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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
SCORN OF WOMEN
By Jack London
A Play In Three Acts
Author Of "The Call Of The Wild,"
"White Fang," Etc., Etc.
The Macmillan Company
London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd.
1906
ACT I Alaska Commercial Company's Store at Dawson
ACT II Anteroom of Pioneer Hall
ACT III Freda Moloof's Cabin
Time of play, 1897, Dawson, Northwest Territory. It occurs in thirteen
hours.
Freda Moloof............A dancer.
Floyd Vanderlip.........An Eldorado king.
Loraine Lisznayi........A Hungarian.
Captain Eppingwell......United States government agent.
Mrs. Eppingwell.........His wife.
Flossie.................Engaged to marry Floyd Vanderlip
Sitka Charley...........An Indian dog-driver.
Dave Harney.............An Eldorado king.
Prince..................A mining engineer.
Mrs. McFee..............Whose business is morals.
Minnie..................Maid to Freda Moloof.
Dog-punchers, couriers, miners, Indians, mounted police, clerks, etc.
FREDA MOLOOF. A Greek girl and a dancer. Speaks perfect English, but
withal has that slight, indefinable foreign touch of accent. Good
figure, willowy, yet not too slender. Of indeterminate age, possibly
no more than twenty-five. Her furs the most magnificent in all the
Yukon country from Chilcoot to St. Michael's, her name common on the
lips of men.
FLOYD VANDERLIP. An Eldorado king, worth a couple of millions. Simple,
elemental, almost childish in his emotions. But a brave man, and
masculine; a man who has done a man's work in the world. Has caressed
more shovel-handles than women's hands. Big-muscled, big-bodied,
ingenuous-faced; the sort of a man whom women of the right sort can
tie into knots.
LORAINE LISZNAYI. A Hungarian, reputed to be wealthy, and to be
travelling in the Klondike for pleasure and love of adventure. Past
the flush of youth, and with fair success feigning youth. In the first
stages of putting flesh upon her erstwhile plumpness. Dark-eyed, a
flashing, dazzling brunette, with a cosmopolitan reputation earned in
a day when she posed in the studios of artist-queens and received at
her door the cards of cardinals and princes.
CAPTAIN EPPINGWELL. Special agent for the United States government.
MRS. EPPINGWELL. His wife. Twenty-five to twenty-eight years of age.
Of the cold order of women, possessing sanity, and restraint, and
control. Brown hair, demi-blond type, oval-faced, with cameo-like
features. The kind of a woman who is not painfully good, but who acts
upon principle and who knows always just what she is doing.
FLOSSIE. Eighteen or nineteen years of age. Of the soft and clinging
kind, with pretty, pouting lips, blow-away hair, and eyes full of the
merry shallows of life. Engaged to marry Floyd Vanderlip.
PRINCE. A young mining engineer. A good fellow, a man's man.
MRS. MCFEE. Near to forty, Scotch accent, sharp-featured, and
unbeautiful, with an eager nose that leads her into the affairs of
others. So painfully good that it hurts.
SITKA CHARLEY. An Indian dog-puncher, who has come into the warm and
sat by the fires of the white man until he is somewhat as one of them.
Should not be much shorter than Vanderlip and Captain Eppingwell.
DAVE HARNEY. An Eldorado king, also a Yankee, with a fondness for
sugar and a faculty for sharp dealing. Is tall, lean, loose-jointed.
Walks with a shambling gait. Speaks slowly, with a drawl.
MINNIE. _(Maid to Freda.)_ A cool, impassive young woman.
POLICEMAN. A young fellow, with small blond mustache. An Englishman,
brave, cool, but easily embarrassed. Though he says "Sorry"
frequently, he is never for an instant afraid.
ACT I--ALASKA COMPANY'S STORE AT DAWSON
Scene. _Alaska Commercial Company's store at Dawson. It is eleven
o'clock of a cold winter morning. In front, on the left, a very
large wood-burning stove. Beside the stove is a woodbox filled with
firewood. Farther back, on left, a door with sign on it, "Private." On
right, door, a street entrance; alongside are wisp-brooms for brushing
snow from moccasins. In the background a long counter running full
length of room with just space at either end for ingress or egress.
Large gold-scales rest upon counter. Behind counter equally long
rows of shelves, broken in two places by ordinary small-paned
house-windows. Windows are source of a dim, gray light. Doors,
window-frames, and sashes are of rough, unstained pine boards.
Shelves practically empty, with here and there upon them an article
of hardware _(such as pots, pans, and tea-kettles)_, or of dry-goods
_(such as pasteboard boxes and bolts of cloth)_. The walls of the
store are of logs stuffed between with brown moss. On counter,
furs, moccasins, mittens, and blankets, piled up or spread out for
inspection. In front of counter many snow-shoes, picks, shovels,
axes, gold-pans, axe-handles, and oblong sheet-iron Yukon stoves. The
feature most notable is the absence of foodstuffs in any considerable
quantity. On shelves a few tins of mushrooms, a few bottles of
olives._
_About the stove, backs to the stove and hands behind their backs,
clad in mackinaw suits, mittens dangling from around their necks at
ends of leather thongs, ear-flaps of fur caps raised, are several
miners._ Prince _stands by stove An Indian is replenishing the fire
with great chunks of wood. Mounted police pass in and out._ Sitka
Charley _is examining snow-shoes, bending and testing them. Behind
the counter are several clerks, one of whom is waiting upon a bearded
miner near end of counter to right._
MINER
_(Pathetically.)_ No flour?
CLERK
_(Shakes head.)_
MINER
_(Increased pathos.)_
No beans?
CLERK
_(Shakes head as before.)_
MINER
_(Supreme pathos.)_
No sugar?
CLERK
_(Coming from behind counter and approaching stove, visibly irritated,
shaking his head violently; midway he encounters Miner, who retreats
backward before him.)_
No! No! No! I tell you no! No flour, no beans, no sugar, nothing!
_(Warms his hands over stove and glares ferociously at Miner.)_
_(Dave Harney enters from right, brushes snow from moccasins, and
walks across to stove. He is tall and lean, has a loose-jointed,
shambling gait, and listens interestedly to Clerk and Miner. He
evinces a desire to speak, but his mustached mouth is so iced-up that
he cannot open it. He bends over stove to thaw the ice.)_
MINER
_(To Clerk, with growing anger.)_
It's all very well for your playing the high an' lofty, you sneakin'
little counter-jumper. But we all know what your damned Company is up
to. You're holdin' grub for a rise, that's what you're doin'. Famine
prices is your game.
CLERK
Look at the shelves, man! Look at them!
MINER
How about the warehouses, eh? Stacked to the roof with grub!
CLERK
They're not.
MINER
I suppose you'll say they're empty.
CLERK
They're not. But what little grub's in them belongs to the sour-doughs
who filed their orders last spring and summer before ever you thought
of coming into the country. And even the sourdoughs are scaled down,
cut clean in half. Now shut up. I don't want to hear any more from
you. You newcomers needn't think you're going to run this country,
because you ain't.
_(Turning his hack on Miner.)_
Damned cheechawker!
MINER
_(Breaking down and showing fear, not of Clerk, but of famine.)_
But good heavens, man, what am I to do? I haven't fifty pounds of
flour for the whole winter.
I can pay for my grub if you'll sell it to me. You can't leave me
starve!
DAVE HARNEY
_(Tearing the last chunk oj ice from mustache and sending it rattling
to the floor. He speaks with a drawl.)_
Aw, you tenderfeet make me tired. I never seen the beat of you
critters. Better men than you have starved in this country, an' they
didn't make no bones about it neither--they was all bones I calkilate.
What do you think this is? A Sunday picnic? Jes' come in, eh? An'
you're clean scairt. Look at me--old-timer, sir, a sour-dough, an'
proud of it! I come into this country before there was any blamed
Company, fished for my breakfast, an' hunted my supper. An' when
the fish didn't bite an' they wa'n't any game, jes' cinched my belt
tighter an' hiked along, livin' on salmon-bellies and rabbit tracks
an' eatin' my moccasins.
_(Jubilantly.)_
Oh, I tell you this is the country that'll take the saleratus out of
you!
_(Miner, awed by being face to face with an old-timer, withers up
during harangue, and at finish shrinks behind other miners, and from
there makes exit to right.)_
_(Drawing paper from pocket and presenting it.)_
Now lookee here, Mister Clerk, what'd you call that?
CLERK
_(Glancing perfunctorily at paper.)_
Grub contract.
DAVE HARNEY
What's it stand for?
CLERK
| 572.944642 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE CONFESSIONS OF JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU
(In 12 books)
Privately Printed for the Members of the Aldus Society
London, 1903
BOOK I.
CONTENTS:
Introduction--S.W. Orson
Book I.
INTRODUCTION.
Among the notable books of later times-we may say, without exaggeration,
of all time--must be reckoned The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau.
It deals with leading personages and transactions of a momentous epoch,
when absolutism and feudalism were rallying for their last struggle
against the modern spirit, chiefly represented by Voltaire, the
Encyclopedists, and Rousseau himself--a struggle to which, after many
fierce intestine quarrels and sanguinary wars throughout Europe and
America, has succeeded the prevalence of those more tolerant and rational
principles by which the statesmen of our own day are actuated.
On these matters, however, it is not our province to enlarge; nor is it
necessary to furnish any detailed account of our author's political,
religious, and philosophic axioms and systems, his paradoxes and his
errors in logic: these have been so long and so exhaustively disputed
over by contending factions that little is left for even the most
assiduous gleaner in the field. The inquirer will find, in Mr. John
Money's excellent work, the opinions of Rousseau reviewed succinctly and
impartially. The 'Contrat Social', the 'Lattres Ecrites de la Montagne',
and other treatises that once aroused fierce controversy, may therefore
be left in the repose to which they have long been consigned, so far as
the mass of mankind is concerned, though they must always form part of
the library of the politician and the historian. One prefers to turn to
the man Rousseau as he paints himself in the remarkable work before us.
That the task which he undertook in offering to show himself--as Persius
puts it--'Intus et in cute', to posterity, exceeded his powers, is a
trite criticism; like all human enterprises, his purpose was only
imperfectly fulfilled; but this circumstance in no way lessens the
attractive qualities of his book, not only for the student of history or
psychology, but for the intelligent man of the world. Its startling
frankness gives it a peculiar interest wanting in most other
autobiographies.
Many censors have elected to sit in judgment on the failings of this
strangely constituted being, and some have pronounced upon him very
severe sentences. Let it be said once for all that his faults and
mistakes were generally due to causes over which he had but little
control, such as a defective education, a too acute sensitiveness, which
engendered suspicion of his fellows, irresolution, an overstrained sense
of honour and independence, and an obstinate refusal to take advice from
those who really wished to befriend him; nor should it be forgotten that
he was afflicted during the greater part of his life with an incurable
disease.
Lord Byron had a soul near akin to Rousseau's, whose writings naturally
made a deep impression on the poet's mind, and probably had an influence
on his conduct and modes of thought: In some stanzas of 'Childe Harold'
this sympathy is expressed with truth and power; especially is the
weakness of the Swiss philosopher's character summed up in the following
admirable lines:
"Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,
The apostle of affliction, he who threw
Enchantment over passion, and from woe
Wrung overwhelming eloquence, first drew
The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew
How to make madness beautiful, and cast
O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue
Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they passed
The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast.
"His life was one long war with self-sought foes,
Or friends by him self-banished; for his mind
Had grown Suspicion's sanctuary, and chose,
For its own cruel sacrifice, the kind,
'Gainst whom he raged with fury strange and blind.
But he was frenzied,-wherefore, who may know?
Since cause might be which skill could never find;
But he was frenzied by disease or woe
To that worst pitch of all, which wears a reasoning show."
One would rather, however, dwell on the brighter hues of the picture than
on its shadows and blemishes; let us not, then, seek to "draw his
frailties from their dread abode." His greatest fault was his
renunciation of a father's duty to his offspring; but this crime he
expiated by a long and bitter repentance. We cannot, perhaps, very
readily excuse the way in which he has occasionally treated the memory of
his mistress and benefactress. That he loved Madame de Warens--his
'Mamma'--deeply and sincerely is undeniable, notwithstanding which he now
and then dwells on her improvidence and her feminine indiscretions with
an unnecessary and unbecoming lack of delicacy that has an unpleasant
effect on the reader, almost seeming to justify the remark of one of his
most lenient critics--that, after all, Rousseau had the soul of a lackey.
He possessed, however, many amiable and charming qualities, both as a man
and a writer, which were evident to those amidst whom he lived, and will
be equally so to the unprejudiced reader of the Confessions. He had a
profound sense of justice and a real desire for the improvement and
advancement of the race. Owing to these excellences he was beloved to
the last even by persons whom he tried to repel, looking upon them as
members of a band of conspirators, bent upon destroying his domestic
peace and depriving him of the means of subsistence.
Those of his writings that are most nearly allied in tone and spirit to
the 'Confessions' are the 'Reveries d'un Promeneur Solitaire' and
'La Nouvelle Heloise'. His correspondence throws much light on his life
and character, as do also parts of 'Emile'. It is not easy in our day to
realize the effect wrought upon the public mind by the advent of
'La Nouvelle Heloise'. Julie and Saint-Preux became names to conjure
with; their ill-starred amours were everywhere sighed and wept over by
the tender-hearted fair; indeed, in composing this work, Rousseau may be
said to have done for Switzerland what the author of the Waverly Novels
did for Scotland, turning its mountains, lakes and islands, formerly
regarded with aversion, into a fairyland peopled with creatures whose
joys and sorrows appealed irresistibly to every breast. Shortly after
its publication began to flow that stream of tourists and travellers
which tends to make Switzerland not only more celebrated but more opulent
every year. It, is one of the few romances written in the epistolary
form that do not oppress the reader with a sense of languor and
unreality; for its creator poured into its pages a tide of passion
unknown to his frigid and stilted predecessors, and dared to depict
Nature as she really is, not as she was misrepresented by the modish
authors and artists of the age. Some persons seem shy of owning an
acquaintance with this work; indeed, it has been made the butt of
ridicule by the disciples of a decadent school. Its faults and its
beauties are on the surface; Rousseau's own estimate is freely expressed
at the beginning of the eleventh book of the Confessions and elsewhere.
It might be wished that the preface had been differently conceived and
worded; for the assertion made therein that the book may prove dangerous
has caused it to be inscribed on a sort of Index, and good folk who never
read a line of it blush at its name. Its "sensibility," too, is a little
overdone, and has supplied the wits with opportunities for satire; for
example, Canning, in his 'New Morality':
"Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined
In the fine foldins of the feeling mind....
Sweet child of sickly Fancy!-her of yore
From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore;
And while'midst lakes and mountains wild he ran,
Full of himself, and shunned the haunts of man,
Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine, steep
To lisp the story of his wrongs and weep."
As might be imagined, Voltaire had slight sympathy with our social
reformer's notions and ways of promulgating them, and accordingly took
up his wonted weapons--sarcasm and ridicule--against poor Jean-Jacques.
The quarrels of these two great men cannot be described in this place;
but they constitute an important chapter in the literary and social
history of the time. In the work with which we are immediately
concerned, the author seems to | 572.999187 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE
By Charles James Lever
A Tale of the Time of the Union
With Illustrations By Phiz.
In Two Volumes. Vol. II.
Boston: Little, Brown, And Company 1894.
THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE
CHAPTER I. SOME CHARACTERS NEW TO THE KNIGHT AND THE READER
Soon after breakfast the following morning the Knight set out to pay
his promised visit to Miss Daly, who had taken up her abode at a little
village on the coast, about three miles distant. Had Darcy known that
her removal thither had been in consequence of his own arrival at
"The Corvy," the fact would have greatly added to an embarrassment
sufficiently great on other grounds. Of this, however, he was not aware;
her brother Bagenal accounting for her not inhabiting "The Corvy" as
being lonely and desolate, whereas the village of Ballintray was, after
its fashion, a little watering-place much frequented in the | 573.001511 |
2023-11-16 18:26:36.9815300 | 1,819 | 8 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 53675-h.htm or 53675-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53675/53675-h/53675-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53675/53675-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/storyofgravelyst00saunuoft
THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS
* * * * * *
Works of Marshall Saunders
Beautiful Joe’s Paradise. Net $1.20
Postpaid $1.32
The Story of the Gravelys. Net $1.20
Postpaid $1.35
’Tilda Jane. $1.50
Rose à Charlitte. $1.50
For His Country. $.50
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
* * * * * *
[Illustration: “BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER”
(_See page 40_)]
THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS
A Tale for Girls
by
MARSHALL SAUNDERS
Author of
“Beautiful Joe,” “Beautiful Joe’s Paradise,”
“’Tilda Jane,” etc.
“A child’s needless tear is a blood-blot upon this earth.”
--CARDINAL MANNING
Illustrated
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
1904
Copyright, 1902, 1903
By Perry Mason Company
Copyright, 1903
By L. C. Page & Company
(Incorporated)
All rights reserved
Published September, 1903
Colonial Press
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
TO
MY DEAR SISTER
Grace,
MY FAITHFUL HELPER IN LITERARY WORK,
THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
BY HER APPRECIATIVE SISTER,
MARSHALL SAUNDERS
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Certain chapters of this story first appeared in The _Youth’s
Companion_. The author wishes to acknowledge the courtesy of the
editors in permitting her to republish them in the present volume.
Messrs. L. C. Page and Company wish also to acknowledge the courtesy
of the editors in granting them permission to use the original
illustrations.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE QUARREL 11
II. GRANDMA’S WATCHWORD 23
III. A SUDDEN COUNTERMARCH 34
IV. A LIFTED BURDEN 43
V. THE TRAINING OF A BOY 54
VI. BONNY’S ORDEAL 68
VII. BERTY IMPARTS INFORMATION 76
VIII. THE HEART OF THE MAYOR 88
IX. THE MAYOR’S DILEMMA 99
X. A GROUNDLESS SUSPICION 113
XI. A PROPOSED SUPPER-PARTY 130
XII. A DISTURBED HOSTESS 139
XIII. AN ANXIOUS MIND 150
XIV. THE OPENING OF THE PARK 162
XV. UP THE RIVER 175
XVI. BERTY’S TRAMP 188
XVII. TOM’S INTERVENTION 195
XVIII. TRAMP PHILOSOPHY 204
XIX. AT THE BOARD OF WATER-WORKS 217
XX. SELINA’S WEDDING 229
XXI. TO STRIKE OR NOT TO STRIKE 244
XXII. DISCOURAGED 257
XXIII. GRANDMA’S REQUEST 262
XXIV. DOWN THE RIVER 270
XXV. LAST WORDS 277
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“BENT THEIR HEADS OVER THE PAPER” (_see page 40_) _Frontispiece_
“LEANING OVER THE STAIR RAILING” 33
“‘WHY DON’T SOME OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE TRY TO REFORM ME?’” 54
“‘YOU HAVE TOO MUCH HEART’” 92
“‘YOU’RE DYING TO TEASE ME’” 177
“‘A RIVER STREET DELEGATION,’ SAID TOM” 235
THE STORY OF THE GRAVELYS
CHAPTER I.
THE QUARREL
“I won’t live on my brother-in-law,” said the slight, dark girl.
“Yes, you will,” said the fair-haired beauty, her sister, who was
standing over her in a somewhat theatrical attitude.
“I will not,” said Berty again. “You think because you have just been
married you are going to run the family. I tell you, I will not do it.
I will not live with you.”
“I don’t want to run the family, but I am a year and a half older than
you, and I know what is for your good better than you do.”
“You do not--you butterfly!”
“Alberta Mary Francesca Gravely--you ought to be ashamed of yourself,”
said the beauty, in concentrated wrath.
“I’m not ashamed of myself,” replied her sister, scornfully. “I’m
ashamed of you. You’re just as extravagant as you can be. You spend
every cent of your husband’s income, and now you want to saddle him
with a big boy, a girl, and an--”
“An old lady,” said Margaretta.
“Grandma isn’t old. She’s only sixty-five.”
“Sixty-five is old.”
“It is not.”
“Well, now, can you call her young?” said Margaretta. “Can you say she
is a girl?”
“Yes,” replied Berty, obstinately, “I can call her a girl, or a duck,
or anything I like, and I can call you a goose.”
“A goose!” repeated Mrs. Stanisfield, chokingly; “oh, this is too much.
I wish my husband were here.”
“I wish he were,” said Berty, wickedly, “so he could be sorry he mar--”
“Children,” said a sudden voice, “what are you quarrelling about?”
Both girls turned their flushed faces toward the doorway. A little
shrewd old lady stood there. This was Grandma, one of their bones of
contention, and this particular bone in deep amusement wanted to laugh,
but knew better than to do so.
“Won’t you sit down, Margaretta?” she said, calmly coming into the room
and taking a chair near Berty, who was lounging provokingly on the foot
of the bed.
It was Grandma’s bed, and they were in Grandma’s room. She had brought
them up--her two dear orphan granddaughters, together with their
brother Boniface.
“What are you quarrelling about?” repeated the little old lady, taking
a silk stocking from her pocket, and beginning to knit in a leisurely
way.
“We’re quarrelling about keeping the family together,” said Margaretta,
vehemently, “and I find that family honour is nothing but a rag in
Berty’s estimation.”
“Well, I’d rather have it a nice clean rag put out of sight,” said
Berty, sharply, “than a great, big, red flag shaken in everybody’s
face.”
“Sit down, Margaretta,” said Grandma, soothingly.
“Oh, I am too angry to sit down,” said Margaretta, shaking herself
slightly. “I got your note saying you had lost your money. I came to
sympathize and was met with insults. It’s dreadful!”
“Sit down, dear,” said Grandma, gently, pushing a rocking-chair toward
her.
Margaretta took the chair, and, wiping her white forehead with a mors | 573.00157 |
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Produced by Janet Kegg and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The PALACE of DARKENED WINDOWS
By
MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY
AUTHOR OF "THE FAVOR OF KINGS"
ILLUSTRATED BY EDMUND FREDERICK
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1914
[Frontispiece illustration: "'It is no use,' he repeated.
'There is no way out for you.'" (Chapter IV)]
TO
MY HUSBAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE EAVESDROPPER
II. THE CAPTAIN CALLS
III. AT THE PALACE
IV. A SORRY QUEST
V. WITHIN THE WALLS
VI. A GIRL IN THE BAZAARS
VII. BILLY HAS HIS DOUBTS
VIII. THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR
IX. A DESPERATE GAME
X. A MAID AND A MESSAGE
XI. OVER THE GARDEN WALL
XII. THE GIRL FROM THE HAREM
XIII. TAKING CHANCES
XIV. IN THE ROSE ROOM
XV. ON THE TRAIL
XVI. THE HIDDEN GIRL
XVII. AT BAY
XVIII. DESERT MAGIC
XIX. THE PURSUIT
XX. A FRIEND IN NEED
XXI. CROSS PURPOSES
XXII. UPON THE PYLON
XXIII. THE BETTER MAN
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"'It is no use,' he repeated. 'There is no way out for you'"
_Frontispiece_
"'I do not want to stay here'"
"He found himself staring down into the bright dark eyes of a girl
he had never seen"
"Billy went to the mouth, peering watchfully out"
THE PALACE OF DARKENED WINDOWS
CHAPTER I
THE EAVESDROPPER
A one-eyed man with a stuffed crocodile upon his head paused before
the steps of Cairo's gayest hotel and his expectant gaze ranged
hopefully over the thronged verandas. It was afternoon tea time; the
band was playing and the crowd was at its thickest and brightest.
The little tables were surrounded by travelers of all nations, some
in tourist tweeds and hats with the inevitable green veils; others,
those of more leisurely sojourns, in white serges and diaphanous
frocks and flighty hats fresh from the Rue de la Paix.
It was the tweed-clad groups that the crocodile vender scanned for a
purchaser of his wares and harshly and unintelligibly exhorted to
buy, but no answering gaze betokened the least desire to bring back
a crocodile to the loved ones at home. Only Billy B. Hill grinned
delightedly at him, as Billy grinned at every merry sight of the
spectacular East, and Billy shook his head with cheerful
convincingosity, so the crocodile merchant moved reluctantly on
before the importunities of the Oriental rug peddler at his heels.
Then he stopped. His turbaned head, topped by the grotesque,
glassy-eyed, glistening-toothed monster, revolved slowly as the
Arab's single eye steadily followed a couple who passed by him up
the hotel steps. Billy, struck by the man's intense interest, craned
forward and saw that one of the couple, now exchanging farewells at
the top of the steps, was a girl, a pretty girl, and an American,
and the other was an officer in a uniform of considerable green and
gold, and obviously a foreigner.
He might be any kind of a foreigner, according to Billy's lax
distinctions, that was olive of complexion and very black of hair
and eyes. Slender and of medium height, he carried himself with an
assurance that bordered upon effrontery, and as he bowed himself
down the steps he flashed upon his former companion a smile of
triumph that included and seemed to challenge the verandaful of
observers.
The girl turned and glanced casually about at the crowded groups
that were like little samples of all the nations of the earth, and
with no more than a faint awareness of the battery of eyes upon her
she passed toward the tables by the railing. She was a slim little
fairy of a girl, as fresh as a peach blossom, with a cloud of pale
gold hair fluttering round her pretty face, which lent her a most
alluring and deceptive appearance of ethereal mildness. She had a
soft, satiny, rose-leaf skin which was merely flushed by the heat of
the Egyptian day, and her eyes were big and very, very blue. There
were touches of that blue here and there upon her creamy linen suit,
and a knot of blue upon her parasol and a twist of blue about her
Panama hat, so that she could not be held unconscious of the
flagrantly bewitching effect. Altogether she was as upsettingly
pretty a young person as could be seen in a year's journey, and the
glances of the beholders brightened vividly at her approach.
There was one conspicuous exception. This exception was sitting
alone at the large table which backed Billy's tiny table into a
corner by the railing, and as the girl arrived at that large table
the exception arose and greeted her with an air of glacial chill.
"Oh! Am I so terribly late?" said the girl with great pleasantness,
and arched brows of surprise at the two other places at the table
before which used tea things were standing.
"My sister and Lady Claire had an appointment, so they were obliged
to have their tea and leave," stated the young man, with an air of
politely endeavoring to conceal his feelings, and failing
conspicuously in the endeavor. "They were most sorry."
"Oh, so am I!" declared the girl, in clear and contrite tones which
carried perfectly to Billy B. Hill's enchanted ears. "I never
dreamed they would have to hurry away."
"They did not hurry, as you call it," and the young man glanced at
his watch, "for nearly an hour. It was a disappointment to them."
"Pin-pate!" thought Billy, with intense disgust. "Is he kicking at a
two-some?"
"And have you had your tea, too?" inquired the girl, with an air of
tantalizing unconcern.
"I waited, naturally, for my guest."
"Oh, not _naturally_!" she laughed. "It must be very unnatural for
you to wait for anything. And you must be starving. So am I--do you
think there are enough cakes left for the two of us?"
Without directly replying, the young man gave the order to the
red-fezzed Arab in a red-girdled white robe who was removing the
soiled tea things, and he assisted the girl into a chair and sat
down facing her. Their profiles were given to the shameless Billy,
and he continued his rapt observations.
He had immediately recognized the girl as a vision he had seen
fluttering around the hotel with an incongruously dismal
couple of unyouthful ladies, and he had mentally affixed a
magnate's-only-daughter-globe-trotting-with-elderly-friends label to
her.
The young man he could not place so definitely. There were a good
many tall, aristocratic young Englishmen about, with slight stoops
and incipient moustaches. This particular Englishman had hair that
was pronouncedly sandy, and Billy suddenly recollected that in
lunching at the Savoy the other day he had noticed that young
Englishman in company with a sandy-haired lady, not so young, and a
decidedly pretty dark-haired girl--it was the girl, of course, who
had fixed the group in Billy's crowded impressions. He decided that
these ladies were the sister and Lady Claire--and Lady Claire, he
judiciously concluded, certainly had nothing on young America.
Young America was speaking. "Don't look so thunderous!" she
complained to her irate host. "How do you know I didn't plan to be
late so as to have you all to myself?"
This was too derisive for endurance. A dull red burned through the
tan on the young Englishman's cheeks and crept up to meet the
corresponding warmth of his hair. A leash within him snapped.
"It is simply inconceivable!" burst from him, and then he shut his
jaw hard, as if only one last remnant of will power kept a seething
volcano, from explosion.
"What is?"
"How any girl--in Cairo, of all places!" he continued to explode in
little snorts.
"You are speaking of--?" she suggested.
"Of your walking with that fellow--in broad daylight!"
"Would it have been better in the gloaming?"
The sweet restraint in the young thing's manner was supernatural. It
was uncanny. It should have warned the red-headed young man, but
oblivious of danger signals, he was plunging on, full steam ahead.
"It isn't as if you didn't know--hadn't been warned."
"You have been so kind," the girl murmured, and poured a cup of tea
the Arab had placed at her elbow.
The young man ignored his. The color burned hotter and hotter in his
face. Even his hair looked redder.
"The look he gave up here was simply outrageous--a grin of insolent
triumph. I'd like to have laid my cane across him!"
The girl's cup clicked against the saucer. "You are horrid!" she
declared. "When we were on shipboard Captain Kerissen was very
popular among the passengers and I talked with him whenever I cared
to. Everyone did. Now that I am in his native city I see no reason
to stalk past him when we happen to be going in the same direction.
He is a gentleman of rank, a relative of the Khedive who is ruling
this country--under your English advice--and he is----"
"A Turk!" gritted out the young man.
"A Turk and proud of it! His mother was French, however, and he was
educated at Oxford and he is as cosmopolitan as any man I ever met.
It's unusual to meet anyone so close to the reigning family, and it
gives one a wonderful insight into things off the beaten track----"
"The beaten--damn!" said the young man, and Billy's heart went out
to him. "Oh, I beg pardon, but you--he--I--" So many things occurred
to him to say at one and the same time that he emitted a snort of
warring and incoherent syllables. Finally, with supreme control, "Do
you know that your 'gentleman of rank' couldn't set foot in a
gentleman's club in this country?"
"I think it's _mean_!" retorted the girl, her blue eyes very bright
and indignant. "You English come here and look down on even the
highest members of the country you are pretending to assist. Why do
you? When he was at Oxford he went into your English homes."
"English madhouses--for admitting him."
A brief silence ensued.
The girl ate a cake. It was a nice cake, powdered with almonds, but
she ate it obliviously. The angry red shone rosily in her cheeks.
The young man took a hasty drink of his tea, which had grown cold
in its cup, and pushed it away. Obstinately he rushed on in his mad
career.
"I simply cannot understand you!" he declared.
"Does it matter?" said she, and bit an almond's head off.
"It would be bad enough, in any city, but in Cairo--! To permit him
to insult you with his company, alone, upon the streets!"
"When you have said insult you have said a little too much," she
returned in a small, cold voice of war. "Is there anything against
Captain Kerissen personally?"
"Who knows anything about any of those fellows? They are all
alike--with half a dozen wives locked up behind their barred
windows."
"He isn't married."
"How do you know?"
"I--inferred it."
The Englishman snorted: "According to his custom, you know, it isn't
the proper thing to mention his ladies in public."
"You are frightfully unjust. Captain Kerissen's customs are the
customs of the civilized world, and he is very anxious to have his
country become modernized."
"Then let him send his sisters out walking with fellow officers....
For _him_ to walk beside _you_----"
"He was following the custom of my country," said the girl, with
maddening superiority. "Since I am an _American_ girl----"
The young Englishman said a horrible thing. He said it with immense
feeling.
"American goose!" he uttered, then stopped short. Precipitately he
floundered into explanation:
"I beg your pardon, but, you know, when you say such bally nonsense
as that--! An American girl has no more business to be imprudent
than a Patagonian girl. You have no idea how these people
regard----"
"Oh, don't apologize," murmured the girl, with charming sweetness.
"I don't mind what you say--not in the least."
The outraged man was not so befuddled but what he saw those danger
signals now. They glimmered scarlet upon his vision, but his blood
was up and he plunged on to destruction with the extraordinary
remark, "But isn't there a reason why you should?"
She gazed at him in mock reflection, as if mulling this striking
thought presented for her consideration, but her eyes were too
sparkly and her cheeks too poppy-pink to substantiate the reflective
pose.
"N-no," she said at last, with an impertinent little drawl. "I can't
seem to think of any."
He did not pause for innuendo. "You mean you don't give a _piastre_
what I think?"
"Not half a _piastre_," she confirmed, in flat defiance.
The young man looked at her. He was over the brink of ruin now;
nothing remained of the interesting little affair of the past three
weeks but a mangled and lamentable wreck at the bottom of a deep
abyss.
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THE GUESTS OF HERCULES
BOOKS BY
C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON
The Golden Silence
The Motor Maid
Lord Loveland Discovers America
Set in Silver
The Lightning Conductor
The Princess Passes
My Friend the Chauffeur
Lady Betty Across the Water
Rosemary in Search of a Father
The Princess Virginia
The Car of Destiny
The Chaperon
[Illustration: "MARY WAS A GODDESS ON A GOLDEN PINNACLE. THIS WAS LIFE;
THE WINE OF LIFE"]
The
Guests of Hercules
BY
C. N. and A. M. WILLIAMSON
ILLUSTRATED BY
M. LEONE BRACKER & ARTHUR H. BUCKLAND
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1912
Copyright, 1912, by
C. N. & A. M. WILLIAMSON
All rights reserved, including that of
translation into Foreign Languages,
including the Scandinavian
TO
THE LORD OF THE GARDEN
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Mary was a goddess on a golden pinnacle. This was life;
the wine of life" . . . . . . . Frontispiece
Mary Grant . . . . . . . . FACING PAGE 22
"'I can't promise!' she exclaimed. 'I've never wanted to marry.'" . 286
"'It was Fate brought you--to give you to me. Do you regret it?'" . 398
I
THE GUESTS OF HERCULES
Long shadows of late afternoon lay straight and thin across the garden
path; shadows of beech trees that ranged themselves in an undeviating
line, like an inner wall within the convent wall of brick; and the
soaring trees were very old, as old perhaps as the convent itself, whose
stone had the same soft tints of faded red and brown as the autumn
leaves which sparsely jewelled the beeches' silver.
A tall girl in the habit of a novice walked the path alone, moving
slowly across the stripes of sunlight and shadow which inlaid the gravel
with equal bars of black and reddish gold. There was a smell of autumn
on the windless air, bitter yet sweet; the scent of dying leaves, and
fading flowers loth to perish, of rose-berries that had usurped the
place of roses, of chrysanthemums chilled by frost, of moist earth
deprived of sun, and of the green moss-like film overgrowing all the
trunks of the old beech trees. The novice was saying goodbye to the
convent garden, and the long straight path under the wall, where every
day for many years she had walked, spring and summer, autumn and winter;
days of rain, days of sun, days of boisterous wind, days of white
feathery snow--all the days through which she had passed, on her way
from childhood to womanhood. Best of all, she had loved the garden and
her favourite path in spring, when vague hopes like dreams stirred in
her blood, when it seemed that she could hear the whisper of the sap in
the veins of the trees, and the crisp stir of the buds as they unfolded.
She wished that she could have been going out of the garden in the
brightness and fragrance of spring. The young beauty of the world would
have been a good omen for the happiness of her new life. The sorrowful
incense of Nature in decay cast a spell of sadness over her, even of
fear, lest after all she were doing a wrong thing, making a mistake
which could never be amended.
The spirit of the past laid a hand upon her heart. Ghosts of sweet days
gone long ago beckoned her back to the land of vanished hours. The
garden was the garden of the past; for here, within the high walls
draped in flowering creepers and ivy old as history, past, present, and
future were all as one, and had been so for many a tranquil generation
of calm-faced, dark-veiled women. Suddenly a great homesickness fell
upon the novice like an iron weight. She longed to rush into the house,
to fling herself at Reverend Mother's feet, and cry out that she wanted
to take back her decision, that she wanted everything to be as it had
been before. But it was too late to change. What was done, was done.
Deliberately, she had given up her home, and all the kind women who had
made the place home for her, from the time when she was a child eight
years old until now, when she was twenty-four. Sixteen years! It was a
lifetime. Memories of her child-world before convent days were more like
dreams than memories of real things that had befallen her, Mary Grant.
And yet, on this her last day in the convent, recollections of the first
were crystal clear, as they never had been in the years that lay
between.
Her father had brought her a long way, in a train. Something dreadful
had happened, which had made him stop loving her. She could not guess
what, for she had done nothing wrong so far as she knew: but a few days
before, her nurse, a kind old woman of a comfortable fatness, had put
her into a room where her father was and gently shut the door, leaving
the two alone together. Mary had gone to him expecting a kiss, for he
was always kind, though she did not feel that she knew him well--only a
little better, perhaps, than the radiant young mother whom she seldom
saw for more than five minutes at a time. But instead of kissing her as
usual, he had turned upon her a look of dislike, almost of horror, which
often came to her afterward, in dreams. Taking the little girl by the
shoulder not ungently, but very coldly, and as if he were in a great
hurry to be rid of her, he pushed rather than led her to the door.
Opening it, he called the nurse, in a sharp, displeased voice. "I don't
want the child," he said. "I can't have her here. Don't bring her to me
again without being asked." Then the kind, fat old woman had caught Mary
in her arms and carried her upstairs, a thing that had not happened for
years. And in the nursery the good creature had cried over the "poor
bairn" a good deal, mumbling strange things which Mary could not
understand. But a few words had lingered in her memory, something about
its being cruel and unjust to visit the sins of others on innocent
babies. A few days afterward Mary's father, very thin and
strange-looking, with hard lines in his handsome brown face, took her
with him on a journey, after nurse had kissed her many times with
streaming tears. At last they had got out of the train into a carriage,
and driven a long way. At evening they had come to a tall, beautiful
gateway, which had carved stone animals on high pillars at either side.
That was the gate of the Convent of Saint Ursula-of-the-Lake, the gate
of Mary's home-to-be: and in a big, bare parlour, with long windows and
a polished oak floor that reflected curious white birds and dragons of
an escutcheon on the ceiling, Reverend Mother had received them. She had
taken Mary on her lap; and when, after much talk about school and years
to come, the child's father had gone, shadowy, dark-robed women had
glided softly into the room. They had crowded round the little girl,
like children round a new doll, petting and murmuring over her: and she
had been given cake and milk, and wonderful preserved fruit, such as she
had never tasted.
Some of those dear women had gone since then, not as she was going, out
into an unknown, maybe disappointing, world, but to a place where
happiness was certain, according to their faith. Mary had not forgotten
one of the kind faces--and all those who remained she loved dearly; yet
she was leaving them to-day. Already it was time. She had wished to come
out into the garden alone for this last walk, and to wear the habit of
her novitiate, though she had voluntarily given up the right to it
forever. She must go in and dress for the world, as she had not dressed
for years which seemed twice their real length. She must go in, and bid
them all goodbye--Reverend Mother, and the nuns, and novices, and the
schoolgirls, of whose number she had once been.
She stood still, looking toward the far end of the path, her back turned
toward the gray face of the convent.
"Goodbye, dear old sundial, that has told so many of my hours," she
said. "Goodbye, sweet rose-trees that I planted, and all the others I've
loved so long. Goodbye, dear laurel bushes, that know my thoughts.
Goodbye, everything."
Her arms hung at her sides, lost in the folds of her veil. Slowly tears
filled her eyes, but did not fall until a delicate sound of
light-running feet on grass made her start, and wink the tears away.
They rolled down her white cheeks in four bright drops, which she
hastily dried with the back of her hand; and no more tears followed.
When she was sure of herself, she turned and saw a girl running to her
from the house, a pretty, brown-haired girl in a blue dress that looked
very frivolous and worldly in contrast to Mary's habit. But the bushes
and the sundial, and the fading flowers that tapestried the ivy on the
old wall, were used to such frivolities. Generations of schoolgirls,
taught and guarded by the Sisters of Saint Ursula-of-the-Lake, had
played and whispered secrets along this garden path.
"Dearest Mary!" exclaimed the girl in blue. "I begged them to let me
come to you just for a few minutes--a last talk. Do you mind?"
Mary had wanted to be alone, but suddenly she was glad that, after all,
this girl was with her. "You call me 'Mary'!" she said. "How strange it
seems to be Mary again--almost wrong, and--frightening."
"But you're not Sister Rose any longer," the girl in blue answered.
"There's nothing remote about you now. You're my dear old chum, just as
you used to be. And will you please begin to be frivolous by calling me
Peter?"
Mary smiled, and two round dimples showed themselves in the cheeks still
wet with tears. She and this girl, four years younger than herself, had
begun to love each other dearly in school days, when Mary Grant was
nineteen, and Mary Maxwell fifteen. They had gone on loving each other
dearly till the elder Mary was twenty-one, and the younger seventeen.
Then Molly Maxwell--who named herself "Peter Pan" because she hated the
thought of growing up--had to go back to her home in America and "come
out," to please her father, who was by birth a Scotsman, but who had
made his money in New York. After three gay seasons she had begged to
return for six months to school, and see her friend Mary Grant--Sister
Rose--before the final vows were taken. Also she had wished to see
another Mary, who had been almost equally her friend ("the three Maries"
they had always been called, or "the Queen's Maries"); but the third of
the three Maries had disappeared, and about her going there was a
mystery which Reverend Mother did not wish to have broken.
"Peter," Sister Rose echoed obediently, as the younger girl clasped her
arm, making her walk slowly toward the sundial at the far end of the
path.
"It does sound good to hear you call me that again," Molly Maxwell said.
"You've been so stiff and different since I came back and found you
turned into Sister Rose. Often I've been sorry I came. And now, when
I've got three months still to stay, you're going to leave me. If only
you could have waited, to change your mind!"
"If I had waited, I couldn't have changed it at all," Sister Rose
reminded her. "You know----"
"Yes, I know. It was the eleventh hour. Another week, and you would have
taken your vows. Oh, I don't mean what I said, dear. I'm glad you're
going--thankful. You hadn't the vocation. It would have killed you."
"No. For here they make it hard for novices on purpose, so that they may
know the worst there is to expect, and be sure they're strong enough in
body and heart. I wasn't fit. I feared I wasn't----"
"You weren't--that is, your body and heart are fitted for a different
life. You'll be happy, very happy."
"I wonder?" Mary said, in a whisper.
"Of course you will. You'll tell me so when we meet again, out in my
world that will be your world, too. I wish I were going with you now,
and I could, of course. Only I had to beg the pater so hard to let me
come here, I'd be ashamed to cable him, that I wanted to get away before
the six months were up. He wouldn't understand how different everything
is because I'm going to lose you."
"In a way, you would have lost me if--if I'd stayed, and--everything had
been as I expected."
"I know. They've let you be with me more as a novice than you could be
as a professed nun. Still, you'd have been under the same roof. I could
have seen you often. But I _am_ glad. I'm not thinking of myself. And
we'll meet just as soon as we can, when my time's up here. Father's
coming back to his dear native Fifeshire to fetch me, and I'll make him
take me to you, wherever you are, or else you'll visit me; better still.
But it seems a long time to wait, for I really _did_ come back here to
be a 'parlour boarder,' a heap more to see you than for any other
reason. And, besides, there's another thing. Only I hardly know how to
say it, or whether I dare say it at all."
Sister Rose looked suddenly anxious, as if she were afraid of something
that might follow. "What is it?" she asked quickly, almost sharply. "You
must tell me."
"Why, it's nothing to _tell_--exactly. It's only this: I'm worried.
I'm glad you're not going to be a nun all your life, dear;
delighted--enchanted. You're given back to me. But--I worry because I
can't help feeling that I've got something to do with the changing of
your mind so suddenly; that if ever you should regret anything--not that
you will, but if you should--you might blame me, hate me, perhaps."
"I never shall do either, whatever happens," the novice said, earnestly
and gravely. She did not look at her friend as she spoke, though they
were so nearly of the same height as they walked, their arms linked
together, that they could gaze straight into one another's eyes.
Instead, she looked up at the sky, through the groined gray ceiling of
tree-branches, as if offering a vow. And seeing her uplifted profile
with its pure features and clear curve of dark lashes, Peter thought how
beautiful she was, of a beauty quite unearthly, and perhaps unsuited to
the world. With a pang, she wondered if such a girl would not have been
safer forever in the convent where she had lived most of her years. And
though she herself was four years younger, she felt old and mature, and
terribly wise compared with Sister Rose. An awful sense of
responsibility was upon her. She was afraid of it. Her pretty blond
face, with its bright and shrewd gray eyes, looked almost drawn, and
lost the fresh colour that made the little golden freckles charming as
the dust of flower-pollen on her rounded cheeks.
"But I _have_ got something to do with it, haven't I?" she persisted,
longing for contradiction, yet certain that it would not come.
"I hardly know--to be quite honest," Mary answered. "I don't know what I
might have done if you hadn't come back and told me things about your
life, and all your travels with your father--things that made me tingle.
Maybe I should never have had the courage without that incentive. But,
Peter, I'll tell you something I couldn't have told you till to-day.
Since the very beginning of my novitiate I was never happy, never at
rest."
"Truly? You wanted to go, even then, for two whole years?"
"I don't know what I wanted. But suddenly all the sweet calm was broken.
You've often looked out from the dormitory windows over the lake, and
seen how a wind springing up in an instant ruffles the clear surface.
It's just like a mirror broken into a thousand tiny fragments. Well, it
was so with me, with my spirit. And after all these years, when I'd been
so contented, so happy that I couldn't even bear, as a schoolgirl, to go
away for two or three days to visit Lady MacMillan in the holidays,
without nearly dying of homesickness before I could be brought back! As
a postulant I was just as happy, too. You know, I wouldn't go out into
the world to try my resolve, as Reverend Mother advised. I was so sure
there could be no home for me but this. Then came the change. Oh, Peter,
I hope it wasn't the legacy! I pray I'm not so mean as that!"
"How long was it after your novitiate began that the money was left
you?" Peter asked: for this was the first intimate talk alone and
undisturbed that she had had with her old school friend since coming
back to the convent three months ago. She knew vaguely that a cousin of
Mary's dead father had left the novice money, and that it had been
unexpected, as the lady was not a Roman Catholic, and had relations just
as near, of her own religion. But Peter did not quite know when the news
had come, or what had happened then.
"It was the very next day. That was odd, wasn't it? Though I don't know,
exactly, why it should have seemed odd. It had to happen on some day.
Why not that one? I was glad I should have a good dowry--quite proud to
be of some use to the convent. I didn't think what I might have done for
myself, if I'd been in the world--not then. But afterward, thoughts
crept into my head. I used to push them out again as fast as they
crawled in, and I told myself what a good thing I had a safe refuge,
remembering my father, what he wrote about himself, and my mother."
For a moment she was silent. There was no need to explain, for Peter
knew all about the terrible letter that had come from India with the
news of Major Grant's death. It had arrived before Mary resolved to take
vows, while she was still a fellow schoolgirl of Peter's, older than
most of the girls, looked up to and adored, and probably it had done
more than anything else to decide her that she had a "vocation." Mary
had told about the letter at the time, with stormy tears: how her father
in dying wrote down the story of the past, as a warning to his daughter,
whom he had not loved; told the girl that her mother had run away with
one of his brother officers; that he, springing from a family of
reckless gamblers, had himself become a gambler; that he had thrown away
most of his money; and that his last words to Mary were, "You have wild
blood in your veins. Be careful: don't let it ruin your life, as two
other lives have been ruined before you."
"Then," Mary went on, while Peter waited, "for a few weeks, or a few
days, I would be more peaceful. But the restlessness always came again.
And, after the end of the first year, it grew worse. I was never happy
for more than a few hours together. Still I meant to fight till the end.
I never thought seriously of giving it up."
"Until after I came?" Peter broke in.
"Oh, I was happier for a while after you came. You took my mind off
myself."
"And turned it to _my_self, or, rather, to the world I lived in. I'm
glad, yes, I'm glad, I was in time, and yet--oh, Mary, you _won't_ go to
Monte Carlo, will you?"
Mary stopped short in her walk, and turned to face Peter.
"Why do you say that?" she asked, sharply. "What can make you think of
Monte Carlo?"
"Only, you seemed so interested in hearing me tell about staying with
father at Stellamare, my cousin's house. You asked me such a lot of
questions about it and about the Casino, more than about any other
place, even Rome. And you looked excited when I told you. Your cheeks
grew red. I noticed then, but it didn't matter, because you were going
to live here always, and be a nun. Now----"
"Now what does it matter?" the novice asked, almost defiantly. "Why
should it occur to me to go to Monte Carlo?"
"Only because you were interested, and perhaps I may have made the
Riviera seem even more beautiful and amusing than it really is. And
besides--if it should be true, what your father was afraid of----"
"What?"
"That you inherit his love of gambling. Oh, I couldn't bear it, darling,
to think I had sent you to Monte Carlo."
"He didn't know enough about me to know whether I inherited anything
from him or not. I hardly understand what gambling means, except what
you've told me. It's only a word like a bird of ill omen. And what you
said about the play at the Casino didn't interest me as other things
did. It didn't sound attractive at all."
"It's different when you're there," Peter said.
"I don't think it would be for me. I'm almost sure I'm not like that--if
I can be sure of anything about myself. Perhaps I can't! But you
described the place as if it were a sort of paradise--and all the
Riviera. You said you would go back in the spring with your father. You
didn't seem to think it wicked and dangerous for yourself."
"Monte Carlo isn't any more wicked than other places, and it's dangerous
only for born gamblers," Peter argued. "I'm not one. Neither is my
father, except in Wall Street. He plays a little for fun, that's all.
And my cousin Jim Schuyler never goes near the Casino except for a
concert or the opera. But _you_--all alone there--you who know no more
of life than a baby! It doesn't bear thinking of."
"Don't think of it," said Mary, rather dryly. "I have no idea of going
to Monte Carlo."
"Thank goodness! Well, I only wanted to be sure. I couldn't help
worrying. Because, if anything had drawn you there, it would have been
my fault. You would hardly have heard of Monte Carlo if it hadn't been
for my stories. A cloistered saint like you!"
"Is that the way you think of me in these days?" The novice blushed and
smiled, showing her friendly dimples. "I wish I felt a saint."
"You are one. And yet"--Peter gazed at her with sudden keenness--"I
don't believe you were _made_ to be a saint. It's the years here that
have moulded you into what you are. But, there's something different
underneath."
"Nothing very bad, I hope?" Mary looked actually frightened, as if she
did not know herself, and feared an unfavourable opinion, which might be
true.
"No, indeed. But different--quite a different _You_ from what any of us,
even yourself, have ever seen. It will come out. Life will bring it
out."
"You talk," said Mary, "as if you were older than I."
"So I am, in every way except years, and they count least. Oh, Mary, how
I do wish I were going with you!"
"So do I. And yet perhaps it will be good for me to begin alone."
"You won't be alone."
"No. Of course, there will be Lady MacMillan taking me to London. And
afterward there'll be my aunt and cousin. But I've never seen them since
I was too tiny to remember them at all, except that my cousin Elinor had
a lovely big doll she wouldn't let me touch. It's the same as being
alone, going to them. I shall have to get acquainted with them and the
world at the same time."
"Are you terrified?"
"A little. Oh, a good deal! I think now, at the last moment, I'd take
everything back, and stay, if I could."
"No, you wouldn't, if you had the choice, and you saw the gates closing
on you--forever. You'd run out."
"I don't know. Perhaps. But how I shall miss them all! Reverend Mother,
and the sisters, and you, and the garden, and looking out over the lake
far away to the mountains."
"But there'll be other mountains."
"Yes, other mountains."
"Think of the mountains of Italy."
"Oh, I do. When the waves of regret and homesickness come I cheer myself
with thoughts of Italy. Ever since I can remember, I've wanted Italy;
ever since I began to study history and look at maps, and even to read
the lives of the saints, I've cared more about Italy than any other
country. When I expected to spend all my life in a convent, I used to
think that maybe I could go to the mother-house in Italy for a while
some day. You can't realize, Peter--you, who have lived in warm
countries--how I've pined for warmth. I've _never_ been warm enough,
never in my life, for more than a few hours together. Even in summer
it's never really hot here, never hot with the glorious burning heat of
the sun that I long to feel. How I do want to be warm, all through my
veins. I've wanted it always. Even at the most sacred hours, when I
ought to have forgotten that I had a body, I've shivered and yearned to
be warm--warm to the heart. I shall go to Italy and bask in the sun."
"Marie used to say that, too, that she wanted to be warm," Peter
murmured in an odd, hesitating, shamefaced way. And she looked at the
novice intently, as she had looked before. Mary's white cheeks were
faintly stained with rose, and her eyes dilated. Peter had never seen
quite the same expression on her face, or heard quite the same ring in
her voice. The girl felt that the different, unknown self she had
spoken of was beginning already to waken and stir in the nun's soul.
"Marie!" Sister Rose repeated. "It's odd you should have spoken of
Marie. I've been thinking about her lately. I can't get her out of my
head. And I've dreamed of seeing her--meeting her unexpectedly
somewhere."
"Perhaps she's been thinking of you, wherever she is, and you feel her
mind calling to yours. I believe in such things, don't you?"
"I never thought much about them before, I suppose because I've had so
few people outside who were likely to think of me. No one but you. Or
perhaps Marie, if she ever does think of old times. I wish I could meet
her, not in dreams, but really."
"Queerer things have happened. And if you're going to travel you can't
tell but you may run across each other," said Peter. "I've sometimes
caught myself wondering whether I should see her in New York, for there
it's like London and Monte Carlo--the most unexpected people are always
turning up."
"Is Monte Carlo like that?" Mary asked, with the quick, only half-veiled
curiosity which Peter had noticed in her before when relating her own
adventures on the Riviera.
"Yes. More than any other place I've ever been to in the world. Every
one comes--anything can happen--there. But I don't want to talk about
Monte Carlo. You really wouldn't find it half as interesting as your
beloved Italy. And I shouldn't like to think of poor Marie drifting
there, either--Marie as she must be now."
"I used to hope," Mary said, "that she might come back here, after
everything turned out so dreadfully for her, and that she'd decide to
take the vows with me. Reverend Mother would have welcomed her gladly,
in spite of all. She loved Marie. So did the sisters; and though none of
them ever talk about her--at least, to me--I feel sure they haven't
forgotten, or stopped praying for her."
"Do you suppose they guess that we found out what really happened to
Marie, after she ran away?" Peter wanted to know.
"I hardly think so. You see, we couldn't have found out if it hadn't
been for Janet Churchill, the one girl in school who didn't live in the
convent. And Janet wasn't a bit the sort they would expect to know such
things."
"Or about anything else. Her stolidity was a very useful pose. You'd
find it a useful one, too, darling, 'out in the world,' as you call it;
but you'll | 573.103823 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.0848290 | 3,775 | 18 |
Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
A LIFE'S SECRET.
A Novel.
By
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.
[Illustration: Logo]
_EIGHTH EDITION._
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1879.
[_All Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved._]
CONTENTS.
PART THE FIRST.
CHAP. PAGE
I. WAS THE LADY MAD? 11
II. CHANGES 32
III. AWAY TO LONDON 39
IV. DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT 52
V. MISS GWINN'S VISIT 67
VI. TRACKED HOME 83
VII. MR. SHUCK AT HOME 103
VIII. FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 116
IX. THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER 127
PART THE SECOND.
I. A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN 136
II. CALLED TO KETTERFORD 153
III. TWO THOUSAND POUNDS 168
IV. AGITATION 186
PART THE THIRD.
I. A PREMATURE AVOWAL 204
II. MR. COX 221
III. 'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL' 238
IV. SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO' 256
V. A GLOOMY CHAPTER 274
VI. THE LITTLE BOY AT REST 288
VII. MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET 294
VIII. A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK 309
IX. ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY 326
X. THE YEARS GONE BY 342
XI. RELIEF 359
XII. CONCLUSION 369
A LIFE'S SECRET
PART THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
WAS THE LADY MAD?
On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in the heart of
England, stood, a few years ago, a white house, its green lawn,
surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping down to the high road. It
probably stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed over its
head since, for houses can be renovated and made, so to say, new again,
unlike men and women. A cheerful, bright, handsome house, of moderate
size, the residence of Mr. Thornimett.
At the distance of a short stone's-throw, towards the open country, were
sundry workshops and sheds--a large yard intervening between them and
the house. They belonged to Mr. Thornimett; and the timber and other
characteristic materials lying about the yard would have proclaimed
their owner's trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board--'Richard
Thornimett, Builder and Contractor.' His business was extensive for a
country town.
Entering the house by the pillared portico, and crossing the
black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to the left, you came to a room
whose windows looked towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort
of study, or counting-house, though the real business counting-house was
at the works. Matting was on its floor; desks and stools stood about;
maps and drawings, plain and, were on its walls; not finished
and beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the hands of modern
artists, or have descended to us from the great masters, but skeleton
designs of various buildings--churches, bridges, terraces--plans to be
worked out in actuality, not to be admired on paper. This room was
chiefly given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may see him in it
now.
A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and upright; his name, Austin
Clay. It is Easter Monday in those long-past years--and yet not so very
long past, either--and the works and yard are silent to-day. Strictly
speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called a pupil, for he is
twenty-one, and his articles are out. The house is his home; Mr. and
Mrs. Thornimett, who have no children of their own, are almost as his
father and mother. They have said nothing to him about leaving, and he
has said nothing to them. The town, in its busy interference,
gratuitously opined that 'Old Thornimett would be taking him into
partnership.' Old Thornimett had given no indication of what he might
intend to do, one way or the other.
Austin Clay was of good parentage, of gentle birth. Left an orphan at
the age of fourteen, with very small means, not sufficient to complete
his education, Ketterford wondered what was to become of him, and
whether he had not better get rid of himself by running away to sea. Mr.
Thornimett stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs.
Clay--Austin's mother--and Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and
perhaps a certain sense of duty in the matter made itself heard; that,
at least, combined with the great fact that the Thornimett household was
childless. The first thing they did was to take the boy home for the
Christmas holidays; the next, was to tell him he should stay there for
good. Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a fortune
hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain to him, but to make him
into a man, and teach him to earn his own living.
'Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin?' subsequently asked Mr.
Thornimett.
'Can't I be articled, sir?' returned Austin, quickly.
'Articled?' repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. He saw what was
running in the boy's mind. He was a plain man himself; had built up his
own fortunes just as he had built the new house he lived in; had risen,
in fact, as many a working man does rise: but Austin's father was a
gentleman. 'Well, yes, you can be articled, if you like it better,' he
said; 'but I shall never call it anything but apprenticed; neither will
the trade. You'll have to work, young sir.'
'I don't care how hard I work, or what I do,' cried Austin, earnestly.
'There's no degradation in work.'
Thus it was settled; and Austin Clay became bound pupil to Richard
Thornimett.
'Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of charity,' quoth
Ketterford.
No doubt they had. But as the time passed on they grew very fond of him.
He was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at
least, Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that make a
superior man. Privileges were accorded him from the first: the going on
with certain of his school duties, for which masters came to him out of
business hours--drawing, mathematics, and modern languages chiefly--and
Austin went on himself with Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs.
Thornimett waged perpetual war. What would be the use of them to him,
she was always asking, and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing way, would
rejoin that they might help to make him a gentleman. He was that
already: Austin Clay, though he might not know it, was a true gentleman
born.
Had they repented their bargain? He was twenty-one now, and out of his
articles, or his time, as it was commonly called. No, not for an
instant. Never a better servant had Richard Thornimett; never, he would
have told you, one so good. With all his propensity to be a 'gentleman,'
Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; but did it thoroughly. His
master in his wisdom had caused him to learn his business practically;
but, that accomplished, he kept him to overlooking, and to other light
duties, just as he might have done by a son of his own. It had told
well.
Easter Monday, and a universal holiday Mr. Thornimett had gone out on
horseback, and Austin was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his
stool on the tilt, one hand unconsciously balancing a ruler, the other
supporting his head, which was bent over a book.
'Austin!'
The call, rather a gentle one, came from outside the door. Austin,
buried in his book, did not hear it.
'Austin Clay!'
He heard that, and started up. The door opened in the same moment, and
an old lady, dressed in delicate lavender print, came briskly in. Her
cap of a round, old-fashioned shape, was white as snow, and a bunch of
keys hung from her girdle. It was Mrs. Thornimett.
'So you are here!' she exclaimed, advancing to him with short, quick
steps, a sort of trot. 'Sarah said she was sure Mr. Austin had not gone
out. And now, what do you mean by this?' she added, bending her
spectacles, which she always wore, on his open book. 'Confining yourself
indoors this lovely day over that good-for-nothing Hebrew stuff!'
Austin turned his eyes upon her with a pleasant smile. Deep-set grey
eyes they were, earnest and truthful, with a great amount of thought in
them for a young man. His face was a pleasing, good-looking face,
without being a handsome one, its complexion pale, clear, and healthy,
and the hair rather dark. There was not much of beauty in the
countenance, but there was plenty of firmness and good sense.
'It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. Hebrew and I are strangers to each
other. I am only indulging myself with a bit of old Homer.'
'All useless, Austin. I don't care whether it is Greek or Hebrew, or
Latin or French. To pore over those rubbishing dry books whenever you
get the chance, does you no good. If you did not possess a constitution
of iron, you would have been laid upon a sick-bed long ago.'
Austin laughed outright. Mrs. Thornimett's prejudices against what she
called 'learning,' had grown into a proverb. Never having been troubled
with much herself, she, like the Dutch professor told of by George
Primrose,'saw no good in it.' She lifted her hand and closed the book.
'May I not spend my time as I like upon a holiday?' remonstrated Austin,
half vexed, half in good humour.
'No,' said she, authoritatively; 'not when the day is warm and bright as
this. We do not often get so fair an Easter. Don't you see that I have
put off my winter clothing?'
'I saw that at breakfast.'
'Oh, you did notice that, did you? I thought you and Mr. Thornimett were
both buried in that newspaper. Well, Austin, I never make the change
till I think warm weather is really coming in: and so it ought to be,
for Easter is late this year. Come, put that book up.'
Austin obeyed, a comical look of grievance on his face. 'I declare you
order me about just as you did when I came here first, a miserable
little muff of fourteen. You'll never get another like me, Mrs.
Thornimett. As if I had not enough outdoor work every day in the week!
And I don't know where on earth to go to. It's like turning a fellow out
of house and home!'
'You are going out for me, Austin. The master left a message for the
Lowland farm, and you shall take it over, and stay the day with them.
They will make as much of you as they would of a king. When Mrs. Milton
was here the other day, she complained that you never went over now; she
said she supposed you were growing above them.'
'What nonsense!' said Austin, laughing. 'Well, I'll go there for you at
once, without grumbling. I like the Miltons.'
'You can walk, or you can take the pony gig: whichever you like.'
'I will walk,' replied Austin, with alacrity, putting his book inside
the large desk. 'What is the message, Mrs. Thornimett?'
'The message----'
Mrs. Thornimett came to a sudden pause, very much as if she had fallen
into a dream. Her eyes were gazing from the window into the far
distance, and Austin looked in the same direction: but there was not
anything to be seen.
'There's nothing there, lad. It is but my own thoughts. Something is
troubling me, Austin. Don't you think the master has seemed very poorly
of late?'
'N--o,' replied Austin, slowly, and with some hesitation, for he was
half doubting whether something of the sort had not struck him.
Certainly the master--as Mr. Thornimett was styled indiscriminately on
the premises both by servants and workpeople, so that Mrs. Thornimett
often fell into the same habit--was not the brisk man he used to be. 'I
have not noticed it particularly.'
'That is like the young; they never see anything,' she murmured, as if
speaking to herself. 'Well, Austin, I have; and I can tell you that I do
not like the master's looks, or the signs I detect in him. Especially
did I not like them when he rode forth this morning.'
'All that I have observed is that of late he seems to be disinclined for
business. He seems heavy, sleepy, as though it were a trouble to him to
rouse himself, and he complains sometimes of headache. But, of
course----'
'Of course, what?' asked Mrs. Thornimett. 'Why do you hesitate?'
'I was going to say that Mr. Thornimett is not as young as he was,'
continued Austin, with some deprecation.
'He is sixty-six, and I am sixty-three. But, you must be going. Talking
of it, will not mend it. And the best part of the day is passing.'
'You have not given me the message,' he said, taking up his hat which
lay beside him.
'The message is this,' said Mrs. Thornimett, lowering her voice to a
confidential tone, as she glanced round to see that the door was shut.
'Tell Mr. Milton that Mr. Thornimett cannot answer for that timber
merchant about whom he asked. The master fears he might prove a slippery
customer; he is a man whom he himself would trust as far as he could
see, but no farther. Just say it into Mr. Milton's private ear, you
know.'
'Certainly. I understand,' replied the young man, turning to depart.
'You see now why it might not be convenient to despatch any one but
yourself. And, Austin,' added the old lady, following him across the
hall, 'take care not to make yourself ill with their Easter cheesecakes.
The Lowland farm is famous for them.'
'I will try not,' returned Austin.
He looked back at her, nodding and laughing as he traversed the lawn,
and from thence struck into the open road. His way led him past the
workshops, closed then, even to the gates, for Easter Monday in that
part of the country is a universal holiday. A few minutes, and he turned
into the fields; a welcome change from the dusty road. The field way
might be a little longer, but it was altogether pleasanter. Easter was
late that year, as Mrs. Thornimett observed, and the season was early.
The sky was blue and clear, the day warm and lovely; the hedges were
budding into leaf, the grass was growing, the clover, the buttercups,
the daisies were springing; and an early butterfly fluttered past
Austin.
'You have taken wing betimes,' he said, addressing the unconscious
insect. 'I think summer must be at hand.'
Halting for a moment to watch the flight, he strode on the quicker
afterwards. Supple, active, slender, his steps--the elastic, joyous,
tread of youth--scarcely seemed to touch the earth. He always walked
fast when busy with thought, and his mind was buried in the hint Mrs.
Thornimett had spoken, touching her fears for her husband's health. 'If
he is breaking, it's through his close attention to business,' decided
Austin, as he struck into the common and was nearing the end of his
journey. 'I wish he would take a jolly good holiday this summer. It
would set him up; and I know I could manage things without him.'
A large common; a broad piece of waste land, | 573.104869 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.1140710 | 2,437 | 8 |
Produced by Malcolm Farmer
AFTER LONDON
or
Wild England
by
Richard Jefferies
Contents
Part I The Relapse into Barbarism
Chapter 1 The Great Forest
Chapter 2 Wild Animals
Chapter 3 Men of the Woods
Chapter 4 The Invaders
Chapter 5 The Lake
Part II Wild England
Chapter 1 Sir Felix
Chapter 2 The House of Aquila
Chapter 3 The Stockade
Chapter 4 The Canoe
Chapter 5 Baron Aquila
Chapter 6 The Forest Track
Chapter 7 The Forest Track continued
Chapter 8 Thyma Castle
Chapter 9 Superstitions
Chapter 10 The Feast
Chapter 11 Aurora
Chapter 12 Night in the Forest
Chapter 13 Sailing Away
Chapter 14 The Straits
Chapter 15 Sailing Onwards
Chapter 16 The City
Chapter 17 The Camp
Chapter 18 The King's Levy
Chapter 19 Fighting
Chapter 20 In Danger
Chapter 21 A Voyage
Chapter 22 Discoveries
Chapter 23 Strange Things
Chapter 24 Fiery Vapours
Chapter 25 The Shepherds
Chapter 26 Bow and Arrow
Chapter 27 Surprised
Chapter 28 For Aurora
Part I
The Relapse into Barbarism
CHAPTER I
THE GREAT FOREST
The old men say their fathers told them that soon after the fields were
left to themselves a change began to be visible. It became green
everywhere in the first spring, after London ended, so that all the
country looked alike.
The meadows were green, and so was the rising wheat which had been sown,
but which neither had nor would receive any further care. Such arable
fields as had not been sown, but where the last stubble had been
ploughed up, were overrun with couch-grass, and where the short stubble
had not been ploughed, the weeds hid it. So that there was no place
which was not more or less green; the footpaths were the greenest of
all, for such is the nature of grass where it has once been trodden on,
and by-and-by, as the summer came on, the former roads were thinly
covered with the grass that had spread out from the margin.
In the autumn, as the meadows were not mown, the grass withered as it
stood, falling this way and that, as the wind had blown it; the seeds
dropped, and the bennets became a greyish-white, or, where the docks and
sorrel were thick, a brownish-red. The wheat, after it had ripened,
there being no one to reap it, also remained standing, and was eaten by
clouds of sparrows, rooks, and pigeons, which flocked to it and were
undisturbed, feasting at their pleasure. As the winter came on, the
crops were beaten down by the storms, soaked with rain, and trodden upon
by herds of animals.
Next summer the prostrate straw of the preceding year was concealed by
the young green wheat and barley that sprang up from the grain sown by
dropping from the ears, and by quantities of docks, thistles, oxeye
daisies, and similar plants. This matted mass grew up through the
bleached straw. Charlock, too, hid the rotting roots in the fields under
a blaze of yellow flower. The young spring meadow-grass could scarcely
push its way up through the long dead grass and bennets of the year
previous, but docks and thistles, sorrel, wild carrots, and nettles,
found no such difficulty.
Footpaths were concealed by the second year, but roads could be traced,
though as green as the sward, and were still the best for walking,
because the tangled wheat and weeds, and, in the meadows, the long
grass, caught the feet of those who tried to pass through. Year by year
the original crops of wheat, barley, oats, and beans asserted their
presence by shooting up, but in gradually diminished force, as nettles
and coarser plants, such as the wild parsnips, spread out into the
fields from the ditches and choked them.
Aquatic grasses from the furrows and water-carriers extended in the
meadows, and, with the rushes, helped to destroy or take the place of
the former sweet herbage. Meanwhile, the brambles, which grew very fast,
had pushed forward their prickly runners farther and farther from the
hedges till they had now reached ten or fifteen yards. The briars had
followed, and the hedges had widened to three or four times their first
breadth, the fields being equally contracted. Starting from all sides at
once, these brambles and briars in the course of about twenty years met
in the centre of the largest fields.
Hawthorn bushes sprang up among them, and, protected by the briars and
thorns from grazing animals, the suckers of elm-trees rose and
flourished. Sapling ashes, oaks, sycamores, and horse-chestnuts, lifted
their heads. Of old time the cattle would have eaten off the seed leaves
with the grass so soon as they were out of the ground, but now most of
the acorns that were dropped by birds, and the keys that were wafted by
the wind, twirling as they floated, took root and grew into trees. By
this time the brambles and briars had choked up and blocked the former
roads, which were as impassable as the fields.
No fields, indeed, remained, for where the ground was dry, the thorns,
briars, brambles, and saplings already mentioned filled the space, and
these thickets and the young trees had converted most part of the
country into an immense forest. Where the ground was naturally moist,
and the drains had become choked with willow roots, which, when confined
in tubes, grow into a mass like the brush of a fox, sedges and flags and
rushes covered it. Thorn bushes were there, too, but not so tall; they
were hung with lichen. Besides the flags and reeds, vast quantities of
the tallest cow-parsnips or "gicks" rose five or six feet high, and the
willow herb with its stout stem, almost as woody as a shrub, filled
every approach.
By the thirtieth year there was not one single open place, the hills
only excepted, where a man could walk, unless he followed the tracks of
wild creatures or cut himself a path. The ditches, of course, had long
since become full of leaves and dead branches, so that the water which
should have run off down them stagnated, and presently spread out into
the hollow places and by the corner of what had once been fields,
forming marshes where the horsetails, flags, and sedges hid the water.
As no care was taken with the brooks, the hatches upon them gradually
rotted, and the force of the winter rains carried away the weak timbers,
flooding the lower grounds, which became swamps of larger size. The
dams, too, were drilled by water-rats, and the streams percolating
through, slowly increased the size of these tunnels till the structure
burst, and the current swept on and added to the floods below. Mill-dams
stood longer, but, as the ponds silted up, the current flowed round and
even through the mill-houses, which, going by degrees to ruin, were in
some cases undermined till they fell.
Everywhere the lower lands adjacent to the streams had become marshes,
some of them extending for miles in a winding line, and occasionally
spreading out to a mile in breadth. This was particularly the case where
brooks and streams of some volume joined the rivers, which were also
blocked and obstructed in their turn, and the two, overflowing, covered
the country around; for the rivers brought down trees and branches,
timbers floated from the shore, and all kinds of similar materials,
which grounded in the shallows or caught against snags, and formed huge
piles where there had been weirs.
Sometimes, after great rains, these piles swept away the timbers of the
weir, driven by the irresistible power of the water, and then in its
course the flood, carrying the balks before it like battering rams,
cracked and split the bridges of solid stone which the ancients had
built. These and the iron bridges likewise were overthrown, and
presently quite disappeared, for the very foundations were covered with
the sand and gravel silted up.
Thus, too, the sites of many villages and towns that anciently existed
along the rivers, or on the lower lands adjoining, were concealed by the
water and the mud it brought with it. The sedges and reeds that arose
completed the work and left nothing visible, so that the mighty
buildings of olden days were by these means utterly buried. And, as has
been proved by those who have dug for treasures, in our time the very
foundations are deep beneath the earth, and not to be got at for the
water that oozes into the shafts that they have tried to sink through
the sand and mud banks.
From an elevation, therefore, there was nothing visible but endless
forest and marsh. On the level ground and plains the view was limited to
a short distance, because of the thickets and the saplings which had now
become young trees. The downs only were still partially open, yet it was
not convenient to walk upon them except in the tracks of animals,
because of the long grass which, being no more regularly grazed upon by
sheep, as was once the case, grew thick and tangled. Furze, too, and
heath covered the <DW72>s, and in places vast quantities of fern. There
had always been copses of fir and beech and nut-tree covers, and these
increased and spread, while bramble, briar, and hawthorn extended around
them.
By degrees the trees of the vale seemed as it were to invade and march
up the hills, and, as we see in our time, in many places the downs are
hidden altogether with a stunted kind of forest. But all the above
happened in the time of the first generation. Besides these things a
great physical change took place; but before I speak of that, it will be
best to relate what effects were produced upon animals and men.
In the first years after the fields were left to themselves, the fallen
and over-ripe corn crops became the resort of innumerable mice. They
swarmed to an incredible degree, not only devouring the grain upon the
straw that had never been cut, but clearing out every single ear in the
wheat-ricks that were standing about the country. Nothing remained in
these ricks but straw, | 573.134111 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE HISTORY OF TOM THUMB
To which are added
THE STORIES OF THE CAT AND THE MOUSE
and
FIRE! FIRE! BURN STICK!
Edited by Henry Altemus
THE HISTORY OF TOM THUMB
It is said that in the days of the famed Prince Arthur, who was king of
Britain, in the year 516, there lived a great magician, called Merlin,
the most learned and skilful enchanter in the world at that time.
This great magician, who could assume any form he pleased, was
travelling in the disguise of a poor beggar, and being very much
fatigued, he stopped at the cottage of an honest ploughman to rest
himself, and asked for some refreshment.
The countryman gave him a hearty welcome, and his wife, who was a very
good-hearted, hospital woman, soon brought him some milk in a wooden
bowl, an some coarse brown bread on a platter.
Merlin was much pleased with this homely repast and the kindness of
the ploughman and his wife; but he could not help seeing that though
everything was neat and comfortable in the cottage, they seemed both
be sad and much cast down. He therefore questioned them on the cause
of their sadness, and learned they were miserable because they had no
children.
The poor woman declared, with tears in her eyes, that she should be the
happiest creature in the world if she had a son; and although he was no
bigger than her husband's thumb, she would be satisfied.
Merlin was so much amused with the idea of a boy no bigger than a man's
thumb, that he made up his mind to pay a visit to the queen of the
fairies, and ask her to grant the poor woman's wish. The droll fancy of
such a little person among the human race pleased the fairy queen
too, greatly, and she promised Merlin that the wish should be granted.
Accordingly, a short time after, the ploughman's wife had a son, who,
wonderful to relate! was not bigger than his father's thumb.
The fairy queen, wishing to see the little fellow thus born into the
world, came in at the window while the mother was sitting up in bed
admiring him. The queen kissed the child, and, giving it the name of Tom
Thumb, sent for some of the fairies, who dressed her little favorite as
she bade them.
"An oak-leaf hat he had for his crown;
His shirt of web by spiders spun;
With jacket wove of thistle's down;
His trowsers were of feathers done.
His stockings, of apple-rind they tie
With eyelash from his mother's eye:
His shoes were made of mouse's skin
Tann'd with the downy hair within."
It is remarkable that Tom never grew any larger than his father's thumb,
which was only of an ordinary size; but as he got older he became very
cunning and full of tricks. When he was old enough to play with the
boys, and had lost all his own | 573.145841 |
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Produced by A. Elizabeth Warren
STALKY & CO.
By Rudyard Kipling
“Let us now praise famous men”--
Men of little showing--
For their work continueth,
And their work continueth,
Greater than their knowing.
Western wind and open surge
Tore us from our mothers;
Flung us on a naked shore
(Twelve bleak houses by the shore!
Seven summers by the shore!)
‘Mid two hundred brothers.
There we met with famous men
Set in office o’er us.
And they beat on us with rods--
Faithfully with many rods--
Daily beat us on with rods--
For the love they bore us!
Out of Egypt unto Troy--
Over Himalaya--
Far and sure our bands have gone--
Hy-Brasil or Babylon,
Islands of the Southern Run,
And cities of Cathaia!
And we all praise famous men--
Ancients of the College;
For they taught us common sense---
Tried to teach us common sense--
Truth and God’s Own Common Sense
Which is more than knowledge!
Each degree of Latitude
Strung about Creation
Seeth one (or more) of us,
(Of one muster all of us--
Of one master all of us--)
Keen in his vocation.
This we learned from famous men
Knowing not its uses
When they showed in daily work
Man must finish off his work--
Right or wrong, his daily work--
And without excuses.
Servants of the staff and chain,
Mine and fuse and grapnel--
Some before the face of Kings,
Stand before the face of Kings;
Bearing gifts to divers Kings--
Gifts of Case and Shrapnel.
This we learned from famous men
Teaching in our borders.
Who declare’d it was best,
Safest, easiest and best--
Expeditious, wise and best--
To obey your orders.
Some beneath the further stars
Bear the greater burden.
Set to serve the lands they rule,
(Save he serve no man may rule)
Serve and love the lands they rule;
Seeking praise nor guerdon.
This we learned from famous men
Knowing not we learned it.
Only, as the years went by--
Lonely, as the years went by--
Far from help as years went by
Plainer we discerned it.
Wherefore praise we famous men
From whose bays we borrow--
They that put aside Today--
All the joys of their Today--
And with toil of their Today
Bought for us Tomorrow!
Bless and praise we famous men
Men of little showing!
For their work continueth
And their work continueth
Broad and deep continueth
Great beyond their knowing!
Copyright, 1899. by Rudyard Kipling
CONTENTS
I. IN AMBUSH
II. SLAVES OF THE LAMP--PART I.
III. AN UNSAVORY INTERLUDE
IV. THE IMPRESSIONISTS
V. THE MORAL REFORMERS
VI. A LITTLE PREP.
VII. THE FLAG OF THEIR COUNTRY
VIII. THE LAST TERM
IX. SLAVES OF THE LAMP--PART II.
“IN AMBUSH.”
In summer all right-minded boys built huts in the furze-hill behind the
College--little lairs whittled out of the heart of the prickly bushes,
full of stumps, odd root-ends, and spikes, but, since they were strictly
forbidden, palaces of delight. And for the fifth summer in succession,
Stalky, McTurk, and Beetle (this was before they reached the dignity of
a study) had built like beavers a place of retreat and meditation, where
they smoked | 573.197709 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing and 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
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 | 573.239589 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_. Footnotes are located at
the end of the text.]
THE BOYS’ BOOK OF SUBMARINES
[Illustration | 573.242262 |
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Produced by Eric Eldred, Jerry Fairbanks, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
BY-WAYS OF BOMBAY.
BY
S. M. EDWARDES, C.V.O.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
The various chapters of this book originally appeared under the
_nom-de-plume_ of "Etonensis" in the _Times of India_, to the
proprietors of which journal I am indebted for permission to publish them
in book-form, They cannot claim to be considered critical studies, but are
merely a brief record of persons whom I have met and of things that I have
seen during several years' service as a Government official in Bombay. In
placing them before the public in their present form, I can only hope
that they will be found of brief interest by those unacquainted with the
inner life of the City of Bombay.
HEAD POLICE OFFICE,
BOMBAY, _June 1912_.
S. M. E.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The first edition of "By-ways of Bombay" having been sold out within a
month, Messrs Taraporevala Sons and Co. have interested themselves in
publishing the present edition which includes several illustrations by Mr.
M. V. Dhurandhar and an additional article on the Tilak Riots which
appeared in the _Bombay Gazette_ in August, 1908. My acknowledgments
are due to the Editor for permission to republish this article.
HEAD POLICE OFFICE,
BOMBAY. _November, 1912_.
S. M. EDWARDES.
CONTENTS
I. The Spirit of Chandrabai
II. Bombay Scenes
III. Shadows of Night
IV. The Birthplace of Shivaji
V. The Story of Imtiazan
VI. The Bombay Mohurrum
VII. The Possession of Afiza
VIII. A Kasumba Den
IX. The Ganesh Caves
X. A Bhandari Mystery
XI. Scenes in Bombay
XII. Citizens of Bombay
XIII. The Sidis of Bombay
XIV. A Konkan Legend
XV. Nur Jan
XVI. Governor and Koli
XVII. The Tribe Errant
XVIII. The Pandu-Lena Caves
XIX. Fateh Muhammad
XX. The Tilak Riots
ILLUSTRATIONS.
1. Spirit of Chandrabai
2. A Mill-hand
3. A Marwari selling Batasa
4. The seller of "Malpurwa Jaleibi"
5. A Koli woman
6. The "Pan" Seller
7. An Opium Club
8. A "Madak-khana"
9. Imtiazan
10. The Possession of Afiza
11. A Bhandari Mystery
12. An Arab
13. A Bombay Memon
14. Sidis of Bombay
15. The Parshurama and the Chitpavans
16. Nur Jan
17. A Koli
18. A Deccani Fruit-seller
19. The Coffee-seller
20. Fateh Muhammad
[Illustration: The Spirit of Chandrabai]
I.
THE SPIRIT OF CHANDRABAI.
A STUDY IN PROTECTIVE MAGIC.
Fear reigned in the house of Vishnu the fisherman: for, but a week before,
his wife Chandra had died in giving birth to a child who survived his
mother but a few hours, and during those seven days all the elders and the
wise women of the community came one after another unto Vishnu and,
impressing upon him the malignant influence of such untimely deaths, bade
him for the sake of himself and his family do all in his power to lay the
spirit of his dead wife. So on a certain night early in December Vishnu
called all his caste-brethren into the room where Chandra had died, having
first arranged there a brass salver containing a ball of flour loosely
encased in thread, a miniature cot with the legs fashioned out of the
berries of the "bhendi," and several small silver rings and bangles, a
coral necklace and a quaint silver chain, which were destined to be hung in
due season upon the wooden peg symbolical of his dead wife's spirit in the
"devaghar," or gods' room, of his house. And he called thither also Rama
the "Gondhali," master of occult ceremonies, Vishram, his disciple, and
Krishna the "Bhagat" or medium, who is beloved of the ghosts of the
departed and often bears their messages unto the living.
When all are assembled, the women of the community raise the brass salver
and head a procession to the seashore, none being left in the dead woman's
room save Krishna the medium who sits motionless in the centre thereof; and
on the dry shingle the women place the salver and two brass "lotas" filled
with milk and water, while the company ranges itself in a semi-circle
around Rama the Gondhali, squatting directly in front of the platter. For a
moment he sits wrapped in thought, and then commences a weird chant of
invocation to the spirit of the dead woman, during which her relations in
turn drop a copper coin into the salver. "Chandrabai," he wails "take this
thy husband's gift of sorrow;" and as the company echoes his lament, Vishnu
rises and drops his coin into the plate. Then her four brothers drop a coin
apiece; her sister-in-law, whispering "It is for food" does likewise; also
her mother with the words "choli patal" or "Tis a robe and bodice for
thee";--and so on until all the relatives have cast down their
offerings,--one promising a fair couch, another an umbrella, a third a
pair of shoes, and little Moti, the dead woman's eldest child, "a pair of
bangles for my mother," until in truth all the small luxuries that the
dead woman may require in the life beyond have been granted. Meanwhile
the strange invocation proceeds. All the dead ancestors of the family, who
are represented by the quaint ghost-pegs in the gods' room of Vishnu's
home, are solemnly addressed and besought to receive the dead woman in
kindly fashion; and as each copper coin tinkles in the salver, Rama cries,
"Receive this, Chandrabai, and hie thee to thy last resting-place."
When the last offering has been made, the women again raise the salver and
the party fares back to Vishnu's house, where a rude shrine of Satvai (the
Sixth Mother) has been prepared. "For," whispers our guide, "Chandrabai
died without worshipping Satvai and her spirit must perforce fulfil those
rites." Close to the shrine sits a midwife keeping guard over a new gauze
cloth, a sari and a bodice, purchased for the spirit of Chandrabai; and on
a plate close at hand are vermilion for her brow, antimony for her eyes, a
nose-ring, a comb, bangles and sweetmeats, such as she liked during her
life-time. When the shrine is reached, one of the brothers steps forward
with a winnowing-fan, the edge of which is plastered with ghi and supports
a lighted wick; and as he steps up to the shrine, the relations and friends
of the deceased again press forward and place offerings of fruit and
flowers in the fan. There he stands, holding the gifts towards the
amorphous simulacrum of the primeval Mother, while Rama the hierophant
beseeches her to send the spirit of the dead Chandrabai into the
winnowing-fan.
And lo! on a sudden the ghostly flame on the lip of the fan dies out! The
spirit of Chandrabai has come! Straightway Rama seizes the fan and followed
by the rest dashes into the room where Krishna the medium is still sitting.
Four or five men commence a wild refrain to the accompaniment of brazen
cymbals, and Rama passes the winnowing-fan, containing the dead woman's
spirit, over the head of the medium. "Let the spirit appear" shrieks Rama
amid the clashing of the cymbals.
"Let the spirit appear" he cries, as he blows a cloud of incense into
Krishna's face. The medium quivers like an aspen leaf; the dead woman's
brothers crawl forward and lay their foreheads upon his feet; he shakes
more violently as the spirit takes firmer hold upon him; and then with a
wild shriek he rolls upon the ground and lies, rent with paroxysms, his
face stretched upwards to the winnowing-fan. Louder and louder crash the
cymbals; louder rises the chant. "Who art thou?" cries Rama. "I am
Chandrabai," comes the answer. "Hast thou any wish unfulfilled?" asks the
midwife. "Nay, all my wishes have been met," cries the spirit through the
lips of the medium, "I am in very truth Chandrabai, who was, but am not
now, of this world." As the last words die away the men dash forward, twist
Krishna's hair into a knot behind, dress him, as he struggles, in the
female attire which the midwife has been guarding, and place in his hand a
wooden slab rudely carved into the semblance of a woman and child. "Away,
away to the underworld" chant the singers; and at the command Krishna
wrenches himself free from the men who are holding him and dashes out with
a yell into the night.
Straight as an arrow he heads for the seashore, his hands clutching the air
convulsively, his'sari' streaming in the night-breeze; and behind, like
hounds on the trail of the deer, come Rama, the brethren, the sisters, and
rest of the community. Over the shingle they stream and down on to the hard
wet sand. Some one digs a hole; another | 573.243151 |
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[Illustration]
BRED IN THE BONE; OR, LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON
A Novel.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK," "GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST," "CARLYON'S YEAR," "ONE
OF THE FAMILY," "WON--NOT WOOED," &c.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_.
NEW YORK: 1872.
CHAPTER I.
CAREW OF CROMPTON.
Had you lived in Breakneckshire twenty years ago, or even any where in
the Midlands, it would be superfluous to tell you of Carew of Crompton.
Every body thereabout was acquainted with him either personally or by
hearsay. You must almost certainly have known somebody who had had an
adventure with that eccentric personage--one who had been ridden down by
him, for that mighty hunter never turned to the right hand nor to the
left for any man, nor paid attention to any rule of road; or one who,
more fortunate, had been "cleared" by him on his famous black horse
_Trebizond_, an animal only second to his master in the popular esteem.
There are as many highly pictures of his performance of this
flying feat in existence as there are of "Dick Turpin clearing the
Turnpikegate." Sometimes it is a small tradesman cowering down in his
cart among the calves, while the gallant Squire hurtles over him with a
"Stoop your head, butcher." Sometimes it is a wagoner, reminding one of
Commodore Trunnion's involuntary deed of "derring-do," who, between two
high banks, perceives with marked astonishment this portent flying over
himself and convoy. But, at all events, the thing was done; perhaps on
more than one occasion, and was allowed on all hands not only as a fact,
but as characteristic of their sporting idol. It was "Carew all over,"
or "Just like Carew."
This phrase was also applied to many other heroic actions. The idea of
"keel-hauling," for instance, adapted from the nautical code, was said
to be practically enforced in the case of duns, attorneys, and other
objectionable persons, in the lake at Crompton; while the administration
of pommelings to poachers and agriculturists generally, by the athletic
Squire, was the theme of every tongue. These punishments, though severe,
were much sought after by a certain class, the same to which the
purchased free and independent voter belongs, for the clenched fist
invariably became an open hand after it had done its work--a golden
ointment, that is, was always applied after these inflictions, such as
healed all wounds.
Carew of Crompton might at one time have been member for the county, if
he had pleased; but he desired no seat except in the saddle, or on the
driving-box. He showed such skill in riding, and with "the ribbons,"
that some persons supposed that his talents must be very considerable in
other matters, and affected to regret their misuse; there were reports
that he knew Latin better than his own chaplain; and was, or had been,
so diligent a student of Holy Writ, that he could give you chapter and
verse for every thing. But it must be allowed that others were not
wanting to whisper that these traits of scholarship were greatly
exaggerated, and that all the wonder lay in the fact that the Squire
knew any thing of such matters at all; nay, a few even ventured to
express their opinion that, but for his recklessness and his money,
there was nothing more remarkable in Carew than in other spendthrifts;
but this idea was never mooted within twenty miles of Crompton. The real
truth is, that the time was unsuitable to the display of the Squire's
particular traits. He would have been an eminent personage had he been a
Norman, and lived in the reign of King John. Even now, if he could have
removed his establishment to Poland, and assumed the character of a
Russian proprietor, he would doubtless have been a great prince. There
was a savage magnificence about him, and also certain degrading traits,
which suggested the Hetman Platoff. Unfortunately, he was a Squire in
the Midlands. The contrast, however, of his splendid vagaries with the
quiet time and industrious locality in which he lived, while it
diminished his influence, did, on the other hand, no doubt enhance his
reputation. He was looked upon (as Waterford and Mytton used to be) as a
_lusus naturae_, an eccentric, an altogether exceptional personage, to
whom license was permitted; and the charitable divided the human race,
for his sake, into Men, Women, and Carew.
