hard to turn in, was cut up with the wheels of many
chariots. The whole county within a reasonable distance came, with two
exceptions. And those two exceptions were Mr. Bruce Deville of Deville
Court, on the borders of whose domain our little church and vicarage
lay, and the woman who dwelt in the "Yellow House."
I asked Lady Naselton about both of them one afternoon. Her ladyship,
by the way, had been one of our earliest visitors, and had evinced
from the first a strong desire to become my sponsor in Northshire
society. She was middle-aged, bright, and modern--a thorough little
cosmopolitan, with a marked absence in her deportment and mannerisms
of anything bucolic or rural. I enjoyed talking to her, and this was
her third visit. We were sitting out upon the lawn, drinking afternoon
tea, and making the best of a brilliant October afternoon. A yellow
gleam from the front of that oddly-shaped little house, flashing
through the dark pine trees, brought it into my mind. It was only from
one particular point in our garden that any part of it was visible at
all. It chanced that I occupied that particular spot, and during a
lull in the conversation it occurred to me to ask a question.
"By the by," I remarked, "our nearest neighbors have not yet been to
see us?"
"Your nearest neighbors!" Lady Naselton repeated. "Whom do you mean?
There are a heap of us who live close together."
"I mean the woman who lives at that little shanty through the
plantation," I answered, inclining my head towards it. "It is a woman
who lives there, isn't it? I fancy that some one told me so, although
I have not seen anything of her. Perhaps I was mistaken."
Lady Naselton lifted both her hands. There was positive relish in her
tone when she spoke. The symptoms were unmistakable. Why do the nicest
women enjoy shocking and being shocked?
I could see that she was experiencing positive pleasure from my
question.
"My dear Miss Ffolliot!" she exclaimed. "My dear girl, don't you
really know anything about her? Hasn't anybody told you anything?"
I stifled an imaginary yawn in faint protest against her unbecoming
exhilaration. I have not many weaknesses, but I hate scandal and
scandal-mongering. All the same I was interested, although I did not
care to gratify Lady Naselton by showing it.
"Remember, that I have only been here a week or two," I remarked;
"certainly not long enough to have mastered the annals of the
neighborhood. I have not asked any one before. No one has ever
mentioned her name. Is there really anything worth hearing?"
Lady Naselton looked down and brushed some crumbs from her lap
with a delicately gloved hand. She was evidently an epicure in
story-telling. She was trying to make it last out as long as possible.
"Well, my dear girl, I should not like to tell you all that people
say," she began, slowly. "At the same time, as you are a stranger to
the neighborhood, and, of course, know nothing about anybody, it is
only my duty to put you on your guard. I do not know the particulars
myself. I have never inquired. But she is not considered to be at all
a proper person. There is something very dubious about her record."
"How deliciously vague!" I remarked, with involuntary irony. "Don't
you know anything more definite?"
"I find no pleasure in inquiring into such matters," Lady Naselton
replied a little stiffly. "The opinion of those who are better able to
judge is sufficient for me."
"One must inquire, or one cannot, or should not, judge," I said. "I
suppose that there's something which she does, or does not, do?"
"It is something connected with her past life, I believe," Lady
Naselton remarked.
"Her past life? Isn't it supposed to be rather interesting nowadays to
have a past?"
I began to doubt whether, after all, I was going to be much of a
favorite with Lady Naselton. She set her tea cup down, and looked at
me with distinct disapproval in her face.
"Amongst a certain class of people it may be," she answered, severely;
"not"--with emphasis--"in Northshire society; not in any part of
it with which I am acquainted, I am glad to say. You must allow me
to add, Miss Ffolliot, that I am somewhat surprised to hear you, a
clergyman's daughter, express yourself so."
A clergyman's daughter. I was continually forgetting that. And, after
all, it is much more comfortable to keep one's self in accord with
one's environment. I pulled myself together, and explained with much
surprise--
"I only asked a question, Lady Naselton. I wasn't expressing my
own views. I think that women with a past are very horrid. One is
so utterly tired of them in fiction that one does not want to meet
them in real life. We won't talk of this at all. I'm not really
interested. Tell me about Mr. Deville instead."
Now this was a little unkind of me, for I knew quite well that Lady
Naselton was brimming with eagerness to tell me a good deal about this
undesirable neighbor of ours. As it happened, however, my question
afforded her a fresh opportunity, of which she took advantage.
"To tell you of one, unfortunately, is to tell you of the other," she
said, significantly.
I decided to humor her, and raised my eyebrows in the most approved
fashion.
"How shocking!" I exclaimed.
I was received in favor again. My reception of the innuendo had been
all that could be desired.
"We consider it a most flagrant case," she continued, leaning over
towards me confidentially. "I am thankful to say that of the two Bruce
Deville is the least blamed."
"Isn't that generally the case?" I murmured. "It is the woman who has
to bear the burden."
"And it is generally the woman who deserves it," Lady Naselton
answered, promptly. "It is my experience, at any rate, and I have
seen a good deal more of life than you. In the present case there
can be no doubt about it. The woman actually followed him down here,
and took up her quarters almost at his gates whilst he was away. She
was there with scarcely a stick of furniture in the house for nearly
a month. When he came back, would you believe it, the house was
furnished from top to bottom with things from the Court. The carts
were going backwards and forwards for days. She even went up and
selected some of the furniture herself. I saw it all going on with my
own eyes. Oh! it was the most barefaced thing!"
"Tell me about Mr. Deville," I interrupted hastily. "I have not seen
him yet. What is he like?"
"Bruce Deville," she murmured to herself, thoughtfully. Then she was
silent for a moment. Something that was almost like a gleam of sorrow
passed across her face. Her whole expression was changed.
"Bruce Deville is my godson," she said, slowly. "I suppose that is why
I feel his failure the more keenly."
"He is a failure, then?" I asked. "Some one was talking about him
yesterday, but I only heard fragments here and there. Isn't he very
quixotic, and very poor?"
"Poor!" She repeated the word with peculiar emphasis. Then she rose
from her chair, and walked a step or two towards the low fence which
enclosed our lawn.
"Come here, child."
I stood by her side looking across the sunlit stretch of meadows and
undulating land. A very pretty landscape it was. The farm houses, with
their grey fronts and red-tiled roofs, and snug rickyards close at
hand, had a particularly prosperous and picturesque appearance. The
land was mostly arable and well-cultivated; field after field of
deep golden stubble, and rich, dark soil stretched away to the dim
horizon. She held out her hand.
"You see!" she exclaimed. "Does that look like a poor man's
possessions?"
I shook my head.
"Every village there from east to west, every stone and acre
belongs to Bruce Deville, and has belonged to the Devilles for
cent | 570.442498 |
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IN MADEIRA PLACE
1887
By Heman White Chaplin
Turning from the street | 570.500169 |
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Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
VOLUME III
CHAPTER XLI
From the time of this arrangement, the ascendance which Mr Naird
obtained over the mind of Elinor, by alternate assurances and alarms,
relative to her chances of living to see Harleigh again, produced a
quiet that gave time to the drafts, which were administered by the
physician, to take effect, and she fell into a profound sleep. This, Mr
Naird said, might last till late the next day; Ellis, therefore,
promising to be ready upon any summons, returned to her lodging.
Miss Matson, now, endeavoured to make some enquiries relative to the
public suicide projected, if not accomplished, by Miss Joddrel, which
was the universal subject of conversation at Brighthelmstone; but when
she found it vain to hope for any details, she said, 'Such accidents,
Ma'am, make one really afraid of one's life with persons one knows
nothing of. Pray, Ma'am, if it is not impertinent, do you still hold to
your intention of giving up your pretty apartment?'
Ellis answered in the affirmative, desiring, with some surprise, to
know, whether the question were in consequence of any apprehension of a
similar event.
'By no means, Ma'am, from you,' she replied; 'you, Miss Ellis, who have
been so strongly recommended; and protected by so many of our capital
gentry; but what I mean is this. If you really intend to take a small
lodging, why should not you have my little room again up stairs?'
'Is it not engaged to the lady I saw here this morning?'
'Why that, Ma'am, is precisely the person I have upon my mind to speak
about. Why should I let her stay, when she's known to nobody, and is
very bad pay, if I can have so genteel a young lady as you, Ma'am, that
ladies in their own coaches come visiting?'
Ellis, recoiling from this preference, uttered words the most benevolent
that she could suggest, of the unknown person who had excited her
compassion: but Miss Matson gave them no attention. 'When one has
nothing better to do with one's rooms, Ma'am,' she said, 'it's sometimes
as well, perhaps, to let them to almost one does not know who, as to
keep them uninhabited; because living in them airs them; but that's no
reason for letting them to one's own disadvantage, if can do better. Now
this person here, Ma'am, besides being poor, which, poor thing, may be
she can't help; and being a foreigner, which, you know, Ma'am, is no
great recommendation;--besides all this, Miss Ellis, she has some very
suspicious ways with her, which I can't make out at all; she goes abroad
in a morning, Ma'am, by five of the clock, without giving the least
account of her haunts. And that, Ma'am, has but an odd look with it!'
'Why so, Miss Matson? If she takes time from her own sleep to enjoy a
little air and exercise, where can be the blame?'
'Air and exercise, Ma'am? People that have their living to get, and that
a'n't worth a farthing, have other things to think of than air and
exercise! She does not, I hope, give herself quite such airs as those!'
Ellis, disgusted, bid her good night; and, filled with pity for a person
who seemed still more helpless and destitute than herself, resolved to
see her the next day, and endeavour to offer her some consolation, if
not assistance.
Before, however, this pleasing project could be put into execution, she
was again, nearly at day break, awakened by a summons from Selina to
attend her sister, who, after quietly reposing many hours, had started,
and demanded Harleigh and Ellis.
Ellis obeyed the call with the utmost expedition, but met the messenger
returning to her a second time, as she was mounting the street which led
to the lodging of Mrs Maple, with intelligence that Elinor had almost
immediately fallen into a new and sound sleep; and that Mr Naird had
ordered that no one should enter the room, till she again awoke.
Glad of this reprieve, Ellis was turning back, when she perceived, at
some distance, Miss Matson's new lodger. The opportunity was inviting
for her purposed offer of aid, and she determined to make some opening
to an acquaintance.
This was not easy; for though the light feet of Ellis might soon have
overtaken the quick, but staggering steps of the apparently distressed
person whom she pursued, she observed her to be in a state of
perturbation that intimidated approach, as much as it awakened concern.
Her handkerchief was held to her face; though whether to conceal it, or
because she was weeping, could not readily be discovered: but her form
and air penetrated Ellis with a feeling and an interest far beyond
common curiosity; and she anxiously studied how she might better behold,
and how address her.
The foreigner went on her way, looking neither to the right nor to the
left, till she had ascended to the church-yard upon the hill. There
stopping, she extended her arms, seeming to hail the full view of the
wide spreading ocean; or rather, Ellis imagined, the idea of her native
land, which she knew, from that spot, to be its boundary. The beauty of
the early morning from that height, the expansive view, impressive,
though calm, of the sea, and the awful solitude of the place, would have
sufficed to occupy the mind of Ellis, had it not been completely caught
by the person whom she followed; and who now, in the persuasion of being
wholly alone, gently murmured, 'Oh ma chere patrie!--malheureuse,
coupable,--mais toujours chere patrie!--ne te reverrai-je jamais!'[1]
Her voice thrilled to the very soul of Ellis, who, trembling, suspended,
and almost breathless, stood watching her motions; fearing to startle
her by an unexpected approach, and waiting to catch her eye.
[Footnote 1: 'Oh my loved country!--unhappy, guilty--but for ever loved
country!--shall I never see thee more!']
But the mourner was evidently without suspicion that any one was in
sight. Grief is an absorber: it neither seeks nor makes observation;
except where it is joined with vanity, that always desires remark; or
with guilt, by which remark is always feared.
Ellis, neither advancing nor receding, saw her next move solemnly
forward, to bend over a small elevation of earth, encircled by short
sticks, intersected with rushes. Some of these, which were displaced,
she carefully arranged, while uttering, in a gentle murmur, which the
profound stillness of all around alone enabled Ellis to catch, 'Repose
toi bien, mon ange! mon enfant! le repos qui me fuit, le bonheur que
j'ai perdu, la tranquilite precieuse de l'ame qui m'abandonne--que tout
cela soit a toi, mon ange! mon enfant! Je ne te rappellerai plus ici! Je
ne te rappellerais plus, meme si je le pouvais. Loin de toi ma
malheureuse destinee! je priai Dieu pour ta conservation quand je te
possedois encore; quelques cruelles que fussent tes souffrances, et
toute impuissante que J'etois pour les soulager, je priai Dieu, dans
l'angoisse de mon ame, pour ta conservation! Tu n'est plus pour moi--et
je cesse de te reclamer. Je te vois une ange! Je te vois exempt a
jamais de douleur, de crainte, de pauvrete et de regrets; te
reclamerai-je, donc, pour partager encore mes malheurs? Non! ne reviens
plus a moi! Que je te retrouve la--ou ta felicite sera la mienne! Mais
toi, prie pour ta malheureuse mere! que tes innocentes prieres
s'unissent a ses humbles supplications, pour que ta mere, ta pauvre
mere, puisse se rendre digne de te rejoindre!'[2]
[Footnote 2: 'Sleep on, sleep on, my angel child! May the repose that
flies me, the happiness that I have lost, the precious tranquillity of
soul that has forsaken me--be thine! for ever thine! my child! my angel!
I cease to call thee back. Even were it in my power, I would not call
thee back. I prayed for thy preservation, while yet I had the bliss of
possessing thee; cruel as were thy sufferings, and impotent as I found
myself to relieve them, I prayed,--in the anguish of my soul,--I prayed
for thy preservation! Thou art lost to me now!--yet I call thee back no
more! I behold thee an angel! I see thee rescued for ever from sorrow,
from alarm, from poverty, and from bitter recollections;--and shall I
call thee back, to partake again my sufferings?--No! return to me no
more! There, only, let me find thee, where thy felicity will be
mine!--but thou! O pray for thy unhappy mother! Let thy innocent prayers
be united to her humble supplications, that thy mother, thy hapless
mother, may become worthy to join thee!']
How long these soft addresses, which seemed to soothe the pious
petitioner, might have lasted, had she not been disturbed, is uncertain:
but she was startled by sounds of more tumultuous sorrow; by sobs,
rather than sighs, that seemed bursting forth from more violent, at
least, more sudden affliction. She looked round, astonished; and saw
Ellis leaning over a monument, and bathed in tears.
She arose, and, advancing towards her, said, in an accent of pity,
'Helas, Madame, vous, aussi, pleurez vous votre enfant?'[3]
[Footnote 3: 'Alas, Madam! are you, also, deploring the loss of a
child?']
'Ah, mon amie! ma bien! amee amie!' cried Ellis, wiping her eyes, but
vainly attempting to repress fresh tears; 't'ai-je cherchee, t'ai-je
attendue, t'ai-je si ardemment desiree, pour te retrouver ainsi?
pleurant sur un tombeau? Et toi!--ne me rappelle tu pas? M'a tu
oubliee?--Gabrielle! ma chere Gabrielle!'[4]
[Footnote 4: 'Ah, my friend! my much loved friend! have I sought thee,
have I awaited thee, have I so fervently desired thy restoration--to
find thee thus? Weeping over a grave? And thou--dost thou not recollect
me? Hast thou forgotten me?--Gabriella! my loved Gabriella!']
'Juste ciel!' exclaimed the other, 'que vois-je? Ma Julie! ma chere, ma
tendre amie? Est il bien vrai?--O! peut il etre vrai, qu'il y ait encore
du bonheur ici bas pour moi?'[5]
[Footnote 5: 'Gracious heaven! what do I behold? My Juliet! my tender
friend? Can it be real?--O! can it, indeed, be true, that still any
happiness is left on earth for me!']
Locked in each other's arms, pressed to each other's bosoms, they now
remained many minutes in speechless agony of emotion, from nearly
overpowering surprise, from gusts of ungovernable, irrepressible sorrow,
and heart-piercing recollections; though blended with the tenderest
sympathy of joy.
This touching silent eloquence, these unutterable conflicts between
transport and pain, were succeeded by a reciprocation of enquiry, so
earnest, so eager, so ardent, that neither of them seemed to have any
sensation left of self, from excess of solicitude for the other, till
Ellis, looking towards the little grave, said, 'Ah! que ce ne soit plus
question de moi?'[6]
[Footnote 6: 'Ah!--upon me can you, yet, bestow a thought?']
'Ah, oui, mon amie,' answered Gabriella, 'ton histoire, tes malheurs, ne
peuvent jamais etre aussi terribles, aussi dechirants que les miens! tu
n'as pas encore eprouve le bonheur d'etre mere--comment aurois-tu, donc,
eprouve, le plus accablant des malheurs? Oh! ce sont des souffrances qui
n'ont point de nom; des douleurs qui rendent nulles toutes autres, que
la perte d'un Etre pur comme un ange, et tout a soi!'[7]
[Footnote 7: 'True, my dear friend, true! thy history, thy misfortunes,
can never be terrible, never be lacerating like mine! Thou hast not yet
known the bliss of being a mother;--how, then, canst thou have
experienced the most overwhelming of calamities! a suffering that admits
of no description! a woe that makes all others seem null--the loss of a
being pure, spotless as a cherub--and wholly our own!']
The fond embraces, and fast flowing tears of Ellis, evinced the keen
sensibility with which she participated in the sorrows of this afflicted
mother, whom she strove to draw away from the fatal spot; reiterating
the most urgent enquiries upon every other subject, to attract her, if
possible, to yet remaining, to living interests. But these efforts were
utterly useless. 'Restons, restons ou nous sommes!' she cried: 'c'est
ici que je te parlerai; c'est ici que je t'ecouterai; ici, ou je passe
les seuls momens que j'arrache a la misere, et au travail. Ne crois pas
que de pleurer est ce qu'il y a le plus a craindre! Oh! qu'il ne
t'arrive jamais de savoir que de pleurer, meme sur le tombeau de tout ce
qui vous est le plus cher, est un soulagement, un delice, aupres du dur
besoin de travailler, la mort dans le coeur, pour vivre, pour exister,
lorsque la vie a perdu toutes ses charmes!'[8]
[Footnote 8: 'Here, here let us stay! 'tis here I can best speak to
thee! 'tis here, I can best listen;--here, where I pass every moment
that I can snatch from penury and labour! Think not that to weep is what
is most to be dreaded; oh never mayst thou learn, that to weep--though
upon the tomb of all that has been most dear to thee upon earth, is a
solace, is a feeling of softness, nay of pleasure, compared with the
hard necessity of toiling, when death has seized upon the very heart,
merely to breathe, to exist, after life has lost all its charms!']
Seated then upon the monument which was nearest to the little grave,
Gabriella related the principal events of her life, since the period of
their separation. These, though frequently extraordinary, sometimes
perilous, and always touchingly disastrous, she recounted with a
rapidity almost inconceivable; distinctly, nevertheless, marking the
several incidents, and the courage with which she had supported them:
but when, these finished, she entered upon the history of the illness
that had preceded the death of her little son, her voice tremblingly
slackened its velocity, and unconsciously lowered its tones; and, far
from continuing with the same quickness or precision, every circumstance
was dwelt upon as momentous; every recollection brought forth long and
endearing details; every misfortune seemed light, put in the scale with
his loss; every regret seemed concentrated in his tomb!
Six o'clock, and seven, had tolled unheeded, during this afflicting, yet
soothing recital; but the eighth hour striking, when the tumult of
sorrow was subsiding into the sadness of grief, the sound caught the ear
of Gabriella, who, hastily rising, exclaimed, 'Ah, voila que je suis
encore susceptible de plaisir, puisque ta societe m'a fait oublier les
tristes et penibles devoirs, qui m'appellent a des taches qui--a
peine--m'empechent de mourir de faim!'[9]
[Footnote 9: 'See, if I am not still susceptible of pleasure! Thy
society has made me forget the sad and painful duties that call me
hence, to tasks that snatch me,--with difficulty,--from perishing by
famine!']
At these words, all the fortitude hitherto sustained by Juliet,--for the
borrowed name of Ellis will now be dropt,--utterly forsook her. Torrents
of tears gushed from her eyes, and lamentations, the bitterest, broke
from her lips. She could bear, she cried, all but this; all but
beholding the friend of her heart, the daughter of her benefactress,
torn from the heights of happiness and splendour; of merited happiness,
of hereditary splendour; to be plunged into such depths of distress, and
overpowered with anguish.
'Ah! que je te reconnois bien a ce trait!' cried Gabriella, while a
tender smile tried to force its way through her tears: 'cette ame si
noble! si inebralable pour elle-meme, si douce, si compatissante pour
tout autre! que de souvenirs chers et touchans ne se presentent, a cet
instant, a mon coeur! Ma chere Julie! il est bien vrai, donc, que je
te vois, que je te retrouve encore! et, en toi, tout ce qu'il y a de
plus aimable, de plus pur, et de plus digne! Comment ai-je pu te revoir,
sans retrouver la felicite? Je me sens presque coupable de pouvoir
t'embrasser,--et de pleurer encore!'[10]
[Footnote 10: 'Ah, how I know thee by that trait! thy soul so noble! so
firm in itself; so soft, so commiserating for every other! what tender,
what touching recollections present themselves at this instant to my
heart! Dearest Juliet! is it, then, indeed no dream, that I have
found--that I behold thee again? and, in thee, all that is most
exemplary, most amiable, and most worthy upon earth! How is it I can
recover thee, and not recover happiness? I almost feel as if I were
criminal, that | 570.506904 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: The Historical Department.]
* * * * *
THE
MUSEUM GAZETTE.
NO. 2. JUNE, 1906. VOL. 1.
* * * * *
OUR HISTORY ROOM. (_See Frontispiece._)
A department of our Museum to which, as regards its educational
usefulness, we attach very great importance, is that which attempts the
illustration of Human History. It is displayed in a separate division
of the main building, and is arranged, as far as possible, on “the
space-for-time method.” This method, which, following the pattern of
an ordinary diary, allots to every period of time the same amount of
space, is, of course, possible only where the time-periods and dates
are fairly well established. It is not well adapted, excepting as
a sort of open and, to some extent speculative, framework for the
illustration of prehistoric times. A courageous example of such use of
it we ventured to offer in our last number in reference to prehistoric
man in Britain. It was not history in any other sense than that the
periods of time were real; the events assigned to them were largely
conjectural. In the Museum itself we do not attempt to deal with very
remote periods in this manner. Our space-for-time arrangement begins
only with 2000 B.C. It might now, perhaps, fairly begin with 4000 B.C.,
but, unfortunately, we have not space enough. In this Schedule, which
occupies the whole of one side of a long room (70 feet), a measured
space on the wall, of nearly two feet, is allotted to each century.
The centuries are marked out by strong black lines, drawn vertically
from roof to the table-shelf below. This table-shelf is 18 inches wide,
and runs the whole length of the room. It is upon it that the busts
shown in our frontispiece are standing. Each bust is supposed to be in
its appropriate century, and with it are placed any other illustrative
objects belonging to the period--medals, coins, small architectural
models (when we have them), and the like. For instance, a model of
Stonehenge stands in the century in which it seems probable that that
most remarkable structure was built, and portions of Roman pavement
and other relics mark the period of the Italian occupation of Britain.
Upon the wall itself are placed engravings, photographs, and the like,
illustrative of the century, and representing either human personality
or some results of | 570.63973 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
* * * * *
MARK GILDERSLEEVE.
A Novel.
BY JOHN S. SAUZADE.
NEW YORK:
_G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers._
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO.
M.DCCC.LXXIII.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
JOHN S. SAUZADE,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Stereotyped at the
WOMEN'S PRINTING HOUSE,
56, 58 and 60 Park Street,
New York.
MARK GILDERSLEEVE.
I.
Although of much importance as a manufacturing place, Belton is noted
chiefly for the beautiful water-fall to which the town, in fact, owes
its existence.
Here the Passaic, interrupted in its placid flow by a rocky barrier,
takes an abrupt turn, and plunges in a narrow sheet of foam adown a deep
chasm, formed in one of Nature's throes ages ago, and then with wild
swirls rushes angrily over a rocky bed, until spent and quiet it skirts
the town, and winds away appeased and pellucid--despite the murky drain
of dye-houses--through woodlands, fields, and pastures green. Ere
reaching the cataract, however, the river is tapped by a canal which
serves to feed the flumes that run the many mills of Belton; and
through this race-way the diverted waters speed on their busy errand,
starting cumbersome overshot, undershot, breast, and turbine wheels into
action, that in their turn quicken into life the restless shuttle and
whirling spindle.
From the cliff, at the head of the cataract, one may completely overlook
the town, a cheerful hive, compactly built, and consisting chiefly of
long brick factories, with little belfries, and rows of small white
wooden dwellings. The whole is neat and bright; no canopy of coal-smoke
obscures the blue sky, and but an occasional tall chimney or jet of
vapor is seen, for here steam is dethroned, and the cheaper motor reigns
supreme.
The river side, the cliff, the falls, in short the water-power belongs
and has belonged for generations to the Obershaw family. In days of
yore, when Whitman Obershaw ran a saw-mill, and tilled a clearing
hereabout, his worldly possessions, it is safe to say, were not such as
to assimilate his chances of salvation to the facility with which a
camel can go through a needle's eye, and it was reserved for his son,
John Peter Obershaw, to reap the benefit of the accident that had put
his ancestors in possession of the site of Belton. And when you consider
the present magnitude of the place, its many mills, and the enormous
yearly rental of the water-power, you will not be surprised to learn
that the costly stone mansion on the cliff, with its imposing front, its
beautiful grounds, conservatories, and lodges, is the residence of the
Hon. Rufus Heath, son-in-law and heir of John Peter Obershaw, who built
it.
There is a mural tablet in the apse of St. Jude's, Belton, inscribed to
the memory of
JOHN PETER OBERSHAW,
OF THIS TOWN,
_Through whose munificence this Church_
WAS ERECTED,
A.D. 1840.
HIS CHRISTIAN VIRTUES ENDEARED HIM TO ALL.
An epitaph which bore out the proverbial reputation of its kind in being
essentially a lie--a lie in black and white, for old Obershaw had no
Christian or even Pagan virtues to speak of, and was rather disliked by
all for a selfish, avaricious, nonagenarian. Perhaps the only
commendable act of his life was the erection of the small, but handsome
church in question. Yet, even this was looked upon as but the placatory
offering of a prudent worldling, about to appear before the final
tribunal, and anxious to propitiate the great Judge. Moreover, those who
knew the most about it asserted that the church would never have been
built, nor a dollar spent towards it, had it not been for Rufus Heath,
who, during the last years of his father-in-law's life, had the entire
control of the estate, owing to the latter's age and incapacity.
Doubtless these assertions were true, for neither dread of God or demon
could ever have wrung an unremunerative stiver from old John Peter
Obershaw's clutching fist, as he belonged to the orthodox school of
misers--the class who live but to accumulate, and find all their
pleasure in that sound, wholesome vice which prolongs life, and betrays
not to a fool's paradise.
To the last he was steadfast to his idol. For years previous he was
confined to his room by paralysis, dead to all affections save love of
money, and vegetating in an easy chair stuffed literally with gold; for
the senile miser, like a magpie, slyly secreted coin in every nook and
corner of his chamber. In this second childhood, it was necessary to
quiet him by giving him money to toy with, and musty accounts and deeds,
which he pored over with the vacuity of an imbecile. To the end the
ruling passion swayed him. At the last moment, when the taper of life
was about giving its expiring flicker, he asked his attendant to bring
him a surveyor's map of his estate. "And, James, tell... tell Mr. Heath
I want to see him... see him at once. Must buy Van Slyke's farm if
he'll sell it right... sell it right. But he wants too much... too
much. No... no... can't give it. No... no; haven't... got the money.
Soon as I am well, well... and strong, I'll go out and have a look at
it... look at it. Soon as I am well, and go out... go out. But can't
'ford to pay much. No... no. Van Slyke's farm'll square the addition.
But, I can't pay much... can't 'ford it;" and a nervous twitching of
his pale thin lips, as he mumbled to himself, showed teeth still sound,
though worn down like an old mastiff's. He was a man of large frame,
gaunt, bowed with age, and the dried yellow skin of his face resembled
wrinkled parchment. When the map was brought to him, he stared vacantly
at it with faded eyes that looked like dull agates, then relapsed into a
still slumber with the map gripped in his long, talon-like, bony
fingers, as if some one would steal it from him. Aroused by the entrance
of his son-in-law, he again mumbled--"Where's the map... map? Heath,
see Van Slyke 'bout the farm and don't let him... let him cheat me. I
ain't quite... quite so strong now, and... and they'll cheat me. Ah,
they're a close, sharp set | 570.736394 |
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AN AUTHOR'S MIND;
THE BOOK OF TITLE-PAGES:
"A BOOKFUL OF BOOKS," OR "THIRTY BOOKS IN ONE."
EDITED BY
M.F. TUPPER, ESQ., M. A.
"En un mot, mes amis, je n'ai entrepris de vous contenter tous en
general; ainsi, une et autres en particulier; et par special,
moymeme."--PASQUIER.
HARTFORD:
PUBLISHED BY SILAS ANDRUS & SON.
1851.
ANNOUNCEMENT.
BY THE EDITOR.
The writer of this strange book (a particular friend of mine) came to me
a few mornings ago with a very happy face and a very blotty manuscript.
"Congratulate me," he began, "on having dispersed an armada of
head-aches hitherto invincible, on having exorcised my brain of its
legionary spectres, and brushed away the swarming thoughts that used to
persecute my solitude; I can now lie down as calmly as the lamb, and
rise as gayly as the lark; instead of a writhing Laocoon, my just-found
Harlequin's wand has changed me into infant Hercules brandishing his
strangled snakes; I have mowed, for the nonce, the docks, mallows,
hogweed, and wild-parsley of my rank field, and its smooth green carpet
looks like a rich meadow; I am free, happy, well at ease: argal, an thou
lovest me, congratulate."
Wider and wider still stared out my wonder, to hear my usually sober
friend so voluble in words and so profuse of images: I saw at once it
was a set speech, prepared for an impromptu occasion; nevertheless, as
he was clearly in an enviable state of disenthraldom from
thoughtfulness, I graciously accorded him a sympathetic smile. And then
this more than Gregorian cure for the head-ache! here was an anodyne
infinitely precious to one so brain-feverish as I: had all this pleasure
and comfort arisen from such common-place remedials as a dear young
lover's courtesy or a deceased old miser's codicil, I should long ago
have heard all about it; for, between ourselves, my friend was never
known to keep a secret. There was evidently more than this in the
discovery; and when my curiosity, provoked by his laughing silence, was
naturally enough exhibiting itself in a "What on earth----?" he broke
out with the abruptness of an Abernethy, "Read | 570.74285 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
CAPS AND CAPERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: _Frontispiece--Caps and Capers_.
"NOW, GIRLS, COME ON! LET'S EAT OUR CREAM." See p. 92.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CAPS and CAPERS
A Story of Boarding-School Life
by
GABRIELLE E. JACKSON
Author of "Pretty Polly Perkins,"
"Denise and Ned Toodles," "By Love's
Sweet Rule," "The Colburn Prize,"
etc., etc.
With illustrations
by C | 570.743879 |
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Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
YELLOW-CAP
AND OTHER
FAIRY TALES
BY
JULIAN HAWTHORNE
YELLOW-CAP
&c.
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
YELLOW-CAP
_AND OTHER FAIRY-STORIES FOR CHILDREN_
BY
JULIAN HAWTHORNE
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1880
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS.
_YELLOW-CAP._
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AN APPANAGE OF ROYALTY 3
II. THE GOLDEN PLEDGE 11
III. THE GOLDEN DWARF 23
IV. THE TALISMAN 35
V. THE KING'S FAVOUR 43
VI. DONKEY-BACK 51
VII. THE DARK PASSAGE 57
VIII. THE MAGIC EYE 65
IX. ON THE STAGE 83
X. AN ABSOLUTE MONARCH 102
XI. THE GRAND TRANSFORMATION SCENE 113
_RUMPTY-DUDGET._
I. THE PALACE AND THE TOWER 129
II. THE AUNT, THE CAT, AND THE DWARF 134
III. THE WAYS OF THE WIND 145
IV. NO TIME TO BE LOST 154
V. THE QUEEN OF THE AIR 161
VI. THE KING OF THE GNOMES 170
VII. THE ENCHANTED FIRE 179
VIII. THE GOLDEN IVY 186
_CALLADON._
I. ABRACADABRA 197
II. THE LAW OF THE LAMP 204
III. CALLIA AND THE MIRROR 209
IV. THE OUTER ROOMS 214
V. REGENERATION 224
_THEEDA._
I. THE BOOK AND THE VASE 237
II. OSCAR INSIDE OUT 243
III. THE PEARL-SHELL'S GIFT 250
IV. THE CRAB 260
V. A STRANGER 267
VI. THE SECRET OF THE WAVES 279
YELLOW-CAP.
CHAPTER I.
AN APPANAGE OF ROYALTY.
A good many years ago--before Julius Caesar landed at Dover, in fact,
and while the architect's plans for Stonehenge were still under
consideration--England was inhabited by a civilised and prosperous
people, who did not care about travelling, and who were renowned for
their affability to strangers. The climate was warm and equable; there
were no fogs, no smoke, no railways, and no politics. The Government
was an absolute monarchy; one king, who was by birth and descent an
Englishman, lived in London all the year round; and as for London, it
was the cleanest, airiest, and most beautiful city in the whole world.
A few miles outside of the city walls lay a small village called
Honeymead. It had some fifteen or twenty thatched cottages, each with
its vegetable garden and its beehives, its hencoop and its cowshed.
Around this village fertile meadows spread down to the river banks,
bringing forth plenteous crops for the support of the honest and
thrifty husbandmen who tilled them. There was only one public-house in
the place, and the only drink to be had there was milk. A case of
drunkenness was, consequently, seldom heard of; though, on the other
hand, women, girls, and even small children might be seen lingering
about the place as well as men.
This public-house was called the Brindled Cow, and it was kept by a
young woman whose name was Rosamund. She was the prettiest maiden in
the village, as well as the most good-natured and the thriftiest;
though she had a keen tongue of her own when occasion demanded. As
might be supposed, all the young men in the neighbourhood were anxious
to marry her; but she gave them little or no encouragement. She used
to tell them that she was well able to take care of herself, so what
good would a husband be to her? She didn't want to support him, and
she didn't need his support. It was better as it was. As for falling
in love, that was a thing she couldn't pretend to understand; but her
maiden aunt had once told her that it was more bother than it was
worth, and she thought it very likely. Moreover, if by any accident
she should one day happen to fall in love, she would take great care
that it should not be suspected, because the man she loved | 570.837072 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Internet Archive (The Library of Congress).
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: The Internet Archive
https://archive.org/details/creatureofnighti00hume_0
(The Library of Congress.)
2. Chapter XVII. (Nemesis) is misnumbered as XV. in this
edition.
A CREATURE OF THE NIGHT
A CREATURE OF THE NIGHT
_AN ITALIAN ENIGMA_
BY
FERGUS HUME
AUTHOR OF
"THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB," "MADAME MIDAS,"
"MISS MEPHISTOPHELES," "MONSIEUR JUDAS"
Yea, out of the womb of the night
For evil a rod,
With vampire wings plumed for a flight
It cometh abroad,
The mission to curse and to blight
Permitted by God.
NEW YORK
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY
150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE
Copyright, 1891,
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
--------
_All rights reserved_.
TO
GRAHAM PRICE,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF ITALIAN IDLINGS,
SPRING, 1891.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER.
I. The Ghoul.
II. A Boccaccian Adventure.
III. The Feast of Ghosts.
IV. The Angello Household.
V. Lost.
VI. A Haunted Palace.
VII. At the Teatro Ezzelino.
VIII. The Phantom of Lucrezia Borgia.
IX. Fiore della Casa.
X. A Voice in the Darkness.
XI. The Marchese Beltrami.
XII. Death in Life.
XIII. "Down among the Dead Men."
XIV. The New Lazarus.
XV. Found.
XVI. An Interrupted Honeymoon.
XVII. Nemesis.
XVIII. A Last Word.
CREATURE OF THE NIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
THE GHOUL.
I think it is Lord Beaconsfield who, in one of his brilliant stories,
makes the clever observation that "adventures are to the adventurous,"
and certainly he who seeks for adventures even in this prosaic
nineteenth century will surely succeed in his quest. Fate leads him,
chance guides him, luck assists him, and although the adventure
supplied by this trinity of circumstances may be neither so dangerous
nor so picturesque as in the time of Borgia or Lazun, still it will
probably be interesting, which after all is something to be grateful
for in this eminently commonplace age of facts and figures. Still,
even he who seeks not to prove the truth of Disraeli's aphorism, may,
after the principle of Mahomet's mountain, have the adventure come to
him, without the trouble of looking for it, and this was my case at
Verona in the summer of 18--.
The Cranstons were always a poor family, that is, as regards money,
although they certainly could not complain of a lack of ancestors; and
when it came to my turn to represent the race, I found that my lately
deceased father had left me comparatively nothing. Not having any
fixed income, I therefore could not live without doing something to
earn my bread; and not having any business capacity, I foresaw failure
would be my lot in mercantile enterprise. I was not good-looking
enough to inveigle a wealthy heiress into matrimony; and as, after a
survey of my possessions, I found I had nothing but a few hundred
pounds and an excellent baritone voice, I made up my mind to use the
former in cultivating the latter with a view to an operatic career.
Italy, living on the traditions of the days of Rossini, of Donizetti
and of Bellini, has still the reputation of possessing excellent
singing-masters, so to Italy I went with a hopeful heart and a light
purse, and established myself at Milan, where I took lessons, in
singing, from Maestro Angello. Milan is a detestable city, hot and
arid in summer, cold and humid in winter; and as a year after I
arrived in the land of song the end of spring was unusually
disagreeable, Maestro Angello went to Verona for a change of air, and
thither I followed him with no small pleasure at escaping from that
dreary commercial capital of the north which has all the disagreeables
of Italian life without any of the compensating advantages of romance
and beauty.
But Verona! ah, it was truly delightful, that sleepy town lying so
peacefully on the banks of the rapid Adige, dreaming amid the riotous
present of the splendid past, when Can Grande held his brilliant
court, and received as an honoured guest the great poet Dante, exiled
by ungrateful Florence. The city of the gay rhymer Catullus, merry
lover of Lesbia, who wept more tears over her sparrow than she did
over her poet. The city of Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers as
they were, who were recompensed for their short, unhappy lives by
gaining immortality from the pen of Shakespeare as types of eternal
love and eternal constancy, for the encouragement of all succeeding
youths and maidens of later generations. Yes, indeed, with all these
memories, historical and poetical, Verona was a pleasant place in
which to idle away a summer, so I thanked the kind gods for my good
fortune and enjoyed myself.
Not that I was idle. By no means! Maestro Angello kept me hard at work
at exercises and scales, so I studied industriously most of the day
and wandered about most of the night in the soft, cool moonlight, when
Verona looked much more romantic than in the garish blaze of the
Italian sun.
It was on one of these nights that an adventure happened to me, an
adventure in which I was involved by the merest chance, although I
confess that the vice of curiosity had a good deal to do with my
entanglement therein.
After dining at the hotel I went out for my customary stroll, and
having lighted a pipe as a preventive against the evil odours which
seem inseparable from all Italian towns, I wandered on through the
deserted streets in a listless, aimless fashion, contrasting in my own
mind the magnificent Verona of the past with the dismal Verona of the
present. Taken up with these fantastic dreamings, I did not notice
particularly where I was going, or how quickly the time was passing,
until I found myself on the Ponte Aleardi--that iron bridge which
spans the Adige--and heard the church bells chiming the hour of
eleven.
The moon was shining in the darkly blue sky amid the brilliant stars,
and the leaden waters of the river shone like a band of steel in
the pale, silvery light. On either side of the stream lowered dark
masses of houses, from the windows of which gleamed here and there
orange-coloured lights, while against the clear sky arose the tall
steeples of the churches and the serrated outlines of full-foliaged
trees. It was wonderfully beautiful, and the soft wind blowing through
the night, rippled the swift waters to lines of ever-vanishing white;
so leaning over the balustrade of the bridge, I dreamed and smoked,
and smoked and dreamed, until the chiming of the half-hour warned me
to return to my hotel.
The night, however, was so beautiful and cool, that I could not but
think of my hot sleeping-chamber with repugnance, and feeling
disinclined for rest, I made up my mind to stroll onward for some
time. I might have visited that fraudulent tomb of Juliet in the
moonlight, but as I had already seen it by day, and could not feel
enthusiastic about such a palpable deception, I refused to be further
victimised, and crossed over the bridge to the left shore of the
river.
It was somewhat solitary, there, but I was not afraid of robbers, as I
had but little money and no jewellery on me, and moreover I felt that,
should occasion arise, I could use my fists sufficiently well to
protect myself. Being thus at ease regarding my personal safety, I
lighted a cigar which luckily happened to be in my pocket, and
wandered on until I came within sight, of the cemetery.
Now I firmly believe that every one has in him a vein of superstition
which is developed in accordance with his surroundings. Place a man at
midday in a bustling city, and he scoffs at the idea of the
supernatural; but let him find himself at midnight alone on a solitary
moor, with the shadows of moonlight on every side, and all his
inherent superstition will start to life, peopling the surrounding
solitude with unseen phantoms, more terrible than those of the Arabian
Nights. Whether it was the time of night, or the proximity of the
burial-ground, I do not know, but I felt my breast fill with vague
fears, and hastened to leave the uncanny spot as quickly as possible.
Fate, however, was against me, for in my blind speed, instead of
crossing the bridge, I turned to the left, and unexpectedly found
myself in the vicinity of another burial-ground. It was apparently
much older than the one I had first seen, and there was a ruined wall
around it, overtopped by tall, melancholy cypresses, looming black and
funereal against the midnight sky. By this time I had recovered my
nerve, and feeling somewhat ashamed of my former ignominious flight, I
determined to punish myself by entering this antique abode of the
dead, and examining it thoroughly.
With this idea I climbed over a portion of the broken wall, and in the
shadow of the cypress-trees--shadow dense as the darkness of Egypt--I
viewed the mournful scene before me, with mingled feelings of
curiosity and dread.
It was evidently very old, for even under the softening light of the
moon, the near tombs looked discoloured and time-worn. I saw the soft
swell of the green turf, betokening graves, upon which grew the grass
long and rank; the milky gleam of slender white columns, broken at the
top to typify the short lives of those who slept below; and while
yonder, in frowning grey stone, stood a solemn pyramid, built in
imitation of those Egyptian monsters by the Nile, here, near at hand,
a miniature temple of white marble, delicate and fragile in
construction, hinted at the graceful architecture of Greece. Among
these myriad tombs arose the slender, lance-shaped cypress-trees, and
their dark forms alternating with gleaming crosses of white marble,
sombre pyramids, classic temples, and innumerable lines of tall
columns, gave to this singular scene the aspect of a visionary city of
the dead, which had become visible to mortal eyes by the enchantments
of the moon.
Fascinated by the weirdness of this solitude, I let my cigar fall to
the ground, and, hidden in the gloom of the cypress-trees, stared long
and earnestly at this last abode of the old Veronese, when suddenly my
hair bristled at the roots, a cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and
a nervous shudder made my frame tremble as if with ague.
The cause of this sudden fear was that, while wrapt in contemplation
of this desolate necropolis, I heard a laugh, a low, wicked laugh,
which seemed to come from the bowels of the earth. It was now nearly
midnight, that hour when the dead are said to come forth and wander
among the living, whose nightly sleep so strangely mocks the semblance
of that still repose which chains these spectres to their tombs during
the day. This idea pierced my brain like a knife, and for the moment,
under the influence of the hour, the ghastly scene, the evil laugh, I
believed that I was about to witness this terrible resurrection. I
tried to turn and fly, but my limbs were paralyzed, and like a statue
of stone I stood there rooted to the earth, feeling as if I were under
the influence of some horrible nightmare.
Again I heard that wicked laugh, and this time it seemed to come from
a tomb near me, a square block of gray stone, in the centre of which
was an iron door, evidently the entrance to some vault. Beside this
portal stood a life-sized figure in white marble of the Angel of
Death, guarding the entrance with a flaming sword, the undulating
blade of which seemed, to my startled eye, to waver against the
blackness of the door. All round this strange tomb the grass grew long
and thick, but, half veiled by the tangled herbage, star-shaped
flowers glimmered in the moonlight.
In another moment I would have fled, when for the third time I heard
the evil laugh, the iron door of the tomb slowly opened, and a dark
figure appeared on the threshold. The sight was so terrifying that I
tried to mutter a prayer, feeling at the time as firm a belief in the
visitation of the dead as any old woman; but my throat was so dry that
I could do nothing but remain silent in my hiding-place and stare at
this ghoul, vampire | 570.840364 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.8204130 | 7,436 | 10 |
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Robert Annys: Poor Priest
[Illustration]
Robert Annys: Poor Priest
A Tale of the Great Uprising
By
ANNIE NATHAN MEYER
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1901
_All rights reserved_
Copyright, 1901,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Norwood Press
J. B. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
TO THE READER
Admirers of William Morris--among whom I count all his readers--will
recognize the personal description of John Ball as taken from his "A
Dream of John Ball." They will also note that some parts of his sermon
as well are from the same book. It seemed to me that certain bits of
Morris's imaginative work were too fine and true to be spared in any
attempt to set the blunt old poor priest before the modern reader. I
have no fear of bearing off undeserved palms; for just as a few of the
sayings of John Ball bear the marks of authenticity too clearly upon
them to be mistaken for mine, so such as are taken from Morris are as
clearly distinguished by the marks of supreme beauty and genius.
In the course of many years of close reading, it is inevitable that
there should have been woven into this book some of the ideas and
prepossessions of certain Church historians. Although many other
writers have been exceedingly helpful and suggestive, I want especially
to acknowledge my indebtedness to Renan, Kingsley, Fisher, Baldwin
Brown, Gosselin, Braun, Montalembert, Vincent, and Sheppard.
I
The great Minster of the Fens never looked lovelier than at the close
of a November day, 1379. The coloring of Fenland is not attuned to
the brightness of Spring or Summer, but there is in the late Autumn
a subtle quality that brings out its true charm. The dull browns
and yellows of the marshes, the warm red-browns of the rushes, the
pale greens of the swamp grasses with the glint of the sun low down
at their feet,--all on this day found just the right complement in
the great, heavy, gray clouds that broke here and there only to show
irregular bars of saffron sky. Just before night fell there was one
supreme moment when a patch of gold lingered in the north just over the
wonderful octagon, the glorious crown of St. Audrey, and the great west
front with its noble tower and its wealth of windows flung the orange
gleam of the setting sun over the landscape as a gauntlet proudly
thrown in the face of Night. The lordly outlines of the vast edifice
looked lordlier than ever as the slowly gathering darkness descended
and drew it up into itself.
The east wind blowing from over the sea, pungent with the odor of marsh
plants, was keen, and caused a man who was surveying the scene to
gather his thin gown more closely about him. Until he stirred, this man
might almost have been taken for a part of the landscape, so admirably
did his garb of coarse russet sacking harmonize with his surroundings.
Although he shivered slightly, he did not move from his position, but
remained with arms tightly folded on his breast, and his deep-set eyes
fixed earnestly upon the solemn pile before him. A solitary figure
he stood in the vast stretch of sky and land, and he felt himself
peculiarly alone. Yet as he faced the Cathedral there was no sign of
faltering or dread in his face, but rather a distinct note of defiance.
Not long before, the stately procession of priests had departed from
the Vesper service. A choir boy of angelic countenance, but impish
spirit, had for an instant trailed his violet robe in the dust and
flung the stone he picked up straight at the russet form. Not a priest
in line but envied the boy. Outwardly, the russet priest showed no
sign. He thought of St. Francis who had been stoned by the very ones
who later placed those stones under his direction. Also he thought of
the stoning of One greater than St. Francis.
One year before, at Oxford, Robert Annys had bidden farewell to his
beloved master, John Wyclif, and had become one of his noble band of
poor priests,--or russet priests, as they were familiarly dubbed,--who
went about the country, preaching the Gospel and teaching the people
how to read, that they might bring Holy Writ more closely into their
lives. As a student, he had passed many happy years by the side of
his great master at Balliol, translating the Bible into the language
of the people so that they might come to know God and love God by
themselves without the shadow of the priestly office ever between.
Nevertheless, although he had been well content to pass all his life in
that beautiful manner, when the time came that his master ordered him
out into the world, he went without a murmur and bravely, empty handed,
with no more thought of the morrow than had the twelve whom Christ had
bidden:--
"Take nothing for your journey, neither staff, nor wallet, nor bread,
nor money; neither have two coats."
Since then he had lived close to the people, he had been of the people.
He had come to them, not with the crumbs from the Communion table but
with the strong bread of life. He had preached the Gospel in the fields
while the heat rose in palpitating waves, and on the downs while the
hail beat on his bare head; he had prayed over them while the shears
dripped white from the sheep of their overlord; he had hungered with
them and thirsted with them and shared such coarse food as they had; he
had watched with them as some worn soul departed from its worn body.
His way had led to no sumptuous oratories of towered castles, to no
cushioned _prie-dieux_ in scented chambers. He had shrived, not grand
seigneurs and haughty dames whose momentary comfort had been disturbed
by the pricking of a superficial regret, but strong, simple souls who
trembled from the sway of tremendous feeling--men who thirsted for
the blood of their child's betrayer, victims who raged at infamous
injustice and brooded over desperate means to escape their thraldom.
No lightly felt peccadilloes were confessed to him, but the agony and
shame of those whose tortured souls hung betwixt heaven and hell.
And he had grown to love this life. He had thought to have a peculiar
aptitude for letters, and his master had never altered translation
wrought by him. Yet he knew now that his gift lay rather in swaying
men, and one short year had done much to make his name known from
Sussex to Lincolnshire. No wonder, then, that he had joy in his work,
for it is not given to man to know greater happiness than this: to
watch the face of a fellow-man kindle with a new and great hope, which
he knows he has planted within the other's breast. Yet deep down within
there had been slowly growing in his heart a secret questioning. He
had been warned by his master to hold himself strictly to the work
of spreading the knowledge of the Gospel, and he had been clearly
enjoined against undoing the peace of the realm and setting serfs
against their masters, as a certain mad priest named John Ball was even
at that moment doing, both by the reckless violence of his language
and the revolutionary quality of his theories. It was easy for Wyclif
in the shelter of the University to warn against over-haste and to
protest that education must come before a lasting reform could be
accomplished, and that one must build on solid foundations for the
future. It was not so easy for the wandering poor priest, with the
sufferings of the people ever before him, to refrain from pressing the
Gospel into immediate action. Annys began very soon to suspect that
it was impossible to feed the people with the knowledge of Holy Writ
and expect no indigestion to come from the strange diet. If Life truly
began to be tested by Holy Writ, some idols must fall--if the Church
Hierarchical, alas for it! If Christian society were to be modelled on
the plain teachings of its Founder, some strange sights would be seen.
Annys had not needed to be stoned to feel rise up within him a fierce
hatred toward that stately church that reared its head so haughtily
to heaven. Ah, truly he held with St. Boniface of old that "in the
catacombs the candlesticks were of wood, but the priests were golden.
_Now the candlesticks are of gold._"
That morning, when he preached to the men in the fields and told them
in homely language of the life of their Lord and His death to save
them, a summons had come from the Bishop of Ely bidding Robert Annys
appear before him. And, wondering what the Bishop could want of him
(unless to order him peremptorily from his diocese, in which case it
was scarcely necessary to do so in person), he had had himself rowed
over the wide-spreading meres that separated the isle of Ely from the
mainland. As he slowly approached the glorious pile, there came over
him with a curious stir the memory of that King Canute who had also
been thus rowed across and who had bade the oarsmen pause midway that
he might listen to the beautiful chanting of the monks.
Truth to tell, for all his passionate disdain for what lay outside of
the true heart of Christianity, he was more profoundly moved by the
beauty of Ely Minster than he would have dreamed it possible. For he
was an ardent student of history, and here before him was wrought as
true and noble an epic as ever was writ on parchment. Into these noble
arches and soaring towers, these delicate pinnacles, these exquisite
traceries, surely the adoring heart of Mediaevalism had lavishly poured
itself. This russet priest was an artist and worshipped beauty,
hence he could not look on Ely unmoved. He was an Englishman to the
fingertips, hence he could not stand on ground so alive with heroic
traditions and not thrill to the memory of them. As he stood there
in the gathering darkness before the church, he saw a long struggle
before him. He saw the Bishop of Ely and the whole powerful Church of
Rome leagued against him. And why? Because he followed Christ's clear
mandates. Yet he was certain that nothing that the Hierarchy could do
would conquer him. He would stand to the end, alone if need be, but
fearlessly true to his convictions, true to the master who had sent him
out into the world to do His work. Something of the grim determination
of those Saxons of old entered into him, those hardy warriors who had
fought so many hundred years before on that very spot and made their
last dogged stand against the conquering Normans; something, too, of
the undaunted will of that old monk-architect, who, even amid the roar
of the falling walls of the old tower of Ely, had conceived the great
new tower, the wonderful octagon which was unique in all England.