The same philosophic few, however, who denied him talent, averred that
he was half mad; and indeed Fortune had so lavishly showered her favors
on him from his birth, that it might well be that they had turned his
head. His father had died while Carew was but an infant, so that the
surplus income from his vast estates had accumulated to an enormous sum
when he attained his majority. In the mean time, his doting mother had
supplied him with funds out of all proportion to his tender years. At
ten years old, he had a pack of harriers of his own, and hunted the
county regularly twice a week. At the public school, where he was with
difficulty persuaded to remain for a short period, he had an allowance
the amount of which would have sufficed for the needs of a professional
man with a wife and family, and yet it is recorded of him that he had
the audacity--"the boy is father to the man," and it was "so like
Carew," they said--to complain to his guardian, a great lawyer, that his
means were insufficient. He also demanded a lump sum down, on the ground
that (being at the ripe age of fourteen) he contemplated marriage. The
reply of the legal dignitary is preserved, as well as the young
gentleman's application: "If you can't live upon your allowance, you may
starve, Sir; and if you marry, you shall not have your allowance."
You had only--having authority to do so--to advise Carew, and he was
positively certain to go counter to your opinion; and did you attempt to
oppose him in any purpose, you would infallibly insure its
accomplishment. He did not marry at fourteen, indeed, but he did so
clandestinely in less than three years afterward, and had issue; but at
the age of five-and-thirty, when our stage opens, he had neither wife
nor child, but lived as a bachelor at Crompton, which was sometimes
called "the open house," by reason of its profuse hospitalities; and
sometimes "Liberty Hall," on account of its license; otherwise it was
never, called any thing but Crompton; never Crompton Hall, or Crompton
Park--but simply Crompton, just like Stowe or Blenheim. And yet the park
at Crompton was as splendid an appanage of glade and avenue, of copse
and dell, as could be desired. It was all laid out upon a certain
plan--somewhere in the old house was the very parchment on which the
chase was ordered like a garden; a dozen drives here radiated from one
another like the spokes of a wheel, and here four mighty avenues made a
St. Andrew's cross in the very centre--but the area was so immense, and
the stature of the trees so great, that nothing of this formality could
be observed in the park itself. Not only were the oaks and beeches of
large, and often of giant proportions, but the very ferns grew so tall
that whole herds of fallow deer were hidden in it, and could only be
traced by their sounds. There were red deer also, almost as numerous,
with branching antlers, curiously mossed, as though they had acquired
that vegetation by rubbing, as they often did, against the high wooden
pale--itself made picturesque by age--which hedged them in their sylvan
prison for miles. Moreover, there were wild-cattle, as at Chartley
(though not of the same breed), the repute of whose fierceness kept the
few public paths that intersected this wild domain very unfrequented.
These animals, imported half a century ago, were of no use nor of
particular beauty, and would have dwindled away, from the unfitness of
the locality for their support, but that they were recruited
periodically, and at a vast expense. It was enough to cause their
present owner to strain every nerve to retain them, because they were so
universally objected to. They had gored one man to death, and
occasionally maimed others, but, as Carew, to do him justice, was by no
means afraid of them himself, and ran the same risk, and far oftener
than other people, he held he had a right to retain them. Nobody was
obliged to come into his park unless they liked, he said, and if they
did, they must "chance a tossing." The same detractors, whose opinion we
have already quoted, affirmed that the Squire kept these cattle for the
very reason that was urged against their existence; the fear of these
horned police kept the park free from strangers, and thereby saved him
half a dozen keepers.
That his determination in the matter was pig-headed and brutal, there is
no doubt; but the Squire's nature was far from exclusive, and the idea
of saving in any thing, it is certain, never entered into his head. The
time, indeed, was slowly but surely coming when the park should know no
more not only its wild-cattle, but many a rich copse and shadowy glade.
Not a stately oak nor far-spreading beech but was doomed, sooner or
later, to be cut down, to prop for a moment the falling fortunes of
their spendthrift owner; but at the time of which we speak there was no
visible sign of the coming ruin. It is recorded of a brother prodigal,
that after enormous losses and expenses, his steward informed him that
if he would but consent to live upon seven thousand a year for the next
ten years, the estate would recover itself. "Sir," returned he in anger,
"I would rather die than live on seven thousand a year." Our Carew would
have given the same reply had twice that income been suggested to him,
and been applauded for the gallant answer. The hint of any necessity for
curtailment would probably have caused him to double his expenditure
forthwith, though, | 573.299934 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.2799010 | 7,427 | 8 |
Produced by KD Weeks, Richard Hulse and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Errors, when reasonably attributable to the printer, have been
corrected. Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for
details. Corrections made to the text are summarized there.
French passages did not include diacritical marks (with a single
appearance of ‘ç’ on p. 54), and are presented here as printed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: C. CHINIQUY]
FIFTY YEARS
IN THE
CHURCH OF ROME.
BY
FATHER CHINIQUY,
THE APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE OF CANADA.
AUTHOR OF “THE MANUAL OF TEMPERANCE,” “THE PRIEST, THE WOMAN, AND THE
CONFESSIONAL,”
“PAPAL IDOLATRY,” “ROME AND EDUCATION,” ETC.
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY,
NEW YORK. CHICAGO. TORONTO.
_Publishers of Evangelical Literature._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT,
1886,
BY REV. CHARLES CHINIQUY, ST. ANNE, KANKAKEE CO., ILL.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
DEDICATION.
TO COLONEL EDWIN A. SHERMAN.
Allow me to mention your name the first among the many to whom I
dedicate this book.
I owe this to you as a token of gratitude for your help in my researches
after the true murderers of our martyred President Abraham Lincoln.
I found you as wise and honorable in your counsels as our country found
you brave on the battlefields of Liberty.
TO THE ORANGEMEN OF THE UNITED STATES, CANADA,
GREAT BRITAIN, AUSTRALIA, TASMANIA
AND NEW ZEALAND,[A]
this book is also dedicated by the humblest of their brethren.
Orangemen! Read this book: you will not only understand Romanism as you
never did, but you will find many new reasons to be, more than ever,
vigilant, fearless and devoted, even to death, in the discharge of the
sacred duties imposed upon you by your love for your country, your
brethren and your God.
-----
Footnote A:
L. O. A. B. A. BOYNE L. O. L. No. 401.
Montreal, 20th Sept., 1878.
This is to Certify that Bro. C. Chiniquy was duly initiated into Boyne
L. O. L. No. 401, and is a member in good standing, and we do
therefore request all Brethren to receive him as such, whereof witness
our hand and seal hereto affixed.
MASTER No. 401.
JOHN HAMILTON, Secretary.
-----
TO THE HONEST AND LIBERTY-LOVING PEOPLE OF THE
UNITED STATES,
I also dedicate this book.
Americans! You are sleeping on a volcano, and you do not suspect it! You
are pressing on your bosom a viper which will bite you to death, and you
do not know it.
Read this book, and you will see that Rome is the sworn, the most
implacable, the absolutely irreconcilable and deadly enemy of your
schools, your institutions, your so dearly bought rights and liberties.
Read this book, and you will not only understand that it is to Rome you
owe the rivers of blood and the unspeakable horrors of the last civil
war: but you will learn that Romanism and Liberty can not live on the
same ground. This has been declared by the Popes, hundreds of times.
Read this book: And you will not only see that Abraham Lincoln was
murdered by Rome, but you will learn that Romanism, under the mask of
religion, is nothing but a permanent political conspiracy against all
the most sacred rights of man and the most holy laws of God.
In those pages you will not learn to hate the Roman Catholics. No! But
you will learn to be more than ever watchful in guarding the precious
treasures of Freedom bestowed upon you by your fathers. You will learn
never to let them fall into the hands of those who, with the sacred name
of Liberty on their lips, and the mask of Liberty on their faces, are
sworn to destroy all Liberty.
TO ALL THE FAITHFUL MINISTERS OF THE GOSPEL,
I also, dedicate this book.
Venerable Ministers of the Gospel! Rome is the great danger ahead for
the Church of Christ, and you do not understand it enough.
The atmosphere of light, honesty, truth and holiness in which you are
born, and which you have breathed since your infancy, makes it almost
impossible for you to realize the dark mysteries of idolatry,
immorality, degrading slavery, hatred of the Word of God, concealed
behind the walls of that modern Babylon. You are too honest to suspect
them; and your precious time is too much taken up by the sacred duties
of your ministry, to study the long labyrinth of argumentations which
form the bulk of the greater number of controversial books. Besides
that, the majority of the books of controversy against Rome are of such
a dry character that, though many begin to read them, very few have the
courage to go to the end. The consequence is an ignorance of Romanism
which becomes more and more deplorable and fatal, every day.
It is ignorance which paves the way to the triumph of Rome, in a near
future, if there is not a complete change in your views, on that
subject.
It is that ignorance which paralyzes the arm of the Church of Christ,
and makes the glorious word “Protestant” senseless, almost a dead and
ridiculous word. For who does really protest against Rome, to-day? where
are those who sound the trumpet of alarm?
When Rome is striking you to the heart by cursing your schools and
wrenching the Bible from the hands of your children; when she is not
only battering your doors, but scaling your walls and storming your
citadels, how few dare go to the breach and repulse the audacious and
sacrilegious foe?
Why so? Because modern Protestants have not only forgotten what Rome
was, what she is, and what she will forever be: the most irreconcilable
and powerful enemy of the Gospel of Christ; but they consider her almost
a branch of the church whose corner-stone is Christ.
Faithful ministers of the Gospel! I present you this book that you may
know that the monster Church of Rome, who shed the blood of your
forefathers, is still at work, to-day, at your very door, to enchain
your people to the feet of her idols. Read it, and for the first time,
you will see the inside life of Popery with the exactness of
Photography. From the supreme art with which the mind of the young and
timid child is fettered, enchained and paralyzed, to the unspeakable
degradation of the priest under the iron heel of the bishop, everything
will be revealed to you as it has never been before.
The superstitions, the ridiculous and humiliating practices, the secret
and mental agonies of the monks, the nuns and the priests, will be shown
to you as they were never shown before. In this book, the sophisms and
errors of Romanism are discussed and refuted with a clearness,
simplicity and evidence which my twenty-five years of priesthood only
could teach me. It is not in boasting that I say this. There can be no
boasting in me for having been so many years an abject slave of the
Pope. The book I offer you is an arsenal filled with the best weapons
you ever had to fight, and, with the help of God, conquer the foe.
The learned and zealous champion of Protestantism in Great Britain Rev.
D. Badenoch, who has revised the manuscript, wrote to a friend: “I do
not think there is a Protestant work more thrilling in interest and more
important at the present time. It is not only full of incidents, but
also of arguments, on the side of truth with all classes of Romanists,
from the bishops to the parish priests. I know of no work which gives so
graphically the springs of Roman Catholic life, and at the same time,
meets the plausible objections to Protestantism in Roman Catholic
circles. I wish with all my heart that this work would be published in
Great Britain.”
The venerable, learned and so well known Rev. Dr. Kemp, Principal of the
Young Ladies’ College of Ottawa, Canada, only a few days before his
premature death, wrote: “Mr. Chinqiuy has submitted every chapter of his
‘Fifty Years in the Church of Rome’ to me: I have read it with care and
with the deepest interest; and I commend it to the public favor in the
highest terms. It is the only book I know that gives anything like a
full and authentic account of the inner workings of Popery on this
continent, and so effectively unmasks its pretence to sanctity. Besides
the most interesting biographical incidents, it contains incisive
refutations of the most plausible assumptions and deadly errors of the
Romish Church. It is well fitted to awaken Protestants to the insidious
designs of the arch-enemy of their faith and liberties, and to arouse
them to a decisive opposition. It is written in a kindly and Christian
spirit, does not indulge in denunciations, and, while speaking in truth,
it does so in love. Its style is lively and its English good, with only
a delicate flavor of the author’s native French.”
TO THE BISHOPS, PRIESTS AND PEOPLE OF ROME,
this book is also dedicated.
In the name of your immortal souls, I ask you, Roman Catholics, to read
this book.
By the mercy of God, you will find, in its pages, how you are cruelly
deceived by your vain and lying traditions.
You will see that it is not through your ceremonies, masses,
confessions, purgatory, indulgences, fastings, etc., you are saved. You
have nothing to do but to believe, repent and love.
Salvation is a gift! Eternal life is a gift! Forgiveness of sin is a
gift! Christ is a gift!
Read this book, presented by the most devoted of your friends, and, by
the mercy of God, you will see the errors of your ways—you will look to
the GIFT—you will accept it—and in its possession you will feel rich and
happy for time and eternity.
SPECIAL NOTICE
TO NEW EDITION.
------------------
Since the publication of the second edition of “Fifty Years in the
Church of Rome,” the incendiary torch of the foe has twice reduced into
ashes the electrotype plates, with many volumes already printed, and
about to be delivered to subscribers.
Though those two disasters have completely ruined me financially, they
have not discouraged me, for my trust was in God, and in Him alone.
Relying on His divine and paternal protection, I offer this New Edition
to my brethren, with the prayerful hope that the Good Master will bless
it for His glory, and the good of His elect, wherever it may go.
I have no words to sufficiently bless the friends who have extended to
me a helping hand to raise the book from its fiery grave; and I cannot
sufficiently thank the Press, both religious and secular, of Europe and
America, for the kind appreciation given, almost everywhere, to my
humble labor.
May this book, with the help of God, be the means of giving liberty to
those who are held in the bondage of ignorance, superstition and
idolatry, is the sincere desire of their friend,
C. CHINIQUY.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
FRONTISPIECE–FATHER CHINIQUY,
” ” ” IN PRIEST’S
ROBES,
FESTIVITIES IN A PARSONAGE, 54
GRAND DINNER OF THE PRIESTS, 205
CARDINAL NEWMAN, 405
FALL OF THE “HOLY FATHERS,” 436
LEO XIII., PRESENT POPE, 676
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, 693
CONTENTS.
Page.
TITLE 1
DEDICATION 3-7
PREFACE TO THIRD EDITION 8
CHAPTER I.
The Bible and the Priest of Rome 9-13
CHAPTER II.
My first school-days at St. Thomas—The Monk and 14-21
Celibacy
CHAPTER III.
The Confession of Children 22-30
CHAPTER IV.
The Shepherd whipped by his Sheep 31-40
CHAPTER V.
The Priest, Purgatory, and the poor Widow’s Cow 41-48
CHAPTER VI.
Festivities in a Parsonage 49-56
CHAPTER VII.
Preparation for the First Communion—Initiation to 57-60
Idolatry
CHAPTER VIII.
The First Communion 61-65
CHAPTER IX.
Intellectual Education in the Roman Catholic 66-74
College
CHAPTER X.
Moral and Religious Instruction in the Roman 75-85
Catholic Colleges
CHAPTER XI.
Protestant Children in the Convents and Nunneries 86-93
of Rome
CHAPTER XII.
Rome and Education—Why does the Church of Rome 94-117
hate the Common Schools of the United States,
and wants to destroy them?—Why does she object
to the reading of the Bible in the Schools?
CHAPTER XIII.
Theology of the Church of Rome: its Anti-Social 118-128
and Anti-Christian Character
CHAPTER XIV.
The Vow of Celibacy 129-140
CHAPTER XV.
The Impurities of the Theology of Rome 141-153
CHAPTER XVI.
The Priest of Rome and the Holy Fathers; or, how I 154-162
swore to give up the Word of God to follow the
word of Men
CHAPTER XVII.
The Roman Catholic Priesthood, or Ancient and 163-172
Modern Idolatry,
CHAPTER XVIII.
Nine Consequences of the Dogma of 173-182
Transubstantiation—The old Paganism under a
Christian name
CHAPTER XIX.
Vicarage, and Life at St. Charles, Rivierre Boyer 183-194
CHAPTER XX.
Papineau and the Patriots in 1833—The burning of 195-203
“Le Canadien” by the Curate of St. Charles
CHAPTER XXI.
Grand Dinner of the Priests—The Maniac sister of 204-215
Rev. Mr. Perras
CHAPTER XXII.
I am appointed Vicar of the Curate of 216-226
Charlesbourgh—The Piety, Lives and Deaths of
Fathers Bedard and Perras
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Cholera Morbus of 1834—Admirable courage and 227-235
self-denial of the Priests of Rome during the
epidemic
CHAPTER XXIV.
I am named a Vicar of St. Roch, Quebec City—The 236-241
Rev. Mr. Tetu—Tertullian—General Cargo—The Seal
Skins
CHAPTER XXV.
Simony—Strange and sacrilegious traffic in the 242-251
so-called Body and Blood of Christ—Enormous sums
of Money made by the sale of Masses—The Society
of three Masses abolished and the Society of one
Mass established
CHAPTER XXVI.
Continuation of the trade in Masses 252-260
CHAPTER XXVII.
Quebec Marine Hospital—The first time I carried 261-267
the “Bon Dieu” (the wafer god) in my vest
pocket—The Grand Oyster Soiree at Mr.
Buteau’s—The Rev. L. Parent and the “Bon Dieu”
at the Oyster Soiree
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Dr. Douglas—My First Lesson on Temperance—Study of 268-282
Anatomy—Working of Alcohol in the Human
Frame—The Murderess of her own Child—I forever
give up the use of Intoxicating Drinks
CHAPTER XXIX.
Conversions of Protestants to the Church of 283-293
Rome—Rev. Anthony Parent, Superior of the
Seminary of Quebec: His peculiar way of finding
access to the Protestants and bringing them to
the Catholic Church—How he spies the Protestants
through the Confessional—I persuade ninety-three
Families to become Catholics
CHAPTER XXX.
The Murders and Thefts in Quebec from 1835 to 294-303
1886—The night Excursion with two Thieves—The
Restitution—The Dawn of Light
CHAPTER XXXI.
Chambers and his Accomplices Condemned to 304-312
death—Asked me to prepare them for their
terrible Fate—A week in their Dungeon—Their
Sentence of Death changed to Deportation to
Botany Bay—Their Departure for exile—I meet one
of them a sincere Convert, very rich, in a high
and honorable position in Australia in 1878
CHAPTER XXXII.
The Miracles of Rome—Attack of Typhoid 318-334
Fever—Apparition of St. Anne and St.
Philomene—My Sudden Cure—The Curate of St. Anne
Du Nord, Mons. Ranvoise, almost a disguised
Protestant
CHAPTER XXXIII.
My Nomination as Curate of Beauport—Degradation 335-342
and Ruin of that place through Drunkenness—My
opposition to my nomination useless—Preparation
to Establish a Temperance Society—I write to
Father Mathew for advice
CHAPTER XXXIV.
The Hand of God in the establishment of a 343-350
Temperance Society in Beauport and Vicinity
CHAPTER XXXV.
Foundation of Temperance Societies in the 351-359
neighboring Parishes—Providential arrival of
Monsignor De Forbin Janson, Bishop of Nancy—He
publicly defends me against the Bishop of Quebec
and forever breaks the opposition of the Clergy
CHAPTER XXXVI.
The God of Rome eaten by Rats 360-367
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Visit of a Protestant stranger—He throws an Arrow 368-373
into my Priestly Soul never to be taken out
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Erection of the Column of Temperance—School 374-383
Buildings—A noble and touching act of the people
at Beauport
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Sent to succeed Rev. Mr Varin, Curate of 384-393
Kamouraska—Stern opposition of that Curate and
the surrounding Priests and People—Hours of
Desolation in Kamouraska—The good Master allays
the Tempest, and bids the Waves be still
CHAPTER XL.
Organization of Temperance Societies in Kamouraska 394-403
and surrounding Country—The Girl in the Garb of
a man in the service of the Curates of Quebec
and Eboulements—Frightened by the Scandals seen
everywhere—Give up my Parish of Kamouraska to
join the “Oblates of Mary Immaculate of
Longueuiel.”
CHAPTER XLI.
Perversions of Dr. Newman to the Church of Rome in 404-430
the light of his own explanations, Common Sense
and the Word of God
CHAPTER XLII.
Noviciate in the Monastery of the Oblates of Mary 431-449
Immaculate of Longueuiel—Some of the thousand
Acts of Folly and Idolatry which form the life
of a Monk—The Deplorable Fall of one of the
Fathers—Fall of the Grand Vicar Quiblier—Sick in
the Hotel Dieu of Montreal—Sister Urtubise, what
she says of Maria Monk—The two Missionaries to
the Lumbermen—Fall and Punishment of a Father
Oblate—What one of the best Father Oblates
thinks of the Monks and the Monastery
CHAPTER XLIII.
I accept the hospitality of the Rev. Mr. Brassard 450-456
of Longueuiel—I Give my reasons for leaving the
Oblates to Bishop Bourget—He presents me with a
splendid Crucifix blessed by his Holiness for
me, and accepts my services in the cause of
Temperance in the Diocese of Montreal
CHAPTER XLIV.
Preparation for the last Conflict—Wise Counsel, 457-469
Tears and Distress of Father Mathew—Longueuiel
the first to accept the great reform of
Temperance—The whole District of Montreal, St.
Hyacinthe and Three Rivers Conquered—The City of
Montreal with the Sulpicians take the
Pledge—Gold Medal—Officially named Apostle of
Temperance in Canada—Gift of £500 from
Parliament
CHAPTER XLV.
My Sermon on the Virgin Mary—Compliments of Bishop 470-483
Prince—Stormy Night—First serious doubts about
the Church of Rome—Faithful discussion with the
Bishop—The Holy Fathers opposed to the modern
Worship of the Virgin—The Branches of the Vine
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Holy Fathers—New mental troubles at not 484-496
finding the Doctrines of my Church in their
writings—Purgatory and the Sucking Pig of the
Poor Man of Varennes
CHAPTER XLVII.
Letter from the Rev. Bishop Vandeveld of 497-505
Chicago—Vast project of the Bishop of the United
States to take possession of the Rich Valley of
the Mississippi and the Prairies of the West, to
rule that Great Republic—They want to put me at
the head of the Work—My Lecture on Temperance at
Detroit—Intemperance of the Bishops and Priests
of that City
CHAPTER XLVIII.
My visit to Chicago in 1857—Bishop Vandeveld—His 506-521
Predecessor Poisoned—Magnificent Prairies of the
West—Return to Canada—Bad Feelings of Bishop
Bourget—I decline sending a rich Woman to the
Nunnery to enrich the Bishop—A Plot to Destroy
me
CHAPTER XLIX.
The Plot to Destroy me—The Interdict—The Retreat 522-534
at the Jesuits’ College—The Lost Girl, Employed
by the Bishop, retracts—The Bishop Confounded,
sees his Injustice, makes amends—Testimonial
Letters—The Chalice—The Benediction before I
leave Canada
CHAPTER L.
Address presented me at Longueuil—I arrive at 535-541
Chicago—I select the spot for my Colony—I build
the first Chapel—Jealousy and Opposition of the
Priests of Bourbonnais and Chicago—Great Success
of the Colony
CHAPTER LI.
Intrigues, Impostures, and Criminal life of the 542-553
Priests in Bourbonnais—Indignation of the
Bishop—The People ignominiously turn out the
Criminal Priests from their Parish—Frightful
Scandal—Faith in the Church of Rome seriously
Shaken
CHAPTER LII.
Correspondence with the Bishop 554-569
CHAPTER LIII.
The Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary 570-579
CHAPTER LIV.
The Abomination of Auricular Confession 580-602
CHAPTER LV.
The Ecclesiastical Retreat—Conduct of the 603-616
Priests—The Bishop Forbids me to Distribute the
Bible
CHAPTER LVI.
Public Acts of Simony—Thefts and Brigandage of 617-629
Bishop O’Regan—General Cry of Indignation—I
determine to resist him to his face—He employs
Mr. Spink again to send me to Gaol, and he
fails—Drags me as a Prisoner to Urbana in the
Spring of 1856 and fails again—Abraham Lincoln
defends me—My dear Bible becomes more than ever
my Light and my Counselor
CHAPTER LVII.
Bishop O’Regan sells the Parsonage of the French 630-642
Canadians of Chicago, pockets the money, and
turns them out when they come to complain—He
determines to turn me out of my Colony and send
me to Kahokia—He forgets it next day and
publishes that he has Interdicted me—My People
send a Deputation to the Bishop—His Answers—The
Sham Excommunication by three drunken Priests
CHAPTER LVIII.
Address from my People, asking me to remain—I am 643-667
again dragged as a prisoner by the Sheriff to
Urbana—Abraham Lincoln’s anxiety about the issue
of the Prosecution—My Distress—The Rescue—Miss
Philomena Moffat sent by God to save
me—LeBelle’s Confession and Distress—My
Innocence acknowledged—Noble Words and Conduct
of Abraham Lincoln—The Oath of Miss Philomena
Moffat
CHAPTER LIX.
A moment of Interruption in the Thread of my 668-687
“Fifty Years in the Church of Rome,” to see how
my sad Previsions about my defender, Abraham
Lincoln, were to be realized—Rome the Implacable
Enemy of the United States
CHAPTER LX.
The Fundamental Principals of the Constitution of 688-710
the United States drawn from the Gospel of
Christ—My first visit to Abraham Lincoln to warn
him of the Plots I knew against his Life—The
Priests circulate the news that Lincoln was born
in the Church of Rome—Letter of the Pope to Jeff
Davis—My last visit to the President—His
admirable reference to Moses—His willingness to
die for his Nation’s Sake
CHAPTER LXI.
Abraham Lincoln a true man of God, and a true 711-735
Disciple of the Gospel—The Assassination by
Booth—The tool of the Priests—John Surratt’s
house—The Rendezvous and Dwelling Place of the
Priests—John Surratt Secreted by the Priests
after the murder of Lincoln—The Assassination of
Lincoln known and published in the town three
hours before its occurrence
CHAPTER LXII.
Deputation of two Priests sent by the People and 736-750
the Bishops of Canada to persuade us to submit
to the will of the Bishop—The Deputies
acknowledge publicly that the Bishop is wrong
and that we are right—For peace sake, I consent
to withdraw from the contest on certain
conditions accepted by the Deputies—One of the
Deputies turns false to his promise, and betrays
us, to be put at the head of my Colony—My last
interview with him and Mr. Brassard
CHAPTER LXIII.
Mr. Desaulnier is named Vicar General of Chicago 751-773
to crush us—Our People more united than ever to
defend their rights—Letters of the Bishops of
Montreal against me, and my answer—Mr. Brassard
forced, against his conscience, to condemn us—My
answer to Mr. Brassard—He writes to beg my
pardon
CHAPTER LXIV.
I write to the Pope Pius IX, and to Napoleon, 774-783
Emperor of France, and send them the Legal and
Public Documents proving the bad conduct of
Bishop O’Regan—Grand Vicar Dunn sent to tell me
of my victory at Rome, and the end of our
trouble—I go to Dubuque to offer my submission
to the Bishop—The peace sealed and publicly
proclaimed by Grand Vicar Dunn the 28th of
March, 1858
CHAPTER LXV.
Excellent testimonial from my Bishop—My 784-800
Retreat—Grand Vicar Saurin and his assistant,
Rev. M. Granger—Grand Vicar Dunn writes me about
the new storm prepared by the
Jesuits—Vision—Christ offers Himself as a Gift—I
am forgiven, rich, happy and saved—Back to my
People
CHAPTER LXVI.
The Solemn Responsibilities of my New Position—We 801-817
give up the Name of Roman Catholic to call
ourselves Christian Catholics—Dismay of the
Roman Catholic Bishops—My Lord Duggan, Coadjutor
of St. Louis, hurried to Chicago—He comes to St.
Anne to persuade the People to submit to his
Authority—He is ignominiously turned out, and
runs away in the midst of the Cries of the
People
CHAPTER LXVII.
Bird’s-eye View of the Principal Events from my 818-832
Conversion to this day—My Narrow Escapes—The end
of the Voyage through the Desert to the Promised
Land
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
THE BIBLE AND THE PRIEST OF ROME.
My father, Charles Chiniquy, born in Quebec, had studied in the
Theological Seminary of that city, to prepare himself for the
priesthood. But a few days before making his vows, having been the
witness of a great iniquity in the high quarters of the church, he
changed his mind, studied law and became a notary.
Married to Reine Perrault, daughter of Mitchel Perrault, in 1808, he
settled at first in Kamoraska, where I was born on the 30th July, 1809.
About four or five years later, my parents emigrated to Murray Bay. That
place was then in its infancy, and no school had yet been established.
My mother was, therefore, my first teacher.
Before leaving the Seminary of Quebec my father had received from one of
the Superiors, as a token of his esteem, a beautiful French and Latin
Bible. That Bible was the first book, after the A B C, in which I was
taught to read. My mother selected the chapters which she considered the
most interesting for me; and I read them every day with the greatest
attention and pleasure. I was even so much pleased with several
chapters, that I read them over and over again till I knew them by
heart.
When eight or nine years of age, I had learned by heart the history of
the creation and the fall of man; the deluge; the sacrifice of Isaac;
the history of Moses; the plagues of Egypt; the sublime hymn of Moses
after crossing the Red Sea; the history of Samson; the most interesting
events of the life of David; several Psalms; all the speeches and
parables of Christ; and the whole history of the sufferings and death of
our Saviour as narrated by John.
I had two brothers, Louis and Achille; the first about four, the second
about eight years younger than myself. When they were sleeping or
playing together, how many delicious hours I have spent by my mother’s
side, in reading to her the sublime pages of the divine book.
Sometimes she interrupted me to see if I understood what I read; and
when my answers had made her sure that I understood it, she used to kiss
me and press me on her bosom as an expression of her joy.
One day, while I was reading the history of the sufferings of the
Saviour, my young heart was so much impressed that I could hardly
enunciate the words, and my voice trembled. My mother, perceiving my
emotion, tried to say something on the love of Jesus for us, but she
could not utter a word—her voice was suffocated by her sobs. She leaned
her head on my forehead, and I felt two streams of tears falling from
her eyes on my cheeks. I could not contain myself any longer. I wept
also; and my tears were mixed with hers. The holy book fell from my
hands, and I threw myself into my dear mother’s arms.
No human words can express what was felt in her soul and in | 573.299941 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.3162240 | 631 | 11 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
BY CANADIAN STREAMS
BY
LAWRENCE J. BURPEE
TORONTO
THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED
_Entered at_
_Stationers Hall_
1909
THE RIVERS OF CANADA
Who that has travelled upon their far-spreading waters has not felt the
compelling charm of the rivers of Canada? The matchless variety of their
scenery, from the gentle grace of the Sissibou to the tempestuous
grandeur of the Fraser; the romance that clings to their shores--legends
and tales of Micmac and Iroquois, Cree, Blackfoot, and Chilcotin;
stories of peaceful Acadian villages beside the Gaspereau, and fortified
towns along the St. Lawrence; of warlike expeditions and missionary
enterprises up the Richelieu and the Saguenay; of heroic exploits at the
Long Sault and at Vercheres; of memorable explorations in the north and
the far west? How many of us realise the illimitable possibilities of
these arteries of a nation, their vital importance as avenues of
commerce and communication, the potential energy stored in their rushing
waters? Do we even appreciate their actual extent, or thoroughly grasp
the fact that this network of waterways covers half a continent, and
reaches every corner of this vast Dominion?
Two hundred years ago little was known of these rivers outside the
valley of the St. Lawrence. One hundred years later scores of new
waterways had been explored from source to outlet, some of them ranking
among the great rivers of the earth. The Western Sea, that had lured
the restless sons of New France toward the setting sun, that had
furnished a dominating impulse to her explorers, from Jacques Cartier to
La Verendrye, was at last reached by Canadians of another race--and the
road that they travelled was the water-road that connects three oceans.
In their frail canoes these tireless pathfinders journeyed up the mighty
St. Lawrence and its great tributary the Ottawa, through Lake Nipissing,
and down the French river to Georgian Bay; they skirted the shores of
the inland seas to the head of Lake Superior, and by way of numberless
portages crossed the almost indistinguishable height of land to Rainy
Lake and the beautiful Lake of the Woods. They descended the wild
Winnipeg to Lake Winnipeg, paddled up the Saskatchewan to Cumberland
House, turned north by way of Frog Portage to the Churchill, and
ascended that waterway to its source, where they climbed over Meythe
Portage--famous in the annals of exploration and the fur trade--to the
Clearwater, a branch of the Athabaska, and so came to Fort Chipewyan, on
Lake Athab | 573.336264 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.3788190 | 23 | 21 |
E-text prepared by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Mary Meehan, and the Project | 573.398859 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.4205940 | 69 | 16 |
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.)
SATAN’S INVISIBLE WORLD DISPLAYED
[Illustration: THE CITY HALL, NEW YORK.]
SATAN’S INVISIBLE WORLD DISPLAYED | 573.440634 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.4841510 | 5,547 | 17 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Wayne Hammond and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Transcriber’s Note:
This project uses utf-8 encoded characters. If some characters are not
readable, check your settings of your browser to ensure you have a
default font installed that can display utf-8 characters.]
TRAVELS
TO DISCOVER THE
SOURCE OF THE NILE,
In the Years 1768, 1769, 1770, 1771, 1772, and 1773.
IN FIVE VOLUMES.
BY JAMES BRUCE OF KINNAIRD, ESQ. F.R.S.
[Illustration: _Heath Sc_]
VOL. III.
_Nilus in extremum fugit perterritus orbem_,
_Occuluitque caput, quod adhuc latet._----
OVID. Metam.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY J. RUTHVEN, FOR G. G. J. AND J. ROBINSON,
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
M.DCC.XC.
CONTENTS
OF THE
THIRD VOLUME.
BOOK V.
ACCOUNT OF MY JOURNEY FROM MASUAH TO GONDAR--TRANSACTIONS
THERE--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF
THE ABYSSINIANS.
CHAP. I.
_Transactions at Masuah and Arkeeko_, 1
CHAP. II.
_Directions to Travellers for preserving Health--Diseases
of the Country--Music--Trade_, &c. _of Masuah--Conferences
with the Naybe_, 31
CHAP. III.
_Journey from Arkeeko over the Mountain Taranta, to Dixan_, 64
CHAP. IV.
_Journey from Dixan to Adowa, Capital of Tigré_, 93
CHAP. V.
_Arrive at Adowa--Reception there--Visit Fremona--And Ruins
of Axum--Arrive at Siré_, 118
CHAP. VI.
_Journey from Siré to Addergey, and Transactions there_, 152
CHAP. VII.
_Journey over Lamalmon to Gondar_, 172
CHAP. VIII.
_Reception at Gondar--Triumphal Entry of the King--The
Author’s first Audience_, 197
CHAP. IX.
_Transactions at Gondar_, 233
CHAP. X.
_Geographical Division of Abyssinia into Provinces_, 248
CHAP. XI.
_Various Customs in Abyssinia, similar to those in Persia_,
&c.--_A bloody Banquet described_, &c. 262
CHAP. XII.
_State of Religion--Circumcision--Excision_, &c. 313
BOOK VI.
FIRST ATTEMPT TO DISCOVER THE SOURCE OF THE NILE
FRUSTRATED--A SUCCESSFUL JOURNEY THITHER, WITH
A FULL ACCOUNT OF EVERY THING RELATING TO THAT
CELEBRATED RIVER.
CHAP. I.
_The Author made Governor of Ras el Feel_, 359
CHAP. II.
_Battle of Banja--Conspiracy against Michael--The Author
retires to Emfras--Description of Gondar, Emfras, and
Lake Tzana_, 373
CHAP. III.
_The King encamps at Lamgué--Transactions there--Passes
the Nile, and encamps at Derdera--The Author follows
the King_, 389
CHAP. IV.
_Pass the River Gomara--Remarkable Accident there--Arrive at
Dara--Visit the Great Cataract of Alata--Leave Dara, and
resume our Journey_, 405
CHAP. V.
_Pass the Nile, and encamp at Tsoomwa--Arrive
at Derdera--Alarm on approaching the Army--Join
the King at Karcagna_, 432
CHAP. VI.
_King’s Army retreats towards Gondar--Memorable Passage of
the Nile--Dangerous Situation of the Army--Retreat of
Kefla Yasous--Battle of Limjour--Unexpected Peace with
Fasil--Arrival at Gondar_, 446
CHAP. VII.
_King and Army retreat to Tigrè--Interesting Events following
that Retreat--The Body of Joas is found--Socinios, a new
King, proclaimed at Gondar_, 470
CHAP. VIII.
_Second Journey to discover the Source of the Nile--Favourable
turn of the King’s Affairs in Tigrè--We fall in with
Fasil’s Army at Bamba_, 495
CHAP. IX.
_Interview with Fasil--Transactions in the Camp_, 509
CHAP. X.
_Leave Bamba, and continue our Journey Southward--Fall in
with Fasil’s Pagan Galla--Encamp on the Kelti_, 532
CHAP. XI.
_Continue our Journey--Fall in with a Party of Galla--Prove
our Friends--Pass the Nile--Arrive at Goutto, and visit
the first Cataract_, 550
CHAP. XII.
_Leave Goutto--Mountains of the Moon--Roguery of Woldo our
Guide--Arrive at the Source of the Nile_, 577
CHAP. XIII.
_Attempts of the Ancients to discover the Source of the
Nile--No discovery made in latter Times--No Evidence
of the Jesuits having arrived there--Kircher’s Account
fabulous--Discovery completely made by the Author_, 603
CHAP. XIV.
_Description of the Sources of the Nile--Of Geesh--Accounts
of its several Cataracts--Course from its Rise to the
Mediterranean_, 632
CHAP. XV.
_Various names of this River--Ancient Opinion concerning
the Cause of its Inundation--Real Manner by which it
is effected--Remarkable Disposition of the Peninsula
of Africa_, 654
CHAP. XVI.
_Egypt not the Gift of the Nile--Ancient Opinion
refuted--Modern Opinion contrary to Proof and Experience_, 672
CHAP. XVII.
_The same Subject continued--Nilometer what--How divided
and measured_, 689
CHAP. XVIII.
_Inquiry about the Possibility of changing the Course of
the Nile--Cause of the Nucta_, 712
CHAP. XIX.
_Kind reception among the Agows--Their Number, Trade,
Character_, &c. 726
[Illustration: _PLAN_
_of_
The Island
_and_
Harbour
_of_
MASUAH]
TRAVELS
TO DISCOVER
THE SOURCE OF THE NILE.
BOOK V.
ACCOUNT OF MY JOURNEY FROM MASUAH TO GONDAR--TRANSACTIONS
THERE--MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE ABYSSINIANS.
CHAP. I.
_Transactions at Masuah and Arkeeko._
Masuah, which means the port or harbour of the Shepherds, is a small
island immediately on the Abyssinian shore, having an excellent
harbour, and water deep enough for ships of any size to the very edge
of the island: here they may ride in the utmost security, from whatever
point, or with whatever degree of strength, the wind blows. As it takes
its modern, so it received its ancient name from its harbour. It was
called by the Greeks _Sebasticum Os_, from the capacity of its port,
which is distributed into three divisions. The island itself is very
small, scarce three quarters of a mile in length, and about half that
in breadth, one-third occupied, by houses, one by cisterns to receive
the rain-water, and the last is reserved for burying the dead.
Masuah, as we have already observed, was one of those towns on the
west of the Red Sea that followed the conquest of Arabia Felix by
Sinan Basha, under Selim emperor of Constantinople. At that time it
was a place of great commerce, possessing a share of the Indian trade
in common with the other ports of the Red Sea near the mouth of the
Indian Ocean. It had a considerable quantity of exports brought to it
from a great tract of mountainous country behind it, in all ages very
unhospitable, and almost inaccessible to strangers. Gold and ivory,
elephants and buffaloes hides, and, above all, slaves, of much greater
value, as being more sought after for their personal qualities than any
other sort, who had the misfortune to be reduced to that condition,
made the principal articles of exportation from this port. Pearls,
considerable for size, water, or colour, were found all along its
coast. The great convenience of commodious riding for vessels, joined
to these valuable articles of trade, had overcome the inconvenience of
want of water, the principal necessary of life, to which it had been
subjected from its creation.
Masuah continued a place of much resort as long as commerce flourished,
but it fell into obscurity very suddenly under the oppression of the
Turks, who put the finishing-hand to the ruin of the India trade in the
Red Sea, begun some years before by the discovery of the Cape of Good
Hope, and the settlements made by the Portuguese on the continent of
India.
The first government of Masuah under the Turks was by a basha sent from
Constantinople, and from thence, for a time, the conquest of Abyssinia
was attempted, always with great confidence, though never with any
degree of success; so that, losing its value as a garrison, and, at the
same time, as a place of trade, it was thought no longer worth while to
keep up so expensive an establishment as that of a bashalik.
The principal auxiliary, when the Turks conquered the place, was a
tribe of Mahometans called Belowee, shepherds inhabiting the coast of
the Red Sea under the mountains of the Habab, about lat. 14°. In reward
for this assistance, the Turks gave their chief the civil government of
Masuah and its territory, under the title of Naybe of Masuah; and, upon
the basha’s being withdrawn, this officer remained in fact sovereign of
the place, though, to save appearances, he held it of the grand signior
for an annual tribute, upon receiving a firman from the Ottoman Porte.
The body of Janizaries, once established there in garrison, were left
in the island, and their pay continued to them from Constantinople.
These marrying the women of the country, their children succeeded
them in their place and pay as Janizaries; but being now, by their
intermarriages, Moors, and natives of Masuah, they became of course
relations to each other, and always subject to the influence of the
Naybe.
The Naybe finding the great distance he was from his protectors, the
Turks in Arabia, on the other side of the Red Sea, whose garrisons
were every day decaying in strength, and for the most part reduced;
sensible, too, how much he was in the power of the Abyssinians, his
enemies and nearest neighbours, began to think that it was better to
secure himself at home, by making some advances to those in whose
power he was. Accordingly it was agreed between them, that one half of
the customs should be paid by him to the king of Abyssinia, who was
to suffer him to enjoy his government unmolested; for Masuah, as I
have before said, is absolutely destitute of water; neither can it be
supplied with any sort of provisions but from the mountainous country
of Abyssinia.
The same may be said of Arkeeko, a large town on the bottom of the bay
of Masuah, which has indeed water, but labours under the same scarcity
of provisions; for the tract of flat land behind both, called Samhar,
is a perfect desert, and only inhabited from the month of November to
April, by a variety of wandering tribes called Tora, Hazorta, Shiho,
and Doba, and these carry all their cattle to the Abyssinian side of
the mountains when the rains fall there, which is the opposite six
months. When the season is thus reversed, they and their cattle are no
longer in Samhar, or the dominion of the Naybe, but in the hands of
the Abyssinians, especially the governor of Tigré and Baharnagash, who
thereby, without being at the expence and trouble of marching against
Masuah with an army, can make a line round it, and starve all at
Arkeeko and Masuah, by prohibiting any sort of provisions to be carried
thither from their side. In the course of this history we have seen
this practised with great success more than once, especially against
the Naybe Musa in the reign of Yasous I.
The friendship of Abyssinia once secured, and the power of the Turks
declining daily in Arabia, the Naybe began by degrees to withdraw
himself from paying tribute at all to the basha of Jidda, to whose
government his had been annexed by the porte. He therefore received the
firman as a mere form, and returned trifling presents, but no tribute;
and in troublesome times, or a weak government happening in Tigrè, he
withdrew himself equally from paying any consideration, either to the
basha in name of tribute, or to the king of Abyssinia, as share of the
customs. This was precisely his situation when I arrived in Abyssinia.
A great revolution, as we have already seen, had happened in that
kingdom, of which Michael had been the principal author. When he was
called to Gondar and made minister there, Tigré remained drained of
troops, and without a governor.
Nor was the new king, Hatzè Hannes, whom Michael had placed upon the
throne after the murder of Joas his predecessor, a man likely to
infuse vigour into the new government. Hannes was past seventy at his
accession, and Michael his minister lame, so as scarcely to be able
to stand, and within a few years of eighty. The Naybe, a man of about
forty-eight, judged of the debility of the Abyssinian government by
those circumstances, but in this he was mistaken.
Already Michael had intimated to him, that, the next campaign, he would
lay waste Arkeeko and Masuah, till they should be as desert as the
wilds of Samhar; and as he had been all his life very remarkable for
keeping his promises of this kind, the stranger merchants had many
of them fled to Arabia, and others to Dobarwa[1], a large town in the
territories of the Baharnagash. Notwithstanding this, the Naybe had not
shewn any public mark of fear, nor sent one penny either to the king of
Abyssinia or the basha of Jidda.
On the other hand, the basha was not indifferent to his own interest;
and, to bring about the payment, he had made an agreement with an
officer of great credit with the Sherriffe of Mecca. This man was
originally an Abyssinian slave, his name Metical Aga, who by his
address had raised himself to the post of Selictar, or _sword-bearer_,
to the Sherriffe; and, in fact, he was absolute in all his dominions.
He was, moreover, a great friend of Michael governor of Tigré, and had
supplied him with large stores of arms and ammunition for his last
campaign against the king at Gondar.
The basha had employed Metical Aga to inform Michael of the treatment
he had received from the Naybe, desiring his assistance to force him
to pay the tribute, and at the same time intimated to the Naybe, that
he not only had done so, but the very next year would give orders
throughout Arabia to arrest the goods and persons of such Mahometan
merchants as should come to Arabia, either from motives of religion or
trade. With this message he had sent the firman from Constantinople,
desiring the return both of tribute and presents.
Mahomet Gibberti, Metical Aga’s servant, had come in the boat with
me; but Abdelcader, who carried the message and firman, and who was
governor of the island of Dahalac, had sailed at same time with me, and
had been spectator of the honour which was paid my ship when she left
the harbour of Jidda.
Running straight over to Masuah, Abdelcader had proclaimed what he had
seen with great exaggeration, according to the custom of his country;
and reported that a prince was coming, a very near relation to the king
of England, who was no trader, but came only to visit countries and
people.
It was many times, and oft agitated (as we knew afterwards) between
the Naybe and his counsellors, what was to be done with this prince.
Some were for the most expeditious, and what has long been the most
customary method of treating strangers in Masuah, to put them to death,
and divide every thing they had among the garrison. Others insisted,
that they should stay and see what letters I had from Arabia to
Abyssinia, lest this might prove an addition to the storm just ready to
break upon them on the part of Metical Aga and Michael Suhul.
But Achmet, the Naybe’s nephew, said, it was folly to doubt but that a
man, under the description I was, would have protections of every kind;
but whether I had or not, that my very rank should protect me in every
place where there was any government whatever; it might do even among
banditti and thieves inhabiting woods and mountains; that a sufficient
quantity of strangers blood had been already shed at Masuah, for the
purpose of rapine, and he believed a curse and poverty had followed
it; that it was impossible for those who had heard the firing of those
ships to conjecture whether I had letters to Abyssinia or not; that
it would be better to consider whether I was held in esteem by the
captains of those ships, as half of the guns they fired in compliment
to me, was sufficient to destroy them all, and lay Arkeeko and Masuah
as desolate as Michael Suhul had threatened to do; nor could that
vengeance cost any of the ships, coming next year to Jidda, a day’s
sailing out of their way; and there being plenty of water when they
reached Arkeeko at the south-west of the bay, all this destruction
might be effected in one afternoon, and repeated once a-year without
difficulty, danger, or expence, while they were watering.
Achmet, therefore, declared it was his resolution that I should be
received with marks of consideration, till upon inspecting my letters,
and conversing with me, they might see what sort of man I was, and upon
what errand I was come; but even if I was a trader, and no priest or
Frank, such as came to disturb the peace of the country, he would not
then consent to any personal injury being done me; if I was indeed a
priest, or one of those Franks, _Gehennim_, they might send me to hell
if they chose; but he, for his part, would not, even then have any
thing to do with it.
Before our vessel appeared, they came to these conclusions; and though
I have supposed that hoisting the colours and saluting me with guns had
brought me into this danger, on the other hand it may be said, perhaps
with greater reason, they were the means Providence kindly used to
save my life in that slaughter-house of strangers.
Achmet’s father had been Naybe before, and, of course, the sovereignty,
upon the present incumbent’s death, was to devolve on him. And what
made this less invidious, the sons of the present Naybe had all been
swept away by the small-pox; so that Achmet was really, at any rate,
to be considered as his son and successor. Add to this, the Naybe had
received a stroke of the palsy, which deprived him of the use of one of
his sides, and greatly impeded his activity, unless in his schemes of
doing ill; but I could not perceive, when intending mischief, that he
laboured under any infirmity. All this gave Achmet sovereign influence,
and it was therefore agreed the rest should be only spectators, and
that my fate should be left to him.
Achmet was about twenty-five years of age, or perhaps younger; his
stature near five-feet four; he was feebly made, a little bent forward
or stooping, thin, long-faced, long-necked; small, but tolerably
well-limbed, agile and active enough in his motions, though of a
figure by no means athletic; he had a broad forehead, thick black
eye-brows, black eyes, an aquiline nose, thin lips, and fine teeth;
and, what is very rare in that country, and much desired, a thick
curled beard. This man was known to be very brave in his person, but
exceedingly prone to anger. A near relation to the Baharnagash having
said something impertinent to him while he was altering the pin of his
tent, which his servant had not placed to his mind, in a passion he
struck the Abyssinian with a wooden mallet, and killed him on the spot
and although this was in the Abyssinian territory, by getting nimbly
on horseback, he arrived at Arkeeko without being intercepted, though
closely pursued almost to the town.
It was the 19th of September 1769 when we arrived at Masuah, very much
tired of the sea, and desirous to land. But, as it was evening, I
thought it adviseable to sleep on board all night, that we might have
a whole day (as the first is always a busy one) before us, and receive
in the night any intelligence from friends, who might not choose to
venture to come openly to see us in the day, at least before the
determination of the Naybe had been heard concerning us.
Mahomet Gibberti, a man whom we had perfectly secured, and who was
fully instructed in our suspicions as to the Naybe, and the manner we
had resolved to behave to him, went ashore that evening; and, being
himself an Abyssinian, having connections in Masuah, dispatched that
same night to Adowa, capital of Tigrè, those letters which I knew were
to be of the greatest importance; giving our friend Janni (a Greek,
confidential servant of Michael, governor of Tigrè) advice that we
were arrived, had letters of Metical Aga to the Naybe and Ras Michael;
as also Greek letters to him from the Greek patriarch of Cairo, a
duplicate of which I sent by the bearer. We wrote likewise to him in
Greek, that we were afraid of the Naybe, and begged him to send to us
instantly some man of confidence, who might protect us, or at least be
a spectator of what should befal us. We, besides, instructed him to
advise the court of Abyssinia, that we were friends of Metical Aga, had
letters from him to the king and the Ras, and distrusted the Naybe of
Masuah.
Mahomet Gibberti executed this commission in the instant, with all the
punctuality of an honest man, who was faithful to the instructions of
his master, and was independent of every person else. He applied to
Mahomet Adulai, (a person kept by Ras Michael as a spy upon the Naybe,
and in the same character by Metical Aga); and Adulai, that very night,
dispatched a trusty messenger, with many of whom he was constantly
provided. This runner, charged with our dispatches, having a friend and
correspondent of his own among the Shiho, passed, by ways best known to
himself, and was safely escorted by his own friends till the fifth day,
when he arrived at the customhouse of Adowa, and there delivered our
dispatches to our friend Janni.
At Cairo, as I have already mentioned, I met with my friend father
Christopher, who introduced me to the Greek patriarch, Mark. This
patriarch had told me, that there | 573.504191 |
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Produced by Brownfox and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 20. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1840. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: MALAHIDE CASTLE, COUNTY OF DUBLIN.]
An ancient baronial castle, in good preservation and still inhabited by
the lineal descendant of its original founder, is a rare object to find
in Ireland; and the causes which have led to this circumstance are too
obvious to require an explanation. In Malahide Castle we have, however,
a highly interesting example of this kind; for though in its present
state it owes much of its imposing effect to modern restorations and
improvements, it still retains a considerable portion of very ancient
date, and most probably even some parts of the original castle erected
in the reign of King Henry II | 573.536298 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.5184490 | 2,457 | 8 |
Produced by David Widger
ABOUT THE HOLY BIBLE
A Lecture
By Robert G. Ingersoll
"In the nature of things there can be no evidence to establish the claim
of Inspiration."
1894.
ABOUT THE HOLY BIBLE.
THERE are many millions of people who believe the Bible to be the
inspired word of God--millions who think that this book is staff and
guide, counselor and consoler; that it fills the present with peace and
the future with hope--millions who believe that it is the fountain of
law, justice and mercy, and that to its wise and benign teachings the
world is indebted for its liberty, wealth and civilization--millions who
imagine that this book is a revelation from the wisdom and love of God
to the brain and heart of man--millions who regard this book as a torch
that conquers the darkness of death, and pours its radiance on another
world--a world without a tear. They forget its ignorance and savagery,
its hatred of liberty, its religious persecution; they remember heaven,
but they forget the dungeon of eternal pain.
I. THE ORIGIN OF THE BIBLE.
A FEW wandering families--poor, wretched; without education, art or
power; descendants of those who had been enslaved for four hundred
years; ignorant as the inhabitants of Central Africa--had just escaped
from their masters to the desert of Sinai.
Their leader was Moses, a man who had been raised in the family of
Pharaoh, and had been taught the law and mythology of Egypt. For the
purpose of controlling his followers he pretended that he was instructed
and assisted by Jehovah, the god of these wanderers.
Everything that happened was attributed to the interference of this god.
Moses declared that he met this god face to face; that on Sinai's top
from the hands of this god he had received the tables of stone on which,
by the finger of this god, the Ten Commandments had been written, and
that, in addition to this, Jehovah had made known the sacrifices and
ceremonies that were pleasing to him and the laws by which the people
should be governed.
In this way the Jewish religion and the Mosaic Code were established.
It is now claimed that this religion and these laws were and are
revealed and established for all mankind.
At that time these wanderers had no commerce with other nations--they
had no written language--they could neither read nor write. They had no
means by which they could make this revelation known to other nations,
and so it remained buried in the jargon of a few ignorant, impoverished
and unknown tribes for more than two thousand years.
Many centuries after Moses, the leader, was dead--many centuries after
all his followers had passed away--the Pentateuch was written, the work
of many writers, and to give it force and authority it was claimed that
Moses was the author.
We now know that the Pentateuch was not written by Moses.
Towns are mentioned that were not in existence when Moses lived.
Money, not coined until centuries after his death, is mentioned.
So, many of the laws were not applicable to wanderers on the
desert--laws about agriculture, about the sacrifice of oxen, sheep and
doves, about the weaving of cloth, about ornaments of gold and silver,
about the cultivation of land, about harvest, about the threshing of
grain, about houses and temples, about cities of refuge, and about many
other subjects of no possible application to a few starving wanderers
over the sands and rocks.
It is now not only admitted by intelligent and honest theologians that
Moses was not the author of the Pentateuch, but they all admit that no
one knows who the authors were, or who wrote any one of these books, or
a chapter or a line. We know that the books were not written in the same
generation; that they were not all written by one person; that they are
filled with mistakes and contradictions.
It is also admitted that Joshua did not write the book that bears his
name, because it refers to events that did not happen until long after
his death.
No one knows, or pretends to know, the author of Judges; all we know is
that it was written centuries after all the judges had ceased to exist.
No one knows the author of Ruth, nor of First and Second Samuel; all we
know is that Samuel did not write the books that bear his name. In the
25th chapter of First Samuel is an account of Samuel's death, and in
the 27th chapter is an account of the raising of Samuel by the Witch of
Endor.
No one knows the author of First and Second Kings or First and Second
Chronicles; all we know is that these books are of no value.
We know that the Psalms were not written by David. In the Psalms the
Captivity is spoken of, and that did not happen until about five hundred
years after David slept with his fathers.
We know that Solomon did not write the Proverbs or the Song; that Isaiah
was not the author of the book that bears his name; that no one knows
the author of Job, Ecclesiastes or Esther, or of any book in the Old
Testament, with the exception of Ezra.
We know that God is not mentioned or in any way referred to in the book
of Esther. We know, too, that the book is cruel, absurd and impossible.
God is not mentioned in the Song of Solomon, the best book in the Old
Testament.
And we know that Ecclesiastes was written by an unbeliever.
We know, too, that the Jews themselves had not decided as to what books
were inspired--were authentic--until the second century after Christ.
We know that the idea of inspiration was of slow growth, and that the
inspiration was determined by those who had certain ends to accomplish.
II. IS THE OLD TESTAMENT INSPIRED?
If it is, it should be a book that no man--no number of men--could
produce.
It should contain the perfection of philosophy.
It should perfectly accord with every fact in nature.
There should be no mistakes in astronomy, geology, or as to any subject
or science.
Its morality should be the highest, the purest.
Its laws and regulations for the control of conduct should be just,
wise, perfect, and perfectly adapted to the accomplishment of the ends
desired.
It should contain nothing calculated to make man cruel, revengeful,
vindictive or infamous.
It should be filled with intelligence, justice, purity, honesty, mercy
and the spirit of liberty.
It should be opposed to strife and war, to slavery and lust, to
ignorance, credulity and superstition.
It should develop the brain and civilize the heart.
It should satisfy the heart and brain of the best and wisest.
It should be true.
Does the Old Testament satisfy this standard?
Is there anything in the Old Testament--in history, in theory, in law,
in government, in morality, in science--above and beyond the ideas, the
beliefs, the customs and prejudices of its authors and the people among
whom they lived?
Is there one ray of light from any supernatural source?
The ancient Hebrews believed that this earth was the centre of the
universe, and that the sun, moon and stars were specks in the sky.
With this the Bible agrees.
They thought the earth was flat, with four corners; that the sky, the
firmament, was solid--the floor of Jehovah's house.
The Bible teaches the same.
They imagined that the sun journeyed about the earth, and that by
stopping the sun the day could be lengthened.
The Bible agrees with this.
They believed that Adam and Eve were the first man and woman; that they
had been created but a few years before, and that they, the Hebrews,
were their direct descendants.
This the Bible teaches.
If anything is, or can be, certain, the writers of the Bible were
mistaken about creation, astronomy, geology; about the causes of
phenomena, the origin of evil and the cause of death.
Now, it must be admitted that if an Infinite Being is the author of
the Bible, he knew all sciences, all facts, and could not have made a
mistake.
If, then, there are mistakes, misconceptions, false theories, ignorant
myths and blunders in the Bible, it must have been written by finite
beings; that is to say, by ignorant and mistaken men.
Nothing can be clearer than this.
For centuries the Church insisted that the Bible was absolutely true;
that it contained no mistakes; that the story of creation was true;
that its astronomy and geology were in accord with the facts; that
the scientists who differed with the Old Testament were infidels and
atheists.
Now this has changed. The educated Christians admit that the writers of
the Bible were not inspired as to any science. They now say that God,
or Jehovah, did not inspire the writers of his book for the purpose of
instructing the world about astronomy, geology or any science. They now
admit that the inspired men who wrote the Old Testament knew nothing
about any science, and that they wrote about the earth and stars, the
sun and moon, in accordance with the general ignorance of the time.
It required many centuries to force the theologians to this admission.
Reluctantly, full of malice and hatred, the priests retired from the
field, leaving the victory with science.
They took another position:
They declared that the authors, or rather the writers, of the Bible
were inspired in spiritual and moral things; that Jehovah wanted to make
known to his children his will and his infinite love for his children;
that Jehovah, seeing his people wicked, ignorant and depraved, wished to
make them merciful and just, wise and spiritual, and that the Bible is
inspired in its laws, in the religion it teaches and in its ideas of
government.
This is the issue now. Is the Bible any nearer right in its ideas of
justice, of mercy, of morality or of religion than in its conception of
the sciences?
Is it moral?
It upholds slavery--it sanctions polygamy.
Could a devil have done worse?
Is it merciful?
In war it raised the black flag; it commanded the destruction, the
massacre, of all--of the old, infirm, and helpless--of wives and babes.
Were its laws inspired?
Hundreds of offenses were punished with death. To pick up sticks on
Sunday, to murder your father on Monday, were equal crimes. There is
in the literature of the world no bloodier code. The law of revenge--of
retaliation--was the law of Jehovah. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a
tooth, a limb for a limb.
This is savagery--not philosophy.
Is it just and reasonable?
The Bible is opposed to religious toleration--to religious liberty.
Whoever differed with the majority was stoned to death. Investigation
was a crime. Husbands were ordered to denounce and to assist in killing
their unbelieving wives.
It is the enemy of Art. "Thou shalt make no graven image." This was the
death of Art.
Palestine never produced a painter or a sculptor.
Is the Bible civilized?
It upholds lying, larceny, robbery, murder, the selling of diseased meat
to strangers, and even the sacrifice of human beings to Jehovah.
Is it philosophical?
It teaches that the sins of a people | 573.538489 |
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Produced by David McClamrock
THE INQUISITION
A CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL STUDY OF THE COERCIVE POWER OF THE CHURCH
BY E. VACANDARD
TRANSLATED FROM THE SECOND EDITION BY BERTRAND L. CONWAY, C.S.P.
NEW EDITION
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS 1915
Nihil Obstat. THOMAS J. SHAHAN, S.T.D.
Imprimatur. + JOHN M. FARLEY, D.D Archbishop of New York.
NEW YORK, June 24, 1907.
Copyright, 1907, by BERTRAND L. CONWAY
All Rights Reserved
First Edition, February, 1908 Registered, May, 1908 New and Cheaper
Edition, September, 1915
NOTE TO THIS ELECTRONIC EDITION
In the print edition of this book, footnote numbers began with 1 on
each page, and the footnotes appeared at the bottom of each page. In
this electronic edition, the footnotes have been re-numbered
beginning with 1 for each paragraph, and they appear directly below
the paragraph that refers to them. A very few ascertainable errors
have been caught and corrected. All else is intended to correspond as
closely as possible to the contents of the print edition.
PREFACE
THERE are very few Catholic apologists who feel inclined to boast of
the annals of the Inquisition. The boldest of them defend this
institution against the attacks of modern liberalism, as if they
distrusted the force of their own arguments. Indeed they have hardly
answered the first objection of their opponents, when they instantly
endeavor to prove that the Protestant and Rationalistic critics of
the Inquisition have themselves been guilty of heinous crimes. "Why,"
they ask, "do you denounce our Inquisition, when you are responsible
for Inquisitions of your own?"
No good can be accomplished by such a false method of reasoning. It
seems practically to admit that the cause of the Church cannot be
defended. The accusation of wrongdoing made against the enemies they
are trying to reduce to silence comes back with equal force against
the | 573.538693 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.5778250 | 2,942 | 55 | POEMS***
Transcribed from the 1898 John Lane edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: The Old Maid]
THE FAIRY
CHANGELING
AND OTHER
POEMS
BY DORA SIGERSON
(MRS CLEMENT SHORTER)
[Picture: Decorative shamrock divider]
JOHN LANE
THE BODLEY HEAD
LONDON & NEW YORK
MDCCCXCVIII
NOTE
_Only one of the pieces in the following collection appeared in the
writer's earlier volume_ ("_Verses_" _by Dora Sigerson_; _Elliot Stock_,
1893). _The remainder have found refuge in_ "_Longman's Magazine_,"
"_The Pall Mall Magazine_," "_The National Observer_" (_of Mr. Henley_),
"_Cassell's Magazine_," _and numerous American publications_--"_The
Century Magazine_," "_The Bookman_," "_The Boston Pilot_," "_The
Chap-Book_," _and others_. _The Author wishes to thank the Editors of
these magazines and journals for the kindness implied_.
CONTENTS
The Fairy Changeling _Page_ 1
A Ballad of Marjorie 3
The Priest's Brother 6
The Ballad of the Little Black Hound 9
The Rape of the Baron's Wine 15
Cean Duv Deelish 19
Banagher Rhue 21
The Fair Little Maiden 23
At Christmas Time 25
A Weeping Cupid 26
The Lover 28
A Bird from the West 30
All Souls' Eve 32
An Imperfect Revolution 34
Love 36
Wishes 38
Cupid Slain 39
What Will You Give? 40
A Meadow Tragedy 42
An Eclipse 43
The Scallop Shell 44
With a Rose 45
For Ever 46
The Blow Returned 47
Vale 48
The Skeleton in the Cupboard 49
You Will Not Come Again 51
The Wreckage 52
I am the World 53
A New Year 55
The Kine of My Father 57
Sanctuary 59
An Eastern God 61
A Friend in Need 63
In a Wood 64
A Vagrant Heart 65
When You are on the Sea 68
My Neighbour's Garden 70
An Irish Blackbird 72
Death of Gormlaith 73
Unknown Ideal 75
Beware 77
The Old Maid 78
Wirastrua 80
Questions 81
A Little Dog 82
"I Prayed so Eagerly" 85
"When the Dark Comes" 86
Distant Voices 87
The Ballad of the Fairy Thorn-Tree 89
The Suicide's Grave 95
THE FAIRY CHANGELING
Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town
In his garden strode up and down;
He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;
And this is his trouble and woe confessed:
"The good-folk came in the night, and they
Have stolen my bonny wean away;
Have put in his place a changeling,
A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!
"From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,
And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,
I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;
But never a word the stranger spoke:
"A bar of metal I heated red
To frighten the fairy from its bed,
To put in the place of this fretting wean
My own bright beautiful boy again.
"But my wife had hidden it in her arms,
And cried 'For shame!' on my fairy charms;
She sobs, with the strange child on her breast:
'I love the weak, wee babe the best!'"
To Dermod O'Byrne's, the tale to hear,
The neighbours came from far and near:
Outside his gate, in the long boreen,
They crossed themselves, and said between
Their muttered prayers, "He has no luck!
For sure the woman is fairy-struck,
To leave her child a fairy guest,
And love the weak, wee wean the best!"
A BALLAD OF MARJORIE
"What ails you that you look so pale,
O fisher of the sea?"
"'Tis for a mournful tale I own,
Fair maiden Marjorie."
"What is the dreary tale to tell,
O toiler of the sea?"
"I cast my net into the waves,
Sweet maiden Marjorie.
"I cast my net into the tide,
Before I made for home;
Too heavy for my hands to raise,
I drew it through the foam."
"What saw you that you look so pale,
Sad searcher of the sea?"
"A dead man's body from the deep
My haul had brought to me!"
"And was he young, and was he fair?"
"Oh, cruel to behold!
In his white face the joy of life
Not yet was grown a-cold."
"Oh, pale you are, and full of prayer
For one who sails the sea."
"Because the dead looked up and spoke,
Poor maiden Marjorie."
"What said he, that you seem so sad,
O fisher of the sea?
(Alack! I know it was my love,
Who fain would speak to me!)"
"He said, 'Beware a woman's mouth--
A rose that bears a thorn.'"
"Ah, me! these lips shall smile no more
That gave my lover scorn."
"He said, 'Beware a woman's eyes.
They pierce you with their death.'"
"Then falling tears shall make them blind
That robbed my dear of breath."
"He said, 'Beware a woman's hair--
A serpent's coil of gold.'"
"Then will I shear the cruel locks
That crushed him in their fold."
"He said, 'Beware a woman's heart
As you would shun the reef.'"
"So let it break within my breast,
And perish of my grief."
"He raised his hands; a woman's name
Thrice bitterly he cried:
My net had parted with the strain;
He vanished in the tide."
"A woman's name! What name but mine,
O fisher of the sea?"
"A woman's name, but not your name,
Poor maiden Marjorie."
THE PRIEST'S BROTHER
Thrice in the night the priest arose
From broken sleep to kneel and pray.
"Hush, poor ghost, till the red cock crows,
And I a Mass for your soul may say."
Thrice he went to the chamber cold,
Where, stiff and still uncoffined,
His brother lay, his beads he told,
And "Rest, poor spirit, rest," he said.
Thrice lay the old priest down to sleep
Before the morning bell should toll;
But still he heard--and woke to weep--
The crying of his brother's soul.
All through the dark, till dawn was pale,
The priest tossed in his misery,
With muffled ears to hide the wail,
The voice of that ghost's agony.
At last the red cock flaps his wings
To trumpet of a day new-born.
The lark, awaking, soaring sings
Into the bosom of the morn.
The priest before the altar stands,
He hears the spirit call for peace;
He beats his breast with shaking hands.
"O Father, grant this soul's release.
"Most Just and Merciful, set free
From Purgatory's awful night
This sinner's soul, to fly to Thee,
And rest for ever in Thy sight."
The Mass is over--still the clerk
Kneels pallid in the morning glow.
He said, "From evils of the dark
Oh, bless me, father, ere you go.
"Benediction, that I may rest,
For all night did the Banshee weep."
The priest raised up his hands and blest--
"Go now, my child, and you will sleep."
The priest went down the vestry stair,
He laid his vestments in their place,
And turned--a pale ghost met him there,
With beads of pain upon his face.
"Brother," he said, "you have gained me peace,
But why so long did you know my tears,
And say no Mass for my soul's release,
To save the torture of all those years?"
"God rest you, brother," the good priest said,
"No years have passed--but a single night."
He showed the body uncoffined,
And the six wax candles still alight.
The living flowers on the dead man's breast
Blew out a perfume sweet and strong.
The spirit paused ere he passed to rest--
"God save your soul from a night so long."
THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE BLACK HOUND
Who knocks at the Geraldine's door to-night
In the black storm and the rain?
With the thunder crash and the shrieking wind
Comes the moan of a creature's pain.
And once they knocked, yet never a stir
To show that the Geraldine knew;
And twice they knocked, yet never a bolt
The listening Geraldine drew.
And thrice they knocked ere he moved his chair,
And said, "Whoever it be,
I dare not open the door to-night
For a fear that has come to me."
Three times he rises from out his chair,
And three times he sits him down.
"Now what has made faint this heart of mine?"
He says with a growing frown.
"Now what has made me a coward to-night,
Who never knew fear before?
But I swear that the hand of a little child
Keeps pulling me from the door."
The Geraldine rose from his chair at last
And opened the door full wide;
"Whoever is out in the storm," said he,
"May in God's name come inside!"
He who was out in the storm and rain
Drew back at the Geraldine's call.
"Now who comes not in the Holy Name
Will never come in at all."
He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
And never a one saw he;
But right in his path lay a coal black hound,
A-moaning right piteously.
"Come in," he cried, "you little black hound,
Come in, I will ease your pain;
My roof shall keep you to-night at least
From the leash of wind and rain."
The Geraldine took up the little black hound,
And put him down by the fire.
"So sleep you there, poor wandering one,
As long as your heart desire."
The Geraldine tossed on his bed that night,
And never asleep went he
For the crowing of his little red cock,
That did crow most woefully.
For the howling of his own wolf-hound,
That cried at the gate all night.
He rose and went to the banquet hall
At the first of morning light.
He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
At the rug where the dog lay on;
But the reindeer skin was burnt in two,
And the little black hound was gone.
And, traced in the ashes, these words he read:
"For the soul of your firstborn son,
I will make you rich as you once were rich
Ere the glass of your luck was run."
The Geraldine went to the west window,
And then he went to the east,
And saw his desolate pasture fields,
And the stables without a beast.
"So be it, as I love no woman,
No son shall ever be mine;
I would that my stables were full of steeds,
And my cellars were full of wine."
"I swear it, as I love no woman,
And never a son have I,
I would that my sheep and their little lambs
Should flourish and multiply.
"So yours be the soul of my firstborn son."
Here the Geraldine slyly smiled,
But from the dark of the lonely room
Came the cry of a little child.
The Geraldine went to the west window,
He opened, and out did lean,
And lo! the pastures were full of kine,
All chewing the grass so green.
And quickly he went to the east window,
And his face was pale to see,
For lo! he saw to the empty stalls
Brave steeds go three by three.
The Geraldine went to the great hall door,
In wonder at what had been,
And there he saw the prettiest maid
That ever | 573.597865 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Shon McCarley and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
SHORT STORIES
OLD AND NEW
SELECTED AND EDITED
BY
C. ALPHONSO SMITH
EDGAR ALLAN POE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN THE
UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA, AUTHOR OF
"THE AMERICAN SHORT STORY," ETC.
1916
INTRODUCTION
Every short story has three parts, which may be called Setting or
Background, Plot or Plan, and Characters or Character. If you are going
to write a short story, as I hope you are, you will find it necessary to
think through these three parts so as to relate them interestingly and
naturally one to the other; and if you want to assimilate the best that
is in the following stories, you will do well to approach them by the
same three routes.
The Setting or Background gives us the time and the place of the story
with such details of custom, scenery, and dialect as time and place
imply. It answers the questions _When? Where?_ The Plot tells us what
happened. It gives us the incidents and events, the haps or mishaps,
that are interwoven to make up the warp and woof of the story. Sometimes
there is hardly any interweaving; just a plain plan or simple outline is
followed, as in "The Christmas Carol" or "The Great Stone Face." We may
still call the core of these two stories the Plot, if we want to, but
Plan would be the more accurate. This part of the story answers the
question _What_? Under the heading Characters or Character we study the
personalities of the men and women who move through the story and give
it unity and coherence. Sometimes, as in "The Christmas Carol" or
"Markheim," one character so dominates the others that they are mere
spokes in his hub or incidents in his career. But in "The Gift of the
Magi," though more space is given to Della, she and Jim act from the
same motive and contribute equally to the development of the story. In
one of our stories the main character is a dog, but he is so human that
we may still say that the chief question to be answered under this
heading is _Who?_
Many books have been written about these three parts of a short story,
but the great lesson to be learned is that the excellence of a story,
long or short, consists not in the separate excellence of the Setting or
of the Plot or of the Characters but in the perfect blending of the
three to produce a single effect or to impress a single truth. If the
Setting does not fit the Plot, if the Plot does not rise gracefully from
the Setting, if the Characters do not move naturally and
self-revealingly through both, the story is a failure. Emerson might
well have had our three parts of the short story in mind when he wrote,
All are needed by each one;
Nothing is fair or good alone.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I. ESTHER, From the Old Testament
II. THE HISTORY OF ALI BABA AND THE FORTY ROBBERS, From "The
Arabian Nights"
III. RIP VAN WINKLE, By Washington Irving
IV. THE GOLD-BUG, By Edgar Allan Poe
V. A CHRISTMAS CAROL, By Charles Dickens
VI. THE GREAT STONE FACE, By Nathaniel Hawthorne
VII. RAB AND HIS FRIENDS, By Dr. John Brown
VIII. THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT, By Bret Harte
IX. MARKHEIM, By Robert Louis Stevenson
X. THE NECKLACE, By Guy de Maupassant
XI. THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, By Rudyard Kipling
XII. THE GIFT OF THE MAGI, By O. Henry
SHORT STORIES
I. ESTHER[*]
[* From the Old Testament, Authorized Version.]
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
[_Setting_. The events take place in Susa, the capital of Persia, in the
reign of Ahasuerus, or Xerxes (485-465 B.C.). This foreign locale
intensifies the splendid Jewish patriotism that breathes through the
story from beginning to end. If the setting had been in Jerusalem,
Esther could not have preached the noble doctrine, "When in Rome, don't
do as Rome does, but be true to the old ideals of home and race."
_Plot_. "Esther" seems to me the best-told story in the Bible. Observe
how the note of empty Persian bigness versus simple Jewish faith is
struck at the very beginning and is echoed to the end. Thus, Ahasuerus
ruled over one hundred and twenty-seven provinces, the opening banquet
lasted one hundred and eighty-seven days, the king's bulletins were as
unalterable as the tides, the gallows erected was eighty-three feet
high, the beds were of gold and silver upon a pavement of red and blue
and white and black marble, the money wrested from the Jews was to be
eighteen million dollars, etc. The word "banquet" occurs twenty times in
this short story and only twenty times in all the remaining thirty-eight
books of the Old Testament. In other words, Ahasuerus and his
trencher-mates ate and drank as much in five days as had been eaten and
drunk by all the other Old Testament characters from "Genesis" to
"Malachi."
Note also the contrast between the two queens, the two prime ministers,
the two edicts, and the two later banquets. The most masterly part of
the plot is the handling of events between these banquets. Read again
from chapter v, beginning at verse 9, through chapter vi, and note how
skillfully the pen is held. In motivation as well as in symmetry and
naturalness the story is without a peer. There is humor, too, in the
solemn deliberations over Vashti's "No" (chapter i, verses 12-22) and in
the strange procession led by pedestrian Haman (chapter vi, verses
6-11).
The purpose of the story was to encourage the feast of Purim (chapter
ix, verses 20-32) and to promote national solidarity. It may be compared
to "A Christmas Carol," which was written to restore the waning
celebration of Christmas, and to our Declaration of Independence, which
is re-read on every Fourth of July to quicken our sense of national
fellowship. But "Esther" is more than an institution. It is the old
story of two conflicting civilizations, one representing bigness, the
other greatness; one standing for materialism, the other for idealism;
one enthroning the body, the other the spirit.
_Characters_. These are finely individualized, though each seems to me a
type. Ahasuerus is a tank that runs blood or wine according to the hand
that turns the spigot. He was used for good but deserves and receives no
credit for it. No man ever missed a greater opportunity. He was brought
face to face with the two greatest world-civilizations of history; but,
understanding neither, he remains only a muddy place in the road along
which Greek and Hebrew passed to world-conquest. Haman, | 573.639627 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: frontispiece]
MRS. LOUDON’S
ENTERTAINING NATURALIST,
BEING
POPULAR DESCRIPTIONS, TALES, AND
ANECDOTES
OF MORE THAN
FIVE HUNDRED ANIMALS.
_A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED_.
BY
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
LONDON:
BELL & DALDY, 6, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN,
1867.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET
AND CHARING CROSS.
_PREFACE._
MRS. LOUDON’S _Entertaining Naturalist_ has been so deservedly popular
that the publishers, in preparing a new edition, have striven to render
it still more worthy of the reputation it has obtained. For this
purpose, it has been very thoroughly revised and enlarged by Mr. W. S.
Dallas, Member of the Zoological Society, and Curator of the Museum of
Natural History at York, and several illustrations have been added.
In its present form, it is not only a complete Popular Natural History
of an entertaining character, with an illustration of nearly every
animal mentioned, but its instructive introductions on the
Classification of Animals adapt it well for use as an elementary Manual
of the Natural History of the Animal Kingdom for the use of the Young.
INTRODUCTION.
ZOOLOGY is that branch of Natural History which treats of animals, and
embraces not only their structure and functions, their habits,
instincts, and utility, but their names and systematic arrangement.
Various systems have been proposed by different naturalists for the
scientific arrangement of the animal kingdom, but that of Cuvier, with
some modifications, is now thought the best, and a sketch of it will be
found under the head of the Modern System in this Introduction. As,
however, the System of Linnæus was formerly in general use, and is still
often referred to, it has been thought advisable to give a sketch of it
first; that the reader may be aware of the difference between the old
system and the new one.
_LINNÆAN SYSTEM._
According to the system of Linnæus, the objects comprehended within the
animal kingdom were divided into six classes: Mammalia or Mammiferous
Animals, Birds, Amphibia or Amphibious Animals, Fishes, Insects, and
Worms, which were thus distinguished:
CLASSES.
{ With vertebræ { Hot Blood { Viviparous I. MAMMALIA.
{ { { Oviparous II. BIRDS.
Body { { Cold red Blood { With lungs III. AMPHIBIA.
{ { With gills IV. FISHES.
{ Without vertebræ Cold white Blood { Having antennæ V. INSECTS.
{ Having tentacula VI. WORMS.
ORDERS OF MAMMALIA.
The first class, or Mammalia, consists of such animals as produce living
offspring, and nourish their young ones with milk supplied from their
own bodies; and it comprises both the quadrupeds and the cetacea.
This class was divided by Linnæus into seven Orders: viz. _primates_,
_bruta_, _feræ_, _glires_, _pecora_, _belluæ_, and _cetacea_ (this order
was called Cete by Linnæus) or whales. The characteristics of these were
founded, for the most part, on the number and arrangement of the teeth;
and on the form and construction of the feet, or of those parts in the
seals, manati, and cetacea, which supply the place of feet:
I. PRIMATES.--Having the upper front teeth, generally four in
number, wedge-shaped, and parallel; and two teats situated on the
breast, as the apes and monkeys.
II. BRUTA.--Having no front teeth in either jaw; and the feet armed
with strong hoof-like nails, as the elephant.
III. FERÆ.--Having in general six front teeth in each jaw; a single
canine tooth on each side in both jaws; and the grinders with conic
projections, as the dogs and cats.
IV. GLIRES.--Having in each jaw two long projecting front teeth,
which stand close together; and no canine teeth in either jaw, as
the rats and mice.
V. PECORA.--Having no front teeth in the upper jaw; six or eight in
the lower jaw, situated at a considerable distance from the
grinders; and the feet with hoofs, as cattle and sheep.
VI. BELLUÆ.--Having blunt wedge-shaped front teeth in both jaws;
and the feet with hoofs, as horses.
VII. CETACEA.--Having spiracles or breathing-holes on the head;
fins instead of fore feet; and a tail flattened horizontally,
instead of hind feet. This order consists of the narvals, whales,
cachalots, and dolphins.
ORDERS OF BIRDS.
The second class, or Birds, comprises all such animals as have their
bodies clad with feathers. Their jaws are elongated, and covered
externally with a horny substance, called a bill or beak, which is
divided into two parts called mandibles. Their eyes are furnished with a
thin, whitish, and somewhat transparent membrane, that can at pleasure
be drawn over the whole external surface like a curtain. Their organs of
motion are two wings and two legs; and they are destitute of external
ears, lips, and many other parts which are important to quadrupeds. That
part of Zoology which treats of Birds is called Ornithology.
Linnæus divided this class into six Orders:
1. _Land Birds._
I. RAPACIOUS BIRDS (_Accipitres_).--Having the upper mandible
hooked, and an angular projection on each side near the point, as
the eagles, hawks, and owls.
II. PIES (_Picæ_).--Having their bills sharp at the edge, somewhat
compressed at the sides, and convex on the top, as the crow.
III. PASSERINE BIRDS (_Passeres_).--Having the bill conical and
pointed, and the nostrils oval, open, and naked, as the sparrow and
linnet.
IV. GALLINACEOUS BIRDS (_Gallinæ_).--Having the upper mandible
arched, and covering the lower one at the edge, and the nostrils
arched over with a cartilaginous membrane, as the common poultry.
2. _Water Birds._
V. WADERS (_Grallæ_).--Having a roundish bill, a fleshy tongue, and
the legs naked above the knees, as the herons, plovers, and snipes.
VI. SWIMMERS (_Anseres_).--Having their bills broad at the top, and
covered with a soft skin, and the feet webbed, as ducks and geese.
ORDERS OF AMPHIBIA.
Under the third class, or Amphibia, Linnæus arranged such animals as
have a cold, and, generally, naked body, a lurid colour, and nauseous
smell. They respire chiefly by lungs, but they have the power of
suspending respiration for a long time. They are extremely tenacious of
life, and can repair certain parts of their bodies which have been lost.
They are also able to endure hunger, sometimes even for months, without
injury.
The bodies of some of them, as the turtles and tortoises, are protected
by a hard and horny shield or covering; those of others are clad with
scales, as the serpents, and some of the lizards; whilst others, as the
frogs, toads, and most of the water-lizards, are entirely naked, or have
their skin covered with warts. Many of the species shed their skins at
certain times of the year. Several of them are furnished with a poison,
which they eject into wounds that are made by their teeth. They chiefly
live in retired, watery, and marshy places; and, for the most part, feed
on other animals, though some of them eat water-plants, and many feed on
garbage and filth. None of these species chew their food; they swallow
it whole, and digest it very slowly.
The offspring of all these animals are produced from eggs, which, after
they have been deposited by the parent animals in a proper place, are
hatched by the heat of the sun. The eggs of some of the species are
covered with a shell; those of others have a soft and tough skin or
covering, not much unlike wet parchment; and the eggs of several are
perfectly gelatinous. In those few that produce their offspring alive,
as the vipers and some other serpents, the eggs are regularly formed,
but are hatched within the bodies of the females.
This class Linnæus divided into three Orders:
I. REPTILES.--Having four legs, and walking with a crawling pace,
as the tortoises, toads, and lizards.
II. SERPENTS.--Having no legs, but crawling on the body.
III. NANTES.--Living in the water, furnished with fins, and
breathing by means of gills. These are true Fishes, principally of
the group termed _Chondropterygii_, or Cartilaginous Fishes, by
Cuvier.
ORDERS OF FISHES.
Fishes constituted Linnæus’s fourth class of animals. They are all
inhabitants of the water, in which they move by certain organs called
fins. Those situated on the back are called dorsal fins; those on the
sides, behind the gills, pectoral fins; those below the body, near the
head, are ventral; those behind the vent are anal; and that which forms
the tail is called the caudal fin. Fishes breathe by gills, which, in
most species, are situated at the sides of the head. Fishes rise and
sink in the water, generally by a kind of bladder in the interior of the
body, called an air-bladder. Some of them do not possess this organ, and
consequently are seldom found but at the bottom of the sea, from which
they can only rise by an effort. The bodies of these animals are usually
covered with scales, which keep them from injury by the contact of the
water.
The fishes were divided by Linnæus into four Orders:
I. APODAL.--Having no ventral fins, as the eel.
II. JUGULAR.--Having the ventral fins situated in front of the
pectoral fins, as the cod, haddock, and whiting.
III | 573.640741 |
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Transcribed from the text of the first edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
INCOGNITA: OR, LOVE AND DUTY RECONCIL'D
A NOVEL
by William Congreve
TO THE
Honoured and Worthily Esteem'd
Mrs. _Katharine Leveson_.
_Madam_,
A Clear Wit, sound Judgment and a Merciful Disposition, are things so
rarely united, that it is almost inexcusable to entertain them with any
thing less excellent in its kind. My knowledge of you were a sufficient
Caution to me, to avoid your Censure of this Trifle, had I not as intire
a knowledge of your Goodness. Since I have drawn my Pen for a
Rencounter, I think it better to engage where, though there be Skill
enough to Disarm me, there is too much Generosity to Wound; for so shall
I have the saving Reputation of an unsuccessful Courage, if I cannot make
it a drawn Battle. But methinks the Comparison intimates something of a
Defiance, and savours of Arrogance; wherefore since I am Conscious to my
self of a Fear which I cannot put off, let me use the Policy of Cowards
and lay this Novel unarm'd, naked and shivering at your Feet, so that if
it should want Merit to challenge Protection, yet, as an Object of
Charity, it may move Compassion. It has been some Diversion to me to
Write it, I wish it may prove such to you when you have an hour to throw
away in Reading of it: but this Satisfaction I have at least beforehand,
that in its greatest failings it may fly for Pardon to that Indulgence
which you owe to the weakness of your Friend; a Title which I am proud
you have thought me worthy of, and which I think can alone be superior to
that
_Your most Humble and_
_Obliged Servant_
CLEOPHIL.
THE PREFACE TO THE READER.
Reader,
Some Authors are so fond of a Preface, that they will write one tho'
there be nothing more in it than an Apology for its self. But to show
thee that I am not one of those, I will make no Apology for this, but do
tell thee that I think it necessary to be prefix'd to this Trifle, to
prevent thy overlooking some little pains which I have taken in the
Composition of the following Story. Romances are generally composed of
the Constant Loves and invincible Courages of Hero's, Heroins, Kings and
Queens, Mortals of the first Rank, and so forth; where lofty Language,
miraculous Contingencies and impossible Performances, elevate and
surprize the Reader into a giddy Delight, which leaves him flat upon the
Ground whenever he gives of, and vexes him to think how he has suffer'd
himself to be pleased and transported, concern'd and afflicted at the
several Passages which he has Read, viz. these Knights Success to their
Damosels Misfortunes, and such like, when he is forced to be very well
convinced that 'tis all a lye. Novels are of a more familiar nature;
Come near us, and represent to us Intrigues in practice, delight us with
Accidents and odd Events, but not such as are wholly unusual or
unpresidented, such which not being so distant from our Belief bring also
the pleasure nearer us. Romances give more of Wonder, Novels more
Delight. And with reverence be it spoken, and the Parallel kept at due
distance, there is something of equality in the Proportion which they
bear in reference to one another, with that betwen Comedy and Tragedy;
but the Drama is the long extracted from Romance and History: 'tis the
Midwife to Industry, and brings forth alive the Conceptions of the Brain.
Minerva walks upon the Stage before us, and we are more assured of the
real presence of Wit when it is delivered viva voce--
Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, & quae
Ipse sibi tradit spectator.--Horace.
Since all Traditions must indisputably give place to the Drama, and since
there is no possibility of giving that life to the Writing or Repetition
of a Story which it has in the Action, I resolved in another beauty to
imitate Dramatick Writing, namely, in the Design, Contexture and Result
of the Plot. I have not observed it before in a Novel. Some I have seen
begin with an unexpected accident, which has been the only surprizing
part of the Story, cause enough to make the Sequel look flat, tedious and
insipid; for 'tis but reasonable the Reader should expect it not to rise,
at least to keep upon a level in the entertainment; for so he may be kept
on in hopes that at some time or other it may mend; but the 'tother is
such a balk to a Man, 'tis carrying him up stairs to show him the Dining-
Room, and after forcing him to make a Meal in the Kitchin. This I have
not only endeavoured to avoid, but also have used a method for the
contrary purpose. The design of the Novel is obvious, after the first
meeting of Aurelian and Hippolito with Incognita and Leonora, and the
difficulty is in bringing it to pass, maugre all apparent obstacles,
within the compass of two days. How many probable Casualties intervene
in opposition to the main Design, viz. of marrying two Couple so oddly
engaged in an intricate Amour, I leave the Reader at his leisure to
consider: As also whether every Obstacle does not in the progress of the
Story act as subservient to that purpose, which at first it seems to
oppose. In a Comedy this would be called the Unity of Action; here it
may pretend to no more than an Unity of Contrivance. The Scene is
continued in Florence from the commencement of the Amour; and the time
from first to last is but three days. If there be any thing more in
particular resembling the Copy which I imitate (as the Curious Reader
will soon perceive) I leave it to show it self, being very well satisfy'd
how much more proper it had been for him to have found out this himself,
than for me to prepossess him with an Opinion of something extraordinary
in an Essay began and finished in the idler hours of a fortnight's time:
for I can only esteem it a laborious idleness, which is Parent to so
inconsiderable a Birth. I have gratified the Bookseller in pretending an
occasion for a Preface; the other two Persons concern'd are the Reader
and my self, and if he be but pleased with what was produced for that
end, my satisfaction follows of course, since it will be proportion'd to
his Approbation or Dislike.