No! no threat of imprisonment or other punishment on the morrow could
make him swerve from the course he had chosen. He would continue to go
among his people with only a book and a bag. His people who awaited
him among the hayricks, who let plough rest idle in the furrow or
tossed aside the spade that they might hearken to him. _His people!_
His eyes dimmed with tears as he thought of the pathetic figure of
Piers Ploughman standing in the fields, the light of a great wonder
in his face,--Piers in the condition of a man who has had his eyes
bandaged for a long time, and now for the first time has had the
bandage removed. In the strange light that now bursts upon him the
most familiar objects take on a new and strange appearance. In the
transformation that is going on about him, all that his honest heart
has held stable, omnipotent, eternal, now sways unsteadily before him:
Feudal Lords, Sheriffs, King's men and Kings; Fees in Tithe, Manorial
Holdings, Rights of Labor, Acts of Parliament, and even Holy Church
herself. No, no, come what may, he could never desert Piers now:--
"One side is...
Popes, cardinals, and prelates,
Priours, abbots of great estates.
The other side ben poor and pale;
And seeme caitives sore a-cale."
The night closed slowly down upon the Cathedral. At last its great mass
was felt rather than seen.
"Thy strength against mine," the poor priest murmured, as he lingered
yet an instant.
"Thy strength against mine."
II
The following morning Thomas Goldynge, Bishop of Ely, lay in bed
awaiting those to whom he had promised audience. It was with
considerable curiosity that he awaited the young poor priest whom he
had summoned. He sighed with relief as he realized that the hard fight
which he had waged against Rome was ended. It was a contest over the
best method of suppressing the poor priests, and it had taken many
secret embassies to Rome, and many letters in cipher sent to trusted
friends at the Papal Court. Indeed, it had looked at one time as if
the Bishop himself, aged as he was, would have to undertake the long
and tedious journey to the Holy City, for the Bishop looked upon
this matter as one of vital importance to the Church. He agreed with
the Papal Legate that the incendiary preaching of the poor priests
must be stamped out, but he had some theories of his own as to this
stamping-out process, and persecution bore no part in them. He, more
than any other Churchman, realized that the English people needed
careful handling. How was the Italian Legate to understand anything
of the rage and indignation that were growing up in the hearts of the
English against foreign subjection, against a Church that gave the best
sees in the land to Italians who scarce deigned to make acquaintance
with the very outsides of their churches? The substance of the people
was being wrung from them to help the cause of their bitter enemies.
The King of England had little or nothing left for his needs because
the Church refused to give up one tittle of its moneys for the good of
the realm. Goldynge was an Englishman, and he had struggled all his
life to place Englishmen in English churches. He was against the new
spirit of Nationalism, however, when it asserted itself against the
most sacred prerogatives of the Church, for he could look far ahead and
see that this spirit might become powerful enough to wreck the Church
Universal and give birth in England to a Church that would forswear all
allegiance to Rome. He was for doing all in his power to redress the
wrongs of the people and keep the breach from widening, for Holy Church
had about all the schisms it could well take care of for some time to
come.
When Robert Annys was ushered in with head flung well back and every
line in the lithe young body eloquent of a proud defiance, the Bishop
raised himself on the pillow and looked long and eagerly into his face.
Therein he read all that he had counted to find. In the deep-set eyes,
the high, narrow brow, the sensitive mouth, the delicately chiselled
chin, there were revealed to the shrewd old prelate the enthusiastic
temperament of a reformer, the idealism of a poet, the puissant desire
to work, to change, to remake. And also, and therein lay his secret
satisfaction, he read the fine acumen of a critic. A dangerous quality
that, which was certain to make war upon the other qualities that
struggled in his breast. Here was before him no blunt fanatic like John
Ball, flying as unswervingly to his goal as the arrow shot from the
bow, but one with the discerning mind that weighs, discriminates, and
looks far enough ahead to see its own heart-break at the end.
"You sent for me?" although the tone was defiant, it was less so than
Annys had intended it. Somehow he found it hard to be arrogant to this
gentle old man whose flowing locks looked whiter than ever against the
deep red of the bed-curtains. Only a beautiful old man upon his couch,
looking at him with dim kindly eyes and a mouth that smiled. Far
rather would he have faced a haughty prelate in rustling robes--that
would have roused him and strengthened him in his hatred of all for
which a Bishop stood.
"Yes," replied the old man, very gently, "I have sent for thee, for I
have heard much of this russet priest who sways great bodies of men as
they hearken to him, even as row upon row of corn is swayed by the wind
that blows across the fields. I wished to see him and hold converse
with him."
"Why should I come here before you that you may look upon me? I owe
no allegiance to the Bishop of Ely. I serve him not, I serve only my
master, John Wyclif."
"And our Master, Jesus Christ?" mildly interposed the Bishop.
"Yea, I serve _my_ Master, Jesus Christ," asserted the poor priest,
"but"--he was annoyed to find that the words in his heart did not rise
so easily to his tongue as he would have them do. He felt the old man's
eyes gravely fixed upon him.
"But?" he suggested with sedate politeness--"but?"
The young man reddened with discomfiture, but remained silent.
"I beg of you to go on," said the Bishop, suavely; "we are quite
alone. I have sent for you to understand what is in your heart, and I
would that you open it to me without fear."
The word stung the poor priest as the older man knew it would.
"Fear? I have no fear. What should I fear? I would say that one cannot
serve two masters at one time, the one Christ, the other Antichrist.
I do not see that one can bear at one and the same time the pectoral
cross and the cross of Christ Jesus."
It was now the Bishop's turn to redden, but he only bit his lip for an
instant and then smiled frankly. "I understand," he said, "I have heard
somewhat of this kind of thing before. You poor priests claim that
Christ founded no cathedrals, and that He worked with fishermen instead
of Bishops. I know ye would like to see the palaces of Bishops razed to
the ground that bread might be placed between the lips of the hungry,
the gold of the altars melted that it might run into the purse of the
poor. As your poet hath it,
"'Let Bishops' horses become beggars' chambers.
Is that not it?"
His listener folded his arms tightly over his breast and nodded for
answer.
"Ah, yes; ah, yes," continued the Bishop, musingly, "do I not know?
Was I not even as thou in my youthful days? But I am an old man now,
and many things lie bathed in the clear white light of knowledge that
then lay darkly shrouded in mystery. My dear son, you are only one of
many who fix their eyes on what should have been, instead of on what
really was. Ye bury your faces within the pages of the Bible, and if ye
look up once to see what is going on about you, it is only to contrast
with impatience the teaching and example of the Church Visible with
the teaching and example of Christ and His disciples. Ye are willing
to look on the Church as it now is, and God knows there are faults and
crimes enough to excuse some of your impatience, but ye refuse to look
at the history of the Church, and at the magnificent service it has
rendered in the cause of humanity. Ye refuse to consider gravely and
seriously the work that it has accomplished, and to ask yourselves if
any other human agency could have done a tenth as well. You critics
are as men who have been saved by a bridge from a wild and devastating
stream, and now once safely crossed, ye kneel down--not to thank God
Almighty for having saved you, but to detect the flaws in the bridge."
Annys could not but be moved by the eloquence of the old man. He began
to understand something of the great power which had been wielded from
the throne of Ely. Yet he waited not with his answer, "Christianity
is no longer the Church of Christ, it is the Church of Rome. Why keep
up the pretence longer? I am but seeking to bring the people back to
Christ as St. Francis did before me."
"Ay! as St. Francis did before you. He was so sure that all the world
needed was the Word and his Rule of Poverty. Well, how many years after
his death was it that the people complained to the authorities of the
great wealth of the Franciscan monasteries?"
Annys remained silent.
"The Church is a more intricate matter than any one Book or any one
Rule," went on the Bishop. "Why think you it was that the wolves of
the north, as St. Jerome well called them, those wild tribes of Franks
and Burgundians, of Vandals and Goths and Visigoths, savage as their
onslaught was, yet paused in the face of Rome? Was it not because the
Churchmen at the critical time were no idle dreamers, but the greatest
statesmen the world ever saw? Ah, my son, if temporal power meant a
fall from the early apostolic Church, do not forget that it was a fall
brought about by the very greatness of its own servants. It was to the
early Bishops that the world was forced to look for its rulers when the
reins of government were slipping from the weak hands of all others.
It was Cyprian at Carthage, Jerome and Leo at Rome, Ambrose at Milan,
Augustine in Africa, Boniface at the court of Pepin, Martin at Tours,
Hilary at Poitiers, and Marcel at Paris who were doing the work of the
world. It is easy to speak of the Pope's need for Charles the Great
when he placed the diadem of the Caesars on the Frankish Emperor's brow;
yet if Leo needed Charles, Charles needed Leo, as well, and we do not
quite so often hear that. My son, the mitre has resisted many a blow
that would have shattered the sword."
"Ah, but how much finer had the Church of Christ been built up even as
Solomon would have had it, if it could have truly been said of the Head
of the Church:--
"'He shall not put his trust in horse or rider, and bow, nor shall he
multiply unto himself gold and silver for war, for he shall smite the
earth with the word of his mouth.'"
"A beautiful dream, no more, my son. Take the Crusades; how easy is it
for critics to aver that an intriguing Pope started them to increase
his own glory and gratify his sense of power. Yet hast ever thought
whether the peoples of Europe would not have fallen upon and destroyed
one another but for the wise craft of a leader who united them by
finding a common enemy? Now do not misunderstand me; no one more than
I realizes the awful sins of the Schismatic Popes, the terrible greed
of some of the powerful Churchmen, their criminal neglect of their
charges; no one realizes more that the people have wrongs that should
be righted. But I am sure it is for the good of the people that these
wrongs be righted from within the Church. The people have no better
friend than the Church. It has been the one Institution which has
sought out the individual, and asked of him only what service he could
render it. In its bosom it has held the divine spark of the equality
of man, and kept it there and protected it while the world was not yet
ready for it. It has nourished it until it will be a flame great enough
to light the torch of Freedom.
"We agree, save that you think the world is ripe for that spark, and I
know that it is not; loosed now, it will but scorch and sear; it is not
ready to illumine."
Annys had listened with profound earnestness to the impetuous words of
the great prelate; before he could respond, the speaker continued,
with a great light of enthusiasm in his face:--
"Think on the refrain which you know well. Con it when you are tempted
to think that the Church has done naught for the people:--
"'Had they (the priests) been out of religion,
They must have hanged at the plowe.
Threshing and diking fro towne to towne,
With sorrie meat, and not halfe ynowe.'
"What can that mean, save that the Church hath taken up into its bosom
the men who otherwise had no career save the plough? True, the time
has come when the Church once again needs to be drawn nearer to the
people--the people who all yearn for it and need it. Do not lead the
people away from it, lest in the end you destroy their faith and undo
them. The Church needs just such workers as thou; come to us and work
with us. Stand no longer without!"
At this appeal, the young poor priest suddenly roused himself.
"What? stand no longer without! work with you! with a Church whose head
hath launched bull after bull against my master and his teachings? Come
within a Church that sets the ruling of a man above the words of Holy
Writ? The chief article of my creed is that the Gospel suffices for
the salvation of Christians without the keeping of ceremonials and
statutes that have been made by sinful and unknowing men. What work has
Holy Church for me? Surely there are others who can mouth more glibly
than I the words of the Mass, and who are more deeply versed in the
labyrinths of canonical lore."
"What canst thou?" replied the Bishop, warmly, "everything! Once
within the Church, thou canst raise the authority of the Scriptures,
beat down the vicious barriers that exist between the people and the
prelates. Remember, one blow from within counts for ten from without.
Come within, and help me in my fight against foreigners who care naught
for the people who are their charge, foreigners who never deign to
approach these shores, save perchance to count the moneys that are
yielded from their sees." Then with a swift change his voice softened,
and there was a pathetic appeal in it. "I have fought hard for more
than thirty years," he pleaded. "I am worn in body and spirit; if I die
to-morrow without providing for a successor, doubtless all that I have
accomplished will be as naught. The old conditions in this diocese will
arise again. There are many priests and abbots--ay! and some higher
than they--who will click their heels gleefully over my grave. Come to
Ely and be its Archdeacon. I--nay!--the Church of Christ has need of
thee. Come!"
The poor priest was astounded. How could this be that the archdeaconate
of Ely should be offered to a poor priest, one of Wyclif's band, so
distrusted and hated by Rome?
"You, the Bishop of Ely, you offer me this? It is no jest?"
The Bishop smiled. "Well, I do not mind confessing that it was no
easy matter to bring about. Yet why should we go on permitting you
to take people away from the Church? I am persuaded that the people
need the Church as much as the Church needs the people. They have your
confidence; I want you to bring them back to the altar."
"But, Father, the instant I doff this russet gown and don the albe and
stole, that instant the people's confidence in me is gone."
"I cannot believe it has gone so far as that."
"Yea, I say it. It is too late to try to drag the people back. They
have grown weary of having fat and lazy priests prate to them, with
white hand on full belly, of patience and humility and duty to their
overlords. Why do the people believe in me? Why do they follow me?
Because they wot well that my meals are as uncertain as their own,
that my face is roughened by the same wind that roughens theirs.
Because I can look into their faces and say, 'I too have a-hungered, I
too have a-thirsted, I too have sweated in the fields.'"
The Bishop looked very old and tired. A sob rose suddenly in the poor
priest's throat. To his own surprise, suddenly he flung himself upon
his knees before the couch.
"Little thought I, Father, when I came here with defiance and distrust
in my heart, that I would fling myself on my knees before you; yet it
is true that I feel it as a great personal sorrow that I cannot both
stay with you and also answer the call of my master. But I cannot
desert my people. Where they turn up the soil, where they guide the
plough, where their tired backs bend, where the wind and the hail beat
down upon them in the fields, there is my place, and there I must go."
The Bishop's sensitive face quivered with emotion. He remained silent
an instant and then looked up into the young man's face. "Wilt promise
me one thing?"
"If I can, Father."
"Wilt preach the sermon in the Cathedral next Sunday?"
Annys hesitated an instant before he replied. "Only to give the
sermon," he stipulated.
"I shall celebrate the Mass myself. I would like you to give the sermon
just as you are. There will be a goodly number of people, and it is my
whim that you should be heard once from the pulpit. It will come with a
new authority. Besides," he added, with a twinkle in his eye, "I should
like to have some of our priests hear it. It might not be a bad thing
for the Nuncio himself."
And thus, before he departed, Robert Annys had given his promise to
deliver the sermon on the following Sunday at Ely.
The Bishop did not yet acknowledge himself defeated. Well he knew the
magnetism of the wonderful old church. Well he knew that men did not
preach before three thousand souls in Ely Minster and then lightly step
forth on their way again.
III
The following Sunday a great concourse of people flocked to the
Cathedral. There was much curiosity concerning the sermon of the
poor priest. Many who for years had been accustomed on the plea of
ill-health or old age to ask for a stave for support during the long
service, now passed by the doorkeeper oblivious of everything save
their desire to secure a good place in which to stand.
To begin with, sermons were growing infrequent. In some churches they
had fallen into complete disuse, and it had been necessary for the
"Father Bishops" to enjoin "upon all those that had under them the cure
of souls openly in English upon Sundays to preach and teach them that
they know God Almighty."
And even when there was a sermon, it frequently turned out to be upon
some light and immoral bit from Ovid or Boccaccio taken as a text,
while the people hungered for the words of the Gospel. Or perhaps some
formal schoolman would preach upon the seven works of mercy, or the
seven spiritual sins: "Pride--that lyking of office and high state,
Envy--that sorrowe at the syte of welefare and ioy, Anger--that wykkyde
stirrynge of herte, Gluttony--that lufe in taste of mete and drynke,
Covetousness, Sloth, and Lechery,"--to which last were always tacked on
for good measure,--"Fornication, Adultery, and Incest."
Holy Father! of what use was it to hear a description of these sins.
They were familiar enough to all. What they wanted was some hope and
comfort in their daily life, some counsel in their daily struggles,
some love to help them bear their daily burdens. And it was pretty
certain that the poor priest would give them that. When at last a
priest approached the altar and lit the tall wax candles, full three
thousand persons were glad that their patient wait was at an end.
The ringing of the great bells of the Cathedral and the breaking forth
of the organ into sound announced the arrival of the Bishop. The
stately procession appeared, blazing a sinuous path of light and color
through the dim spaces of the chancel. First came an acolyte bearing
the censer, followed by the cross-bearer carrying the great cross and
escorted on either side by boys with tall lighted tapers in their
hands. After them followed the entire body of clergy, the Bishop,
resplendent in his robes, leaning slightly upon the two assistant
deacons who accompanied him. In his left hand he held | 570.840453 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.8592200 | 772 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from The
Internet Archive.
Transcriber's notes:
1. This book is derived from the Web Archive,
http://www.archive.org/details/trumpeterskking00schegoog.
2. The oe diphthong is represented by [oe].
THE TRUMPETER OF SAeKKINGEN.
THE
THE TRUMPETER OF SAeKKINGEN
A Song from the Upper Rhine.
BY
JOSEPH VICTOR VON SCHEFFEL.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN BY
MRS. FRANCIS BRUeNNOW.
_Translation authorised by the Poet._
London:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
NEW YORK: SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO.
1877.
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS.
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
O Song, at home well known to fame,
That German hearts hath deeply stirred
And long hath made of Scheffel's name
A dear and honoured household word,
Go forth in thy first foreign dress,
Go forth to Albion's noble land!
Will she not greetings kind express,
And warmly clasp the stranger's hand?
The Emerald Isle will surely give
A welcome neither cold nor faint;
For on thy pages still doth live
The name of Erin's ancient Saint.
Across the sea my country's shores
As Hope's bright star before me rise;
Will she not open wide her doors
To one who on her heart relies?
Farewell, oh work of vanished hours;
When suffering rent my weary heart,
Thy breath of fragrant woodland flowers
Did life renew, fresh strength impart.
Oh Scheffel! may thy years be long!
And may'st thou live to see the time,
When this thy genial Schwarzwald song
Will find a home in every clime.
_Basel_, _June_, 1877.
CONTENTS.
DEDICATION
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION
PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION
PREFACE TO THE FIFTIETH EDITION
FIRST PART.
HOW YOUNG WERNER RODE INTO THE SCHWARZWALD
SECOND PART.
YOUNG WERNER WITH THE SCHWARZWALD PASTOR
THIRD PART.
ST. FRIDOLIN'S DAY
FOURTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER'S ADVENTURES ON THE RHINE
FIFTH PART.
THE BARON AND HIS DAUGHTER
SIXTH PART.
HOW YOUNG WERNER BECAME THE BARON'S TRUMPETER
SEVENTH PART.
THE EXCURSION TO THE MOUNTAIN LAKE
EIGHTH PART.
THE CONCERT IN THE GARDEN PAVILION
NINTH PART.
TEACHING AND LEARNING
TENTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER IN THE GNOME'S CAVE
ELEVENTH PART.
THE HAUENSTEIN RIOT
TWELFTH PART.
YOUNG WERNER AND MARGARETTA
THIRTEENTH PART.
WERNER SUES FOR MARGARETTA
FOURTEENTH PART.
THE BOOK OF SONGS
YOUNG WERNER'S | 570.87926 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.8609570 | 5,804 | 10 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Guerilla Chief
And other Tales
By Mayne Reid
Published by George Routledge and Sons Ltd. London.
This edition dated 1884.
The Guerilla Chief, by Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE GUERILLA CHIEF, BY MAYNE REID.
Story 1, Chapter I.
CERRO GORDO.
"_Agua! por amor Dios, agua--aguita_!" (Water! for the love of God, a
little water!)
I heard these words, as I lay in my tent, on the field of Cerro Gordo.
It was the night after the battle bearing this name--fought between the
American and Mexican armies in the month of April, 1847.
The routed regiments of Santa Anna--saving some four thousand men
captured upon the ground--had sought safety in flight, the greater body
taking the main road to Jalapa, pursued by our victorious troops; while
a large number, having sprawled down the almost perpendicular cliff that
overhangs the "Rio del Plan" escaped, unperceived and unpursued, into
the wild chapparals that cover the _piedmont_ of Perote.
Among these last was the _lame_ tyrant himself, or rather should I say,
_at their head leading the retreat_. This has always been his favourite
position at the close of a battle that has gone against him; and a score
of such defeats can be recorded.
I could have captured him on that day but for the cowardice of a colonel
who had command over me and mine. I alone, of all the American army,
saw Santa Anna making his escape from the field, and in such a direction
that I could without difficulty have intercepted his retreat. With the
strength of a corporal's guard, I could have taken both him and his
glittering staff; but even this number of men was denied me, and _nolens
volens_ was I constrained to forego the pleasure of taking prisoner this
truculent tyrant, and hanging him to the nearest tree, which, as God is
my judge, I should most certainly have done. Through the imbecility of
my superior officer, I lost the chance of a triumph calculated to have
given me considerable fame; while Mexico missed finding an avenger.
Strictly speaking, I was not _in_ the engagement of Cerro Gordo. My
orders on that day--or rather those of the spruce colonel who commanded
me--were to guard a battery of mountain howitzers, that had been dragged
to the top of the cliff overlooking El plan--not that already mentioned
as the field of battle, and which was occupied by the enemy, but the
equally precipitous height on the opposite side of the river.
From early daylight until the Mexicans gave way, we kept firing at them
across the stupendous chasm that lay between us, doing them no great
damage, unless they were frightened by the whizz of an occasional
rocket, which our artillerist, Ripley--now a second-rate Secesh
general--succeeded in sending into their midst.
As to ourselves and the battery, there was no more danger of either
being assaulted by the enemy than there was of our being whisked over
the cliff by the tail of a comet. There was not a Mexican soldier on
our side of the _barranca_; and as to any of them crossing over to us,
they could only have performed the feat in a balloon, or by making a
circuitous march of nearly a dozen miles.
For all this security, our stick-to-the-text colonel held close to the
little battery of howitzers; and would not have moved ten paces from it
to have accomplished the capture of the whole Mexican army.
Perfectly satisfied, from the "lights with which we had been furnished,"
that there was no danger to our battery, and chafing at the ill-luck
that had placed me so far away from the ground where laurels were
growing, and where others were in the act of reaping them, I lost all
interest in Ripley and his popguns; and straying along the summit of the
cliff, I sat me down upon its edge.
A yucca stood stiffly out from the brow of the precipice. It was the
tree-yucca, and a huge bole of bayonet-shaped leaves crowning its
corrugated trunk shaded a spot of grass-covered turf, on the very edge
of the escarpment.
Had I not scaled the Andes, I might have hesitated to trust myself under
the shadow of that tree. But a cliff, however sheer and stupendous,
could no longer cause a whirl in my brain; and to escape from the rays
of a tropical sun, at that moment in mid-heaven, I crept forward, caught
hold of the stem of the yucca, lowered my extremities, all booted and
spurred as they were, over the angle of the porphrytic rock, took a
Havana out of my case, drew a fusee across the steel-filings, and,
hanging ignited the cigar, I commenced watching the deadly strife then
raging in full fury on the opposite side of the ravine.
The prudent _nawab_, who preferred looking at a tiger-hunt out of a
two-storey window, or the spectator of a bull-fight in the upper tier of
a "plaza de toros," could not have been safer than I, since, without
running the slightest risk, I had a "bird's-eye view" of the battle.
I could see the steady advance of Worth's division of regulars,
supported by the fiery squadrons of Harney's Horse; the brigade of
Twiggs--that hoary-headed sexagenarian _bavard_, since distinguished as
the "traitor of Texas;" the close-lined and magnificently-mounted troop
of dragoons with horses of light grey, led by Phil Kearney--Kearney, the
accomplished gentleman--the best cavalry officer America ever produced;
the dashing, daring Phil Kearney, who, under my own eyes, lost his right
arm in the _garita_ of San Antonio de Abad; the lamented Phil. Kearney,
since become a victim to the accursed Secesh rebellion, or rather to the
mismanagement of that wooden-headed pretender whose stolid "strategy"
ignorance still continues to mistake for genius--McClellan.
I saw them, one and all, regulars and volunteers, horse and foot, move
at the "forward." I saw them advance towards the hill "El Telegrafo."
I saw them mending their pace to the double-quick, and break into a run
at the "charge!"
I could hear the charging signal and the cheer that succeeded it. I
could see the base of the hill suddenly empurpled with smoke--a belt of
conglomerate puffs rapidly merging into one another. I could perceive
the opposing puffs upon the summit, growing thinner and thinner, as the
blue mantle below _caped_ gradually up towards the shoulder of the
"cerro."
Then the smoke upon the summit became dissolved into translucent vapour;
the tricoloured Mexican flag flickered for a moment longer through its
film, until, as if by some invisible hand, it was dragged down the
staff; while at the same instant the banner of the stars and stripes
swept out upon the breeze, announcing the termination of the battle of
Cerro Gordo.
Story 1, Chapter II.
THE ESCAPE OF EL COJO.
Despite the chagrin I felt at being literally _hors de combat_, I could
not at this moment avoid surrendering myself to a feeling of exultation.
Both my chagrin and exultation were suddenly checked. A spectacle was
before my eyes that inspired me with a vivid hope--a dream of glory.
Like a string of white ants descending the side of one of their steepest
"hills," I perceived a long line moving down the face of the opposite
cliff. In the distance--a mile or more--they looked no larger than
_termites_. Like them, too, they were of whitish colour. For all that,
I knew they were men--soldiers in the cheap cotton uniforms of the
Mexican infantry.
Without any strain upon my powers of ratiocination, I divined that they
were fugitives from the field above, who, in their panic, had retreated
over the precipice--anywhere that promised to separate them from their
victorious foemen.
The moving line was not straight up and down the cliff, but zigzagged
along its face. I could tell there was a path.
At its lower end, and already down near the "plan" of the river (Plan
del Rio), I perceived a group of men, dressed in dark uniforms. There
were points on the more sombre background of their vestments that kept
constantly scintillating in the sun. These were gold or gilt buttons,
epaulettes, steel scabbards of sabres, or bands of lace.
It was easy to tell that the individuals thus adorned were officers,
notwithstanding the fact that, as officers, they were at the _wrong_ end
of the retreating line.
I carried a lorgnette, which I had already taken out of its case. I
directed it towards the opposite side of the ravine, upon the dark head
of that huge caterpillar sinuously descending the cliff.
I could distinguish the individuals of this group. One was receiving
attentions from the rest--even assistance. The Mexican Caesar was
easily recognised. His halting gait, as he descended the sloping path,
or swung himself from, ledge to ledge, betrayed the cork leg of _El
Cojo_.
A mule stood ready saddled at the bottom of the precipice. I saw Santa
Anna descend and approach it. I saw him, aided by others, mount in the
saddle. I saw him ride off, followed by a disordered crowd of
frightened fugitives, who, on reaching the chapparal, took to their
heels with the instinct of _sauve qui peut_.
I looked up the valley of the river. It was enclosed by precipitous
"bluffs," as far as the eye could reach; but on that side where we had
planted our battery--scarce a mile above our position--a line of black
heavy timber told me there was a lateral ravine leading outwards in the
direction of Orizava. The retreating troops of Santa Anna must either
find exit by this ravine, keep on up the stream, or risk running back
into the teeth of their pursuers on the opposite side of the river.
I hurried back to the battery, and reported what I had seen. I could
have made my colonel a general--a hero--had he been of the right stuff.
"'Tis an easy game, colonel; we have only to intercept them at the head
of yonder dark line of timber. We can be there before them!"
"Nonsense, captain! We have orders to guard this battery. We must not
leave it."
"May I take my own men?"
"No! not a man must be taken away from the guns."
"Give me fifty!"
"I cannot spare them."
"Give me twenty; I shall bring Santa Anna back here in less than an
hour."
"Impossible! There are thousands with him. We shall be lucky if they
don't turn this way. There are only three hundred of us, and there must
be over a thousand of them."
"You refuse to give me twenty men?"
"I can't spare a man. We may need them all, and more."
"I shall go alone."
I was half mad. The glory that might have been so easily won was placed
beyond my reach by this overcautious imbecile.
I was almost foolish enough to have flung myself over the cliff, or
rushed alone into the midst of the retreating foes.
I left the battery and walked slowly away out of sight of my superior.
I continued along the counterscarp of the cliff, until I had reached the
edge of the lateral ravine leading out from the river valley. I
crouched behind the thick tussocks of the zamias. I saw the retreating
tyrant, mounted on his mule, ride past, almost within range of my rifle
bullet! I saw a thousand men crowding closely after, so utterly routed
and demoralised that nothing could have induced them to stand another
shot. I was convinced that my original idea was in perfect
correspondence with the truth, and that with the help of a score of
determined men I could have made prisoners of the whole "ruck."
Instead of this triumph, my only achievement in the battle of Cerro
Gordo was to call my colonel a coward, for which I was afterwards
confined to close quarters, and only recovered the right to range abroad
on the eve of a subsequent battle, when it was thought that my sword
might be of more service than my condemnation by court-martial.
Of such a nature were my thoughts as I lay under canvas on the field of
Cerro Gordo on the night succeeding the battle.
"_Agua! por amor Dios, agua--aguita_!"
These words reaching my ear, and now a second time pronounced, broke in
upon the train of my reflections.
They were not the only sounds disturbing the tranquillity of that calm
tropic night. From other parts of the field, though in a different
direction and more distant, I could hear many voices speaking in a
similar strain, in tones of agonised appeal, low mutterings, mingled
with moanings, where some mutilated foeman was struggling in the throes
of death, and vainly calling for help that came not.
On that night, from the field of Cerro Gordo, many a soul soared upward
to eternity--many a brave man went to sleep with unclosed eyes, a sleep
from which he was never more to awaken.
In what remained of twilight after my arrival on the ground, I had
visited all the wounded within the immediate vicinity of my post--all
that I could find--for the field of battle was in reality a wood, or
rather a thicket; and no doubt there were many who escaped my
observation.
I had done what little was in the power of myself and a score of
companions--soldiers of my corps--to alleviate the distress of the
sufferers: for, although they were our enemies, we had not the slightest
feeling of hostility towards them. There had been such in the morning,
but it was gone ere the going down of the sun, leaving only compassion
in its place.
Yielding simply to the instincts of humanity, I had done my best in
binding up wounds, many of them that I knew to be mortal; and only when
worn out by fatigue, absolutely "done up," had I sought a tent, under
the shelter of which it was necessary I should pass the night.
It was after a long spell of sleep, extending into the mid-hours of the
night, that I was awakened from my slumbers, and gave way to the
reflections above detailed. It was then that I heard that earnest call
for water; it was then I heard the more distant voices, and mingled with
them the howling bark of the coyote, and the far more terrible baying of
the large Mexican wolf. In concert with such choristers, no wonder the
human voices were uttered in tones especially earnest and lugubrious.
"_Agua! par amor Dios, agua, aguita_!"
For the third time I listened to this piteous appeal. It surprised me a
little. I thought I had placed a vessel of water within the reach of
every one of the wounded wretches who lay near my tent. Had this
individual been overlooked?
Perhaps he had drunk what had been left him, and thirsted for more! In
any case, the earnest accents in which the solicitation was repeated,
told me that he was thirsting with a thirst that tortured him.
I waited for another, the fourth repetition of the melancholy cry. Once
more I heard it.
This time I had listened with more attention. I could perceive in the
pronunciation a certain provincialism, which proclaimed the speaker a
peasant, but one of a special class. The _por amor Dios_, instead of
being drawled out in the whine of the regular alms-asker, was short and
slurred. It fell upon the ear as if the _a_ in _amor_ was omitted, and
also the initial letter in _aguita_. The phrase ran:--"_Agua! por'mor
Dios, 'gua, aguita_!"
I recognised in those abbreviations the _patois_ of a peculiar people,
the denizens of the coast of Vera Cruz, and the _tierra caliente_--the
_Jarochos_.
The sufferer did not appear to be at any great distance from my tent--
perhaps a hundred paces, or two hundred at most. I could no longer lend
a deaf ear to his outcries.
I started up from my _catre_--a camp-bedstead, which my tent contained--
groped, and found my canteen, not forgetting the brandy-flask, and,
sallying forth into the night, commenced making my way towards the spot
where I might expect to find the utterer of the earnest appeal.
Story 1, Chapter III.
THE MENACE OF A MONSTER.
The tent I was leaving stood in the centre of a circumscribed clearing.
Ten paces from its front commenced the _chapparal_--a thicket of thorny
shrubs, consisting of acacia, cactus, the agave, yuccas, and copaiva
trees, mingled and linked together by lianas and vines of smilax,
sarsaparilla, jalap, and the climbing bromelias. There was no path save
that made by wild animals--the timid Mexican mazame and its pursuer, the
cunning coyote.
One of these paths I followed.
Its windings soon led me astray. Though the moon was shining in a
cloudless sky, I was soon in such a maze that I could neither tell the
direction of the tent I had left behind, nor that of the sufferer I had
sallied out in search of.
In sight there was no object to guide me. I paused in my steps, and
listened for a sound.
For some seconds there was a profound silence, unbroken even by the
groans of the wounded, some of whose voices were, perhaps, now silent in
death. The wolves, too, had suspended their hideous howlings, as though
their quest for prey had ended, and they were busily banqueting on the
dead.
The stillness produced a painful effect, even more than the melancholy
sounds that had preceded it I almost longed for their renewal.
A short while only did this irksome silence continue. It was terminated
by the voice I had before heard, this time in the utterance of a
different speech.
"_Soy moriendo! Lola--Lolita! a ver te nunca mas en este mundo_!" (I
am dying, Dolores--dear Dolores! never more shall I see you in this
world!)
"_Nunca mas en este mundo_!" came the words rapidly re-pronounced, but
in a voice of such different intonation as to preclude the possibility
of mistaking it either for an echo or repetition by the same speaker.
"No, never!" continued the second voice, in the same tone, and in a
similar _patois_. "Never again shall you look upon Lola--you, Calros
Vergara, who have kept me from becoming her husband; who have poisoned
her mind against me--"
"Ah! it is you, Rayas! What has brought you hither? Is it to torture a
dying man?"
"_Carajo_! I didn't come to do anything of the kind. I came to assure
myself that you _were_ dying--that's all. Vicente Vilagos, who has
escaped from this ugly affair, has just told me you'd got a bit of lead
through your body. I've sought you here to make sure that your wound
was fatal--as he said it was."
"_Santissima_! O Ramon Rayas! that is your errand?"
"You mistake--I have another: else I shouldn't have risked falling into
the hands of those damnable _Americanos_, who might take a fancy to send
one of their infernal bullets through my own carcass."
"What other errand? What want you with me? I am sore wounded--I
believe I am dying."
"First, as I've told you--to make sure that you _are_ dying; and
secondly, if that be the case, to learn before you _do_ die, what you
have done with Lola."
"Never. Dead or living, you shall not know from me. Go, go! _por amor
Dios_! do not torment a poor wretch in his last moments."
"Bah! Calros Vergara, listen to reason. Remember, we were boys
together--scourged in the same school. Your time's up; you can't
protect Lola any more. Why hinder me--I who love her as my own life?
I'm not so bad as people say, though I am accused of an inclination for
the _road_. That's the fault of the bad government we've got. Come!
don't leave the world like a fool; and Lola without a protector. Tell
me where you've hidden her--tell me that, and the n--"
"No! no! Leave me, Rayas! leave me! If I am to die, let me die in
peace."
"You won't tell me?"
"No--no--"
"Never mind, then; I'll find out in time, and no thanks to you. So, go
to the devil, and carry your secret along with you. If Lola be anywhere
within the four corners of Mexico, I'll track her up. She don't escape
from Rayas the _salteadur_!"
I could hear a rustling among the hushes: as if the last speaker, having
delivered his _ultimatum_, was taking his departure from the spot.
Suddenly the sound ceased; and the voice once more echoed in my ear--
"Carrambo!" exclaimed the man now known to me as Ramon Rayas, "I was
going away without having accomplished the best half of my errand!
Didn't I come to make certain that your wound was mortal? Let's see if
that _picaro_ Vilagos has been telling me the truth. Through what part
of the body are you perforated?"
There was no reply; but from certain indications I could tell that the
_salteador_ had approached the prostrate man, and was stooping down to
examine his wounds.
I made a movement forward in the direction in which I had heard the
strange dialogue; but checked myself on again hearing the voice of
Rayas.
"_Carajo_!" ejaculated he, in a tone that betokened some discovery, at
the same time one causing disappointment. "That wound of yours is not
mortal--not a bit of it! You may recover from it, if--"
"You think I have a chance to recover?" eagerly interrogated the wounded
man--willing to clutch at hope, even when offered by an enemy.
"_Think_ you have a chance to recover? I'm _sure_ of it. The bullet
has passed through your thigh--what of that? It's only a flesh wound.
The great artery is not touched. That I'm sure about, or you'd have
bled to death long ago. The bone is not broken: else you could no more
lift your foot in that fashion, than you could kick yonder _cofre_ from
the top of Perote. _Carrambo_! you'd be sure to get over it, if--"
There was an interval of silence, as though the speaker hesitated to
pronounce the condition implied by that "if." The peculiar emphasis,
placed on the monosyllabic word, told me that he was making pause for a
purpose.
"If what, Capitan Rayas?"
The interrogatory came from the wounded man, in a tone trembling between
hope and doubt.
"If," answered the other, and with emphatic pronunciation,--"_if you
tell me where you have hidden Dolores_."
There was a groan; and then in a quivering voice came the rejoinder.
"How could that affect my recovery? If I am to die, it could not save
me. If it be my fate to survive this sad day--"
"It is _not_," interrupted the _salteador_, in a firm, loud voice. "No!
This day you must die--this hour--this moment, unless you reveal to me
that secret you have so carefully kept. Where is Dolores?"
"Never! Rather shall I die than that she should fall into the power of
such a remorseless villain. After that threat, O God!--"
"Die, then! and go to the God you are calling upon. Die, Calros
Vergara--!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
During the latter part of this singular dialogue, I had been worming
myself through the devious alleys of the thicket, and gradually drawing
nearer to the speakers. Just as the "Die, then!" reached my ears, I
caught sight of the man who had pronounced the terrible menace--as well
as of him to whom it was addressed.
Both were upon the other side of the little opening into which I had
entered, the latter lying prostrate upon the grass; the former bending
over him, with right arm upraised, and a long blade glittering in his
grasp.
At the sight my sword leaped from its sheath, and I was about to rush
forward; when, on calculating the distance across the glade, I perceived
I should be too late.
Quick as the thought I changed my weapon, dropping the sword at my feet,
and drawing my revolver | 570.880997 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.9150660 | 2,412 | 103 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist 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)
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 6
[Illustration: CUMBERLAND GAP AND BOONE'S WILDERNESS ROAD]
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 6
Boone's Wilderness Road
BY
ARCHER BUTLER HULBERT
_With Maps and Illustrations_
[Illustration]
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
CLEVELAND, OHIO
1903
COPYRIGHT, 1903
BY
THE ARTHUR H. CLARK COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 11
I. THE PILGRIMS OF THE WEST 19
II. THE FIRST EXPLORERS 48
III. ANNALS OF THE ROAD 78
IV. KENTUCKY IN THE REVOLUTION 145
V. AT THE END OF BOONE'S ROAD 175
ILLUSTRATIONS
I. CUMBERLAND GAP AND BOONE'S WILDERNESS ROAD _Frontispiece_
II. PLAT OF BOONESBOROUGH 97
III. FILSON'S MAP OF KENTUCKY 119
PREFACE
The naming of our highways is an interesting study. Like roads the world
over they are usually known by two names--the destinations to which they
lead. The famous highway through New York state is known as the Genesee
Road in the eastern half of the state and as the Albany Road in the
western portion. In a number of cities through which it passes--Utica,
Syracuse, etc.--it is Genesee Street. This path in the olden time was
the great road to the famed Genesee country. The old Forbes Road across
Pennsylvania soon lost its earliest name; but it is preserved at its
termination, for the Pittsburger of today goes to the Carnegie Library
on the "Forbes Street" car line. The Maysville Pike--as unknown today as
it was of national prominence three quarters of a century ago--leading
across Ohio from Wheeling to Maysville (Limestone) and on to Lexington,
is known in Kentucky as the Zanesville Pike; from that city in Ohio the
road branched off from the old National Road. The "Glade Road" was the
important branch of the Pennsylvania or Pittsburg Road which led through
the Glades of the Alleghenies to the Youghiogheny. One of the most
singular names for a road was that of the "Shun Pike" between Watertown
and Erie, in northwestern Pennsylvania. The large traffic over the old
"French Road"--Marin's Portage Road--between these points on Lake Erie
and French Creek necessitated, early in the nineteenth century, a good
road-bed. Accordingly a road company took hold of the route and improved
it--placing toll gates on it for recompensation. Those who refused to
pay toll broke open a parallel route nearby, which was as free as it was
rough. It became known as the "Shun" Pike because those who traversed it
shunned the toll road.
Few roads named from their builders, such as Braddock, Forbes, Bouquet,
Wayne, Ebenezer Zane, Marin, and Boone preserved the oldtime name.
Indeed nearly all our roads have lost the ancient name, a fact that
should be sincerely mourned. The Black Swamp has been drained, therefore
there can be now no "Black Swamp Road." There are now no refugees and
the "Refugees Road" is lost not only to sight but to the memory of most.
Perhaps there is but one road in the central West which is commonly
known and called by the old Indian name; this is the "Tuscarawas Path,"
a modern highway in Eastern Ohio which was widened and made a white
man's road by the first white army that ever crossed the Ohio River into
what is now the State of Ohio.
One roadway--the Wilderness Road to Kentucky from Virginia and
Tennessee, the longest, blackest, hardest road of pioneer days in
America--holds the oldtime name with undiminished loyalty and is true
today to every gloomy description and vile epithet that was ever written
or spoken of it. It was broken open for white man's use by Daniel Boone
from the Watauga settlement on the Holston River, Tennessee, to the
mouth of Otter Creek on the Kentucky River in the month preceding the
outbreak of open revolution at Lexington and Concord. It was known as
"Boone's Trail," the "Kentucky Road," the "road to Caintuck," or the
"Virginia Road," but its common name was the "Wilderness Road." A
wilderness of laurel thickets lay between the Kentucky settlements and
Cumberland Gap and was the most desolate country imaginable. The name
was transferred to the road that passed through it. It seems right that
the brave frontiersman who opened this route to white men should be
remembered by this act; and for a title to this volume "Boone's
Wilderness Road" has been selected.
As in the case of other highways with which this series of monographs is
dealing, so with Boone's Wilderness Road: the road itself is of little
consequence. The following pages treat of phases of the story of the
West suggested by Boone's Road--the first social movement into the lower
Ohio Valley, Henderson's Transylvania Company, the struggle of the
Watauga settlement to prevent the southern Indians from cutting Kentucky
off from the world, the struggle of the Kentucky settlements against
the British and their Indian allies, the burst of population over
Boone's Road into Kentucky, and what the early founding of that
commonwealth meant to the East and to the West.
Boone and Harrod and their compatriots assured the world of the splendid
lands of Kentucky; Richard Henderson and his associates of the
Transylvania Company proved the questionable fact that a settlement
there could be made and be maintained. Boone's Road, opened for the
Transylvania Company, made a way thither. The result was a marvelous
westward movement that for timeliness, heroism and ultimate success is
without a parallel in our annals. When the armies of the Revolutionary
War are counted, that first army of twenty-five thousand men, women, and
children which hurried over Boone's little path, through dark Powell's
Valley, over the "high-swung gateway" of Cumberland Gap, and down
through the laurel wildernesses to Crab Orchard, Danville, Lexington,
and Louisville must not be forgotten. No army ever meant so much to the
West; some did not mean more to the East.
The author is greatly indebted for facts and figures to Thomas Speed's
invaluable study _The Wilderness Road_, and to other Filson Club
Publications, and for inspiration and suggestion to Mr. Allen's _The
Blue Grass Region of Kentucky_.
A. B. H.
Marietta, Ohio, May 20, 1903.
Boone's Wilderness Road
_It is impossible to come upon this road without pausing,
or to write of it without a tribute._
--JAMES LANE ALLEN.
CHAPTER I
THE PILGRIMS OF THE WEST
No English colony in America looked upon the central West with such
jealous eye as Virginia. The beautiful valley of the _Oyo_--the Indian
exclamation for "Beautiful"--which ran southwesterly through the great
forests of the continent's interior was early claimed as the sole
possession of the Virginians. The other colonies were hemmed in by
prescribed boundary lines, definitely outlined in their royal charters.
New York was bounded by Lake Erie and the Allegheny and thought little
of the West. The Pennsylvanian colony was definitely bounded by the line
which is the western boundary line of that commonwealth today.
Carolina's extremity stopped at thirty-six degrees and thirty minutes.
Virginia's western boundary was not defined; hence the West was hers.
England herself was not at all sure of the West until after the fall of
Quebec; but the Treaty of Paris was soon signed and, so far as the
French were concerned, the colonies extended to the Mississippi. Then
Pontiac's bloody war broke out and matters were at a standstill until
Bouquet hewed his way into "the heart of the enemies' country" and, on
the Muskingum, brought Pontiac's desperate allies, the Delawares and
Shawanese, to terms.
But now, when the West was his, the king of England did a wondrous
thing. He issued a proclamation in the year 1763 which forbade anyone
securing "patents for any lands beyond the heads or sources of any of
the rivers which fall into the Atlantic Ocean from the West or
Northwest!" Thus Lord Hillsborough, British Secretary for the Colonies,
thought to checkmate what he called the "roving disposition" of the
colonists, particularly the Virginians. The other colonies were
restrained by definite boundaries; Virginia, too, should be restrained.
Hillsborough might as well have adopted the plan of the ignoramus who,
when methods for keeping the Indians from crossing the frontier were
being discussed, suggested that a strip of land along the entire western
frontier be cleared of trees and bushes, in the belief that the savages
would not dare to cross the open! Yet the secretary's agent set to work
to mark out a western boundary line which should connect the western
lines of Georgia and New York and so accomplish the limitation of
Virginia.
But the Virginians also acted. They sent an agent of their own, Thomas
Walker, to Fort Stanwix (Rome, New York) to treat with the Six Nations
for some of this very western land that Hillsborough was contriving to
keep them out of. For the king issued the proclamation in the interest
of the western Indians (and the annuities he received when the fur trade
was prosperous) who desired that the West should be preserved to them.
But what could be said if Virginia purchased the Indian's claim? Could a
king's proclamation keep the Virginians from a territory to which, for
value received, the Indians had given a quit-claim deed?
This famous Treaty of Fort Stanwix was held in the fall of 1768. Three
thousand Indians were present. Presents were lavished upon the
chieftains. The western boundary line crossed from the west branch of
the Susquehanna to Kittanning on the Allegheny River; it followed the
Allegheny and Ohio Rivers southwest to the mouth of the Great Kanawha.
Here it met Hillsborough's line which came up from Florida and which
made the Great Kanawha the western boundary of Virginia. Had the Fort
Stanwix line stopped here the western boundary line of the colonies
would have been as Lord Hillsborough desired. But Walker did not pause
here. Sir | 570.935106 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.9227680 | 336 | 16 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores: _italics_.
The Story of a Confederate Boy in the Civil War
By
David E. Johnston
_of the 7th Virginia Infantry Regiment_
Author of "Middle New River Settlements"
With Introduction by
Rev. C. E. Cline, D.D.
A Methodist Minister and Chaplain of the
Military Order of the Loyal Legion, U.S.A.
COPYRIGHT, 1914
BY
DAVID E. JOHNSTON
PUBLISHED BY
GLASS & PRUDHOMME COMPANY
PORTLAND, OREGON
Preface
Some twenty-eight years ago I wrote and published a small book
recounting my personal experiences in the Civil War, but this book is
long out of print, and the publication exhausted. At the urgent request
of some of my old comrades who still survive, and of friends and my own
family, I have undertaken the task of rewriting and publishing this
story.
As stated in the preface to the former volume, the principal object of
this work is to record, largely from memory, and after the lapse of
many years (now nearly half a century) since the termination of the
war between the states of the Federal Union, the history | 570.942808 |
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Produced by David Widger
AMONA; THE CHILD; AND THE BEAST
Plus THE SNAKE AND THE BELL and SOUTH SEA NOTES
From "The Strange Adventure Of James Shervinton and Other Stories"
By Louis Becke
T. FISHER UNWIN, 1902
LONDON
AMONA; THE CHILD; AND THE BEAST'
Amona was, as his master so frequently told him--accentuating the remark
with a blow or a kick--only "a miserable kanaka." Of his miserableness
there was no doubt, for Denison, who lived in the same house as he did,
was a daily witness of it--and his happiness. Also, he was a kanaka--a
native of Niue, in the South Pacific; Savage Island it is called by the
traders and is named on the charts, though its five thousand sturdy,
brown-skinned inhabitants have been civilised, Christianised, and have
lived fairly cleanly for the past thirty years.
Amona and Denison had the distinction of being employed by Armitage, one
of the most unmitigated blackguards in the Pacific. He was a shipowner,
planter, merchant, and speculator; | 570.942881 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.9247410 | 3,328 | 14 |
Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers
STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS
ORIENT
CONTENTS:
THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, Rudyard Kipling
TAJIMA, Miss Mitford
A CHINESE GIRL GRADUATE, R. K. Douglas
THE REVENGE OF HER RACE, Mary Beaumont
KING BILLY OF BALLARAT, Morley Roberts
THY HEART'S DESIRE, Netta Syrett
THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, By Rudyard Kipling
Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found
worthy
The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of life, and one not
easy to follow. I have been fellow to a beggar again and again under
circumstances which prevented either of us finding out whether the other
was worthy. I have still to be brother to a Prince, though I once came
near to kinship with what might have been a veritable King, and was
promised the reversion of a Kingdom--army, law-courts, revenue, and
policy all complete. But, to-day, I greatly fear that my King is dead,
and if I want a crown I must go hunt it for myself.
The beginning of everything was in a railway-train upon the road to Mhow
from Ajmir. There had been a Deficit in the Budget, which necessitated
travelling, not Second-class, which is only half as dear as First-Class,
but by Intermediate, which is very awful indeed. There are no cushions
in the Intermediate class, and the population are either Intermediate,
which is Eurasian, or native, which for a long night journey is nasty,
or Loafer, which is amusing though intoxicated. Intermediates do not buy
from refreshment-rooms. They carry their food in bundles and pots, and
buy sweets from the native sweetmeat-sellers, and drink the roadside
water. This is why in hot weather Intermediates are taken out of the
carriages dead, and in all weathers are most properly looked down upon.
My particular Intermediate happened to be empty till I reached
Nasirabad, when the big black-browed gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered,
and, following the custom of Intermediates, passed the time of day. He
was a wanderer and a vagabond like myself, but with an educated
taste for whisky. He told tales of things he had seen and done, of
out-of-the-way corners of the Empire into which he had penetrated, and
of adventures in which he risked his life for a few days' food.
"If India was filled with men like you and me, not knowing more than
the crows where they'd get their next day's rations, it isn't seventy
millions of revenue the land would be paying--it's seven hundred
millions," said he; and as I looked at his mouth and chin I was disposed
to agree with him.
We talked politics,--the politics of Loaferdom that sees things from
the under side where the lath and plaster is not smoothed off,--and we
talked postal arrangements because my friend wanted to send a telegram
back from the next station to Ajmir, the turning-off place from the
Bombay to the Mhow line as you travel westward. My friend had no money
beyond eight annas which he wanted for dinner, and I had no money at
all, owing to the hitch in the Budget before mentioned. Further, I was
going into a wilderness where, though I should resume touch with the
Treasury, there were no telegraph offices. I was, therefore, unable to
help him in any way.
"We might threaten a Station-master, and make him send a wire on tick,"
said my friend, "but that'd mean inquiries for you and for me, and
_I_'ve got my hands full these days. Did you say you were travelling
back along this line within any days?"
"Within ten," I said.
"Can't you make it eight?" said he. "Mine is rather urgent business."
"I can send your telegrams within ten days if that will serve you," I
said.
"I couldn't trust the wire to fetch him, now I think of it. It's this
way. He leaves Delhi on the 23rd for Bombay. That means he'll be running
through Ajmir about the night of the 23rd."
"But I'm going into the Indian Desert," I explained.
"Well _and_ good," said he. "You'll be changing at Marwar Junction to
get into Jodhpore territory,--you must do that,--and he'll be coming
through Marwar Junction in the early morning of the 24th by the
Bombay Mail. Can you be at Marwar Junction on that time? 'T won't be
inconveniencing you, because I know that there's precious few pickings
to be got out of these Central India States--even though you pretend to
be correspondent of the 'Backwoodsman.'"
"Have you ever tried that trick?" I asked.
"Again and again, but the Residents find you out, and then you get
escorted to the Border before you've time to get your knife into them.
But about my friend here. I _must_ give him a word o' mouth to tell him
what's come to me, or else he won't know where to go. I would take it
more than kind of you if you was to come out of Central India in time to
catch him at Marwar Junction, and say to him, 'He has gone South for the
week.' He'll know what that means. He's a big man with a red beard, and
a great swell he is. You'll find him sleeping like a gentleman with
all his luggage round him in a Second-class apartment. But don't you be
afraid. Slip down the window and say, 'He has gone South for the week,'
and he'll tumble. It's only cutting your time of stay in those parts
by two days. I ask you as a stranger--going to the West," he said, with
emphasis.
"Where have _you_ come from?" said I.
"From the East," said he, "and I am hoping that you will give him the
message on the Square--for the sake of my Mother as well as your own."
Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals to the memory of their
mothers; but for certain reasons, which will be fully apparent, I saw
fit to agree.
"It's more than a little matter," said he, "and that's why I asked
you to do it--and now I know that I can depend on you doing it. A
Second-class carriage at Marwar Junction, and a red-haired man asleep
in it. You'll be sure to remember. I get out at the next station, and I
must hold on there till he comes or sends me what I want."
"I'll give the message if I catch him," I said, "and for the sake of
your Mother as well as mine I'll give you a word of advice. Don't try
to run the Central India States just now as the correspondent of the
'Backwoodsman.' There's a real one knocking about here, and it might
lead to trouble."
"Thank you," said he, simply; "and when will the swine be gone? I
can't starve because he's ruining my work. I wanted to get hold of the
Degumber Rajah down here about his father's widow, and give him a jump."
"What did he do to his father's widow, then?"
"Filled her up with red pepper and slippered her to death as she hung
from a beam. I found that out myself, and I'm the only man that would
dare going into the State to get hush-money for it. They'll try to
poison me, same as they did in Chortumna when I went on the loot there.
But you'll give the man at Marwar Junction my message?"
He got out at a little roadside station, and I reflected. I had heard,
more than once, of men personating correspondents of newspapers and
bleeding small Native States with threats of exposure, but I had never
met any of the caste before. They lead a hard life, and generally die
with great suddenness. The Native States have a wholesome horror of
English newspapers, which may throw light on their peculiar methods of
government, and do their best to choke correspondents with champagne,
or drive them out of their mind with four-in-hand barouches. They do not
understand that nobody cares a straw for the internal administration
of Native States so long as oppression and crime are kept within decent
limits, and the ruler is not drugged, drunk, or diseased from one end
of the year to the other. They are the dark places of the earth, full
of unimaginable cruelty, touching the Railway and the Telegraph on one
side, and, on the other, the days of Harun-al-Raschid. When I left the
train I did business with divers Kings, and in eight days passed through
many changes of life. Sometimes I wore dress-clothes and consorted with
Princes and Politicals, drinking from crystal and eating from silver.
Sometimes I lay out upon the ground and devoured what I could get, from
a plate made of leaves, and drank the running water, and slept under the
same rug as my servant. It was all in the day's work.
Then I headed for the Great Indian Desert upon the proper date, as I
had promised, and the night Mail set me down at Marwar Junction, where
a funny little, happy-go-lucky, native-managed railway runs to Jodhpore.
The Bombay Mail from Delhi makes a short halt at Marwar. She arrived
just as I got in, and I had just time to hurry to her platform and go
down the carriages. There was only one Second-class on the train.
I slipped the window and looked down upon a flaming-red beard, half
covered by a railway-rug. That was my man, fast asleep, and I dug him
gently in the ribs. He woke with a grunt, and I saw his face in the
light of the lamps. It was a great and shining face.
"Tickets again?" said he.
"No," said I. "I am to tell you that he is gone South for the week. He
has gone South for the week!"
The train had begun to move out. The red man rubbed his eyes. "He
has gone South for the week," he repeated. "Now that's just like his
impidence. Did he say that I was to give you anything? 'Cause I won't."
"He didn't," I said, and dropped away, and watched the red lights die
out in the dark. It was horribly cold because the wind was blowing off
the sands. I climbed into my own train--not an Intermediate carriage
this time--and went to sleep.
If the man with the beard had given me a rupee I should have kept it as
a memento of a rather curious affair. But the consciousness of having
done my duty was my only reward.
Later on I reflected that two gentlemen like my friends could not do any
good if they foregathered and personated correspondents of newspapers,
and might, if they blackmailed one of the little rat-trap States
of Central India or Southern Rajputana, get themselves into serious
difficulties. I therefore took some trouble to describe them as
accurately as I could remember to people who would be interested in
deporting them; and succeeded, so I was later informed, in having them
headed back from the Degumber borders.
Then I became respectable, and returned to an office where there were no
Kings and no incidents outside the daily manufacture of a newspaper. A
newspaper office seems to attract every conceivable sort of person, to
the prejudice of discipline. Zenana-mission ladies arrive, and beg that
the Editor will instantly abandon all his duties to describe a Christian
prize-giving in a back slum of a perfectly inaccessible village;
Colonels who have been overpassed for command sit down and sketch the
outline of a series of ten, twelve, or twenty-four leading articles on
Seniority _versus_ Selection; missionaries wish to know why they have
not been permitted to escape from their regular vehicles of abuse, and
swear at a brother missionary under special patronage of the editorial
We; stranded theatrical companies troop up to explain that they cannot
pay for their advertisements, but on their return from New Zealand
or Tahiti will do so with interest; inventors of patent punka-pulling
machines, carriage couplings, and unbreakable swords and axletrees call
with specifications in their pockets and hours at their disposal; tea
companies enter and elaborate their prospectuses with the office pens;
secretaries of ball committees clamour to have the glories of their last
dance more fully described; strange ladies rustle in and say, "I want
a hundred lady's cards printed _at once_, please," which is manifestly
part of an Editor's duty; and every dissolute ruffian that ever tramped
the Grand Trunk Road makes it his business to ask for employment as a
proof-reader. And, all the time, the telephone-bell is ringing madly,
and Kings are being killed on the Continent, and Empires are saying,
"You're another," and Mister Gladstone is calling down brimstone upon
the British Dominions, and the little black copyboys are whining,
"_kaa-pi chay-ha-yeh_" ("Copy wanted"), like tired bees, and most of the
paper is as blank as Modred's shield.
But that is the amusing part of the year. There are six other months
when none ever come to call, and the thermometer walks inch by inch
up to the top of the glass, and the office is darkened to just above
reading-light, and the press-machines are red-hot to touch, and nobody
writes anything but accounts of amusements in the Hill-stations or
obituary notices. Then the telephone becomes a tinkling terror, because
it tells you of the sudden deaths of men and women that you knew
intimately, and the prickly heat covers you with a garment, and you
sit down and write: "A slight increase of sickness is reported from
the Khuda Janta Khan District. The outbreak is purely sporadic in
its nature, and, thanks to the energetic efforts of the District
authorities, is now almost at an end. It is, however, with deep regret
we record the death," etc.
Then the sickness really breaks out, and the less recording and
reporting the better for the peace of the subscribers. But the Empires
and the Kings continue to divert themselves as selfishly as before, and
the Foreman thinks that a daily paper really ought to come out once in
twenty-four hours, and all the people at the Hill-stations in the
middle of their amusements say, "Good gracious! why can't the paper be
sparkling? I'm sure there's plenty going on up here."
That is the dark half of the moon, and, as the advertisements say, "must
be experienced to be appreciated."
It was in that season, and a remarkably evil season, that the paper
began | 570.944781 |
2023-11-16 18:26:34.9250000 | 496 | 69 |
Produced by V-M Osterman, Juliet Sutherland, Veronique Durand and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
NATALIE;
or,
A GEM AMONG THE SEA-WEEDS
By
FERNA VALE.
1859.
To thee, my darling Hattie, I dedicate the Sea-Flower
would that this casket contained for such as thou,
a purer gem.
PREFACE.
In writing the following pages the author has spent pleasant hours,
which perhaps might have been less profitably employed: if anything of
interest be found among them, it is well,--and, should any be led to
take up their Cross in meekness and humility, searching out the path
that leads the wanderer home, it is indeed well.
NATALIE.
CHAPTER I.
THE SEA-FLOWER.
"What was it that I loved so well about my childhood's home?
It was the wide and wave-lashed shore, the black rocks crowned with foam!
It was the sea-gull's flapping wing, all trackless in its flight,
Its screaming note, that welcomed on the fierce and stormy night!
The wild heath had its flowers and moss, the forest had its trees,
Which, bending to the evening wind, made music in the breeze;
But earth,--ha! ha! I laugh e'en now,--earth had no charms for me,
Nor scene half bright enough to win my young heart from the sea.
No! 't was the ocean, vast and deep, the fathomless, the free,--
The mighty rushing waters, that were ever dear to me!"
ELIZA COOK.
"But the goodly pearl which the merchant bought,
And for which his all he gave,
Was a purer pearl than will e'er be brought
From under the FOAMING wave."
H. F. GOULD.
"Massa Grobener! Massa Grobener! Please, sar, look here! De good Lord
hab left his mitest ob angels here on de beach; and please, sar, step
low or de wee bit will take to its wings and fly away. De good Lord be
praised! but old Bingo hab found many a bright sea-weed in his day, but
dis am de | 570.94504 |
2023-11-16 18:26:35.0200250 | 7,384 | 12 |
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THE ARCHITECTURE
OF
PROVENCE AND THE RIVIERA
_Printed by George Waterston & Sons_
FOR
DAVID DOUGLAS, EDINBURGH.
LONDON HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO.
CAMBRIDGE MACMILLAN AND BOWES.
GLASGOW JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS.
THE ARCHITECTURE OF
PROVENCE
AND
THE RIVIERA
BY
DAVID MACGIBBON
AUTHOR OF “THE CASTELLATED AND DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE OF SCOTLAND.”
[Illustration]
EDINBURGH: DAVID DOUGLAS
1888.
[_All rights reserved._]
PREFACE.
Having been called on, a few years ago, to make frequent journeys
between this country and the Riviera, the author was greatly impressed
with the extraordinary variety and abundance of the ancient
architectural monuments of Provence. This country was found to contain
not only special styles of Mediæval Art peculiar to itself, but likewise
an epitome of all the styles which have prevailed in Southern Europe
from the time of the Romans. It proved to be especially prolific in
examples of Roman Art from the age of Augustus till the fall of the
Empire. It also comprises a valuable series of buildings illustrative of
the transition from Classic to Mediæval times. These are succeeded by a
rich and florid development of Romanesque, accompanied by a plain style
which existed parallel with it--both being peculiar to this locality.
The remains of the Castellated Architecture are also especially grand
and well preserved; while the picturesque towns, monasteries, and other
structures of the Riviera have a peculiar charm and attraction of their
own.
These Architectural treasures being comparatively unknown, it is
believed that a popular work bringing their leading features into notice
will be not unacceptable to all lovers of architecture as well as to the
numerous visitors to the south of France, and may be of use in directing
attention to a most interesting department which has hitherto been to a
great extent overlooked.
A proper history of Provence has unfortunately not yet been written. A
short account, derived from various sources, of the state of the country
from early times and during the Middle Ages is therefore prefixed to the
description of the Monuments, so as to explain the historical conditions
under which the Architecture of Provence was developed, and to show its
connection with that of other countries and times.
The author has to acknowledge the valuable aid he has received from the
excellent notes on the Architecture of the country by Prosper Mérimée in
his “Voyage dans les Midi de la France” (1835),--a work which, even at
the early date of its publication, anticipated many of the results more
recently arrived at.
The comprehensive and invaluable “Dictionnaire Raisonné” of
Viollet-le-Duc has also been of much service, and is frequently referred
to.
Most of the illustrations are from drawings and measurements made by the
author on the spot, and these generally bear his initials. But where
thought advisable for fuller illustration some of the drawings are taken
from photographs; from Henry Révoil’s beautiful work on the
“Architecture Romane du Midi de la France” (1873); and a few from other
sources as mentioned in the text.
Special thanks are due to Professor Baldwin Brown for his kindness in
revising the proof sheets, and for the valuable suggestions he has made.
EDINBURGH, _October 1888_.
ERRATA.
Page vi. line 11 from bottom, _for_ “les” _read_ “le”
“ 5, “ 10 “ top, “ “two thousand” “ “three thousand.”
“ 27, “ 1 “ “ no (
“ 36, “ 7 “ bottom, _for_ “Carée” “ “Carrée.”
“ 93, “ 12 “ “ “ “Dioeletian” “ “Diocletian.”
“ 126, “ 4 “ “ “ “length” “ “width.”
“ 128, Title, Fig. 41, “ “FETES” “ “TETES.”
“ 147, line 7 from bottom, “ “apartmnts” “ “apartments.”
“ 194, Title of Fig. 97, “ “ST CÉSAIRE” “ “ST TROPHIME.”
“ 211, “ 20 from top, “ “dypticks” “ “dyptichs.”
“ 212, “ 14 “ bottom, “ “Jocobi” “ “Jacobi.”
“ 221, “ 6 “ top, “ “bonnded” “ “bounded.”
“ 462, “ 12 “ bottom, “ “shews” “ “shew.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. INTRODUCTORY.
The Architecture of South of France comparatively little known, 1;
contrast of North and South in climate, buildings, &c., 3; Provence
a very ancient and independent State, 4; and scene of important
historical events, 5.
II. EARLY HISTORY OF PROVENCE, AND ITS CONDITION DURING THE MIDDLE AGES.
Colonised by Phœnicians, 1100 B.C.--Greek culture introduced, 7;
occupied by the Romans about 100 B.C., 8; became their favourite
province, 9; overrun by Visigoths in fourth century, 10; Roman and
Greek colonies were in cities, and the revived government also
municipal, 11; the Church the chief instrument of organised government,
12; monasteries established, 13; anarchic condition from fifth to
eighth century, 14; invasion of Saracens, 15; attempt to establish a
“Holy Roman Empire,” 16; revival under Charlemagne, 18; growth of the
monasteries, Cluny, 20; Citeaux, 22; the Crusades, 23; effects of the
above on Architecture, 24.
III. POLITICAL HISTORY OF PROVENCE.
Fall of the Empire in fifth century. Kings of Provence from sixth to
tenth century, 26; Kingdom of Arles, 27; Raymond Béranger becomes Count
of Provence, 11, 12; independence of cities attacked, 27; Albigensian
crusade, 28; in 1245 Charles of Anjou becomes Count of Provence, 29;
Queen Joan; 1480, King René dies and Provence becomes part of France,
30.
IV. DESCRIPTION OF CLASSIC BUILDINGS.
The Architecture of Provence naturally divided into a Classic and
a Mediæval period--which best considered separately, 32; the Roman
period, 33; Paris, Autun, capricious preservation of Classic
monuments, 34; Lyons, Vienne, 35; Temple of Augustus and Livia, remains
of Forum, 37; the pyramid, 38; Vienne restored, 39; Orange, 40; the
theatre, 42; triumphal arch, 45; other triumphal arches at Cavaillon,
47; St Remy, 48; mausoleum at St Remy, 50; Arles, history, 51;
amphitheatre, 52; mode of protecting spectators in ditto, 54; obelisk,
Place d’Hommes, Tour de la Trouille, 56; Alyscamps, 57; sculpture in
museum, 59; Nimes, history, 64; amphitheatre, 65; Maison Carrée, 68;
statue of Venus, 71; Nymphæum, 72; Tour Magne, 73; Roman gates, 74;
Pont du Gard, 76; the “Camargue” and the “Crau,” 77; St Chamas, Roman
bridge at, 77; Vernégue, temple at, 78; paucity of classic remains
at Marseilles and Narbonne, 79; Pomponiana, 80; Le Luc, 80; Fréjus,
history, 80; gate of Gaul, amphitheatre, theatre, aqueduct, 82; Via
Aurelia, 83; aqueduct of Clausonne, Antibes, Vence, 84; Cemenelum, 86;
Turbia, 87.
V. TRANSITION PERIOD.
Transition from Classic to Mediæval Architecture, 90; principles of
Greco-Italian design, trabeate as opposed to the arch, 91; gradual
introduction and development of the latter, 92; trabeate features
dropped, 93; early Christian architecture a continuation of that
of Rome, 94; the basilica, 95; the baptistery, 96; San Vitale, 96;
Byzantine edifices, the dome, 97; St Mark’s, Syrian churches, 98; early
churches in the West--Romanesque varieties, 99; attempts to vault--San
Miniato, 100; Notre Dame du Pré, Le Mans; form of vaulting in Provence,
102; in Aquitaine, 103; St Front, Perigueux, 104; the dome and single
nave characteristic of the South, 105; varieties of style, influence
of Roman remains, 105; powerful in Provence, 106; shewn in campaniles,
baptisteries, and especially sculpture, 107; supposed Byzantine
influence--the pointed arch, 107; used for simplicity of construction,
108; Burgundian style, imitative of nature, 109; the severe style
of the Cistertians, 110; the second style of Provençal art; the two
periods described, 111; growth of lay element, 112; traditional
ecclesiastical forms abandoned and new natural forms adopted, 113;
Northern Gothic developed, 114; Gothic applicable to all requirements,
115; domestic and castellated Architecture, 116; origin and growth of
the latter, 117; peculiarities in the South, 118; recapitulation, 119;
place of Provençal Architecture, 120.
VI. DESCRIPTION OF MEDIÆVAL BUILDINGS.
Description of Mediæval buildings--Lyons, the Ainay, 121; the
cathedral, 122; Vienne, St André-le-Bas, and St Pierre, 124;
cathedral, 126; ancient houses, 127; Valence, Maison des Fêtes,
127; castle of Crussol, monastery of Cruas, 128; church of Cruas,
132; Montélimar, Viviers--commencement of Provençal examples, St
Paul-trois-châteaux, 134; St Restitut, Pont St Esprit, 136; Courthézon,
Avignon, 137; history, 138; Notre Dame des Doms, 139; imitation of
Roman work, 141; palace of the Popes, 143; history, 144; description
of, 145; walls of town, 148; gates, 151; Pont St Bénezet, 151; tower
of Villeneuve, 154; castle of St André, 155; gatehouse, 156; curtains,
161; guard rooms on walls, 162; church of Villeneuve, 163; churches
of Avignon, the Beffroi, abbey of St Ruf, Priory of St Veran, 164;
Vaison, 165; Carpentras, Venasque, Pernes, Le Thor, Cavaillon, 167; Le
clocher de Molléges, 168; Tarascon, history, Ste Marthe, 168; castle,
170; houses, gateway, 172; Beaucaire castle, 173; triangular keep, 176;
oratory, 178; Les Baux, 179; the town--the bas-reliefs, 180; account
of the family, 181; St Gabriel, 182; Arles, St Trophime, 183; includes
examples of all periods of Provençal Architecture--the Cistertian
nave, 184; the west portal, 187; the cloisters, 188; the Alyscamps, St
Honorat, 191; prosperity of Arles after union to France--Renaissance
palaces, 192; Mont-Majour, Hermitage, 194; church, 196; cloister, 199;
chapel of Ste Croix, 199; the keep, 203; St Gilles, Abbey church,
204; interrupted by Albigensian crusade, 205; portal, 206; sources of
Provençal art, 210; Les Saintes Maries, 212; Marseilles, St Victor,
213; Aix-en-Provence, St Sauveur, 217; cloisters, 219; “Les Villes
Mortes du Golfe de Lyon,” 220; Montpellier, Maguelonne, 222; Béziers,
222; St Nazaire, 224; Fountain, 227; house in town, 228; Puisalicon, St
Pierre de Reddes, St Martin de Londres, 229; Narbonne, history, 230;
cathedral, 231; its fortifications, 232; Archbishop’s palace, 233;
the keep, 234; St Paul, the Lagunes, the Pyrenees, Perpignan, 235;
the castellet, cathedral, 236; citadel, &c., Elne, 239; cathedral,
240; the unfinished chevet, the campanile, 241; the cloisters, 244;
Carcassonne, 244; history, 245; towers of the Visigoths, 246; the
porte Narbonnaise--the barbican and its defences, 252; the walls and
towers, 254; St Nazaire, 257; Aigues Mortes, 260; Canal, 261; walls
and gateways, 264; Porte de Nimes, 266; Tour de Constance, 268; Tour
Carbonnière, 269.
Eastwards from Marseilles--Toulon, 270; Hyères, 271; castle, 272;
St Paul, 273; examples of Cistertian style, 274; Cannet, 275; abbey
of Thoronet, 276; the cloisters, 278; remarkable details, 280;
chapter house, 281; St Maximin, 282; Fréjus, cathedral and Bishop’s
palace, 281; fortified, 289; baptistery, 291; “Pantheon” at Riez,
293; the cloisters, Fréjus, 296; Brass lamp, 298; doorways in town,
299; district of Les Maures, how to visit, 300; St Tropez, fish
market, 301; Grimaud, castle, 302; La Garde Freinet, St Raphaël, the
Esterelle mountains, 304; Napoule, 305; St Peyré, Mont St Cassien,
307; Cannes, 308; history, Tour du Chevalier, 310; St Anne, 314; Notre
Dame d’Espérance, 317; Iles de Lérins, 319; St Honorat, cloisters,
320; Ste Trinité, 320; St Sauveur, 323; castle of St Honorat, 324;
style of lower cloister, 330; style of upper cloister, 334; additions,
340; Ste Marguérite, 343; Vallauris, 344; Le Cannet, 347; Mougins,
Notre Dame des Vie, 348; Auribeau, 350; Grasse, 351; cathedral, 353;
keep tower, 354; Renaissance, 357; l’Oratoire, 357; St Césaire, 359;
château de Tournon, 363; Montauroux and Callian, 364; Le Bar, 366;
Gourdon, 367; Tourettes, 369; Antibes, 371; two keep towers, 373;
Cagnes, castle, 376; castle of Villeneuve-Loubet, 378; history, 381;
tower of La Trinité, 382; Biot, 387; St Paul-du-Var, 392; approach to,
393; Architecture of shops and houses, 395; staircase, 397; gateway,
398; church, 400; remarkable keep-tower, 401; Vence, 407; cathedral,
409; keep towers, 411; column, 413; commandery of St Martin, 414;
destruction of the Templars, 417; Nice, history, 418; Cimiès Cross,
421; castle of St André, 422; Villefranche, Eza, 422; La Turbie,
428; gateways, 430; Monaco, 432; history, 433; Ducal Palace, 434;
Roquebrune, 437; Mentone, 438; Gorbio, Ste Agnes, Castellar, 441;
boundary of Provençal Architecture, 441; Ventimiglia, 445; Dolce Aqua,
445; Pigna, 448; San Remo, 449; Taggia, 450; Bussana, Oneglia, &c, 451;
Albenga, 452; Genoa, 455.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Details from Cathedral, Genoa, _Title-page_
Map of Provence and Riviera, _To face page_ 1
Details from Cathedral, Arles--_Headpiece_, 1
Details from Arles Museum--_Headpiece_, 7
Head in Arles Museum--_Tailpiece_, 24
Details from Cathedral, Genoa--_Headpiece_, 25
“ of Tomb of Cornelia, Arles--_Tailpiece_, 31
“ from Arles Museum--_Headpiece_, 32
VIENNE, Temple of Augustus and Livia, 36
“ Roman Forum, 37
“ The Pyramid, 38
“ Restored, 39
ORANGE, Roman Theatre--_Exterior_, 41
“ “ “ _Interior_, 43
“ Triumphal Arch, 46
ST REMY, Triumphal Arch and Mausoleum, 49
ARLES, Amphitheatre--_Exterior_, 52
“ “ _Interior_, 53
“ Roman Theatre, 55
“ Place d’Hommes, 57
“ The Alyscamps, 58
“ From the Museum, 59
“ Tomb of Cornelia, 60
“ From the Museum, 61
“ “ “ 62
“ “ “ 63
NIMES, Amphitheatre--_Exterior_, 64
“ “ _Interior_, 65
“ “ Corridor, 67
“ Maison Carrée, 69
NIMES, Statue of Venus, 71
“ Nymphæum, 72
“ La Tourmagne, 74
“ Le Pont du Gard, 75
FRÉJUS, Amphitheatre, 81
FRÉJUS, Aqueduct, 83
CLAUSONNE, Aqueduct, 84
CIMIES, (_Looking N.E._) 85
“ (_Looking S. W._), 86
LA TURBIE, Monument to Augustus, 87
From Arles Museum--_Tailpiece_, 89
“ --_Headpiece_, 90
SAN MINIATO, 101
TOULOUSE Cathedral, 106
From Piazza, San Matteo, Genoa--_Headpiece_, 121
LYONS, The Ainay, 122
“ Arcades in Cathedral, 123
VIENNE, St André-le-Bas, 124
“ St Pierre, 125
“ St Maurice, 126
“ House in, 127
VALENCE, Maison-des-Têtes, 128
CRUSSOL, Castle, 129
CRUAS, Abbey (_from S.W._), 130
“ Monastery Church, 131
“ Church, 133
ST PAUL-TROIS-CHÂTEAUX, _Part of Exterior_ (_from Révoil_), 135
AVIGNON, Church of Notre Dame des Doms, and Palace of
the Popes, 140
“ Monument of Pope John XXII., 142
“ Plan of the Palace of the Popes (from Viollet-le-Duc’s
_Dictionnaire_), 143
“ Portion of City Wall (_West side_), 149
“ Pont St Bénezet and Chapel of St Nicholas, 152
VILLENEUVE, Tower, 154
ST ANDRÉ, Oratory in Castle, 155
“ Castle, Villeneuve-lez-Avignon. _Plan of Entrance
Gateway_, 156
“ Castle of, Villeneuve-lez-Avignon. _Exterior of
Gateway_, 157
“ Castle, _Interior of Gateway_, 158
ST ANDRÉ, Castle, _Fireplace in Gatehouse_, 159
“ “ _Walls of Enceinte_, 160
“ Guard-room on wall, 161
“ Remains of a Guard-room on wall, 162
VILLENEUVE-LEZ-AVIGNON, Church, 163
Le Clocher de Molléges (from Viollet-le-Duc’s _Dictionnaire_), 168
TARASCON, Ste Marthe, 169
“ Castle, 171
TARASCON, House, 172
“ Gate, 173
BEAUCAIRE, Plan of the Castle, 174
“ Castle (_from S.-E._), 175
“ “ (_from N.-E._), 175
“ Plans of the Keep, 176
“ Castle (_Interior of Courtyard_), 177
LES BAUX, Fortress, 179
ST GABRIEL, Church, _West Front_. (From _Révoil_), 182
ARLES, St Trophime, 185
“ West Portal of St Trophime, 186
“ Cloisters, St Trophime, (_Eastern Arcade_), 189
“ “Clocher” of the Church of St Honorat, (From _Révoil_), 191
“ Renaissance House, 193
MONT-MAJOUR, Plan of Hermitage, 194
“ Hermitage--Chapel of St Peter, 195
“ The Church and Keep, 197
“ Cloisters, 198
“ Chapelle de Sainte Croix, 200
“ Mortuary Chapel, 201
“ The Keep, Hermitage, etc., 202
“ Plans and Section of Keep, 203
ST GILLES, Portal, 207
“ South Doorway, (_Enlarged_), 208
LES SAINTES MARIES, Church. (From _Révoil_.) 213
MARSEILLES, St Victor--_Exterior_, 214
“ “ _Interior_, 215
“ Monument in St Victor’s, 216
AIX-EN-PROVENCE, St Sauveur, Doorway, 217
“ “ “ _Interior_, 218
“ Cloisters, St Sauveur, 219
BÉZIERS, From the Orbe, 223
BÉZIERS, Tower, South side of St Nazaire, 224
“ Apse, St Nazaire, 225
“ Cathedral of St Nazaire, 226
“ Fountain in Cloisters, 227
“ House, 228
“ St Pierre de Reddes. (From _Révoil_.) 229
NARBONNE, Cathedral of St Just, 231
PERPIGNAN, The Castellet, 237
PERPIGNAN, Cathedral of St Jean, 238
ELNE, Marble Gateway, 241
“ Cathedral, 242
“ Cloisters, 244
CARCASSONNE, general view, 245
“ Towers and Castle, 247
“ Outer and Inner Walls, North Side, 249
“ Porte Narbonnaise, 251
“ Western Walls and Barbican, 253
“ Interior of Walls, 256
“ St Nazaire, 258
AIGUES MORTES, “Tour de Constance,” 261
“ Walls on East and North Sides, 263
“ Interior of South Side of Walls, 265
“ Porte de Nimes, 267
HYÈRES, Castle, 272
“ St Paul, 273
CANNET, 275
THORONET, Church from South-West, 276
“ “ _Interior_, 277
“ Cloister, 279
“ Caps in Cloister, 280
“ Fountain in Grounds, 283
ST MAXIMIN, Church, 284
FRÉJUS, Plan of Cathedral, 285
“ Cathedral, _Interior_, 286
“ Western Enclosure and Cathedral Buildings, 287
“ Cathedral, Eastern Tower and Bishop’s Palace, 288
“ “ South or Entrance Front, 290
“ “ Baptistery, 292
RIEZ, The “Pantheon,” _Plan_ (_From Texier and Pullan_), 293
“ “ _Section_ “ “ 294
FRÉJUS, Cathedral, Cloisters, 295
“ “ “ _Interior_, 297
“ Cathedral, Brass Lamp (_From a drawing by Mr R.
Burns Begg_), 298
“ Doorways, 299
ST TROPEZ, general view, 300
“ Entrance to Fishmarket, 301
GRIMAUD, From the Plain, 302
GRIMAUD, Castle, 303
NAPOULE, Castle, 305
“ “ 306
MONT ST CASSIEN, 307
CANNES, Bay of, and the Esterelle Mountains, 309
“ The Old Town, 311
“ Tour du Chevalier, 312
“ “ “ Plan and Section, 313
“ Church of St Anne, 315
“ “ “ Plan, 316
“ “ “ Doorway, 316
“ Mont du Chevalier, 317
“ Notre Dame d’Espérence, 318
ST HONORAT, Cloisters of Monastery, _Interior_, 320
“ Ste Trinité, _Interior_, 321
“ “ Plan, 322
“ “ West End, 323
“ “ East End, 324
“ “ Doorway, 325
“ St Sauveur, Lérins (_from Révoil_), 325
“ Castle, Plan of Ground Floor, 326
“ “ (_from N.-W._), 327
“ “ Lower Cloister, 329
“ “ Capitals and Bases, 330
“ “ “ “ Base, 331
“ “ Lower Cloister, 333
“ “ (_from N.-E._), 335
“ “ (_section from N. to S._), 336
“ “ Plan of First Floor, 337
“ “ Upper Cloister, 338
“ “ Upper Cloister, Details, 339
“ “ Refectory, 341
STE MARGUÉRITE, Castle, 343
VALLAURIS, Abbot’s Summer Palace, 345
“ Chapel of Abbot’s Summer Palace, 345
“ “ “ “ “ 346
LE CANNET, “Maison du Brigand,” 347
“ Notre Dame des Anges, 348
MOUGINS, Notre Dame de Vie, 349
“ Gate to Town, 350
AURIBEAU, 351
GRASSE, View of Town, 352
“ Cathedral, Plan of, 352
“ “ West End, 353
“ “ (_Campanile at N. E. angle_), 354
“ “ _Interior_, 355
“ Keep Tower, 356
“ Staircase, 357
“ Church of the Oratoire, 358
“ “ “ Cap of Main Pier, 359
ST CÉSAIRE, Ancient Gateway, 359
“ Carving over Doorways, 360
“ Church, _Exterior_, 361
“ “ _Interior_, 362
“ Plan of Church, 363
CHATEAU DE TOURNON, 363
CALLIAN, Town and Castle, 364
LE BAR, South Doorway of Church, 365
GOURDON, View of, 367
“ Houses, 368
“ Château, 369
TOURETTES, Church, 370
“ Font, 371
ANTIBES (_from West_), 372
“ Tower or Keep attached to Cathedral, 374
“ “ “ of the Castle, 375
CAGNES, Castle (_from the South_), 377
“ “ (_from the N.-E._), 378
VILLENEUVE-LOUBET, Castle (_from the N.-W._), 379
“ “ “ (_from the S.-E._), 380
LA TRINITÉ, Tower of (_Plan_), 382
“ “ (_from the Chapel_), 383
LA TRINITÉ, Tower of (_from the S.-W._) 386
BIOT, View of, 387
“ Church--_Exterior_, 389
“ “ Plan of, 390
“ “ _Interior_, 391
ST PAUL-DU-VAR, (_from the East_), 393
“ (“ _West_), 394
“ Details, 395
ST PAUL-DU-VAR, Old Shops and Houses, 396
“ Side Street, 397
“ Main Street, 398
“ Interior of North Gateway, 399
“ Main Street, 400
“ Chimney-piece in the Maison Suraire, 401
“ Staircase in the Maison Suraire, 402
“ North Gateway, 403
“ Church, West End of, 404
“ “ _Interior_, 405
“ | 571.040065 |
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[Illustration: "You are the visitor I was expecting"]
THE INTERNATIONAL
ADVENTURE LIBRARY
[Illustration]
THREE OWLS EDITION
813
BY MAURICE LEBLANC
Author of "Arsene Lupin," "The Blonde Lady,"
"The Hollow Needle," Etc.
_Translated by Alexander Teixeira De Mottos_
W. R. CALDWELL & CO.
NEW YORK
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY MAURICE LEBLANC
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
A zealous reader, collating the translation of this
book with the original, would hit | 571.187905 |
2023-11-16 18:26:35.2219790 | 2,293 | 30 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 13, ISSUE 350, JANUARY 3, 1829***
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 13, No. 350.] SATURDAY, JANUARY 3, 1829. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
BRUCE CASTLE, TOTTENHAM.
[Illustration: BRUCE CASTLE, TOTTENHAM.]
The engraving represents this interesting structure, as it appeared in
the year 1686; being copied from a print, after a picture by Wolridge.
The original castle was very ancient, as appears by the foundations, and
an old brick tower over a deep well, the upper part of which has been
used as a dairy. The castle is said to have been built by Earl Waltheof,
who, in 1069 married Judith, niece to William the Conqueror, who gave
him the earldom of Northampton and Huntingdon for her portion. Matilda
or Maud, their only child, after the death of Simon St. Liz, her first
husband, married David, first of the name, king of Scotland; and Maud,
being heiress of Huntingdon, had in her own right, as an appendix to
that honour, the manor of Tottenham in Middlesex.
Robert Bruce, grandson of David, Earl of Huntingdon, and grandfather to
Robert I. of Scotland, memorable as the restorer of the independence of
his country, became one of the competitors for the crown of Scotland in
1290, but being superseded by John Baliol, Bruce retired to England, and
settled at his grandfather's estate at Tottenham, repaired the castle,
and acquiring another manor, called it and the castle after his own
name. Shakspeare says,
Fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns,
and the fortunes of the two Bruces are "confirmation strong as holy
writ."
The estate being forfeited to the crown, it had different proprietors,
till 1631, when it was in the possession of Hugh Hare, Lord Coleraine.
Henry Hare, the last Lord Coleraine of that family, having been deserted
by his wife, who obstinately refused, for twenty years, to return to
him, formed a connexion with Miss Roze Duplessis, a French lady, by whom
he had a daughter, born in Italy, whom he named Henrietta Roza
Peregrina, and to whom he left all his estates. This lady married the
late Mr. Alderman Townsend; but, being an alien, she could not take the
estates; and the will being legally made, barred the heirs at law; so
that the estate escheated to the crown. However, a grant of these
estates, confirmed by act of parliament, was made to Mr. Townsend and
his lady, whose son, Henry Hare Townsend, Esq. in 1792, voluntarily sold
the property for the payment of the family debts; and "although the
castle may soon be levelled with the ground, yet the destruction of this
ancient fabric will acquire him more honour, than if the prudence of his
ancestors had enabled him to restore the three towers, of which now only
one remains."[1]
[1] Gough's Camden.
The present mansion is partly ancient, and partly modern, and was very
lately the property of Sir William Curtis, Bart. Up to the period at
which the castle is represented in the engraving, the building must have
undergone many alterations, as the tower on the left, and the two
octagonal and centre towers, will prove. The grounds there appear laid
out in the trim fashion of the seventeenth century, and ornamented with
fountains, vases, &c.
* * * * *
NEW YEAR'S CUSTOM.
_(For the Mirror.)_
BROMLEY PAGETS, Staffordshire, is 129 miles from London, and is a pretty
town on the skirts of Derbyshire. This place is remarkable, or was
lately, for a sport on New Year's Day and Twelfth Day, called _The
Hobby-Horse Dance_, from a person who rode upon the image of a horse,
with a bow and arrow in his hands, with which he made a snapping noise,
and kept time to the music, while six men danced the hay and other
country dances, with as many deer's heads on their shoulders. To this
hobby-horse belonged a pot, which the reeves of the town kept filled
with cakes and ale, towards which the spectators contributed a penny,
and with the remainder they maintained their poor and repaired the
church.
HALBERT H.
* * * * *
THE BARON'S TRUMPET.
_(For the Mirror.)_
Thou blowest for Hector.
TROILUS and CRESSIDA.
Sound, sound the charge, when the wassel bowl
Is lifted with songs, let the trumpets shrill blast
Awaken like fire in the warrior's soul,
The bright recollections of chivalry past;
Let the lute or the lyre the soft stripling rejoice,
No music on earth is so sweet as thy voice.
Sound, sound the charge when the foe is before us,
When the visors are closed and the lances are down,
If we fall, let the banner of victory o'er us
Dance time to thy clarion that sings our renown:
To the souls of the valiant no requiem is given,
So fit as thine echoes, to soothe them in heaven.
LEON.
* * * * *
THE NEW YEAR
_(For the Mirror.)_
Twenty-nine, Father Janus! and can it be true,
That your _double-fac'd_ sconce is again in our view?
Take a chair, my old boy--while our glasses we fill,
And tell us, "what news"--for you can if you will.
Shall we have any war? or will there be peace?
Will swindlers, as usual, the credulous fleece?
Will the season produce us a _deluge_ of rain?
Did the comet bring coughs and catarrhs in his train?
Will gas, so delicious, _perfume_ our abodes?
Will McAdam continue "Colossus of _roads?_"
Will Venus's boy be abroad with his bow,
And make the dear girls over bachelors crow?
Will _quid-nuncs_ from scandalous whispers refrain?
Will poets the pent of Parnassus attain?
Will travellers' tomes touch the truth to a T?
Will critics from caustic coercion be free?
Shall we check crafty care in his cunning career?
In short--shall we welcome a happy new year?
What, _mum_, Father Janus?--egad I suppose,
Not one of our queries you mean to disclose.
Let us, therefore, the blessings which Providence sends,
To our country, to us, our relations and friends,
With gratitude own--and employ the supplies,
As prudence suggests, "to be merry and wise."
Nor ever, too curious the future to pry,
Presume on our own feeble strength to rely;
But, taught by the _past;_ for the _future_, depend
Where the wise and the good all their wishes extend.
JACOBUS.
* * * * *
FALLING STONES.
_(For the Mirror.)_
Of these bodies, the most general opinion now is, that they are really
of _celestial_ origin. But a few years ago, nothing could have appeared
more absurd than the idea that we should ever be able to examine the
most minute fragment of the siderial system; and it must, no doubt, be
reckoned among the wonders of the age in which we live, that
considerable portions of these heavenly bodies are now known to have
descended to the earth. An event so wonderful and unexpected was at
first received with incredulity and ridicule; but we may now venture to
consider the fact as well established as any other hypothesis of natural
philosophy, which does not actually admit of mathematical demonstration.
The attention of our philosophers was first called to this subject by
the falling of one of these masses of matter near Flamborough Head, in
Yorkshire; it weighed about 50 pounds, and for some years after its
descent did not excite the interest it deserved, nor would perhaps that
attention have been paid to it which was required for the investigation
of the truth, if a similar and more striking phenomenon had not happened
a few years afterwards at Benares, in the East Indies. Some fragments of
the stones which fell in India were brought to Sir Joseph Banks by Major
Williams; and Sir Joseph being desirous of knowing if there might not be
some truth in these repeated accounts of falling stones, gave them to be
analyzed, when it was found by a very skilful analysis, published in the
Transactions, 1802, that the stones collected in various countries, and
to which a similar history is attached, contained very peculiar
ingredients, and all of the same kind. The earthy parts were silex and
magnesia, in which were interspersed small grains of metallic iron.
Since these investigations, the subject has attracted very general
attention, and most of the fragments of stones said to have fallen from
heaven, and which have been preserved in the cabinets of the curious, on
account of this tradition, have been analyzed, and found to consist of
the same ingredients, varying only in their different proportions.
Pliny relates, that a great stone fell near Egos Potamos, in the
Thracian Chersonese, in the second year of the 78th Olympiad. In the
year 1706, another large stone is, on the authority of Paul Lucas, then
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A BOOK OF
EPIGRAMS
GATHERED BY
Ralph A. Lyon
EVANSTON
William S. Lord
1902
EPIGRAMS
POETRY
She comes like the hushed beauty of the night,
But sees too deep for laughter;
Her touch is a vibration and a light
From worlds before and after.
[Charles E. Markham
POETRY
Poetry? Can I define it, you inquire?
Yes; by your pleasure,
Poetry is Thought, in princeliest attire,
Treading a measure.
[Duffield Osborne
THE YEAR'S MINSTRELSY
Spring, the low prelude of a lordlier song;
Summer, a music without hint of death:
Autumn, a cadence lingeringly long:
Winter, a pause;--the Minstrel-Year takes breath.
[William Watson
THE SUN
All the World's bravery that delights our eyes,
Is but thy several liveries;
Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st,
Thy nimble Pencil paints this landscape as thou go'st.
[Abraham Cowley
FAREWELL
I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved, and next to nature, art.
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life:
It sinks; and I am ready to depart.
[Walter Savage Landor
LIFE
As a shaft that is sped from a bow unseen to an unseen mark,
As a bird that gleams in the firelight, and hurries from dark to dark,
As the face of the stranger who smiled as we passed in the crowded
street,--
Our life is a glimmer, a flutter, a memory, fading, yet sweet!
[William Cranston Lawton
EPIGRAM ON THE DEATH OF EDWARD FORBES.
Nature, a jealous mistress, laid him low.
He woo'd and won her; and, by love made bold,
She showed him more than mortal man should know,
Then slew him lest her secret should be told.
[Sydney Dobell
ON LONGFELLOW'S DEATH
No puissant singer he, whose silence grieves
To-day the great West's tender heart and strong;
No singer vast of voice: yet one who leaves
His native air the sweeter for his song.
[William Watson
DANIEL WEBSTER
We have no high cathedral for his rest,
Dim with proud banners and the dust of years;
All we can give him is New England's breast
To lay his head on--and his country's tears.
[Thomas William Parsons
EUGENE FIELD
Fades his calm face beyond our mortal ken,
Lost in the light of lovelier realms above;
He left sweet memories in the hearts of men
And climbed to God on little children's love.
[Frank L. Stanton
THE DEBTOR CHRIST
_Quid Mihi Et Tibi_
What, woman, is my debt to thee,
That I should not deny
The boon thou dost demand of me?
"I gave thee power to die."
[John B. Tabb
TWO SPIRITS
A spirit above and a spirit below,
A spirit of joy and a spirit of woe;
The spirit above is the spirit divine,
The spirit below is the spirit of wine.
[Anonymous
ON A SUN-DIAL
With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight
From life's glad morning to its solemn night;
Yet, through the dear God's love, I also show
There's Light above me by the Shade below.
[John Greenleaf Whittier
BORROWING
_From the French_
Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured
From evils which never arrived!
[Ralph Waldo Emerson
YOUTH
The Tear, down Childhood's cheek that flows,
Is like the dew-drop on the Rose;
When next the Summer breeze comes by,
And waves the bush, the Flower is dry.
[Sir Walter Scott
MY TROUBLES
I wrote down my troubles every day;
And after a few short years,
When I turned to the heartaches passed away,
I read them with smiles, not tears.
[John Boyle O'Reilly
SENSIBILITY
The soul of Music slumbers in the shell,
Till waked and kindled by the Master's spell;
And feeling Hearts--touch them but lightly--pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!
[Samuel Rogers
IS LOVE SO BLIND
The records of ancient times declare
That hapless Love is blind,
Yet many's the virtue, sweet and rare,
That only Love can find.
[Henry W. Allport
SYMPATHY
What gem hath dropp'd and sparkles o'er his chain?
The Tear most sacred, shed for other's pain,
That starts at once--bright--pure--from Pity's mine,
Already polish'd by the Hand Divine.
[Lord Byron
GRIEF
What cannot be preserved when Fortune takes,
Patience her injury a mockery makes.
The robb'd, that smiles, steals something from the Thief;
He robs himself, that spend a bootless Grief.
[William Shakespeare
OPPORTUNITY
It is a hag whom Life denies his kiss
As he rides questward in knight-errant wise;
Only when he hath passed her is it his
To know too late the Fairy in disguise.
[Madison Cawein
COMPETITION
The race is won! As victor I am hailed
With deafening cheers from eager throats; and yet
Gladder the victory could I forget
The strained, white faces of the men who failed.
[Julia Shayer
SLANDER
Oh! many a shaft, at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant;
And many a Word, at random spoken,
May soothe or wound a Heart that's broken.
[Sir Walter Scott
VICE
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
[Alexander Pope
TALKING
Words learn'd by rote, a Parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more distinct from Harmony divine,
The constant creaking of a Country Sign.
[William Cowper
THINKERS, PAST AND PRESENT
God, by the earlier sceptic, was exiled;
The later is more lenient grown and mild:
He sanctions God, provided you agree
To any other other name for deity.
[William Watson
THE COOK WELL DONE
Why call me a bloodthirsty, gluttonous sinner
For pounding my chef when my peace he subverts?
If I can't thrash my cook when he gets a poor dinner,
Pray how shall the scamp ever get his desserts?
[Martial
"U" AND "I"
The difference between you and me
Is this, dear--more's the pity--
You're summering in the mountains,
I'm simmering in the city!
[Ogden Ward
THE FIVE DOUBLE U'S
Winsomeness, wardrobe, words of eloquence,
Wisdom, and wealth, bring men to consequence.
That's something which a man in vain pursues
Who is not blest with these five w's.[1]
[_From the Sanskrit_ (Tr. by Chas. R. Lanman)
[1]The Sanskrit word for each of these five things begins with w.
WEALTH
Can wealth give Happiness? look round, and see
What gay distress! what splendid misery!
Whatever Fortune lavishly can pour,
The mind annihilates, and calls for more.
[Edward Young
EQUITY--?
The meanest man I ever saw
Allus kep' inside o' the law;
And ten-times better fellers I've knowed
The blame gran' jury's sent over the road.
[James Whitcomb Riley
A WHOLLY UNSCHOLASTIC OPINION
Plain hoss-sense in poetry-writin'
Would jest knock sentiment a-kitin'!
Mostly poets is all star-gazing'
And moanin' and groanin' and paraphrasin'!
[James Whitcomb Riley
GOLDEN ROD
It is the twilight of the year
And through her wondrous wide abode
The autumn goes, all silently,
To light her lamps along the road.
[Charles Hanson Towne
GRACE
Thou canst not move thy staff in air,
Or dip thy paddle in the lake,
But it carves the bow of beauty there,
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SINTRAM AND HIS COMPANIONS
By Friedrich de la Motte Fouque
with foreword by Charlotte M. Yonge
Introduction
Four tales are, it is said, intended by the Author to be appropriate to
the Four Seasons: the stern, grave "Sintram", to winter; the tearful,
smiling, fresh "Undine", to Spring; the torrid deserts of the "Two
Captains", to summer; and the sunset gold of "Aslauga's Knight", to
autumn. Of these two are before us.
The author of these tales, as well as of many more, was Friedrich, Baron
de la Motte Fouque, one of the foremost of the minstrels or tale-tellers
of the realm of spiritual chivalry--the realm whither Arthur's knights
departed when they "took the Sancgreal's holy quest,"--whence Spenser's
Red Cross knight and his fellows came forth on their adventures, and in
which the Knight of la Mancha believed, and endeavoured to exist.
La Motte Fouque derived his name and his title from the French Huguenot
ancestry, who had fled on the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. His
Christian name was taken from his godfather, Frederick the Great,
of whom his father was a faithful friend, without compromising his
religious principles and practice. Friedrich was born at Brandenburg on
February 12, 1777, was educated by good parents at home, served in the
Prussian army through disaster and success, took an enthusiastic part
in the rising of his country against Napoleon, inditing as many
battle-songs as Korner. When victory was achieved, he dedicated his
sword in the church of Neunhausen where his estate lay. He lived there,
with his beloved wife and his imagination, till his death in 1843.
And all the time life was to him a poet's dream. He lived in a continual
glamour of spiritual romance, bathing everything, from the old deities
of the Valhalla down to the champions of German liberation, in an ideal
glow of purity and nobleness, earnestly Christian throughout, even in
his dealings with Northern mythology, for he saw Christ unconsciously
shown in Baldur, and Satan in Loki.
Thus he lived, felt, and believed what he wrote, and though his dramas
and poems do not rise above fair mediocrity, and the great number of his
prose stories are injured by a certain monotony, the charm of them is
in their elevation of sentiment and the earnest faith pervading all. His
knights might be Sir Galahad--
"My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure."
Evil comes to them as something to be conquered, generally as a form of
magic enchantment, and his "wondrous fair maidens" are worthy of them.
Yet there is adventure enough to afford much pleasure, and often we have
a touch of true genius, which has given actual ideas to the world, and
precious ones.
This genius is especially traceable in his two masterpieces, Sintram and
Undine. Sintram was inspired by Albert Durer's engraving of the "Knight
of Death," of which we give a presentation. It was sent to Fouque by his
friend Edward Hitzig, with a request that he would compose a ballad
on it. The date of the engraving is 1513, and we quote the description
given by the late Rev. R. St. John Tyrwhitt, showing how differently it
may be read.
"Some say it is the end of the strong wicked man, just overtaken by
Death and Sin, whom he has served on earth. It is said that the tuft on
the lance indicates his murderous character, being of such unusual size.
You know the use of that appendage was to prevent blood running down
from the spearhead to the hands. They also think that the object under
the horse's off hind foot is a snare, into which the old oppressor is
to fall instantly. The expression of the faces may be taken either way:
both good men and bad may have hard, regular features; and both good men
and bad would set their teeth grimly on seeing Death, with the sands of
their life nearly run out. Some say they think the expression of Death
gentle, or only admonitory (as the author of "Sintram"); and I have to
thank the authoress of the "Heir of Redclyffe" for showing me a fine
impression of the plate, where Death certainly had a not ungentle
countenance--snakes and all. I think the shouldered lance, and quiet,
firm seat on horseback, with gentle bearing on the curb-bit, indicate
grave resolution in the rider, and that a robber knight would have his
lance in rest; then there is the leafy crown on the horse's head; and
the horse and dog move on so quietly, that I am inclined to hope the
best for the Ritter."
Musing on the mysterious engraving, Fouque saw in it the life-long
companions of man, Death and Sin, whom he must defy in order to reach
salvation; and out of that contemplation rose his wonderful romance,
not exactly an allegory, where every circumstance can be fitted with an
appropriate meaning, but with the sense of the struggle of life, with
external temptation and hereditary inclination pervading all, while
Grace and Prayer aid the effort. Folko and Gabrielle are revived from
the Magic Ring, that Folko may by example and influence enhance all
higher resolutions; while Gabrielle, in all unconscious innocence,
awakes the passions, and thus makes the conquest the harder.
It is within the bounds of possibility that the similarities of
folk-lore may have brought to Fouque's knowledge the outline of the
story which Scott tells us was the germ of "Guy Mannering"; where a boy,
whose horoscope had been drawn by an astrologer, as likely to encounter
peculiar trials at certain intervals, actually had, in his twenty-first
year, a sort of visible encounter with the Tempter, and came off
conqueror by his strong faith in the Bible. Sir Walter, between
reverence and realism, only took the earlier part of the story, but
Fouque gives us the positive struggle, and carries us along with the
final victory and subsequent peace. His tale has had a remarkable power
over the readers. We cannot but mention two remarkable instances at
either end of the scale. Cardinal Newman, in his younger days, was
so much overcome by it that he hurried out into the garden to read it
alone, and returned with traces of emotion in his face. And when Charles
Lowder read it to his East End boys, their whole minds seemed engrossed
by it, and they even called certain spots after the places mentioned.
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DOT AND THE KANGAROO
by
Ethel C. Pedley
To the
children of Australia
in the hope of enlisting their sympathies
for the many
beautiful, amiable, and frolicsome creatures
of their fair land,
whose extinction, through ruthless destruction,
is being surely accomplished
CHAPTER I.
Little Dot had lost her way in the bush. She knew it, and was very
frightened. She was too frightened in fact to cry, but stood in the
middle of a little dry, bare space, looking around her at the scraggy
growths of prickly shrubs that had torn her little dress to rags,
scratched her bare legs and feet till they bled, and pricked her hands
and arms as she had pushed madly through the bushes, for hours, seeking
her home. Sometimes she looked up to the sky. But little of it could
be seen because of the great tall trees that seemed to her to be trying
to reach heaven with their far-off crooked branches. She could see
little patches of blue sky between the tangled tufts of her way in the
and was very drooping leaves, and, as the dazzling sunlight had faded,
she began to think it was getting late, and that very soon it would be
night.
The thought of being lost and alone in the wild bush at night, took her
breath away with fear, and made her tired little legs tremble under
her. She gave up all hope of finding her home, and sat down at the foot
of the biggest blackbutt tree, with her face buried in her hands and
knees, and thought of all that had happened, and what might happen yet.
It seemed such a long, long time since her mother had told her that she
might gather some bush flowers while she cooked the dinner, and Dot
recollected how she was bid not to go out of sight of the cottage. How
she wished now she had remembered this sooner! But whilst she was
picking the pretty flowers, a hare suddenly started at her feet and
sprang away into the bush, and she had run after it. When she found
that she could not catch the hare, she discovered that she could no
longer see the cottage. After wandering for a while she got frightened
and ran, and ran, little knowing that she was going further away from
her home at every step.