INCOGNITA:
OR,
Love & Duty
RECONCIL'D
Aurelian was the only Son to a Principal Gentleman of Florence. The
Indulgence of his Father prompted, and his Wealth enabled him, to bestow
a generous Education upon him, whom, he now began to look upon as the
Type of himself; an Impression he had made in the Gayety and Vigour of
his Youth, before the Rust of Age had debilitated and obscur'd the
Splendour of the Original: He was sensible, That he ought not to be
sparing in the Adornment of him, if he had Resolution to beautifie his
own Memory. Indeed Don Fabio (for so was the Old Gentleman call'd) has
been observ'd to have fix'd his Eyes upon Aurelian, when much Company has
been at Table, and have wept through Earnestness of Intention, if nothing
hapned to divert the Object; whether it were for regret, at the
Recollection of his former self, or for the Joy he conceiv'd in being, as
it were, reviv'd in the Person of his Son, I never took upon me to
enquire, but suppos'd it might be sometimes one, and sometimes both
together.
Aurelian, at the Age of Eighteen Years, wanted nothing (but a Beard) that
the most accomplished Cavalier in Florence could pretend to: he had been
Educated from Twelve Years old at Siena, where it seems his Father kept a
Receiver, having a large Income from the Rents of several Houses in that
Town. Don Fabio gave his Servant Orders, That Aurelian should not be
stinted in his Expences, when he came up to Years of Discretion. By
which means he was enabled, not only to keep Company with, but also to
confer many Obligations upon Strangers of Quality, and Gentlemen who
travelled from other Countries into Italy, of which Siena never wanted
store, being a Town most delightfully Situate, upon a Noble Hill, and
very well suiting with Strangers at first, by reason of the agreeableness
and purity of the Air: There also is the quaintness and delicacy of the
Italian Tongue most likely to be learned, there being many publick
Professors of it in that place; and indeed the very Vulgar of Siena do
express themselves with an easiness and sweetness surprizing, and even
grateful to their Ears who understand not the Language.
Here Aurelian contracted an acquaintance with Persons of Worth of several
Countries, but among the rest an intimacy with a Gentleman of Quality of
Spain, and Nephew to the Archbishop of Toledo, who had so wrought himself
into the Affections of Aurelian, through a Conformity of Temper, an
Equality in Years, and something of resemblance in Feature and
Proportion, that he look'd upon him as his second self. Hippolito, on
the other hand, was not ungrateful in return of Friendship, but thought
himself either alone or in ill Company, if Aurelian were absent: but his
Uncle having sent him to travel, under the Conduct of a Governour, and
the two Years which limited his stay at Siena being expired, he was put
in mind of his departure. His Friend grew melancholy at the News, but
considering that Hippolito had never seen Florence, he easily prevailed
with him to make his first journey thither, whither he would accompany
him, and perhaps prevail with his Father to do the like throughout his
Travels.
They accordingly set out, but not being able easily to reach Florence the
same Night, they rested a League or two short, at a Villa of the great
Duke's called Poggio Imperiale, where they were informed by some of his
Highness's Servants, That the Nuptials of Donna Catharina (near Kinswoman
to the great Duke) and Don Ferdinand de Rovori, were to be solemnized the
next day, and that extraordinary Preparations had been making for some
time past, to illustrate the | 573.739414 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 40923-h.htm or 40923-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/cu31924028287724
BRITISH POLITICAL LEADERS
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
IN THE
"Story of the Nations" Series.
Each volume large crown 8vo, cloth, fully Illustrated, 5s.
MODERN ENGLAND BEFORE THE REFORM BILL.
MODERN ENGLAND UNDER QUEEN VICTORIA.
_IN PREPARATION._
PORTRAITS OF THE SIXTIES.
Demy 8vo, cloth, Illustrated, 16s.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Photograph copyright by Elliott & Fry
ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR]
BRITISH POLITICAL LEADERS
by
JUSTIN McCARTHY
With Portraits
[Illustration]
London
T. Fisher Unwin
Paternoster Square
1903
[All rights reserved.]
CONTENTS
1. ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR 1
2. LORD SALISBURY 25
3. LORD ROSEBERY 49
4. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN 73
5. HENRY LABOUCHERE 99
6. JOHN MORLEY 125
7. LORD ABERDEEN 151
8. JOHN BURNS 177
9. SIR MICHAEL HICKS-BEACH 203
10. JOHN E. REDMOND 229
11. SIR WILLIAM HARCOURT 255
12. JAMES BRYCE 281
13. SIR HENRY CAMPBELL-BANNERMAN 307
ARTHUR JAMES BALFOUR
My first acquaintance with Mr. Arthur J. Balfour, who recently became
Prime Minister of King Edward VII., was made in the earliest days of my
experience as a member of the House of Commons. The Fourth party, as it
was called, had just been formed under the inspiration of the late Lord
Randolph Churchill. The Fourth party was a new political enterprise. The
House of Commons up to that time contained three regular and recognized
political parties--the supporters of the Government, the supporters of
the Opposition, and the members of the Irish Nationalist party, of whom
I was one. Lord Randolph Churchill created a Fourth party, the business
of which was to act independently alike of the Government, the
Opposition, and the Irish Nationalists. At the time when I entered
Parliament the Conservatives were in power, and Conservative statesmen
occupied the Treasury Bench. The members of Lord Randolph's party were
all Conservatives so far as general political principles were concerned,
but Lord Randolph's idea was to lead a number of followers who should be
prepared and ready to speak and vote against any Government proposal
which they believed to be too conservative or not conservative enough;
to support the Liberal Opposition in the rare cases when they thought
the Opposition was in the right; and to support the Irish Nationalists
when they believed that these were unfairly dealt with, or when they
believed, which happened much more frequently, that to support the
Irishmen would be an annoyance to the party in power.
The Fourth party was made up of numbers exactly corresponding with the
title which had been given to it. Four men, including the leader,
constituted the whole strength of this little army. These men were Lord
Randolph Churchill, Arthur J. Balfour, John Gorst (now Sir John Gorst),
and Sir Henry Drummond Wolff, who has during more recent years withdrawn
altogether from parliamentary life and given himself up to diplomacy, in
which he has won much honorable distinction. Sir John Gorst has recently
held office in the Government, and is believed to have given and felt
little satisfaction in his official career. He is a man of great ability
and acquirements, but these have been somewhat thrown away in the
business of administration.
The Fourth Party certainly did much to make the House of Commons a
lively place. Its members were always in attendance--the whole four of
them--and no one ever knew where, metaphorically, to place them. They
professed and made manifest open scorn for the conventionalities of
party life, and the parliamentary whips never knew when they could be
regarded as supporters or opponents. They were all effective debaters,
all ready with sarcasm and invective, all sworn foes to dullness and
routine, all delighting in any opportunity for obstructing and
bewildering the party which happened to be in power. The members of the
Fourth party had each of them a distinct individuality, although they
invariably acted together and were never separated in the division
lobbies. A member of the House of Commons likened them once in a speech
to D'Artagnan and his Three Musketeers, as pictured in the immortal
pages of the elder Dumas. John Gorst he described as Porthos, Sir Henry
Drummond Wolff as Athos, and Arthur Balfour as the sleek and subtle
Aramis. When I entered Parliament I was brought much into companionship
with the members of this interesting Fourth party. One reason for this
habit of intercourse was that we sat very near to one another on the
benches of the House. The members of the Irish Nationalist party then,
as now, always sat on the side of the Opposition, no matter what
Government happened to be in power, for the principle of the Irish
Nationalists is to regard themselves as in perpetual opposition to every
Government so long as Ireland is deprived of her own national
legislature. Soon after I entered the House a Liberal Government was the
result of a general election, and the Fourth party, as habitually
conservative, sat on the Opposition benches. The Fourth party gave
frequent support to the Irish Nationalists in their endeavors to resist
and obstruct Government measures, and we therefore came into habitual
intercourse, and even comradeship, with Lord Randolph Churchill and his
small band of followers.
Arthur Balfour bore little resemblance, in appearance, in manners, in
debating qualities, and apparently in mould of intellect, to any of the
three men with whom he was then constantly allied. He was tall,
slender, pale, graceful, with something of an almost feminine
attractiveness in his bearing, although he was as ready, resolute, and
stubborn a fighter as any one of his companions in arms. He had the
appearance and the ways of a thoughtful student and scholar, and one
would have associated him rather with a college library or a professor's
chair than with the rough and boisterous ways of the House of Commons.
He seemed to have come from another world of thought and feeling into
that eager, vehement, and sometimes rather uproarious political
assembly. Unlike his uncle, Lord Salisbury, he was known to enjoy social
life, but he was especially given to that select order of aesthetic
social life which was "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," a
form of life which was rather fashionable in society just then. But it
must have been clear even to the most superficial observer that he had a
decided gift of parliamentary capacity. He was a fluent and a ready
speaker and could bear an effective part in any debate at a moment's
notice, but he never declaimed, never indulged in any flight of
eloquence, and seldom raised his clear and musical voice much above the
conversational pitch. His choice of language was always happy and
telling, and he often expressed himself in characteristic phrases which
lived in the memory and passed into familiar quotation. He had won some
distinction as a writer by his "Defense of Philosophic Doubt," by a
volume of "Essays and Addresses," and more lately by his work entitled
"The Foundations of Belief." The first and last of these books were
inspired by a graceful and easy skepticism which had in it nothing
particularly destructive to the faith of any believer, but aimed only at
the not difficult task of proving that a doubting ingenuity can raise
curious cavils from the practical and argumentative point of view
against one creed as well as against another. The world did not take
these skeptical ventures very seriously, and they were for the most part
regarded as the attempts of a clever young man to show how much more
clever he was than the ordinary run of believing mortals. Balfour's
style was clear and vigorous, and people read the essays because of the
writer's growing position in political life, and out of curiosity to see
how the rising young statesman could display himself as the avowed
advocate of philosophic skepticism.
Arthur Balfour took a conspicuous part in the attack made upon the
Liberal Government in 1882 on the subject of the once famous Kilmainham
Treaty. The action which he took in this instance was avowedly inspired
by a desire to embarrass and oppose the Government because of the
compromise into which it had endeavored to enter with Charles Stewart
Parnell for some terms of agreement as to the manner in which
legislation in Ireland ought to be administered. The full history of
what was called the Kilmainham Treaty has not, so far as I know, been
ever correctly given to the public, and it is not necessary, when
surveying the political career of Mr. Balfour, to enter into any
lengthened explanation on the subject. Mr. Parnell was in prison at the
time when the arrangement was begun, and those who were in his
confidence were well aware that he was becoming greatly alarmed as to
the state of Ireland under the rule of the late W. E. Forster, who was
then Chief Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant, and under whose operations
leading Irishmen were thrown into prison on no definite charge, but
because their general conduct left them open in the mind of the Chief
Secretary to the suspicion that their public agitation was likely to
bring about a rebellious movement. Parnell began to fear that the state
of the country would become worse and worse if every popular movement
were to be forcibly repressed at the time when the leaders in whom the
Irish people had full confidence were kept in prison and their guidance,
control, and authority withdrawn from the work of pacification. The
proposed arrangement, whether begun by Mr. Parnell himself or suggested
to him by members of his own party or of the English Radical party, was
simply an understanding that if the leading Irishmen were allowed to
return to their public work the country might at least be kept in peace
while English Liberalism was devising some measures for the better
government of Ireland. The arrangement was in every sense creditable
alike to Parnell and to the English Liberals who were anxious to
cooperate with him in such a purpose. But it led to some disturbance in
Mr. Gladstone's government and to Mr. Forster's resignation of his
office. In 1885, when the Conservatives again came into power and formed
a government, Balfour was appointed President of the Local Government
Board and afterwards became Chief Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant--in
other words, Chief Secretary for Ireland. He had to attempt a difficult,
or rather, it should be said, an impossible task, and he got through it
about as well as, or as badly as, any other man could have done whose
appointed mission was to govern Ireland on Tory principles for the
interests of the landlords and by the policy of coercion.
Balfour, it should be said, was never, even at that time, actually
unpopular with the Irish National party. We all understood quite well
that his own heart did not go with the sort of administrative work which
was put upon him; his manners were always courteous, agreeable, and
graceful; he had a keen, quiet sense of humor, was on good terms
personally with the leading Irish members, and never showed any
inclination to make himself needlessly or wantonly offensive to his
opponents. He was always readily accessible to any political opponent
who had any suggestion to make, and his term of office as Chief
Secretary, although of necessity quite unsuccessful for any practical
good, left no memories of rancor behind it in the minds of those whom he
had to oppose and to confront. More lately he became First Lord of the
Treasury and Leader of the House of Commons, and the remainder of his
public career is too well known to call for any detailed description
here. My object in this article is rather to give a living picture of
the man himself as we all saw him in public life than to record in
historical detail the successive steps by which he ascended to his
present high position, or rather, it should be said, of the successive
events which brought that place within his reach and made it necessary
for him to accept it. For it is only fair to say that, so far as outer
observers could judge, Mr. Balfour never made his career a struggle for
high positions. So clever and gifted a man must naturally have had some
ambition in the public field to which he had devoted so absolutely his
time and his talents. But he seemed, so far as one could judge, to have
in him none of the self-seeking qualities which are commonly seen in the
man whose purpose is to make his parliamentary work the means of
arriving at the highest post in the government of the State. On the
contrary, his whole demeanor seemed to be rather that of one who is
devoting himself unwillingly to a career not quite congenial. He always
appeared to me to be essentially a man of literary, scholarly, and even
retiring tastes, who has a task forced upon him which he does not feel
quite free to decline, and who therefore strives to make the best of a
career which he has not chosen, but from which he does not feel at
liberty to turn away. Most men who have attained the same political
position give one the idea that they feel a positive delight in
parliamentary life and warfare, and that nature must have designed them
for that particular field and for none other. The joy in the strife
which men like Palmerston, like Disraeli, and like Gladstone evidently
felt never showed itself in the demeanor of Arthur Balfour. There was
always something in his manner which spoke of a shy and shrinking
disposition, and he never appeared to enter into debate for the mere
pleasure of debating. He gave the idea of one who would much rather not
make a speech were he altogether free to please himself in the matter,
and as if he were only constraining himself to undertake a duty which
most of those around him were but too glad to have an opportunity of
attempting.
There are instances, no doubt, of men gifted with an absolute genius for
eloquent speech who have had no natural inclination for debate and would
rather have been free from any necessity for entering into the war of
words. I have heard John Bright say that he would never make a speech if
he did not feel it a duty imposed upon him, and that he would never
enter the House of Commons if he felt free to keep away from its
debates. Yet Bright was a born orator and was, on the whole, I think,
the greatest public and parliamentary orator I have ever heard in
England, not excluding even Gladstone himself. Bright had all the
physical qualities of the orator. He had a commanding presence and a
voice of the most marvelous intonation, capable of expressing in musical
sound every emotion which lends itself to eloquence--the impassioned,
the indignant, the pathetic, the appealing, and the humorous. Then I can
recall an instance of another man, not, indeed, endowed with Bright's
superb oratorical gifts, but who had to spend the greater part of his
life since he attained the age of manhood in the making of speeches
within and outside the House of Commons. I am thinking now of Charles
Stewart Parnell. I know well that Parnell would never have made a speech
if he could have avoided the task, and that he even felt a nervous
dislike to the mere putting of a question in the House. But no one
would have known from Bright's manner when he took part in a great
debate that he was not obeying in congenial mood the full instinct and
inclination of a born orator. Nor would a stranger have guessed from
Parnell's clear, self-possessed, and precise style of speaking that he
was putting a severe constraint upon himself when he made up his mind to
engage in parliamentary debate. There is something in Arthur Balfour's
manner as a speaker which occasionally reminds me of Parnell and his
style. The two men had the same quiet, easy, and unconcerned fashion of
utterance, always choosing the most appropriate word and finding it
without apparent difficulty; each man seemed, as I have already said of
Balfour, to be thinking aloud rather than trying to convince the
listeners; each man spoke as if resolved not to waste any words or to
indulge in any appeal to the mere emotions of the audience. But the
natural reluctance to take any part in debate was always more
conspicuous in the manner of Balfour than even in that of Parnell.
Balfour is a man of many and varied tastes and pursuits. He is an
advocate of athleticism and is especially distinguished for his devotion
to the game of golf. He obtained at one time a certain reputation in
London society because of the interest he took in some peculiar phases
of fanciful intellectual inventiveness. He was for a while a leading
member, if not the actual inventor, of a certain order of psychical
research whose members were described as The Souls. More than one
novelist of the day made picturesque use of this singular order and
enlivened the pages of fiction by fancy portraits of its leading
members. Such facts as these did much to prevent Balfour from being
associated in the public mind with only the rivalries of political
parties and the incidents of parliamentary warfare. One sometimes came
into social circles where Balfour was regarded chiefly as the man of
literary tastes and somewhat eccentric intellectual developments. All
this cast a peculiar reflection over his career as a politician and
filled many observers with the idea that he was only playing at
parliamentary life, and that his other occupations were the genuine
realities for him. Even to this day there are some who persist in
believing that Balfour, despite his prolonged and unvarying attention to
his parliamentary duties, has never | 573.743214 |
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AMERICAN BEE JOURNAL.
EDITED AND PUBLISHED BY SAMUEL WAGNER, WASHINGTON, D. C.
AT TWO DOLLARS PER ANNUM, PAYABLE IN ADVANCE.
VOL. VI. NOVEMBER, 1870. No. 5.
[For the American Bee Journal.]
Cure of Foulbrood.
Mr. EDITOR:--I promised, (vol. V., page 187,) to report how my
refrigerator wintered its colony. The frames were covered with a piece
of old carpeting, and the whole space outside the inner hive packed with
straw and shavings. This spring it was in splendid condition, and it was
found necessary to remove brood and cut out queen cells as early as the
20th of May; and, for this locality, the surplus would have been large,
if I had not been obliged to break up the colony on account of
_foulbrood_.
You can imagine my disappointment when my apiarian friend, Mr. Sweet of
West Mansfield, pointed out to me this loathsome disease in my choicest
Italian colony, early in June, when up to that time I had supposed that
everything was prosperous with my twelve colonies. After a thorough
examination I found six hives more or less affected, and according to
high authority, should be condemned to death. The other six appeared
free from disease at this time, although three more subsequently became
diseased.
This is my second summer of bee-keeping, and all the duties pertaining
to an apiary were entered into with the enthusiasm, and shall I confess
it, the ignorance and carelessness of a novice. Yes, ignorance and
culpable carelessness, for in gathering empty combs from various
quarters, the disease was introduced and spread among my pets. One hive,
in particular, of empty comb had the peculiar odor, perforated cells,
and brown viscid fluid, with which I have since become so familiar this
summer; and it seems unaccountable to me, how any person with the Bee
Journal wide open and Quinby’s instructions before him, could be so
careless as to give such combs to his bees.
But such was the fact, and foulbrood spreading right and left. What
shall be done to get rid of it? Shall Quinby be followed, purify the
hive and honey by scalding, and treat the colony as a new swarm; or
shall the heroic treatment of Alley be adopted; bury or burn bees and
hive, combs and all? The latter has sent me some fine queens; but the
former has always given reliable advice, and I shall follow his
instructions with two colonies which are past all cure, and reserve the
others for treatment, hoping that I may find some cure, or at least
palliative for the disease, and add my mite of experience, and, perhaps,
useful knowledge to our Bee Journal.
Accordingly, June 8th, the combs of the two condemned colonies were
melted into wax, the honey drained over and scalded, and the bees, after
a confinement of forty hours, were treated like new swarms; and now,
September 18th, are perfectly healthy and in fine condition for winter.
I will not occupy your valuable space with all the details of my
experiments and fights (which lasted through three months) with the
trials of doses of different strengths and kinds, with old comb and new,
with young queens and old ones, and with no queen at all, and how, in
doing this, I was obliged to keep up the strength of the colony for fear
of robbers and of spreading the disease to my neighbors. Suffice it to
say, that after two months I had made no apparent headway, although
still determined to “fight it out on this line, if it took all summer”
and my last hive. In fact, I devoted my apiary to the study of this
disease, and, perhaps, death.
Starting with, and holding to the theory that foulbrood is contagious
only by the diffusion of living germs of feeble vitality, (and I was
strengthened in my conjecture in microscopical examinations, by finding
the dead larvæ filled with nucleated cells,) I determined to try those
remedies which have the power of destroying the vitality of these
destructive germs, these living organisms. And no remedies seemed to me
more potent than carbolic acid and hyposulphite of soda. At first I used
both, making one application of each, with an interval of one day, and
with apparent benefit. But, attributing the improvement to the more
powerful of the two, I abandoned the hyposulphite and used the carbolic
acid alone, and I was so infatuated with the idea of its superiority,
that I did not give it up until three of the four hives had become so
hopelessly diseased, that the combs were destroyed and the colonies
treated to new combs (as it was late in the season,) and freely fed with
sugar and water. These are now in good condition for winter.
The fourth hive was carried a mile away, the queen caged, and the colony
strengthened with a medium sized second swarm. After all the brood,
which was advanced, had left the cells, I transferred the colony to a
clean hive; thoroughly sulphured the old hive with burning sulphur,
and stored it away in a safe place for future experiments. I now thought
my apiary free from the pest; but on thoroughly examining the whole,
three new cases of foulbrood were found--one very badly affected, and
two slightly so, with perhaps twenty to forty cells diseased and
perforated.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by Samuel
Wagner, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
This was about the 1st of August, and again hyposulphite of soda was
selected for the trial; and from the first application I have had the
disease under control. Three days ago I examined the three colonies
thoroughly, and found no new cells diseased in the two which had been
the least affected; and in the almost hopelessly diseased one (as much
diseased, in fact, as any of those that I destroyed,) an entire brood
had been raised, with not over fifty or sixty diseased and perforated
cells with dead larvæ remaining, most on one comb, and nearly all the
cells contained a new supply of eggs; this colony is certainly
convalescent, and I think now, from the recent and second application of
the hyposulphite of soda, is entirely cured. Still, I should not be
surprised to find two or three, or even more, perforated cells after
this second crop of brood has hatched, as the whole hive, honey, and
comb, had been for so long a time so thoroughly saturated with the
disease, and at least two-thirds of the cells had, before the _medicine_
was used, been filled with putrid larvæ. If so, I shall treat it to a
third dose.
Now, Mr. Editor, as it is frequently of as much practical importance to
tell how to administer a remedy, as it is to know its name, I will ask
your indulgence a little longer, hoping that others may improve upon my
remedy or at least test it, if they are so unfortunately ignorant and
careless as I was, in bringing “the wolf home to the fold.”
The solution of hyposulphite of soda which I used, was one ounce to half
a pint of rain water. With this I thoroughly washed out every diseased
cell with an atomizer, after opening the cap; also spraying over the
whole of the combs and the inside of the hive. The instrument I use is a
spray producer, invented by Dr. Bigelow of Boston, and sold by Codman &
Shurtleff of that city. There are two small metallic tubes, a few inches
long, soldered together; and by placing the point of exit of the spray
at the lower part of the cell, the whole of the contents of the cell is
instantly blown out upon the metallic tubes. With a very little practice
there is no necessity for polluting the comb with the putrid matter.
Place the comb perfectly upright or a little leaned towards you, and
there is no difficulty; yet, if a drop should happen to run down the
comb, it would do no harm, but had better be carefully absorbed with a
piece of old dry cotton cloth. I quite frequently do this with the bees
on the comb, as it does them no harm, to say the least, to get well
covered with the vapor.
It is not at all injurious to the larvæ, after they are two or three
days old, though it may be before that time, as I have noticed that
after using the hyposulphite where there are eggs and very young larvæ,
the next day the cells are perfectly clean.
There are many interesting points which have come up during my summer’s
fight, which I would speak of; but I have already gone beyond all
reasonable bounds in this communication.
EDWARD P. ABBE.
_New Bedford, Mass._, Sept. 18, 1870.
[Translated from the Bienenzeitung,
For the American Bee Journal.]
Queen Breeding.
To obtain not only purely fertilized queens, but fine, bright yellow
ones, I have for some years proceeded thus:
As all Italian queens do not produce equally fine drones, I mark those
stocks in the course of the summer which contain queens producing the
choicest of these. Then, in the following spring, when I desire to have
a plentiful supply of prime Italian drones early, and before common
drones make their appearance in neighboring apiaries, insert in the
hives thus selected and marked, combs of worker brood taken from other
colonies. I do this in order to make those colonies very populous, so as
to induce drone-egg-laying; for a queen will always be disposed to
commence doing so, if she is in a strong colony well supplied with
honey, or is well fed. As soon as I find that those colonies are
becoming populous under this management, I insert some empty drone comb
in the centre of the brooding space. These the queen, stimulated by
liberal feeding, will speedily supply with eggs; and when the drone
brood so produced is nearly mature, I subdivide these combs and insert
pieces in nuclei previously furnished with young bees, worker brood, and
eggs, taken from the colonies containing the choice queens from which I
design to breed, and which are known to produce the largest, most
active, and best marked workers.
As the drones form the brood thus introduced mature several days sooner,
than the young queens bred in the same nuclei, there is a strong
probability that the latter will be fertilized by them and consequently
produce fully marked choice progeny, as it is certain that queens will
almost invariably be fertilized early if they and the drones are bred in
the same hive or nucleus, since that secures the simultaneous flight of
both and obviates the necessity of a wide range in their excursions. I
adopt this process also, because if the Italian drones of the colonies,
which contain the young queens, are poorly marked and dark yellow in
color, we cannot reasonably look for bright and handsomely marked
progeny.
At about ten o’clock in the morning of a calm, clear day, when the young
queen is at least two days old, I feed the bees of the nucleus with
diluted honey. Drones and queens will then almost invariably issue at
the same time, and before common drones from other colonies or
neighboring apiaries are on the wing. Thus both disappointment and delay
are in a great measure precluded. I do not stimulate the bees of the
nucleus by feeding either on the first or the second day after a young
queen has left her cell, because she is then yet too feeble to make an
excursion with safety. But I have frequently succeeded in having
fertilization effected on the third or fourth day, in favorable weather,
when the nucleus thus stimulated contained both drones and queen; and in
many cases the queens began to lay on the third or fourth day
thereafter. In this way, I not only obtain many (I do not say all)
purely fertilized queens; but also very superior ones, large, vigorous,
and prolific, producing both workers and drones well marked and brightly
.
I do not indeed claim that this process gives us absolute certainty, but
only a very great probability, that the queens we rear will be purely
fertilized. Other bee-keepers too, who employed it long before the
Kœhler method was promulgated, regard it as furnishing the most likely
means of assuring success. Thus, for instance, the President of the
Bee-keeper’s Union of Moravia, Dr. Ziwanski, who is not a blind imitator
of others, but a careful and indefatigable inquirer, never recommending
aught for adoption till he has himself tested it with success, found my
method worthy of adoption five years ago already, for his annual report
for 1865 contains the following passage:--
“I made five nuclei this year, with fresh brood from pure original
Italians. When fitting them up, I recollected a suggestion of the Rev.
Mr. | 573.74412 |
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THE CRIME DOCTOR
_By_ ERNEST W. HORNUNG
Author of Raffles, The Amateur Cracksman, The Thousandth Woman, etc.
_With Illustrations by_
FREDERIC DORR STEELE
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1914
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
[Illustration: "It was struck with--this"]
CONTENTS
I THE PHYSICIAN WHO HEALED HIMSELF 1
II THE LIFE-PRESERVER 40
III A HOPELESS CASE 77
IV THE GOLDEN KEY 118
V A SCHOOLMASTER ABROAD 159
VI ONE POSSESSED 199
VII THE DOCTOR'S ASSISTANT 237
VIII THE SECOND MURDERER 272
THE CRIME DOCTOR
I
THE PHYSICIAN WHO HEALED HIMSELF
In the course of his meteoric career as Secretary of State for the Home
Department, the Right Honorable Topham Vinson instituted many reforms
and earned the reformer's whack of praise and blame. His methods were
not those of the permanent staff; and while his notorious courage
endeared him to the young, it was not in so strong a nature to leave
friend or foe lukewarm. An assiduous contempt for tradition fanned the
flame of either faction, besides leading to several of those personal
adventures which were as breath to the Minister's unregenerate nostrils,
but which never came out without exposing him to almost universal
censure. It is matter for thanksgiving that the majority of his
indiscretions were unguessed while he and his held office; for he was
never so unconventional as in pursuance of those enlightened tactics on
which his reputation rests, or in the company of that kindred spirit who
had so much to do with their inception.
It was early in an autumn session that this remarkable pair became
acquainted. Mr. Vinson had been tempted by the mildness of the night to
walk back from Westminster to Portman Square. He had just reached home
when he heard his name cried from some little distance behind him. The
voice tempered hoarse excitement with the restraint due to midnight in a
quiet square; and as Mr. Vinson turned on his door-step, a young man
rushed across the road with a gold chain swinging from his outstretched
hand.
"Your watch, sir, your watch!" he gasped, and displayed a bulbous hunter
with a monogram on one side and the crest of all the Vinsons on the
other.
"Heavens!" cried the Home Secretary, feeling in an empty waistcoat
pocket before he could believe his eyes. "Where on earth did you find
that? I had it on me when I left the House."
"It wasn't a case of findings," said the young man, as he fanned himself
with his opera hat. "I've just taken it from the fellow who took it from
you."
"Who? Where?" demanded the Secretary of State, with unstatesmanlike
excitement.
"Some poor brute in North Audley Street, I think it was."
"That's it! That was where he stopped me, just at the corner of
Grosvenor Square!" exclaimed Vinson. "And I went and gave the old
scoundrel half-a-crown!"
"He probably had your watch while you were looking in your purse."
And the young man dabbed a very good forehead, that glistened in the
light from the open door, with a white silk handkerchief just extracted
from his sleeve.
"But where were you?" asked Topham Vinson, taking in every inch of him.
"I'd just come into the square myself. You had just gone out of it. The
pickpocket was looking to see what he'd got, even while he hurled his
blessings after you."
"And where is he now? Did he slip through your fingers?"
"I'm ashamed to say he did; but your watch didn't!" its owner was
reminded with more spirit. "I could guess whose it was by the crest and
monogram, and I decided to make sure instead of giving chase."
"You did admirably," declared the Home Secretary, in belated
appreciation. "I'm in the papers quite enough without appearing as a mug
out of office hours. Come in, please, and let me thank you with all the
honors possible at this time of night."
And, taking him by the arm, he ushered the savior of his property into a
charming inner hall, where elaborate refreshments stood in readiness on
a side-table, and a bright fire looked as acceptable as the saddlebag
chairs drawn up beside it. A bottle and a pint of reputable champagne
had been left out | 573.800805 |
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The American Missionary
JANUARY, 1896
Vol. L
No. 1
CONTENTS
EDITORIAL.
THE NEW YEAR, 1
PAMPHLETS AND SPEECHES, 2
JUBILEE BELL BANK, 3
MEETING WOMAN'S BUREAU--CLIPPINGS, 3
THE CHINESE.
ENDEAVOR TESTIMONIES, 4
IN MEMORIAM.
PROF. GEO. L. WHITE, 6
MISS ADA M. SPRAGUE, 7
MRS. N. D. MERRIMAN--MISS LILLIAN BEYER, 8
BUREAU OF WOMAN'S WORK.
ANNUAL MEETING--REPORT OF SECRETARY, 9
ADDRESS OF MRS. SYDNEY STRONG, 13
ADDRESS OF MISS ANNETTE P. BRICKETT, 15
EXTRACTS FROM ADDRESS, MISS H. S. LOVELAND, 18
ADDRESS OF MRS. HARRIS, 20
EXTRACTS FROM ADDRESS OF MRS. WOODBURY, 21
WOMAN'S STATE ORGANIZATIONS 23
RECEIPTS, 25
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION,
Bible House, Ninth St. and Fourth Ave., New York.
Price, 50 Cents a Year in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as second-class mail
matter.
* * * * *
American Missionary Association.
PRESIDENT, MERRILL E. GATES, LL.D., MASS.
_Vice-Presidents._
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D.D., Ill.
Rev. ALEX. MCKENZIE, D.D., Mass.
Rev. HENRY HOPKINS, D.D., Mo.
Rev. HENRY A. STIMSON, D.D., N. Y.
Rev. WASHINGTON GLADDEN, D.D., Ohio.
_Honorary Secretary and Editor._
REV. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Corresponding Secretaries._
Rev. A. F. BEARD, D.D., Rev. F. P. WOODBURY, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
Rev. C. J. RYDER, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Recording Secretary._
Rev. M. E. STRIEBY, D.D., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Treasurer._
H. W. HUBBARD, Esq., _Bible House, N. Y._
_Auditors._
GEORGE S. HICKOK.
JAMES H. OLIPHANT.
_Executive Committee._
CHARLES L. MEAD, Chairman.
CHARLES A. HULL, Secretary.
_For Three Years._
SAMUEL HOLMES,
SAMUEL S. MARPLES,
CHARLES L. MEAD,
WILLIAM H. STRONG,
ELIJAH HORR.
_For Two Years._
WILLIAM HAYES WARD,
JAMES W. COOPER,
LUCIEN C. WARNER,
JOSEPH H. TWICHELL,
CHARLES P. PEIRCE.
_For One Year._
CHARLES A. HULL,
ADDISON P. FOSTER,
ALBERT J. LYMAN,
NEHEMIAH BOYNTON,
A. J. F. BEHRENDS.
_District Secretaries._
Rev. GEO. H. GUTTERSON, _21 Cong'l House, Boston, Mass._
Rev. JOS. E. ROY, D.D., _153 La Salle Street, Chicago, Ill._
_Secretary of Woman's Bureau._
Miss D. E. EMERSON, _Bible House, N. Y._
COMMUNICATIONS
Relating to the work of the Association may be addressed to the
Corresponding Secretaries; letters for "THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY," to
the Editor, at the New York Office; letters relating to the finances,
to the Treasurer; letters relating to woman's work, to the Secretary
of the Woman's Bureau.
DONATIONS AND SUBSCRIPTIONS
In drafts, checks, registered letters, or post-office orders, may be
sent to H. W. Hubbard, Treasurer, Bible House, New York; or, when more
convenient, to either of the Branch Offices, 21 Congregational House,
Boston, Mass., or 153 La Salle Street, Chicago, Ill. A payment of
thirty dollars constitutes a Life Member.
NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS.--The date on the "address label" indicates the
time to which the subscription is paid. Changes are made in date on
label to the 10th of each month. If payment of subscription be made
afterward the change on the label will appear a month later. Please
send early notice of change in post-office address, giving the former
address and the new address, in order that our periodicals and
occasional papers may be correctly mailed.
FORM OF A BEQUEST.
"I GIVE AND BEQUEATH the sum of ---- dollars to the 'American
Missionary Association,' incorporated by act of the Legislature of the
State of New York." The will should be attested by three witnesses.
* * * * *
THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY
VOL. L. JANUARY, 1896. No. 1.
* * * * *
1846. THE NEW YEAR. 1896.
Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-six brings in the Jubilee Year of the
American Missionary Association. What marked changes have taken place
between 1846 and 1896, even in the range of events with which the
Association is connected! Then the great gold discoveries in
California had not been made; then little was done by the Church or
the Government for the Indian; then the Southern mountaineers were
hunting and fishing, innocent of schools and railroads; then slavery
dominated the land, oppressing the slave and aiming to crush free
thought and speech in the North.
Now how changed! As to slavery, for example. The war and emancipation
have written a new page on our national history. But emancipation only
battered down the prison doors and sent forth the millions of
ignorant, helpless and vicious people--a menace to the Republic and a
reproach to the Church, if left in their degraded condition, but
presenting a most hopeful field for humane and Christian effort. The
facts made an appeal for immediate and effective work and the American
Missionary Association sprang into the task. Hundreds of refined and
Christian women lent their aid and toiled in the uplifting of the
needy, amid the scorn and hatred of the white people, while the
churches and benevolent friends responded with the means. The
Association has followed up this Christlike beginning by the planting
of permanent institutions--schools and churches--and the good effects
are becoming apparent in the multitude of industrious, prosperous and
educated <DW52> people, the hopeful and helpful leaders of their
race. But their advancement only reveals the yet unreached masses
behind them as hopeful if promptly met, and as helpless if neglected,
as those that preceded them.
This good work is at its crowning point--to push forward is victory,
to halt is disaster. But the Association feels the pressure of the
hard times. It owes a debt of nearly $100,000, and needs four times
as much to sustain the work now in hand. Nevertheless, there is no
cause for discouragement in all this. There is vast wealth in the
nation, and a large share of it is in the hands of those who are more
or less directly connected with the Christian Church, and who are
liberal in their gifts when worthy objects are fairly brought to their
attention. It is true that there are those whose resources are
restricted by the present stagnation in business. This, however, gives
the opportunity for Christian self-denial. The relief for imperiled
Christian work will come if those who are prospered will give of their
abundance, while those less favored will imitate the Macedonians of
whom Paul speaks, whose "deep poverty abounded unto the riches of
their liberality." Self-denial is not a lost virtue in the Church of
Christ.
We make our appeal for relief during this Jubilee year. Already large
correspondence has been had with pastors of churches and others, and
the responses are very cheering, giving promise of most efficient
helpfulness. We hope, therefore, that our next Annual Meeting--our
fiftieth anniversary, to be held in Boston--will have the enthusiasm
of a Jubilee deliverance from the bondage of hampering limitations,
and give a new impulse to our labors for the emancipation of those
still in the bondage of ignorance and vice.
* * * * *
PAMPHLETS AND SPEECHES.
Our recent annual meeting has furnished a large number of papers and
addresses, covering, in a wide range, the various parts of the work of
this Association. Some of these have already appeared in the December
number of THE MISSIONARY, and a portion of them will be reprinted in
pamphlet or leaflet form, especially those from the field workers or
which relate directly to field operations. Besides these, some of the
valuable addresses not thus printed will be issued in pamphlet form,
and all of them are freely offered to our constituents on application!
We give below a somewhat complete list of these documents with the
name of the author and the title of the address:
The Freedman Truly Free Only by Christian Education: Pres. MERRILL E.
GATES.
Ownership and Service: Secretary F. P. WOODBURY.
The Indian Factor in the Indian Problem: Secretary C. J. RYDER.
Last Decade of A. M. A. Work in the South: Dist. Secretary JOS. E.
ROY.
Christianization of the "Inferior Races:" President J. B. ANGELL.
The Chinese in America an Element in Christianizing China: Rev.
WILLARD SCOTT, D.D.
Plea for Hope and Courage: Rev. W. E. C. WRIGHT, D.D.
Educational Work in the South: President W. G. BALLANTINE.
Mountain School Work: Prof. C. M. STEVENS.
After Twenty-five years in <DW64> Education: Prof. A. K. SPENCE.
The Financial Problem: Rev. J. M. STURTEVANT, D.D.
Indian Work: Rev. G. W. REED.
Story of a Young Indian: JONAS SPOTTED-BEAR | 573.839537 |
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BEAUTY;
ILLUSTRATED CHIEFLY BY AN
ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION
OF BEAUTY IN WOMAN,
BY ALEXANDER WALKER,
AUTHOR OF "INTERMARRIAGE," "WOMAN," "PHYSIOGNOMY FOUNDED
ON PHYSIOLOGY," "THE NERVOUS SYSTEM," ETC.
EDITED BY AN AMERICAN PHYSICIAN
NEW YORK:
HENRY G. LANGLEY, 8 ASTOR-HOUSE.
1845.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, BY J. & H. G.
LANGLEY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York
STEREOTYPED BY J. S. REDFIELD,
_13 Chambers Street, New York_
DEDICATION.
TO GEORGE BIRBECK, M.D., F.G.S.,
PRESIDENT OF THE LONDON MECHANICS' INSTITUTION, &c., &c., &c.
A department of science, which in many respects must be regarded as new,
cannot so properly be dedicated to any one as to the inventor of the best
mode of diffusing scientific knowledge among the most meritorious and most
oppressed classes of society.
When the enemies of freedom, in order effectually to blind the victims of
their spoliation, imposed a tax upon knowledge, you rendered the
acquirement of science easy by the establishment of mechanics'
institutions--you gave the first and greatest impulse to that diffusion of
knowledge which will render the repetition of such a conspiracy against
humanity impossible.
You more than once also wrested a reluctant concession, in behalf of
untaxed knowledge, from the men who had evidently succeeded, in some
degree, to the spirit, as well as to the office, of the original
conspirators, and who unwisely hesitated between the bad interest which is
soon felt by all participators in expensive government, and their dread of
the new and triumphant power of public opinion, before which they know and
feel that they are but as the chaff before the whirlwind.
For these services, accept this respectful dedication, as the expression
of a homage, in which I am sure that I am joined by thousands of Britons.
Nor, in writing this, on a subject of which your extensive knowledge
enables you so well to judge, am I without a peculiar and personal motive.
I gratefully acknowledge that, in one of the most earnest and strenuous
mental efforts I ever made, in my work on "The Nervous System," I owed to
your cautions as to logical reasoning and careful induction, an anxiety at
least, and a zeal in these respects, which, whatever success may have
attended them, could not well be exceeded.
I have endeavored to act conformably with the same cautions in the present
work. He must be weak-minded, indeed, who can seek for aught in philosophy
but the discovery of truth; and he must be a coward who, believing he has
discovered it, has any scruple to announce it.
ALEXANDER WALKER.
APRIL 10, 1836.
AMERICAN ADVERTISEMENT.
The present volume completes the series of Mr. Walker's anthropological
works. To say that they have met with a favorable reception from the
American public, would be but a very inadequate expression of the
unprecedented success which has attended their publication.
"INTERMARRIAGE," the first of the series, passed through six large
editions within eighteen months, and "WOMAN," has met with a sale scarcely
less extensive. The numerous calls for the present work, have compelled
the publishers to issue it sooner than they had contemplated; and, it is
believed, that it will be found not less worthy of attention than the
preceding.
All must acknowledge the interesting nature of the subject treated in the
present work, as well as its intimate connexion with those which have
already passed under discussion. The analysis of beauty on philosophical
principles, is attended with numerous difficulties, not the least of which
arises from the want of any fixed and acknowledged standard. The term
Beauty is, indeed, generally considered as a vague generality, varying
according to national, and even individual taste and judgment.
Mr. Walker claims, in his advertisement, numerous points of originality,
some of which, on examination, may perhaps prove to have been proposed
previously by other writers. Enough, however, will remain to entitle him
to the credit of great ingenuity and acuteness. As treated by him, the
subject assumes an aspect very different from that exhibited in any other
publication. To trace the connexion of beauty with, and its dependance on,
anatomical structure and physiological laws--to show how it may be
modified by causes within our control--to describe its different forms and
modifications, and defects, as indicated by certain physical signs--to
analyze its elements, with a view to its influence on individuals and
society, in connexion with its perpetration in posterity--all these were
novel topics of vast and exciting interest, and well adapted to the
genius, taste, and research of our author.
In preparing the present edition, it has been thought expedient to make
some verbal alterations, and omit a few paragraphs, to which a refined
taste might perhaps object, and to bring together in the Appendix such
collateral matter, as might serve to correct, extend, or illustrate the
views presented in the text. With these explanations, the work is
confidently commended to the popular as well as philosophical reader, as
worthy of studious examination.
CONTENTS.
PRELIMINARY ESSAY Page ix
English Advertisement 1
CHAPTER I.--Importance of the Subject 11
CHAPTER II.--Urgency of the Discussion of this Subject in
relation to the Interests of Decency and Morality 21
CHAPTER III.--Cautions to Youth 35
CHAPTER IV.--Nature of Beauty 46
CHAPTER V.--Standard of Taste in Beauty 56
CHAPTER VI.--The Elements of Beauty 72
SECTION I.--Elements of Beauty in Inanimate Beings 74
SECTION II.--Elements of Beauty in Living Beings 88
SECTION III.--Elements of Beauty in Thinking Beings 93
SECTION IV.--Elements of Beauty as employed in
Objects of Art 103
Beauty of Useful Objects 104
Beauty of Ornamental Objects 108
Beauty of Intellectual Objects 113
Summary of this Chapter 120
APPENDIX to the Preceding Chapters 123
SECTION I.--Nature of the Picturesque 123
SECTION II.--Cause of Laughter 125
SECTION III.--Cause of the Pleasure received from
Representations exciting Pity 131
CHAPTER VII.--Anatomical and Physiological Principles 139
CHAPTER VIII.--Of the Ages of Women in relation to Beauty 152
CHAPTER IX.--Of the Causes of Beauty in Woman 166
CHAPTER X.--Of the Standard of Beauty in Woman 171
CHAPTER XI.--Of the Three Species of Female Beauty generally
viewed 185
CHAPTER XII.--First Species of Beauty: Beauty of the Locomotive
System 189
First Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 191
Second Variety or Modification of this Species
of Beauty 197
Third Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 198
CHAPTER XIII.--Second Species of Beauty: Beauty of the Nutritive
System 203
First Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 208
Second Variety or Modification of this Species
of Beauty 210
Third Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 212
CHAPTER XIV.--Third Species of Beauty: Beauty of the Thinking
System 225
First Variety or Modification of this Species of
Beauty 226
Second Variety | 573.905543 |
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THE LAND OF PROMISE
_By the same Author_
THE UNKNOWN
THE CIRCLE
THE EXPLORER
JACK STRAW
LADY FREDERICK
LANDED GENTRY
THE TENTH MAN
A MAN OF HONOUR
MRS. DOT
PENELOPE
SMITH
CÆSAR’S WIFE
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
THE LAND OF
PROMISE
A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS
BY
W. S. MAUGHAM
[Illustration: 1922]
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN. 1922
TO
IRENE VANBRUGH
_All applications regarding the Performance Rights of this play should
be addressed to Mr. R. Golding Bright, 20, Green Street, Leicester
Square, London, W.C. 2._
This play was produced on February 26, 1914, at the Duke of York’s
Theatre, with the following cast:
NORAH MARSH Irene Vanbrugh.
EDWARD MARSH C. V. France.
GERTRUDE MARSH Marion Ashworth.
FRANK TAYLOR Godfrey Tearle.
REGINALD HORNBY Basil Foster.
BENJAMIN TROTTER George Tully.
SIDNEY SHARP J. Woodall-Birde.
EMMA SHARP Mary Rorke.
JAMES WICKHAM Athol Stewart.
DOROTHY WICKHAM Netta Westcott.
AGNES PRINGLE Lena Halliday.
CLEMENT WYNNE Charles Goodwin.
KATE Marion Christie Murray.
CHARACTERS
NORAH MARSH.
EDWARD MARSH.
GERTRUDE MARSH.
FRANK TAYLOR.
REGINALD HORNBY.
BENJAMIN TROTTER.
SIDNEY SHARP.
EMMA SHARP.
JAMES WICKHAM.
DOROTHY WICKHAM.
AGNES PRINGLE.
CLEMENT WYNNE.
KATE.
The action of the play takes place at Tunbridge Wells, and later in
Canada.
THE LAND OF PROMISE
ACT I
SCENE: _The drawing-room at Miss Wickham’s house in Tunbridge
Wells. It is a room in which there is too much furniture. There are
armchairs covered with faded chintz, little tables here and there,
cabinets containing china, a great many photographs in silver
frames, porcelain ornaments wherever there is a vacant space,
Chippendale chairs and chairs from the Tottenham Court Road. There
are flowers in vases and growing plants. The wall-paper has a
pattern of enormous chrysanthemums, and on the walls are a large
number of old-fashioned watercolours in gilt frames. There is one
door, which leads into the hall; and a French window opens on to
the garden. The window is decorated with white lace curtains. It is
four o’clock in the afternoon. The sun is streaming through the
drawn blinds. There is a wreath of white flowers in a cardboard box
on one of the chairs. The door is opened by_ KATE, _the
parlour-maid. She is of respectable appearance and of a decent age.
She admits_ MISS PRINGLE. MISS PRINGLE _is companion to a wealthy
old lady in Tunbridge Wells. She is a woman of middle age, plainly
dressed, thin and narrow of shoulders, with a weather-beaten, tired
face and grey hair._
KATE.
I’ll tell Miss Marsh you’re here, Miss Pringle.
MISS PRINGLE.
How is she to-day, Kate?
KATE.
She’s tired out, poor thing. She’s lying down now. But I’m sure she’d
like to see you, Miss.
MISS PRINGLE.
I’m very glad she didn’t go to the funeral.
KATE.
Dr. Evans thought she’d better stay at home, Miss, and Mrs. Wickham said
she’d only upset herself if she went.
MISS PRINGLE.
I wonder how she stood it all those months, waiting on Miss Wickham hand
and foot.
KATE.
Miss Wickham wouldn’t have a professional nurse. And you know what she
was, Miss.... Miss Marsh slept in Miss Wickham’s room, and the moment
she fell asleep Miss Wickham would have her up because her pillow wanted
shaking, or she was thirsty, or something.
MISS PRINGLE.
I suppose she was very inconsiderate.
KATE.
Inconsiderate isn’t the word, Miss. I wouldn’t be a lady’s companion,
not for anything. What they have to put up with!
MISS PRINGLE.
Oh, well, everyone isn’t like Miss Wickham. The lady I’m companion to,
Mrs. Hubbard, is kindness itself.
KATE.
That sounds like Miss Marsh coming downstairs [_She goes to the door and
opens it._] Miss Pringle is here, Miss.
[NORAH _comes in. She is a woman of twenty-eight, with a pleasant,
honest face and a happy smile. She is gentle, with quiet manners,
but she has a quick temper, under very good control, and a
passionate nature which is hidden under a demure appearance. She is
simply dressed in black._]
NORAH.
I _am_ glad to see you. I was hoping you’d be able to come here this
afternoon.
MISS PRINGLE.
Mrs. Hubbard has gone for a drive with somebody or other, and didn’t
want me.
[_They kiss one another._ NORAH _notices the wreath_.]
NORAH.
What’s this?
KATE.
It didn’t arrive till after they’d started, Miss.
NORAH.
I wonder whom it’s from. [_She looks at a card which is attached to the
wreath._] “From Mrs. Alfred Vincent, with deepest regret for my dear
Miss Wickham and heartiest sympathy for her sorrowing relatives.”
KATE.
Sorrowing relatives is good, Miss.
NORAH.
[_Remonstrating._] Kate... I think you’d better take it away.
KATE.
What shall I do with it, Miss?
NORAH.
I’m going to the cemetery a little later. I’ll take it with me.
KATE.
Very good, Miss.
[KATE _takes up the box and goes out_.]
MISS PRINGLE.
You haven’t been crying, Norah?
NORAH.
[_With a little apologetic smile._] Yes, I couldn’t help it.
MISS PRINGLE.
What on earth for?
NORAH.
My dear, it’s not unnatural.
MISS PRINGLE.
Well, I don’t want to say anything against her now she’s dead and gone,
poor thing, but Miss Wickham was the most detestable old woman I ever
met.
NORAH.
I don’t suppose one can live all that | 573.935531 |
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THE NOVEL
[Illustration: image of colophon not available]
[Illustration: image of F. Marion Crawford not available]
THE NOVEL
WHAT IT IS
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
Author of “Mr. Isaacs,” “Dr. Claudius,” “A Roman
Singer,” etc.
New York
MACMILLAN AND COMPANY
AND LONDON
1893
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1893,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
Norwood Press:
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A.
WHAT IS A NOVEL?
My answer can only be a statement of opinion, which I make with much
deference to the prejudices of my brethren. Whether it will be of
interest to general readers I do not know; but the question I propose is
in itself more or less vital as regards novel-writing. No one will deny
that truism. Before going to work it is important to know what one means
to do. I pretend, however, to no special gift for solving problems in
general or this one in particular. To give “the result of one’s
experience,” as the common phrase puts it, is by no means so easy as it
sounds. An intelligent man mostly knows what he means by his own words,
but it does not follow that he can convey that meaning to others. Almost
all discussion and much misunderstanding may fairly be said to be based
upon the difference between the definitions of common terms as
understood by the two parties. In the exact sciences there is no such
thing as discussion; there is the theorem and its demonstration, there
is the problem and its solution, from which solution and demonstration
there is no appeal. That is because, in mathematics, every word is
defined before it is used and is almost meaningless until it has been
defined.
It has been remarked by a very great authority concerning the affairs of
men that “of making many books there is no end,” and to judge from
appearances the statement is even more true to-day than when it was
first made. Especially of making novels there is no end, in these times
of latter-day literature. No doubt many wise and good persons and many
excellent critics devoutly wish that there might be; but they are not at
present strong enough to stand against us, the army of fiction-makers,
because we are many, and most of us do not know how to do anything else,
and have grown grey in doing this particular kind of work, and are
dependent upon it for bread as well as butter; and lastly and chiefly,
because we are heavily backed, as a body, by the capital of the
publisher, of which we desire to obtain for ourselves as much as
possible. Therefore novels will continue to be written, perhaps for a
long time to come. There is a demand for them and there is profit in
producing them. Who shall prevent us, authors and publishers, from
continuing the production and supplying the demand?
This brings with it a first answer to the question, “What is a novel?” A
novel is a marketable commodity, of the class collectively termed
“luxuries,” as not contributing directly to the support of life or the
maintenance of health. It is of the class “artistic luxuries” because it
does not appeal to any of the three material senses--touch, taste,
smell; and it is of the class “intellectual artistic luxuries,” because
it is not judged by the superior senses--sight and hearing. The novel,
therefore, is an intellectual artistic luxury--a definition which can be
made to include a good deal, but which is, in reality, a closer one than
it appears to be at first sight. No one, I think, will deny that it
covers the three principal essentials of the novel as it should be, of a
story or romance, which in itself and in the manner of telling it shall
appeal to the intellect, shall satisfy the requirements of art, and
shall be a luxury, in that it can be of no use to a man when he is at
work, but may conduce to peace of mind and delectation during his hours
of idleness. The point upon which people differ is the artistic one, and
the fact that such differences of opinion exist makes it possible that
two writers as widely separated as Mr. Henry James and Mr. Rider
Haggard, for instance, find appreciative readers in the same year of the
same century--a fact which the literary history of the future will find
it hard to explain.
Probably no one denies that the first object of the novel is to amuse
and interest the reader. But it is often said that the novel should
instruct as well as afford amusement, and the “novel-with-a-purpose” is
the realisation of this idea. We might invent a better expression than
that clumsy translation of the neat German “_Tendenz-Roman_.” Why not
compound the words and call the odious thing a “purpose-novel”? The
purpose-novel, then, proposes to serve two masters, besides procuring a
reasonable amount of bread and butter for its writer and publisher. It
proposes to escape from my definition of the novel in general and make
itself an “intellectual moral lesson” instead of an “intellectual
artistic luxury.” It constitutes a violation of the unwritten contract
tacitly existing between writer and reader. So far as supply and demand
are concerned, books in general and works of fiction in particular are
commodities and subject to the same laws, statutory and traditional, as
other articles of manufacture. A toy-dealer would not venture to sell
real pistols to little boys as pop-guns, and a gun-maker who should try
to sell the latter for army revolvers would get into trouble, even
though he were able to prove that the toy was as expensive to
manufacture as the real article, or more so, silver-mounted, chiselled,
and lying in a Russia-leather case. I am not sure that the law might not
support the purchaser in an action for damages if he discovered at a
critical moment that his revolver was a plaything. It seems to me that | 573.942156 |
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LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL
THIRD BOOK OF THE
FAITH-PROMOTING SERIES
By President W. Woodruff
_DESIGNED FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND ENCOURAGEMENT OF YOUNG LATTER-DAY
SAINTS_
SECOND EDITION.
JUVENILE INSTRUCTOR OFFICE,
Salt Lake City, Utah.
1882.
PREFACE
About nine months have elapsed since the first edition of this work
was published, and now the whole number issued--over 4,000 copies--are
exhausted, and there is a demand for more.
We, therefore, have much pleasure in offering the Second Edition of
LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL for public consideration, and trust that the
young people who pursue it will be inspired to emulate in their lives
the faith, perseverance and integrity that so distinguish its author.
Brother Woodruff is a remarkable man. Few men now living, who have
followed the quiet and peaceful pursuits of life, have had such an
interesting and eventful experience as he has. Few, if any in this
age, have spent a more active and useful life. Certainly no man living
has been more particular about recording with his own hand, in a daily
journal, during half a century, the events of his own career and the
things that have come under his observation. His elaborate journal has
always been one of the principal sources from which the Church history
has been compiled.
Possessed of wonderful energy and determination, and mighty faith,
Brother Woodruff has labored long and with great success in the Church.
He has ever had a definite object in view--to know the will of the
Almighty and to do it. No amount of self-denial has been too great for
him to cheerfully endure for the advancement of the cause of God. No
labor required of the Saints has been considered by him too onerous to
engage in with his own hands.
Satan, knowing the power for good that Brother Woodruff would be, if
permitted to live, has often sought to effect his destruction.
The adventures, accidents and hair-breath escapes that he has met with,
are scarcely equalled by the record that the former apostle, Paul, has
left us of his life.
The power of God has been manifested in a most remarkable manner in
preserving Brother Woodruff's life. Considering the number of bones
he has had broken, and the other bodily injuries he has received, it
is certainly wonderful that now, at the age of seventy-five years, he
is such a sound, well-preserved man. God grant that his health and
usefulness may continue for many years to come.
Of course, this volume contains but a small portion of the interesting
experience of Brother Woodruff's life, but very many profitable lessons
may be learned from it, and we trust at some future time to be favored
with other sketches from his pen.
THE PUBLISHER
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Strictness of the "Blue Laws" of Connecticut--The Old Prophet
Mason--His Vision--His Prophecy--Hear the Gospel, and Embrace it--Visit
Kirtland, and see Joseph Smith--A Work for the Old Prophet.
CHAPTER II.
Preparing to go up to Zion--First Meeting with President Young-Camp of
Zion Starts--Numbers Magnified in the Eyes of Beholders--Remarkable
Deliverance-Selfishness, and its Reward.
CHAPTER III.
Advised to Remain in Missouri--A Desire to Preach--Pray to the Lord for
a Mission--Prayer Answered--Sent on a Mission to Arkansas--Dangerous
Journey through Jackson County--Living on Raw Corn, and Sleeping on the
Ground--My First Sermon--Refused Food and Shelter by a Presbyterian
Preacher--Wander through Swamps--Entertained by Indians.
CHAPTER IV.
A Journey of Sixty Miles without Food--Confronted by a Bear--Pass by
Unharmed--Surrounded by Wolves--Lost in Darkness--Reach a Cabin--Its
Inmates--No Supper--Sleep on the Floor--The Hardest Day's Work of my
Life--Twelve Miles more without Breakfast--Breakfast and Abuse Together.
CHAPTER V.
Our Anxiety to Meet a Saint--Journey to Akeman's--A Dream--Find Mr.
Akeman a Rank Apostate--He Raises a Mob--Threatened with Tar, Feathers,
etc.--I Warn Mr. Akeman to Repent--He Falls Down Dead at my Feet--I
Preach his Funeral Sermon.
CHAPTER VI.
Make a Canoe--Voyage down the Arkansas River--Sleep in a Deserted
Tavern--One Hundred and Seventy Miles through Swamps--Forty Miles a
Day in Mud Knee-deep--A Sudden Lameness--Left alone in an Alligator
Swamp--Healed, in Answer to Prayer--Arrival an Memphis--An Odd-looking
Preacher--Compelled to Preach--Powerful Aid from the Spirit--Not what
the Audience Expected.
CHAPTER VII.
Curious Worship--Meet Elder Parrish--Labor Together in
Tenessee--Adventure in Bloody River--A Night of Peril--Providential
Light--Menaced by a Mob--Good Advice of a Baptist Preacher--Summary of
my Labors during the Year.
CHAPTER VIII.
Studying Grammar--Meet Elder Patten--Glorious News--Labor with A. O.
Smoot--Turned out of a Meeting House by a Baptist Preacher--Preach in
the Open Air--Good Result--Adventure on the Tennesse River--A Novel
Charge to Arrest and Condemn Men upon--Mob Poison Our Horses.
CHAPTER IX.
Attending School--Marriage--Impressed to take a Mission to Fox
Islands--Advised to go--Journey to Canada--Cases of Healing--Journey
to Connecticut--My Birthplace--My Mother's Grave--Baptize some
Relatives--Joined by my Wife--Journey on Foot to Maine--Arrival at Fox
Island.
CHAPTER X.
Description of Vinal Haven--Population and Pursuit of the People--Great
Variety of Fish--The Introduction of the Gospel.
CHAPTER XI.
Mr. Newton, the Baptist Preacher, Wrestling with out Testimony--Rejects
it, and Begins to Oppose--Sends for a Methodist Minister to Help
Him--Mr. Douglass' Speech--Our Great Success on the North Island--Go
to the South Island, and baptise Mr. Douglass' Flock--Great Number of
Islands--Boiled Clams--Day of Prayer--Codfish Flakes.
CHAPTER XII.
Return to Mainland--Parting with Brother Hale--My Second Visit to
the Islands--Visit to the Isle of Holt--A Sign Demanded by Mr.
Douglass--A Prediction about him--It's Subsequent Fulfillment--Spirit
of Opposition--Firing of Cannons and Guns to Disturb my Meeting.
CHAPTER XIII.
Meeting with James Townsend--Decide to go to Bangor--Long Journey
through Deep Snow--Curious Phenomenon--Refused Lodging at Eight
Houses--Entertained by Mr. Teppley--Curious Coincidence--Mr Teppley's
Despondence--Arrival at Bangor--Return to the Islands--Adventure with
the Tide.
CHAPTER XIV.
Counseled to Gather with the Saints--Remarkable Manifestation--Case of
Healing--Efforts of Apostates--Visit from Elders--A Conference--Closing
my Labors on the Islands for a Season.
CHAPTER XV.
Return to Scarboro--Journey South--Visit to A. P. Rockwood in
Prison--Incidents of Prison Life--Journey to Connecticut--Baptize my
Father's Household.
CHAPTER XVI.
Taking Leave of my Old Home--Return to Maine--Birth of my
First Child--Appointment to the Apostleship and to a Foreign
Mission--Preparations for the Journey to Zion.
CHAPTER XVII.
Start upon out Journey. A Hazardous Undertaking--Sickness--Severe
Weather--My wife and Child Stricken--A Trying Experience--My Wife
Continues to Fail--Her Spirit Leaves her Body--Restored by the Power of
God--Her Spirit's Experience while Separated from the Body--Death of my
Brother--Arrival at Rochester--Removal to Quincy.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A Peculiar Revelation--Determination of Enemies to Prevent its
Fulfillment--Start to Far West to Fulfill Revelation--Our Arrival
There--Hold a Council--Fulfill the Revelation--Corner Stone of the
Temple Laid--Ordained to the Apostleship--Leave Far West--Meet the
Prophet Joseph--Conference Held--Settle Our Families in Nauvoo.
CHAPTER XIX.
A Day of God's Power with the Prophet Joseph Smith--A Great Number of
Sick Persons Healed--The Mob becomes Alarmed--They try to Interfere
with the Healing of the Sick--The Mob Sent Out of the House--Twin
Children Healed.
CHAPTER XX.
Preparing for our Journey and Mission--The Blessing of the Prophet
Joseph upon our Heads, and his Promises unto us--The Power of the Devil
manifested to Hinder us in the Performance of our Journey.
CHAPTER XXI.
Leaving my Family--Start Upon my Mission--Our Condition--Elder Taylor
the only One not Sick--Reproof from the Prophet--Incidents upon the
Journey--Elder Taylor Stricken--I Leave him Sick.
CHAPTER XXII.
Continue my Journey--Leave Elder Taylor in Germantown--Arrival in
Cleveland--Take Steamer from There to Buffalo--Delayed by a Storm--Go
to Farmington, my Father's Home--Death of my Grandmother--My Uncle
Dies--I Preach his Funeral Sermon--Arrive in New York--Sail for
Liverpool--Encounter Storms and Rough Weather--Arrive in Liverpool.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Our visit to Preston--Our First Council in England, in 1840--We Take
Different Fields of Labor--A Women Possessed of the Devil--Attempt to
Cast it Out and Fail--Turn Out the Unbelievers, and then Succeed--The
Evil Spirit Enters her Child--Commence Baptizing--The Lord Makes Known
His Will to me.
CHAPTER XXIV.
My Journey to Herefordshire--Interview with John Benbow--The Word of
the Lord Fulfilled to me--The Greatest Gathering into the Church Known
among the Gentiles since its organisation in this Dispensation--A
Constable Sent to Arrest me--I Convert and Baptize Him--Two Clerks Sent
as Detectives to Hear me Preach, and both Embrace the Truth--Rectors
Petition to have out Preaching Prohibited--The Archbishop's Reply--Book
of Mormon and Hymn Book Printed--Case of healing.
CHAPTER XXV.
Closing Testimony--Good and Evil Spirits.
CHAPTER XXVI.
How to Obtain Revelation from God--Joseph Smith's Course--Saved
from Death by a falling Tree, by Obeying the Voice of the Spirit--A
Company of Saints Saved from a Steam-boat Disaster by the Spirit's
Warning--Plot to Waylay Elder C. C. Rich and Party Foiled by the same
Power.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Result of not Obeying the Voice of the Spirit--Lost in a
Snowstorm--Saved, in answer to Prayer--Revelation to Missionaries
Necessary--Revelation in the St. George Temple.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Patriarchal Blessings and their Fulfillment--Predictions in my own
Blessing--Gold-dust from California--Taught by an Angel--Struggle with
Evil Spirits--Administered to by Angels--What Angels are sent to the
Earth for.
LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL
CHAPTER I.
STRICTNESS OF THE "BLUE LAWS" OF CONNECTICUT--THE OLD PROPHET,
MASON--H | 573.943824 |
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Produced by Barbara Tozier, Douglas L. Alley, III, Bill
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ZOOLOGICAL MYTHOLOGY
OR
THE LEGENDS OF ANIMALS
BY
ANGELO DE GUBERNATIS
PROFESSOR OF SANSKRIT AND COMPARATIVE LITERATURE IN THE ISTITUTO DI STUDII
SUPERIORI E DI PERFEZIONAMENTO, AT FLORENCE
FOREIGN MEMBER OF THE ROYAL INSTITUTE OF PHILOLOGY AND ETHNOGRAPHY
OF THE DUTCH INDIES
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOL. I.
LONDON
TRUeBNER & CO., 60 PATERNOSTER ROW
1872
[_All rights reserved_]
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
TO
MICHELE AMARI AND MICHELE COPPINO
This Work
IS DEDICATED
AS A TRIBUTE OF LIVELY GRATITUDE AND
PROFOUND ESTEEM
BY
THE AUTHOR.
ZOOLOGICAL MYTHOLOGY;
OR
THE LEGENDS OF ANIMALS.
First Part.
THE ANIMALS OF THE EARTH.
CHAPTER I.
THE COW AND THE BULL.
SECTION I.--THE COW AND THE BULL IN THE VEDIC HYMNS.
SUMMARY.
Prelude.--The vault of Heaven as a luminous cow.--The gods and
goddesses, sons and daughters of this cow.--The vault of Heaven as a
spotted cow.--The sons and daughters of this cow, _i.e._ the winds,
Marutas, and the clouds, Pricnayas.--The wind-bulls subdue the
cloud-cows.--Indras, the rain-sending, thundering, lightening,
radiant sun, who makes the rain fall and the light return, called
the bull of bulls.--The bull Indras drinks the water of
strength.--Hunger and thirst of the heroes of mythology.--The
cloud-barrel.--The horns of the bull and of the cow are
sharpened.--The thunderbolt-horns.--The cloud as a cow, and even as
a stable or hiding-place for cows.--Cavern where the cows are shut
up, of which cavern the bull Indras and the bulls Marutas remove the
stone, and force the entrance, to reconquer the cows, delivering
them from the monster; the male Indras finds himself again with his
wife.--The cloud-fortress, which Indras destroys and Agnis sets on
fire.--The cloud-forest, which the gods destroy.--The cloud-cow; the
cow-bow; the bird-thunderbolts; the birds come out of the cow.--The
monstrous cloud-cow, the wife of the monster.--Some phenomena of
the cloudy sky are analogous to those of the gloomy sky of night and
of winter.--The moment most fit for an epic poem is the meeting of
such phenomena in a nocturnal tempest.--The stars, cows put to
flight by the sun.--The moon, a milk-yielding cow.--The ambrosial
moon fished up in the fountain, gives nourishment to Indras.--The
moon as a male, or bull, discomfits, with the bull Indras, the
monster.--The two bulls, or the two stallions, the two horsemen, the
twins.--The bull chases the wolf from the waters.--The cow
tied.--The aurora, or ambrosial cow, formed out of the skin of
another cow by the Ribhavas.--The Ribhavas, bulls and wise
birds.--The three Ribhavas reproduce the triple Indras and the
triple Vishnus; their three relationships; the three brothers,
eldest, middle, youngest; the three brother workmen; the youngest
brother is the most intelligent, although at first thought stupid;
the reason why.--The three brothers guests of a king.--The third of
the Ribhavas, the third and youngest son becomes Tritas the third,
in the heroic form of Indras, who kills the monster; Tritas, the
third brother, after having accomplished the great heroic
undertaking, is abandoned by his envious brothers in the well; the
second brother is the son of the cow.--Indras a cowherd, parent of
the sun and the aurora, the cow of abundance, milk-yielding and
luminous.--The cow Sita.--Relationship of the sun to the
aurora.--The aurora as cow-nurse of the sun, mother of the cows; the
aurora cowherd; the sun hostler and cowherd.--The riddle of the
wonderful cowherd; the sun solves the riddle proposed by the
aurora.--The aurora wins the race, being the first to arrive at the
barrier, without making use of her feet.--The chariot of the
aurora.--She who has no feet, who leaves no footsteps; she who is
without footsteps of the measure of the feet; she who has no slipper
(which is the measure of the foot).--The sun who never puts his foot
down, the sun without feet, the sun lame, who, during the night,
becomes blind; the blind and the lame who help each other, whom
Indra helps, whom the ambrosia of the aurora enables to walk and to
see.--The aurora of evening, witch who blinds the sun; the sun
Indras, in the morning, chases the aurora away; Indras subdues and
destroys the witch aurora.--The brother sun follows, as a seducer,
the aurora his sister, and wishes to burn her.--The sun follows his
daughter the aurora.--The aurora, a beautiful young girl, deliverer
of the sun, rich in treasure, awakener of the sleepers, saviour of
mankind, foreseeing; from small becomes large, from dark becomes
brilliant, from infirm, whole, from blind, seeing and protectress of
sight.--Night and aurora, now mother and daughter, now
sisters.--The luminous night a good sister; the gloomy night gives
place to the aurora, her elder or better sister, working, purifying,
cleansing.--The aurora shines only when near the sun her husband,
before whom she dances splendidly dressed; the aurora Urvaci.--The
wife of the sun followed by the monster.--The husband of the aurora
subject to the same persecution.
We are on the vast table-land of Central Asia; gigantic mountains send
forth on every side their thousand rivers; immense pasture-lands and
forests cover it; migratory tribes of pastoral nations traverse it;
the _gopatis_, the shepherd or lord of the cows, is the king; the
gopatis who has most herds is the most powerful. The story begins with
a graceful pastoral idyll.
To increase the number of the cows, to render them fruitful in milk
and prolific in calves, to have them well looked after, is the dream,
the ideal of the ancient Aryan. The bull, the _foecundator_, is the
type of every male perfection, and the symbol of regal strength.
Hence, it is only natural that the two most prominent animal figures
in the mythical heaven should be the cow and the bull.
The cow is the ready, loving, faithful, fruitful Providence of the
shepherd.
The worst enemy of the Aryan, therefore, is he who carries off the
cow; the best, the most illustrious, of his friends, he who is able to
recover it from the hands of the robber.
The same idea is hence transferred to heaven; in heaven there is a
beneficent, fruitful power, which is called the cow, and a beneficent
_foecundator_ of this same power, which is called the bull.
The dewy moon, the dewy aurora, the watery cloud, the entire vault of
heaven, that giver of the quickening and benignant rain, that
benefactress of mankind,--are each, with special predilection,
represented as the beneficent cow of abundance. The lord of this
multiform cow of heaven, he who makes it pregnant and fruitful and
milk-yielding, the spring or morning sun, the rain-giving sun (or
moon) is often represented as a bull.
Now, to | 573.943844 |
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available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/historyofantiqui04dunciala
Transcriber's note:
1. Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
2. A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: 1^2).
3. Mixed fractions in this text version are indicated with
a hyphen and forward slash. For example, four and a half
is represented by 4-1/2.
4. The original text includes Greek characters. For this
text version these letters have been replaced with
transliterations.
THE HISTORY OF ANTIQUITY.
From the German of
PROFESSOR MAX DUNCKER,
by
Evelyn Abbott, M.A., LL.D.,
Fellow And Tutor Of Balliol College, Oxford.
VOL. IV.
London:
Richard Bentley & Son, New Burlington Street,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1880.
Bungay:
Clay and Taylor, Printers.
CONTENTS.
BOOK V.
_THE ARIANS ON THE INDUS AND THE GANGES._
CHAPTER I. PAGE
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ARYAS ON THE INDUS 27
CHAPTER III.
THE CONQUEST OF THE LAND OF THE GANGES 65
CHAPTER IV.
THE FORMATION AND ARRANGEMENT OF THE ORDERS 110
CHAPTER V.
THE OLD AND THE NEW RELIGION 154
CHAPTER VI.
THE CONSTITUTION AND LAW OF THE INDIANS 188
CHAPTER VII.
THE CASTES AND THE FAMILY 236
CHAPTER VIII.
THE THEOLOGY AND PHILOSOPHY OF THE BRAHMANS 270
BOOK VI.
_BUDDHISTS AND BRAHMANS._
CHAPTER I.
THE STATES ON THE GANGES IN THE SIXTH CENTURY B.C. 315
CHAPTER II.
BUDDHA'S LIFE AND TEACHING 332
CHAPTER III.
THE KINGDOM OF MAGADHA AND THE SETTLEMENTS IN THE SOUTH 365
CHAPTER IV.
THE NATIONS AND PRINCES OF THE LAND OF THE INDUS 383
CHAPTER V.
THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL LIFE OF THE INDIANS IN THE FOURTH
CENTURY B.C. 408
CHAPTER VI.
CHANDRAGUPTA OF MAGADHA 439
CHAPTER VII.
THE RELIGION OF THE BUDDHISTS 454
CHAPTER VIII.
THE REFORMS OF THE BRAHMANS 491
CHAPTER IX.
ACOKA OF MAGADHA 521
CHAPTER X.
RETROSPECT 544
BOOK V.
THE ARIANS ON THE INDUS AND THE GANGES.
INDIA.
CHAPTER I.
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE.
It was not only in the lower valley of the Nile, on the banks of the
Euphrates and the Tigris, and along the coast and on the heights of
Syria that independent forms of intellectual and civic life grew up in
antiquity. By the side of the early civilisation of Egypt, and the
hardly later civilisation of that unknown people from which Elam,
Babylon, and Asshur borrowed such important factors in the development
of their own capacities; along with the civilisation of the Semites of
the East and West, who here observed the heavens, there busily explored
the shores of the sea; here erected massive buildings, and there were so
earnestly occupied with the study of their own inward nature, are found
forms of culture later in their origin, and represented by a different
family of nations. This family, the Indo-European, extends over a far
larger area than the Semitic. We find branches of it in the wide
districts to the east of the Semitic nations, on the table-land of Iran,
in the valleys of the Indus and the Ganges. Other branches we have
already encountered on the heights of Armenia, and the table-land of
Asia Minor (I. 512, 524). Others again obtained possession of the
plains above the Black Sea; others, of the peninsulas of Greece and
Italy. Nations of this stock have forced their way to the shores of the
Atlantic Ocean; we find them settled on the western coast of the Spanish
peninsula, from the mouth of the Garonne to the Channel, in Britain and
Ireland no less than in Scandinavia, on the shores of the North Sea and
the Baltic. Those branches of the family which took up their abodes the
farthest to the East exhibit the most independent and peculiar form of
civilisation.
The mutual relationship of the Arian, Greek, Italian, Letto-Sclavonian,
Germanic, and Celtic languages proves the relationship of the nations
who have spoken and still speak them; it proves that all these nations
have a common origin and descent. The words, of which the roots in these
languages exhibit complete phonetic agreement, must be considered as a
common possession, acquired before the separation; and from this we can
discover at what stage of life the nation from which these languages
derive their origin stood at the time when it was not yet divided into
these six great branches, and separated into the nations which
subsequently occupied abodes so extensive and remote from each other. We
find common terms for members of the family, for house, yard, garden,
and citadel; common words for horses, cattle, dogs, swine, sheep, goats,
mice, geese, ducks; common roots for wool, hemp or flax, corn (_i.e._
wheat, spelt, or barley), for ploughing, grinding, and weaving, for
certain metals (copper or iron), for some weapons and tools, for waggon,
boat and rudder, for the elementary numbers, and the division of the
year according to the moon.[1] Hence the stock, whose branches and
shoots have spread over the whole continent of Europe and Asia from
Ceylon to Britain and Scandinavia, cannot, even before the separation,
have been without a certain degree of civilisation. On the contrary,
this common fund of words proves that even in that early time it tilled
the field, and reared cattle; that it could build waggons and boats, and
forge weapons, and if the general name for the gods and some names of
special deities are the same in widely remote branches of this
stock,--in India, Iran, Greece, and Italy, and even on the plains of
Lithuania,--it follows that the notions which lie at the base of these
names must also be counted among the common possessions existing before
the separation.
We can hardly venture a conjecture as to the region in which the fathers
of the Indo-European nations attained to this degree of cultivation. It
must have been of such a nature as to admit of agriculture beside the
breeding of cattle. The varieties of produce mentioned and the domestic
animals point to a northern district, which, however, cannot have
reached down to the ocean, inasmuch as no common roots are in existence
to denote the sea. This proof is strengthened by the fact that in all
the branches the wolf and bear alone among beasts of prey are designated
by common roots. If we combine these considerations with the equal
extension of the tribes of this nation towards east and west, we may
assume that an elevated district in the middle of the eastern continent
was the abode of the nation while yet undivided.
The branches which occupied the table-land of Iran and the valley of the
Indus were the first to rise from the basis acquired in common to a
higher civilisation; and even they did not attain to this till long
after the time when Egypt, under the ancient kingdom of Memphis, found
herself in the possession of a many-sided culture, after Babylon had
become the centre of a different conception of life and development. The
western branches of the Indo-Europeans remained at various stages behind
their eastern fellow-tribesmen in regard to the epochs of their higher
culture. If the Greeks, who were brought into frequent contact with the
civilisation of the Semites, came next in point of time after the
eastern tribes, and the Italians next to the Greeks, it was only through
conflict and contact with the culture of Greece and Rome that the
western branches reached a higher stage, while the dwellers on the
plains of the Baltic owe their cultivation to the influences of Germanic
life. Finally, when the West European branches, the Indo-Germans, had
developed independently their capacities and their nature, when in
different phases they had received and assimilated what had been left
behind by their Greek and Roman kinsmen, and formed it into the
civilisation of the modern world, their distant navigation came into
contact with the ancient civilisation, to which their fellow-tribesmen
in the distant East had finally attained some 2000 years previously.
With wonder and astonishment the long-separated, long-estranged
relatives looked each other in the face. But even now the ancient,
deeply-rooted, and variously-developed civilisation of the eastern
branch maintains its place with tough endurance beside the mobile,
comprehensive, and restlessly-advancing civilisation of the west.
On the southern edge of the great table-land which forms the nucleus of
the districts of Asia, the range of the Himalayas rises in parallel
lines. The range runs from north-west to south-east, with a breadth of
from 200 to 250 miles, and a length of about 1750 miles. It presents the
highest elevations on the surface of the earth. Covered with boundless
fields of snow and extensive glaciers, the sharp edges and points of the
highest ridge rise gleaming into the tropic sky; no sound breaks the
deep silence of this solemn Alpine wild. To the south of these mighty
white towers, in the second range, is a multitude of summits, separated
by rugged ravines. Here also is neither moss nor herb, for this range
also rises above the limits of vegetation. Much lower down, a third
range, of which the average elevation rises to more than 12,000 feet,
displays up to the summits forests of a European kind; in the cool,
fresh air the ridges are clothed with birches, pines, and oaks. Beneath
this girdle of northern growths, on the heights which gradually sink
down from an elevation of 5000 feet, are thick forests of Indian
fig-trees of gigantic size. Under the forest there commences in the west
a hilly region, in the east a marshy district broken by lakes which the
mountain waters leave behind in the depression, and covered with
impenetrable thickets, tall jungles, and rank grass--a district
oppressive and unhealthy, inhabited by herds of elephants, crocodiles,
and large snakes.
The mighty wall of the Himalayas decides the nature and life of the
extensive land which lies before it to the south in the same way as the
peninsula of Italy lies before the European Alps. It protects hill and
plain from the raw winds which blow from the north over the table-land
of Central Asia; it checks the rain-clouds, the collected moisture of
the ocean brought up by the trade winds from the South Sea. These clouds
are compelled to pour their water into the plains at the foot of the
Himalayas, and change the glow of the sun into coolness, the parched
vegetation into fresh green. Owing to their extraordinary elevation, the
mountain masses of the Himalayas, in spite of their southern situation,
preserve such enormous fields of ice and snow that they are able to
discharge into the plains the mightiest rivers in the world. From the
central block flow the Indus, the Ganges, and the Brahmaputra, _i.e._
the son of Brahma.
Springing from fields of snow, which surround Alpine lakes, the Indus
descends from an elevated mountain plain to the south of the highest
ridge. At first the river flows in a westerly direction through a cleft
between parallel rows of mountains. In spite of the long and severe
winter of this region, mountain sheep and goats flourish here, and the
sandy soil contains gold-dust. To the south of the course of the river
we find depressions in the mountains, where the climate is happily
tempered by the nature of the sky and the elevation of the soil. The
largest of these is the valley of Cashmere, surrounded by an oval of
snowy mountains. To the west of Cashmere the Indus turns its course
suddenly to the south; it breaks through the mountain ranges which bar
its way, and from this point to the mouth accompanies the eastern <DW72>
of the table-land of Iran. As soon as the Himalayas are left behind, a
hilly land commences on the left bank, of moderate warmth and fruitful
vegetation, spreading out far to the east between the tributaries of the
stream. The river now receives the Panjab, and the valley is narrowed in
the west by the closer approach of the mountains of Iran; in the east by
a wide, waterless steppe, descending from the spurs of the Himalayas to
the sea, which affords nothing beyond a scanty maintenance for herds of
buffaloes, asses, and camels. The heat becomes greater as the land
becomes flatter, and the river more southerly in its course; in the dry
months the earth cracks and vegetation is at a standstill. Any overflow
from the river, which might give it new vigour, on the melting of the
snow in the upper mountains, is prevented for long distances by the
elevation of the banks. The Delta formed by the Indus at its mouth,
after a course of 1500 miles, contains only a few islands of good marsh
soil. The sea comes up over the flat shore for a long distance, and
higher up the arms of the river a thick growth of reeds and rushes
hinders cultivation, while the want of fresh water makes a numerous
population impossible.
Not far from the sources of the Indus, at the very nucleus of the
highest summits of the Himalayas, rise the Yamuna (Jumna) and the
Ganges. The Ganges flows out of fields of snow beneath unsurmountable
summits of more than 20,000 feet in height, and breaking through the
mountains to the south reaches the plains; here the course of the river
is turned to the east by the broad and thickly-wooded girdle of the
Vindhyas, the mountain range which rises to the south of the plains.
Enlarged by a number of tributaries from north and south, it pours from
year to year copious inundations over the low banks, and thus creates
for the plains through which it flows a fruitful soil where tropic
vegetation can flourish in the most luxuriant wildness. This is the land
of rice, of cotton, of sugar-canes, of the blue lotus, the edible
banana, the gigantic fig-tree. On the lower course of the river, where
it approaches the Brahmaputra, which also at first flows between the
parallel ranges of the Himalayas towards the east, in the same way as
the Indus flows to the west, there commences a hot, moist, and luxuriant
plain (Bengal) of enervating climate, covered with coco and arica palms,
with the tendrils of the betel, and the stalks of the cinnamon, with
endless creepers overgrowing the trunks of the trees, and ascending even
to their topmost branches. Here the river is so broad that the eye can
no longer reach from one bank to the other. In the region at the mouth,
where the Ganges unites with the Brahmaputra, and then splits into many
arms, the numerous waters create hot marshes; and here the vegetation is
so abundant, the jungles of bamboo so thick and impenetrable, that they
are abandoned to the rhinoceros, the elephant, and the tiger, whose
proper home is in these wooded morasses.
Into this wide region, which in length, from north to south, exceeds the
distance from Cape Skagen to Cape Spartivento, and in breadth, from east
to west, is about equal to the distance from Bayonne to Odessa, came a
branch of the family, whose common origin has been noticed, and their
civilisation previous to the separation of the members sketched. The
members of this branch called themselves Arya, _i.e._ the noble, or the
ruling. In the oldest existing monuments of their language and poetry
these Aryas are found invoking their gods to grant them room against the
Dasyus,[2] to make a distinction between Arya and Dasyu, to place the
Dasyus on the left hand, to turn away the arms of the Dasyus from the
Aryas, to | 573.943869 |
2023-11-16 18:26:37.9783850 | 6,483 | 7 |
Produced by Lewis Jones
The Project Gutenberg EBook of _Harris's List of
Covent-Garden Ladies for the Year 1788_ by Anonymous.
This eBook was produced by Lewis Jones.
HARRIS's LIST
OF
COVENT-GARDEN LADIES:
OR,
MAN OF PLEASURE's
KALENDER,
For the YEAR, 1788.
CONTAINING
The Histories and some Curious Anec-
dotes of the most celebrated Ladies
now on the Town, or in keeping, and
also many of their Keepers.
___________________________________
LONDON:
Printed for H. RANGER, (formerly at No. 23.
_Fleet-Street_,) at No. 9, _Little Bridge-Street_, near
_Drury-Lane Play-House_
Where may be had,
The separate LISTS of many preceding Years
___________________________________
___________________________________
Transcriber's Note.
Words in italics in the book are enclosed between
underscores in this ebook. The original capitalisation,
italics, spellings, line breaks, hyphenation and (as
far as possible) page layout, are retained; the aim
thereby is to convey more accurately the flavour of
the original. Most errors (for example inconsistent use
of round and square brackets, and the misnumbering of
page 17 as page 71) have also been kept. However, a
small number of corrections have been made for the
convenience of the reader (where, for example, there
are no spaces between words).
___________________________________
___________________________________
CONTENTS.
A
Antr*b*s, Mrs--Page 126
B
B*nd, Miss--49
B*lt*n, Miss--36
Br*wn, Miss--46
Bl*ke, Miss--54
Betsy--78
Br*wn, Miss--94
B*r*n, Miss Phoebe--113
B*rn, Miss--22
C
Cr*sb*y, Mrs.--25
C*rt*n*y
( vi )
C*rtn**, Miss Fanny--33
Cl*nt*n, Miss--42
Cl*rk, Miss Betsy--43
Ch*sh*line, Mrs.--62
C*p*r, Miss--70
Ch*ld, Miss--96
C*sd*l, Miss Charlotte--103
C*p, Miss--104
C*tt*n, Miss Charlotte--115
Cl*rk, Miss--117
C*rb*t, Miss--122
D
D*d, Mrs.--52
D*v*p*rt, Miss--38
D*g*ss, Miss--44
D*f*ld Mrs.--47
D*v*nsh*re, Miss--91
D*v*s, Miss Nancy--106
D*rl*z, Madam--129
E
Emmey--111
Ell*t, Miss Emma--131
F
Fr*s*r, Mrs.--99
F*n*, Mrs. Charlotte--139
Gr*n,
( vii )
G
Gr*n, Miss--51
G**g*, Miss--41
Gr*c*r, Miss--86
G*rdn*r, Miss--123
Gr*ff*n, Mrs.--141
H
H*ds*n, Miss Betse--45
H*rv*y, Mrs.--60
H*ll*ngb*rg, Mrs.--73
H**d, Mrs.--72
H*st**ng, Miss Betsy--89
H*ll*n, Miss--128
H*nl*y, Miss Fann--137
H*ll*nd, Miss--17
H*rd*y, Miss--21
J
J*n*s, Miss Harriet--27
J*hn*t*n, Miss--68
J*n*s, Miss--101
J*ns*n, Miss--19
K
K*n, Miss--58
K*lp*n, Miss--107
K*bb*rd, Miss Jenny--138
L
L*nds*y, Miss--75
L*ws, Mrs.--77
Ll*d Miss Harriet--82
L*st*r,
( viii )
L*st*r, Miss--15
L*ns*y, Miss--20
L*c*s, Miss--24
M
M*rt*n, Miss Sophia--31
M*nt*n, Miss--57
M*rr*s, Miss--63
M*lt*n, Miss--85
M*lsw*rth, Miss--88
M*ns*n, Miss Louisa--124
N
N*ble, Miss--31
N*t*n, Mrs.--92
P
P*mbr*k*, Miss--80
Du Par Mademoiselle--143
R
R*ss, Miss--34
R*b*ns*n, Mrs.--74
R*l*ns, Miss Betsy--66
R*ch*rds*n, Miss--23
S*ms
( ix )
S
S*ms, Miss--35
S*tt*n, Mrs.--69
S*dd*ns, Miss Sarah--83
Sp*ns*r, Mrs.--35
T
T*wnsd*n, Miss--97
T*s*n, Miss--133
T*rb*t, Mrs--22
W
W*lkins*n, Miss--29
W*d, Miss--32
W*tk*ns, Miss Elizabeth--64
W*rd, Mrs.--100
W*d, Mrs.--67
W*ls*n, Miss--113
W*bst*r, Mrs.--119
W*ll*ms, Miss--135
W*rp*l, Mrs.--140
W*rn*r, Miss--144
ERRATA,
( x )
ERRATA.
In page 42, Miss Cl--nt--n, at No.
17, _read_ -------- Street.
Page 72 _read_ No. 4, _instead_ of No.
14.
Page 77, _read_ Mrs L--w--s, at No. 68.
___________________________________
___________________________________
INTRODUCTION.
Again the coral berry'd holly glads the eye,
The ivy green again each window decks,
And mistletoe, kind friend to _Bassia_'s cause,
Under each merry roof invites the kiss;
Come then, my friends, ye friends to _Harris_ come,
And more than kisses share, drink love supreme
From his ambrosial cup, tho' oft replete
Satiety ne'er gives, but leaves the ravish'd sense
Supremely blest, and ever craving more.
Come ye gay sons of pleasure, come and feast
Your _every_ sense, and lave your souls in love,
Fearless advance, nor think of ills to come;
Here taste variety, of love's sweet gifts,
Pure and unstain'd as at kind nature's birth.
THE parterre of Venus was never
more elegantly filled, never did
the loves and graces shine, with more
splendor than at present; Marylebone,
the now grand paradise of love, and
Covent Garden, her elder born, beam
with uncommon ardor; nor is our
antient Drury unfrequented; no sooner
do the stars above shed their benign in-
fluence, but our more attracting ones
below
[ 14 ]
below bespangle every walk, and make
a heaven on earth; Bagnigge, St. George's
Spa, with all their sister shops, deal
out each night their choiceft gifts of love;
nor with the sons of pleasure be dis-
appointed should they extend their travels
still farther east, and visit the purlieus
of White Chapel. The Royalty is
over full, and Wapping, Shadwell, and
the neighbouring _fields_ lend all their
lovely train to glad each night; these
then shall be our walks; from these gay
spots of pleasure shall we call love's
purest sweets,
And without thorn the rose.
By thus extending our researches we
shall be able to suit every constitution,
and every pocket, every whim and
fancy that the most extravagant sensua-
list can desire. Here may they learn to
shun the dreadful quicksands of pain and
mortification, and land safe on the terra
firma of delight and love.
___________________________________
___________________________________
HARRIS's LIST
OF
COVENT-GARDEN LADIES
___________________________________
Miss L--st--r, No. 6, _Union-Street,
Oxford-Road_.
Oh, pleasing talk, to paint the ripen'd charms
Of youth untutor'd in the female arts;
To see instinctively desire blaze out,
And warm the mind with all its burning joys.
The _tell-tale eyes_ in liquid pools sustain'd,
The throbbing breast now rising, now suppress't;
The _thrilling bliss_ quick darting thro' the frame,
The _short fetch'd sighs_, the snow white twining
limbs,
The sudden gush, and the extatic oh.
SUCH our all pleasing L--st--r
leads the train, and, smiling like
the morn, unfolds her heaven of beauties.
Oh, for a _Guido's touch_, or _Thomson's
thought_,
( 16 )
thought_, to paint the richness of her
unequall'd charms; every perfection
that can possibly adorn the face and
mind of Woman seem centered in this be-
witching girl; hither resort then, ye
genuine lovers of beauty and good
sense; here, whilst _Plutus_ reigns, may
you revel nor know satiety; here feast
the longing appetite, and return with
fresh _vigor_ to every _attack_. Now arrived
at the tempting age of nineteen, her ima-
gination is filled with every luscious
idea, _refined_ sensibiiity, and _fierce desire_
can unite, her form is majestic, tall, and
elegant; her make truly genteel, her
complexion
-----As April's lily fair,
And blooming as June's brightest rose.
Painted by the masterly hand of nature,
shaded by tresses of the darkest brown,
and enlivened by two stars that swim in
all the essence of unsatiated love.
Her pouting lips distil nectarious balm,
And thro' the frame its thrilling transports
dart;
which, when parted, display a casket
of snow white pearls, ranged in the nicest
regularity, the _neighbouring hills_ below
full
( 71 )
full ripe for manual pressure, firm, and
elastic, and heave at every touch. The
_Elysian font_, in the centre of a _black be-
witching grove_, supported by two pyra-
mids white as alabaster, very delicate,
and soft as turtle's down. At the _approach_
of their _favourite lord_ unfold, and for
three guineas he is conducted to this
_harbour_ of never failing delight. Add
to all this, she sings well, is a very
chearful companion, and has only been,
in _life_ nine months.
___________________________________
Miss H--ll--nd, No. 2, _York-Street,
Queen-Ann-Street_.
No time shall pass without that dear delight,
I'll talk of love all day, and aca it all the night;
Pleasure and I as to one goal design'd,
Will run with equal pace, while sorrow lays
behind.
Those who choose to sail the island
of love in a _first rate_ ship, or to enclose
an armful of delight, must be pleased
with this lady; who, tho' only seventeen
and short, is very fat and corpulent;
yet, notwithstanding, she is a fine piece
of frailty; her face is handsome and
her
( 18 )
her _nut brown locks_, which are placed
_above_ and below, promise a luscious
treat to the voluptuary. Her temper is
agreeable and pleasing, and she is so far
from being mercenary, that a single
guinea is the boundage of her wish.
___________________________________
Miss B--rn, No. 18, _Old Compton
Street, Soho_.
Close in the arms she languishingly lies,
With dying looks, short breath, and wishing
eyes.
This accomplished nymph has just
attained her eighteenth year, and fraught
with every perfection, enters a volunteer
in the field of Venus. She plays on the
piano forte, sings, dances, and is mistress
of every _Manoeuvre_ in the amorous contest
that can enhance the coming pleasure;
is of the middle stature, fine auburn
hair, dark eyes, and very inviting
countenance, which ever seems to beam
delight and love. In bed she is all the
heart can wish, or eye admire, every
limb is symmetry, every action under
cover truly amorous; her price is two
pounds two.
Miss
( 19 )
Miss J--ns--n, No 17, _Goodge Steet,
Charlotte Street_.
And all these joys insatiably to prove,
With which rich beauty feasts the glutton love.
The raven coloured tresses of Miss
J--ns--n are pleasing, and are charac-
teristics of strength and ability in the
wars of Venus. Indeed this fair one is
not afraid of work, but will undergo a
great deal of labour in the action; she
sings, dances, will drink a chearful glass,
and is a good companion. She has such
a noble elasticity in her loins, that she can
cast her lover to a pleasing height, and
receive him again with the utmost dex-
terity. Her price is one pound one, and
for her person and amorous qualifications
she is well worth the money.
___________________________________
Miss L--v--r, No. 17, _Ogle Street,
Queen Ann-Street East_.
She darted from her eyes a side long glance
Just as she spoke, and, like her words, it flew,
Seem'd not to beg, what yet she bid to do.
This young nymph of fifteen is
short, of a dark complexion, and inclin-
able
( 20 )
able to be lusty; she does not rely on
_chamber practice_ only, for she takes her
evening excursions to seek for _clients_, who
may put their case to her either in a ta-
vern or her own apartments; her fee is
from a crown to half a guinea, and she
strives to earn her money by seeming to
be agreeable; however, she may please
some, and as we have only known her
about four months she cannot have lost
her _appetite_, but seems particularly fond
of the sport.
___________________________________
Miss L--ns--y, No. 13, _Bentick Street,
Berwick Street_.
Close in the arms she languishingly lies,
With dying looks, short breath, and swimming
eyes.
To all lovers of carrots we would re-
commend this fair complex, and blue ey'd
nymph; she is now steering into the
nineteenth year, and has very little of the
vulgarity too often found in the sister-
hood, but would be rather silent than
speak nonsense: the mere sensualist will
not find her quite to his fancy, but she
will please the delicate and sensible, who
can
( 21 )
can spend the dull pause of joy with her
agreeably, till call'd by nature to repeti-
tion; in which, as well as in conservation,
we are informed she is equally charming.
___________________________________
Miss H--rd--y, No. 45, _Newman Street_.
Her look serene does purest softness wear,
Her face exclaims her fairest of the fair.
This lady borrows her name from her
late keeper, who is now gone to the In-
dia's, and left her to seek support on the
wide common of independence; she is
now just arrived at the zenith of perfec-
tion, devoid of art and manners, as yet
untutor'd by fashion, her charms have for
their zest every addition youth and sim-
plicity can add. She has beauty with-
out pride, elegance without affectation,
and innocence without dissimulation;
and not knowing how long this train of
perfections will last, we would advise
our reader to make hay whilst the sun
shines.
Miss
[ 22 ]
Miss Br--wn, No. 8, _Castle-Street,
Newman-Street_.
Her every glance, like Jove's vindictive flame,
Shoot thro' the veins, and kindle all the frame.
A peculiar elegance in make and taste
in dressing distinguishes this daughter of
love; her shape is remarkably genteel,
and her figure good; she sings a good
song and is a chearful _bon_ companion;
her complexion is fair, her eyes, though
grey, exceedingly melting, and seem to
speak the disposition of the parts below
very forcibly, and if you would wish to
find a good bed-fellow, tho' not blest
with every other perfection, this lady
will perhaps suit her price, which is two
pounds two.
___________________________________
Mrs. T--rb--t, No 25, _Titchfield-Street_.
The glow of youth, the fire of wanton love,
Sport in her eye, and rouse the sensual heart
To strong desires unmanageable pitch.
So universally known, and so great a
fav'rite with the bucks is this lady, that
her desription is almost needless; her
eyes And hair are of the most inviting
darkness,
[ 23 ]
darkness, her temper and disposition
good, and her mind replete with the
choicest gifts of _Minerva_; her figure is
elegant, she is very tall, sings and dances
to perfection, and has only been in a
_public_ way of life twelve months; for a
single skirmish she does not refuse the
King's smallest picture, but for a whole
night's siege expects three of the largest.
___________________________________
Miss R--ch--rds--n, No. 2 _Bennett-
Street, Rathbone-Place_.
If women were as little as they are good,
A peas cod would make them a gown and a
hood.
A pretty, little, lively, fair complex-
ioned girl, with a dainty leg and foot,
and as pretty a pair of pouting bubbies
as ever went against a man's stomach,
and one who well deserves the attention
that is paid her by every man capable of
knowing her value. She is pleasing,
though fond, and can make wantonness
delightful; every part assists to bring on
the momomentary delirium, and then each
part combines to raise up the fallen mem-
ber, to contribute again to repeated
rapture; her price is commonly two gui-
neas,
[ 24 ]
but if a man is clever, she is very
ready to make some abatement.
___________________________________
Miss L--c--s, No. 1 _York-Street,
Queen-Ann-Street East_.
-----------Lilting o'er the lea,
Ye're welcomer to take me, than to let me be.
She is tall and fair, of a striking figure,
and amiable in conversation, perfectly
complying with the desires of her ena-
morato's: she is said, like the river
Nile, frequently to overflow, but some-
how or another her inundations differ
from those of that river, as they do not
produce foecundity, some skilful gar-
deners are of opinion that she drowns
the _seed_, which is the reason that it does
not take root. This, is a disagreeable
circumstance to those who may wish not
to till in vain; but to others who would
prefer the pleasure without the expensive
consequences, she is the more desirable,
as they are sure that all who bathe in her
_Castalian spring_, will be overwhelmed
with a flood of delight.
Mrs.
( 25 )
Mrs. Cr--sby, No, 24, _George Street,
over Black Fryars Bridge_.
Fast lock'd in her arms,
And enjoying her charms,
Every frown of old care I'll defy;
Give desire such a loose,
That the all potent _Juice_,
Shall pervade ev'ry sense, and swim in each
Eye.
Birmingham lays claim to the birth of
this daughter of love, and, under the
care and protection of an indulgent
father and mother, she reached her
fifteenth year " pure and unsullied;"
at this period nature began to be very
bay with Nancy, and a strong propen-
sity for seeing _Life_, compelled her to
leave her parents and enter into servitude,
and being particularly attached to the
sons of Neptune, she chose for her
master a sea captain, whose name she
still prefers to any other. A twelve
month had not elapsed in the captain's
service before our charmer's feelings had
reached their highest pitch, and the
captain, blest with a keen appetite, after
a six months voyage, with little persua-
sion, opened her _port hole_, cleared her
_gangway_, and threw her virtue _overboard_.
He
( 26 )
He grew strongly attached to her, and,
being a man rather advanced in years,
became contented and happy, nor
wished for any other but his dear Nancy.
She was his own, and he was all she at
that time wished or desired for; one or
two little prattlers were pledges of their
mutual regard, and till the day of the
captain's death they lived " the happy
pair." It is near two years since she
lost her friend, by whose death she
receives a little annuity, that will ever
keep her from the necessity of parading
the streets _merely_ for support, and you
are certain to meet with her at home at
almost any hour of the day; in the
evening the generally visits one of the
Theatres, and always sits in the side
boxes, in which place she contrives to
chuse her spark, and if possible to take
him home with her (for she never sleeps
out,) where he will meet with snug com-
fortable apartments, civility, good hu-
mour, and a very engaging partner,
whilst she continues good humoured; if
he uses any language or behaviour to
ruffle her temper, she can act the Virago
as well as most of her sex. She is rather
below mediocrity in size, with dark hair,
flowing in ringlets down her back,
languishing
( 27 )
languishing grey eyes, and a very toler-
able complexion, and a pair of pretty
little firm _bubbies_. Her leg and foot is
particularly graceful, always ornamented
with a white silk stocking, and a neat
shoe; she is a loving bed-fellow, and
sincerely _attaches_ herself to the enjoyment,
feels the thrilling sensation with poig-
nancy, and for one guinea will _enjoy_ you
as many times as you please.
N. B. She keeps the house, and you
must not mention to her a syllable con-
cerning her pretty lodger _above_, if you
wish to be calm _below_.
___________________________________
Miss Harriet J--n--s, _St. George's
Hotel, opposite Virginia Street, Wapping_.
For lips to lips, and Tongue to Tongue,
Will make a man of sixty young.
Yes, 'tis Harriet, the fair, still
blooming Harriet, whose eyes are
molded for the tender union of souls (let
them but borrow a little fire from
Bacchus) "by Heaven's, shoot Suns"
whose nectar-distilling lips pour sweetest
balm; whilst the soft silent lingual inter-
course shoots powerfully through all the
frame,
( 28 )
frame, and awakes each dormant sense.
When naked she is certainly Thomson's
Lavinia.
For loveliness,
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorned, adorned the most.
A beautiful black fringe borders the
_Venetian Mount_, and whether she pursues
the _Grahamatic_ method from a practical
knowledge of its increase of pleasure,
from motives of cleanliness, or as a cer-
tain preventative we will not pretend to
say; but we well know it makes her the
more desirable bed-fellow, and after
every _stroke_ gives fresh _tone and vigour_ to
the lately _distended parts_; her legs and
feet claim her peculiar attention, nor do
their _coverings_ ever disgrace their owner,
nor their actions under _cover_ ever do
injustice to that dear delightful spot they
are doomed to support, protect, and pay
just obedience to; _the eager twine_, the
almost unbearable press at the _dye away
moment_, with all _love's_ lesser _Artillery_, she
plays off with uncommon activity and
ardor, and drinks _repetition_ with thirst
insatiable. Half a guinea, and a new
pink ribband to encircle her bewitching
brows, is the least she expects for a night's
entertainment.
( 29 )
entertainment. There are three or four
more ladies of _our_ order in the house, if
this lady should not exactly suit.
But being blest with beauty's potent spell,
Must from her other sisters bear the bell.
___________________________________
Miss W--lk--ns--n, No. 10, _Bull-and-
Mouth Street_.
Forbidding me to follow she invites me,
This is the mould of which I made the sex,
I gave them but one tongue to say us nay,
And two kind eyes to grant.
Here we present our readers with as
pretty a man's woman as ever the
bountiful hand of nature formed; a
pair of black eyes that dart resistless fire,
that speak a language frozen hearts
might thaw, and stand as the sweet index
to the soul; a pair of sweet pouting
lips that demand the burning kiss, and
never receives it without paying with
interest; a complexion that would charm
the eye of an anchorite; a skin smooth'
as monument alabaster, and white as
Alpian snow; and hair that so beauti-
fully contrasts the skin, that nought
but nature can equal. Descend a little
lower and behold the semi-snow-balls.
"Studded
( 30 )
"Studded with role buds, and streaked
with celestial blue,"
that want not the support of stays;
whose truly elastic state never suffers the
pressure, however severe, to remain, but
boldly recovers its tempting smoothness.
Next take a view of nature centrally;
no _folding lapel_, no _gaping orifice_, no
_horrid gulph_ is here, but the _loving lips_
tenderly kiss each other, and shelter
from the cold a small but easily stretched
passage, whose _depth_ none but the _blind
boy_ has liberty to _fathom_; between the
_tempting lips_ the _coral headed tip_ stands
centinal, sheltered by a _raven coloured-
bush_, and for one half guinea conduct
the _well erected friend_ safe into _port_.
She is a native of Oxfordshire, and has
been a visitor on the town about one
year, is generally to be met with at home
at every hour excepting ten at night, at
which time she visits a favourite gentle-
man of the Temple.
Miss
( 31 )
Mis N--ble, No. 10, _Plough Court,
Fetter Lane_.
She darted a sweet kiss,
The wanton prelude to a farther bliss;
Such as might kindle frozen appetite,
And fire e'en wasted nature with delight.
She is really a fine girl, with a lovely
fair complexion, a most engaging be-
haviour and affable disposition. She
has a most consummate skill in reviving
the dead; for as she loves nothing but
active life, she is happy when she can
restore it: and her tongue has a double
charm, both when speaking and when
silent; for the tip of it, _properly applied_,
can talk eloquently to the heart, whilst
no sound pervades the ear and send such
feelings to the central spot, that imme-
diately demands the more noble weapon
to _close_ the _melting scene_.
___________________________________
Miss Sophia M--rt--n, No. 11, _Ste-
_phen Street, Rathbone Place_.
Oh! the transporting joy!
Impetuous flood of long-expected rap-
ture, she is a charming black beauty;
her vivid eyes, speak the liveliness of her
disposition,
( 32 )
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THE
MAIDS TRAGEDY.
Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Persons Represented in the Play.
King.
Lysippus, _brother to the King_.
Amintor, _a Noble Gentleman_.
Evadne, _Wife to_ Amintor.
Malantius}
Diphilius} _Brothers to_ Evadne.
Aspatia, _troth-plight wife to_ Amnitor.
Calianax, _an old humorous Lord, and
Father to_ Aspatia.
Cleon}
Strato} _Gentlemen_.
Diagoras, _a Servant_.
Antiphila}
Olympias} _waiting Gentlewomen to_ Aspatia.
Dula, _a Lady_.
Night}
Cynthia}
Neptune}
Eolus} _Maskers_.
* * * * *
_Actus primus. Scena | 574.00334 |
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HISTORY
OF
THE OPERA,
from its Origin in Italy to the present Time.
WITH ANECDOTES
OF THE MOST CELEBRATED COMPOSERS AND VOCALISTS OF EUROPE.
BY
SUTHERLAND EDWARDS,
AUTHOR OF "RUSSIANS AT HOME," ETC.
"QUIS TAM DULCIS SONUS QUI MEAS COMPLET AURES?"
"WHAT IS ALL THIS NOISE ABOUT?"
VOL. I. & VOL. II.
LONDON: WM. H. ALLEN & CO., 13, WATERLOO PLACE.
1862.
[_The right of translation and reproduction is reserved._]
LONDON: LEWIS AND SON, PRINTERS, SWAN BUILDINGS, (49) MOORGATE STREET.
CONTENTS VOLUME I.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Preface, Prelude, Prologue, Introduction, Overture, &c.--The
Origin of the Opera in Italy, and its introduction into Germany.--Its
History in Europe; Division of the subject 1
CHAPTER II.
Introduction of the Opera into France and England 12
CHAPTER III.
On the Nature of the Opera, and its Merits as compared with
other forms of the Drama 36
CHAPTER IV.
Introduction and progress of the Ballet 70
CHAPTER V.
Introduction of the Italian Opera into England 104
CHAPTER VI.
The Italian Opera under Handel 140
CHAPTER VII.
General view of the Opera in Europe in the Eighteenth Century,
until the appearance of Gluck 172
CHAPTER VIII.
French Opera from Lulli to the Death of Rameau 217
CHAPTER IX.
Rousseau as a Critic and as a Composer of Music 238
CHAPTER X.
Gluck and Piccinni in Paris 267
HISTORY OF THE OPERA.
CHAPTER I.
PREFACE, PRELUDE, PROLOGUE, INTRODUCTION, OVERTURE, ETC.--THE
ORIGIN OF THE OPERA IN ITALY, AND ITS INTRODUCTION INTO
GERMANY.--ITS HISTORY IN EUROPE; DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.
It has often been said, and notably, by J. J. Rousseau, and after him,
with characteristic exaggeration, by R. Wagner, that "Opera" does not
mean so much a musical work, as a musical, poetical, and spectacular
work all at once; that "Opera" in fact, is "the work," _par excellence_,
to the production of which all the arts are necessary.[1] The very
titles of the earliest operas prove this notion to be incorrect. The
earliest Italian plays of a mixed character, not being constructed
according to the ancient rules of tragedy and comedy, were called by the
general name of "Opera," the nature of the "work" being more
particularly indicated by some such epithet or epithets as _regia_,
_comica_, _tragica_, _scenica_, _sacra_, _esemplare_, _regia ed
esemplare_, _&c._; and in the case of a lyrical drama, the words _per
musica_, _scenica per musica_, _regia ed esemplare per musica_, were
added, or the production was styled _opera musicale_ alone. In time the
mixed plays (which were imitated from the Spanish) fell into disrepute
in Italy, while the title of "Opera" was still applied to lyrical
dramas, but not without "musicale," or "in musica" after it. This was
sufficiently vague, but people soon found it troublesome, or thought it
useless, to say _opera musicale_, when opera by itself conveyed, if it
did not express, their meaning, and thus dramatic works in music came to
be called "Operas." Algarotte's work on the Opera (translated into
French, and entitled _Essai sur l'Opéra_) is called in the original
_Saggio sopra l'Opera in musica_. "Opera in music" would in the present
day sound like a pleonasm, but it is as well to consider the true
meaning of words, when we find them not merely perverted, but in their
perverted sense made the foundation of ridiculous theories.
[Sidenote: THE FIRST OPERA]
The Opera proceeds from the sacred musical plays of the 15th century as
the modern drama proceeds from the mediæval mysteries. Ménestrier,
however, the Jesuit father, assigns to it a far greater antiquity, and
considers the Song of Solomon to be the earliest Opera on record,
founding his opinion on these words of St. Jérôme, translated from
Origen:--_Epithalamium, libellus, id est nuptiale carmen, in modum mihi
videtur dramatis a Solomone conscriptus quem cecinit instar nubentis
sponsæ_.[2]
Others see the first specimens of opera in the Greek plays; but the
earliest musical dramas of modern Italy, from which the Opera of the
present day is descended directly, and in an unbroken line, are
"mysteries" differing only from the dramatic mysteries in so far that
the dialogue in them was sung instead of being spoken. "The Conversion
of St. Paul" was played in music, at Rome, in 1440. The first profane
subject treated operatically, was the descent of Orpheus into hell; the
music of this _Orfeo_, which was produced also at Rome, in 1480, was by
Angelo Poliziano, the libretto by Cardinal Riario, nephew of Sixtus IV.
The popes kept up an excellent theatre, and Clement IX. was himself the
author of seven _libretti_.
At this time the great attraction in operatic representations was the
scenery--a sign of infancy then, as it is a sign of decadence now. At
the very beginning of the sixteenth century, Balthazar Peruzzi, the
decorator of the papal theatre, had carried his art to such perfection,
that the greatest painters of the day were astonished at his
performances. His representations of architecture and the illusions of
height and distance which his knowledge of perspective enabled him to
produce, were especially admired. Vasari has told us how Titian, at the
Palace of la Farnesina, was so struck by the appearance of solidity
given by Peruzzi to his designs in profile, that he was not satisfied,
until he had ascended a ladder and touched them, that they were not
actually in relief. "One can scarcely conceive," says the historian of
the painters, in speaking of Peruzzi's scenic decorations, "with what
ability, in so limited a space, he represented such a number of houses,
palaces, porticoes, entablatures, profiles, and all with such an aspect
of reality that the spectator fancied himself transported into the
middle of a public square, to such a point was the illusion carried.
Moreover, Balthazar, the better to produce these results, understood, in
an admirable manner the disposition of light as well as all the
machinery connected with theatrical changes and effects."
[Sidenote: DAFNE.]
In 1574, Claudio Merulo, organist at St. Mark's, of Venice, composed the
music of a drama by Cornelio Frangipani, which was performed in the
Venetian Council Chamber in presence of Henry III. of France. The music
of the operatic works of this period appears to have possessed but
little if any dramatic character, and to have consisted almost
exclusively of choruses in the madrigal style, which was so
successfully cultivated about the same time in England. Emilio del
Cavaliere, a celebrated musician of Rome, made an attempt to introduce
appropriateness of expression into these choruses, and his reform,
however incomplete, attracted the attention of Giovanni Bardi, Count of
Vernio. This nobleman used to assemble in his palace all the most
distinguished musicians of Florence, among whom were Mei, Caccini, and
Vincent Galileo, the father of the astronomer. Vincent Galileo was
himself a discoverer, and helped, at the Count of Vernio's musical
meetings, to invent recitative--an invention of comparative
insignificance, but which in the system of modern opera plays as
important a part, perhaps, as the rotation of the earth does in that of
the celestial spheres.
Two other Florentine noblemen, Pietro Strozzi and Giacomo Corsi,
encouraged by the example of Bardi, and determined to give the musical
drama its fullest development in the new form that it had assumed,
engaged Ottavio Rinuccini, one of the first poets of the period, with
Peri and Caccini, two of the best musicians, to compose an opera which
was entitled _Dafne_, and was performed for the first time in the Corsi
Palace, at Florence, in 1597.
_Dafne_ appears to have been the first complete opera. It was considered
a masterpiece both from the beauty of the music and from the interest of
the drama; and on its model the same authors composed their opera of
_Euridice_, which was represented publicly at Florence on the occasion
of the marriage of Henry IV. of France, with Marie de Medicis, in 1600.
Each of the five acts of _Euridice_ concludes with a chorus, the
dialogue is in recitative, and one of the characters, "Tircis," sings an
air which is introduced by an instrumental prelude.
New music was composed to the libretto of _Dafne_ by Gagliano in 1608,
when the opera thus rearranged was performed at Mantua; and in 1627 the
same piece was translated by Opitz, "the father of the lyric stage in
Germany," as he is called, set to music by Schutz, and represented at
Dresden on the occasion of the marriage of the Landgrave of Hesse with
the sister of John-George I., Elector of Saxony. It was not, however,
until 1692 that Keiser appeared and perfected the forms of the German
Opera. Keiser was scarcely nineteen years of age when he produced at the
Court of Wolfenbüttel, _Ismene_ and _Basilius_, the former styled a
Pastoral, the latter an opera. It is said reproachfully, and as if
facetiously, of a common-place German musician in the present day, that
he is "of the Wolfenbüttel school," just as it is considered comic in
France to taunt a singer or player with having come from Carpentras. It
is curious that Wolfenbüttel in Germany, and Carpentras in France (as I
shall show in the next chapter), were the cradles of Opera in their
respective countries.
[Sidenote: MONTEVERDE, AND HIS ORCHESTRA.]
To return to the Opera in Italy. The earliest musical drama, then, with
choruses, recitatives, airs, and instrumental preludes was _Dafne_, by
Rinuccini as librettist, and Caccini and Peri as composers; but the
orchestra which accompanied this work consisted only of a harpsichord, a
species of guitar called a chitarone, a lyre, and a lute. When
Monteverde appeared, he introduced the modern scale, and changed the
whole harmonic system of his predecessors. He at the same time gave far
greater importance in his operas to the accompaniments, and increased to
a remarkable extent the number of musicians in the orchestra, which
under his arrangement included every kind of instrument known at the
time. Many of Monteverde's instruments are now obsolete. This composer,
the unacknowledged prototype of our modern cultivators of orchestral
effects, made use of a separate combination of instruments to announce
the entry and return of each personage in his operas; a dramatic means
employed afterwards by Hoffmann in his _Undine_,[3] and in the present
day with pretended novelty by Richard Wagner. This newest orchestral
device is also the oldest. The score of Monteverde's _Orfeo_, produced
in 1608, contains parts for two harpsichords, two lyres or violas with
thirteen strings, ten violas, three bass violas, two double basses, a
double harp (with two rows of strings), two French violins, besides
guitars, organs, a flute, clarions, and even trombones. The bass violas
accompanied Orpheus, the violas Eurydice, the trombones Pluto, the small
organ Apollo; Charon, strangely enough, sang to the music of the
guitar.
Monteverde, having become chapel master at the church of St. Mark,
produced at Venice _Arianna_, of which _Rinuccini_ had written the
libretto. This was followed by other works of the same kind, which were
produced with great magnificence, until the fame of the Venetian operas
spread throughout Italy, and by the middle of the seventeenth century
the new entertainment was established at Venice, Bologna, Rome, Turin,
Naples, and Messina. Popes, cardinals and the most illustrious nobles
took the Opera under their protection, and the dukes of Mantua and
Modena distinguished themselves by the munificence of their patronage.
Among the most celebrated of the female singers of this period were
Catarina Martinella of Rome, Archilei, Francesca Caccini (daughter of
the composer of that name and herself the author of an operatic score),
Adriana Baroni, of Mantua, and her daughter Leonora Baroni, whose
praises have been sung by Milton in his three Latin poems "Ad Leonoram
Romæ canentem."
[Sidenote: THE ITALIAN OPERA ABROAD.]
The Italian opera, as we shall afterwards see, was introduced into
France under the auspices of Cardinal Mazarin, who as the Abbé Mazarini,
had visited all the principal theatres of Italy by the express command
of Richelieu, and had studied their system with a view to the more
perfect representation of the cardinal-minister's tragedies. The
Italian Opera he introduced on his own account, and it was, on the
whole, very inhospitably received. Indeed, from the establishment of the
French Opera under Cambert and his successor Lulli, in the latter half
of the seventeenth century, until the end of the eighteenth, the French
were unable to understand or unwilling to acknowledge the immense
superiority of the Italians in everything pertaining to music. In 1752
Pergolese's _Serva Padrona_ was the cause of the celebrated dispute
between the partisans of French and Italian Opera, and the end of it was
that _La Serva Padrona_ was hissed, and the two singers who appeared in
it driven from Paris.
In England the Italian Opera was introduced in the first years of the
eighteenth century, and under Handel, who arrived in London in 1710,
attained the greatest perfection. Since the production of Handel's last
dramatic work, in 1740, the Italian Opera has continued to be
represented in London with scarcely noticeable intervals until the
present day, and, on the whole, with remarkable excellence.
Of English Opera a far less satisfactory account can be given. Its
traditions exist by no means in an unbroken line. Purcell wrote English
operas, and was far in advance of all the composers of his time, except,
no doubt, those of Italy, who, we must remember were his masters, though
he did not slavishly copy them. Since then, we have had composers (for
the stage, I mean) who have utterly failed; composers, like Dr. Arne,
who have written Anglo-Italian operas; composers of "ballad operas,"
which are not operas at all; composers of imitation-operas of all kinds;
and lastly, the composers of the present day, by whom the long
wished-for English Opera will perhaps at last be established.
In Germany, which, since the time of Handel and Hasse, has produced an
abundance of great composers for the stage, the national opera until
Gluck (including Gluck's earlier works), was imitated almost entirely
from that of Italy; and the Italian method of singing being the true and
only method has always prevailed.
Throughout the eighteenth century, we find the great Italian singers
travelling to all parts of Europe and carrying with them the operas of
the best Italian masters. In each of the countries where the opera has
been cultivated, it has had a different history, but from the beginning
until the end of the eighteenth century, the Italian Opera flourished in
Italy, and also in Germany and in England; whereas France persisted in
rejecting the musical teaching of a foreign land until the utter
insufficiency of her own operatic system became too evident to be any
longer denied. She remained separated from the rest of Europe in a
musical sense until the time of the Revolution, as she has since and
from very different reasons been separated from it politically.
[Sidenote: OPERA IN FRANCE.]
Nevertheless, the history of the Opera in France is of great interest,
like the history of every other art in that country which has engaged
the attention of its ingenious amateurs and critics. Only, for a
considerable period it must be treated apart.
In the course of this narrative sketch, which does not claim to be a
scientific history, I shall pursue, as far as possible, the
chronological method; but it is one which the necessities of the subject
will often cause me to depart from.
CHAPTER II.
INTRODUCTION OF THE OPERA INTO FRANCE AND ENGLAND.
French Opera not founded by Lulli.--Lulli's elevation from the
kitchen to the orchestra.--Lulli, M. de Pourceaugnac, and Louis
XIV.--Buffoonery rewarded.--A disreputable tenor.--Virtuous
precaution of a _prima donna_.--Orthography of a stage Queen.--A
cure for love.--Mademoiselle de Maupin.--A composer of sacred
music.--Food for cattle.--Cambert in England.--The first English
Opera.--Music under Cromwell.--Music under Charles II.--Grabut and
Dryden.--Purcell.
[Sidenote: ORFEO AND DON GIOVANNI.]
In a general view of the history of the Opera, the central figures would
be Gluck and Mozart. Before Gluck's time the operatic art was in its
infancy, and since the death of Mozart, no operas have been produced
equal to that composer's masterpieces. Mozart must have commenced his
_Idomeneo_, the first of his celebrated works, the very year that Gluck
retired to Vienna, after giving to the Parisians his _Iphigénie en
Tauride_; but, though contemporaries in the strict sense of the word,
Gluck and Mozart can scarcely be looked upon as belonging to the same
musical epoch. The compositions of the former, however immortal, have at
least an antique cast. Those of the latter have quite a modern air; and
it must appear to the audiences of the present day that far more than
twenty-three years separate _Orfeo_ from _Don Giovanni_, though that is
the precise interval which elapsed between the production of the opera
by which Gluck, and of the one by which Mozart, is best known in this
country. Gluck, after a century and a half of opera, so far surpassed
all his predecessors that no work by a composer anterior to him is ever
performed. Lulli wrote an _Armide_, which was followed by Rameau's
_Armide_, which was followed by Gluck's _Armide_; and Monteverde wrote
an _Orfeo_ a hundred and fifty years before Gluck produced the _Orfeo_
which was played only the other night at the Royal Italian Opera. The
_Orfeo_, then, of our existing operatic repertory takes us back through
its subject to the earliest of regular Italian operas, and similarly
Gluck, through his _Armide_ appears as the successor of Rameau, who was
the successor of Lulli, who usually passes for the founder of the Opera
in France, a country where it is particularly interesting to trace the
progress of that entertainment, inasmuch as it can be observed at one
establishment, which has existed continuously for two hundred years, and
which, under the title of Académ | 574.009011 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Breves and macrons are accurately represented (ă ĕ ā ē etc).
Some minor changes are noted at the end of the book.
A BOOK
ABOUT
WORDS.
BY
G. F. GRAHAM,
AUTHOR OF ‘ENGLISH, OR THE ART OF COMPOSITION,’
‘ENGLISH SYNONYMES,’ ‘ENGLISH STYLE,’
‘ENGLISH GRAMMAR PRACTICE,’
ETC.
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1869.
PREFACE.
The increased attention lately paid to our Language as a subject of
Education, has induced the Author to state in the following pages
his views on English (and other) Words. These views are the result
of a long professional career in tuition, together with the study
which such a calling naturally involves.
Notwithstanding the rapid strides made of late years in the science
of Words, much still remains unknown to the general reader; but if
the following remarks be accepted as a small contribution to a more
extended knowledge of this interesting subject, the Author will be
amply compensated for any trouble it may have cost him to collect
them.
KENSINGTON:
_May, 1869_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION ix
CHAPTER I.
ORIGIN OF WORDS (SAXON)--FAMILIES OF WORDS 1
CHAPTER II.
LATIN AND FRENCH WORDS 23
CHAPTER III.
OLD AND NEW WORDS 38
CHAPTER IV.
DEGENERACY OF WORDS 63
CHAPTER V.
PLAY UPON WORDS 79
CHAPTER VI.
CONCRETE AND ABSTRACT WORDS 96
CHAPTER VII.
GRAND WORDS 101
CHAPTER VIII.
THE SPELLING OF WORDS 107
CHAPTER IX.
FLEXIBILITY, VARIETY, CONTRACTION, ETC. OF WORDS 122
CHAPTER X.
DIFFERENT VIEWS OF THE SAME IDEA 141
CHAPTER XI.
COMPOUND WORDS 150
CHAPTER XII.
THE PRONUNCIATION OF WORDS 156
CHAPTER XIII.
SLANG WORDS AND AMERICANISMS 169
CHAPTER XIV.
GENERAL REMARKS ON WORDS, ETC. 185
CHAPTER XV.
GENERAL REMARKS ON WORDS, ETC., _continued_ 202
CHAPTER XVI.
MISCELLANEOUS DERIVATIONS OF WORDS 215
INTRODUCTION.
What is meant by a Language? It is a collection of all the words,
phrases, grammatical forms, idioms, &c., which are used by one
people. It is the outward expression of the tendencies, turn of
mind, and habits of thought of some one nation, and the best
criterion of their intellect and feelings. If this explanation be
admitted, it will naturally follow that the connection between a
people and their language is so close, that the one may be judged
of by the other; and that the language is a lasting monument of the
nature and character of the people.
Every language, then, has its genius; forms of words, idioms, and
turns of expression peculiar to itself; by which, independently of
other differences, one nation may be distinguished from another.
This condition may be produced by various causes; such as soil,
climate, conquest, immigration, &c. Out of the old Roman, or Latin,
there arose several modern languages of Europe; all known by the
generic name--Romance; viz. Italian, French, Provençal, Spanish,
and Portuguese. These may be called daughters of ancient Latin; and
the natives of all these countries down to the seventh century,
both spoke and wrote that language. But when the Scandinavian and
Germanic tribes invaded the West of Europe, the Latin was broken
up, and was succeeded by Italian, French, Spanish, &c. The Latin
now became gradually more and more corrupt, and was, at length, in
each of these countries, wholly remodelled.
History has been called ‘the study of the law of change;’ i.e. the
process by which human affairs are transferred from one condition
to another. The history of a language has naturally a close
analogy with political history; the chief difference being that
the materials of the latter are facts, events, and institutions;
whilst the former treats of words, forms, and constructions. Now,
in the same way as a nation never stands still, but is continually
undergoing a silent--perhaps imperceptible--transformation, so
it is with its language. This is proved both by experience and
reason. We need hardly say that the English of the present time
differ widely from the English of the fourteenth century; and we
may be quite sure that the language of this country, two or three
centuries hence, will be very different from what it is at present.
It would be impossible for a nation either to improve or decay, and
for its language at the same time to remain stationary. The one
being a reflex of the other, they must stand or fall together.
What, then, is this law of change? On what principles is it
based? How are we to study or follow out its operations? These
questions are exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to answer
definitively. But there are circumstances connected with the
formation of certain languages which may throw some light on
them. It may be received as a principle that, when one nation is
overrun or conquered by another, the effect on the language of
the conquered depends mainly on the condition of that which is
brought in by the conquerors. If the victors be as superior to the
vanquished in civilisation and improvement as they have proved
themselves in physical power, they will impose their language on
the conquered people. If, on the other hand, that of the vanquished
be the more cultivated, the reverse will take place; the dialect of
the conquerors will be absorbed into that of the conquered.
When the Visigoths settled in Spain in the fifth century, their
dialect made but little impression on the language afterwards known
as Spanish. The Latin element in the Peninsula, though at that time
falling into decay, was far more refined and polished than the
barbarous dialect then introduced; and it consequently remained,
with some slight modifications, the language of the country. The
same happened when the Northmen settled in France in the tenth
century. It is astonishing how rapidly the language of Rollo and
his followers was absorbed into French! This may have been assisted
by the intermarriage of the conquerors with the women of the
country; but it was produced chiefly by the different conditions of
the two languages.
On the other hand, when the Normans, under William the Conqueror,
invaded England in the eleventh century, a different effect was
produced. The Norman French after a time, though not immediately,
enriched the English language with many words, but it did not,
in the slightest degree, either then or afterwards, affect its
grammatical forms or idioms. The cause of this was that the Saxon
language was, at that epoch, already fixed, and fit for literary
purposes. It was, indeed, much further advanced as a literary
language than the invading Norman-French. It therefore resisted
this external pressure; and though it afterwards admitted numerous
French terms, the English language remains to this day Saxon, and
not French, in its tone, character, and grammar.
The climate of a country, or the temperament of a people, may
also strongly influence the character of the language. Given an
indolent and luxurious race, and we must expect that softness and
effeminacy will appear in their spoken and written expression. No
acute observer can fail to perceive a close connection between the
national character of the Italians and the softness and beauty of
their harmonious tongue. Again: the simplicity and somewhat homely
and rough vigour of the Teutonic race, are clearly shadowed forth
in the sounds and forms of the German language.
The climate, too, in both cases, may have contributed towards these
results. A hot, enervating atmosphere produces languor of mind
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Credit
Transcribed from the 1888 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
CASSELL'S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
ESSAYS AND TALES
BY
JOSEPH ADDISON.
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
_LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
1888.
Contents:
Introduction
Public Credit
Household Superstitions
Opera Lions
Women and Wives
The Italian Opera
Lampoons
True and False Humour
Sa Ga Yean Qua Rash Tow's Impressions of London
The Vision of Marraton
Six Papers on Wit
Friendship
Chevy-Chase (Two Papers)
A Dream of the Painters
Spare Time (Two Papers)
Censure
The English Language
The Vision of Mirza
Genius
Theodosius and Constantia
Good Nature
A Grinning Match
Trust in God
INTRODUCTION.
The sixty-fourth volume of this Library contains those papers from the
_Tatler_ which were especially associated with the imagined character of
ISAAC BICKERSTAFF, who was the central figure in that series; and in the
twenty-ninth volume there is a similar collection of papers relating to
the Spectator Club and SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY, who was the central figure
in Steele and Addison's _Spectator_. Those volumes contained, no doubt,
some of the best Essays of Addison and Steele. But in the _Tatler_ and
_Spectator_ are full armouries of the wit and wisdom of these two
writers, who summoned into life the army of the Essayists, and led it on
to kindly war against the forces of Ill-temper and Ignorance. Envy,
Hatred, Malice, and all their first cousins of the family of
Uncharitableness, are captains under those two commanders-in-chief, and
we can little afford to dismiss from the field two of the stoutest
combatants against them. In this volume it is only Addison who speaks;
and in another volume, presently to follow, there will be the voice of
Steele.
The two friends differed in temperament and in many of the outward signs
of character; but these two little books will very distinctly show how
wholly they agreed as to essentials. For Addison, Literature had a charm
of its own; he delighted in distinguishing the finer graces of good
style, and he drew from the truths of life the principles of taste in
writing. For Steele, Literature was the life itself; he loved a true
book for the soul he found in it. So he agreed with Addison in judgment.
But the six papers on "Wit," the two papers on "Chevy Chase," contained
in this volume; the eleven papers on "Imagination," and the papers on
"Paradise Lost," which may be given in some future volume; were in a form
of study for which Addison was far more apt than Steele. Thus as fellow-
workers they gave a breadth to the character of _Tatler_ and _Spectator_
that could have been produced by neither of them, singly.
The reader of this volume will never suppose that the artist's pleasure
in good art and in analysis of its constituents removes him from direct
enjoyment of the life about him; that he misses a real contact with all
the world gives that is worth his touch. Good art is but nature, studied
with love trained to the most delicate perception; and the good criticism
in which the spirit of an artist speaks is, like Addison's, calm, simple,
and benign. Pope yearned to attack John Dennis, a rough critic of the
day, who had attacked his "Essay on Criticism." Addison had discouraged
a very small assault of words. When Dennis attacked Addison's "Cato,"
Pope thought himself free to strike; but Addison took occasion to
express, through Steele, a serious regret that he had done so. True
criticism may be affected, as Addison's was, by some bias in the canons
of taste prevalent in the writer's time, but, as Addison's did in the
Chevy-Chase papers, it will dissent from prevalent misapplications of
them, and it can never associate perception of the purest truth and
beauty with petty arrogance, nor will it so speak as to give pain. When
Wordsworth was remembering with love his mother's guidance of his
childhood, and wished to suggest that there were mothers less wise in
their ways, he was checked, he said, by the unwillingness to join thought
of her "with any thought that looks at others' blame." So Addison felt
towards his mother Nature, in literature and in life. He attacked
nobody. With a light, kindly humour, that was never personal and never
could give pain, he sought to soften the harsh lines of life, abate its
follies, and inspire the temper that alone can overcome its wrongs.
Politics, in which few then knew how to think calmly and recognise the
worth of various opinion, Steele and Addison excluded from the pages of
the _Spectator_. But the first paper in this volume is upon "Public
Credit," and it did touch on the position of the country at a time when
the shock of change caused by the Revolution of 1688-89, and also the
strain of foreign war, were being severely felt.
H. M.
PUBLIC CREDIT.
--_Quoi quisque fere studio devinctus adhaeret_
_Aut quibus i rebus multum sumus ante morati_
_Atque in quo ratione fuit contenta magis mens_,
_In somnis cadem plerumque videmur obire_.
LUCR., iv. 959.
--What studies please, what most delight,
And fill men's thoughts, they dream them o'er at night.
CREECH.
In one of my rambles, or rather speculations, I looked into the great
hall where the bank is kept, and was not a little pleased to see the
directors, secretaries, and clerks, with all the other members of that
wealthy corporation, ranged in their several stations, according to the
parts they act in that just and regular economy. This revived in my
memory the many discourses which I had both read and heard concerning the
decay of public credit, with the methods of restoring it; and which, in
my opinion, have always been defective, because they have always been
made with an eye to separate interests and party principles.
The thoughts of the day gave my mind employment for the whole night; so
that I fell insensibly into a kind of methodical dream, which disposed
all my contemplations into a vision, or allegory, or what else the reader
shall please to call it.
Methoughts I returned to the great hall, where I had been the morning
before; but to my surprise, instead of the company that I left there, I
saw, towards the upper end of the hall, a beautiful virgin, seated on a
throne of gold. Her name, as they told me, was Public Credit. The
walls, instead of being adorned with pictures and maps, were hung with
many Acts of Parliament written in golden letters. At the upper end of
the hall was the Magna Chart | 574.044851 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
TOLSTOI FOR THE YOUNG
[Illustration: IVAN THE FOOL.
_Frontispiece._]
TOLSTOI FOR THE
YOUNG
SELECT TALES FROM TOLSTOI
Translated from the Russian
By
MRS. R. S. TOWNSEND
WITH SIX PLATES BY MICHEL SEVIER
LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., LTD
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
1916
CONTENTS
PAGE
IVAN THE FOOL 1
WHERE THERE IS LOVE, THERE IS GOD ALSO 56
A PRISONER 82
EMELIAN AND THE EMPTY DRUM 138
THE GREAT BEAR 156
THREE QUESTIONS 158
THE GODSON 167
LIST OF PLATES
Ivan the Fool _Frontispiece_
Where there is Love, there is God also _To face p._ 57
A Prisoner 82
Emelian and the Empty Drum 138
Three Questions 158
The Godson 167
IVAN THE FOOL
THE STORY OF IVAN THE FOOL AND HIS TWO BROTHERS SIMON THE WARRIOR
AND TARAS THE POT-BELLIED, AND OF HIS DEAF AND DUMB SISTER, AND THE
OLD DEVIL AND THREE LITTLE DEVILKINS.
Once upon a time there lived a rich peasant, who had three sons--Simon
the Warrior, Taras the Pot-bellied, and Ivan the Fool, and a deaf and
dumb daughter, Malania, an old maid.
Simon the Warrior went off to the wars to serve the King; Taras the
Pot-bellied went to a merchant’s to trade in the town, and Ivan the Fool
and the old maid stayed at home to do the work of the house and the
farm. Simon the Warrior earned a high rank for himself and an estate and
married a nobleman’s daughter. He had a large income and a large estate,
but he could never make both ends meet, for, what he managed to gather
in, his wife managed to squander; thus it was that he never had any
money.
And Simon the Warrior went to his estate one day to collect his income,
and his steward said to him, “There is nothing to squeeze money out of;
we have neither cattle, nor implements, nor horses, nor cows, nor
ploughs, nor harrows; we must get all these things first, then there
will be an income.”
Then Simon the Warrior went to his father and said, “You are rich,
father; and have given me nothing, let me have a third of your
possessions and I will set up my estate.”
And the old man replied, “Why should I? You have brought nothing to the | 574.080504 |
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Produced by Sharon Joiner, Bryan Ness and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp | 574.106762 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.2183230 | 2,302 | 13 |
Produced by Judith Wirawan, Karina Aleksandrova 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)
SELECTED LETTERS OF
ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL
Nihil Obstat.
F. THOMAS BERGH, O.S.B.,
CENSOR DEPUTATUS.
Imprimatur.
EDM. CAN. SURMONT,
VICARIUS GENERALIS.
WESTMONASTERII,
_Die 6 Novembris, 1917._
[Illustration: ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL.
(_Foundress of the Order of the Visitation._)]
SELECTED LETTERS OF
SAINT JANE FRANCES
DE CHANTAL
TRANSLATED BY
THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION
HARROW
WITH A PREFACE BY
HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL BOURNE
ARCHBISHOP OF WESTMINSTER
R. & T. WASHBOURNE, LTD.
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
AND AT MANCHESTER, BIRMINGHAM, AND GLASGOW
_All rights reserved_
1918
PREFACE
We are all apt so to idealise the Saints whom we love to study and
honour, and strive to imitate, that we are in danger of forgetting that
they possessed a human nature like our own, subject to many trials,
weaknesses and frailties. They had to struggle as we have to struggle.
The only difference is that their constancy and perseverance were
greater far than ours.
Biographers are often responsible for the false tendency to which we
allude. They like to give us the finished portrait of the Saints, and
only too often they omit in great part the details of the long and weary
toil that went to make the picture which they delight to paint.
In the case of some of the Saints we are able to come nearer to the
reality by reading the letters which have been preserved, in which in
their own handwriting they have set down, without thought of those who
in later days might read their words, the details of their daily life
and struggle. Thus in the few selected Letters of the holy foundress of
the Visitation which are now being published in an English translation
we get glimpses of her real character and spiritual growth which may be
more helpful to us than many pages of formal biography. In one place she
excuses the brevity of a letter because she is "feeling the cold to-day
and pressed for time." In another she tells a Sister, "do everything to
get well, for it is only your nerves." Nerves are evidently not a new
malady nor a lately devised excuse. She knew the weariness of delay:
"still no news from Rome.... I think His Grace the Archbishop would be
glad to help us.... Beg him, I beseech you, to push on the matter."
Haste and weather had their effect on her as on us: "I write in such
haste that I forget half of what I want to say.... We will make a
chalice veil for you, but not until the very hot weather is over, for
one cannot work properly while it lasts."
What mother, especially in these days of sorrow and anxiety, can read
unmoved the Saint's own words as she speaks of her daughter's death, and
of her fears about her son. "I am almost in despair... so miserable am
I about it that I do not know which way to turn, if not to the
Providence of God, there to bury my longings, confiding to His hands not
only the honour but even the salvation of this already half lost child.
Oh! the incomparable anguish of this affliction. No other grief can come
near to it."
And then we feel her mingled grief and joy when at last she learnt that
this, her only son, had given up his life, fighting for his King, after
a humble and fervent reception of the Sacraments.
Thus in the midst of the daily small worries of life, and of the great
sorrows that at one time or other fall to the lot of all, we see a brave
and generous soul, with human gifts and qualities like to our own,
treading her appointed path to God.
No one can read her words without carrying therefrom fresh courage for
his life, and a new determination to battle steadfastly to the end.
FRANCIS CARDINAL BOURNE,
_Archbishop of Westminster._
FEAST OF ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL,
_August 21st, 1917._
TRANSLATORS' PREFACE
The letters here translated are, with a few mentioned exceptions,
selected from "Sainte Jeanne-Françoise Frémyot de Chantal: Sa Vie et ses
Oeuvres," "First edition entirely conformable to the original
manuscripts published under the supervision of the religious of the
Visitation of Holy Mary at Annecy, by E. Plon and Co., rue Garanciere
10, Paris, 1877."
The rendering cannot be looked upon as entirely literal, but the
translators have kept as closely to the original as was consistent with
an easy rendering in modern English.
The circular letter to the Sisters of the Visitation (page 152) is a
remarkable document worthy of the reader's special attention, as are
also the letters to "Dom John of St. Francis" on St. Francis de Sales,
and the subtle manifestation of St. Jane Frances' own state of soul in
her letter to "A great Servant of God."
It has been thought better to leave the superscription heading all the
Saint's letters, "Vive Jésus" (Let Jesus reign), as in the original, and
untranslated.
The title of "Sister Deposed" given to the immediate predecessor in
office of the actual Superior is peculiar to the Visitation Order.
There are, as will be seen, a few slight omissions, but only when the
matter was of no interest or importance.
The Saint, as the reader will observe, does not keep to any fixed rule
in regard to capital letters.
CONTENTS
LETTER PAGE
JUDGMENT OF ST. FRANCIS ON THE VIRTUES OF MOTHER DE CHANTAL 1
I. TO ST. FRANCIS DE SALES 3
II. TO THE SAME 4
III. TO M. LEGROS 5
IV. THE DUKE OF SAVOY TO ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL 6
V. TO MADAME D'AUXERRE 7
VI. TO ST. FRANCIS DE SALES 9
VII. TO THE SISTERS OF THE MONASTERY OF ANNECY 11
VIII. TO SISTER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 12
IX. TO SISTER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 15
X. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 17
XI. TO THE SAME 20
XII. TO THE SAME 23
III. TO SISTER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 27
XIV. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 30
XV. TO SISTERS P. M. DE CHÂTEL AND M. A. DE BLONAY 33
XVI. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 37
XVII. TO MADAME DE GOUFFIER 40
XVIII. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 42
XIX. SISTER M. A. DE BLONAY 46
XX. TO THE SAME 49
XXI. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 51
XXII. TO THE SAME 55
XXIII. TO MOTHER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 58
XXIV. TO M. DE NEUCHÈZE 60
XXV. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 61
XXVI. TO MADAME DE LA FLÉCHÈRE 64
XXVII. TO SISTER P. J. DE MONTHOUX 65
XXVIII. TO M. MICHEL FAVRE 68
XXIX. TO SISTER A. M. ROSSET 71
XXX. TO SISTER P. J. DE MONTHOUX 72
XXXI. TO MADAME DE LA FLÉCHÈRE 73
XXXII. TO MOTHER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 75
XXXIII. TO MOTHER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 76
XXXIV. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 77
XXXV. TO SISTER M. A. HUMBERT 79
XXXVI. TO THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION AT BOURGES 80
XXXVII. TO THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION AT MOULINS 81
XXXVIII. TO MOTHER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 83
XXXIX. TO MADEMOISELLE DE CHANTAL 85
XL. TO MOTHER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 87
XLI. TO MADEMOISELLE DE CHANTAL 90
XLII. TO SISTER M. M. LEGROS 92
XLIII. TO MADAME DU TERTRE 94
XLIV. TO M. DE PALIERNE 95
XLV. TO ST. FRANCIS DE SALES 100
XLVI. TO MADAME DE LA FLÉCHÈRE 102
XLVII. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 103
XLVIII. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 105
XLIX. TO M. DE NEUCHÈZE 108
L. TO MOTHER A. C. DE BEAUMONT 110
LI. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 112
LII. TO MOTHER A. C. DE | 574.238363 |
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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.)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}. For example, M^cDonald or
Esq^{re}.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
[Illustration:
BY COMMAND OF His late Majesty WILLIAM THE IV^{TH}.
_and under the Patronage of_
Her Majesty the Queen.
HISTORICAL RECORDS,
_OF THE_
British Army
_Comprising the
History of every Regiment
IN HER MAJESTY'S SERVICE._
_By Richard Cannon Esq^{re}._
_Adjutant Generals Office, Horse Guards._
London
_Printed by Authority_:]
GENERAL ORDERS.
_HORSE-GUARDS_,
_1st January, 1836_.
His Majesty has been pleased to command that, with the view of
doing the fullest justice to Regiments, as well as to Individuals
who have distinguished themselves by their Bravery in Action with
the Enemy, an Account of the Services of every Regiment in the
British Army shall be published under the superintendence and
direction of the Adjutant-General; and that this Account shall
contain the following particulars, viz.:--
---- The Period and Circumstances of the Original Formation of
the Regiment; The Stations at which it has been from time to time
employed; The Battles, Sieges, and other Military Operations
in which it has been engaged, particularly specifying any
Achievement it may have performed, and the Colours, Trophies,
&c., it may have captured from the Enemy.
---- The Names of the Officers, and the number of
Non-Commissioned Officers and Privates Killed or Wounded by the
Enemy, specifying the place and Date of the Action.
---- The Names of those Officers who, in consideration of their
Gallant Services and Meritorious Conduct in Engagements with the
Enemy, have been distinguished with Titles, Medals, or other
Marks of His Majesty's gracious favour.
---- The Names of all such Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers,
and Privates, as may have specially signalized themselves in
Action.
And,
---- The Badges and Devices which the Regiment may have been
permitted to bear, and the Causes on account of which such Badges
or Devices, or any other Marks of Distinction, have been granted.
By Command of the Right Honorable
GENERAL LORD HILL,
_Commanding-in-Chief_.
JOHN MACDONALD,
_Adjutant-General_.
PREFACE.
The character and credit of the British Army must chiefly depend
upon the zeal and ardour by which all who enter into its service
are animated, and consequently it is of the highest importance that
any measure calculated to excite the spirit of emulation, by which
alone great and gallant actions are achieved, should be adopted.
Nothing can more fully tend to the accomplishment of this desirable
object than a full display of the noble deeds with which the
Military History of our country abounds. To hold forth these bright
examples to the imitation of the youthful soldier, and thus to
incite him to emulate the meritorious conduct of those who have
preceded him in their honorable career, are among the motives that
have given rise to the present publication.
The operations of the British Troops are, indeed, announced in the
"London Gazette," from whence they are transferred into the public
prints: the achievements of our armies are thus made known at the
time of their occurrence, and receive the tribute of praise and
admiration to which they are entitled. On extraordinary occasions,
the Houses of Parliament have been in the habit of conferring on
the Commanders, and the Officers and Troops acting under their
orders, expressions of approbation and of thanks for their skill
and bravery; and these testimonials, confirmed by the high honour
of their Sovereign's approbation, constitute the reward which the
soldier most highly prizes.
It has not, however, until late years, been the practice (which
appears to have long prevailed in some of the Continental armies)
for British Regiments to keep regular records of their services
and achievements. Hence some difficulty has been experienced in
obtaining, particularly from the old Regiments, an authentic
account of their origin and subsequent services.
This defect will now be remedied, in consequence of His Majesty
having been pleased to command that every Regiment shall, in
future, keep a full and ample record of its services at home and
abroad.
From the materials thus collected, the country will henceforth
derive information as to the difficulties and privations which
chequer the career of those who embrace the military profession. In
Great Britain, where so large a number of persons are devoted to
the active concerns of agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, and
where these pursuits have, for so long a period, being undisturbed
by the _presence of war_, which few other countries have escaped,
comparatively little is known of the vicissitudes of active service
and of the casualties of climate, to which, even during peace, the
British Troops are exposed in every part of the globe, with little
or no interval of repose.
In their tranquil enjoyment of the blessings which the country
derives from the industry and the enterprise of the agriculturist
and the trader, its happy inhabitants may be supposed not often to
reflect on the perilous duties of the soldier and the sailor,--on
their sufferings,--and on the sacrifice of valuable life, by which
so many national benefits are obtained and preserved.
The conduct of the British Troops, their valour, and endurance,
have shone conspicuously under great and trying difficulties; and
their character has been established in Continental warfare by the
irresistible spirit with which they have effected debarkations in
spite of the most formidable opposition, and by the gallantry and
steadiness with which they have maintained their advantages against
superior numbers.
In the official Reports made by the respective Commanders, ample
justice has generally been done to the gallant exertions of the
Corps employed; but the details of their services and of acts of
individual bravery can only be fully given in the Annals of the
various Regiments.
These Records are now preparing for publication, under his
Majesty's special authority, by Mr. RICHARD CANNON, Principal Clerk
of the Adjutant General's Office; and while the perusal of them
cannot fail to be useful and interesting to military men of every
rank, it is considered that they will also afford entertainment and
information to the general reader, particularly to those who may
have served in the Army, or who have relatives in the Service.
There exists in the breasts of most of those who have served, or
are serving, in the Army, an _Esprit de Corps_--an attachment
to everything belonging to their Regiment; to such persons a
narrative of the services of their own Corps cannot fail to prove
interesting. Authentic accounts of the actions of the great, the
valiant, the loyal, have always been of paramount interest with
a brave and civilized people. Great Britain has produced a race
of heroes who, in moments of danger and terror, have stood "firm
as the rocks of their native shore:" and when half the world has
been arrayed against them, they have fought the battles of their
Country with unshaken fortitude. It is presumed that a record of
achievements in war,--victories so complete and surprising, gained
by our countrymen, our brothers, our fellow citizens in arms,--a
record which revives the memory of the brave, and brings their
gallant deeds before us,--will certainly prove acceptable to the
public.
Biographical Memoirs of the Colonels and other distinguished
Officers will be introduced in the Records of their respective
Regiments, and the Honorary Distinctions which have, from time to
time, been conferred upon each Regiment, as testifying the value
and importance of its services, will be faithfully set forth.
As a convenient mode of Publication, the Record of each Regiment
will be printed in a distinct number, so that when the whole shall
be completed, the Parts may be bound up in numerical succession.
INTRODUCTION TO THE INFANTRY.
The natives of Britain have, at all periods, been celebrated for
innate courage and unshaken firmness, and the national superiority
of the British troops over those of other countries has been
evinced in the midst of the most imminent perils. History contains
so many proofs of extraordinary acts of bravery, that no doubts can
be raised upon the facts which are recorded. It must therefore be
admitted, that the distinguishing feature of the British soldier is
INTREPIDITY. This quality was evinced by the inhabitants of England
when their country was invaded by Julius Cæsar with a Roman army,
on which occasion the undaunted Britons rushed into the sea to
attack the Roman soldiers as they descended from their ships; and,
although their discipline and arms were inferior to those of their
adversaries, yet their fierce and dauntless bearing intimidated
the flower of the Roman troops, including Cæsar's favourite tenth
legion. Their arms consisted of spears, short swords, and other
weapons of rude construction. They had chariots, to the axles of
which were fastened sharp pieces of iron resembling scythe-blades,
and infantry in long chariots resembling waggons, who alighted
and fought on foot, and for change of ground, pursuit or retreat,
sprang into the chariot and drove off with the speed of cavalry.
These inventions were, however, unavailing against Cæsar's
legions: in the course of time a military system, with discipline
and subordination, was introduced, and British courage, being
thus regulated, was exerted to the greatest advantage; a full
development of the national character followed, and it shone forth
in all its native brilliancy.
The military force of the Anglo-Saxons consisted principally of
infantry: Thanes, and other men of property, however, fought on
horseback. The infantry were of two classes, heavy and light The
former carried large shields armed with spikes, long broad swords
and spears; and the latter were armed with swords or spears only.
They had also men armed with clubs, others with battle-axes and
javelins.
The feudal troops established by William the Conqueror consisted
(as already stated in the Introduction to the Cavalry) almost
entirely of horse; but when the warlike barons and knights, with
their trains of tenants and vassals, took the field, a proportion
of men appeared on foot, and, although these were of inferior
degree, they proved stout-hearted Britons of st | 574.2438 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.2799710 | 1,039 | 55 | Project Gutenberg Etext of Confiscation, An Outline, by Greenwood
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[Transcriber's note: Original spelling variations have not been
standardized. {Old English} style letters have been shown in {braces}.
Characters with macrons have been marked in brackets with an equal sign,
as [=e] for a letter e with a macron on top; [p=] shows a letter p with
a stroke through the descender. Underscores have been used to indicate
_italic_ fonts. A list of volumes and pages in "Notes and Queries" has
been added at the end.]
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION
FOR
LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES, GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
VOL. V.--No. 134. SATURDAY, MAY 22. 1852.
Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition, 5_d._
CONTENTS.
Page
NOTES:--
A few Things about Richard Baxter, by H. M. Bealby 481
Latin Song by Andrew Boorde, by Dr. E. F. Rimbault 482
Shakspeare Notes 483
Publications of the Stuttgart Society, by F. Norgate 484
Manuscript Shakspeare Emendations, by J. O. Halliwell 484
The Grave-stone of Joe Miller 485
Folk Lore:--Swearing on a Skull--New Moon--Rust 485
Minor Notes:--Epitaph at Low Moor--Sir Thomas Overbury's
Epitaph--Bibliotheca Literaria--Inscription at Dundrah
Castle--Derivation of Charing 486
QUERIES:--
Poem by Nicholas Breton 487
The Virtuosi, or St. Luke's Club 487
The Rabbit as a Symbol 487
Is Wyld's Great Globe a Plagiarism from Molenax? by
John Petheram 488
Minor Queries:--Poem on the Burning of the Houses of
Parliament--Newton's Library--Meaning of Royd--The
Cromwell Family--Sir John Darnell, Knt.--Royal
"We"--Gondomar--Wallington's Journal--Epistola
Lucifera, &c.--Cambrian Literature--"VCRIMDR" on
Coins of Vabalathus--Lines on Woman--Penkenol--Fairfax
Family Mansion--Postman and Tubman in the Court of
Exchequer--Second Exhumation of King Arthur's Remains,
&c. 488
MINOR QUERIES ANSWERED:--Welsh Women's Hats--Pancakes
on Shrove Tuesday--Shakspeare, Tennyson, and Claudian 491
REPLIES:--
The Ring Finger 492
The Moravian Hymns 492
Cagots 493
Sheriffs and Lords Lieutenant 494
St. Christopher 494
General Pardons: Sir John Trenchard, by E. S. Taylor 496
Replies to Minor Queries:--Dayesman--Bull; Dun--Algernon
Sidney--Age of Trees--Emaciated Monumental Effigies--Bee
Park--Sally Lunn--Baxter's Pulpit--Lothian's Scottish
Historical Maps--British Ambassadors--Knollys
Family--'Prentice Pillars; 'Prentice Windows--St.
Bartholomew--Sun-dial Inscription--History of
Faction--Barnacles--Family Likenesses--Merchant
Adventurers to Spain--Exeter Controversy--Corrupted
Names of Places--Poison--Vikingr Skotar--Rhymes on
Places--"We three"--Burning Fern brings Rain--Plague
Stones--Sneezing--Abbot of Croyland's Motto--Derivation
of the Word "Azores"--Scologlandis and Scologi 497
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 501
Books and Odd Volumes wanted 502
Notices to Correspondents 502
Advertisements 503
Notes.
A FEW THINGS ABOUT RICHARD BAXTER.
In the year 1836, I visited Kidderminster for the purpose of seeing the
place where Richard Baxter spent fourteen of the most valuable years of
his life; and of ascertaining if any relics were to be found connected
with the history of this remarkable man. Baxter thought much of
Kidderminster, for with strong feeling he says, respecting this place,
in his poem on "Love breathing Thanks and Praise" (_Poetical Fragments_,
1st edit. 1681):--
"But among all, none did so much abound,
With fruitful mercies, as that barren ground,
Where I did make my best and longest stay,
And bore the heat and burden of the day;
Mercies grew thicker there than summer flowers:
They over-numbered my daies and hours.
There was my dearest flock, and special charge,
Our hearts in mutual love thou didst enlarge:
'Twas there that mercy did my labours bless,
With the most great and wonderful success."
While prosecuting my inquiries, I was shown the house in which he is
said to have resided. It is situated in the High Street, and was, at the
time of my visit, inhabited by a grocer; but I had my doubts, from a
difference of opinion I heard stated as to this being the actual house.
After looking at this house, I visited the vestry of the Unitarian
Chapel, and examined the pulpit; the description of which given by your
correspondent is very correct. He omits to mention Job Orton's chair,
which was shown me, as well as that of Bishop Hall. From all I could
learn at the time, and since, I should say that there is not the
slightest probability of any engraving having been published of this
pulpit. Sketches may have been made by private hands, but nothing I
believe in this way has ever been given to the public. I have long taken
a deep interest in everything, pertaining to Richard Baxter. I some
years ago collected ninety-seven out of the one hundred and sixty-eight
works which he wrote, most of them the original editions, and
principally on controversial subjects. After they had served the purpose
for | 574.304853 |
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are listed at the end of the text.
* * * * *
{485}
NOTES AND QUERIES:
A MEDIUM OF INTER-COMMUNICATION FOR LITERARY MEN, ARTISTS, ANTIQUARIES,
GENEALOGISTS, ETC.
"When found, make a note of."--CAPTAIN CUTTLE.
* * * * *
No. 239.]
SATURDAY, MAY 27. 1854.
[Price Fourpence. Stamped Edition 5d.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
NOTES:-- Page
Reprints of Early Bibles, by the Rev. R. Hooper, M.A. 487
Marriage Licence of John Gower, the Poet, by W. H. Gunner 487
Aska or Asca 488
Legends of the County Clare, by Francis Robert Davies 490
Archaic Words 491
MINOR NOTES:--Inscriptions on Buildings--Epitaphs--Numbers--
Celtic Language--Illustration of Longfellow: "God's Acre" 492
QUERIES:--
John Locke 493
MINOR QUERIES:--"The Village Lawyer"--Richard Plantagenet,
Earl of Cambridge--Highland Regiment--Ominous Storms--Edward
Fitzgerald--Boyle Family--Inn Signs--Demoniacal Descent of
the Plantagenets--Anglo-Saxon Graves--Robert Brown the
Separatist--Commissions issued by Charles I. at Oxford 493
MINOR QUERIES WITH ANSWERS:--Hogmanay--Longfellow's
"Hyperion"--Sir Hugh Myddelton--Sangarede--Salubrity of
Hallsal, near Ormskirk, Lancashire--Athens--James Miller 495
REPLIES:--
Brydone, by Lord Monson 496
Coleridge's Unpublished MSS., by C. Mansfield Ingleby 496
Mr. Justice Talfourd and Dr. Beattie 497
Russian "Te Deum," by T. J. Buckton, &c. 498
Artesian Wells, by Henry Stephens, &c. 499
Dog-whippers 499
Cephas, a Binder, and not a Rock, by T. J. Buckton, &c. 500
Whittington's Stone 501
PHOTOGRAPHIC CORRESPONDENCE:--Photographic Experience--
Conversion of Calotype Negatives into Positives--Albumenized
Paper 501
REPLIES TO MINOR QUERIES:--Table-turning--Female Dress--
Office of Sexton held by one Family--Lyra's Commentary--
Blackguard--"Atonement"--Bible of 1527--Shrove Tuesday--
Milton's Correspondence--"Verbatim et literatim"--Epigrams 502
MISCELLANEOUS:--
Notes on Books, &c. 504
Books and Odd Volumes Wanted 505
Notices to Correspondents 505
* * * * *
On June 1, in One Large Volume, super-royal 8vo., price 2l. 12s. 6d. cloth
lettered.
CYCLOPAEDIA BIBLIOGRAPHICA: A Library Manual of Theological and General
Literature, and Guide to Books for Authors, Preachers, Students and
Literary Men, Analytical, Bibliographical, and Biographical. By JAMES
DARLING.
A PROSPECTUS, with Specimens and Critical Notices, sent Free on Receipt of
a Postage Stamp.
London: JAMES DARLING, 81. Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields.
* * * * *
TO LITERARY MEN, PUBLISHERS, AND OTHERS.
MESSRS. HOPPER & CO., Record Agents, &c., beg to acquaint the Literary
World, that they undertake Searches among, and Transcripts from, the Public
Records, or other Ancient MSS., Translations from the Norman-French, Latin,
and other Documents, &c.
*** MSS. bought, sold, or valued.
4. SOUTHAMPTON STREET, CAMDEN TOWN.
* * * * *
THE ORIGINAL QUADRILLES, composed for the PIANO FORTE by MRS. AMBROSE
MERTON.
London: Published for the Proprietor, and may be had of C. LONSDALE, 26.
Old Bond Street; and by Order of all Music Sellers.
PRICE THREE SHILLINGS.
* * * * *
Now ready, No. VII. (for May), price 2s. 6d., published Quarterly.
RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW (New Series); consisting of Criticisms upon, Analyses
of, and Extracts from, Curious, Useful, Valuable, and Scarce Old Books.
Vol I., 8vo., pp. 436, cloth 10s. 6d., is also ready.
JOHN RUSSELL SMITH, 36. Soho Square, London.
* * * * *
This Day, with Woodcuts, fcp. 8vo., 5s.
THE OLD PRINTER AND THE MODERN PRESS, in relation to the important subject
of CHEAP POPULAR LITERATURE. By CHARLES KNIGHT.
Also, by the same Author, 2 vols. fcp. 8vo., 10s.
ONCE UPON A TIME.
"The old bees die, the young possess the hive."--_Shakspeare._
"They relate to all manner of topics--old folks, old manners, old
books; and take them all in all, they make up as charming a pair of
volumes as we have seen for many a long day."--_Fraser's Magazine._
"'Once upon a Time' is worth possessing."--_Examiner._
"This varied, pleasant, and informing collection of
| 574.338986 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Turgut Dincer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+----------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's note: |
| |
| The combination "vv" which occurs at some places for |
| "w" and the word "Jonick" used sometimes for "Ionick" |
| has been kept to conserve the original appearance of the |
| book. No changes have been made in the text except the |
| correction of obvious typos. |
+----------------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: ARCHITECTVRE 1692]
AN
ABRIDGMENT
OF THE
ARCHITECTURE
OF
VITRUVIUS.
CONTAINING
A System of the whole WORKS
of that Author.
Illustrated with divers Copper Plates, curiously
engraved; with a Table of Explanation,
To which is added in this Edition
The Etymology and Derivation of the
Terms used in _Architecture_.
First done in _French_ by Monsr _Perrault_, of the
Academy of _Paris_, and now _Englished_, with Additions.
_LONDON_: Printed for _Abel Small_ and _T. Child_,
at the _Unicorn_ in St. _Paul_'s Church-yard. 1692.
A
TABLE
OF THE
CHAPTERS.
The Introduction.
Article 1. _Of the great merits of_ Vitruvius, _and the
Excellencies of his Works_. Page 1.
Art. 2. _Of the method of the Works of_ Vitruvius, _with
short Arguments of every Book_. 9.
_A division of his whole Works into three parts, whereof 1.
treats of Building, 2. Gnomonical, 3. Mechanical. A second
division into three parts, 1. of Solidity, 2. of
Convenience, and 3. of Beauty. The Arguments of the Ten
Books._ 11, 12, &c.
THE FIRST PART.
Of the Architecture that is common to us
with the Ancients.
_Chap. I._ Of Architecture in general.
Art. 1. _Of the Original of Architecture_, 17.
_The first occasion of Architecture; the Models of the
first_ _Architects_, 19. _The Inventers of the four Orders
of Architecture_, 20.
Art. 2. _What Architecture is_, 23.
_Definition of it; an Architect ought to have the knowledge
of eleven things_, viz. _Writing_, _Designing_, _Geometry_,
_Arithmetick_, _History_, 24. _Philosophy, moral and
natural_, 25. _Physick_, _Law_, _Astronomy_, and _Musick_.
26.
Art. 3. _What the parts of Architecture are_, 27.
_There are eight parts in Architecture_, viz. 1. _Solidity_,
27. 2. _Convenience_, 3. _Beauty_, 4. _Order_, 5.
_Disposition_, 28. 6. _Proportion_, 7. _Decorum_, 8.
_Oeconomy_, 32.
_Chap._ II. Of the Solidity of Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of the choice of Materials_, 33.
Vitruvius _speaks of five sorts of Materials_, 1. _Stone_,
33. 2. _Bricks_, 34. 3. _Wood, whereof divers sorts are
used, as Oak, Fir, Poplar, Alder_, 35. _Pine, Cypress,
Juniper, Cedar, Larch_, 36. _and Olive_; 4. _Lime_; 5. _Sand
and Gravel_, 37. _of which several sorts, Pit, River, and
Pozzalane_, 38.
Art. 2. _Of the use of Materials_, 39.
_Of the Preparation of Stone_, 39. _Of Wood_, 40. _Of
Bricks_, 41. _Lime and Sand_, 43.
Art. 3. _Of the Foundation_, 45.
_In Foundations, to take care that the Earth be solid_, 45.
_Of the Masonry_, 46.
Art. 4. _Of the Walls_, 47.
_Six sorts of Masonry_, 48, 49. _Precautions to be used in
binding the Walls, to strengthen them with Wood_, 50. _That
they be exact perpendicular_, 51. _to ease them of their own
weight, by Timber or Arches over doors and windows, and by
Butresses in the earth_, 53.
Art. 5. _Of Flooring and Ceiling_, 54.
_Of Flooring upon the Ground_, 54. _between Stories_, 55.
_Open to the Air as Terrass, &c._ 57. _the Roof_, 58.
_Cornice_, 59.
Art. 6. _Of Plaistering_, 59.
_For great Walls, For Fresco_, 60. _for Partitions_, 61.
_For moist places_, 61.
_Chap. III._ Of the Convenience of Fabricks.
Art. 1. _Of convenient Scituation_, 63.
_That a place be convenient, it ought to be fertile,
accessible, in a wholsom Air, not on low Ground or marshy_,
64. _How to know a wholsom Climate_, 65.
Art. 2. _Of the Form and Scituation of the Building_, 65.
_The Streets and Houses of a City to be the most
advantagiously expos'd in respect to the Heavens and Wind_,
65, 66. _The scituation of each Room to be according to the
use of it; of Dining-rooms, Libraries, Closets, &c._ 67, 68.
Art. 3. _Of the Dispositions of Fabricks_, 68.
_The Dispositions of Buildings to be according to the use of
the House, either publick or private; of Merchants Houses;
of Country Houses; Of the several Apartments_, 70. _Of
Lights_, 71.
Art. 4. _Of the convenient form of Buildings_, 71.
_Of the Walls of Cities; Form of publick places_, 72. _which
were different among the_ Greeks _and_ Romans; _of Stairs
and Halls_, 72.
_Chap. IV._ Of the Beauty of Buildings.
Art. 1. _In what the beauty of Buildings consists_, 74.
_Two sorts of beauty in Buildings; 1st, Positive, which
consists in the Symmetry, Materials, and Performance_, 75.
_2d. Arbitrary, which is of two sorts; 1. Prudence, 2.
Regularity; which consist in the proper providing against
Inconveniences, and observing the Laws of Proportion_, 76.
_The beauty is most seen in the proportion of these
principal parts_, viz. _Pillars, Piedments, and
Chambrantes_, 78. _From these things result two other,
Gender and Order_, 79.
Art. 2. _Of the five Genders, or sorts of Fabricks_, 80.
_The five sorts are Pycnostyle, Systile_, 80. _Diastyle,
Areostyle, Eustyle_, 81. _The Genders to be always agreable
to the Orders of Architecture_, 82.
Art. 3. _Of the five Orders of Architecture_, 84.
_The distinction and difference in the several Orders;
consists in the Strength and Ornament_; Vitruvius _speaks
but of three Orders_, 85.
Art. 4. _Of things that are common to several Orders_, 85.
_There are seven things common to all Orders_, viz. _Steps_,
85. _Pedastals_, 86. _the diminution of Pillars, the
Channelings of Pillars, which is of three sorts_, 89. _the
Piedemont_, 90. _Cornices, and Acroteres_, 93.
Art. 5. _Of the_ Tuscane _Order_, 93.
_The_ Tuscane _Order consists in the Proportion of Columns,
in which there are three parts, the Base, the Shaft, and the
Capital_, 94. _Of Chambrantes; and of the Piedement_, 95.
Art. 6. _Of the_ Dorick _Order_, 96.
_The_ Dorick _Order consists in the proportion; of the
Columns, which have been different at diverse times, and in
diverse Works_, 96, 97. _The parts of the Column are the
Shaft; the Base which it anciently wanted, but hath since
borrowed from the Attic; the proportion of the Base_, 97.
_and the Captial_, 98. _the Archiatrave, which hath two
parts, the Platbands and the Gouttes_, 98. _the Frise, in_
_which are the Triglyphs and the Metops_, 98. _the
Proportion of them_, 99. _Of the Cornice, its proportion_,
99.
Art. 7. _Of the_ Ionick _Order_, 101.
_The preportion of Pillars of this Order_, 101. _The Pillars
set upon the Bases two ways, perpendicular, and not so_,
101. _Proportion of the Base, divided into its parts the
Plinthus, the Thorus, the Scotia upper and lower, with the
Astragals_, 102. _Of the Capital, its proportion and parts_,
103. _Of the Architrave, wherein to be considered, the
proportion it must have to the Pedestals, and to the heighth
of the Column_, 105. _to the breadth at the bottom_, 106.
_and to the jetting of the Cymatium_, 106. _Of the Frise and
Cornice_, 107.
Art. 8. _Of the_ Corinthian _Order_, 108.
_This Order different from the_ Ionick _in nothing but in
the Capitals of Pillars, being otherwise composed of the_
Dorick _and_ Ionick; _the proportion of the Capital_, 109.
_in which are to be consider'd its heighth, its breadth at
the bottom, the Leafs, Stalks, the Volutes, and the Roses_,
109. _Of the Ornaments_, 110.
Art. 9. _Of the Compound Order_, 110.
_The Compound is not described by_ Vitruvius, _it being a
general Design, and borrows the parts of the Capital (which
is the only distinction it has) from the_ Corinthian,
Ionick, _and_ Dorick _Orders_, 111.
THE SECOND PART,
Containing the Architecture that was particular
to the Ancients.
_Chap. I._ Of publick Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of Fortresses_, 113.
_In Fortification four things are consider'd; the
disposition of the Ramparts; the Figure of the whole place_,
114. _the building of the Walls; thickness, materials, and
terrass; the figure and disposition of the Towers_, 115,
116.
Art. 2. _Of Temples_, 116.
_Temples divided in the_ Greek _and_ Tuscan _Fashion; of
the_ Greek _some were round, and some square; in the square
Temples of the Greeks three things are to be considered; 1.
the_ Parts, _which are five, the Porch, the Posticum_, 117.
_the Middle, the Portico, and the Gates, which were of three
sorts_, viz. Dorick, 118. Jonick, 120. _and_ Attick, 120.
_2. The_ Proportion, 121. _and 3. The_ Aspect, _in respect
to the Heavens_, 122. _and to its own parts, which were
different in Temples with Pillars, and those without
Pillars; of Temples with Pillars there are eight sorts_,
122, 123, 124. Round Temples _were of two sorts, Monoptere_,
125. _Periptere_, 126. _Temples of the_ Tuscane Fashion,
126. _The Ancients had fourteen sorts of Temples_, 127.
Art. 3. _Of publick Places, Basilica's, Theatres,
Gates, Baths, and Academies_, 127.
_The Fabricks for publick Convenience were of six sorts, I.
Market-places of the_ Greeks _of the_ Romans, 128. _their
Proportions; II. Basilica's, their Proportions, Columns,_
_Galleries, and Chalcediques_, 128. _III. Theatres composed
of three parts; the Steps or Degrees which enclosed the
Orchestra_, 125. _the Scene which had three parts, the
Pulpit, the Proscenium_, 130. _and the Palascenium_, 131.
_And the Walking-places_, 131. _IV. Gates, which were either
natural or artificial, built three ways_, 132. _V. Baths,
consisting of many Chambers, their Description_, 133, 134.
_VI. Academies composed of three parts, the Peristyle_, 134.
_the Xystile_, 135. _and the Stadium_, 136.
_Chap. II._ Of Private Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of the Courts of Houses_, 137.
_The Courts of Houses were of five sorts, four whereof were
made with jettings out, or Pent-houses of four sorts. the_
Tuscan, 137. _the_ Corinthian, _the Tetrastyle, the
Vaulted_, 138. _the fifth sort uncoverted_, 138.
Art. 2. _Of the Vestibulum or Entry_, 139.
_The proportion of the Vestibulum was taken three ways, for
the length, breadth, and heighth_, 139. _Of the Alley in the
middle_, 140.
Art. 3. _Of Halls_, 140.
_Three sorts of Halls, the_ Corinthian, _the_ AEgyptian, _and
the_ Cyzican, 141.
Art. 4. _Of the Distribution of the Apartments among
the Ancients_, 142.
_The Distribution of the Apartments different among the_
Greeks _and_ Romans; _what the Difference was_, 141.
_Chap. III._ Of things that equally appertain to Publick
and Private Buildings.
Art. 1. _Of Aqueducts_, 143.
_The manner the Ancients used to take the Level exactly_,
143 _The Water was brought by Aqueducts, or by Pipes of
Lead, or Potters Work_, 144.
Art. 2. _Of Wells and Cisterns_, 145.
_The Precautions the Ancients used in digging their Wells,
to discover bad Water, and in making their Cisterns_, 145.
Art. 3. _Of Machines for carrying and lifting up great
Stones and Burthens_, 146.
_Machines for drawing Pillars_, 147. _Architraves_, 147.
_for raising great Weights, three sorts; first, with a
Handmill; second, with a Windlas_, 147. _third, with several
Ropes, to be drawn by Mens Hands_, 148.
Art. 4. _Of Machines for elevating Waters_, 149.
_Five sorts; I. The Tympan_, 149. _II. A Wheel with Boxes.
III. A Chain with Buckets. IV. The Vice of Archimedes. V.
The Pomp of_ Cresibius, 151.
Art. 5. _Of Water-mills for grinding Corn_, 152.
_The Water-mills of the Ancients were like ours._
Art. 6. _Of other Hydraulick Machines_, 153.
_Three sorts of Water-Machines; first, for shewing the
hour_, 153. _Second, Organs_, 154. _Third, for measuring the
Way by Water_, 154. _by Land_, 155.
Art. 7. _Of Machines of War_, 155.
_Three kinds | 574.33913 |
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E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/airedale00haynrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
THE AIREDALE
by
WILLIAMS HAYNES
Author of "Beagles and Beagling," "Toy Dogs," etc.
Outing Handbooks
New York
Outing Publishing Company
MCMXI
Copyright, 1911, by
Outing Publishing Company.
Entered at Stationer's Hall, London, England.
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BIGGEST AND BEST TERRIER 9
II. THE AIREDALE'S HISTORY 21
III. THE CARE OF A TERRIER 35
IV. BREEDING TERRIERS 49
V. DOG SHOWS AND SHOWING 65
VI. THE USEFUL AIREDALE 79
VII. COMMON AILMENTS 91
CHAPTER I
THE BIGGEST AND BEST TERRIER
It was in the Merchants' Hotel, Manchester--a famous gathering place
for the dog fanciers of the English Midlands, the most thickly dog
populated district in the whole world--that one autumn evening I heard
the best definition of an Airedale that I ever knew. A party of us,
fresh from some bench show, were seated round a table waiting for
dinner, and naturally we were talking dog, telling dog stories,
anecdotes, and jokes. I gave the American definition of a dachshund;
"half a dog high and a dog and a half long," and Theodore Marples,
editor of _Our Dogs_, turning to a quiet little man, noted as a wild
fanatic on the subject of Airedales, asked him his definition of his
favorite breed. Quick as a spark he answered, "The biggest and best
terrier!"
There are thousands of people, all sorts of people from bankers to
beggars, scattered all over this earth from Dawson City to Capetown,
from Moscow to Manila, who will echo the statement that the Airedale is
indeed the biggest and the best of all the terriers. Moreover, their
votes would not be bribed by mere sentiment, but based upon good, sound
reasons, for it is certain that he is the biggest, and he is "best" at
doing more things than any other dog in the stud book.
An Airedale will drive sheep or cattle; he will help drag a sled; he
will tend the baby; he will hunt anything from a bear to a field mouse.
He can run like a wolf and will take to water like an otter. He does
not "butt in" looking for trouble with each dog that he passes on the
street, but once he is "in" he will stick, for he is game as a pebble.
He is kind, obedient, thoroughly trustworthy as a companion for
children, or a watchman for your property. He has the disposition of a
lamb combined with the | 574.344255 |
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THIRTEEN
HISTORICAL
MARINE
PAINTINGS
BY
EDWARD MORAN
REPRESENTING
THIRTEEN CHAPTERS
OF
AMERICAN HISTORY
[Decoration]
By THEODORE SUTRO
1905
[Illustration: Copyright, 1905, by Theodore Sutro.
EDWARD MORAN
From a painting by Thomas Sidney Moran]
THIRTEEN CHAPTERS
OF
AMERICAN HISTORY
REPRESENTED
BY THE
EDWARD MORAN
SERIES OF
THIRTEEN HISTORICAL
MARINE PAINTINGS
[Decoration]
_By_ THEODORE SUTRO
1905
NEW YORK:
THEODORE SUTRO, 280 BROADWAY
AND
THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO.
PUBLISHER'S AGENTS,
33-37 EAST 17TH STREET.
_$1.50 net._
Copyright, 1905, by Theodore Sutro
To
_My Dear Wife_
FLORENCE
THROUGH WHOSE STEADFAST FRIENDSHIP FOR
MR. AND MRS. EDWARD MORAN AND LOYAL DEVOTION
TO ME, I WAS LED TO CHAMPION, AND
ENCOURAGED TO PERSEVERE IN ESTABLISHING,
THE RIGHTS OF THE WIDOW TO THESE MASTERWORKS,
WITHOUT WHICH THE OCCASION FOR
PENNING THESE PAGES WOULD NOT HAVE ARISEN--THIS
LITTLE WORK IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED,
ON THE
TWENTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF OUR MARRIAGE,
October 1st, 1904.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE.
FRONTISPIECE--Portrait of Edward Moran, from a painting by
THOMAS SIDNEY MORAN
INTRODUCTORY 7
BIOGRAPHICAL 15
PORTRAIT OF MRS. EDWARD MORAN, from a painting by
THOMAS SIDNEY MORAN Facing page 20
DESCRIPTIVE AND EXPLANATORY:
I. THE OCEAN--THE HIGHWAY OF ALL NATIONS 27
II. LANDING OF LIEF ERICKSON IN THE NEW WORLD IN
THE YEAR 1001 33
III. THE SANTA MARIA, NINA AND PINTA (Evening of October
11th, 1492) 39
IV. THE DEBARKATION OF COLUMBUS (Morning of October
12th, 1492) 39
V. MIDNIGHT MASS ON THE MISSISSIPPI, OVER THE BODY OF
FERDINAND DE SOTO, 1542 47
VI. HENRY HUDSON ENTERING NEW YORK BAY, September
11th, 1609 53
VII. EMBARKATION OF THE PILGRIMS FROM SOUTHAMPTON,
August 5th, 1620 59
VIII. FIRST RECOGNITION OF THE AMERICAN FLAG BY A
FOREIGN GOVERNMENT. In the Harbor of Quiberon,
France, February 13th, 1778 67
IX. BURNING OF THE FRIGATE PHILADELPHIA. In the Harbor
of Tripoli, February 16th, 1804 73
X. THE BRIG ARMSTRONG ENGAGING THE BRITISH FLEET.
In the Harbor of Fayal, September 26th, 1814 79
XI. IRON VERSUS WOOD--SINKING OF THE CUMBERLAND BY
THE MERRIMAC. In Hampton Roads, March 8th, 1862 87
XII. THE WHITE SQUADRON'S FAREWELL SALUTE TO THE
BODY OF CAPTAIN JOHN ERICSSON, New York Bay,
August 25th, 1890 95
XIII. RETURN OF THE CONQUERORS. Typifying Our Victory
in the late Spanish-American War, September 29th, 1899 105
INDEX 111
INTRODUCTORY
[Illustration: T. S. M.]