Where she was sitting under the blackbutt tree, she was miles away from
her father's selection, and it would be very difficult for anyone to
find her. She felt that she was a long way off, and she began to think
of what was happening at home. She remembered how, not very long ago,
a neighbour's little boy had been lost, and how his mother had come to
their cottage for help to find him, and that her father had ridden off
on the big bay horse to bring men from all the selections around to
help in the search. She remembered their coming back in the darkness;
numbers of strange men she had never seen before. Old men, young men,
and boys, all on their rough-coated horses, and how they came indoors,
and what a noise they made all talking together in their big deep
voices. They looked terrible men, so tall and brown and fierce, with
their rough bristly beards; and they all spoke in such funny tones to
her, as if they were trying to make their voices small.
During many days, these men came and went, and every time they were
more sad, and less noisy. The little boy's mother used to come and
stay, crying, whilst the men were searching the bush for her little
son. Then, one evening, Dot's father came home alone, and both her
mother and the little boy's mother went away in a great hurry. Then,
very late, her mother came back crying, and her father sat smoking by
the fire looking very sad, and she never saw that little boy again,
although he had been found.
She wondered now if all these rough, big men were riding into the bush
to find her, and if, after many days, they would find her, and no one
ever see her again. She seemed to see her mother crying, and her
father very sad, and all the men very solemn. These thoughts made her
so miserable that she began to cry herself.
Dot does not know how long she was sobbing in loneliness and fear, with
her head on her knees, and with her little hands covering her eyes so
as not to see the cruel wild bush in which she was lost. It seemed a
long time before she summoned up courage to uncover her weeping eyes,
and look once more at the bare, dry earth, and the wilderness of scrub
and trees that seemed to close her in as if she were in a prison. When
she did look up, she was surprised to see that she was no longer alone.
She forgot all her trouble and fear in her astonishment at seeing a big
grey Kangaroo squatting quite close to her, in front of her.
What was most surprising was the fact that the Kangaroo evidently
understood that Dot was in trouble, and was sorry for her; for down the
animal's nice soft grey muzzle two tiny little tears were slowly
trickling. When Dot looked up at it with wonder in her round blue eyes,
the Kangaroo did not jump away, but remained gazing sympathetically at
Dot with a slightly puzzled air. Suddenly the big animal seemed to
have an idea, and it lightly hopped off into the scrub, where Dot could
just see it bobbing up and down as if it were hunting for something.
Presently back came the strange Kangaroo with a spray of berries in her
funny black hands. They were pretty berries. Some were green, some
were red, some blue, and others white. Dot was quite glad to take them
when the Kangaroo offered them to her; and as this friendly animal
seemed to wish her to eat them, she did so gladly, because she was
beginning to feel hungry.
After she had eaten a few berries a very strange thing happened. While
Dot had been alone in the bush it had all seemed so dreadfully still.
There had been no sound but the gentle stir of a light, fitful breeze
in the far-away tree-tops. All around had been so quiet, that her
loneliness had seemed twenty times more lonely. Now, however, under
the influence of these small, sweet berries, Dot was surprised to hear
voices everywhere. At first it seemed like hearing sounds in a dream,
they were so faint and distant, but soon the talking grew nearer and
nearer, louder and clearer, until the whole bush seemed filled with
talking.
They were all little voices, some indeed quite tiny whispers and
squeaks, but they were very numerous, and seemed to be everywhere.
They came from the earth, from the bushes, from the trees, and from the
very air. The little girl looked round to see where they came from,
but everything looked just the same. Hundreds of ants, of all kinds
and sizes, were hurrying to their nests; a few lizards were scuttling
about amongst the dry twigs and sparse grasses; there were some
grasshoppers, and in the trees birds fluttered to and fro. Then Dot
knew that she was hearing, and understanding, everything that was being
said by all the insects and creatures in the bush.
All this time the Kangaroo had been speaking, only Dot had been too
surprised to listen. But now the gentle, soft voice of the kind animal
caught her attention, and she found the Kangaroo was in the middle of a
speech.
"I understood what was the matter with you at once," she was saying,
"for I feel just the same myself. I have been miserable, like you,
ever since I lost my baby Kangaroo. You also must have lost something.
Tell me what it is?"
"I've lost my way," said Dot; rather wondering if the Kangaroo would
nderstand her.
"Ah!" said the Kangaroo, quite delighted at her own cleverness, "I knew
you had lost something! Isn't it a dreadful feeling? You feel as if
you had no inside, don't you? And you're not inclined to eat
anything--not even the youngest grass. I have been like that ever
since I lost my baby Kangaroo. Now tell me," said the creature
confidentially, "what your way is like. I may be able to find it for
you."
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STARRY FLAG SERIES
OLIVER OPTIC
[Illustration: THE WRECK OF THE CARIBBEE.--Page 273.]
FREAKS OF FORTUNE;
OR,
HALF ROUND THE WORLD.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,"
"THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES,"
"THE RIVERDALE STORIES," ETC.
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
All rights reserved.
FREAKS OF FORTUNE.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND,
_THOMAS POWELL, JR._
This Book
IS AFFECTION | 571.436023 |
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Produced by Nick Wall, Anne Storer, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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Transcriber's Notes:
1) Morrumbidgee/Murrumbidgee each used on several occasions
and left as in the original. 'Morrumbidgee' is the aboriginal
name for the Murrumbidgee.
2) Used on numerous occasions, civilisation/civilization;
civilised/civilized; civilising/civilizing; uncivilised/uncivilized:
left as in the original.
3) Same with variations of colonisation/colonization, and a few other
"z" words that should be "s" words in their English form.
* * * * *
The
Englishman's Library.
XXVI.
AUSTRALIA,
ITS HISTORY AND PRESENT CONDITION;
CONTAINING
AN ACCOUNT BOTH OF THE BUSH AND OF THE COLONIES,
WITH THEIR RESPECTIVE INHABITANTS.
BY THE
REV. W. PRIDDEN, M.A.
VICAR OF BROXTED, ESSEX.
"_Truth_, in her native calmness and becoming moderation, shall
be the object of our homage and pursuit; and we will aim at the
attainment of knowledge for the improvement of our reason, and not
for the gratification of a passion for disputing."--_Address of
the Bp of Australia in 1841 to the Church of England Book Society._
LONDON:
JAMES BURNS, 17, PORTMAN STREET,
PORTMAN SQUARE.
1843.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY R. CLAY, BREAD STREET HILL.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Map of Australia]
PREFACE.
A few words by way of Preface are requisite, in order that the objects
of the present Work may be stated to the reader, and that he may also
be made acquainted with the sources whence the information here
communicated is derived, and from consulting which he may still
further inform himself concerning Australia. The aim of the writer of
the following pages has been,--while furnishing a description of some
of the most flourishing and interesting settlements belonging to the
British Crown, which, at the same time, exhibit in contrast to each
other the two extremes of savage and civilised life;--to call the
attention of his countrymen, both at home and in the colonies, to
the evils which have arisen from the absence of moral restraint and
religious instruction in colonies of civilised and (nominally)
christian men. And although it must in many ways be a disadvantage
that the person professing to describe a particular country should
have gained all his knowledge of it from the report of others, without
ever having himself set foot upon its shores; yet, in one respect at
least, this may operate advantageously. He is less likely to have
party prejudices or private interests to serve in his account of the
land to which he is a total stranger. In consequence, probably, of his
being an indifferent and impartial observer, not one of our Australian
colonies wears in his eye the appearance of a perfect paradise; but
then, on the other hand, there is not one of those fine settlements
which prejudice urges him to condemn, as though it were barren and
dreary as the Great Sahara itself. And the same circumstance--his
never having breathed the close unwholesome air of colonial
party-politics--will render it less likely that his judgment
respecting persons and disputed opinions should be unduly biassed.
There will be more probability of his judging upon right _principles_,
and although his facts may (in some instances, unavoidably) be less
minutely accurate than an inhabitant of the country would have given,
yet they may be less and less partially stated. Instead of
giving his own observations as an eye-witness, fraught with his own
particular views, he can calmly weigh the opposite statements of men
of different opinions, and between the two he is more likely to arrive
at the truth. With regard to the present Work, however impartial the
author has endeavoured to be, however free he may be from colonial
passions and interests, he does not wish to deceive the reader by
professing a total freedom from all prejudice. If this were desirable,
it is impossible; it is a qualification which no writer, or reader
either, possesses. But thus much may be stated, that all his
prejudices are in favour of those institutions with which it has
pleased God to bless his native land. In a volume that is intended to
form part of a series called "The Englishman's Library," it may be
permitted, surely, to acknowledge a strong and influencing attachment
to the Sovereign, the Church, and the Constitution of England.
The object and principles of the present volume being thus plainly
set forth, it remains only to mention some of the sources whence the
information contained in it is derived. To the Travels of Captain Grey
on the western coast of New Holland, and to those of Major Mitchell in
the interior, the first portion of this Work is deeply indebted, and
every person interested in the state of the natives, or fond of
perusing travels in a wild and unknown region, may be referred to
these four volumes,[1] where they will find that the extracts here
given are but a specimen of the stores of amusement and information
which they contain. Captain Sturt's "Expeditions" and Mr. Oxley's
"Journal" are both interesting works, but they point rather to the
progress of discovery in New Holland than to the actual state of our
local knowledge of it. Dr. Lang's two volumes upon New South Wales are
full of information from one who has lived there many years, and his
faults are sufficiently obvious for any intelligent reader to guard
against. Mr. Montgomery Martin's little book is a very useful
compendium, and those that desire to know more particulars concerning
the origin of the first English colony in New Holland may be referred
to Collins's account of it. Various interesting particulars respecting
the religious state of the colonies in Australia have been derived
from the correspondence in the possession of the Society for the
Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, free access to which was
allowed through the kind introduction of the Rev. C. B. Dalton. Many
other sources of information have been consulted, among which the
Reports of the Parliamentary Committee upon Transportation, in 1837
and 1838; and that of the Committee upon South Australia, in 1841,
must not be left unnoticed. Neither may the work of Judge Burton upon
Religion and Education in New South Wales be passed over in silence;
for, whatever imperfections may be found in his book,[2] the
facts there set forth are valuable, and, for the most part,
incontrovertible, and the principles it exhibits are excellent. From
the works just mentioned the reader may, should he feel inclined,
verify for himself the facts stated in the ensuing pages, or pursue
his inquiries further. In the meantime, he cannot do better than join
the author of the little book which he holds in his hand, in an humble
and earnest prayer to Almighty God, that, in this and in every other
instance, whatever may be the feebleness and imperfection of human
efforts, all things may be made to work together for good towards
promoting the glory of God, the extension of Christ's kingdom, and the
salvation of mankind.
[1] Published, all of them, by T. and W. Boone, London, to whom it is
only just to acknowledge their kindness in permitting the use that has
been made of these two publications in the first portion of the present
Work.
[2] See Dr. Ullathorne's Reply to Burton, especially at p. 5, where it
appears that the judge was not quite impartial in one of his statements.
Dr. Ullathorne himself has, in his 98 pages, contrived to crowd in at
least twice as many misrepresentations as Burton's 321 pages contain.
But that is no excuse. The Romish Church may need, or seem to need,
such support. The cause defended by Judge Burton needs it not.
#Contents.#
INTRODUCTION.
[Page 1.]
Subject of the Work--Discovery and Situation of New Holland--Its
Interior little known--Blue Mountains--Conjectures respecting the
Interior--Van Diemen's Land, or Tasmania.
CHAPTER I.
[Page 8.]
The Bush described--Remains of it near Sydney--North-western Coast
of New Holland--Sandy Columns and Fragments--Recollections of
Home--Gouty Stem Tree--Green Ants--Fine Volcanic District--Cure
for Cold--Travelling in the Rainy Season--Rich sequestered Valleys--
Plains near the Lachlan--Falls of the Apsley--Beauties of Nature
enjoyed by Explorers--Aid afforded by Religion--Trials of Travellers
in the Bush--Thirst--A Christian's Consolations--Plains of Kolaina,
or Deceit--Bernier Island--Frederic Smith--A Commander's Cares--Dried
Streams--Return from a Journey in the Bush--Outsettlers--Islands on
the Australian Coast--Kangaroo Island--Coral Reefs and Islets.
CHAPTER II.
[Page 42.]
Forbidding aspect of coast no argument against inland beauty and
fertility--River Darling--The Murray--Other Rivers of New Holland--
Contrasts in Australia--The Lachlan, Regent's Lake, &c.--Sturt's
Descent down the Murray--His Return--Woods--Difficulties and Dangers
of Bush travelling--Wellington Valley--Australia Felix--Conclusion.
CHAPTER III.
[Page 72.]
Comparative advantages of Europeans over Savages--Degraded condition
of Natives of New Holland--Total absence of Clothing--Love of
Ornaments--Peculiar Rites--Ceremony of knocking out a Tooth--Hardships
of Savage Life--Revengeful Spirit--Effect of Native Songs in exciting
Anger--Cruelty--Courage--Indifference to accounts of Civilized Life--
Contempt of its ways--Treatment of Women--Family Names, and Crests--
Language--Music.
CHAPTER IV.
[Page 97.]
Means of Subsistence--A Whale Feast--Hunting the Kangaroo--Australian
Cookery--Fish--Seal Catching--Turtles--Finding Opossums--Birds--
Pursuit of the Emu or Cassowary--Disgusting Food of the Natives--
Vegetables--_By-yu_ Nuts--Evils of European Settlements in cutting
off the native supply of Food--Native Property in Land--Inhabitants
of Van Diemen's Land--A word of Advice to Christian Colonists.
CHAPTER V.
[Page 120.]
First Shyness of Natives natural--Their perplexity between European
Customs and their own--Health and Longevity--Old Age--Funereal
Rites--Belief in Sorcery--The _Boyl-yas_--Various modes of
Interment--Tombs--Riches of a Native--Bodily Excellences--Secrecy--
Quickness of Sight, &c.--Kaiber and the Watch--The _Warran_ Ground--
Various Superstitions--Mischief of bad Example, for which the British
nation is responsible--The Church, the right Instrument, and the only
one that will be found successful, for civilising the Australian
Tribes, if they are ever to be civilised.
CHAPTER VI.
[Page 149.]
Bennillong--Barangaroo's Funeral--The Spitting Tribe--Mulligo's Death--
The Corrobory--Peerat and his Wives--Woga's Captivity--Ballooderry
and the Convicts--Native Hospitality and Philosophy--The Widow and
her Child--Miago.
CHAPTER VII.
[Page 186.]
Infancy of New South Wales an interesting subject to Englishmen--Arrival,
in 1788, of the Sirius, and the Supply at Botany Bay--Settlement
commenced in the Harbour of Port Jackson--Character of the
Convicts--Influence of Religion--Particulars respecting the Chaplain--
His peculiar situation and efforts--A Gold Mine pretended to be found--
Supply of Food precarious--Farming--Failure of Pro | 571.436119 |
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TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN
BY
THOMAS CARLYLE.
UNIFORM WITH HIS COLLECTED WORKS.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
MUSAEUS, TIECK, RICHTER.
LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL (LIMITED),
| 571.447576 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * | 571.478826 |
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OUR COMMON INSECTS.
[Illustration: AMERICAN SILK WORM (MALE).]
OUR
COMMON INSECTS.
A POPULAR ACCOUNT OF THE INSECTS
OF OUR
Fields, Forests, Gardens and Houses.
Illustrated with 4 Plates and 268 Woodcuts.
BY
A. S. PACKARD, JR.,
Author of "A GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF INSECTS."
SALEM.
NATURALISTS' AGENCY.
BOSTON: Estes & Lauriat. NEW YORK: Dodd & Mead.
1873.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by
F. W. PUTNAM & CO.,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
PRINTED AT
THE SALEM PRESS,
F. W. PUTNAM & CO.,
Proprietors.
DEDICATION.
TO SAMUEL H. SCUDDER.
MY DEAR SCUDDER:--You and I were drawn together many years ago by a
common love for insects and their ways.
I dedicate this little volume of ephemeral essays to you in recognition
of your worth as a man and a scientist, and as a token of warm
friendship.
Yours sincerely,
A. S. PACKARD, JR.
PREFACE.
This little volume mainly consists of a reprint of a series of essays
which appeared in the "American Naturalist" (Vols. i-v, 1867-71). It is
hoped that their perusal may lead to a better acquaintance with the
habits and forms of our more common insects. The introduction was
written expressly for this book, as well as Chapter XIII, "Hints on the
Ancestry of Insects." The scientific reader may be drawn with greater
interest to this chapter than to any other portion of the book. In this
discussion of a perhaps abstruse and difficult theme, his indulgence is
sought for whatever imperfections or deficiencies may appear. Our
systems of classification may at least be tested by the application of
the theory of evolution. The natural system, if we mistake not, is the
genealogy of organized forms; when we can trace the latter, we establish
the former. Considering how much naturalists differ in their views as to
what is a natural classification, it is not strange that a genealogy of
animals or plants seems absurd to many. To another generation of
naturalists it must, perhaps, be left to decide whether to attempt the
one is more unphilosophical than to attempt the other.
Most of the cuts have already appeared in the "Guide to the Study of
Insects" and the "American Naturalist," where their original sources are
given, while a few have been kindly contributed by Prof. A. E. Verrill,
the Boston Society of Natural History, and Prof. C. V. Riley, and three
are original.
SALEM, June, 1873.
OUR COMMON INSECTS.
INTRODUCTORY.
_What is an Insect?_ When we remember that the insects alone comprise
four-fifths of the animal kingdom, and that there are upwards of 200,000
living species, it would seem a hopeless task to define what an insect
is. But a common plan pervades the structure of them all. The bodies of
all insects consist of a succession of rings, or segments, more or less
hardened by the deposition of a chemical substance called chitine; these
rings are arranged in three groups: the head, the thorax, or middle
body, and the abdomen or hind body. In the six-footed insects, such as
the bee, moth, beetle or dragon fly, four of these rings unite early in
embryonic life to form the head; the thorax consists of three, as may be
readily seen on slight examination, and the abdomen is composed either
of ten or eleven rings. The body, then, seems divided or _insected_ into
three regions, whence the name _insect_.
The head is furnished with a pair of antennae, a pair of jaws
(mandibles), and two pairs of maxillae, the second and basal pair being
united at their base to form the so-called labium, or under lip. These
four pairs of appendages represent the four rings of the head, to which
they are appended in the order stated above.
A pair of legs is appended to each of the three rings of the thorax;
while the first and second rings each usually carry a pair of wings.
The abdomen contains the ovipositor; sometimes, as in the bees and
wasps, forming a sting. In the spiders (Fig. 1), however, there are no
antennae, and the second maxillae, or labium, is wanting. Moreover, there
are four pairs of legs. The centipedes (Fig. 2, a Myriopod) also differ
from the rest of the insects in having an indefinite number of abdominal
rings, each bearing a pair of legs.
[Illustration: 1. Spider (Tegenaria).]
On examining the arrangement of the parts within, we find the nervous
cord, consisting of two chains of swellings, or nerve-knots, resting
upon the floor or under side of the body; and the heart, or dorsal
vessel, situated just under the skin of the back; and in looking at
living caterpillars, such as the cut-worm, and many thin-skinned aquatic
larvae, we can see this long tubular heart pulsating about as often as
our own heart, and when the insect is held against its will, or is
agitated, the rapidity of the pulsations increases just as with us.
[Illustration: 2. Centipede.]
Insects do not breathe as in the higher animals by taking the air into
the mouth and filling the lungs, but there are a series of holes or
pores along the side of the body, as seen in | 571.535252 |
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"The United Seas"
By
ROBERT W. ROGERS
[Illustration: Publisher's seal]
Blessed are the pathfinders who do not fear the
seas, for they have discovered that the very
waters are moving toward freedom
AN INTERPRETATION
of the opening of the Panama Canal, commemorated
by the Panama-Pacific International Exposition.
Copyrighted 1915
| 571.583909 |
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BLACKWOOD'S
EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLVI. JUNE, 1845. VOL. LVII.
Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected and | 571.78015 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
PREFACE.
No one ever reads prefaces now-a-days; why, therefore, should I write
one? may be fairly asked. Simply, I reply, to tell the reader that the
tale imperfectly related in these volumes is not a mere work of fiction.
It is based on a document sent to me by my brother, to whom I have
dedicated this work, and who has for many years been a resident of the
frontiers of Zulu Land.
The paper alluded to was transmitted by me, according to my brother's
desire, to His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the French, together with
a map of Zulu Land, which had been exhibited in the Natal section of the
great Paris Exhibition of 1867. Both were graciously accepted and
acknowledged by His Imperial Majesty.
The country traversed by the daring men, whose adventures are related in
the following pages, is still to be explored. The ruins of the Fort of
Sofala, even now, lie buried in the sand, on the beach of the far away
Indian Ocean. The Arabs still search there for the smelted lumps of
gold, buried or lost by those of whose existence no other trace remains.
The mysterious slabs still exist, encrusted with the dirt and grime of
ages, on the mountain land of Gorongoza, and should my tale induce any
adventurous spirit to make an attempt to clear away the veil of mystery
which yet shrouds the remains of the Ruined Cities of Zulu Land, I can
only refer him to Captain Walmsley, from whom the primary information
contained herein was first gleaned, before whom the Missionary's
depositions were made, and who, for more than fifteen years of his life,
has well and honourably filled the difficult and dangerous position of
Government Agent, Magistrate, and Resident on the wild frontier of
savage Zulu Land.
Volume 1, Chapter I.
BELLARY FORT.
There are few hotter places, and few more unhealthy ones, among our
Indian up-country stations than Bellary, in the Madras Presidency,
garrisoned in the year 1856 by Her Majesty's 150th Regiment of Infantry.
Let the reader imagine the lines of a fort drawn round a bare
sugar-loaf hill, on which an Indian sun pours its rays for months.
Thoroughly heated by this process of roasting, the arid rock gives out
all night the caloric absorbed during the day, and a three years'
residence in the Fort of Bellary, such as had been passed by the
officers and men of the 150th Regiment, was about equivalent to the same
period in a baker's oven. Years passed, and the English Government had
at last perceived that it was madness to keep troops within the lines of
the old fort when a rich and well-timbered plain lay around it.
Barracks had been built outside; and about three-quarters of a mile
distant from the main gate of Bellary, white bungalows, with their green
verandahs and their well-kept compounds, lay scattered here and there
among the trees, while far away, under the moon's rays, on the night
when our tale opens, a beautiful one in December, stretched the rich
plain, with its piles of rock rising like huge black molehills here and
there, giving welcome shelter to the wild-cats, jackals, and hyenas,
whose cries might be heard from time to time ringing over the plain.
The mess-house of the regiment consisted of the usual large commodious
building, with its many outhouses or godowns, the whole surrounded by a
low wall, and that again protected by a strong hedge of the prickly
pear. A broad verandah ran round the main building, and a flight of
steps led up to the house, where some half-dozen of the officers of the
corps, dressed in white, with nothing to distinguish them except the
forage-cap bearing the number of the regiment, were seated, chatting and
smoking. The day had been very hot, but a pleasant breeze was blowing
over the plain; the click of the billiard-balls was heard from an
adjoining room, whose windows, thrown wide open, cast a stream of light
into the compound, and the hum of voices from the messroom told of the
dinner only just finished, and of the party of seasoned old soldiers who
were even then loth to quit the pleasures of the table and the bottle of
Madeira which had crossed the line four times, and for which particular
wine the 150th had long been justly famous.
"I am half sorry that my leave has arrived, just as we are expecting the
route," said an officer, puffing out a long spiral wreath of smoke as he
spoke, and reaching out his hand towards the tumbler of weak brandy
pawnee standing on a small table by his side.
"Hear him, the impostor!" laughed a second. "Two years of leave, after
nearly nine of foreign service, and he talks of regret."
The | 571.840262 |
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E-text prepared by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/cu31924028050833
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
BELL’S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS
General Editors: S. E. Winbolt, M.A., and Kenneth Bell, M.A.
FROM PALMERSTON TO DISRAELI
* * * * * *
BELL’S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS.
_Volumes now Ready. 1s. net each._
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LETTERS TO SEVERALL PERSONS OF HONOUR
_This edition is limited to six hundred copies_
LETTERS TO SEVERALL PERSONS OF HONOUR
BY JOHN DONNE
THE TEXT EDITED, WITH NOTES, BY
CHARLES EDMUND MERRILL, JR.
NEW YORK
STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1910
BY STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
TO PAYSON MERRILL
QUALEM NEQUE CANDIDIOREM
TERRA TULIT, NEQUE CUI ME SIT DEVINCTIOR ALTER
NOTE
The Letters to Severall Persons of Honour, _now for the first time
reprinted in their original form, were collected and published by John
Donne, Jr., in 1651, twenty years after the death of the author.
Apparently the sales were not large, for three years later the original
sheets were rebound with a new title page and put on the market as a
second edition. Not many copies of the earlier, and still fewer of the
later date, have come down to us._
_In the present volume changes from and additions to the original text are
indicated by brackets, with a single exception: errors in punctuation have
been corrected without comment when, and only when, they seem seriously to
impair the intelligibility of the text. In the case of a few letters the
reading followed is that of the original manuscripts, for which I am
indebted to the great kindness of Mr. Edmund Gosse._
_Readers of Mr. Gosse's brilliant study_, The Life and Letters of John
Donne _(London: Heinemann, 1899) will not need to be reminded of the
obligations under which he has placed all later students of Donne's life
and work. I have, in addition, to thank him for generous encouragement and
for many helpful suggestions, specific and general._
_C. E. M., Jr._
_Huntington, Long Island
October 14, 1910._
LETTERS TO SEVERALL PERSONS OF HONOUR
[Illustration: JOHN DONNE
_From an engraving by Pierre Lombart, prefixed to the_ POEMS _of 1633,
after a portrait of Donne at the age of forty._]
(_Facsimile of Title Page of Original Edition._)
LETTERS
TO
SEVERALL PERSONS
OF HONOUR:
_WRITTEN BY_
JOHN DONNE
Sometime Deane of
_S{t} Pauls London_.
Published by JOHN DONNE D{r}. of
the Civill Law.
_LONDON_,
Printed by _J. Flesher_, for _Richard Marriot_, and are
to be sold at his shop in S{t} _Dunstans_ Church-yard
under the Dyall. 1651.
To the most virtuous
and excellent Lady, Mris.
_BRIDGET DUNCH_.
MADAM,
_It is an argument of the_ Immortality _of the_ Soul, _that it can
apprehend, and imbrace such a_ Conception; _and it may be some kinde of_
Prophecy _of the continuance and lasting of these_ Letters, _that having
been scattered, more then Sibyls leaves, I cannot say into parts, but
corners of the_ World, _they have recollected and united themselves,
meeting_ at once, _as it were, at the same spring, from whence they
flowed, but by_ Succession.
_But the piety of_ AEneas _to_ Anchises, _with the heat and fervour of his
zeale, had been dazelled and extinguished by the fire of_ Troy, _and his
Father become his Tombe, had not a brighter flame appeared in his_
Protection, _and_ Venus herself _descended with her embraces, to protect
her_ Martiall Champion; _so that there is no safer way to give a
perpetuity to this remnant of the dead Authour, but by dedicating it to
the_ Altar _of_ Beauty _and_ perfection; _and if you, Madam, be but
pleased to shed on it one beame of your_ Grace _and Favour, that very_
Adumbration _will quicken it with a new_ Spirit, _and defend it from all
fire (the fate of most Letters) but the last; which, turning these
into ashes, shall revive the Authour from his Urne, and put him into a
capacity of celebrating you, his_ Guardian Angell, _who has protected that
part of his Soul, that he left behinde him, his_ Fame _and_ Reputation.
_The courtesies that you conferre upon the living may admit of some allay,
by a possibility of a_ Retaliation; _but what you bestow upon the_ Dead
_is a Sacrifice to_ pure Virtue; _an ungifted Deity, 'tis true, without_
Oblation, Altar, _or_ Temple, _if she were not enshrined in your_ noble
brest, _but I must forever become her votary, if it be but for giving me
this_ Inclination, _and_ desire _of being_
Madam
Your most humble servant
_Jo. Donne_.
A COLLECTION of Letters written to severall Persons of Honour.
[i.]
_To the worthiest Lady M{rs}_ Bridget White.
MADAME,
I could make some guesse whether souls that go to heaven, retain any
memory of us that stay behinde, if I knew whether you ever thought of us,
since you enjoyed your heaven, which is your self, at home. Your going
away hath made _London_ a dead carkasse. A Tearm and a Court do a little
spice and embalme it, and keep it from putrefaction, but the soul went
away in you: and I think the onely reason why the plague is somewhat
slackned is because the place is dead already, and no body left worth the
killing. Wheresoever you are, there is _London_ enough: and it is a
diminishing of you to say so, since you are more then the rest of the
world. When you have a desire to work a miracle, you will return hither,
and raise the place from the dead, and the dead that are in it; of which I
am one, but that a hope that I have a room in your favour keeps me alive,
which you shall abundantly confirme to me, if by one letter you tell me
that you have received my six; for now my letters are grown to that bulk,
that I may divide them like _Amadis_ the _Gaules_ book, and tell you that
this is the first letter of the second part of the first book.
_Your humblest, and affectionate
servant_ J. D.
_Strand, S._ Peters
_day at nine_.
[ii.]
_To the worthiest Lady M{rs}_ B. W.
MADAME,
I think the letters which I send to you single lose themselves by the way
for want of a guide, or faint for want of company. Now, that on your part
there be no excuse, after three single letters, I send three together,
that every one of them may have two witnesses of their delivery. They come
also to waite upon another letter from S{r} _E. Herbert_, of whose
recovery from a Fever, you may apprehend a perfecter contentment then we,
because you had none of the former sorrow. I am an Heretique if it be
sound Doctrine, that pleasure tasts best after sorrow. For my part, I can
love health well enough, though I be never sick; and I never needed my
Mistris frowns and disfavours, to make her favours acceptable to me. In
States, it is a weakness to stand upon a defensive war, and safer not to
be invaded, then to have overcome: so in our souls health, an innocence is
better then the heartiest repentance. And in the pleasures of this life,
it is better that the variety of the pleasures give us the taste and
appetite to it, then a sowre and sad interruption quicken our stomack; for
then we live by Physick. I wish therefore all your happinesses such as
this intire, and without flaw, or spot of discontentment; and such is the
love and service of
_Your humblest and affectionatest
servant_ J. D.
_Strand S._ Peters
_day at 4_.
[iii.]
_To the same._
MADAME,
This letter which I send enclosed hath been yours many moneths, and hath
languished upon my table for a passage so long, that as others send news
in their letters, I send an antiquity in mine. I durst not tear it, after
it was yours: there is some sacriledge in defacing any thing consecrated
to you, and some impiety to despaire that any thing devoted to you should
not be reserved to a good issue. I remember I should have sent it by a
servant, of whose diligence I see I was too confident. I know not what it
says: but I dare make this letter no longer, because being very sure that
I always think the same thoughts of you, I am afraid I should fall upon
the same words, and so send one letter twice together.
_Your very affectionate
servant_ J. D.
_Novemb. 8._
[iv.]
_To the Honourable Lady M{rs}_ B. W.
MADAME,
I have but small comfort in this letter; the messenger comes too easily to
me, and I am too sure that the letter shall be delivered. All adventures
towards you should be of more difficulty and hazard. But perchance I need
not lament this; it may be so many of my letters are lost already that it
is time that one should come, like _Jobs_ servant, to bring word that the
rest were lost. If you have had more before, this comes to aske how they
were received; and if you have had none, it comes to try how they should
have been received. It comes to you like a bashfull servant, who, though
he have an extreme desire to put himself in your presence, yet hath not
much to say when he is come: yet hath it as much to say as you can think;
because what degrees soever of honour, respect, and devotion you can
imagine or beleeve to be in any, this letter tells you that all those are
in me towards you. So that for this letter you are my Secretary; for your
worthiness, and your opinion that I have a just estimation of them [?it],
write it: so that it is as long, and as good, as you think it; and nothing
is left to me, but, as a witness, to subscribe the name of
_Your most humble servant_
J. D.
Though this letter be yours, it will not misbecome or disproportion it
that I mention your Noble brother, who is gone to _Cleave_, not to return
till towards Christmas, except the business deserve him not so long.
[v.]
_To the Honourable L. the Lady_ Kingsmel _upon the death of her Husband_.
MADAME,
Those things which God dissolves at once, as he shall do the Sun, and
Moon, and those bodies at the last conflagration, he never intends to
reunite again; but in those things, which he takes in pieces, as he doth
man, and wife, in these divorces by death, and in single persons, by the
divorce | 571.935166 |
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Transcriber's note: The etext attempts to replicate the printed book as
closely as possible. Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have
been corrected. The spellings of names, places and Spanish words used by
the author have not been corrected or modernized by the etext
transcriber. The footnotes have been moved to the end of the text body.
The images have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the closest
paragraph break for ease of reading.
[Illustration]
THE ANDES OF SOUTHERN
PERU
GEOGRAPHICAL RECONNAISSANCE ALONG THE
SEVENTY-THIRD MERIDIAN
BY
ISAIAH BOWMAN
Director of the American Geographical Society
[Illustration: colophon]
PUBLISHED FOR
THE AMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY
OF NEW YORK
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1916
LATIN
AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1918
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N.J.
TO
C. G. B.
PREFACE
The geographic work of the Yale Peruvian Expedition of 1911 was
essentially a reconnaissance of the Peruvian Andes along the 73rd
meridian. The route led from the tropical plains of the lower Urubamba
southward over lofty snow-covered passes to the desert coast at Camaná.
The strong climatic and topographic contrasts and the varied human life
which the region contains are of geographic interest chiefly because
they present so many and such clear cases of environmental control
within short distances. Though we speak of “isolated” mountain
communities in the Andes, it is only in a relative sense. The extreme
isolation felt in some of the world’s great deserts is here unknown. It
is therefore all the more remarkable when we come upon differences of
customs and character in Peru to find them strongly developed in spite
of the small distances that separate unlike groups of people.
My division of the Expedition undertook to make a contour map of the
two-hundred-mile stretch of mountain country between Abancay and the
Pacific coast, and a great deal of detailed geographic and physiographic
work had to be sacrificed to insure the completion of the survey. Camp
sites, forage, water, and, above all, strong beasts for the
topographer’s difficult and excessively lofty stations brought daily
problems that were always serious and sometimes critical. I was so
deeply interested in the progress of the topographic map that whenever
it came to a choice of plans the map and not the geography was first
considered. The effect upon my work was to distribute it with little
regard to the demands of the problems, but I cannot regret this in view
of the great value of the maps. Mr. Kai Hendriksen did splendid work in
putting through two hundred miles of plane-tabling in two months under
conditions of extreme difficulty. Many of his triangulation stations
ranged in elevation from 14,000 to nearly 18,000 feet, and the cold and
storms--especially the hailstorms of mid-afternoon--were at times most
severe.
It is also a pleasure to say that Mr. Paul Baxter Lanius, my assistant
on the lower Urubamba journey, rendered an invaluable service in
securing continuous weather records at Yavero and elsewhere, and in
getting food and men to the river party at a critical time. Dr. W. G.
Erving, surgeon of the Expedition, accompanied me on a canoe journey
through the lower gorge of the Urubamba between Rosalina and the mouth
of the Timpia, and again by pack train from Santa Ana to Cotahuasi. For
a time he assisted the topographer. It is due to his prompt surgical
assistance to various members of the party that the field work was
uninterrupted. He was especially useful when two of our river Indians
from Pongo de Mainique were accidentally shot. I have since been
informed by their _patrón_ that they were at work within a few months.
It is difficult to express the gratitude I feel toward Professor Hiram
Bingham, Director of the Expedition, first for the executive care he
displayed in the organization of the expedition’s plans, which left the
various members largely care-free, and second, for generously supplying
the time of various assistants in the preparation of results. I have
enjoyed so many facilities for the completion of the work that at least
a year’s time has been saved thereby. Professor Bingham’s enthusiasm for
pioneer field work was in the highest degree stimulating to every member
of the party. Furthermore, it led to a determination to complete at all
hazards the original plans.
Finally, I wish gratefully to acknowledge the expert assistance of Miss
Gladys M. Wrigley, of the editorial staff of the American Geographical
Society, who prepared the climatic tables, many of the miscellaneous
data related thereto, and all of the curves in Chapter X. Miss Wrigley
also assisted in the revision of Chapters IX and X and in the correction
of the proof. Her eager and in the highest degree faithful assistance in
these tasks bespeaks a true scientific spirit.
ISAIAH BOWMAN.
SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS FOR ILLUSTRATIONS
Fig. 28. Photograph by H. L. Tucker, Engineer, Yale Peruvian Expedition
of 1911.
Fig. 43. Photograph by H. L. Tucker.
Fig. 44. Photograph by Professor Hiram Bingham.
Figs. 136, 139, 140. Data for hachured sketch maps, chiefly from
topographic sheets by A. H. Bumstead, Topographer to Professor Bingham’s
Peruvian Expeditions of 1912 and 1914.
CONTENTS
PART I
HUMAN GEOGRAPHY
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE REGIONS OF PERU 1
II. THE RAPIDS AND CANYONS OF THE URUBAMBA 8
III. THE RUBBER FORESTS 22
IV. THE FOREST INDIANS 36
V. THE COUNTRY OF THE SHEPHERDS 46
VI. THE BORDER VALLEYS OF THE EASTERN ANDES 68
VII. THE GEOGRAPHIC BASIS OF REVOLUTIONS AND OF HUMAN
CHARACTER IN THE PERUVIAN ANDES 88
VIII. THE COASTAL DESERT 110
IX. CLIMATOLOGY OF THE PERUVIAN ANDES 121
X. METEOROLOGICAL RECORDS FROM THE PERUVIAN ANDES 157
PART II
PHYSIOGRAPHY OF THE PERUVIAN ANDES
XI. THE PERUVIAN LANDSCAPE 183
XII. THE WESTERN ANDES: THE MARITIME CORDILLERA OR CORDILLERA
OCCIDENTAL 199
XIII. THE EASTERN ANDES: THE CORDILLERA VILCAPAMPA 204
XIV. THE COASTAL TERRACES 225
XV. PHYSIOGRAPHIC AND GEOLOGIC DEVELOPMENT 233
XVI. GLACIAL FEATURES 274
APPENDIX A. SURVEY METHODS EMPLOYED IN THE CONSTRUCTION OF
THE SEVEN ACCOMPANYING TOPOGRAPHIC SHEETS 315
APPENDIX B. FOSSIL DETERMINATIONS 321
APPENDIX C. KEY TO PLACE NAMES 324
INDEX 327
TOPOGRAPHIC SHEETS
Camaná Quadrangle 114
Aplao " 120
Coropuna " 188
Cotahuasi " 192
La Cumbre " 202
Antabamba " 282
Lambrama "
PART I
HUMAN GEOGRAPHY
CHAPTER I
THE REGIONS OF PERU
Let four Peruvians begin this book by telling what manner of country
they live in. Their ideas are provincial and they have a fondness for
exaggerated description: but, for all that, they will reveal much that
is true because they will at least reveal themselves. Their opinions
reflect both the spirit of the toiler on the land and the outlook of the
merchant in the town in relation to geography and national problems.
Their names do not matter; let them stand for the four human regions of
Peru, for they are in many respects typical men.
THE FOREST DWELLER
One of them I met at a rubber station on the lower Urubamba River.[1] He
helped secure my canoe, escorted me hospitably to his hut, set food and
drink before me, and talked of the tropical forest, the rubber business,
the Indians, the rivers, and the trails. In his opinion Peru was a land
of great forest resources. Moreover, the fertile plains along the river
margins might become the sites of rich plantations. The rivers had many
fish and his garden needed only a little cultivation to produce an
abundance of food. Fruit trees grew on every hand. He had recently
married the daughter of an Indian chief.
Formerly he had been a missionary at a rubber station on the Madre de
Dios, where the life was hard and narrow, and he doubted if there were
any real converts. Himself the son of an Englishman and a Chilean woman,
he found, so he said, that a missionary’s life in the rubber forest was
intolerable for more than a few years. Yet he had no fault to find with
the religious system of which he had once formed a part; in fact he had
still a certain curious mixed loyalty to it. Before I left he gave me a
photograph of himself and said with little pride and more sadness that
perhaps I would remember him as a man that had done some good in the
world along with much that might have been better.
We shall understand our interpreter better if we know who his associates
were. He lived with a Frenchman who had spent several years in Africa as
a soldier in the “Foreign Legion.” If you do not know what that means,
you have yet all the pleasure of an interesting discovery. The Frenchman
had reached the station the year before quite destitute and clad only in
a shirt and a pair of trousers. A day’s journey north lived a young
half-breed--son of a drunken father and a Machiganga woman, who cheated
me so badly when I engaged Indian paddlers that I should almost have
preferred that he had robbed me. Yet in a sense he had my life in his
hands and I submitted. A German and a native Peruvian ran a rubber
station on a tributary two days’ journey from the first. It will be
observed that the company was mixed. They were all Peruvians, but of a
sort not found in such relative abundance elsewhere. The defeated and
the outcast, as well as the pioneer, go down eventually to the hot
forested lands where men are forgotten.
While he saw gold in every square mile of his forested region, my
clerical friend saw misery also. The brutal treatment of the Indians by
the whites of the Madre de Dios country he could speak of only as a man
reviving a painful memory. The Indians at the station loved him
devotedly. There was only justice and kindness in all his dealings.
Because he had large interests to look after, he knew all the members of
the tribe, and his word was law in no hackneyed sense. A kindlier man
never lived in the rubber forest. His influence as a high-souled man of
business was vastly greater than as a missionary in this frontier
society. He could daily illustrate by practical example what he had
formerly been able only to preach.
[Illustration: Fig. 1--Tropical vegetation, clearing on the river bank
and rubber station at Pongo de Mainique. The pronounced scarp on the
northeastern border of the Andes is seen in the right background.]
[Illustration: Fig. 2--Pushing a heavy dugout against the current in the
rapids below Pongo de Mainique. The indian boy and his father in the
canoe had been accidentally shot.]
[Illustration: Fig. 3--From the sugar cane, Urubanba Valley, at Colpani.
On the northeastern border of the Cordillera Vilcapampa looking
upstream. In the extreme background and thirteen sixteens of an inch
from the top of the picture is the sharp peak of Salcantay. Only the
lower end of the more open portion of the Canyon of Torontoy is here
shown. There is a field of sugar cane in the foreground and the valley
trail is shown on the opposite side of the river.]
He thought the life of the Peruvian cities debasing. The coastal
valleys were small and dry and the men who lived there were crowded and
poor (sic). The plateau was inhabited by Indians little better than
brutes. Surely I could not think that the fine forest Indian was lower
than the so-called civilized Indian of the plateau. There was plenty of
room in the forest; and there was wealth if you knew how to get at it.
Above all you were far from the annoying officials of the government,
and therefore could do much as you pleased so long as you paid your
duties on rubber and did not wantonly kill too many Indians.
For all his kindly tolerance of men and conditions he yet found fault
with the government. “They” neglected to build roads, to encourage
colonization, and to lower taxes on the forest products, which were
always won at great risk. Nature had done her part well--it was only
government that hindered. Moreover, the forested region was the land of
the future. If Peru was to be a great nation her people would have to
live largely upon the eastern plains. Though others spoke of “going in”
and “coming out” of the rubber country as one might speak of entering
and leaving a dungeon, he always spoke of it as home. Though he now
lived in the wilderness he hoped to see the day when plantations covered
the plains. A greater Peru and the forest were inseparable ideas to him.
THE EASTERN VALLEY PLANTER
My second friend lived in one of the beautiful mountain valleys of the
eastern Andes. We walked through his clean cacao orchards and cane
fields. Like the man in the forest, he believed in the thorough
inefficiency of the government; otherwise why were there no railways for
the cheaper transportation of the valley products, no dams for the
generation of power and the storage of irrigation water, not even roads
for mule carts? Had the government been stable and efficient there would
now be a dense population in the eastern valleys. Revolutions were the
curse of these remote sections of the country. The ne’er-do-wells became
generals. The loafer you dismissed today might demand ten thousand
dollars tomorrow or threaten to destroy your plantation. The government
troops might come to help you, but they were always too late.
For this one paid most burdensome taxes. Lima profited thereby, not the
valley planters. The coast people were the favored of Peru anyhow. They
had railroads, good steamer service, public improvements at government
expense, and comparatively light taxes. If the government were impartial
the eastern valleys also would have railways and a dense population. Who
could tell? Perhaps the capital city might be here. Certainly it was
better to have Lima here than on the coast where the Chileans might at
any time take it again. The blessings of the valleys were both rich and
manifold. Here was neither a cold plateau nor the hot plains, but
fertile valleys with a vernal climate.
We talked of much else, but our conversation had always the pioneer
flavor. And though an old man he saw always the future Peru growing
wonderfully rich and powerful as men came to recognize and use the
resources of the eastern valleys. This too was the optimism of the
pioneer. Once started on that subject he grew eloquent. He was
provincial but he was also intensely patriotic. He never missed an
opportunity to impress upon his guests that a great state would arise
when people and rulers at last recognized the wealth of eastern Peru.
THE HIGHLAND SHEPHERD
The people who live in the lofty highlands and mountains of Peru have
several months of real winter weather despite their tropical latitude.
In the midst of a snowstorm in the Maritime Cordillera I met a solitary
traveler bound for Cotahuasi on the floor of a deep canyon a day’s
journey toward the east. It was noon and we halted our pack trains in
the lee of a huge rock shelter to escape the bitter wind that blew down
from the snow-clad peaks of Solimana. Men who follow the same trails are
fraternal. In a moment we had food from our saddle-bags spread on the
snow under the corner of a _poncho_ and had exchanged the best in each
other’s collection as naturally as friends exchange greetings. By the
time I had told him whence and why in response to his inevitable
questions we had finished the food and had gathered a heap of _tola_
bushes for a fire. The _arriero_ (muleteer) brought water from a spring
in the hollow below us. Though the snow thickened, the wind fell. We
were comfortable, even at 16,000 feet, and called the place “The
Salamanca Club.” Then I questioned him, and this is what he said:
“I live in the deep valley of Cotahuasi, but my lands lie chiefly up
here on the plateau. My family has held title to this _puna_ ever since
the Wars of Liberation, except for a few years after one of our early
revolutions. I travel about a great deal looking after my flocks. Only
Indians live up here. Away off yonder beyond that dark gorge is a group
of their huts, and on the bright days of summer you may see their sheep,
llamas, and alpacas up here, for on the floors of the watered valleys
that girdle these volcanoes there are more tender grasses than grow on
this _despoblado_. I give them corn and barley from my irrigated fields
in the valley; they give me wool and meat. The alpaca wool is most
valuable. It is hard to get, for the alpaca requires short grasses and
plenty of water, and you see there is only coarse tufted ichu grass
about us, and there are no streams. It is all right for llamas, but
alpacas require better forage.
“No one can imagine the poverty and ignorance of these mountain
shepherds. They are filthier than beasts. I have to watch them
constantly or they would sell parts of the flocks, which do not belong
to them, or try to exchange the valuable alpaca wool for coca leaves in
distant towns. They are frequently drunk.”
“But where do they get the drink?” I asked. “And what do you pay them?”
“Oh, the drink is chiefly imported alcohol, and also _chicha_ made from
corn. They insist on having it, and do better when I bring them a little
now and then. They get much more from the dealers in the towns. As for
pay, I do not pay them anything in money except when they bring meat to
the valley. Then I give them a few _reales_ apiece for the sheep and a
little more for the llamas. The flocks all belong to me really, but of
course the poor Indian must have a little money. Besides, I let him have
a part of the yearly increase. It is not much, but he has always lived
this way and I suppose that he is contented after a fashion.”
Then he became eager to tell what wealth the mountains contained in soil
and climate if only the right grasses were introduced by the government.
“Here, before us, are vast _punas_ almost without habitations. If the
officials would bring in hardy Siberian grasses these lava-covered
plateaus might be carpeted with pasture. There would be villages here
and there. The native Indians easily stand the altitude. This whole
Cordillera might have ten times as many people. Why does the government
bother about concessions in the rubber forests and roads to the eastern
valleys when there are these vast tracts only requiring new seeds to
develop into rich pastures? The government could thus greatly increase
its revenues because there is a heavy tax on exported wool.”
Thus he talked about the bleak Cordillera until we forgot the pounding
of our hearts and our frequent gasps for breath on account of the
altitude. His rosy picture of a well-populated highland seemed to bring
us down nearer sea level where normal folks lived. To the Indians the
altitude is nothing. It has an effect, but it is slight; at any rate
they manage to reproduce their kind at elevations that would kill a
white mother. If alcohol were abolished and better grasses introduced,
these lofty pastures might indeed support a much larger population. The
sheep pastures of the world are rapidly disappearing before the march of
the farmer. Here, well above the limit of cultivation, is a permanent
range, one of the great as well as permanent assets of Peru.
THE COASTAL PLANTER
The man from the deep Majes Valley in the coastal desert rode out with
me through cotton fields as rich and clean as those of a Texas
plantation. He was tall, straight-limbed, and clear-eyed--one of the
energetic younger generation, yet with the blood of a proud old family.
We forded the river and rode on through vineyards and fig orchards
loaded with fruit. His manner became deeply earnest as he pictured the
future of Peru, when her people would take advantage of scientific
methods and use labor-saving machinery. He said that the methods now in
use were medieval, and he pointed to a score of concrete illustrations.
Also, here was water running to waste, yet the desert was on either
hand. There should be dams and canals. Every drop of water was needed.
The population of the valley could be easily doubled.
[Illustration: FIG. 4--Large ground moss--so-called _yareta_--used for
fuel. It occurs in the zone of Alpine vegetation and is best developed
in regions where the snowline is highest. The photograph represents a
typical occurrence between Cotahuasi and Salamanca, elevation 16,000
feet (4,880 m.). The snowline is here at 17,500 feet (5,333 m.). In the
foreground is the most widely distributed _tola_ bush, also used for
fuel.]
[Illustration: FIG. 5.--Expedition’s camp near Lamgrama, 15,500 feet
(4,720 m.), after a snowstorm The location is midway in the pasture
zone.]
[Illustration: FIG. 6--Irrigated Chili Valley on the outskirts of
Arequipa. The lower <DW72>s of El Misti are in the left background. The
_Alto de los Huesos_ or Plateau of Bones lies on the farther side of the
valley.]
[Illustration: FIG. 7--Crossing the highest pass (Chuquito) in the
Cordillera Vilcapampa, 14,500 feet (4,420 m.). Grazing is here carried
on up to the snowline.]
Capital was lacking but there was also lacking energy among the people.
Slipshod methods brought them a bare living and they were too easily
contented. Their standards of life should be elevated. Education was
still for the few, and it should be universal. A new spirit of progress
was slowly developing--a more general interest in public affairs, a
desire to advance with the more progressive nations of South
America,--and when it had reached its culmination there would be no
happier land than coastal Peru, already the seat of the densest
populations and the most highly cultivated fields.
* * * * *
These four men have portrayed the four great regions of Peru--the
lowland plains, the eastern mountain valleys, the lofty plateaus, and
the valley oases of the coast. This is not all of Peru. The mountain
basins have their own peculiar qualities and the valley heads of the
coastal zone are unlike the lower valleys and the plateau on either
hand. Yet the chief characteristics of the | 571.983471 |
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MISS HILDRETH.
A Novel.
BY A. DE GRASSE STEVENS,
AUTHOR OF "OLD BOSTON," "THE LOST DAUPHIN,"
"WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE," ETC.
In Three Volumes.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
WARD AND DOWNEY,
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1888.
[_All rights reserved._]
_Copyright by_ A. de GRASSE STEVENS, 1888.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. A VIGIL 1
CHAPTER II. LUDLOW STREET JAIL 22
CHAPTER III. "FATHOM HER MOTIVES, PHILIP" 33
CHAPTER IV. MIXED MOTIVES 54
CHAPTER V. A WOMAN'S LOGIC 74
CHAPTER VI. A QUESTION OF COMITY 86
CHAPTER VII. NON-COMMITTAL 104
CHAPTER VIII. A DAMAGING PROMISE 117
CHAPTER IX. CONFLICTING IDENTITIES 134
CHAPTER X. A GLEAM OF LIGHT 153
CHAPTER XI. CHECKMATE 169
CHAPTER XII. OUR LADY OF KAZAN 183
CHAPTER XIII. NO EXPLANATION 205
CHAPTER XIV. "FORGIVE HER" 218
CHAPTER XV. VLADIMIR'S WELCOME 233
CHAPTER XVI. AN ETERNAL FAREWELL 251
CHAPTER XVII. AFTER TEN YEARS 268
MISS HILDRETH.
CHAPTER I.
A VIGIL.
The news of Patricia Hildreth's arrest on a criminal warrant had flown
like wild-fire throughout society. Mr. Tremain found himself almost the
only one of his world not cognisant of the facts from the beginning; and
as he listened to one garbled statement after another,
according to the narrator's fancy, he cursed the evil fortune and his
own selfishness, that had kept him so effectually out of the way, and
made him play so blindly into the enemies' hands.
He knew very well that had he been at home, or allowed his letters and
papers to be forwarded to him, matters would never have reached so
serious a pass; but shutting himself away as he had done from all
outside communication, there had been no one at hand to avert the blow
as it fell, or to force a more definite showing from the attacking
parties, before the extreme measure of arrest was put into execution.