INTRODUCTORY.
The Thirteen Paintings, to a history and description of which (and
incidentally to a brief memoir of their creator, Edward Moran) these
pages are devoted, are monumental in their character and importance. Mr.
Moran designated them as representing the "Marine History of the United
States." I have somewhat changed this title; for even the untraversed
"Ocean" and the landing of Columbus in the new world represent periods
which necessarily affect the whole American Continent.
The conception of these pictures was in itself a mark of genius, for no
more fitting subjects could have been chosen by the greatest marine
painter in the United States than the heroic and romantic incidents
connected with the sea, which are so splendidly depicted in these
thirteen grand paintings. That their execution required over fifteen
years of ceaseless labor and the closest historical study is not
surprising. The localities, the ships, the armament, the personages, the
costumes, the weapons and all the incidents connected with each epoch
are minutely and correctly represented, in so far as existing records
rendered that possible. And yet, interwoven with each canvas, is a tone
so poetic and imaginative that stamps it at once as the offspring of
genius and lifts it far above the merely photographic and realistic. The
series is the result of a life of prolific production, careful study,
unceasing industry and great experience.
Mr. Moran himself regarded these pictures as his crowning work, and in
token of his many happy years of married life presented them, several
years before his death, to his wife, Annette Moran, herself an artist of
great merit, and whom he always mentioned as his best critic and the
inspirer of his greatest achievements. This loving act, strange to say,
gave rise to a protracted legal controversy, by reason of an adverse
claim to these paintings made by the executor of the estate of Edward
Moran, the final decision of which in favor of the widow, after three
years of litigation, lends additional interest to these remarkable works
of art. Proceedings to recover the pictures from the executor of the
estate, who had them in his possession and refused to deliver them to
her, were commenced on February 5, 1902, and after a trial in the
Supreme Court in the City of New York lasting several days, a jury
decided that the pictures were the property of the widow as claimed. On
a technical point of law raised by the executor this finding of the jury
was temporarily rendered ineffective, but, on an appeal to the Appellate
Division of the Supreme Court, this technicality was overruled and an
absolute judgment awarded in favor of the widow.[A] This was on January
23, 1903. Still not content, the executor appealed to the highest court
in the State, the Court of Appeals at Albany, which, on January 26,
1904, finally and absolutely affirmed the decision of the Appellate
Division.[B] But even then the widow was kept out of her property on
further applications made by the executor to the court. Also in this he
failed, and at last, on April 28, 1904, the judgment in her favor was
satisfied through the delivery of the pictures to her, as her absolute
property, beyond dispute, cavil or further question.
I have deemed it proper to make this explanation, as it is through my
connection as counsel for Mrs. Moran throughout this litigation that the
occasion has presented itself for this publication, and of giving to
the public the opportunity to examine and enjoy, to the fullest extent,
these great pictures at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
It may be added that although these paintings have occasionally been
viewed by artists, they have never before been publicly exhibited as a
series except for a very short period in the year 1900 in Philadelphia
and in Washington. During this time they received the highest encomiums
from critics and the press, and were pronounced the most notable series
of historic pictures ever painted in this country. While each one of the
series is a master work, it is as a group that the greatest interest
attaches to them | 574.379097 |
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Produced by Barbara Kosker and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
WAR
WAR
BY
PIERRE LOTI
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY
MARJORIE LAURIE
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
_Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company
The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U. S. A._
TO MY FRIEND
LOUIS BARTHOU, P.L.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. A LETTER TO THE MINISTER OF MARINE 9
II. TWO POOR LITTLE NESTLINGS OF BELGIUM 12
III. A GAY LITTLE SCENE AT THE BATTLE FRONT 18
IV. LETTER TO ENVER PASHA 28
V. ANOTHER SCENE AT THE BATTLE FRONT 34
VI. THE PHANTOM BASILICA 53
VII. THE FLAG WHICH OUR NAVAL BRIGADE DO NOT YET
POSSESS 68
VIII. TAHITI AND THE SAVAGES WITH PINK SKINS LIKE
BOILED PIG 80
IX. A LITTLE HUSSAR 85
X. AN EVENING AT YPRES 95
XI. AT THE GENERAL HEADQUARTERS OF THE BELGIAN ARMY 111
XII. SOME WORDS UTTERED BY HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN OF
THE BELGIANS 127
XIII. AN APPEAL ON BEHALF OF THE SERIOUSLY WOUNDED IN
THE EAST 139
XIV. SERBIA IN THE BALKAN WAR 148
XV. ABOVE ALL LET US NEVER FORGET! 151
XVI. THE INN OF THE GOOD SAMARITAN 157
XVII. FOR THE RESCUE OF OUR WOUNDED 174
XVIII. AT RHEIMS 177
XIX. THE DEATH-BEARING GAS 192
XX. ALL-SOULS' DAY WITH THE ARMIES AT THE FRONT 205
XXI. THE CROSS OF HONOUR FOR THE FLAG OF THE
NAVAL BRIGADE 211
XXII. THE ABSENT-MINDED PILGRIM 219
XXIII. THE FIRST SUNSHINE OF MARCH 242
XXIV. AT SOISSONS 265
XXV. THE TWO GORGON HEADS 299
WAR
I
A LETTER TO THE MINISTER OF MARINE
CAPTAIN J. VIAUD OF THE NAVAL RESERVE, TO THE MINISTER OF
MARINE.
_Rochefort, August 18th, 1914._
SIR,
When I was recalled to active service on the outbreak of war I had hopes
of performing some duty less insignificant than that which was assigned
to me in our dock-yards.
Believe me, I have no reproaches to make, for I am very well aware that
the Navy will not fill the principal role in this war, and that all my
comrades of the same rank are likewise destined to almost complete
inaction for mere lack of opportunity, like myself doomed, alas! to see
their energies sapped, their spirits in torment.
But let me invoke the other name I bear. The average man is not as a
rule well versed in Naval Regulations. Will it not, then, be a bad
example in our dear country, where everyone is doing his duty so
splendidly, if Pierre Loti is to serve no useful end? The exercise of
two professions places me as an officer in a somewhat exceptional
position, does it not? Forgive me then for soliciting a degree of
exceptional and indulgent treatment. I should accept with joy, with
pride, any position whatsoever that would bring me nearer to the
fighting-line, even if it were a very subordinate post, one much below
the dignity of my five rows of gold braid.
Or, on the other hand, in the last resort, could I not be appointed a
supernumerary on special duty on some ship which might have a chance of
seeing real fighting? I assure you that I should find some means of
making myself useful there. Or, finally, if there are too many rules and
regulations in the way, would you grant | 574.403799 |
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The Egypt of the Hebrews and Herodotos
By
The Rev. A. H. Sayce
Professor of Assyriology at Oxford
London
Rivington, Percical & Co.
1895
CONTENTS
Preface
Chapter I. The Patriarchal Age.
Chapter II. The Age Of Moses.
Chapter III. The Exodus And The Hebrew Settlement In Canaan.
Chapter IV. The Age Of The Israelitish Monarchies.
Chapter V. The Age Of The Ptolemies.
Chapter VI. Herodotos In Egypt.
Chapter VII. In The Steps Of Herodotos.
Chapter VIII. Memphis And The Fayyum.
Appendices.
Appendix I.
Appendix II. Biblical Dates.
Appendix III. The Greek Writers Upon Egypt.
Appendix IV. Archaeological Excursions In The Delta.
Index.
Footnotes
PREFACE
A few words of preface are needful to justify the addition of another
contribution to the over-abundant mass of literature of which Egypt is the
subject. It is intended to supplement the books already in the hands of
tourists and students, and to put before them just that information which
either is not readily accessible or else forms part of larger and cumbrous
works. The travels of Herodotos in Egypt are followed for the first time
in the light of recent discoveries, and the history of the intercourse
between the Egyptians and the Jews is brought down to the age of the Roman
Empire. As the ordinary histories of Egypt used by travellers end with the
extinction of the native Pharaohs, I have further given a sketch of the
Ptolemaic period. I have moreover specially noted the results of the
recent excavations and discoveries made by the Egypt Exploration Fund and
by Professor Flinders Petrie, at all events where they bear upon the
subject-matter of the book. Those who have not the publications of the
Fund or of Professor Petrie, or who do not care to carry them into Egypt,
will, I believe, be glad to have the essence of them thus extracted in a
convenient shape. Lastly, in the Appendices I have put together
information which the visitor to the Nile often wishes to obtain, but
which he can find in none of his guide-books. The Appendix on the nomes
embodies the results of the latest researches, and the list will therefore
be found to differ here and there from the lists which have been published
elsewhere. Those who desire the assistance of maps should procure the very
handy and complete _Atlas of Ancient Egypt_, published by the Egypt
Exploration Fund (price 3s. 6d.). It makes the addition of maps to this or
any future work on Ancient Egypt superfluous.
Discoveries follow so thickly one upon the other in these days of active
exploration that it is impossible for an author to keep pace with them.
Since my manuscript was ready for the press Dr. Naville, on behalf of the
Egypt Exploration Fund, has practically cleared the magnificent temple of
Queen Hatshepsu at Der el-Bahari, and has discovered beneath it the
unfinished sepulchre in which the queen fondly hoped that her body would
be laid; Professor Petrie has excavated in the desert behind Zawedeh and
opposite Qoft the tombs of barbarous tribes, probably of Libyan origin,
who settled in the valley of the Nile between the fall of the sixth and
the rise of the eleventh dynasty; Mr. de Morgan has disinterred more
jewellery of exquisite workmanship from the tombs of the princesses of the
twelfth dynasty at Dahshur; and Dr. Botti has discovered the site of the
Serapeum at Alexandria, thus obtaining for the first time a point of
importance for determining the topography of the ancient city.
The people whose remains have been found by Professor Petrie buried their
dead in open situated in the central court. But his most interesting
discovery is that of long subterranean passages, once faced with masonry,
and furnished with niches for lamps, where the mysteries of Serapis were
celebrated. At the entrance of one of them pious visitors to the shrine
have scratched their vows on the wall of rock. Those who are interested in
the discovery should consult Dr. Botti's memoir on _L'Acropole
d'Alexandrie et le Serapeum_, presented to the Archaeological Society of
Alexandria, 17th August 1895.
Two or three other recent discoveries may also find mention here. A
Babylonian seal-cylinder now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art at New York
has at last given me a clue to the native home of the Hyksos leaders. This
was in the mountains of Elam, on the eastern frontier of Chaldaea. It was
from these mountains that the Kassi descended upon Babylonia and founded a
dynasty there which lasted for nearly 600 years, and the same movement
which brought them into Babylonia may have sent other bands of them across
Western Asia into Egypt. At all events, the inscription upon the seal
shows that it belonged to a certain Uzi-Sutakh, "the son of the Kassite,"
and "the servant of Burna-buryas," who was the Kassite king of Babylonia
in the age of the Tel el-Amarna correspondence. As the name of Sutakh is
preceded by the determinative of divinity, it is clear that we have in it
the name of the Hyksos deity Sutekh.
In a hieroglyphic stela lately discovered at Saqqarah, and now in the
Gizeh Museum, we read of an earlier parallel to the Tyrian Camp at Memphis
seen by Herodotos. We learn from the stela that, in the time of King Ai,
in the closing days of the eighteenth dynasty, there was already a similar
"Camp" or quarter at Memphis which was assigned to the Hittites. The
inscription is further interesting as showing that the authority of Ai was
acknowledged at Memphis, the capital of Northern Egypt, as well as in the
Thebaid.
Lastly, Professor Hommel seems to have found the name of the Zakkur or
Zakkal, the kinsfolk and associates of the Philistines, in a broken
cuneiform text which relates to one of the Kassite kings of Babylonia not
long before the epoch of Khu-n-Aten. Here mention is made not only of the
city of Arka in Phoenicia, but also of the city of Zaqqalu. In Zaqqalu we
must recognise the Zakkur of Egyptian history. I may add that Khar or
Khal, the name given by the Egyptians to the southern portion of
Palestine, is identified by Professor Maspero with the Horites of the Old
Testament.
By way of conclusion, I have only to say that those who wish to read a
detailed account of the manner in which the great colossus of Ramses II.
at Memphis was raised and its companion statue disinterred must refer to
the Paper published by Major Arthur H. Bagnold himself in the
_Proceedings_ of the Society of Biblical Archaeology for June 1888.
A. H. Sayce.
_October 1895._
CHAPTER I. THE PATRIARCHAL AGE.
"Abram went down into Egypt to sojourn there." When he entered the country
the civilisation and monarchy of Egypt were already very old. The pyramids
had been built hundreds of years before, and the origin of the Sphinx was
already a mystery. Even the great obelisk of Heliopolis, which is still
the object of an afternoon drive to the tourist at Cairo, had long been
standing in front of the temple of the Sun-god.
The monuments of Babylonia enable us to fix the age to which Abraham
belongs. Arioch of Ellasar has left memorials of himself on the bricks of
Chaldaea, and we now know when he and his Elamite allies were driven out of
Babylonia and the Babylonian states were united into a single monarchy.
This was 2350 B.C.
The united monarchy of Egypt went back to a far earlier date. Menes, its
founder, had been king of This (or Girgeh) in Upper Egypt, and starting
from his ancestral dominions had succeeded in bringing all Egypt under his
rule. But the memory of an earlier time, when the valley of the Nile was
divided into two separate sovereignties, survived to the latest age of the
monarchy. Up to the last the Pharaohs of Egypt called themselves "kings of
the two lands," and wore on their heads the crowns of Upper and Lower
Egypt. The crown of Upper Egypt was a tiara of white linen, that of Lower
Egypt a throne-like head-dress of red. The double crown was a symbol of
the imperial power.
To Menes is ascribed the building of Memphis, the capital of the united
kingdom. He is said to have raised the great <DW18> which Linant de
Bellefonds identifies with that of Kosheish near Kafr el-Ayyat, and
thereby to have diverted the Nile from its ancient channel under the
Libyan plain. On the ground that he thus added to the western bank of the
river his new capital was erected.
Memphis is the Greek form of the old Egyptian Men-nefer or "Good Place."
The final _r_ was dropped in Egyptian pronunciation at an early date, and
thus arose the Hebrew forms of the name, Moph and Noph, which we find in
the Old Testament,(1) while "Memphis" itself--Mimpi in the cuneiform
inscriptions of Assyria--has the same origin. Another name by which it went
in old Egyptian times was Anbu-hez, "the white wall," from the great wall
of brick, covered with white stucco, which surrounded it, and of which
traces still remain on the northern side of the old site. Here a fragment
of the ancient fortification still rises above the mounds of the city; the
wall is many feet thick, and the sun-dried bricks of which it is formed
are bonded together with the stems of palms.
In the midst of the mounds is a large and deep depression, which is filled
with water during the greater part of the year. It marks the site of the
sacred lake, which was attached to every Egyptian temple, and in which the
priests bathed themselves and washed the vessels of the sanctuary. Here,
not long ago, lay the huge colossus of limestone which represented Ramses
II. of the nineteenth dynasty, and had been presented by the Egyptian
Khedive to the British Government. But it was too heavy and unwieldy for
modern engineers to carry across the sea, and it was therefore left lying
with its face prone in the mud and water of the ancient lake, a prey to
the first comer who needed a quarry of stone. It was not until after the
English occupation of Egypt that it was lifted out of its ignoble position
by Major Bagnold and placed securely in a wooden shed. While it was being
raised another colossus of the same Pharaoh, of smaller size but of better
workmanship, was discovered, and lifted beyond the reach of the
inundation.
The two statues once stood before the temple of the god Ptah, whom the
Greeks identified with their own deity Hephaestos, for no better reason
than the similarity of name. The temple of Ptah was coeval with the city
of Memphis itself. When Menes founded Memphis, he founded the temple at
the same time. It was the centre and glory of the city, which was placed
under the protection of its god. Pharaoh after Pharaoh adorned and
enlarged it, and its priests formed one of the most powerful organisations
in the kingdom.
The temple of Ptah, the Creator, gave to Memphis its sacred name. This was
Ha-ka-Ptah, "the house of the double (or spiritual appearance) of Ptah,"
in which Dr. Brugsch sees the original of the Greek Aigyptos.
But the glories of the temple of Ptah have long since passed away. The
worship of its god ceased for ever when Theodosius, the Roman Emperor,
closed its gates, and forbade any other religion save the Christian to be
henceforth publicly professed in the empire. Soon afterwards came the
Mohammedan conquest of Egypt. Memphis was deserted; and the sculptured
stones of the ancient shrine served to build the palaces and mosques of
the new lords of the country. Fostat and Cairo were built out of the
spoils of the temple of Ptah. But the work of destruction took long to
accomplish. As late as the twelfth century, the Arabic writer 'Abd
el-Latif describes the marvellous relics of the past which still existed
on the site of Memphis. Colossal statues, the bases of gigantic columns, a
chapel formed of a single block of stone and called "the green
chamber"--such were some of the wonders of ancient art which the traveller
was forced to admire.
The history of Egypt, as we have seen, begins with the record of an
engineering feat of the highest magnitude. It is a fitting commencement
for the history of a country which has been wrested by man from the waters
of the Nile, and whose existence even now is dependent on the successful
efforts of the engineer. Beyond this single record, the history of Menes
and his immediate successors is virtually a blank. No dated monuments of
the first dynasty have as yet been discovered. It may be, as many
Egyptologists think | 574.440676 |
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Produced by Roger Taft (RogerTaft at Cox.Net)
A U T O B I O G R A P H Y
O F
Z. S. H A S T I N G S
W R I T T E N F O R H I S B O Y S
HARRY
PAUL
OTHO
MILO
-----0-----
Effingham
Kan.
Christmas, 1911
Dear Paul,--
I am sending to each of the other boys a copy of my Autobiography
like this I send you. I hope you will be interested in it; read it,
preserve it, and give it to some of your children, to be read and
handed down and down until the second Adam comes the second time.
I am sure I would be glad to have something of this kind from my
father, even from his father's father's father's, etc., back to
father Adam, the first Adam.
Z. S. Hastings
C H A P T E R O N E
Birth. Name. Parent's Religion. Blood. Ancestor's
Religion and Politics. First Recollection. Father's
Family. From North Carolina to Indiana
I was born March 15th 1838 at a place now called Williams in Lawrence
County, Indiana. When the day came for me to be named, mother said,
"He looks like my brother Zachariah," but father said, "He looks like
my brother Simpson." "All right", said mother," we will just
christen him Zachariah Simpson." And that is my name unto this day.
Now, when mother said 'christen' she did not mean what is usually
meant by christening a babe, for if she had they would have had to
take me to a river, for mother and father both believed, when it came
to baptizing, that is required much water. Mother, when baptized,
was dipped three times, face first, and father once, backwards making
in each case an entire submerging or an immersion. Religiously mother
was called a Dunkard and father was called a Baptized Quaker. "Now",
said father, one day to mother, "this out not to be, we are one in
Christ, let us be one in name." "All right," said mother, "let us
drop the names Dunkard and Quaker and simply call ourselves Christians."
"Just so," said father, "but we must live Christians as well." And
they did.
There runs in my veins both English and Irish blood. On the paternal
side I can only trace my ancestors back to the early Quakers of
Baltimore. On the maternal side I know less, for it is only said
that my great grand-mother was a handsome, witty, Irish-woman. For
some reason, I know not what, I have always liked the humble, honest,
witty Irish people, be they Catholic or Protestant.
As far back as I can trace my ancestry they were religiously Quakers
and Politically Whigs. More recently however, we are religiously,
simply Christians, politically prohibition Republicans. I do not
boast of my ancestors, boys, for they were humble, yet,
"Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good."
The first thing that I can now remember was, when I was two and one-half
years old, in the fall of 1840, when General William Henry
Harrison was elected the ninth president of the United States. It
was on the occasion of a big rally day for Mr. Harrison when I, with
my parents, stood by the road-side and saw in the great procession
going by, four men carrying a small log cabin upon their shoulders,
and in the open door of the cabin sat a small barrel of hard cider.
The rally cry was "Hurrah for Tippecanoe and Tyler too."
My father and mother were there, because they were Whigs, and I was
there because father and mother were there. There is a great deal in
the way a child is brought up. O, that the children of our beloved
land be brought up in the way they should go! O, that it could be
said of all parents that their children are brought up in the nurture
and admonition of the Lord; that is could be said of all teachers of
our great country as it was said of the great lexicographer, Noah
Webster: "He taught thousands to read, but not one to sin." It is
said boys, that the training of a child should begin a hundred years
before it is born. I do not know about this, but I do know that the
proper training should be kept up after it is born. Will you see to
it, that you do your part well?
My father's family consisted of seven children, of whom I was the
fifth child. Three brothers, Joshua Thomas, William Henry and John
Arthur, and one sister, Nancy Elizabeth, were older than I. One
sister Charlotte Ann, and one brother Rufus Wiley, were younger. My
father's name was Howell Hastings, my mother's name was Edith
Edwards. Father and mother were both born in North Carolina; father
in 1905, mother in 1808. They were married in 1826. My two older
brothers were born in North Carolina. The rest of us were born in
Indiana. The parents, with their two little boys came to Indiana in
1830. They made the entire trip in a one-horse wagon; crossing the
Cumberland Mountains, and passing through the states of Tennessee,
Virginia and Kentucky. Of course they had but little in their wagon;
a box or two containing their wearing apparel, and a little bedding,
and also a little tin box containing just one-hundred dollars in gold
coin and a few valuable papers, which was kept, locked and hidden, in
one of the larger boxes. This hundred dollars was all the money
father had except what he had in his pocket purse, which he supposed
would be enough to meet the expenses of the trip.
All went well for about two weeks when a man, traveling on horseback,
overtook them, who slackened his gait and traveled along with
them, forming an acquaintance. He said to them that he too, was
going to the far west (Indiana was called the far west then), to seek
his fortune. He was very kind, helpful and generous; and traveled
along with them for two days, but, on the third day morning, when
father awoke, his fellow traveler was gone. Father and the man had
slept under the wagon. Father usually slept in or under the wagon
while mother and the little boys would sleep in the house of some
family who lived by the road-side. Just as they were ready to start
that morning, mother said to father, "Have you looked to see if the
tin box is safe?" "No" said father. "Well, you better look," said
mother. Father looked among the stuff in the big box where they had
kept it, but it was not there. The man had stolen it and all that
was in it. The kind family, whose hospitality mother had shared
during the night, kept her and her children in their home while
father and the husband of the home and an officer of the law spent
two days hunting for the thief, but could not find him. So, father
and mother had to pursue their journey without their little tin box
which was the most valuable of their temporal assets. A man that
steals, should steal no more.
In due time, (1830) father and mother with their two little boys,
Thomas and Henry arrived in Lawrence County, Indiana, and settled in
the rich valley of the east fork of the White river. Father's oldest
brother, Arthur D. Hastings, Sen., had preceded father a few years to
the new state, and was ready to greet and assist his brother to make
a new home. Uncle Arthur was one of God's noblemen, an honest,
leading citizen, and devout Christian. He lived on the place he
first settled about sixty years, and died there in 1886 at the
advanced age of 85 years. Although I had many uncles, Uncle Arthur
was the only one I ever saw.
---0---
C H A P T E R T W O
Indiana. The Stars fall. Move. Texas. The flood of
1844. First School. White River's Pocket. No
Nimrod. A Fish Story. Clarksburg.
At the time of father's arrival, Indiana was only 14 years old and
contained about 300,000 inhabitants. Its capital city's first Mayor
was inaugurated two years before I was born and three years after the
stars fell.
In 1842 when I was about four years old my parents sold out and moved
down the river five or six miles and bought a new, larger and better
farm with a large two story hewed log house and a big double log
barn, and a good apple orchard. The farming land was bottom and lay
along the river. Here we had some sheep and cattle on a few hills
and some hogs in the woods, that got fat in the winter on white oak
acorns and beech nuts. And here we had a large "sugar orchard" as
the Hosiers called it--hard maple trees by the many from which, in
the early spring, flowed the sweet sap by the barrels full which we
converted into gallons of maple syrup, and into many cakes of maple
sugar.
It was while we lived here, when I was six years old, there was the
greatest flood, known to me, since the days of Noah. I remember it
well. You too, my boys, will never forget the year when I tell you
it was the same year, 1844, in which your best earthly friend was
born, your mother. But I did not know anything about her until
twenty years afterwards.
The flood was great. All the lower lands were under water. Mr.
Greene's, the ferryman, our nearest neighbor's family had to go in a
canoe from the door of their kitchen to their smoke house to get
meat. All our cattle and hogs were in the stalk fields near the
river, and all were drowned, except one large, strong cow which swam
more than one half mile, almost in a straight line, and was saved.
We could see the cattle huddled together on a small island knoll away
down in the field next to the river. The poor creatures would stand
there until the rapidly rising waters would crowd them off the knoll,
and then they swam until exhausted and overcome by the great
distance, and turbulent waters when they would go down to rise no
more. I was the first to see the cow which swam out. Looking down
through the orchard where the waters were swimming deep, I saw the
end of her nose and the tips of her horns above the water. Slowly
she came, almost exhausted. But finally she found footing where she
could stand and then the poor creature stood and bawled and bawled
for quite a while, and then walked to her young calf which was at the
barn on the hillside.
About this time I attended my first school and my teacher was my
cousin, Arthur D. Hastings, Jr., who lived to a good old age, and
died September 15th, 1906 within a little more than a stone's cast of
where he taught. My first and only textbook at school for a year or
more was Webster's blue back Spelling book. It had both Spelling and
Reading in it. I learned all from end to end. The teacher said I
ought to have a reader, so farther bought for me, McGuffey's second
reader; as soon as I got hold of it I ran with it to the barn loft
and sat down on the hay and read all that was in it before I got up.
The next day the teacher said I ought to have a higher reader, so
father bought for me McGuffey's fourth reader, the highest that was,
and these two readers were all the readers that I ever read. Grammar
was not so easy. My text-book was Smith's. I would start at the
first of the book, and get about half through at the end of the term.
This I did for a half dozen years or more. Finally when I started to
high school I took up Clark's grammar and finished it.
But, to go back a little, father after the great flood, went down to
Texas and bought several hundred acres of land and came back and sold
his farm intending to move to Texas, but changed his mind and sold
his Texas land for a song in the shape of a beautiful colt. This
colt grew into one of the prettiest and best horses your grandfather
ever had. But remember it cost hundreds of acres of land which are
worth thousands of dollars now. It was like paying too much for your
whistle.
If we had gone to Texas, boys, I do not know what might have been but
I do know now that you are and that you have one of the best mothers
that lives. Often have I heard her pray with tears in her eyes that
you and all the boys might be saved from the use of tobacco and
strong drink.
Father next turned his attention towards securing a home in the
pocket of the White River, which he did by buying a farm in Daviers
County on the border of Clark's Prairie and adjoining the village of
Clarksburg, which is now the city of Oden. At the time of our
removal to Clarksburg I was about nine years old. We liked our new
home. At this time Daviers County was a wilderness of brush, trees
and swamps, with plenty of wild game,--deer, <DW53>s, opossums,
squirrels, turkeys, ducks, quails, snowbirds, and of wild fruits,
grapes, plums, crab-apples | 574.498309 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.4817070 | 819 | 7 |
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CHRISTINA OF DENMARK
DUCHESS OF MILAN AND LORRAINE
1522-1590
[Illustration: _Christina, Duchess of Milan_]
CHRISTINA OF DENMARK
DUCHESS OF MILAN AND
LORRAINE
1522-1590
BY JULIA CARTWRIGHT
(MRS. ADY)
AUTHOR OF "ISABELLA D'ESTE," "BALDASSARRE CASTIGLIONE,"
"THE PAINTERS OF FLORENCE," ETC.
"Dieu, qu'il la fait bon regarder,
La gracieuse, bonne et belle!
Pour les grans biens qui sont en elle,
Chacun est prest de la louer.
Qui se pourrait d'elle lasser?
Toujours sa beauté renouvelle.
Dieu, qu'il la fait bon regarder,
La gracieuse, bonne et belle!
Par deça, ne delà la mer,
Ne sçay Dame ne Damoiselle
Qui soit en tous biens parfais telle;
C'est un songe que d'y penser,
Dieu, qu'il la fait bon regarder!"
CHARLES D'ORLÉANS
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
1913
PREFACE
Christina of Denmark is known to the world by Holbein's famous portrait
in the National Gallery. The great Court painter, who was sent to
Brussels by Henry VIII. to take the likeness of the Emperor's niece,
did his work well. With unerring skill he has rendered the "singular
good countenance," the clear brown eyes with their frank, honest gaze,
the smile hovering about "the faire red lips," the slender fingers of
the nervously clasped hands, which Brantôme and his royal mistress,
Catherine de' Medici, thought "the most beautiful hands in the world."
And in a wonderful way he has caught the subtle charm of the young
Duchess's personality, and made it live on his canvas. What wonder
that Henry fell in love with the picture, and vowed that he would
have the Duchess, if she came to him without a farthing! But for all
these brave words the masterful King's wooing failed. The ghost of his
wronged wife, Katherine of Aragon, the smoke of plundered abbeys, and
the blood of martyred friars, came between him and his destined bride,
and Christina was never numbered in the roll of Henry VIII.'s wives.
This splendid, if perilous, adventure was denied her. But many strange
experiences marked the course of her chequered life, and neither beauty
nor virtue could save her from the shafts of envious Fortune. Her
troubles began from the cradle. When she was little more than a year
old, her father, King Christian II., was deposed by his subjects, and
her mother, the gentle Isabella of Austria, died in exile of a broken
heart. She lost her first husband, Francesco Sforza, at the end of
eighteen months. Her second husband, Francis Duke of Lorraine, died in
1545, leaving her once more a widow at the age of twenty-three. Her
only son was torn from her arms while still a boy by a foreign invader,
Henry II., and she herself was driven into exile. Seven years later she
was deprived of the regency of the Netherlands, just when the coveted
| 574.501747 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.4842170 | 1,032 | 6 |
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THE COMPLETE GOLFER
THE
COMPLETE GOLFER
BY
HARRY VARDON
OPEN CHAMPION, 1896, 1898, 1899, 1903
AMERICAN CHAMPION, 1900
WITH SIXTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS
SECOND EDITION
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published June 1905_
_Second Edition June 1905_
PREFACE
Many times I have been strongly advised to write a book on golf, and now
I offer a volume to the great and increasing public who are devoted to
the game. So far as the instructional part of the book is concerned, I
may say that, while I have had the needs of the novice constantly in
mind, and have endeavoured to the best of my ability to put him on the
right road to success, I have also presented the full fruits of my
experience in regard to the fine points of the game, so that what I have
written may be of advantage to improving golfers of all degrees of
skill. There are some things in golf which cannot be explained in
writing, or for the matter of that even by practical demonstration on
the links. They come to the golfer only through instinct and experience.
But I am far from believing that, as is so often said, a player can
learn next to nothing from a book. If he goes about his golf in the
proper manner he can learn very much indeed. The services of a competent
tutor will be as necessary to him as ever, and I must not be understood
to suggest that this work can to any extent take the place of that
compulsory and most invaluable tuition. On the other hand, it is next to
impossible for a tutor to tell a pupil on the links everything about any
particular stroke while he is playing it, and if he could it would not
be remembered. Therefore I hope and think that, in conjunction with
careful coaching by those who are qualified for the task, and by
immediate and constant practice of the methods which I set forth, this
book may be of service to all who aspire to play a really good game. If
any player of the first degree of skill should take exception to any of
these methods, I have only one answer to make, and that is that, just
as they are explained in the following pages, they are precisely those
which helped me to win my five championships. These and no others I
practise every day upon the links. I attach great importance to the
photographs and the accompanying diagrams, the objects of which are
simplicity and lucidity. When a golfer is in difficulty with any
particular stroke--and the best of us are constantly in trouble with
some stroke or other--I think that a careful examination of the pictures
relating to that stroke will frequently put him right, while a glance at
the companion in the "How not to do it" series may reveal to him at once
the error into which he has fallen and which has hitherto defied
detection. All the illustrations in this volume have been prepared from
photographs of myself in the act of playing the different strokes on the
Totteridge links last autumn. Each stroke was carefully studied at the
time for absolute exactness, and the pictures now reproduced were
finally selected by me from about two hundred which were taken. In order
to obtain complete satisfaction, I found it necessary to have a few of
the negatives repeated after the winter had set in, and there was a
slight fall of snow the night before the morning appointed for the
purpose. I owe so much--everything--to the great game of golf, which I
love very dearly, and which I believe is without a superior for deep
human and sporting interest, that I shall feel very delighted if my
"Complete Golfer" is found of any benefit to others who play or are
about to play. I give my good wishes to every golfer, and express the
hope to each that he may one day regard himself as complete. I fear
that, in the playing sense, this is an impossible ideal. However, he may
in time be nearly "dead" in his "approach" to it.
I have specially to thank Mr. Henry Leach for the invaluable services he
has rendered to me in the preparation of the work
H.V.
TOTTERIDGE, _May 1905_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
GOLF AT HOME 1
The happy golfer--A beginning at Jersey--The Vardon family--An anxious
tutor--Golfers come to Grouville--A fine natural | 574.504257 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.5169630 | 454 | 11 |
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THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SAGINAW
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER MONTGOMERY SICARD]
THE LAST CRUISE OF
THE SAGINAW
BY
GEORGE H. READ
PAY INSPECTOR, U.S.N. (RETIRED)
_With Illustrations from Sketches by Lieutenant
Commander (afterwards Rear-Admiral)
Sicard and from Contemporary
Photographs_
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY GEORGE H. READ
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published February 1912_
ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF
THIS FIRST EDITION PRINTED AND
BOUND UNCUT WITH PAPER LABEL
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF THE NOBLE
MEN WHO LOST THEIR LIVES IN THE
EFFORT TO OBTAIN RELIEF FOR
THEIR SHIPWRECKED
COMRADES
PREFACE
Dear Mr. Read:--
I am greatly obliged to you for letting me read your deeply
interesting account of the wreck of the poor Saginaw and the loss of
Lieutenant Talbot. With General Cutter's approval I shall take the
manuscript with me to Boston, but I will return it carefully.
I leave the two photographs, but I have the curious drawing and
newspaper scraps, which I will safely return.
Very truly yours,
EDWARD E. HALE.
Dec. 21, 1880.
WASHINGTON.
A recent re-reading of the above old letter from a friend who in his
lifetime stood so high in the literary world | 574.537003 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.5819360 | 7,436 | 6 |
The Marvelous
Land of Oz
Being an account of the
further adventures of the
Scarecrow
and Tin Woodman
and also the strange
experiences of the highly
magnified Woggle-Bug, Jack Pumpkinhead,
the Animated Saw-Horse
and the Gump;
the story being
A Sequel to The Wizard of Oz
By
L. Frank Baum
Author of Father Goose-His Book; The Wizard of Oz; The Magical Monarch
of Mo; The Enchanted Isle of Yew; The Life and Adventures of
Santa Claus; Dot and Tot of Merryland etc. etc.
PICTURED BY
John R. Neil
BOOKS OF WONDER
WILLIAM MORROW & COMPANY, INC.
NEW YORK
Copyright 1904
by
L. Frank Baum
All rights reserved
Published, July, 1904
Author's Note
After the publication of "The Wonderful Wizard of OZ" I began to receive
letters from children, telling me of their pleasure in reading the story and
asking me to "write something more" about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman.
At first I considered these little letters, frank and earnest though they
were, in the light of pretty compliments; but the letters continued to come
during succeeding months, and even years.
Finally I promised one little girl, who made a long journey to see me and
prefer her request,--and she is a "Dorothy," by the way--that when a
thousand little girls had written me a thousand little letters asking for
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman I would write the book, Either little
Dorothy was a fairy in disguise, and waved her magic wand, or the success of
the stage production of "The Wizard of OZ" made new friends for the story,
For the thousand letters reached their destination long since--and many
more followed them.
And now, although pleading guilty to long delay, I have kept my promise in
this book.
L. FRANK BAUM.
Chicago, June, 1904
To those excellent
good fellows
and
comedians
David C.
Montgomery
and
Frank A. Stone
whose clever
personations of
the
Tin Woodman
and the
Scarecrow
have delighted
thousands of
children
throughout the land,
this book is
gratefully dedicated
by
THE AUTHOR
LIST OF CHAPTERS
PAGE
Tip Manufactures Pumpkinhead 7
The Marvelous Powder of Life 15
The Flight of the Fugitives 29
Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic 39
The Awakening of the Saw-horse 47
Jack Pumpkinhead's Ride to the Emerald City 59
His Majesty the Scarecrow 71
Gen. Jinjur's Army of Revolt 83
The Scarecrow Plans an escape 97
The Journey to the Tin Woodman 109
A Nickel-Plated Emperor 121
Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E. 135
A Highly Magnified History 147
Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft 159
The Prisoners of the Queen 169
The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think 181
The Astonishing Flight of the Gump 191
In the Jackdaw's Nest 201
Dr. Nikidik's Famous Wishing Pills 219
The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda the Good 231
The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose 247
The Transformation of Old Mombi 257
Princess Ozma of Oz 265
The Riches of Content 279
7 Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead
In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz,
lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for old
Mombi often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no one was
expected to say such a long word when "Tip" would do just as well.
This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought when
quite young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose reputation,
I am sorry to say, was none of the best. For the Gillikin people had reason
to suspect her of indulging in magical arts, and therefore hesitated to
associate with her.
Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that part of
the Land of Oz
8 Line-Art Drawing
had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her dominions. So Tip's guardian,
however much she might aspire to working magic, realized it was unlawful to
be more than a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess.
Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil
her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking; and he fed
the pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi's especial pride.
But you must not suppose he worked all the time, for he felt that would be
bad for him. When sent to the forest Tip often climbed trees for birds' eggs
or amused himself chasing the fleet white rabbits or fishing in the brooks
with bent pins. Then he would hastily gather his armful of wood and carry it
home. And when he was supposed to be working in the corn-fields, and the
tall stalks hid him from Mombi's view, Tip would often dig in the gopher
holes, or if the mood seized him--
9
lie upon his back between the rows of corn and take a nap. So, by taking
care not to exhaust his strength, he grew as strong and rugged as a boy may
be.
Mombi's curious magic often frightened her neighbors, and they treated her
shyly, yet respectfully, because of her weird powers. But Tip frankly hated
her, and took no pains to hide his feelings. Indeed, he sometimes showed
less respect for the old woman than he should have done, considering she was
his guardian.
There were pumpkins in Mombi's corn-fields, lying golden red among the rows
of green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended that the
four-horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one day, after the
corn had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying the pumpkins to the
stable, he took a notion to make a "Jack Lantern" and try to give the old
woman a fright with it.
So he selected a fine, big pumpkin--one with a lustrous, orange-red color--and
began carving it. With the point of his knife he made two round eyes,
a three-cornered nose, and
Line-Art Drawing
10
a mouth shaped like a new moon. The face, when completed, could not have
been considered strictly beautiful; but it wore a smile so big and broad,
and was so jolly in expression, that even Tip laughed as he looked
admiringly at his work.
The child had no playmates, so he did not know that boys often dig out the
inside of a "pumpkin-jack," and in the space thus made put a lighted candle
to render the face more startling; but he conceived an idea of his own that
promised to be quite as effective. He decided to manufacture the form of a
man, who would wear this pumpkin head, and to stand it in a place where old
Mombi would meet it face to face.
"And then," said Tip to himself, with a laugh, "she'll squeal louder than
the brown pig does when I pull her tail, and shiver with fright worse than I
did last year when I had the ague!"
He had plenty of time to accomplish this task, for Mombi had gone to a
village--to buy groceries, she said--and it was a journey of at least
two days.
So he took his axe to the forest, and selected some stout, straight
saplings, which he cut down and trimmed of all their twigs and leaves. From
these he would make the arms, and legs, and feet of his man. For the body he
stripped a sheet of thick
11
bark from around a big tree, and with much labor fashioned it into a
cylinder of about the right size, pinning the edges together with wooden
pegs. Then, whistling happily as he worked, he carefully jointed the limbs
and fastened them to the body with pegs whittled into shape with his knife.
By the time this feat had been accomplished it began to grow dark, and Tip
remembered he must milk the cow and feed the pigs. So he picked up his
wooden man and carried it back to the house with him.
During the evening, by the light of the fire in the kitchen, Tip carefully
rounded all the edges of the joints and smoothed the rough places in a neat
and workmanlike manner. Then he stood the figure up against the wall and
admired it. It seemed remarkably tall, even for a full-grown man; but that
was a good point in a small boy's eyes, and Tip did not object at all to the
size of his creation.
Next morning, when he looked at his work again, Tip saw he had forgotten to
give the dummy a neck, by means of which he might fasten the pumpkinhead to
the body. So he went again to the forest, which was not far away, and
chopped from a tree several pieces of wood with which to complete his work.
When he returned he fastened a cross-piece
12
to the upper end of the body, making a hole through the center to hold
upright the neck. The bit of wood which formed this neck was also sharpened
at the upper end, and when all was ready Tip put on the pumpkin head,
pressing it well down onto the neck, and found that it fitted very well. The
head could be turned to one side or the other, as he pleased, and the hinges
of the arms and legs allowed him to place the dummy in any position he
desired.
"Now, that," declared Tip, proudly, "is really a very fine man, and it
ought to frighten several screeches out of old Mombi! But it would be much
more lifelike if it were properly dressed."
To find clothing seemed no easy task; but Tip boldly ransacked the great
chest in which Mombi kept all her keepsakes and treasures, and at the very
bottom he discovered some purple trousers, a red shirt and a pink vest which
was dotted with white spots. These he carried away to his man and succeeded,
although the garments did not fit very well, in dressing the creature in a
jaunty fashion. Some knit stockings belonging to Mombi and a much worn pair
of his own shoes completed the man's apparel, and Tip was so delighted that
he danced up and down and laughed aloud in boyish ecstacy.
13
"I must give him a name!" he cried. "So good a man as this must surely have
a name. I believe," he added, after a moment's thought, "I will name the
fellow 'Jack Pumpkinhead!'"
Line-Art Drawing
14 Full page line-art drawing.
15 The Marvelous Powder of Life
After considering the matter carefully, Tip decided that the best place to
locate Jack would be at the bend in the road, a little way from the house.
So he started to carry his man there, but found him heavy and rather awkward
to handle. After dragging the creature a short distance Tip stood him on his
feet, and by first bending the joints of one leg, and then those of the
other, at the same time pushing from behind, the boy managed to induce Jack
to walk to the bend in the road. It was not accomplished without a few
tumbles, and Tip really worked harder than he ever had in the fields or
16
forest; but a love of mischief urged him on, and it pleased him to test the
cleverness of his workmanship.
"Jack's all right, and works fine!" he said to himself, panting with the
unusual exertion. But just then he discovered the man's left arm had fallen
off in the journey so he went back to find it, and afterward, by whittling a
new and stouter pin for the shoulder-joint, he repaired the injury so
successfully that the arm was stronger than before. Tip also noticed that
Jack's pumpkin head had twisted around until it faced his back; but this was
easily remedied. When, at last, the man was set up facing the turn in the
path where old Mombi was to appear, he looked natural enough to be a fair
imitation of a Gillikin farmer,--and unnatural enough to startle anyone
that came on him unawares.
As it was yet too early in the day to expect the old woman to return home,
Tip went down into the valley below the farm-house and began to gather nuts
from the trees that grew there.
However, old Mombi returned earlier than usual. She had met a crooked
wizard who resided in a lonely cave in the mountains, and had traded
several important secrets of magic with him. Hav-
17
ing in this way secured three new recipes, four magical powders and a
selection of herbs of wonderful power and potency, she hobbled home as fast
as she could, in order to test her new sorceries.
So intent was Mombi on the treasures she had gained that when she turned the
bend in the road and caught a glimpse of the man, she merely nodded and
said:
"Good evening, sir."
But, a moment after, noting that the person did not move or reply, she cast
a shrewd glance into his face and discovered his pumpkin head elaborately
carved by Tip's jack-knife.
"Heh!" ejaculated Mombi, giving a sort of grunt; "that rascally boy has
been playing tricks again! Very good! ve--ry good! I'll beat him black-
and-blue for trying to scare me in this fashion!"
Angrily she raised her stick to smash in the grinning pumpkin head of the
dummy; but a sudden thought made her pause, the uplifted stick left
motionless in the air.
"Why, here is a good chance to try my new powder!" said she, eagerly. "And
then I can tell whether that crooked wizard has fairly traded secrets, or
whether he has fooled me as wickedly as I fooled him."
18
So she set down her basket and began fumbling in it for one of the precious
powders she had obtained.
While Mombi was thus occupied Tip strolled back, with his pockets full of
nuts, and discovered the old woman standing beside his man and apparently
not the least bit frightened by it.
At first he was generally disappointed; but the next moment he became
curious to know what Mombi was going to do. So he hid behind a hedge, where
he could see without being seen, and prepared to watch.
After some search the woman drew from her basket an old pepper-box, upon the
faded label of which the wizard had written with a lead-pencil:
"Powder of Life."
"Ah--here it is!" she cried, joyfully. "And now let us see if it is
potent. The stingy wizard didn't give me much of it, but I guess there's
enough for two or three doses."
Tip was much surprised when he overheard this speech. Then he saw old Mombi
raise her arm and sprinkle the powder from the box over the pumpkin head of
his man Jack. She did this in the same way one would pepper a baked potato,
and the powder sifted down from Jack's head and scattered
19 Full page line-art drawing.
"OLD MOMBI DANCED AROUND HIM"
20
over the red shirt and pink waistcoat and purple trousers Tip had dressed
him in, and a portion even fell upon the patched and worn shoes.
Then, putting the pepper-box back into the basket, Mombi lifted her left
hand, with its little finger pointed upward, and said:
"Weaugh!"
Then she lifted her right hand, with the thumb pointed upward, and said:
"Teaugh!"
Then she lifted both hands, with all the fingers and thumbs spread out, and
cried:
"Peaugh!"
Jack Pumpkinhead stepped back a pace, at this, and said in a reproachful
voice:
"Don't yell like that! Do you think I'm deaf?"
Old Mombi danced around him, frantic with delight.
"He lives!" she screamed: "He lives! he lives!"
Then she threw her stick into the air and caught it as it came down; and she
hugged herself with both arms, and tried to do a step of a jig; and all the
time she repeated, rapturously:
"He lives!--he lives!--he lives!"
Now you may well suppose that Tip observed all this with amazement.
21
At first he was so frightened and horrified that he wanted to run away, but
his legs trembled and shook so badly that he couldn't. Then it struck him as
a very funny thing for Jack to come to life, especially as the expression on
his pumpkin face was so droll and comical it excited laughter on the
instant. So, recovering from his first fear, Tip began to laugh; and the
merry peals reached old Mombi's ears and made her hobble quickly to the
hedge, where she seized Tip's collar and dragged him back to where she had
left her basket and the pumpkinheaded man.
"You naughty, sneaking, wicked boy!" she exclaimed, furiously: "I'll teach
you to spy out my secrets and to make fun of me!"
"I wasn't making fun of you," protested Tip. "I was laughing at old
Pumpkinhead! Look at him! Isn't he a picture, though?"
"I hope you are not reflecting on my personal appearance," said Jack; and it
was so funny to hear his grave voice, while his face continued to wear its
jolly smile, that Tip again burst into a peal of laughter.
Even Mombi was not without a curious interest in the man her magic had
brought to life; for, after staring at him intently, she presently asked:
22 Full page line-art drawing.
OLD MOMBI PUTS JACK IN THE STABLE
23
"What do you know?"
"Well, that is hard to tell," replied Jack. "For although I feel that I
know a tremendous lot, I am not yet aware how much there is in the world to
find out about. It will take me a little time to discover whether I am very
wise or very foolish."
"To be sure," said Mombi, thoughtfully.
"But what are you going to do with him, now he is alive?" asked Tip,
wondering.
"I must think it over," answered Mombi. "But we must get home at once, for
it is growing dark. Help the Pumpkinhead to walk."
"Never mind me," said Jack; "I can walk as well as you can. Haven't I got
legs and feet, and aren't they jointed?"
"Are they?" asked the woman, turning to Tip.
"Of course they are; I made 'em myself," returned the boy, with pride.
So they started for the house, but when they reached the farm yard old
Mombi led the pumpkin man to the cow stable and shut him up in an empty
stall, fastening the door securely on the outside.
"I've got to attend to you, first," she said, nodding her head at Tip.
Hearing this, the boy became uneasy; for he
24
knew Mombi had a bad and revengeful heart, and would not hesitate to do any
evil thing.
They entered the house. It was a round, domeshaped structure, as are nearly
all the farm houses in the Land of Oz.
Mombi bade the boy light a candle, while she put her basket in a cupboard
and hung her cloak on a peg. Tip obeyed quickly, for he was afraid of her.
After the candle had been lighted Mombi ordered him to build a fire in the
hearth, and while Tip was thus engaged the old woman ate her supper. When
the flames began to crackle the boy came to her and asked a share of the
bread and cheese; but Mombi refused him.
"I'm hungry!" said Tip, in a sulky tone.
"You won't be hungry long," replied Mombi, with a grim look.
The boy didn't like this speech, for it sounded like a threat; but he
happened to remember he had nuts in his pocket, so he cracked some of those
and ate them while the woman rose, shook the crumbs from her apron, and hung
above the fire a small black kettle.
Then she measured out equal parts of milk and vinegar and poured them into
the kettle. Next she
25
produced several packets of herbs and powders and began adding a portion of
each to the contents of the kettle. Occasionally she would draw near the
candle and read from a yellow paper the recipe of the mess she was
concocting.
As Tip watched her his uneasiness increased.
"What is that for?" he asked.
"For you," returned Mombi, briefly.
Tip wriggled around upon his stool and stared awhile at the kettle, which
was beginning to bubble. Then he would glance at the stern and wrinkled
features of the witch and wish he were any place but in that dim and smoky
kitchen, where even the shadows cast by the candle upon the wall were enough
to give one the horrors. So an hour passed away, during which the silence
was only broken by the bubbling of the pot and the hissing of the flames.
Finally, Tip spoke again.
"Have I got to drink that stuff?" he asked, nodding toward the pot.
"Yes," said Mombi.
"What'll it do to me?" asked Tip.
"If it's properly made," replied Mombi, "it will change or transform you
into a marble statue."
Tip groaned, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve.
26
"I don't want to be a marble statue!" he protested.
"That doesn't matter I want you to be one," said the old woman, looking at
him severely.
"What use'll I be then?" asked Tip. "There won't be any one to work for
you."
"I'll make the Pumpkinhead work for me," said Mombi.
Again Tip groaned.
"Why don't you change me into a goat, or a chicken?" he asked, anxiously.
"You can't do anything with a marble statue."
"Oh, yes, I can," returned Mombi. "I'm going to plant a flower garden, next
Spring, and I'll put you in the middle of it, for an ornament. I wonder I
haven't thought of that before; you've been a bother to me for years."
At this terrible speech Tip felt the beads of perspiration starting all
over his body, but he sat still and shivered and looked anxiously at the
kettle.
"Perhaps it won't work," he mutttered, in a voice that sounded weak and
discouraged.
"Oh, I think it will," answered Mombi, cheerfully. "I seldom make a
mistake."
Again there was a period of silence a silence so long and gloomy that when
Mombi finally lifted the kettle from the fire it was close to midnight.
27 Full page line-art drawing.
"I DON'T WANT TO BE A MARBLE STATUE."
28
"You cannot drink it until it has become quite cold," announced the old
witch for in spite of the law she had acknowledged practising witchcraft.
"We must both go to bed now, and at daybreak I will call you and at once
complete your transformation into a marble statue."
With this she hobbled into her room, bearing the steaming kettle with her,
and Tip heard her close and lock the door.
The boy did not go to bed, as he had been commanded to do, but still sat
glaring at the embers of the dying fire.
Line-Art Drawing
29 The Flight of the Fugitives
Tip reflected.
"It's a hard thing, to be a marble statue," he thought, rebelliously, "and
I'm not going to stand it. For years I've been a bother to her, she says; so
she's going to get rid of me. Well, there's an easier way than to become a
statue. No boy could have any fun forever standing in the middle of a flower
garden! I'll run away, that's what I'll do--and I may as well go before
she makes me drink that nasty stuff in the kettle." He waited until the
snores of the old witch announced she was fast asleep, and then he arose
softly and went to the cupboard to find something to eat.
30
"No use starting on a journey without food," he decided, searching upon the
narrow shelves.
He found some crusts of bread; but he had to look into Mombi's basket to
find the cheese she had brought from the village. While turning over the
contents of the basket he came upon the pepper-box which contained the
"Powder of Life."
"I may as well take this with me," he thought, "or Mombi'll be using it to
make more mischief with." So he put the box in his pocket, together with the
bread and cheese.
Then he cautiously left the house and latched the door behind him. Outside
both moon and stars shone brightly, and the night seemed peaceful and
inviting after the close and ill-smelling kitchen.
"I'll be glad to get away," said Tip, softly; "for I never did like that old
woman. I wonder how I ever came to live with her."
He was walking slowly toward the road when a thought made him pause.
"I don't like to leave Jack Pumpkinhead to the tender mercies of old Mombi,"
he muttered. "And Jack belongs to me, for I made him even if the old witch
did bring him to life."
He retraced his steps to the cow-stable and opened the door of the stall
where the pumpkin-
31 Full page line-art drawing.
"TIP LED HIM ALONG THE PATH."
32
headed man had been left.
Jack was standing in the middle of the stall, and by the moonlight Tip could
see he was smiling just as jovially as ever.
"Come on!" said the boy, beckoning.
"Where to?" asked Jack.
"You'll know as soon as I do," answered Tip, smiling sympathetically into
the pumpkin face.
"All we've got to do now is to tramp."
"Very well," returned Jack, and walked awkwardly out of the stable and into
the moonlight.
Tip turned toward the road and the man followed him. Jack walked with a sort
of limp, and occasionally one of the joints of his legs would turn backward,
instead of frontwise, almost causing him to tumble. But the Pumpkinhead was
quick to notice this, and began to take more pains to step carefully; so
that he met with few accidents.
Tip led him along the path without stopping an instant. They could not go
very fast, but they walked steadily; and by the time the moon sank away and
the sun peeped over the hills they had travelled so great a distance that
the boy had no reason to fear pursuit from the old witch. Moreover, he had
turned first into one path, and then into another, so that should anyone
follow them it
33
would prove very difficult to guess which way they had gone, or where to
seek them.
Fairly satisfied that he had escaped--for a time, at least--being turned
into a marble statue, the boy stopped his companion and seated himself upon
a rock by the roadside.
"Let's have some breakfast," he said.
Jack Pumpkinhead watched Tip curiously, but refused to join in the repast.
"I don't seem to be made the same way you are," he said.
"I know you are not," returned Tip; "for I made you."
"Oh! Did you?" asked Jack.
"Certainly. And put you together. And carved your eyes and nose and ears and
Line-Art Drawing along the right side of the page
34
mouth," said Tip proudly. "And dressed you."
Jack looked at his body and limbs critically.
"It strikes me you made a very good job of it," he remarked.
"Just so-so," replied Tip, modestly; for he began to see certain defects in
the construction of his man. "If I'd known we were going to travel together
I might have been a little more particular."
"Why, then," said the Pumpkinhead, in a tone that expressed surprise, "you
must be my creator my parent my father!"
"Or your inventor," replied the boy with a laugh. "Yes, my son; I really
believe I am!"
"Then I owe you obedience," continued the man, "and you owe me--support."
"That's it, exactly", declared Tip, jumping up. "So let us be off."
"Where are we going?" asked Jack, when they had resumed their journey.
"I'm not exactly sure," said the boy; "but I believe we are headed South,
and that will bring us, sooner or later, to the Emerald City."
"What city is that?" enquired the Pumpkinhead.
"Why, it's the center of the Land of Oz, and the biggest town in all the
country. I've never been there, myself, but I've heard all about its
35
history. It was built by a mighty and wonderful Wizard named Oz, and
everything there is of a green color--just as everything in this Country
of the Gillikins is of a purple color."
"Is everything here purple?" asked Jack.
"Of course it is. Can't you see?" returned the boy.
"I believe I must be color-blind," said the Pumpkinhead, after staring about
him.
"Well, the grass is purple, and the trees are purple, and the houses and
fences are purple," explained Tip. "Even the mud in the roads is purple. But
in the Emerald City everything is green that is purple here. And in the
Country of the Munchkins, over at the East, everything is blue; and in the
South country of the Quadlings everything is red; and in the West country of
the Winkies, where the Tin Woodman rules, everything is yellow."
"Oh!" said Jack. Then, after a pause, he asked: "Did you say a Tin Woodman
rules the Winkies?"
"Yes; he was one of those who helped Dorothy to destroy the Wicked Witch of
the West, and the Winkies were so grateful that they invited him to become
their ruler,--just as the people of the Emerald City invited the Scarecrow
to rule them."
"Dear me!" said Jack. "I'm getting confused with all this history. Who is
the Scarecrow?"
36
"Another friend of Dorothy's," replied Tip.
"And who is Dorothy?"
"She was a girl that came here from Kansas, a place in the big, outside
World. She got blown to the Land of Oz by a cyclone, and while she was here
the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman accompanied her on her travels."
"And where is she now?" inquired the Pumpkinhead.
"Glinda the Good, who rules the Quadlings, sent her home again," said the
boy.
"Oh. And what became of the Scarecrow?"
"I told you. He rules the Emerald City," answered Tip.
"I thought you said it was ruled by a wonderful Wizard," objected Jack,
seeming more and more confused.
"Well, so I did. Now, pay attention, and I'll explain it," said Tip,
speaking slowly and looking the smiling Pumpkinhead squarely in the eye.
"Dorothy went to the Emerald City to ask the Wizard to send her back to
Kansas; and the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman went with her. But the Wizard
couldn't send her back, because he wasn't so much of a Wizard as he might
have been. And then they got angry at the Wizard, and threatened
37
to expose him; so the Wizard made a big balloon and escaped in it, and
no one has ever seen him since."
"Now, that is very interesting history," said Jack, well pleased; "and I
understand it perfectly all but the explanation."
"I'm glad you do," responded Tip. "After the Wizard was gone, the people of
the Emerald City made His Majesty, the Scarecrow, their King; "and I have
heard that he became a very popular ruler."
"Are we going to see this queer King?" asked Jack, with interest.
"I think we may as well," replied the boy; "unless you have something better
to do."
"Oh, no, dear father," said the Pumpkinhead. "I am quite willing to go
wherever you please."
Line-Art Drawing
38 Full page line-art drawing.
39 Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic
The boy, small and rather delicate in appearance seemed somewhat embarrassed
at being called "father" by the tall, awkward, pumpkinheaded man, but to
deny the relationship would involve another long and tedious explanation; so
he changed the subject by asking, abruptly:
"Are you tired?"
"Of course not!" replied the other. "But," he continued, after a pause, "it
is quite certain I shall wear out my wooden joints if I keep on walking."
Tip reflected, as they journeyed on, that this was true. He began to regret
that he had not constructed the wooden limbs more carefully and
substantially. Yet how could he ever have guessed
40
that the man he had made merely to scare old Mombi with would be brought to
life by means of a magical powder contained in an old pepper-box?
So he ceased to reproach himself, and began to think how he might yet remedy
the deficiencies of Jack's weak joints.
While thus engaged they came to | 574.601976 |
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Produced by Ron Swanson (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)
CELEBRATED TRAVELS AND TRAVELLERS.
THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.
[Frontispiece: TRANSLATED BY DORA LEIGH]
CELEBRATED TRAVELS AND TRAVELLERS.
THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.
BY JULES VERNE
WITH 59 ILLUSTRATIONS BY L. BENETT AND P. PHILIPPOTEAUX,
AND 50 FAC-SIMILES OF ANCIENT DRAWINGS.
[Illustration: _TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH._]
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1882.
[_All rights reserved._]
Celebrated Travels and Travellers,
BY JULES VERNE.
_In Three Vols., demy 8vo, each containing 400 pages and upwards of
100 Illustrations, price 12s. 6d. each; cloth extra, gilt edges,
14s._
Part I. The Exploration of the World.
Part II. The Great Navigators of the Eighteenth Century.
Part III. The Great Navigators of the Nineteenth Century.
EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.
LIST OF MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
REPRODUCED IN FAC-SIMILE FROM THE ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS,
GIVING THE SOURCES WHENCE THEY ARE DERIVED.
FIRST PART.
Map of the World as known to the Ancients.
Approach to Constantinople. Anselmi Banduri Imperium orientale, tome
II., p. 448. 2 vols. folio. Parisiis, 1711.
Map of the World according to Marco Polo's ideas. Vol. I., p. 134 of
the edition of Marco Polo published in London by Colonel Yule, 2
vols. 8vo.
Plan of Pekin in 1290. Yule's edition. Vol. I., p. 332.
Portrait of Jean de Bethencourt. "The discovery and conquest of the
Canaries." Page 1, 12mo. Paris, 1630.
Plan of Jerusalem. "Narrative of the journey beyond seas to the Holy
Sepulchre of Jerusalem," by Antoine Regnant, p. 229, 4to. Lyons,
1573.
Prince Henry the Navigator. From a miniature engraved in "The
Discoveries of Prince Henry the Navigator," by H. Major. 8vo. London,
1877.
Christopher Columbus. Taken from "Vitae illustrium virorum," by Paul
Jove. Folio. Basileae, Perna.
Imaginary view of Seville. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, pl. I., part
IV.
Building of a caravel. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae, part
IV., plate XIX.
Christopher Columbus on board his caravel. Th. de Bry. Grands
Voyages, Americae, part IV., plate VI.
Embarkation of Christopher Columbus. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages,
Americae, part IV., plate VIII.
Map of the Antilles and the Gulf of Mexico. Th. de Bry. Grands
Voyages, Americae, part V.
Fishing for Pearl oysters. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae,
part IV., plate XII.
Gold-mines in Cuba. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae, part V.,
plate I.
Vasco da Gama. From an engraving in the Cabinet des Estampes of the
Bibl. Nat.
La Mina. "Histoire generale des Voyages," by the Abbe Prevost. Vol.
III., p. 461, 4to. 20 vols. An X. 1746.
Map of the East Coast of Africa, from the Cape of Good Hope to the
Cape del Gado. From the French map of the Eastern Ocean, published
in 1740 by order of the Comte de Maurepas.
Map of Mozambique. Bibl. Nat. Estampes.
Interview with the Zamorin. "Hist. Gen. des Voyages," by Prevost.
Vol. I., p. 39. 4to. An X. 20 vols. 1746.
View of Quiloa. From an engraving in the Cabinet des Estampes.
Topography. (Africa).
Map of the Coasts of Persia, Guzerat, and Malabar. From the French
Map of the Eastern Ocean, pub. in 1740 by order of the Comte de
Maurepas.
The Island of Ormuz. "Hist. Gen. des Voyages." Prevost. Vol. II., p.
98.
SECOND PART.
Americus Vespucius. From an engraving in the Cabinet des Estampes of
the Bibliotheque Nationale.
Indians devoured by dogs. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae, part
IV., plate XXII.
Punishment of Indians. Page 17 of Las Casas' "Narratio regionum
indicarum per Hispanos quosdam devastatarum," 4to. Francofurti,
sumptibus Th. de Bry, 1698.
Portrait of F. Cortes. From an engraving after Velasquez in the
Cabinet des Estampes of the Bibliotheque Nationale.
Plan of Mexico. From Clavigero and Bernal Diaz del Castillo.
Jourdanet's translation, 2nd Edition.
Portrait of Pizarro. From an engraving in the Cabinet des Estampes
of the Bib. Nat.
Map of Peru. From Garcilasso de la Vega. History of the Incas. 4to.
Bernard, Amsterdam, 1738.
Atahualpa taken prisoner. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae, part
VI., plate VII.
Assassination of Pizarro. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae, part
VI., plate XV.
Magellan on board his caravel. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Americae,
part IV., plate XV.
Map of the Coast of Brazil. From the map called Henry 2nd's. Bibl.
Nat., Geographical collections.
The Ladrone Islands. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Occidentalis Indiae,
pars VIII., p. 50.
Portrait of Sebastian Cabot. From a miniature engraved in "The
remarkable Life, adventures, and discoveries of Sebastian Cabot," by
Nicholls. 8vo. London, 1869.
Fragment of Cabot's map. Bibl. Nat., Geographical collections.
Map of Newfoundland and of the Mouth of the St. Lawrence. Lescarbot,
"Histoire de la Nouvelle France." 12mo. Perier, Paris, 1617.
Portrait of Jacques Cartier. After Charlevoix. "History and general
description of New France," translated by John Gilmary Shea, p. III.
6 vols. 4to. Shea, New York, 1866.
Barentz' ship fixed in the ice. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages. Tertia
pars Indiae Orientales, plate XLIV.
Interior of Barentz' house. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages. Tertia pars
Indiae Orientalis, plate XLVII.
Exterior view of Barentz' house. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages. Tertia
pars Indiae Orientalis, plate XLVIII.
Map of Nova Zembla. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages. Tertia pars Indiae
Orientalis, plate LIX.
A sea-lion hunt. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages, Occidentalis Indiae,
pars VIII., p. 37.
A fight between the Dutch and the Spaniards. Th. de Bry. Grands
Voyages, "Historiarum novi orbis;" part IX., book II., page 87.
Portrait of Raleigh. From an engraving in the Cabinet des Estampes
of the Bibl. Nat.
Berreo seized by Raleigh. Th. de Bry. Grands Voyages. Occid. Indiae,
part VIII., p. 64.
Portrait of Chardin. "Voyages de M. le Chevalier Chardin en Perse."
Vol. I. 10 vols. 12mo. Ferrand, Rouen, 1723.
Japanese Archer. From a Japanese print engraved by Yule, vol. II., p.
206.
Attack upon an Indian Town. "Voyages du Sieur de Champlain," p. 44.
12mo. Collet, Paris, 1727.
NAMES OF THE PRINCIPAL TRAVELLERS
OF WHOM THE HISTORY AND TRAVELS ARE RELATED IN THIS VOLUME.
FIRST PART.
HANNO--HERODOTUS--PYTHEAS--NEARCHUS--EUDOXUS--CAESAR--STRABO--
PAUSANIAS--FA-HIAN--COSMOS INDICOPLEUSTES--ARCULPHE--WILLIBALD--
SOLEYMAN--BENJAMIN OF TUDELA--PLAN DE CARPIN--RUBRUQUIS--MARCO
POLO--IBN BATUTA--JEAN DE BETHENCOURT--CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS--
COVILHAM AND PAIVA--VASCO DA GAMA--ALVARES CABRAL--JOAO DA NOVA--
DA CUNHA--ALMEIDA--ALBUQUERQUE.
SECOND PART.
HOJEDA--AMERICUS VESPUCIUS--JUAN DE LA COSA--YANEZ PINZON--DIAZ DE
SOLIS--PONCE DE LEON--BALBOA--GRI | 574.602273 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "_Down sank the gallant ship, driving her crew to the
spar-deck._" Page 96.]
TERRY'S TRIALS
AND
TRIUMPHS
BY
J. MACDONALD OXLEY
Author of "In the Wilds of the West Coast," "Diamond Rock,"
"Up Among the Ice-Floes," "My Strange Rescue,"
&c., &c.
T. NELSON AND SONS
London, Edinburgh, and New York
1900
CONTENTS.
I. A POOR START
II. THE WAY OPENS
III. UNEVEN GOING
IV. PERILS BY THE WAY
V. ON BOARD THE "MINNESOTA"
VI. IN HAMPTON ROADS
VII. THE GREAT NAVAL COMBAT
VIII. ADVENTURES ASHORE
IX. FROM FRIEND TO FRIEND
X. REINSTATED
XI. IN A STRAIT BETWIXT TWO
XII. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Down sank the gallant ship, driving her crew to the spar-deck."
"On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond fainted for the moment."
"Terry, attired as never before, set out for Long Wharf."
"The whole ship had the appearance of being in readiness for an
expected foe."
"He succeeded in ingratiating himself with the driver of the train."
TERRY'S TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS.
CHAPTER I.
A POOR START.
"Give it to him, Terry--that's the style!" "Punch his head!" "Hit him
in the face, Mike!" "Good for you, Terry--that was a daisy!" "Stick to
him, me hearty; ye'll lick him yet!"
The shouts came from a ring of ragged, dirty youngsters, who were
watching with intense excitement a hand-to-hand and foot-to-foot fight
between two of their own kind--a rough-and-tumble affair of the most
disorderly sort.
They were not well-matched combatants, the one called Terry being much
inferior in size and weight to the other; but he evidently had the
sympathy of the majority of the spectators, and he displayed an amount
of vigour and agility that went far to make up for his deficiencies in
other respects.
In point of fact, he was not fighting his own battle, but that of
little Patsy Connors, whose paltry, yet to him precious, plaything had
been brutally snatched away from him by Mike Hoolihan, and who had
appealed to Terry to obtain its return.
The contest had waged but a few minutes, and the issue was still
uncertain, when a shrill cry of, "The peelers! the peelers! they're
comin' up the street!" caused a dispersion of the crowd, so speedy and
so complete that the boys composing it seemed to vanish like spirits;
and when the big blue-coated, silver-buttoned policemen reached the
spot, there was nothing to arrest but a woebegone puppy, who regarded
them with an expression that meant as plainly as possible,--
"Please, sirs, it wasn't me; and I don't know where they've gone to."
So the guardians of the peace were fain, after giving an indignant
glance around, to retire in good order, but with empty hands.
* * * * *
A life divided between Blind Alley and the Long Wharf could hardly have
had a hopeful outlook. Blind Alley was the most miserable collection
of tumble-down tenements in Halifax. It led off from the narrowest
portion of Water Street, in between two forbidding rows of filthy,
four-storied houses, nearly every window of which represented a family,
and brought up suddenly against the grim and grimy walls of a brewery,
whence issued from time to time the thick, oppressive vapours of
steaming malt.
The open space between the rows of houses was little better than a
gutter, through which you had to pick your way with careful steps if
you did not wish to carry off upon your boots and clothing unsavoury
reminders of the place.
Little wonder, then, that so soon as the children of Blind Alley were
big enough to walk they hastened to desert their repulsive playground,
in spite of the shrill summons back from their unkempt mothers, who,
though they made no attempt to keep them clean, loved them too much to
think with composure of their being exposed to the many dangers of
busy, bustling Water Street.
It is safe to say that you could not peer into Blind Alley during any
of the hours of daylight without hearing stout Mrs. M'Carthy, or
red-haired Mrs. Hoolihan, or some other frowsy matron with no less
powerful lungs, calling out from her window,--
"Patsy! Norah! where are ye now, ye little villains? Ye're the plague
of my life wid yer always gettin' out of me sight. Come back wid ye
now, or I'll beat the very life out o' ye."
And if the poor little urchins had not managed to get around the corner
so as to be out of sight, they would slink dejectedly back to wait for
a more favourable opportunity.
Terry Ahearn's home, if so sweet a name could rightly be given to such
wretched quarters, was in the last house on the left-hand side, the two
squalid rooms which served all the purposes of kitchen, parlour, and
bedrooms being on the second floor, and right against the brewery wall.
Here he had been born, and had grown up pretty much as the weeds
grow--according to his own devices. Although the only survivor of
several children, his father, who bore the unprepossessing nickname of
"Black Mike," hardly ever noticed him, unless it was to swear at him or
cuff him. When sober, Black Mike was sulky, and when drunk,
quarrelsome, so that Terry had many excuses for not loving him. As
most of Mike's earnings went over the bar at the Crown and Anchor, his
wife was obliged to go out scrubbing in order to provide the bread and
molasses which, with a few potatoes and an occasional bit of meat,
formed the staple of Terry's diet.
With anything like a fair chance, poor Peggy Ahearn would have made a
tolerably good mother. But her married life had been one long
martyrdom, which had broken her spirit and soured her temper. She
loved Terry with all her heart, and he loved her in return; yet an
observer of their mutual relations might well have thought otherwise.
He was very apt to be saucy to her if his father was not near, and she
rarely addressed him in terms of affection or gentleness.
From such surroundings Terry, naturally enough, was only too glad to
escape. Even the public school was more endurable, especially during
the long cold winter. In the bright long days of summer there was the
Long Wharf, on which his father worked, and where Terry's companions
gathered every day, rain or shine, from the beginning of May to the end
of October.
In Terry's general appearance there was nothing at first sight to
distinguish him from any of the other "wharf rats" who were his
constant companions. They all wore battered hats, ragged clothes, and
dirty faces. They all had a fine capacity for shirking work, and for
making a great deal of noise when they were enjoying themselves.
If you had occasion to talk with Terry, however, you would be a dull
observer if you did not notice certain qualities of character indicated
in his face and form which suggested the thought that there was good
stuff in the lad, and that if he had a chance he might turn out to be
of some use despite his unpropitious surroundings.
He had a bright, pleasant countenance of the genuine Irish type,
thickly dotted with deep-tinted freckles; a pair of frank, brown eyes;
a mop of hair with a decided tendency towards curls and redness; and a
well-knit, full-sized frame, whose every muscle was developed to its
utmost capacity, and within which there beat a big warm heart, although
that might seem to be doubtful sometimes when its owner was in a
particularly mischievous mood.
"Sure, an' I don't know what's ever to be the end of ye," said Mrs.
Ahearn one day, in a more thoughtful tone than was usual with her,
after scolding her son for one of his pranks which she had just found
out. "Ye've got wits enough to be a gentleman, if ye only had a mind
to it; but never a bit do ye seem to care, so long as there's a bite
for ye to eat."
Terry's response was so surprising that it fairly took his mother's
breath away; for, drawing himself up to his full height, and putting on
a look of the utmost determination, he exclaimed,--
"And it's a gentleman I mean to be some day, and then it's yourself
that will ride in a carriage with glass sides, as fine as Miss
Drummond's."
Mrs. Ahearn's eyes and mouth opened wide with astonishment. What had
come over her boy that made him talk in that style? Ride in a carriage
indeed! Faith, the highest expectation she ever permitted herself to
entertain was of deliverance from the drudgery of the wash-tub. If
that could only be accomplished in some other way than by dying, she
would be well content.
"Listen to him!" she cried. "It's crazy the boy is. Me ride in a
carriage! Sure the only ride I'll ever get in a carriage with glass
sides will be when I'm going to the cimitry."
Then Terry did a still more remarkable thing. Whether it was his
mother's reference to the hearse, or something in his own mind that
stirred him, can only be conjectured, but running up to Mrs. Ahearn he
caught her round the waist and gave her a hearty hug, saying,--
"Ye'll have many a ride in a carriage, and with glass sides too,
mother, before that."
Then he darted off down the stairs, whistling "St. Patrick's Day in the
Morning" with all his might, while his mother fell into a chair in
sheer bewilderment at her boy's utterly novel behaviour.
Certainly there had been nothing in Terry's past record to give ground
for hope of his ever attaining the status of a gentleman owning a
carriage. To do as little work and to have as much play as possible
seemed to be his ideal of life. More than once a situation as
errand-boy had been obtained for him; but he soon forfeited them by
neglect of duty, and returned rejoicing to his friends on Long Wharf.
Unless a decided change of disposition took place, he bid fair to turn
out nothing better than one more recruit for the wretched regiment of
"street loafers" that is characteristic of every maritime city.
Long Wharf, Terry's "happy hunting ground," so to speak, it must be
admitted, possessed a multitude of attractions for boys of his kind.
It held an unquestioned pre-eminence among the wharves of Halifax for
size and superiority of position, thrusting itself out prominently from
their midst into the heart of the harbour, while the rest curved away
on either hand in undistinguishable monotony. From the foot of Long
Wharf you could comfortably command the whole water-line as from no
other vantage-ground. Hence, in addition to being one of the busiest
places in the city during the day, it was in the summer evenings the
favourite resort of the whole neighbourhood--men, women, and children
gathering there to enjoy the cool breezes, and to watch the
pleasure-boats gliding past with their merry occupants.
The wharf was the centre of bustling activity all summer long. From it
sailed lines of steamers to the bleak rugged coasts of Newfoundland and
to the fascinating fairy-land of the West Indies, while others voyaged
across the ocean to the metropolis of the world. When they returned
laden with costly cargoes, the schooners and other sailing-vessels
gathered round with gaping holds that had to be filled, and what they
did not carry off went into the huge warehouses which stood in opposing
rows clear up to the street.
By virtue of his relationship to Black Mike, Terry had the freedom of
the wharf. It was about the only benefit his father conferred upon
him, and he made the most of it, scraping acquaintance with the
sailors, especially the cooks of the steamers, running occasional
errands for the storekeeper, who might order him off the premises at
any time he saw fit, fishing for perch and tomcods, bathing in the
north dock at the risk of arrest by the first policeman who should
happen along, and having grand games of "I spy" among the maze of
stores and sheds.
Of course, this kind of life could not go on for ever, and there were
times when Terry paused in his eager quest for amusement long enough to
ask himself what he would like to be and to do for a living. The
answers to the question were as various as Terry's moods. He fain
would be a sailor, soldier, fireman, policeman, or coachman, according
as he had been most lately impressed with the advantages and
attractions of that particular occupation. He even sometimes let his
thoughts aspire as high as the position of clerk in the offices of
Drummond and Brown, the owners of Long Wharf. But that was only in
moments of exceptional exaltation, and they soon fell back again to
their wonted level.
This last idea, remote as the possibility of its fulfilment might seem,
had especial vigour imparted into it one morning by a few words that
Miss Kate Drummond, the only daughter of the senior partner, happened
to let fall. She had driven down with her own pony to take her father
home to lunch, and the wharf being such a noisy place, had asked Terry,
who chanced to be lounging near by, wondering if he would ever be the
owner of so fine an equipage, if he would be good enough to hold the
pony's head while she sat in the carriage awaiting her father's coming.
Struck by Terry's prepossessing albeit somewhat dirty countenance, she
thought she might while away the time by asking him some questions
about himself. Terry answered so promptly and politely that she became
quite interested in him, and finally began to sound him as to his plans
for the future.
"Do you know, Terry," said she, with a winning smile that sent a thrill
of pleasure clear down to the tips of the boy's bare toes, "I believe
something good might be made out of you. Your face tells me that
you've got it in you to make your way in the world. Many a rich and
famous man had no better start than you. Wouldn't you like to try as
they did?"
Terry turned away his head to hide the blushes that glowed through the
tan and freckles on his cheeks, and shifted uneasily from one foot to
the other.
"I don't know, mum," said he at last. "I'd like to be a gentleman, and
keep a carriage some day."
Miss Drummond gave a pleasant laugh; the answer was so frankly
characteristic. To be a gentleman and to ride in a carriage seemed to
be the working people's highest ideal of earthly bliss.
"Well, Terry," she responded, taking care that there should be
sympathy, not ridicule, in her tone; "if that is your ambition, the way
is open to you to try to accomplish it. My grandfather began as a
little office-boy, and he had more than one carriage of his own before
he died."
The look that Terry gave Miss Drummond on hearing these words made her
blush a little in her turn; it was such a curious blending of
bewilderment and joy. That this radiant creature, who seemed almost as
far removed from him as an angel of heaven, should have had a
grandfather who was a mere office-boy, was a surprising revelation to
him. At the same time, what a vista of hope it opened up! If old Mr.
Drummond, whom he remembered seeing years before, had worked his way up
so well, could not others do it also?
Not knowing just what to say, Terry kept silence, and the situation was
presently relieved by the appearance of Mr. Drummond. As Miss Drummond
gathered up the reins, she gave the boy another of her lovely smiles.
"Thank you very much, Terry," she said; "and you'll think over what
I've been saying to you, won't you?"
Terry pulled off his ragged cap in token of promise to do so, and the
light carriage whirled away, leaving him with thoughts such as had
never stirred his brain before. Of course he knew that men had made
their way up from humble beginnings to high positions, but the fact had
hitherto never been so closely brought home to him; and it was while
under the excitement of this idea that he so astonished his mother as
related above.
CHAPTER II.
THE WAY OPENS.
The seed thus sown by Miss Drummond began to take root at once. Terry
now gave more thought to getting a chance to make a start in life than
he did to having a good time. And here, as it happened, fortune
favoured him in a most unusual way. On the Saturday morning of the
week after the talk which had set him thinking, he was sitting at the
end of the Long Wharf watching a big steamer making her way slowly up
the harbour. It being the noon hour, the wharf hands were all away at
dinner, and the place was almost deserted.
Suddenly he was startled out of his reverie by the sound of hoofs
beating with alarming rapidity upon the resounding planks, and turning
round he saw what caused him to spring to his feet with every nerve and
muscle athrill. Thundering down the wharf in blind and reckless flight
came Miss Drummond's pony, while in the carriage behind sat the owner,
tugging desperately upon the reins, her face white and set with terror.
Acting upon the first impulse of the moment, Terry ran forward,
shouting and waving his cap. Then, seeing that to be of no avail, he
sprang at the maddened creature's head, hoping to seize the reins. But
by a quick swerve the pony eluded him, and the next moment plunged
headlong off the end of the wharf, dragging the carriage and its
helpless occupant after her. There was a piercing shriek, a splash, a
whirl of seething foam, and then the clear green depths closed over all!
For the first moment, Terry, overcome by the startling suddenness of
the accident, knew not how to act. Then the impulse to rescue welled
up mightily in his breast, and at once he leaped into the disturbed
waters, which closed over his curly head.
Rising almost instantly to the surface, he looked eagerly about him,
and caught sight of a hand thrust up in the agony of a struggle for
life. A few quick strokes brought him to it, and then, taking in the
situation intuitively, he swerved round so as to grasp Miss Drummond at
the neck. He had not spent his life about a wharf without learning
something of the difficulty of dealing with drowning persons, and that,
strong, expert swimmer as he was, he must not suffer those hands to
fasten their frantic grip upon him, or it would mean death for both.
So, deftly avoiding the girl's wild clutch, he took good hold of her
from the back, and saying beseechingly, "Keep ye still now, ma'am, and
I'll save ye all right," shoved her through the water in the direction
of the wharf. Happily she was a young woman of rare self-possession.
As soon as she felt Terry's firm hand her terror gave way to trust.
She ceased her vain strugglings, and committed herself to her rescuer.
Otherwise, indeed, the poor boy could hardly have been equal to the
task. As it was, his strength just lasted until he reached the first
row of barnacle-covered spiles; pressing Miss Drummond up to which he
hoarsely directed her--"Take good hold of that now, ma'am, and I'll
yell for somebody."
But he did not need to yell twice. Already helpers had gathered above
them, and were shouting down words of encouragement; and a moment later
a boat darted round the corner of the wharf, propelled by eager oarsmen.
On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond, yielding to the reaction,
fainted for the moment; whereat Terry, who had never seen a woman faint
before, set up a wail of grief, thinking she must be dead.
[Illustration: "_On being lifted carefully in, Miss Drummond fainted
for the moment._"]
"Oh, the dear lady's dead!" he cried. "Ye must be getting a doctor
quick."
But the others reassured him, and to his vast delight the blue eyes
opened again to give him a look of inexpressible gratitude ere the boat
touched the landing-steps.
Here Mr. Drummond, pale and trembling, the first thrill of numbing
horror having just given place to ecstatic joy, awaited them. The
instant the boat was within reach he sprang into it, and, regardless of
her dripping garments, clasped his daughter to his breast, kissing her
again and again, while his quivering lips murmured, "My darling, my
darling! God be thanked for your rescue!"
Releasing herself gently from his arms, Miss Drummond reached out her
hand for Terry, who was just scrambling awkwardly ashore.
"Don't forget to thank him too, father," she said, with a meaning smile.
Thus reminded, Mr. Drummond, blushing at the excess of feeling which
had caused him to forget everything save that his only daughter, the
joy and pride of his life, had been saved from death, laid hold of
Terry, and drew him back into the boat, where, taking both the boy's
hands in his, he said in tones of deep emotion,--
"My boy, you have done my daughter and me a service we can never
adequately repay. But all that grateful hearts can do we will not fail
to do. Tell me your name and where you live."
Poor Terry was so abashed at being thus addressed by the great Mr.
Drummond that his tongue refused its office. But one of the bystanders
came to his relief.
"Sure and he's Black Mike's son, sur, and he lives up Blind Alley," was
the information volunteered.
Accepting it as though it came from Terry himself, Mr. Drummond, giving
the boy's hands another grateful shake, said,--
"Thank you. You will hear from me before the day ends."
Then taking his daughter by the arm, he continued,--
"Come now, darling; we must make all haste up to my office, and see
what can be done for you."
Not until she stepped upon the wharf did Miss Drummond remember her
pony. Then the question as to what had become of it flashed into her
mind, and she turned to look down the wharf, exclaiming,--
"Oh, but my pony! Poor, dear Dolly! What's become of her?"
"Never mind the pony, dear," said Mr. Drummond; "the men will look
after her. Come, come; you'll catch your death of cold staying out
here in your dripping clothes."
Somewhat reluctantly Miss Drummond obeyed. Reassuringly though her
father had spoken, she had misgivings as to her pony's fate--misgivings
which were in fact only too well founded; for, dragged to the bottom by
the weight of the carriage, the poor creature had been drowned in spite
of its desperate struggles.
When the Drummonds disappeared, Terry found himself the centre of a
circle of admirers, each of whom sought in his own way to give
expression to his admiration and envy.
"Sure and your fortune's made this day, Terry, me boy," said the
storeman, who wished in his heart that he had been lucky enough to
rescue his employer's daughter. "Mr. Drummond's not the man to forgit
his word; and didn't he say he'd do anything in the world for ye?"
But Terry's triumph was complete when the appearance of his father
lounging sullenly back to work, with a short clay pipe between his
teeth, was hailed with shouts from the crowd of,--
"Mike! Mike! come here wid ye, till we tell ye what yer boy's been
doin'. Oh, but you're the lucky man to have a boy like Terry!"
Without a change in his dark countenance, or a quickening of his step,
Black Mike drew near, and silently awaited explanations. When the
matter was made clear to him, his face did brighten a little; but
whether it was with pride at his son's achievement, or selfish pleasure
at the prospect of the benefits that might accrue from it, the keenest
observer would have been puzzled to say.
He managed, however, to get out something that more closely approached
praise than anything Terry had ever heard from his lips before, and
this delighted the boy so that he had to execute a few steps of his
favourite clog dance to relieve his feelings. Then, bethinking himself
that he had stayed long enough inside his uncomfortably wet clothing,
he raced up the wharf, and made for his home in Blind Alley.
Here his mother received him with a shower of questions, in the
answering of which he found rare delight.
"Me blessed boy!" the excited woman exclaimed, her feelings strangely
divided betwixt horror at the thought of the risk her son had run and
joy at its successful issue. "It's proud I am of you this day. No
doubt but ye'll be your mother's comfort."
"And make ye ride in a carriage with glass sides, eh, mother?" said
Terry with a merry twinkle in his eye.
"Ah! now don't be talking such foolishness, Terry," returned Mrs.
Ahearn, in a tone that implied to do so was tempting Providence
perchance. "If your old mother has only a bit and sup sure to the end
of her days, and a decent gown to put on, she'll be content enough
without the carriage."
That afternoon Mr. Drummond picked his way carefully through the perils
of Blind Alley to the grimy tenement where the Ahearns abode, and
inquired for Terry. The latter, having exchanged his wet garments for
the only others his scanty wardrobe contained, had gone down again to
Long Wharf; so, after exchanging a few kind words with his mother, Mr.
Drummond followed him thither, saying to himself, as he cautiously
stepped from stone to stone, for the alley was little better than a
mere muddy gutter, "The boy must be detached from these surroundings if
anything is to be made of him. And he has a bright face. He ought to
have good stuff in him. Certainly he shall have a fair trial at my
hands, for I owe him more than money can repay."
On reaching his office, Mr. Drummond sent one of the clerks out to hunt
Terry up, and presently he returned with the lad in tow, looking very
bashful and ill at ease. He was attired in his "Sunday best," and
boasted a face and hands of unwonted cleanliness. The merchant gave
him a warm greeting, and made him sit down in a chair in front of him,
while he scanned his countenance closely.
"My dear boy," said he after a pause, and seeming well satisfied with
the result of his inspection, "as I have already told you, I feel that
I am indebted to you for a service the worth of which cannot be put
down in money; and it is not by offering you money that I would prove
my gratitude. The money would be soon spent, leaving you no better,
and possibly worse, than before it was given you. No; you have saved
my daughter's life, and in return I want to save yours, though in a
somewhat different way. Look me straight in the eyes, please."
For the first time since he had entered Mr. Drummond's presence Terry
lifted his big brown eyes, and looked full into his face, his freckles
being submerged in the warm flush that swept over his face as he did so.
"Ah!" said Mr. Drummond, "I was not mistaken. Your face gives warrant
of many good qualities that you've had small chance to develop thus
far. It will be my privilege and pleasure to give you the opportunity
circumstances have hitherto denied you. How would you like to go to a
nice school?"
Terry had been listening with eager attention and brightening
countenance; but at the mention of the word "school" his face suddenly
fell, and from the restless twitching of his body it was very evident
that the idea had no attraction for him at all.
Mr. Drummond's keen eye did not fail to note the effect of his
question, and without stopping to argue the point he promptly put
another.
"Well, then, how would you like to be taken into my office and taught
to be a clerk?"
Instantly the boy's face burst into bloom, so to speak, and giving the
merchant a look which said as plain as words, "I hope you really mean
it," he exclaimed,--
"Sure, sir, an' it's now ye're talkin'."
Mr. Drummond could not suppress a smile at Terry's quaint phrase that
went so straight to the mark.
"You shall have your own way then," he responded in his pleasantest
tone, "and you may begin as soon as you like. Let me just say this to
you, my boy," he continued, drawing Terry towards him with one hand,
and placing the other on his shoulder. "I want to be your friend for
life. You can always rely upon that. But I cannot do for you what you
alone can do for yourself. You will meet with many trials and
temptations that you will have to fight all by yourself. I will at all
times be glad to give you the best counsel I can. But in the end you
must make your own way. No one else can make it for you. By being
faithful to my interests, Terry, you will most surely advance your own.
Never forget that. And now, good-bye for the present. Mr. Hobart in
the outer office has some business to do with you right away, and I
will look for you bright and early on Monday morning."
Rather relieved at the interview being over, and feeling as though he
would have to go prancing and shouting down the whole length of Long
Wharf to give vent to his delight at what Mr. Drummond had said, Terry
slipped out of the merchant's sanctum, and found a pleasant-looking
young man evidently awaiting him in the office.
"Come in here, Terry," said he, "and tell us your good-luck."
In the fulness of his heart Terry was only too glad to find a
confidant, and without reserve he related all that had been said, as
well as he could remember it.
"Phew!" whistled the clerk. "You've got on the right side of the old
man, and no mistake. No putting you off with a sovereign and a
paragraph in the papers. Whatever he says goes, I can tell you. Come
along now; I'm to have the pleasure of making a swell out of you."
In some bewilderment as to Mr. Hobart's meaning, Terry obediently
accompanied him up to Granville Street, where they entered a
gentleman's outfitting establishment, before whose broad plate-glass
windows the boy had often stood in covetous appreciation of the fine
things so dexterously displayed therein. With an air of easy
self-possession that Terry profoundly admired, Mr. Hobart called upon a
brilliantly-arrayed clerk to show them their ready-made clothing. They
went into the rear part of the shop, and then the purpose of their
coming was made clear.
"You're to have a complete outfit of good clothes, Terry," said Mr.
Hobart. "And Mr. Drummond, knowing my good taste in such matters, has
put the business in my hands, so you'll please be good enough to
entirely approve of my selections."
His manner was so kind and pleasant that Terry felt as though there was
hardly anything on earth that he would not have been willing to do for
him, let alone approving of the benefactions he was the instrument of
bestowing.
"Indeed that I will, sir," he responded, with a warmth that made the
clerk smile in such a patronizing way that Mr. Hobart cut him short by
saying curtly,--
"Well, then, let me see something in the way of pepper-and-salt tweeds."
So the work of fitting Terry out began. Mr. Hobart seemed no less
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[Illustration: ON THE MISSOURI STEAMER. Page 11.]
ONWARD
AND
UPWARD
SERIES
PLANE AND PLANK
FIELD & FOREST-PLANE & PLANK-DESK & DEBIT
CRINGLE & CROSS-TREE-BIVOUAC & BATTLE-SEA & SHORE
Illustrated
LEE & SHEPARD
BOSTON
_THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES._
PLANE AND PLANK;
OR,
THE MISHAPS OF A MECHANIC.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,"
"THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES," "THE STARRY
FLAG STORIES," "THE LAKE-SHORE
SERIES," ETC.
WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,
BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
19 Spring Lane.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND
_GEORGE W. HILLS_
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"PLANE AND PLANK" is the second of THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES, in
which the hero, Phil Farringford, appears as a mechanic. The events
of the story are located on the Missouri River and in the city of St.
Louis. Phil learns the trade of a carpenter, and the contrast between a
young mechanic of an inquiring mind, earnestly laboring to master his
business, and one who feels above his calling, and overvalues his own
skill, is presented to the young reader, with the hope that he will
accept the lesson.
Incidentally, in the person and history of Phil's father the terrible
evils of intemperance are depicted, and the value of Christian love
and earnest prayer in the reformation of the unfortunate inebriate is
exhibited.
Though the incidents of the hero's career are quite stirring, and
some of the situations rather surprising, yet Phil is always true to
himself; and those who find themselves in sympathy with him cannot
possibly be led astray, while they respect his Christian principles,
reverence the Bible, and strive with him to do their whole duty to God
and man.
HARRISON SQUARE, BOSTON,
_June 7, 1870._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Page
IN WHICH PHIL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MR. LEONIDAS
LYNCHPINNE. 11
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH PHIL MEETS WITH HIS FIRST MISHAP. 22
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH PHIL SLIPS OFF HIS COAT, AND RETREATS IN
GOOD ORDER. 33 | 574.681178 |
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Transcriber's note: Hyphenation inconsistencies were left unchanged.
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SWANSTON EDITION
VOLUME IX
_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five
Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies
have been printed, of which only Two Thousand
Copies are for sale._
_This is No._........
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF NOTE FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF R. L. S.
[_See also overleaf._]]
[Illustration]
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON
VOLUME NINE
LONDON : PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS : IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED : WILLIAM
HEINEMANN : AND LONGMANS GREEN
AND COMPANY MDCCCCXI
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS
PAGE
I. THE FOREIGNER AT HOME 7
II. SOME COLLEGE MEMORIES 19
III. OLD MORTALITY 26
IV. A COLLEGE MAGAZINE 36
V. AN OLD SCOTS GARDENER 46
VI. PASTORAL 53
VII. THE MANSE 61
VIII. MEMOIRS OF AN ISLET 68
IX. THOMAS STEVENSON 75
X. TALK AND TALKERS: I. 81
XI. TALK AND TALKERS: II. 94
XII. THE CHARACTER OF DOGS 105
XIII. A PENNY PLAIN AND TWOPENCE 116
XIV. A GOSSIP ON A NOVEL OF DUMAS'S 124
XV. A GOSSIP ON ROMANCE 134
XVI. A HUMBLE REMONSTRANCE 148
MEMOIR OF FLEEMING JENKIN
CHAPTER I
PAGE
The Jenkins of Stowting--Fleeming's grandfather--Mrs. Buckner's
fortune--Fleeming's father; goes to sea; at St. Helena; meets
King Tom; service in the West Indies; end of his career--The
Campbell-Jacksons--Fleeming's mother--Fleeming's uncle John 165
CHAPTER II
1833-1851
Birth and childhood--Edinburgh--Frankfort-on-the-Main--Paris--The
Revolution of 1848--The Insurrection--Flight to Italy--Sympathy
with Italy--The insurrection in Genoa--A student in Genoa--The
lad and his mother 184
CHAPTER III
1851-1858
Return to England--Fleeming at Fairbairn's--Experience in a
strike--Dr. Bell and Greek architecture--The Gaskells--Fleeming
at Greenwich--The Austins--Fleeming and the Austins--His
engagement--Fleeming and Sir W. Thomson 203
CHAPTER IV
1859-1868
Fleeming's marriage--His married life--Professional
difficulties--Life at Claygate--Illness of | 574.692252 |
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Produced by Nicole Apostola
IN MIDSUMMER DAYS
AND OTHER TALES.
By August Strindberg
Translated By Ellie Schleussner
CONTENTS
IN MIDSUMMER DAYS
THE BIG GRAVEL-SIFTER
THE SLUGGARD
THE PILOT'S TROUBLES
PHOTOGRAPHER AND PHILOSOPHER
HALF A SHEET OF FOOLSCAP
CONQUERING HERO AND FOOL
WHAT THE TREE-SWALLOW SANG IN THE BUCKTHORN TREE
THE MYSTERY OF THE TOBACCO SHED
THE STORY OF THE ST. GOTTHARD
THE STORY OF JUBAL WHO HAD NO "I"
THE GOLDEN HELMETS IN THE ALLEBERG
LITTLE BLUEWING FINDS THE GOLDPOWDER
IN MIDSUMMER DAYS
In Midsummer days when in the countries of the North the earth is a
bride, when the ground is full of gladness, when the brooks are still
running, the flowers in the meadows still untouched by the scythe, and
all the birds singing, a dove flew out of the wood and | 574.734323 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.7143030 | 2,302 | 52 | VOLUME VII (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Paul Murray, Lisa Reigel, and the Project Gutenberg
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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The index for the entire 8 volume set of _History of
the English People_ was located at the end of Volume
VIII. For ease in accessibility, it has been removed
and produced as a separate volume
(http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/25533).
HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH PEOPLE
by
JOHN RICHARD GREEN, M.A.
Honorary Fellow of Jesus College, Oxford
VOLUME VII
THE REVOLUTION, 1683-1760. MODERN ENGLAND, 1760-1767
London
MacMillan and Co., Ltd.
New York: MacMillan & Co.
1896
First Edition 1879; Reprinted 1882, 1886, 1891.
Eversley Edition, 1896.
CONTENTS
BOOK VIII
THE REVOLUTION. 1683-1760
CHAPTER III
PAGE
THE FALL OF THE STUARTS. 1683-1714. 1
CHAPTER IV
THE HOUSE OF HANOVER. 1714-1760. 147
BOOK IX
MODERN ENGLAND. 1760-1815
CHAPTER I
ENGLAND AND ITS EMPIRE. 1760-1767. 273
CHAPTER III
THE FALL OF THE STUARTS
1683-1714
[Sidenote: The King's Triumph.]
In 1683 the Constitutional opposition which had held Charles so long in
check lay crushed at his feet. A weaker man might easily have been led
to play the mere tyrant by the mad outburst of loyalty which greeted his
triumph. On the very day when the crowd around Russell's scaffold were
dipping their handkerchiefs in his blood as in the blood of a martyr the
University of Oxford solemnly declared that the doctrine of passive
obedience even to the worst of rulers was a part of religion. But
Charles saw that immense obstacles still lay in the road of a mere
tyranny. Ormond and the great Tory party which had rallied to his
succour against the Exclusionists were still steady for parliamentary
and legal government. The Church was as powerful as ever, and the
mention of a renewal of the Indulgence to Nonconformists had to be
withdrawn before the opposition of the bishops. He was careful therefore
during the few years which remained to him to avoid the appearance of
any open violation of public law. He suspended no statute. He imposed no
tax by Royal authority. Galling to the Crown as the freedom of the press
and the Habeas Corpus Act were soon found to be, Charles made no attempt
to curtail the one or to infringe the other. But while cautious to avoid
rousing popular resistance, he moved coolly and resolutely forward on
the path of despotism. It was in vain that Halifax pressed for energetic
resistance to the aggressions of France, for the recall of Monmouth, or
for the calling of a fresh Parliament. Like every other English
statesman he found he had been duped. Now that his work was done he was
suffered to remain in office but left without any influence in the
government. Hyde, who was created Earl of Rochester, still remained at
the head of the Treasury; but Charles soon gave more of his confidence
to the supple and acute Sunderland, who atoned for his desertion of the
king's cause in the heat of the Exclusion Bill by an acknowledgement of
his error and a pledge of entire accordance with the king's will.
[Sidenote: New Town Charters.]
The protests both of Halifax and of Danby, who was now released from the
Tower, in favour of a return to Parliaments were treated with
indifference, the provisions of the Triennial Act were disregarded, and
the Houses remained unassembled during the remainder of the king's
reign. His secret alliance with France furnished Charles with the funds
he immediately required, and the rapid growth of the customs through the
increase of English commerce promised to give him a revenue which, if
peace were preserved, would save him from any further need of fresh
appeals to the Commons. Charles was too wise however to look upon
Parliaments as utterly at an end: and he used this respite to secure a
House of Commons which should really be at his disposal. The strength of
the Country party had been broken by its own dissensions over the
Exclusion Bill and by the flight or death of its more prominent leaders.
Whatever strength it retained lay chiefly in the towns, whose
representation was for the most part virtually or directly in the hands
of their corporations, and whose corporations, like the merchant class
generally, were in sympathy Whig. The towns were now attacked by writs
of "quo warranto," which called on them to show cause why their charters
should not be declared forfeited on the ground of abuse of their
privileges. A few verdicts on the side of the Crown brought about a
general surrender of municipal liberties; and the grant of fresh
charters, in which all but ultra-loyalists were carefully excluded from
their corporations, placed the representation of the boroughs in the
hands of the Crown. Against active discontent Charles had long been
quietly providing by the gradual increase of his Guards. The withdrawal
of its garrison from Tangier enabled him to raise their force to nine
thousand well-equipped soldiers, and to supplement this force, the
nucleus of our present standing army, by a reserve of six regiments
which were maintained till they should be needed at home in the service
of the United Provinces.
[Sidenote: Death of Charles.]
But great as the danger really was it lay not so much in isolated acts
of tyranny as in the character and purpose of Charles himself, and his
death at the very moment of his triumph saved English freedom. He had
regained his old popularity; and at the news of his sickness in the
spring of 1685 crowds thronged the churches, praying that God would
raise him up again to be a father to his people. But while his subjects
were praying the one anxiety of the king was to die reconciled to the
Catholic Church. His chamber was cleared, and a priest named Huddleston,
who had saved his life after the battle of Worcester, received his
confession and administered the last sacraments. Not a word of this
ceremony was whispered when the nobles and bishops were recalled into
the royal presence, and Charles though steadily refusing the communion
which Bishop Ken offered him accepted the bishop's absolution. All the
children of his mistresses save Monmouth were gathered round the bed,
and Charles commended them to his brother's protection by name. The
scene which followed is described by a chaplain to one of the prelates
who stood round the dying king. Charles "blessed all his children one by
one, pulling them on to his bed; and then the bishops moved him, as he
was the Lord's anointed and the father of his country, to bless them
also and all that were there present, and in them the general body of
his subjects. Whereupon, the room being full, all fell down upon their
knees, and he raised himself in his bed and very solemnly blessed them
all." The strange comedy was at last over. Charles died as he had lived:
brave, witty, cynical, even in the presence of death. Tortured as he was
with pain, he begged the bystanders to forgive him for being so
unconscionable a time in dying. One mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth,
hung weeping over his bed. His last thought was of another mistress,
Nell Gwynn. "Do not," he whispered to his successor ere he sank into a
fatal stupor, "do not let poor Nelly starve!"
[Sidenote: James the Second.]
The death of Charles in February 1685 placed his brother James, the Duke
of York, upon the throne. His character and policy were already well
known. Of all the Stuart rulers James is the only one whose intellect
was below mediocrity. His mind was dull and narrow though orderly and
methodical; his temper dogged and arbitrary but sincere. His religious
and political tendencies had always been the same. He had always
cherished an entire belief in the royal authority and a hatred of
Parliaments. His main desire was for the establishment of Catholicism as
the only means of ensuring the obedience of his people; and his old love
of France was quickened by the firm reliance which he placed on the aid
of Lewis in bringing about that establishment. But the secrecy in which
his political action had as yet been shrouded and his long absence from
England had hindered any general knowledge of his designs. His first
words on his accession, his promise to "preserve this Government both in
Church and State as it is now by law established," were welcomed by the
whole country with enthusiasm. All the suspicions of a Catholic
sovereign seemed to have disappeared. "We have the word of a King!" ran
the general cry, "and of a King who was never worse than his word." The
conviction of his brother's faithlessness in fact stood James in good
stead. He was looked upon as narrow, impetuous, stubborn, and despotic
in heart, but even his enemies did not accuse him of being false. Above
all, incredible as such a belief may seem now, he was believed to be
keenly alive to the honour of his country and resolute to free it from
foreign dependence.
[Sidenote: James and Parliament.]
From the first indeed there were indications that James understood his
declaration in a different sense from the nation. He was resolved to
make no disguise of his own religion; the chapel in which he had
hitherto worshipped with closed doors was now thrown open and the king
seen at Mass. He regarded attacks on his faith as attacks on himself,
and at once called on the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of
| 574.734343 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Young Castellan, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
A Castellan is a person in charge of a castle, and that is what young
Roy Royland has become, while his father, Sir Granby, is away defending
his king. For the time is about 1640, and there is a move afoot in the
country of England to do away with the monarchy. In the castle most of
its old defences have not been used for many years, perhaps centuries,
and old Ben Martlet sets about restoring them, cleaning up the armour,
teaching young Roy the arts of self-defence, by putting him through a
course of fencing, by restoring the portcullis and draw-bridge, and by
training the men from the neighbouring farms to be soldiers.
But eventually, through treachery, the Roundheads, as those who oppose
the monarchy, are called, manage to take the castle, and to make Roy and
his mother, along with old Ben Martlet and the other defenders,
prisoner. This can't do the management of the tenant farms much good.
Eventually Sir Granby, Roy's father, appears on the scene, and the
Roundheads are chased away. As we know from our history books, the
Monarchy was restored, and peace spreads again through the land of
England.
________________________________________________________________________
THE YOUNG CASTELLAN, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
IN THE OLD ARMOURY.
"See these here spots o' red rust, Master Roy?"
"I should be blind as poor old Jenkin if I couldn't, Ben."
"Ay, that you would, sir. Poor old Jenk, close upon ninety he be; and
that's another thing."
"What do you mean?" said the boy addressed.
"What do I mean, sir? Why, I mean as that's another thing as shows as
old England's wore out, and rustin' and moulderin' away."
"Is this Dutch or English, Ben?" said the manly-looking boy, who had
just arrived at the age when dark lads get teased about not having
properly washed the sides of their faces and their upper lips, which
begin to show traces of something "coming up." "I don't understand."
"English, sir," said the weather-beaten speaker, a decidedly ugly man of
about sixty, grizzly of hair and beard, deeply-lined of countenance, and
with a peculiar cicatrice extending from the upper part of his left
cheek-bone diagonally down to the right corner of his lips, and making
in its passage a deep notch across his nose. "English, sir; good old
honest English."
"You're always grumbling, Ben, and you won't get the rust off that
morion with that."
"That I shan't, sir; and if I uses elber grease and sand, it'll only
come again. But it's all a sign of poor old England rustin' and
moulderin' away. The idea! And at a place like this. Old Jenk, as
watch at the gate tower, and not got eyes enough to see across the moat,
and even that's getting full o' mud!"
"Well, you wouldn't have father turn the poor old man away because he's
blind and worn-out."
"Not I, sir," said the man, moistening a piece of flannel with oil,
dipping it into some fine white sand, and then proceeding to scrub away
at the rust spots upon the old helmet, which he now held between his
knees; while several figures in armour, ranged down one side of the low,
dark room in which the work was being carried on, seemed to be looking
on and waiting to have their rust removed in turn.
"Then what do you mean?" said the boy.
"I mean, Master Roy, as it's a pity to see the old towers going down
hill as they are."
"But they're not," cried the boy.
"Not, sir? Well, if you'll excuse me for saying as you're wrong, I'll
say it. Where's your garrison? where's your horses? and where's your
guns, and powder, and shot, and stores?"
"Fudge, then! We don't want any garrison nowadays, and as for horses,
why, it was a sin to keep 'em in those old underground stables that used
to be their lodging. Any one would think you expected to have some one
come and lay siege to the place."
"More unlikely things than that, Master Roy. We live in strange times,
and the king may get the worst of it any day."
"Oh, you old croaker!" cried Roy. "I believe you'd like to have a lot
more men in the place, and mount guard, and go on drilling and
practising with the big guns."
"Ay, sir, I should; and with a place like this, it's what ought to be
done."
"Well, it wouldn't be bad fun, Ben," said the boy, thoughtfully.
"Fun, sir? Don't you get calling serious work like that fun.--But look
ye there. Soon chevy these spots off, don't I?"
"Yes, it's getting nice and bright," said Roy, gazing down at the steel
headpiece.
"And it's going to get brighter and better before I've done. I'm going
to let Sir Granby see when he comes back that I haven't neglected
nothing. I'm a-going to polish up all on 'em in turn, beginning with
old Sir Murray Royland. Let me see: he was your greatest grandfather,
wasn't he?"
"Yes, he lived in 1480," said the boy, as the old man rose, set down the
morion, and followed him to where the farthest suit of mail stood
against the wall. "I say, Ben, this must have been very heavy to wear."
"Ay, sir, tidy; but, my word, it was fine for a gentleman in those days
to mount his horse, shining in the sun, and looking as noble as a man
could look. He's a bit spotty, though, it's been so damp. But I'll
begin with Sir Murray and go right down 'em all, doing the steeliest
ones first, and getting by degrees to the last on 'em as is only steel
half-way down, and the rest being boots. Ah! it's a dolesome change
from Sir Murray to Sir Brian yonder at the end, and worse still, to your
father, as wouldn't put nothing on but a breast-piece and back-piece and
a steel cap."
"Why, it's best," said the boy; "steel armour isn't wanted so much now
they've got cannon and guns."
"Ay, that's a sad come-down too, sir. Why, even when I was out under
your grandfather, things were better and fighting fairer. People tried
to see who was best man then with their swords. Now men goes to hide
behind hedges and haystacks, to try and shoot you like they would a
hare."
"Why, they did the same sort of thing with their bows and arrows, Ben,
and their cross-bows and bolts."
"Well, maybe, sir; but that was a clean kind o' fighting, and none of
your sulphur and brimstone, and charcoal and smoke."
"I say, Ben, it'll take you some time to get things straight. Mean to
polish up the old swords and spears, too?"
"Every man jack of 'em, sir. I mean to have this armoury so as your
father, when he comes back from scattering all that rabble, will look
round and give me a bit of encouragement."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the boy; "so that's what makes you so industrious."
"Nay it aren't, sir," said the man, with a reproachful shake of his
head. "I didn't mean money, Master Roy, but good words, and a sort o'
disposition to make the towers what they should be again. He's a fine
soldier is your father, and I hear as the king puts a lot o' trust in
him; but it always seems to me as he thinks more about farming when he's
down here than he does about keeping up the old place as a good cavalier
should."
"Don't you talk a lot of nonsense," said Roy, hotly; "if my father likes
to live here as country gentlemen do, and enjoy sport and gardening and
farming, who has a better right to, I should like to know?"
"Oh, nobody, sir, nobody," said the man, scouring away at the rusted
steel.
"And besides, times are altered. When this castle was built, gentlemen
used to have to protect themselves, and kept their retainers to fight
for them. Now there's a regular army, and the king does all that."
That patch of rust must have been a little lighter on, for the man
uttered a low grunt of satisfaction.
"It would be absurd to make the towers just as they used to be, and shut
out the light and cover the narrow slits with iron bars."
"Maybe, Master Roy; but Sir Granby might have the moat cleared of mud,
and kept quite full."
"What! I just hope it won't be touched. Why, that would mean draining
it, and then what would become of my carp and tench?"
"Ketch 'em and put 'em in tubs, sir, and put some little uns back."
"Yes, and then it would take years for them to grow, and all the
beautiful white and yellow water-lilies would be destroyed."
"Yes; but see what a lot of fine, fat eels we should get, sir. There's
some thumpers there. I caught a four-pounder on a night-line last
week."
"Ah, you did, did you?" cried the lad; "then don't you do it again
without asking for leave."
"All right, sir, I won't; but you don't grudge an old servant like me
one eel?"
"Of course I don't, Ben," said the lad, importantly; "but the moat is
mine. Father gave it to me as my own special fishing-place before he
went away, and I don't allow any one to fish there without my leave."
"I'll remember, sir," said the man, beginning to whistle softly.
"I don't grudge you a _few_ eels, Ben, and you shall have plenty; but
next time you want to fish, you ask."
"Yes, sir, I will."
"And what you say is all nonsense: the place is beautiful as it is.
Why, I believe if you could do as you liked, you'd turn my mother's
pleasaunce and the kitchen-garden into drill-grounds."
"That I would, sir," said the man, flushing up. "The idea of a
beautiful square of ground, where the men might be drilled, and practise
with sword and gun, being used to grow cabbages in. Er! it's horrid!"
Roy laughed.
"You're a rum fellow, Ben," he cried. "I believe you think that people
were meant to do nothing else but fight and kill one another."
"Deal better than spending all their time over books, sir," said the
man; "and you take my advice. You said something to me about being a
statesman some day, and serving the king that way. Now, I s'pose I
don't know exactly what a statesman is, but I expect it's something o'
the same sort o' thing as Master Pawson is, and--You won't go and tell
him what I says, sir?"
"Do you want me to kick you, Ben?" said the boy, indignantly.
"Oh, I don't know, sir," said the man, with a good-humoured smile
lighting up his rugged features; "can, if you like. Wouldn't be the
first time by many a hundred."
"What! When did I kick you?"
"Lots o' times when you was a little un, and I wouldn't let you drown
yourself in the moat, or break your neck walking along the worsest parts
o' the ramparts, or get yourself trod upon by the horses. Why, I've
known you kick, and squeal, and fight, and punch me as hard as ever you
could."
"And did it hurt you, Ben?"
"Hurt me, sir? Not it. I liked it. Showed you was made o' good stuff,
same good breed as your father; and I used to say to myself, `That young
cub'll turn out as fine a soldier as his father some day, and I shall
have the job o' training him.' But deary me, deary me, old England's
a-wasting all away! You aren't got the sperrit you had, my lad; and
instead o' coming to me cheery-like, and saying, `Now, Ben, get out the
swords and let's have a good fence, or a bit o' back-sword or
broad-sword-play, or a turn with the singlestick or staves,' you're
always a-sticking your nose into musty old parchments, or dusty books,
along o' Master Palgrave Pawson. Brrr!"
The latter was a low growl, following a loud smack given to the side of
the helmet, after which, as the lad stood fretting and fuming, the old
servant scrubbed away at the steel furiously.
| 574.73815 |
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Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "I ain't blamin' her, nor never will"]
CALEB WEST, MASTER DIVER
BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
MALCOLM FRASER AND ARTHUR I. KELLER
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1898
COPYRIGHT, 1897 AND 1898, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND CO.
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
I. The Cape Ann Sloop
II. A Morning's Mail
III. Captain Brandt at the Throttle
IV. Among the Blackfish and Tomcods
V. Aunty Bell's Kitchen
VI. A Little Dinner for Five
VII. Betty's First Patient
VIII. The "Heave Ho" of Lonny Bowles
IX. What the Butcher Saw
X. Strains from Bock's 'Cello
XI. Captain Joe's Telegram
XII. Captain Joe's Creed
XIII. A Shanty Door
XIV. Two Envelopes
XV. A Narrow Path
XVI. Under the Willows
XVII. The Song of the Fire
XVIII. The Equinoctial Gale
XIX. From the Lantern Deck
XX. At the Pines
XXI. The Record of Nickles, the Cook
XXII. After the Battle
XXIII. A Broken Draw
XXIV. The Swinging Gate
XXV. Under the Pitiless Stars
XXVI. Caleb Trims His Lights
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"I ain't blamin' her, nor never will"
"Swung back the gate with the gesture of a rollicking boy"
"Helen... in white muslin--not a jewel"
"No, it's my Betty"
"What's she but a chit of a child that don't know no better"
"Sanford... raised her hand to his lips"
"Thank God, Tony! Thank God!"
"Victory is ours!"
"The diver knelt in a passive, listless way"
"Ain't nothin' to skeer ye, child"
CALEB WEST, MASTER DIVER
CHAPTER I
THE CAPE ANN SLOOP
The rising sun burned its way through a low-lying mist that hid the
river, and flashed its search-light rays over the sleeping city. The
blackened tops of the tall stacks caught the signal, and answered in
belching clouds of gray steam that turned to gold as they floated
upwards in the morning air. The long rows of the many-eyed tenements
cresting the hill blinked in the dazzling light, threw wide their
shutters, and waved curling smoke flags from countless chimneys.
Narrow, silent alleys awoke. Doors opened and shut. Single figures
swinging dinner-pails, and groups of girls with baskets, hurried to
and fro. The rumbling of carts was heard and shrill street cries.
Suddenly the molten ball swung clear of the purple haze and flooded
the city with tremulous light. The vanes of the steeples flashed and
blazed. The slanting roofs, wet with the night dew, glistened like
silver. The budding trees, filling the great squares, flamed pink and
yellow, their tender branches quivering in the rosy light.
Now long, deep-toned whistles--reveille of forge, spindle, and
press--startled the air. Surging crowds filled the thoroughfares;
panting horses tugged at the surface cars; cabs rattled over the
cobblestones, and loaded trucks began to block the crossings.
The great city was astir.
At the sun's first gleam, Henry Sanford had waked with joyous start.
Young, alert, full of health and courage as he was, the touch of its
rays never came too early for him. To-day they had been like the hand
of a friend, rousing him with promises of | 574.73922 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Malcolm Farmer,
Ernest Schaal and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 107.
JUNE 21, 1894.
* * * * *
A RIVERSIDE LAMENT.
In my garden, where the rose
By the hundred gaily blows,
And the river freshly flows
Close to me,
I can spend the summer day
In a quite idyllic way;
Simply charming, you would say,
Could you see.
I am far from stuffy town,
Where the soots meander down,
And the air seems--being brown--
Close to me.
I am far from rushing train;
_Bradshaw_ does not bore my brain,
Nor, comparatively plain,
_A B C_.
To my punt I can repair,
If the weather's fairly fair,
But one grievance I have there;
Close to me,
As I sit and idly dream,
Clammy corpses ever seem
Floating down the placid stream
To the sea.
Though the boats that crowd the lock--
Such an animated block!--
Bring gay damsels, quite a flock,
Close to me,
Yet I heed not tasty togs,
When, as motionless as logs,
Float defunct and dismal dogs
There _aussi_.
As in Egypt at a feast,
With each party comes at least
One sad corpse, departed beast,
Close to me;
Till a Canon might go off,
Till a Dean might swear or scoff,
Or a Bishop--tip-top toff
In a see.
Floating to me from above,
If it stick, with gentle shove,
To my neighbour, whom I love,
Close to me,
I send on each gruesome guest.
Should I drag it out to rest
In my garden? No, I'm blest!
_Non, merci!_
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE 'ARDEN-ING PROCESS.
_Orlando._ "TIRED, ROSALIND?" _Rosalind._ "PNEUMATICALLY."]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
"For a modest dish of camp-pie, suited to barracks and youth militant,
commend me," quoth one of the Baron's Baronites, "to _Only a
Drummer-Boy_, a maiden effort, and unpretentious, like its author, who
calls himself ARTHUR AMYAND, but is really Captain ARTHUR DRUMMER
HAGGARD. He has the rare advantage, missed by most people who write
soldier novels, of knowing what he is talking about. If there are faults
'to pardon in the drawing's lines,' they are faults of technique and not
of anatomy." "The Court is with you," quoth the BARON DE B.-W.
* * * * *
HOTEL NOTE.--The _chef_ at every Gordon Hotel ought to be a "_Gordon
Bleu_."
* * * * *
THE VOLUNTEER'S VADE MECUM.
(_Bisley Edition._)
_Question._ What is the ambition of every rifleman?
_Answer._ To become an expert marksman.
_Q._ How is this to be done?
_A._ By practice at the regimental butts (where such accommodation
exists), and appearing at Bisley.
_Q._ Is the new site of the National Rifle Association better than the
last?
_A._ Certainly, for those who come to Bisley intend to shoot.
_Q._ But did any one turn up at Wimbledon for any purpose other than
marksmanship?
_A._ Yes, for many of those who occupied the tents used their _marquees_
merely as a suitable resting-place for light refreshments.
_Q._ Is there anything of that kind at Bisley?
_A._ Not much, as the nearest place of interest is a crematorium, and
the most beautiful grounds in the neighbourhood belong to a cemetery.
_Q._ Then the business of Bisley is shooting?
_A._ Distinctly. Without the rifle, the place would be as melancholy as
its companion spot, Woking.
_Q._ In this place of useful work, what is the first object of the
marksman?
_A._ To score heavily, if possible; but, at any rate, to score.
_Q._ Is it necessary to appear in uniform?
_A._ That depends upon the regulations commanding the prize
competitions.
_Q._ What is uniform?
_A._ As much or as little of the dress of a corps that a judge will
order a marksman to adopt.
_Q._ If some marksmen were paraded with their own corps, how would they
look?
_A._ They would appear to be a sorry sight.
_Q._ Why would they appear to be a sorry sight?
_A._ Because over a tunic would appear a straw hat, and under a
pouch-belt fancy tweed trousers.
_Q._ But surely if the Volunteers are anxious to improve themselves they
will practise " | 574.741295 |
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[Illustration]
PLAYS,
WRITTEN BY
Sir =John Vanbrugh=.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
=Volume= the =First=.
CONTAINING,
The =Relapse=; Or, =Virtue= in =Danger=.
The =Provok'd Wife=, with a new Scene.
=Æsop=, in two =Parts=.
The =False Friend=.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed for =J. Rivington=, =T. Longman=,
=T. Lowndes=, =S. Caslon=, =C. Corbett=,
=S. Bladon=, =W. Nicoll=, =T. Evans=,
and =M. Waller=.
MDCCLXXVI.
AN
ACCOUNT
OF THE
LIFE and WRITINGS
OF THE
AUTHOR.
Sir _John Vanbrugh_, an eminent dramatic Writer, Son of Mr. _Giles
Vanbrugh_, of _London_, Merchant, was born in the Parish of _St.
Stephen_'s, _Wallbrook_, in 1666. The Family of _Vanbrugh_ were for
many Years Merchants of great Credit and Reputation, at _Antwerp_, and
came into _England_ in the reign of Queen _Elizabeth_, on account of
the Persecution for Religion.
Sir _John_ received a very liberal Education, and at the Age of
nineteen, was sent by his Father to _France_, where he continued some
Years: He became very eminent for his Poetry, to which he discovered an
early propension. And, pity it is, that this agreeable Writer had not
discovered his Wit, without any Mixture of that Licentiousness, which,
tho' it pleased, tended to corrupt the Audience.
_The Relapse_ was the first Play our Author produced, but not the first
he had written; for he had at that Time by him, all the Scenes of _The
Provok'd Wife_; but being then doubtful whether he should ever trust it
to the Stage, he flung it by, and thought no more of it: Why the last
written Play was first acted, and for what Reason they were given to
different Stages, what follows will explain.
Upon our Author's first Step into public Life, when he was but an
Ensign in the Army, and had a Heart greatly above his Income, he
happened somewhere at his Winter Quarters, upon a slender Acquaintance
with Sir _Thomas Skipwith_, to receive a particular Obligation from
him; and many Years afterwards, when Sir _Thomas_'s Interest in a
Theatrical Patent (which he had a large Share in, though he little
concerned himself in the Conduct of it) was rising but very slowly,
Sir _John_ thought that to give it a lift by a new Comedy, might be
the handsomest Return he could make to those his former Favours;
accordingly he soon after finished _The Relapse, or, Virtue in Danger_,
which was acted at the Theatre in _Drury-Lane_, in 1696, with universal
Applause.
Upon the Success of _The Relapse_, the late Lord _Hallifax_, who was a
favourer of _Betterton_'s Company, having formerly heard some Scenes
of _The Provok'd Wife_ read to him, engaged Sir _John Vanbrugh_ to
revise it, and give it to that Company. This was a Request not to be
refused to so eminent a Patron of the Muses as Lord _Hallifax_, who was
equally a Friend and Admirer of Sir _John_ himself; nor was Sir _Thomas
Skipwith_ in the least disobliged by so reasonable a Compliance. _The
Provok'd Wife_ was accordingly acted at the Theatre in _Lincoln's
Inn-Fields_ in 1697, with great Success.
Tho' this Play met with so favourable a Reception, yet it was not
without its Enemies: People of the graver Sort blamed the looseness
of the Scenes, and the unguarded freedom of the Dialect; and indeed
Sir _John_ himself appears to have been sensible of the immorality
of his Scenes; for in the Year 1725, when this Play was revived, he
thought proper to substitute a new Scene in the fourth Act, in place of
another, in which, in the wantonness of his Wit, he had made a Rake
talk like a Rake, in the Habit of a Clergyman; to avoid which Offence,
he put the same Debauchee into the Undress of a Woman of Quality; by
which means the Follies he exposed in the Petticoat, appeared to the
Audience innocent and entertaining; which new Scene is now for the
first Time printed at the End of the Play.
Soon after the Success of _The Provok'd Wife_, Sir _John_ produced the
Comedy of _Esop_, in two Parts, which was acted at the Theatre-Royal in
_Drury Lane_, in 1697. This was originally written in _French_ by Mr.
_Boursaut_, about six Years before; but the Scenes of Sir _Polydorus
Hogstye_, the Players, and the Beau, were added by our Author. This
Play contains a great deal of general Satire, and useful Morality;
notwithstanding which, it met with but a cold Reception from the
Audience, and its run ended in about nine Days. This seemed the more
surprizing, as the _French_ Comedy was played to crowded Audiences
for a Month together. The little Success this Piece met with on the
_English_ Stage, cannot be better accounted for than in the Words
of Mr. _Cibber_, who, speaking of this Play, makes the following
Observation: "The Character that delivers Precepts of Wisdom, is in
some sort severe upon the Auditor, for shewing him one wiser than
himself; but when Folly is his Object, he applauds himself for being
wiser than the Coxcomb he laughs at; and who is not more pleased with
an Occasion to commend, than to accuse himself?"
The next Play our Author wrote, was _The False Friend_, a Comedy, which
was acted at the Theatre-Royal in _Drury Lane_, in 1702.
In 1703, Sir _John_ formed a Project of building a stately Theatre
in the _Haymarket_, for which he had interest enough to get a
Subscription of thirty Persons of Quality, at one hundred Pounds each,
in consideration whereof, every Subscriber was for his own Life to be
admitted to whatever Entertainments should be publicly performed there,
without any farther Payment for Entrance.
In 1706, when this House was finished, Mr. _Betterton_ and his
Co-partners, who then acted at the Theatre in _Lincoln's Inn-Fields_,
dissolved their Agreement, and put themselves under the direction
of Sir _John Vanbrugh_ and Mr. _Congreve_, imagining, perhaps, that
the Conduct of two such eminent Authors might give a more prosperous
turn to their Affairs; that the Plays it would now be their interest
to write for them, would soon recover the Town to a true Taste, and
be an Advantage that no other Company could hope for; and that till
such Plays could be written, the Grandeur of their House, as it was a
new spectacle, might allure the Crowd to support them: But, if these
were their Views, they soon found their Dependance upon them was too
sanguine; for though Sir _John_ was a very expeditious Writer, yet Mr.
_Congreve_ was too judicious to let any Thing come unfinished from
his Pen. Besides, every proper Convenience of a good Theatre had been
sacrificed to shew the Audience a vast triumphal Piece of Architecture,
in which, by Means of the spaciousness of the Dome, plays could not be
successfully represented, because the Actors could not be distinctly
heard.
Not long before this Time, the _Italian_ Opera began to steal into
_England_, but in as rude a Disguise as possible: notwithstanding
which, the new Monster pleased, though it had neither Grace, Melody,
nor Action, to recommend it. To strike in therefore with the prevailing
Fashion, Sir _John_ and Mr. _Congreve_ opened their New Theatre with a
translated Opera, set to _Italian_ Music, called _The Triumph of Love_;
but it met with a very cool Reception, being performed only three
Times--to thin Houses.
Immediately upon the Failure of this Opera, Sir _John Vanbrugh_ brought
on his Comedy, called _The Confederacy_, taken, but very greatly
improved, from _Les Bourgeoises à la Mode_, of Monsieur _D'Ancourt_.
The Success of this Play was not equal to its Merit; for it is written
with an uncommon Vein of Wit and Humour; which plainly shews that the
difficulty of hearing, distinctly, in that large Theatre, was no small
Impediment to the Applause that might have followed the same Actors on
any other Stage; and indeed every Play acted there before the House
was altered, seemed to suffer greatly from the same Inconvenience; for
what few could plainly hear, it was not likely many could applaud. In
a Word, the Prospect of Profits from this Theatre was so very barren,
that Mr. _Congreve_, in a few Months, gave up his Share in it wholly to
Sir _John Vanbrugh_; who, as he had a happier Talent of throwing the
_English_ Spirit into his Translations, than any other Author who had
borrowed from them, he in the same Season produced _The Mistake_, a
Comedy, taken from _Le D'epit Amoureux_, of _Moliere_; and _The Country
House_, a Farce, translated from _The French_, which has been acted at
all the Theatres with general Applause.
Sir _John_ soon afterwards, thoroughly tired of Theatrical Affairs,
determined to get rid of his Patent on the best Terms he could; he
accordingly made an Offer to Mr. _Owen Swiney_ of his House, Clothes,
and Scenes, with the Queen's Licence to employ them, upon Payment of
the Rent of five Pounds upon every acting Day, and not to exceed 700
_l._ in the Year; with which Proposal Mr. _Swiney_ soon complied, and
managed that Stage for some Time after.
Sir _John_ is not a little to be admired for his Spirit, and
readiness in producing Plays so fast upon the Neck of one another;
for, notwithstanding his quick Dispatch, there is a clear and lively
Simplicity in his Wit, that neither wants the Or | 574.742161 |
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[Illustration: THE CAPTURE OF THE INDIAN BOY. Page 201.]
HOPE AND HAVE;
OR,
FANNY GRANT AMONG THE INDIANS.
A Story for Young People.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "RICH AND HUMBLE," "IN SCHOOL AND OUT," "WATCH AND
WAIT," "WORK AND WIN," "THE RIVERDALE STORY BOOKS,"
"THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES," "THE BOAT CLUB,"
"ALL ABOARD," "NOW OR NEVER," ETC.
"For we are saved by hope."--ST. PAUL.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD,
(SUCCESSORS TO PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & CO.)
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
4 _Spring Lane_.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND,
RACHEL E. BAKER,
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
THE WOODVILLE STORIES.
IN SIX VOLUMES.
A LIBRARY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
BY OLIVER OPTIC.
1. RICH AND HUMBLE.
2. IN SCHOOL AND OUT.
3. WATCH AND WAIT.
4. WORK AND WIN.
5. HOPE AND HAVE.
6. HASTE AND WASTE.
PREFACE.
The fifth volume of the Woodville stories contains the experience of
Fanny Grant, who from a very naughty girl became a very good one, by
the influence of a pure and beautiful example, exhibited to the erring
child in the hour of her greatest wandering from the path of rectitude.
The story is not an illustration of the "pleasures of hope;" but an
attempt to show the young reader that what we most desire, in moral and
spiritual, as well as worldly things, we labor the hardest to obtain--a
truism adopted by the heroine in the form of the principal title of the
volume, Hope and Have.
The terrible Indian massacre which occurred in Minnesota, in 1862, is
the foundation of the latter half of the story; and the incidents, so
far as they have been used, were drawn from authentic sources. Fanny
Grant's experience is tame compared with that of hundreds who suffered
by this deplorable event; and her adventures, in company with Ethan
French, are far less romantic than many which are sufficiently attested
by the principal actors in them.
Once more, and with increased pleasure, the author tenders to his
juvenile friends his thanks for their continued kindness to him and his
books; and he hopes his present offering will both please and benefit
them.
WILLIAM T. ADAMS.
HARRISON SQUARE, MASS.,
July 16, 1866.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAP. I. The Naughty Girl. 11
CHAP. II. Thou shalt not steal. 25
CHAP. III. Letting the Cat out. 39
CHAP. IV. Fanny the Skipper. 52
CHAP. V. Down the River. 66
CHAP. VI. Kate's Defection. 79
CHAP. VII. The Soldier's Family. 93
CHAP. VIII. The Sick Girl. 107
CHAP. IX. Hope and Have. 120
CHAP. X. Good out of Evil. 135
CHAP. XI. Penitence and Pardon. 148
CHAP. XII. The New Home. 162
CHAP. XIII. The Indian Massacre. 176
CHAP. XIV. The Indian Boy. 190
CHAP. XV. The Conference. 204
CHAP. XVI. The Young Exiles. 218
CHAP. XVII. The Night Attack. 231
CHAP. XVIII. The Visitor at the Island. 244
CHAP. XIX. The Indian Ambush. 257
CHAP. XX. Conclusion. 270
HOPE AND HAVE;
OR,
FANNY GRANT AMONG THE INDIANS.
CHAPTER I.
THE NAUGHTY GIRL.
"Now you will be a good girl, Fanny Jane, while I am gone--won't you?"
said Fanny Grant, who has several times before appeared in these
stories, to Fanny Jane Grant, her namesake, who has not before been
presented to our readers.
"O, yes, Miss Fanny; I will be ever so good; I won't even look wrong,"
replied Fanny Jane, whose snapping black eyes even then beamed with
mischief.
"I am afraid you don | 574.845266 |
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Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 124. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, March 14, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "TEASING TOM."]
POLLY GARDNER AND THE DRAW-BRIDGE.
BY JULIA K. HILDRETH.
Polly Gardner had been spending her vacation with Aunt Mary in the
country. She would have been "perfectly happy" but that her father and
mother were obliged to remain in the city. It was five weeks since she
had seen them, and it seemed to Polly like five months.
One lovely afternoon Polly sat on the horse-block idly kicking one foot
backward and forward, watching Aunt Mary as she drove off on a visit to
a sick neighbor. Birds were singing, bees were humming, and the slender
branches of the great gray-green willows that shadowed the road moved
softly with every light puff of wind. Away off in the field over the
hills Polly could hear the ring of the mowers' scythes. Everything was
so pleasant and peaceful that she wished her parents were there to enjoy
it with her.
Just as Aunt Mary was hidden from sight by a bend in the road | 574.845368 |
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+--------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note |
|Spelling, punctuation and inconsistencies |
|in the original journal have been retained. |
+--------------------------------------------+
Scientific and Religious Journal.
VOL. I. JANUARY, 1880. NO. 1.
THE CONFLICT.
The pyramids, temples and palaces of Thebes are monuments of the ancient
intellects of our race. Great thinkers only were capable of giving to
the world the Vedas, the Apollo Belvidere and the Parthenon. The arts
and astronomy of Egypt harmonize very poorly with the idea that modern
scientists have all the wisdom and intelligence known in the history of
the ages. Among the wonderful characters of olden times we find
Epictetus, Josephus, Strabo, Pliny, Seneca, Virgil, Aristotle, Plato,
Tacitus, Thucydides and Herodotus.
The "Speculation of Evolution of Species" was advocated among the Greeks
six hundred years before the birth of Christ. Two thousand and three
hundred years ago the entire system of German philosophy, along with
modern pantheism, was advocated by the Buddhists and Brahmins.
In many very important respects the ancients were in advance of us,
especially in the arts, and we can not boast of superiority in either
letters or philosophy. "The gentlemen of modern materialistic schools do
not compare favorably with Plato and Cicero in the elevation and
reverence of their opinions." "Science has certainly made some
advancement, but where is the warrant for the boasting" of sciolists of
modern times?
Buddhists taught the most perfect outline of materialism in general.
"They believed in a supreme force, but denied the existence of a Supreme
Being. They rejected inquiry into first causes as unscientific,"
maintaining that facts alone were to be dealt with in all our
investigations.
The Brahmin contemplated the moment when his spirit would flow back into
the great "Pantheistic Being."
Modern materialists say, "We deal only with facts." "We never
speculate." The Buddhists, and the unbelievers who figure so boastingly
upon the rostrum in modern times, speak alike. They say: "As many facts
and second causes as you please, but ask no questions about first
causes; _that_ is unscientific." We should ask no questions (?) about
the invisible. They have been very true (?) to their own principles.
There is nothing speculative (?) in the hypothesis that General George
Washington was evolved from a crustacean. There never was a more absurd
and wild speculation. It is an old speculation. Anaximander, who lived
six centuries before Christ, advocated the assumption. His words are the
following: "The sun's heat, acting on the original miry earth, produced
filmy bladders or bubbles, and these, becoming surrounded with a prickly
rind, at length burst open, and as from an egg, animals came forth. At
first they were ill-formed and imperfect, but subsequently they
elaborated and developed." This has the genuine ring of the language of
modern unbelievers.
Christianity, in its beginning, had to encounter this "speculation"
along with the current literature and philosophy of a civilization which
was semi-barbarous and centuries old, but it triumphed over all, and in
the third century it triumphed everywhere. Since that time one effort
has been made upon the part of paganism to regain her former strength in
the old world. Julian made that effort. He tried to revive and establish
the supremacy of pagan thought by the power of the state. Subsequent to
this it disappeared in the east, and has only plead for toleration in
the west. But the dark ages came on in all their hideousness, and
unbelief developed itself about the close of the fifteenth century, all
over Europe. Paganism, as the result, was fostered near the bosom of
the church. The fifth Lateran Council proclaimed anew the tenet of the
imperishability of the spirit of man. The Padua University adopted a
system of materialism taught in the works of Alexander, of Aphrodisias.
A form of pantheism known in the philosophy of Averroes soon became a
center of skepticism.
In the latter part of the seventeenth century modern unbelievers began
their assaults. Lord Herbert and Hobbs in England, Spinoza in Holland,
and Bayle in France.
In seventeen hundred and thirteen Anthony Collins published a discourse
for the encouragement of a "clique" called " | 574.899157 |
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available by the Internet Archive)
POEMS
by
RANIER MARIA RILKE
Translated by Jessie Lamont
With an Introduction by H.T.
New York
Tobias A. Wright
1918
TO THE MEMORY OF
AUGUSTE RODIN
THROUGH WHOM I CAME TO KNOW
RAINER MARIA RILKE
POEMS OF RAINER MARIA RILKE
INTRODUCTION
Acknowledgment
To the Editors of Poetry--A magazine of Verse, and Poet Lore, the
translator is indebted for permission to reprint certain poems in this
book--also to the compilers of the following anthologies--Amphora II
edited by Thomas Bird Mosher--The Catholic Anthology of World Poetry
selected by Carl van Doren.
CONTENTS
_Introduction:_
The Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
_First Poems:_
Evening
Mary Virgin
_The Book of Pictures:_
Presaging
Autumn
Silent Hour
The Angels
Solitude
Kings in Legends
The Knight
The Boy
Initiation
The Neighbour
Song of the Statue
Maidens I
Maidens II
The Bride
Autumnal Day
Moonlight Night
In April
Memories of a Childhood
Death
The Ashantee
Remembrance
Music
Maiden Melancholy
Maidens at Confirmation
The Woman who Loves
Pont du Carrousel
Madness
Lament
Symbols
_New Poems:_
Early Apollo
The Tomb of a Young Girl
The Poet
The Panther
Growing Blind
The Spanish Dancer
Offering
Love Song
Archaic Torso of Apollo
_The Book of Hours:_
_The Book of a Monk's Life_
I Live my Life in Circles
Many have Painted Her
In Cassocks Clad
Thou Anxious One
I Love My Life's Dark Hours
_The Book of Pilgrimage_
By Day Thou Art The Legend and The Dream
All Those Who Seek Thee
In a House Was One
Extinguish My Eyes
In the Deep Nights
_The Book of Poverty and Death_
Her Mouth
Alone Thou Wanderest
A Watcher of Thy Spaces
THE POETRY OF RAINER MARIA RILKE
[Greek: eisi gar oun, oi en tas phuchais kuousin]
Plato
The supreme problem of every age is that of finding its consummate
artistic expression. Before this problem every other remains of
secondary importance. History defines and directs its physical course,
science cooperates in the achievement of its material aims, but Art
alone gives to the age its spiritual physiognomy, its ultimate and
lasting expression.
The process of Art is on the one hand sensuous, the conception having
for its basis the fineness of organization of the senses; and on the
other hand it is severely scientific, the value of the creation being
dependent upon the craftsmanship, the mastery over the tool, the
technique.
Art, like Nature, its great and only reservoir for all time past and all
time to come, ever strives for elimination and selection. It is severe
and aristocratic in the application of its laws and impervious to appeal
to serve other than its own aims. Its purpose is the symbolization of
Life. In its sanctum there reigns the silence of vast accomplishment,
the serene, final, and imperturbable solitude which is the ultimate
criterion of all great things created.
To speak of Poetry is to speak of the most subtle, the most delicate,
and the most accurate instrument by which to measure Life.
Poetry is reality's essence visioned and made manifest by one endowed
with a perception acutely sensitive to sound, form, and colour, and
gifted with a power to shape into rhythmic and rhymed verbal symbols the
reaction to Life's phenomena. The poet moulds that which appears
evanescent and ephemeral in image and in mood into everlasting values.
In this act of creation he serves eternity.
Poetry, in especial lyrical poetry, must be acknowledged the supreme
art, culminating as it does in a union of the other arts, the musical,
the plastic, and the pictorial.
The most eminent contemporary poets of Europe have, each in accordance
with his individual temperament, reflected in their work the spiritual
essence of our age, its fears and failures, its hopes and high
achievements: Maeterlinck, with his mood of resignation and his
retirement into a dusky twilight where his shadowy figures move
noiselessly like phantoms in fate-laden dimness; Dehmel, the worshipper
of will, with his passion for materiality and the beauty of all things
physical and tangible; Verhaeren, the visionary of a new vitality, who
sees in the toilers of fields and factories the heroic gesture of our
time and who might have written its great epic of industry but for the
overwhelming lyrical mood of his soul.
Until a few years ago, known only to a relatively small community on the
continent but commanding an ever increasing attention which has borne
his name far beyond the boundary of his country, the personality of
Rainer Maria Rilke stands to-day beside the most illustrious poets of
modern Europe.
* * * * *
The background against which the figure of Rainer Maria Rilke is
silhouetted is so varied, the influences which have entered into his
life are so manifold, that a study of his work, however slight, must
needs take into consideration the elements through which this poet has
matured into a great master.
Prague, the city in which Rilke was born in 1875, with its sinister
palaces and crumbling towers that rose in the early Middle Ages and have
reached out into our time like the threatening fingers of mighty hands
which have wielded swords for generations and which are stained with the
blood of many wounds of many races; the city where amid grey old ruins
blonde maidens are at play or are lost in reverie in the green cool
parks and shady gardens with which the Bohemian capital abounds, this
Prague of mingled grotesqueness and beauty gave to the young boy his
first impressions.
There is a period in the life of every artist when his whole being seems
lost in a contemplation of the surrounding world, when the application
to work is difficult, like the violent forcing of something that is
awaiting its time. This is the time of his dream, as sacred as the days
of early spring before wind and rain and light have touched the fruits
of the fields, when there is a tense bleak silence over the whole of
nature, in which is wrapped the strength of storms and the glow of the
summer's sun. This is the time of his deepest dream, and upon this dream
and its guarding depends the final realization of his life's work.
The young graduate of the Gymnasium was to enter upon the career of an
army officer in accordance with the traditions of the family, an old
noble house which traces its lineage far back to Carinthian ancestry.
His inclinations, however, pointed so decisively in the direction of the
finer arts of life that he left the Military Academy after a very short
attendance to devote himself to the study of philosophy and the history
of art.
As one turns the pages of Rilke's first small book of poems, published
originally under the title _Larenopfer_, in the year 1895, and which
appeared in more recent editions under the less descriptive name _Erste
Gedichte_, one realizes at once, in spite of a lack of plasticity in the
presentation, that here speaks one who has lingered long and lovingly
over the dream of his boyhood. As the title indicates, these poems are a
tribute, an offering to the Lares, the home spirits of his native town.
Prague and the surrounding country are the ever recurring theme of
almost every one of these poems. The meadows, the maidens, the dark
river in the evening, the spires of the cathedral at night rising like
grey mists are seen with a wonderment, the great well-spring of all
poetic imagination, with a well-nigh religious piety. Through all these
poems there sounds like a subdued accompaniment a note of gratitude for
the ability to thus vision the world, to be sunk in the music of all
things. "Without is everything that I feel within myself, and without
and within myself everything is immeasurable, illimitable."
These pictures of town and landscape are never separated from their
personal relation to the poet. He feels too keenly his dependence upon
them, as a child views flowers and stars as personal possessions. Not
until later was he to reach the height of an impersonal objectivity in
his art. What distinguishes these early poems from similar adolescent
productions is the restraint in the presentation, the economy and
intensity of expression and that quality of listening to the inner voice
of things which renders the poet the seer of mankind.
The second book of poems appeared two years later and like the first
volume _Traumgekroent_ is full of the music that is reminiscent of the
mild melancholy of the Bohemian folk-songs, in whose gentle rhythms the
barbaric strength of the race seems to be lulled to rest as the waves of
a far-away tumultuous sea gently lap the shore. The themes of
_Traumgekroent_ are extended somewhat beyond the immediate environment
of Prague and some of the most beautiful poems are luminous pictures of
villages hidden in the snowy blossoming of May and June, out of which
rises here and there the solitary soft voice of a boy or girl singing.
In these first two volumes the poet is satisfied with painting in words,
full of sonorous beauty, the surrounding world. From this period dates
the small poem _Evening_, which seems to have been sketched by a
Japanese painter, so clear and colourful is its texture, so precious and
precise are its outlines.
With _Advent_ and _Mir Zur Feier_, both published within the following
three years, a phase of questioning commences, a dim desire begins to
stir to reach out into the larger world "deep into life, out beyond
time." Whereas the early poems were characterized by a tendency to turn
away from the turmoil of life--in fact, the concrete world of reality
does not seem to exist--there is noticeable in these two later volumes
an advance toward life in the sense that the poet is beginning to
approach and to vision some of its greatest symbols.
Throughout the entire work of Rilke, in his poetry as well as in his
interpretations of painting and sculpture, there are two elements that
constitute the cornerstones in the structure of his art. If, as has been
said with a degree of verity, Nietzsche was primarily a musician whose
philosophy had for its basis and took its ultimate aspects from the
musical quality of his artistic endowment, it may be maintained with an
equal amount of truth that Rilke is primarily a painter and sculptor
whose poetry rests upon the fundaments of the pictorial and plastic
arts.
Up to the time of the publication of these volumes, Rilke's poems
possessed a quietude, a stillness suggested in the straight unbroken yet
delicate lines of the picture which he portrays and in the soft, almost
unpulsating rhythm of his words. The approach of evening or nightfall,
the coming of dawn, the change of the seasons, the slow changes of light
into darkness and of darkness into light, in short, the most silent yet
greatest metamorphoses in the external aspects of nature form the
contents of many of these first poems. The inanimate object and the
living creature in nature are not seen in the sharp contours of their
isolation; they are viewed and interpreted in the atmosphere that
surrounds them, in which they are enwrapped and so densely veiled that
the outlines are only dimly visible, be that atmosphere the mystic grey
of northern twilight or the dark velvety blue of southern summer nights.
In _Advent_, the experience of the atmosphere becomes an experience in
his innermost soul and, therefore, all things become of value to him
only in so far as they partake of the atmosphere, as they are seen in a
peculiar air and distance. This first phase in Rilke's work may be
defined as the phase of reposeful nature.
To this sphere of relaxation and restfulness in which the objects are
static and are changed only as the surrounding atmosphere affects them,
the second phase in the poet's development adds another element, which
later was to grow into dimensions so powerful, so violently breaking
beyond the limitations of simple expression in words that it could only
find its satisfaction in a dithyrambic hymn to the work of the great
plastic artist of our time, to the creations of Auguste Rodin. This
second element is that which the French sculptor in a different medium
has carried to perfection. It is the element of gesture, of dramatic
movement.
This might seem the appropriate place in which to speak of Rilke's
monograph on the art of Rodin. To do so would, however, be an undue
anticipation, for it will be necessary to trace Rilke's development
through several transitions before the value of his contact with the
work of Rodin can be fully measured.
The gesture, the movement | 574.939123 |
2023-11-16 18:26:38.9199570 | 1,893 | 6 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v5
by George Meredith
#87 in our series by George Meredith
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Title: Lord Ormont and his Aminta, v5
Author: George Meredith
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4481]
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LORD ORMONT AND HIS AMINTA
By George Meredith
BOOK 5.
XXIV. LOVERS MATED
XXXV. PREPARATIONS FOR A RESOLVE
XXVI. VISITS OF FAREWELL
XXVII. A MARINE DUET
XXVIII. THE PLIGHTING
XXIX. AMINTA TO HER LORD
XXX. CONCLUSION
CHAPTER XXIV
LOVERS MATED
He was benevolently martial, to the extent of paternal, in thinking his
girl, of whom he deigned to think now as his countess, pardonably
foolish. Woman for woman, she was of a pattern superior to the world's
ordinary, and might run the world's elect a race. But she was pitifully
woman-like in her increase of dissatisfaction with the more she got.
Women are happier enslaved. Men, too, if their despot is an Ormont.
Colonel of his regiment, he proved that: his men would follow him
anywhere, do anything. Grand old days, before he was condemned by one
knows not what extraordinary round of circumstances to cogitate on women
as fluids, and how to cut channels for them, that they may course along
in the direction good for them, imagining it their pretty wanton will to
go that way! Napoleon's treatment of women is excellent example.
Peterborough's can be defended.
His Aminta could not reason. She nursed a rancour on account of the blow
she drew on herself at Steignton, and she declined consolation in her
being pardoned. The reconcilement evidently was proposed as a finale of
one of the detestable feminine storms enveloping men weak enough to let
themselves be dragged through a scene for the sake of domestic
tranquillity.
A remarkable exhibition of Aminta the woman was, her entire change of
front since he had taken her spousal chill. Formerly she was passive,
merely stately, the chiselled grande dame, deferential in her bearing
and speech, even when argumentative and having an opinion to plant.
She had always the independent eye and step; she now had the tongue of
the graceful and native great lady, fitted to rule her circle and hold
her place beside the proudest of the Ormonts. She bore well the small
shuffle with her jewel-box--held herself gallantly. There had been no
female feignings either, affected misapprehensions, gapy ignorances, and
snaky subterfuges, and the like, familiar to men who have the gentle
twister in grip. Straight on the line of the thing to be seen she flew,
and struck on it; and that is a woman's martial action. He would right
heartily have called her comrade, if he had been active himself.
A warrior pulled off his horse, to sit in a chair and contemplate the
minute evolutions of the sex is pettish with his part in such battle-
fields at the stage beyond amusement.
Seen swimming, she charmed him. Abstract views of a woman summon
opposite advocates: one can never say positively, That is she! But the
visible fair form of a woman is hereditary queen of us. We have none of
your pleadings and counter-pleadings and judicial summaries to obstruct a
ravenous loyalty. My lord beheld Aminta take her three quick steps on
the plank, and spring and dive and ascend, shaking the ends of her bound
black locks; and away she went with shut mouth and broad stroke of her
arms into the sunny early morning river; brave to see, although he had to
flick a bee of a question, why he enjoyed the privilege of seeing, and
was not beside her. The only answer confessed to a distaste for all
exercise once pleasurable.
She and her little friend boated or strolled through the meadows during
the day; he fished. When he and Aminta rode out for the hour before
dinner, she seemed pleased. She was amicable, conversable, all that was
agreeable as a woman, and she was the chillest of wives. My lord's
observations and reflections came to one conclusion: she pricked and
challenged him to lead up to her desired stormy scene. He met her and
meant to vanquish her with the dominating patience Charlotte had found
too much for her: women cannot stand against it.
To be patient in contention with women, however, one must have a
continuous and an exclusive occupation; and the tax it lays on us
conduces usually to impatience with men. My lord did not directly
connect Aminta's chillness and Morsfield's impudence; yet the sensation
roused by his Aminta participated in the desire to punish Morsfield
speedily. Without wishing for a duel, he was moved by the social
sanction it had to consider whether green youths and women might not
think a grey head had delayed it too long. The practice of the duel
begot the peculiar animal logic of the nobler savage, which tends to
magnify an offence in the ratio of our vanity, and hunger for a blood
that is not demanded by the appetite. Moreover, a waning practice, in
disfavour with the new generation, will be commended to the conservative
barbarian, as partaking of the wisdom of his fathers. Further, too, we
may have grown slothful, fallen to moodiness, done excess of service to
Omphale, our tyrant lady of the glow and the chill; and then undoubtedly
the duel braces.
He left Aminta for London, submissive to the terms of intimacy dictated
by her demeanour, his unacknowledged seniority rendering their harshness
less hard to endure. She had not gratified him with a display of her
person in the glitter of the Ormont jewels; and since he was, under
common conditions, a speechless man, his ineptitude for amorous | 574.939997 |
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Produced by Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
TALES FROM
THE TELLING-HOUSE
[Illustration:
TALES FROM THE
TELLING-HOUSE
BY
R. D. BLACKMORE
AUTHOR OF “LORNA DOONE,” ETC.
1. SLAIN BY THE DOONES
2. FRIDA; OR, THE LOVER’S LEAP
3. GEORGE BOWRING
4. CROCKER’S HOLE
LONDON
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY
LIMITED
St. Dunstan’s House
1896
]
PREFACE.
Sometimes of a night, when the spirit of a dream flits away for a waltz
with the shadow of a pen, over dreary moors and dark waters, I behold
an old man, with a keen profile, under a parson’s shovel hat, riding
a tall chestnut horse up the western <DW72> of Exmoor, followed by his
little grandson upon a shaggy and stuggy pony.
In the hazy folds of lower hills, some four or five miles behind them,
may be seen the ancient Parsonage, where the lawn is a russet sponge of
moss, and a stream tinkles under the dining-room floor, and the pious
rook, poised on the pulpit of his nest, reads a hoarse sermon to the
chimney-pots below. There is the home not of rooks alone, and parson,
and dogs that are scouring the moor; but also of the patches of hurry
we can see, and the bevies of bleating haste, converging by force of
men and dogs towards the final _rendezvous_, the autumnal muster of the
clans of wool.
For now the shrill piping of the northwest wind, and the browning
of furze and heather, and a scollop of snow upon Oare-oak Hill,
announce that the roving of soft green height, and the browsing of
sunny hollow, must be changed for the durance of hurdled quads, and
the monotonous munch of turnips. The joy of a scurry from the shadow
of a cloud, the glory of a rally with a hundred heads in line, the
pleasure of polishing a coign of rock, the bliss of beholding flat
nose, brown eyes, and fringy forehead, approaching round a corner for
a sheepish talk, these and every other jollity of freedom--what is
now become of them? Gone! Like a midsummer dream, or the vision of a
blue sky, pastured--to match the green hill--with white forms floating
peacefully; a sky, where no dog can be, much less a man, only the
fleeces of the gentle flock of heaven. Lackadaisy, and well-a-day! How
many of you will be woolly ghosts like them, before you are two months
older!
My grandfather knows what fine mutton is, though his grandson indites
of it by memory alone. “Ha, ha!” shouts the happier age, amid the
bleating turmoil, the yelping of dogs, and the sprawling of shepherds;
“John Fry, put your eye on that wether, the one with his J. B. upside
down, we’ll have a cut out of him on Sunday week, please God. Why, you
stupid fellow, you don’t even know a B yet! That is Farmer Passmore’s
mark you have got hold of. Two stomachs to a B; will you never
understand? Just look at what you’re doing! Here come James Bowden’s
and he has got a lot of ours! _Shep_ is getting stupid, and deaf as a
post. _Watch_ is worth ten of him. Good dog, good dog! You won’t let
your master be cheated. How many of ours, John Fry? Quick now! You can
tell, if you can’t read; and I can read quicker than I can tell.”
“Dree score, and vower Maister; ‘cardin’ to my rackonin’. Dree score
and zax it waz as us toorned out, zeventh of June, God knows it waz.
Wan us killed, long of harvest-taime; and wan tummled into bog-hole,
across yanner to Mole’s Chimmers.”
“But,” says the little chap on the shaggy pony, “John Fry, where are
the four that ought to have R. D. B. on them? You promised me, on the
blade of your knife, before I went to school again, that my two lambs
should have their children marked the same as they were.”
John turns redder than his own sheep’s-redding. He knows that he has
been caught out in a thumping lie, and although that happens to him
almost every day, his conscience has a pure complexion still. “’Twaz
along of the rains as wasshed ’un out.” In vain has he scratched his
head for a finer lie.
“Grandfather, you know that I had two lambs, and you let me put
R. D. B. on them with both my hands, after the shearing-time last year,
and I got six shillings for their wool the next time, and I gave it to
a boy who thrashed a boy that bullied me. And Aunt Mary Anne wrote to
tell me at school that my two lambs had increased two each, all of them
sheep; and there was sure to be a lot of money soon for me. And so I
went and promised it right and left, and how can I go back to school,
and be called a liar? You call this the _Telling-house_, because
people come here to tell their own sheep from their neighbours’, when
they fetch them home again. But I should say it was because they tell
such stories here. And if that is the reason, I know who can tell the
biggest ones.”
With the pride of a conscious author, he blushes, that rogue of a John
Fry blushes, wherever he has shaved within the last three weeks of his
false life.
“Never mind, my boy; story-telling never answers in the end,” says my
Grandfather--oh how could he thus foresee my fate? “Be sure you always
speak the truth.”
That advice have I followed always. And if I lost my four sheep then,
through the plagiarism of that bad fellow, by hook or crook I have
fetched four more out of the wilderness of the past; and I only wish
they were better mutton, for the pleasure of old friends who like a
simple English joint.
R.D.B.
_Old Christmas Day, 1896_
CONTENTS.
PAGE
SLAIN BY THE DOONES:
I. AFTER A STORMY LIFE, 1
II. BY A QUIET RIVER, 12
III. WISE COUNSEL, 22
IV. A COTTAGE HOSPITAL, 33
V. MISTAKEN AIMS, 43
VI. OVER THE BRIDGE, 55
FRIDA; OR, THE LOVER’S LEAP, 69
GEORGE BOWRING, 135
CROCKER’S HOLE, 203
SLAIN BY THE DOONES.
CHAPTER I.
AFTER A STORMY LIFE.
To hear people talking about North Devon, and the savage part called
Exmoor, you might almost think that there never was any place in the
world so beautiful, or any living men so wonderful. It is not my
intention to make little of them, for they would be the last to permit
it; neither do I feel ill will against them for the pangs they allowed
me to suffer; for I dare say they could not help themselves, being
so slow-blooded, and hard to stir even by their own egrimonies. But
when I look back upon the things that happened, and were for a full
generation of mankind accepted as the will of God, I say, that the
people who endured them must have been born to be ruled by the devil.
And in thinking thus I am not alone; for the very best judges of that
day stopped short of that end of the world, because the law would not
go any further. Nevertheless, every word is true of what I am going
to tell, and the stoutest writer of history cannot make less of it by
denial.
My father was Sylvester Ford of Quantock, in the county of Somerset,
a gentleman of large estate as well as ancient lineage. Also of high
courage and resolution not to be beaten, as he proved in his many
rides with Prince Rupert, and woe that I should say it! in his most
sad death. To this he was not looking forward much, though turned of
threescore years and five; and his only child and loving daughter,
Sylvia, which is myself, had never dreamed of losing him. For he
was exceeding fond of me, little as I deserved it, except by loving
him with all my heart and thinking nobody like him. And he without
anything to go upon, except that he was my father, held, as I have
often heard, as good an opinion of me.
Upon the triumph of that hard fanatic, the Brewer, who came to a
timely end by the justice of high Heaven--my father, being disgusted
with England as well as banished from her, and despoiled of all his
property, took service on the Continent, and wandered there for many
years, until the replacement of the throne. Thereupon he expected, as
many others did, to get his estates restored to him, and perhaps to be
held in high esteem at court, as he had a right to be. But this did
not so come to pass. Excellent words were granted him, and promise of
tenfold restitution; on the faith of which he returned to Paris, and
married a young Italian lady of good birth and high qualities, but with
nothing more to come to her. Then, to his great disappointment, he
found himself left to live upon air--which, however distinguished, is
not sufficient--and love, which, being fed so easily, expects all who
lodge with it to live upon itself.
My father was full of strong loyalty; and the king (in his value of
that sentiment) showed faith that it would support him. His majesty
took both my father’s hands, having learned that hearty style in
France, and welcomed him with most gracious warmth, and promised him
more than he could desire. But time went on, and the bright words
faded, like a rose set bravely in a noble vase, without any nurture
under it.
Another man had been long established in our hereditaments by the
Commonwealth; and he would not quit them of his own accord, having a
sense of | 574.941024 |
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Produced by Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders
AT LOVE'S COST
By CHARLES GARVICE
AT LOVE'S COST
CHAPTER 1
"Until this moment I have never fully realised how great an ass a man
can be. When I think that this morning I scurried through what might
have been a decent breakfast, left my comfortable diggings, and was
cooped up in a train for seven hours, that I am now driving in a
pelting rain through, so far as I can see for the mist, what appears to
be a howling wilderness, I ask myself if I am still in possession of my
senses. I ask myself why I should commit such lurid folly. Last night I
was sitting over the fire with a book--for it was cold, though not so
cold as this," the speaker shivered and dragged the collar of his
overcoat still higher--"at peace with all the world, with Omar purring
placidly by my side, and my soul wrapped in that serenity which belongs
to a man who has long since rid himself of that inconvenient
appendage--a conscience, and has hit upon the right brand of
cigarettes, and now--"
He paused to sigh, to groan indeed, and shifted himself uneasily in the
well-padded seat of the luxurious mail-phaeton.
"When Williams brought me your note, vilely written--were you sober,
Stafford?--blandly asking me to join you in this mad business, I smiled
to myself as I pitched the note on the fire. Omar smiled too, the very
cigarette smiled. I said to myself I would see you blowed first; that
nothing would induce me to join you, that I'd read about the lakes too
much and too often to venture upon them in the early part of June; in
fact, had no desire to see the lakes at any time or under any
conditions. I told Omar that I would see you in the lowest pit of
Tophet before I would go with you to--whatever the name of this place
is. And yet, here I am."
The speaker paused in his complaint to empty a pool water from his
mackintosh, and succeeded--in turning it over his own leg.
He groaned again, and continued.
"And yet, here I am. My dear Stafford, I do not wish to upbraid you; I
am simply making to myself a confession of weakness which would be
pitiable in a stray dog, but which in a man of my years, with my
experience of the world and reputation for common sense, is simply
criminal. I do not wish to reproach you; I am quite aware that no
reproach, not even the spectacle of my present misery would touch your
callous and, permit me to frankly add, your abominably selfish nature;
but I do want to ask quite calmly and without any display of temper:
what the blazes you wanted to come this way round, and why you wanted
me with you?"
The speaker, a slightly built man, just beyond the vague line of
"young," glanced up with his dark, somewhat sombre and yet softly
cynical eyes at the face of his companion who was driving. This
companion was unmistakably young, and there was not a trace of cynicism
in his grey-blue eyes which looked out upon the rain and mist with
pleasant cheerfulness. He was neither particularly fair nor dark; but
there was a touch of brighter colour than usual in his short, crisp
hair; and no woman had yet found fault with the moustache or the lips
beneath. And yet, though Stafford Orme's face was rather too handsome
than otherwise, the signs of weakness which one sees in so many
good-looking faces did not mar it; indeed, there was a hint of
strength, not to say sternness, in the well-cut lips, a glint of power
and masterfulness in the grey eyes and the brows above them which
impressed one at first sight; though when one came to know him the
impression was soon lost, effaced by the charm for which Stafford was
famous, and which was perpetually recruiting his army of friends.
No doubt it is easy to be charming when the gods have made you good to
look upon, and have filled your pockets with gold into the bargain.
Life was a pageant of pleasure to Stafford Orme: no wonder he sang and
smiled upon the way and had no lack of companions.
Even this man beside him, Edmund Howard, whose name was a by-word for
cynicism, who had never, until he had met Stafford Orme, gone an inch
out of his self-contained way to please or benefit a fellow-man, was
the slave of the young fellow's imperious will, and though he made
burlesque complaint of his bondage, did not in his heart rebel against
it.
Stafford laughed shortly as he looked at the rain-swept hills round
which the two good horses were taking the well-appointed phaeton.
"Oh, I knew you would come," he said. "It was just this way. You know
the governor wrote and asked me to come down to this new place of his
at Bryndermere--"
"Pardon me, Stafford; you forget that I have been down South--where I
wish to Heaven I had remained!--and that I only returned yesterday
afternoon, and that I know nothing of these sudden alarums and
excursions of your esteemed parent."
"Ah, no; so you don't!" assented Stafford; "thought I'd told you: shall
have to tell you now; I'll cut it as short as possible." He paused for
a moment and gently drew the lash of the whip over the wet backs of the
two horses who were listening intently to the voice of their beloved
master. "Well, three days ago I got a letter from my father; it was a
long one; I think it's the first long letter I ever received from him.
He informed me that for some time past he has been building a little
place on the east side of Bryndermere Lake, that he thought it would be
ready by the ninth of this month; and would I go down--or is it
up?--there and meet him, as he was coming to England and would go
straight there from Liverpool. Of course there was not time for me to
reply, and equally, of course, I prepared to obey. I meant going
straight down to Bryndermere; and I should have done so, but two days
ago I received a telegram telling me that the place would not be ready,
and that he would not be there until the eleventh, and asking me to
fill up the interval by sending down some horses and carriages. It
occurred to me, with one of those brilliant flashes | 575.003153 |
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Produced by David Widger
ESSAYS OF MICHEL DE MONTAIGNE
Translated by Charles Cotton
Edited by William Carew Hazilitt
1877
CONTENTS OF VOLUME 9.
I. Of the inconstancy of our actions.
II. Of drunkenness.
III. A custom of the Isle of Cea.
IV. To-morrow's a new day.
V. Of conscience.
VI. Use makes perfect.
ESSAYS OF MONTAIGNE
BOOK THE SECOND
CHAPTER I
OF THE INCONSTANCY OF OUR ACTIONS
Such as make it their business to oversee human actions, do not find
themselves in anything so much perplexed as to reconcile them and bring
them into the world's eye with the same lustre and reputation; for they
commonly so strangely contradict one another that it seems impossible
they should proceed from one and the same person. We find the younger
Marius one while a son of Mars and another a son of Venus. Pope Boniface
VIII. entered, it is said, into his Papacy like a fox, behaved himself in
it like a lion, and died like a dog; and who could believe it to be the
same Nero, the perfect image of all cruelty, who, having the sentence of
a condemned man brought to him to sign, as was the custom, cried out,
"O that I had never been taught to write!" so much it went to his heart
to condemn a man to death. All story is full of such examples, and every
man is able to produce so many to himself, or out of his own practice or
observation, that I sometimes wonder to see men of understanding give
themselves the trouble of sorting these pieces, considering that
irresolution appears to me to be the most common and manifest vice of our
nature witness the famous verse of the player Publius:
"Malum consilium est, quod mutari non potest."
["'Tis evil counsel that will admit no change."
--Pub. Mim., ex Aul. Gell., xvii. 14.]
There seems some reason in forming a judgment of a man from the most
usual methods of his life; but, considering the natural instability of
our manners and opinions, I have often thought even the best authors a
little out in so obstinately endeavouring to make of us any constant and
solid contexture; they choose a general air of a man, and according to
that interpret all his actions, of which, if they cannot bend some to a
uniformity with the rest, they are presently imputed to dissimulation.
Augustus has escaped them, for there was in him so apparent, sudden, and
continual variety of actions all the whole course of his life, that he
has slipped away clear and undecided from the most daring critics. I can
more hardly believe a man's constancy than any other virtue, and believe
nothing sooner than the contrary. He that would judge of a man in detail
and distinctly, bit by bit, would oftener be able to speak the truth. It
is a hard matter, from all antiquity, to pick out a dozen men who have
formed their lives to one certain and constant course, which is the
principal design of wisdom; for to comprise it all in one word, says one
of the ancients, and to contract all the rules of human life into one,
"it is to will, and not to will, always one and the same thing: I will
not vouchsafe," says he, "to add, provided the will be just, for if it be
not just, it is impossible it should be always one." I have indeed
formerly learned that vice is nothing but irregularity, and want of
measure, and therefore 'tis impossible to fix constancy to it. 'Tis a
saying of. Demosthenes, "that the beginning oh all virtue is
consultation and deliberation; the end and perfection, constancy." If we
would resolve on any certain course by reason, we should pitch upon the
best, but nobody has thought on't:
"Quod petit, spernit; repetit, quod nuper omisit;
AEstuat, et vitae disconvenit ordine toto."
["That which he sought he despises; what he lately lost, he seeks
again. He fluctuates, and is inconsistent in the whole order of
life."--Horace, Ep., i. I, 98.]
Our ordinary practice is to follow the inclinations of our appetite, be
it to the left or right, upwards or downwards, according as we are wafted
by the breath of occasion. We never meditate what we would have till the
instant we have a mind to have it; and change like that little creature
which receives its colour from what it is laid upon. What we but just
now proposed to ourselves we immediately alter, and presently return
again to it; 'tis nothing but shifting and inconsistency:
"Ducimur, ut nervis alienis mobile lignum."
["We are turned about like the top with the thong of others."
--Idem, Sat., ii. 7, 82.]
We do not go, we are driven; like things that float, now leisurely, then
with violence, | 575.004397 |
2023-11-16 18:26:39.0170380 | 7,435 | 9 | THEM***
Transcribed from the 1860 James Nisbet edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
[Picture: Tucker’s cottage. The Oldest House in Kensington Potteries]
RAGGED HOMES,
AND
HOW TO MEND THEM.
* * * * *
BY
MRS BAYLY.
* * * * *
“The corner-stone of the commonwealth is the hearth-stone.”
* * * * *
Fifth Thousand.
* * * * *
LONDON:
JAMES NISBET AND CO., 21 BERNERS STREET.
M.DCCC.LX.
DEDICATED,
BY PERMISSION,
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE EARL OF SHAFTESBURY.
MY LORD,
I do not inscribe this narrative of facts to you in the expectation of
adding to that acquaintance with the working-classes which you have
gained from personal intercourse with them.
It is for my own satisfaction that I have dedicated this little Volume to
you. An opportunity, which might not otherwise have occurred, now offers
for thanking you in the name of the poor whom you have cheered by your
sympathy, and of the rich whom you have stimulated by your example.
Compliments between fellow-workers are not seemly, however humble the
bestower, however illustrious the receiver.
That you have allowed your name to appear in these pages cannot but be
gratifying to the writer. The reader will rejoice no less, and from
higher than personal motives. He will see in this kindness another proof
of your hearty interest in that class which, if rightly considered, is,
from its very poverty, a blessing to the land, by putting our indolence
and selfishness to shame.
I have the honour to be,
MY LORD,
Your Lordship’s obliged Servant,
MARY BAYLY.
PREFACE.
AMIDST the excitements of political contests at home, with wars and
rumours of wars abroad, the voice of “Social Science” is occasionally
heard, and listened to, with a growing conviction of its importance. The
Politician, the Moralist, and the Christian are impelled by various
reasons to its consideration, and will listen with equal interest to its
details.
Experience is always valued by practical men, and the records of what has
been done are anxiously sought, to assist our judgment in future and more
extended exertions.
The condition of the young, and the education of children, naturally
engaged the earliest attention of Social Reformers. Experience has shewn
the importance of genial influences at home, and that it is _necessary_
to improve the homes of the poor, in order to save the children from
destruction. It has also been found that _much_ can be thus effected.
Poor women, who have been subjected to the severe discipline of a
struggling existence, are often willing and anxious listeners to useful
instruction, and are perhaps more susceptible of good influence than
younger persons who have not felt the necessity for improvement. There
is, therefore, room to hope that the influence which can be brought to
bear upon the mothers of the working-classes will be a most important
element in that general elevation which it is our desire to attain.
It was principally owing to this impression, and also the great desire
which I felt to do something, however feeble, to bring more happiness and
comfort into the houses of my poor neighbours, that induced me, five or
six years ago, to commence a Mothers’ Society. The usual ways of helping
the poor seemed to me to effect little real good. The nice soup sent for
the sick man was spoiled by being smoked in the warming up, or by the
taste infused into it from the dirty saucepan: the sago intended for the
infant was burnt, or only half cooked; and medicine and food alike failed
to be efficacious in the absence of cleanliness, and in the stifling air
which the poor patient was doomed to breathe. The mothers of the little,
thin, fretful babies would complain to me that they could not think why
the child did so badly, for they managed to get a rasher of bacon for it
whenever they could, and always fed it two or three times in the night.
I saw that the wise man was indeed right in saying “that knowledge is the
principal thing;” and that if I could help them in any way to “get
knowledge,” it would be a gift far surpassing in value anything else I
could offer them. The applications constantly made to me for information
on the best modes of establishing and conducting these Societies, induce
me to suppose that they have taken some hold on the public mind, and that
these institutions supply a want that is every day increasingly felt.
The only value that can be attached to any remarks which I have to make
is, that they are the result of some years’ experience; and that the
plans which I have adopted, though capable of great improvement, have
been to some extent successful. But the principal motive in my own mind
for sending these simple narratives forth into the world is, the hope
that more attention than ever may by their means be directed to that
great and difficult subject, the improvement of the homes of the poor.
As a few notes of a bird, the lisping of a child, the sound of the wind
dying away, have sometimes been sufficient to awaken the spirit of
harmony in some master-mind, and so led to the composition of the music
which has thrilled and delighted all who have heard it; so, it is hoped,
the suggestions here made may be of use to many minds, and that anything
already effected may be as the drop to the showers, or as the first buds
of spring to the luxuriance of summer.
8 LANSDOWNE CRESCENT,
_May_ 10, 1859.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER I.
A VILLAGE—NOT PICTURESQUE 19
CHAPTER II.
ILLUSTRATIONS OF CHARACTER 39
CHAPTER III.
SLOW ADVANCING 61
CHAPTER IV.
SOWING SEED 81
CHAPTER V.
HOMES AND NO HOMES 107
CHAPTER VI.
DIFFICULTIES 125
CHAPTER VII.
GIVING AND RECEIVING 143
CHAPTER VIII.
LIGHT UPON A DARK SUBJECT 157
CHAPTER IX.
OUR MISSIONARIES 175
CHAPTER X.
OUR BABY 195
CHAPTER XI.
LETTERS 213
CHAPTER XII.
OBSTACLES: WHO SHALL REMOVE THEM? 237
APPENDIX 259
INTRODUCTORY.
“Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely calculated less and more.”
WORDSWORTH.
A FEW weeks ago I was visiting the Library in the British Museum. Two
gentlemen, who stood near me, appeared very earnest in the pursuit of
something which they wanted. Presently, by an exclamation of delight, I
understood that their search had been successful; they had found what
they had sought. And what had they found? A very old book, so badly
printed as to be read with difficulty, and containing information of what
must have taken place at least two thousand years ago—information very
interesting and important to the old Romans, no doubt; and which would
have been still more so, if they could have foreseen what delight it
would have imparted, centuries later, to two inhabitants of a remote
island in the north, who could not possibly be affected by it. But so it
is: some minds prefer to dwell on the past; others live in the present;
and some seem of opinion that “man never is, but always _to be_, blest.”
This diversity is no doubt necessary; all do some good: the antiquarian
adds to the interest of our libraries, if not of our lives; and we owe
much to those who teach us to look forward, if they will only at the same
time help us to look upward: but to such as wish to _do_ something, who
desire to have an influence on the great living history which every day
is writing afresh, the passing events of the time have the greatest
charm, because they not only present food for reflection, but opportunity
for exertion.
We not unfrequently hear people speak of life in such a way as would lead
us to suppose that there had been some mistake as to the date of their
birth. Had they come a little earlier or a little later, it would have
been different; but the present seems to afford them no object of
interest. They complain of intolerable dulness, the weariness of life;
and in watching the cheerless, the objectless existence of such people,
we wonder that it is recorded of only a single individual, that one
morning he shot himself, for the reason assigned on a slip of paper which
he had left on the dressing-table—“I am tired of living only to
breakfast, dine, and sup.”
I have often thought, when listening to such complaints, of the prayer of
Elisha for his unbelieving servant, “Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes,
that he may see;” and if the Lord would do for them as He did for this
servant, and open their eyes—not to see “mountains full of horses and
chariots of fire” waiting to deliver them—but alleys, and lanes, and
villages, full of the needy and the sick, waiting for loving hearts and
kind hands to come and help them to rise from their degradation,
wretchedness, and filth,—the strain would be changed; and, in the
contemplation of such a vast amount of labour, followed by such rich
reward, we should rather expect to hear, if it must still be the language
of complaint:—
“O wretched yet inevitable spite
Of our short span! and we must yield our breath,
And wrap us in the lazy coil of death;
So much remaining of unproved delight!”
There are many indications in the present day that the fields are “white
unto harvest.” Several things, that were looked upon some years ago as
experiments, have been so eminently successful, that no unprejudiced mind
can doubt that they are the means which God has blessed, and by which He
intends to accomplish a great work of reformation in this country. It
was a glorious sight at St Martin’s Hall, on the 2d of March, when 567
young persons came forward to claim the prize for having remained a
twelvemonth in a situation; and, were it not for the strictness of the
rules, excluding all apprentices, requiring a written character from a
master or mistress, it was stated that as many as 1500 would have been
present. All these had been rescued from well-nigh certain destruction
by the Ragged School, and had there received the education which
qualified them to take these situations. There must have been joy in the
presence of the angels of God that night, as they witnessed these rescued
ones sitting together, and listening eagerly to words by which their
souls might live; and which, if the prayers of many there were answered,
would prepare them to receive an incorruptible prize, that can never fade
away.
Whilst these facts convey resistless evidence to the mind, that these
poor outcasts _can_ be lifted out of their wretchedness and be saved, the
conviction deepens, that God will hold us responsible to do this work;
and, in all the labour ever required of our hands, it has never been so
necessary that whosoever would engage in it must be taught of the Lord.
We have to pray not only that the Lord of the harvest would send more
labourers into the harvest, but also that He would endow them with just
the spirit and power necessary for this particular work. In noticing the
physical wants and requirements of this country, nothing strikes us more
forcibly than the certainty with which the demand creates the supply. No
matter how intricate and complicated the required machinery may be, heads
are always to be found clever enough to invent, and hands skilful enough
to work it. In fact, the degree of perfection attained in this way is
enough to make us “proud of the age we live in.” If machinery and
steam-power had been the agency required to purify such places as St
Giles’s and Bethnal Green, the work would have been done long ago. These
wretched localities have not remained so long “like blots in this fair
world,” without being thought of and cared for. Many politicians and
scientific men have asked earnestly, “What can be done?” and have turned
away hopelessly, feeling that the mighty intellect which could subdue
air, earth, and sea, had now met with something beyond its power; and
still the question remained unanswered, “What can be done?”
One of the most interesting discoveries of the past few years has been,
that the humblest instead of the grandest agency is required to
accomplish this work which the wisest heads have found so difficult. A
little sketch of the early history of one of God’s most successful agents
will shew that “His thoughts are not as our thoughts;” for it would not
have entered into the heart of man to have suggested such a preparation
for usefulness. “A drunken father, who broke her mother’s heart, had
brought a young girl of fifteen, gradually down, down from the privileges
of a respectable station, to dwell in a low lodging-house in St Giles’s.
The father died shortly afterwards, and left her, and a sister five years
of age, orphans in the midst of pollution, which they, as by miracle,
escaped; often sitting on the stairs or door-step all night, to avoid
what was to be seen within. An old man, the fellow-lodger of the
children, and kind-hearted, though an Atheist, had taught the elder to
write a little, but bade her never read the Bible, since it was full of
lies; and that she had only to look around her in St Giles’s, and she
might see that there was no God. She had learned to read and knit from
looking continually at the shop-windows. She married at eighteen years
of age her present husband, and for the first time in her young memory
knew the meaning of that blessed word, ‘home;’ although the home was but
a room, changed from time to time in the same neighbourhood. After many
years of considerable suffering, from loss of children, ill-health, and
other calamities, she took shelter one rainy night in an alley which led
up to a little Mission Hall in Dudley Street. She entered, and heard it
announced that books would be lent, on the next evening, from a
newly-formed library for the poor at that place. Going early, she was
the first claimant of the promise. She had intended to borrow Uncle
Tom’s Cabin; but a strong impulse came over her, which she could not
resist—it was as if she had heard it whispered, ‘Do not borrow Uncle Tom;
borrow a Bible.’ So she asked for a Bible. ‘A Bible, my good woman?’
was the missionary’s reply. ‘We did not mean to lend Bibles from this
library; but wait, I will fetch you one. It is a token for good that the
Book of God, the best of books, should be the first one asked for and
lent from this place.’ He brought her the Bible, and asked if he should
call, and read a chapter with her. She said respectfully, ‘No, sir,
thank you; we are very quiet folk, my husband might not like it. I will
take the book, and read it for myself.’ The Lord’s time was come. His
message then first entered her house, and went straight to her heart.
The Divine Spirit applied the Word with power; and the arrow of
conviction was ere long driven home by suffering and affliction.