Esther Newbold's absence, and the uncertain movements of the
_Deerhound_, had proved an additional disaster for Patricia. It was only
on the yacht putting in at New London, that Esther heard of her friend's
trouble. A flaming poster outside the hotel had caught Mrs. Newbold's
attention as she sauntered along the planked side-walk with Miss
Darling, and the next moment they were both reading with horrified
comprehension the bold sensational headings:
"Arrest of Miss Hildreth. Further developments expected shortly. Miss
Hildreth's appearance in Ludlow Street, etc., etc."
These were the lines, in staring red letters, that first greeted Esther
on her landing, after a three weeks' cruise; and their effect upon her
can better be imagined than described. She was, however, essentially a
person of action, and not an hour had passed before she, her husband,
and Dick Darling, were on their way to New York, leaving the yacht and
its guests to dispose of themselves.
That Patricia should be in such dire trouble, and alone, struck Esther
as something so preposterous as to be almost incredible. Patricia, who
counted her lovers and admirers by the score; who was always triumphant
and victorious and worshipped wherever she appeared; whose smile was a
reward highly coveted; whose favour was a prize eagerly courted--to be
in prison, arrested on some crime too horrible even to be named. Alone;
subjected to indignities and privations whose very meaning had been
hitherto unknown to her easy, luxurious existence.
"Ah, do let us get to her at once," Esther had cried, imploringly, after
she had poured out all the horrible story in George Newbold's
astonished ears. "Only to think of her in that dreadful place; how she
must suffer! And in this weather too, so hot and breathless as it is;
and we never knowing all the time, but enjoying ourselves like brutes
and heathens! Oh, Patricia, Patricia, is this what your wilfulness has
brought you to? Oh, George, do make haste; and to think what a viper we
entertained in that dreadful Count Mellikoff!"
"Well, he certainly hasn't turned out an angel," answered George, in his
slow fashion. "For once, my dear Esther, the scripture has gone back on
itself, for he _was_ a stranger, and we made him very welcome; in return
for which he took us in most neatly."
"Don't be profane," retorted his wife, "I'm sure this is no time for
such joking. Isn't poor Patty a lesson to us all, and the evil that has
overtaken her a judgment on our folly? But will you make haste? We shall
lose the train if you are so deliberate. There's the gig along-side at
last; good-bye, my Mimi, be very good and you shall come to Mumsey in a
day or two."
She put her little daughter out of her arms, drew down her veil, and
hurried off her husband and Miss Darling, without further leave-takings.
Little Marianne stood on the deck straining her blue eyes for a last
glimpse of the dancing boat, her white frock and golden hair fluttering
in the light breeze.
Mr. Tremain found himself embarked on a fruitless expedition when he
yielded to Dick Darling's entreat | 572.041463 |
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Sentence Numbers, shown thus (1), have been added by volunteer.
A Theologico-Political Treatise
Part III - Chapters XI to XV
by Baruch Spinoza
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
CHAPTER XI - An Inquiry whether the Apostles wrote their
Epistles as Apostles and Prophets, or merely as Teachers,
and an Explanation of what is meant by Apostle.
The epistles not in the prophetic style.
The Apostles not commanded to write or preach in particular places.
Different methods of teaching adopted by the Apostles.
CHAPTER XII - Of the true Original of the Divine Law,
and wherefore Scripture is called Sacred, and the Word of God.
How that, in so far as it contains the Word of God,
it has come down to us uncorrupted.
CHAPTER XIII - It is shown, that Scripture teaches only very Simple Doctrines,
such as suffice for right conduct.
Error in speculative doctrine not impious - nor knowledge pious.
Piety consists in obedience.
CHAPTER XIV - Definitions of Faith, the True Faith, and the Foundations
of Faith, which is once for all separated from Philosophy.
Danger resulting from the vulgar idea of faith.
The only test of faith obedience and good works.
As different men are disposed to obedience by different opinions,
universal faith can contain only the simplest doctrines.
Fundamental distinction between faith and philosophy -
the key-stone of the present treatise.
CHAPTER XV - Theology is shown not to be subservient to
Reason, nor Reason to Theology: a Definition of the reason
which enables us to accept the Authority of the Bible.
Theory that Scripture must be accommodated to Reason -
maintained by Maimonides - already refuted in Chapter vii.
Theory that Reason must be accommodated to Scripture -
maintained by Alpakhar - examined.
And refuted.
Scripture and Reason independent of one another.
Certainty, of fundamental faith not mathematical but moral.
Great utility of Revelation.
Author's Endnotes to the Treatise.
CHAPTER XI - AN INQUIRY WHETHER THE APOSTLES WROTE THEIR
EPISTLES AS APOSTLES AND PROPHETS, OR MERELY AS TEACHERS;
AND AN EXPLANATION OF WHAT IS MEANT BY AN APOSTLE.
(1) No reader of the New Testament can doubt that the Apostles were
prophets; but as a prophet does not always speak by revelation, but only, at
rare intervals, as we showed at the end of Chap. I., we may fairly inquire
whether the Apostles wrote their Epistles as prophets, by revelation and
express mandate, as Moses, Jeremiah, and others did, or whether only as
private individuals or teachers, especially as Paul, in Corinthians xiv:6,
mentions two sorts of preaching.
(2) If we examine the style of the Epistles, we shall find it totally
different from that employed by the prophets.
(3) The prophets are continually asserting that they speak by the command of
God: "Thus saith the Lord," "The Lord of hosts saith," "The command of the
Lord," &c.; and this was their habit not only in assemblies of the prophets,
but also in their epistles containing revelations, as appears from the epistle
of Elijah to Jehoram, 2 Chron. xxi:12, which begins, "Thus saith the Lord."
(4) In the Apostolic Epistles we find nothing of the sort. (5) Contrariwise,
in I Cor. vii:40 Paul speaks according to his own opinion and in many
passages we come across doubtful and perplexed phrase; such as, "We think,
therefore," Rom. iii:28; "Now I think," [Endnote 24], Rom. viii:18, and so
on. (6) Besides these, other expressions are met with very different from
those used by the prophets. (7) For instance, 1 Cor. vii:6, "But I speak
this by permission, not by commandment;" "I give my judgment as one that
hath obtained mercy of the Lord to be faithful" (1 Cor. vii:25), and so on
in many other passages. (8) We must also remark that in the aforesaid
chapter the Apostle says that when he states that he has or has
not the precept or commandment of God, he does not mean the precept or
commandment of God revealed to himself, but only the words uttered by Christ
in His Sermon on the Mount. (9) Furthermore, if we examine the manner in
which the Apostles give out evangelical doctrine, we shall see that it
differs materially from the method adopted by the prophets. (10) The
Apostles everywhere reason as if they were arguing rather than prophesying;
the prophecies, on the other hand, contain only dogmas and commands. (11)
God is therein introduced not as speaking to reason, but as issuing decrees
by His absolute fiat. (12) The authority of the prophets does not submit to
discussion, for whosoever wishes to find rational ground for his arguments,
by that very wish submits them to everyone's private judgment. (13) This
Paul, inasmuch as he uses reason, appears to have done, for he says in 1
Cor. x:15, "I speak as to wise men, judge ye what I say." (14) The prophets,
as we showed at the end of Chapter I., did not perceive what was revealed by
virtue of their natural reason, and though there are certain passages in the
Pentateuch which seem to be appeals to induction, they turn out, on nearer
examination, to be nothing but peremptory commands. (15) For instance, when
Moses says, Deut. xxxi:27, "Behold, while I am yet alive with you, this day
ye have been rebellious against the Lord; and how much more after
my death," we must by no means conclude that Moses wished to convince the
Israelites by reason that they would necessarily fall away from the worship
of the Lord after his death; for the argument would have been false, as
Scripture itself shows: the Israelites continued faithful during the lives
of Joshua and the elders, and afterwards during the time of Samuel, David,
and Solomon. (16) Therefore the words of Moses are merely a moral
injunction, in which he predicts rhetorically the future backsliding of the
people so as to impress it vividly on their imagination. (17) I say that
Moses spoke of himself in order to lend likelihood to his prediction, and
not as a prophet by revelation, because in verse 21 of the same chapter we
are told that God revealed the same thing to Moses in different words, and
there was no need to make Moses certain by argument of God's prediction and
decree; it was only necessary that it should be vividly impressed on
his imagination, and this could not be better accomplished than by
imagining the existing contumacy of the people, of which he had had frequent
experience, as likely to extend into the future.
(18) All the arguments employed by Moses in the five books are to be
understood in a similar manner; they are not drawn from the armoury of
reason, but are merely, modes of expression calculated to instil with
efficacy, and present vividly to the imagination the commands of God.
(19) However, I do not wish absolutely to deny that the prophets ever argued
from revelation; I only maintain that the prophets made more legitimate use
of argument in proportion as their knowledge approached more nearly to
ordinary knowledge, and by this we know that they possessed a knowledge
above the ordinary, inasmuch as they proclaimed absolute dogmas,
decrees, or judgments. (20) Thus Moses, the chief of the prophets, never
used legitimate argument, and, on the other hand, the long deductions and
arguments of Paul, such as we find in the Epistle to the Romans, are in
nowise written from supernatural revelation.
(21) The modes of expression and discourse adopted by the Apostles in the
Epistles, show very clearly that the latter were not written by revelation
and Divine command, but merely by the natural powers and judgment of the
authors. (22) They consist in brotherly admonitions and courteous
expressions such as would never be employed in prophecy, as for instance,
Paul's excuse in Romans xv:15, "I have written the more boldly unto you in
some sort, my brethren."
(23) We may arrive at the same conclusion from observing that we never read
that the Apostles were commanded to write, but only that they went
everywhere preaching, and confirmed their words with signs. (24) Their
personal presence and signs were absolutely necessary for the conversion and
establishment in religion of the Gentiles; as Paul himself expressly states
in Rom. i:11, "But I long to see you, that I may impart to you some
spiritual gift, to the end that ye may be established."
(25) It may be objected that we might prove in similar fashion that the
Apostles did not preach as prophets, for they did not go to particular
places, as the prophets did, by the command of God. (26) We read in
the Old Testament that Jonah went to Nineveh to preach, and at the
same time that he was expressly sent there, and told that he most preach.
(27) So also it is related, at great length, of Moses that he went to Egypt
as the messenger of God, and was told at the same time what he should say to
the children of Israel and to king Pharaoh, and what wonders he should work
before them to give credit to his words. (28) Isaiah, Jeremiah, and
Ezekiel were expressly commanded to preach to the Israelites. Lastly, the
prophets only preached what we are assured by Scripture they had received
from God, whereas this is hardly ever said of the Apostles in the New
Testament, when they went about to preach. (29) On the contrary, we find
passages expressly implying that the Apostles chose the places where they
should preach on their own responsibility, for there was a difference
amounting to a quarrel between Paul and Barnabas on the subject (Acts xv:37,
38). (30) Often they wished to go to a place, but were prevented, as Paul
writes, Rom. i:13, "Oftentimes I purposed to come to you, but was let
hitherto;" and in I Cor. xvi:12, "As touching our brother Apollos | 572.04172 |
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THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE
Bernard Shaw
ACT I
At the most wretched hour between a black night and a wintry morning in
the year 1777, Mrs. Dudgeon, of New Hampshire, is sitting up in the
kitchen and general dwelling room of her farm house on the outskirts of
the town of Websterbridge. She is not a prepossessing woman. No woman
looks her best after sitting up all night; and Mrs. Dudgeon's face,
even at its best, is grimly trenched by the channels into which the
barren forms and observances of a dead Puritanism can pen a bitter
temper and a fierce pride. She is an elderly matron who has worked hard
and got nothing by it except dominion and detestation in her sordid
home, and an unquestioned reputation for piety and respectability among
her neighbors, to whom drink and debauchery are still so much more
tempting than religion and rectitude, that they conceive goodness
simply as self-denial. This conception is easily extended to
others--denial, and finally generalized as covering anything
disagreeable. So Mrs. Dudgeon, being exceedingly disagreeable, is held
to be exceedingly good. Short of flat felony, she enjoys complete
license except for amiable weaknesses of any sort, and is consequently,
without knowing it, the most licentious woman in the parish on the
strength of never having broken the seventh commandment or missed a
Sunday at the Presbyterian church.
The year 1777 is the one in which the passions roused of the breaking
off of the American colonies from England, more by their own weight
than their own will, boiled up to shooting point, the shooting being
idealized to the English mind as suppression of rebellion and
maintenance of British dominion, and to the American as defence of
liberty, resistance to tyranny, and selfsacrifice on the altar of the
Rights of Man. Into the merits of these idealizations it is not here
necessary to inquire: suffice it to say, without prejudice, that they
have convinced both Americans and English that the most high minded
course for them to pursue is to kill as many of one another as
possible, and that military operations to that end are in full swing,
morally supported by confident requests from the clergy of both sides
for the blessing of God on their arms.
Under such circumstances many other women besides this disagreeable
Mrs. Dudgeon find themselves sitting up all night waiting for news.
Like her, too, they fall asleep towards morning at the risk of nodding
themselves into the kitchen fire. Mrs. Dudgeon sleeps with a shawl over
her head, and her feet on a broad fender of iron laths, the step of the
domestic altar of the fireplace, with its huge hobs and boiler, and its
hinged arm above the smoky mantel-shelf for roasting. The plain kitchen
table is opposite the fire, at her elbow, with a candle on it in a tin
sconce. Her chair, like all the others in the room, is uncushioned and
unpainted; but as it has a round railed back and a | 572.04378 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 36298-h.htm or 36298-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
(1) Characters following a carat (^) were printed
in superscript.
(2) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below
letters are not identified in this text file.
(3) [alpha], [beta], etc. stand for greek letters.
(4) A list of corrections is at the end of this e-book.
[Illustration: Bodleian Library, Oxford.
London, Frederick Warne & C^o.]
AMENITIES OF LITERATURE,
Consisting of Sketches and Characters of English Literature.
by
ISAAC DISRAELI.
A New Edition,
Edited by His Son,
THE EARL OF BEACONSFIELD.
[Illustration]
London:
Frederick Warne and Co.,
Bedford Street, Strand.
London:
Bradbury, Agnew, & Co., Printers, Whitefriars.
PREFACE.
A history of our vernacular literature has occupied my studies for many
years. It was my design not to furnish an arid narrative of books or of
authors, but following the steps of the human mind through the wide
track of Time, to trace from their beginnings the rise, the progress,
and the decline of public opinions, and to illustrate, as the objects
presented themselves, the great incidents in our national annals.
In the progress of these researches many topics presented themselves,
some of which, from their novelty and curiosity, courted investigation.
Literary history, in this enlarged circuit, becomes not merely a
philological history of critical erudition, but ascends into a
philosophy of books | 572.087864 |
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THE GRIMKE SISTERS
SARAH AND ANGELINA GRIMKE
_THE FIRST AMERICAN WOMEN ADVOCATES
OF ABOLITION AND WOMAN'S RIGHTS_
By CATHERINE H. BIRNEY
"The glory of all glories is the glory of self-sacrifice."
1885
PREFACE.
It was with great diffidence, from inexperience in literary work of
such length, that I engaged to write the biography which I now present
to the public. But the diaries and letters placed in my hands lightened
the work of composition, and it has been a labor of affection as well
as of duty to pay what tribute I might to the memory of two of the
noblest women of the country, whom I learned to love and venerate
during a residence of nearly two years under the same roof, and who,
to the end of their lives, honored me with their friendship.
C.H.B.
Washington City, Sept., 1885.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Childhood of Sarah, 7. Practical teachings, 9. Teaching slaves, 11.
Sarah a godmother, 13. Their | 572.139594 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
SHORT STUDIES IN ETHICS
_AN ELEMENTARY TEXT-BOOK FOR SCHOOLS_
BY
REV. J. O. MILLER, M.A.,
_Principal of Bishop Ridley College_
TORONTO:
THE BRYANT PRESS
1895
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the office of
the Minister of Agriculture, by REV. J. O. MILLER, M.A., St. Catharines,
Canada.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. DUTY 7
II. OBEDIENCE 15
III. TRUTHFULNESS 19
IV. COURAGE 24
V. PURITY 30
VI. UNSELFISHNESS 35
VII. HONESTY 40
VIII. FAITHFULNESS 45
IX. PROFANITY 50
X. JUSTICE 54
XI. BENEVOLENCE 59
XII. AMBITION 63
XIII. PATRIOTISM 68
XIV. BODILY EXERCISE 72
XV. HABIT 77
XVI. INDUSTRY 82
XVII. SELF-CONTROL 88
XVIII. SELF-RELIANCE 91
XIX. FRIENDSHIP 95
XX. GENTLEMANLINESS 100
XXI. COURTESY 105
XXII. REPENTANCE 110
XXIII. CHARACTER 115
XXIV. CONSCIENCE 120
PREFACE
This little book has grown out of periodical addresses to my own pupils.
An experience of over ten years has convinced me of the necessity of
teaching systematically the fundamental principles of Morality. The
scarcity of books suitable as elementary texts is a sufficient proof
that the subject is neglected in our schools. It cannot be right that
children should be left to master so wide a subject from incidental
instruction and from example.
I should be sorry if any one thought, from glancing at the topics I have
treated, that I seemed content to put lessons in practical Morality in
place of instruction in the Scriptures and definite religious teaching.
Nothing can take the place of the Scriptures. But I feel convinced that
these two aspects of Truth must go hand in hand. The young mind requires
the truth to be presented to it from all sides, and nothing appeals to
it so strongly as a modern example.
My own idea as to the use of such a book as this is that it should
supplement Bible instruction. The lessons are short enough to be taught
in half an hour. If one topic is taken up each week, and thoroughly
explained, and enlarged on by fresh examples from current life and
history, the whole book can be easily mastered in the school year, and
leave ample time for review and examination. If it should prove helpful
to other teachers, my labour will be amply rewarded.
_Bishop Ridley College, St. Catharines,
Feb. 28th, 1895._
[Greek: Megas gar ho agon, megas, ouch hosos dokei, to chreston e
kakon genesthai.]
--_Plato._
No. I.
DUTY
+Duty is something which is due, and which, therefore, ought to be paid
or performed. It is something owed by everybody, to God, to self, or to
others.+
No other word is more disliked by the slothful than the word Duty. The
mention of the word itself causes weariness to a boy or man of that
kind. We can only get to like the word and the thing itself by
accustoming ourselves to perform it regularly, a little at a time. A boy
or girl with a fine ear and a natural talent for music hates, at first,
the daily practising and the uninteresting lessons; but, as soon as the
difficulties are mastered, playing an instrument becomes a delight.
Duty, in itself, is not a distasteful thing; it is because we hate
anything which gives us trouble that it seems unbearable. We can teach
ourselves to like taking pains.
Duty is, in one sense, the great law which governs the universe. The
planets revolving about the sun, the moon encircling the earth, even the
erratic comets, in fulfilling the laws of their being, perform the
duties which they are set. So, too, the plants and animals of the lower
creation obey the laws under which they live. Even of inanimate things,
pieces of human mechanism, may this be said. The pendulum of the clock
will tick until it is worn out, if it receive the care necessary for its
work. We see what wonderful things a machine can be made to do for man
in Edison's marvellous inventions of the kinetoscope and the
kinetograph.
Human duties differ from those of the lower creation and of the
inanimate world in this, that in the latter the duties are performed by
virtue of the great law of necessity, whereas man is free. That is what
makes human duties moral--that is where the _ought_ comes in. If we love
idleness, and most of us do at first, we naturally hate the idea of
Duty. If we give way to our feelings and desires, we shall only hate
Duty more intensely, and we are in danger of becoming not much better
than the brutes around us; in fact, we are giving way to the brute part
of our nature. Human nature differs from brute nature in having a
Conscience, which continually whispers in our hearts, "I must not," and
"I ought." It is our first duty to listen to Conscience.
The longer we practise doing duties the easier they become. A great man
once said: "A man shall carry a bucket of water on his head and be very
tired with the burden; but that same man, when he dives into the sea,
shall have the weight of a thousand buckets on his head without
perceiving their weight, because he is in the element, and it entirely
surrounds him." After running two miles for the first time, a boy feels
great stiffness, but after he has done it twenty times he feels nothing
but the pleasure of good health arising from pleasant exercise. In the
same way, he translates a single sentence in his Latin grammar with
great difficulty at first, but when he can translate Caesar's campaigns
without trouble the task becomes a delight.
Most people think they are entitled to great credit for doing their
Duty, and even to reward. If some one owes you a dollar, is he entitled
to a reward for repaying you? Is he entitled to any special credit? If a
father sees his son drowning and jumps into the water to rescue him, is
he entitled to any special credit, as a matter of right? Duty is
something _due_; therefore, it is a debt. "When ye have done all the
things that are commanded you, say, We are all bondservants; we have
done that which it was our duty to do."
(1) Duty is something owing to ourselves. Character is made up of
duties, and by our character we must stand or fall. We owe it to
ourselves to take the greatest care of our bodies. They should be
cleansed and exercised every day of our lives. Many a man, who would
feel outraged if his favourite horse were not thoroughly groomed and
otherwise cared for daily, neglects his own body, which needs "grooming"
quite as much as that of the horse. We owe it to ourselves to be careful
as to what we eat, and as to the right quantity. If we give a dog too
much meat or a horse too much grain, we know the result. We are not so
careful about ourselves as about our animals.
We owe it to ourselves to be true in all things. "First to thine own
self be true," says the great poet. We owe it to ourselves to be honest
in the very smallest things as well as in the great; to be afraid of
nothing except evil; to be clean in our thoughts and words; to be
modest; to be kind; to be gentle to the weak; to be generous; to be
charitable; to be modest about ourselves; to be temperate.
(2) Duty is something owing to others. We owe our parents a return for
their love and care for us at a time when we should have perished
without it. The return that is due them is that we should be a credit to
them instead of a disgrace, so that the world may say, "Those parents
have reason to be proud of their children." God has said: "Honour thy
father and thy mother." We owe it to them to be diligent in our
lessons, so that we may prepare to earn our own living, and not to be
dependent upon them all our days. A boy may say: "I am not going to
bother my head about this work. My father is rich, and I shall never
have to work unless I like." A few years hence, men will say: "Look at
that idle fellow! He is a disgrace to his parents. He is fit for
nothing; he is going to the bad already."
We owe it to others to owe them nothing. "Owe no man anything." It is
our duty to pay every debt in full, at the earliest moment possible. We
owe it to others to keep as sacred every confidence reposed in us. We
owe it to others to say no evil of them. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum_ was
a proverb of the Romans. It is wiser to speak evil of no one at all.
"He slandereth not with his tongue,
Nor doeth evil to his friend,
Nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour."
(3) Duty is something owing to one's country. The names of the patriots
will be the last to die from men's memories. Every man owes to his
country his name, his influence, his strenuous labour, his liberty, his
life itself, should that be needed. When Nelson, on the day of
Trafalgar, gave to his ships the signal, "England expects every man to
do his duty," he spoke for all nations, in all ages, under all
circumstances. When Pompey's friends tried to dissuade him from setting
sail for Rome in a storm, telling him that he did so at the peril of his
life, he said, "It is necessary for me to go, it is not necessary for me
to live." Perhaps the greatest example of patriotism shown in a love of
Duty of modern times is that of Wellington. His greatness lay in doing
thoroughly every duty that came in his way. For that he would sacrifice
everything else. Late in his life he was content to suffer a temporary
loss of popularity through devotion to what he believed to be a duty. He
was even mobbed in the streets of London, and had his windows smashed
while his wife lay dead in the house. The great motive power that
underlay his whole career was whole-hearted devotion to Duty. He himself
said that Duty was his watchword. "There is little or nothing in this
life worth living for," said he; "but we can all of us go straight
forward and do our duty." Nelson's last words were: "I have done my
duty; I praise God for it."
Some years ago a troop-ship called the _Birkenhead_ was wrecked off the
coast of Africa. The officers and men saw the women and children safely
into the boats, which sufficed for them alone. Those brave soldiers and
sailors fired a salute as the ship went down, and thus cheerfully gave
up their lives to the watery grave. Upon which a great writer said:
"Goodness, Duty, Sacrifice--these are the qualities that England
honours. She knows how to teach her sons to sink like men amidst sharks
and billows, as if Duty were the most natural thing in the world."
(4) Duty is something owing to God. The highest act of duty is to
acknowledge that we owe everything to God, except evil. We owe our lives
to God, for from Him they came. We owe it to God that man is a human
being, and not merely a higher sort of lower animal. God "breathed into
his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living _soul_." We owe
to God all that we have, and especially all happiness that we enjoy. It
is from Him that comes all the love that enters into our lives. He is
the great source of love to the human race. That is why we call Him our
Father; He is the personification of the love of which our earthly
parents' love is an example. We owe to God gratitude for His love to us,
manifested at every step of our lives, and we ought not merely to feel
that gratitude, but also to express it to Him daily. It is our duty,
therefore, to pray.
The highest form of prayer is that God's will may be done in our lives.
If we are sincere in that, and pray it with our hearts, and not merely
with our lips, it will be found sufficient to cover every request that
we can make, because our supreme duty is to do God's will in every act
and desire of life. Arising out of that prayer come the principal duties
of life, viz., thankfulness for God's goodness to us, the fight against
evil in every form, the showing to others by example how God's will may
be done, and, lastly, perfect trust in God in every circumstance of
life.
No. II.
OBEDIENCE
+Obedience is doing promptly and cheerfully what is commanded by those in
authority over us.+
Obedience is the first great law of life. No nation could continue to
exist if its citizens were not law-abiding. The most highly civilized
nations are those whose citizens yield loyal Obedience to the laws, and
strive to make all men obey them. Every society has its rules which the
members agree to obey, and it can only exist so long as that obedience
is observed voluntarily and faithfully. No army could be successful
against the enemy if the soldiers did not obey their officers.
Unquestioning obedience to the commands of the captain is necessary for
the safety of the ship and of the lives of the passengers. Those who are
employed in business must obey the instructions of their employers if
the business is to succeed. The first lesson that a schoolboy is set to
learn is the lesson of Obedience. What happiness could there be in our
homes if the children did not obey their parents?
The greatest part of life is Conduct, and Conduct can only be attained
by practising Obedience. The little child learns it from its mother, the
boy from his father, and from his master at school. The young man must
practise it at college, or at business. The older man continues to obey
some one all through his life. If he wish to govern others, he must
first obey himself. If he will not obey himself, he cannot rule others.
There is only One who is above Obedience--that is God.
At the battle of Balaklava, a small brigade of cavalry was ordered to
attack an immensely strong battery. The order was a mistake, as every
one knew that such an attempt would mean certain death. Yet the officer
commanding the cavalry did not hesitate for a moment to carry out the
orders, though he well knew what the result would be. Not a single
soldier among those six hundred refused to obey.
"Theirs not to reason why;
Theirs but to do and die."
And so the charge was made, and out of the six hundred only one-quarter
returned.
Boys sometimes think it a manly thing to question the orders given them,
and even to assert their independence by refusing to obey. Brave men
think it childish to stop to reason about the commands of those in
authority. The wisest men believe that disobedience is one of the
strongest signs of radically bad character. Experience teaches us that
disobedience will, in time, destroy the character altogether. He that
will not submit to authority must become, in time, not merely a useless,
but a dangerous, member of society.
Obedience, to be worth anything in building up conduct, must be given
_promptly and cheerfully_. Obedience which is tardy, or yielded through
fear, is not right Obedience at all. If a boy's father desires him to do
a piece of work which is not agreeable, or not very easy, there is often
a great temptation to put it off, and do other things first. A boy is
told to cut the grass when he comes home from school. He returns home,
and finds the afternoon warm, and the prospect of grass-cutting
uninviting, and so he first feeds his pigeons; and that reminds him that
he is very anxious to make them some new nest-boxes. The afternoon has
nearly gone when he, at length, drags himself unwillingly to the
lawn-mower; and he has barely finished the work, when he sees his father
coming in at the gate. Perhaps the edges of the grass plot have not been
clipped, as a finish to the work, because he did not begin soon enough.
That is a case of tardy Obedience--not real Obedience. The work was done
because the boy knew he must do it, and not because he loved to obey
his father. Real Obedience is _prompt_ Obedience.
Real Obedience is always cheerfully given. He who grumbles at an order,
and only does it through fear, is not obedient. A boy who will not
cheerfully give up a game, in order to carry out a command from one in
authority, must always be looked upon as one who is at heart
disobedient. If the officers of the cavalry, mentioned above, had chafed
under the order to put their lives in peril, and had sent the messenger
back to find out if they were really to make the attack, they would have
lost their claim to our admiration as truly brave men. If the troopers
had grumbled when the order was given to advance into the valley of
death, and had made the attack in a half-hearted way, they would never
have gained the undying glory that is theirs, and they would probably
have sacrificed the lives of the few who did at last return in safety.
Their Obedience gained them immortal fame because it was prompt and
cheerful.
He who would become a good citizen, and a really useful member of
society, can only do so by practising Obedience, with great patience,
and with all his heart, throughout the whole of his life. To attain
excellence in it, as in many other things, it must be begun very early
in life. Above all, it must be willingly given. Real Obedience is
prompt, cheerful, and from the heart.
No. III.
TRUTHFULNESS
+Truthfulness is speaking and acting in a perfectly straightforward way,
without any attempt to add to, or take from, the facts. Its opposite is
Lying or Deception.+
If Lying were the rule and Truthfulness the exception, society would
soon be destroyed. Men could not do business with each other if they
could not be trusted to speak the truth, and to keep faithfully a
promise once made. Instead of trusting, they would fear one another;
every time they were assured of anything they would doubt, and perhaps
suspect a trap. If all men resorted to lying, they would soon begin to
destroy each other, because it is an instinct of human nature to
preserve one's self from the attack of enemies. The liar is the enemy of
mankind. A great man was once asked: "Do the devils lie?" "No," was his
answer; "for then even hell could no longer exist."
(1) Regard for Truthfulness forbids us to tell, as truth, what we know
to be false. This is the worst form of lying. Only the most hardened
will lie deliberately; no one who has not had long practice in this vice
can tell a deliberate falsehood without despising himself. That can only
be done when the Conscience is at last asleep, and when the character
has become vicious.
(2) Another form of lying is telling, as truth, what we do not know to
be true. People often assert things which they cannot possibly know to
be true; for instance, the motives of other persons. There are also
things which are only probable, and of which we cannot be certain. To
state as absolutely true what we cannot know to be true is falsehood.
Again, there are things which are merely matters of opinion, and upon
which vastly different opinions may be held. If we would be strictly
truthful, we must be careful to state as true only what can be proved to
be facts.
(3) Another form of deceit is telling what may be true in fact, but
telling it in such a way as to convey a false impression. This may be
done by (_a_) exaggerating, or adding to, the facts; or (_b_) by
withholding some important part of the facts. Many a character has been
ruined by some enemy who wilfully overstated, or understated, facts of
the highest importance to the person's reputation. Many a man has ruined
his own character by allowing himself to acquire the habit of
exaggeration.
(4) Untruthfulness shows itself in other ways. A lie may be acted as
well as spoken. For example, when a boy allows himself to be praised for
some action he never performed and does not give the praise to the right
person, or at least disown it for himself, he acts a lie. The boy who
tries to make his master believe him to be obedient and studious when he
is not acts a lie. The boy who brings up as his own work an exercise
which he has cribbed, or in which he has been assisted, acts a lie.
(5) Concealment of the truth may be an unspoken lie. There is an old
Latin motto which says: "The suppression of the truth is the suggestion
of an untruth." By keeping back a necessary part of the truth one may
give a totally wrong impression of the facts, and this is just as much a
lie as absolute misstatement.
(6) Trickery, or underhand dealing of any kind, is a kind of lying. A
London merchant had business with another in a foreign country. The
latter asked the former to send out certain packages of goods marked
less than the real weight, so as to escape the customs duty. "I can't do
it," said the English merchant. "Very well," said the foreigner, "if
you won't, there are plenty of others who will, and I shall take my
business away from you"--which he did, causing the other firm a heavy
loss. A few years afterwards the foreigner wrote to the English
merchant: "Enclosed is a draft for so much, which please put to my
credit. I am sending my son to England to learn your way of business.
There is nobody in whom I have such confidence as I have in you. Will
you take him into your office and make him the same sort of man that you
are yourself?"
(7) Truthfulness lays upon us the most solemn obligation to keep our
promises, no matter how small may be the matter concerned. He who makes
a promise, not intending to keep it, is guilty of gross deception. In
making a promise it is our duty to express our _intention_ in the
plainest terms, and we must then consider ourselves under obligation to
carry out that intention faithfully and fully. When Bluecher was
hastening with his army over bad roads to the help of Wellington at the
battle of Waterloo, he encouraged his troops by calling out frequently,
"Forward, children, forward." "It is impossible; it can't be done," was
the answer. Again and again he urged them. "Children, we must get on;
you may say it can't be done, but it must be done! I have promised my
brother Wellington--_promised_, do you hear? You wouldn't have me _break
my word_!"
Lord Chesterfield once said: "It is truth that makes the success of the
gentleman." Those words should be taken to heart by every boy who wishes
to honour truth. Clarendon said of Falkland, one of the noblest and
purest of men, that he "was so severe an adorer of truth that he could
as easily have given himself leave to steal as to dissemble."
Shakespeare said:
"This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow as the night the day
Thou canst not then be false to any man."
No. IV.
COURAGE
+Courage is that disposition which enables us to meet danger or
difficulties firmly and without fear. There are two kinds of Courage:
Physical and Moral; and it has two aspects: Fearlessness and Boldness.+
The opposite of Courage is Cowardice, and no greater insult can be
offered a man than to call him a coward. Courage has always been looked
upon as one of the greatest virtues. Men may be willing to forfeit
purity, truth, and honour, but they cling to Courage to the very end.
Courage is a quality that boys love and respect, because it is a manly
virtue.
Physical Courage appeals most to the young. Nothing so excites their
admiration as a feat of daring. Physical Courage is a splendid thing, a
thing to be prized by every one. As a rule, it is something that every
one may possess a good share of. Physical Courage depends very largely
upon bodily vigour and strength of muscle. It is when we are nervous and
feel our limbs to be weak that our Courage is small. The boy or man who
exercises his muscles regularly is sure to store up a large amount of
physical Courage--enough, at least, to develop its first
stage--Fearlessness.
He who possesses a good constitution and a body whose strength he has
tested by repeated trials is not apt to turn tail at small fears, as are
the weak and delicate. He is able to present to difficulties, or, it may
be, to danger, a steadfast mind and a calm exterior. It is this sort of
Courage which makes the English soldier renowned in war. Had it not been
for the dogged persistence of his soldiers in holding their ground, in
spite of a hurricane of shot and shell, Wellington could never have held
Napoleon at bay at Waterloo. But, while this Fearlessness is much to be
admired, it is, after all, the least heroic form of Courage, because so
much of it is purely physical.
Fighting, as a test of Courage, is greatly overestimated. Experienced
soldiers tell us that it requires a good deal of Courage to go into
battle for the first time. "You look pale," said one officer to another,
as he came within range of the enemy's guns for the first time; "are you
afraid?" "Yes," answered the other; "if you were half as much afraid,
you would turn tail." But, with most soldiers, the feeling of fear soon
wears off, and where there is no fear there is not much trial of
Courage. The physical Courage that we all covet is that which leads a
man to do what others dare not. In 1892, a young clergyman, on a visit
to this country, was crossing the foot-bridge at Niagara Falls. When
about one-third of the way across, he saw a lady stepping up from the
carriage path to the sidewalk. She caught her toe against the edge,
stumbled forward, and fell through the open iron work at the side of the
bridge. She happened to be over the place where the broken rocks line
the edge of the water. In her swift descent, she struck her head against
one of the girders and was stunned; her body then turned over and fell
across another girder. At this moment the clergyman came up. Looking
over, he saw her body swaying gently, and evidently about to drop very
soon to the awful rocks, over two hundred feet below. Without a moment's
hesitation, he sprang out over the edge of the bridge, and, seizing one
of the iron rods that supported the girder, he slid down, and then crept
along the narrow girder till he reached the lady. Bracing himself with
immense difficulty, he kept her from plunging into the abyss until help
arrived, death beckoning to him from below, if he should lose his head
for a single moment. At length a rope was lowered to him, and they were
soon drawn up. That is a splendid example of physical Courage.
A higher type of Courage is that which enables us to endure pain.
Endurance is a rarer quality than dashing Fearlessness. It was said that
in the Franco-Prussian war, in 1870, the French soldiers were more
brilliant in the on-rush than the Prussians, but they lacked endurance,
and could not stand for long before artillery fire. This type of Courage
is best seen in bearing pain. When Epictetus was a slave, his master was
one day beating him. The poor slave said: "If you do not look out, you
will break my leg." Presently the bone snapped. "There," said Epictetus,
as _calmly_ as before, "I told you you would break it." One of the most
remarkable instances of the Courage of endurance is that of the defence
of Cawnpore, in the days of the Indian Mutiny, by a handful of English
troops, with their wives and children. For twenty-one days they endured
untold agonies of exposure by a never-ceasing fire, of hunger, of thirst
(sharp-shooters picking off any one who dared approach the single well
in the camp), of the midsummer sun, of sickness, and of the unutterable
foulness of their surroundings. The soldiers' wives showed even greater
endurance than the men. Women generally have greater courage than men in
the matter of bearing pain.
The highest type of Courage is that which is called Moral Courage, and
is exercised about matters of right and wrong as they affect us
individually. "It is shown by the man who pays his debts, who does
without when he cannot afford, who speaks his mind when necessary, but
who can be silent when it is better not to speak. It requires Moral
Courage to admit that we have been wrong." It requires Moral Courage to
stand being laughed at, although it is the sign of a wise man to be able
to enjoy a laugh at his own expense. It requires Moral Courage to run
the risk of losing one's popularity. Socrates was the greatest teacher
of ancient times, and he was beloved by many of his pupils; but because
his lofty teaching ran beyond the attainments and spirit of his age, he
was condemned to drink the deadly hemlock. He died calmly, even
joyfully, discoursing to his judges of the immortality of the soul.
Galileo was imprisoned when seventy years of age, and, probably,
tortured. He was content to suffer it, and refused to retract what he
had proved to be scientific truth.
When we are laughed at or threatened with persecution of any kind,
Courage bids us stand by our principles.
"As the crackling of thorns under a pot,
So is the laughter of a fool,"
said Solomon. It is the part of wisdom to disregard being laughed at.
When a boy lacks backbone, we say he is easily led, which means, easily
led wrong. How we pity such a boy!
The highest Courage is that which leads men to sacrifice their lives of
their own free will. Such was the courage of the soldiers and sailors of
the _Birkenhead_. In one of the battles of the Peninsular War, a
sergeant named Robert M'Quaide saw two French soldiers aim their muskets
against a very young officer, sixteen years old. M'Quaide pulled him
back behind him, saying: "You are too young, sir, to be killed," and
then fell dead, pierced by both balls.
Courage is a very different thing from Recklessness, or Foolhardiness.
An old proverb says: "Courage is the wisdom of manhood; foolhardiness
the folly of youth." And Carlyle said: "The courage that dares only die
is, on the whole, no sublime affair.... The Courage we desire and prize
is not the courage to die decently, but to live manfully."
No. V.
PURITY
+By Purity we mean that state of mind which is possessed by him who
fights against foul thoughts, drives them away, and who never allows
himself to perform an unclean action, or to use filthy, or obscene,
language.+
Purity involves three things: (1) Clean language, (2) clean thoughts,
(3) clean actions. They are put in this order because it generally
happens among the young that impurity begins with hearing unclean
language, and by imitating it. A little boy hearing others use foul
language soon begins to use it himself, though he may not know its real
meaning. Alas! it does not take long for him to learn the meaning of it
also | 572.140542 |
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POEMS OF LIFE
POEMS
OF LIFE
By
KATHARINE FORREST HAMILL
PHILADELPHIA
PETER REILLY, PUBLISHER
133 N. THIRTEENTH STREET
1915
COPYRIGHT 1915, BY PETER REILLY
PUBLISHED JULY, 1915
FIRST IMPRESSION
TO
GRACE BARTLETT STRYKER
Words fail me when I strive to say
What you’ve meant to me--for so long a day
Hope--Inspiration--Sympathy.
Steadfast and true, whate’er might be.
O priv’lege rarest to the end
As in the past, to call you--_friend_.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The poems contained within the following pages are _children of the
brain_ which at intervals obtruded their company, and which, such as
they are, at the solicitation of my friends, I have ventured to set
down.
K. F. H.
CONTENTS
Dedication IX
Author’s Note XI
POEMS OF LIFE.
Page
Today 5
Jewels 6
Something Gone 7
A-Maying 8
Tribute 9
Good-Bye 10
The Wondrous Song 14
Miladi 17
The Something-my-life-has-missed 18
Contentment 20
Gone 21
To My Muse 22
Conception 24
Awakening 25
The House Built on Sands 26
To a Butterfly 28
A Fragment 29
Query 30
I Close Mine Eyes 32
Understanding 33
We Met in May 34
I Turn Me Down a Lighted Way 36
Counsel 37
Decision 39
You Never Guessed the Secret 40
The Light 42
Education 43
Re-Adjustment 44
FROM “RHYMES FOR WEE SWEETHEARTS”
When Grandmama Was Little 53
Harold’s Lament 55
Mrs. Spider 57
The Naughty Little Girl 58
On the Stair 60
The Land O’Dreams 61
The Middle of the Night 63
When Our Fathers Were Little Boys 65
Slumber Land 67
The New Brother 68
POEMS OF LIFE
TO-DAY
The Yesterdays we might have called our own
But which, in our blindness, we let slip by,
Alas! they know not to return again,
Deep-buried doth each, within its grave, lie.
But O belov’ed, now that we have made
The golden secret ours--to hold alway
We will not sorrow o’er departed hours--
Just live in God’s great glorious--To-day!
JEWELS
Oh, not the gracious deeds your kindness knew, dear,
When shone my sun and skies were ever fair;
But the more precious sympathies you tendered
In sorrow’s hour. _Those_ my jewels rare
Which dearer, than off’ring wealth knows to proffer,
I’ll keep beside me whate’er may attend,
Nor render up so long as Life’s day lasteth,--
Aye, and take with me, when shall plead its end.
SOMETHING GONE
You come to me--you take my hand,
You try to make me see
Things should become as they once were,
’Twixt you and me.
I listen to each word, you say,
I mark well ev’ry tone,
Only to find--you plead in vain,--
There’s something gone.
Something gone--that cannot come back again,
Tho’ most entreatingly you pray.
Yet, not mine the fault,--but yours alone,
It went away.
A-MAYING
We will go a-Maying dear,
Just you and I together,
Oh, the glory of God’s blossoming
Sunshiny weather!
Ev’ry ill we will forget,
Nor remember a regret,
For ’twill never do to fret
Whilst we are a-straying.
Only laughter ringing clear,
Waking echo far and near;
You and I so happy dear;
A-Maying! A-Maying!
TRIBUTE
To prove myself--aye, that’s my aim,
To prove myself for those
Who took me by the hand and held,
Nor cared if others chose
To notice or pass coldly by.
Thro’ stormiest of weather
Stood ever at my side, and said
We’ll face the world together!
GOOD-BYE
_She_
Good-bye, yes, I’ve decided
It’s best--it should not go _on_,
The quite delightful companionship
You and I, for some time, have known.
No, do not try to dissuade me,
I’ve thought it most carefully o’er,
To arrive at but one conviction--
We must see each other no more.
_He_
And you think to sever our friendship
By a mere putting away,
Letting the same, as it were, slip from us
Nor permitting me to say,
A word in defence of its going
As if I’d no _right_ to share
In the matter of decision
I ask you,--Is it fair?
_She_
Man-like you refuse to _reason_
To see it’s the only way,
That the step really should have been taken
Even _before_ to-day.
With you ’tis quite diff’rent,--the matter,--
You’ve priv’lege entire of your life;
But my freedom bows to restriction,--
I am another man’s wife.
_He_
Yes, another man’s wife, but the honor
The Fates have conferred, it would seem
He doesn’t the quite appreciate,--
At least, ’tis the knowledge I gleam.
From observing his attitude towards you,
Which I’m sure,--and you can but agree,
Is not in the least in keeping with what
A husband’s towards a wife _should_ be.
_She_
And his failing you think permits me
Favor to accept at _your_ hands,
That the vow I took at the altar
Ceases to impose its demands.
In sickness or health I promised,
“For better or worse”,--till the day,
He who gave should in his judgment
See fit to take away.
_He_
And you’ll let it bind you, that promise,
To a man who does not care;
Whose int’rest is the thoroughly selfish,
In whose secrets--you do not share,
Listen, dear, the priv’lege of Mortals,--
To get what we can out of life.
Free yourself from the bond that is irksome
And find happiness, as my wife.
_She_
Nay, not so, the rule of living
Holds faithful but to the one test;
Nor counts it--another’s transgression,
We must give of _ourselves_--our best.
Of no use to appeal the exception,
The truth remains fix’ed alway,
So, good-bye, it _must_ be,--and, God bless you,--
_There is nothing more to say_.
THE WONDROUS SONG
I longed to sing a wondrous song,
So wondrous, ’twould compel
The admiration unreserved
Of one and all as well.
My pen I took in hand and strove
The magic words to write,
Alas! I could not of my Muse
Inspiration invite.
She would not humor, tho’ I begged
Persistently and long
For the right metre--the right thought,
To best set down my song.
’Twas stately phrase I coveted,
The Laurel I would court--
That of the world’s acknowledgment
Of unsurpass´ed thought.
At length disheartened, my appeal
Knew, but to be denied,
I rose and to the window moved,
And marked the scene outside.
All quiet stretched the land before,
Enwrapt in the soft haze
Which with such rare enchantment clothes
Autumn’s initial days.
Idly my glance the expanse swept
Till it came to where lay
Outside the gate, the winding road
Leading to far-away.
Then with the moment light was mine--
Yet not complex its thought,
The inspiration which appealed
Was diff’rent, from that sought.
The winding road--the simple theme--
They who followed after--
The toll it wrested of sad tears,
For short dole of laughter.
The tranquil ways bidden farewell,
To seek of its unrest,
The truth alas! too oft brought home,
The paths forsook, were best.
Could I but so compose a lay,
That one who heard might pause,
Nor continue to sacrifice
In an unrighteous cause.
And keep his soul tho’ it should be
By cruelest conflict wrung,
I need not further supplicate--
My wondrous song were sung.
MILADI
Miladi is so wonderful in furbelows and laces;
Miladi is so wonderful of such beguiling graces;
My poor faint heart goes pit-a-pat when she her Slave addresses
I wonder if how _much_ I love, Miladi guesses!
Miladi is so wonderful, her dimples and her curls;
Miladi is so wonderful, my mind bewildered whirls;
Oh would some pow’r benign might make it plain for me to see
How much it is, in very truth, Miladi thinks of _me_.
THE SOMETHING MY LIFE HAS MISSED
It whispers in the murmur
Of the breezes passing by,
Pulsates in the azure
Of ev’ry flawless sky.
And oh! when twilight gathers
And its curtain gently falls,
The-something-my-life-has-missed
Calls and calls.
Part of the Throng have found it,
The light within their eyes
Pleads of too great a radiance
The truth to disguise.
Their world is all they wish for,
Nor know they to implore
From off Destiny’s altar
Happiness more.
It whispers in the murmur
Of the breezes passing by,
Pulsates in the azure
Of ev’ry flawless sky.
Some day I, too, shall know it
In all its ecstacy,
The-something-my-life-has-missed
Will come to me.
CONTENTMENT
To have you with me day by day
Watch you flitting to and fro,
In and out this room and that,
Up and down the stairs and lo!
With each turn mark you at
Some task benign--love bids you know.
To have you with me day by day,
A tender, trusting, gracious self
Let the world treasure as it may,
To me, far dearer than its wealth
Your comradeship. Nor pleads the hour
In all God’s calendar so true,
With blessing richer for its dow’r
Than the rare one which gave me,--_you_.
GONE
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[Illustration: SHE GLIDED AND WHIRLED IN THE MOONLIGHT, GRACEFUL AS A
WIND-BLOWN ROSE. _PAGE 284_]
WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE
BY
RITTER BROWN
AUTHOR OF "MAN'S BIRTHRIGHT"
ILLUSTRATED BY
W. M. BERGER
New York
Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.
Copyright, 1912
By Desmond FitzGerald, Inc.
TO
MY SON
ILLUSTRATIONS
"She glided and whirled in the moonlight, graceful
as a wind-blown rose" _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
"The picture which she presented was one he carried
with him for many a day" 130
"Instinctively he raised the casket with both hands" 272
"'Madre! Madre _mia_!' she cried and flung herself
into Chiquita's arms" 292
"They were startled by a low moan and saw Blanch
sink slowly to the bench" 330
There is a tradition extant among the Indians of the Southwest,
extending from Arizona to the Isthmus of Panama, to the effect
that, Montezuma will one day return on the back of an eagle,
wearing a golden crown, and rule the land once more; typifying
the return of the Messiah and the rebirth and renewal of the race.
WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE
I
The beauty of midsummer lay upon the land--the mountains and plains of
Chihuahua. It was August, the month of melons and ripening corn. High
aloft in the pale blue vault of heaven, a solitary eagle soared in ever
widening circles in its flight toward the sun. Far out upon the plains
the lone wolf skulked among the sage and cactus in search of the rabbit
and antelope, or lay panting in the scanty shade of the yucca.
By most persons this little known land of the great Southwest is
regarded as the one which God forgot. But to those who are familiar with
its vast expanse of plain and horizon, its rugged sierras, its wild
desolate _mesas_ and solitary peaks of half-decayed mountains--its tawny
stretches of desert marked with the occasional skeletons of animal and
human remains--its golden wealth of sunshine and opalescent skies, and
have felt the brooding death-like silence which seems to hold as in a
spell all things living as well as dead, this land becomes one of
mystery and enchantment--a mute witness of some unknown or forgotten
past when the children of men were young, whose secrets it still
withholds, and with whose dust is mingled not only that of unnumbered
and unknown generations of men, but that of Montezuma and the hardy
daring _Conquistadores_ of old Spain.
But whatever may be the general consensus of opinion concerning this
land, such at least was the light in which it was viewed by Captain
Forest, as he and his Indian attendant, Jose, drew rein on the rim of a
broken, wind-swept _mesa_ in the heart of the Chihuahuan desert, a full
day's ride from Santa Fe whither they were bound, to witness the
_Fiesta_, the Feast of the Corn, which was celebrated annually at this
season.
The point where they halted commanded a sweeping view of the surrounding
country. Just opposite, some five leagues distant, on the farther side
of the valley which lay below them, towered the sharp ragged crest of
the Mexican Sierras; their sides and foothills clothed in a thin growth
of chaparral, pine and juniper and other low-growing bushes. Deep,
rugged _arroyos_, the work of the rain and mountain torrents, cut and
scarred the foothills which descended in precipitous <DW72>s to the
valley and plains below. Solitary giant cactus dotted the landscape,
adding to the general desolation of the scene, relieved only by the
glitter of the silvery sage, white poppy and yucca, and yellow and
scarlet cactus bloom which glistened in the slanting rays of the
afternoon sun and the intense radiation of heat in which was mirrored
the distant mirage; transforming the desert into wonderful lakes of
limpid waters that faded in turn on the ever receding horizon.
Below them numerous Indian encampments of some half-wild hill tribe
straggled along the banks of the almost dry stream which wound through
the valley until lost in the thirsty sands of the desert beyond.
"'Tis the very spot, _Capitan_--the place of the skull!" ejaculated
Jose, the first to break the silence. "See--yonder it lies just as we
left it!" and he pointed toward the foot of the _mesa_ where a spring
trickled from the rock, a short distance from which lay a human skull
bleached white by long exposure to the sun.
Instinctively the Captain's thoughts reverted to the incidents of the
previous year when he lay in the desert sick unto death with fever and
his horse, Starlight, had stood over his prostrate body and fought the
wolves and vultures for a whole day and night until Jose returned with
help from the Indian _pueblo_, La Guna. Involuntarily his hand slipped
caressingly to the animal's neck, a chestnut with four white feet and a
white mane and tail that swept the ground and a forelock that hung to
his nostrils, concealing the star on his forehead; a magnificent animal,
lithe and graceful as a lady's silken scarf, untiring and enduring as a
Damascus blade. A horse that comes but once during twenty generations of
Spanish-Arabian stock, and then is rare, and which, through some trick
of nature or reversion, blossoms forth in all the beauty of an original
type, taking upon himself the color and markings of some shy, wild-eyed
dam, the pride of the Bedouin tribe and is known as the "Pearl of the
Desert." The type of horse that bore Alexander and Jenghis Khan and the
Prophet's War Chieftains to victory. As a colt he had escaped the
_rodeo_. No mark of the branding-irons scarred his shoulder or thin
transparent flanks. Again the Captain's thoughts traveled backward and
he beheld a band of wild horses driven past him in review by a troup of
Mexican _vaqueros_, and the beautiful chestnut stallion emerge from the
cloud of dust on their rim and tossing his great white mane in the
breeze, neigh loudly and defiantly as he swept by lithe and supple of
limb.
"Bring me that horse!" he had cried.