“A severe illness laid her prostrate, and to this hour she feels—in a way
that we who help her in her work cannot feel—what is meant by sickness
and poverty coming together.” {8}
This was God’s education to prepare for Himself an agent to carry out His
purposes of mercy. By uniting the introduction of God’s Word with care
for the temporal wants of the poor people around her, Marian has been
able to accomplish wonders in two short years; and the account of them
will be seen with great pleasure by those who allow themselves the
monthly treat of reading “The Book and its Mission.” But something more
than facts, valuable as they are, have been deduced from Marian’s
mission. The lock that refused to be picked, has yielded to the fitting
key. We have sat in our beautiful churches long enough, and wished we
could see the poor gathered around us; but they have not come. We have
written numberless words of advice to them from our comfortable houses;
and though all these efforts have, doubtless, accomplished good,
especially amongst a particular class—for no word of truth falls to the
ground—yet all will acknowledge that they have in a great measure failed
to affect the masses of our poor people; and, had it not been for our
City Missionary and Ragged School, it is dreadful to think what would
have become of the ever-increasing population of this crowded city. Our
missionaries have done much; the moral atmosphere is always improved by
their presence; and thousands of poor wanderers from God have, through
their teaching, found their way back to peace and holiness. The Ragged
Schools have rescued thousands of poor outcasts from destruction. But
neither of these agencies operates directly upon the homes of the poor,
though “the entrance” of that word which “giveth light,” seldom fails to
shed its influence on the exterior.
My acquaintance with the poor began very early. My father’s house stood
alone, surrounded by beautiful lawns, wood, and water. Our nearest
neighbours were the poor people in a village about five minutes’ walk
from our home; most of them were simple labouring people, and as children
we were trusted to go amongst them without much superintendence from our
elders. Our dear mother often employed us on errands of mercy to them;
and as soon as we could read well enough, we were sometimes sent to cheer
the solitary hours of some poor invalid by reading to him. Our relations
to each other were so kindly and pleasant, that we always met with a
hearty welcome; and for years, I believe, I knew something about the
interior of every cottage in the place. I remember even then feeling
astonished at the wretched management I saw, especially with regard to
children; and as we did not live in any fear of one another, I sometimes
took upon myself to remark to the “gudewife” that so-and-so was never
done at home. All this was taken in good part: the reply was generally a
laugh, and “Law, my dear, poor people’s children isn’t like
gentlefolk’s;” or if my observations extended to cooking or
house-cleaning, it was, “Law, bless you, you doesn’t know anything about
that; gentlefolks never does.” Notwithstanding all these rebukes, I
still thought over these things; and have thought over them, to a greater
or less extent, ever since; and the result is, the deliberate conviction
that so long as the wives and mothers of the poor continue such as we
generally find them, we cannot look for any very great improvement in
their social position.
I have known many women, under thirty years of age, with six or eight
children, so totally unqualified for almost everything which they had to
do, that I have wondered how they managed to exist at all. I am now, of
course, speaking of those below the class from which we usually obtain
our domestic servants; and amongst this class, more unfit than any other
for life’s solemn duties, the earliest marriages are contracted,
apparently without any idea that at least as much preparation is needed
as is deemed necessary for breaking stones on the road.
If a lady feels herself unequal to the management of her family, she can
call in the aid of nurses, governesses, and schools; and thus her defects
may in some measure be made up by assistance from without. But who or
what is to step in between the poor mother and her children? If she
cannot train them during the first few years of infancy, they remain
untrained; and not only are the wise man’s words proved true, that “a
child left to itself bringeth its mother to shame,” but it is found that
the multiplication of these families thus left to themselves, bringeth a
nation to shame. When we look honestly at things as they are, we have no
right to be much surprised at such a result: it is unreasonable to expect
to reap what has never been sown. Seven years of careful training is not
thought too much for those who are to be employed in the making of our
shoes, our coats, or in the building of our houses. The education of the
men of this country is generally, from a very early age, adapted to their
future employment. Hence, as might be expected, there is no lack of
clever artisans, who have indeed a higher character for cleverness than
for goodness. But the girl, who is to grow up to exercise an influence
upon persons more than upon things, is left to scramble on as best she
can, generally content to do as badly as those who have preceded her; and
yet, in the words of one who has thought and written much upon the
subject—“It is to the poor man’s wife that we must chiefly look, when we
indulge the hope of reducing that frightful amount of crime which, with
all our inventions, discoveries, and improvements, sometimes awakens a
fear that we may not really be in so prosperous a condition, socially and
nationally, as our rapid progress in what is called civilisation would
lead a superficial observer to suppose.”
I have never yet been able to see how schools, or any system of national
education, could meet this difficulty. That we should be much worse than
we are without them, there cannot be a doubt. Our beautiful Infant
Schools especially, that shelter these little ones so many hours a day
from the sight and the sound of evil, call for a special thanksgiving to
God. To no class of people in this country are we more indebted than to
those high-minded Christian teachers who, with infinite patience and
self-denial, manage to infuse into their teaching such freshness, purity,
and wondrous adaptation, that many a little rebel is through them brought
back to allegiance. The preparation for life that boys likewise require
can, to some considerable extent, be supplied from without; but to girls,
whose education is valuable in proportion as it prepares them for
domestic duties, nothing can ever compensate for the absence of
home-training. The question then arises, considering that nineteen girls
out of twenty do not receive a proper home-training, what is the best
substitute for it? Until some remedy for so great an evil can be found,
this misery and misfortune must continue. I do not pretend to answer
this question satisfactorily; I rather wish to obtain for it the
attention of wiser and clearer heads, believing that nothing can, at the
present time, exceed it in importance. The few suggestions I have to
make are very simple, and cannot be considered comprehensive enough to
meet such a widely extended evil. If we were to see seven people
struggling in the water, and could only save one from drowning, we could
not plead as an excuse for neglecting to help that one, our inability to
rescue the six. In like manner, we must use the little light that is
given to us, trusting that, as we advance, more light will be granted.
That which we propose to substitute should resemble, as nearly as
possible, the home-training which we find to be so sadly deficient.
These poor girls require friends who will supply to them the place of
mothers. Much has been said and written about ladies devoting their
leisure time to the poor, and there is no doubt that much more good might
be done by them in this way than is done; but the work we refer to
demands something far beyond the occasional call, the book lent, and the
garment cut out.
There are so many points of difference between the child reared in the
mansions of the wealthy, and the uncared-for, friendless infant picked
out of the streets and alleys, that it is not strange if they should have
few thoughts in common. It is true there is in some hearts, as in that
of Elizabeth Fry, a sympathy strong enough to extend itself to everything
with which it comes in contact. The moral power of such natures is very
great: they are one of God’s best gifts to this fallen world, yet not the
most common. In devising schemes of improvement, we cannot therefore
rely upon the powerful assistance which they give; nor must we take it
for granted that our plans will be worked out by their aid. Probably,
the best suggestion that has been offered hitherto, is made by the writer
of “The Book and its Mission,” who proposes that some of the best of the
poor women, superintended by ladies, should be employed as missionaries;
and that each missionary should be the mistress of a house, into which a
number of homeless girls might be received on payment of a small weekly
sum. Here, under motherly training, they might be fitted for their
future duties.
The Marian above alluded to, soon after the commencement of her work in
St Giles’s, says:—“I long to lift poor young girls, from twelve to
eighteen years of age, out of the horrors of those overcrowded rooms; and
how glad I should be to take a house and make a dormitory for them by
themselves! I know forty who would come to me at once, and pay
threepence a night each: they could well afford it, and it would take the
money from those dancing-rooms and casinos to which they flock to their
ruin. What new thoughts I might put into their minds in the evening!
How I might read the Bible with them! and some of them might help me in
my other work. There is no provision of the sort for the class I mean;
and they are those who most want it. Such a change would be to them the
beginning of a new life; and there are perhaps five thousand of those
girls always growing up in St Giles’s.”
But how inadequate, some will say, are these means to meet so extensive
an evil! To provide for forty out of five thousand is of little avail.
So it, indeed, appears if we look merely on the surface of this great
subject. But it must never be forgotten that, every individual is a
centre of influence. It is a proverb that “one sickly sheep infects the
flock,” but happily this law of infection is not always on the side of
evil; and, I believe, the force of example is stronger in the class to
which I am now referring, than amongst the reading and thinking people in
a higher grade of society. “I thought he was right, at first,” a lady
once said to me, “but when I sat down by the fire quietly in the evening
with my Bible, and listened to the voice within, as well as to the
teaching of the Word, I then saw it all in a different light; and I
resolved more firmly than I had ever done before that God should be my
guide, and not man.”
But we are not speaking of the few who sit quietly by their fireside in
the evening to weigh the actions of the day in the balance of truth; we
refer to the multitude whose rule of conduct is summed up in the
words—“Follow my leader.” True, they do not always follow the same
leader; and the defection of a comrade will cause them to halt. Yet,
after a time, they are found walking behind another guide. They are
contented even if he choose the old path. But whether old or new, they
cannot advance without guidance. To such accustomed only to “move
altogether if they move at all,” we would commend the great truth that
God can work by and for the few as well as for the many; that He is often
content with small beginnings where we should have expected mighty
achievements. This lesson we learn from our Saviour’s teaching.
He often spoke to large audiences; but He never refrained because His
listeners were few. What minister charged with such a message as,
“Whosoever drinketh the water that I shall give him shall never thirst;
but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water
springing up into everlasting life,” would have told it for the first
time to a poor sinful woman whom he met by the way-side? Would he not
rather have reasoned that his church must be unusually full before such a
wonderful message could be delivered? Surely many “masters of Israel”
should have been present to hear the answer to the question that has
vexed and troubled the Church in all ages, as to where and how the Father
was to be worshipped. But no; the same wondering woman, standing with
her water-pitcher in her hand, was taught that neither exclusively “in
this mountain nor yet at Jerusalem” was the Father to be worshipped, but
that “the true worshippers worship the Father in spirit and in truth.”
Jesus knew she would go on her way and stop every one she met, to repeat
what she had heard, and to say, “Come, see a man who told me all things
that ever I did.” This, too, is our hope, when the thought depresses us,
that these small means can never affect such masses of evil. Each
rescued soul becomes a light set upon a hill that cannot be hid, and many
will make use of this light to guide themselves out of darkness.
Let those who are actively and successfully engaged in their own peculiar
duties, spare a little time to assist their less gifted or less fortunate
neighbours. Let those who are weary of doing nothing, assist those who
are weak and weary with doing too much. Let those who are strong, aid
those whose burden of life is too heavy for them to bear. And let us all
seek to fulfil the great Christian command—which should be the bane of
selfishness, and must be the foundation of social elevation—“Look not
every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.”
CHAPTER I.
A Village—Not Picturesque.
“Can any good thing come out of Nazareth?”
THE wish of the child for a picture of the story which has interested
him, expresses a feeling that is found in those of maturer years. “Where
did this happen?” is the question sure to follow a narrative that has
awakened sympathy. We realise the truth of a description more forcibly
when we have given to it “a local habitation and a name.” In the present
instance there is more than the usual reason for detail. Characteristic
peculiarities belong both to the place and the people whom I am about to
describe. Origin, occupation, and habits will, to a great extent,
account for much that would otherwise require explanation. Without a due
regard to these particulars, much labour is lost in working among the
poor. We know that the seed which flourishes in one soil, and brings
forth fruit to perfection, will scarcely live in another; and as every
successful gardener considers both ground and plant, so every labourer in
the human soil is careful to adapt means to ends, or his toil is
fruitless.
Inasmuch as there has always been a demand for pigs’ flesh, at least
among Christians, it is impossible to determine for how long pig-feeding
establishments have been thought necessary for the neighbourhood of
London. In all probability they had their origin at a very early date,
and can claim to be ranked among the “time-honoured institutions” of this
great city.
But we are not able to go back much further than sixty years, when we
find that this necessary evil had for some time been located near the
ground now covered by the Marble Arch, Connaught and other Squares. Here
the nuisance was supposed to be out of town, and the porcine tribe
luxuriated in this dry and elevated region. If there had been found at
that time a registrar-general to note down the deaths and diseases of
pigs, the records would excite the envy of swine in the present
generation, and induce the sad belief that the former times _were_ better
than these. But these respectable animals of the past century had
apparently another cause for congratulation. Their society seemed
eagerly sought by the great London world; and seeing how perseveringly
they were followed, they could proudly boast that they were leading the
metropolis “by the nose.” Such a soothing idea was, however, dispelled,
when conviction was unwillingly forced upon them, that there was a
general desire to get rid of them as _near_ neighbours, and that their
room was more highly esteemed than their company.
The ground which these pigs occupied had become too valuable for them to
remain there in peace. I have not been able to discover whether they
were expelled by purchase, ejectment, or annoyance; but it is certain
| 575.037078 |
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Produced by David Edwards, eagkw and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: The Fairies
and the Christmas
Child]
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Fr._ "We rocked the cradle"
(_Page 182_)]
[Illustration: Title Page]
The
Fairies and
the Christmas Child
By Lilian Gask
The Illustrations are by
Willy Pogany
T. Y. Crowell & Co
New York
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Contents
Chapter Page
I. The Fairy Ring 1
II. The Princess with the Sea-Green Hair 25
III. Rose-Marie and the Poupican 45
IV. The Bird at the Window 67
V. The White Stone of Happiness 89
VI. The Seven Fair Queens of Pirou 109
VII. In the Dwarf's Palace 133
VIII. The Silver Horn 157
IX. The Little White Feather 175
X. The Wild Huntsman 197
XI. The White Princess 217
XII. The Favourite of the Fates 239
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
List of Illustrations
"We rocked the cradle" _Frontispiece_
Page
"I fancied that I had seen those wee brown men" 11
"The Fairy Ring was thronged with dancing Elves" 20
"Here a Fairy Princess awaited him" 33
Rose-Marie and the Poupican 54
"They tossed him three times in the air" 63
"She hid herself behind a curtain" 83
"What ails you, Madame Marguerite?" 99
"The Lord of Argouges threw himself on his knees" 114
"They instantly changed into snow-white birds" 129
"The Dwarf invited me to be seated" 141
"Elberich had jeered him finely" 151
"'She is yours, O Otnit!' cried the Dwarf" 154
"In the old man's place sat a little Dwarf" 167
"A little white feather danced above their heads" 189
"'How now?' cried a reassuring voice" 196
"He entreated the maiden to come down" 205
"Went shyly down to meet him" 212
"Lowered herself from her window by means of | 575.042327 |
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Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
SAXE HOLM'S STORIES
[by Helen Hunt Jackson]
1873
Content.
Draxy Miller's Dowry
The Elder's Wife
Whose Wife Was She?
The One-Legged Dancers
How One Woman Kept Her Husband
Esther Wynn's Love-Letters
Draxy Miller's Dowry.
Part I.
When Draxy Miller's father was a boy, he read a novel in which the heroine
was a Polish girl, named Darachsa. The name stamped itself indelibly upon
his imagination; and when, at the age of thirty-five, he took his
first-born daughter in his arms, his first words were--"I want her called
Darachsa."
"What!" exclaimed the doctor, turning sharply round, and looking out above
his spectacles; "what heathen kind of a name is that?"
"Oh, Reuben!" groaned a feeble voice from the baby's mother; and the nurse
muttered audibly, as she left the room, "There ain't never no luck comes
of them outlandish names."
The whole village was in a state of excitement before night. Poor Reuben
Miller had never before been the object of half so much interest. His
slowly dwindling fortunes, the mysterious succession of his ill-lucks, had
not much stirred the hearts of the people. He was a retice'nt man; he
loved books, and had hungered for them all his life; his townsmen
unconsciously resented what they pretended to despise; and so it had
slowly come about that in the village where his father had lived and died,
and where he himself had grown up, and seemed likely to live and die,
Reuben Miller was a lonely man, and came and went almost as a stranger
might come and go. His wife was simply a shadow and echo of himself; one
of those clinging, tender, unselfish, will-less women, who make pleasant,
and affectionate, and sunny wives enough for rich, prosperous,
unsentimental husbands, but who are millstones about the necks of
sensitive, impressionable, unsuccessful men. If Jane Miller had been a
strong, determined woman, Reuben would not have been a failure. The only
thing he had needed in life had been persistent purpose and courage. The
right sort of wife would have given him both. But when he was discouraged,
baffled, Jane clasped her hands, sat down, and looked into his face with
streaming eyes. If he smiled, she smiled; but that was just when it was of
least consequence that she should smile. So the twelve years of their
married life had gone on slowly, very slowly, but still surely, from bad
to worse; nothing prospered in Reuben's hands. The farm which he had
inherited from his father was large, but not profitable. He tried too long
to work the whole of it, and then he sold the parts which he ought to have
kept. He sunk a great portion of his little capital in a flour-mill, which
promised to be a great success, paid well for a couple of years, and then
burnt down, uninsured. He took a contract for building one section of a
canal, which was to pass through part of his land; sub-contractors cheated
him, and he, in his honesty, almost ruined himself to right their wrong.
Then he opened a little store; here, also, he failed. He was too honest,
too sympathizing, too inert. His day-book was a curiosity; he had a vein
of humor which no amount of misfortune could quench; and he used to enter
under the head of "given" all the purchases which he knew were not likely
to be paid for. It was at sight of this book, one day, that Jane Miller,
for the first and only time in her life, lost her temper with Reuben.
"Well, I must say, Reuben Miller, if I die for it," said she, "I haven't
had so much as a pound of white sugar nor a single lemon in my house for
two years, and I do think it's a burnin' shame for you to go on sellin'
'em to them shiftless Greens, that'll never pay you a cent, and you know
it!"
Reuben was sitting on the counter smoking his pipe and reading an old
tattered copy of Dryden's translation of Virgil. He lifted his clear blue
eyes in astonishment, put down his pipe, and, slowly swinging his long
legs over the counter, caught Jane by the waist, put both his arms round
her, and said,--
"Why, mother, what's come over you! You know poor little Eph's dyin' of
that white swellin'. You wouldn't have me refuse his mother anything we've
got, would you?"
Jane Miller walked back to the house with tears in her eyes, but her
homely sallow face was transfigured by love as she went about her work,
thinking to herself,--
"There never was such a man's Reuben, anyhow. I guess he'll get interest
one o' these days for all he's lent the Lord, first and last, without
anybody's knowin' it."
But the Lord has His own system of reckoning compound interest, and His
ways of paying are not our ways. He gave no visible sign of recognition of
indebtedness to Reuben. Things went harder and harder with the Millers,
until they had come to such a pass that when Reuben Miller went after the
doctor, in the early dawn of the day on which little Draxy was born, he
clasped his hands in sorrow and humiliation before he knocked at the
doctor's door; and his only words were hard words for a man of
sensitiveness and pride to speak:--
"Doctor Cobb, will you come over to my wife? I don't dare to be sure I can
ever pay you; but if there's anything in the store "--
"Pshaw, pshaw, Reuben, don't speak of that; you'll be all right in a few
years," said the kind old doctor, who had known Reuben from his boyhood,
and understood him far better than any one else did.
And so little Draxy was born.
"It's a mercy it's a girl at last," said the village gossips. "Mis'
Miller's had a hard time with them four great boys, and Mr. Miller so
behindhand allers."
"And who but Reuben Miller'd ever think of givin' a Christian child such a
name!" they added.
But what the name was nobody rightly made out; nor even whether it had
been actually given to the baby, or had only been talked of; and between
curiosity and antagonism, the villagers were so drawn to Reuben Miller's
store, that it began to look quite like a run of custom.
"If I hold out a spell on namin' her," said Reuben, as in the twilight of
the third day he sat by his wife's bedside; "if I hold out a spell on
namin' her, I shall get all the folks in the district into the store, and
sell out clean," and he laughed quizzically, and stroked the little
mottled face which lay on the pillow. "There's Squire Williams and Mis'
Conkey both been in this afternoon; and Mis' Conkey took ten pounds of
that old Hyson tea you thought I'd never sell; and Squire Williams, he
took the last of those new-fangled churns, and says he, 'I expect you'll
want to drive trade a little brisker, Reuben, now there's a little girl to
be provided for; and, by the way, what are you going to call her?'
"'Oh, it's quite too soon to settle, that,' said I, as if I hadn't a name
in my head yet. And then Mis' Conkey spoke up and said: 'Well, I did hear
you were going to name her after a heathen goddess that nobody over heard
of, and I do hope you will consider her feelings when she grows up.'
"'I hope I always shall, Mis' Conkey,' said I; and she didn't know what to
say next. So she picked up her bundle of tea, and they stepped off
together quite dignified.
"But I think we'll call her Darachsa, in spite of 'em all, Jane," added
Reuben with a hesitating half laugh.
"Oh, Reuben!" Jane said again. It was the strongest remonstrance on which
she ever ventured. She did not like the name; but she adored Reuben. So
when the baby was three months old, she was carried into the meeting-house
in a faded blue cashmere cloak, and baptized in the name of the Father,
and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, "Darachsa Lawton Miller."
Jane Miller's babies always thrived. The passive acquiescence of her
nature was a blessing to them. The currents of their blood were never
rendered unhealthful by overwrought nerves or disturbed temper in their
mother. Their infancy was as placid and quiet as if they had been kittens.
Not until they were old enough to understand words, and to comprehend
deprivations, did they suffer because of their poverty. Then a serious
look began to settle upon their faces; they learned to watch their father
and mother wistfully, and to wonder what was wrong; their childhood was
very short.
Before Draxy was ten years old she had become her father's inseparable
companion, confidant, and helper. He wondered, sometimes almost in terror,
what it meant, that he could say to this little child what he could not
say to her mother; that he often detected himself in a desire to ask of
this babe advice or suggestion which he never dreamed of asking from his
wife.
But Draxy was wise. She had the sagacity which comes from great tenderness
and loyalty, combined with a passionate nature. In such a woman's soul
there is sometimes an almost supernatural instinct. She will detect danger
and devise safety with a rapidity and ingenuity which are incredible. But
to such a nature will also come the subtlest and deepest despairs of which
the human heart is capable. The same instinct which foresees and devises
for the loved ones will also recognize their most hidden traits, their
utmost possibilities, their inevitable limitations, with a completeness
and infallibility akin to that of God Himself. Jane Miller, all her life
long, believed in the possibility of Reuben's success; charged his
failures to outside occasions, and hoped always in a better day to come.
Draxy, early in her childhood, instinctively felt, what she was far too
young consciously to know, that her father would never be a happier man;
that "things" would always go against him. She had a deeper reverence for
the uprightness and sweet simplicity of his nature than her mother ever
could have had. She comprehended, Jane believed; Draxy felt, Jane saw.
Without ever having heard of such a thing as fate, little Draxy recognized
that her father was fighting with it, and that fate was the stronger! Her
little arms clasped closer and closer round his neck, and her serene blue
eyes, so like his, and yet so wondrously unlike, by reason of their latent
fire and strength, looked this unseen enemy steadfastly in the face, day
by day.
She was a wonderful child. Her physical health was perfect. The first ten
years of her life were spent either out of doors, or in her father's lap.
He would not allow her to attend the district school; all she knew she
learned from him. Reuben Miller had never looked into an English grammar
or a history, but he knew Shakespeare by heart, and much of Homer; a few
odd volumes of Walter Scott's novels, some old voyages, a big family
Bible, and a copy of Byron, were the only other books in his house. As
Draxy grew older, Reuben now and then borrowed from the minister books
which he thought would do her good; but the child and he both loved Homer
and the Bible so much better than any later books, that they soon drifted
back to them. It was a little sad, except that it was so beautiful, to
see the isolated life these two led in the family. The boys were good,
sturdy, noisy boys. They went to school in the winter and worked on the
farm in the summer, like all farmers' boys. Reuben, the oldest, was
eighteen when Draxy was ten; he was hired, by a sort of indenture, for
three years, on a neighboring farm, and came home only on alternate
Sundays. Jamie, and Sam, and Lawton were at home; young as they were, they
did men's service in many ways. Jamie had a rare gift for breaking horses,
and for several years the only ready money which the little farm had
yielded was the price of the colts which Jamie raised and trained so
admirably that they sold well. The other two boys were strong and willing,
but they had none of their father's spirituality, or their mother's
gentleness. Thus, in spite of Reuben Miller's deep love for his children,
he was never at ease in his boys' presence; and, as they grew older,
nothing but the influence of their mother's respect for their father
prevented their having an impatient contempt for his unlikeness to the
busy, active, thrifty farmers of the neighborhood.
It was a strange picture that the little kitchen presented on a winter
evening. Reuben sat always on the left hand of the big fire-place, with a
book on his knees. Draxy was curled up on an old-fashioned cherry-wood
stand close to his chair, but so high that she rested her little dimpled
chin on his head. A tallow candle stood on a high bracket, made from a
fungus which Reuben had found in the woods. When the candle flared and
dripped, Draxy sprang up on the stand, and, poised on one foot, reached
over her father's head to snuff it. She looked like a dainty fairy
half-floating in the air, but nobody knew it. Jane sat in a high-backed
wooden rocking-chair, which had a flag bottom and a ruffled calico
cushion, and could only rock a very few inches back and forth, owing to
the loss of half of one of the rockers. For the first part of the evening,
Jane always knitted; but by eight o'clock the hands relaxed, the needles
dropped, the tired head fell back against the chair, and she was fast
asleep.
The boys were by themselves in the farther corner of the room, playing
checkers or doing sums, or reading the village newspaper. Reuben and Draxy
were as alone as if the house had been empty. Sometimes he read to her in
a whisper; sometimes he pointed slowly along the lines in silence, and the
wise little eyes from above followed intently. All questions and
explanations were saved till the next morning, when Draxy, still curled up
like a kitten, would sit mounted on the top of the buckwheat barrel in the
store, while her father lay stretched on the counter, smoking. They never
talked to each other, except when no one could hear; that is, they never
spoke in words; there was mysterious and incessant communication between
them whenever they were together, as there is between all true lovers.
At nine o'clock Reuben always shut the book, and said, "Kiss me, little
daughter." Draxy kissed him, and said, "Good-night, father dear," and that
was all. The other children called him "pa," as was the universal custom
in the village. But Draxy even in her babyhood had never once used the
word. Until she was seven or eight years old she called him "Farver;"
after that, always "father dear." Then Reuben would wake Jane up, sighing
usually, "Poor mother, how tired she is!" Sometimes Jane said when she
kissed Draxy, at the door of her little room, "Why don't you kiss your pa
for good-night?"
"I kissed father before you waked up, ma," was always Draxy's quiet
answer.
And so the years went on. There was much discomfort, much deprivation in
Reuben Miller's house. Food was not scarce; the farm yielded enough, such
as it was, very coarse and without variety; but money was hard to get; the
store seemed to be absolutely unremunerative, though customers were not
wanting; and the store and the farm were all that Reuben Miller had in the
world. But in spite of the poor food; in spite of the lack of most which
money buys; in spite of the loyal, tender, passionate despair of her
devotion to her father, Draxy grew fairer and fairer, stronger and
stronger. At fourteen her physique was that of superb womanhood. She had
inherited her body wholly from her father. For generations back, the
Millers had been marked for their fine frames. The men were all over six
feet tall, and magnificently made; and the women were much above the
average size and strength. On Draxy's fourteenth birthday she weighed one
hundred and fifty pounds, and measured five feet six inches in height. Her
coloring was that of an English girl, and her bright brown hair fell below
her waist in thick masses. To see the face of a simple-hearted child,
eager but serene, determined but lovingly gentle, surrounded and glorified
by such splendid physical womanhood, was a rare sight. Reuben Miller's
eyes filled with tears often as he secretly watched his daughter, and said
to himself, "Oh, what is to be her fate! what man is worthy of the wife
she will be?" But the village people saw only a healthy, handsome girl,
"overgrown," they thought, and "as queer as her father before her," they
said, for Draxy, very early in life, had withdrawn herself somewhat from
the companionship of the young people of the town.
As for Jane, she loved and reverenced Draxy, very much as she did Reuben,
with touching devotion, but without any real comprehension of her nature.
If she sometimes felt a pang in seeing how much more Reuben talked with
Draxy than with her, how much more he sought to be with Draxy than with
her, she stifled it, and, reproaching herself for disloyalty to each, set
herself to work for them harder than before.
In Draxy's sixteenth year the final blow of misfortune fell upon Reuben
Miller's head.
A brother of Jane's, for whom, in an hour of foolish generosity, Reuben
had indorsed a note of a considerable amount, failed. Reuben's farm was
already heavily mortgaged. There was nothing to be done but to sell it.
Purchasers were not plenty nor eager; everybody knew that the farm must be
sold for whatever it would bring, and each man who thought of buying hoped
to profit somewhat, in a legitimate and Christian way, by Reuben's
extremity.
Reuben's courage would have utterly forsaken him now, except for Draxy's
calmness. Jane was utterly unnerved; wept silently from morning till
night, and implored Reuben to see her brother's creditors, and beg them
to release him from his obligation. But Draxy, usually so gentle, grew
almost stern when such suggestions were made.
"You don't understand, ma," she said, with flushing cheeks. "It is a
promise. Father must pay it. He cannot ask to have it given back to him."
But with all Draxy's inflexibility of resolve, she could not help being
disheartened. She could not see how they were to live; the three rooms
over the store could easily be fitted up into an endurable dwelling-place;
but what was to supply the food which the farm had hitherto given them?
There was literally no way open for a man or a woman to earn money in that
little farming village. Each family took care of itself and hired no
service, except in the short season of haying. Draxy was an excellent
seamstress, but she knew very well that the price of all the sewing hired
in the village in a year would not keep them from starving. The Store must
be given up, because her father would have no money with which to buy
goods. In fact, for a long time, most of his purchases had been made by
exchanging the spare produce of his farm at large stores in the
neighboring towns. Still Draxy never wavered, and because she did not
waver Reuben did not die. The farm was sold at auction, with the stock,
the utensils, and all of the house-furniture which was not needed to make
the store chambers habitable. The buyer boasted in the village that he had
not given more than two thirds of the real value of the place. After
Reuben's debts were all paid, there remained just one thousand dollars to
be put into the bank.
"Why, father! That is a fortune," said Draxy, when he told her. "I did
not suppose we should have anything, and it is glorious not to owe any man
a cent."
It was early in April when the Millers moved into the "store chambers."
The buyer of their farm was a hard-hearted, penurious man, a deacon of the
church in which Draxy had been baptized. He had never been known to give a
penny to any charity excepting Foreign Missions. His wife and children had
never received at his hands the smallest gift. But even his heart was
touched by Draxy's cheerful acquiescence in the hard change, and her
pathetic attempts to make the new home pleasant. The next morning after
Deacon White took possession, he called out over the fence to poor Reuben,
who stood listlessly on the store steps, trying not to look across at the
house which had been his.
"I say, Miller, that gal o' your'n is what I call the right sort o' woman,
up an' down. I hain't said much to her, but I've noticed that she set a
heap by this garding; an' I expect she'll miss the flowers more'n
anything; now my womenfolks they won't have anythin' to do with such
truck; an' if she's a mind to take care on't jest's she used ter, I'm
willin'; I guess we shall be the gainers on't."
"Thank you, Deacon White; Draxy'll be very glad," was all Reuben could
reply. Something in his tone touched the man's flinty heart still more;
and before he half knew what he was going to say, he had added,--
"An' there's the vegetable part on't, too, Miller. I never was no hand to
putter with garden sass. If you'll jest keep that up and go halves, fair
and reg'lar, you're welcome."
This was tangible help. Reuben's face lighted up.
"I thank you with all my heart," he replied. "That'll be a great help to
me; and I reckon you'll like our vegetables, too," he said, half smiling,
for he knew very well that nothing but potatoes and turnips had been seen
on Deacon White's table for years.
Then Reuben went to find Draxy; when he told her, the color came into her
face, and she shut both her hands with a quick, nervous motion, which was
habitual to her under excitement.
"Oh, father, we can almost live off the garden," said she. "I told you we
should not starve."
But still new sorrows, and still greater changes, were in store for the
poor, disheartened family. In June a malignant fever broke out in the
village, and in one short month Reuben and Jane had laid their two
youngest boys in the grave-yard. There was a dogged look, which was not
all sorrow, on Reuben's face as he watched the sexton fill up the last
grave. Sam and Jamie, at any rate, would not know any more of the
discouragement and hardship of life.
Jane, too, mourned her boys not as mothers mourn whose sons have a
birthright of gladness. Jane was very tired of the world.
Draxy was saddened by the strange, solemn presence of death. But her
brothers had not been her companions. She began suddenly to feel a sense
of new and greater relationship to them, now that she thought of them as
angels; she was half terrified and bewildered at the feeling that now, for
the first time, they were near to her.
On the evening after Sam's funeral, as Reuben was sitting on the store
steps, with his head buried in his hands, a neighbor drove up and threw
him a letter.
"It's been lyin' in the office a week or more, Merrill said, and he
reckoned I'd better bring it up to you," he called out, as he drove on.
"It might lie there forever, for all my goin' after it," thought Reuben to
himself, as he picked it up from the dust; "it's no good news, I'll be
bound."
But it was good news. The letter was from Jane's oldest sister, who had
married only a few years before, and gone to live in a sea-port town on
the New England coast. Her husband was an old captain, who had retired
from his seafaring life with just money enough to live on, in a very
humble way, in an old house which had belonged to his grandfather. He had
lost two wives; his children were all married or dead, and in his
loneliness and old age he had taken for his third wife the gentle, quiet
elder sister who had brought up Jane Miller. She was a gray-haired,
wrinkled spinster woman when she went into Captain Melville's house; but
their life was by no means without romance. Husband and home cannot come
to any womanly heart too late for sentiment and happiness to put forth
pale flowers.
Emma Melville wrote offering the Millers a home; their last misfortune had
but just come to her knowledge, for Jane had been for months too much out
of heart to write to her relatives. Emma wrote:--
"We are very poor, too; we haven't anything but the house, and a little
money each year to buy what we need to eat and wear, the plainest sort.
But the house is large; Captain Melville and me never so much as set foot
up-stairs. If you can manage to live on the upper floor, you're more than
welcome, we both say; and we hope you won't let any pride stand in the way
of your coming. It will do us good to have more folks in the house, and it
ain't as if it cost us anything, for we shouldn't never be willing,
neither me nor Captain Melville, to rent the rooms to strangers, not while
we've got enough to live on without."
There was silence for some minutes between Reuben and Jane and Draxy after
this letter had been read. Jane looked steadily away from Reuben. There
was deep down in the patient woman's heart, a latent pride which was
grievously touched. Reuben turned to Draxy; her lips were parted; her
cheeks were flushed; her eyes glowed. "Oh, father, the sea!" she
exclaimed. This was her first thought; but in a second more she added,
"How kind, how good of Aunt Emma's husband!"
"Would you like to go, my daughter?" said Reuben, earnestly.
"Why, I thought of course we should go!" exclaimed Draxy, turning with a
bewildered look to her mother, who was still silent. "What else is the
letter sent for? It means that we must go."
Her beautiful simplicity was utterly removed from any false sense of
obligation. She accepted help as naturally from a human hand as from the
sunshine; she would give it herself, so far as she had power, just as
naturally and just as unconsciously.
There was very little discussion about the plan. Draxy's instinct overbore
all her father's misgiving, and all her mother's unwillingness.
"Oh, how can you feel so, Ma," she exclaimed more than once. "If I had a
sister I could not. I love Aunt Emma already next to you and father; and
you don't know how much we can do for her after we get there, either. I
can earn money there, I know I can; all we need."
Mrs. Melville had written that there were many strangers in the town in
the summer, and that she presumed Draxy could soon find all the work she
wished as seamstress; also that there were many chances of work for a man
who was accustomed to gardening, as, of course, Reuben must be.
Draxy's sanguine cheerfulness was infectious; even Jane began to look
forward with interest to the new home; and Reuben smiled when Draxy sang.
Lawton and Reuben were to be left behind; that was the only regret; but it
was merely anticipating by a very little the separation which was
inevitable, as the boys had both become engaged to daughters of the
farmers for whom they had been working, and would very soon take their
positions as sons-in-law on these farms.
The store was sold, the furniture packed, and Reuben Miller, with his wife
and child, set his face eastward to begin life anew. The change from the
rich wheat fields and glorious forests of Western New York, to the bare
stony stretches of the Atlantic sea-board, is a severe one. No adult heart
can make it without a struggle. When Reuben looked out of the car windows
upon the low gray barrens through which he was nearing his journey end,
his soul sank within him. It was sunset; the sea glistened like glass, and
was as red as the sky. Draxy could not speak for delight; tears stood in
her eyes, and she took hold of her father's hand. But Reuben and Jane saw
only the desolate rocks, and treeless, shrubless, almost--it seemed to
them--grassless fields, and an unutterable sense of gloom came over them.
It was a hot and stifling day; a long drought had parched and shriveled
every living thing; and the white August dust lay everywhere.
Captain Melville lived in the older part of the town near the water. The
houses were all wooden, weather-beaten, and gray, and had great patches of
yellow lichen on their walls and roofs; thin rims of starved-looking grass
edged the streets, and stray blades stood up here and there among the old
sunken cobble-stones which made the pavements.
The streets seemed deserted; the silence and the sombre color, and the
strange low plashing of the water against the wharves, oppressed even
Draxy's enthusiastic heart. Her face fell, and she exclaimed
involuntarily, "Oh, what a lonesome place!" Checking herself, she added,
"but it's only the twilight makes it look so, I expect."
They had some difficulty in finding the house. The lanes and streets
seemed inextricably tangled; the little party was shy of asking direction,
and they were all disappointed and grieved, more than they owned to
themselves, that they had not been met at the station. At last they found
the house. Timidly Draxy lifted the great brass knocker. It looked to her
like splendor, and made her afraid. It fell more heavily than she supposed
it would, and the clang sounded to her over-wrought nerves as if it filled
the whole street. No one came. They looked at the windows. The curtains
were all down. There was no sign of life about the place. Tears came into
Jane's eyes. She was worn out with the fatigue of the journey.
"Oh dear, oh dear," she said, "I wish we hadn't come."
"Pshaw, mother," said Reuben, with a voice cheerier than his heart, "very
likely they never got our last letter, and don't know we were to be here
to-day," and he knocked again.
Instantly a window opened in the opposite house, and a jolly voice said,
"My gracious," and in the twinkling of an eye the jolly owner of the jolly
voice had opened her front door and run bareheaded across the street, and
was shaking hands with Reuben and Jane and Draxy, all three at once, and
talking so fast that they could hardly understand her.
"My gracious I my gracious! Won't Mrs. Melville be beat! Of course you're
her folks she was expecting from the West, ain't you? I mistrusted it
somehow as soon as I heard the big knock. Now I'll jest let you in the
back door. Oh my, Mis' Melville'll never get over this; to think of her
be'n' away, an' she's been lookin' and looking and worryin' for two weeks,
because she didn't hear from you; and only last night Captain Melville he
said he'd write to-day if they didn't hear.'"
"We wrote," said Draxy, in her sweet, low voice, "we wrote to Aunt Emma
that we'd come to-day."
"Now did you!" said the jolly voice. "Well, that's jest the way. You see
your letter's gone somewhere else, and now Mis' Melville she's gone
to"--the rest of the sentence was lost, for the breathless little woman was
running round the house to the back door.
In a second more the upper half of the big old-fashioned door had swung
open, to Draxy's great delight, who exclaimed, "Oh, father, we read about
such doors as this | 575.106725 |
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The Gospel Day;
Or,
The Light Of Christianity.
By Charles E. Orr.
1904:
Gospel Trumpet Company,
Moundsville, W. Va.
CONTENTS
Preface.
Introduction.
Part I. The Morning.
Chapter I. Christianity A Light.
Chapter II. The Holy Scriptures.
Chapter III. Sin.
Chapter IV. Salvation.
Chapter V. The Way From Sin To Perfect Salvation.
Chapter VI. Fruits And The Two Works.
Chapter VII. The Church Of God.
Chapter VIII. The Ordinances Of The New Testament.
Chapter IX. Divine Healing.
Chapter X. The Soul.
Chapter XI. Spiritual Culture.
Chapter XII. The Course Of The World.
Chapter XIII. The Domestic Relation.
Chapter XIV. Evil Habits And Injurious Indulgences.
Chapter XV. The Trinity.
Chapter XVI. Miscellaneous Subjects.
Part II. The Noonday.
Chapter I. The Date Of The Beginning Of Noonday.
Chapter II. Scriptural Predictions Of An Apostasy.
Chapter III. False Teachings Of The Apostasy.
Part III. The Evening.
Chapter I. The Apostasy In Two Days.
Chapter II. The Time Of The Evening.
Footnotes
PREFACE.
Our task is finished. It has not been a disagreeable, unpleasant one, but
joyous. Many times our soul was blessed and lifted up as the Spirit set
before our mind the wondrous beauty of Christianity. In our soul we
experience a deep sense of gratitude to God for his aid and guidance in
this work. Many were the prayers we offered unto him for the aid of the
Holy Spirit in the prosecution of this work. He has heard and answered our
prayer, and we are satisfied. Praises be unto God! We lay no claims to
literary ability; we have not studied to display such talent in this
volume. We have only endeavored to give simple, plain truth respecting a
holy life. We have endeavored to lift up true Christianity to its proper
plane and to remove as far as possible, the clouds of error that have long
obscured its beautiful, pellucid light. How far we have succeeded we leave
to the reader.
This work would not be much of a production for some minds, but for ours
it is quite an achievement. It is much more original than we at first
intended it to be: however, we have selected from the _Gospel Trumpet_ the
following subjects: "Woman's Freedom," "Eating of Meat," and "The Sin
Against the Holy Ghost," which were written by Geo. L. Cole, Russel
Austin, and A. L. Byers, respectively. All other selections are, we
believe, properly acknowledged where they appear.
Seventy-six pages of the original manuscript were lost in the mail. This,
at first, presented itself as a discouragement, but we at once remembered
that all things work together for good to them that love the Lord,
consequently we concluded that the Lord wanted some truth brought out that
was not contained in the first writings; so we set to our task of
reproducing the lost pages with a will, and God has crowned our efforts
with a much greater satisfaction to ourselves. We now feel we have done
what we could, and as this manuscript leaves our hand it shall be with a
prayer that God will make it a rich blessing to many hearts.
Should this book be the means of lifting up some weary, despondent soul,
or succeed in turning some sinner from the error of his way, or helping
some deceived one out of his deception, or inspiring some fallen one to a
truer, nobler life, I shall be many, many times repaid for my labor, and
shall indeed give God the glory. If some one detects an error in this work
do not be hasty in condemning me, but write me, thus giving me opportunity
of explaining the supposed error, or of humbly confessing my fault. With
deep affection in my soul, I pray the God of heaven to bless every reader
of this book, and kindly ask all who pray to pray that I may do all the
good I can in this world and gain an eternity in the blissful fields of
heaven. Yours in Christian love,
Chas. E. Orr, Federalsburg, Md.
INTRODUCTION.
In Jesus' name we are here to unveil before the reader the picture of a
beautiful virgin, whom we shall call Christianity. Never was there a
character seen upon the earth half so beautiful as she. In her loveliness
she has won the heart of many. The proud and noble have been brought down
to worship at her feet. The lowly have been lifted up to admire her
gracious charms. Peasants have invited her into their humble homes, where
she reigned as a queen of light and peace. Gloom and darkness is driven
away by her sweet angelic smile. She has lifted the despondent out of the
vortex of despair, and by her animating presence encouraged them to bright
hopes and a happy life. The bitter lot of the poor she has sweetened, and
the burden and care of riches takes wings and flies away at her approach.
She has been brought into the presence of kings and almost won their
hearts. Men have sacrificed the world to gain her love. She is a ray of
heavenly light in this dark world.
The words of finite man are inadequate to describe the true character of
Christianity. In our description we shall exalt her only by the words
contained in the book sent down from heaven. That alone is worthy to
e | 575.109201 |
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[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 human effort. In order to aid the memory each
century is designated by the name of some prominent person of the time,
to whom other associations may conveniently cling. These names, painted
in bold characters, head the columns which represent the centuries.
Beneath these prominent names we have (in the case of a considerable
number of the most recent centuries) put up schedules of the principal
events, and lists of some of the principal persons. The appended
schedule is one of them and will illustrate what is meant:--
FOURTEENTH A.D.
CHAUCER.
The Three Edwards.
Bannockburn.
Famine in England.
The Hundred Years’ War begins.
Battle of Crecy.
The Black Death (Plague).
Battle of Poictiers.
Bolingbroke dethrones Richard II.
Froissart’s Chronicle.
Wallace and Bruce. Dante. John of Gaunt. Rienzi. Van Artevelde.
Wickliffe. Huss. Boccaccio. Petrarch. William Tell.
It will, if what we have tried to describe has conveyed its intended
meaning, be seen that an observer passing slowly down the length of
the room, may appreciate at a glance the relative position of the
principal events in the world’s history. He can hardly avoid noticing,
with fair accuracy, the distance between Homer and Socrates, between
Socrates and Paul, and between the Christian epoch and the times of
Milton and Shakespeare. He will be impressed at once, as, possibly,
he never was before, with a perception of the brief and very recent
portion of time which contains the whole of the annals of our own
nation. If, in addition to thus obtaining a sort of bird’s-eye view
of the progress of the world, it is desired to go into detail and
devote time to the enquiry, a certain amount of help will be found
to have been provided on the table-shelf. Detailed schedules taken
from the “The Centuries” (see advertisement) have been mounted on
board conveniently for hand use, and are placed on the table-shelf at
the foot of each century. A few books of reference in biography and
history, and numerous maps, have also been suitably placed, and there
are chairs.
The “Historical Schedule” described takes up, as we have said, the
whole of one side of the long room. The other side of it, as well
as much of the floor-space, is occupied by somewhat miscellaneous
illustrations of prehistoric times, and of nations and races which
have not as yet attained to history. The anthropoids, anthropology
and ethnology in general here find illustration, in large part, but
not wholly, by pictorial aid. We have also a few interesting objects
suitable, as illustrating social progress, for what is now known as a
Folk-Museum.
It is believed that this department of the Museum offers special
facilities to teachers, who bring their classes into it and give
explanations on the spot, and that by enabling the pupil to obtain a
wide purview of historical times, it may do somewhat to obviate the
inevitably cramping influence of the too detailed study of single
epochs.
* * * * *
FAMOUS WOMEN AT THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY.
We have climbed to the third landing. Let us turn into the left-hand
gallery and we shall come to one of the most interesting groups in the
whole Museum.
It is that which contains portraits of English women whose names
have become famous in literature. Here we have Mrs. Browning, Sarah
Austin, Mrs. Carter, Miss Strickland, George Eliot, Mary Somerville,
and many others. The collection is not nearly so complete as could
be wished--for Jane Austen, Anne and Jane Taylor, Hannah More, the
Brontës, and many others are wanting--still, it is very good. But
few males are admitted. Robert Browning is very properly allowed
to accompany his wife, and the fact, we presume, that his wife was
with him, has also gained access for Thomas Hood. A portrait of Lady
Hamilton strikes us as a little out of place, but the Museum has as
yet no department for female charm, and as this is by Romney it may
have been difficult to refuse it. With the exception of it and one of
Elizabeth Fry, all the others have more or less direct claim to be
associated with literature or science. To Mrs. Opie, Mrs. Browning
and Miss Strickland no one will hesitate to accord the praise of good
looks, and many others exhibit in a remarkable degree the bright-eyed
intelligence which we expect from authoresses. Several show a splendid
breadth of forehead, the accompaniment, no doubt, of a brachycephalic
or broad head. Mrs. Carter, Miss Mitford (of “Our village”), Mrs.
Trimmer, Miss Strickland and George Eliot are the best, but not the
only instances of this. It might be hardly good manners to describe
too exactly the various features of feminine faces, and the fact that
but few show the profile makes it difficult to judge accurately as to
size and shape of nose and chin. Few are, in any sense, disappointing.
That of Mrs. Carlisle might have been kept back without loss, since,
if it is in the least true to life, it gives a too painful sense
of justification to the rumours of married unhappiness, which were
probably to a large extent unfounded. The portrait of Sarah Austin,
when old and ill, might also perhaps be spared, since there is a very
pleasing one of her in earlier life. At any rate, the two ought to be
placed together. Declining, as we do, in reference to almost the whole,
the task of detailed analysis of features, we cannot, in the interests
of physiognomical research, exempt those behind which lay the most
profound intellect ever possessed by a woman. Mrs. Carter in classical
and literary attainments, and Mary Somerville in the domain of science,
must be accorded foremost places. Mrs. Browning is second, perhaps, to
none in depth of human sympathy and beauty of poetic expression; but
if we estimate character by profundity of insight, we shall probably
accord to George Eliot amongst women much the same position as that
which Shakespeare holds amongst men. We do not for a moment compare her
with Shakespeare.
Of George Eliot the Museum possesses three portraits. Most fortunately,
it has also one of her father. It would add enormously to the value
of portraits as a means to the illustration of character, if we might
always have associated with that of a distinguished individual those
of his parents, and even of his brothers and sisters. The portrait of
Robert Evans (George Eliot’s father) is a very pleasing one--a grave,
serious face, with a large Roman nose, well-formed lips and chin, and
a really magnificent forehead. The nose probably gives a clue to his
family descent.
Of those of the authoress herself, the first, taken when she was 23,
by a lady friend (Mrs. Bray), is a poor work of art, and exhibits a
commonplace face, surmounted by a very large rounded forehead. It is
impossible to judge of the nose. A second is of some years older, and
is much better executed. The forehead is still there, and the nose is
shown of good size and shapely, and the lips and chin are well formed.
The face is a shorter one than in the next, and the hair is of a much
lighter tint. The face is pleasing and attractive, not much unlike, if
we remember rightly, one which represented Jenny Lind.
Lastly, we come to the often copied and well-known portrait at age 46,
by Sir F. Burton. In this the nose and face are long, almost suggesting
an approach to what is called a horse face. The chin is good, but as
the fine forehead is much concealed by folds of hair, the balance of
features is not perfect, and the whole result not pleasing. All the
three show the eyes light grey or blue. There can be no doubt that
George Eliot had a large forehead and a fairly large nose and chin, but
further than this these somewhat disaccording portraits do not take us.
We must fall back on her father’s Roman nose and really beautifully
balanced features.
Mary Somerville’s face is a very intellectual one, but a trifle cold as
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THE
HONEST AMERICAN VOTER'S
LITTLE CATECHISM
FOR
1880.
BY
BLYTHE HARDING.
Copyrighted, 1880.
NEW YORK:
John Polhemus, Publisher, 102 Nassau Street.
PREFACE.
I was invited the other day to take down, as Stenographer, what
purported to be a discussion upon some general political topics, and
more especially on the forthcoming presidential election. One of the
disputants entrenched himself in what, I believe, scholars call the
Socratic method, that is, he _pumped_ his supposed antagonist dry.
Whether the world at large may think the dialogue as funny as I did
myself, I can form no opinion. It is to solve this question that I
give it to the public.
BLYTHE HARDING.
NEW YORK, _August 31st, 1880_.
THE DIALOGUE.
What is a republic?
--A state, or Union of states, in which the people holds supreme
power.
How does the people exercise this power?
--Through men elected for this purpose.
What are these men called?
--Senators and members of Congress or Congressmen.
Is there a head or chief in a republic?
--Certainly.
What is he called?
--The President.
Must the President be elected?
--Yes, by the people.
Who declares the voice of the people in this matter?
--The electors of the different states, appointed to do it by the
people.
Is it necessary that the whole people should agree on one man in order
to elect him?
--No; it only needs a majority of the nation, voting through the
electors.
Do the votes of the electors generally follow the voice of the people
in the different states?
--They ought to follow it.
Are the electors considered bound to vote as the majority of the
people in their different states direct?
--Undoubtedly they are.
Then it is fair to say that the vote of a majority of the electors
show which way the majority of the people voted?
--That's a simple question. Why, of course!
What are the duties of the President?
--To mind the business of the nation, and his own, too.
Anything else?
--Isn't that enough?
Well, but what is that business?
--The business of the nation?
Yes.
--He makes treaties, weeds out old political hacks, and sends them
on embassies where they cannot annoy him, and have nothing to do;
appoints Judges of the Supreme Court like Joe Bradley, when he wants
to play eight-to-seven, commands the army and navy, gets fifty
thousand dollars a year, takes all the presents he can get, lives
in the White House, and does a kind of general housekeeping business
for the country.
I was not talking of Grant. Let that go. Does he do anything else?
--Yes; if he comes from Ohio, he fills nearly every place he's got
to give away with lean, hungry Ohio men, so that you can get a "whiff"
of that state all over Washington, and in a good many other places
too, any time of the day or night.
Really I don't understand you. All our Presidents do not come from
Ohio or Illinois!
--Thank God they don't.
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THE HILLMAN
[Illustration: What followed came like a thunder-clap.
FRONTISPIECE. _See page 304._]
The Hillman
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of "The Kingdom of The Blind"
"Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo," Etc.
[Illustration]
WITH FRONTISPIECE
By GEORGE AVISON
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by Arrangement with LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY
_Copyright, 1917_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published, January, 1917
Reprinted, January, 1917 (twice)
February, 1917 (twice)
March, 1917; April, 1917
THE HILLMAN
I
Louise, self-engrossed, and with a pleasant sense of detachment from the
prospective inconveniences of the moment, was leaning back among the
cushions of the motionless car. Her eyes, lifted upward, traveled past
the dimly lit hillside, with its patchwork of wall-enclosed fields, up
to where the leaning clouds and the unseen heights met in a misty sea of
obscurity.
The moon had not yet risen, but a faint and luminous glow, spreading
like a halo about the topmost peak of that ragged line of hills,
heralded its approach. Louise sat with clasped hands, rapt and engrossed
in the esthetic appreciation of a beauty which found its way but seldom
into her town-enslaved life. She listened to the sound of a distant
sheepbell. Her eyes swept the hillsides, vainly yet without curiosity,
for any sign of a human dwelling. The voices of her chauffeur and her
maid, who stood talking heatedly together by the bonnet of the car,
seemed to belong to another world. She had the air of one completely yet
pleasantly detached from all material surroundings.
The maid, leaving her discomfited companion with a final burst of
reproaches, came to the side of the car. Her voice, when she addressed
her mistress, sank to a lower key, but her eyes still flashed with
anger.
"But would _madame_ believe it?" she exclaimed. "It is incredible! The
man Charles there, who calls himself a chauffeur of experience, declares
that we are what he calls 'hung up'! Something unexpected has happened
to the magneto. There is no spark. Whose fault can that be, I ask, but
the chauffeur's? And such a desert we have reached! We have searched the
map together. We are thirty miles from any town, many miles from even a
village. What a misfortune!"
Louise turned her head regretfully away from the mysterious spaces. She
listened patiently, but without any sort of emotion, to her maid's flow
of distressed words. She even smiled very faintly when the girl had
finished.
"Something will happen," she remarked indifferently. "There is no need
for you to distress yourself. There must be a farmhouse or shelter of
some sort near. If the worst comes to the worst, we can spend the night
in the car. We have plenty of furs and rugs. You are not a good
traveler, Aline. You lose heart too soon."
The girl's face was a study.
"_Madame_ speaks of spending the night in the car!" she exclaimed. "Why,
one has not eaten since luncheon, and of all the country through which
we have passed, this is the loneliest and dreariest spot."
Louise leaned forward and called to the chauffeur.
"Charles," she asked, "what has happened? Are we really | 575.140761 |
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THE
FRIAR'S DAUGHTER
A Story of the
American Occupation
of the Philippines.
By CHARLES LINCOLN PHIFER
Author of "The White Sea," "The Giant Hand,"
"Diaz the Dictator," Etc., Etc.
40 Cents Each. 10 for $3.00. 100 for $22.00.
1909:
Published by C. L. PHIFER
Girard, Kansas
CHARACTERS.
Judge Benjamin Daft, American Governor.
Admiral Rainey, Conqueror of the Philippines.
Camillo Saguanaldo, Insurgent General and President.
Bishop Lonzello, the Friar.
Ambrosia Lonzello, the Friar's Daughter.
Rodriguez Violeta, the Papal Nuncio.
Mrs. Rizal, widow of a Filipino Patriot.
Maximo Voliva, Leader of a Schism.
Time--1898-1899. Place--Manila and Vicinity.
JUST A WORD.
This is a story founded on truth. Practically every incident told
about really happened; yet some liberty has been taken with the
arrangements of these incidents into a story. Events are sometimes
grouped outside of their natural order and place of occurrence,
and the time of action is shortened. Conversation is necessarily
invented, and is used to bring out the setting of the story and give
it life. Another thing: Every writer recognizes that it is desirable
to not have too many characters in a story, and to not drag it through
unimportant incidents. Therefore, I have omitted many incidents of
the occupation of the Philippines, and have in places ascribed to one
person, in an effort to keep down the number of characters, acts which
properly belonged to other persons, so that some of the characters
are representative and composite. To illustrate my meaning--that a
love story in the simplest form might run through the tale I have
made Saguanaldo appear as a lover as well as a general, though this
is acknowledged to be fiction. In other places I have one character
doing a work that was really done by a different person; but it
would have been difficult and confusing to use all the actors in the
stirring drama or to refer to all the many incidents. This shortening
of the period of action, and this combining in one person the deeds of
several, is something which Shakespeare did in his historical dramas;
so that this is historical in the same sense that some of his plays
are historical--not as to the truth of every word and the time and
place of every act, but in spirit and in incident. The truth is there,
but the grouping is made to meet the author's need.
There is no personal bias in this work. It is nothing to the author
that in this case the center of the plot hinges about churchmen. It
is no more than if it should center around secular affairs. It is the
old story of personal ambition which has appeared in a thousand forms
and has influenced all conditions of people. It is not a matter of
religion or irreligion, but a picture of what ambition will do for
even the best of aims and men.
C. L. P.
THE FRIAR'S DAUGHTER.
I.
"AND THE SUN COMES UP LIKE THUNDER."
Up till midnight Manila was at play. In mediæval Luzon they had not
then lost the sportive instinct of the healthy animal or been lost
in the chase of the dollar. The shops were closed, but the places of
amusement were open. The Lunita, outside the city wall, was thronged
with carriages, and at each end of the Plaza de Gotta a band was
playing. Spanish grandees and beautiful donnas were driving or
promenading there. Inside the wall churches and theatres were open,
the churches being first visited and then the play houses. In the
amphitheater, built up of bamboo, a crowd of the poorer people were
gathered, and while the braver battles were not in progress at this
time, cock fighting was attracting the attention of many. Under the
walls of the old city, the city that best represented the ancient
order, the city of this story, in cloisters arched over where stock
was being housed, groups of men were throwing dice or playing cards. It
was like a picture of the middle ages projected into the closing days
of April, 1898.
What an anomaly it was! Walls of the middle ages, surrounded by a
great moat, and within a cosmopolitan group, including Spaniards,
Chinese and natives of the Northern islands; yet adjoining it to
the east lay a modern city; and Cavite, eight miles to the west,
was a fort manned by modern guns. Yellow clay houses of one and two
stories roofed with red tile, some with courts in the center, here
in old Manila, and to the east modern places of business and houses
well plumbed, lighted with electricity. Churches and cathedrals,
conventos and nunneries everywhere here, and beyond the Passig river
modern amusement places and Protestant churches.
In the magnificent harbor that lay north of Manila, small crafts
of many kinds were grouped at the piers, and in the distance the
modern fleet of Spain lay at anchor. It was the one portion of the
old order that yet remained; and the world was pressing upon it,
and change was near.
Ambrosia Lonzello, the Friar's Daughter, stood at the gate in front
of her mother's home, gazing down the street, dreaming the dreams of
oriental maidenhood. She had inherited the symmetry of proportion that
belonged to her mother's tribe in Cebu, and from her father, Bishop
Lonzello, had the Spaniard's dark eyes and charming vivacity. It had
been twenty years since Friar Lonzello, a young priest then located
in Cebu, had met the young native woman who became Ambrosia's mother;
and though it was forbidden priests to marry, Lonzello yet supported
the woman he had then loved and the daughter that had been born to
them. If it was a strange thing to a European, it was rather the
rule than the exception in that oriental, mediaeval country, and as
the daughter of the Bishop, Ambrosia was one of the prominent young
women of the walled city. She stood, gazing down the street and up
at the stars, dreaming her own dreams, a girl without experience in
the ways of the world, when she heard a voice at her side:
"Ambrosia! Buenos dias!" [1]
Ambrosia started. She knew the voice. But she supposed the possessor,
Camillo Saguanaldo, was across the bay in China. A few months before
he had been banished because of leading an insurrection against the
friars, who were practically the rulers of the Philippines, and his
return involved great danger for him. So Ambrosia said:
"I thought you were in China, Camillo. Do you not know it is dangerous
for you to be in Luzon?"
"My duty calls me here, Ambrosia, and here I must be," | 575.143184 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Stephen H. Sentoff, Alicia Williams
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)
OBSERVATIONS
ON
MOUNT VESUVIUS,
MOUNT ETNA,
AND OTHER VOLCANOS:
IN
A SERIES OF LETTERS,
Addressed to THE ROYAL SOCIETY,
From the Honourable Sir W. HAMILTON,
K.B. F.R.S.
His Majesty's Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary
at the Court of NAPLES.
To which are added,
Explanatory NOTES by the AUTHOR,
hitherto unpublished.
A NEW EDITION.
LONDON,
Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand.
M DCC LXXIV.
THE EDITOR
TO
THE PUBLIC.
Having mentioned to Sir WILLIAM HAMILTON the general Desire of all
Lovers of Natural History, that his Letters upon the Subject of VOLCANOS
should be collected together in one Volume, particularly for the
Convenience of such as may have an Opportunity of visiting the curious
Spots described in them: He was not only pleased to approve of my
having undertaken this Publication, but has likewise favoured with the
additional explanatory Notes and Drawings,
The PUBLIC's most obliged,
and devoted
humble Servant,
T. CADELL.
May 30, 1772.
OBSERVATIONS
ON
MOUNT VESUVIUS, &c.
LETTER I.
To the Right Honourable the Earl of MORTON, President of the Royal
Society.
Naples, June 10, 1766.
My LORD,
As I have attended particularly to the various changes of Mount
Vesuvius, from the 17th of November 1764, the day of my arrival at this
capital; I flatter myself, that my observations will not be unacceptable
to your Lordship, especially as this Volcano has lately made a very
considerable eruption. I shall confine myself merely to the many
extraordinary appearances that have come under my own inspection, and
leave their explanation to the more learned in Natural Philosophy.
During the first twelvemonth of my being here, I did not perceive any
remarkable alteration in the mountain; but I observed, the smoke from
the Volcano was much more considerable in bad weather than when it was
fair[1]; and I often heard (even at Naples, six miles from Vesuvius) in
bad weather, the inward explosions of the mountain. When I have been at
the top of Mount Vesuvius in fair weather, I have sometimes found so
little smoke, that I have been able to see far down the mouth of the
Volcano; the sides of which were incrusted with salts and mineral of
various colors, white, green, deep and pale yellow. The smoke that
issued from the mouth of the Volcano in bad weather was white, very
moist, and not near so offensive as the sulphureous steams from various
cracks on the sides of the mountain.
Towards the month of September last, I perceived the smoke to be more
considerable, and to continue even in fair weather; and in October I
perceived sometimes a puff of black smoke shoot up a considerable height
in the midst of the white, which symptom of an approaching eruption grew
more frequent daily; and soon after, these puffs of smoke appeared in
the night tinged like clouds with the setting sun.
About the beginning of November, I went up the mountain: it was then
covered with snow; and I perceived a little hillock of sulphur had been
thrown up, since my last visit there, within about forty yards of the
mouth of the Volcano; it was near six feet high, and a light blue flame
issued constantly from its top. As I was examining this phaenomenon, I
heard a violent report; and saw a column of black smoke, followed by a
reddish flame, shoot up with violence from the mouth of the Volcano; and
presently fell a shower of stones, one of which, falling near me, made
me retire with some precipitation, and also rendered me more cautious of
approaching too near, in my subsequent journies to Vesuvius.
From November to the 28th of March, the date of the beginning of this
eruption, the smoke increased, and was mixed with ashes, which fell, and
did great damage to the vineyards in the neighbourhood of the
mountain[2]. A few days before the eruption I saw (what Pliny the
younger mentions having seen, before that eruption of Vesuvius which
proved fatal to his uncle) the black smoke take the form of a pine-tree.
The smoke, that appeared black in the day-time, for near two months
before the eruption, had the appearance of flame in the night.
On Good Friday, the 28th of March, at 7 o'clock at night, the lava began
to boil over the mouth of the Volcano, at first in one stream; and soon
after, dividing itself into two, it took its course towards Portici. It
was preceded by a violent explosion, which caused a partial earthquake
in the neighbourhood of the mountain; and a shower of red hot stones and
cinders were thrown up to a considerable height. Immediately upon sight
of the lava, I left Naples, with a party of my countrymen, whom I found
as impatient as myself to satisfy their curiosity in examining so
curious an operation of nature. I passed the whole night upon the
mountain; and observed that, though the red hot stones were thrown up in
much greater number and to a more considerable height than before the
appearance of the lava, yet the report was much less considerable than
some days before the eruption. The lava ran near a mile in an hour's
time, when the two branches joined in a hollow on the side of the
mountain, without proceeding farther. I approached the mouth of the
Volcano, as near as I could with prudence; the lava had the appearance
of a river of red hot and liquid metal, such as we see in the
glass-houses, on which were large floating cinders, half lighted, and
rolling one over another with great precipitation down the side of the
mountain, forming a most beautiful and uncommon cascade; the color of
the fire was much paler and more bright the first night than the
subsequent nights, when it became of a deep red, probably owing to its
having been more impregnated with sulphur at first than afterwards. In
the day-time, unless you are quite close, the lava has no appearance of
fire; but a thick white smoke marks its course.
The 29th, the mountain was very quiet, and the lava did not continue.
The 30th, it began to flow again in the same direction, whilst the mouth
of the Volcano threw up every minute a girandole of red hot stones, to
an immense height. The 31st, I passed the night upon the mountain: the
lava was not so considerable as the first night; but the red hot stones
were perfectly transparent, some of which, I dare say of a ton weight,
mounted at least two hundred feet perpendicular, and fell in, or near,
the mouth of a little mountain, that was now formed by the quantity of
ashes and stones, within the great mouth of the Volcano, and which made
the approach much safer than it had been some days before, when the
mouth was near half a mile in circumference, and the stones took every
direction. Mr. Hervey, brother to the Earl of Bristol, was very much
wounded in the arm some days before the eruption, having approached too
near; and two English gentlemen with him were also hurt. It is
impossible to describe the beautiful appearance of these girandoles of
red hot stones, far surpassing the most astonishing artificial
fire-work.
From the 31st of March to the 9th of April, the lava continued on the
same side of the mountain, in two, three, and sometimes four branches,
without descending much lower than the first night. I remarked a kind of
intermission in the fever of the mountain[3], which seemed to return
with violence every other night. On the 10th of April, at night, the
lava disappeared on the side of the mountain towards Naples, and broke
out with much more violence on the side next the _Torre dell'
Annunciata_.
I passed the whole day and the night of the twelfth upon the mountain,
and followed the course of the lava to its very source: it burst out of
the side of the mountain, within about half a mile of the mouth of the
Volcano, like a torrent, attended with violent explosions, which threw
up inflamed matter to a considerable height, the adjacent ground
quivering like the timbers of a water-mill; the heat of the lava was so
great, as not to suffer me to approach nearer than within ten feet of
the stream, and of such a consistency (though it appeared liquid as
water) as almost to resist the impression of a long stick, with which I
made the experiment; large stones thrown on it with all my force did not
sink, but, making a slight impression, floated on the surface, and were
carried out of sight in a short time; for, notwithstanding the
consistency of the lava, it ran with amazing velocity; I am sure, the
first mile with a rapidity equal to that of the river Severn, at the
passage near Bristol. The stream at its source was about ten feet wide,
but soon extended itself, and divided into three branches; so that these
rivers of fire, communicating their heat to the cinders of former lavas,
between one branch and the other, had the appearance at night of a
continued sheet of fire, four miles in length, and in some parts near
two in breadth. Your Lordship may imagine the glorious appearance of
this uncommon scene, such | 575.199665 |
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Produced by Al Haines
TEN DEGREES
BACKWARD
BY
ELLEN THORNEYCROFT FOWLER
AUTHOR OF "HER LADYSHIP'S CONSCIENCE,"
"CONCERNING ISABEL CARNABY," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1915,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
CONTENTS
I. I, Reginald Kingsnorth
II. Restham Manor
III. Frank
IV. Fay
V. The First Miracle
VI. St. Luke's Summer
VII. The Gift
VIII. Love Among the Ruins
IX. Things Great and Small
X. A Birthday Present
XI. In June
XII. Shakspere and the Musical Glasses
XIII. The Garden of Dreams
XIV. Annabel's Warning
XV. Darkening Skies
XVI. A Sorrowful Springtime
XVII. Desolation
XVIII. The New Dean
XIX. A Surprise
XX. Isabel, Née Carnaby
XXI. The Great War
XXII. The Last of the Wildacres
XXIII. The Peace of God
XXIV. Conclusion
TEN DEGREES BACKWARD
CHAPTER I
I, REGINALD KINGSNORTH
"Reggie, do you remember Wildacre?"
It was with this apparently simple question that Arthur Blathwayte rang
up the curtain on the drama of my life.
That the performance was late in beginning I cannot but admit. I was
fully forty-two; an age at which the drama of most men's lives are
over--or, at any rate, well on in the third act. But in my uneventful
existence there had been no drama at all; not even an ineffective
love-affair that could be dignified by the name of a "curtain-raiser."
Of course I had perceived that some women were better looking than
others, and more attractive and easier to get on with. But I had only
perceived this in a scientific, impersonal kind of way: the perception
had in nowise penetrated my inner consciousness or influenced my
existence. I was the type of person who is described by the populace
as "not a marrying sort," and consequently I had reached the age of
forty-two without either marrying or wishing to marry.
I admit that I had not been thrown into circumstances conducive to the
cultivation of the tender passion; my sister Annabel had seen to that;
but no sister--be she even as powerful as Annabel herself--can prevent
a man from falling in love if he be so minded, nor from seeking out for
himself a woman to fall in love with if none are thrown in his way.
But I had not been so minded; therefore Annabel's precautions had
triumphed.
Annabel was one of that by no means inconsiderable number of women who
constantly say they desire and think they desire one thing, while they
are actually wishing and working for the exact opposite. For instance,
she was always remarking how much she wished that I would marry--and
what a mistake it was for a man like myself to remain single--and what
a pity it was for the baronetcy to die out. And she said this in all
sincerity: there was never any conscious humbug about Annabel. Yet if
by any chance a marriageable maiden came my way, Annabel hustled her
off as she hustled off the peacocks when they came into the
flower-garden. My marriage was in theory one of Annabel's fondest
hopes: in practice a catastrophe to be averted at all costs.
My sister was five years my senior, and had mothered me ever since my
mother's death when I was a boy. There were only the two of us, and
surely no man ever had a better sister than I had. In my childhood she
stood between me and danger; in my youth between me and discipline; and
in my manhood between me and discomfort. As far as in her lay she had
persistently shielded me from all life's disagreeables; and a great
deal of shielding power lay in Annabel. Of course she ought to have
been the son and I the daughter: my mother said it when we were
children, and my father never tired of saying it when we were grown up,
and I myself fully realised the force of the remark. But I didn't see
that I could do anything, or that it was in any way my fault, though my
father always spoke as if he thought it were: as if in some occult way
Annabel's unselfishness and my carelessness were responsible for this
mistake in sex: and as if she had deliberately stood on one side in
order that the honour of manhood should fall upon me.
I consider that my father was in many ways a really great man.
Of comparatively humble origin, he raised himself by his own efforts
into a position of commercial importance--amassed a considerable
fortune--threw himself heart and soul into political life, serving his
party and his country with both zeal and efficiency--and died at last,
full of days and honours, beloved and admired by his friends, and
revered by the country at large.
And I cannot help seeing that--through no fault of my own--a
disappointment I, his only son, must have been to him. I say
advisedly, "through no fault of my own," though I have faults enough,
Heaven knows! The great tragedy of my life came through my own folly,
as I now at last realise: but I cannot see that the disappointment I
caused my father was my own doing, though the far greater
disappointment I caused to one dearer than my father most undoubtedly
was. But of that later.
I was exactly the sort of son that my father ought not to have had: in
modern parlance he had no use for me. His son should have resembled
himself, and should have been able to go on where he left off. As for
me, I was of no good at the business, and of | 575.200376 |
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[Illustration: "CRICKET WENT TO THE WINDOW AND PEEPED OUT"]
CRICKET AT THE SEASHORE
BY
ELIZABETH WESTYN TIMLOW
AUTHOR OF "CRICKET: A STORY FOR LITTLE GIRLS"
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRIET ROOSEVELT RICHARDS
BOSTON
ESTES AND LAURIAT
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1896_
BY ESTES & LAURIAT
Colonial Press:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, Mass., U. S. A.
TO
My Mother
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. OLD BILLY 11
II. A BROKEN WHEEL 21
III. CRICKET'S DISCOVERY 33
IV. KEEPING STORE 45
V. A BATH IN CURDS AND WHEY 61
VI. BEAR ISLAND 79
VII. THE EXILES 101
VIII. A NEW PLASTER 117
IX. GEORGE W. AND MARTHA 132
X. THE ECHO CLUB 147
XI. THE "ECHO" 165
XII. THE HAIRS OF HIS HEAD 180
XIII. A WRESTLING MATCH 192
XIV. PLAYING NURSE 204
XV. A KNITTING-BEE 213
XVI. TWO LITTLE RUNAWAYS 223
XVII. HILDA ARRIVES 237
XVIII. A SAILING PARTY 251
XIX. BECALMED 267
XX. A NEW HIDING-PLACE 287
XXI. BILLY'S PRAYER 306
XXII. HELEN'S TEXT 323
XXIII. THE JABBERWOCK 333
XXIV. AFTER THE SACRIFICE 344
XXV. THE END OF THE SUMMER 359
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"CRICKET WENT TO THE WINDOW AND PEEPED
OUT" _Frontispiece_
"OLD BILLY TELLS HIS STORY TO THE TWINS" 31
LANDING ON BEAR ISLAND 87
"THE EXILES" 99
FEEDING GEORGE WASHINGTON--"CRICKET
BORE OFF HER CHARGE TO THE KITCHEN" 137
"SHE BURIED HERSELF IN HER NEXT STORY
FOR 'THE ECHO'" 205
HILDA'S ARRIVAL 235
"CRICKET SAT DOWN ON THE BEACH WITH
THE CHILDREN" 293
CRICKET AT THE SEASHORE
CHAPTER I.
OLD BILLY.
The summer at Marbury had begun. On the 20th of June, after seeing the
Europe-bound party off for New York, the Ward children had arrived, bag
and baggage, under Auntie Jean's escort.
Early the first morning after their arrival, Cricket awoke Eunice with a
punch.
"Eunice, what do you think I am going to do to-day? and I'm going to do
it every day till I succeed."
"Don't know, I'm sure," said Eunice, sleepily. "Don't tumble round so.
It isn't time to get up."
"Oh, you're such a lazybones," sighed Cricket, whose light, active frame
required less sleep than Eunice's heavier build. "It's six o'clock, for
the clock just struck. Now I'll tell you what I want to do. Let's dig
in the sand-banks every day, and see if we can't find mamma's money-bag,
that she and auntie buried there so long ago."
"All right, and let's search in the cove for the little turquoise ring
you lost two years ago, in bathing," answered Eunice, still sleepily,
but with much sarcasm.
"Now, Eunice, you needn't come out with any of your sarcastic sinuates,"
said Cricket, tossing her curly head. "_I'm_ going to do it anyway, and
I'm going to find it. I feel it in my bones, as 'Liza says, and I'm
going to begin straight after breakfast, if we don't do anything else.
Don't tell any one, for I want to surprise everybody."
"I think you're safe to do it, if you want to. I won't tell. Wonder if
they've sailed yet," with a thought of the travellers.
"The steamer doesn't sail till eleven; don't you remember? Prob'ly
they're just getting up. Come, Eunice, get up. I hear the boys, now."
Cricket scrambled out of bed and ran to the window to peep out.
"There they go now for their swim. Boys! Boys! wait for me!" and Cricket
dropped into her bathing-suit, which had been put out all ready the
night before, and flew down-stairs to join the boys in their morning
plunge in the sea, her bare arms gleaming from the dark-blue of her
suit, and bathing-shoes protecting her feet from the sharp stones in the
rough lane that led to the cove.
They had a glorious swim. At least, Will and Archie swam, and Cricket
splashed under their directions. She had almost learned to swim the last
time that she had been at Marbury in the summer-time, two years before,
and she could already float nicely and go "dog-paddle," but she had
great difficulty in making any headway in swimming.
"There!" she sputtered, in triumph, at last, clinging hold of the
swimming-raft; "I almost got away from the place where I was, then." She
turned over on her back to rest herself, and float for a moment, then
prepared for another start.
"I don't seem to wiggle my feet right. I get so destracted thinking of
my hands, that I always forget to kick. I can't keep my mind in two
places at once."
"Now try again," said Will, good-naturedly. "See here. Draw up your
feet as you bring your hands together and kick _hard_, when you throw
them out. Go just like a frog. That's fine. Now again. Draw up, kick
out, draw up, kick out--fine!" and Cricket, sputtering and laughing,
drew herself up on the swimming-raft, having really swum two feet. And
then it was time to go out.
The cove was some little distance from the house, so, after scampering
up the lane, their bathing-suits were almost dry. There were
bathing-houses down there, but for this early morning dip they liked
better to get into their bathing-suits at the house, and dress there.
When Cricket flew up-stairs into her room, glowing and rosy, she found
Eunice only partly dressed, with the sleep not half out of her drowsy
eyes.
"Oh, you lazy thing!" cried Cricket, retiring behind the screen. "You
don't know how fine I feel. My skin is all little prickles."
"I shouldn't think that would be very comfortable," said Eunice,
brushing out her long, dark hair, and braiding it. "I like to sleep in
the morning better than you do, anyway. Did you dive for mamma's
money-bag?"
"You needn't laugh at me," said Cricket, emerging, half-dressed
already. "I mean to find it. You'll see." But she inwardly registered a
vow that she would pursue her search alone.
The Ward children had never spent much time at Marbury, with grandma,
since they had their own summer home at Kayuna, in East Wellsboro. They
had often been there for short visits, however, as mamma generally took
one or another of her little flock with her, in her frequent trips to
see grandma.
Marbury lies in Marbury Bay, which is very large, but so shallow that at
low tide the mud-flats are all exposed for a long distance out. A long
tongue of land, principally sand-banks, stretches half around the bay,
making a break-water from the ocean, and rendering the harbour a very
safe one for sailing. Will and Archie Somers were capital sailors,
inheriting their grandfather's love of the sea. Back of the house, over
a short, steep hill, lay the beginning of the sand-banks, where mamma
and auntie had buried their money-bags long ago. Then beyond these
sand-banks, on the ocean-side, was another deep small curve, called the
cove, where the children bathed. It was a safe, sheltered spot, with a
good bit of beach. Altogether, Marbury had many attractions.
What chattering and gabbling there was that first morning at breakfast,
when all sorts of plans were projected for the summer's amusement! Mrs.
Somers and her children had spent most of the warm weather at Marbury,
for years, so that Will, and Archie, and Edna knew every inch of the
country for miles around, and were eager to do the honours.
"'Wot larks' we're going to have," cried Archie, as they all got up from
the table. "Think of it, grandma! all summer! whoop!" with a shout, as
he vanished, that made grandma cover her deafened ears in dismay, as the
whole flock trooped after.
"Dear me! mother," said Mrs. Somers, privately, as they stood together
on the piazza, "I begin to think that we've undertaken a great deal, to
keep this horde in order for a whole season. Can you ever stand it in
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EVE AND DAVID
(Lost Illusions Part III)
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Ellen Marriage
PREPARER'S NOTE
Eve and David is part three of a trilogy. Eve and David's story
begins in part one, Two Poets. Part one also introduces Eve's
brother, Lucien. Part two, A Distinguished Provincial at Paris,
centers on Lucien's life in Paris. For part three the action once
more returns to Eve and David in Angouleme. In many references parts
one and three are combined under the title Lost Illusions and A
Distinguished Provincial at Paris is given its individual title.
Following this trilogy Lucien's story is continued in another book,
Scenes from a Courtesan's Life.
EVE AND DAVID
Lucien had gone to Paris; and David Sechard, with the courage
and intelligence of the ox which painters give the Evangelist for
accompanying symbol, set himself to make the large fortune for which he
had wished that evening down by the Charente, when he sat with Eve by
the weir, and she gave him her hand and her heart. He wanted to make the
money quickly, and less for himself than for Eve's sake and Lucien's. He
would place his wife amid the elegant and comfortable surroundings that
were hers by right, and his strong arm should sustain her brother's
ambitions--this was the programme that he saw before his eyes in letters
of fire.
Journalism and politics, the immense development of the book trade,
of literature and of the sciences; the increase of public interest in
matters touching the various industries in the country; in fact, the
whole social tendency of the epoch following the establishment of the
Restoration produced an enormous increase in the demand for paper. The
supply required was almost ten times as large as the quantity in which
the celebrated Ouvrard speculated at the outset of the Revolution.
Then Ouvrard could buy up first the entire stock of paper and then the
manufacturers; but in the year 1821 there were so many paper-mills in
France, that no one could hope to repeat his success; and David had
neither audacity enough nor capital enough for such speculation.
Machinery for producing paper in any length was just coming into use
in England. It was one of the most urgent needs of the time, therefore,
that the paper trade should keep pace with the requirements of the
French system of civil government, a system by which the right of
discussion was to be extended to every man, and the whole fabric based
upon continual expression of individual opinion; a grave misfortune, for
the nation that deliberates is but little wont to act.
So, strange coincidence! while Lucien was drawn into the great machinery
of journalism, where he was like to leave his honor and his intelligence
torn to shreds, David Sechard, at the back of his printing-house,
foresaw all the practical consequences of the increased activity of the
periodical press. He saw the direction in which the spirit of the age
was tending, and sought to find means to the required end. He saw also
that there was a fortune awaiting the discoverer of cheap paper, and the
event has justified his clearsightedness. Within the last fifteen years,
the Patent Office has received more than a hundred applications from
persons claiming to have discovered cheap substances to be employed in
the manufacture of paper. David felt more than ever convinced that this
would be no brilliant triumph, it is true, but a useful and immensely
profitable discovery; and after his brother-in-law went to Paris, he
became more and more absorbed in the problem which he had set himself to
solve.
The expenses of his marriage and of Lucien's journey to Paris had
exhausted all his resources; he confronted the extreme of poverty at
the very outset of married life. He had kept one thousand francs for the
working expenses of the business, and owed a like sum, for which he had
given a bill to Postel the druggist. So here was a double problem for
this deep thinker; he must invent a method of making cheap paper, and
that quickly; he must make the discovery, in fact, in order to apply the
proceeds to the needs of the household and of the business. What words
can describe the brain that can forget the cruel preoccupations caused
by hidden want, by the daily needs of a family and the daily drudgery of
a printer's business, which requires such minute, painstaking care; and
soar, with the enthusiasm and intoxication of the man of science, into
the regions of the unknown in quest of a secret which daily eludes the
most subtle experiment? And the inventor, alas! as will shortly be seen,
has plenty of woes to endure, besides the ingratitude of the many; idle
folk that can do nothing themselves tell them, "Such a one is a born
inventor; he could not do otherwise. He no more deserves credit for his
invention than a prince for being born to rule! He is simply exercising
his natural faculties, and his work is its own reward," and the people
believe them.
Marriage brings profound mental and physical perturbations into a
girl's life; and if she marries under the ordinary conditions of
lower middle-class life, she must moreover begin to study totally new
interests and initiate herself in the intricacies of business. With
marriage, therefore, she enters upon a phase of her existence when she
is necessarily on the watch before she can act. Unfortunately, David's
love for his wife retarded this training; he dared not tell her the
real state of affairs on the day after their wedding, nor for some time
afterwards. His father's avarice condemned him to the most grinding
poverty, but he could not bring himself to spoil the honeymoon by
beginning his wife's commercial education and prosaic apprenticeship to
his laborious craft. So it came to pass that housekeeping, no less than
working expenses, ate up the thousand francs, his whole fortune. For
four months David gave no thought to the future, and his wife remained
in ignorance. The awakening was terrible! Postel's bill fell due; there
was no money to meet it, and Eve knew enough of the debt and its cause
to give up her bridal trinkets and silver.
That evening Eve tried to induce David to talk of their affairs, for she
had noticed that he was giving less attention to the business and more
to the problem of which he had once spoken to her. Since the first few
weeks of married life, in fact, David spent most of his time in the
shed in the backyard, in the little room where he was wont to mould his
ink-rollers. Three months after his return to Angouleme, he had replaced
the old fashioned round ink-balls by rollers made of strong glue and
treacle, and an ink-table, on which the ink was evenly distributed, an
improvement so obvious that Cointet Brothers no sooner saw it than they
adopted the plan themselves.
By the partition wall of this kitchen, as it were, David had set up a
little furnace with a copper pan, ostensibly to save the cost of fuel
over the recasting of his rollers, though the moulds had not been used
twice, and hung there rusting upon the wall. Nor was this all; a solid
oak door had been put in by his orders, and the walls were lined with
sheet-iron; he even replaced the dirty window sash by panes of ribbed
glass, so that no one without could watch him at his work.
When Eve began to speak about the future, he looked uneasily at her,
and cut her short at the first word by saying, "I know all that you must
think, child, when you see that the workshop is left to itself, and
that I am dead, as it were, to all business interests; but see," he
continued, bringing her to the window, and pointing to the mysterious
shed, "there lies our fortune. For some months yet we must endure our
lot, but let us bear it patiently; leave me to solve the problem of
which I told you, and all our troubles will be at an end."
David was so good, his devotion was so thoroughly to be taken upon his
word, that the poor wife, with a wife's anxiety as to daily expenses,
determined to spare her husband the household cares and to take the
burden upon herself. So she came down from the pretty blue-and-white
room, where she sewed and talked contentedly with her mother, took
possession of one of the two dens at the back of the printing-room,
and set herself to learn the business routine of typography. Was it not
heroism in a wife who expected ere long to be a mother?
During the past few months David's workmen had left him one by one;
there was not enough work for them to do. Cointet Brothers, on the other
hand, were overwhelmed with orders; they were employing all the workmen
of the department; the alluring prospect of high wages even brought them
a few from Bordeaux, more especially apprentices, who thought themselves
sufficiently expert to cancel their articles and go elsewhere. When
Eve came to look into the affairs of Sechard's printing works, she
discovered that he employed three persons in all.
First in order stood Cerizet, an apprentice of Didot's, whom David had
chosen to train. Most foremen have some one favorite among the great
numbers of workers under them, and David had brought Cerizet to
Angouleme, where he had been learning more of the business. Marion, as
much attached to the house as a watch-dog, was the second; and the third
was Kolb, an Alsacien, at one time a porter in the employ of the Messrs.
Didot. Kolb had been drawn for military service, chance brought him to
Angouleme, and David recognized the man's face at a review just as
his time was about to expire. Kolb came to see David, and was smitten
forthwith by the charms of the portly Marion; she possessed all the
qualities which a man of his class looks for in a wife--the robust
health that bronzes the cheeks, the strength of a man (Marion could lift
a form of type with ease), the scrupulous honesty on which an Alsacien
sets such store, the faithful service which bespeaks a sterling
character, and finally, the thrift which had saved a little sum of a
thousand francs, besides a stock of clothing and linen, neat and
clean, as country linen can be. Marion herself, a big, stout woman
of thirty-six, felt sufficiently flattered by the admiration of a
cuirassier, who stood five feet seven in his stockings, a well-built
warrior, strong as a bastion, and not unnaturally suggested that
he should become a printer. So, by the time Kolb received his full
discharge, Marion and David between them had transformed him into a
tolerably creditable "bear," though their pupil could neither read nor
write.
Job printing, as it is called, was not so abundant at this season but
that Cerizet could manage it without help. Cerizet, compositor, clicker,
and foreman, realized in his person the "phenomenal triplicity" of Kant;
he set up type, read proof, took orders, and made out invoices; but the
most part of the time he had nothing to do, and used to read novels in
his den at the back of the workshop while he waited for an order for a
bill-head or a trade circular. Marion, trained by old Sechard, prepared
and wetted down the paper, helped Kolb with the printing, hung the
sheets to dry, and cut them to size; yet cooked the dinner, none the
less, and did her marketing very early of a morning.
Eve told Cerizet to draw out a balance-sheet for the last six months,
and found that the gross receipts amounted to eight hundred francs. On
the other hand, wages at the rate of three francs per day--two francs to
Cerizet, and one to Kolb--reached a total of six hundred francs; and as
the goods supplied for the work printed and delivered amounted to some
hundred odd francs, it was clear to Eve that David had been carrying
on business at a loss during the first half-year of their married life.
There was nothing to show for rent, nothing for Marion's wages, nor for
the interest on capital represented by the plant, the license, and
the ink; nothing, finally, by way of allowance for the host of things
included in the technical expression "wear and tear," a word which owes
its origin to the cloths and silks which are used to moderate the force
of the impression, and to save wear to the type; a square of stuff (the
_blanket_) being placed between the platen and the sheet of paper in the
press.
Eve made a rough calculation of the resources of the printing office and
of the output, and saw how little hope there was for a business drained
dry by the all-devouring activity of the brothers Cointet; for by this
time the Cointets were not only contract printers to the town and the
prefecture, and printers to the Diocese by special appointment--they
were paper-makers and proprietors of a newspaper to boot. That
newspaper, sold two years ago by the Sechards, father and son, for
twenty-two thousand francs, was now bringing in eighteen thousand francs
per annum. Eve began to understand the motives lurking beneath the
apparent generosity of the brothers Cointet; they were leaving the
Sechard establishment just sufficient work to gain a pittance, but not
enough to establish a rival house.
When Eve took the management of the business, she began by taking stock.
She set Kolb and Marion and Cerizet to work, and the workshop was put to
rights, cleaned out, and set in order. Then one evening when David came
in from a country excursion, followed by an old woman with a huge bundle
tied up in a cloth, Eve asked counsel of him as to the best way of
turning to profit the odds and ends left them by old Sechard, promising
that she herself would look after the business. Acting upon her
husband's advice, Mme. Sechard sorted all the remnants of paper which
she found, and printed old popular legends in double columns upon a
single sheet, such as peasants paste on their walls, the histories
of _The Wandering Jew_, _Robert the Devil_, _La Belle Maguelonne_ and
sundry miracles. Eve sent Kolb out as a hawker.