"That horse? _Jose y Maria | 572.182406 |
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| 572.183591 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
BROAD GRINS;
BY
GEORGE COLMAN,
THE YOUNGER;
COMPRISING, WITH NEW ADDITIONAL
TALES IN VERSE,
THOSE FORMERLY PUBLISH'D UNDER THE TITLE
"MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS."
"DEME SUPERCILIO NUBEM."
THE EIGHTH EDITION.
LONDON:
H. G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCXXXIX.
ADVERTISEMENT.
MY Booksellers inform'd me, lately, that several inquiries had been made
for _My Night-Gown and Slippers_,--but that every copy had been
sold;--they had been out of print these two years.--"Then publish them
again," said I, boldly,--(I print at my own risk)--and with an air of
triumph. Messrs. Cadell and Davies advise'd me to make additions.--"The
_Work_ is, really, too short," said Messrs. Cadell and Davies,--"I wish,
gentlemen," return'd I, "my readers were of your opinion."--"I protest,
Sir," said they, (and they asserted it, both together, with great
emphasis,) "you have but _Three Tales_."--I told them, carelessly, it
was enough for the greatest _Bashaw_, among modern poets, and wish'd
them a good morning. When a man, as Sterne observes, "can extricate
himself with an _equivoque_, in such an unequal match,"--(and two
booksellers to one poet are tremendous odds)--"he is not ill off;"--but
reflecting a little, as I went home, I began to think my pun was a vile
one,--and did not assist me, one jot, in my argument;--and, now I have
put it upon paper, it appears viler still;--it is execrable.--So, without
much further reasoning, I sat down to rhyming;--rhyming, as the reader
will see, in open defiance of _all reason_,--except the reasons of
Messrs. Cadell and Davies.--
Thus you have _My Night-Gown and Slippers_, with _Additions_, converted
to _Broad Grins_;--and 'tis well if they may not end in _Wide Yawns_ at
last! Should this be the case, gentle Reviewers, do not, ungratefully,
attempt to break my sleep, (_you will find it labour lost_) because I
have contributed to your's.
GEORGE COLMAN, the Younger.
_May, 1820._
CONTENTS
MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS
TOM, DICK, and WILL, were little known to Fame;--
THE WATER-FIENDS.
DICK ended:--TOM and WILL approve'd his strains;
THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECARY.
Ere WILL had done 'twas waxing wond'rous late;
LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.
THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR.
THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR, PART FIRST.
SIR THOMAS ERPINGHAM's SONNET ON HIS LADY.
THE KNIGHT AND THE FRIAR, PART THE SECOND.
Ye Criticks, and ye Hyper-Criticks!--who
THE ELDER BROTHER.
MY NIGHT-GOWN AND SLIPPERS
[Illustration]
TOM, DICK, and WILL, were little known to Fame;--
No matter;--
But to the Ale-house, oftentimes, they came,
To chatter.
It was the custom of these three
To sit up late;
And, o'er the embers of the Ale-house fire,
When steadier customers retire,
The choice _Triumviri_, d'ye see,
Held a debate.
Held a debate?--On politicks, no doubt.
Not so;--they care'd not who was in,
No, not a pin;--
Nor who was out.
All their discourse on modern Poets ran;
For in the Muses was their sole delight;--
They talk'd of such, and such, and such a man;
Of those who could, and those who could not write.
It cost them very little pains
To count the modern Poets, who had brains.
'Twas a small difficulty;--'twasn't any;
They were so few:
But to cast up the scores of men
Who wield a stump they call a pen,
Lord! they had much to do,--
They were so many!
Buoy'd on a sea of fancy, Genius rises,
And like the rare Leviathan surprises;
But the _small fry_ of scribblers!--tiny souls!
They wriggle thro' the mud in shoals.
It would have raise'd a smile to see the faces
They made, and the ridiculous grimaces,
At many an author, as they overhaul'd him.
They gave no quarter to a calf,
Blown up with puff, and paragraph;
But, if they found him bad, they maul'd him.
On modern Dramatists they fell,
Pounce, _vi et armis_--tooth and nail--pell mell.
They call'd them Carpenters, and Smugglers;
Filching their incidents from ancient hoards,
And knocking them together, like deal boards:
And Jugglers;
Who all the town's attention fix,
By making--Plays?--No, Sir, by making _tricks_.
The Versifiers--Heaven defend us!
They play'd the very devil with their rhymes.
They hope'd Apollo a new set would send us;
And then, invidiously enough,
Place'd modish verse, which they call'd stuff,
Against the writing of the elder times.
To say the truth, a modern versifier
Clap'd cheek by jowl
With Pope, with Dryden, and with Prior,
Would look most scurvily, upon my soul!
For Novels, should their critick hints succeed,
The Misses might fare better when they took 'em;
But it would fare extremely ill, indeed,
With gentle _Messieurs Lane_ and _Hookham_.
"A Novel, now," says WILL, "is nothing more
Than an old castle,--and a creaking door,--
A distant hovel;--
Clanking of chains--a gallery--a light,--
Old armour--and a phantom all in white,--
And there's a Novel!"
[Illustration]
"Scourge me such catch-penny inditers
Out of the land," quoth WILL--rousing in passion--
"And fy upon the readers of such writers,
Who bring them into fashion!"
WILL rose in declamation. "'Tis the bane,"
Says he, "of youth;--'tis the perdition:
It fills a giddy female brain
With vice, romance, lust, terror, pain,--
With superstition.
"Were I Pastor in a boarding-school,
I'd quash such books _in toto_;--if I couldn't,
Let me but catch one Miss that broke my rule,
I'd flog her soundly; damme if I wouldn't."
WILLIAM, 'tis plain, was getting in a rage;
But, Thomas dryly said,--for he was cool--
"I think no gentleman would mend the age
By flogging Ladies at a Boarding-school."
DICK knock'd the ashes from his pipe,
And said, "Friend WILL,
You give the Novels a fair wipe;
But still,
While you, my friend, with passion run 'em down,
They're in the hands of all the town.
"The reason's plain," proceeded DICK,
"And simply thus--
Taste, over-glutted, grows deprave'd, and sick,
And needs a _stimulus_.
"Time was,--(when honest Fielding writ)--
Tales full of Nature, Character, and Wit,
Were reckon'd most delicious boil'd and roast:
But stomachs are so cloy'd with novel-feeding,
Folks get a vitiated taste in reading,
And want that strong provocative, a Ghost.
"Or, to come nearer,
And put the case a little clearer:--
Mind, just like bodies, suffer enervation,
By too much use;
And sink into a state of relaxation,
With long abuse.
"Now, a Romance, with reading Debauchees,
Rouses their torpid powers when Nature fails;
And all these Legendary Tales
Are, to a worn-out mind, Cantharides.
"But how to cure the evil?" you will say:
"My _Recipe_ is,--laughing it away.
"Lay bare the weak farrago of those men
Who fabricate such visionary schemes,
As if the night-mare rode upon their pen,
And trouble'd all their ink with hideous dreams.
"For instance--when a solemn Ghost stalks in,
And, thro' a mystick tale is busy,
Strip me the Gentleman into his skin--
What is he?
"Truly, ridiculous enough:
Mere trash;--and very childish stuff.
"Draw but a Ghost, or Fiend, _of low degree_,
And all the bubble's broken!--Let us see."
[Illustration]
THE WATER-FIENDS.
ON a wild Moor, all brown and bleak,
Where broods the heath-frequenting grouse,
There stood a tenement antique;
Lord Hoppergollop's country house.
Here Silence reign'd, with lips of glue,
And undisturb'd maintain'd her law;
Save when the Owl cry'd "whoo! whoo! whoo!"
Or the hoarse Crow croak'd "caw! caw! caw!"
Neglected mansion!--for, 'tis said,
Whene'er the snow came feathering down,
Four barbed steeds,--from the Bull's head,
Carried thy master up to town.
Weak Hoppergollop!--Lords may moan,
Who stake, in London, their estate,
On two, small, rattling, bits of bone;
On _little figure_, or on _great_.
Swift whirl the wheels.--He's gone.--A Rose
Remains behind, whose virgin look,
Unseen, must blush in wintry snows,
Sweet, beauteous blossom!----'twas the Cook!
A bolder far than my weak note,
Maid of the Moor! thy charms demand:
Eels might be proud to lose their coat,
If skinn'd by Molly Dumpling's hand.
Long had the fair one sat alone,
Had none remain'd save only she;--
She by herself had been--if one
Had not been left, for company.
'Twas a tall youth, whose cheek's clear hue,
Was tinge'd with health and manly toil;--
Cabbage he sow'd; and, when it grew,
He always cut it off, to boil.
Oft would he cry, "Delve, Delve the hole!
And prune the tree, and trim the root!
And stick the wig upon the pole,
To scare the sparrows from the fruit!"
A small, mute favourite, by day,
Follow'd his step; where'er he wheels
His barrow round the garden gay,
A bob-tail cur is at his heels.
Ah, man! the brute creation see!
Thy constancy oft needs the spur!
While lessons of fidelity
Are found in every bob-tail cur.
Hard toil'd the youth, so fresh and strong,
While Bobtail in his face would look,
And mark'd his master troll the song,--
"Sweet Molly Dumpling! Oh, thou Cook!"
For thus he sung:--while Cupid smile'd;--
Please'd that the Gard'ner own'd his dart,
Which prune'd his passions, running wild,
And grafted true-love on his heart.
Maid of the Moor! his love return!
True love ne'er tints the cheek with shame:
When Gard'ners' hearts, | 572.281011 |
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Produced by Amy E Zelmer, Barb Grow, Derek Thompson and David Widger
THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH
By Oliver Goldsmith (Sir Joshua Reynolds)
Oxford Edition
Edited with Introduction and Note by Austin Dobson
PREFATORY NOTE
This volume is a reprint, extended and revised, of the Selected Poems
of Goldsmith issued by the Clarendon Press in 1887. It is 'extended,'
because it now contains the whole of Goldsmith's poetry: it is'revised'
because, besides the supplementary text, a good deal has been added in
the way of annotation and illustration. In other words, the book has
been substantially enlarged. Of the new editorial material, the bulk
has been collected at odd times during the last twenty years; but fresh
Goldsmith facts are growing rare. I hope I have acknowledged obligation
wherever it has been incurred; I trust also, for the sake of those
who come after me, that something of my own will be found to have been
contributed to the literature of the subject.
AUSTIN DOBSON.
Ealing, September, 1906.
CONTENTS
Introduction Chronology of Goldsmith's Life and Poems
POEMS Descriptive Poems The Traveller; or, A Prospect of Society page 3
The Deserted Village page 23 Lyrical and Miscellaneous Pieces Prologue
of Laberius page 41 On a Beautiful Youth struck Blind with Lightning
page 42 The Gift. To Iris, in Bow Street page 43 The Logicians Refuted
page 44 A Sonnet page 46 Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec page 46 An
Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize page 47 Description of an Author's Bedchamber
page 48 On seeing Mrs. *** perform in the Character of **** page 49
On the Death of the Right Hon.*** page 50 An Epigram. Addressed to the
Gentlemen reflected on in 'The Rosciad', a Poem, by the Author page 51
To G. C. and R. L. page 51 Translation of a South American Ode page 51
The Double Transformation. A Tale page 52 A New Simile, in the Manner of
Swift page 56 Edwin and Angelina page 59 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog
page 65 Song ('When Lovely Woman,' etc.) page 67 Epilogue to The Good
Natur'd Man page 68 Epilogue to The Sister page 70 Prologue to Zobeide
page 72 Threnodia Augustalis: Sacred to the Memory of Her Late
Royal Highness the Princess Dowager of Wales page 74 Song ('Let
school-masters,' etc.) page 84 Epilogue to She Stoops to Conquer page
85 Retaliation page 87 Song ('Ah, me! when shall I marry me?') page 94
Translation ('Chaste are their instincts') page 94
page v
The Haunch of Venison page 95 Epitaph on Thomas Parnell page 100 The
Clown's Reply page 100 Epitaph on Edward Purdon page 100 Epilogue for
Lee Lewes page 101 Epilogue written for She Stoops to Conquer (1)
page 103 Epilogue written for She Stoops to Conquer (2) page 108 The
Captivity. An Oratorio Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner page
128 Letter in Prose and Verse to Mrs. Bunbury page 130 Vida's Game of
Chess page 135
NOTES Introduction to the Notes page 159 Editions of the Poems page
161 The Traveller page 162 The Deserted Village page 177 Prologue of
Laberius page 190 On a Beautiful Youth struck Blind with Lightning page
192 The Gift page 193 The Logicians Refuted page 194 A Sonnet page 196
Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec page 196 An Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize
page 197 Description of an Author's Bedchamber page 199 On seeing Mrs.
*** perform in the Character of **** page 202 On the Death of the
Right Hon. *** page 202 An Epigram page 203 To G. C. and R. L. page 203
Translation of a South American Ode page 203 The Double Transformation
page 203 A New Simile page 205 Edwin and Angelina page 206 Elegy on the
Death of a Mad Dog page 212 Song (from The Vicar of Wakefield) page 213
Epilogue (The Good Natur'd Man) page 214 Epilogue (The Sister) page 215
Prologue (Zobeide) page 216 Threnodia Augustalis page 218 Song (from She
Stoops to Conquer) page 219
page vi
Epilogue (She Stoops to Conquer) page 220 Retaliation page 222 Song
intended for She Stoops to Conquer page 235 Translation page 236 The
Haunch of Venison page 236 Epitaph on Thomas Parnell page 243 The
Clown's Reply page 244 Epitaph on Edward Purdon page 244 Epilogue for
Lee Lewes's Benefit page 245 Epilogue (She Stoops to Conquer) (1) page
246 Epilogue (She Stoops to Conquer) (2) page 248 The Captivity page 249
Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner page 250 Letter in Prose and
Verse to Mrs. Bunbury page 252 Vida's Game of Chess page 255
APPENDIXES Portraits of Goldsmith page 259 Descriptions of Newell's
Views of Lissoy, etc. page 262 The Epithet 'Sentimental' page 264
Fragments of Translations, etc., by Goldsmith page 266 Goldsmith
on Poetry under Anne and George the First page 268 Criticisms from
Goldsmith's Beauties of English Poesy page 270
page vii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS OLIVER GOLDSMITH. From Joseph Marchi's mezzotint
of 1770 after the portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds. PANE OF GLASS with
Goldsmith's autograph signature, dated March, 1746, now at Trinity
College, Dublin. VIGNETTE TO THE TRAVELLER. Drawn by Samuel Wale, and
engraved by Charles Grignion. HEADPIECE TO THE TRAVELLER. Engraved on
wood by Charlton Nesbit for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell,
1795. THE TRAVELLER. From a design by Richard Westall, R. A., engraved
on wood by Thomas Bewick for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell,
1795. VIGNETTE TO THE DESERTED VILLAGE, 1770. Drawn and engraved by
Isaac Taylor. HEADPIECE TO THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Engraved on wood by
Charlton Nesbit for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell, 1795. THE
WATER-CRESS GATHERER. Drawn and engraved on wood by John Bewick
for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell, 1795. {This picture is
unavailable.] THE DEPARTURE. Drawn by Robert Johnson, and engraved on
wood by Thomas Bewick for Bulmer's Poems of Goldsmith and Parnell,
1795. EDWIN AND ANGELINA. From an original washed drawing made by Thomas
Stothard, R.A., for Aikin's Goldsmith's Poetical Works, 1805. PORTRAIT
OF GOLDSMITH, after Sir Joshua Reynolds. From an etching by James
Basire on the title-page of Retaliation, 1774. SONG FROM THE CAPTIVITY.
Facsimile of Goldsmith's writing and signature, from Prior's Life of
Oliver Goldsmith, M.B., 1837, ii, frontispiece. GREEN ARBOUR COURT, OLD
BAILEY. From an engraving in the European Magazine for January, 1803.
page viii
KILKENNY WEST CHURCH. From an aquatint by S. Alken of a sketch by R. H.
Newell (Goldsmith's Poetical Works, 1811). HAWTHORN TREE. From the same.
SOUTH VIEW FROM GOLDSMITH'S MOUNT. From the same... To face p. 183.
[This picture is unavailable.] THE SCHOOL HOUSE. From the same. PORTRAIT
OF G | 572.342102 |
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Produced by Marcia Brooks, Hugo Voisard and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
JULES SANDEAU. LA ROCHE AUX MOUETTES (Extracts). [_Nutt’s Short
French Readers, 6d._]
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER. VOYAGE EN ITALIE. [_Cambridge University
Press, 3s._]
ÉMILE SOUVESTRE. LE PHILOSOPHE SOUS LES TOITS (Extracts).
[_Blackie’s Little French Classics, 4d._]
PIERRE CŒUR. L’ÂME DE BEETHOVEN. [_Siepmann’s French Series.
Macmillan, 2s._]
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
“_Omne epigramma sit instar apis; sit aculeus illi,
Sint sua mella, sit et corporis exigui._”
MARTIAL.
[Thus Englished by Archbishop Trench:
“_Three things must epigrams, like bees, have all;
Its sting, its honey, and its body small._”]
[And thus by my friend, Mr. F. Storr:
“_An epigram’s a bee: ’tis small, has wings
Of wit, a heavy bag of humour, and it stings._”]
“_Celebre dictum, scita quapiam novitate insigne._”
ERASMUS.
“_The genius, wit, and spirit of a nation are discovered in its
proverbs._”--BACON.
“_The people’s voice the voice of God we call;
And what are proverbs but the people’s voice?_”
JAMES HOWELL.
“_What oft was thought, but ne’er so well expressed._”
POPE, _Essay on Criticism_.
“_The wit of one man, the wisdom of many._”--Lord JOHN RUSSELL
(_Quarterly Review_, Sept. 1850).
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
A COMPANION TO DESHUMBERT’S
“DICTIONARY OF DIFFICULTIES”
BY
DE V. PAYEN-PAYNE
PRINCIPAL OF KENSINGTON COACHING COLLEGE
ASSISTANT EXAMINER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF LONDON
_FOURTH REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION_
[Fifth Thousand]
LONDON
DAVID NUTT, 57-59 LONG ACRE
1905
“_Tant ayme on chien qu’on le nourrist,
Tant court chanson qu’elle est aprise,
Tant garde on fruit qu’il se pourrist,
Tant bat on place qu’elle est prise.
Tant tarde on que faut entreprise,
Tant se haste on que mal advient,
Tant embrasse on que chet la prise,
Tant crie l’on Noel qu’il vient._”
VILLON, _Ballade des Proverbes_.
PREFACE
In this edition I have endeavoured to keep down additions as much
as possible, so as not to overload the book; but I have not been
sparing in adding cross-references (especially in the Index) and
quotations from standard authors. These quotations seldom give
the first occasion on which a proverb has been used, as in most
cases it is impossible to find it.
I have placed an asterisk before all recognised proverbs; these
will serve as a first course for those students who do not wish
to read through the whole book at once. In a few cases I have
added explanations of English proverbs; during the eleven years
I have been using the book I have frequently found that pupils
were, for instance, as ignorant of “to bell the cat” as they were
of “attacher le grelot.”
I must add a warning to students who use the book when
translating into French. They must not use expressions marked
“familiar” or “popular” except when writing in a familiar or
low-class style. I have included these forms, because they are
often heard in conversation, but they are seldom met with in
serious French literature. A few blank pages have been added at
the end for additions. Accents have been placed on capitals to
aid the student; they are usually omitted in French printing.
In conclusion, I have to thank Mr. W. G. Lipscomb, M.A.,
Headmaster of Bolton Grammar School, Mr. E. Latham, and
especially M. Georges Jamin of the École Lavoisier, Paris, for
valuable suggestions; while M. Marius Deshumbert, and Professor
Walter Rippmann, in reading through the proof sheets, have made
many corrections and additions of the greatest value, for which I
owe them my sincere gratitude.
DE V. PAYEN-PAYNE.
AUTHORITIES CONSULTED
BELCHER, H., and DUPUIS, A., “Manuel aux examens.” London, 1885.
BELCOUR, G., “English Proverbs.” London, 1888.
BOHN, H. G., “Handbook of Proverbs.” London, 1855.
CATS, JACOB, and FAIRLIE, R., “Moral Emblems.” London, 1860.
DUPLESSIS, M. GRATET, “La fleur des Proverbes français.” Paris,
1851.
FURETIÈRE, A., “Dictionnaire universel.” La Haye, 1727.
GÉNIN, F., “Récréations philologiques.” Paris, 1856.
HOWELL, JAMES, “Lexicon Tetraglotton.” London, 1660.
KARCHER, T., “Questionnaire français.” Seventh Edition. London,
1886.
LACURNE DE STE. PALAYE, “Dictionnaire historique de l’ancien
langage françois.” Paris, 1875-82.
LARCHEY, LORÉDAN, “Nos vieux Proverbes.” Paris, 1886.
LAROUSSE, P., “Grand Dictionnaire universel du xix^e siècle.”
1865-76.
LE ROUX DE LINCY, A. J., “Livre des Proverbes français.” 2^e
édition. Paris, 1859.
LITTRÉ, E., “Dictionnaire de la langue française.” Paris,
1863-72.
LOUBENS, D., “Proverbes de la langue française.” Paris, 1889.
MARTIN, ÉMAN, “Le Courrier de Vaugelas.” Paris, 1868.
QUITARD, P. M., “Dictionnaire étymologique des Proverbes.” Paris,
1842.
QUITARD, P. M., “Études sur les Proverbes français.” Paris, 1860.
RIGAUD, LUCIEN, “Argot moderne.” Paris, 1881.
TARVER, J. C., “Phraseological Dictionary.” London, 1854.
TRENCH, R. C., “Proverbs and their Lessons.” Sixth Edition.
London, 1869.
_Quarterly Review._ July 1868.
_Notes and Queries._ _Passim._
FRENCH IDIOMS AND PROVERBS
_Expressions to which an Asterisk is prefixed are Proverbs._
A.
A
_Il ne sait ni A ni B_ = He does not know B from a bull’s foot;
He cannot read; He is a perfect ignoramus.
_Être marqué à l’A_ = To stand high in the estimation of others.
[This expression is supposed to have originated in the custom of
stamping French coin with different letters of the alphabet. The
mark of the Paris Mint was an “A,” and its coins were supposed
to be of a better quality than those stamped at provincial
towns. But as this custom only began in 1418 by command of the
Dauphin, son of Charles VI., and as the saying was known long
previous, it is more probable that its origin is to be sought in
the pre-eminence that A has always held in all Aryan languages,
and that the French have borrowed it from the Romans. Compare
MARTIAL, ii. 57, and our A i, at Lloyd’s.]
Abandon
_Tout est à l’abandon_ = Everything is at sixes and sevens, in
utter neglect, in confusion.
[Also: _Tout va à la dérive._]
Abattre
*_Petite pluie abat grand vent_ = A little rain lays much dust;
Often quite a trifle calms a torrent of wrath.
[Compare: “Hi motus animorum atque haec certamina tanta Pulveris
exigui jactu compressa quiescunt.”
VERGIL, _Georgics_, iv. 86-7.]
_Abattre de l’ouvrage_ = To get through a great deal of work.
Aboi
_Être aux abois_ = To be reduced to the last extremity; To be at
bay.
[Compare BOILEAU: “Dès que j’y veux rêver, ma veine est aux
abois.”]
Abondance
*_Abondance de biens ne nuit pas_ = Store is no sore; One cannot
have too much of a good thing.
_Parler avec abondance_ = To speak fluently.
_Parler d’abondance_ = To speak extempore.
Abonder
_Il abonde dans mon sens_ = He is entirely of the same opinion as
I am; He has come round to my opinion.
Abord
_Il a l’abord rude, mais il s’adoucit bientôt_ = He receives you
roughly at first, but that soon passes off.
_A_ (or, _De_) _prime abord_ = At first sight; At the first blush.
Aboutir
_Les pourparlers n’ont pas abouti_ = The preliminary negotiations
led to nothing.
Absent
* | 572.342183 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.3222190 | 2,434 | 9 |
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https://archive.org/details/indiaunderbritis00wheerich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
INDIA UNDER BRITISH RULE
by
J. TALBOYS WHEELER
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
MADRAS IN THE OLDEN TIME, 1639-1748. 3 vols. sm. 8vo. Madras,
1861-62.
EARLY TRAVELS IN INDIA. First Series, comprising Purchas's
"Pilgrimage" and the "Travels of Van Linschoten." 8vo. Calcutta,
1864.
EARLY TRAVELS IN INDIA. Second Series, comprising Sir Thomas Roe's
"Embassy to the Great Mogul" and Fryer's "Travels in India." 8vo.
London, 1873.
HISTORY OF INDIA FROM THE EARLIEST AGES. 5 vols. 8vo.
Vol. I. The Maha Bharata and the Vedic Period. Thick 8vo. Map. 1867.
II. The Ramayana and the Brahmanic Period. Thick 8vo. Map. 1869.
III. Hindu, Buddhist, and Brahmanic Revival. 8vo. Map. 1874.
IV. and V. Mohammedan Rule. 2 vols. 8vo. 1876-82.
SHORT HISTORY OF INDIA, and of the Frontier States of Afghanistan,
Nipal, and Burma. Thick-crown 8vo, with Maps and Tables. Macmillan
and Co. 12_s._ 1880.
HISTORY OF THE IMPERIAL ASSEMBLAGE AT DELHI, held on the 1st of
January, 1877, to celebrate the assumption by Her Majesty Queen
Victoria of the Title of Empress of India; with Historical
Sketches of India and her Princes. Royal 4to, with 13 Portraits,
Map, and 17 Illustrations, chiefly by Photographs. 1877.
EARLY RECORDS OF BRITISH INDIA; a History of the English
Settlements in India. 8vo. Calcutta, 1878.
JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE UP THE IRRAWADDY TO MANDALAY AND BHAMO. 8vo.
Rangoon, 1871.
TALES FROM INDIAN HISTORY. 12mo. 1881.
* * *
GEOGRAPHY OF HERODOTUS, Developed, Explained, and Illustrated from
Modern Researches and Discoveries. Thick 8vo, with Maps and Plans.
1854.
LIFE AND TRAVELS OF HERODOTUS. 2 vols. post 8vo. 1855.
ANALYSIS AND SUMMARY OF HERODOTUS. Post 8vo. Bohn's Philological
Library. 1852.
ANALYSIS AND SUMMARY OF THUCYDIDES. Post 8vo. Bohn's Philological
Library. 1852.
* * * * * *
INDIA UNDER BRITISH RULE
From the Foundation of the East India Company
by
J. TALBOYS WHEELER
Late Assistant-Secretary to the Government of India, Foreign Department,
and Late Secretary to the Government of British Burma.
Author of "History of India from the Earliest Ages,"
Including the "Maha Bharata" and "Ramayana,"
"A Short History Of India,"
etc., etc.
London
Macmillan and Co.
1886
The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved.
Richard Clay & Sons,
Bread Street Hill, London,
Bungay, Suffolk.
TO
SIR CHARLES TREVELYAN, BART.,
WHO OPENED
THE OLD MADRAS RECORDS TO THE AUTHOR
IN 1860,
This book is Dedicated.
PREFACE.
A hundred years ago, when the lively Miss Frances Burney was weeping
over the wrongs of Warren Hastings, and the learned and portly Gibbon
was still lamenting that he had not entered on an Indian career, there
were people in the British Isles who knew something of Indian history.
They had picked up information respecting Indian affairs from the
speeches of the grave Edmund Burke, the eloquent Charles James Fox, and
the impassioned Richard Brinsley Sheridan. The facts may have come
second hand, and been more or less distorted by the jealous and bitter
fancies of Sir Philip Francis, the reputed author of the _Letters of
Junius_; but facts or fables, they served to enlighten the British
public on the Indian questions of the day.
During the present century, the march of intellect has turned away from
India, except as regards an outlet for cotton goods, a field for
speculation in railways and teas, or a provision for younger sons in the
"Indian civil." Within the last few years, however, there has been a
change for the better. The British public has been alarmed at the fall
in silver. It has been cheered by the proposal to place British-born
subjects under the magisterial jurisdiction of Hindus and Mohammedans.
It has been aroused by the prospect of a war with Russia in Central
Asia; but it has been comforted by the restoration of the fortress of
Gwalior to Maharaja Sindia. Moreover, Burma is no longer confounded with
Bermuda, and no one groans over the annexation of the country, or the
destruction of brigandage by the new rulers. Still there is room for
more knowledge. The author, however, has before him a letter from an old
friend in high position in India, who tells him plainly that the British
government does not want history. Accordingly, the present work is not
called a _History of India_, but _India under British Rule_.
More than one British ruler in India has, however, sinned against
history, and might well like to shut it up with confidential minutes and
secret negotiations. Within the present century, India has been
desolated by wars as cruel as those of the Heptarchy, and as unmeaning
as those of the White and Red Roses. Within the present generation, it
has been distracted and tortured by a military revolt, created by a
scare about greased cartridges, but leading to crimes more horrible than
those of the French Revolution. Yet Anglo-Indian statesmen have been
known to ignore the past, and to propound schemes for India that would
be too advanced for any European nation excepting Great Britain. They
have blinded themselves against history, like ostriches burying their
faces in the sand. They have dealt with India, as the German philosopher
dealt with the "camel," not by the facts before them, but out of the
sublime depths of their moral consciousness, stirred up by a political
caucus, or a philanthropic gathering in Exeter Hall.
Controversy and fault-finding are to be deprecated. But reform is only
possible after a due consideration of what has been accomplished up to
date by British rule in India, and of the flaws and faults in the
existing constitution.
It will be seen from the first chapter, that the British traders of the
seventeenth century, who established factories, built fortresses, and
created manufacturing towns, also attempted to introduce representative
and municipal government into the East India Company's once famous city
of Madras. The second chapter reveals the fact that the acquisition of
Bengal in the eighteenth century was not the work of ambition, but an
act of self-preservation. The third chapter shows that the peace of
India could not have been maintained in any possible way except by the
establishment of British supremacy as the paramount power. The fourth
chapter proves that the first Afghan war, needless as it turned out to
be at the time, was the outcome of Russian ambition which dates back to
the times of Peter the Great and Nadir Shah.
The story of the sepoy mutinies of 1857 occupies a considerable space in
the present volume. It is not a mere narrative of military revolt, but a
revelation of Asiatic nature; a lesson which every Anglo-Indian
statesman must study, if he would avoid defeat or failure. The masses in
the British Isles may read Biblical accounts of rebellion and massacre,
or the story in Josephus of the atrocities of Herod the Great; but very
few seem to realise the fact that they are reading Asiatic history,
which has no reflex in Europe, nor in any country under European rule
except British India. The horrible intrigues and murders in the
household of Herod; his frantic passion for the fair Mariamne; the
malicious lies of Salome; the assassination of Mariamne by her jealous
and infuriated husband; the alternations in the mind of Herod as regards
Cleopatra, whether to accept her love or murder her;--find no parallels
in European history, excepting perhaps in Turkey, or in the Russian
court of the last century.
The last chapter in the present volume is devoted to the constitutional
changes in the government of India, and in the local governments, since
the mutinies. The author has not indulged in the hope of raising
Asiatics to the level of Europeans by the premature introduction of
representative government. He considers that such a scheme would for the
present be as much out of place in Asia as a republic of boys for the
control of schoolmasters. British India is treated as a political school
for Asiatics, in which Europeans are the teachers; and so long as that
theory of government is upheld, constitutional reforms in India are
practical and possible.
In conclusion, the author has to express his obligations to Professor
Terrien de Lacouperie of the London University College, and to his own
son, Owen E. Wheeler of the Leicestershire Regiment, for revising the
proofs of the present work, and for many valuable suggestions.
FULHAM,
_12th May, 1886_.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
_EAST INDIA COMPANY._
CHAPTER I.
FIRST PERIOD: FACTORIES, FORTRESSES, TOWNS.
1600-1756.
Sec. 1. India in 1600. Sec. 2. British at Surat and Masulipatam:
Commercial and Social Life, 1612-1638. Sec. 3. Rise and Growth of
Madras, 1639-1680: Portuguese and Dutch Neighbours. Sec. 4. British
Rule and Representative Government, 1686. Sec. 5. Mixed Corporation
of Europeans and Natives, 1688. Sec. 6. Slavery and the Slave Trade
in India. Sec. | 572.342259 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.3223310 | 93 | 63 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 12, ISSUE 332, SEPTEMBER 20, 1828***
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See 10845-h.htm or 10845-h.zip:
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+------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note |
|Spelling, punctuation and inconsistencies |
|in the original book have been retained. |
+------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: Book Cover]
The Renewal of Life
BY MISS MORLEY
A SONG OF LIFE. 12mo $1.25
LIFE AND LOVE. 12mo 1.25
THE BEE PEOPLE. 12mo 1.25
THE HONEY-MAKERS. 12mo 1.25
LITTLE MITCHELL. 12mo 1.25
THE RENEWAL OF LIFE. 12mo 1.25
_Each fully illustrated_
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
CHICAGO
The Renewal of Life
_How and When to Tell the Story to the Young_
By
Margaret Warner Morley
Author of "A Song of Life," "Life and Love," etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: Publisher's Logo]
Chicago
A. C. McClurg & Co.
1906
COPYRIGHT BY
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1906
Published September 15, 1906
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE RENEWAL OF LIFE 9
II. WHO IS TO TELL THE STORY, AND WHEN IS IT TO BE TOLD? 17
III. HOW TO TELL THE STORY 27
IV. TELLING THE TRUTH 36
V. ON NATURE STUDY 40
VI. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE SEED 52
VII. THE FERTILIZATION OF THE FLOWER 87
VIII. WHAT CAN BE LEARNED FROM THE LIFE OF THE FISH 107
IX. AMPHIBIOUS LIFE 127
X. THE BIRD 137
XI. THE MAMMAL 154
XII. VIGILANCE 169
XIII. THE TRANSFORMATION 178
LIST OF BOOKS HELPFUL IN STUDYING PLANT AND ANIMAL LIFE 193
_The Renewal of Life_
_How and When to Tell The Story to the Young_
I
THE RENEWAL OF LIFE
Every human being must sooner or later know the facts concerning the
origin of his life on the earth. One of the most puzzling questions is
how and when such information should be given to the young.
There is nothing the parent more desires than that his child should have
a high ideal in regard to the sex-life and that he should live in
accordance with that ideal, yet nowhere is careful and systematic
education so lacking as here.
What parent would allow his child to go untaught in the particulars
concerning truth-telling, honesty, cleanliness, and behavior, trusting
that in some way the child would discover the facts necessary to the
practice of these virtues and live accordingly? And yet with apparent
inconsistency one of the prime virtues is neglected; one of the most
vital needs of every human being--the understanding of his
sex-nature--is too often left entirely to chance. Not only is the youth
uninstructed, but no proper way of learning the truth is within his
reach. It is as though he were set blindfold in the midst of dangerous
pitfalls, with the admonition not to fall into any of them. Those who
ought to tell the facts will not, consequently the facts must be
gathered from chance sources which are too often bad, poisoning mind and
heart. Even the physiologies, with the exception of those large, and to
the average reader inaccessible, volumes used in medical schools,
scarcely ever touch upon the subject. Of course these larger books give
only the physiological facts couched in scientific terms. How and where,
then, can the youth learn what he needs to know?
It is true there is a noble effort being made for young men, and to a
less extent for young women, by certain organizations that exist for
the help of the young, to supply this curious defect in our educational
system; but these efforts reach but comparatively few members in a
community, and come too late in the life of the young to give them their
first impressions on the subject. Perhaps the most encouraging sign for
the future is the interest that thousands of mothers in all walks of
life are to-day taking in the best methods of training their children to
a right understanding and noble conception of sex-life. Innumerable
mothers' clubs give the subject a place in the curriculum of the club
work, at stated times discussing, reading, consulting all available
authorities which may be of help. Some of these mothers live in poor
homes in neighborhoods where their children are exposed to all sorts of
evil communications and temptations. Others have sheltered homes, from
which the children go out among refined associates from whom there may
be little danger of learning that which is evil. Yet others live in
moderate circumstances, where the home influences may be good, but
where the children are liable to mingle with a heterogeneous society in
their school and perhaps in their social life.
Moreover, in all these homes there are children of different
natures,--some with temperaments which make it easy for them to imbibe
harmful information, while others as naturally resent such information.
Nor is the child of rich parents living in a costly home necessarily the
child least likely to make mistakes. The facts quickly refute any such
idea. It is the child most carefully trained at home, with the most
inspiring counsel and the wisest guidance in all directions, who has the
best chance for successful living, the child whose parents not only
secure the best outside assistance where such is necessary, but who
themselves take a vital and continuous interest in his education. Such
parents, where the help of nurses and teachers is necessary in the home,
see to it that these helpers are wholesome, high-minded companions for
the growing minds put under their charge.
The poorest child is the child of wealthy parents, who is turned over to
hirelings, chosen more for their accent of a foreign tongue than for
their knowledge of child life and of the laws which govern the growing
mind and body. Such children not infrequently become as depraved as the
most neglected and exposed child of the slums, later poisoning the minds
or shocking the sensibilities of children in the schools they attend.
One of the difficulties every mother has to encounter is the presence of
undesirable companions in the school. The argument that a child coming
from a sheltered home will not be influenced by such companions is only
in part true. He may not be influenced, or, again, he may. Among older
children, if the wrongdoer be dazzling in manner, looks, social
position, or even in power to lavish money, he will acquire a certain
ascendency over many of his companions, who, if not safeguarded against
his allurements by a clear knowledge of the facts of life, may fall into
his snares.
How, then, can all these various situations be dealt with? How, how
much, when, and where shall the youth be safeguarded against influences,
misconceptions, and mistakes which may mar his whole after-life? These
are the questions which in part this book endeavors to answer.
The answers come from the writer's experience of many years' work with
mothers interested in this subject, especially from the testimony and
the questions of thousands of such mothers in all walks of life who
possessed children of all temperaments.
The book is not meant to be either exhaustive or arbitrary. It is
written with the single desire of helping the mother who may be groping
her way in this matter, its aim being twofold,--to indicate methods of
procedure among which the mother may find one adapted to her special
needs and circumstances, or at least from which she may get hints which
she can herself follow in her own way, and to indicate sources of
information.
One trivial difficulty has presented itself in preparing the succeeding
chapters, and that is the lack in the English language of a pronoun
including both genders. The English impersonal pronoun, being masculine
in form, is liable to create the impression that "he" or "his" exclusive
of "she" or "her" is the subject of discourse. This is not so. Generally
the masculine pronoun is used impersonally in this discussion, and the
discerning reader can easily decide from the context where this is not
the case.
As a help to the busy mother in selecting books for herself and her
children, a list is given at the end of the book. This list is by no
means exhaustive. There are many other and doubtless equally good books.
The books given are reliable, are prettily illustrated, are now in
print, and are easily obtainable at any book-store. If they are not in
stock the book-seller will be glad to send for them. Further, to aid in
selecting and ordering, the retail price is added. A small circulating
library of well chosen books adds greatly to the usefulness of a
mother's club, and such a library can be collected at small cost.
Where the club is composed of heterogeneous members it is advisable that
the president, or some member chosen for the purpose, should lead the
discussion, which should be on some one topic selected and made known
beforehand. This leader should not only guide the discussion, but be
ready to explain the books and make the subject clear to those tired and
overworked mothers who have had fewer educational advantages but who are
in need of such knowledge as will enable them to guide their children.
A mother unconnected with a club, and unable to afford all the books she
wants, can find many of those here recommended in the village or city
library; and where this is not the case the library is generally willing
to make such purchases as its patrons request.
II
WHO IS TO TELL THE STORY, AND WHEN IS IT TO BE TOLD?
Every thoughtful guardian of a child is sooner or later confronted with
three questions in connection with this subject,--
Who is to tell the story to the child?
When should it be told?
How should it be told?
_Who shall tell the story?_
The best teachers in this subject are undoubtedly the child's parents.
Since the mother generally spends more time with him and is more
accustomed to instruct him in manners and morals it naturally belongs to
her to give him his first instruction here, and it is an opportunity
which no mother understanding its value can afford to miss.
Nothing draws a child so close to his mother as the knowledge, rightly
conveyed, of how truly he is a part of her. Almost without exception the
young boy learning the truth from the lips of his mother has a new
feeling of reverence and love for her. Countless are the testimonies of
mothers as to the result of telling this fact. One illustration will
answer as an example of hundreds of similar ones. A certain little boy
listened open-eyed to the story; then, the blood mounting to his cheeks,
he threw himself into his mother's arms, exclaiming, "Oh, mamma, that is
why I love you so!"
Moreover, if the right kind of confidence is established between mother
and child, the child will come to his mother with his questions and
difficulties instead of trying to satisfy his curiosity elsewhere.
The question is often asked, Will not close companionship and sympathy
between mother and child in a general way produce the same result,
causing the child to confide in the mother in case of needing
information, without any previous talks on the subject?
Of course the closer the relationship between the two the more easily
will the child confide everything; yet with very many children, if this
one subject is avoided (and particularly is this true as the child grows
older), it will not be introduced by the child, no matter how much he
may desire the knowledge, or how intimate in other ways may be his talks
with his mother. The judicious mother can get a hold upon her son
through this subject that nothing else gives; she can keep him closer to
her, and oftentimes can guide him safely over difficult places. What is
true of the son is of course true of the daughter. The little girl will
respond as readily as her brother to confidences of this kind, and will
find them as helpful. She very often escapes much that her brother in
his freer life meets, yet undoubtedly in the great majority of cases the
instruction is as vitally necessary to her as to him.
While the earliest teachings seem to fall most naturally to the mother,
the father should also share the responsibility and the privilege,
talking with frank confidence upon the subject whenever occasion
offers.
The question is often asked, Is it not better for the father to talk to
the boys, the mother to the girls?
There no doubt are cases where this might be wise, but the mother,
understanding the close relationship between her son and herself that
may come through such talks,--a relationship continuing and increasing
in value as the years go on,--would feel that she could not afford to
lose anything so precious to both her boy and herself.
While the establishment of this relationship might be difficult or even
impossible later, it is easily begun in childhood and as easily
continued. Moreover, many boys are specially helped by talking with
their mother. They often feel in her a quicker sympathy and a more
perfect understanding of | 572.343128 |
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provided by the Internet Archive
THE SHAKESPEAREAN MYTH
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AND CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE
By Appleton Morgan
Author Of "The Law Of Literature,"
"Notes To Best's Principles Of Evidence," Etc., Etc=
````Sic vos non vobis nidificatis aves;
````Sic vos non vobis vellera fertis oves;
````Sic vos non vobis melliflcatus apes;
````Sic vos non vobis fertis aratra boves.
`````--_P. Virgil. Maro_=
Cincinnati, Robert Clarke & Co
1881
TO D. T. MORGAN, ESQ.,
OF WHIP'S CROSS, WALTHAMSTOW, ESSEX, ENGLAND.
My Dear Sir:
I do not know your opinion on the matter treated in these pages. Very
possibly you will disagree with every line of my Brief. But it gives me
pleasure to connect my name with yours on this page, and to subscribe
myself
Very faithfully, your kinsman,
APPLETON MORGAN.
October, 1881.
PREFACE.
|M. Guizot, in his History of England, states the Shakespearean
problem in a few words, when he says: "Let us finally mention the great
comedian, the great tragedian, the great philosopher, the great poet,
who was in his lifetime butcher's apprentice, poacher, actor, theatrical
manager, and whose name is William Shakespeare. In twenty years, amid
the duties of his profession, the care of mounting his pieces, of
instructing his actors, he composed the thirty-two tragedies and
comedies, in verse and prose, rich with an incomparable knowledge of
human nature, and an unequaled power of imagination, terrible and comic
by turns, profound and delicate, homely and touching, responding to
every emotion of the soul, divining all that was beyond the range of
his experience and for ever remaining the treasure of the age--all this
being accomplished, Shakespeare left the theater and the busy world,
at the age of forty-five, to return to Stratford-on-Avon, where lived
peacefully in the most modest retirement, writing nothing and never
returning to the stage--ignored and unknown if his works had not forever
marked out his place in the world--a strange example of an imagination
so powerful, suddenly ceasing to produce, and closing, once for all, the
door to the efforts of genius."
But M. Guizot is very far from suggesting any prima facie inconsistency
in this statement as it stands.
Since every man reads the Shakespearean pages for himself and between
the lines, much of what we are expected to accept as Shakespearean
criticism must fail of universal appreciation and sympathy. But none who
read the English tongue can well be unconcerned with the question as
to <b>who wrote</b> those pages; and it would be affectation to deny that
the intense realism of our day is offering some startling contributions
to the solution of that question.
For instance, the gentlemen of the "New Shakespeare Society" (whom
Mr. Swinburne rather mercilessly burlesques in his recent "_Studies of
Shakespeare_") submit these dramas to a quantitative analysis; and,
by deliberately counting the "male," "female," "weak," and "stopped"
endings, and the Alexandrines and catalectics (just as a mineralogist
counts the degrees and minutes in the angles of his crystals), insist on
their ability to pronounce didatically and infallibly what was written
by William Shakespeare, and at what age; what was composed by Dekker,
Fletcher, Marlowe, or anybody else; what was originally theirs, touched
up by William Shakespeare or _vice versa_, etc. It is curious to observe
how this process invariably gives all the admirable sentiments to
William Shakespeare, and all the questionable ones to somebody else; but
at least these New Shakespearean gentlemen have surrendered somewhat of
the "cast-iron" theory of our childhood--that every page, line, and word
of the immortal Shakespearean Drama was written by William Shakespeare
demi-god, and by none other--perhaps, even opened a path through which
the unbelievers may become, in due time, orthodox.
There are still, however, a great many persons who are disposed to wave
the whole question behind them, much as Mr. Podsnap disposed of the
social evil or a famine in India. It is only a "Historic Doubt," they
say, and "Historic Doubts" are not rare, are mainly contrived to exhibit
syllogistic ingenuity in the teeth of facts, etc., etc. The French, they
say, have the same set of problems about Molière. Was he a lawyer?
was he a doctor? etc.--and they all find their material in internal
evidence--e. g., an accurate handling of the technique of this or that
profession or science: parallelism, practical coincidence, or something
of that sort.
The present work is an attempt to examine, for the benefit of these
latter, from purely external evidence, a question which, dating only
within the current quarter century, is constantly recurring to confront
investigation, and, like Banquo's troublesome shade, seems altogether
indisposed to "down."
I have to add my acknowledgments to Mr. Julian Norris, for his careful
preparation of the Index to these pages.
Grandview-on-Hudson, October 2, 1881. {009}
THE SHAKESPEAREAN MYTH.
PART I. THE MYSTERY.
[Illustration: 9015]
HE thirty-seven plays called, collectively, "Shakespeare," are a
phenomenon, not only in English letters, but in human experience. The
literature of the country to which they belong, had, up to the date
of their appearance, failed to furnish, and has been utterly powerless
since, to produce any type, likeness, or formative trace of them; while
the literature of other nations possesses not even a corresponding type.
The history of a century on either side of their era discloses, within
the precints of their birth, no resources upon which levy could have
been made for their creation. They came and went like a meteor; neither
borrowing of what they found, nor loaning to what they left, their own
peculiar and unapproachable magnificence.
The unremitting researches of two centuries have only been able to
assign their authorship (where it rested at first) to an hiatus in the
life of a wayward village lad named William Shakespeare--who fled his
native town penniless and before the constable, to return, in a few
years, a well-to-do esquire--with a coat of arms and money in his
pocket. {010}We have the history of the boy, and certain items as to
the wealthy squire, who left behind him two or three exceedingly
common-place and conventional epitaphs (said to be his handiwork) and
a remarkable will; but, between them, no hint of history, chronicle, or
record. Still, within this unknown period of this man's career, these
matchless dramas came from somewhere, and passed current under his name.
The death of their reputed author attracted no contemporary attention,
and for many years thereafter the dramas remained unnoticed. Although
written in an idiom singularly open to the comprehension of all classes
and periods of English-speaking men, no sooner did they begin to be
remarked, than a cloud of what are politely called "commentators" bore
down upon them; any one who could spell feeling at liberty to furnish
a "reading;" and any one who supposed himself able to understand one of
these "readings," to add a barnacle in the shape of a "note." From these
"commentators" the stately text is even now in peril, and rarely, even
to-day, can it be perused, except one line at a time, across the top
of a dreary page of microscopic and exasperating annotation. But, up to
within a very few years, hardly a handful of Shakespearean students
had arisen with courage to admit--what scarcely any one of the
"commentators" even, could have failed to perceive--the utterly
inadequate source ascribed to the plays themselves.
It is not yet thirty years since an American lady was supposed to have
gone crazy because she declared that William Shakespeare, of the Globe
and Black-friars theaters in London, in the days of Elizabeth, was not
the author of these certain dramas and poems {011}for which--for almost
three hundred years--he has stood sponsor.
Miss Bacon's "madness," indeed, has been rapidly contageous. Now-a-days,
men make books to prove, not that William Shakespeare did not write
these works, but that Francis Bacon, Walter Raleigh, or some other
Elizabethan, did not. And we even find, now and then, a treatise written
to prove that William Shakespeare was, after all, their author; an
admission, at least, that the ancient presumption to that effect no
longer covers the case. And, doubtless, the correct view is within this
admission. For, probably, if permitted to examine this presumption by
the tests which would be applied to any other question of fact, namely,
the tests of contemporary history, muniments, and circumstantial
evidence, it will be found to be quite as well established and proved
that William Shakespeare was not the author of the plays that go by his
name, as any other fact, occurring in London between the years 1585
and 1616, not recorded in history or handed down by tradition, could be
established and proved in 1881.
If a doubt as to the authorship of the plays had arisen at any time
during or between those years, and had been kept open thereafter, the
probability is that it would have been settled by this time. But, as it
is, we may be pretty certain that no such doubt did arise, and that
no such question was asked, during the years when those who could have
dispelled the doubt or answered the question were living. When we
are about to visit a theater in these days, what we ask and concern
ourselves with is: Is the play entertaining? Does it "draw?" And, when
we wit{012}ness it, the question is: Do we enjoy it--or does it bore us?
Will we recommend our friends to come that they may be entertained, too,
and that we may discuss it with them? or will we warn them to keep away?
We very speedily settle these questions for ourselves. Doubtless we
may and do inquire who the author is. But we do not enter into any
discussion upon the subject, or charge our minds enough with the matter
to doubt it when we are told. The author's name is, not unusually,
printed on the play-bill before us; we glance at it indifferently, take
what is told us for granted, and think no more about it. If the name
happens to be assumed, we may possibly see its identity discussed in the
dramatic columns of our newspapers next morning, or we may not. If the
play entertains us, we commend it. If it drags, we sneer at it, get up
and go off. That is all the concern we give it. The evening has slipped
away; and, with it, any idle speculations as to the playwright who has
essayed to amuse us for an hour.
If, three hundred years hence, a question as to who wrote the play we
saw at Mr. Daly's theater or Mr. Wallack's theater last evening should
come up, there would be very little evidence, not any records, and
scarcely an exhibit to refer to in the matter. Copies of the play-bill
or the newspapers of the day might chance to be discovered; but
these--the internal testimony of the play itself, if any, and a sort
of tacit presumption growing out of a statement it was nobody's cue to
inquire into at the time it was made, and had been nobody's business to
scrutinize since--would constitute all the evidence at hand. How this
supposititious case is precisely all-fours with the facts {013}in the
matter of the dramatic works which we call, collectively, Shakespeare's.
Precisely: except that, on the evenings when those plays were acted,
there were no play-bills, and, on the succeeding morning, no daily
newspaper. We have, therefore, in 1881, much fewer facilities for
setting ourselves right as to their authorship than those living three
hundred years after us could possess in the case we have supposed.
The audiences who witnessed a certain class of plays at Shakespeare's
theaters, in the years between 1585 and 1606, were entertained. The
plays "drew." People talked of them about town, and they become valuable
to their proprietors. The mimic lords and ladies were acceptable to
the best seats; the rabble loved the show and glitter and the alarum of
drums; and all were Britons who gloated over rehearsal of the prowess
of their own kings and heroes, and to be told that their countrymen at
Agincourt had slain ten thousand Frenchmen at an expense of but five
and twenty of themselves. But, if M. Taine's description of the
Shakespearean theaters and the audience therein wont to assemble may be
relied upon, we can pretty safely conclude that they troubled themselves
very little as to who fashioned the dialogue the counterfeit kings and
queens, soldiers, lords, and ladies spoke; or that they saw any thing in
that dialogue to make such speculation appear worth their while. Nor can
we discover any evidence, even among the cultured courtiers who listened
to them--or in the case of Elizabeth herself, who is said to have loved
them (which we may as well admit for the argument's sake)--that
any recognition of the plays as works worthy of any other than a
stage-manager, occurred. {014}Even if it should appear that these plays
thus performed were the plays we now call Shakespeare's; had any of this
audience suspected that these plays were not written for them, but for
all time; that, three hundred years later--when the plays should not
only be extant, but more loved and admired than ever--the thinking world
should set itself seriously to probe the mystery of their origin; there
might have been some interest as to their producer manifested, and we
might have had some testimony competent to the exact point to-day.