Cerizet had not a moment to spare now; he was composing the naive pages,
with the rough cuts that adorned them, from morning to night; Marion
was able to manage the taking off; and all domestic cares fell to Mme.
Chardon, for Eve was busy coloring the prints. Thanks to Kolb's activity
and honesty, Eve sold three thousand broad sheets at a penny apiece, and
made three hundred francs in all at a cost of thirty francs.
But when every peasant's hut and every little wine-shop for twenty
leagues round was papered with these legends, a fresh speculation
must be discovered; the Alsacien could not go beyond the limits of the
department. Eve, turning over everything in the whole printing house,
had found a collection of figures for printing a "Shepherd's Calendar,"
a kind of almanac meant for those who cannot read, letterpress being
replaced by symbols, signs, and pictures in inks, red, black and
blue. Old Sechard, who could neither read nor write himself, had made a
good deal of money at one time by bringing out an almanac in hieroglyph.
It was in book form, a single sheet folded to make one hundred and
twenty-eight pages.
Thoroughly satisfied with the success of the broad sheets, a piece
of business only undertaken by country printing offices, Mme. Sechard
invested all the proceeds in the _Shepherd's Calendar_, and began it
upon a large scale. Millions of copies of this work are sold annually
in France. It is printed upon even coarser paper than the _Almanac of
Liege_, a ream (five hundred sheets) costing in the first instance about
four francs; while the printed sheets sell at the rate of a halfpenny
apiece--twenty-five francs per ream.
Mme. Sechard determined to use one hundred reams for the first
impression; fifty thousand copies would bring in two thousand francs. A
man so deeply absorbed in his work as David in his researches is seldom
observant; yet David, taking a look round his workshop, was astonished
to hear the groaning of a press and to see Cerizet always on his feet,
setting up type under Mme. Sechard's direction. There was a pretty
triumph for Eve on the day when David came in to see what she was doing,
and praised the idea, and thought the calendar an excellent stroke of
business. Furthermore, David promised to give advice in the matter of
inks, for an almanac meant to appeal to the eye; and finally, he
resolved to recast the ink-rollers himself in his mysterious workshop,
so as to help his wife as far as he could in her important little
enterprise.
But just as the work began with strenuous industry, there came letters
from Lucien in Paris, heart-sinking letters that told his mother and
sister and brother-in-law of his failure and distress; and when Eve,
Mme. Chardon, and David each secretly sent money to their poet, it must
be plain to the reader that the three hundred francs they sent were like
their very blood. The overwhelming news, the disheartening sense that
work as bravely as she might, she made so little, left Eve looking
forward with a certain dread to an event which fills the cup of
happiness to the full. The time was coming very near now, and to herself
she said, "If my dear David has not reached the end of his researches
before my confinement, what will become of us? And who will look after
our poor printing office and the business that is growing up?"
The _Shepherd's Calendar_ ought by rights to have been ready before the
1st of January, but Cerizet was working unaccountably slowly; all the
work of composing fell to him; and Mme. Sechard, knowing so little,
could not find fault, and was fain to content herself with watching the
young Parisian.
Cerizet came from the great Foundling Hospital in Paris. He had been
apprenticed to the MM. Didot, and between the ages of fourteen and
seventeen he was David Sechard's fanatical worshiper. David put him
under one of the cleverest workmen, and took him for his copy-holder,
his page. Cerizet's intelligence naturally interested David; he won
the lad's affection by procuring amusements now and again for him,
and comforts from which he was cut off by poverty. Nature had endowed
Cerizet with an insignificant, rather pretty little countenance, red
hair, and a pair of dull blue eyes; he had come to Angouleme and brought
the manners of the Parisian street-boy with him. He was formidable by
reason of a quick, sarcastic turn and a spiteful disposition. Perhaps
David looked less strictly after him in Angouleme; or, perhaps, as the
lad grew older, his mentor put more trust in him, or in the sobering
influences of a country town; but be that as it may, Cerizet (all
unknown to his sponsor) was going completely to the bad, and the
printer's apprentice was acting the part of a Don Juan among little work
girls. His morality, learned in Paris drinking-saloons, laid down the
law of self-interest as the sole rule of guidance; he knew, moreover,
that next year he would be "drawn for a soldier," to use the popular
expression, saw that he had no prospects, and ran into debt, thinking
that soon he should be in the army, and none of his creditors would run
after him. David still possessed some ascendency over the young fellow,
due not to his position as master, nor yet to the interest that he
had taken in his pupil, but to the great intellectual power which the
sometime street-boy fully recognized.
Before long Cerizet began to fraternize with the Cointets' workpeople,
drawn to them by the mutual attraction of blouse and jacket, and the
class feeling, which is, perhaps, strongest of all in the lowest ranks
of society. In their company Cerizet forgot the little good doctrine
which David had managed to instil into him; but, nevertheless, when the
others joked the boy about the presses in his workshop ("old sabots," as
the "bears" contemptuously called them), and showed him the magnificent
machines, twelve in number, now at work in the Cointets' great printing
office, where the single wooden press was only used for experiments,
Cerizet would stand up for David and fling out at the braggarts.
"My gaffer will go farther with his'sabots' than yours with their
cast-iron contrivances that turn out mass books all day long," he
would boast. "He is trying to find out a secret that will lick all the
printing offices in France and Navarre."
"And meantime you take your orders from a washer-woman, you snip of a
foreman, on two francs a day."
"She is pretty though," retorted Cerizet; "it is better to have her to
look at than the phizes of your gaffers."
"And do you live by looking at his wife?"
From the region of the wineshop, or from the door of the printing
office, where these bickerings took place, a dim light began to break in
upon the brothers Cointet as to the real state of things in the Sechard
establishment. They came to hear of Eve's experiment, and held it
expedient to stop these flights at once, lest the business should begin
to prosper under the poor young wife's management.
"Let us give her a rap over the knuckles, and disgust her with the
business," said the brothers Cointet.
One of the pair, the practical printer, spoke to Cerizet, and asked him
to do the proof-reading for them by piecework, to relieve their reader,
who had more than he could manage. So it came to pass that Cerizet
earned more by a few hours' work of an evening for the brothers Cointet
than by a whole day's work for David Sechard. Other transactions
followed; the Cointets seeing no small aptitude in Cerizet, he was told
that it was a pity that he should be in a position so little favorable
to his interests.
"You might be foreman some day in a big printing office, making
six francs a day," said one of the Cointets one day, "and with your
intelligence you might come to have a share in the business."
"Where is the use of my being a good foreman?" returned Cerizet. "I am
an orphan, I shall be drawn for the army next year, and if I get a bad
number who is there to pay some one else to take my place?"
"If you make yourself useful," said the well-to-do printer, "why should
not somebody advance the money?"
"It won't be my gaffer in any case!" said Cerizet.
"Pooh! Perhaps by that time he will have found out the secret."
The words were spoken in a way that could not but rouse the worst
thoughts in the listener; and Cerizet gave the papermaker and printer a
very searching look.
"I do not know what he is busy about," he began prudently, as the master
said nothing, "but he is not the kind of man to look for capitals in the
lower case!"
"Look here, my friend," said the printer, taking up half-a-dozen sheets
of the diocesan prayer-book and holding them out to Cerizet, "if you
can correct these for us by to-morrow, you shall have eighteen francs
to-morrow for them. We are not shabby here; we put our competitor's
foreman in the way of making money. As a matter of fact, we might let
Mme. Sechard go too far to draw back with her _Shepherd's Calendar_,
and ruin her; very well, we give you permission to tell her that we
are bringing out a _Shepherd's Calendar_ of our own, and to call her
attention too to the fact that she will not be the first in the field."
Cerizet's motive for working so slowly on the composition of the almanac
should be clear enough by this time.
When Eve heard that the Cointets meant to spoil her poor little
speculation, dread seized upon her; at first she tried to see a proof of
attachment in Cerizet's hypocritical warning of competition; but before
long she saw signs of an over-keen curiosity in her sole compositor--the
curiosity of youth, she tried to think.
"Cerizet," she said one morning, "you stand about on the threshold, and
wait for M. Sechard in the passage, to pry into his private affairs;
when he comes out into the yard to melt down the rollers, you are there
looking at him, instead of getting on with the almanac. These things
are not right, especially when you see that I, his wife, respect his
secrets, and take so much trouble on myself to leave him free to give
himself up to his work. If you had not wasted time, the almanac would
be finished by now, and Kolb would be selling it, and the Cointets could
have done us no harm."
"Eh! madame," answered Cerizet. "Here am I doing five francs' worth of
composing for two francs a day, and don't you think that that is enough?
Why, if I did not read proofs of an evening for the Cointets, I might
feed myself on husks."
"You are turning ungrateful early," said Eve, deeply hurt, not so much
by Cerizet's grumbling as by his coarse tone, threatening attitude, and
aggressive stare; "you will get on in life."
"Not with a woman to order me about though, for it is not often that the
month has thirty days in it then."
Feeling wounded in her womanly dignity, Eve gave Cerizet a withering
look and went upstairs again. At dinner-time she spoke to David.
"Are you sure, dear, of that little rogue Cerizet?"
"Cerizet!" said David. "Why, he was my youngster; I trained him, I took
him on as my copy-holder. I put him to composing; anything that he is he
owes to me, in fact! You might as well ask a father if he is sure of his
child."
Upon this, Eve told her husband that Cerizet was reading proofs for the
Cointets.
"Poor fellow! he must live," said David, humbled by the consciousness
that he had not done his duty as a master.
"Yes, but there is a difference, dear, between Kolb and Cerizet--Kolb
tramps about twenty leagues every day, spends fifteen or twenty sous,
and brings us back seven and eight and sometimes nine francs of sales;
and when his expenses are paid, he never asks for more than his wages.
Kolb would sooner cut off his hand than work a lever for the Cointets;
Kolb would not peer among the things that you throw out into the yard if
people offered him a thousand crowns to do it; but Cerizet picks them up
and looks at them."
It is hard for noble natures to think evil, to believe in ingratitude;
only through rough experience do they learn the extent of human
corruption; and even when there is nothing left them to learn in this
kind, they rise to an indulgence which is the last degree of contempt.
"Pooh! pure Paris street-boy's curiosity," cried David.
"Very well, dear, do me the pleasure to step downstairs and look at the
work done by this boy of yours, and tell me then whether he ought not to
have finished our almanac this month."
David went into the workshop after dinner, and saw that the calendar
should have been set up in a week. Then, when he heard that the Cointets
were bringing out a similar almanac, he came to the rescue. He took
command of the printing office, Kolb helped at home instead of selling
broadsheets. Kolb and Marion pulled off the impressions from one form
while David worked another press with Cerizet, and superintended the
printing in various inks. Every sheet must be printed four separate
times, for which reason none but small houses will attempt to produce
a _Shepherd's Calendar_, and that only in the country where labor is
cheap, and the amount of capital employed in the business is so small
that the interest amounts to little. Wherefore, a press which turns out
beautiful work cannot compete in the printing of such sheets, coarse
though they may be.
So, for the first time since old Sechard retired, two presses were at
work in the old house. The calendar was, in its way, a masterpiece; but
Eve was obliged to sell it for less than a halfpenny, for the Cointets
were supplying hawkers at the rate of three centimes per copy. Eve made
no loss on the copies sold to hawkers; on Kolb's sales, made directly,
she gained; but her little speculation was spoiled. Cerizet saw that
his fair employer distrusted him; in his own conscience he posed as the
accuser, and said to himself, "You suspect me, do you? I will have
my revenge," for the Paris street-boy is made on this wise. Cerizet
accordingly took pay out of all proportion to the work of proof-reading
done for the Cointets, going to their office every evening for the
sheets, and returning them in the morning. He came to be on familiar
terms with them through the daily chat, and at length saw a chance of
escaping the military service, a | 575.299227 |
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[Illustration: THE TAJ MAHAL FROM THE RIVER.]
LIFE AND TRAVEL IN INDIA
BEING RECOLLECTIONS OF A JOURNEY
BEFORE THE DAYS OF RAILROADS
BY
ANNA HARRIETTE LEONOWENS
_Author of "Siam and the Siamese"_
_ILLUSTRATED_
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1897
Copyright, 1884,
BY PORTER & COATES.
THIS LITTLE VOLUME OF TRAVELS
Is Inscribed to
MR. AND MRS. WILLIAM W. JUSTICE,
IN
GRATEFUL APPRECIATION OF THEIR FRIENDSHIP,
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Island of Bambâ Dèvi.--Sights and Scenes round about Bombay 7
CHAPTER II.
Malabar Hill, and Domestic Life of the English in Bombay 39
CHAPTER III.
The Island of Shastee, commonly called Salsette.--Gharipoore,
"the Town of Purification," or the Island and Caves of Elephanta 51
CHAPTER IV.
Sampwallas, or Serpent-Charmers.--Jâdoowallahs, or
Miracle-Performers.--Nuzer-Bundyânâ, Mesmerizers.--Yogees,
Spiritual Jugglers, and Naga-Poojmi, or Serpent-Worship, in India 65
CHAPTER V.
The Parsees, or Fire-Worshippers, of Bombay.--A Visit to a
Fire-Priest and Astrologer.--His Astral Predictions.--The Gâthas.
--Zoroaster.--His Life and Religion.--History of the Settlement
of the Parsees in India 79
CHAPTER VI.
Domestic Life of the Fire-Worshippers.--The Zend-Avesta.--Parsee
Rites and Ceremonies at Birth, Marriage, Death, and Final
Consignment to the Tower of Silence 105
CHAPTER VII.
Hindoo Treatment of the Sick.--Pundit's House Defiled.--Its
Purification.--Short Sketch of the Different Races and of
the Origin of Castes and Creeds among the People of Hindostan 129
CHAPTER VIII.
A Visit to the House of Baboo Ram Chunder.--His Wife.--Rajpoot
Wrestlers.--Nautchnees, or Hindoo Ballet-Girls.--A
Hindoo Drama.--Visit to a Nautchnees' School.--Bayahdiers,
or Dancing-Girls, attached to the Hindoo Temples.--Profession,
Education, Dress, Character, Fate in Old Age and After
Death.--Cusbans, or Common Women.--Marked Differences
between these three Classes of Public Women 173
CHAPTER IX.
From Bombay to Poonah, the Capital of the Maha Rastra, or the
great Indian Kings.--Campooly.--The Ascent of the Bhor
Ghauts.--Khondala.--Caves of Carlee or Karli.--"Puja Chakra,"
or the famous Wheel-Worship of the Brahmans.--Poonah.--Kirki.--A
Visit to the Peishwa's Palace.--Temple of Parvati.--The Pundit
and the Brahmin Priest at Prayer.--Sanscrit and English Colleges
at Poonah.--Suttee Monuments at Sangam.--Hindoo Bankers, etc. 208
CHAPTER X.
The beautiful Hindoo Village of Wye.--The Mahabaleshwar
Hills.--The Temple of the Gods.--The Couch of Krishna.--The
Stone Image of the Cow from whose Mouth the Five Rivers
of this Region are said to Spring.--The Holy Tank.--Satarah,
the Star City of the Mahratta Empire.--The Fort.--The Palace
of Sivaji.--Jejureh, the famous Hill-Temples where the
Dancing-Girls of the Country are Recruited.--The Mad Gossain,
and the Story of his Ill-Fated Love.--The Dancing-Girl
Krayâhnee 228
CHAPTER XI.
From Satarah, the Star City of the great Mahratta Kings, to
Dowlutabâd, the Abode of Fortune, and Aurungabâd, the Golden
City of the Mohgul Emperors.--Tombs of Boorhan Ood Deen
and Aurungzebe.--Mausoleum of Rhabea Duranee.--Sketch
of the Mohgul Invasion of India.--Manners, Customs, and
Religious Ceremonies of the Mohammedans of Hindostan 243
CHAPTER XII.
The Temples of Ellora, the Holy Place of the Deccan.--Nashik,
the Land of the Râmâyanâ.--Sights and Scenes on the Banks of the
Godaveri.--Damaun, the most famous of the Indo-Portuguese Towns 270
CHAPTER XIII.
The Taptee River.--Surat and its Environs.--The Borahs and
Kholees of Guzerat.--Baroda, the Capital of the
Guicowars.--Fakeers, or Relic-Carriers, of Baroda.--Cambay.
--Mount Aboo.--Jain Temples on Mount Aboo, etc. 286
CHAPTER XIV.
Calcutta, the City of the Black Venus, Kali.--The River
Hoogley.--Cremation Towers.--Chowringee, the Fashionable Suburb
of Calcutta.--The Black Hole.--Battles of Plassey and
Assaye.--The Brahmo-Somaj.--Temple of Kali.--Feast of
Juggurnath.--Benares and the Taj Mahal 303
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
THE TAJ MAHAL FROM THE RIVER, Frontispiece
BANYAN TREE, 36
CAVES OF ELEPHANTA, 53
NATIVE SNAKE CHARMERS, 66
A PARSEE LADY, 106
BOMBAY. UNIVERSITY AND ESPLANADE, 128
BUDDHIST PRIEST PREACHING AT THE DOOR OF A TEMPLE, 161
BULLOCK CART, 208
TOMB OF RAHBEA DHOORANE, AT AURANGABÂD, 250
ROCK CUT TEMPLES OF ELLORA, 270
NATIVE PASSENGER BOAT ON THE HOOGLY, 302
THE MUNIKURNIKA GHAT, ONE OF THE BURNING GHATS
OF BENARES, 322
PREFACE.
In the following pages, gathered from voluminous notes of early travel,
I have tried to give a faithful account of life in India, as well as of
the sights and scenes visited by me, with my husband, before the days of
railroad travel.
It is well known that the introduction of the railroad into India has in
no sense affected the life of the people, and has only very slightly
modified the general appearance of the country. India is still what it
was in the Vèdic period, a land of peasant classes; she still invokes,
as did the ancient Aryans in the Rig Vèda, the "Khe-tra-pati," or the
divinity of the soil, for blessings on the land. The Hindoo to-day
lives, as did his forefathers, close to the heart of Nature, deifying
the mountains, streams, woods, and lakes, while the sun, moon, stars,
fire, water, earth, air, sky, and corn are his highest deities. The most
beautiful personification in the Ramâyânâ of womanly grace and virtue is
called _Sita_, "a furrow," showing how deep was the national reverence
paid to the plough; and to this day at the _Rathsaptimi_, the day on
which the new sun is supposed to mount his heavenly chariot, a feast is
observed in honor of the sun, and the ryots on this occasion decorate
with flowers and paint their ploughs, and worship them as the saviors of
the land.
I do not, however, mean to say that India has made no progress whatever
in all these years--her imaginative and glorious youth has no doubt been
succeeded by the calm reason of mature age--but this transition has been
gradual and progressive rather than fitful and sudden.
The transfer of India by the East India Company to the British Crown,
and the recent laws for the protection of the ryot--or more properly the
_raiyat_, a leaser of land held in perpetuity--against the oppressions
of the zemindars, or governmental landlords, with the right of
underletting the land, have to an extraordinary degree awakened the
inborn desire of the Hindoo to become possessor of the soil and to
return to his hereditary occupation of agriculture. To these may be
added the security which England has conferred upon India, now that she
is no longer disturbed by frequent wars, which desolated the land, and
every now and then forced the people to abandon their villages and fly
to the jungles and mountains for safety, under the Afghans, Mohguls,
Mahrattas, and other predatory chiefs. Among the lasting benefits to
India it may be mentioned that sutteeism, infanticide, self-immolation
to the idols, Thuggism, and slavery have all been partially, if not
quite, abolished by the strong arm of the law. Railroads have been
built, the country has been opened, schools established, civil service
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Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
GREUZE
1725-1805
* * * * * *
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
COROT. SIDNEY ALLNUTT.
DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
DELACROIX. PAUL G. KONODY.
DUERER. H. E. A. FURST.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
HOGARTH. C. LEWIS HIND.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
INGRES. A. J. FINBERG.
LAWRENCE. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LE BRUN, VIGEE. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
MANTEGNA. MRS. ARTHUR BELL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
PERUGINO. SELWYN BRINTON.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
SARGENT. T. MARTIN WOOD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
VAN EYCK. J. CYRIL M. WEALE.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
WATTS. W. LOFTUS HARE.
WHISTLER. T. MART | 575.302798 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
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Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible, including inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Bold text has been marked with =equals signs=.
[Illustration: cover]
Number One.
MY MOTHER'S GOLD RING.
FOUNDED ON FACT.
Eighth | 575.303681 |
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+-------------------------------------------------+
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+-------------------------------------------------+
[Illustration: THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE!
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
BY
LURANA W. SHELDON,
"_Nay, do not ask--
In pity from the task forbear:
Smile on--nor venture to unmask
Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there._"
NEW YORK
W. D. ROWLAND, PUBLISHER 23 CHAMBERS STREET 1892
Copyright, 1892
BY
W. D. ROWLAND.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE.
I. THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY 5
II. A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT 12
III. RESCUED BY THIEVES 20
IV. THE SHAME-BORN CHILD 26
V. MAURICE SINCLAIR 33
VI. A PAINFUL REMINISCENCE 40
VII. THE BREATH OF PASSION 47
VIII. A MIDNIGHT CRIME 54
IX. MAURICE SINCLAIR ESCAPES WITH HIS VICTIM 61
X. THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN 65
XI. JULIA WEBBER LAYS PLANS FOR REVENGE 73
XII. A SINFUL LOVE 77
XIII. THE CONTRACT BROKEN 85
XIV. IN CENTRAL PARK 93
XV. DEATH 98
XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 104
XVII. BY THE ASHES OF A GUILTY HOUSE 112
XVIII. STELLA IS RESTORED TO HER LOVER 120
XIX. SAFE IN THE ARMS OF LOVE 126
XX. DR. SEWARD'S EXPERIMENT 133
XXI. A PERFECT UNION 140
XXII. "QUEEN LIZ" 145
XXIII. ELIZABETH FINDS FRIENDS 149
XXIV. STELLA CONFIDES IN HER HUSBAND 153
XXV. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 159
XXVI. SORROW AND REJOICING 163
XXVII. THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 168
XXVIII. TOO LATE 176
XXIX. THE HOME IN NEW YORK 181
XXX. SAM LEE DISCOVERS A FARO GAME 188
XXXI. CLEVERLY CAUGHT 194
XXXII. FACE TO FACE 200
XXXIII. "I HAVE NO NAME" 205
XXXIV. THE LADY VAN TYNE WILL FIGHT FOR HER HONOR 211
XXXV. STELLA AND ELIZABETH 218
XXXVI. A LAST ESCAPE 226
XXXVII. FIVE YEARS AFTER 229
[Illustration: MISS LURANA W. SHELDON.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE.
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY.
Hark! It is a woman's cry
Echoing thro' the unhallowed place:--
Forward, to her rescue, fly--
See the suffering in her face.
A piercing shriek echoed throughout the entire length and breadth of the
gloomy passage, hushed as it was in the brief hour of repose that
usually intervened between the vice-rampant hour of midnight and the
ever reluctant dawn.
It seemed as if the very light shrank from penetrating the loathsome
windings of that wretched quarter of London, and as to pure air, it
simply refused to enter such illy ventilated nooks and crevices, while
the poisoned vapors that filled the narrow precincts were always trying
to escape and failing through their own over-weight of reeking odors.
The scream of the dying woman was carried indistinctly to the ears of
the sleeping inmates simply because the air was too heavy with vile
tobacco and whiskey, stale beer fumes, and the exhalations of festering
garbage heaps to transmit anything in other than a confused and
indistinct manner.
Nevertheless there was something so extraordinarily frightful in the
shriek that it did succeed in reaching the ears of nearly every habitue
of the place, who, shrieking in their turn aroused the others, and one
by one frowzeled heads and wrinkled faces issued from broken windows and
rapidly, with shuffling footsteps, men and women crawled from
innumerable dark passages and darker doorways, and with suspicious
glances at each other, sneaked in and out through the slime and rubbish,
in a half curious, half frightened search for a glimpse of that horrible
tragedy.
I say _sneaked_ about, and I use the word advisedly as the lawyers say,
inasmuch as these degraded members of the human family,--these
de-humanized fag ends of the genius <DW25>, did not walk, run, or perform
any other specified motion in their perambulations.
On the contrary, they hugged the walls and the gutters; they were
distrustful of the laws of gravitation and equilibrium, preferring to
lean more or less heavily on walls and other supports, with bodies bent
and faces averted, while the rapidity with which they appeared and
disappeared was best appreciated by the Police who were supposed to
guard this particular section of Whitechapel, but who religiously
confined their guardianship to the outer walls, while the denizens of
the multitudinous alleys or passages were free to perpetrate their
murders, ply their nefarious trades and revel and rot in the stench of
their own degradations.
One by one these creatures crawled from their hiding places.
Men were seen clutching the rags of their scanty clothing while their
bleared eyes scanned every inch of the broken pavements.
Women, with odd garments thrown carelessly about their shoulders,
joined in the search, and for a brief time no word was spoken.
Finally an old creature, dirtier if possible than the rest, bent in
form, and with one long brown fang extending down over her shrunken
chin, hobbled from a gloomy doorway and in a strident, nasal tone gave
her opinion to these searchers of iniquity.
"Hit's Queen Liz thet's done fer, HI knowed 'er yell; You'll find 'er
somewheres down by the Chinaman's shanty. HI spects 'e's knifed 'er."
"Good enough for 'er, the stuck hup 'uzzy," exclaimed one of the
wretched beings that followed closely at the woman's heels.
"To think of 'er livin' 'ere for two years hand not speakin' to no one
but that greasy yaller-skin. HI knowed 'e'd get sick of 'er 'fore long."
"S'pose you think hit's your turn next," snapped up another bedraggled
female, whereupon a vicious battle ensued between the two while the men
and women halted in their search to watch, what to them was the very
essence of life,--a fight.
But the old crone who had first spoken crawled on until she reached the
Chinaman's quarters, and there sure enough, a Mongolian, swarthy and
greasy, his beady eyes blazing with excitement, was bending over and
trying with poor success to withdraw a villainous looking weapon, half
knife, half dagger, from the breast of an apparently dying woman.
The victim was a familiar figure in the Alley, and her clean, handsome
face with its "hands-off" expression had long since won her the name of
"Queen Liz."
While her failure to mingle with the other women or receive the beastly
attentions of the men had made her an object of hatred to all concerned,
still she had won their respect by her evident ability to defend herself
at all times and in all circumstances, while the love she plainly bore
her beautiful babe, a child of about two years, was a never ceasing
source of wonderment and ridicule to these hardened mortals.
It was true that Queen Liz spent much time in the quarters of this
particular Mongolian while there were many more eligible parties of her
own nationality in the passage, but Queen Liz was evidently above her
station, and as the Mongolian in question was possessed of more worldly
goods than were his neighbors, it was reasonably supposed that she
sought the comforts and luxuries of Chinese fans and Oolong in
preference to the other shanties with their ever prevalent aroma of
stale beer.
Nevertheless Queen Liz was not wholly overwhelmed by the wealth of Sam
Hop Lee, because it was rumored that at certain intervals a gentleman
from the outside world; a member of actual London society was seen going
in and out of the narrow passage, Liz always accompanying him on these
exits and entrances, for protection, it was generally supposed.
The sight of the stranger in their own lawful precincts brought always a
mixture of sentiments to the thieves and sharpers who infested these
gloomy byways.
Here was an excellent opportunity for operations in their own particular
line of business, but here also was a woman armed with the usual weapons
of the alley, ready and anxious to meet in mortal combat any and all
that should dare lay hands upon herself or guest.
Thus Queen Liz was let pretty severely alone by all, and her life past
and present was a mystery too obscure to be in any danger of being
solved by the beer muddled brains of her neighbors.
But now Queen Liz was lying in the slime and mud of the alley with the
deadly knife sticking firmly in her side, and as this uncanny assemblage
of human scavengers drew nearer, Sam Lee gave one more vigorous pull at
the weapon, and withdrawing it, turned its blade to the light of a
flickering tallow dip, and instantly, in the eyes of each and every one
present, he was acquitted of the horrible deed.
The knife was of a make unknown in the alley and only to be found in the
possession of a man to whom money is no object and who could well afford
to follow his own fancies in the design of his favorite paper cutter,
for such the weapon evidently was.
Long, narrow and sharply pointed, the blade was of finest silver,
handsomely engraved, and the ebony handle shone resplendent with gems,
so placed as to form on the polished surface the initials M. S. in
dazzling characters.
CHAPTER II.
A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT.
Have pity, Reader,'twas the fire
Of human passion in her brain,--
First, youth's impulsive, mad desire,
Then love, and love's devouring pain.
Some two years previous to the incidents of our opening chapter, in a
quiet house situated on G--St., in the vicinity of Belmont Square, an
aged couple sat quietly talking, while the shadows fell longer and
darker about the room, and the increased tread of passing feet spoke
plainly of the end of another day of that weary labor that fell to the
lot of the large number of tradespeople who lived in this row of modest
houses.
The aged couple mentioned were occupying the two narrow windows that
faced the crowded thoroughfare, and the two faces were pressed anxiously
against the glass, while the old eyes peered eagerly up and down, over
and across in a careful search for the one of whom they had been quietly
speaking.
There was silence for a little while and then the old man leaned back in
his chair and, while wiping the moisture from his glasses with a
generous square of cambric, said querulously:
"It is mighty strange, Marthy, where Lizzie is. She ought to be home
before this."
"I know it, father," responded his wife meekly. "She's been acting very
strange of late, staying away from home and coming in at all hours as
dragged out as if she had been walking the streets for miles."
"Maybe that's what she does," snapped the old man, and then, as if
ashamed of his hasty words, he added in a softer tone: "Though why she
should do that I can't see. She's got a good home here with us and has
had ever since our poor Mary died and left us our grandchild in the
place of our child to care for and protect."
"And we've done both, father," said the old lady, gently. "Lizzie has no
need to seek pleasure outside her own home, what, with the rooms to
look after, her books, her piano and her needle work, she ought to be
pretty well contented."
"That's so, Marthy, but she evidently is not. Now ever since that young
man rented our two back rooms and began to spend his evenings here--"
"You don't think she is in love with him, do you father?" interrupted
his wife quickly.
"Can't say, Marthy, you women can judge better of that. I only know she
acts uncommonly unhappy lately. Let's see, the young fellow has been
gone a week now, hasn't he?"
"Yes, that is so, and Lizzie has seemed all broke down ever since. I was
asking her yesterday to see Mr. Jeller, but she turned as white as
anything.
"'No, no, Grandma,' she said, 'I'll not see any doctors. There's nothing
the matter with me, nothing!'
"But there was a hard look came into her eyes, and the idea went through
my mind that perhaps that gentlemanly looking fellow was just playing
with her after all, and she had only found it out after her heart was
gone from her."
Here the old lady stopped to wipe the tears from her faded eyes, while
the blood of his youth flushed her husband's face and, with cane
uplifted, he muttered fiercely:
"If I thought that, I'd cane him, old as I am! Lizzie's a good girl and
has been as well raised and as well educated as the best of them, and if
her father and grandfather before him were tradespeople, they were
honest and respectable, and I don't know what better dowry a woman can
need than her own virtues and accomplishments and a record behind her of
generations of honorable people."
Here the old man again sank back in his chair, overcome by the violence
of his emotions, while his wife, re-adjusting her glasses, moved aside
the curtain and again peered out into the fast darkening street.
There was silence for a few moments and then her husband resumed his
position at the other window, while the ticking of the clock echoed,
painfully distinct, through the silent room, and the sound of passing
feet grew fainter and fainter, and darkness, mingling with the
impenetrable vapors of a London fog, settled heavily down upon the
earth.
Certainly no girl could have a more happy home or two more tender,
loving companions than had Elizabeth Merril.
But discontent is bred in the bone and needs no outward influence or
surroundings to foster its soul destroying germs.
Elizabeth had grown into womanhood, beautiful in form and feature, loyal
in heart and spotless in her maidenly purity, but the seeds of
discontent, inherited or otherwise, sprang up in her heart and took from
every pleasure that fullness of joy which is so necessary to perfect
happiness.
It was her suggestion to rent the superfluous rooms thereby adding to
the family exchequer and at the same time increasing her household
duties.
The logic was excellent, but the impulse of a dissatisfied mind prompted
the suggestion and evil impulses, however logical, are rarely productive
of good results.
This particular instance was a most conclusive proof of the veracity of
such reasoning.
For a few brief weeks Elizabeth's heart was filled with content and
peace. With her additional labor came renewed ambition and the results
seemed highly satisfactory to all concerned.
Then, as time passed on and the young man who occupied the rooms found
many and varied excuses for seeking her presence, the roses on
Elizabeth's cheeks deepened into carnation, her eyes flashed with a new
born glory, and from morn till night the tender song of the nightingale
burst joyously from her lips.
The young man had occupied the rooms for nearly a year and his devotion
to their grandchild had been constantly growing more marked.
But for the past few months the song had ceased on Elizabeth's lips and
the rosy cheeks were growing steadily paler.
In vain the aged couple watched and questioned, but Elizabeth's feminine
tact and spirit outwitted them.
She fulfilled her duties patiently, as of yore, but would seize upon
every possible pretext for remaining away from home, and now, during the
week that her lover failed to appear at his cosy apartments, they had
hardly seen her for more than a few moments each day.
Thus it was no wonder that to-night they watched and waited at their
narrow windows while the hours stole by and still the wandering girl
returned not to her pleasant home.
Back and forth over the great London Bridge she was walking; her head
bent low; her blue eyes fixed and glaring; her pale lips compressed in
bitter agony, while over and over again she paused and looked eagerly
down into the sluggish water.
The bridge was jammed as usual with hurrying pedestrians and jostling
carts, and few turned to look at the solitary figure.
Now and then a watchful "Bobby" stopped and stared into her face and
more than one of these experienced officers read the signs of coming
trouble in her pallid features.
But it was not their duty to ask her business or order her away. She was
doing no harm and surely it would be but a meddlesome act on their part
to try and avert the danger which they so plainly foresaw.
Still she walked on and on until the crowd was lessened and fewer
officers remained on duty.
Just as the fog, rising from the river below and the smoke falling from
the chimneys above, met and mingled in a pall of gloom and obscurity,
she turned again, paused, looked once more into the darkness below, then
vaulting suddenly to the massive rail, sprang lightly forward through
the mists and down into the awful waters.
CHAPTER III.
RESCUED BY THIEVES.
And these are men,--these creatures bold,
Who live to plunder and to kill;
Formed in the Great Creator's mold
But subject to the Devil's will.
If all committers of this deed of questionable cowardice would choose so
opportune a moment for their rashness as did Elizabeth, they would
probably live to see the error of their ways and to realize that the
things we know are better than the things we know not of, but it is
rarely that one so determined as she to terminate a wretched existence
is thwarted in that desire by the presence of rescuers, but such was the
case in this instance.
Two men of the type commonly known in London as wharf "rats" or dock and
river thieves, were slowly sculling along under cover of the intense fog
on the lookout for plunder of any and every sort.
Naturally, when Elizabeth's body struck the water not ten feet from
their craft, they stopped sculling and quickly investigated the nature
of the prey that had so literally fallen into their hands.
Elizabeth was pulled into the boat apparently lifeless, and in less time
than it takes to chronicle the event, was shorn of her pretty rings,
purse and outer garments.
A folded paper pinned securely to the lining of her waist was also
promptly removed by the thief and thrust carelessly into the outer
pocket of his coat as he doubtless thought it of little consequence, and
only confiscated it through a natural impulse of greed and robbery.
Then the younger of the two proceeded to fasten a heavy lead around her
waist, and lifting her carefully in his arms was about to lower the body
once more into the silent river whose waters had already swallowed up
and forever concealed innumerable secrets of like nature, when a flash
from his partner's lantern falling upon Elizabeth's upturned face
revealed to him her exceeding loveliness and awoke within him an
instinct, whether brutal or humane, we shall shortly determine.
"Oh, Oiy soiy, Bill, this 'ere lass is too bloomin' 'ansome tew feed de
fishes wid," he said, "and she ben't derd, nurther," he added, as he
noticed Elizabeth's breath returning in short, faint gasps. "Ben't
hoften we picks hup such fine goods as dese," he continued, while a
fiendish expression passed over his swarthy face. "Blowed if Oiy doesn't
think Oiy'll confiscate dis fer m' hown use," and he drew Elizabeth's
still senseless form across his knee.
"Put'er down, Jemmy! Cawn't you wait till you gets to de dock or does
yer want ter stay hout 'n dis 'ere fog hall night?" said the older man
gruffly, adding authoritatively: "Cover de gal hup in de bottom, she'll
keep! Oiy'm wet tew de' ide. Come, scull along hor we wont get 'ome till
midnight."
Whether it was the fragments of original humanity that made him refuse
to witness the desecration of helplessness, or whether he possessed
sufficient of the brute instinct to enjoy with keener relish the
struggles of a frenzied woman in the hands of an unprincipled and
determined villain, we can not tell;--
At any rate Elizabeth was allowed to lie quietly under an old sail in
the bottom of the boat, returning slowly, but with such perfect control
to acute consciousness that she allowed no sound of either fear or
suffering to escape her lips.
She overheard enough of their conversation, during the row down the
river to show her who her rescuers were and what her ultimate fate would
be unless she could escape from their clutches. She realized that even
her unfortunate condition would give her no mercy in their hands and
might rather be a source of more intense gratification to their fiendish
and inhuman desires. Reason told her to remain perfectly passive, as it
was evident they only awaited her return to consciousness for the
furtherance of their diabolical plans.
Even when the boat bumped heavily against the wharf, turned back and
veered about in a most extraordinary manner and the damp fog of the
river was exchanged for the foul stench of sewer gas and garbage floats,
and she realized, with a feeling of horror, that they were gliding, not
by, but under the dock, still she made no sound.
At last they stopped by a rotten ladder; the boat was tied and the
younger man sprang hastily up the slippery steps and thrust open, with
his shoulder, a heavy trap door.
Then the older of the two raised Elizabeth from the boat and passed her
up through the narrow opening to the man above. He then followed and
after a hasty consultation between the two she was left, as the young
"rat" expressed it, "soif fer de present," on a pile of rags in the
corner of the cellar.
Then, apparently regardless whether she lived or died, they ascended
another rickety ladder and the sullen gleam of their lantern was soon
lost to sight in the darkness above.
Elizabeth waited until the sound of their footsteps had passed away,
then rising hastily, she began groping about in the darkness for the
ladder which she had so dimly discerned by the light of the smoking
lantern.
Now every thing was dark, and the knowledge of that yawning trap-door
and perhaps more just like it under her very feet, made her almost
insane with fear. All desire for a watery death had vanished from her
mind. Her lungs were so filled with nauseous gases that it was with a
feeling of almost frantic joy she touched the rungs of the worm-eaten
ladder and prepared to climb to the landing above.
The upper Hall was narrow, dirty and perfectly dark. Elizabeth groped
her way carefully along, holding firmly to the wall, but could see no
outlet or glimmer of light either before her or above, but knowing that
to turn back would be but rushing to a fate far worse than death, she
pressed eagerly forward, peering into the impenetrable darkness, while
occasionally a great, slimy rat scampered across her foot, or a
loathsome bat, with a sudden rush, passed so near her face that she
turned sick with horror and held to the heavy walls with all her
strength.
CHAPTER IV.
THE SHAME-BORN CHILD.
Calm Death,--Thou comest not to such as these,--
Their griefs affright thee,--their sad faces fail to please.
Probably the length of time that elapsed (which seemed like an eternity
to Elizabeth,) was, in reality, not more than half an hour before a ray
of light greeted her eyes, coming through a ragged chink in the
crumbling masonry of the heavy walls.
Creeping cautiously forward she put her eye to the crevice and looked
eagerly into the inner room.
The scene she witnessed was well calculated to chill the blood of an
able bodied man, but to a delicate woman, still trembling from the
effects of her awful plunge into the river;--hampered by dripping
garments and nearly frantic with the fear of momentary violence, the
sight was more than doubly horrible.
The room was nothing more than a large vault or closet built into the
solid walls, probably for no definite purpose, but so well adapted to
its present use that one would think its designer must have foreseen its
ultimate fate.
Several battered and smoking lanterns hung on nails, which had been
wedged firmly between loose bricks in the decaying walls, their outlines
appearing to her excited imagination not unlike the red eye balls and
smoke begrimed faces of the score of beings upon whom their dismal
glimmer fell.
This score of individuals, representing a class of monsters, born in the
slime of cellars; nourished on the odors of decomposition and trained to
accomplishments of vice and evil, were busy at the ghoulish work of
robbing two human bodies, whose swollen and livid members plainly
proclaimed them trophies from the river's unfailing supply.
Ragged females with bloated faces and keen eyes were squabbling like
cats over the articles which had been removed from the dead woman's
body, while the males cursed and struck at each other in a frantic
struggle for the watch and jewels which the other water-soaked victim
had worn.
The scene was horrible, pile upon pile of rubbish was heaped about the
room, and one and all seemed interested in claiming and getting
possession of as much plunder as they could, by fair means or foul.
Elizabeth plainly identified her rescuers who were among the most
quarrelsome of the lot, but, even in her bewilderment, she noticed that
there was no mention made of _their_ evenings work or of her body,
which, of course, they supposed was safe in the recesses of that
loathsome cellar.
At this instant a vague thought flitted through her mind as to what
booty her body had afforded them. She felt for her rings, but they were
gone. She thrust her hand into the bosom of her dress for her watch, and
her lips grew white as ashes, while a new horror, passing through her
brain, overcame for the moment all fear of personal violence. The paper
which had been safe in her bosom when she sprang from the bridge was not
there. She had determined that the secret which it held should die with
her, but now that her plan for death had failed, the recovery of that
treasured paper must be the whole aim and purpose of her life.
Again the miserable creature who had rescued her from death became the
unknowing instrument of her good fortune.
The young thief, whom she recognized as "Bill," became violently angry
over the unequal distribution of the jewels and, throwing off his coat,
struck wildly at his partner, while the others proceeded with their
individual bickerings, apparently unconscious of the pugilistic
encounter.
The coat in falling obscured, in a measure, Elizabeth's view of the
inner room.
She had lost all thought of fear in her wild determination to secure the
missing paper.
Pushing her hand cautiously into the hole in the masonry she dislodged a
portion of brick with little trouble, then forcing her white arm
carefully through the opening she touched the coat and pulled it gently
aside.
Her idea was simply to gain another unobstructed view of the room, but
accidently her fingers touched the edge of a folded paper protruding
from the pocket, and quick as flash Elizabeth closed her fingers upon
it and drew it toward her through the hole. She could not see it, but
the familiarity of touch and feeling convinced her that it was her bosom
companion for the past ten months, and even in the excitement and danger
of the situation she stood motionless for a moment while she pressed it
fervently to her lips.
Then, taking advantage of a particularly noisy scuffle, Elizabeth
slipped softly by the door. The terrors of nightmare were upon her. She
imagined she heard them pursuing her but could not run for fear of
falling in the darkness; pitching down some hidden trap or making some
accidental sound that would tell them of her presence.
At last, after almost innumerable windings, a glimmer of electric light
came down upon her through a cellar grating which opened directly upon
the street. A little further on and another flight of worm eaten steps
were before her. Up these she climbed, and raised, with all her strength
a heavy grating, then, feeling once more the pure air upon her brow and
the sense of freedom in her soul, she reeled and fell heavily forward,
like an inanimate body, upon the damp, gray curb stone. How long she
lay there she could not tell, but the bell of a distant cathedral,
tolling the hour of midnight, aroused her, and she crawled along until
her strength in a measure returned, then, rising, she walked as quickly
as possible away from this terrible neighborhood. On and on she went,
her strength failing her at every step, until once more exhausted she
sank down before the gateway of a large building, which, fortunately for
her, proved to be a Hospital.
Here she was found by a resident physician on his return from the Opera
in the early morning hours.
Some time during the following day an employee of the Hospital
discovered a soiled and water-stained Marriage Certificate, which the
wind had evidently blown behind the massive gates. The Certificate was
placed in the physician's private desk for safe keeping, but no
connection between it and the suffering woman was ever suspected.
Elizabeth was placed immediately in the ward, and every care given her,
but for four weeks she hovered between life and death, raving of murder,
robbery, suicide and all such frightful happenings, until the anxious
physician feared for her reason as well as for her life. It was not
until her child was born, a month after her entrance, that she gained,
either mentally or physically, but after another four weeks of excellent
nursing she was discharged from the Hospital as needing no further
treatment.
She had given the authorities a false name in an almost involuntary
effort toward self-protection and the concealment of her degradation,
receiving at their hands that disinterested and strictly impartial
attention bestowed upon all their patients. She was to them but one of
thousands who drift on the shoals of sin and are left to perish, or are
floated off by the tide of life to a longer struggle and a fiercer death
on the ragged rocks of crime, therefore it was only natural that her
case elicited no special comment from the busy officials. Thus, sick at
heart, homeless, friendless, with no money, and with her shame-born
child resting heavily upon her arm, Elizabeth went forth once more into
the streets of London.
CHAPTER V.
MAURICE SINCLAIR.
The storm that tears the human heart
With deepest furrows, leaves its trace
Like shadows from a passing cloud
Upon the mirror of the face.
Passing through Portland Place, at about the hour of eleven, on that
damp, foggy night, it would have been impossible not to notice the most
attractive of the many beautiful houses, for there emanated from its
windows such a blaze of light that even the dense vapor that obscured
all objects in its near vicinity was penetrated by the brilliancy for
some distance.
The carriages that stopped before its portals loomed up through the mist
like phantoms, while the guests that entered the spacious door only lost
their ghastliness as they emerged into the full glare of the inner hall
during the brief moment of transit.
It was very evident that a ball of more than ordinary magnificence was
in progress, and one glance at the face of the hostess, Mrs. Archibald
Sinclair, would have shown any intelligent observer that, to Mrs.
Sinclair, at least, the necessity for making this particular
entertainment a glorious success was so urgent that it destroyed, in a
measure, her own enjoyment. Yet, with the innate tact of a woman born to
receive, to entertain, and to genuinely please her guests, all trace of
anxiety was carefully concealed, all nervousness overcome, and only
affability and satisfaction were allowed | 575.305446 |
2023-11-16 18:26:39.3180100 | 2,306 | 7 |
Produced by Martin Robb
THE RIVAL HEIRS:
Being the Third and Last Chronicle of Aescendune;
by Rev. A. D. Crake.
PREFACE.
CHAPTER I. THE ANGLO-SAXON HALL.
CHAPTER II. THE BLACK AND DARK NIGHT.
CHAPTER III. THE WEDDING OF THE HAWK AND THE DOVE.
CHAPTER IV. THE NORMAN PAGES.
CHAPTER V. A FRAY IN THE GREENWOOD.
CHAPTER VI. A REVELATION.
CHAPTER VII. FRUSTRATED.
CHAPTER VIII. VAE VICTIS.
CHAPTER IX. A HUNT IN THE WOODS.
CHAPTER X. EVEN THE TIGER LOVES ITS CUB.
CHAPTER XI. ALIVE--OR DEAD?
CHAPTER XII. THE ENIGMA SOLVED.
CHAPTER XIII. "COALS OF FIRE."
CHAPTER XIV. THE GUIDE.
CHAPTER XV. RESTORED TO LIFE.
CHAPTER XVI. RETRIBUTION.
CHAPTER XVII. THE ENGLISH HEIR TAKES POSSESSION.
CHAPTER XVIII. AT THE ABBEY OF ABINGDON.
CHAPTER XIX. AN INTERVIEW WITH THE CONQUEROR.
CHAPTER XX. THE MESSENGER FROM THE CAMP OF REFUGE.
CHAPTER XXI. TWO DOCUMENTS.
CHAPTER XXII. THE CHAPTER HOUSE OF ABINGDON.
CHAPTER XXIII. "GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY."
CHAPTER XXIV. THE CASTLE OF OXFORD.
CHAPTER XXV. IN THE FOREST OF LEBANON.
CHAPTER XXVI. "QUANTUM MUTATUS AB ILLO HECTORE."
CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRIENDS WHO ONCE WERE FOES.
CHAPTER XXVIII. AESCENDUNE ONCE MORE.
PREFACE.
This little volume, now presented to the indulgence of the reader,
is the third of a series intended to illustrate the history and
manners of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers, whom a great historian very
appropriately names "The Old English:" it does not claim the merit
of deep research, only of an earnest endeavour to be true to the
facts, and in harmony with the tone, of the eventful period of "The
Norman Conquest."
The origin of these tales has been mentioned in the prefaces to the
earlier volumes, but may be briefly repeated for those who have not
seen the former "Chronicles." The writer was for many years the
chaplain of a large school, and it was his desire to make the
leisure hours of Sunday bright and happy, in the absence of the
sports and pastimes of weekdays.
The expedient which best solved the difficulty was the narration of
original tales, embodying the most striking incidents in the
history of the Church and of the nation, or descriptive of the
lives of our Christian forefathers under circumstances of
difficulty and trial.
One series of these tales, of which the first was Aemilius, a tale
of the Decian and Valerian persecutions, was based on the history
of the Early Church; the second series, on early English history,
and entitled "The Chronicles of Aescendune."
The first of these Chronicles described the days of St. Dunstan,
and illustrated the story of Edwy and Elgiva; the second, the later
Danish invasions, and the struggle between the Ironside and Canute;
the third is in the hands of the reader.
The leading events in each tale are historical, and the writer has
striven most earnestly not to tamper with the facts of history; he
has but attempted to place his youthful readers, to the best of his
power, in the midst of the exciting scenes of earlier days--to make
the young of the Victorian era live in the days when the Danes
harried the shires of Old England, or the Anglo-Saxon power and
glory collapsed, for the time, under the iron grasp of the Norman
Conqueror.
Sad and terrible were those latter days to the English of every
degree, and although we cannot doubt that the England of the
present day is greatly the better for the admixture of Norman
blood, nor forget that the modern English are the descendants of
victor and vanquished alike,--yet our sympathy must be with our
Anglo-Saxon forefathers, in their crushing humiliation and bondage.
The forcible words of Thierry, in summing up the results of the
Conquest, may well be brought before the reader. He tells us that
we must not imagine a change of government, or the triumph of one
competitor over the other, but the intrusion of a whole people into
the bosom of another people, broken up by the invaders, the
scattered community being only admitted into the new social order
as personal property--"ad cripti glebae," to quote the very
language of the ancient acts; so that many, even of princely
descent, sank into the ranks of peasants and artificers--nay, of
thralls and bondsmen--compelled to till the land they once owned.
We must imagine, he adds, two nations on the surface of the same
country: the Normans, rich and free from taxes; the English (for
the term Saxon is an anachronism), poor, dependent, and oppressed
with burdens; the one living in vast mansions or embattled castles,
the other in thatched cabins or half-ruined huts; the one people
idle, happy, doing nought but fight or hunt, the other, men of
sorrow and toil--labourers and mechanics; on the one side, luxury
and insolence; on the other, misery and envy,--not the envy of the
poor at the sight of the riches of others, but of the despoiled in
presence of the spoilers.
These countries touched each other in every point, and yet were
more distinct than if the sea rolled between them. Each had its
language: in the abbeys and castles they only spoke French; in the
huts and cabins, the old English.
No words can describe the insolence and disdain of the conquerors,
which is feebly pictured in the Etienne de Malville of the present
tale. The very name of which the descendants of these Normans grew
proud, and which they adorned by their deeds on many a field of
battle--the English name--was used as a term of the utmost
contempt. "Do you think me an Englishman?" was the inquiry of
outraged pride.
Not only Normans, but Frenchmen, Bretons--nay, Continentals of all
nations, flocked into England as into an uninhabited country, slew
and took possession.
"Ignoble grooms," says an old chronicler, "did as they pleased with
the best and noblest, and left them nought to wish for but death.
These licentious knaves were amazed at themselves; they went mad
with pride and astonishment, at beholding themselves so
powerful--at having servants richer than their own fathers had been
{i}." Whatever they willed they deemed permissible to do; they
shed blood at random, tore the bread from the very mouths of the
famished people, and took everything--money, goods, lands {ii}.
Such was the fate which befell the once happy Anglo-Saxons.
And it was not till after a hundred and forty years of slavery,
that the separation of England from Normandy, in the days of the
cowardly and cruel King John, and the signing of Magna Carta, gave
any real relief to the oppressed; while it was later still, not
till after the days of Simon de Montfort, when resistance to new
foreigners had welded Norman and English into one, that the severed
races became really united, as Englishmen alike. Then the greatest
of the Plantagenets, Edward the First, the pupil of the man he slew
at Evesham, was proud to call himself an Englishman--the first
truly English king since the days of the hapless Harold; and one of
whom, in spite of the misrepresentations of Scottish historians and
novelists, English boys may be justly proud: his noble legislation
was the foundation of that modern English jurisprudence, in which
all are alike in the eyes of the law.
Not long after came the terrible "hundred years war," wherein
Englishmen, led by the descendants of their Norman and French
conquerors, retaliated upon Normandy and France the woes they had
themselves endured. Crecy, Poitiers, and Agincourt avenged
Hastings; the siege of Rouen under Henry the Fifth was a strange
Nemesis. During that century the state of France was almost as sad
as that of England during the earlier period; it was but a field
for English youth to learn the arts of warfare at the expense of
the wretched inhabitants.
But these events, sad or glorious, as the reader, according to his
age, may consider them, were long subsequent to the date of our
tale; they may, however, well be before the mind of the youthful
student as he sighs over the woes of the Conquest.
Two remarks which the writer has made in the prefaces to the former
Chronicles he will venture to repeat, as essential to the subject
in each case.
He has not, as is so common with authors who treat of this period,
clothed the words of his speakers in an antique phraseology. He
feels sure that men and boys spoke a language as free and easy in
the times in question as our compatriots do now. We cannot present
the Anglo-Saxon or Norman French they really used, and to load the
work with words culled from Chaucer would be simply an anachronism;
hence he has freely translated the speech of his characters into
the modern vernacular.
Secondly, he always calls the Anglo-Saxons as they called
themselves, "English;" the idea prevalent some time since, and
which even finds its place in the matchless story of Ivanhoe, or in
that striking novelette by Charles Mackay, "The Camp of Refuge,"
that they called themselves or were called "Saxons," is now utterly
exploded among historians. It is true the Welsh, the Picts, and
Scots called them by that designation, and do still; {iii} but
they had but one name for themselves, as the pages of the
Anglo-Saxon Chronicle make manifest--"Englishmen." | 575.33805 |
2023-11-16 18:26:39.3199610 | 3,816 | 9 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Brian Coe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE DE ST. SIMON
Newly translated and edited by FRANCIS ARKWRIGHT.
_In six volumes, demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, with
illustrations in photogravure, 10/6 net each volume._
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ELBA (1814-1815)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "The Growth of Napoleon," etc.; with a
chapter on the Iconography by A. M. Broadley.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with frontispiece and 50
illustrations_ (from the collection of A. M. Broadley), _21/- net_.
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ST. HELENA (1815-1821)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "Napoleon in Exile at Elba," "The Story
of Rome," etc.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with two
frontispieces and one hundred illustrations_ (from the collection
of A. M. Broadley), _32/- net_.
JULIETTE DROUET'S LOVE-LETTERS TO VICTOR HUGO
Edited with a Biography of Juliette Drouet by LOUIS GUIMBAUD;
translated by Lady THEODORA DAVIDSON.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with many illustrations, 10/6 net._
THE NEW FRANCE
=Being a History from the Accession of Louis Philippe in 1830 to
the Revolution of 1848, with Appendices.=
By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Translated into English, with an introduction
and notes, by R. S. GARNETT.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, profusely illustrated with
a rare portrait of Dumas and other pictures after famous artists,
24/- net._
[Illustration: MEDALS AWARDED TO SERGEANT-MAJOR, LATER QUARTERMASTER,
CHARLES WOODEN, 17TH LANCERS, ONE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
_Frontispiece_]
WAR MEDALS
AND THEIR HISTORY
BY
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD
OFFICIER D'ACADÉMIE
AUTHOR OF "FROM THE BREASTS OF THE BRAVE," ETC.
_With 258 Illustrations
in Half-tone and Line_
LONDON
STANLEY PAUL & CO
31 ESSEX STREET STRAND W.C.
_First published in 1915_
FOREWORDS
If any excuse were needed for penning this, it is to be found in the
exceeding interest which was taken in my monograph "Badges of the
Brave." Indeed, many readers have requested me to deal, at greater
length, with a subject which not only opens up a great historical
vista and awakens national sentiment, but, incidentally, serves an
educational mission to those who collect and those who sell the
metallic records of many a hard-fought field, which, when collated,
form an imperishable record of our island story.
The War Medal is a comparatively modern institution, otherwise we might
have learned the names of the common folk who fought so tenaciously in
the old wars, as, for instance, the Welsh infantry and Irish soldiers
who, with the English bowmen, comprised the army of 30,000 which at
Crécy routed an army of 120,000; the followers of the Black Prince
who captured the impetuous King John at Poitiers, or the English
archers whose deadly volleys made such havoc at Agincourt, on that
fateful day in October nearly five hundred years ago; the brave seamen
who, under Lord Howard, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, fought the
"Invincible Armada"; and those who, under Raleigh, vigorously pursued
the Spaniards on the high seas. We might have learned something of
the men who composed the Royal Scots and the 18th Royal Irish, and
helped to vindicate the reputation of the British soldier at Namur,
and covered themselves with glory at Blenheim; the gallant Coldstream
Guards who did such excellent service under Marlborough at Oudenarde
and Malplaquet, as well as the Gloucesters and Worcesters who fought
so well at Ramillies, or the Royal Welsh Fusiliers who served under
George II at Dettingen.
When, however, war medals were designed for distribution among
successful combatants, a means of decorating surviving soldiers and
sailors was established, and at the same time a sentimental and
substantial record of a man's labours for his country upon the field
of battle. So that, if the veterans of Drake's historic fleet, or
Marlborough's dauntless soldiers, were not possessed of badges to
distinguish them from the soldiers of industry, we, at any rate, may
hold in our hands the medals which were awarded to those who served
the immortal Nelson, and be proud to possess the medals which shone
upon the breasts of our great grandparents who defied the Conqueror
of Europe on that memorable Sunday, and made his sun to set upon the
battlefield of Waterloo.
Have you listened to the smart British veteran as he explains the
disposition of the troops on that historic occasion--how the French
cavalry "foamed itself away" in the face of those steady British
squares? How he makes the Welsh blood tingle as he records the glorious
deeds and death of Sir Thomas Picton, and the Scotsman's dance through
his veins as he explains how, with the cold steel of their terrible
bayonets, the Black Watch at Quatre Bras, and its second battalion, the
Perthshires, at Waterloo, waited for the charge of the cuirassiers; and
how Sergeant Ewart of the Scots Greys captured the Eagle of the 45th,
and then, with the rest of the Union Brigade (the English Royals and
the Irish Inniskillings), crashed through the ranks of the faltering
French, and scattered the veterans of Napoleon's army! Have you
seen how the mention of the Guards holding the Château of Hougomont
brightens the eye of the Englishman? Yes! Then just think what it is
to touch and possess the solid proofs of the deeds that those men did,
and to feel that you have in your possession the only recompense those
brave and daring men received from a grateful country.
=Historical Value.=--My collection of medals enables me to cover over a
hundred years of history; takes me back to the stirring times when men
yet met face to face in the Peninsula and at Waterloo; to the men who
founded our Indian Empire. It enables me to keep in touch with sailors
who fought in the battle of the Nile, at Trafalgar, and at Navarino,
that last of all naval battles in which we British took part--our
allies were then the French and Russians--until our battleships met
those of the Germans in the great war now waging. It reminds me of the
horsemen who made the world wonder ere, with deathless glory, they
passed their little day, and of that "thin red line" of Scots, whose
cool daring at Balaklava has only been bedimmed by the gallantry of the
Light Brigade. It enables me to think more intimately of the men I know
who faced the Russians in that terrible winter, and then, like heroes,
plodded through the inferno of the Mutiny. It brings back vividly to
my mind the days of the Zulu War and the heroism of Rorke's Drift. It
reminds me of the daring march to Kandahar and the frontier wars so
necessary to hold back the turbulent human surf which beats on the
shores of our great Eastern Empire. It enables me to keep closely in
touch with those who so quickly dealt with Arabi Pasha and later faced
the fanatical hordes of the Mahdi; the young men of this generation
who fought so stubbornly at the Modder River, and who stormed the
Tugela Heights. It enables me to keep in touch with those "handymen"
and scouts on the fringe of Empire who in Somaliland, Gambia, Benin,
Matabeleland, and Bechuanaland uphold the dignity of Britain.
We sometimes read of a man or woman who has shaken hands, sixty,
seventy, or eighty years ago, with some great person, or some one whose
deeds have made him or her a name in history. The possession of war
medals and decorations, or of medals of honour gained by brave deeds
in time of peace, brings us in close touch with those who honourably
gained them. That is an aspect of medal-collecting which appeals to
me, and should to every one who admires pluck, grit, daring, and the
willingness to personal sacrifice which these badges of the brave
denote.
Finally there is an exceptional feature in the collection of war
medals which will also appeal, for, as Sir James Yoxall has pointed
out in "The A B C About Collecting," the collector of war medals "has
concentrated upon a line which can be made complete." If, however,
his inclinations or his means will not permit of the acquisition of a
complete set he may specialise in either Military or Naval Medals, or
those awarded to special regiments or ships, or to men of his own name,
or those earned by boys or nurses.
In order to facilitate the search for bars issued with the various
medals, the names inscribed thereon are printed in the text in small
capitals: these, of course, must not be taken as representing the type
used on the official bars; reference must be made to the illustrations,
which, being the same size as the original medals, will materially
assist the reader in recognising official lettering.
In conclusion I have to express my sincere thanks for the help afforded
and the deep interest taken in my book by Dr. A. A. Payne, whose
kindness in providing photographs of examples in his unique collection
has enabled me to illustrate many interesting and rare medals; to G. K.
J. and F. W. G. for clerical assistance; G. T. F. for sketches; and to
Messrs. Heywood & Co., Ltd., for the loan of several of the blocks of
medals which had been used in monographs I had written for publication
by them.
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD.
LONDON.
CONTENTS
MILITARY SECTION
PAGE
FIRST CAMPAIGN MEDALS 1
EARLY MEDALS GRANTED BY THE HONOURABLE EAST
INDIA COMPANY 9
FIRST MEDAL FOR EGYPT, 1801 16
THE MAHRATTA WAR 20
FIRST OFFICIAL MILITARY OFFICERS' MEDAL 25
THE PENINSULAR WAR 26
CONTINENTAL PENINSULAR WAR MEDALS 66
WATERLOO AND QUATRE BRAS 70
BRITISH AND CONTINENTAL WATERLOO MEDALS 81
NEPAUL, 1814-15 86
FIRST BURMESE WAR 90
FIRST AFGHAN WAR 94
FIRST CHINESE WAR 98
SECOND AFGHAN WAR 100
THE GWALIOR CAMPAIGN 109
THE SIKH WARS 111
SECOND PUNJAB CAMPAIGN 119
FIRST NEW ZEALAND WAR 124
MILITARY GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 128
INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 133
FIRST KAFFIR WARS 134
SECOND BURMESE WAR 137
THE CRIMEAN WAR 139
PERSIAN WAR 155
INDIAN MUTINY 156
SECOND CHINESE WAR 178
SECOND NEW ZEALAND WAR 182
ABYSSINIAN WAR 189
ASHANTEE WAR 192
ZULU WAR 197
THIRD AFGHAN WAR 202
EGYPTIAN CAMPAIGNS 210
RIEL'S REBELLION 217
ANNEXATION OF BURMA 218
BLACK MOUNTAIN AND BORDER EXPEDITIONS 220
EAST AND WEST AFRICA 227
SECOND ASHANTEE WAR 229
CHITRAL 230
MATABELELAND AND RHODESIA 235
THE SUDAN 239
THIRD ASHANTEE WAR 244
THIRD CHINESE WAR 245
THE BOER WAR 248
NIGERIA 256
AFRICAN EXPEDITIONS 257
NATAL REBELLION 259
TIBET EXPEDITION 259
ABOR 261
SUDAN, 1910 262
NAVAL SECTION
ARMADA MEDALS 266
CHARLES I MEDALS 267
COMMONWEALTH MEDALS 268
THE DUTCH WARS 269
CHARLES II MEDALS 271
LA HOGUE 273
QUEEN ANNE MEDALS 274
GEORGE I AND GEORGE II MEDALS 276
"THE GLORIOUS" 1ST OF JUNE 279
NAVAL GOLD MEDAL INSTITUTED 280
ST. VINCENT 281
CAMPERDOWN 283
THE NILE 284
COPENHAGEN 287
TRAFALGAR 288
TRAFALGAR MEDALS 290
BARS ISSUED WITH NAVAL GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL 293
BARS ISSUED FOR BOAT ACTIONS 305
ALGIERS 306
AVA 307
NAVARINO 308
SYRIA 309
CHINA, 1840-2 310
SCINDE, 1843 310
PUNJAB, 1848-9 311
CHINA, 1856-60 311
PEGU 311
CRIMEA 312
NAVAL BRIGADE IN CRIMEAN WAR 315
INDIAN MUTINY 316
NEW ZEALAND, 1845-6-7 317
CREWS ENGAGED IN ABYSSINIA, ASHANTEE, PERAK,
AND SOUTH AFRICA 318
EGYPTIAN WARS 319
AFRICAN EXPEDITIONS 329
BOER WAR 333
MERITORIOUS SERVICE MEDALS 336
LONG SERVICE MEDALS 348
HOW MEDALS ARE NAMED 352
SOME CONTINENTAL AND FOREIGN WAR MEDALS 357
PISTRUCCI'S WATERLOO MEDAL 374
REGIMENTAL DESIGNATIONS 377
SALE PRICES 382
INDEX 401
ILLUSTRATIONS
V.C. AND MEDALS AWARDED TO QUARTERMASTER WOODEN _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
ROYALIST BADGES 1
DUNBAR MEDAL 4
MEDAL FOR OUDENARDE 4
H.E.I. CO.'S MEDAL FOR SERINGAPATAM, 1799 12
H.E.I. CO.'S MEDAL FOR EGYPT, 1801 12
PENINSULAR GOLD MEDAL 16
GOLD MEDAL FOR MAIDA, 1806 20
H.E.I. CO.'S MEDAL FOR AVA, 1824-6 20
PORTUGUESE GOLD CROSS (COMMANDER'S) FOR THE PENINSULAR 28
PORTUGUESE OFFICER'S CROSS FOR THE PENINSULAR 32
SPANISH CROSS FOR ALBUHERA 36
SPANISH CROSS FOR CIUDAD RODRIGO 36
SPANISH GOLD CROSS FOR VITTORIA 36
ALCANTARA MEDAL, 1809 40
MILITARY GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL 40
PENINSULAR GOLD CROSS 44
PENINSULAR GOLD MEDAL WITH BARS 44
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL BRACKENBURY'S DECORATIONS 48
PRUSSIAN MEDALS FOR NAPOLEONIC WARS 52
BRONZE | 575.340001 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "_HARRY'S BLOOD WAS UP._" p. 12]
CARRIED OFF
_A STORY OF PIRATE TIMES_
BY
ESME STUART
AUTHOR OF 'FOR HALF-A-CROWN' 'THE LAST HOPE'
'THE WHITE CHAPEL' ETC.
_WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
NATIONAL SOCIETY'S DEPOSITORY
BROAD SANCTUARY, WESTMINSTER
NEW YORK: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 & 3 BIBLE HOUSE
1888
_TO_
_CLARISSA AND JOHN_
_I dedicate this story, knowing they are already fond of travelling.
They may be glad to hear that the chief events in it are true, and are
taken out of an old book written more than two hundred years ago. Yet
they may now safely visit the West Indies without fear of being made
prisoners by the much dreaded Buccaneers._
_E.S._
[_All rights reserved_]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE SACRIFICE
II. CAPTURED
III. A BEAUTIFUL ISLAND
IV. THE PIRATES ARE COMING
V. THE SCOUTS
VI. HATCHING A PLOT
VII. TREACHERY
VIII. A BRAVE DEFENCE
IX. IMPRISON | 575.344034 |
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Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
DONA PERFECTA
by B. PEREZ GALDOS
Translated from the Spanish by Mary J. Serrano
INTRODUCTION
The very acute and lively Spanish critic who signs himself Clarin, and
is known personally as Don Leopoldo Alas, says the present Spanish novel
has no yesterday, but only a day-before-yesterday. It does not derive
from the romantic novel which immediately preceded that: the novel,
large or little, as it was with Cervantes, Hurtado de Mendoza, Quevedo,
and the masters of picaresque fiction.
Clarin dates its renascence from the political revolution of 1868,
which gave Spanish literature the freedom necessary to the fiction that
studies to reflect modern life, actual ideas, and current aspirations;
and though its authors were few at first, "they have never been
adventurous spirits, friends of Utopia, revolutionists, or impatient
progressists and reformers." He thinks that the most daring, the most
advanced, of the new Spanish novelists, and the best by far, is Don
Benito Perez Galdos.
I should myself have made my little exception in favor of Don Armando
Palacio Valdes, but Clarin speaks with infinitely more authority, and I
am certainly ready to submit when he goes on to say that Galdos is not
a social or literary insurgent; that he has no political or religious
prejudices; that he shuns extremes, and is charmed with prudence;
that his novels do not attack the Catholic dogmas--though they deal so
severely with Catholic bigotry--but the customs and ideas cherished
by secular fanaticism to the injury of the Church. Because this is
so evident, our critic holds, his novels are "found in the bosom of
families in every corner of Spain." Their popularity among all classes
in Catholic and prejudiced Spain, and not among free-thinking students
merely, bears testimony to the fact that his aim and motive are
understood and appreciated, although his stories are apparently so often
anti-Catholic.
I
Dona Perfecta is, first of all, a story, and a great story, but it is
certainly also a story that must appear at times potently, and even
bitterly, anti-Catholic. Yet it would be a pity and an error to read it
with the preoccupation that it was an anti-Catholic tract, for really it
is not that. If the persons were changed in name and place, and
modified in passion to fit a cooler air, it might equally seem an
anti-Presbyterian or anti-Baptist tract; for what it shows in the light
of their own hatefulness and cruelty are perversions of any religion,
any creed. It is not, however, a tract at all; it deals in artistic
largeness with the passion of bigotry, as it deals with the passion of
love, the passion of ambition, the passion of revenge. But Galdos
is Spanish and Catholic, and for him the bigotry wears a Spanish and
Catholic face. That is all.
Up to a certain time, I believe, Galdos wrote romantic or idealistic
novels, and one of these I have read, and it tired me very much. It was
called "Marianela," and it surprised me the more because I was already
acquainted with his later work, which is all realistic. But one does not
turn realist in a single night, and although the change in Galdos was
rapid it was not quite a lightning change; perhaps because it was
not merely an outward change, but artistically a change of heart. His
acceptance in his quality of realist was much more instant than his
conversion, and vastly wider; for we are told by the critic whom I have
been quoting that Galdos's earlier efforts, which he called _Episodios
Nacionales_, never had the vogue which his realistic novels have
enjoyed.
These were, indeed, tendencious, if I may Anglicize a very necessary
word from the Spanish _tendencioso_. That is, they dealt with very
obvious problems, and had very distinct and poignant significations,
at least in the case of "Dona Perfecta," "Leon Roch," and "Gloria." In
still later novels, Emilia Pardo-Bazan thinks, he has comprehended that
"the novel of to-day must take note of the ambient truth, and realize
the beautiful with freedom and independence." This valiant lady, in
the campaign for realism which she made under the title of "La Cuestion
Palpitante"--one of the best and strongest books on the subject--counts
him first among Spanish realists, as Clarin counts him first among
Spanish novelists. "With a certain fundamental humanity," she says,
"a certain magisterial simplicity in his creations, with the natural
tendency of his clear intelligence toward the truth, and with the
frankness of his observation, the great novelist was always disposed
to pass over to realism with arms and munitions; but his aesthetic
inclinations were idealistic, and only in his latest works has he
adopted the method of the modern novel, fathomed more and more the human
heart, and broken once for all with the picturesque and with the typical
personages, to embrace the earth we tread."
For her, as I confess for me, "Dona Perfecta" is not realistic
enough--realistic as it is; for realism at its best is not tendencious.
It does not seek to grapple with human problems, but is richly content
with portraying human experiences; and I think Senora Pardo-Bazan is
right in regarding "Dona Perfecta" as transitional, and of a period when
the author had not yet assimilated in its fullest meaning the faith he
had imbibed.
II
Yet it is a great novel, as I said; and perhaps because it is
transitional it will please the greater number who never really arrive
anywhere, and who like to find themselves in good company _en route_. It
is so far like life that it is full of significations which pass beyond
the persons and actions involved, and envelop the reader, as if he too
were a character of the book, or rather as if its persons were men
and women of this thinking, feeling, and breathing world, and he must
recognize their experiences as veritable facts. From the first moment
to the last it is like some passage of actual events in which you cannot
withhold your compassion, your abhorrence, your admiration, any more
than if they took place within your personal knowledge. Where they
transcend all facts of your personal knowledge, you do not accuse them
of improbability, for you feel their potentiality in yourself, and
easily account for them in the alien circumstance. I am not saying that
the story has no faults; it has several. There are tags of romanticism
fluttering about it here and there; and at times the author permits
himself certain old-fashioned literary airs and poses and artifices,
which you simply wonder at. It is in spite of these, and with all these
defects, that it is so great and beautiful a book.
III
What seems to be so very admirable in the management of the story is the
author's success in keeping his own counsel. This may seem a very
easy thing; but, if the reader will think over the novelists of his
acquaintance, he will find that it is at least very uncommon. They
mostly give themselves away almost from the beginning, either by their
anxiety to hide what is coming, or their vanity in hinting what great
things they have in store for the reader. Galdos does neither the one
nor the other. He makes it his business to tell the story as it grows;
to let the characters unfold themselves in speech and action; to permit
the events to happen unheralded. He does not prophesy their course, he
does not forecast the weather even for twenty-four hours; the atmosphere
becomes slowly, slowly, but with occasional lifts and reliefs, of such a
brooding breathlessness, of such a deepening density, that you feel the
wild passion-storm nearer and nearer at hand, till it bursts at last;
and then you are astonished that you had not foreseen it yourself from
the first moment.
Next to this excellent method, which I count the supreme characteristic
of the book merely because it represents the whole, and the other
facts are in the nature of parts, is the masterly conception of the
characters. They are each typical of a certain side of human nature,
as most of our personal friends and enemies are; but not exclusively of
this side or that. They are each of mixed motives, mixed qualities; none
of them is quite a monster; though those who are badly mixed do such
monstrous things.
Pepe Rey, who is such a good fellow--so kind, and brave, and upright,
and generous, so fine a mind, and so high a soul--is tactless and
imprudent; he even condescends to the thought of intrigue; and though
he rejects his plots at last, his nature has once harbored deceit. Don
Inocencio, the priest, whose control of Dona Perfecta's conscience has
vitiated the very springs of goodness in her, is by no means bad, aside
from his purposes. He loves his sister and her son tenderly, and wishes
to provide for them by the marriage which Pepe's presence threatens to
prevent. The nephew, though selfish and little, has moments of almost
being a good fellow; the sister, though she is really such a lamb of
meekness, becomes a cat, and scratches Don Inocencio dreadfully when he
weakens in his design against Pepe.
Rosario, one of the sweetest and purest images of girlhood that I know
in fiction, abandons herself with equal passion to the love she feels
for her cousin Pepe, and to the love she feels for her mother, Dona
Perfecta. She is ready to fly with him, and yet she betrays him to her
mother's pitiless hate.
But it is Dona Perfecta herself who is the transcendent figure, the
most powerful creation of the book. In her, bigotry and its fellow-vice,
hypocrisy, have done their perfect work, until she comes near to being
a devil, and really does some devil's deeds. Yet even she is not without
some extenuating traits. Her bigotry springs from her conscience, and
she is | 575.400916 |
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 1.
FOR THE WEEK ENDING SEPTEMBER 25, 1841.
* * * * *
THE HEIR OF APPLEBITE.
CHAPTER V.
SHOWS THAT "THERE'S MANY A SLIP" BETWEEN OTHER THINGS BESIDE "THE CUP AND
THE LIP."
[Illustration: T]The heir of Applebite continued to squall and thrive, to
the infinite delight of his youthful mamma, who was determined that the
joyful occasion of his cutting his first tooth should be duly celebrated
by an evening party of great splendour; and accordingly cards were issued
to the following effect:--
MR. AND MRS. APPLEBITE
REQUEST THE HONOUR OF
---- ----'s
COMPANY TO AN EVENING PARTY,
On Thursday, the 12th inst.
_Quadrilles_. _An Answer will oblige_.
It was the first home-made party that Collumpsion had ever given; for
though during his bachelorhood he had been no niggard of his hospitality,
yet the confectioner had supplied the edibles, and the upholsterer
arranged the decorations; but now Mrs. Applebite, with a laudable spirit
of economy, converted No. 24, Pleasant-terrace, into a perfect _cuisine_
for a week preceding the eventful evening; and old John was kept in a
constant state of excitement by Mrs. Waddledot, who superintended the
ornamental department of these elaborate preparations.
Agamemnon felt that he was a cipher in the house, for no one condescended
to notice him for three whole days, and it was with extreme difficulty
that he could procure the means of "recruiting exhausted nature" at those
particular hours which had hitherto been devoted to the necessary
operation.
On the morning of the 12th, Agamemnon was anxiously engaged in
endeavouring to acquire a knowledge of the last alterations in the figure
of _La Pastorale_, when he fancied he heard an unusual commotion in the
lower apartments of his establishment. In a few moments his name was
vociferously pronounced by Mrs. Applebite, and the affrighted Collumpsion
rushed down stairs, expecting to find himself another Thyestes, whose
children, it is recorded, were made into a pie for his own consumption.
On entering the kitchen he perceived the cause of the uproar, although he
could see nothing else, for the dense suffocating vapour with which the
room was filled.
"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Applebite, "the chimney's on fire; one pound of fresh
butter--"
"And two pound o'lard's done it!" exclaimed Susan.
"What's to be done?" inquired Collumpsion.
"Send for my brother, sir," said Betty.
"Where does he live?" cried old John.
"On No. 746," replied Betty.
"Where's that?" cried the whole assembled party.
"I don't know, but it's a hackney-coach as he drives," said Betty.
A general chorus of "Pshaw!" greeted this very unsatisfactory rejoinder.
Another rush of smoke into the kitchen rendered some more active measures
necessary, and, after a short discussion, it was decided that John and
Betty should proceed to the roof of the house with two pailsful of water,
whilst Agamemnon remained below to watch the effects of the measure. When
John and Betty arrived at the chimney-pots, the pother was so confusing,
that they were undecided which was the rebellious flue! but, in order to
render assurance doubly sure, they each selected the one they conceived to
be the delinquent, and discharged the contents of their buckets
accordingly, without any apparent diminution of the intestine war which
was raging in the chimney. A fresh supply from a cistern on the roof,
similarly applied, produced no better effects, and Agamemnon, in an agony
of doubt, rushed up-stairs to ascertain the cause of non-abatement.
Accidentally popping his head into the drawing-room, what was his horror
at beholding the beautiful Brussels carpet, so lately "redolent of
brilliant hues," one sheet of inky liquid, into which Mrs. Waddledot (who
had followed him) instantly swooned. Agamemnon, in his alarm, never
thought of his wife's mother, but had rushed half-way up the next flight
of stairs, when a violent knocking arrested his ascent, and, with the fear
of the whole fire-brigade before his eyes, he re-rushed to open the door,
the knocker of which kept up an incessant clamour both in and out of the
house. The first person that met his view was a footman, 25, dyed with the
same sooty evidence of John and Betty's exertions, as he had encountered
on entering his own drawing-room. The dreadful fact flashed upon
Collumpsion's mind, and long before the winded and saturated servant could
detail the horrors he had witnessed in "his missuses best bed-room, in No.
25," the bewildered proprietor of No. 24 was franticly shaking his
innocently offending menials on the leads of his own establishment. Then
came a confused noise of little voices in the street, shouting and
hurraing in the fulness of that delight which we regret to say is too
frequently felt by the world at large at the misfortunes of one in
particular. Then came the sullen rumble of the parish engine, followed by
violent assaults on the bell and knocker, then another huzza! welcoming
the extraction of the fire-plug, and the sparkling fountain | 575.404362 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing, Adrian Mastronardi and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This book was produced from scanned images of public
domain material from the Google Print project.)
[Illustration: GLYPTODON.]
BUENOS AYRES,
AND
THE PROVINCES OF THE
RIO DE LA PLATA:
THEIR PRESENT STATE, TRADE, AND DEBT;
WITH SOME ACCOUNT FROM ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS OF THE PROGRESS
OF GEOGRAPHICAL DISCOVERY IN THOSE PARTS OF SOUTH
AMERICA DURING THE LAST SIXTY YEARS.
BY
SIR WOODBINE PARISH, K.C.H.,
F.R.S., G.S., VICE PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON,
MANY YEARS HIS MAJESTY'S CHARGE D'AFFAIRS AT BUENOS AYRES.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1839.
LONDON:
Printed by WILLIAM CLOWES and SONS,
Stamford Street.
INTRODUCTION.
The greater part of the materials for this volume were collected
during a long official residence in the country to which they relate:
containing, as I believe they do, some information which may be
interesting, if not useful, I feel that I ought not to withhold them
from the public, in whose service they were obtained.
The chapters which give an account of the settlements made by the old
Spaniards on the coast of Patagonia, and of the explorations of the
Pampas south of Buenos Ayres, both by them and their successors in the
present century, will be found to throw some new light on the progress
of geographical discovery in that part of the world. Our occupation
of the Falkland Islands, in the first instance, and the work shortly
afterwards published by Falkner in this country, pointing out the
defenceless state of Patagonia, joined to the enterprising character
of the British voyages of discovery about the same period, appears
to have stimulated the Spaniards, in alarm lest we should forestall
them, to examine their coasts, to explore their rivers, and to found
settlements, of which every record was concealed from public view, lest
the world at large should become better acquainted with possessions,
all knowledge of which it was their particular care and policy to
endeavour to keep to themselves.
Thus, though Spain, at an enormous cost, acquired some better
information relative to countries over which she claimed a nominal
sovereignty, the results were not suffered to transpire, but remained
locked up in the secret archives of the viceroys and of the council of
the Indies; where probably they would have been hidden to this day had
not the South Americans assumed the management of their own affairs.
In the confusion which followed the deposition of the Spanish
authorities, the public archives appear to have been ransacked with
little ceremony, and many documents of great interest were lost, or
fell into the hands of individuals who, like collectors of rarities in
other parts of the world, showed anything but a disposition to share
them with the public at large. I will not say that this was always
the case, but the feeling prevailed to a sufficient extent to enhance
materially the value of those which were either offered for sale or
obtainable by other means.
Some few individuals were actuated by a different spirit, amongst whom
I ought especially to name Dr. Segurola, the fellow-labourer with Dean
Funes in his historical essay upon the provinces of La Plata, whose
valuable collection of MSS. (from which that work was principally
compiled) was always accessible to his friends, and to whom I have
to acknowledge my own obligations for leave to take copies of many
an interesting paper. Others, also, whom I do not name, will I trust
not the less accept my thanks for the facilities they afforded me
for obtaining such information as I required. The government, I must
say, was always liberal, in giving me access to the old archives, and
in permitting me to transcribe documents[1] which I could not have
obtained from other quarters.
With these facilities, and by purchase, I found myself, by the time
I quitted South America, in possession of a considerable collection
of MS. maps and of unedited papers respecting countries of which the
greater part of the world is, I believe, in almost absolute ignorance.
Amongst the most interesting perhaps of these I may mention--
The original Diaries of Don Juan de la Piedra, sent out from Spain, in
1778, to explore the coasts of Patagonia.
A series of papers drawn up by his successors the Viedmas, the founders
of the settlements at San Julian and on the Rio <DW64>.
The original Journal of Don Basilio Villarino, who, in 1782, explored
the great river <DW64>, from its mouth in lat. 41 deg. to the foot of the
Andes, within three days' journey of Valdivia, on the shores of the
Pacific.
The Narrative, by Don Luis de la Cruz, of his Journey through the
territory of the Indians and the unexplored parts of the Pampas, from
Antuco, in the south of Chili, to Buenos Ayres, in 1806.
The Diary of Don Pedro Garcia's Expedition to the Salinas, in 1810,
given me by my most estimable friend, his son, Don Manuel.
Together with a variety of other unpublished accounts of the Indian
territories south of Buenos Ayres, principally collected by order of
that government, with a view to the extension of their frontiers.
The substance of these papers, all which relate to the southern and
least known parts of the New Continent, will be found in Chapters VII.,
VIII., and IX.
Respecting the eastern or Littorine provinces of the Republic, as
I have ventured to call them, the most valuable data existing are,
first, those collected by the Jesuits, and next, the various reports
and memoirs drawn up by the officers employed to fix the boundaries
under the treaties between Spain and Portugal of 1750 and 1777. The
especial qualifications of the individuals, particularly of those
employed in the last case, the length of time spent upon the service
(more than twenty years), and the enormous expenses incurred by Spain
in the endeavour to complete that survey, led to a large accumulation
of invaluable geographical data respecting extensive ranges of country
never before properly examined, much less described.
Nor were the labours of the officers in question confined to the
frontiers. They fixed, as I have stated in Chapter VIII., all the
principal points in the province of Buenos Ayres, made surveys of
the great rivers Parana and Uruguay, and of their most important
tributaries; and drew up many notices of great interest respecting the
countries bordering upon the higher parts of the Paraguay, which the
pretensions of the Portuguese in that direction rendered it requisite
for them to explore with more than ordinary care and attention[2].
M. Walckenaer's publication at Paris, in 1809, of the Travels of
Don Felix Azara, one of the King of Spain's commissioners on that
service, contains a general review of the labours of those officers,
and is perhaps the best work in print upon the countries which it
describes; still it can only be regarded as a very imperfect sketch of
the information collected by one of many able men employed upon that
particular service.
Another of the commissioners, Don Diego Alvear, drew up an historical
and geographical work upon the provinces of Paraguay and the Missions,
quite equal in interest, if not more so, than that by Azara, for a MS.
copy of which I have to thank his son, the present General Alvear.
Colonel Cabrer, the only surviving officer of all those employed on
this important survey, was living during the time I was at Buenos
Ayres, and for many years had, to my knowledge, been engaged in drawing
up an elaborate account of the whole progress of the survey from first
to last; in his possession I saw a complete set of all the beautiful
maps executed by the Spanish officers, the originals of which are
deposited at Madrid. He is lately dead, and I understand that the
authorities of Buenos Ayres have been in treaty for the purchase of his
papers, which will be of the greatest importance, not only to them, but
to the governments of the Banda Oriental, of Paraguay, and of Bolivia,
whenever the time comes, as it must ere long, for definitively fixing
their respective boundaries with Brazil. I considered myself fortunate
in obtaining copies of several detached portions of these surveys, and
particularly of an original map, drawn from them by Colonel Cabrer
himself for General Alvear, when commanding-in-chief in the Banda
Oriental in 1827.
There is no doubt that, so far as the Spanish frontiers extended,
these maps are the best existing data respecting the countries which
they delineate: on the other hand, we must look to the Portuguese
authorities for materials for the adjoining provinces of Brazil. The
most perfect map of that part of the continent perhaps ever made
was drawn at Rio de Janeiro in 1827, for the use of the Marquis of
Barbacena, when appointed to command the Emperor's army in the war
with Buenos Ayres, and was taken with his baggage at the battle of
Ituzaingo, and afterwards given to me. It comprises, on a large scale,
all the country lying east of the Uruguay, from the Island of St.
Catharine's to the River Plate. On my return to England I placed it
in the hands of Mr. John Arrowsmith, with the rest of my geographical
materials.
As regards the greater part of the interior provinces west of the
Paraguay, the information obtainable is very imperfect; indeed of some
vast portions of those regions, it may be said that nothing but the
general courses of the principal rivers is as yet known. The immense
tract called the Gran-Chaco is still in possession of aboriginal
tribes, and other extensive districts are inhabited by people who,
though of a different race, seem little beyond them in civilization.
It was not the policy of Spain to take the trouble of accurately
examining her colonial possessions, except when obliged to do so in
furtherance of measures of self-defence, or in the expectation of some
profitable return in the precious metals, the primary objects of her
solicitude: and, but that the high road from Potosi to Buenos Ayres
ran through them, I believe in Europe we should hardly have known,
till recently, even the names of the capital towns of the intermediate
provinces: it is only since their independence that they have brought
themselves into notice, and that any information has been acquired of
the nature and importance of their native products.
When I arrived at Buenos Ayres in 1824, in hopes of obtaining the
best existing accounts of their statistics, I addressed myself to
the governors themselves; and I have every reason to believe, under
the circumstances, that they were desirous to meet my wishes. I
received from them all the most civil assurances to that effect; but,
excepting from the Entre Rios, Cordova, La Rioja, and Salta, I found
the authorities themselves utterly unable to communicate anything of a
definite or satisfactory nature; and, although they promised to set to
work to collect what I asked for, I soon found they had most of them
other matters on hand which had more urgent calls on their attention.
Of the information which I did so obtain, the most complete by far was
from General Arenales, the Governor of Salta, who not only forwarded
to me an interesting report upon the extent and various productions
of that province, but, what I less expected, a very fair map of it,
drawn by his own son Colonel Arenales; an individual who has since
distinguished himself amongst his countrymen by the publication of a
work[3] wherein he has with great pains collected all the information
he could obtain to elucidate the geography and capabilities of a
province which nature seems to have destined to be one of the most
important of the Argentine Republic. Were his good example followed
by equally intelligent individuals in other parts of the interior,
the natives, as well as foreigners, would be greatly assisted in
learning not only what are the productions of their own country, but
in what manner they might be rendered available in furtherance of its
prosperity.
He has done his duty, and rendered a service to his country, by
pointing out the great importance of the possibility, now proved beyond
a doubt, of navigating the river Vermejo throughout its whole course,
from Oran in the heart of the continent to its junction with the
Parana, and thence to the ocean.
Mr. Arrowsmith has adopted his delineation of the course of that
river, as laid down from the diary of Cornejo, who descended it in
1790. Soria, who came down it in 1826, was deprived of all his papers
in Paraguay; and although, on reaching Buenos Ayres, five years
afterwards, he not only published a short account of his voyage, but
a map also to illustrate it, being entirely from memory, it is little
to be depended upon; neither is it reconcilable with the distance from
Oran to the Paraguay, as estimated either by himself or Cornejo.
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