But it is evident enough that no such prophetic vision was vouchsafed
to them, and no such prophetic judgment passed. Nor is the phenomenon
exceptional. The critic, does not live, even to-day, however learned or
cultured or shrewd, who would take the responsibility of affirming upon
his own judgment, or even upon the universal judgment of his age and
race, that any literary composition would be, after a lapse of three
hundred years, not only extant, but immortal, hugged as its birthright
by a whole world. Such a statement would have been contrary to
experience, beyond the prophecy of criticism, and therefore only to be
known--if known at all--as a Fact. Moreover, it could only be known as
a fact at the expiration of the three hundred years. Doubtless, few
critics would care, in any case, to commit themselves upon record one
way or the other in a matter so hypothetical and speculative as the
judgment of posterity upon a literary performance, and certainly nothing
of the sort occurred in Shakespeare's day, even if there were any
dramatic or literary critics to speculate upon the subject. There can be
no doubt--and it must be conceded {015}--that certain acted plays _did_
pass with their first audiences, and that certain printed plays, both
contemporaneously and for years thereafter, did pass with the public
who read them, as the compositions of Mr. Manager Shakespeare; and that
probably even the manager's pot companions, who had better call to know
him than any others, saw nothing to shake their heads at in his claim
to be their author (provided he ever made any such claim; which, by the
way, does not appear from any record of his life, and which nobody ever
asserted as a fact). If they did--with the exception only of Robert
Greene--they certainly kept their own counsel. On the one hand, then,
the question of the authorship was never raised, and, on the other
hand, if it had been, the scholars and critics who studied the plays
(supposing that there were any such in those days) could not possibly
have recognized them as immortal. If they had so recognized them, they
would doubtless have left us something more satisfactory as to the
authorship of the compositions than the mere "impression that they were
informed" that the manager of the theater where they were produced wrote
them; that they supposed he was clever enough to have done so, and they
therefore took it for granted that he did. That is all there is of the
evidence of Shakespeare's own day, as to the question--if it still is a
question--before us.
But how about the presumption--the legal presumption, arising from such
lapse of time as that the memory of | 572.345346 |
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Tiffany Vergon, John R. Bilderback,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
First published in serial form in the _Fortnightly Review_ from July,
1871, to February, 1873, and in book form in 1872
CONTENTS
I. Lizzie Greystock
II. Lady Eustace
III. Lucy Morris
IV. Frank Greystock
V. The Eustace Necklace
VI. Lady Linlithgow's Mission
VII. Mr. Burke's Speeches
VIII. The Conquering Hero Comes
IX. Showing What the Miss Fawns Said, and What Mrs. Hittaway
Thought
X. Lizzie and Her Lover
XI. Lord Fawn at His Office
XII. "I Only Thought of It"
XIII. Showing What Frank Greystock Did
XIV. "Doan't Thou Marry for Munny"
XV. "I'll Give You a Hundred Guinea Brooch"
XVI. Certainly an Heirloom
XVII. The Diamonds Are Seen in Public
XVIII. "And I Have Nothing to Give"
XIX. "As My Brother"
XX. The Diamonds Become Troublesome
XXI. "Ianthe's Soul"
XXII. Lady Eustace Procures a Pony for the Use of Her Cousin
XXIII. Frank Greystock's First Visit to Portray
XXIV. Showing What Frank Greystock Thought About Marriage
XXV. Mr. Dove's Opinion
XXVI. Mr. Gowran Is Very Funny
XXVII. Lucy Morris Misbehaves
XXVIII. Mr. Dove in His Chambers
XXIX. "I Had Better Go Away"
XXX. Mr. Greystock's Troubles
XXXI. Frank Greystock's Second Visit to Portray
XXXII. Mr. and Mrs. Hittaway in Scotland
XXXIII. "It Won't Be True"
XXXIV. Lady Linlithgow at Home
XXXV. Too Bad for Sympathy
XXXVI. Lizzie's Guests
XXXVII. Lizzie's First Day
XXXVIII. Nappie's Grey Horse
XXXIX. Sir Griffin Takes an Unfair Advantage
XL. "You Are Not Angry?"
XLI. "Likewise the Bears in Couples Agree"
XLII. Sunday Morning
XLIII. Life at Portray
XLIV. A Midnight Adventure
XLV. The Journey to London
XLVI. Lucy Morris in Brook Street
XLVII. Matching Priory
XLVIII. Lizzie's Condition
XLIX. Bunfit and Gager
L. In Hertford Street
LI. Confidence
LII. Mrs. Carbuncle Goes to the Theatre
LIII. Lizzie's Sick-Room
LIV. "I Suppose I May Say a Word"
LV. Quints or Semitenths
LVI. Job's Comforters
LVII. Humpty Dumpty
LVIII. "The Fiddle with One String"
LIX. Mr. Gowran Up in London
LX. "Let It Be As Though It Had Never Been"
LXI. Lizzie's Great Friend
LXII. "You Know Where My Heart Is"
LXIII. The Corsair Is Afraid
LXIV. Lizzie's Last Scheme
LXV. Tribute
LXVI. The Aspirations of Mr. Emilius
LXVII. The Eye of the Public
LXVIII. The Major
LXIX. "I Cannot Do It"
LXX. Alas!
LXXI. Lizzie Is Threatened with the Treadmill
LXXII. Lizzie Triumphs
LXXIII. Lizzie's Last Lover
LXXIV. Lizzie at the Police-Court
LXXV. Lord George Gives His Reasons
LXXVI. Lizzie Returns to Scotland
LXXVII. The Story of Lucy Morris Is Concluded
LXXVIII. The Trial
LXXIX. Once More at Portray
LXXX. What Was Said About It All at Matching
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
Lizzie Greystock
It was admitted by all her friends, and also by her enemies,--who
were in truth the more numerous and active body of the two,--that
Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself. We will tell the
story of Lizzie Greystock from the beginning, but we will not dwell
over it at great length, as we might do if we loved her. She was the
only child of old Admiral Greystock, who in the latter years of his
life was much perplexed by the possession of a daughter. The admiral
was a man who liked whist, wine,--and wickedness in general we may
perhaps say, and whose ambition it was to live every day of his life
up to the end of it. People say that he succeeded, and that the
whist, wine, and wickedness were there, at the side even of his dying
bed. He had no particular fortune, and yet his daughter, when she was
little more than a child, went about everywhere with jewels on her
fingers, and red gems hanging round her neck, and yellow gems pendent
from her ears, and white gems shining in her black hair. She was
hardly nineteen when her father died and she was taken home by that
dreadful old termagant, her aunt, Lady Linlithgow. Lizzie would have
sooner gone to any other friend or relative, had there been any other
friend or relative to take her possessed of a house in town. Her
uncle, Dean Greystock, of Bobsborough, would have had her, and a more
good-natured old soul than the dean's wife did not exist,--and there
were three pleasant, good-tempered girls in the deanery, who had
made various little efforts at friendship with their cousin Lizzie;
but Lizzie had higher ideas for herself than life in the deanery at
Bobsborough. She hated Lady Linlithgow. During her father's lifetime,
when she hoped to be able to settle herself before his death, she was
not in the habit of concealing her hatred for Lady Linlithgow. Lady
Linlithgow was not indeed amiable or easily managed. But when the
admiral died, Lizzie did not hesitate for a moment in going to the
old "vulturess," as she was in the habit of calling the countess in
her occasional correspondence with the girls at Bobsborough.
The admiral died greatly in debt;--so much so that it was a marvel
how tradesmen had trusted him. There was literally nothing left
for anybody,--and Messrs. Harter and Benjamin of Old Bond Street
condescended to call at Lady Linlithgow's house in Brook Street | 572.441542 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
The Sandman's Hour
Stories _for_ Bedtime
By Abbie Phillips Walker
_Illustrated by_ Rhoda. C. Chase
Harper & Brothers, Publishers
[Illustration: Title page]
The Sandman's Hour
Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
*CONTENTS*
Where the Sparks Go
The Good Sea Monster
Mother Turkey and Her Chicks
The Fairies and the Dandelion
Mr. 'Possum
The Rooster That Crowed Too Soon
Tearful
Hilda's Mermaid
The Mirror's Dream
The Contest
The Pink and Blue Eggs
Why the Morning-Glory Sleeps
Dorothy and the Portrait
Mistress Pussy's Mistake
Kid
The Shoemaker Rat
The Poppies
Little China Doll
The Disorderly Girl
The Wise Old Gander
Dinah Cat and the Witch
The Star and the Lily
Lazy Gray
The Old Gray Hen
The Worsted Doll
*THE SANDMAN'S HOUR*
[Illustration: Headpiece to Where the Sparks Go]
*WHERE THE SPARKS GO*
One night when the wind was blowing and it was clear and cold out of
doors, a cat and a dog, who were very good friends, sat dozing before a
fire-place. The wood was snapping and crackling, making the sparks fly.
Some flew up the chimney, others settled into coals in the bed of the
fireplace, while others flew out on the hearth and slowly closed their
eyes and went to sleep.
One spark ventured farther out upon the hearth and fell very near Pussy.
This made her jump, which awakened the dog.
"That almost scorched your fur coat, Miss Pussy," said the dog.
"No, indeed," answered the cat. "I am far too quick to be caught by
those silly sparks."
"Why do you call them silly?" asked the dog. "I think them very good to
look at, and they help to keep us warm."
"Yes, that is all true," said the cat, "but those that fly up the
chimney on a night like this certainly are silly, when they could be
warm and comfortable inside; for my part, I cannot see why they fly up
the chimney."
The spark that flew so near Pussy was still winking, and she blazed up a
little when she heard the remark the cat made.
"If you knew our reason you would not call us silly," she said. "You
cannot see what we do, but if you were to look up the chimney and see
what happens if we are fortunate enough to get out at the top, you would
not call us silly."
The dog and cat were very curious to know what happened, but the spark
told them to look and see for themselves. Pussy was very cautious and
told the dog to look first, so he stepped boldly up to the fireplace and
thrust his head in. He quickly withdrew it, for his hair was singed,
which made him cry and run to the other side of the room.
Miss Pussy smoothed her soft coat and was very glad she had been so
wise; she walked over to the dog and urged him to come nearer the fire,
but he realized why a burnt child dreads the fire, and remained at a
safe distance.
Pussy walked back to the spark and continued to question it. "We cannot
go into the fire," she said. "Now, pretty, bright spark, do tell us what
becomes of you when you fly up the chimney. I am sure you only become
soot and that cannot make you long to get to the top."
"Oh, you are very wrong," said the spark. "We are far from being black
when we fly up the chimney, for once we reach the top, we live forever
sparkling in the sky. You can see, if you look up the chimney, all of
our brothers and sisters, who have been lucky and reached the top,
winking at us almost every night. Sometimes the wind blows them away, I
suppose, for there are nights when we cannot see the sparks shine."
"Who told you all that?" said the cat. "Did any of the sparks ever come
back and tell you they could live forever?"
"Oh no!" said the spark; "but | 572.442483 |
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GREAT PORTER SQUARE:
A MYSTERY.
BY
B. L. FARJEON,
_Author of "Grif," "London's Heart," "The House of White
Shadows," etc._
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOLUME III.
LONDON:
WARD AND DOWNEY,
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1885.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS
AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
XXXI.--Becky gives a description of an interview between
herself and Richard Manx 1
XXXII.--In which Becky narrates how Fanny became acquainted
with Mrs. Lydia Holdfast 15
XXXIII.--In which Becky narrates how Fanny became
acquainted with Mrs. Lydia Holdfast (concluded) 24
XXXIV.--Mr. Pelham makes his appearance once more 31
XXXV.--Fanny discovers who Richard Manx is 45
XXXVI.--Becky and Fanny on the watch 55
XXXVII.--No. 119 Great Porter Square is let to a new Tenant 71
XXXVIII.--The new Tenant takes possession of No. 119 Great
Porter Square 87
XXXIX.--Mrs. Holdfast insists on becoming an active partner 113
XL.--Mrs. Holdfast insists on becoming an active partner
(concluded) 118
XLI.--Frederick Holdfast makes the discovery 134
XLII.--Mr. Holdfast's Diary 147
XLIII.--Mr. Holdfast's Diary (concluded) 177
XLIV.--Caged 207
XLV.--Retribution 218
XLVI.--In which the "Evening Moon" gives a Sequel to its
"Romance in Real Life" 224
GREAT PORTER SQUARE: A MYSTERY.
CHAPTER XXXI.
BECKY GIVES A DESCRIPTION OF AN INTERVIEW BETWEEN HERSELF AND RICHARD
MANX.
MY DEAREST LOVE--How, did you like my little messenger, Fanny? Is she
not steady, and bright, and clever? When she woke this morning I had an
earnest conversation with her, and as far as was necessary I told her my
plans and that I wanted her faithful assistance. She cried for joy. The
few words she managed to get out convinced me that, child as she is,
I could not be better served by a grown-up person. Besides, I want a
child to assist me; a grown-up person might spoil my plans. In what way?
Patience, my dear, patience.
Mrs. Preedy noticed that I looked tired, and I told her that I had been
kept awake all the night with toothache. She expressed great sympathy
with me. It is wonderful the position I hold in the house; I am treated
more like a lady than a servant. That is because I have lent my mistress
forty pounds, and have agreed to pay for little Fanny's board and
lodging. Mrs. Preedy threw out a hint about taking me into partnership,
if I would invest my fancied legacy into the business.
"We could keep on this house," she said, "and take another on the other
side of the Square."
I said it was worth thinking about, but that, of course, I could do
nothing until I received the whole amount of the legacy which would be
in three weeks' time. So the matter rests; during these three weeks Mrs.
Preedy will be very gracious to me, I expect. She said this morning,
when I told her about my toothache,
"You had better lay down, my dear."
Actually! "My dear!"
I did lie down, and I had a good rest, so that my keeping up all night
did not hurt me. I feel now quite refreshed, although it is night, and
eleven o'clock. Mrs. Preedy, as usual, is out gossiping with Mrs. Beale,
and I am writing in the kitchen. When she comes home I shall continue my
letter in my bedroom. I have much to tell you. Things seem to move on
rapidly. I have no doubt that in a very short time something important
will | 572.50043 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http | 572.500749 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Christine P. Travers and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all
other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has
been maintained.]
[Illustration: _The Signatories to the Peace Treaty on behalf of the South
African Republic._]
[Illustration: _The Signatories to the | 572.580621 |
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THE BLACK BAG
By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THOMAS FOGARTY
1908
TO MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN
II. "AND SOME THERE BE WHO HAVE ADVENTURES THRUST UPON THEM"
III. CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER
IV. 9 FROGNALL STREET, W. C.
V. THE MYSTERY OF A FOUR-WHEELER
VI. "BELOW BRIDGE"
VII. DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN--RESUMED
VIII. MADAME L'INTRIGANTE
IX. AGAIN "BELOW BRIDGE"; AND BEYOND
X. DESPERATE MEASURES
XI. OFF THE NORE
XII. PICARESQUE PASSAGES
XIII. A PRIMER OF PROGRESSIVE CRIME
XIV. STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS
XV. REFUGEES
XVI. TRAVELS WITH A CHAPERON
XVII. ROGUES AND VAGABONDS
XVIII. ADVENTURERS' LUCK
XIX. i--THE UXBRIDGE ROAD
ii--THE CROWN AND MITRE
iii--THE JOURNEY'S END
THE BLACK BAG
I
DIVERSIONS OF A RUINED GENTLEMAN
Upon a certain dreary April afternoon in the year of grace, 1906, the
apprehensions of Philip Kirkwood, Esquire, _Artist-peintre_, were enlivened
by the discovery that he was occupying that singularly distressing social
position, which may be summed up succinctly in a phrase through long usage
grown proverbial: "Alone in London." These three words have come to connote
in our understanding so much of human misery, that to Mr. Kirkwood they
seemed to epitomize absolutely, if not happily, the various circumstances
attendant upon the predicament wherein he found himself. Inevitably an
extremist, because of his youth, (he had just turned twenty-five), he
took no count of mitigating matters, and would hotly have resented the
suggestion that his case was anything but altogether deplorable and
forlorn.
That he was not actually at the end of his resources went for nothing; he
held the distinction a quibble, mockingly immaterial,--like the store of
guineas in his pocket, too insignificant for mention when contrasted with
his needs. And his base of supplies, the American city of his nativity,
whence--and not without a glow of pride in his secret heart--he was wont to
register at foreign hostelries, had been arbitrarily cut off from him by
one of those accidents sardonically classified by insurance and express
corporations as Acts of God.
Now to one who has lived all his days serenely in accord with the dictates
of his own sweet will, taking no thought for the morrow, such a situation
naturally seems both appalling and intolerable, at the first blush. It must
be confessed that, to begin with, Kirkwood drew a long and disconsolate
face over his fix. And in that black hour, primitive of its kind in his
brief span, he became conscious of a sinister apparition taking shape at
his elbow--a shade of darkness which, clouting him on the back with a
skeleton hand, croaked hollow salutations in his ear.
"Come, Mr. Kirkwood, come!" its mirthless accents rallied him. "Have you
no welcome for me?--you, who have been permitted to live the quarter of a
century without making my acquaintance? Surely, now, it's high time we were
learning something of one another, you and I!" "But I don't understand,"
returned Kirkwood blankly. "I don't know you--"
"True! But you shall: I am the Shade of Care--"
"Dull Care!" murmured Kirkwood, bewildered and dismayed; for the visitation
had come upon him with little presage and no invitation whatever.
"Dull Care," the Shade assured him. "Dull Care am I--and Care that's
anything but dull, into the bargain: Care that's like a keen pain in your
body, Care that lives a horror in your mind, Care that darkens your days
and flavors with bitter poison all your nights, Care that--"
But Kirkwood would not listen further. Courageously submissive to his
destiny, knowing in his heart that the Shade had come to stay, he yet found
spirit to shake himself with a dogged air, to lift his chin, set the strong
muscles of his jaw, and smile that homely wholesome smile which was his
peculiarly.
"Very well," he accepted the irremediable with grim humor; "what must be,
must. I don't pretend to be glad to see you, but--you're free to stay as
long as you find the climate agreeable. I warn you I shan't whine. Lots of
men, hundreds and hundreds of 'em, have slept tight o' nights with you for
bedfellow; if they could grin and bear you, I believe I can."
Now Care mocked him with a sardonic laugh, and sought to tighten upon his
shoulders its bony grasp; but Kirkwood resolutely shrugged it off and went
in search of man's most faithful dumb friend, to wit, his pipe; the which,
when found and filled, he lighted with a spill twisted from the envelope of
a cable message which had been vicariously responsible for his introduction
to the Shade of Care.
"It's about time," he announced, watching the paper blacken and burn in the
grate fire, "that I was doing something to prove my title to a living." And
this was all his valedictory to a vanished competence. "Anyway," he added
hastily, as if fearful lest Care, overhearing, might have read into his
tone a trace of vain repining, "anyway, I'm a sight better off than those
poor devils over there! I really have a great deal to be thankful for, now
that my attention's drawn to it."
For the ensuing few minutes he thought it all over, soberly but with a
stout heart; standing at a window of his bedroom in the Hotel Pless, hands
deep in trouser pockets, pipe fuming voluminously, his gaze wandering out
over a blurred infinitude of wet shining roofs and sooty chimney-pots: all
of London that a lowering drizzle would let him see, and withal by no means
a cheering prospect, nor yet one calculated to offset the disheartening
influence of the indomitable Shade of Care. But the truth is that
Kirkwood's brain comprehended little that his eyes perceived; his thoughts
were with his heart, and that was half a world away and sick with pity
for another and a fairer city, stricken in the flower of her loveliness,
writhing in Promethean agony upon her storied hills.
There came a rapping at the door.
Kirkwood removed the pipe from between his teeth long enough to say "Come
in!" pleasantly.
The knob was turned, the door opened. Kirkwood, swinging on one heel,
beheld hesitant upon the threshold a diminutive figure in the livery of the
Pless pages.
"Mister Kirkwood?"
Kirkwood nodded.
"Gentleman to see you, sir."
Kirkwood nodded again, smiling. "Show him up, please," he said. But before
the words were fairly out of his mouth a footfall sounded in the corridor,
a hand was placed upon the shoulder of the page, gently but with decision
swinging him out of the way, and a man stepped into the room.
"Mr. Brentwick!" Kirkwood almost shouted, jumping forward to seize his
visitor's hand.
"My dear boy!" replied the latter. "I'm delighted to see you. 'Got your
note not an hour ago, and came at once--you see!"
"It was mighty good of you. Sit down, please. Here are cigars.... Why, a
moment ago I was the most miserable and lonely mortal on the footstool!"
"I can fancy." The elder man looked up, smiling at Kirkwood from the depths
of his arm-chair, as the latter stood above him, resting an elbow on
the mantel. "The management knows me," he offered explanation of his
unceremonious appearance; "so I took the liberty of following on the heels
of the bellhop, dear boy. And how are you? Why are you in London, enjoying
our abominable spring weather? And why the anxious undertone I detected in
your note?"
He continued to stare curiously into Kirkwood's face. At a glance, this
Mr. Brentwick was a man of tallish figure and rather slender; with a
countenance thin and flushed a sensitive pink, out of which his eyes shone,
keen, alert, humorous, and a trace wistful behind his glasses. His years
were indeterminate; with the aspect of fifty, the spirit and the verve of
thirty assorted oddly. But his hands were old, delicate, fine and fragile;
and the lips beneath the drooping white mustache at times trembled, almost
imperceptibly, with the generous sentiments that come with mellow age. He
held his back straight and his head with an air--an air that was not a
swagger but the sign-token of seasoned experience in the world. The most
carping could have found no flaw in the quiet taste of his attire. To sum
up, Kirkwood's very good friend--and his only one then in London--Mr.
Brentwick looked and was an English gentleman.
"Why?" he persisted, as the younger man hesitated. "I am here to find out.
To-night I leave for the Continent. In the meantime..."
"And at midnight I sail for the States," added Kirkwood. "That is mainly
why I wished to see you--to say good-by, for the time."
"You're going home--" A shadow clouded Brentwick's clear eyes.
"To fight it out, shoulder to shoulder with my brethren in adversity."
The cloud lifted. "That is the spirit!" declared the elder man. "For the
moment I did you the injustice to believe that you were running away. But
now I understand. Forgive me.... Pardon, too, the stupidity which I must
lay at the door of my advancing years; to me the thought of you as a
Parisian fixture has become such a commonplace, Philip, that the news of
the disaster hardly stirred me. Now I remember that you are a Californian!"
"I was born in San Francisco," affirmed Kirkwood a bit sadly. "My father
and mother were buried there..."
"And your fortune--?"
"I inherited my father's interest in the firm of Kirkwood & Vanderlip; when
I came over to study painting, I left everything in Vanderlip's hands. The
business afforded me a handsome living."
"You have heard from Mr. Vanderlip?"
"Fifteen minutes ago." Kirkwood took a cable-form, still damp, from his
pocket, and handed it to his guest. Unfolding it, the latter read:
"_Kirkwood, Pless, London. Stay where you are no good coming back
everything gone no insurance letter follows vanderlip_."
"When I got the | 572.609024 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Figures 162-167 have been renumbered. In the
original, Figure 162 was labeled as 161; 163 as 162; etc.]
A Practical Physiology
A Text-Book for Higher Schools
By
Albert F. Blaisdell, M.D.
Author of "Child's Book of Health," "How to Keep Well,"
"Our Bodies and How We Live," Etc., Etc.
Preface.
The author has aimed to prepare a text-book on human physiology for use in
higher schools. The design of the book is to furnish a practical manual of
the more important facts and principles of physiology and hygiene, which
will be adapted to the needs of students in high schools, normal schools,
and academies.
Teachers know, and students soon learn to recognize the fact, that it is
impossible to obtain a clear understanding of the functions of the various
parts of the body without first mastering a few elementary facts about
their structure. The course adopted, therefore, in this book, is to devote
a certain amount of space to the anatomy of the several organs before
describing their functions.
A mere knowledge of the facts which can be gained in secondary schools,
concerning the anatomy and physiology of the human body, is of little real
value or interest in itself. Such facts are important and of practical
worth to young students only so far as to enable them to understand the
relation of these facts to the great laws of health and to apply them to
daily living. Hence, it has been the earnest effort of the author | 572.640382 |
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Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
BLACK BEAVER
THE TRAPPER
The Only Book Ever
Written by a Trapper
TWENTY-TWO YEARS WITH
BLACK BEAVER
LEWIS AND CLARK
A HUNDRED YEARS LATER
_FROM THE AMAZON_
_TO THE MACKENZIE RIVERS_
COPYRIGHTED BY GEO. EDWARD LEWIS.
YEAR 1911.
[Illustration: "THE FOUNDERS OF THE FIRST ARCTIC ALASKAN EDUCATIONAL
EXHIBITION."]
[Illustration: BLACK BEAVER AS ARCTIC JIM AT CAMP NEAR MT. McKINLEY]
THE AUTHOR'S EXCUSE.
I am both sorry and glad to inform my readers--that I can neither read
nor write.
It would seem absurd for a blind man to study the stars, Or for a deaf
man to study music; so it might seem to you absurd for a man who cannot
write to write a book. But I have an excuse for writing these events.
The President of Mexico; and the Governor of Alaska together with
several hundreds between, equally as popular have urged me to write my
history. I am sorry I cannot write this with my own fingers but I have a
substitute in my old back-woods chum--The Kidd. Who by the way--neither
writes very flourishing, because he like myself has done the most of his
writing with his six-shooter; because you know this a more expressive
way of talking and a more impressive way of writing. I have a brother
who is a real educated gentleman, he tried to dissuade me from
publishing my history because I think he is afraid he will be outshone
by literary merit. I have no ambition to outshine him, nor William
Shakespere nor any other erudite. I have a very limited vocabulary, and
since swearing and smoking are not allowed in print, I shall have to
loose the biggest half of that. I shall omit foreign language, I could
assault you with Mex--or Siwash but I fear you could not survive the
battery. So I shall confine myself to simple speech, such as I have used
in all lands. From Gotch my bronco to Arctic my dog. It has served me
since I was six summers old It served me amid the bells of Peru and then
afar amid the Agate Eyed squaws of The Kuskokwim; and this ought to be a
good excuse.--Yours truly
J.C. LEWIS.
INTRODUCTORY.
I have undertaken the arduous task of rewriting that which was never
written. My charge was "fix it up but do not change it." These words
were hurled at me one morning at four o'clock in the month of April, as
my big brother boarded the Overland Limited bound for the Iditarod
Alaska. He had in that far-away region five-hundred skins in cache which
he had taken from the backs of the costiliest animals that ran in
northland world. In various parts of Alaska Black Beaver had treasures
which he was now intent upon gathering to fit up an outfit to be known
as "The Arctic Alaskan Educational Exhibition" Perhaps no other man in
| 572.643598 |
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THE DIVINE COMEDY
THE VISION
OF
HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE
BY
DANTE ALIGHIERI
PARADISE
Complete
TRANSLATED BY
THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.
PARADISE
LIST OF CANTOS
Canto 1
Canto 2
Canto 3
Canto 4
Canto 5
Canto 6
Canto 7
Canto 8
Canto 9
Canto 10
Canto 11
Canto 12
Canto 13
Canto 14
Canto 15
Canto 16
Canto 17
Canto 18
Canto 19
Canto 20
Canto 21
Canto 22
Canto 23
Canto 24
Canto 25
Canto 26
Canto 27
Canto 28
Canto 29
Canto 30
Canto 31
Canto 32
Canto 33
CANTO I
His glory, by whose might all things are mov'd,
Pierces the universe, and in one part
Sheds more resplendence, elsewhere less. In heav'n,
That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,
Witness of things, which to relate again
Surpasseth power of him who comes from thence;
For that, so near approaching its desire
Our intellect is to such depth absorb'd,
That memory cannot follow. Nathless all,
That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm
Could store, shall now be matter of my song.
Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,
And make me such a vessel of thy worth,
As thy own laurel claims of me belov'd.
Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus' brows
Suffic'd me; henceforth there is need of both
For my remaining enterprise Do thou
Enter into my bosom, and there breathe
So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg'd
Forth from his limbs unsheath'd. O power divine!
If thou to me of shine impart so much,
That of that happy realm the shadow'd form
Trac'd in my thoughts I may set forth to view,
Thou shalt behold me of thy favour'd tree
Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;
For to that honour thou, and my high theme
Will fit me. If but seldom, mighty Sire!
To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreath
Caesar or bard (more shame for human wills
Deprav'd) joy to the Delphic god must spring
From the Pierian foliage, when one breast
Is with such thirst inspir'd. From a small spark
Great flame hath risen: after me perchance
Others with better voice may pray, and gain
From the Cirrhaean city answer kind.
Through diver passages, the world's bright lamp
Rises to mortals, but through that which joins
Four circles with the threefold cross, in best
Course, and in happiest constellation set
He comes, and to the worldly wax best gives
Its temper and impression. Morning there,
Here eve was by almost such passage made;
And whiteness had o'erspread that hemisphere,
Blackness the other part; when to the left
I saw Beatrice turn'd, and on the sun
Gazing, as never eagle fix'd his ken.
As from the first a second beam is wont
To issue, and reflected upwards rise,
E'en as a pilgrim bent on his return,
So of her act, that through the eyesight pass'd
Into my fancy, mine was form'd; and straight,
Beyond our mortal wont, I fix'd mine eyes
Upon the sun. Much is allowed us there,
That here exceeds our pow'r; thanks to the place
Made for the dwelling of the human kind
I suffer'd it not long, and yet so long
That I beheld it bick'ring sparks around,
As iron that comes boiling from the fire.
And suddenly upon the day appear'd
A day new-ris'n, as he, who hath the power,
Had with another sun bedeck'd the sky.
Her eyes fast fix'd on the eternal wheels,
Beatrice stood unmov'd; and I with ken
Fix'd upon her, from upward gaze remov'd
At her aspect, such inwardly became
As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,
That made him peer among the ocean gods;
Words may not tell of that transhuman change:
And therefore let the example serve, though weak,
For those whom grace hath better proof in store
If I were only what thou didst create,
Then newly, Love! by whom the heav'n is rul'd,
Thou know'st, who by thy light didst bear me up.
Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,
Desired Spirit! with its harmony
Temper'd of thee and measur'd, charm'd mine ear,
Then seem'd to me so much of heav'n to blaze
With the sun's flame, that rain or flood ne'er made
A lake so broad. The newness of the sound,
And that great light, inflam'd me with desire,
Keener than e'er was felt, to know their cause.
Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,
To calm my troubled mind, before I ask'd,
Open'd her lips, and gracious thus began:
"With false imagination thou thyself
Mak'st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,
Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.
Thou art not on the earth as thou believ'st;
For light'ning scap'd from its own proper place
Ne'er ran, as thou hast hither now return'd."
Although divested of my first-rais'd doubt,
By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,
Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,
And said: "Already satisfied, I rest
From admiration deep, but now admire
How I above those lighter bodies rise."
Whence, after utt'rance of a piteous sigh,
She tow'rds me bent her eyes, with such a look,
As on her frenzied child a mother casts;
Then thus began: "Among themselves all things
Have order; and from hence the form, which makes
The universe resemble God. In this
The higher creatures see the printed steps
Of that eternal worth, which is the end
Whither the line is drawn. All natures lean,
In this their order, diversely, some more,
Some less approaching to their primal source.
Thus they to different havens are mov'd on
Through the vast sea of being, and each one
With instinct giv'n, that bears it in its course;
This to the lunar sphere directs the fire,
This prompts the hearts of mortal animals,
This the brute earth together knits, and binds.
Nor only creatures, void of intellect,
Are aim'd at by this bow; but even those,
That have intelligence and love, are pierc'd.
That Providence, who so well orders all,
With her own light makes ever calm the heaven,
In which the substance, that hath greatest speed,
Is turn'd: and thither now, as to our seat
Predestin'd, we are carried by the force
Of that strong cord, that never looses dart,
But at fair aim and glad. Yet is it true,
That as ofttimes but ill accords the form
To the design of art, through sluggishness
Of unreplying matter, so this course
Is sometimes quitted by the creature, who
Hath power, directed thus, to bend elsewhere;
As from a cloud the fire is seen to fall,
From its original impulse warp'd, to earth,
By vicious fondness. Thou no more admire
Thy soaring, (if I rightly deem,) than lapse
Of torrent downwards from a mountain's height.
There would in thee for wonder be more cause,
If, free of hind'rance, thou hadst fix'd thyself
Below, like fire unmoving on the earth."
So said, she turn'd toward the heav'n her face.
CANTO II
All ye, who in small bark have following sail'd,
Eager to listen, on the advent'rous track
Of my proud keel, that singing cuts | 572.698411 |
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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 | 572.779036 |
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VOL. I 1917-1918
THE
WISCONSIN MAGAZINE
OF HISTORY
[Illustration: Printer’s Logo]
PUBLICATIONS OF THE
STATE HISTORICAL
SOCIETY OF WISCONSIN.
Edited by MILO M.
QUAIFE, Superintendent
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I
LEADING ARTICLES: PAGE
MILO M. QUAIFE--Increase Allen Lapham, First Scholar of
Wisconsin 3
JOHN L. BRACKLIN--A Forest Fire in Northern Wisconsin 16
LOUISE P. KELLOGG--Bankers’ Aid in 1861-62 25
CARL RUSSELL FISH--The Frontier a World Problem 121
GEORGE MANIERRE--Early Recollections of Lake Geneva 142
OLE. K. NATTESTAD and RASMUS B. ANDERSON--Description of a
Journey to North America 149
CORDELIA A. P. HARVEY--A Wisconsin Woman’s Picture of
President Lincoln 233
SIPKO F. REDERUS--The Dutch Settlements of Sheboygan County 256
LUCIUS G. FISHER--Pioneer Recollections of Beloit and Southern
Wisconsin 266
CHARLES A. INGRAHAM--Colonel Elmer E. Ellsworth: First Hero of
the Civil War 349
CHARLES GIESSING--Where Is the German Fatherland? 375
LOUISE P. KELLOGG--The Paul Revere Print of the Boston
Massacre 377
DOCUMENTS:
The Dairy of Harvey Reid: Kept at Madison in the Spring
of 1861 35
The Chicago Treaty of 1833: Charges Preferred Against
George B. Porter: Letter from George B. Porter to President
Andrew Jackson 287
Some Letters of Paul O. Husting Concerning the Present
Crisis 388
HISTORICAL FRAGMENTS:
Wisconsin’s First Versifiers; Memorandum on the Spelling of
“Jolliet”; The First Edition of the Zenger Trial, 1736;
A Novel Transportation Device 64
The Disputed Michigan-Wisconsin Boundary; An Early Wisconsin
Play 304
The Beginnings of Milwaukee; The Senatorial Election of 1869;
“Koshkonong” and “Man Eater”; The Alien Suffrage
Provision in the Constitution of Wisconsin 417
EDITORIAL:
Introducing Ourselves; Our State Flag; The Society and the
Legislature; Nelson Dewey Park and the First Wisconsin
Capitol; Perrot State Park and John A. Latsch; Forest
Fires, Generally and in Particular; Consolation for the
Present Crisis 75
History Repeats Itself; Our Military Record; What of the
Future; An Appreciation and a Suggestion; Cannon Fodder 187
The Professor and the Finger Bowl; The Printing of Historical
Publications; Is War Becoming More Horrible; Some
Leaves from the Past; The Development of Humanitarianism;
Other Agencies; Some Facts and Figures; Bravery
Then and Now; Schrecklichkeit 309
Increase A. Lapham and the German Air Raids; Save the
Relics; The Newspapers; Removing the Papacy to Chicago 426
THE QUESTION BOX:
The Oldest Church in Wisconsin; The First Mills in the Fox
River Valley; Colonel Ellsworth’s Madison Career; The
Story of “Glory of the Morning”; The Odanah Indian Reservation;
First Exploration of Eastern Wisconsin; A Community
Changes Its Name; How the Apostle Islands Were
Named; The Services of the Menominee in the Black
Hawk War 87
Daniel Webster’s Wisconsin Investments; Names Proposed
for a New Town; Origin of the Word “Winnequah”; The
Discovery of Lake Superior; The Potawatomi During the
Revolution; Father Allouez Among the Kickapoo; The
Indian Tribes of Iowa 193
The First Settler of Baraboo; The Chippewa River During the
French and British Régimes; The Career of Colonel G. W.
Manypenny; Treaty Hall and Old La Pointe 319
COMMUNICATIONS:
Old Copperheads and New; A Presbyterian Objects 202
More Light on the Originator of “Winnequah”; A History of
Our State Flag 327
“Camouflage” and “Eatless Days” Two Hundred Years Ago;
Daniel Webster’s Wisconsin Investments 432
SURVEY OF HISTORICAL ACTIVITIES:
The Society and the State 101, 206, 330, 435
Some Publications 111, 221, 340, 445
Some Wisconsin Public Documents 210, 337
The Wider Field 449
[Frontispiece: INCREASE A. LAPHAM]
VOL. I, NO. 1 SEPTEMBER, 1917
WISCONSIN MAGAZINE
OF HISTORY
[Illustration: Printer’s Logo]
PUBLICATIONS OF THE
STATE HISTORICAL
SOCIETY OF WISCONSIN.
Edited by MILO M.
QUAIFE, Superintendent
CONTENTS
PAGE
INCREASE ALLEN LAPHAM, FIRST SCHOLAR OF WISCONSIN
_Milo M. Quaife_ 3
A FOREST FIRE IN NORTHERN WISCONSIN _John L. Bracklin_ 16
BANKERS’ AID IN 1861-62 _Louise P. Kellogg_ 25
DOCUMENTS:
The Diary of Harvey Reid: Kept at Madison in the
Spring of 1861 35
HISTORICAL FRAGMENTS:
Wisconsin’s First Versifiers; Memorandum on the
Spelling of “Jolliet”; The First Edition of the
Zenger Trial, 1736; A Novel Transportation Device 64
EDITORIALS:
Introducing Ourselves; Our State | 572.800602 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.7838330 | 1,035 | 52 | OF 1861***
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PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF THE WAR OF 1861
As Private, Sergeant and Lieutenant in the Sixty-First Regiment,
New York Volunteer Infantry
by
CHARLES A. FULLER
Prepared from data found in letters, written at the time from the field
to the people at home.
[Illustration: Charles A. Fuller
Late of the 61st N. Y. V. Inf.]
News Job Printing House, Sherburne, N. Y.
1906
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
March 1st, 1861, I started for Cleveland, Ohio, to enter the law office
of Boardman & Ingersoll as a law student. I was in that city at the time
of the inauguration of President Lincoln.
After Sumpter was fired on I was anxious to enlist and go to the front
with the "Cleveland Grays," but trouble with my eyes induced me to
postpone my enlistment. After the President issued his call for 300,000
additional troops, I learned that Lieut. K. Oscar Broady, a recent
graduate of Madison University, who had seen some military service in
Sweden, his native country, was raising a Company for the War, in which
many Hamilton and Sherburne men were enrolled. Isaac Plumb, one of my
most-thought-of friends, was in the number; there were others--Edgar
Willey, Israel O. Foote, Fred Ames, and more whose names I do not now
recall. I decided to wait no longer, but seek the enemy with the men of
this Company.
I left Cleveland Sept. 5th, 1861, and reached Utica Saturday afternoon
in time to find that the stage down the valley had gone, and I must
remain there until Monday morning, or use some other means of locomotion
southward to Sherburne. The question I asked myself was, "Why not test
your leg gear NOW, and see what you can do as a foot-man?" I answered
"All right," and started out, though it was well into the afternoon.
That evening I reached Oriskany Falls, a distance of about 20 miles. I
camped for the night at the hotel, but was up the next morning before
the hotel people. I left the price of the lodging on the bar, and
started south. It was about 24 miles to Sherburne, which I reached
about noon. I supplied the commissary department from houses along the
road.
My father and mother had no hint that I had left Cleveland. When I
entered the house my mother said, "Why, Charlie Fuller, you've come home
to go to war." She was the daughter of a man who was in the
Revolutionary Army when but sixteen years of age, and she had always
been proud of the fact, and she was, I am sure, gratified that she had a
boy desirous of imitating the example of her deceased father.
On my way through Hamilton, I had left word what I was there for, and I
was assured that Lieut. Coultis would soon be down to enroll me.
The next day he was on hand; he had, I believe, been in a militia
company; at all events, he appeared in the toggery of a militia officer.
He said he was authorized and prepared to "swear me in." I told him I
was ready for business, and then and there took the oath. I tried to
feel easy and appear unconcerned (whether or not I succeeded to outward
appearance I can not say) but I know that inside there was more or less
of a lump to swallow, for, to some extent, I realized that it was _not_
a picnic.
I was home for a week, in which time four men joined me. They were Lewis
R. Foote, Porter E. Whitney, Newel Hill and Albert H. Simmons. To show
what war does, the following summary is a fair sample--Foote, wounded at
Fair Oaks, discharged; Whitney, several times wounded, lastly in | 572.803873 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.7846800 | 92 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Albert László, Tom Cosmas, P. G. Máté, and the Online
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See 38866-h.htm or 38866-h.zip | 572.80472 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.7847320 | 1,208 | 10 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Andrew Templeton, Josephine
Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.
A HISTORY
OF
NINETEENTH CENTURY
LITERATURE
(1780-1895)
BY
GEORGE SAINTSBURY
PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF
EDINBURGH
_New York_
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1906
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1896,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
Set up and electrotyped, January, 1896. Reprinted October,
1896; August, 1898; September, 1899; April, 1902; March, 1904;
November, 1906.
_Norwood Press_
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
PREFACE
In the execution of the present task (which I took over about two years
ago from hands worthier than mine, but then more occupied) some
difficulties of necessity occurred which did not present themselves to
myself when I undertook the volume of Elizabethan Literature, or to my
immediate predecessor in grappling with the period between 1660 and
1780.
The most obvious and serious of these was the question, "What should be
done with living authors?" Independently of certain perils of selection
and exclusion, of proportion and of freedom of speech, I believe it will
be recognised by every one who has ever attempted it, that to mix
estimates of work which is done and of work which is unfinished is to
the last degree unsatisfactory. I therefore resolved to include no
living writer, except Mr. Ruskin, in this volume for the purpose of
detailed criticism, though some may be now and then mentioned in
passing.
Even with this limitation the task remained a rather formidable one.
Those who are least disposed to overvalue literary work in proportion as
it approaches their own time will still acknowledge that the last
hundred and fifteen years are fuller furnished than either of the
periods of not very dissimilar length which have been already dealt
with. The proportion of names of the first, or of a very high second
class, is distinctly larger than in the eighteenth century; the bulk of
literary production is infinitely greater than in the Elizabethan time.
Further, save in regard to the earliest subsections of this period, Time
has not performed his office, beneficent to the reader but more
beneficent to the historian, of sifting and riddling out writers whom it
is no longer necessary to consider, save in a spirit of adventurous or
affectionate antiquarianism. I must ask the reader to believe me when I
say that many who do not appear here at all, or who are dismissed in a
few lines, have yet been the subjects of careful reading on my part. If
some exclusions (not due to mere oversight) appear arbitrary or unjust,
I would urge that this is not a Dictionary of Authors, nor a Catalogue
of Books, but a History of Literature; and that to mention everybody is
as impossible as to say everything. As I have revised the sheets the old
query has recurred to myself only too often, and sometimes in reference
to very favourite books and authors of my own. Where, it may be asked,
is Kenelm Digby and the _Broad Stone of Honour_? Where Sir Richard
Burton (as great a contrast to Digby as can well be imagined)? Where
Laurence Oliphant, who, but the other day, seemed to many clever men the
cleverest man they knew? Where John Foster, who provided food for the
thoughtful public two generations ago? Where Greville of the caustic
diaries, and his editor (latest deceased) Mr. Reeve, and Crabb Robinson,
and many others? Some of these and others are really _neiges d'antan_;
some baffle the historian in miniature by being rebels to brief and
exact characterisation; some, nay many, are simply crowded out.
I must also ask pardon for having exercised apparently arbitrary
discretion in alternately separating the work of the same writer under
different chapter-headings, and grouping it with a certain disregard of
the strict limits of the chapter-heading itself. I think I shall obtain
this pardon from those who remember the advantage obtainable from a
connected view of the progress of distinct literary kinds, and that,
sometimes not to be foregone, of considering the whole work of certain
writers together.
To provide room for the greater press of material, it was necessary to
make some slight changes of omission in the scheme of the earlier
volumes. The opportunity of considerable gain was suggested in the
department of extract--which obviously became less necessary in the case
of authors many of whom are familiar, and hardly any accessible with
real difficulty. Nor did it seem necessary to take up room with the
bibliographical index, the utility of which in my Elizabethan volume I
was glad to find almost universally recognised. This would have had to
be greatly more voluminous here; and it was much less necessary. With a
very few exceptions, all the writers here included are either kept in
print, or can be obtained without much trouble at the second-hand
bookshops.
To what has thus been said as to the principles of arrangement it cannot
be necessary to add very much as to the principles of criticism. They
are the same as those which I have always endeavoured to maintain--that | 572.804772 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.8171830 | 2,992 | 9 | WATER***
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https://archive.org/details/cu31924023253143
[Illustration: The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand.
_Frontispiece._ Page 119.]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER
The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America
by
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT
With Numerous Illustrations
Third and Cheaper Edition.
London:
Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington,
Crown Buildings, 188, Fleet Street.
1886.
[All rights reserved.]
London:
Printed by Gilbert and Rivington, Limited,
St. John's Square.
TO
OUR FRIENDS,
THE CHILDREN OF THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE
ORPHANAGE,
This Journal is Dedicated
BY
THEIR CONSTANT WELL-WISHERS.
PREFACE.
My husband, during his six years' tenure of the office of Director of
Criminal Investigations, took the greatest interest in the Metropolitan
and City Police Orphanage.
In taking leave of his young friends he promised to keep for their
benefit a record of our travels through the British Empire and America.
I have endeavoured to the best of my power to relieve him of this task.
It is but a simple Journal of what we saw and did.
But if the Police will accept it, as a further proof of our admiration
and respect for them as a body, then I feel sure that others who may be
kind enough to read it will be lenient towards the shortcomings of a
first publication.
ETHEL GWENDOLINE VINCENT.
1, GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC 1
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, AND NIAGARA FALLS 4
CHAPTER III.
THE DOMINION OF CANADA 17
CHAPTER IV.
THE AMERICAN LAKES, AND THE CENTRES OF LEARNING,
FASHION, AND GOVERNMENT 26
CHAPTER V.
TO THE FAR WEST 43
CHAPTER VI.
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE YOSEMITE VALLEY 66
CHAPTER VII.
ACROSS THE PACIFIC 88
CHAPTER VIII.
COACHING THROUGH THE NORTH ISLAND OF NEW
ZEALAND; ITS HOT LAKES AND GEYSERS 102
CHAPTER IX.
THE SOUTH ISLAND OF NEW ZEALAND; ITS ALPS AND
MOUNTAIN LAKES 146
CHAPTER X.
AUSTRALIA--TASMANIA, AND VICTORIA 161
CHAPTER XI.
AUSTRALIA--NEW SOUTH WALES, AND QUEENSLAND 181
CHAPTER XII.
WITHIN THE BARRIER REEF, THROUGH TORRES
STRAITS TO BATAVIA 200
CHAPTER XIII.
NETHERLANDS INDIA 212
CHAPTER XIV.
THE STRAITS SETTLEMENTS 235
CHAPTER XV.
THE METROPOLIS OF INDIA AND ITS HIMALAYAN
SANATORIUM 250
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHRINES OF THE HINDU FAITH 274
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SCENES OF THE INDIAN MUTINY 287
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CITIES OF THE GREAT MOGUL 304
CHAPTER XIX.
GWALIOR AND RAJPUTANA 332
CHAPTER XX.
THE HOME OF THE PARSEES 352
CHAPTER XXI.
THROUGH EGYPT--HOMEWARDS 361
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand _Frontispiece_
Route Map _to face_ 1
"That horrible fog-horn!" 1
Elevated-Railway, New York 6
Parliament Buildings, Ottawa _to face_ 22
The Capitol, Washington 40
The Royal Gorge of the Arkansas _to face_ 58
The Sentinel, Yosemite Valley " 77
The Cathedral Spires, Yosemite Valley 79
Big Tree, California 83
Maori Chieftain 110
Tuhuatahi Geyser, New Zealand 128
Lake Wakitipu, New Zealand 157
Government House, Melbourne _to face_ 165
Sydney Harbour " 182
Govett's Leap, Blue Mountains 191
Zig-zag on Railway, Blue Mountains _to face_ 192
Banyan Trees, Buitenzorg, Java " 227
Traveller's Palm, Singapore " 236
Jinricksha 249
The Hooghley, Calcutta _to face_ 251
The Darjeeling and Himalayan Railway " 263
Benares Bathing Ghât " 276
The Residency, Lucknow 288
The Imambara, Lucknow _to face_ 291
The Taj Mahal, Agra " 312
Column, Kutub Minar, Delhi " 329
The Caves of Elephanta, Bombay " 356
Cairene Woman 372
The Sphinx _to face_ 377
[Illustration: ROUTE MAP TO "FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER" BY
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT.
_Route marked thus_ ----]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER.
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
[Illustration]
Lat. 43° 15´ N., Long. 50° 12´ W. All is intensely quiet. The revolution
even of the screw has ceased. We are wrapped in a fog so dense that we
feel almost unable to breathe.
We shudder as we look at the white pall drawn closely around us. The
decks and rigging are dripping, and everything on board is saturated
with moisture. We feel strangely alone. When hark! A discordant screech,
a hideous howl belches forth into the still air, to be immediately
smothered and lost in the fog. It is the warning cry of the fog-horn.
[Illustration: "That horrible fog-horn!"]
We are on board the White Star steamer _Germanic_, in mid-Atlantic, not
far off the great ice-banks of Newfoundland.
It was on Wednesday, the 2nd of July, that we left London, and embarked
from Liverpool on the 3rd.
I need not describe the previous bustle of preparation, the farewells to
be gone through for a long absence of nine months, the little crowd of
kind friends who came to see us off at Euston, nor our embarkation and
our last view of England.
I remember how dull and gloomy that first evening on board closed in, and
how a slight feeling of depression was not absent from us.
The next morning we were anchoring in Queenstown Harbour, and whilst
waiting for the arrival of the mails in the afternoon we went by train to
Cork.
The mails were on board the _Germanic_ by four o'clock. We weighed
anchor, and our voyage to America had commenced. The often advertised
quick passages across the Atlantic are only reckoned to and from
Queenstown. The sea-sick traveller hardly sees the point of this
computation of time, for the coasts of "ould Ireland" are as stormy and
of as much account as the remainder of the passage.
And now we have settled down into the usual idle life on board ship, a
life where eating and drinking plays the most important part. There is
a superfluity of concerts and literary entertainments, the proceeds in
one instance being devoted to the aid of a poor electrical engineer who
has had his arm fearfully torn in the machinery, and whose life was only
saved by the presence of mind of a comrade in cutting the strap.
Fine weather again at last, for we are past the banks so prolific in
storms and fog. The story goes that a certain captain much harassed by
the questioning of a passenger, who asked him "if it was always rough
here?" replied, "How should I know, sir? I don't live here."
We are nearing America, and may hope to land to-morrow.
The advent of the pilot is always an exciting event. There was a lottery
for his number and much betting upon the foot with which he would first
step on deck.
A boat came in sight early in the afternoon. There was general
excitement. But the captain refused this pilot as he had previously
nearly lost one of the company's ships. At this he stood up in his dinghy
and fiercely denounced us as we swept onwards, little heeding.
Another pilot came on board soon afterwards, but the news and papers he
brought us were very stale. These pilots have a very hard life; working
in firms of two or three, they often go out 500 miles in their cutters,
and lie about for days waiting to pick up vessels coming into port. The
fee varies according to the draught of the ship, but often exceeds 30_l._
At two o'clock a white line of surf is seen on the horizon. Land we know
is behind, and great is the joy of all on board.
We watched and waited till behind the white line appears a dark one,
which grew and grew, until Long Island and Fire Island lighthouse are
plainly visible.
Three hours more and we see the beautiful Highlands of the Navesink on
the New Jersey shore; then the long sandy plain with the lighthouse which
marks the entrance--and we cross the bar of Sandy Hook. As we do so the
sunset gun goes off, and tells us that we must pass yet another night on
board, for it closes the day of the officer of health.
We pass the quarantine station, a white house on a lonely rock--then
entering the Narrows, anchor in the dusk off lovely Statten Island.
The lights of Manhattan and New Brighton beach twinkle in the darkness.
Steamers with flashing signals ply swiftly backwards and forwards. A line
of electricity marks the beautiful span of Brooklyn Bridge, and over
all a storm is gathering, making the surrounding hills resound with the
cannon of its thunder and the sky bright with sheets of lightning.
And so we pass the night, within sight of the lights of New York, with
pleasurable excitement looking forward to our first impressions on the
morrow.
_Sunday, July 13th._--By six o'clock all is life on board the _Germanic_,
for a great steamer takes some time getting under weigh. Breakfast is a
general scramble, interspersed with declarations to the revenue officials
who are sitting in the saloon.
We pass the Old Fort on Governor's Island, now the military station, in
our upward progress, see the round tower of Castle Garden, the emigrants'
depôt, and by eight o'clock are safely moored alongside the company's
pier.
On the wharf are presently to be seen passengers sitting forlorn on their
trunks, awaiting the terrible inspection of the custom-house officer. The
one detailed to us showed signs of becoming offensive, being unwilling
to believe the statement that a dress some six months' old was not
being taken round the world for sale; but on making representations to
his superior we were able to throw the things back into the boxes and
"Express" them to the hotel.
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, AND NIAGARA FALLS.
As we drove over the rough streets of New York in the early hours of
Sunday morning, it appeared as a city of the dead. There was no sign
of life as our horses toiled along Broadway and up Fifth Avenue to the
Buckingham Hotel, where we had secured rooms.
This hotel, though comfortable, had the disadvantage of being too far up
town for short sojourners, but it has the merit of being conducted on the
European system--that is, the rooms and meals are charged for separately.
The American plan is to make an inclusive charge of from four to five
dollars a day, and it is often troublesome only being able to have meals
in the dining-room between certain hours. Besides, it is pleasant to
be able to visit the restaurants of New York, which are admirable, and
equal, if not superior to those of Paris. Delmonico's, where we dined one
evening, is particularly excellent.
We were glad when eleven o'clock came and we could go to St. Thomas'
Church, close by. It is one of the most frequented of the many beautiful
churches of all denominations in New York, and of very fine interior
proportions. Upon the dark oak carving is reflected in many hues the rich
stained glass. | 572.837223 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.8174900 | 1,112 | 26 |
Produced by David Widger
IN MADEIRA PLACE
1887
By Heman White Chaplin
Turning from the street which follows the line of the wharves, into
Madeira Place, you leave at once an open region of docks and spars for
comparative retirement. Wagons seldom enter Madeira Place: it is too
hard to turn them in it; and then the inhabitants, for the most part,
have a convenient way of buying their coal by the basket. How much
trouble it would save, if we would all buy our coal by the basket!
A few doors up the place a passageway makes off to the right, through a
high wooden gate that is usually open; and at the upper corner of this
passage stands a brick house, whose perpetually closed blinds suggest
the owner's absence. But the householders of Madeira Place do not absent
themselves, even in summer; they could hardly get much nearer to the
sea. And if you will take the pains to seat yourself, toward the close
of day, upon an opposite doorstep, between two rows of clamorous little
girls sliding, with screams of painful joy, down the rough hammered
stone, to the improvement of their clothing, you will see that the house
is by-no means untenanted.
Every evening it is much the same thing. First, following close upon the
heels of sunset, comes a grizzly, tall, and slouching man, in the cap
and blouse of a Union soldier, bearing down with his left hand upon
a cane, and dragging his left foot heavily behind him, while with his
right hand he holds by a string a cluster of soaring toy balloons, and
also drags, by its long wooden tongue, a rude child's cart, in which is
a small hand-organ.
Next will come, most likely, a dark, bent, keen-eyed old woman, with her
parchment face shrunk into deep wrinkles. She bears a dangling placard,
stating, in letters of white upon a patent-leather background, what you
might not otherwise suspect,--that she was a soldier under the great
Napoleon, and fought with him at Waterloo. She also bears, since
music goes with war, a worn accordion. She is the old woman to whose
shrivelled, expectant countenance you sometimes offer up a copper coin,
as she kneels by the flagged crossway path of the Park.
She is succeeded, perhaps, by a couple of black-haired, short,
broad-shouldered men, leading a waddling, unconcerned bear, and talking
earnestly together in a language which you will hardly follow.
Then you will see six or eight or ten other sons and daughters of toil,
most of them with balloons.
All these people will turn, between the high, ball-topped gate-posts,
into the alley, and descend at once to the left, by a flight of three or
four steps, to a side basement door.
As they begin to flock in, you will see through the alley gate a dark,
thick-set man, of middle age, but with very little hair, come and stand
at the foot of the steps, in the doorway. It is Sorel, the master of the
house; for this is the _Maison Sorel_. Some of his guests he greets
with a Noachian deluge of swift French words and high-pitched cries of
welcome. It is thus that he receives those capitalists, the bear-leaders
from the Pyrenees; it is thus that he greets the grizzled man in the
blue cap and blouse,--Fidele the old soldier, Fidele the pensioner, to
whom a great government, far away, at Washington, doubtless with much
else on its mind, never forgets to send by mail, each quarter-day
morning, a special, personal communication, marked with Fidele's own
name, enclosing the preliminaries of a remittance: "Accept" (as it
were) "this slight tribute." "_Ah! que c'est un gouvernement! Voila une
republique!_"
Even a Frenchman may be proud to be an American!
Most of his guests, however, Sorel receives with a mere pantomime
of wide-opened eyes and extended hands and shrugged-up shoulders,
accompanied by a long-drawn "_Eh!_" by which he bodies forth a thousand
refinements of thought which language would fail to express. Does a
fresh immigrant from the Cevennes bring back at night but one or two of
the gay balloons with which she was stocked in the morning, or, better,
none; or, on the other hand, does a stalwart man just from the rich Brie
country return at sundown in abject despair, bringing back almost all
of the red and blue globes which floated like a radiant constellation
of hope about his head when he set forth in the early morning, Sorel can
express, by his "_Eh!_" and some slight movement, with subtle exactness
and with no possibility of being misapprehended, the precise shade of
feeling with which the result inspires him | 572.83753 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.8820180 | 5,546 | 18 | BOOKS***
Transcribed from the 1896 Chatto & Windus edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
FAMILIAR STUDIES
OF
MEN AND BOOKS
BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
_ELEVENTH EDITION_
* * * * *
London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICADILLY
1896
* * * * *
TO
THOMAS STEVENSON
CIVIL ENGINEER
BY WHOSE DEVICES THE GREAT SEA LIGHTS IN EVERY QUARTER
OF THE WORLD NOW SHINE MORE BRIGHTLY
THIS VOLUME IS IN LOVE AND GRATITUDE
DEDICATED BY HIS SON
THE AUTHOR
PREFACE
BY WAY OF CRITICISM.
THESE studies are collected from the monthly press. One appeared in the
_New Quarterly_, one in _Macmillan’s_, and the rest in the _Cornhill
Magazine_. To the _Cornhill_ I owe a double debt of thanks; first, that
I was received there in the very best society, and under the eye of the
very best of editors; and second, that the proprietors have allowed me to
republish so considerable an amount of copy.
These nine worthies have been brought together from many different ages
and countries. Not the most erudite of men could be perfectly prepared
to deal with so many and such various sides of human life and manners.
To pass a true judgment upon Knox and Burns implies a grasp upon the very
deepest strain of thought in Scotland,—a country far more essentially
different from England than many parts of America; for, in a sense, the
first of these men re-created Scotland, and the second is its most
essentially national production. To treat fitly of Hugo and Villon would
involve yet wider knowledge, not only of a country foreign to the author
by race, history, and religion, but of the growth and liberties of art.
Of the two Americans, Whitman and Thoreau, each is the type of something
not so much realised as widely sought after among the late generations of
their countrymen; and to see them clearly in a nice relation to the
society that brought them forth, an author would require a large habit of
life among modern Americans. As for Yoshida, I have already disclaimed
responsibility; it was but my hand that held the pen.
In truth, these are but the readings of a literary vagrant. One book led
to another, one study to another. The first was published with
trepidation. Since no bones were broken, the second was launched with
greater confidence. So, by insensible degrees, a young man of our
generation acquires, in his own eyes, a kind of roving judicial
commission through the ages; and, having once escaped the perils of the
Freemans and the Furnivalls, sets himself up to right the wrongs of
universal history and criticism. Now, it is one thing to write with
enjoyment on a subject while the story is hot in your mind from recent
reading, with recent prejudice; and it is quite another business
to put these writings coldly forth again in a bound volume. We are most
of us attached to our opinions; that is one of the “natural affections”
of which we hear so much in youth; but few of us are altogether free from
paralysing doubts and scruples. For my part, I have a small idea of the
degree of accuracy possible to man, and I feel sure these studies teem
with error. One and all were written with genuine interest in the
subject; many, however, have been conceived and finished with imperfect
knowledge; and all have lain, from beginning to end, under the
disadvantages inherent in this style of writing.
Of these disadvantages a word must here be said. The writer of short
studies, having to condense in a few pages the events of a whole
lifetime, and the effect on his own mind of many various volumes, is
bound, above all things, to make that condensation logical and striking.
For the only justification of his writing at all is that he shall present
a brief, reasoned, and memorable view. By the necessity of the case, all
the more neutral circumstances are omitted from his narrative; and that
of itself, by the negative exaggeration of which I have spoken in the
text, lends to the matter in hand a certain false and specious glitter.
By the necessity of the case, again, he is forced to view his subject
throughout in a particular illumination, like a studio artifice. Like
Hales with Pepys, he must nearly break his sitter’s neck to get the
proper shadows on the portrait. It is from one side only that he has
time to represent his subject. The side selected will either be the one
most striking to himself, or the one most obscured by controversy; and in
both cases that will be the one most liable to strained and sophisticated
reading. In a biography, this and that is displayed; the hero is seen at
home, playing the flute; the different tendencies of his work come, one
after another, into notice; and thus something like a true, general
impression of the subject may at last be struck. But in the short study,
the writer, having seized his “point of view,” must keep his eye steadily
to that. He seeks, perhaps, rather to differentiate than truly to
characterise. The proportions of the sitter must be sacrificed to the
proportions of the portrait; the lights are heightened, the shadows
overcharged; the chosen expression, continually forced, may degenerate at
length into a grimace; and we have at best something of a caricature, at
worst a calumny. Hence, if they be readable at all, and hang together by
their own ends, the peculiar convincing force of these brief
representations. They take so little a while to read, and yet in that
little while the subject is so repeatedly introduced in the same light
and with the same expression, that, by sheer force of repetition, that
view is imposed upon the reader. The two English masters of the style,
Macaulay and Carlyle, largely exemplify its dangers. Carlyle, indeed,
had so much more depth and knowledge of the heart, his portraits of
mankind are felt and rendered with so much more poetic comprehension, and
he, like his favourite Ram Dass, had a fire in his belly so much more
hotly burning than the patent reading lamp by which Macaulay studied,
that it seems at first sight hardly fair to bracket them together. But
the “point of view” was imposed by Carlyle on the men he judged of in his
writings with an austerity not only cruel but almost stupid. They are
too often broken outright on the Procrustean bed; they are probably
always disfigured. The rhetorical artifice of Macaulay is easily spied;
it will take longer to appreciate the moral bias of Carlyle. So with all
writers who insist on forcing some significance from all that comes
before them; and the writer of short studies is bound, by the necessity
of the case, to write entirely in that spirit. What he cannot vivify he
should omit.
Had it been possible to rewrite some of these papers, I hope I should
have had the courage to attempt it. But it is not possible. Short
studies are, or should be, things woven like a carpet, from which it is
impossible to detach a strand. What is perverted has its place there for
ever, as a part of the technical means by which what is right has been
presented. It is only possible to write another study, and then, with a
new “point of view,” would follow new perversions and perhaps a fresh
caricature. Hence, it will be, at least, honest to offer a few grains of
salt to be taken with the text; and as some words of apology, addition,
correction, or amplification fall to be said on almost every study in the
volume, it will be most simple to run them over in their order. But this
must not be taken as a propitiatory offering to the gods of shipwreck; I
trust my cargo unreservedly to the chances of the sea; and do not, by
criticising myself, seek to disarm the wrath of other and less partial
critics.
_Hugo’s Romances_.—This is an instance of the “point of view.” The five
romances studied with a different purpose might have given different
results, even with a critic so warmly interested in their favour. The
great contemporary master of wordmanship, and indeed of all literary arts
and technicalities, had not unnaturally dazzled a beginner. But it is
best to dwell on merits, for it is these that are most often overlooked.
_Burns_.—I have left the introductory sentences on Principal Shairp,
partly to explain my own paper, which was merely supplemental to his
amiable but imperfect book, partly because that book appears to me truly
misleading both as to the character and the genius of Burns. This seems
ungracious, but Mr. Shairp has himself to blame; so good a Wordsworthian
was out of character upon that stage.
This half apology apart, nothing more falls to be said except upon a
remark called forth by my study in the columns of a literary Review. The
exact terms in which that sheet disposed of Burns I cannot now recall;
but they were to this effect—that Burns was a bad man, the impure vehicle
of fine verses; and that this was the view to which all criticism tended.
Now I knew, for my own part, that it was with the profoundest pity, but
with a growing esteem, that I studied the man’s desperate efforts to do
right; and the more I reflected, the stranger it appeared to me that any
thinking being should feel otherwise. The complete letters shed, indeed,
a light on the depths to which Burns had sunk in his character of Don
Juan, but they enhance in the same proportion the hopeless nobility of
his marrying Jean. That I ought to have stated this more noisily I now
see; but that any one should fail to see it for himself, is to me a thing
both incomprehensible and worthy of open scorn. If Burns, on the facts
dealt with in this study, is to be called a bad man, I question very much
whether either I or the writer in the Review have ever encountered what
it would be fair to call a good one. All have some fault. The fault of
each grinds down the hearts of those about him, and—let us not blink the
truth—hurries both him and them into the grave. And when we find a man
persevering indeed, in his fault, as all of us do, and openly overtaken,
as not all of us are, by its consequences, to gloss the matter over, with
too polite biographers, is to do the work of the wrecker disfiguring
beacons on a perilous seaboard; but to call him bad, with a
self-righteous chuckle, is to be talking in one’s sleep with Heedless and
Too-bold in the arbour.
Yet it is undeniable that much anger and distress is raised in many
quarters by the least attempt to state plainly, what every one well
knows, of Burns’s profligacy, and of the fatal consequences of his
marriage. And for this there are perhaps two subsidiary reasons. For,
first, there is, in our drunken land, a certain privilege extended to
drunkenness. In Scotland, in particular, it is almost respectable, above
all when compared with any “irregularity between the sexes.” The
selfishness of the one, so much more gross in essence, is so much less
immediately conspicuous in its results that our demiurgeous Mrs. Grundy
smiles apologetically on its victims. It is often said—I have heard it
with these ears—that drunkenness “may lead to vice.” Now I did not think
it at all proved that Burns was what is called a drunkard; and I was
obliged to dwell very plainly on the irregularity and the too frequent
vanity and meanness of his relations to women. Hence, in the eyes of
many, my study was a step towards the demonstration of Burns’s radical
badness.
But second, there is a certain class, professors of that low morality so
greatly more distressing than the better sort of vice, to whom you must
never represent an act that was virtuous in itself, as attended by any
other consequences than a large family and fortune. To hint that Burns’s
marriage had an evil influence is, with this class, to deny the moral
law. Yet such is the fact. It was bravely done; but he had presumed too
far on his strength. One after another the lights of his life went out,
and he fell from circle to circle to the dishonoured sickbed of the end.
And surely for any one that has a thing to call a soul he shines out
tenfold more nobly in the failure of that frantic effort to do right,
than if he had turned on his heel with Worldly Wiseman, married a
congenial spouse, and lived orderly and died reputably an old man. It is
his chief title that he refrained from “the wrong that amendeth wrong.”
But the common, trashy mind of our generation is still aghast, like the
Jews of old, at any word of an unsuccessful virtue. Job has been written
and read; the tower of Siloam fell nineteen hundred years ago; yet we
have still to desire a little Christianity, or, failing that, a little
even of that rude, old, Norse nobility of soul, which saw virtue and vice
alike go unrewarded, and was yet not shaken in its faith.
_Walt Whitman_.—This is a case of a second difficulty which lies
continually before the writer of critical studies: that he has to mediate
between the author whom he loves and the public who are certainly
indifferent and frequently averse. Many articles had been written on
this notable man. One after another had leaned, in my eyes, either to
praise or blame unduly. In the last case, they helped to blindfold our
fastidious public to an inspiring writer; in the other, by an excess of
unadulterated praise, they moved the more candid to revolt. I was here
on the horns of a dilemma; and between these horns I squeezed myself with
perhaps some loss to the substance of the paper. Seeing so much in
Whitman that was merely ridiculous, as well as so much more that was
unsurpassed in force and fitness,—seeing the true prophet doubled, as I
thought, in places with the Bull in a China Shop,—it appeared best to
steer a middle course, and to laugh with the scorners when I thought they
had any excuse, while I made haste to rejoice with the rejoicers over
what is imperishably good, lovely, human, or divine, in his extraordinary
poems. That was perhaps the right road; yet I cannot help feeling that
in this attempt to trim my sails between an author whom I love and honour
and a public too averse to recognise his merit, I have been led into a
tone unbecoming from one of my stature to one of Whitman’s. But the good
and the great man will go on his way not vexed with my little shafts of
merriment. He, first of any one, will understand how, in the attempt to
explain him credibly to Mrs. Grundy, I have been led into certain airs of
the man of the world, which are merely ridiculous in me, and were not
intentionally discourteous to himself. But there is a worse side to the
question; for in my eagerness to be all things to all men, I am afraid I
may have sinned against proportion. It will be enough to say here that
Whitman’s faults are few and unimportant when they are set beside his
surprising merits. I had written another paper full of gratitude for the
help that had been given me in my life, full of enthusiasm for the
intrinsic merit of the poems, and conceived in the noisiest extreme of
youthful eloquence. The present study was a rifacimento. From it, with
the design already mentioned, and in a fit of horror at my old excess,
the big words and emphatic passages were ruthlessly excised. But this
sort of prudence is frequently its own punishment; along with the
exaggeration, some of the truth is sacrificed; and the result is cold,
constrained, and grudging. In short, I might almost everywhere have
spoken more strongly than I did.
_Thoreau_.—Here is an admirable instance of the “point of view” forced
throughout, and of too earnest reflection on imperfect facts. Upon me
this pure, narrow, sunnily-ascetic Thoreau had exercised a great charm.
I have scarce written ten sentences since I was introduced to him, but
his influence might be somewhere detected by a close observer. Still it
was as a writer that I had made his acquaintance; I took him on his own
explicit terms; and when I learned details of his life, they were, by the
nature of the case and my own _parti-pris_, read even with a certain
violence in terms of his writings. There could scarce be a perversion
more justifiable than that; yet it was still a perversion. The study
indeed, raised so much ire in the breast of Dr. Japp (H. A. Page),
Thoreau’s sincere and learned disciple, that had either of us been men, I
please myself with thinking, of less temper and justice, the difference
might have made us enemies instead of making us friends. To him who knew
the man from the inside, many of my statements sounded like inversions
made on purpose; and yet when we came to talk of them together, and he
had understood how I was looking at the man through the books, while he
had long since learned to read the books through the man, I believe he
understood the spirit in which I had been led astray.
On two most important points, Dr. Japp added to my knowledge, and with
the same blow fairly demolished that part of my criticism. First, if
Thoreau were content to dwell by Walden Pond, it was not merely with
designs of self-improvement, but to serve mankind in the highest sense.
Hither came the fleeing slave; thence was he despatched along the road to
freedom. That shanty in the woods was a station in the great Underground
Railroad; that adroit and philosophic solitary was an ardent worker, soul
and body, in that so much more than honourable movement, which, if
atonement were possible for nations, should have gone far to wipe away
the guilt of slavery. But in history sin always meets with condign
punishment; the generation passes, the offence remains, and the innocent
must suffer. No underground railroad could atone for slavery, even as no
bills in Parliament can redeem the ancient wrongs of Ireland. But here
at least is a new light shed on the Walden episode.
Second, it appears, and the point is capital, that Thoreau was once
fairly and manfully in love, and, with perhaps too much aping of the
angel, relinquished the woman to his brother. Even though the brother
were like to die of it, we have not yet heard the last opinion of the
woman. But be that as it may, we have here the explanation of the
“rarefied and freezing air” in which I complained that he had taught
himself to breathe. Reading the man through the books, I took his
professions in good faith. He made a dupe of me, even as he was seeking
to make a dupe of himself, wresting philosophy to the needs of his own
sorrow. But in the light of this new fact, those pages, seemingly so
cold, are seen to be alive with feeling. What appeared to be a lack of
interest in the philosopher turns out to have been a touching insincerity
of the man to his own heart; and that fine-spun airy theory of
friendship, so devoid, as I complained, of any quality of flesh and
blood, a mere anodyne to lull his pains. The most temperate of living
critics once marked a passage of my own with a cross and the words, “This
seems nonsense.” It not only seemed; it was so. It was a private
bravado of my own, which I had so often repeated to keep up my spirits,
that I had grown at last wholly to believe it, and had ended by setting
it down as a contribution to the theory of life. So with the more icy
parts of this philosophy of Thoreau’s. He was affecting the Spartanism
he had not; and the old sentimental wound still bled afresh, while he
deceived himself with reasons.
Thoreau’s theory, in short, was one thing and himself another: of the
first, the reader will find what I believe to be a pretty faithful
statement and a fairly just criticism in the study; of the second he will
find but a contorted shadow. So much of the man as fitted nicely with
his doctrines, in the photographer’s phrase, came out. But that large
part which lay outside and beyond, for which he had found or sought no
formula, on which perhaps his philosophy even looked askance, is wanting
in my study, as it was wanting in the guide I followed. In some ways a
less serious writer, in all ways a nobler man, the true Thoreau still
remains to be depicted.
_Villon_.—I am tempted to regret that I ever wrote on this subject, not
merely because the paper strikes me as too picturesque by half, but
because I regarded Villon as a bad fellow. Others still think well of
him, and can find beautiful and human traits where I saw nothing but
artistic evil; and by the principle of the art, those should have written
of the man, and not I. Where you see no good, silence is the best.
Though this penitence comes too late, it may be well, at least, to give
it expression.
The spirit of Villon is still living in the literature of France. Fat
Peg is oddly of a piece with the work of Zola, the Goncourts, and the
infinitely greater Flaubert; and, while similar in ugliness, still
surpasses them in native power. The old author, breaking with an _éclat
de voix_, out of his tongue-tied century, has not yet been touched on his
own ground, and still gives us the most vivid and shocking impression of
reality. Even if that were not worth doing at all, it would be worth
doing as well as he has done it; for the pleasure we take in the author’s
skill repays us, or at least reconciles us to the baseness of his
attitude. Fat Peg (_La Grosse Margot_) is typical of much; it is a piece
of experience that has nowhere else been rendered into literature; and a
kind of gratitude for the author’s plainness mingles, as we read, with
the nausea proper to the business. I shall quote here a verse of an old
students’ song, worth laying side by side with Villon’s startling
ballade. This singer, also, had an unworthy mistress, but he did not
choose to share the wages of dishonour; and it is thus, with both wit and
pathos, that he laments her fall:—
Nunc plango florem
Ætatis teneræ
Nitidiorem
Veneris sidere:
Tunc columbinam
Mentis dulcedinem,
Nunc serpentinam
Amaritudinem.
Verbo rogantes
Removes ostio,
Munera dantes
Foves cubiculo,
Illos abire præcipis
A quibus nihil accipis,
Cæcos claudosque recipis,
Viros illustres decipis
Cum melle venenosa. {0}
But our illustrious writer of ballades it was unnecessary to deceive; it
was the flight of beauty alone, not that of honesty or honour, that he
lamented in his song; and the nameless mediæval vagabond has the best of
the comparison.
There is now a Villon Society in England; and Mr. John Payne has
translated him entirely into English, a task of unusual difficulty. I
regret to find that Mr. Payne and I are not always at one as to the
author’s meaning; in such cases I | 572.902058 |
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E-text prepared by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/dialogueinhades00john
A DIALOGUE IN HADES.
A Parallel of Military Errors, of Which the French
and English Armies Were Guilty, During the
Campaign of 1759, in Canada.
ATTRIBUTED TO CHEVALIER JOHNSTONE.
Published under the Auspices of the
Literary and Historical Society of Quebec
[Reprinted.]
Quebec:
Printed at the "Morning Chronicle" Office.
1887.
[The original of this manuscript is deposited in the French war
archives, in Paris; a copy was, with the permission of the French
Government, taken in 1855, and deposited in the Library of the
Legislative Assembly of Canada. The Literary and Historical Society
of Quebec, through the kindness of Mr. Todd, the Librarian, was
permitted to have communication thereof. This document is supposed to
have been written about the year 1765, that is five years after the
return to France from Canada of the writer, the Chevalier Johnstone,
a Scottish Jacobite, who had fled to France after the defeat at
Culloden, and obtained from the French monarch, with several other
Scotchmen, commissions in the French armies. In 1748, says _Francisque
Michel_,[A] "he sailed from Rochefort as an Ensign with troops going
to Cape Breton; he continued to serve in America until he returned to
France, in December, 1760, having acted during the campaign of 1759, in
Canada, as aide-de-camp to Chevalier de Levis. On Levis being ordered
to Montreal, Johnstone was detached and retained by General Montcalm
on his staff, on account of his thorough knowledge of the environs
of Quebec, and particularly of Beauport, where the principal works
of defence stood, and where the whole army, some 11,000 men, were
entrenched, leaving in Quebec merely a garrison of 1500. The journal
is written in English, and is not remarkable for orthography or purity
of diction; either Johnstone had forgotten or had never thoroughly
known the language. The style is prolix, sententious, abounding in
quotations from old writers. This document had first attracted the
attention of one of the late historians of Canada, the Abbe Ferland,
who attached much importance to it, as calculated to supply matters of
detail and incidents unrecorded elsewhere. Colonel Margry, in charge of
the French records, had permitted the venerable writer, then on a visit
to Paris, to make extracts from it; some of which extracts, the abbe
published at the time of the laying of the St. Foy Monument, in 1862.
The Chevalier Johnstone differs _in toto_ from the opinions expressed
by several French officers of regulars, respecting the conduct of the
Canadian Militia, in 1759, ascribing to their valour, on the 13th
September, the salvation of a large portion of the French army. He has
chosen the singular, though not unprecedented mode of the Dialogue,
to recapitulate the events of a campaign in which he played a not
inconsiderable part."--J. M. LEMOINE.]
[Published under the auspices of the Literary and Historical Society
of Quebec.]
A DIALOGUE IN HADES.
A PARALLEL OF MILITARY ERRORS, OF WHICH THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH ARMIES
WERE GUILTY, DURING THE CAMPAIGN OF 1759, IN CANADA.
THE MARQUIS DE MONTCALM:--Having ardently desired a conversation with
you, sir, upon the operations of a campaign which proved to both of us
so fatal, I have sought you continually amongst the shades ever since I
descended here, where I soon followed you.
GENERAL WOLFE:--I can assure you, sir, I was equally impatient to meet
with you. Some of my countrymen, arrived here since the battle of the
13th September, informed me that there was only an interval of a few
hours in our sharing the same hard fate. They gave me some accounts
of that event which joined Canada to the British dominions; but as
they had a very imperfect knowledge of the circumstances, and entirely
ignorant of your plan of operations, I have little information from
them, and I am heartily glad that chance at last has procured me the
pleasure of seeing you.
MONTCALM:--Will you permit me, sir, before our conversation becomes
serious, to offer some reflections upon the difference in our destiny.
Your nation rendered you the greatest honours; your body was conveyed
to London, and buried there magnificently in Westminster Abbey,
amongst your kings. Generous Britons erected to your memory a superb
monument over your grave, at public expense; and your name, most
dear to your countrymen, is ever in their mouths, accompanied with
praise and regret. But in my country what a strange indifference?
What sensation did my death make upon my compatriots? My conduct
denounced and censured without measure, is the continual subject of
conversation for gossiping fools and knaves, who form the majority in
all communities, and prevail against the infinitely small number to be
found of honest, judicious, impartial men, capable of reflection. The
Canadians and savages who knew the uprightness of my soul, ever devoted
to the interests of my beloved king and country, they alone rendered
me justice, with a few sincere friends, who, not daring to oppose
themselves openly to the torrent of my enemies, bewailed in secret my
unhappy fate, and shed on my tomb their friendly tears.
WOLFE:--In this blessed abode, inaccessible to prejudice, I vow to you,
sir, I envy your condition, notwithstanding the horrible injustice
and ingratitude of your countrymen. What can give more pleasure and
self-satisfaction than the esteem and approbation of honest men? You
were severely regretted and lamented by all those who were capable of
discerning and appreciating your superior merit, talents, and eminent
qualities. Disinterested persons of probity must respect your virtue.
All officers versed in the art of war will justify your military
tactics, and your operations can be blamed only by the ignorant. Were
my army consulted, they would be as many witnesses in your favour. Your
humanity towards prisoners won you the heart of all my soldiers. They
saw with gratitude and veneration your continual care and vigilance to
snatch them from out of the hands of the Indians, when those barbarians
were ready to cut their throats, and prepared to make of human flesh
their horrible banquets; refusing me even tears at my death, they
weeped and bewailed your hard fate; I see in my mausoleum the proof
only of human weakness! What does that block of marble avail to me in
my present state? The monument remains, but the conqueror has perished.
The affection, approbation and regret of the worthiest part of mankind
is greatly preferable and much above the vain honours conferred by a
blind people, who judge according to the event, and are incapable to
analyse the operations. I was unknown to them before the expedition
which I commanded in Canada; and if fortune, to whom I entirely owe my
success, had less favoured me, perhaps, like Byng, I would have been
the victim of a furious and unruly populace. The multitude has and can
have success only for the rule of their judgment.
MONTCALM:--I am much obliged to you, sir, for your favourable opinion
of me. Let us leave weak mortals to crawl from error to error, and
deify to-day what they will condemn to-morrow. It is at present, when
the darkness is dispelled from before our eyes, that we can contemplate
at leisure the passions of men, who move as the waves of the sea, push
on each other and often break upon the rocks; and in our present state,
when all prejudices are at an end, let us examine impartially the
operations of 1759, which was the epocha of the loss to France of her
northern colonies in America.
WOLFE:--Most willingly, sir, and to show my frankness, I own to you
I was greatly surprised on arriving with the English fleet at Quebec
without meeting with any opposition by the French in the river St.
Lawrence.
MONTCALM:--You had reason to be so. It was not my fault that you did
not meet with many obstacles in your way. I proposed to have a redoubt
and battery erected upon Cape Tourmente, which is a rock above fifty
feet high, facing the Traverse at the east[B] end of the Island of
Orleans, where all the vessels cross from the north to the south side
of the St. Lawrence river. They are obliged to approach very near the
Cape before they enter into the Traverse, and its height above the
men-of-war would have secured it against the effect of the artillery.
Besides, this rock, almost perpendicular, commanding all round it,
the fort would have been impregnable, and not susceptible of being
besieged. Thus the first of your ships which approached to pass the
Traverse would have been raked by the plunging fire of the battery from
stern to bowsprit, and must have been sunk. I had likewise the project
of placing a battery and a redoubt upon the upper point of the bay
which is opposite to the west end of _Isle aux Coudres_. The current
between this island and the main land being incredibly rapid at low
water, all the vessels coming up the river must have cast anchor there
to wait until the next tide; and my artillery upon the point of that
bay would have battered your ships at anchor from fore to aft; have
put in a most terrible confusion your ships, who could not have taken
up their anchors without being instantly dashed to pieces against the
rocks by the violence of the current, forced, as they would have been
by it, to have their bowsprits always pointed to the battery, without
being able to fire at it. Your fleet would have had no knowledge of the
battery until they were at anchor, so you may easily judge how it would
have distressed them. I proposed this, but I did not command in chief;
it was the Marquis de Vaudreuil, Governor General of Canada, who should
have ordered it to be put into execution.
WOLFE:--If they had executed your project, it would have puzzled us,
and retarded for some time our operations.
MONTCALM:--That was all I could wish for, as I was always sensible of
the great advantage, in certain situations, of gaining time from the
enemy, especially in such a climate as Canada, where the summer is
so short that it is impossible to keep the field longer than from the
month of May till the beginning of October, and your fleet arrived at
_Isle aux Coudres_ at the end of June.
WOLFE:--There is no doubt that you are in the right. Our fleet arrived
in the river St. Lawrence six weeks too late, which is commonly the
fate of all great naval expeditions. Fleets are seldom ready to sail at
the time appointed; and this often renders fruitless the best concocted
enterprise by sea, from the uncertainty of the arrival of the army at
its destination. The smallest delay is often dangerous, as it gives
the enemy the time to prepare themselves for defence, without hurry or
confusion.
MONTCALM:--I will not conceal from you, sir, that I always looked
upon the distribution you made of your army upon your landing near
Quebec, as diametrically opposed to the established principles in
castrametation. It is a known axiom in the | 572.940394 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.9203600 | 4,176 | 10 | (VOLUME II) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON!
A Novel
BY
WILLIAM BLACK,
AUTHOR OF
"A DAUGHTER OF HETH," "MACLEOD OF DARE," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, LIMITED
St. Dunstan's House
FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1891.
[_All rights reserved._]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER
I. Doubts and Dreams
II. By Northern Seas
III. "Holy Palmer's Kiss"
IV. Interposition
V. The Gnawing Fox
VI. Put to the Proof
VII. Renewing is of Love
VIII. On the Brink
IX. "And hast thou played me this!"
STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON!
CHAPTER I.
DOUBTS AND DREAMS.
And at first Vincent was for rebelliously thrusting aside and ignoring
this information that had reached him so unexpectedly. Was he, on the
strength of a statement forwarded by an unknown correspondent in New
York, to suspect--nay, to condemn unheard--this proud and solitary old
man with whom he had all this while been on terms of such close and
friendly intimacy? Had he not had ample opportunities of judging
whether George Bethune was the sort of person likely to have done this
thing that was now charged against him? He went over these past weeks
and months. Was it any wonder that the old man's indomitable courage,
his passionate love of his native land, and the constant and assiduous
care and affection he bestowed on his granddaughter, should have aroused
alike the younger man's admiration and his gratitude? What if he talked
with too lofty an air of birth and lineage, or allowed his enthusiasm
about Scotland and Scottish song to lead him into the realms of
rodomontade: may not an old man have his harmless foibles? Any one who
had witnessed Maisrie's devotion to her grandfather, her gentle
forbearance and consideration, her skilful humouring of him, and her
never-failing faith in him, must have got to know what kind of man was
old George Bethune.
And yet, when Vincent turned to the letter, it seemed terribly simple,
and straightforward, and sincere. There was no vindictiveness in it at
all; rather there was a pained surprise on the part of the writer that a
loyal Scot--one, too, who had been admitted into that fraternity of
song-writing exiles over the water--should have been guilty of such a
flagrant breach of trust. Then Lord Musselburgh's patronage, as the
young man knew very well, had taken the form of a cheque; so that the
charge brought by the writer of this letter practically was that George
Bethune had obtained, and might even now be obtaining, money by fraud
and false pretences. It was a bewildering thing--an impossible
thing--to think of. And now, as he strove to construct all sorts of
explanatory hypotheses, there seemed to stand in the background the
visionary form of Mrs. Ellison; and her eyes were cold and inquiring.
How had she come to suspect? It was not likely that she could be
familiar with the Scotch-American newspaper offices of the United
States.
No, he could make nothing of it; his perplexity only increased. All
kinds of doubts, surmises, possible excuses went chasing each other
through his brain. Perhaps it was only literary vanity that had
prompted the old man to steal this project when it was placed before
him? Or perhaps he thought he had a better right to it, from his wide
knowledge of the subject? Vincent knew little of the laws and bye-laws
of the literary world; perhaps this was but a bit of rivalry carried too
far; and in any case, supposing the old man had erred in his eagerness
to claim this topic as his own, surely that did not prove him to be a
charlatan all the way through, still less a professional impostor? But
then his making use of this scheme to obtain money--and that not only
from Lord Musselburgh? Oh, well (the young man tried to convince
himself) there might not be so much harm in that. No doubt he looked
forward to issuing the volume, and giving his patrons value in return.
Old George Bethune, as he knew, was quite careless about pecuniary
matters: for example, if the bill for those little dinners at the
various restaurants was paid by some one, that was enough; the old
gentleman made no further inquiries. He was content to let his young
friend settle these trivial details; and Master Vin was willing enough.
In fact, the latter had devised a system by which the awkwardness of
calling for the bill in Maisrie's presence was avoided; this system
worked admirably; and Mr. Bethune asked no questions. Doubtless, if he
had remembered, or taken the trouble, he would have paid his shot like
anyone else.
But amid all these conflicting speculations, there was one point on
which the mind of this young man remained clear and unswerving; and that
was that whatever might be the character or career of old George
Bethune, his principles or his practice, Maisrie was as far apart and
dissociated from them as if worlds intervened. If there had been any
malfeasance in this matter, she, at least, was no sharer in it. And the
more he pondered, the more anxious he became to know whether Maisrie had
any idea of the position in which her grandfather was placed. How much
would he be entitled to tell her, supposing she was in ignorance? And
when could he hope for an opportunity? And then again, failing an
opportunity, how was he to go and spend the evening with those two
friends of his, pretending to be entirely engrossed by their little
amusements and occupations outdoors and in, while all the time there was
lying in his pocket this letter, unanswered and perhaps unanswerable?
Fortune favoured him. Towards evening, a little before six o'clock, he
heard a door shut on the other side of the street; and, lifting his
head, he perceived that it was Mr. Bethune who had just come out of the
house, alone. Here was a chance not to be missed. Waiting for a couple
of minutes, to make sure that the coast was clear, he passed downstairs,
crossed the little thoroughfare, and knocked. The landlady told him
that Miss Bethune was upstairs, and upstairs he went. The next moment a
voice that he knew well invited him to enter, and therewithal the two
young people found themselves face to face.
"You are early," she said, with a little smile of welcome, as she
stopped in her sewing.
"Yes," said he, and he added quite frankly, "I saw your father go out,
and I wished to speak with you alone. The fact is, Maisrie," he
continued, taking a chair opposite her, "I have heard from America
to-day about that proposal I made--to get some one to collect materials
for your grandfather's book; and the answer is rather a strange one--I
don't quite understand--perhaps you can tell me something about it." He
hesitated, and then went on: "Maisrie, I suppose it never occurred to
you that--that some one else in America might be proposing to bring out
a similar book?"
She looked up quickly, and with a certain apprehension in her eyes.
"Oh, yes, I knew. My grandfather told me there had been talk of such a
thing. What have you heard?"
He stared at her.
"You knew?" said he. "Then surely you might have told me!"
There was something in his tone--some touch of reproach--that brought
the blood to her face; and yet she answered calmly and without
resentment----
"Did I not tell you?--nor my grandfather? But perhaps neither of us
thought it of much importance. It was only some vague talk, as I
understood; for everyone must have known that no one was so familiar
with the subject as my grandfather, and that it would be foolish to try
to interfere with him. At the same time I have always been anxious that
he should get on with the book, for various reasons; and if you have
heard anything that will induce him to begin at once, so much the
better."
It was clear that she was wholly in ignorance of the true state of the
case.
"No," said he, watching her the while. "What I have heard will not have
that effect, but rather the reverse. To tell you the plain truth, the
American or Scotch-American writer has finished his book, and it will be
out almost directly."
She sprang to her feet with an involuntary gesture, and stood still for
a moment, her lips grown suddenly pale, and her eyes bewildered: and
then she turned away from him to hide her emotion, and walked to the
window. Instantly he followed her.
"Maisrie, what is the matter!" he exclaimed in astonishment, for he
found that tears had sprung to her eyes.
"Oh, it is a shame--it is a shame," she said, in broken accents, and her
hands were clenched, "to steal an old man's good name from him, and that
for so small a thing! What harm had he ever done them? The book was
such a small thing--they might have left it to him--what can they gain
from it----"
"But Maisrie----!"
"Oh, you don't understand, Vincent, you don't understand at all," she
said, in a despairing sort of way, "how my grandfather will be
compromised! He undertook to bring out the book; he got friends to help
him with money; and now--now--what will they think?--what can I say to
them?--what can I do? I--I must go to them--but--but what can I say?"
Her tears were running afresh now; and at sight of them the young man
threw to the winds all his doubts and conjectures concerning George
Bethune's honesty. That was not the question now.
"No, you shall not go to them!" said he, with indignant eyes.
"You?--you go to any one--in that way? No, you shall not. I will go.
It is a question of money: I will pay them their money back. Tell me
who they are, and the amounts; and they shall have every farthing of
their money back, and at once: what can they ask for more?"
For a second she regarded him with a swift glance of more than
gratitude; but it was only to shake her head.
"No, how could I allow you to do that? What explanation could you make?
There must be some other way--often I have wished that ray grandfather
would let me try to earn something--I am willing enough--and I am never
sure of my grandfather, because he can believe things so easily." She
had grown calmer now; and over her face there had come the curious look
of resignation that he had noticed when first he saw her, and that
seemed so strange in a young girl. "I might have expected this," she
went on, absently and sadly. "My grandfather can persuade himself of
anything: if he thinks a thing is done, that is enough. I am sure I
have urged him to get on with this book--not that I thought anybody
could be so mean and cruel as to step in and forestall him--but that he
might get free from those obligations; but I suppose when he had once
arranged all the materials in his own mind he felt that the rest was
easy enough and that there was no hurry. He takes things so
lightly--and now--the humiliation--well, I shall have to bear that----"
"I say you shall not," he said, hotly. "I claim the privilege of a
friend, and you cannot refuse. Who are the people to whom your
grandfather is indebted over this volume?" he demanded.
"For one, there is Lord Musselburgh," she said, but indifferently, as if
no hope lay that way. "And there is Mr. Carmichael, who owns an
Edinburgh paper--the _Chronicle_."
"Very well," said he, promptly. "What is to hinder my explaining to
them that circumstances have occurred to prevent Mr. Bethune bringing
out the volume he had projected; and that he begs to return them the
money they had been good enough to advance?"
She shook her head again and sighed.
"No. It is very kind of you: You are always kind. But I could not
accept it. I must try some way myself--though I am rather helpless: it
is so difficult to get my grandfather to see things. I told you before:
he lives in a world of imagination, and he can persuade himself that
everything is well, no matter how we are situated. But it was shameful
of them," she said, with her indignation returning, and her lips
becoming at once proud and tremulous, "to cheat an old man out of so
poor and small a thing! Why, they all knew he was going to write this
book--all the writers themselves--they were known to himself
personally--and glad enough they were to send him their verses. Well,
perhaps they are not to blame. Perhaps they may have been told that he
had given up the idea--that is quite likely. At all events, I don't
envy the miserable creature who has gone and taken advantage of my
grandfather's absence--"
She could say no more just then, for there was a sound below of the door
being opened and shut; and the next minute they could hear old George
Bethune coming with his active step up the flight of stairs, while he
sang aloud, in fine bravura fashion, "'Tis the march--'tis the
march--'tis the march of the Cameron men!"
The little dinner in the restaurant that evening was altogether unlike
those that had preceded it. The simple and innocent gaiety--the sense of
snugness and good-comradeship--appeared to have fled, leaving behind it
a certain awkwardness and restraint. Vincent was entirely perplexed.
The story he had heard from America was in no way to be reconciled with
Maisrie's interpretation of her grandfather's position; but it was
possible that the old man had concealed from her certain material facts;
or perhaps had been able to blind himself to them. But what troubled
the young man most of all was to notice that the old look of pensive
resignation had returned to Maisrie's face. For a time a brighter life
had shone there; the natural animation and colour of youth had appeared
in her cheeks; and her eyes had laughter in them, and smiles, and
kindness and gratitude; but all that had gone now--quite suddenly, as it
seemed--and there had come back that strange sadness, that look of
unresisting and hopeless acquiescence. Alone of the little party of
three George Bethune retained his usual equanimity; nay, on this
particular evening he appeared to be in especial high spirits; and in
his careless and garrulous good-humour he took little heed of the
silence and constraint of the two younger folk. They made all the
better audience; and he could enforce and adorn his main argument with
all the illustrations he could muster; he was allowed to have everything
his own way.
And perhaps Vincent, thinking of Maisrie, and her tears, and the
hopelessness and solitariness of her position, may have been inclined to
resent what he could not but regard as a callous and culpable
indifference. At all events, he took the first opportunity that
presented itself of saying--
"I hope I am not the bearer of ill-news, Mr. Bethune; but I have just
heard from New York that someone over there has taken up your subject,
and that a volume on the Scotch poets in America is just about ready,
and will be published immediately."
Maisrie glanced timidly at her grandfather; but there was nothing to
fear on his account; he was not one to quail.
"Oh, indeed, indeed," said he, with a lofty magnanimity. "Well, I hope
it will be properly and satisfactorily done: I hope it will be done in a
way worthy of the subject. Maisrie, pass the French mustard, if you
please. A grand subject: for surely these natural and simple
expressions of the human heart are as deeply interesting as the more
finished, the more literary, productions of the professional poet. A
single verse, rough and rugged as you like--and the living man stands
revealed. Ay, ay, so the book is coming out. Well, I hope the public
will be lenient; I hope the public will understand that these men are
not professional poets, who have studied and written in leisure all
their lives; it is but a homely lilt they offer; but it is genuine; it
is from the heart--and it speaks to the heart----"
"But, grandfather," said Maisrie, "you were to have written the book!"
"What matters it who compiles the pages?--that is nothing at all; that
is in a measure mechanical. I am only anxious that it should be well
done, with tact, and discretion, and modesty," he continued--and with
such obvious sincerity that Vincent was more than ever perplexed. "For
the sake of old Scotland I would willingly give my help for nothing--a
little guidance here and there--a few biographical facts--even an
amended line. But after all the men must speak for themselves; and well
they will speak, if the public will but remember that these verses have
for the most part been thought of during the busy rush of a commercial
life, and written down in a chance evening hour. It will be a message
across the sea, to show that Scotland's sons have not forgotten her.
MacGregor Crerar--Donald Ramsay--Hugh Ainslie--Evan MacColl--Andrew
Wanless--I wonder if they have got Wanless's address to the robin that
was sent to him from Scotland--you remember, Maisrie?
'There's mair than you, my bonnie bird,
Hae crossed the raging main,
Wha mourn the blythe, the happy | 572.9404 |
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Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
Female Scripture Biography:
Including an Essay on What Christianity Has Done for Women.
By Francis Augustus Cox, A.M.
"It is a necessary charity to the (female) sex to acquaint them with their
own value, to animate them to some higher thoughts of themselves, not to
yield their suffrage to those injurious estimates the world hath made of
them, and from a supposed incapacity of noble things, to neglect the
pursuit of them, from which God and nature have no more precluded the
feminine than the masculine part of mankind."
The Ladies' Calling, Pref.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
LINCOLN & EDMANDS.
1831.
Contents of Vol. I.
Essay
The Virgin Mary--Chapter I.
Section I.
Congratulation of the angel Gabriel--advantages of the Christian
dispensation--Eve and Mary compared--state of Mary's family at the
incarnation--she receives an angelic visit--his promise to her of a son,
and prediction of his future greatness--Mary goes to Elizabeth, their
meeting--Mary's holy enthusiasm and remarkable language--Joseph informed
of the miraculous conception by an angel--general remarks
Section II.
Nothing happens by chance--dispensations preparatory to the coming of
Christ--prophecy of Micah accomplished by means of the decree of
Augustus--Mary supernaturally strengthened to attend upon her new-born
infant--visit of the shepherds Mary's reflections--circumcision of the
child--taken to the temple--Simeon's rapture and prediction--visit and
offerings of the Arabian philosophers--general considerations
Section III.
The flight into Egypt--Herod's cruel proceedings and death--Mary goes to
Jerusalem with Joseph--on their return their Child is missing--they find
him among the doctors--he returns with them, the feast of Cana--Christ's
treatment of his mother when she desired to speak to him--her behaviour
at the crucifixion--she is committed to the care of John--valuable
lessons to be derived from this touching scene
Section IV.
Brief account of the extravagant regard which has been paid to the
Virgin Mary at different periods--the names by which she has been
addressed, and the festivals instituted to honour her memory--general
remarks on the nature and character of superstition, particularly that
of the Catholics
Elizabeth--Chapter II.
The angelic appearance to Zacharias--birth of John characters of
Elizabeth and Zacharias--importance of domestic union being founded on
religion, shown in them--their venerable age--the characteristic
features of their piety--the happiness of a life like theirs--the effect
it is calculated to produce on others--the perpetuation of holy
friendship through immortal ages--the miserable condition of the
irreligious
Anna--Chapter III.
Introduction of Anna into the sacred story--inspired description of
her--the aged apt to be unduly attached to life--Anna probably religious
at an early period--Religion the most substantial support amidst the
infirmities of age--the most effectual guard against its vices--and the
best preparation for its end
The Woman of Samaria--Chapter IV.
Account of Christ's journey through Samaria--he arrives at Jacob's
well--enters into conversation with a woman of the country--her
misapprehensions--the discovery of his character to her as a prophet her
convictions--her admission of his claim as the true Messiah, which she
reports in the city--the great and good effect--reflections
The Woman Who Was a Sinner--Chapter V.
Jesus and John contrasted--the former goes to dine at the house of a
Pharisee--a notorious woman introduces herself, and weeps at his
feet--remarks on true repentance and faith, as exemplified in her
conduct--surmises of Simon the Pharisee--the answer of Jesus the woman
assured of forgiveness--instructions deducible from the parable
The Syrophenician--Chapter VI.
Introductory observations--Christ could not be concealed the
Syrophenician woman goes to him on account of her daughter--her
humility--earnestness--faith--the silence of Christ upon her application
to him--the disciples repulsed--the woman's renewed importunity--the
apparent scorn with which it is treated--her admission of the
contemptuous insinuation--her persevering ardour--her ultimate
success--the necessity of being importunate in prayer--remarks on the
woman's national character--present state of the Jews: the hope of their
final restoration,
Martha and Mary--Chapter VII.
Bethany distinguished as the residence of a pious family, which
consisted of Lazarus and his two sisters--their diversity of
character--the faults of Martha, domestic vanity and fretfulness of
temper--her counterbalancing excellencies--Mary's choice and Christ's
commendation--decease of Lazarus-- | 572.94273 |
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Produced by Clare Graham and Marc D'Hooghe at Free
Literature (online soon in an extended version, also linking
to free sources for education worldwide... MOOC's,
educational materials,...) Images generously made available
by the Internet Archive.
Philosophical Letters:
OR,
MODEST REFLECTIONS
Upon some Opinions in
_NATURAL PHILOSOPHY_,
MAINTAINED
By several Famous and Learned Authors of this Age,
Expressed by way of LETTERS:
By the Thrice Noble, Illustrious, and Excellent Princess,
The Lady MARCHIONESS of _NEWCASTLE_.
_LONDON_, Printed in the Year, 1664.
TO HER EXCELLENCY
The Lady Marchioness of NEWCASTLE
On her Book of Philosophical Letters.
_'Tis Supernatural, nay 'tis Divine,
To write whole Volumes ere I can a line.
I'mplor'd the Lady Muses, those fine things,
But they have broken all their Fidle-strings
And cannot help me; Nay, then I did try
Their_ Helicon, _but that is grown all dry:_
_Then on_ Parnassus _I did make a sallie,
But that's laid level, like a Bowling-alley;
Invok'd my Muse, found it a Pond, a Dream,
To your eternal Spring, and running Stream;
So clear and fresh, with Wit and Phansie store,
As then despair did bid me write no more._
W. Newcastle.
TO HIS EXCELLENCY
The Lord Marquis of NEWCASTLE.
My Noble Lord,
Although you have, always encouraged me in my harmless pastime of
Writing, yet was I afraid that your Lordship would be angry with
me for Writing and Publishing this Book, by reason it is a Book
of Controversies, of which I have heard your Lordship say, That
Controversies and Disputations make Enemies of Friends, and that such
Disputations and Controversies as these, are a pedantical kind of
quarrelling, not becoming Noble Persons. But your Lordship will be
pleased to consider in my behalf, that it is impossible for one Person
to be of every one's Opinion, if their opinions be different, and that
my Opinions in Philosophy, being new, and never thought of, at least
not divulged by any, but my self, are quite different from others: For
the Ground of my Opinions is, that there is not onely a Sensitive, but
also a Rational Life and Knowledge, and so a double Perception in all
Creatures: And thus my opinions being new, are not so easily understood
as those, that take up several pieces of old opinions, of which
they patch up a new Philosophy, (if new may be made of old things,)
like a Suit made up of old Stuff bought at the Brokers: Wherefore to
find out a Truth, at least a Probability in Natural Philosophy by a
new and different way from other Writers, and to make this way more
known, easie and intelligible, I was in a manner forced to write this
Book; for I have not contradicted those Authors in any thing, but
what concerns and is opposite to my opinions; neither do I anything,
but what they have done themselves, as being common amongst them to
contradict each other: which may as well be allowable, as for Lawyers
to plead at the Barr in opposite Causes. For as Lawyers are not Enemies
to each other, but great Friends, all agreeing from the Barr, although
not at the Barr: so it is with Philosophers, who make their Opinions
as their Clients, not for Wealth, but for Fame, and therefore have no
reason to become Enemies to each other, by being Industrious in their
Profession. All which considered, was the cause of Publishing this
Book; wherein although I dissent from their opinions, yet doth not this
take off the least of the respect and esteem I have of their Merits
and Works. But if your Lordship do but pardon me, I care not if I be
condemned by others; for your Favour is more then the World to me, for
which all the actions of my Life shall be devoted and ready to serve
you, as becomes,
My Lord,
_Your Lordships_
_honest Wife, and humble Servant_,
M. N.
TO THE MOST FAMOUS UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE.
Most Noble, Ingenious, Learned, and Industrious Students.
_Be not offended, that I dedicate to you this weak and infirm work of
mine; for though it be not an offering worthy your acceptance, yet it
is as much as I can present for this time; and I wish from my Soul, I
might be so happy as to have some means or ways to express my Gratitude
for your Magnificent favours to me, having done me more honour then
ever I could expect, or give sufficient thanks for: But your Generosity
is above all Gratitude, and your Favours above all Merit, like as your
Learning is above Contradiction: And I | 572.943825 |
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